Then vs. Now

Sometimes I really wonder about myself.  This isn't the first "Dench" haircut I've gotten, but sitting in the living room with a stocking cap on, I couldn't remember my head ever being this cold.  Well, duh.  On reflection, I remember I'd gotten the Dench in summer.  And why?  Because it was so hot it felt like my hair was on fire and I was sure I could smell smoke.  I guess it's me and the cap for the duration.

There have been a couple of times in the last week (like today) that I've slept in past daybreak.  That is not like me at all.  I much prefer getting up early as those hours before dawn are "my" time.  After sunup, I shut down the computer and gear up for whatever the day may bring.  This recent aberration may be because the bed is snuggly warm and the house is frigid cold, but how do I know that in my sleep?  I could set the alarm, I suppose, but there's a problem with that.  We've had so many frequent power outages that it became tiresome to change the time.  My bedside clock is ancient, not one of the spiffy digital jobs like on the oven.  Besides, I kind of like the challenge of translating time.  "Let's see...the clock says 10:30.  Take away three hours, so it must be 7:30 now."  Ta da!  The things I find to amuse myself.

Well, it really is 7:30 and the sun is peering through a heavily overcast sky.  Time to get dressed and gear up.  Now where did I put my stocking cap?

Stay safe.  Be well.

Spa Day

Ahh, the luxury of an afternoon at the beauty parlor.  The decadence of being laid back and having your hair washed with warm running water with scalp and neck massaged by gentle hands.  Then the blow dryer fluffing and styling your locks, and you walked out a new woman.  Yes, I remember it well.

Yeah.  Yesterday was nothing like that, although I did get a haircut.  Candy came at the appointed hour, bundled for the cold, and I stepped out onto the porch, both of us masked.  Likewise garbed for winter, I sat down on the wrought iron chair and darn near froze my tush.  There was little small talk between us as Candy went to work on the unruly wreck that had become my hair.  It was raining and though it wasn't gale force, that wind was with us still.  Scissors clipping and shears running, it didn't take long to get me back to the Judi Dench look I've come to favor.  I really enjoy Candy's company and normally we'd sit in the kitchen and share a drink or a cup of coffee when she'd worked her magic...not yesterday.  "Thanks.  Be safe," and she headed for her car, presumably with a heater, and I stepped shivering into the house.  Lacking what warmth my distressed dandelion hair had provided (I'm down to about a half-inch cut now), I pulled on a knitted stocking cap.  I didn't even look in a mirror until bedtime.  Yep, it's me and Judi all over again.  I went to sleep with the covers pulled over my head.

Let's just say a spa day, it wasn't.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Take A Break

It wasn't planned, it just happened.  Since I don't go anywhere and don't do much of anything, a vacation seems like overkill, but that's what I did yesterday.  I took a mental day off.  Watching the news had become an obsession.  Even I realized it wasn't healthy...all those events were beyond my control and it was making me nutso.  Out there in the real world, they're gonna do what they're gonna do, regardless.  My normal morning routine at the computer ends with a few games of solitaire before going in to turn on the news.  It was raining (again), I had nothing pressing on the agenda, and I just kept playing.  Michael got his walks, but I spent the entire day playing mind-numbing solitaire.  As with any vacation, a change in routine helps clear the mind.  I feel better for it.  It's still grey and gloomy outside, but I'm ready to take up the mantle again.  Grown-uping isn't for wimps.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Daddy Was A Dandy

At the outset, let me say that this is an apolitical entry, meant only as sartorial comment, even though inspired by recent events.

I am less interested in women's dress styles (let's face it, a fashionista, I'm not!) than in what the men are wearing, thanks to my father's influence.  Watching male interviews and presentations, I'll think, "Sloppy dresser," "Terrible choice of ties," "Get a suit that fits," "Good choice, m'man."  Our President has my attention in this regard...he's pretty snazzy.

Daddy was a dandy...always was.  I've mentioned in the past how particular he was about his hats and the fact that I felt I'd come of age when he finally allowed me to handle one, Panamas and fedoras.  Ties, omigosh, the ties!  He had every color and style, print and plain.  He was up on every change in knots so as to keep up with the trends:  Windsor, Half Windsor, Four-In-Hand, Prince Albert, he knew them all.  I learned to iron on Daddy's handkerchiefs.  They had to be perfectly square so that he could fold the one to go in his suit pocket just so...three-point, two-point, square.  (That's what first drew me to note President Biden's attire, his handkerchief.)  Back in the day, the 1940s, Daddy would take me with him in to our little, two-main-street town and he would get his shoes shined by guys who had set up stands on the sidewalk.  I can still hear the sound of those brushes.  Daddy didn't have a lot of hair, but what was there was cut on a regular basis.  I loved the smell of the barbershop.  I'm still addicted to Old Spice aftershave.

