It Is Complicated

While cleaning out my closet after the painting fiasco I came across my soapbox.  It was a little dusty, so I cleaned it off and now that it looks so shiny and sharp I must stand on it for a bit.  Go get something hearty to drink as I would like you to be polite and listen through to the end... I am waiting... Go on, I won't fall off this thing.  I do have a lot to say.  (If you do not live in the U.S. you can go finish your laundry now and come back another day.)

Liberals are happy that we have a president who is cool and intellectual and who will not start a war if he can negotiate or spy his way out of a situation.  Conservatives want a president who has their back 24/7 and is not afraid to say so.  They like the fact that Rick Perry carries a loaded gun when he jogs.  You can never be too ready to kill something.  It would be so easy if we could always tell the good guys from the bad guys and if all we needed was a Sheriff.

The problem is that this is not the issue that will get us out of our mess today.  There is not a president that we would elect from either party or even an independent who would not go to war and protect us if necessary.  The defense department is ready to defend us at any cost and reminds the leader of the free world of that everyday.  Of course, I believe that starting some of these wars at any cost could lead to the destruction of the planet since a lot of hot heads are waiting for an excuse to defend their country against the "Imperialist America" and they now have the means to do so.  War is never a solution only a regret.  It is complicated.

But what about our internal enemies?  The real battle is that between the haves and have nots.  And I wish it was just the simple picture that the 1% versus the 99% argument seems to try to make.  It is not.  Jobs cannot grow without substantial compromise to the environment,  to workers health, and to reduction in regulations.  There are just as many CEO's (percentage wise) who care not one bit about their workers safety, job security and health, and who cheat each day as there are workers who put out the minimum at work, game the system, steal from the job and scream discrimination when they are fired. There are those in the 99% who will only take the job they were educated for and there are those who are so lazy they live off their relatives and what welfare they get ( I am related to someone who does this.)  Mitt Romney, whom Newt Gingrich  Perry called a "vulture capitalist," was doing the job he was paid for and doing it very well and it appears legally.  He worked for the stock-holders and he made them money.  It was not his job to create jobs.  It was his job to reduce costs, labor being a big one.  And we could argue all night about how patriotic it is to game the system and keep your money off-shore to avoid paying your full taxes.  But he played by the capitalist rules.  It is complicated.

All the rest of us who are in the majority in both classes have to decide if we will trade a little more polluted air and water for warmer or cooler homes, cheaper food, cheaper clothing and products and the ability to keep one more job in the families of the 99%.  This decision is very hard, because those of us who make it will probably not see or be affected by the increased pollution.  It will most directly impact those we do not know, and our unborn. 

We have to decide if we will pay more (in taxes or direct costs...it makes no difference) so that everyone can get health care in the wealthiest country in the world.  Or we could lobby our Congressperson to pass a law that says hospitals do not have to take in accident victims or dying people if they have no health insurance.  I wonder if those who took the Hippocratic oath would turn the dying away if it wasn't against the law?  I wonder if we could sleep at night with people lying hopelessly at the doorsteps of hospitals as happens in many third world countries currently?  Or we could compromise our freedoms and require everyone who can afford it, to buy health insurance, so at least we do not have to pay for them!  It is complicated.

I believe that anyone who is financially secure should not take social security, but I am only financially secure as long as Wall Street does not allow their greed to bring the stock market to it knees once again.  This can only happen with strict regulation of financial markets by government bureaucrats.   I will be dependent on Social Security if these regulations are not held, but I am among the 99% when it comes to having a voice in lobbying Congress about the banking and investment industry.  My voice is tiny until we have financial election reform and EVERYONE gets an equal voice.  If you think anyone, including the Koch Brothers or Greenpeace, lobbies just for your interests, boy are you so very wrong.  I also believe that the age should be raised on Social Security to keep it solvent as our life length has changed since it was created, but I did not perform heavy lifting, work at furnaces, or perform other hard physical labor into my late 60's and I have no injuries from that.  So this also is complicated.  I do not think Social Security should be abolished.  It works.  It has kept society secure.

With a nod to that crazy old anti-Semitic running for office, I believe that foreign aide should be reviewed, but as public television reported recently, 94% of money put out by USAID comes directly back to American companies and contractors. Thus, it seems we also game this system, and reducing foreign aide could reduce jobs in this country.  Much of our foreign aide is hidden through Defense spending and dare we review that?  There is a reason that the Washington, DC area and surrounding suburbs are more recession proof and it is not because they house government workers.  They house lobbyists and those contractors they work for who get paid in Federal dollars. 

And, of course, we cannot forget the call for smaller government.  County? State? Federal?  I was a bureaucrat for many years and through much more than a decade we created smaller government by attrition.  It is not the best way to reduce labor, but as people left or retired no one took their place, and if the job was important, it just went on the back of someone else who did it half as well, overburdened as they were by the prior year's attrition.  This is why no one answers your phone call, or if they do, they seem inattentive.  When we finally got down to a skeleton crew and it began to impact service we were allowed to hire contractors.  Mine was not the rich Defense Department, and therefore, our contractors were somewhat like slaves.  The money went to the lowest bidder which meant the contractors made less money, got far fewer benefits, were laid off at will and we slowly developed a culture of them and us.  Not the best atmosphere for service to the taxpayer.  There is a better way to reduce government.  The Department of Commerce, the one of the three(?) that Perry wants to abolish, claims that its job is to improve the economy and help create jobs.  Ironic that we would cut that department, is it not?  Actually, this is one of the few areas that I agreed with Perry.  Commerce has grown into a mess and could certainly be reviewed and re-organized under other departments, although I am betting that Perry and I would probably disagree substantially on the details.  And Perry is not really a detail man anyway!

I believe that the majority of us, rich and poor and in the shrinking middle, do want pretty much the same thing and we care about our brothers and sisters when we see them as the human beings they are; so we better tread very carefully in this finger pointing and name calling.   Neither skin color, religious affiliation, nor the size of the house you live in tells us about your honesty, willingness to work hard, or moral character.  Only how you have lived your life and how you now live it everyday tells us that.  (And if you claim that your God thinks you are special and tells you things clearly and directly, like who or if you should run for office, you are a very scary person to me.)

(P.S.  Yes, I know that Perry is no longer running for office.  But with all the 'colorful' GOP candidates this year, I could not exclude him from this one post.)

Watching Paint Dry

My recent weekend consisted of bringing home paint chips from the hardware store, putting them against the wall of my master bedroom and agaisnt the oriental rug on the floor, deciding on a hue, purchasing a gallon of the best quality paint they had and painting the bedroom.  (Cannot get in to see the ankle Doc for another week...so ankle be damned...and it was.)

My house is five years old.  It has settled somewhat on the bedroom side.  There is a slight chance it would settle further down into the ravine...but I am optimistic that won't happen while I live here.  But settling does create hair-line cracks around window frames and doors, and last year, my husband, who became frustrated with my putting off the painting project, proceeded to patch the cracks with Spackle.  Then he went to the basement to get the then 4-year-old paint that we had used when the bedroom was initially painted and covered all those nice white patches he had created.  The paint had changed, of course.  It looked like he had painted over with a color that resembled old poo instead of soft mushroom.   We lived with that ugliness for a year and finally this past week went through the process I described above.

