My Friend

I haven’t written about my friend, Fossil Guy, and the state of his health. When I think about it my mind skitters away to other things that are not as frightening as the specter of cancer. It is hard to grasp that I am in danger of losing him. I don’t want to entertain the idea at all. When the last doctor suggested that Asbestos can cause “other” ailments that affect the lungs, I grasped that notion like a life preserver. I am now floating in the cold waters of limbo. This Tuesday’s biopsy will tell the tale.

In the meantime I flit in and out of awareness that if the news is bad there will be an “expiration date” stamped on FG’s forehead, as he so drolly put it. If the news is bad I will have to look squarely at the fact of a finite time left in this friendship that has been part of the foundation of my life for almost four decades. Bookworm and No Apologies have written eloquently about their feelings. For some reason I can’t. The scare is too big, my feelings are too deep for me to put into words. I keep thinking, “it’s too early, it’s too soon”. The fact is, I’ve expected FG to live to be very, very old. I’ve expected him to be 10 years out there in front of me, forging the way for at least 20 more years. I may still get this wish but I never thought it would be in danger so soon.

Just Because Blog

Since my blog buddies, Fossil Guy and Bookworm aren’t posting much lately it is my responsibility to get something out there. Trouble is, I don’t know if there is much of import in my life to blog about.

There was the Super Bowl. After watching the Seahawks give it up to the Bears it was anticlimactic, but we wanted to watch anyway. We had FG and BW over to watch it with us. My mate made a great pizza, Fossil Guy made his famous, delicious Jalapeno Cheese Pie, we had Fat Bastard beer from Silver City Brewing and BW, deciding to forgo the wonderful things we had made, brought along her Nutri-system munchies, dry looking things in very tiny bags.

The game was pretty good in the first half—the women decided to root for the Bears, the men picked the Colts who they were pretty sure would win. After the first half BW wanted to change sides but we wouldn’t let her and the second half saw the females snoozing while the males wallowed in victory. It’s a wonder they didn’t jump up and slam their chests together, but they’re both too old for that. My favorite part of the game was the heavy rain. I was pretty impressed that all those guys could play as if nothing was going on—except for the fumbling. Or maybe they’re just crazy millionaires.

We have new computers but we can’t use them yet because there is so much involved in getting them ready to use. I am anxious to try the new Vista system, but my mate is grumbling about it already. I’m glad I don’t know much about computers. I don’t know when I’m being well-served or not. I am happy when the icons are pretty and my email goes out smoothly.
Every day I check my daughter-in-law’s baby blog to see if there are new pictures of my beautiful and fascinating granddaughter and most days I am happy to see that there are. She is learning her letters and I wish I was there to help her.

Well, this post is not political or insightful or literary or poetic. It is what it is. Every day life. Hope my more talented blogger friends will post soon!

Not Sad, Now Happy

This is a post for those of my friends who were concerned about my State of Mind, regarding my last post. Never fear! I am a most resilient person and almost immediately after writing that post I felt much, much better. I am now looking forward to retirement again, especially the opportunity to visit with my children and grandchildren--longer trips--maybe even in the Summer, which I can't do now. Thank you for your kind comments and concern, Irene and Maria. You are very dear.
The picture is of me, my Mother and my daughter, Erin, in Scotland in the Spring of 2006. I will take my mother to see my other daughter, Carolyn, in San Diego, maybe in September. And who knows, Maria, one day I might show up on your doorstep! I've always wanted to go to Spain!

Retirement Angst

Only 7 ½ Months Away

I’ve read lots and lots of articles about retirement lately. They are about whether you are financially ready and have hobbies or goals or some inner resources to keep you engaged in the years ahead. None of them have addressed something I seem to be experiencing. It must be the emotional letting go. It’s all I can attribute the anger and sadness to. If it was only happening at work it might be easier to diagnose. It’s happening at work but I’m tense and crying at home, too. I’m getting angry fast and I’m crying at the drop of a hat. The crying is especially unusual, since I’ve been taking Paxil for several years now and have hardly shed a tear since the first month of the medication. The other day I got angry at something that was happening at work, spouted off so much that I hurt somebody’s feelings and then ended up crying! This isn’t like me at all.

