Happy New Year

Today has been such a quiet day, we did nothing exciting at all. My husband drained some water out of the hot water heater, hardly worth mentioning. We are trying to flush the calcium deposit out of the bottom, as it eventually will damage the heating element and the heater will fail. We will have to get used to doing this, as the area in which we live tends to have this problem with the water. The water tastes good when we drink it, fortunately.
I am happy to report that the little juncos are back, and even some chickadees. We look forward to seeing these little birds every winter, cheerful little visitors from other areas. The hummingbirds are long gone, and the blue jays are scarce, but these little birds come in flocks and perch in the apple tree and in the rose bushes, twittering cheerfully.
Christmas was a fun time for us, with visits from family and friends. We were happy to celebrate and exchange simple gifts, but I must confess that now I am content to slip back into my old lazy ways and rest as much as i want to. I have had a problem with walking, and my left leg has developed what i assume is tendenitis although I am only making a guess about it. I rested most of the day with my leg draped with a heating pad and it seemed to help. My husband is most patient with my complaints and I try not to moan and groan too much. We each have our own list of ailments, none of which overlap.
What will the new year bring? It bodes to be exciting and different, and I am looking forward to a new president, and many changes in the lives of us all. My heart goes out to all of the young families facing bleak economic times, having experienced lean times of my own. That was a long time ago, but my memory is quite clear.
But that was then and this is now. I wish everyone everywhere a Happy New year and hope to keep in touch with my readers for a long time to come. Bye for now.

In Another World

After I retired, I used to attend classes held for seniors at Sonoma State University, which were both edifying and entertaining. The following essay describes my experience as I attend one class.

I slip unobtrusively into my seat in the classroom - glancing around to see who has come this day. I am as usual late by a few minutes, but I sit in the back row and no one seems to notice. The teacher is already into his lecture, making unintelligible notations on the blackboard. The topic of today is how Bank of America is ripping us off and aiding and abetting corporate corruption. The students listen in rapt silence.
I stealthily look around. There in the aisle opposite me is Mr. Clean, a small pleasant little fellow dressed impeccably in sports shirts and slacks, as neat as a pin. He has been both attentive and courteous to me, picking up my papers when I drop them and helping me out of my chair when I get stuck trying to arise. He comes alone and seems eager for companionship. He is a psychiatrist, learned in the matter of sociopaths, now retired.
But just in front of him, also across the aisle, is a student who defies description. I can best picture him as resembling a bag of rags. His face is hidden by a large, floppy hat, he has long, unkempt hair and beard, and believe it or not, his jeans are held up by a piece of clothesline. But wait. He asks a question. At that point, I realize that here is a man of intelligence and accomplishment, a man who once held an important position in the world of technology. Is his garb and presentation a spoof on our subject of study? Or is he a true eccentric? I view him in a new light after he speaks.
The entire class is composed of students who have not only earned masters and doctorates but have owned successful businesses, have held political office, have been doctors and dentists, attorneys, teachers, accountants, the whole spectrum of the professional life. What am I doing here, I ask myself. Can I hope to gain knowledge of the corporate world from a series of five lectures?
I am learning more than I realize. Simply by observing the students, I am gaining an insight into the vast spectrum of personalities and lifestyles of the senior population. I hope someone is studying us, we are a fascinating group.

It's the little things that count

These are the things that make me happy.

A flock of chickadees landing in the old apple tree outside my family room window.

The sight of a full moon sailing across a clear sky.

A hastily scrawled note of affection from my granddaughter.

A freshly brewed cup of coffee in the morning

A rainbow arching across the sky.

Sunset over the mountain.

A whiff of fragrance from my husband's aftershave lotion.

An unexpected letter from an old friend.

Winning a hard-fought chess game on the internet.

Rocking a baby.

These little bubbles of happiness are the golden threads that hold the fabric of my life together.

This little essay was written many years ago, found lately in my collection of papers. It is as true today as it was then.

The F Word

I wrote this little essay for my writing class some time ago, but it is just as true today as it was then. I have less to remember now as I did then, but essentially nothing has changed.

I have been using the F word a lot lately. No, I am not a dirty old lady. I don’t mean THAT F word. I mean the F that precedes the word forget. Not that I forget everything. My memory is selective. Ask me for example, what my husband said when I told him I thought I was pregnant, and I can quote his words verbatim. No, I won’t repeat what he said, my lips are forever sealed. Or ask me to quote a poem or song, and I am fine.
I am referring specifically to everyday events that occur in my life for which I cannot dredge a vestige of memory. What did we have for dinner two nights ago? How should I know? I cooked it, served it, ate and cleaned up afterward, but my memory bank is totally blank. Some aging process has caused my inner brain computer to crash on a daily basis.
It can be darned embarrassing! What did I call my dentist at my last appointment? His name is Salmon (I know because I looked it up) but I called him Bacon. Go figure. The other night I couldn’t remember the word “liberal”. Why did I need to know? I can’t remember. But the words to the poem “Spanish waters, Spanish waters” surge through my brain with no effort.
But why am I telling you this? I am neither proud nor ashamed of my lapses. I don’t even know why I am noting this down. To tell you the truth, I don’t remember!