We guessed that painting the bedroom would take about 4 hours.  Ha!  The bedroom has 6 windows, three doors, AND most significantly a tray ceiling.  The painting took almost seven hours and I am not counting the day before when we moved furniture, covered what we could not move, rallied the various painting tools that we had left from our prior life of painting various rooms in homes, removed electrical and phone plates, and taped every single piece of wood framing with that blue stuff.  That prep wore us out and we retreated to the living room for dinner and movie.

The next morning fresh and energetic we began what is referred to in painting circles as 'cutting in.'  It was a cloudy day making it very hard to tell what we painted and what we didn't since the old hue and the new hue were pretty close in color.  I am also old, and do not see as well as I used to.  But the most significant issue with this project is that this new paint would dry to touch within a minute making it so much harder so see where I painted and where I had left off in the gray shadows from the window.  The only clue was that I had purchased a slightly shinier finish of paint this time and if one stood at an angle to the wall, one could see the difference.  Thus we painted, and then re-painted, and ate dinner and then went back in and touched up a few more places as the lamp light revealed a few more areas of incomplete coverage.

Finally we felt we had finished, cleared the room, washed the brushes, put everything away and fell exhausted and with stiff joints into bed.  The next morning as I sat in bed greeting the new day (you KNOW what I am going to write here) I saw two more small areas at the base of the side wall that needed touch up!  Fast drying paint is not all it is cracked up to be.

So WHAT Is It, Really?

A photo of a nearby shoreline tweaked with filters and tone and lighting manipulation.

Yes, in answer to some questions, the photo in the prior post was my lovely granddaughter.  I captured her in the middle of a hide and seek game where she was hiding under a ladder in a playground and her innocent childhood personality was revealed like shining silver in such a photo.  I tweaked it somewhat...making it more of a "work of art" than a snapshot and putting more light on her face.

Friko, one of my favorite bloggers and a real artist in her own right with her writing, commented on Downton Abbey, which both she and I like to watch.  She felt it was not really art because it did not make you think.  I am so glad she stimulated some discussion with this comment because her comment "made me think!"  She felt that the TV series lulled the viewer into a false sense of security.  I disagree because the change that war brings and the events that happen in this next season take away the security of constancy for all of the characters.  I also think that writing about this time in England with rose colored glasses instead of raw reality glasses is more enjoyable for viewers and those poor souls who think this is an accurate representation of the time may also think Picasso's horses reflect a reality.

I then went on a hunt to find definitions for art, because there are almost as many definitions and quotes as there are works of art and this will fill up the rest of this post nicely!  And if you are good and read to the end...that is where I put the funny one.

Without art, the crudeness of reality would make the world unbearable.  ~George Bernard Shaw

Art is not, as the metaphysicians say, the manifestation of some mysterious idea of beauty or God; it is not, as the aesthetical physiologists say, a game in which man lets off his excess of stored-up energy; it is not the expression of man's emotions by external signs; it is not the production of pleasing objects; and, above all, it is not pleasure; but it is a means of union among men, joining them together in the same feelings, and indispensable for the life and progress toward well-being of individuals and of humanity.  Leo Tolstoy.

 Art is the product or process of deliberately arranging items (often with symbolic significance) in a way that influences and affects one or more of the senses, emotions, and intellect. It encompasses a diverse range of human activities, creations, and modes of expression, including music, literature, film, photography, sculpture, and paintings. The meaning of art is explored in a branch of philosophy known as aesthetics, whereas disciplines such as anthropology, sociology and psychology analyze its relationship with humans and generations.  Wikipedia

Painting is just another way of keeping a diary.  ~Pablo Picasso 

Science is out of the reach of morals, for her eyes are fixed upon eternal truths.  Art is out of the reach of morals, for her eyes are fixed upon things beautiful and immortal and ever-changing.  To morals belong the lower and less intellectual spheres.  ~Oscar Wilde, The Critic as Artist, 1891

The aim of every artist is to arrest motion, which is life, by artificial means and hold it fixed so that a hundred years later, when a stranger looks at it, it moves again since it is life.  ~William Faulkner  (I particularly like this definition.)

We all know that Art is not truth.  Art is a lie that makes us realize truth, at least the truth that is given us to understand.  The artist must know the manner whereby to convince others of the truthfulness of his lies.  ~Pablo Picasso

And, of course, from my favorite cynic...I so glad she does not live next door as I would almost immediately quit blogging and taking photos:   

Very few people possess true artistic ability.  It is therefore both unseemly and unproductive to irritate the situation by making an effort.  If you have a burning, restless urge to write or paint, simply eat something sweet and the feeling will pass.  ~Fran Lebowitz

Art Is a Three Letter Word

Photography, painting, music, and writing all fall under the domain of creative art, and therefore, are covered by the term "artistic license."  According to Wikipedia (not exactly recognized as the final or most accurate word on such discussions) artistic license is:

• Entirely at the artist's discretion
• Intended to be tolerated by the viewer (cf. "willing suspension of disbelief)
• Useful for filling in gaps, whether they be factual, compositional, historical or other gaps
• Used consciously or unconsciously, intentionally or unintentionally or in tandem

I have been thinking of this as I take more photographs and tweak them away from accuracy in what I actually saw and as I continue to struggle at writing my tome about an archeologist in Australia.  (I have made it to Chapter 4, but since I am just now writing a chapter outline...who know what number this chapter is?)

This question also came to my mind when I read a scathing review in one of the national news sources about how pathetic the currently popular British television series Downton Abbey was as a fictional series.  The reviewer felt it was not historically accurate enough to portray the time period and the dangers of such a class system.  I view it as a wonderful soap opera and do not need all the realism of that time to enjoy the series.  Yes, there was more disease, dying, poverty and cruelty during that era,  but I just want a good story with interesting and stable characters.  Let the writers take their artistic license.

After all, art is in the eyes and ears of the beholder.  The result being that I am amazed at what passes for art these days and how people compete to spend money on it.  But as was discussed in a New York Times article, the satisfaction of being the highest bidder gives more credence to the artwork than the actual enjoyment of the artwork.

Is Damien Hurst really an artist?
Or is this collaborative project actually a form of art at this museum ?
What about Isaac Layman and his photography?
Or  this, the worlds most expensive photograph?

All of the above brings me to the big sigh about those artists who were never recognized by any marketing machine and are lost in time.  Street artists whose art appears and disappears daily, women artists who worked as nannies and died in poverty with their photographic art destroyed, soldiers whose writing was lost in the dust of battle.  Does it have to have an appreciative eye or ear to be art?  I do not believe that it does.  It just has to have the passion and soul of the artist.

Good News but Mostly Bad

Well, I have gotten the results of my X-ray and MRI.  My ankle was healing as I was taking long walks, but there were days when it felt stiff or a sudden movement would create deep pain.  I wanted to have the option to get back into yoga, aerobics and other exercise.  I am not a lean mean exercise machine, but I go through phases of loving or needing it before I become a slug at intervals.  This interval has been WAY to long.