After a horrific car accident, Daddy spent the better part of a year in hospitals and convalescent care.  When he was finally released and I was driving him home, we had two stops to make on the way.  One was for a haircut and the other was to order a new suit.  When the time came, he was buried in a robin's egg blue suit that was his favorite.  He lived in style and went out the same way.

Let's just say that I appreciate men's clothing for many reasons.

And if I never again see a red tie worn long enough to be a codpiece, it'll be too soon.

That hellacious wind has finally died down, but the rain is with us still.  Stove has been working night and day.  Throw on a couple of cats and we'll make it.

Stay safe.  Be well.

The Uninvited

"The Uninvited" (1944, Ray Milland, Ruth Hussey, Donald Crisp), a great British scary, ghostly horror story.  The Brits do scary without blood or gore.  I highly recommend it.

I didn't think too much about it when Missy's bowl seemed emptier earlier than I'd come to expect.  It's winter, it's cold, and maybe she was stocking up and chowing down so she wouldn't have to make so many trips for snacks.  Not so.  The other afternoon, while I was checking the level of her kibbles from inside the house, I saw a very unfamiliar lump.  Hmmm.  And then it moved.  A very large, fluffy apricot cat was helping him/herself to a meal.  Definitely uninvited.  Do I stamp a foot, slam a door?  How to deal with this intruder?  In the long run, I did nothing.  It seems to be my mission in life to feed animals, indoors, outdoors, in my lady's chamber.  I see Missy two or three times a day so I know she's not going hungry.

Wow!  We've been hit with another wind storm, and this one is a doozy.  It started a bit after sundown last night and it hit with the punch of Mohammad Ali.  I saw on the news this morning that we got gusts up to 60+ mph.  I know the house shook at times, and the strong wind has been unrelenting.  At some relatively early hour, the power went out.  I had the fire going and it seemed the better part of valor to spend the night in the chair in a relatively warm room than try to go down a coal-black hallway to go to bed.  The cats and Michael agreed.  I know the power was out for hours, but it did come back on before dawn.  At first light, I made the rounds (in the house) looking for downed trees.  So far, so good.  Fingers crossed.

May the (electrical) force be with you.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Snow Big Deal

 

It was me, not the house, that was on a tilt yesterday, but Michael and I weren't going to spend any more time outside than required and this was the shot I got.  This is what we had woken up to...beautiful, but cold!  There's always a problem when we get more than a dusting of snow, and this was about 4".  The satellite dishes for TV and computer fill up and block reception, even if we have power, which we did (yay!).  I felt really bad for Michael as he hiked his leg on a favorite bush and brushed his man parts on a snow-laden branch.  That's why we were under the big live oak; he still had business to take care of and the ground was clear under there and I didn't have to stand in that pretty white stuff.

I always start the day (after computer time) with the local news.  Not yesterday.  I keep a library of DVRd recordings for just such an event.  Sacramento would just have to carry on without me.

My itinerant hairdresser was due in the afternoon, but I called to reschedule.  Her little low-slung car without four-wheel drive would never have made it up my steep driveway.  I badly need a haircut, but nobody sees me and I'm able to avoid all mirrors, so it's no big deal.

Woke up late today and the sun is up and out.  There's been some melt, but there's still a lot of snow out there.  I need to get a fire going.

Stay safe.  Be well.

In Michael's View

"Michael, we just came in!"  We'd been on the first two walks of the day, and there he was in front of me again.  What's up with that?  Michael, in his own way, can be pretty persistent.  He will come and sit in front of me on my right.  If that doesn't work, he moves over to my left, staring intently into my eyes.  "Michael, we just came in.  You took care of business both times.  What do you want?"  When all else has failed, he starts tapping his foot.  I got the toe-tap message.  Hey, when a guy's gotta go, he has to go, so out we went...again.  I should have known.  Michael's internal clock had told him it was time to sit on the porch, and that's where he headed.  Knowing that there is rain and snow in the forecast, I agreed this was a good idea once I understood.  The photo is a Michael's-eye view.  Sunshine notwithstanding, it wasn't particularly warm and besides, we had to go to town.

