Lost in the clothes hamper

When my grandson was small, we lived about seventy miles away and so I used to write him letters about little pretend people who lived outside my house in the elephant plant patch. I decided to share one with my readers, written about twenty years ago.
Dear Eli,
I sat down to write a story, and as I stared helplessly at my typewriter, and it stared back at me, I realized that I hadn't seen those little pretend people all day. I hadn't seen them yesterday, either. Where were they? I looked under the bed, and under the sofa and chairs, but no one was there. I got worried. I even went out into the cold night and looked under the bushes and went up and down the rows of rose bushes, calling out to them in a loud voice. "Where are you, little people?" No answer. A man was walking his dog and looked at me very strangely, but I didn't care. All I could think of was how cold it was, and how those poor little people were lost out there.
But maybe they were inside and hiding from me. I went back in. i looked everywhere. I began to get angry. "You come out this very minute. Stop fooling around!" I yelled. I made Grandpa look too. Then I sat down on the edge of the bed and thought very hard. I thought so hard that my hair stood on end. My ears twitched. My nose wiggled. And I remembered something. "Oh, oh" I said to myself. "You changed the sheets and pillowcases on this bed yesterday. Then you threw them in the clothes hamper. Look in there."
I went into the bathroom and carefully lifted the lid on the hamper. A dirty face cloth flew out and landed on my head. A handkerchief flew out and landed on the floor. Out came a towel and a pair of socks. Those little people were in there and they were so angry they were throwing everything out. "Stop, stop," I said. "How did you get in there?" At first they were so angry they talked in little people talk. "Grpplmn! Admtffr! Gillpogner." I couldn't understand a word they said. But then they let me help them out and onto my bed. "We were in the bed when you yanked off the sheets and blankets," they said. "You threw all of us into the hamper. We are so hungry we could eat a dirty sock!" They looked at me for a minute, and then I knew what to do. I went to the kitchen and brought back some cookies and an apple. They gobbled the cookies and apple down, and then, because they were so tired, they curled up on my bed and fell asleep. Next time I change the sheets I will look very carefully before I put them in the hamper. I looked again at the little people sleeping on my bed. Each one had a big smile on its face. Love, Grandma

Night Owls

Hi all, I have had trouble getting into my blog, bit I finally managed to reset my password and got in again. I will admit that I am a kluz when it comes to computers.
Anyway, here I am at 9:35 P.M., just getting around to blogging. i am a hopeless night owl. i have been an insomniac all of my life, and feel as Robert Bentley said he felt, that all of his life he had been doing two things he didn't want to do. He had been going to bed at night and getting up in the morning. I am now in the enviable position of being able to stay up as late as I like and rising again when I am ready. Oh, joy! This morning I didn't get up until ten. My husband rose even later. With only a very old cat to care for, we can do as we please. Of course, when the little boxer dog comes to stay with us, the picture changes. She wakes up at seven, and will brook no nonsense about sleeping late.
There have been quite a few famous people who have been night owls, some of whom were red-haired and left-handed as well. Winston Churchill is probably the best-known of them, having disrupted the entire White House with his nocturnal wanderings and late rising in the morning. Bill Clinton was a night owl, as was Elvis Presley and Marilyn Monroe. Percy B. Shelley was an insomniac and Edgar Allen Poe, who wrote poems into the night. President Abraham Lincoln was known to have studied in front of the fireplace until morning, using the glow of the fire as his light source. So I am in good company.
As far as I know, no one else in my family was a night owl. When I read at the kitchen table late at night, I was alone. Everyone else was in bed, properly asleep. I don't remember being told to go on to bed, and I am sure i stayed up well past midnight. This didn't exempt me from getting up with everyone else in the morning, so I was in a permanent state of sleep deprivation. Somehow I survived.
Now they tell us that we need at least seven, preferably eight hours of sleep each night. For night owls, that will never be.
Unless the whole structure of the work force changes. How glad I am that I am retired and can go my own way at last.

