Waisting away…..

Can it be that another week has slipped through the cracks? Where is time going these days? I got up this morning and realized it was Friday, and it was back to work and it seemed like I had just finished my last shift which ended nearly a week ago. Whew.

Yesterday was to be my first “free day” in a really long time. Boo and I have been taking up space in our own digs this week, rather than being at Richard’s as we have been so often lately. I got a great deal of catching up accomplished while being left to my own devices, and was ready to indulge in a day of total abandon. The plan was to pull on my baggy shorts and a tee shirt, and binge watch cooking shows, eat bad take out, and generally do a whole lot of absolutely nothing. As often happens with best laid plans, these blew out the window before the sun had a chance to peek over the horizon.

I may have mentioned along the way, I am about to begin some pro bono work for a local non-profit centered around a historic convent and museum. This will be number two as far as the non-profits in my life, as I have been producing a monthly newsletter for the local food pantry for the past ten years. This addition to my workload, I feel, will mean my already full calendar may have reached it’s saturation point. Several weeks ago, a meeting was set up for me to tour the facility I would be working for, so that I could get a better understanding of what the venue was like and meet the players involved. Yay. That meeting, unfortunately, ended up being cancelled. As the gods would have it, they reached out once again to me night before last via email asking if possibly I could get up there yesterday for a meeting and do the tour. Sigh. Kay. I waved goodbye to my lazy day with great reluctance. Looking longingly at my TV set, I began the process of getting ready for my meeting, when the phone rang. A friend of mine, Barbara, living in the same area as the venue I was to be visiting, was not feeling well. Her roommate was on the phone asking if I could meet Barb at the ER as the paramedics were transporting her there to be evaluated. Normally, her roommate would be able to accompany her, but she suffered a family tragedy this week and has more than enough on her plate. Hearing this, I realized I would need to take my navy blue shirt out of my closet with the big red “S” emblazoned across the front and hook up my cape for this mission.

My appointment at the museum was at 11:00. It was now 8:15. Hurriedly, I pulled myself together, and hopped in the car after grabbing a water, a banana and a book (this was not my first rodeo). I spent many an hour sitting in the ER when both Rick and Dale were fighting their battles, and know you need reading material, hydration, and a snack, to survive unscathed. I am most familiar with the amount of time it can take to get things done there. Up the hill I headed, arriving at the ER entrance forty five minutes later. Going through the usual red tape at the front desk, including getting my temperature checked, and having a “Visitor’s Badge” with my name and Barbara’s written across it slapped on my shirt, I waited for a nurse to escort me back into the Emergency Room. Noting the packed waiting room, I was glad Barbara had come in through the back door with the EMT’s. Being guided into one of the examination rooms, I was pleased to find my friend sitting up and looking for all intents and purposes, amazingly well. The nurse informed me all her tests had come back negative and Barbara would most likely be going home in the next hour or so. Yay. Eating my banana, I gauged that to mean in “ER Lingo” an hour and a half to two hours. Looking at my phone, I could tell this would be cutting it close. Finally, they got the paperwork in place to get Barbara paroled. It is far easier, I have to say, to get into the Emergency Room, then it is to get back out again. The good news, of course, was that Barbara was just slightly dehydrated, but otherwise fine. Still in her pajamas, I tucked her in the passenger seat and drove her home. I had not been to her new place, so hadn’t realized it was remote enough to be considered in another state. Not wanting to just dump her and run, I escorted her into the house and got her settled, which left me ten minutes to make a twenty minute drive back to the museum. One thing I have learned in this educational experience called life, is there is no point in stressing over something you cannot do one single thing about. All the stressing in the world, wouldn’t make me any less late for this appointment. So, I simply drove along and let the day unfold as it was meant to, and took in the glorious view of all the wildflowers evident everywhere along my route. Life, as they say, was good.

Thankfully, my GPS dropped me nearly at the doorstep of my destination. I located a parking spot right up front, and followed the signs leading upstairs to the museum entrance, where my guide, Paul, was waiting for me. Introducing myself, I explained the reason for my late arrival. Assuring me all was fine, I filled out the volunteer paperwork and we embarked on our tour. The convent has some notoriety, he explained, being the oldest standing convent in California. Many of the older convents had either burned down or been destroyed during the 1906 earthquake. The interior of the large building was most impressive. Vintage wall paper covered most of the walls, accented by dark wood trim decorated with detailed scrolling. The building was originally erected in 1856. In the beginning it provided a safe haven for orphans in the area, taken in and cared for by the cloister of nuns housed there. Along with the orphans, the school on the premises provided a place for wealthy young ladies to come to learn the proper social graces, and for local children to attend school on a tuition basis. A schoolroom, set up in one of the massive rooms, provided me a glimpse of what it might of looked like in the eighteenth century. There is something fascinating to me about museums. That eerie feeling of stepping for a moment back into history to capture a snapshot of life the way it was for those inhabiting the world during that time period.