I’m chalking it up to “letting go and saying goodbye”. The past several months I’ve had dreams about houses. I’m moving out of one house and into another. The first house is kind of ratty, old, messy. The second house is better, though not a mansion. It was pretty easy to interpret those dreams and since this is the way I often work through difficult situations, I accepted that as my way of coping with the coming change. Last week I started dreaming about people at work and I decided those were saying goodbye dreams. But these emotions are a surprise. I expected to feel teary the last few days, but I am surprised it is hitting me so soon. The process of leaving after ten years is bigger and more important than I ever thought. It is going to be a huge change—maybe the biggest change in my life ever.

Marriage was a given at 18, in my generation, and I pretty much thought I knew what to expect. It was exciting, I knew how to cook and clean, there really were no surprises, even in the bedroom. Then there was a divorce from a man who I didn’t like anymore—no real problems leaving that or starting a new life. Then another marriage with a man I was passionate about. Easy transition there, too. Having children was certainly a shock—lots different from babysitting (which I thought qualified me for motherhood!) The divorce from that second fellow was harder and in some ways I am still recovering from that one. This retirement event seems to be just as big as childbearing in it’s change to my life, maybe bigger in it’s affect on how I will live my life from now on.

I haven’t been “home” since 1984. That’s 22 years of 9 to 5, get dressed, put on make up, go to work, come home, make dinner living. That’s 22 years of having money to spend, more so in the last several years. If I want it, I can pretty much buy it. I can plan trips and pay for them. I have a husband who makes good money, but I’m not going to have as much of my own ever again and it’s beginning to scare me. More importantly, I’m thinking, is the people part of this whole thing. After 10 years at this job I’ve had contact with people, mostly women, daily. We’ve talked about everything—menopause, bladder leaking, diabetes, pimples, constipation, colonoscopies, mammograms, kids or grandkids who are making bad decisions, us making bad decisions. We’ve complained and had good times, we’ve done puzzles together and talked about American Idol and CSI and movies, books, husbands who are leaving their clothes on the floor or not helping out; we’ve gone out to lunch, we’ve traded magazines, we’ve dieted and lost weight together and then gained it all back together. I’ve had the equivalent of at least 10 sisters that I saw 5 days a week. How am I going to replace that? There’s Sid, the New Yorker, who was my guide to New York. There’s Roger, the neurosurgeon, who is old enough to have wonderful stories about WW II and other fascinating times. There’s Wendy, who is in the Society for Creative Anachronism, making Renaissance clothing all the time. There’s Melissa, who is young and about to have her first baby. There’s Cindy, who is pretty religious, who I never would have struck up a friendship with, but who is oddly interesting. There’s Teri, who is like another daughter to me, whose two daughters I have given voice lessons to. There’s Jim, the substitute custodian, who has been entertaining me with stories of his practical jokes for years and Mary, the head custodian, who is a wonderful bawdy woman, whose father made many of the bird houses I have. There’s Jeff who shares my love for Napoleon Dynamite and Chris, who loves The Man Show and Will Farrell as much as I do. There is Oscar, the courier from Bremerton School District who is just the sweetest young man imaginable and always stops to say Hello. There’s Peter, who comes in from Speed’s Stationers and is whacky in the way I adore. There’s Lorraine, who makes chocolate chip cookies in our break room when she is stressed out about her Head Start Department. And there are so many others that I’ve shared my life with and who have shared theirs with me. All of them have marveled over the beautiful pictures of Ali that I have displayed. Who will do that after I retire?

Even when I have changed marriage partners I’ve still had the same “work” people in my life. But in retirement? I don’t know. It truly is a great unknown. Fossil Guy will probably comment that I am making too much of it, that retirement is a breeze—after all, he did it many, many years ago and has thrived. I do think I will eventually thrive, too, but I’m going to have to find a new group of friends as there is no way I will be able to keep all my old ones. I acted in the community theater long enough to learn that people who share intense time with you, fade out of your life very quickly once the time is over. Consequently, we have set up a lunch group of 6 of us, but before too long there won’t be much holding us together except for the fact that we worked for the same place for awhile and that we’re hungry. Those who are still at work won’t be able to relate to those of us who aren’t.

I think that’s all the kvetching I’m going to do about this for now. It helps to get it out and to think about it. It’ll be helpful to get comments from Fossil Guy who’ll tell me to suck it up, I’m sure.

The True Meaning of Christmas II

DSC09334_edited-1, originally uploaded by Porkbone.

And yet another example of what Christmas is all about!

The True Meaning of Christmas

DSC09062_edited-1, originally uploaded by Porkbone.

This picture give me tears of pleasure! It's my son and his little girl out looking for a Christmas Tree to take home.

