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 |  A Baby-Boomer STILL alive and living in senior housing...
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The random thoughts of a Baby-Boomer STILL adjusting to life in senior housing (after five years)... Almost exactly nine months after World War II ended, one historian writes, “the cry of the baby was heard across the land.” More babies were born in 1946 than ever before: 3.4 million, 20 percent more than in 1945. This was the beginning of the so-called “baby boom.” In 1947, another 3.8 million babies were born; 3.9 million were born in 1952; and more than 4 million were born every year from 1954 until 1964, when the boom finally tapered off. By then, there were 76.4 million “baby boomers” in the United States. They made up almost 40 percent of the nation’s population. - www.history.com |
| Ugh! The house across the street from The Home that hung the skull-and-crossbones flag out front in July has piqued my curiosity of late. I get to observe the goings-on while outside the backdoor having a smoke: - A young man with a pony tail hangs out on the front stoop smoking, strumming a guitar and singing to himself at all hours - A young woman (who I assume is his wife/partner) comes and goes at random hours – they kiss each other good-bye - Another young woman (who could also be the wife/partner) is seen only now and then – sort of reclusive; they also kiss each other good-bye - Yet another young woman, different race, (who potentially could be a wife/partner) uses a key to gain access to the closed-up house at odd hours; they don’t kiss each other good-bye (although maybe they do so in private – who knows?) - A young girl appears sometimes on the porch with the young man – for a while I thought it was their (the “their” being the young man and the first young woman) daughter - I have yet to see them put trash out front on the sidewalk, which leads me to surmise they might be Mormon hoarders - I never see lights on in the house (maybe they’re Amish hoarders?) nor are the windows ever opened – even on the hottest of days. There are no window air conditioners or fans evident. - No pets that I can ascertain…not even a parrot on any of the inhabitants’ shoulders - I’m not sure if the little girl attends school – I concede she could walk to the bus stop each morning and home each afternoon and my smoking schedule and her traveling schedule do not coincide, hence no sightings of the young scholarly miss. Maybe she’s home-schooled? Private pirate tutoring? “Arrggh, my matey…what be two plus two?” - At the side of their house is a gigantic tree/bush that we used to refer to as a “ghetto palm” when I lived in Philadelphia…I’m not sure of the species, but they have large fronds and grow wild in yards where horticulturists have lost a handle on the flora inhabiting their living spaces. I used to see them from the train as it barreled through urban backyards on the way to the terminal; the skull-and-crossbones house has the only one I’ve seen in my forays through the neighborhoods surrounding The Home. Maybe I should quit smoking and learn to mind my own business? Nahh, it’s too much fun to speculate about buccaneer multi-life households living in relative squalor. Autumnal weather is upon us for the weekend. I’m happy…and, therefore… Life is good. |
| Ugh! It’s mating season for deer in the environs surrounding The Home. That means driving is hazardous. Over the past two days, I’ve encountered three deer carcasses lying beside streets IN TOWN! The poor critters are being dislocated from their habitat by new construction and they end up on city streets and not being quick or nimble enough to dodge oncoming traffic. I’m saddened every time I see one. When I lived on the farm back in the 90s, I had to cope with lots of deer. My residency there lasted six years…it was basic living: my cottage had electricity and running water and an oil furnace for heat – no luxuries like air conditioning, carpeting, dishwasher, washer, dryer or cable TV or even circuit breakers for the electric service; I had to deal with fuse boxes…ugh! (I had to be mindful of which and how many appliances I had turned on at any one time lest I blew a fuse and had to venture into the dank, dirt-floored cellar with a flashlight and stumble my way through the vermin and creepy-crawlies that habituated the place…double ugh!) One night I drove up the hill along the ½-mile long driveway and counted 36 deer congregated at the entrance to the farm. It took me five years of experimentation with gardening to discover what plants they did NOT like to ravage (I learned they’re not fond of herbs – just about anything else was mowed clear to the ground soon after the plants burst forth…it was maddening – but deer have to eat, too, so I just sucked it up.) Deer are beautiful to view…especially in the spring as deer mamas led their fawns to the brook that flowed past my cottage for a small drink in the babbling waters – many mornings I looked out my living room window and gazed upon the spectacle. Then I ventured out the