Michael likes to go to town.  He rides on the floor behind my seat and has no view, but I wonder if he's memorized the curves, hills, and potholes and knows where we're going.  I'd cut the trip to two stops, so he had to make do with a couple of posts and a minimum of shrubbery, but he gave it his all.  Michael has come to believe that Walmart is his personal fiefdom.  He walks regally among the peasants, expecting and graciously accepting their accolades.  Even the young man who helped me out with my purchases asked only that he be allowed to pet 'the king.'

In Michael's view, it was a good day.

Stay safe.  Be well.

The Land Of Nod

Boy, I got my passport stamped yesterday when I hit the land of Nod with both feet running.  Not running is more accurate, because I slept...and slept and slept.  With the exception of taking Michael out in rain or drizzle, I did little else but sleep.  I saw the first ten or fifteen minutes of any TV program, and never saw the end.  I didn't light a fire because I was afraid I'd nod off and not get the dampers closed in time to stop a chimney fire.  Weird.  Needless to say, I've little else to report.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Do Or Don't

It was sunny, but a bit brisk on our morning walk, hardly surprising for January.  Back in the house, I heated the beanbag and, still wearing my puffy jacket, sat down to watch the local news and warm my hands (should have worn gloves outdoors).  Rain and even snow are in our forecast.  That's a maybe, what I knew for sure was that the house was cold.  My litmus test for how chilly it is indoors is...can I feel my cheeks?  The answer yesterday was no.  Then I was faced with my winter conundrum.  Do I light a fire and use up wood that the Kids worked so hard to provide, or don't I and try to figure alternate ways to get warm.  I decided to take the advice of a friend who had told me, "Light the fire!  They did all that for you because they didn't want you to be cold."  As I brought in an armload of wood, I rationalized (I know...too much time alone) by thinking that I was being proactive...if I warmed up the house yesterday, maybe any residual heat would save lighting Stove today.

The cats stretched out in front of the hearth and Michael relaxed and uncurled from his "I'm a Husky in the snow" position.  I could feel my fingers and face.  In fact, even back here in the bedroom I can feel my hands now, a morning rarity.

I was faced with a do-or-don't situation.  I'm glad I did.

Stay safe.  Be well.

In And Out

Breathe in.  Breathe out.  Repeat.

At first thought, I'd felt bad that the inauguration of our 46th President would have none of the cheering crowds of the past, that he was somehow being cheated of the trappings of his office and the ceremony.  It was nothing like that and, in fact, in many ways it was better.  Like 46 himself, there was a calmness and orderliness to the proceedings.  All of the traditions were observed:  the swearing in, the laying of the wreath at Arlington, the motorcade and walk to the capitol without the chaos of the crowds.  This was the 14th inauguration for me, and the first one I could actually see unimpeded from start to finish.

It was reassuring that President Biden and Vice President Harris took off their coats and went right to the business of running the country in the Oval Office and the Senate.  I felt like I could breathe again.

A couple of days ago we had one of the hardest winds ever.  It moved furniture on the deck and blew screens off windows.  I'm pretty sure there is an oak tree's worth of leaves on the porch.  Fortunately it didn't last long, but it was a doozie as it swept through.  Now the sweeping is up to me.

Stay safe.  Be well.  The grownups are in charge.

Time Travel 101

I didn't do much (yes, again), but my mind was busy, busy, busy yesterday.  It started on Monday when I had a doctor's appointment and couldn't do a darned thing about my hair.  It was embarrassing...no matter what I tried, I looked like a dandelion gone to seed.  Ah, well.  What I need is a haircut!

That started the mental wheels turning.  Once upon a time, long, long ago, there was a catch-phrase "Shave and a haircut, two bits" (that's a quarter, kids) that some enterprising advertiser turned into "Shave and a haircut, Bay Rum."  Burma Shave, a competitor, began putting up a series of small signs along the roads with little rhyming ditties, always ending with "Burma Shave."  There were no billboards back in the day, and this was an amusing way to promote a product.  I used to look for them on our Sunday drives (our weekly amusement back in the day).

Ah, yes...Sunday drives...these were leisurely trips, usually with no destination.  I liked it a lot when Daddy would end up on the road somewhere out in the country with the Orange Julius stand.  The stand was the shape and color of an orange, and to the then young me, the drink was exotic and delicious.  When I say the drives were leisurely, one has to know that the speed limit on the Arroyo Seco freeway, the first "freeway" in the country (1939), also known as the Pasadena Freeway, was a whopping 45 mph.