I am back now from my 6 days with my son and daughter-in-law and wonderful granddaughter, Ali. My brain is full of sounds and images I hope not to lose. Most of the sounds are Alison’s. I asked Michael to play the “what’s this” game with me and to everything I answered “dah-ee” so he could understand how Ali answered that question almost every time. I love the sounds she made that went along with the slap on the floor to indicate where her companion was supposed to sit—the singing sounds when she was playing on her own—the food appreciation noises. I should have brought a recording device for all of them, though I doubt I’ll forget them any time soon.

The images will remain clear for a very long time. The sign for “more”, the sign for “I’m hungry”, the dancing and swaying to the many songs that came from her toys, her beautiful curling golden hair, her sparkling blue eyes. She would race like a demon from one end of the living room to the kitchen, back and forth, accompanying herself with squealing and giggles. She and Daddy would play a game after dinner, slapping their hands down on the table and highchair tray. Ali would often take the lead and try to fool her Daddy—laughing in delight when she was able to fake him out by putting her hand somewhere else. I have been demonstrating the “sad face” to people—Ali’s fake sad face is a riot. She tried to get us to think she was upset and then she’d laugh and clap her hands at the joke. Am I biased to think that most 19-month old children don’t know hot to make jokes yet?

I mentioned the songs from the toys. It seems 80% of toys these days have buttons to push that result in noises or songs or both. If a child has a Leap Pad, as Ali does, there are 5 or 6 songs on every page of the story. One of Ali’s favorite toys, her barn, has animal sounds when gates are opened or animals sit in their pens. It also includes a peppy song. To all of these songs, Ali dances, whether she’s sitting, kneeling or standing. Her favorite song is the elephant’s song in one of her Leap Pad books and she’s precociously learned how to change the tempo from very fast to very slow, with a sway for the slow and a bounce for the fast. She skips all the other pages to get to that one where her fingers quickly press the necessary spots on the page to get to the desired song.

I think I could write pages and pages about what I watched Ali do. I spent five days just watching and playing with her all day—the 6th day we went to the Mall of America to visit Santa Claus. Irene had been preparing for days to get Ali ready for this occasion. Last year, when she was 7 months old, they got a good, grinning picture before she realized there was a strange bearded man behind her. This year she’s much more aware so prep work was necessary. There was a copy of the picture with Santa from last year and talk about what nice a fellow he was. While standing in line Mommy showed Ali what Santa was doing with the other kids. Mind you, this is not one of those scruffy Santa’s with a phony beard and junky red-velveteen coat and pants. This Santa has his own pretty white hair and curly beard, wears flannel Christmas print shirts, velvet pants with suspenders, candy-striped socks. He is the picture of what we all think Santa should be. He has all kinds of tricks up his sleeve, too. He managed to get everyone before Ali to smile and laugh with his shenanigans.

When Ali’s turn came her Mommy put her in the little rocking chair and Santa crept up behind her. None of the squeaky toys or silliness from the photographer could drag a smile from her. She was very seriously skeptical. When she finally put two and two together and turned to see who was behind her it was all over. There is a picture, above, and Santa is very animated in it, but Ali is as deadpan as it gets.

Pages and pages could be written…I have to say that my son and daughter in law continue to be exemplary parents. They have established routines that are workable. They feed Ali good food; make sure she gets enough rest. They stimulate her mind. They tell her they love her. She is an incredibly bright and happy child whose unhappy faces are mostly jokes!

Thanksgiving is a complicated little holiday for me. It’s been good, it’s been awful, sometimes I have ridden home crying and asking why I have the family that I do. Mom cooked for many years and then when she became awfully tired of doing it we began to share the day. Now I do it all myself. I remember:

The Thanksgiving when I was 16 and went to dinner at my boyfriend’s house. My folks were stunned and hurt.

The Thanksgivings that Dad and my brothers barely said a civil word to each other.

The Thanksgivings when the “football” game would compete with dinner.

The cold mashed potatoes at almost every Mom-prepared Thanksgiving.

Wondering what mood brother, Dan, would present this year.

The year brother, Stanley, brought homemade biscuits, carried in his drum.

The Thanksgiving in Tracyton when Mom invited two Argentinian young men to our meal.

The Thanksgiving I rebelled against the idea of doing all the cooking myself and decided to buy dinner pre-made from the store. The gravy was gray and too salty, the string bean casserole was overcooked, the pie was…..store bought.