The results are that there is a small piece of bone that has broken from some part of my ankle, one of my ligaments is torn and I have some bone edema (swelling...maybe due to another tiny microscopic fracture.)  After hearing the report (via the phone and read in total technical terms by my idiot doctor with little sympathy in his voice).  He seemed relieved to have to make a referral.  I have been referred to a podiatrist who will look at the X-ray and MRI results and tell me what has to be done.  I currently have no idea what he will say and I am sure that it will take more than a week to get an answer.

I do know that my GP said to hold off on any exercise until I talk to the podiatrist.  Egaw!

It amazes me how in this time of my life I am thinking impatiently of all the time I will lose if they have to operate or do something invasive.  I do not fear the pain, but I hate the thought of mobility loss during what time I have in this life.  I hate thinking of having to wait for a healing process as I sit in a chair or on a bed.  Clearly I have no patience for this and that is why I tried to avoid the situation in the beginning by avoiding the doctor.  Please don't lecture me.  I know that I am stupid and stubborn, but for many people (like some of our GOP candidates) these are good traits.

Well, got that off my chest.  I feel guilty in saying this to anyone close to me, and my blog readers are a great sump for stuff like this. 

Please note that I get around very easily and can do most things I have done in the past before the injury.  This could be much worse, and I am fully aware that I have so much to be thankful for.

Taking the Plunge

As some of you geek types may know I have been having some difficulty with the dwindling storage space in my free account on Pica$a (adding characters rather than real letters to the words in this post following another bloggers wisdom to avoid search engines) that G00gle has allowed for my blog.  I blog anonymously and therefore do not really care if these blog photos are preserved in large format or various formats or able to be batch downloaded later.  That type of storage requires more research.  I do currently back up photos on a separate hard drive and on DVDs before deleting them from my current PC.  But maybe I should think about storing them somewhere on the "cloud" as the third location.  I just want to keep on blogging and sharing for now.  Therefore I am paying Pica$a $5 annually for up to 20 GB storage.  This should hold me for quite a while and continue my ability to link to photos without having to start some new process that my aging brain will find difficult to grasp.  (I many times feel like Tom Cruise clinging to the front of a rapidly speeding freight train in that movie of his with the technology changes that happen even as I post!)

I have to consider, as Butler and Bagman did, whether printing out various posts on good old archiving paper is worth it.  That is a lot of ink and paper and a lot more money than $5.  But there are also posts that perhaps should make it into a paper archive journal in the event that those who follow in my blood line wonder how and why they got so strange!  Also, my grandchildren may be amused by events that we shared that they had long forgotten.

At any rate, $5 annually seems a small price to pay to continue to share my "marvelous photography."

Heading out for my ankle MRI late this afternoon.  Please wish that they find very little scar tissue or current tears in my ligaments so that I have no more excuse to just sit and not exercise.  I need very little reason to keep my on my bum these days, and we gave ourselves an X-box for Christmas to be a better motivator to go downstairs to the basement.

By the way, my new passion is the British TV series Downton Abbey.  Just re-watched the entire first season and going to watch the new episode this evening if I get back early enough.  It is a bodice ripper for the thinking generation and actually has a cast with some older than 35.

My List

I am one of those obnoxious people that makes one or two major New Year's resolutions and usually keeps them...at least for the year.  Thus I will list some big and small plans I have finally gotten around to formalizing this year.

1. Get a pass on my ankle so that I can start exercising again.  (Already started this with an x-ray this past week and and getting MRI next.  My ankle really is mostly healed, but I still get stiffness and pain so want an okay to push it.)
2. Continue to work on my Australia writing project...even when I think it is going nowhere.  Just look at it as an exercise for something better in the future!
3. Learn how to process RAW files and use them!
4. Re-learn all the features of my camera.
5. Increase my efforts at volunteer work on a more regular basis instead of just when I want.
6. Clean out at least one set of shelves in the basement while hubby is on a trip in February.
7. Make those d*** drapes for the kitchen window before the fabric rots!
8. Get everybody's birthdays written down in my calendar...I havestarted on this...I have a big family.
9. Find money to finish the decorating in the master bedroom.
10. PAINT the master bedroom.

OK.  Ten challenges are enough.  They are probably subconsciously in the order in which I will probably succeed or fail.  They are all fairly practical.  Nothing here on trying to be more patient, a better person, doing something nice anonymously for someone each day.  That sort of goes without saying...doesn't it?  As for losing weight, my goal is just to get more exercise and feel more energetic.  If the pounds decide to leave, that is OK, but I am not counting on it and it won't stop me from beginning an exercise routine if my ankle allows.

Finally, I want to thank each and every one of you who commented on my blog this past year.  If you are a lurker, please add your two cents, I will not bite.  All the rest of you have become special friends, and are closer to my heart than many people I actually know.  You are funnier, wiser and more honest and I will continue to read your posts.  I know this might say more about me and my ability to relate to real people than you...but!  (Special kudos to Hilary who is the blog hostess with the mostess as she sends readers here, there, and everywhere and added some readers to my blog this year.)  

Cannot Keep Up

This is crazy.  No wonder everyone is sick, at least almost everyone I know including my doctor.  I have had a nice fire going most evenings and afternoons as temperatures outside hovered just over 30F.  The birds are loving the heated water and eating all the fattest seeds first.  I have gone through a pound of peanuts, not for me for them!  I also put on my nice warm fleece tops as I bring wood inside from the porch.

I only ventured out once for a Doctor's appointment and hurried inside office and home with the speed of a much younger woman. 

Then suddenly this afternoon the weather turns again breaking 45C F!  I am roasting in my fleece and the birds are singing as if spring were just around the corner.  Clouds are warm and golden in the late afternoon.  I can't keep up!

( And to make the month weirder my daughter has already emailed me with the tentative summer schedule for her children wondering if we can work in some childsitting time.)

A Post Script

I blogged rather disparately about my birthday a few days ago which did eventually go off without a hitch.  As proof, below are a series of photos on the cake making and eating.  The mix and candles had been found and the little girl learned to bake a cake.

She had to taste the batter (health officials please look the other way) and give it her blessing before it went into the oven.

And dressed for the party she gets to taste the fruits of her labors after frosting and writing have been added.  Yummm!

And since you are all so terribly curious and I just love the shocked look on your face when you see THIS photo of me in my birthday gift.  Yes, it was a request!  How in the heck can you get close to wildlife to photograph when you are in a white bathrobe or red winter jacket?  Now at last I am one with mother nature.  Needless to add, granddaughter and I are on very different wave lengths at this time in our lives.

The Next Journey

We are on our way to a new year.  A year that we fill with hopes, dreams, passions and successful ideas.  We tuck it tightly under our arm and head out, chin high, eyes clear, looking only forward with no backward regrets or reviews of past failures.  It is a clean slate we have before us with no marks or smears or scratches, yet.  We only see the clear blue of potential and the electricity of energy to meet that potential.  We get another chance.  We forget those embarrassments of ourselves and of others.  We will ignore the obstructions that were placed in our path by others and find a new way around them.  Our shoulders are square and our focus is determined.  This year WILL be better than last year.

The Rains

What a bitter afternoon this has been.  After a fall of calm and moderate weather the winds have decided to howl and throw biting rain at my windows.  The young oak trees that have held on to the copper leaves now flutter them like mad brown butterflies revving jet engines before taking flight.  If I must be sick, there is nothing more comforting than lying in a cozy bed and watching the cold gray battle from inside.  The wind roars now and again with angry energy to remind me of its power.  The river and sky are both the same angry gray color.