Builders back in the day were faced with challenges.  The Orange Julius orange stand wasn't the only building representative of its name.  When it was Daddy's treat, we'd sometimes go to The Brown Derby restaurant in Hollywood/Los Angeles, and it was, in fact, shaped like a hat.  Hot dog stands were frequently in the shape of...you guessed it, complete with bun and mustard.

Ah, well.  I still need a haircut.

Snuggle-Bunny

Lately, Ralph has again been asking me to open up the cat cave at bedtime.  He did that for awhile and then quit.  Who knows what lurks in the minds of cats?  It's always right after we, as a group, climb in or jump on and get semi-settled for the night.  Pat, pat, pat on my hand or face (whichever's sticking out) in the dark.  "Open the cave, Mom.  Now, please."  Ignoring him is not an option.  So I obligingly raise an arm to lift the covers (covers plural, it's winter) and he crawls in, turns so he faces the opening, and lies down in the curve by my side.  Sometimes he snorks (Ralph's version of purring) and sometimes he's quiet and still.  There is something wonderful and comforting to have that small, warm, soft, furry body snuggled close.  He stays as long as he deems fit, then creeps out to steal some of his sister's space behind my legs.  His work is done.  Good job, Ralph.

Stay safe.  Be well.

I Thought About It

But that's all I did.

Stay safe.  Be well.

What's Cookin'?

The answer to that question these days is...not much.  Be that as it may, I am still addicted to and devote most of every Saturday to cooking shows.  Once upon a time, long, long ago, I watched to get inspiration, deciding how I could convert a recipe for four to serve ten, and mentally going through cupboards and freezer, wondering if I could substitute what I had on hand for some of the exotic ingredients shown (Martha Stewart was famous for that), asking if the result might be worth the work.  I just loved to cook.  Feeding family and friends was a gift I could give when I didn't have much else.  Learning a recipe from a different culture was a challenge readily accepted.  Ah, well.

Times change.  There are no guests, and I don't even cook for myself anymore.  When a one-pot meal lasts a week, a person can get pretty tired of the dish, no matter how good it might be.  Last night's dinner was a bowl of oatmeal...warm, filling, satisfying...but not exactly inspired.

That's okay.  I know on Saturdays I'll still watch...and remember the good old days.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Speaking In Tongues

I am surrounded by constant conversation...and I can't understand a word.  The woodpecker beats the drum, but he's pretty much a One-Note Charlie.  I'm not sure he's not cussing when he yells because he missed and banged a toe.  The trees are full of dinky birds constantly babbling and talking over each other.  Quail run around yelling for that loser Lothario, Rod-RI-go, and when they're not screaming for their lost love, they whisper.  Drat.  Vultures are silent onlookers, perched on posts here and there.  The ones I'm really interested in, the ones for whom I'd like an interpreter, are the turkeys and the crows.  These birds have extensive vocabularies.  The turkeys, in particular, are always going on about something or another.  That's probably where the saying "Let's talk turkey" comes from.  They're pretty calm, chatting in low voices as they go around the yard, but they can get pretty darned vocal if birds from an enemy flock come into view, and the warning is clear.  I always feel sorry for that one who gets left behind, crying, "Wait for me!  Don't leave me!"  Those words are unmistakable in any tongue.

And then there are the crows.  There has been extensive research into their language, and they do have a true vocabulary.  What they seem to lack is a volume control.  Michael and I were sitting outside yesterday afternoon and could hardly hear ourselves think (I speak here for Michael, too) because of the crows cawing loudly in the trees overhead.  It wasn't hard to distinguish some of the same sounds repeated, but I didn't know what they meant.  I know it's impolite to eavesdrop, but it's hardly eavesdropping when the subjects aren't trying in the slightest to keep their conversation private.

Anyone speak bird?

Stay safe.  Be well.

The Other Kind

Some days funny stuff happens, thoughts and/or topics spring out of nowhere, and the words just flow.  This is not one of those days.  Hadn't spoken to Camille for a bit so called her yesterday just to say hi.  She answered.  It turned out she had returned from the hospital the day before, having fallen, broken her hip and hand last week, and had already had that hip replaced.  And she was already home!  Back in the day, those injuries would have meant a month in the hospital.  She's been set up with caretakers, therapists, equipment, etc., and seems in good spirits.  Her mom was to arrive last evening.  There's not much I can do for her but deliver a meal or two.  Having had my own share of trip-and-falls, I truly understood when she said the accident had happened in a second with no time to react.  Dang!