The Thanksgivings my Dad choked up over the personal prayer he said before the meal.

The first Thanksgiving dinner I prepared as a young married woman.

The years when we wouldn’t let Dad say a real prayer and we all just said “grace”.

The pressure as a kid to find something “to be thankful for” because we would be asked.

The first Thanksgiving after my Dad died. Brother, Dan, did all the puns and told obvious jokes Dad would have told, in his honor.

The Thanksgiving when Stanley started coughing after dinner and fainted.

The Thanksgiving in Ventura, CA. It was just not right for it to be so sunny and warm!

The tiny Thanksgivings we have had since my brother, Dan, died in 2003.

The delicious birds, dressings, salads, pies I’ve gobbled over the years.

The extremely full feeling that I have just before I decide there’s just a little bit of room left for pumpkin pie with whipped cream.

And all the wonderful turkey sandwiches with, cranberry sauce, mayonnaise and lettuce!

Thanksgivings are quieter now. The two volatile members of the family are gone and it’s just we 4 left. We eat the fabulous dinner that took all day to make in ten minutes, quickly savoring the moist turkey and the gravy on the dressing and mashed potatoes. We tease Mom because she doesn’t finish her salad or her peas. We play games or watch a cute movie after dinner and then we eat that pie. I have come to terms with cooking the dinner by myself and find myself enjoying the entire day now. I even let Mom say grace over the food we are about to partake. And I am always thankful for something.

New York, New York

I am back from New York City! What a town! Everything I ever heard about it is a myth! This is what I heard: The subways are dangerous. The city is dirty. The people are unfriendly. Nobody says “Have a nice day” like they do in the Northwest. The cabbies are rude. It’s hard to navigate such a big city. The streets are crowded or scarily empty, with a purse snatcher or mugger around every corner.

All of it is untrue! The subways were great and the people in them just like any other people on mass transit anywhere in the world. They can get you anywhere you want to go very quickly, making it very easy to get around, thus trumping the other myth about navigating the city.

The people were very friendly—the store clerks were helpful and said “Have a great day!” when you left. The cabbies were the same and it was impressive how they could maneuver their way through the crowded streets. There was lots of honking—that’s something you see in movies and on TV that is true. I didn’t see anybody flipping anybody off though.

The city was very clean. We went to a Halloween night parade in Greenwich Village. There were thousands of people on the street, eating, drinking from paper cups and bottles and throwing stuff on the street. The partying went on into the night, but the next morning there wasn’t a trace of it. I noticed that storekeepers hosed the sidewalks off in front of their shops every morning. There are dogs being walked all the time and their poop is dutifully picked up by the dog owner. Crews must be out there in the middle of the night cleaning—every morning there are big plastic garbage bags ready for pickup.

I never felt unsafe, even in the big crowds at the parade. We took precautions before the parade, only took money for dinner and ID with us, no purses to snatch, but I noticed many woman with their purses. There were some incidences that night, probably caused by too much drinking. All those people had come into the city and were making the most of it. It was noisy for hours after we went to bed.

I had 5 days of apartment living and though it is drastically different from living in a house in the Northwest, it is certainly doable. The restaurants were everywhere and wonderful. We have a hard time here finding a good one within driving distance, whereas there you could throw and rock and it would land on one within walking distance. We ate Cuban, Austrian, Lebanese, Chinese (Peking Duck no less!), French and American food. With the exception of the Chinese place everything was within walking distance of the apartment we were staying in. This is a wonderful attribute of city living.

You can tell, I’m sure, that I loved my visit to NYC. I got so mentally stimulated by the diverse culture and the fantastic places to go and things to see that I can’t sleep without dreaming of it. I haven’t downloaded my pictures yet. I’m hoping for a good one from the parade and I’ll share anything that is interesting.

Halloween in NYC

What a different Halloween this one will be. It seems my holiday season has been getting differenter and differenter the past few years and that’s okay with me. I am not one who wants, craves or needs Tradition, other than presents and turkey. I like presents on Christmas, and if I didn’t get turkey sandwiches somewhere between October and January, I think I might die.

