Something Good

The morning has been washed with last night's rain and the air is cooler than it has been in almost a month.  One might actually think that autumn is waiting somewhat impatiently in the wings.  I am sitting out on the deck with beach towel covered chairs watching my grandson build animals from "play doh".  Towels keep the dampness from our legs.

Due to summer scheduling my grandson has no where to go this week, so we are attempting to provide some activities that can compete with the activity filled summer camps he has been attending since regular school was out.  Parents who both work spend hours in the spring signing their children up for this and that greatly enhanced babysitting service that can safely and expensively keep children occupied.

Weather has generously decided to be on our side this week and it does not look like we will have to spend hours indoors...as the week heats up again, we will see.

In the background I hear our little water fountain gurgling away on the patio below, my grandson is humming to himself ( a sure sign he is involved in something he enjoys), and the sea gulls are laughing back and forth across the river.  High in the wet tree leaves some bird is singing a joyful song with several movements.  As I type these words a hummingbird graces us with his presence, hovering at the edge of the patio umbrella and checking out our activities, adding another layer of perfection to the morning.

Then my grandson decides to share his latest escapade with Mario and Bowser (do not ask) and it takes some lengthy repetitive telling to reach the end of the story, which after twenty minutes he never actually ends, just stops talking from exhaustion and a need to visit the bathroom.  I realize that no one has probably ever listened to him for twenty minutes any time recently, and I ask questions and add comments, pretending this is the most amazing conversation I have had in days  Being a former teacher, I realize that allowing him to expound is good development towards future communication.  He does not have all of my attention, because I am distracted by the joy in his face and the twinkle in his eyes.

Mornings like these I pause in thankfulness for the reward, and like Julie Andrews, I keep thinking I must have done something good.  ( I do not even mind that my coffee has grown cold.)

Silence

She is tapping away on the keys to her laptop thanking someone who commented on her photo on the photo site where she adds to her collection.  She is distracted by the praise to her immature talent.  The TV has suddenly become so quiet and she raises her eyes to see what is wrong. It is not the TV.  PBS is honoring on the TV screen the 30 precious soldiers that were killed when their helicopter was shot down over Afghanistan.  The faces in the photos are young and handsome and full of generous smiles and hopeful eyes.  They are dedicated to changing the world with bravery and finely honed skills.  The photos were taken when they had many years of living still ahead of them.  In a fiery instant their lives ended over a desert in smoke and sand.  Their skills were abruptly dissolved in the blink of an eye.

I thank them for their huge sacrifice, but I regret that their contribution to peace on this planet was halted so abruptly and I pray (to whatever super power that may be) that this will all end someday very, very soon so that young skilled and talented men can make their contribution in a war less world.

Married Over 40 Years...Who Knew?

My grandchildren are blessed with more than any child needs.  They are being raised by responsible parents who help them develop a good value system, but they still get a large amount of whatever they want.  I asked daughter what to get my little gal who will turn 4.  She suggested two Barbie videos which I ordered over the net.

One arrived before our trip and the next after we got back.  The second one was "Barbie and the Diamond Castle" in case you were interested and are still reading this post.  It arrived with a rattle and when I opened the package I discovered the case lock had been broken and was rattling around inside.  I looked at the DVD and saw it looked scratched on edge in several places.  Therefore, I had to run it to make sure it was not damaged.  An hour of  watching lovely princess types with perfect flowing hair and perfectly fitted clothes sing and dance their way through life is much more than I can handle, so I put it on and ran it in the background while I went upstairs to work on photos.  I could hear if it was working correctly from there.

About 40 minutes later I wandered down the stairs to get something to drink and saw my husband sitting on the sofa, watching the animated feature...watching...really... I was speechless and like a good sport, I did not say a word!  I did drop a hint on FB...;-)

Into the Middle of the Vacation Week

I have never been a heavy sleeper and even less so as I age unless my day has been particularly stressful.  Seems that catching a 4-year-old diving from the pools  edge 500 times in an afternoon is not that stressful, because here it is 3:30 in the morning and I am awake and sitting in the living room of our vacation apartment on my PC.  I woke up for no reason and after a brief trip to the bathroom noticed that granddaughter was sleeping sideways with her feet in grandson's stomach.  I gently straightened her out and feeling wide-awake decided not to return to hubby's side and his gentle snores.

