Vote!

I have pretty much tried to stick to my mission statement, writing about life here at Farview Farm with not much reflection about the "real world."  My life is real enough for me.  The "real world," however, has been encroaching on my peace of mind.  The daily news is full of gestapo police tactics, righteous protests, destructive riots, the mind-boggling and constantly climbing numbers of  Covid-19 cases and deaths, children and teachers being sent into unsafe school conditions, the weary, tearful faces of first responders, doctors and nurses, the thought that Americans, Americans!, are not allowed to enter some other countries, daily reports of shootings and killings in the cities and suburbs, unemployment numbers in the millions, Congress at such odds with each other to the point of stalemate, leaving citizens to face poverty, and, let's face it, the lack of leadership at the top of some states and the nation.  I needn't go on.  You all live out there in it while I sit up here on my hill, observing and despairing.

The feeling of helplessness is nearly overwhelming.  There is one ray of hope, and that is our right and obligation to vote.  In all my eighty years, I have never failed to exercise that right in local, state, and top-level government elections.  I grew up in a politically diverse household.  My father was a dyed-in-the-wool Democrat and Mother was a staunch Republican.  The importance of the vote was a big deal, even though they would cancel each other's choice.  Hearing their arguments on both sides, I have rarely-to-never voted a straight ticket, casting my vote on the person or issue as I saw fit.  Not every election went my way, but I could live with the results because I had had the opportunity to put in my two cents.  "Ya don't vote, ya can't bitch."

That's the whole point of this piece.  Vote!  Make your voices heard.  Don't sit home and 'let the other guy' do it.  This upcoming election is too important to our American way of life and to the world.  I don't care if it's in person or by mail, vote!

I promise I will go back to hill life tomorrow, but I felt these things had to be said today.  VOTE!

Stay safe.  Be well.

The Road Less Traveled

(From "The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost.) 

Some time back, I mentioned how my family would go for Sunday drives when I was a kid, driving aimlessly around Southern California, always on the back roads to nowhere.  It was fun then and it's fun now.

One time, Steve remembered such a drive when he was a boy and he'd seen a covered bridge somewhere around Auburn and he wanted to show it to me.  We took off in the morning on a lovely day and headed up Hwy. 80 into the hills.  There was just one problem...Steve couldn't remember where the bridge was.  From Auburn, we started taking roads to the north, a lot of roads.  No bridge.  We ended up back in Auburn so many times I was on a first-name basis with the iconic statue of the goldminer in town.  It became not so much of a pleasure drive as a quest.  Asking for directions was out of the question.  He would find that bridge!  We drove all day long, even stopping for more gas.  Finally (finally!) in late afternoon, we came across a little, ramshackle covered bridge across a small creek.  It wasn't as Steve remembered it, but it was a covered bridge, and our drive for the day was done.

When we moved up here, it was a split-second decision and neither of us knew the area.  Steve continued to work in the valley and got lost coming home a number of times.  In order to familiarize ourselves, we started going for drives, taking roads like Slug Gulch, Boondock Trail, Anthill Road, Gopher Gulch, and, my favorite, Mini Bar Trail, a little road off of Bucks Bar.

Later, when my friend Doris and I were going shopping down in Cameron Park, she would often say, "I've never been on that road," and off we'd go exploring, never knowing where it would lead.  It was fun.

I'm pretty much a Point A to Point B gal these days, but I have good memories.

Blogger has changed to a "new and improved" format.  Aarrgh!  Nothing is the same or where it was, so if the blog gets screwed up sometimes, bear with me.  I'm on a road not traveled.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Quite A Day

In 1972 there was a commercial for Life cereal with the tag line "Mikey likes it!"  Michael is too dignified to ever be called Mikey, but Michael likes going to town.  Three stops are better than two, because there is a bigger, better selection of trees and bushes, and he doesn't miss a one.  He is my goodwill ambassador everywhere we go, and he stood me in good stead at the lab.  I did something I never do...I made a complaint.  I explained to the supervisor about the mess-up in tests done (or not done) and how it had caused me unnecessary trips to town, rescheduled appointments, etc., and also that my insurance company was being over-billed.  I must have presented my case well, because she reimbursed me in cash for gasoline and agreed to back off all but the one charge.  I'm sure it helped that Michael quietly gave her the stink eye the whole time.  He's a support dog in more ways than one.

As per usual, not much got done the rest of the day other than getting the trash down to the big road.

There was a call after eight o'clock, and that was unusual in itself.  My Kids know that they'd better be bleeding to call that late.  Even more strange was that I never pick up an "unknown caller" call, but I did last night.  It turned out to be from a great-nephew in Maine, of all places.  I didn't meet him until he was an adult, and he's only been here twice, but we ended up talking for four hours!  It was in two segments because he had to recharge his phone in between.  He was getting the tail end of hurricane Isaias and the power was out for a time.  He really wants to come out and meet the Kids, but that will have to wait until the virus allows a gathering, and who knows when that will be.  I'll have time to dust.

Up well past my bedtime, it was no surprise that the sun was well up when I finally woke up today.  It had been quite a day.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Everything's Rosy

Well, that might be a slight exaggeration.  Maybe not everything, but I'm sure, after two days of nothing but tomato sandwiches, that I've taken on a rosy glow.  It wasn't self-control, but the shortage of more tomatoes that held me to my usual two halves yesterday.  I kid you not, I was this close to addiction, but only with the home-grown variety.  It would never occur to me to eat a store-bought out of hand.