kitchen door and sighed at the damage they’d inflicted garden-wise overnight. At the farm if it wasn’t the deer inflicting havoc on my gardening endeavors, it was groundhogs. My second spring as farm resident, I raided my bird feeders and extracted 100 sunflower seeds. I planted them along the edge of the timothy field anticipating a wall of sunflowers come late summer. Painstakingly I measured 12 inches between each seed. For several weeks they progressed and grew erect – even at that early stage the little plantlets “followed” the sun. They grew to be about six inches tall and I delighted whilst cruising down my driveway each night after work and saw my handiwork growing taller each day. One night I drove home and noticed with dismay that the line of green shoots seemed to have disappeared. I got out of my car, went to see what the problem was and found a groundhog reclining on his back at the edge of the field. I swear he looked at me, half-smiled, winked and emitted a tiny burp. Foiled by wildlife again…that ended that particular venture. Oh, well, it was exciting for those few weeks. I’m toying with trying to grow a sunflower in one the window boxes I keep inside on the window sill in my apartment here at The Home. I suppose it could work – my ceilings are nine feet high and I do get southern exposure. Something to look forward to come springtime… Life is good. |
| Ugh! Yesterday here at The Home I made my weekly supply of lunch fixings: tuna, non-fat Greek yogurt, and mustard with celery, onion, and garlic on whole-wheat sandwich thins with vine-ripened tomatoes and selected field greens – it sounds fancy, but in reality it’s a tuna salad sandwich...so sue me. One of the ingredients for my sandwich filling is hard-boiled eggs – three of them – that way a dozen eggs from the grocery store lasts me a month. I don’t eat them for breakfast and on the rare occasions that I bake something, I crack one or two into a bowl and adjust my grocery list accordingly… But…did you ever think about the first person that actually ate an egg? How hungry was that person? Ravenous, I’d say…ugh! First off, what tipped him/her off that there was something edible inside the shell? And, secondly, that it would be (perhaps) tasty…ugh again! Who came up with the idea of scrambling eggs or making them sunny-side-up or hard-boiling them? Cavewoman: Grok! What you got? Caveman: Cindy, pretty rocks…find in nest…food maybe? Cavewoman: No eat rocks! Caveman: Try these…sissy rocks…smash open. [Cavewoman crack “rocks” into mixing bowl (okay, it was the only bowl…)] Cavewoman: Oohh, messy. Caveman: Awk, yes…throw on fire! [Cavewoman toss mess onto hot rock in fire] [Interesting aroma fill cave] (Oops, cave-mode should be turned off.) Caveman: Smell good! Cavewoman: Yumm-e-licious! Caveman: Call kids…all eat rock innards! And that’s why I add hard-boiled eggs to my tuna salad. Ta-da! Life is good. |
| Ugh! I watched another Ken Burns documentary yesterday: “The Empire of the Air” that chronicled the history of radio in America. (Okay, it was a slow day here at The Home.) His films are always top-notch and informative. By the time I appeared as a bouncing baby, television was already pretty much entrenched in daily life, so I missed out on having the radio being a cornerstone of daily life, although I do recall a full-sized piece of furniture with lots of dials and crackly sounds emanating from it when turned on – Mom and Dad’s old radio still enjoyed a place in our living room; I suppose they just didn’t want to part with it in haste. Over the years it emigrated from the living room to the attic, then to the garage and when I was ready to graduate from high school, it made its way to the curb to be picked up by trash collectors – by that time, transistor radios had replaced the gargantuan edifices (although televisions still came in big cabinets). When I first moved away from home, I lived in central Pennsylvania amongst the Allegheny Mountains. I remember driving the four hours home to visit family on dark Friday nights after my workday at the bank was completed and as I drove up and down the hills and through the in-between valleys, I’d have to constantly retune my car radio because the signal got lost (my car had only an AM receiver; FM radio in automobiles was still a luxury back then). Annoying? Yes, but it was all part of life and that’s just how things were. I didn’t know anything else… On that note, I remember a LONG drive back home to attend some old friends’ Halloween gathering: I bought a pea-green evening gown at a thrift shop and borrowed a bouffant wig from a bank co-worker to go as a hooker – I made a bad choice by bringing along a Thermos of coffee to drink for the journey; halfway to the destination I needed a pee very badly and the only place to do so was a truck stop – ugh! The comments I endured…awful! I gave up on the truck stop and pulled off the Interstate and pee’d off the shoulder of the road…it was not pretty, believe you me! I should have transported myself as male and turned female at journey’s end…c’est la vie – I’ve not