Ten minutes ago as I sat here reading blogs, my 6-year-old grandson stumbled bleary-eyed into the room complaining of a bad dream.  I put the laptop on the table and he crawled into my arms.  His sun-browned body is all boney joints and sharp angles but I cuddled for a brief time before carrying the heavy body back to bed and tucking him in.

It is now 5:30 and I am craving some coffee but hesitate to make it afraid the smell might wake up my daughter who is STILL feeding the 4 month old once or twice at night.  She has tried for three weeks to get him to sleep through until early morning and his crying does not abate.  So she has given up on that effort (she is breast feeding).  He starts on cereal soon, so that might allow her to get more sleep.  She returns to work full time this Monday!  When they were talking about how hard pioneer women had to work, I think about how we haven't really changed that effort.  Less physical but now mothers' days are just as long with more stuff to do.

This week has been fun and well-paced and except for the unbearable heat and humidity, a memorable one.  It is always stressful to cram a family with three children and grandparents into a two-bedroom unit, but we have managed to avoid arguments or stonewalling...except on the part of the 4-year-old who's determined spirit may out do us all.

Two more days of swimming, beaching, mini-golf, shuffleboard, walking, eating, board games and DVDs of Barbie, and then I return to the life of the retired and begin to research how that other group of spirited children (those in D.C.) have begun to destroy my carefully planned and saved for retirement.  I glanced at a headline that indicated Wall Street was not thrilled with debt ceiling compromise and has stamped its foot at least once already.

The First Night

It is three in the morning in a dark bedroom and I am on my knees with my face almost to the carpet.  This is not an EAT=PRAY=LOVE moment as I am not praying...at least not formally.   I am trying to get the courage to run my hand under the edge of the darkness of the bed.  I have looked against the grayness of the sheets and all around the floor with no luck.

There is a little four-year-old whimpering quietly in my nearby bed.  She has lost her 'doggie,'  The bright pink one with the rip in its' bottom that was placed ever so carefully in her arms earlier when she was tucked in bed next to her 6-year-old brother.

Suddenly the young boy sits straight up in bed as if awakened by my gentle search.  I recognize his Elmo doll on the pillow between him and his sister.  But, I see he has something in his arms as he stares across the room.  I reach over and grab the Elmo and take the small dog from his arms and thrust Elmo in his arms and gently push him back down on the bed.  Hubby comes out of the bathroom and I whisper that he has to sleep with his grandson as granddaughter has taken his place in my bed.  I hand her the doggie and slip in beside her.  She is in heaven.  She has her doggie and she gets to snuggle with Neena. I am going to try to fall asleep once again before the sun.

Thus goes our first night of vacation.  Grandkids = 2 and grandparents =0

Will She Return?

I am leaving in two days for a 10 hour trip with a car full of toddlers (with colds) and more STUFF than any human deserves or needs...although 95% of the stuff is not mine.  I have been told I am NOT allowed to bring ANY food...so shopping will be a priority at the other end, or standing in long lines in restaurants!  I will be gone more than a week and we will celebrate at least two birthdays.

If I never return here to post again, you will be left with the mystery of wondering what happened to me.  If you come across some old lady toes sticking out of the beach sand on your next vacation, that might be a clue.

Dining with a Closed Mind or Where Do You Sit (fit)?

I somehow got on this dining memory streak and because the writing muse has totally gone on a long vacation deep into the heart of some black hole, I will have to go with whatever memory string hangs loose in front of me and create a weave of a story from that.  Wow.  Enough mixed metaphors for you?

Lets go back to Guam for this dining memory.  I was in my early twenties and full of career-minded visions.  I was working in a vocational school for young adults from the islands and a conference or meeting or something resulted in my trip to Guam.  I was living on a small island and flew out with one of the other teachers...a young Micronesian man.  I cannot even remember what he taught.  He was handsome and friendly and intelligent...looked a little like Benjamin Bratt except he was shorter.  I was happily and newly married, so our travel together was strictly professional.  We were staying at the same hotel and although he was attending a different meeting that day, we decided to have dinner together at the end of the day.  As I look back on this it was probably my idea and he felt guilty letting me dine alone and accepted.