A lost week

Greetings! No, I haven't passed on to the next world- I have just been incredibly lazy and have let everything go in a scandalous fashion. I did have a fun week, finishing things off by going to my little great-granddaughter's birthday party and meeting many very kind and interesting people. The memory will stay with me for a long time.
I must admit that I am feeling my age a little, having developed a very painful condition in my leg that makes it hard for me to walk or do housework (ha! ha!) so my husband has to run around waiting on me, cooking, cleaning and in general filling in as caretaker. He doesn't seem to mind - as a matter of fact he likes to cook. Why I didn't discover this sooner I will never know.
And to top off a fun week, we have our little Kaya dog again, and are enjoying her immensely. She is a people dog, following us around from room to room, and sleeping on a doggy bed in our bedroom. When she stayed with us before, she barked a lot, but has calmed down now and only barks very rarely, if someone comes in the yard. She and the cat are best friends.
I am almost getting into the Christmas spirit, but since we have all agreed that buying presents is out this year, I am finding it slow going. We are going to bake a lot of cookies and give them out as our gift to family members. and I am sending out Christmas cards. The gloomy economic picture has put a damper on shopping. Well, take care and keep in touch.

A quiet day

What would we do without our blog spots? I usually wait until fairly late in the day, just in case something really exciting happens, and i can write about it. Today, however, has been very quiet. We actually haven't done much, except to turn down the temperature of the water in the hot water heater, just in case that was why the circuit breaker shut off. The dripping water in the kitchen sink will have to wait until we get replacement parts. Luckily, my husband is very good at fixing these little problem, with me as his eyes and with his hands being strong enough to turn things and tighten them up and so on. He used to have beautiful hands, with long, slender fingers and smooth skin. Now his old hands are gnarled and twisted, but he can still do anything he wants to do with them. When i look at my own hands i see my mother's hands from long ago.
Do we ever get used to being old? When I startle myself in the mirror, I look like an old crone. I can't believe that I am that wrinkled face looking back at me.
With great foresight, I cooked up a big batch of beef stew the other day, so we are having leftover stew for dinner tonight. It is one of the few dishes that I like as a leftover. Maybe I will pop a batch of biscuits in the oven to go along with it. (Made out of Buisquick Mix, natch!) Nowadays I do everything the easy way! bye, and take care.

Memories

My poor husband was much dismayed yesterday when he broke a cup from my English tea set, which I brought from England over forty years ago. I, of course, was irritated but couldn't be too angry, as he is visually handicapped and simply didn't see it. We glued it together with Gorilla Glue, and it looks almost perfect. Since I seldom use those dishes anyway, it really doesn't matter. They are on display in my china cabinet and look very pretty. They are Staffordshire bone china and the set is named "Roses to Remember." They took several months to arrive so I really appreciated them when they finally came.
Of all of the places we have lived or visited in the years during which my husband served in the armed forces, England was my favorite. The old cobbled streets of London have their own stories to tell. Every house has a history. We spent a week in London one April, and prowled the lanes down by the Thames, wandered in the footsteps of Jack the Ripper, and visited Fleet Street where the roar of the presses filled the night. We didn't neglect the opportunity to have a glass of stout in one of the local pubs and watched the changing of the guards at Buckingham Palace. We always intended to go back some day but, alas, it didn't come to pass.
We were lucky to be stationed in Germany for two years, and since we had a Volkswagen square back, we were able to travel extensively on weekends and short furloughs. We made up a bed in the back and simply camped out wherever we found a convenient stopping place. We got down to the black forest and Hitler's Eagle's Nest, and the town where they put on the Passion Play every four years. France, Belgium, Holland, Denmark, all were within reach with a day or two of travel. Our next favorite place was Denmark, because the food was so good. Oh, if we could only turn back the clock!
But it cannot be. We no longer fly, and since I can only walk with difficulty and my husband can no longer see, it wouldn't do much good to travel. But we have wonderful memories, and hundreds of pictures to remind us. It has been a wonderful life. Bye, and keep in touch.

Coast to Coast Radio

In the evening, while composing myself for sleep, I listen to a radio program called "Coast to Coast radio" which nearly always gives me some new idea to ponder. Last night it was the information, apparently verified, that mental disorders are genetic and that the genes can be identified. This was of keen interest to me since i am an obsessive-compulsive checker and although I consulted a psychiatrist for years, I never quite broke myself of my compulsion. It is much better now and I can stand back and watch myself with some amusement as i complete my ritual. I still have to do it, though. Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder is an anxiety driven manifestation. It is genetic, however, I am sure.
This has caused me to wonder if the many counseling sessions troubled people attend are of any use whatsoever. We used to put a lot of faith in psychiatrists and insurance companies would pay for sessions lasting as long as two years, That is a lot of time on the couch.
Borderline personality is an interesting mental quirk, as is the tendency to be wildly irritable and prone to cruel ranting and raving, calming down afterward, with no memory of the hurtful words that were said. I wonder how many children go through life wounded in spirit because a parent was verbally abusive. In my family, one was said to have the "Pettis Temper" if that person flew into temper tantrums and vented his or her anger in cutting words. This is indeed cause for thought.
We have heard a lot lately about a large asteroid that was supposed to descend on the earth, with great damage. Then we heard the date of the broadcast - 1997! LOL! It would long since have come and gone and we neither heard or saw it. So much for predictions of the future!
Good night all - Be of good cheer!