High hopes for the future

To my delight, I read in the paper that they are hoping to get a rail service started up again here in Sonoma County, to run from Healdsburg to Sausalito, where it will connect with a ferry to go to San Francisco. Years ago people rode such a train all the way to Monte Rio, a tourist haven up here on the Russian River. It was a favorite destination for weekenders, who flocked by the hundreds to swim in the river, ride boats up and down and stay in the hotel that was built in the side of a hill. When we had a vacation cabin on the top of the hill, there were three stores in town, a meat market, a fire station, a clothing store and a bowling alley. Now it has all faded away and nothing is left but a food store and a pub, known as the Pink Elephant. There is, thankfully, a movie theatre and a hairdresser who does a great job of cutting and shaping hair. Now and then, some small store will open, but it soon fades away. We do have the Bohemian Grove encampment across the river, and so in July limousines are seen coming and going as powerful members enter and leave. It is a retreat for men only, and they tell me that the goings-on in there are not to be believed. It lasts for a short time and then all is quiet once again.
Our cabin was at the very top of the hill, named Starrett Hill, and could be reached only by a winding one-lane road that was, to say the least, difficult to drive. We used to go up there every weekend, and have wonderful memories of the place. We naturally remodeled it and had a great kitchen when we were finished. My grandson was born in that cabin. Finally we sold it to a friend, who enjoyed it as much as we did.
Time marches on. We no longer drive a car, and are advised not to ride in airplanes, but I am pretty sure we could handle a train. What a thrill that would be to ride the length of the railroad down to Los Angeles. That will be an event to aim for.

Ring, ring, ring

Am i different from everyone else? Am I weird? I question thusly because when the telephone rings I break my neck to answer it. Three rings and I am tearing across the room to the telephone, in a panic lest the caller has to leave me a message. This does not seem to be the case with the people whom I call. Oh, no. I made three calls tonight, and was forced to leave a message on each one. Were they all out somewhere? I doubt it. I think they were lurking somewhere close by, waiting to hear who was calling. They will call back, I am sure. But will I wait until I hear the voice leaving a message and only then pick up the phone? No, I will not. I will once again rush to answer it. I suppose this habit was formed in my younger days when we were on a party telephone, and we hurried to answer lest someone along the line picked up the phone and an entire conversation was going on before we got there.
Sometimes these party lines were a godsend, as when someone was taken ill and several of the neighbors heard the news and chimed in with advice. My Aunt Maud was quite good with a quick diagnosis and my Grandma would come right down, carrying a lighted lantern if it was night, and bringing with her the wisdom of the pioneer stock she descended from. Sometimes it was no more serious than a sick cow, but sometimes it was a life-threatening crisis. When a neighbor went into labor someone always volunteered to come and stay while the doctor was on the way. Since we all lived up and down the road from each other, it was indeed an extended family. Of course, everyone knew everything about everyone else, and for a wayward teenager, this could be very trying. My Grandmother was the most understanding soul one could hope to know, and I remember one young woman who came to live with Grandma for awhile, leaving with a new little baby, going out into a hard world by herself. Grandma had given her shelter when she had nowhere else to turn.
Ah, the good old days. Sometimes i wish we could turn back the clock. Things were simpler then.

Lazy days

For some reason, things have slowed down for us here. Maybe it is because it is the middle of July, the "dog days" of summer. Not that it has been warm. We are actually having an unusually cool summer. But we find ourselves sitting listlessly around, watching the hummingbirds at the feeder. Most of the time I am reclined on the sofa, head on a pile of cushions and not even alert to the news, sometimes listening to the radio and sometimes just dozing away there. It is a pleasant sort of life, but not productive at all.
We did go to a salad luncheon on Tuesday, a delightful affair where we dined with old friends and ate delicious salads furnished by the ladies of the church guild. We go every year and were delighted to go again this year. Since we ate copiously I did not feel the need to cook dinner, and we made do with a can of soup. Then last night we dined with my daughter and her husband, a truly gourmet meal which we enjoyed very much, prepared with skill and imagination. Today I did manage to get together our evening meal, but my husband wasn't feeling especially well, so I have a bowl of leftovers. Since we had two enjoyable days and a quiet day today, why do I feel that the time has just passed me by? The week is almost gone and I am left with a blank space in my life. Is this the way it is going to be for us now? We badly need our little Kaya dog to keep us awake and active. We hope to get her back soon.
I did manage to pull myself together to watch Senator Obama give his speech in Berlin. He is a great speaker, and got a good reception. This is going to be quite a year with the election coming up. Hope Obama wins by a landslide.
Well, this will be short. I still haven't loaded the dishwasher (that's how lazy I am) and must get it done. Night all. Please keep in touch.