I do not remember how we selected the restaurant or even if we got there in a rental car.  I remember that I was on some normal school girl planet and looked forward to eating a nice meal at the end of the day without another stray thought in my brain.  As we entered the restaurant, I noticed subconsciously that my dining companion was acting a little odd.  I could not put my finger on it, but I sensed something out of sync as we were shown to our table.  He seemed ill at ease, and I, being the sophisticated married worldly gal, was concentrating on making small talk and smiling and trying to get him to relax.  I thought, naively and egotistically, that he was just impressed with dining with an attractive woman his age, and concerned he didn't do anything stupid.  I knew that many of these 'local' teachers probably did not get to eat out often.

The meal moved on, but there was still an oddness about the stiffness of his behavior.  Mid-way he accidentally knocked a piece of silverware onto the floor.  I winced, hoping it would not mortify him even more, because this sort of thing could happen to anyone.  But, as he leaned over to pick it up I noticed two young men at a nearby table looking our way and chuckling with what appeared to be derision.  Instantly, little miss attractive, got her brain in gear and a casual look around the restaurant revealed several couples and others (about 25%) staring at us with what was clearly rude condescension and/or reproach barely hidden.  It was the first but not the last time I would be exposed to racism in all its subtle ugliness.  But it was one of the few times I would find the derision directed at me and someone I was with.

We finished our meal and returned to our rooms.  I did not talk about it.  I think I was too young to try an intelligent conversation and I am thinking he was more than relieved for me to forget the whole incident.

I rarely have to keep my radar up as a middle class "whitie."  I think it must be a real energy drain to always be compelled to have your radar running.

Dining Out Loud

I may have written about this a long time ago, but I am thinking not.  When my daughter was an only child (for about 2.5 years) we did a bit of around the world (well, half-way around the world) traveling.  Actually I flew alone across the Pacific Ocean and into the mid-west when she was only 8 months old and not yet born...are you following that?  The stewardesses blanched and almost did not let me on the flight.  Today, a future mother would probably need a doctor's statement for a flight of 15 hours not including the 2-hour layover in Hawaii.

Later, we were flying the other direction and she was 20 months old at that time.  Cuter than a bug's ear and quite the chatterbox at such an early age...clearly our little genius.  We landed in Guam around 8:30 in the evening and were starving.  The only restaurants open at that hour near our hotel were the few fancier ones and the only people eating at that hour were adults.  We were tremendously jet-lagged but not too tired to wolf down anything on the menu.  My daughter was so glad to be out of a plane seat that getting her into a high hair at the table required some persuasion until she smelled food and became amenable.  We tried to be as quiet and unobtrusive as possible because it looked like everyone was on their important evening away from the kids for a Saturday date night.  I think that was the quietest restaurant I ever ate in...although it could have just been my self-consciousness making me think we were the loudest party there.

Once our meal was finished and we were waiting for our bill, my daughter discovered that her spoon when banged on her plate made the most lovely clang.  Like a silver bullet each clang shot across the restaurant into the quiet conversations of the well dressed diners.  I grabbed the spoon from her hand and turned to put it out of her reach.  She immediately got her father's fork and continued with the tempi movement of her symphony.  Hubby raised his hand higher and with no grace indicated we needed the check as he removed the second utensil from her chubby fingers.  Not to be prevented from showing her amazing musical talents, she began the rhythm portion of her performance by clanging together the metal salt and pepper shakers with glee.  I could not believe that she had only two hands and two arms...but they moved with the lighting speed of a frogs tongue in meeting their goal.  I could not bring my eyes to meet the adults at the other tables,  some chuckling quietly and others groaning, and lifted her out of the high chair and through the door to the peace of the lobby while hubby waited for our bill.