repeated THAT fiasco! Ever! But, I must say, I was rather striking…or so my friends said at the get-together. Okay, where was I? Oh, yeah… Watching the documentary brought back memories of those staticky-filled times and it got me thinking: isn’t it great that electricity is quiet? The other day on my walk, as I waited to cross at an intersection, a car pulled up alongside me – but I hadn’t heard it approach; it just appeared seemingly from out of nowhere. I looked at the make of the car – it was one of these new electric cars: the future is here in the environs surrounding The Home! (As neat as all that is, it’s just something else I have to now look out for on my sojourns – sneaky autos…drat.) Imagine if electricity was noisy: our lives would be a din – suppose there was a constant, annoying “hum” while electricity flowed through our neighborhoods on utility wires and into our homes, or if every time a lamp was switched on a loud “bang” occurred, followed by a meditative beating sound as juice was fed to the light bulb, or if electricity “whistled” and we’d have to really amp up the volume on our television sets to drown out the chirping…ugh! Lucky for us, electricity is silent…and it’s invisible…it doesn’t smell (although I do have memories of Dad’s Lionel model train set on our putz every Christmas: the transformer DID emit a “hot” smell as us kids tried, in vain, to derail the train as it came out of the tunnel but before it arrived in “town”)…no after taste…but one can feel it if one is unfortunate enough to plug in or unplug an appliance whilst standing amidst a puddle of liquid – that usually happens only once, though: we, as humans, tend to learn some lessons rather quickly – possible-electrocution being one of those (trying to breathe under water also comes to mind as a been-there-done-that occurrence) (and experiencing laughing with a mouth full of orange-flavored soda – I did that once and the inside of my nose was sticky for two days)… Sometimes I have too much time to think on my hands…oi. Life is good. |
| Ugh! Beautiful autumnal weather over the weekend here at The Home…a cold front came through Friday afternoon with lots of thunder and teeming rain, followed by blowy, gusty winds that ushered in azure, cloudless skies and bright sunshine, which highlighted the vibrant colors of the changing leaves on the distant mountain as its trees shed their summer growth in preparation for winter’s sleep. My apple pie, baked in the oven, provided a tempting aroma in my abode…aah. And, yummy – it was good. I watched a five-part British Channel 4 production from Netflix on Queen Elizabeth chronicling five portions of her life. It was very good: four different actresses portrayed the monarch at the different stages of her reign. I don’t know why I’m fascinated with royalty – it could be that we don’t have anything like that here in America… (and I think that’s a good thing). A royal life is not something I would like – having every minute of every day always, endlessly accounted for…no “veg” time. I would miss going to bed when I felt like it, or going for a walk when interested and not because schedule demanded, or watching trash TV on a whim, or even the sense of accomplishment that cleaning my apartment gives me – as much as I despise doing it, the process does provide a little sense of accomplishment. Okay, I could probably suffer a cleaning person if that was suddenly thrust upon me by dictate, but…I have little to worry about for now. No chances of royal ways invading my space. Then, as if watching five hours of QEII wasn’t enough, I viewed my DVD of “The Queen” that won Helen Mirren the Oscar for Best Actress a few years back. Why, you wonder (presumptuous of me, isn’t it?), would I do that? Funny you asked. The movie “The Queen” dealt with the period surrounding Princess Diana’s death and its treatment by the Palace; the Channel 4 series did not broach that topic (Diana met her demise between episodes four and five and was treated with one line: “After Diana’s death, the Queen…”). So, now I’m all queen-ed out for the time being. On the whole – a regal weekend… Life is good. |
| Ugh! The closer we get to the end of the month in the environs surrounding The Home, the more Halloween decorations I see on my daily walks. When I was a kid we didn’t do anything festive for the holiday – unless someone dressed up in a glittery tutu. Over the past several years, however, I’ve noticed window, door, porch, sidewalk, and yard displays crowding our neighborhoods. I suppose someone decided to cash in on the craze – if people are going to spend money on stuff like that, may as well take advantage of the flowing dollars. One of the neighborhoods I walk through must be having a contest named “Whose House is the Most Garishly Festooned?” One house has a full-sized witch riding a broomstick exiting an upstairs window while the front porch has life-sized creatures like scarecrows, bank bandits, pirates and what looks like a wayward wench from a Renaissance Fair. The home next door decided on the temporary graveyard with black