One room, perhaps my favorite, was a fully recreated bedroom. Everything in the room from furnishings to chamber pots was authentically represented. There was no hot and cold running water back in the 1800’s or electricity, and certainly no indoor plumbing. On the sideboard stood a large china water pitcher sitting in a matching basin. Paul explained residents of the house would pump water from the well into the pitcher to do their daily ablutions. A pot on the floor next to the sideboard was for spitting in after rinsing your mouth out. Another pot, a chamber pot, sat on the floor next to the bed. The obvious use for that, I’m assuming you are aware. So many things we take for granted now, were unavailable in those days. Really, when you think of it, it wasn’t really so very long ago. I commented on the fact that the windows in the rooms ran nearly floor to ceiling in length. This is a significant height as the rooms had very high ceilings. He explained this was to allow ventilation and air circulation, as there were no air conditioners or electric fans, and also to provide light into what would otherwise be very dark rooms. At that point I actually felt the house around me, and asked if there were ghosts afoot. No, came the quick answer, but somehow I feel old houses always harbor a few souls still longing for a place to hang their hats.

The vintage clothing I found particularly fascinating. The waists in the women’s dresses were impossibly small. I was reading men at the time greatly admired female companions with miniscule waists. Good Lord. One raisin and they would have exceeded their clothing’s capacity. I don’t know anyone who would fit into those garments today. Whale bone corsets were used to cinch women into these barbaric clothes. Even when pregnant they were pulled and tugged into place, although more cinched above the waist so as not to harm the fetus. Though I found the dresses quite lovely, and many of the fabrics lush and gorgeous, they look like torture devices to me. Can you imagine all those skirts, underskirts, and underwear on a hot day? Whew. I hope deodorant had been invented by then.

My great grandmother would have gone to school during that time. I wish she had kept a journal or documented her experience in some way. I am named after her. From what I understand she was a bit of a character who enjoyed doing cartwheels in the parlor or dancing under the moon. Seems like a full circle situation to me, although my cartwheel skills are definitely questionable, I do love a full moon. Imagine how things have changed since she was growing up? Cannot imagine her amazement if dropped into our world at this particular time in history. The computer alone, and cell phones, my oh my.

Even during my time on the planet so many things have evolved significantly. Richard was saying the other day that when he bought his first car A/C and radios were optional, things we now take for granted when driving a car off the lot. In the 1980’s only 72% of cars were equipped with A/C. Cars were not equipped with much in the early 1950’s, including automatic windows or power steering and power brakes. They used to come with wind wings to allow better ventilation. The younger of you are sitting there going “wind what”? They were small windows built into the larger car windows you could push outward to allow you to direct more air in from outside. As I remember, most of the cars when I was a kid also came with manual transmissions. I still would prefer to drive a stick shift, but we’ve gotten lazy over the years, so the automatics that came next have prevailed.

My car is beginning to show some signs of wear. I know the feeling. There are no seat warmers or navigation devices on my dashboard display, which my son believes to be almost archaic. It is a bit of a no frills vehicle but it has served me well since 2009 and I will continue to allow it to do so until it decides it cannot go on. Should a situation come up where I need to shop for a new car, or at least a new car to me, I will defer to Richard when choosing one. He is one of those men who wiled away his teenage years scrubbing grease from beneath his fingernails after spending the weekend with his head under the hood of whatever hot rod he was driving at the moment. A die hard car enthusiast, he finds Nascar endlessly fascinating. Here we part ways. Sitting watching one lap after another is guaranteed to find my eyelids closing. For me, it seems the whole point of these high speed car races is that spectators are basically sitting in the stands or at home in their recliners waiting for someone to crash. We really are barbaric in ways. He tells me he finds America’s Funniest Home Videos barbaric. Really? I laugh and giggle through the whole thing. I explained they are not going to air a video in which someone got seriously hurt, but I think most humans get a kick out of animals doing silly things or humans, well, simply being human. Perhaps it’s because about 90% of the really idiotic things in these videos have men as the participants? One wonders.

Very odd weather of late. Nineties predicted by the end of the day today, and then on Monday it’s supposed to be in low 60’s. I spent the week transferring my winter clothes to bins and putting them in my storage unit, and arranging my spring/summer clothes in my closet. It’s supposed to snow in the mountains. I may have to walk around in my electric blanket like a Tesla looking for a place to plug in. They showed pictures of Yosemite on the news this morning. The waterfalls are magnificent this year with the amount of snow nature has provided the Sierra Nevadas beginning to melt as warmer weather moves in. I would love to hop in the car and go down there, but there is too much going on right now to allow me to just take off. Sigh. I have been visiting Yosemite since I was a kid. The scenery is fabulous no matter the time of year. I do try to avoid mid summer though, because you can’t hear the waterfalls for the tourists talking and cameras clicking.

Wherever you are enjoy your weekend. Every day opens up with nothing written on it, write something memorable if you get the chance.

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Roads were made for journeys, not destinations. – Confucius

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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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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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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Beautiful Carmel by the sea…..

Richard and I drove down to Carmel last week for a three day mini-vacation. With all the unpredictable weather that has been circulating around Northern California the past few weeks, some of our friends didn’t think it the best time to travel. Our reservations had been in place for several months. Listening to the pros and cons, particularly with so much water on the ground, in the end, the lure of the coast won over over the arguments not to go. After that, it was damn the torpedoes full speed ahead. Certainly it wouldn’t be the first time either of us made a decision other people in our lives didn’t support. Most probably, it will not be the last. As I always do, I asked my “angels”, who seem ever present in my life, to hang close and keep an eye on us just for a little extra insurance.