It wasn't her fault nor was it the diner's fault for the clash in atmospheric expectations.  Had we had a better choice in time and place, we would not have brought her there.  I am sure when the customers made their reservations, they did not clarify that they did not want to be seated near any musical genius toddlers.

This whole experience came to my mind when I recently heard in the news about a restaurant in Pittsburgh that is no longer allowing children under six to eat there due to complaints from customers about the behavior of some of the children.  This is an upscale golf resort restaurant.  I thought about this ruling and while there were many that think children should be allowed to eat wherever and whenever and that this was discriminating, I really felt that a restaurant has the right to establish the type of mood and food they want to create.  I certainly do not want to sit next to a chaotic family if I was going out to eat in a nice restaurant for a special evening out.  That might be the kind of thing I would have every reason of expecting at the local diner or fast-food place.  ( I am guessing if that rule was in place on our memorable night, the restaurant would have taken pity on us and provided at least take-out.)

Your turn for input, agree or disagree?

Having Fun

We borrowed a sailboat and took an afternoon sail.

Went looking for ice cream with daughter and caught this image.

Not as many butterflies this year so I made this one appear to disappear.

As can be seen, I do not have the sophistication of a style or genre.  Another witness to my scattered brain.  But I certainly had fun creating them all.

Writing in the Third Person

Trying to keep track of her is like trying to keep track of that annoying summer fly in the bedroom while you are reading.  She buzzes in and then she buzzes out...creating an annoying distraction.  What on earth has she been up to?  She has at least a dozen half-read books scattered across her nightstand... symptomatic of a scattered brain.

Last time I saw her she was out in the garden staking plants that had been pummeled in the inch of rain deluge the night before.

Then 30 minutes later she was squashing Japanese beetles with her bare hands!  Yuck!

Then, just after that, she had her camera in hand and was adding ANOTHER 100 flower photos to her million plus files, hoping to find something that will attract attention on the Internet.

Now she is staring at the pile of laundry with her hands on her hips.

She should be making reservations for her fall trip to Colorado and Utah.  (OMG!  Does that mean we must suffer through  more photos?)  She should be planning the menu for the end of July trip with family to Hilton Head.  She most certainly should be exercising so that she does not resemble the beached whale in the swim suit when she gets there.

I give up...where is she now?  She is due for another blog post.

Thursday Thoughts #36---13 Things That Annoy Me

The world if full of annoyances which if not ignored will drive us to tearing our hair and screaming into the night sky. So we ignore them as best we can. Today I will list some of my favorites.

THINGS THAT ANNOY ME  (Listed in the order in which they burble to my consciousness...nothing 'pops' into my head anymore):

1. Salad Kits.  These can be found in the produce section and they are plastic bags filled with chopped greens, and perhaps, a plastic bag of dressing as well.  I do admit that if you do not know how to chop lettuce you should stay away from knives.  But a SALAD "KIT"?  Puhleeze...just shred the lettuce with your hands and buy a bottle of dressing.
2. Any 'Housewives of'  Television Show.  No further comment, except if you enjoy these you need to go to more of your family reunions for entertainment.
3. Comments from My Children on How I Spend My Time.  Yes, I do spend inordinate hours taking and processing photographs.  Why does no one comment on how much time a chef spends perfecting his skill, a weekend boat builder in spending years on his hobby, your husband and his sports related stuff?
4. Cleaning the kitchen sink and finding 5 minutes later it is covered in tea leaves.  Enough said.
5. Lowfat Yogurt.  This stuff tastes like something weird and certainly NOT yogurt.  Ice cream and yogurt have to have fat in them or they are not worth eating.
6. Plastic Wine Stoppers.  Real cork has been proven to be the more environmentally friendly way to go and metal screw on tops have been proven to be a better way to seal wines for aging.  I HATE plastic wine stoppers and you cannot tell you have one until you remove the aluminum wrapper and spend an hour trying to pull out the stopper!
7. Provocative clothes for any girl under 14.  You can complain about childhood promiscuity and the danger of pedophiles...but if your kid wears a bikini or tiny skirt I am ignoring you.  If your 14-year-old wears white skin-tight slacks I am going to hit you up the side of the head.
8. People who assume you have an open book in front of you on your lap because you are bored and want to talk to them.
9. Congress.
10. Picky Eaters.  Wasted time trying to plan a meal or choose a restaurant that makes them happy.
11. People who read over my shoulder.  I apologize, but it is a quirk I cannot contain.  Hubby knows better!
12. Mosquitoes after the rain.
13. Late Acceptances.  After inviting my son and his girlfriend down for the 4th two weeks earlier and not hearing from him we gave up and decided to head to the city for fireworks.  He calls at 1:00 that very afternoon and asks if he can come down with his gal!

