The Race

I have somehow confused my blog space, so although I had written a small paragraph about today's race at Black Point, my computer wiped it out, or sent it somewhere else, so I will comment on the race briefly. It was quite exciting, but the numerous commercials were distracting. We were glad to be watching from our comfortable sofa and reclining chair.
I am slowing learning how to use my new computer, working mostly on the writing program. Take Care and keep in touch.

JUST FOR THE HALIBUT

My husband does the weekly shopping, and since he is visually impaired, he sometimes buys items I would rather avoid. However, he always hands the check-out list to me so that I can check the prices and confirm his purchases. I quickly scanned down the long list and saw an item that almost sent me into shock.
“What’s this?” I cried out, in dismay, “Thirty-two dollars for fish? This can’t be right!”
“Check the package,” he replied calmly, “It’s in the refrigerator.”
So it was. It was still in the brown paper in which it had been wrapped, and was clearly marked “fresh halibut.” Eighteen dollars per pound!
“Why did you buy this? We get sole for a lot less and it is much easier to cook.,” I complained.
He couldn’t resist one of his quips, so of course he replied, “Oh, just for the halibut.”
What to do? Luckily, I had seen a chef on television, preparing halibut, so I had a glimmering of the process. I unwrapped the package, and gazed at the smelly, pale flesh of the fish, which I knew would be our dinner. I leave the rest of the story to your imagination.

Just another day

:Hi. I made a mistake in my last post saying that little Brendan had encephalitis, when in actuality he was ill with Meningitis. Both illnesses are severe, and we are so pleased he is better.
I have been busy putting together a few of my essays and stories to bind into a small book. I think I will print them up on my printer and maybe put on a cover so I can give them to family and friends. I have a whole box full of papers but I will print up only about ten or so. I can't even remember writing some of them, it goes back to long.
Things are going well for us up here, we are very lazy in our old age, but that is O.K. too. Take care and keep in touch.

My ailing TV set

Busy evening as I am making potato salad for tomorrow, and will put it all together tonight. I don't go to sleep until midnight anyway, so it will be all right.
Our friendly technician came from Comcast to fix our ailing TV set, and had it all working perfectly, but when we turned it off so we could eat lunch, it refused to come back on. So tomorrow someone else will come and try again. We have it covered so it won't cost anything, other than the inconvenience. We did get to watch the soccer game between U.S. and England, and enjoyed it very much.
We had so much fun with little April on Friday, she sure is an independent little girl. Her little cousin is in ICU with encephalitis and we are all sending prayers and best wishes to him to have a full recovery. It is a terrible illness and he will be in the hospital for awhile. It isn't sure just how he got it.
Well, time to get busy chopping up potatoes and hard-boiled eggs. Take care and keep in touch.

cookies in the oven

Altogether a quiet day, with my husband resting up in the big purple chair, trying to be as tranquil as possible. This is hard for him to do, as he has a type A personality, with frequent outbursts of irritation and an occasional temper tantrum. With his aneurysm on his mind, he knows that it behooves him to remain calm, which in a way is a blessing, as it means I can no longer nag him or criticize what he does. It is imperative that he keeps his blood pressure down and his pulse low and steady. It is a little like living with a time bomb and I will be glad when it is all fixed.
We are baking cookies, in anticipation of a visit with my granddaughter and little April, our little angel. We tried a new recipe and it turned out pretty well, although I ran out of peanut butter, but it will turn out all right. They will all be eaten!
The weather is lovely up here and the roses are all in bloom and the apple tree is getting apples so we just sit around contentedly and watch the hummingbirds fly around the feeders. I am trying to let the housework go and just enjoy myself, but having been raised with a strong work ethic, it is heavy going. But if I work at it, i can probably do it.
We all had chores as children and only a serious illness could get us out of it. We started doing chores as soon as we started school and washing dishes and scrubbing floors were the least of it. Why was it so important? We certainly didn't learn from it.
Well, the last batch of cookies is waiting to come out, and I am ready to eat a few. Take care and keep in touch.

Troubling news

My daughter very kindly printed up my blogs from 2008 and 2009 and I am astounded at how much I used to write back then. What has happened to me? I must get myself in gear and try to do better. Maybe it is because we live such quiet lives now, We no longer have our little Kaya dog, and our old black cat spends her whole time asleep on the sofa.
A little troubling news came our way today, but we hope all will be well. My husband has been having some tests done, and an aneurysm was found in his carotid artery entering his brain. It is very small, only 9 mm so we hope they can repair it before any damage is done. He is very philosophical about it, and just goes about his daily life as though nothing is wrong. The little growth in his cheek will have to wait now, the aneurysm takes precedent over everything else
I have been getting some of my essays and stories ready to publish and it is taking up most of my time. I am going to publish them myself, so it will cost a little money, but I want to have something to leave behind when I exit sometime in future. I have piles of papers scattered all over the place, and am having fun reading them over once again.
Bye. Keep in touch.