I'm feeling the loss of another friend.  I hadn't seen Harold in some long while, but we talked almost every week.  I tried for some time recently to contact my self-proclaimed "boyfriend" (our private joke).  No answer, no answer, no answer...and that's not like him.  And then his phones were disconnected.  Harold was 91 and in poor health.  I miss him.

There are good days, and then there are the other kind.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Raiders From The Bark

Apologies to Steven Spielberg (Raiders Of The Lost Ark, 1981).

Missy shows up several times during the day and night to snack on her kibble, letting me know in no uncertain terms when her food gets low.  Cats are sure they're being starved if they can see the bottom of the dish.  Lately I've noticed that the bowl is emptier sooner, but put it down to the cooler weather and thought she might be creating a protective fat layer.  That may be true, but it's not the real reason for the depleted supply.  Missy's dish is on the deck, under the roofed portion next to the dining room for her comfort and my ease.  I looked out yesterday to check her food status and was surprised by a flurry of blue.  Bold Steller's jays were none too happy at having their buffet raid interrupted, but only went as far as the deck rail to wait.  The California scrub jays are never a problem like their crested cousins, preferring to fend for themselves.  The scrubs are always with us, the Steller's are seasonal.  I guess there's enough food to go around for fowl and feline.

The people who lived here first abandoned a dog and a cat when they moved.  I have plenty to say about that...another story for another day.  The cat, a huge, long-haired Siamese/Persian, was an outdoor cat and liked it that way.  I put out food and water on the deck for Ming (the people had at least told me his name), but wondered about his eating habits because I kept finding food bits in his water dish.  Cats are usually fastidious creatures and this guy was pretty messy.  Big as he was, it seemed to me that he was eating an inordinate amount of food.  Those mysteries were solved when I discovered we had been colonized by raccoons.  Missy has to go out by the chicken(less) pen for her water.

I see by the tracks that the goats are sharing their alfalfa with the deer.

Ah, the joys of country living.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Feeling Kneady

Ralph, not the most mentally stable cat to begin with, recently reverted to kittenhood and now obsessively "makes muffins" perched on my arm anytime I sit down, kneading, kneading with a faraway look in his eyes.  He's not done this before.  Eventually he will curl up on my lap, squeezed in to whatever space his sleeping sister, Celeste, has left him, and sometimes that's not much.  It's wintertime and I'm never without my puffy jacket, outdoors or in, so his habit isn't really a problem now.  The jacket is my armor against his working claws.  Come warm weather, we're going to have to have a talk.

I can only assume that Celeste came down the chute first, as she takes her responsibilities and rightful place as Big Sister seriously.  As such, she doesn't take much guff from Little Brother and doesn't hesitate to take him down a peg or two as she sees fit.  I recently purchased an appliance with any number of pieces (that I had to put together).  Each part came in its separate box inside the packing box, and each smaller box had holes cut to accommodate the piece.  I set the little boxes aside while trying to decipher the instructions, littering the living room with cardboard.  Celeste doesn't have much of a playful spirit, but you'd have thought I created a playground just for her.  She dashes about the room, poking a paw in here, peeking in there.  Oh joy!  For a change, it's Ralph who looks at her as if she's gone berserk.  As a consequence, my living room is a labyrinth of boxes.  If anyone ever comes in the house again, I'll have to put up a sign saying Watch Your Step.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Good Job

A good handyman is worth his weight in gold, and this Helper Dude is a treasure.  We set a date and time and he shows up on schedule.  (They don't all do that.)  I have a system for working with these guys...they come, we discuss the job(s) at hand, there is time for Q&A, and then I go in the house and leave them to it.  I might go out once in awhile to offer water or coffee, and possibly throw in a suggestion to make the task easier if it's a job I or Steve had done before.  I don't believe in micromanaging.  There have been gentlemen in the past who did sloppy work or dogged it to extend their time.  They weren't asked back, but they've been few and far between.  Let's face it, I need help here, and, boy, I'm lucky on this go-round.