The whole day has been dark gray with copper browns of attached and fallen leaves, and now it is blanketed in wetness adding charcoal shadows.  I think about those who had to go to work, as I once did.  Having to hurry down sidewalks and clutch at coats and scarves as if in some Sherlockian story hoping to make it safely home by the fire by days end.

I almost feel good enough to start a fire in the fireplace this evening.  I want to bide more idle time as I heal.  At least when one is retired, one does not worry about all that is left undone at the office.  I get to worry about several piles of laundry...big deal!

I will have to plan meals tomorrow.  I have had no appetite to speak of for days, just soup and cereal were all that I made, but the bear I am married to is getting better and seems to want real food.  He was going to venture out to shop, but I am sure when he wakes from his nap, the weather will put a figurative and literal damper on that plan.

In actuality the weather is somewhat exciting and I feel no guilt in staying prone to mark its course.

Can You Hear Me Now?

I drove back from daughter's house with a sick husband who toughed it out because he did not want to miss their Christmas.  All three grandchildren were sick with coughs and runny noses, but that did not stop them from enjoying a present-filled Christmas  My granddaughter opened the large box she had seen at my house when she was staying with me last week thinking it was a large fan.  It was fun to see her face when she recognized that it was the Barbie Dream Townhouse.  This thing is perfect example of materialism with food, a light when you open the refrigerator, a noisy shower, and a laptop among 50 other things.   Barbie does live the good life!

When I got back home late on Christmas day, the cold grabbed me by the throat and chest, shook me hard and threw me on to my bed.  I can't even remember if Hubby and I ate anything for dinner!

Last night was a disaster of coughing and this morning I have lost my voice completely.  Oddly enough it bothers Hubby that I can't talk to him and respond to his comments.   I always thought he felt I talked too much.  He tries to cheer me up by spotting a waxwing and a piliated woodpecker in the back yard. When I do not make an attempt to leave my bed he realizes I am really sick.  He is getting better, so now he can wait on me this day.

My chest congestion sometimes sounds like a cat purring and at other times a wheezy bellow.  I hate, hate being sick and am drinking lots and lots of tea, chicken soup, and coffee.  So much for starting on the New Year's list.

Greetings to You and Your Kin

May you have the gladness of Christmas which is hope;
The spirit of Christmas which is peace;
The heart of Christmas which is love.
~Ada V. Hendricks

The Fly--not at all in a Holiday Mode

Just like that aberration in the same-named movie, the fly started annoying with a soft buzz on her right side.  She had just settled down to read before bed.  Cushions had been propped carefully, the comforter tucked across her legs and lap and the book in the perfect halo of the lamp.  The room was cozy and quiet...except for that damned fly.  He was closer now.  She heard the buzz just behind and above her head.  How on earth could one have a fly in the bedroom in the middle of December?  Was this some Superfly that had hung out in the garage in semi-dormant sleep these past weeks just waiting for the door to be held open for the perfect moment so that he could enter this castle of warmth?  This was more than annoying and oddly a little scary.  She felt somewhat powerless.

She turned her head and saw it was a small common house fly as it darted beneath the brass lamp cover and sat so close to the bulb he would certainly fry.  She batted lightly at the lamp with her book and he flew out and away to another part of the room.  She could still hear the annoying buzz and soon it got closer once again, ever annoying and even more scary this time.  Was it going to fly in her hair, her ear, down her pajama top and buzz her to death?

She swung crazily behind her head with the open book and she could hear it once again dancing above her head toward the ceiling.  Maybe it was a little angrier,or was that just her imagination?

Sighing in frustration she knew that turning off her light and turning on the hall light and sitting in the dark would cause him to leave the room in pursuit of a new artificial sun and she could close the door behind him after turning off the hall light.  But her husband would be coming to bed shortly and opening the door and starting this whole war all over again.  She threw off the covers and headed for the laundry room to retrieve that high technology tool, a fly swatter.

When she returned there he sat on the wall as if it was summer sunbathing, just above the glow of the lamp.  She gave him her best shot, which was not good enough, since he darted once again under the brass cover of the lamp.  She prodded somewhat carelessly with the edge of the swatter beside the bulb and then was rewarded with a thwup as something small hit either the back of the mattress, or the pillow, or the floor.  She looked everywhere carefully.  She listened for many minutes for the awakening buzz.  Nothing revealed a fly.  Finally in resignation she carefully crawled back into her bed and renewed her nighttime rituals.  The evening passed without further incident.

In the morning she had forgotten the intruder as she headed to the kitchen for her wake-up coffee.
When she crossed the kitchen floor she noticed a small dot on the warm wood which upon closer inspection was the fly bathing in the light of the kitchen on his back feet up in the air with no modesty at all.  She didn't know whether to be relieved that he met his death or mystified at how and why he died here.

Happy Birthday to Me

Thus far today my birthday has proceeded according to a typical plan.

1. Last night my granddaughter, who is staying at my house this week, had a horrendous nightmare and then proceeded to come down with a nasty cough the rest of the night...no sleep for me.
2. This is birthday breakfast at my house in the photo above.  E-Z prep.
3. Last night hubby asked if by any chance I had purchased the cake candles when I went grocery shopping!
4. This morning, on my birthday, hubby asked if I had come across the cake mix and candles that he hid!  He can't find  the bag anywhere!  (Don't ask, because I cannot answer your many questions on this.)  I have spent 15 minutes helping him look without luck.
5. He finally found the bag under his jeans on his bedroom chair.
6. The first, and thus far only, birthday call I have received by 10:00 A.M. was on my cell and it was from my stockbroker!  
7. We are eating dinner out (the 3 of us) and I am hoping that the restaurant doesn't burn down today.
8. My last gift today will probably be a cold from that precious little girl in the photo.

J'accuse the Jacuzzi

It is like my private pool,

All white and big enough

for two to meet.

It lies alone most days

Waiting for my attention.

I fill it with water that is hotter

than a Japanese geothermal spa.

I enter naked and carefully

To sit not on river rocks

but a textured plastic bed.

The ointments dance with

the watered bubbles of air and

soon I am sitting in

a field of rain-bowed orbs

with burbled sounds

drowning my thoughts.

I am up to my ears in

pinks, yellows, greens and blues.

It is a glittering luxury.

Enough water to quench

the thirst of an Egyptian family

for months.

Enough perfumed balms

to satisfy any Cleopatra.

But I am no beauty.

I study my shell and

find I no longer recognize it.

It is covered in smudges

brown, pink, red and black.

Some smooth and some

like rough sand.

When did I lose my skin?

Did I shed it like some snake

and then step aside or 

did it flake away slowly

like cream-colored wallpaper

disappearing in the air

as I walked?

These days I must contort

like some gymnast

to enter and exit.

Some day I will not

be able to enter my private bath.

My limbs will petrify

ever so slightly but harshly.

I slip beneath the

white foam

and ask for forgiveness

and another day.

(Some may find it interesting that the photo above was originally a lovely sundog I had captured one fall afternoon.)

Angry Birds

Fix your face she said.

He wiped the smile away.
She sat on the couch and focused her attention on the re-run.