arched-back cats slinking among the headstones. But my favorite is “Barbie’s Nightmare Dream House.” One has to look closely because at first glance it doesn’t appear to be much more than a bunch of Barbie dolls on a card table on the homeowner’s stoop. Closer inspection, though, reveals seven Barbies – all beheaded – wearing “blood”-stained swimsuits, jogging outfits, and evening gowns. Driving away, at the edge of the table, in Barbie’s Dream Car is a Ken doll – replete with wife-beater t-shirt, miniscule knife, and a tattoo reading “Killer” in very tiny blue-red gory lettering. Gruesome as the house’s front is, I get a chuckle when I pass it by…I wonder what twisted mind lives there. But I don’t wonder enough to find out… Or do I? Apple pie on the menu for this weekend – yum. Life is good. |
| Ugh! One of my half-wrapped neighbors, Diane (the one who knits fire-extinguisher cozies) knocked on my door yesterday: [knock] [tap-tap]…[tap]…[KNOCK] – All right, already…geez. “Yes?” (me) “I was wondering if you liked fish sticks.” (her) I thought, “Is this a trick question or is it code for something?” but said, “Not really, Diane. Why do you ask?” “Oh, I found some in my freezer – I was making room for a pound cake my niece gave me – and I don’t like fish sticks anymore so I thought I’d give them to you.” She held out a plastic bag. “I think they’re very old, though.” (me) “Well, thanks for offering, but I’ll pass if that’s okay.” “All right then. Sorry to bother you.” “Bye, Diane. Have a nice day.” [click] Oi. Life is good. |
| Ugh! I read online yesterday that a new outdoor farmers’ market was scheduled to open on the other side of town; it is located in a new entertainment complex and will be there each Tuesday afternoon from 3-6 p.m. until Thanksgiving week. The article mentioned “…fresh fruits and vegetables, cheeses and homemade meats…” I didn’t make it there yesterday, but I’m putting it on my schedule for next week. I have to find out what “homemade meats” are…they have piqued my curiosity. Perhaps they are different from and/or healthier than the “storemade meats” (that are so prevalent in these parts). Strange indeed…but maybe I’m overthinking the whole thing… My grandfather was a farmer and butchered his own cows and pigs. (A horrid memory from my childhood involves seeing my favorite cow dangling upside-down from a branch of the apple tree outside their home.) Pappy used to cut up the animals and give the products to his children. We didn’t have a freezer back then – we had to rent one in a town about eight miles from home. It seems strange now, but it was matter-of-fact back then…every few days Mom and Dad would drive to the “meat locker” to gather foodstuffs for the next few days’ meals. Pappy didn’t waste any part of the cows or pigs: steaks, roasts, hamburg, hams, chops, sausage, bacon…and a Pennsylvania Dutch “delicacy” called scrapple. Scrapple is a sort of mush with lots of cornmeal and all the little, ground-up leftovers of the pigs (like the snout, ears, feet)…it was poured into loaf pans until it set, then it was sliced and fried in lard and finally served with maple syrup or applesauce. Yum! I mean Ugh. My regular farmers’ market still sells scrapple. I pass by it. With no regrets. Life is good. |
| Ugh! Mr. Squirrel has been busy outside The Home for the past couple of days...and he's warming up to me when I venture outside for a brief smoke. I think he waits for me around the corner because just after I've lit up I see his head poke around The Home and he scampers up a tree to the utility wires, runs along to the tree outside the back door, scales down to about three feet off the ground and looks at me as if he's awaiting a handout. I don't have treats for him, but if he continues in this manner, I may purchase some foodstuffs to toss in his direction. Apparently one of the other residents here at The Home does provide peanuts, though, because I've seen Mr. Squirrel playing in the grass where he uncovers a peanut, sits on his haunches and twirls it around in his paws and mouth, then scurries across the street to a patch of grass over there, buries it then hip-hops back across the street where he unearths another one...this routine continues for the length of my smoke. I wonder if he's putting on a show for me. Later in the day, he reverses the process. I wish I got the joy out of doing the same thing over and over that he does...he seems overly elated every time he "finds" a peanut. I'm going to try getting excited each morning when I slice my banana into my bowl of cereal to see if I can derive a new experience out of the humdrum of everyday eating. I'll start today by sprinkling some cinnamon in with the high-fiber tidbits and no-fat milk...then tomorrow I'll try cloves...then allspice...and maybe eventually graduate to nutmeg – it could be, as Martha Stewart (the second M.S. of my entry title - Mr. Squirrel being the first) reminds us, "a good thing." Or maybe not. Life is good. |