But I was talking about this year’s Halloween being different. For AT LEAST the past 22 years I have been dressing up for Halloween. There was a period of time between high school and going to work when I didn’t think it was mature or I was dressing my children for Halloween, and sat out the costuming myself. When I went back to work in 1984 I went back to appearing in costume on Halloween with a vengeance! I LOVE dressing up and putting on weird makeup. There just is no other day you can do it, without the possibility of seeming like a loon. (Unless you are in a play, which probably was the reason I was in several of them. Make-up—costumes!) Even then, some very straight-laced, uptight, rules-regulated, purse-lipped people think you are deranged. I’ve been the usual gypsy fortune-teller, a cat with a velvet coat, a nerd (one of the more popular concoctions), the crazy receptionist from that TV show starring Drew Carey, but I think my favorite was my own version of Spider Woman, with spiked silver hair, cobwebs all over my desk, spiders on my shoulder and “spider relocation” bags.

This year, however, I will be in New York City on Halloween. In Greenwich Village to be exact and I am told there will be a parade of the locals. Now that sounds like a Halloween to remember. I’ve been shown pictures of this parade and I have made sure my camera is charged and ready because I want to bring back some pictures of these wild NYC people in the bizarre outfits I am expecting. I won’t have a costume per say, but I guess maybe I’ll look like the country bumpkin (rhymes with pumpkin) I am, which could be disguise enough.

Ali in the Leaves

DSC08062_edited-1, originally uploaded by Porkbone.

Is it memories of this kind of playing in the leaves that makes Fall such a loved season? My Granddaughter sure loves the leaves and I love the smell of the air, and the slant of the light and all the spider webs sparkling in the morning dew.

Normal Life

I've been away from blogging for awhile. I wish I was as faithful/prolific as Fossil Guy or Bookworm. I've been working on a blog about scattering my brother's ashes, which we did a couple of weekends ago (even though he died in 2003). Every time I go back to it I add more. I think it may be less of a blog posting and more like therapy.

Things are normal in my life. I go to work every day, hungrily check my daughter-in-law's blog and the Flickr site for new pictures and anecdotes of my granddaughter, Alison. Solve work problems, answer emails, tell people how to fill out forms, drink coffee (do it myself, not tell people how), eat lunch in my car while I read my latest book. Latest book? The Ninth Life of Louis Drax. Fascinating, mysterious short read. Then something by JJ Jance, because she has 3 books on top of the library hold list and I want to see what she's all about. Why do readers like her stuff so much? I'll let you know if I agree with them.

A normal day means I go straight home after work, put on my yoga pants and t-shirt and get on the exercycle. The goal is 30-plus minutes at Level 3. I can stand it only if I am working on a New York Times Sunday crossword puzzle while I peddle. It works, too. My mind gets so absorbed in figuring out which words fit that I'm past 30 minutes before I know it and the sweat is dripping down my nose.

Then it's make dinner, eat, clean and sit on the couch with my feet in my Mate's lap for 1 1/2 hours of TV. All summer we watched the old 60s series Wild, Wild West and Rat Patrol. Rat Patrol was a snoozer, mainly shot in the deserts of California or Mexico, Mexican towns standing in for Middle Eastern ones. WWW was fun though. I had not liked Bob Conrad in the sixties when I was a young mother. Frankly, I think his arrogance reminded me of my then husband who I'd grown not to like much. But seeing him now I see how handsome he was, with a small, lithe athletic body and pretty blue eyes. All summer I looked forward to sitting down with James West and Artemis Gordon in the evening to relive those swinging sixties!

Now we are watching season four of Seinfeld until the Fall season gets underway. I'll watch Seinfeld episodes as many times as I'm allowed. My favorite character is George Costanza, because his ethics are so fluid!

Then it's off to sleep, perchance to dream and then try to wake up the next day and do it all over again. We aren't raising a grandchild, we don't have our kids close by, right now my 84-year-old Mom is in good health and aside from my brother balking about mowing the lawn, things are quiet on that front. My Mate's Mom is still with her sisters in Greece. Problems are at bay for the present. Venus and Mars are in the right places, all aspects are copasetic (??). Normal can be dazzling!

Granddaughter Reader

DSC06931_edited-1, originally uploaded by Porkbone.

Ali does have other fine qualities besides her warlike ones. Yes I did give her the "war toy" but when it sits upright it's an "entertainment/circus toy" with balls flying up into the air and making everyone laugh. As you can see from this picture, Ali reads and her Mommy says she does this every single morning, one book at a time. It is her preferred way of starting the day. Some people have their coffee, Ali has her books to get her started. So I am still proud, even if she does appear to already be able to figure out ways of destroying farm yard animals!

Genius Granddaughter

DSC06949_edited-1, originally uploaded by Porkbone.