It was just a squirrel
to run around and around
in her easily distracted mind - he understood.

He sat in the faded chair
by the window and picked
with one arthritic hand at the broken seam in his pants.

Fix your mind he thought.
Her eyes got that far away look.
Today was just like that long ago yesterday.

And it now appears
It will be a repeat of tomorrow.

(Something that came to my mind as I watched an elderly couple in the restaurant.  This is the life we all may dread, but some of us cannot avoid it.)

A Few Last Words

This will be the last post on my project for a while.   I will try to provide more interesting fodder for my readers on other subjects in future posts.   But I have continued to write on this story...there seems to be endless research that interrupts my every sentence.  Thus far I have researched flora in Australia, bakery goods in Australia, aboriginal names, and more on geology, mining, and mineral values than I will ever put into any book.  But it seems one must be able to swim in the deep waters before heading out to the cleaner parts of the pool.  (Geesh...what a weird analogy.)  Granny was correct in commenting that many have files of well-intentioned stories that seem to be still born.  But I am enjoying this project thus far and setting aside some time each morning to work on it.  It even is competing with my morning light photography of birds!  By the way, I actually sold a photo as a greeting card this week.  It is not about the money CLEARLY...just such a reward that someone wanted to buy a work that I created!  Well, I have to head out as hubby is banging dishes about in the kitchen and the day is well underway.

The Project

Is it a good (?) thing that this motivation has continue to stay with me over the days? (If you are in a fog...see two prior posts.)  I am already thinking of how I could keep this story moving forward and more self-motivating...making it into short chapter stories before I weave it into the big picture.  Do I dare make it a New Year's Resolution?  I actually keep most of my resolutions so I do not make them lightly.  Well, time well tell as I usually have a lot of that after the holidays.  Thanks for the motivational comments, and those who did not comment I am taking as a polite but important pass which I must consider.  Enjoy you all.

The Beginning

Writing the beginning story post below is like casting a net.  It keeps getting caught on so many rocks and shells and such. I have to research a zillion questions for these two people.  I have to research archaeology, opal mining, visas, Australia, and who knows what else!  So much for following the rule that you should write what you know.  I have the vague outline of a story that came in my sleep, and so, I had to capture it with this start.  The writing is OK, but not as image filled as I would like.  But, you either start writing while the idea is fresh or your wordsmith it into constipation while in gestation. I will work on this and see if it goes anywhere and be sure to let you know...if you want.

A Self-imposed Exercise

Amelia had finally made the break.  She was at long last able to set her course for freedom and independence, far from the confines of her parochial small town at the foothills of the Colorado Rocky Mountains.  This new job was in a remote corner of Australia.  She had scored a job with a mining company whose retrieval of opals had brought it too close to a possible human migration site.  She was going to be one of their required archeologists.  It paid very well, but her real pull was that it was far away from her family in Denver and the work she had been doing there.  It was far away from anything and anyone familiar.  It was a fresh start.  She would be on her own at last.  She needed the independence and the freedom like she needed fresh air and water to keep her spirit from dying of suffocation.


At least, that is what she thought.  As is so often true when we are young, what we want is what we want only until we get it day after day.  The dusty little wooden house that she rented near the town was barren and empty of personality.  She was far from any neighbor, and her late afternoons were filled with too much quiet.  She would take long walks with the strange mangy dog, who somehow captured the name "Mangy", and who had adopted her.  They would wander around the dry fields and down the dusty roads after an early dinner.  And as the days and weeks became months of this pattern, she began to second guess her decision to erase her former life.  For the first time in her life she began to feel a need for company.


She had recently noticed that the seasons were changing and the dry weather was moving on.  The rare passing truck did not stir up its usual tornado of dust as it roared by.  The air on that particular afternoon seemed cleaner due to last night's rain and many of the blossoms of the bumble tree on the hill she was passing had opened spilling their perfume down the field to caress her face.  She looked up and decided to sit in its shade.  Mangy ran on ahead as if anticipating her decision.  As she found a clear place to rest, she noticed a different smell, fragrant like roses.  She had not smelled roses in months and recognized the sweetness immediately.  She turned to her right and just on the other side of the hill in the flat grasses was a small cottage with an arbor covered in pink and white roses.  They were covering the roof tangling carelessly and almost blocked the shadowed doorway.  Behind the house the yard was in the deep shade of several large apple trees.


There were also small beds of other flowers, most still in bud at either side of the front of the small tidy blue house.  What was this place...so out of place in this arid land?  Who spent the time watering and watering to keep this garden alive?  It seemed as if no one was home.  There was no car and no sound.  Mangy had gotten bored resting at her feet and turned to head down the hill toward the house having seen some rodent movement in the shrubs, perhaps.  She sighed as she knew she would have to follow him to keep him from destroying the flower beds in his quest for fun.


He was a smart dog and did not bark but approached his prey quietly like a cat.  He stopped first with his nose at the base of an exotic Sturt pea plant.  It had several of the well recognized and dramatic red blossoms with dark black centers.  Amelia was never unsurprised by the exotic and striking plant life that she encountered on this harsh continent.


She was just about to call Mangy back to her side when a figure appeared beneath the arbor deep in the shadows with only scuffed brown boots showing in the light of the sun.  As the figure moved more into the daylight she saw it was a man in his late 40's or early 50's with a graying beard and sun wrinkled eyes.  He stood in a plain tan shirt and worn denim jeans with his hands in his pockets.  She couldn't help being startled, embarrassed, and somewhat threatened by his sudden presence.  But the flood of emotions did not stop her from quickly and too harshly calling back Mangy.


Mangy paused and then returned to her side as he glanced at the silent man.


"I..I'm so sorry.  My dog and I were attracted to your lovely garden."


The man paused and looked somewhere over her head before saying, "It is not my garden."  His eyes returned to her face with what seemed hesitation.  He remained silent.


"Well, it is lovely.  Not a common sight out here."


He brought his lips together as if to speak and then just seemed to sigh silently as he studied her.


"Well, we enjoyed the view.  Bye."  Amelia clapped her thigh to indicate to Mangy that they were moving on.  They climbed the hill and she only turned back when she had reached the shade of the Bumble tree and the sun was no longer in her eyes.  The quiet man was not standing in the arch of the roses anymore.  He had silently disappeared back into the little blue house.


She kept the strange meeting in her thoughts all the way home.

The Time Before

They once were unique and individual.  Some tall, some short, some medium.  They were thin and fat and muscular and lanky.  Their hair was brown or golden or fiery red.  When they aged the crown of hair on their head reflected the passing of the years by turning silver or white or disappearing entirely.  The purple and green and rainbow were not the crowning colors seen today.  The exaggerated curves were not the norm. 

Most were healthy with clear eyes and quick smiles, although their teeth were not the glowing white they are today.  Skin was not as smooth and tight as they all reflect now.  In earlier times, their skin was common and not covered with sparkling tattoos as it is today.  They talked with voices of all timbre and volume.  Laughter was a cacophony...not the LOL as it is today.

Their health was not so tenuous as it is now.  They weathered the changes of winds and attacks of germs much better with their own genes and immunity in more primitive times.  Now with the decades of use of designer foods and designer medicines, their bodies have evolved to a weakness that insures their extinction in the future.