Nitros Oxide

I looked forward eagerly to having my yearly dental visit to have my teeth cleaned. It meant that wonderful experience of being administered nitrous oxide, the "laughing gas." In days gone by, nitrous oxide was an exponent of many a dinner party, being used as a modern participant uses ecstasy. Usually the young men indulged in this pastime, while the young ladies watched in amusement as some young man laughed helplessly and uttered ridiculous things while under the influence. I myself have been known to indulge fanciful thoughts while being scaled, scraped, nicked and probed by the hygienist.
This time it was different. Due perhaps to my having gone into tachycardia on my last visit, the dentist would only allow a very low volume of nitrous oxide, and as far as I was concerned, it didn't do a thing.
Flat on my back, with the hygienist breathing heavily into my face, she looked at the dials and pronounced me ready. Ready! As she scraped and chipped away, I slowly, very slowly, relaxed and tried to breathe deeply. I couldn't seem to reach that euphoric state I usually sank into, and felt every jolt and prod. First she was at the front, then digging around in the back, and then the cruel fiend started on the side and actually cut away a portion of my gums.
I opened my eyes and it seemed that she was leering at me. Or making a face. She had seemed pleasant and kind before she started, but she was definitely enjoying torturing me. Then my chin started trembling and she took that moment to squirt water into my mouth, causing me to cough and splatter water here and there.
What was the matter with her? Hadn't she been trained properly? I would certainly have to speak with the dentist about her incompetence. But I was indeed slowly sinking under the spell of the nitrous oxide, and decided that it wasn't all that important anyway - it might even make an amusing story to write about for my writing class. I drifted off, at last, into a happy state of relaxation, and suddenly I was wide awake and breathing oxygen. It was all over.
"How was it?" asked the dentist when he came in to assess my condition. "Did you get through it O.K.?" "Oh, sure," I lied through my now polished and shining teeth. "It was fine." Sometimes it isn't even worth it to tell the truth.

I Go To Heaven (continued)

I had a lot of questions but when I started to speak, the Angel raised its hand and said thoughtfully, "Actually, I can read your mind. I think we can save time if I answer some of them without you asking. First of all, I have always been here. All I do is answer questions. That is my sole purpose in life. I have been here since the beginning of time. I am part of the establishment. I am a charter member. Now, let's get down to business. You have read the rules. Rule 2 means exactly what it says. You can eat what you want up here, dress however you like, and live whatever lifestyle suits you. If you have ever been in California you know what I mean. Rule 1 and 3 are self-explanatory. They are suggestions only. I wish I could let you see your mother, but that would mean you had to see all of the others too, And we don't want that. I can assure you that she is happy. She is a great one for following rules."
The Angel ruffled its feathers and stretched out a bare foot, and wiggled its toes. Then it stretched out its other foot and flexed its arch. Then it stood up and stretched, and bent forward and took my hand. "Nice to have met you," it said politely. "I'm glad we had this little chat. Now I have to buzz off." It flapped away, hanging onto its halo with one hand. It left the harp leaning up against the cloud. I watched it until it was out of sight.
I hadn't the slightest idea what to do next. I thought of the rules again. Rule 2 was a good rule. I thought of California, and my little house on the hill above Austin Creek, with the redwoods growing all around. I could see the flowers blooming beside the path, and the pretty redwood deck my husband had built. I saw my little black cat sunning itself in a pool of sunshine. Strangely enough, I could smell the heavenly aroma of freshly perked coffee and hear the faint clink of dishes being taken out of the dishwasher. Then the doorbell rang and I could hear my little neighbor telling my husband that her cat had come home after all. I opened my eyes and sunlight was streaming into my bedroom and I realized that I was back on solid ground, in my own house, in my own bed, in California. I hadn't been in heaven after all. It had all been just a dream. I think.