Is it a bird?  Is it a plane?  No, it's Superman!  All Helper Dude needs is a cape.  He fairly flew about and, using nothing but his monster weed-eater, cleared most of the star thistle off the top of the hill.  I have actual front, side, and back yards again!  I was honestly getting depressed at the seedy, unkempt look of the place.  It wasn't that I didn't care that it looked so rundown, it was because I couldn't use the mower.  There was no chance of sparks with HD's magic machine.  Boys and their toys is no joke.  HD was still smiling when he quit, saying that using the new equipment actually made the job fun.  To each his own.

Michael and I have to go to town today and I'm not happy.  For the regular reasons, sure, but I have to have more blood drawn.  I went last month, telling the tech to be sure to draw enough for the two doctors who had sent in orders.  It wasn't her fault, but I found out that the lab had not done all the tests, without one of which the doctor would not see me, and required a second trip.  Then I discovered that out of three tests requested, only two were performed, and those, as I said, done separately.  At my last appointment, the doctor said the third test had not been performed, either!  Aarrgh.  Oh well, at least the truck has A/C.

I hope everyone got a glimpse of the full, golden moon rising last night.  It was spectacular.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Out Of Control

Helper Dude had brought me some of his mother's home-grown tomatoes.  The red and yellow cherry tomatoes were gone immediately, sweet as candy.  I mulled over what to do with the full-size types.  Sandwiches are a rarity in this house as I just don't eat a lot of bread, and when I do make a sandwich, I only make a half at a time, and only one of those a day.  I just happened to have bought a loaf of 12-grain bread last week, tempted by deli turkey and an avocado.  The fixings were enough for the better part of the week.  A BLT (bacon, lettuce and tomato) sounded good, except that I didn't have either the B or the L.  Hmmm. I had the T and I had George's beautiful fresh basil, a great combination.  I made a half-sandwich, slathered with butter and mayo, and sat down to eat.  Ohmigosh, dripping juice and oozing mayonnaise, I was in heaven.  Surely another half wouldn't hurt.  I mean, people eat a whole sandwich at one sitting all the time, right?  The temptation was so great that I succumbed.  That's when I lost all self-control and actually made a third half, telling myself that those tomatoes and basil shouldn't go to waste.  I waddled around for the rest of the day, and sure didn't need dinner last night.

On our morning walk, I "heard" that my neighbor had a new donkey, such funny-sounding animals, and later learned that she now has two!  She has no self-control, either.

Stay safe.  Be well.

New Tricks

It might not be possible to teach an old dog a new trick, but sometimes an old dog can teach a young one.  One of the chores I had planned for Helper Dude 2 (I'm assigning him the full Helper Dude title now) was breaking down and tying up literally years' worth of cardboard boxes that had accumulated on the deck by the kitchen door.  They were an eyesore and a fire danger.  No excuses, it just happened over time, and it was a daunting task for me.  I do pretty well if I keep up with a chore, but if it gets ahead of me, it keeps going south until it hits rock bottom, and that's where I was with the boxes.  Some people save rubber bands or bits of string.  I am incapable of throwing away baling twine; it comes in so handy for so many things.  I'd brought a bunch up from the barn.  "Okay, how do you want to do this?"  "Well, I usually laid out two pieces of twine, laid as many flattened boxes on as I could lift, and tied them up."  "Okay," and he tried.  "Um, could I show you an easier way?"  I don't like to tell a working man how to do his job, but it would have taken forever his way.  I have tried for years to learn how to make a "trucker's knot" without success, but have made a reasonable facsimile, and showed HD how to do it.  "Wow, that works!" and the old dog smiled.

HD had allotted so much time for my place and said, "Okay, what's next?"  He had just bought a new behemoth of a weed-eater and I think he wanted to show it off.  "Well, you could cut down a swath in the west field where Michael does his business."  I have been feeling so bad for poor Michael when he's had to lift his leg or squat in the midst of star thistle, exposing his tender private parts to a bed of thorns.  Ouch!  That done, HD moved on to other areas.  He explained that he puts in earbuds, gets in the rhythm, and just zones out when he's weed-eating.  I wasn't going to be the one to stop him.  He insisted he's coming back tomorrow to cut down this, that, and the other area.  This place has been looking so bad, but the weather has been against my using the mower.  New dog might have learned a new trick yesterday, but he would brook no argument on this score.

It was a very productive day.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Child Proof

I truly do appreciate all the advances made to make containers of all kinds childproof.  Take your eyes off a kid and they'll get into something they shouldn't.  My problem now is that as I've gotten older I have the hand strength of a toddler.  This was brought home to me yesterday when I tried to open a can of tuna, a can with one of those convenient pull tabs.  Uh huh.  I got the tab lifted and the seal broken, and then the fun began.  I couldn't peel the lid back and off.  The lid was recessed just enough that a can opener was not effective.  With a quarter-inch of tuna showing, I was envisioning having to eat the fish with tweezers.  Where there's a will, spurred by hunger, there's a way.  Armed with pliers and a screwdriver, the deed was accomplished.  When I wasn't cussing, I was laughing.

Potato chip bags take the strength of Hercules or a pair of scissors, and the same goes for cereal.  The lid on the mouthwash bottle must be squeezed and turned at the same time.  Tear strips are great, if you can get them to tear.  Trying to break the vacuum seal on a fresh can of coffee this morning was not my idea of how to start the day.  Easy open, my Aunt Fanny!

Ah well, the kiddies are safe.

George dropped off a bag of fresh-picked, fragrant basil.  I haven't decided whether to make pesto or pizza.  (Neither will be sealed.)

One of the helper-dudes is coming by this afternoon to do some odd jobs.  I'll look around and see what needs opening while he's here.

Stay safe.  Be well.