Anything particularly annoying for you these days?  (The oyster photo has nothing to do with this post...isn't that annoying?)

Friends and the Roles We Play

Here is another take on people that help us.

I first met Oscar about 4 years ago when we were putting in our lawn to this new house. (The lawn in the photo looks much nicer than it is...mostly mowed weeds.) I had already started a few flower beds and it was early fall and I was attempting to clean out some of the areas around the larger plants.  I could tell he was interested in my work and so I attempted a conversation in simple English.  Oscar spoke Spanish but was able to give me some advice on some of my plants as he assisted with the lawn.  Perhaps there was an ulterior motive to his attention, because later that month when we wanted to move some larger plants my husband gave him a call and asked if he worked outside the landscape company.  Fortunately, he said he could work on the next Sunday.

Later we started that large paving project which disrupted that blue bird nesting I had written about.  Oscar and his brother and other workers spent over a week in our front yard tearing up the concrete sidewalk, aligning the driveway, installing pavers and putting down a composite to hold them.  They had to re-work some drainage and adjust a retaining wall.  The supervisor, who was not Spanish but an overweight good ole' boy, rarely moved his butt from the tiny earth moving bulldozer as he provided advice to the three laborers through arm waving and calling out.

Oscar was smart, followed instructions exactly, even gave some good advice and we ended up with a lovely driveway.

Over the years Oscar has been an irregular Sunday visitor to our home whenever we needed help with a project that hubby could not do alone but which was too small a project for the landscape firm.  He moved enormous plants, reset brick edgers, moved tons of earth, set up a small patio beneath my arbor and helped repair our deer fence.  He is always gracious and his English has gotten better.  Oscar has a generous smile and is a handsome man; I have watched him go gray.  He has two daughters the age of our President's that he has to leave back in Mexico with their mother for months at a time while he works in the United States.  He works at the whim of the landscape company.  Today he told us that they are laying him off for three weeks because of the slow down in demand.  He cannot afford to live here without a paycheck so is returning to his family during that time.  I cannot help but think how expensive this must be.  Expensive in monetary ways as well as expensive in personal ways.  His daughters have grown up and he has been far away most of the time.  He has had to live in a foreign land to earn money so that they can go to school, have clothes and a home.  I wonder how much they miss him.  I wonder if they will realize the sacrifices that were made when they have families of their own.  This lifestyle is somewhat like the lifestyle that military families must face.  Long days, perhaps even dangerous days, far away from their precious families.  Except our military does get benefits in terms of retirement and health care.  Oscar only gets an irregular paycheck.  I am sure (?) that the company would hire local laborers if they could find people who were willing to work under such arbitrary conditions and at such a low pay level.

I get a deep seated guilt (such is the disease of the liberal heart) when he is here.  We pay him slightly more than the landscape company and he is happy for the work, but I cannot help but feel uncomfortable in my safer lifestyle.  I feel like I am in one of those Hollywood movies and I do not fit the part, or if I am in denial...I do not like how well I fit the part.  I am blessed to celebrate the 4th in this country when I see the struggles other countries face trying to determine their path to a form of democracy that fits their culture and economy and with citizens that willingly come to our country for any job because they are aware of our unique freedoms and opportunity.

Helping Hands

I was thinking about the responses to my last post. If you are a handyman, it is hard to sit back and watch others do the work when you cannot. First, you have standards that are probably higher, second, you get pleasure out of seeing your accomplishments, third, you also like the puzzle and challenge, and fourth, you have a meaningful role in society. Sitting and watching sort of takes the air out of your tires.  When this opportunity is taken away, it can be hard to age gracefully and let others take over. I think it is much like the woman who was the great cook in the family having to turn over the job to others on holidays because she can no longer do it all.  No one can bake or roast as well as her, but we have to gracefully let others find their space.  While most of us like our independence and refuse to be waited on we should perhaps read Tuesdays with Morrie and try to emulate his generosity of spirit.