I Go To Heaven (continued)

"I'll go in," I said. "I'll try anything once."
St. Peter stood up and went to open the gate. I saw that his beard had grown clear down to his knees. I noticed, too, that he was in great shape for a man his age. He opened the gate a couple of feet, grabbed me by the arm and shoved me inside. He laughed like a maniac as he slammed the big gate shut.
My heart sank when I saw what was printed on the inside of the gate. There, in big, black letters, were the words:

YOU CAN'T GO HOME AGAIN
and in smaller words Sorry About That

I was scared speechless. I looked around but to my amazement I was all alone. There wasn't another soul as far as I could see in every direction. There was, however, a large angel reclining on a cloud, covered with his or her wings, and strumming lazily on a harp. I floated over and stood respectfully before this shining creature. It looked at me with luminous blue eyes and asked in a melodious voice, "Are you being served?'
"I do have some questions," I answered, regaining my voice. "Why am I all alone up here? I thought I would see millions of souls up here. This is spooky."
"Oh, you can see them if you want to," answered the Angel. "You can't see them when you first come in because it's all so overwhelming. Do you want to see them?"
I nodded and there appeared before me a million, a billion celestial beings, walking, running, dancing, standing as if in a daze, curled up sleeping, doing things I never thought I would see them do. It was horrible. "Please," I cried, cringing and covering my eyes. "I made a mistake. I don't want to see them. Take them away."
"It's O.K. They're gone," said the Angel. "I've never had a single new arrival who wanted to go through that more than once. Just relax. Do you want to read the rules? There are only three and they are easy."
It unrolled a large scroll, upon which were printed three lines in Geneva Type, 18 size print, black ink.

Rule 1: Be Happy. Don't worry.
Rule 2: Heaven is whatever you want it to be.
Rule 3: Practice patience. You have plenty of time.
Underneath someone had written a line of graffiti: Be all that you can be.
Underneath that someone else had scrawled: Don't ask. Don't tell.
The Angel hastily held one wing over the last two lines. "I'll have to erase that. Forget you ever saw those lines. They are meaningless. Do you have any questions?" (To be continued)

I Go to Heaven

I went to Heaven last night. In my dreams. I hadn't planned to go there, and as a matter of fact, I had been thinking about Paris, hoping to dream about the little rooftops and sidewalk cafes. But the first thing I knew, there I was at the pearly gates. Lest I lead the reader astray, they weren't pearly. They were a sort of weathered wood and the walls were a kind of dried mud composition. Over the gate it said "Paradise," and underneath in smaller letters various words, such as Heaven, Allah, Happy Hunting Grounds, and so on. But there was the gate, closed and locked of course, and St. Peter was there, sitting on a stone bench wearing a loin cloth. I guess my expression was one of amazement, because St. Peter said, "We don't wear long robes up here. Too much maintenance. We simplified a couple of centuries ago. Now it's strictly come as you are. You might find some of the occupants stark naked. Why are you here? I thought you weren't due up here for a long time."
"I want to see my mother," I said, thinking fast. "She should be up here someplace."
St. Peter scratched his beard, plucked something out of it, and thought a moment. "I suppose she must be up here. There's no place else she could have gone to. You know there's no Hell. That's just what they used to say to scare people."
"O.K.," I said. "Do I need a passport, or should I say a prayer, or something to get in?"
"Not at all," St. Peter said, but still not getting up. "Do you still want to go in?"
"I don't know," I said. "Does everyone who is ever born get to come up here?"
He gave me a look of scorn. "You only get in if you believe in Paradise. If you don't believe, when you die, you simply cease to exist." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that! Poof! You are gone."
"But what about reincarnation?'' I asked.
St. Peter flew into an unholy rage. "Reincarnation?" he shrieked. "Don't talk to me about reincarnation. If you wanted to come back as a cat or something, you should have thought about that before you died."
He banged his long cane against the rock and I thought he was going to strike me.
"Now," he said, calming down a little. "Do you want to go in or not? You're holding up the whole line. We've got a traffic jam here."
(to be continued)

What did you say?