We saw the future coming, but no one believed.

That Time of Life

(My guy readers can skip this one.)

Many years ago a stand-up comedian Roseann Barr had her own television show.  It was the counterpoint to Bill Cosby's upper middle class black family.  It was about the lower blue collar white family.  It was brash, loud and different.  While I did not like Roseann's character nor her real personality I did find the show worth watching as they tried to deal with issues of the day.  For some reason the show was almost like the reality shows today, in that you sometimes forgot it was people acting.  The dialogue was real.

Last week Roseann Barr, who now lives like a retired farm lady in Hawaii, guest wrote a column in Newsweek on how she had changed since she went through "the change."  She said she was mellower, calmer, less angry and more laid back.  She was an angry bitch in her earlier years, and that is why I didn't really like her.  But this column was so well-written  with touchstones you can believe that she wrote much of her own show.

Below just a few quotes that I found worth 're-quoting' on this article about menopause.

• In discussing Madonna's May-December romance:  "Despite the Botox, spas and youthful boyfriends, about the time you acquire gray pubes, a clothing line not with Dolce Gabanna, but at Macy's, will be all the haute couture your dusty old brand can muster."
• "After menopause, I discovered the joy of drinking wine, and of sinking deeply into writing and time alone."
• "My three daughters are approaching middle age themselves, the age when the libido of a woman speeds up for a time, just before it has a stroke, goes blind and dies."
•  "Hey for starters, we only get old if we are lucky!  Can we let the logic of that sink in Sisters?"
• "Menopause is the victory lap over the curse of being born female!"
• "Sometimes, as the months whip past now, like telephone poles from the window of a bullet train, I continue to realize how much of my life I spent firmly under the thumb of Mother Nature..."
• "...what do I do with some of the time that I don't spend being whipped around by the desperate process of staving off the appearance of aging and all the rest of the crap we're sold 24/7?  For one thing, I meditate, and then think for a bit."
• "I am here to say, we could use a lot more women who don't beome mothers of their own offspring, but instead Mother the world in a more expansive way..."

• "You don't need a young athletic body or piles of money to read some of the world's great books; or to soak up brilliant music and art; or to grow something beautiful (and edible?) in a garden spot.  May your uterus remain relatively undisturbed during these, your glorious turban years!"

Seems that I have more in agreement with this lady than I thought...

Thanks

Whew. Everyone  has eaten too much food and they have finally left in their cars, one family to head home and decorate their house and the other couple to head to (future in-laws) the house of the girl friends parents which is a 6 hour drive north.

The house is peaceful and I am sure, once I find energy, I will be retrieving left-behind treasures and other nefarious surprises.  I still have windows filled with scotch-taped home-made Thanksgiving decorations.  I may just leave them up and write off the Christmas decorations altogether!  I have linens from the dining room and the bedroom and bathrooms to wash, crumby floors to sweep and bathrooms to clean (not sure why young boys miss more often than hit the target).

Fridge is stuffed with food and I am loving not having to cook for days only needing to make a few sauces and perhaps rice.

Hubby wanted very much to take a canoe trip today after we waived goodbye.  I really wanted to collapse and do nothing, but he really needs the water exercise for his peace of mind after days indoors with toddlers and I agreed.  It was lovely in the 60's. misty sun through the clouds and mirror still waters to make the ride so smooth.  Photos may be posted on the other blog.

While it was not a perfect TG (turkey was finished 2.5 hours early...another story if you request! and some toddlers had various melt-downs, my son-in-law and I try hard to find more to agree about) it was the closest I have been to a perfect TG in years.  I am blessed this year, and thus, will not complain on any future holidays that do not meet my  high expectations.

Having returned from the 4 hour canoe trip, I am going to heat a cup of apple cider and add some spiced rum and put my feet up and watch a little TV before heating leftovers for dinner.

Another American Holiday

I sometimes have holidays filled with guests, friends and relatives. Some holidays are quiet as I try to get through them by avoiding the crowds.  I am having a reasonable sized group of the above this year for Thanksgiving and started the shopping and cooking yesterday.  It is so much easier since I no longer work!  I am doing all the traditional cooking and decorating and planning and working into the traditional frenzy of a love/hate project.

Thus, I have decided to provide a link to a more subdued Thanksgiving that I posted about a while back, just to let you know that there are no best ways to celebrate a holiday.   It is usually whatever works and we just have to go with the flow.

Go to the link below for our box lunch.
Box Lunch.

Listen

Kerredelune brought this to my attention.  Get yourself something 'cool' to drink, put your feet up and listen to this:

Manhatten Transfer and Route 66

Retro

I have been watching a retro TV show called Route 66 while resting my ankle in the afternoons. Route 66 was a famous highway in American history that ran from Chicago, Illinois through Missouri, Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico, Arizona and ended at Los Angelos, California...a total of 2,448 miles (3,940 km).  This was the artery for those escaping the dust bowl recession in the 1930's, although the TV series was from 1960 to 1964...my high school years!  This highway has been removed and replaced by the Interstate Highway system, but parts of it still exist and are designated as scenic byways.  It still holds its romance for many road warriors.  (If you have read any of my blog posts about my youth you know that I had wanderlust big time.)

I was a fan of the black and white TV series not only for the wanderlust it satisfied and the edginess of the stories, but also because there were two young male leads.  One dark, handsome, and rebellious (Buzz), and one well-educated, rational, and boy-next-door (Tod).  I had a crush on both males in the series and had fun fantasizing how the romance would pan out with each one.  My decision recently to re-watch a few episodes revealed how well written this series actually was.  The dialogue might seem somewhat derivative today, but then it was written more like a play with emphasis on characters and with the words that were being said more important than any car chases or stimulating violence or naked skin that drives TV series today.  The themes dealt with the difficult social issues that were at the forefront of the 60's decade.  Still, CBS producers (most likely male) were concerned about the heaviness of the show and wanted to see more "broads, bosoms, and fun".  The older generation was more widely and fairly represented than today, although the series was darker than the perfect suburban family shows of the 1950's.  A bit of information that I learned about the series was that Robert Redford had been considered for one of the parts.  The crew moved to a different location every week and Newsweek called it "the largest weekly mobile operation in TV history."  Perhaps, this series was the precedent to "On the Road" and "Easy Rider."

My son had mentioned watching something from his youth and commenting on how times have changed!  Just wait, I thought.  I watch stuff from decades ago and am fascinated by the even greater cultural changes today.  Since there are no cell phones characters must run or race everywhere to deliver those important messages. Sex and violence are presumed and not shown in glorious HD.  Both the leads were always well-groomed unless emerging from some day spent in blue-collar toil.  And blue collar work seems to be romanticized.  Buzz's darker side is subtly represented...today they would have him getting drunk or taking drugs.  The rich are rich but not disgustingly so and the poor are poor but shown sometimes through overtly pink romantic glasses.

Apologies to those who were looking for a more interesting post.  When I reached the well and brought up the bucket, this was all that sat in the sludge of the bottom.  So, let me know, did you have a favorite TV show in your youth?

Vanity...is it all?