Monday, our first day on the road, proved to be the most challenging of the trip. Gray skies persisted overhead most of the morning. Far off in the distance the, massive accumulation of darker, angrier looking clouds, left little doubt there was more rain on the horizon. Many of the side roads along the route we’d chosen leading to Highway 5 were either closed or had significant water in the roadways. Once in the belly of the beast, it was either forge on, or turn back. In either case, it was obvious there would be water to be dealt with. Having grown up outside of Auburn, Richard is a fount of information about just about everything going on in the Sacramento area. According to him, the farmers in the lowlands take care of their own water issues, be it too much water, or not enough. Whether this is true or not, I have no way to verify except to ask Richard, who I believe we have already established has an opinion on the subject. Interesting though. (As an update. I learned from another viable local source this in fact is correct. The land, and the waterways are privately owned.) From the looks of things, whoever is in charge, had way too much water to take care of this year. The weatherman I watch in the mornings said today the snow and rainfall counts this season mark the third in the highest in recorded history.

Driving along, there were trees down on many properties, some with wires wrapped around them secured with yellow caution tape. When we got stopped in one direction, we’d try another. At one point, we came upon a huge pool of water. We pulled up behind two similar looking mid sized delivery trucks parked in tandem at the lip. The pool spanned the width of the road oozing into the pastures on both sides, then spread out about a half a city block from the middle. The truck drivers stood talking animatedly with their heads together next to their cabs. Though we couldn’t hear their conversation, we surmised they were discussing whether to go through the massive puddle, or turn back. While the men came to a decision, a short line of cars had begun to fall in together on the opposite side of the pool. All of the vehicles present seemed to be waiting to see what the truck drivers were going to do, before making a move themselves. Shortly, both drivers returned to their vehicles, and started up their engines. Our small band of silent witnesses watched as the two trucks, one following the other, tentatively entered the water. I figured the point man had the most to lose. If anything was going to go down (literally), he would be the first to tell the story. Richard’s take on the situation was if either truck didn’t sink beneath the surface, then we should be safe to cross. Swell. At that point, I was leaning more toward the logic side of the argument of our friends suggesting not to have come at all, but it was a little late in the game to switch teams. We watched, holding our breaths, as one truck then the next slowly forded the overflow area, each making it to the other side without incident. Next in line, like pioneers crossing a raging river in their wagon, we moved up to the edge and slowly drove forward into the water. Out the window it looked like waves lapping at the side of the car. I had a mental picture of all my doubting Thomas friends glued to the 5 o’clock news as Richard and I were helicoptered out of our sinking vehicle all with “I told you so’s” forming on their lips. Mommy.

When we reached the other side, the small caravan waiting there, taking our cue, began to cross as well. After that, it was a short distance to the main highway which we traveled sans puddles. Once on Highway 5, other than the wind which was strong enough to nudge us into the next lane if not paying attention, the weather cooperated with only a light rain falling the rest of the way to Carmel. My first glimpse of the ocean came after cresting a hill outside of Monterey. It has been a long time since I’ve seen my beloved sea. Bouncing up and down in my seat like a kid who’d consumed too much chocolate, I nearly burst out of the door when Richard pulled over next to a sand dune, and raced down the hill towards the water. Rain or no rain the ocean, to me, is the best place to find yourself on earth.

Once I’d gotten enough sea air to hold me for the moment, we drove on down the coast and checked into our room at a charming Carmel inn. The rooms, as usual, are photographed with a wide angle lens for the benefit of promoting guests to book them on the website. What had appeared on-line to be a large spacious room, was in fact in person a small, not so spacious one. As usual, I’d packed enough clothes to cover any event from an alien landing to a volcano eruption. The closet held about five hangers comfortably but we made it all work. The bathroom was very small, definitely a one person affair, with only a shower and no tub. Along with half the clothes I’d brought with me, the new bubbles I’d tucked in my overnight case were definitely not going to be put into use. Note to self “Bring a bar of soap”. Don’t know who’s body the small versions of soap in the guest packs were for, but they wouldn’t have covered the average infant. By the time I’d had one shower my little bar was down to a nub, and I don’t have a lot of area to cover. I’d purchased four traveling bottles so as not to have to carry larger bottles with me. Each bottle came with a different colored lid. I was sure memory would serve me as to what product was stored in which color, so didn’t feel the need to mark them. I must remember to remember I can’t remember —-. I’m not sure whether I washed my face with conditioner or shampooed my hair with cleansing cream. If so, they are apparently interchangeable. Good to know.

The first day of the trip was pretty much devoted to getting to our destination and getting settled. In the evening, we went to the Mission Ranch Inn for dinner. What a lovely setting for a restaurant. During the summer months, you can sit outside in lawn chairs and enjoy your adult beverage of choice while overlooking the ocean. Flocks of sheep roam on the pasture beyond the patio area and can sometimes be seen being herded by the owner’s (I assume) Australian shepherd. What clever dogs that breed. Amazing how instinctively they know to manage a herd of animals so much larger than themselves. I’ve always had a secret yen to own one. May do it yet.