My husband wears hearing aids in both ears, but even without them he has amazing hearing powers. Even sitting in a hot bath, with the bathroom door closed, he can hear me open the cupboard door to sneak out the chocolate chips for a snack. He can hear the cat jump up onto the sofa and somehow senses when our neighbor walks in her yard up the street. How he does it I cannot tell. Even wearing my own hearing aids, I can hardly hear the telephone ring. When my husband speaks to me I have to be right in front of him and listen carefully to make out the words.
I will admit that he has the better hearing aids, because to compensate for his vision loss, we purchased very expensive ones for him, and paid quite a bit more for his than for mine. But he seldom wears them and gets along just fine without them. I, on the other hand, faithfully wear mine and probably wouldn't hear anything at all without them.
My own hearing loss happened when I was about six or seven, and had a severe ear infection. It caused me problems all down through the years, in high school and later in college. In high school, in order to hear the teacher, I sat in the front row of seats, while all of the rest of the class naturally sat in rows behind me. I can still hear the rustling and snickering behind me, which caused me to think that I was the cause for merriment. I probably wasn't but that's how I felt.
Since I couldn't tell how loud I was talking, I developed a loud voice which carried farther than was intended, getting me into trouble again and again. At work, before I got my hearing aids, I would sometimes answer inappropriately since I had not heard the words addressed to me correctly. It was quite an awakening when I first got my aids and could hear footfalls on gravel and birds singing. Now I need new ones and will have to try to get them soon.
I am lazy tonight, so I will make this a short blog. We had a lovely day here today, with hummingbirds visiting the feeder every couple of minutes. Hope I have an exciting dream tonight. We'll see.

Summer Fun

Splatt! "Got him!" yelled my cousin Kenneth. There on the table lay a little wriggling body, making a mighty effort to right itself. Before Kenneth could attack it again, it flew into the air and escaped. "Nuts," muttered Kenneth, drawing a frown from our Grandpa, who took a dim view of slang.
Splatt! This time it was Grandpa, and his fly bit the dust. There was no question about this fly. It was flattened and splattered onto the table top and would move no more. Grandpa reached out, took it by a wing, and deposited it onto a piece of newspaper lying on the table. He was keeping score and his pile of flies was growing steadily.
Kenneth and Grandpa were in competition, and though Kenneth was pretty good, he really was no match for Grandpa, who was a master. First of all, Grandpa had the bigger fly swatter, and Kenneth was hampered by the necessity of keeping an eye on Grandpa to make sure he didn't filch any of Kenneth's dead flies. Grandpa could talk and swat, listen to the radio and swat, and seemingly doze off and swat. If he ever missed, I don't know about it.
I used to watch these exterminators and wonder how they did it. I never got a fly. One day Grandpa let me take his cherished swatter and try, but I missed by a mile.
"You are swatting ahead of the fly," Grandpa told me. "When they fly, they spring backwards, so you have to swat behind them. Try again."
I tried, and tried again, but no little corpses littered the table. I thought I got one once, but though I looked on the floor, I never found it. Reluctantly, I gave Grandpa back his swatter and in quick order he had downed three more. He was good!
At the end of the day, when they tallied up the score, Grandpa always won. As well he should have. That was his main occupation, since he was retired and lived off a small pension. One day in a moment of recklessness, I asked Grandpa "Is that all you do, just swat flies?" Luckily for me, Grandpa had a sense of humor, and he said with a twinkle, "That is all I do. Just swat flies." I wasn't being impertinent. I just wanted to know. I don't think he held it against me.