This is a picture of my Granddaughter, Alison, using a toy I gave her for her First Birthday to attack her Fischer Price farm. The balls in this particular toy come out of the top of the toy with a force propelled by air. All she has to do is turn it on and load the balls and she's dangerous. Does it amaze anyone else that a little girl who barely walks and only says a handful of words has already leanred this? She isn't allowed to watch TV either, so she hasn't been exposed to violent behavior on cartoons or news programs.

I think she's a genius for making the connection that she can knock over her farm animals and Mr. Farmer with the balls from another toy! Or is that just Grandma Bias?

Flickr

This is a test post from , a fancy photo sharing thing.

Little and Lewis Garden Ceramic

IMG_0017, originally uploaded by Song Bird.

I'm posting from flickr where I now am posting photos, rather than Yafro where I used to post photos. This is an experiment of course. First time for everything. This Little and Lewis Garden was a wonderful place, very small, but full of ceramic artwork like the bird above. Would be a great place of any photographer (Fossil Guy) to have a couple of hours of taking shots. And even better would be to buy one of their creations, because all of them are fantastic. They use lovely glazes and all fit so well into our green Northwest, even the ones inspired by Italy and Greece. Little and Lewis have a website and are open by appointment or a couple of times a month during the summer. I loved it and have been inspired by it! Trying to get my mate to make me some concrete pillars to put plant pots on!

A Lovely Friday

Because I'm about to get flak from Fossil Guy if I don't post SOMETHING, I am going to post something. I am at work. All Directors have taken Friday off, my boss is in Ohio because her father died, our Supt. is in Port Angeles because one of our old Board Members died, and our Asst Supt has broken her ankle badly and requires surgery. Who is in charge? The monkeys are in charge of the zoo!!!

We had a really nice 4 days off last week because we (Mate and I) took Monday off, too. What a great time we had pretending to be retired! Even with 4 days I still didn't have enough time for the things I wanted to do, so I know I am ready for retirement. People keep asking me: "What are you going to do when you retire?!" That question tells me that they aren't ready or they would know! I used to feel that way, too, back when I was in my 50s. But not any more! My list of things I want to do is very long and includes getting out like Fossil Guy is doing, on his picture taking forays. We discovered on the 4th when we had Fossil Guy and Bookworm over for burgers and dogs, that FG and I have the same camera. He is taking much better pics than I am and I wonder if I'll ever catch up with him. He is a photo artist!

We had a lively conversation about retirement and buying new houses and so on. Condominiums, one level houses, city or country, taxes, enough money to live on, all those things people in their 60s and 70s must think about. I don't feel like I am of advanced age but I guess I am getting there. Retirement looks to me like a long wonderful vacation, not a slowing down time. It will be a time I can actually design my garden, rather than only trying to keep the weeds at bay. It will be a time I can make a really great card to send to a friend rather than one I can whip up in an hour. It will be a time of fussing over dinner rather than putting something quick on the table. And yes, I have to admit, I will even be able to keep my house cleaner, if it seems important to do so. I wonder about that one!

My mate has told me he wants to take lots of cruises when we are both retired. He won't retire until 3 years after me. He wants to get on a big boat, enjoy the fabulous meals, go to classes, to the gym, see the scenery, read, walk the decks, be away from the telephone and Real Life for 10 days. It's the only way he can avoid the chores that he can always hear calling. If he was at home 100% of the time he would never stop mending, weeding, fixing, adding, sanding, painting. He is a man of doing.

Bookworm said something on the 4th that has had my mind working overtime ever since. I had told her about the latest worrisome adventures of my Mom. On the day my brother locked the keys in the car at Safeway, Mom ran out in the street and flagged down a driver to take her to Silverdale with "extra keys". A stranger picked her up, took her to Silverdale, drove her around the Safeway parking lot where they couldn't locate my brother, and then drove her back home. In the meantime my brother came back home with the locksmith, looking for Mom to pay the bill, and she was gone! She showed up later with the keys, which hadn't actually been car keys at all. I told BW about this and she looked at me with one of her "I have to tell you something" looks and said,

"You know, your Mom has probably been doing these things all along and you just didn't know about them. Those are the kinds of things that I do."