Another comment to the post was a question about helping in general.  The man I wrote about had had a very serious heart operation about two years ago and was bedridden for a while.  I brought over food and offered to food shop or stay at home so wife could get out of the house.  So, yes, these are neighborly contributions, and these are very important.  Perhaps, because almost anyone can do them, they do not seem as significant to me.  A silliness on my part, perhaps.

I just tend to be more impressed by the person who fixes my computer, my car or my toaster.  The one who looks at the corner of my deck and figures out the leak issue and then fixes it.  The one who can do that boring and frustrating stuff.

(Oh wait!  A really cool thing I once did when we lived overseas was upholster two seats for a homemade airplane for a handyman friend whose wife was an excellent seamstress but back in the U.S. for a month.  That was back when I could actually sew pretty well.  I was nervous doing it, but happy for a job reasonably well done.  The sewing machine and I now do not always speak the same language. )

Repaired

Middle class folks such as those of my household do not often ask for help on big projects from our neighbors.   In an agrarian society, barn building is a community event and fixing the old tractor can be done with the help of a neighbor or two.  As we earn more money, we become more isolated and less likely to ask for help.  Big projects we contract out and smaller projects fall by the wayside.  For example, I live in a rather fancy neighborhood where many of my neighbors hire landscape firms to take care of their large lawn and most have housekeepers.  My hubby is certainly not the handy type, and for now, I do my own housekeeping.

Yesterday I went to toast an English muffin in my upper middle class Krups toaster oven and when I removed the muffin, it was only slightly warm.  Hmmm?  I pushed the toaster button once again and after a time when the rods did not turn red, I realized something was wrong with this expensive 3-year-old appliance.  I checked the outlet, the fuse, and the plug.  The toaster itself was sealed like Tutankhamen's tomb and would require a dedicated electrician to disassemble for further investigation.

By mid-morning I had convinced myself we had to purchase a new toaster and headed out to the nearest store for this appliance. We purchased a model that was half the price and a less well known brand.  Once I got the box home and placed it on the counter a belated epiphany hit me.  I turned to my husband and told him that whatever was wrong with this old toaster/oven...it was something minor.  I just knew.  Maybe there was a fuse inside that had burned out?  I looked at the back with its dozen screws and then remembered that we had a neighbor who owned a rental farm and did all the appliance repair for his tenants.  He seemed to enjoy the challenge.  He was a very nice dude and so we decided to ask.

Well, it took him an hour, mostly spent taking it apart and putting it together.   He had guessed the problem even before removing the back and bottom as he had the same toaster/oven.  He said that the connector for the wires was usually flimsy and burned through over time.  He did not have a connector but had some electrical crimps which he used and now I have a perfectly good toaster and am planning a thank you dinner with neighbors sometime soon.  He lives in a very nice house but that does not seem to have made him brain or energy dead even though he is well into his 70's.

I often wish I had a talent that someone could use. I have sent some of my photo files to friends for wall deco, and have advised about plants, but I really wish I could do something more concrete in terms of being a plus in society...maybe some day.  My dad was an excellent handyman and my two brothers who live far away shine in that area as well.  I raise a wine glass to all those handymen who save the lives of us useless folks every day!

Eeahhh!

In my last post I mentioned that I had been doing some volunteer work for a local environmental group.  This involved hiking a mile through the woods (at three different places) and then taking a sample of the water from the river at the end of each of the three hikes.  Two of these locations required some down hill and up hill hiking and really got the heart beating and the sweat poring.  The last selection site was just off a highway and required hiking through debris that had either been thrown by cars or washed up by a nearby flood area.  That was the place I showed in the previous post.  Looks idyllic, doesn't it.  I neglected to show the sand bags, bottles and other stuff.