Yesterday HD came, we laid out a plan, and he went to work.  He trimmed the front hedge and lilacs that had become overgrown and straggly, then went down to the road and cut back some buckbrush that was blocking my view when leaving home.  Buckbrush might be a misnomer, but it's the term the locals use for some wild tree/shrubs that spring up everywhere and quickly get out of hand.  They're a pain in the patoot.  All the cuttings were added to the remaining burn pile, which he lit and disposed of, and a burn pile must be watched.  Then he cleaned the roof gutters and blew the leavings off the deck.  All of this, which, if left to me and I could have done it in the first place, would have taken weeks, was accomplished, and done well, in four hours!  As I said, he's a treasure.

The old homestead is starting to shape up again, and it was looking pretty bad.  HD asked, "What's next?" and we went over my list for the future.  With property this size, there's always going to be something.  It's a never-ending project.

Good job, Dude!

It was a good day.

Stay safe.  Be well,

Sidetracked

Once established, a routine shall not be altered.  Sorry, that's the rule.  Interruptions throw everything out of whack.  The morning routine goes like this, in order:  so much time for the blog, so much time for FB, so much time for email, so much time for solitaire (somewhat dependent on whether I'm winning), so much time to read whatever news is on the 'home page,' and then turn off the computer and get on with the day.  Sitting with a blank screen in front of me, I was contemplating the topic of the day when the phone rang.  I wasn't the only one who woke up late yesterday.  It was my daughter, and a call from a Kid trumps any routine and always will.  We slurped our coffee at either end of the line while chatting, and before I knew it, coffee and blog time were gone.  It was on to FB, etc.

Once sidetracked, my train of thought is derailed.  Steve used to say I looked like a duck in a shooting gallery as I'd start one way, get distracted, turn to go the other way, go back to Plan A...you get the picture.  It was like that all day yesterday.  Michael provided my only reason to stay on course, bless his doggie heart.  A lot got started, not much got finished, although I highly recommend watching '84, Charing Cross Road' (1987, Anne Bancroft, Anthony Hopkins).  It's a gentle, intelligent film about friendship, and a balm for these troubled times.

I hope to get my engine on track again today.  Helper Dude is coming to knock a few more chores off the lengthy list, so there will be some structure.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Cravings

For the past few months, there is nothing I've wanted as much as orange juice.  Rarely have I come home from the store without a big jug of the stuff.  Morning, noon, and/or night, I chug down big glasses of juice.  Ahhh.  I'd have thought it was a summertime drink, but I'd have been wrong.

There's this thing about fresh vegetables...they don't stay fresh all that long.  After stocking up on an infrequent trip to the market, I almost overdose on veggies.  It's taken me three days, but the crisp Chinese vegetable stir-fry has been so satisfying.  It's also a reason I've been buying frozen dinner bowls loaded with some vegetable or another.  They're relatively inexpensive and, one can hope, healthy.

I live in one of the most peaceful places on earth, and still I crave peace...mental peace.  I cannot understand the chaos in America these days.  Government of, by, and for the people has come unhinged, and it goes on and on.

I'm going to take walks with Michael and load my lap with kitties while finishing Chinese leftovers today.  There's not much I can do about the outside world, so I'll do what I can in mine.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Slow Going

Trips to town (finally made it yesterday) always take a little longer with Michael.  It's the same wherever we go.  As soon as we get out of the truck, he does a recon of the area looking for the best piddle and, thankfully not often, a poop spot.  Being an equal-opportunity guy, he tries to spread the wealth around while I stand there trying to look like he's just sniffing bushes.

Once inside wherever and everywhere we're going, it begins...and it's always the same.  I can't tell you how many times we get stopped in Walmart..."Oh, how beautiful!," "What kind of dog is he?," etc.  There is always someone, man or woman, who has to tell me about their dog(s), past, present, and future.  In a past life, I was an in-and-out shopper.  No longer.  There's no sense fighting it, the Michael Magnet draws people of all ages, and there I am, along for the ride.  I had to cut a conversation short in the parking lot with a gentleman with a Shih Tzu who was giving me the lowdown on how and why he'd picked this particular little cutie because I was worried about getting home before dark.  I don't drive after dark anymore.  We barely made it, but we made it.

I did make one last stop to pick up some Chinese take-out.  At home, Michael shared the broccoli, the celery, the zucchini, etc. (I kept the snow peas for myself), and politely spit out the carrot.  As I was waiting for the coffee to drip this morning, I realized I have five kinds of cat treats and five kinds of dog treats (six, if you count the kind he doesn't like).  What's wrong with me?  Don't answer that.