It has been years since I’ve eaten there but remembered the food and the ambiance. There is a fireplace and a piano bar, for those who are so inclined. We sat in the back room which was a little more intimate, and quieter. Dinner was not a disappointment. Three tender ribs of rack of lamb resting atop mint chutney, served with pan basted baby yellow potatoes and Swiss chard. Yum and double yum. I left only the pattern on the plate. There was a tense moment, however. I asked the waiter for mint jelly. I KNOW!!! From the look on his face, shooting was probably too good for me. Why can’t they just give it to you and keep their thoughts to themselves? For the price of the meal, it should have come with a vehicle. Mint jelly doesn’t seem too much to ask. Our chef, when we owned the restaurant, used to get sooooo upset if I asked for either tartar sauce or mint jelly. It’s simply not done in the high end culinary world, and it galled him to no end I insisted on doing it. Their opinion is the flavors should carry themselves without enhancing them with anything else. Personally, I don’t care if you want your lobster dipped in marmalade or pour A-1 on your Brussels sprouts, as long as you enjoy your meal. Even if I’d cooked it, I would feel the same way.

After a delicious meal and a long day, we sank into bed. Sank, being the optimum word here. The bed, well loved from the feel of it, was like an old stable horse. It was high on both ends but dipped deeply in the middle. I looped one leg over the side to keep me from rolling into the abyss. Also, for a room with a fireplace on one wall, it was chilly. The fireplace, gas not wood, looked lovely, but when lit and on high didn’t seem to provide much heat. There was a small wall heater which we cranked up to the max and by the time our stay was over the room had come up to a comfortable temperature. These, I always say, are the fun things about staying in quaint old inns. This is precisely what gives them character. You can go to a new hotel with all the amenities, but then what would you have to write about?

I read recently an article about tips passed on from workers in well known businesses. Secrets you need to know, or perhaps would prefer not to, about how these businesses are run. One such tip was from someone who had worked in a well known and rather pricey hotel chain. His suggestion, “never walk on the carpet in your bare feet”. According to this whistle blower, hotels only shampoo their carpets about twice a year. Whatever is spilled, projectile vomited, or tracked in on your boot, is covered up in between washings with room spray and quick fixes. I worked in a motel as a maid for nearly a year when traveling with my ex-husband. I remember being amazed at how infrequently they washed the bedspreads. The sheets were washed in between guests of course, so that is where you want to rest, but the bedspread can be full of whatever it’s full of. My tip would be, don’t sleep with your face pressed against a hotel bedspread with your mouth open. I’m just saying.

Carmel was as wonderful as I remembered it to be. The line of Northern California coastline along the 17 Mile Drive really can’t be matched in shear beauty and accessibility. This trip was made all the better by it being early in the season so less people on the ground and parking everywhere we went was easily accessible. I will finish my story at my next writing. There is frost on the pumpkin this morning but the sun is up and shining brightly in the sky. Yay. Happy humpday to you.

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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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Digging it…..

Outside my window rain is pouring down, in June, in California. This is a big statement. Wow, this weather is really bizarre. It’s not a light sprinkling either, but actual real, heavy, precipitation. I am most impressed. Weirdest thing. A huge crow just catapulted down from my roof. Now he’s walking around my front yard shaking his head. Shocking weather for him too apparently.

Conversely, yesterday was a gorgeous mid eighties early summer day. A friend had offered to help me shape up my yard which of late isn’t wearing it’s happiest face. My landlord is supposedly on the hunt for new gardeners, as the old ones were awful. They were a crew of three. Every two weeks they would swoop down on my yard, and be in and out picking things clean like locust. Once I asked them to weed the bed towards the front and they simply used the weed eater and eliminated all the viable ground cover. One mows, one blows (to me they all blew), and the other one dumps the compostibles in the bin. The one who had the blower, seemed to just blow everything in a corner. When the first breeze kicked up, it was all right back where it had been in the first place. I was taught by my grandmother early on in my development, if you’re going to do a job, do it to the best of your abilities. Was she out in the yard with these guys holding her rolling pin, I have a feeling things might have gotten done right.

Accepting the offer of yard work help, my friend and I got an early start. The first stop we made was to the nursery, along with everyone else within twenty miles, to pick up potting soil and some additional plants. I didn’t want to get my usual hefty supply of annuals, because the water situation is such here in California, I was afraid wouldn’t be able to keep them alive. It’s amazing how quickly the tab adds up when you start piling gardening supplies in a cart. Whew. I mortgaged the farm, and had to sign Boo, the Queen of Cats, into indentured servitude working in the fields for a couple of months. Don’t pity her, trust me, the feline could use the exercise. I didn’t need to get much really in the way of plants, as I had a lot of full pots waiting for repotting already in the yard sent for my mother’s passing. People were kind enough to send some lovely plants which definitely needed some attention. I’m so proud the enormous orchid sent by my dad’s family is still alive and thriving. Usually, they are down to bare limbs by this time under my care. Every time I walk by it and see all the wonderful blooms, I say, “you’re welcome”.

The mercury retrograde was thankfully over Friday afternoon, and a miserable one it was. I could almost feel the energy lighten and lift as it was on it’s way out. Amazing how the alignment of the planets can effect we minuscule beings inhabiting this lovely piece of the universe. For those of you scratching your heads going retro what? A mercury retrograde is when the planet Mercury appears to be taking a backward tour in the sky. The general state of affairs thought to be present during a retrograde event is electronics breaking down, emotions running high or low, and general chaos prevailing. In order to come out unscathed, believers suggest you enter such a phase prepared. Back up your computers, make sure you have air in your car tires, etc., etc., and remember to breathe, and then breathe some more. There is also a plus side. A retrograde can be a time of reflection and introspective thinking. For me, I’d rather be sailing. I’ve done enough reflective thinking over the past four years and my coffers are full. Let’s get some air in those sails and get out on the Bay instead, I say.