| Ugh! Too warm the past few days for this time of the year here at The Home in Pennsylvania; the only saving grace is that it goes down into the 40s at night – no frost as of yet, but that will come by next week. It’s apple pie weather – I’ll have to think about making one soon. The farmers’ market had a big supply of apple cider on Saturday; I passed – I like a glass of it about once a year. If I buy a jug of it, it turns hard before I’m done with it. Of course, that can be fun! But I’m getting too old for that – I don’t need wobbly legs when I slither out of bed in the middle of the night to go pee; it’s all I can do to make it back and forth in the dark without stumbling as it is…besides, hard cider gives me memories that are rather embarrassing to say the least. Frick and Frack, The Home’s maintenance crew made the rounds Friday and removed air conditioners from our apartments. It’s nice to be able to open that window now and enjoy fresh air – a/c is nice when needed but I prefer not to be in a fake air environment; except for sleeping – the colder the better in that department. Each year they make comments about how clean my apartment is (I take it they’re blind when it comes to the matter of dust) – it makes me wonder about my neighbors and their housekeeping habits (if they have any). If I’m the bastion of cleanliness, the other abodes here must be close to pig-sty status. *shudder* There is an extraordinary amount of dust here at The Home. I realize we’re in an urban area with a busy street a block away, but it’s not like it’s a superhighway with tractor trailers zipping past kicking up dirt. I wonder if it’s leftover fabric dust from when this building was the underwear factory…perhaps seamstress specters roam the hallways during the nighttime hours and sprinkle the fine-ness on their rounds. (I just finished reading Dracula – maybe my mind is working too much?) Whatever the case, no matter how much or how often I get the rag out, the next day the place has a light sheen of molecular stuff. Ugh. Other than that… Life is good. |
| Ugh! I realized recently while shopping for pretzels I’m slowly turning into my grandmother(s). The pretzels were purchased; then I bought a bag of mixed hard candies. Acck. Hard candies?? What has happened to me? When I used to visit the grandmothers, there was the obligatory candy dish brimful of stale, garish-colored sweetness that seemed to linger long after the holiday season had passed by because no one ate the stuff…I specifically recall the ribbon candy – shaped somewhat like festiveness from a package, it was striped red/white/green and was hard as a rock, if one could manage to break a piece off. It was “minty” if I remember correctly. What I really wanted was some Turkish Taffy, or a Mary Jane, some Good ‘n Plenty, or Necco Wafers or if really lucky – a Snickers bar…what we got was glossy and sticky at the same time, if that’s even possible (it was)… So I have a bag of “Royal Mix” sitting in the kitchen here at The Home: butterscotch lozenges, root beer barrels (the main reason I bought the bag), sour balls, cinnamon discs, watermelon rounds, green apple drops, star zingers (I think those are the red-and-white and green-and-white pinwheels) – all individually wrapped so they don’t stick together never to come apart. It cost me $1.25 and holds about 50 pieces of not-good-for-you treats…a bargain, I figured. Sucking away…acck. Life is good. |
| Ugh! I got to do some gardening yesterday…well, I guess it was more reverse-gardening. My parents requested my assistance with removing plants from their gardens to prepare the beds for winter. Mom recently injured her Achilles tendon, so is pretty much relegated to resting and physical therapy. I donned an old pair of jeans, an old shirt and worked a few hours in the dying beds on their property: 144 impatiens, 12 ageratums (which came up on their own, Mom said), two geraniums (I stopped at two because I learned Mom had planned to over-winter them…oops – sorry!), six snapdragons, multiple marigolds, MANY begonias, and TONS of weeds and grass and wild garlic. I chopped back the ornamental grasses and the Black-eyed Susans. I’m sore as the Dickens today! I would have thought my walking regimen would have prepared me better, but apparently being on one’s knees for a few hours is not comparable to trudging up and down the hills in town. Owie-kapowie…it’s Ben-Gay time at The Home! The only nice thing about the task was that the ground is so saturated after the rains of the past two months, the almost-dead plants pulled out easily. And I strongly suggested applying LOTS of mulch next spring to cut down on the amount of weeds that sprouted this past summer. In the end, they both appreciated my help…and I did enjoy myself – it felt good to be doing something with my hands other than typing or playing with my TiVo remote (or scrubbing at phantom stains on my kitchen floor). This coming weekend I’ll make another trip to their place to finish up the job. They kindly provided lunch for me, so that was a nice treat…and they gave me some homemade cinnamon buns they made last week. Yum. All in all, a productive and delightful – albeit strenuous – day. Life is good. |