Stay safe.  Be well.

I Tried

I conscientiously decided when I started this writing, going on twelve years now, to stick to farm life, to what I could view from my hill, as it were.  There's been enough beauty, drama, sorrow verging on tragedy, humor, good times and bad, to keep the words flowing...sometimes a trickle, sometimes a gusher, but always something.  I also decided to keep my political views to myself, not that I am a woman of no opinion, but wanted 'The View' to be as apolitical as possible.

Yesterday changed all that.  Franklin Delano Roosevelt, on December 8, 1941, spoke of it as a "day that would live in infamy."  January 6, 2021, was another day of infamy as we were again attacked, not by a foreign country, but by citizens of the United States.  I fear we are no longer a united country.  I watched in disbelief as Americans...Americans not worthy of the name...broke into the citadel of Congress, destroying and defacing as they went through the halls, sitting with their feet up on desks, hanging like grinning gargoyles on the outer walls, tearing down our revered national flag and replacing it with the name of one I find repugnant.  Those people have taken up the cause of one who thinks himself to be a demigod, but is, in fact, nothing but a demagogue.

There have always been disagreements when it has come to politics.  America became America as we know it when the time came to split with royalty in England.  It's to be expected, but it's possible to disagree without destruction.  That didn't happen yesterday.  I applaud those congressmen and women who returned to the business at hand after the rioters were removed and announced the vote of the people, that which we knew, Joe Biden and Kamala Harris will be inaugurated on January 20, 2021, as President and Vice President of what hopefully can become once again, the United States of America.

You may agree or disagree with my viewpoint.  I tried to keep it to myself, but current circumstances intervened.  I tried.

And life goes on.  Helper Dude came and spent the day tending to two big(!) burn piles in the west field.  I was so glad he was able to do that before birds used the dead branches to build and hide their spring nests.  Missy came and went several times throughout the day.  She'd rather snack than gorge.  HD was kind enough to haul a wagonload of wood to the porch and I splurged and put Stove to work.  Celeste and Ralph stretched out in front of the hearth and Michael relaxed on the couch.  The warmth might seem a small thing, but here, it's a luxury.  Frozen taquitos were as much as I could manage for a meal, not wanting to leave the TV to cook.  Life goes on.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Day Late

When one day is just like another, it's easy to lose track of what day it is.  Story of my life.  Sometimes (only sometimes) I miss having the regulation of a job.  A weekend is a real event with a job.  Lunchtime is scheduled when you're working instead of, "Gee, I think I'm hungry," be it 10 a.m. or 2 p.m.  Knowing you have to get up at a certain time dictates bedtime, instead of napping here and there whenever, waking up before the sun.

As you might guess, I have no job and I missed the fact that yesterday was Trash Day...the one day of the week when I have a real task.  I didn't get the trash down to the big road...again.  I must have remembered at some point because I remember telling Michael we'd be going for a ride later, but when you have a Teflon brain that thought just slipped away.  How am I going to keep that dog's trust if I fib to him?

If yesterday was Trash-Day Tuesday, this must be Wednesday.  Whoopie-doo.  I'm only a day late.

Stay safe.  Be well.

They Said

They said we were due for rain yesterday.  They did not say we were going to get one helluva storm, but that's what we got.   A howling wind kicked in well before dawn.  Helper Dude and I connected and agreed to postpone his work until further notice, possibly tomorrow.  With first light came the rain, lots of rain, and the wind didn't stop.  Michael and I cut our walks short throughout the day...he took care of business and we hot-footed it back to the house, dripping wet.  I kept expecting the power to cut out, but we were lucky.  Everything calmed down about sunset (I was guessing about sunset as no sun was seen all day).  I don't know what they said about today.  I'm not sure I trust what they say anyhow.

Michael has lived here about a year and a half now and I think he's decided to stay.  I was used to Bessie Anne being my constant shadow.  When he came, Michael didn't seem to care where I was unless it was time for a walk.  In addition to the more frequent kissies, he has begun following me from room to room.  I think (hope) that means he likes my company.  From such a reserved dog, I'll take what I can get.