Hubby and I started this project at 1:30 P.M. and did not head back to the "lab" (really an extra room on the back of the museum/house) until 5:00 P.M.  We had to filter the samples for both chlorophyll and suspended solids which meant filtering six times...two for each sample.  Then some of the sample also went into a refractometer for a salinity check...the river was freshwater.  Finally three samples from each site were poured into little vials and labeled and frozen along with the filters placed carefully in foil.  I am just telling you all this to impress you with my technical skills.

I think we must have used a double filter for the first sample because we waited almost 20 minutes for it to filter through.  We reduced our sample from 300 ML to 150 ML and  the next sets took only 5 or 6 minutes to filter completely.  We also had to label the vials and the filters and create a data sheet as well as complete another log.  We were not done until 8:00 and we rushed through our cleanup of the area and headed to the nearby I-HOP for a quick dinner.  It was in the middle of dinner I remembered that I had forgotten to complete two blanks on the 'custody sheet' and so back we drove, retrieved the key from under the log as it got darker, tried to do this so that a nearby family having a picnic did not see we were getting a key, and made our way back into the little back room.

I am clearly not cut out for all the details of environmental work.

On top of all of this I have been tormented by chigger bites which I probably got when sitting on a log near the river's edge while writing in water temp numbers.  I have not had to endure these pests for years and had forgotten how miserable they can make you.  They are a mite, red in color, but too small to be seen by most human eyes, and when they bite you with special mouth parts they liquefy the skin after creating a feed tube called a stylostome of the skin cells.  Don't you just love this info?  This tube they create is the thing that causes the unbearable itching because they fall off when you first scratch and then die.  But the tube stays in for days.  You must NOT scratch because the more you scratch the more it itches!  It can take 10 days for this stylostome to reabsorb.  It is nice to know that their mouths are not very strong, and so, they prefer the tender skin of women and children.  I am now on day 6....ONLY FOUR MORE TO GO!   Eeeeaahh!

What is Your Excuse?

I have not posted because:

1.  My band width for which I pay many sheckles in gold has been painfully diminished the last few days.  It returned to normal speed just yesterday.
2.  Blogger will not let me load photos...I have discovered a work around 'cut and paste' but still unhappy.
3.  I have been busy collecting water samples in the river above ( a long story for another post).
4.  I have been on travel followed by company arriving.
4.  I have a more interesting post at my other blog anyway and suggest you go there for now and I hope the photos show up!

Old Stuff

There are people who almost salivate upon entering an antique mall or when given an opportunity to peruse the booths at an antique fair.  They make sure not to miss Antiques Roadshow (either the British or the American versions) on television each week.  And it is very difficult for them to just drive by a garage sale on an errand-filled morning.

I am not one of those people. I own way too much stuff and dusting is not my favorite thing to do.  While I find old stuff interesting and find a discussion of its creation or history interesting, it is only as an idle diversion.  I can count on one hand the number of times I have gone into an antique store and in most of those cases I was looking for garden ornaments rather than items to dust.
 
On a recent trip with my daughter we explored a large antique mall.  She was looking at antique jewelry and has a new interest in antique watches.  While I had fun looking at the items from my youth, antique lady that I am, it wasn't until I saw this vase below that I got motivated.  Most of my vases are generic from flower shops or previous interesting food containers and barely useful in holding flowers.
 
I saw this green glass charmer in a glass case and immediately bought it.  It is only about 5 inches high and perfect for flowers with broken stems.  I then spent the rest of the time looking at other vases throughout the store and found one more.  This is a tall art deco and I noticed after I purchased it that it was not truly vertical!

I have decided my new mission when I am bored wandering in an antique shop is to look for vases to replace my generic clear glass collection. (I have been having trouble with Internet band width and not able to do any blogging the last few days and while it has been good for my soul, it has kept me from posting.)