Summer Fun

How to be a lady, continues

We weren't really raised as ladies. When harvest time came around, there we were out in the field, bending over at the waist to pick string beans or strawberries. If we had to bring the cows in for milking, short, sedate steps hardly worked. We took what strides we needed for getting the cows in and avoiding the hazards of cow pads in the pasture. We did, however, practice the sedate walk and crossed ankles in the confines of our living room. My sister did pretty well, but I never mastered the art of walking with my feet pointed forward. My right foot turned out and still does to this day. Since my feet didn't reach the floor, I had trouble crossing my ankles, and often forgot and swung my legs back and forth, a no, no.
Rule number one was broken before I ever got out of second grade. It happened one day when the teacher sent the little kids out early for recess, and I and my fellow second-grader, a little boy named Sherman, went out the door onto the porch. We didn't go out onto the playground because there was a cow out there. We were in something of a quandary, because we were supposed to go play on the swings, but we were afraid of the cow. So we sat down on the edge of the porch, side by side, and waited for the big kids to come out and deal with the cow. After a moment or two, Sherman put his arm around me and planted a kiss on my cheek. "I'm going to call you Dotty Dimples!" he announced.
His kiss and endearing words came just at the moment that the older children came through the door, and were duly reported to the teacher and subsequently to my mother. Luckily, neither took action, but years later when I visited home again, my mother introduced my to a tall, good-looking man and announced that this was Sherman, the little boy who kissed me in second grade. Mothers never forget.
The name stuck, though, and today I am known to chat-room visitors as Dottie Dimples, which causes some rather amusing comments.
The kissing rule wasn't broken again until I was fourteen, when a neighbor boy, myself and my cousin (who shall be known as Jane, though that wasn't her name) went into a dark room to develop photographs. There in the dark, quite unexpectedly, he planted a kiss on my lips. He must have been nervous because his lips were trembling. He said not a word and I remained silent, as well. We eventually emerged into the lighted parlor, where I got another surprise. By the meaningful glances he cast in my cousin's direction, I realized that in the dark, he had made a mistake. He had kissed the wrong girl. He had meant the kiss for my cousin. She, poor girl, had no idea what he was trying to convey to her, and I suppose he took her attitude for indifference. Of course, I didn't tell my mother.
Because of my uncle, it was hard to follow the hicky rule. He was a teenager and thought it was his mission in life to hicky every girl he could catch and I was an easy victim. Many a hicky I tried to hide under my collar or a scarf, but it wasn't easy. There was no way to make it fade away. It stayed until it wasn't there any longer. After i escaped from his vicinity, I never got a hicky again, but in later years I did get a whisker burn or two.
These rules no longer apply. One has only to watch a TV show or visit a coffee bar to see that my poor mother was wasting her time. That was then and this is now. No one, not even those of my generation, follow these rules anymore.

How to be a lady

Even though we lived way out in the country, five miles from the nearest town, which was a little hick town at that, Mother was determined that my sister and I should grow up to be ladies. She didn't have much to work with. Dressed in our floursack dresses and barefooted most of the time, we certainly didn't look the part. But she tried. How she tried! She had a whole litany of rules which she laid out for us to follow.
1. Don't let a boy kiss you. If he tries to force his attentions on you, slap his face.
2. Don't kiss a boy yourself.
3. When you sit down, don't cross your legs. Keep your knees together and cross your right ankle over your left.
4. If you must pick something off the floor, don't bend over at the waist. Do the modified curtsy-squat, and try to be modest with your skirts. If there is a man present, look to him helplessly, and he will pick it up for you.
5. Never accept a present from a boy, unless you are engaged. A bite of his candy bar, or a lick off his ice cream cone, or a stick of gum is all right. If he brings a flower that he has picked on his way to see you, that can be accepted as well.
6. When you are dancing, don't dance too close. Make sure his hand never strays below your waist.
7. At a dance, if you must step outside for a breath of fresh air, stay on the porch. Don't under any conditions go wandering off into the dark with your partner. People will talk.
8. If a man uses profanity or says anything disrespectful in your presence, tell your father. He won't do it again.
9. Ladies don't shake hands with men, gentlemen or otherwise. If he extends his hand, just ignore it.
10. If you are alone in the house, (which should never happen anyway) don't open the door to anyone of the male gender, just peek out the curtain and pretend you aren't home. He will go away after while.
11. Always talk in well-modulated tones, which are audible but not too loud. Nobody likes a loud-mouthed woman.
12. Walk sedately with short steps and your toes pointed forward, and never swing your arms.
13. Never, NEVER, come home with a hicky on your neck..
All of these rules were formulated to teach us to comport ourselves in a seemly fashion and give the illusion that we were well-bred and of quality. It wasn't easy. (To be continued tomorrow)

