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)