I burned the stir-fry

My husband very kindly brought home a box of sushi from his shopping trip, which was fortunate because I totally burned our stir-fry dinner tonight. I was printing out some of my little essays on my printer, and forgot to watch the stir-fry. I luckily had some sushi left from lunch, but my poor husband had to make do with a sandwich. Now I have a badly blackened pan to scrub. It is soaking in the sink now.
Did I ever mention that I don't really like to cook? If I could get meals on wheels, I would certainly avail myself of that benefit. But we live too far out for them to deliver to our house. They say the food is quite good.
Tomorrow I must go in to the clinic for a blood test, so I will be drinking lots of water and hoping for the best. Our doctor is leaving the clinic, so I have to get another doctor. I am no prize as a patient, so I hope I don't drive the new doctor out of her mind. I'll try to be good. Good night all. Please keep in touch.

Something to keep me busy

I got a bright idea this afternoon about printing up some of my documents and having them printed out down at the local print shop and then give them out to family and friends. I doubt if they would be valuable as salable material but maybe there might be some interest there. I could title the book as "Memoirs of an Octogenarian' or some such title. I have a couple of hundred pages in my document folder, not all of which are good however. I do need something to fill up my time, though.
Lovely warm weather here today. My husband has been prowling around outside, trying to find something to do. Maybe I can persuade him to cook dinner!

I wonder if Octogenarian is the right term? I'll have to look it up.

The Belmont race

This has been a quiet day,with quite a bit of time spent watching the Belmont Race on television, with an exciting finish with a 28-to-one winner! They stretch out the event with commercials and interviews with the jockeys, but I always watch it nevertheless. Then I made dinner, which was nothing to brag about, but we ate it anyway. Now I am going to watch some television and so the evening will go.
I am trying to train myself not to feel that I have to swiffer and vacuum every single day. With just my husband and myself living here it just doesn't need that much attention. But habit dies hard.
Got a letter today telling me that my doctor at the clinic will be leaving at the end of June. I will be sorry to see him go - he had a great sense of humor and kept me going pretty well. Take care and keep in touch.

We all make mistakes

Hi. My husband thought I was a little critical in my blog last evening, even denying that the incident ever happened at all. But since I wrote it the day after it happened, I know that it is all true. Not that I haven't had my moments as well, such as the time that I tried to take the cover of the pressure cooker off too soon, and had steam burns all over my face and arms, and cobs of corn scattered all over the kitchen floor. Or the time I put socks on the legs of the step ladder to protect the floor, and had the thing scoot across the floor and collapse, gashing my head on the metal bracket. Or the day I stumbled on the bike path down by the railroad tracks and had to go to the doctor to get stitches in my face. So I can't really point the finger at him for his transgressions, after all. No one is perfect. (I still have a visible scar on my face under my right eye.)
Well, live and let live. He is at this moment out in the kitchen cooking some flat noodles to go with the Bergundy stew we just cooked up and I trust it will be tasty. I will now go onto Facebook and see what is going on out in the outerworld. Night all. Keep in touch.

The one-bowl, two-egg cake

I am bringing up some of the little essays I wrote in the writing class. The one I have printed here was written when I first started attending the class and was much appreciated by the other members of the class. Hope you like it!