So, with the retrograde at our backs, I felt it was a safe and positive time to get busy in my garden. Gloves and sun hats in place, we took out our bags of soil, gardening tools and hoses, and dug happily in the soil for three hours. There is something positively rejuvenating about planting that revitalizes my soul. Perhaps it serves to reconnect us with our beginnings. My friend, a person who enjoys conversations with every living creature from ground squirrel to robin when we walk together once a week, is truly a human who aligns herself beautifully with the earth. Like a puppy or small child, she plopped herself down soundly on her behind in the wet grass and had at it with plants scattered all around us. As to me, I managed to get an equal amount of dirt on myself as I did in the pots I was working with so a good time was had by all.

I was glad to get the garden behind me. The next few weeks look hectic in my world. As I said in my previous blog, my calendar has felt a bit tight lately. I seem to be bouncing along like an out of control ball rolling down a steep hill. Work will be on the agenda as well I suspect pretty soon so that should make things even more interesting when it comes to keeping up with my schedule. Last week I had something, or several somethings penciled in each and every day. Tuesday is always a busy day for me, and there were four notations under that day. Whew. I made it to three. Yesterday, while digging in the dirt I thought of a friend of mine I hadn’t seen in a while, and was reminded of a lunch date we had made over the phone several weeks ago. Oh-oh. Opening my calendar, sure enough her name popped up under Tuesday last with a notation “Lunch with…… at…….”. Hmmmmm. According to my notes, were supposed to meet at a favorite restaurant at 11:30. My bad. I called her number, already feeling the humble pie repeating itself I knew I was going to have to eat. She answered sweetly, “thanks for ditching me”. Somehow, though I heard a sugary tone, I didn’t feel the sweetness oozing through my end of the phone. I asked why she hadn’t called me when I didn’t show up. She politely explained, because she was upset. Oh. Apologizing, I explained how busy, busy I have been, which sounded lame even to me as I was saying it. Apparently, she had waited thirty minutes before ordering and eating alone. Sorry. Truth is, no matter how busy we are, we tend to make room for, and remember, what is important to us.

I try to do my best for my friends. Obviously, I don’t always rise to the bar. My friends are really the foundation of my life these days, and sweet Boo, the Queen of Cats. I am also exploring the newest addition to my world in the new man I am learning about. This is both exciting and terrifying at the same time. A new relationship is so full of highs and lows it makes West Virginia look like flatland. Sometimes I want to run, but mostly I am curious about the new being I am observing across the table from me fairly often over the past several months. It is fun to get to know new things about him, and share old things about me, which are new to him. Where this will lead I have no idea, but for today it is something I am interested in seeing through to it’s natural end, wherever that might be.

Well, I am off for lunch with a friend on this surprising rainy day. Happy Sunday to you. Finish that book, call a friend, or put your feet up, find a great movie and push “play”.

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Singing in the rain…..

The flood gates have opened, and rain is pouring down in buckets full outside my window. This is a cold rain, and it’s brought along a playmate, a capricious wind. My yard is strewn with leaves and debris. My snowmen once decorating the patio in the back yard, are now standing on their heads pushed up against the fence. You could leave the wind at home, but I do love the rain. Even though this is quite an intense storm, we surely need it out here on the west coast and I’m glad to see it streaming down the pane.

When Rick was alive, dreary stormy weather such as today severely affected his mood. Speaking for myself, I find rainy days exhilarating. Particularly when I’m tucked inside cozy and warm working on projects such as I am today. Rick viewed overcast skies as dark and foreboding giving him a closed off feeling. Often, he said he felt claustrophobic on stormy days. When it became more than just an annoyance, we consulted his primary care physician who diagnosed Rick with seasonal depression disorder. It was suggested we order a special light to increase Rick’s levels of melatonin. So, on rainy days while I would be dancing and singing in the kitchen, Rick would be sitting in his recliner with a huge bulb focused on his head wishing it would all go away. We are so different and individual we humans. Each of us cut out of the same cloth, but woven with different colored threads making varied patterns and designs. I wonder sometimes we can all be considered brothers and sisters of the same species. Weather of all sorts could have been more tolerable for me coming from Nova Scotia, where inclement weather is not unfamiliar. Rick was born and raised in Cairo, Egypt. There weather didn’t vary vastly as I understand it, ranging from hot to somewhat less hot, according to the time of year you were in. Cairo typically measures less than an inch of rain annually, compared to Halifax which comes in at 50 plus inches. A bit of a climatic variance to say the least. I often think could two less like people have possibly have come together? It’s a question that remains unanswered.