My battle with my computer.

I am being royally spoiled with all of the delicious food I am eating lately. Tonight was a superb roast pork with potatoes and corn on the cob. As Rachael Ray says, "Yummo!"
We had a most pleasant ride down to an old town a couple of miles from the house, with several antique stores, some art stores and a general store that has a little of everything. Up above the store is a hill that contains an old cemetery, and across the street are other small stores and a pizza place. There is also a restaurant, now closed, that used to have lines of people waiting to get a table. In front is a For Sale sign but I understand no offers have been made on it. It used to be a lively place to eat.
Today was a pretty busy day for me, and I confess that my old computer almost met its end. I had to do some typing and the mouse simply would not cooperate with me. I would try to scroll down and the whole page would turn blue. I would try to get it corrected and the whole page would go blank. The computer is over six years old, so I suppose a new one is in order. Only sheer willpower kept me from bashing it to pieces with a hammer. My husband kept urging me to "Clean the mouse," which didn't help since i couldn't figure out how to do it. Finally, though, I did finish and got it proofread, and all is well. It needed our signatures, and three witnesses, so our little friend, my husband and myself walked up to our neighbor's house and they graciously signed and dated it, making it a legal document. They actually seemed to be delighted to do it for us, We chose them because they have known us for sixteen years and we have always liked one another.
It occurred to me, as I watched yet another news story of a wife and two children being killed by the husband and father, that these crimes are being committed more and more often. I wonder if these men suffered some damage to their brains as children, or if some unsuspected virus caused the brain to be altered. I hope that in future some testing will be done so it can be prevented.
All is calm and peaceful here. Kia is sleeping in her bed and the cat is on the sofa. Good-night all.

A delicious bowl of stew.

Today has been a most pleasant day. A dear friend from long ago is visiting, and because she is an excellent cook, I asked her if she would cook up a batch of stew. While she and my husband worked together in the kitchen, I reclined on the sofa, telling them to consider me deep in a coma. It was wonderful, and we had the best stew I have ever eaten for dinner. She will be here for a week, but will be staying most of the time at my daughter's. Since I find cooking to be at best a challenge, I was thrilled to have someone else be responsible for today. Tomorrow we will have turkey dinner at my daughter's. How lucky can I get?
Today was quite warm, but a cool breeze has come up, and we have all of the windows open and the house is cooling down rapidly. Since we live near the coast, we have very moderate weather here. Further inland, where my grandson lives, it got up to almost 100 degrees today. Luckily, he works in an air conditioned office, and thus stays comfortable while at work.
Both the dog and the cat are inside for the night (it's after nine O'Clock) and we will listen to a book tape for a while. Then it will be time to retire and another adventure with dreams will ensue. Hope mine will be pleasant. Night.