This just has blown my mind (pardon the 70s expression, but it's the only way I can describe the affect it's had on me). I love the "gaps" as BW calls her midadventures, the wild things she is capable of have always intrigued me, but in my Mom they scare the crap out of me! And sometimes they drive my up a wall. I never connected the "gaps" that BW has with the ones my Mom has. Never before have I compared the two. That's what I've been doing this week. Comparing and puzzling and wondering. Why so attracted and repelled by the same thing? Surely, BW is not exactly like my Mom. She is far more driven to succeed, to make a fabulous life, to be loyal to friends and family. My Mom has never been driven, is kind of lazy in fact, and loses track of friends pretty easily and doesn't seem to honor family much. But these "gaps" are very, very similar. Baby, baby, baby, I am reeling! Gotta get together with Bookworm and talk this over some more. More later!

Sorry there are no pictures. Blogger wasn't cooperating today.

A New Attitute!

So….okay….yesterday afternoon at 4:05 I got a call here at work from my Mom.

“Stanley is at the Safeway in Silverdale and he’s locked himself out of the car!”

My first reaction was to laugh and say, so what does that have to do with ME?, but I refrained from being as cold as I really am, and said,

“Well, there’s really nothing I can do, as I am at work. I guess he could call a locksmith but that would cost a pretty penny. Do you have extra car keys?” Mom said yes, she did.

“Okay, then. Try to get a ride with somebody so you can meet Stanley there and unlock the car.” Mom agreed that sounded like a plan so we left it at that.

I got home about 5:30 and told this story to my Mate, who offered that my brother had called 10 minutes before I got home, back at Mom’s, after calling a locksmith.

“Mom isn’t home! Do you know where she is?!"

I just laughed. I have begun to develop another attitude toward The Artists, my Mom and my Brother who lives with her. Mom is back driving her car again after 6 months in a plaster cast, wheelchair, cane and then orthotic, for the broken ankle….which means I don’t have to grocery shop for Them anymore! Hallelujah! Hence, the New Attitude. I want a break from Caretaking. (Must be kind of how Fossil Guy feels about the Caretaking of Grandson, although I think when he’s doing it for Allie, it’s lots more delightful than when I’m caretaking The Artists.)

My new attitude is “Let them eat crap!” I don’t mean literally let them eat dog shit or ca-ca, I mean let them eat the frozen TV dinners and the frozen pizza and the frozen chicken pieces and the potato chips and the huge blocks of cheese and the canned ravioli and the cookies and the Chex Mix and the ice cream and the Brach’s Candy I’ve been buying per their grocery lists. Let them take the OTC sleep aids and Metamucil to help them sleep and shit after eating all that crap. It was hard for me to fill the basket with the high fat low nutrient foods they've asked me to buy for them, but my Mate told me I had to, it was Mom’s money, so I did. But now I don’t have to see it! Hurray! Let them eat crap, I say! And let The Artists get out of the little mess of the keys locked in the car and then enjoy the story of how it all went down. I’ll have a little respite for awhile, until the next crisis comes along, but for now I’ll enjoy the heck out of myself!

Okay….so now you know the real awful me. I hope you don’t stop reading my blog because of it.

Fossil Guy Rocks!

My old pal, Fossil Guy, has helped me, or rather has done it all himself, to get my picture up on my site! I have been trying to do this for a long time and just didn't have the right combination for the Blog Safe. They don't make it real easy to do this, but Jim had the patience to keep trying things until he got it right! Thanks old buddy, old pal, no emphasis on the "old" but big emphasis on the buddy and the pal. This is one of the best things, blogging, that has come along in a long time and I love all you guys who keep doing it and keep visiting!

Plum Duff

Plum Duff

2 eggs

1/2 c. butter
1 c. brown sugar
2 c. prunes
1 c. flour
1/8 t. salt

1 t. soda
1 T. milk

Cook and mash prunes. Beat eggs. Melt butter.Mix eggs, butter and brown sugar together.Stir in prunes. Sift flour with salt.Dissolve soda in milk.Add flour and milk mixtures to prune mixture stir this in by hand. Bake this in a buttered ring mold covered with foil (it is a steamed pudding).Set mold in pan of hot water and steam in oven for 1 1/4 hours at 350 degrees.Serve with:

Sauce

1 egg.

5 T. melted butter
1 1/2 c. confectioners sugar
1 c. whipping cream
Beat egg till foamy. Add butter and beat.Add confectioners sugar and blend.Beat in whipping cream.
Refrigerate.

This sounds like a great way to take a bit of a "loosener". And did you know that Edinburgh's loudest rock band is called Plum Duff?