The One-Bowl, Two Egg Cake

It was eleven o’clock in the evening and my husband and I were watching the late news on channel 7. I was settled in and watching from the sofa, but he arose from his chair and headed for the kitchen. I froze with apprehension, knowing what was coming. He was hungry and was on his way to cook up a snack.
Big deal, you are thinking! Why not? After all, it’s his kitchen, too. So what if you have already turned on the dishwasher, tidied up the sink and kitchen table, and swiffered the floor. It’s not the end of the world.
But wait. What if he wants to bake something? Then I will get involved reading the recipe and starting the oven, and watching whatever is in the oven, and then serving it up and even being expected to eat some of it with appreciation. He will expect praise and accolades, and help in making the frosting and in cleaning up.
I silently sent a prayer heavenward. “Dear God,” I prayed. “Let it be muffins. Not the one-bowl, two egg cake. Please, God.” Then I bargained with God. “If it can’t be muffins, let it be chocolate chip cookies. Or pudding. Or popcorn. Anything else. Anything but the one-bowl cake.”
We had never actually eaten one of his cakes. The first time he baked one he forgot the baking powder and we threw out the flat rounds of rock hard cake that resulted. The second time he tried, he accidentally turned the oven to 250 instead of 350 and when he took the cake out it fell and even though he tried baking it again we couldn’t eat it. The third cake was lumpy because he had forgotten to mix it at high speed for four minutes as called for in the recipe. This would be his fourth attempt.
I never interfere with my husband’s projects. I learned a lesson long ago and far away when we were both very young. I tried to tell him how to mix a cake and in response he dashed the mixing bowl down onto the kitchen floor, breaking the bowl and scattering shards of glass and cake batter from one end of the kitchen to the other. As I cleaned up the mess, I vowed to never offer advice or criticism again, no matter how urgent the matter.
His behavior seems atrocious, but in the dysfunctional household in which he grew up, it made sense. His mother routinely hurled dishes across the room, his father smashed furniture, and his brother slammed doors so hard the windows rattled. Throwing a bowl of cake batter onto the floor was a mild reaction.
But I am a fast learner, and I have kept my resolve. Unless he asks for my advice, I never give it. When he heated oil in the steel frying pan, I said not a word, but walked out of the house and watered the roses. When he set the oven to broil and burned up the tuna casserole, I didn’t even notice. Let the chips fall where they may.
I sat in my chair and listened intently. There, he is getting out the Kitchen-Aide mixer. Oh, s--t! That means the cake! I silently listened while he pulled down the ingredients, hoping against hope that he would remember the recipe this time, and my help would not be needed. Although he rejected all advice and criticism, he didn’t mind at all soliciting my help when HE felt like having it. Sure enough, he called from the kitchen.
“What do I use to grease the pan? I’m using the tube cake pan.”
My repertoire of cuss words contains some choice phrases, and I silently went through every word I knew, and some I made up on the spot. I was incredulous! He couldn’t mean the tube pan. But that is what he meant and I hollered back, “Grease it with Crisco. Not vegetable oil. Not butter. Crisco “
Silence for awhile while he measured and sifted and got everything ready. I didn’t hear him cracking eggs or getting out the milk but who am I to interfere with his obvious efficiency in cake baking? I was relieved when I heard the refrigerator door opening and I could hear him pulling out the egg tray. Maybe this time it would turn out. He turned on the mixer and actually mixed on low speed for two minutes and on high speed for four minutes. Good! He poured the batter into the pan and opened the oven door. A few choice words escaped his lips when he realized he had forgotten to turn on the oven. But at last everything was in order and he set the timer for twenty-five minutes and we relaxed while we awaited the results. The fact that the buzzer sounded almost immediately wasn’t really all that alarming – he had set it for 2.5 minutes by mistake. At last all was in order. I took out my knitting and settled down to relax for awhile.
It was peaceful there in the living room with a fire in the stove, and my knitting coming along, and I almost fell asleep I was so comfortable. Then the timer buzzed and my husband leaped to his feet and rushed out into the kitchen again. “Does this look done to you?” he called, pulling out the pan. It did look done, and we put it up on the counter to cool, as the recipe said to do. It had turned out magnificently, having risen above and over the rim of the pan like a fluffy brown mushroom. It smelled good and was a good color. When I pressed lightly on the top it was resilient and responsive. I couldn’t use a toothpick as it was about eight inches high, but I judged it to be done. We waited for it to cool and I returned to my knitting. By the time we got it frosted and had eaten a piece it would be well after midnight. Oh, well. Ca La Vie. I fell into a light sleep.
Cries of dismay awakened me. Banging and slapping sounds were coming from the kitchen. I rushed out, and discovered my husband trying to turn the cake out of the pan onto a cake platter. He tried slapping the sides of the pan, and since it was a tube pan, he shoved against the bottom which was designed to slide up and release the cake. Helpless laughter overtook me. 
Trying to hide my mirth, I turned away and held onto the counter top to keep from collapsing to the floor. He had forgotten to grease the tube and the cake was cemented tightly to the metal and could not be dislodged. Finally, with a mighty shove, he dislodged the entire cake which flew out onto the countertop in chunks and pieces.
I could contain myself no longer. Howling with laughter, I staggered back into the living room and collapsed into the reclining chair. My husband, who can command vast amounts of cool when he chooses, calmly gathered up a large chunk onto a dessert plate, poured himself a glass of milk, and calmly sat down to eat it. “Delicious,” he proclaimed. “Try some.”
It was good. The texture was fine and even and the flavor was all that could be desired. After we had eaten generous portions, we gathered up the remains and put them in a large bowl. The next day we layered the crumbs into dessert dishes with strawberry jam and vanilla pudding. Voila! An English trifle. It was delicious. God knew best, after all.

A story I Wrote Long Ago

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 of 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 letter 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?

I

You're holding up the whole line. We've got a traffic jam here."

"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 letters "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 her or his wings, and strumming lazily on a harp. I floated over and stood respectfully before this shining creature. It looked up 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."

She 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.

I

Rule 3: Practise 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?"

I had a lot of questions but when I started to speak, the Angel raised its hand and said thoughtfully, "Actually, f 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." and it flapped away, hanging on to 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

A tranquil evening

Tuesday evening and we have finished the pork chops and sauerkraut we had for dinner, and I am taking refuge in my computer while my husband clears the dishes and loads the dishwasher. How I trained him to do those chores I will never know, but he is out there contentedly working away. He does a good job, too. I have resolved to make an entry at least every other day, to keep up with what is going on in our lives.
Today was shopping day and I got my treat of sushi from my husband, and somewhere in his bedroom he has hidden the chocolate candy he brought back. I have to ask for it (beg for it is a better way to put it) but eventually I will get a small piece and that will have to do until another day has passed. I am a chocoholic and he knows what he is doing.
I think I might become addicted to my computer. I am studying the tutorials and have gotten as far as step one. Great progress for me. Take care and keep in touch.