Fireworks

I just watched the Washington D. C. Fourth of July program - very exciting. There was a young singer with a glorious soprano voice who sang "Shenandoah" and, of all things, a very senior Jerry Lee Lewis who sang "Great Balls of Fire." I watched from the comfort of my living room sofa, of course, but it did bring back memories of the days when I was stationed there during the war. I didn't get to see fireworks then because it was wartime and I don't think I got off the base for events like that.
Yesterday was somewhat chaotic because for some reason our little dog decided that the time had come for her to hassle our little cat and she chased her down into the blackberry bushes. We all ran out and clapped our hands and shouted for her to come back, which she did eventually, but the poor little cat stayed down there until after dark. We thought we would have to look for her by flashlight, but at about 9:00 she came creeping back onto the deck and into the house. We naturally made a great fuss over her and saw that she had fresh food to eat. I hope they learn to get along together.
The Boston Pops program comes on in a few minutes so I will get a double treat tonight. Adios!

A happy day

What a wonderful day. We had a visit from my little great-granddaughter and her mom and Dad, and it was pure joy. She is crawling everywhere and trying to stand up by herself, and what a workout it was to keep up with her. Her mom is going to have to baby-proof the house and quick! She was found standing up in her crib all by herself, and today she tried to crawl up from the family room to the living room. She is interested in everything, and growing like a little flower.
To add to our pleasure, we are having a visit from the little boxer dog, this time longer than a few days. We are sure she will add years to our lives, keeping us alert and active. I guess we have been a little too sedentary lately but with her here we have to keep going.
Otherwise, it is a quiet evening, with only depressing news on TV, so we are listening to the radio instead. We listen to Coast to Coast radio, and the outlandish subjects they pursue keep us entertained (and sometimes awake) throughout the night. I'm afraid I just cannot believe in shadow people or visits from other worlds. I don't believe I can regress to former lives or make contact with departed loved ones. I am a skeptic. Won't it be interesting to find out the actual truth at the end? I'm not exactly looking forward to it, but it will come to us all in the end.

The water is hot again

Hooray! Yippee! I write in the jubilation of another do-it-yourself project successfully completed. This little job would have been the work of about fifteen minutes if done by a sighted person. It involved the replacement of a small thermostat which regulated the temperature of the water in the hot water heater. All it needed was the disconnecting of two black wires, pulling out the old thermostat, which is about 2 inches in length, and slipping in the new one. But my husband is severely visually handicapped, and although he knows what to do, he has difficulty in doing it. So I help him. And since we are also both almost deaf, and seldom if ever wear our hearing aids, and become quite vocal when working with one another, the ensuing commotion can be quite alarming. A casual observer, or even a concerned friend or relative, would run in terror if they came upon us in the middle of the fracas, fearing that violence was about to break out. This little scenario is typical.
SCENE 1
Husband is seated on a stool in front of the heater, peering into its interior. Wife is on the other side of the house, by the fuse box.
Husband: Turn the power off.
Wife: What? I can't hear you.
Husband: raising voice: turn the @#!!* power off.
Wife: It's off
Husband: Are you sure?
Wife: What? I can't hear you.
Husband doesn't answer Wife comes back to where husband is still examining the thermostat with a magnifying glass.
Wife: The power is off.
Husband: Don't touch any of the wires.
Wife: Why not? the power is off.
Husband: I don't trust it, Just don't touch them.
Wife doesn't answer. Husband gingerly puts screw driver in screw head and tries to turn. Screw is in tight and he can't turn it. Choice words follow and husband uses as much force as he can muster and finally screw comes loose and black wire is released. There are two black wires. Second wire comes off easily. Thermostat slides off bracket and new thermostat is taken out of box. Husband tries to slide it onto bracket but it won't fit.
Wife: Why didn't you look at how it goes on when you took the old one off?
Husband: (losing it): Here. You try. I hope you electrocute yourself. You always know everything.
Wife tries without success to fit thermostat onto bracket. They sit looking at one another. Husband loses patience and forces thermostat onto bracket and puts wires in place and screws them in.
Husband: There! Was that so hard?
Wife has no appropriate answer. She turns on power. Both elements begin heating water. Problem solved.
Usually when we work on some project, someone will come along and interrupt us during some crucial point in the operation. Today we were lucky. In actuality, we finished the whole job in a little less than hour. One really doesn't appreciate hot water until it is unavailable.