"In conventional parlance, vanity is the excessive belief in one's own abilities or attractiveness to others," according to that virtual authority Wikipedia.  I have always had  a tug of war with vanity.  I would never leave the house without a good outfit, groomed hair and make-up.  But if I was hiking and camping I could care less what I looked like.  In contrast, at the end of a sweaty day of hiking hubby cannot take me to a restaurant of any stature.  I refuse to look that bad when eating dinner. 
I had at least 25 pairs of shoes when I was working full time.  Now I tend to purchase only sandals, tennis shoes, hiking shoes for this new life style but I have a dozen pairs of these in various styles and colors. 

Today, the problem is that I can only wear two pairs of tennis shoes comfortably since my injury.  Fortunately I have not been anywhere special in months and do not need fancy shoes.  I rarely attend the holiday fund raisers that are around the corner. My mother wore tennis shoes to my daughter's wedding beneath her long dress.  I honestly thought she was just being difficult, but now I realize I was the one who was being difficult.  Her feet had not been in fancy shoes for years and she was not going to be in pain all evening just for us.  She was never a vain woman.  I remember giving her a magazine haircut when I was 13 or 14 and being so proud of how she looked.  She just seemed amused.

Today I tend to begin to limp and walk slower if I have been on my feet for hours.  We take a flat long walk down a wooded trail and I find my vanity forces me to try to hide the limp and to try and walk more steadily, in spite of any pain in doing that, if I see other hikers!  I get irritated that hikers pass us on the trial when I remember I was the trail blazer in past.  If we stop to chat I find it necessary to explain my ankle injury so they know I don't walk like this without reason.  This must be vanity.
 
Recently, I had one of the clerks in the department store offer me a wheelchair from the front of the store and it took all my resolve not to deck him!  I try to hurry when people hold the door to the Post Office open for me, embarrassed that I cannot walk faster. 

How do people with permanent handicaps show such dignity as they hike through life?

You Need More Greens

Many years ago when my son was a teenager just a year away from college, we had reached that stage that some families reach where you are terrified that your child cannot make it on his own, and yet, you are so sick of dealing with him that you want him out of the house.  Yes, some families do not have to undertake crises management with their children, and you are blessed.  You can believe it is because you were such a great parent, but in reality, luck of the gene pool has something to do with this.  (Your gene pool...not your child's.)  He did end up being forced to go to a therapist for a handful of times, which resulted in a diagnosis of depression.  Glad my health insurance covered this waste of time.  When he found out the insurance would run out and we would be paying out of pocket for the sessions he refused to go.  He insisted he was smarter than the therapist, and I actually think he was!  I tried to get him to test several therapists to find one he liked, but he has the same stubborn dynamic of his dad.  He wanted to deal with his life on his own, a sometimes dangerous decision.

Anyway, he did survive college (majoring in that super useful undergraduate degree, Psychology, oddly enough) and went on with additional training to become a successful sound engineer.  He recently won an award as sound mixer for the year from his company.  He still has issues with mild mood swings, but can deal with it without relying on drugs or alcohol.  We are blessed for that.

I remember his freshman year when dropping him off that I noticed a lovely woods near the campus.  I told him that was the place to work out issues.  Lone walks, intensive runs, whatever he could squeeze in to help with the stress of college.  He actually agreed with me.

To this day, we both realize that the great outdoors is the place to go when life seems so heavy you are down on your knees and knuckles facing the dirt with the hot sun at your back.

In the November issues of Newsweek magazine, Dr. Andrew Weil (one of those new age hippie philosophers), emphasized the importance of getting away from our artificially created environment whenever we can.  The noise of city life, the smells, the continual stimulation is ruining us.  The stimulus of technology which brings us instant entertainment, instant stimulation, superficial connections with people, and overwhelming information is not something our brains and senses were designed to assimilate in such constant and large quantities.  Most of us now have sedentary indoor jobs which are also unhealthy.  Our natural sleep cycles and other circadian rhythms are not followed.  "Human beings evolved to thrive in natural environments and in bonded social groups."  Depression has become so common that children today have been diagnosed with 'nature-deficit disorder.'

Sitting in a field or on a cliff is not as exciting as shooting down a helicopter with your remote control and not as compelling as checking Facebook on your phone every 15 minutes.  But I feel safe in insisting it will keep you alive so much longer and that you will actually enjoy your life so much more.

Now, turn off the PC and go talk a walk.

In a Fog

I am standing in the IHop waiting to be seated.  An IHop is not a dance hall nor a kiddie zoo with rabbits, for those who live outside the United States, Canada, Mexico or Guatemala.  An IHOP is a restaurant famous for its high-calorie, salt-fat-sugar rich breakfasts.  They also serve standard dinners and lunches.  It is very popular (especially with old farts) because the servings are large, the service is usually fast and the prices are not high.  It takes a really bad restaurant to screw up a breakfast of eggs and pancakes.  I am rewarding the healing of my ankle with my first trip to the outside world.  I admit that I am a fan of the International Crepe Passport breakfast.  (Doesn't THAT sound sophisticated? -International Crepe Passport*  Two eggs, two crispy bacon strips and two pork sausage links served with your choice of two crepes with fruit)  I do not eat both sausage and bacon, my heart-attack-waiting-to-happen husband is happy to help with those.  But I do order a side of hash browns which I split with him as well.  I do not weigh 250 pounds and this meal, over 2,000 calories, is usually eaten about 9 to 10 AM and pretty much the only thing I eat all day except for snacking at dinner!  Sinful to have such an abundance of food in a world where many are starving, I know.  Sorry, but like most liberals I carry my guilt to the food table.

Anyway, while I am standing waiting for the hostess, I notice a really sweet little 4-year-old girl in front of me with a 250 pound mom carrying a new baby.  The little girl is focusing intently on something in her hands.  The hostess returns and takes the mom to a booth.  The little girl remains standing in front of me.  I tap her on the shoulder and tell her that her mother is down the way.  The girl looks up at me and I see she has been intently focusing on an IPhone.  (IHop, IPhone?)  She is moving images and links across the screen like an expert.  She looks back down and continues her screen activities.

The mother gets seated a short distance away and gets the baby in a high-chair and then turns back to the little girl and calls her.  The girl does glance up, has heard, but still does not comprehend.

The hostess returns to seat us and I point to the mother as I place my hand on the little girl's shoulder once more before we begin to scoot around her.  The little girls looks up at me again with clear blue eyes and then back to the phone.  We walk around her and head to our booth and I will be darned but she follows us not looking up at all!  Clearly she is joining us for breakfast.

It actually takes some effort on the part of the mother and me to convince the little girl that she is at the wrong booth. Actually the effort is on getting through the fog of technology.

I hate these technological babysitters...they are a drug!  Thank goodness they were not crossing the street and it is amazing they made it across the parking lot.

(For a more enlightening day in the fog...go here.)

Enduring Waiting Without Anger

Well, I am guessing the evil spirits of Halloween or the good spirits of All Saints Day have worked their magic as I am almost back to normal today.  Just the rare achy night and not being able to run are my worst problems!  Still cannot see my inside ankle bone, but swelling is only a 10th of what it was.