I have spoken before about my “wishcraft” as Rick used to call it. Simply put, I imagine something I need or wish would occur, and voila, like magic, it materializes. He was always asking why I couldn’t use what he referred to as my super power to purchase a winning lottery ticket. Last week I was wishing I had a new refrigerator. The one provided by my landlords has a relatively small freezer, of which I use every inch of available space. Also, there is no ice maker so in order to make ice, cumbersome ice trays take up a quarter of the space. I secretly suspect it was probably put here when the house was built in the early 1930’s. Don’t misunderstand me, I am not complaining. Well maybe I am, just a little. At the time I was wishing for a new appliance, I was really only wishing only for enough room for my freezing hands to stuff my Costco order in the existing one. Night before last, I woke up to what sounded like a buzz saw running in the kitchen. “What now” said my tired mind? Rolling slowly out of bed, I moved my shuffling feet in the direction of the annoying sound. Turning on the light, on inspection, it appeared to be coming from the refrigerator. Great. Just bought $200 worth of groceries and it’s a Saturday night. Purrrrrrfect. Once again, Murphy was having his way with me. Sigh. Opening the freezer door, the fan was obviously running on high. Beads of water had begun to hang down from the roof of the compartment. “Oh no! The dreaded unscheduled DEFROST.” Wow. For two hours this went on, and then as quickly as it started, quiet once again returned to the kingdom. The freezer began to hum softly, and nothing appeared to have thawed. Crisis averted. My scallops would live to be baked another day. Thank you Amana gods for your help.

Yesterday, I called my landlord and told him what had happened. After examining the patient, he said though not gone yet, the old girl was definitely on her way out. Later, he called to let me know a replacement had been ordered, but due to supply chain issues it would take a couple of weeks. Yay. After I hung up, I remembered my wishful thinking and thanked the universe for once again coming through.

Again, the witchcraft came into play this morning. Yesterday, I was reviewing the damage I have done to my bank balance this Christmas. I don’t usually spend like this on gifts, but this year it felt so good to me to buy for those I love, I just jumped in with both feet. Damn the torpedoes, and all that rot. I knew it would put a wrinkle in my savings but my “what the heck”, attitude kicked into gear as I pulled my credit card out with joyous abandon and stuck it in the slots around town. So, this morning I noticed my mail was already in the box, which is unusual. Perhaps this was because it is such a blustery day. Maybe the mailman wanted to get it done early so he could go home, put his feet up, and enjoy a hot beverage. He’s going to need one. I saw him walking by a while ago, the strong wind pushing back the flaps of his jacket, and shorts covering only half his legs. People in California would wear shorts in a blizzard, I swear. Especially men, no offense to those of the gruffer set reading. Really? It’s in the mid forties outside. Whew. Where is your mother? At any rate, I gathered my mail and in one envelope I discovered a stimulus check that will take a lot of the wind out of my Christmas debt, while also allowing me to breathe a lovely sigh of relief. All is right with the world this morning. Breathe in, breathe out. Ahhhhhh.

I am sewing a blanket for Zeppelin, the youngest of our clan. I will post a picture of it when I’ done if I think of it. I think it’s pretty special, and I hope he does. I have tried to make blankets for most of my kids over the years but haven’t always made it. Will have to make it up to those I missed when they are old enough to have kids of their own if I’m still planting roses and not serving as their fertilizer by the time this occurs.

There are still two packages that have to be mailed. Not only is everything in the store going up in the price, it now costs nearly as much, sometimes more, to mail the items. I paid $27.00 last week to mail an envelope 2-day delivery to Texas. Would have been cheaper to book a flight and take it there myself, and I could have picked up some great Mexican food in San Antonio while there. Over the weekend, I hit some of the stores at the mall. For the first time, it really resonated how much prices have gone up. Amazing. I’m not employed anymore, at least not full time. Feel sorry for those trying to get by. The minimum wage goes up, and then prices rise and completely nullify the benefits. Makes it hard to get ahead.

On that bit of whine, I’ll sign off for today. Downton Abbey awaits me. I’m still on season one and am binging like a professional. Have a wonderful day and stay dry, safe, and at least socially acceptably sane such as I do. Later.

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Is that eggnog lattes I smell?

Baby it’s cold outside this morning. Brrrrr. I forgot to take the trash to the curb last night, so had to rush out early to get it out there before the truck came by. The gardeners, such as they are, filled the compostable bin to the brim with leaves, then it rained. Sigh. The bin felt like it weighed about two hundred pounds. I’m not a very big being, as I’ve mentioned previously, so it took a serious amount of huffing, puffing, and general physical prowess to wrestle the darn thing down the driveway. Such things you begin to notice, when you lose the man in your life. Some chores you just need a man to help you with. Hard for me to admit here because I like to think I am the mistress of my own domain, but true is true. I do miss my man.

Last week I had to break down boxes, which was a job Dale always took care of for me. He had some sort of handy dandy tool (a box cutter I would suppose), that broke down the cardboard nicely. I had an old steak knife, not nearly as handy dandy. I remember the first time I was single, many moons ago, the only tool I had in my toolbox was a kitchen knife. I swear I could have built a Mars landing craft with that dull old blade. Seriously. That knife was used to take screws off the bottom of the vacuum, assemble furniture, ward off marauders, you name it. I must admit I had to add a Phillips head screwdriver and a hammer to the mix to get the job done effectively after a while, but until I got married again, those three tools served me well.