Motivation

Sometimes too much of a good thing is too much of a good thing. All of the days in my life are now Saturdays with only an errand or two on the agenda and the rest of the day to play.  No one thinks about being in such a situation some day when they are working a 50-hour workweek.  Let me give you a glimpse of the future so that you will not wander around with that deer in the headlights expression when you get here...you WILL someday.  What can happen is that, first, you lose total track of time.  You head off to your Thursday haircut and are surprised that everyone looks a little too directly at you when you walk in the door.  Then you find out that today is actually Wednesday and you hairdresser doesn't come in until Thursday...tomorrow!   Congrats, you just gained one whole day to your week of playtime.

I gain days and lose days with abandon.  They melt like snowflakes on the desert floor and I sigh with guilt when I lay my head against the pillow each evening realizing that one more jeweled snowflake has melted away and will never be seen again.  This also leads one to become a stranger to that feeling called motivation.  One does what one wants to do, NOT what one should do or needs to do or must do or even has to do.

I wander around my yard with either a camera or a garden trowel in hand until the angle of the sun reminds me that I should be thinking about dinner or calling a family member or getting the details together for that trip that is coming up.  It is like I was released from some time travel machine in a fantasy land and then the machine starts blinking reminding me I am back on the clock.

I used to work with lazy people like me.  I hated how they got the same pay check as I when all they did was show up to work and then wander from one office conversation to the next until the afternoon sun told them they had to do a few things at their desk before they headed home.  Retirement will not seem strange to them.

I, on the other hand, was full of motivation.  This motivation got me nowhere, but it certainly was overflowing in my spirit and probably irritated the hell out of other people around me at my work and certainly made my family roll their eyes on the weekends.  I could cram more items on a Saturday to-do list than anyone I knew, and just like the energizer bunny, get the majority of them done before the sun set.  I once painted an entire new 3,000 square foot house - primer, trim and stain - on just a few weekends.

Now my motivation is hiding somewhere.  I have a bedroom that has had spackle spots and faded paint for several years, I have floors with carpets that need cleaning, I have a fall car trip to plan, and I really, really, really should clean out a closet or two since I can no longer tightly close the doors!  But it looks like we just might get a nice sunset this evening down at the dock...so I will follow hubby who is checking on the crabs and then a couple of hours later my hunger will eventually make me walk back up and start dinner.  (THAT's where my motivation is, in my stomach.  Who knew?)

(And of course I went to here  to read Moannie's version of aging after finishing writing this!  We are both so cheerful these days!)

Recess

Taking a break from blogging.  My brain is a little fried and I have weeks of activity ahead.  Won't be gone too long.  You cannot get rid of me that easily.

My Virtual Love Letter

I could not have imagined a drift or even catching a tsunamic (yes I made a new word) wave into this community called Bloggers.  Who knew so many people wanted to put their thoughts into words and share those thoughts with strangers?  Each of my bloggers has at least one or two (if not hundreds) of lightning strokes of genius as they share deeply personal thoughts and parts of their recent days or years long ago and mold them carefully into phrases that reflect the humanity of man and in some cases true poetry.  They share their lunches, decorating efforts, cleaning processes, broken marriages, conversations with crazy folks and their unique as well as common thoughts.  While held up to the light individually, they may not have much substance, but when woven into the light of years of blogging they are the stitches of a tapestry of a unique and complicated human life.  They are the snare of the jazz piece.  They are the rare spice in the soup of mankind.  They are the laugh of that old joke told in an unusual light. 

If we had met at a wine or ice cream bar our outspoken ideas may have halted the minute we found our differences.  But with blogging we slowly learn that we are all so VERY much alike in spite of our politics, religious beliefs, sexual preferences, and taste in cooking.  My bloggers are patient with me.  They chuckle at my desire to really get their opinion on my photographs...a free lesson from the audience...and they sigh at my own efforts to try to write prose or poetry, but do not discourage me.  They cannot believe that I value honesty (with a spoonful of sugar) above all else.

That is the key.  NEVER discourage someone from trying to express their opinion but be willing to also express an opinion gently in a different light.  This world is changing at impossible speeds these days and we barely have time to sift the false from the true.  One thing I think I have learned is that truth is rarely exciting or shiny like a diamond (or winks at you).  Truth is gray and solid like a bridge to the future,  Truth always is in the distant light, and if we disagree, it is because we have not changed our rose colored glasses, quite yet.