I was totally fascinated by the gradual healing which I monitored daily.  I could not push it faster whether I rested more or exercised more.  Yet, every day, probably because I no longer work and can stay at home and have few distractions, I noticed a measurable improvement.  This slow healing reminded me of so many things in life that move forward at a snail's pace.  (Actually these last two days I have been able to noticed a faster improvement if I took two aspirin in the late afternoon and then put my foot under a heating pad...this blood rush did make things better more noticeably.)

• The slow emergence and growth of a seed into a plant.  You can check it each day and see the growth, but there is nothing dramatic or surprising in its changes, unless some rodent eats it to the ground.
• Losing weight requires endless patience and if you give up just one day you will not see measurable loss.
• Babies change so slowly if you are able to study and watch them each day.  They look toward your sound, than at your face and finally are able over time to focus on your eyes and then respond to your smile.
• Good poetry must be read slowly, then re-read (out loud for me) and then over time it grows on you and thickens with meaning.
• Love, real love that goes beyond sex and eye candy, takes such a long time.  The melding of good and bad habits and trust happens over days, weeks, months and becomes a strong if not beautiful foundation only over decades after all of life's tests and challenges have been met.
• Developing an expertise in something comes only with time.  Talent you may be born with, but honing that into an expert skill requires time.  Malcolm Gladwell ( a somewhat controversial author) in his book "Outliers" writes about how long it takes to really become an expert. "Gladwell explains that reaching the 10,000-Hour Rule, which he considers the key to success in any field, is simply a matter of practicing a specific task that can be accomplished with 20 hours of work a week for 10 years. He also notes that he himself took exactly 10 years to meet the 10,000-Hour Rule, during his brief tenure at The American Spectator and his more recent job at The Washington Post."

I do not think it will take me 20 hours of walking for 10 years to be an expert at walking, because clearly I never had the talent to begin with!  My point is that everything worthwhile seems to take a lot of time and therefore we all better learn patience.

Another Holiday to Keep You Busy

(Monitor lizard at the zoo!  He is a little angry!)

Slicing and Dicing

(Being somewhat unable to get around I have pulled up something I wrote a while back and was never going to post.)

They came and took the teachers and all their things.
"You do not need this," they said.
Paints and chalk were placed on the cart.
"Creative thinking is for math and history."
The string instruments were locked in cabinets.
"Self-expression should be in sports or...
well, nothing else really." He said as he packed the make-up.
"We will tell you how to express yourself."
"It is not what you see in this room that is important,
It is what you hear that must be learned."
"Listen, repeat, and repeat again.
That is good."
"Don't you want to pass the test?"
"Don't you want to defend and protect the country?"
"Just fill in the blanks."
"Learning is so easy
Is it not?"
Is it supposed to be easy, I wonder.
"You do not have to add anything.
Just remember what you are taught."
"You do not need to disagree or
question or be so critical.
There is no time."
"Find a space at the end of the row."
"Do what you are told."
The classroom is so crowded.
The teacher is too busy to
attend to my individual quirks.
Science, poetry, acting and art are all too big
for my learning space now.
Sit still...you get 30 seconds of directed attention.


Does anyone have a band aid?  (Photo was taken at the Zoo.)

Luck

It has been eleven days since my careless accident.  The swelling is almost gone!  The pain, while at times unbearable if I twist a certain way,  is mostly minimal as I limp around the house.  I feel lucky that this was not as bad as it could have been at my age!

My cabin fever reached a peak yesterday and I asked hubby to take me for a ride in the country side.  Our goal was to reach the mountains which are about 2 hours away, but along the way we encountered a detour.  It seems a bridge had washed out in the last storm and the road had to be closed for repairs.  This was a major state road. I live in an area of meandering coastlines and rivers and marshes.  Some of you know this means there is rarely a straight line between two points.  This a bridge being gone means we had to detour an hour north to find another crossing.  Sometime during the long detour we decided to fore-go the mountain trip and just explore the nearby countryside and visit a few state parks in the lovely fall..

We pulled over to the side of the country road that passed beside neat Amish farms and brought out our road map to see what might be close (the Truthsayer -GPS- was in the other car).  While holding our heads bent close over the map we heard a loud tap at the window on the driver's side of the car.  We looked up and saw a women in her fifties with frizzy hair, casual clothes, and a very tired look on her face.

Hubby rolled down the window.

"Can you give us a ride up the road." she asked in a gravelly voice caused by many years of smoking.

We both looked at the 'us' and her companion was a twenty something girl dressed in a red striped shirt and too large flowing plaid pants.  She could have been wearing pajamas or a costume.  Not the type of clothes most 20-somethings would be caught dead in.  Both looked pleading and the older woman was panting as if she had already walked a long way.  We hesitated only shortly and complied.

I could smell the cigarette smoke as they entered the back seat.  The trip several miles up the road was to reach a friend's house since the woman's car was no longer working.  The woman just oozed stress and was a very sad candidate for living as she explained how her luck had run out this month.  A sister had just died of cancer, her father had just passed away and the house she inherited from him was being managed legally by another sister who had borrowed money against it and had a gambling problem.  This morning the final bad luck was a car that wouldn't start.  (Yes, I have encountered story teller shysters before, but these people did not ask for money and were able to look me straight in the eye.)

We dropped them off at a small rural house with several cars scattered around the open field.  While we felt sorry for their situation, both hubby and I felt more sorry for the young girl who followed her mother up the dirt road to the door.  Already in her short life she was trapped in poverty.  She would probably marry the first economic light that entered her life and if her luck ran out she would be just like her mother in a decade or so following the same mistakes.

These are some of the people that President Obama says live paycheck to paycheck.  They are not smart nor industrious nor understanding that they make some of their own bad luck.  But in earlier times, before this recession, I wonder if their life might not have been so harsh as they got by week to week. 

Alright, already.

You asked and thus you shall receive...you little Halloween ghouls!  Sorry there isn't more black and bluesing for your blood lust.  (And, yes, the glitter toenail paint was on long before the accident.  If you look closely you will see the legs have not seen a razor in weeks!)

I managed to be on my feet for two hours this afternoon at a volunteer training session.  I am now resting up, but I am getting there little by little.

If Wishes Were...

I know he is trying to be helpful and showing concern but:

I wish he wouldn't ask me if I wanted my morning coffee and then totally forget.

I wish he wouldn't volunteer to vacuum the main floor of the house and then go downstairs to the basement and forget to shut off the vacuum....or forget to put away the long snaking cord that lies like a booby trap in front of the bathroom door. (Yes, it was due to a phone call.)

I wish he wouldn't make a simple stir fry and find it necessary to use every counter space and most of the cooking utensils in the kitchen.

I wish he would accept that dishwashers are environmentally good appliances and not wash 70% by hand and pile things in the drain until they begin to fall away.

I wish he could make it safely back to bed at three in the morning without banging into the bed, swearing, and causing me to slide up against the headboard.

I wish he wouldn't go grocery shopping and forget to bring back the one item I asked for.

I wish he would remember to finish the laundry and not just start it as I struggle to get the wet clothes out of the machine and into the dryer while balancing on one foot.

I wish he would check the mail before bringing it home and finding that no less than 5 of the envelopes were supposed to go in the box next to ours.  (I must admit that this mail snafu rarely happens.)

I wish I liked chile three times a week.

I do not have to wish that he stays in a good mood because he is the eternally happy guy no matter what he must face.