I took a swing at the gardeners in my first paragraph, because using the term to describe the three men who show up in my yard ever other week really is overreach. They swoop down like buzzards on a fresh carcass, blow the leaves off the yard into a pile by the fence which returns as soon as the wind picks up to form it’s original blanket on my lawn. They cut an uneven swath over the front and back areas of green and are in and out in less than fifteen minutes. Once I asked them to trim the weeds in the front and when I went out to see what they had done there wasn’t a plant standing in my garden. Pitiful. They are my landlords choice. Since I have little control other than constructive input, I deal with them, but never again asked them to trim the weeds.

The yard is a really nice yard, have to say. The back yard is large, with a small cement patio and deck. There are lovely trees placed here and there about the property providing much needed shade during the summer. Unfortunately, the two large shade trees in the back yard were cut down by PG&E because they were interfering with the power lines. I miss the lovely umbrella they provided during the hot summer months, but certainly don’t want anything resembling kindling that close to my little house.

Yesterday I went with a friend to visit a psychic. I see you shaking your head. I went after Rick passed away as well. This lady appears to have an actual gift for seeing beyond our normal borders. I told her nothing and provided no useful information for her to build on. Letting her lean on her own resources, she once again provided a really interesting reading for my yankee dollars. For those of you who view this as total nonsense or a sort of shell game, I say “don’t knock it until you’ve tried it”. Not all professing to have such a gift actually do, of course. As with everything, there are those who are just in it to relieve you of your money. This lady always delivers, not only on being spot on on so many things she has to say but on the entertainment value. Both she and the lady who writes a horoscope I read at the beginning of each month are saying the coming year is going to be a stellar one. “Yay”, says I. I am really ready to get in line for something uplifting and soul changing. Sign me up, please and don’t hold the mayo.

I am dragging a bit this morning. Had a restless night. Sometimes my dreams are soooooo real and decidedly unsettling. Perhaps this is the side effect of an overly active mind. Last night I was in a big city. I somehow perceived it as San Francisco, though it looked nothing like my favorite California city. First, I was lost in an office building. I couldn’t seem to get out of the elevator, at one point zooming up to the penthouse where the occupants weren’t particularly pleased to find me there. When I finally did get off in the lobby, I had no idea what street I was on, and couldn’t remember where on earth I’d parked my car. Apparently, I finally located it because next I was speeding down dark and unfamiliar streets with no idea where I was going or how to get home. Next, I was in a massive shopping mall. While struggling to find an exit, I apparently won a new house filled with furniture. I stood in front of a crowd in the center of the mall with a family I did not recognize to receive my bounty. I remember willing myself to wake up. When I did, I was in a bog for an hour before I again felt familiar with my surroundings. What a strange mind I have. Sometimes it worries me. Perhaps someone will take the time to study it when I’m no longer using it and let me know what’s up with that. Was I to analyze it, employing no dream analyzing skills whatsoever, I could see easily I’m feeling a bit lost and not sure where to go from here. Who the strange family was standing in the mall with me, is your best guess.

I am trying to get my outside errands done today, and visit with my mom tomorrow, before we finally are to be entertaining some winter weather here in Northern California. For those of you born with ski poles in your hands this will be welcome news. For me, I will be tucked inside with my tree lights glowing in the background, watching my Christmas movies, downing an eggnog latte and wrapping presents.

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Summer rain, makes me feel…..

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Since I got up, rain has been steadily falling. I do love rainy days. Growing up in Nova Scotia, scruffy overcast skies were not an unfamiliar sight to me. On blustery days such as today, waves crashed angrily against the craggy shores of the province and gray skies were reflected in the dark churning waters below. There was an element of excitement to watching the clouds move in, I always found exciting. The raw power of nature, in particular the ocean, has drawn me to it as far back as I can remember. When the forces of nature come to bear, we are made small. Outbursts manifest themselves in many forms. Vengeful, wind driven tornadoes, that rip and tear at the landscape. Swirling tubes of destruction tossing buildings to and fro as if they were leaves whisked up an afternoon breeze. Tsunamis formed by tremors beneath the sea creating huge surges of water pushing towards the shore. Waves encroaching on our land masses, hungrily sucking up everything in their way. Violent earthquakes rending gaping crevices in the earth’s face, capable of reducing tall skyscrapers to their knees. Never should you underestimate the sheer strength of Mother Nature when she is dead set on unleashing her havoc.

Having lived all over the U.S. at one time or another I’ve experienced a lot of different climates each different from the rest. While living in Arkansas, for example, tornado warnings popped up regularly on the television screen. Migrating there from California I was surprised to find rain fell during the summer months, a phenomenon rarely experienced living on the west coast. Sunny days in California rarely yielded to even as much as the lightest dusting of rain, unless it was overflow from a gyrating lawn sprinkler. The day I arrived in Arkansas for the first time, it was mid July. My husband at the time, David, and I were moving to Ashdown for a job at a lumber mill expected to last about a year and a half. David was a pipe fitter by trade. We were considered construction bums, if you will. Craftsmen who traveled from job to job, filling a need as it arose. It was hot that day. Hot, hot, hot. The temperature, at least according to the weather girl on the morning news, would be stretching upwards towards 108. Factor in humidity, around 95%, and trust me it felt far hotter.