I do not hear any wind this morning.  Maybe we'll catch a break.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Dudville

It's really hard to write about a day in which absolutely nothing of interest happened, and that was yesterday.  Chilly, yes, but not cold enough to light a fire.  Overcast all day, even the vultures abandoned their posts in the morning.  I was able to postpone the dreaded trip to town (again) with a quick run up to Gray's Corner.  That counts as a success when you're desperate for points, even though I know there will come a day of reckoning.  It was neither sunny nor warm enough to sit on the deck with Michael.  He thought about it when we headed out the door, but stamped it 'reject' when we got to the turnoff to the steps.  Smart dog.  Rummaging in the freezer, I was able to find something to heat for dinner, not being in the mood to cook.

Yup, Dudville.

I doubt Helper Dude is going to keep his appointment here today.  We're due for rain, and all his work is outdoors.  Sigh.

Stay safe.  Be well.

First Mistake

Yesterday was cold, gloomy, and damp.  Coming in from our first walk, I thought, "This is ridiculous, woman.  Light a fire!"  So I did.  I had things to do, places to go (aarrgh), but Michael had curled up in a tight ball, wrapping his tail over his nose, so I knew I needed to clean out the ashes, bring in an armload of wood, and put Stove to work.  Yeah, well.  That was the end of the day as I knew it.  As so frequently happens, when I get warm I sleep.  (Michael and I are kindred spirits.)  We would wake up when he needed to go outside, come back in and fall asleep again.  At least Michael kept our circulation going.  All that I had planned is still waiting.  I won't light a fire today until we get back from town.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Where You Find It

Two days in to 2021 and it feels like the script has been written by Aldous Huxley ('Brave New World' 1932), the New Year's Eve ball dropping into an empty Times Square, no Rose Parade (only the fourth time since 1891).  This is definitely not the time to ask, "What next?"

I'll take peace and joy where and when I can find it.  This is the time of the full Cold Moon, also known as the Long Night Moon.  The earth has turned just enough for me to see the full moon rising behind the hills and pines to the east from my living room chair, and it's framed perfectly in the picture window.  It's breathtaking.  There I sit, lap loaded with warm fur, and take in the spectacle Nature has provided.  That's joy.

Sitting quietly in the sunlight with Michael in the afternoon is peace personified.  For that period of time, there are no worries, no concerns.  In the past, friends have come up with the express purpose of sitting alone on the deck, needing and allowing that peace to fill their soul.  No one could understand better than I (and Michael).

Michael, undemonstrative dog that he is, has taken to giving me those small licks known as kissies more frequently.  Getting an Academy Award could not mean more.

Our morning walk is a litmus test for how the day is going to go for me.  There are those days when the joints creak and the back is hunched, but they're outnumbered by the "My gosh, nothing hurts today!" days.  So far, so good.  I'll take it!

Money has nothing to do with peace and joy (and that's a good thing!)  They're in the smallest things in life.  Huxleys' apocalyptic viewpoint aside, you just have to know where to look.  Make the most of your 2021, and go outside and look at the moon.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Backward And Forward

Alternate title:  War And Peace (oops, that's already been taken).

Twenty-twenty, for me, was an emotional roller-coaster of 'Don't care' and 'Care too much.'  Normal (there's that term again) life ended for me with Christmas twenty-nineteen, the last time my mainland family was all together, laughing and loving.  We didn't know what was coming.  How could we, how could anyone envision the disaster just over the horizon?  Then the news started trickling in...a case or two of some new flu bug here and there, starting abroad and then coming to America.  That's okay, we're strong, we can beat anything, always have.  Not.  Between the pandemic, the chaos in politics, and the clash of growing protests, I became obsessed with the news, watching in growing horror four and five hours a day, vacillating between tears and anger.  It seemed the world was falling apart in front of my eyes.  It wasn't healthy.

At the same time that I was emotionally distressed, I withdrew, separating myself from life here.  Yes, I had the deck replaced because I had to, but the multitudinous flower pots moved are still in stacks or in the front yard.  The house is a disaster, inside and out, because I just didn't care.  What difference would it make?  A little dust between friends is one thing, but no one has been in my house for a year and it shows.

There have been other times in my life that I've had to make a decision to either go down with the ship or make some drastic changes in my attitude...the only thing over which I have control.  A month or two ago, I started limiting my TV time in general and the news particularly.  Michael and I are spending more time outdoors.  Helper Dude is coming next week to take care of long-neglected outdoor chores, and I'm getting a grip inside.  Procrastination is one thing...not doing anything is another.  (I still don't want to go to town.)

Saying Happy New Year is one thing, doing what I can to make it one is up to me.  St. Francis's prayer is about the best I can do..."God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference."  Happy New Year, and I mean it.

Stay safe.  Be well.