My first impression of the state was of the prolific and vibrantly green vegetation. Everywhere you looked there was lush foliage. Much of what I was seeing, I was told, was Kudzu. Kudzu had overrun that part of the world at the time, crawling like the slinking vine it was over anything and everything standing in its way. About an hour after crossing the border from Oklahoma into Arkansas, we decided to stop for lunch. Signs posted along the road advertised a diner serving “Down Home Food” coming up in the next town. Following the signs we pulled into the parking lot of a small establishment with a much larger sign announcing “Diner This Way” blinking above an arrow pointing towards the front door. I might have figured out how to get inside without such explicit instructions, but I appreciated the effort taken. If we were hoping for a little cool air once inside, we were to be disappointed. Warm stale air combined with the smell of cooking oil swept over us as we walked through the door. A sweating swamp cooler hummed behind the reception area and three ceiling fans rotated in the center of the room, all seeming to have little effect. To the right as you entered, was a long line of red vinyl stools, customers occupying about half of them. To the left of the counter were booths of varying sizes arranged next to the bank of windows facing the street. A glass tower stood by the reception desk with tiers of partially cut pies resting inside. A fly lazily buzzed around the lemon meringue giving me an excellent reason to pass on dessert. A tall, thin waitress with a folded hanky pinned on the front of her uniform that read “Betty Lynn” showed us to the one remaining unoccupied booth. Handing us two well loved plastic covered menus, I asked for an glass of iced tea, heavy on the ice. Before she went off to greet the next customer she brought us up to speed on the specials of the day recommending the cheeseburgers. Once two cheeseburgers with fries had been ordered, David excused himself to find the men’s room. Looking around, I felt as if we had stepped back twenty years. Felix the cats protruding eyes and tail moved back and forth ticking off the minutes on the back wall. Album covers covered the rest of the wall featuring artists like Hank Williams, Minnie Pearl and Buck Owens. A large window broke up the wall between the albums and the busing station behind which the cooks could be seen moving back and forth across the grill. At each booth, and equally spaced along the counter there were miniature jukeboxes, one tuned to Elvis singing “Love Me Tender”.

Betty Lynn returned to the table to place a tall sweating glass of tea with a wedge of lemon drooped over it’s lip in front of me. Sipping thirstily on the straw, when the liquid hit my taste buds they dispatched an immediate message to my brain SWEET. The tea was so sugary, the texture more resembled syrup. I signaled Betty Lynn and asked if I could have unsweetened tea. She eyed me suspiciously, saying “you’re not from around here are you”? Why no, does it show? Apparently the only iced tea they had was sweet tea, so I opted for ice water and we moved on. B.L. was a little less friendly after that.

David having returned from the restroom seemed to find all this amusing. I had a feeling this was to be only the tip of the iceberg of the experiences I was to have south of the Mason-Dixon line. While we were putting away what turned out to be to Betty Lynn’s credit, “one delicious burger”, the sky outside shifted from bright blue to menacingly black. Several strong claps of thunder shook the building before the sky opened up and released a downpour so intense the plummeting drops actually hit the pavement then ricocheted back on themselves. People in the parking lot covered their heads and ran for cover. Within minutes, the entire parking lot surface was inundated with water so brown it appeared to be milk chocolate. Then, as suddenly as it began, the rain stopped, the sun came out from behind the clouds, and steam began to rise from the puddles. Steam rose from the cars, the roofs of the buildings, I’m telling you, it was a gen-u-ine steam fest. Can you say sauna boys and girls? No one seemed to notice the dramatic shift in climate but me. David said for the locals, this was simply another day in the neighborhood. Oh. “We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto”.

Walking back out into the blast furnace outside after paying for our meal, the pungent smell of wet and rotting vegetation lay heavy in the air. Already feeling overheated, I hopped in the car planting my bare legs directly on the sizzling grill that once had served as my car seat. I swear, I smelled bacon cooking. Oink. Assured by David once again I would acclimate to the heat and humidity once I lived there for awhile, I gently peeled my legs off the leather seats and wondered if there would end up being any truth in that statement. This too shall come to be revealed.

I shall continue my weather report in my next post. For now I want to take a harsh swing right and look at the mess our country is in at the moment. What a week! For someone like me who rarely plants in front of the television for hours, I believe I actually have eye strain from switching back and forth between CNN and the other news channels. There are so many applicable adjectives here. Ummmm, unbelievable, unreal, unamerican, unacceptable, but you can’t really include unexpected. People surprise me when they are shocked. The situation has been escalating one bad act at a time. Smoke signals have been rising up from the mother ship for the last four years. I hope everyone involved in this, what was truly an attempted coup of our democracy, gets prosecuted. I won’t say more. And by the way, where were the police? I’m surprised they didn’t escort them in and offer them coffee. We’re all entitled to believe what we choose, which is the foundation on which this democracy was built on to begin with. However, I will finish with saying, “enough is enough”. I don’t care which side you lean towards, this isn’t acceptable ever. This goes way beyond annoying self-serving narcissistic behavior. Let’s do the right thing for the right reasons. The rats are deserting the sinking ship as we watch all this unfold. Allegiances are switching faster than playing cards in a magicians hand. Too late people, we’ve already seen who you are. The following quote couldn’t be more apt for the situation in the United States at the moment.

“You can fool some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you can not fool all of the people all of the time.”
― Abraham Lincoln

Stay safe. Back to Arkansas in my next post. Again, thanks for stopping by.

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