| Ugh! I walked past Mrs. Roper’s apartment three times yesterday – the smell of patchouli lingers in the hallway outside her door. Each time (6:45 a.m., 12:15 p.m., and 3 p.m.) I heard Tammy Wynette wailing “Stand By Your Man.” (I can’t resist: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DwBirf4BWew) I wonder what was up with that… It was the first day in about two weeks that the sun shone all day…my eyes hurt; but it was nice. And whilst outside The Home for a brief smoke, I witnessed Mr. Squirrel dash along the utility wires high above the street with a Ritz cracker clenched betwixt his teeth…maybe a hot date awaited him at his abode (assuming the cheese and wine were already in place)? Whatever the case, he scurried. Leftover pork and sauerkraut on the menu tonight. Yay. Life is good. |
| Ugh! It was domestic day yesterday here at The Home. I cleaned my kitchen and bathroom…everything went swimmingly along until it came time to scrub the floors. I got the bucket and cleanser, got down onto my cracking knees and applied elbow grease with vigor…scrub…scrub…rinse…wring…scrub. There was this one spot that just wouldn’t come out. I tried three times…even let it rest, thinking perhaps by soaking it would loosen whatever it was that was being so stubborn. I got back to it and tried again. And again. I silently threatened to get the wire brush out of my closet (that I still have for reasons unknown: it’s for cleaning the barbecue grill – which I don’t have anymore…go figure), but nixed that idea – didn’t want to chew up the decorative tiling. So I scrubbed really hard for a few more minutes. I even picked at it with my fingernail. Nothing…it stayed right where it was staring me in the face no matter what I tried. I planned on purchasing a throw rug to cover up the blemish (it wasn’t big by any means – about the size of a pencil eraser in diameter; but I KNEW it was there, and I’ll be damned if it was going to get the best of me). After trying for about 10 more minutes, I gave up and creaked back up to a standing position. That’s when I noticed another spot just to the left of it…and another one just to the right of it…and one in front and one in back of it…all the same size. Geez, it was the pattern on the tile! No wonder it didn’t want to come loose…it was frigging baked on in a kiln! I can’t for the life of me figure out why this occurred yesterday…I wash the kitchen floor every week; I’ve been doing it for the past several years – why yesterday did this blemish present itself? It could be that I was wearing my reading glasses when I cleaned the floor…I’ve never done that before, so that could have caused my dismay. (Don’t ask why I disinfected with my reading glasses on…some things just defy explanation.) At least my place smells pine-y fresh! And I’ve a new appreciation of the fine work of the ceramist who created the tiles. Life is good. |
| Ugh! I visited my sister and her family over the weekend...they live exactly 1,112 steps away from The Home (I know this because I walk past their house two times per day on my walks...and my OCD mind counts the steps as I trudge along). They live on a steep hill, so if one goes into the back yard, one can look into the second-story bathroom/bedrooms; but out front, one has to look up from the sidewalk to look at their front porch and if one could see through the bank, the straight-on view would be beneath their spacious basement. It's an old inner-city neighborhood, so the house is BIG compared to the McMansions being constructed today...large windows, beautiful woodwork and hardwood floors, high ceilings, deep windowsills – and the outside area is comparatively small. I always have a good time when I visit. It was nice to see their aging dog, Ms. Raven, again, and Princess, their cow-spotted kitty...oh, and the three kids (rapidly growing into early adulthood). My sister took me on a guided tour of her gardens...over 20+ years she has mastered the art of the cottage garden – my favorite type of display; it reminds me of the many gardens I encountered when I visited Scotland 12 years ago. I think she got the gardening genes from a combination of our paternal Scots grandparents and maternal Pennsylvania Dutch farming grandparents. She has managed to accumulate enough plants in various types and textures to allow for color all year long – even winter: she doesn't deadhead some flowers in autumn to provide foodstuffs for the avian visitors during snowfalls in our coldest months. Spring bursts forth with bright hues to announce a new growing season, followed by a Crayola-like summer, moving into the rusts and deep blues and reds of fall. She has an amazing knowledge of what she has planted where, when it blooms, whence she acquired it, and its growing habits. I managed to step into one of Ms. Raven's "lawn presents" in the backyard...ugh. It was a minor setback to a wonderful afternoon...and it brought back gardening memories of my own – from when I was able to play in the dirt and create my own floral masterpieces... Nowadays I must content myself with the two window boxes sprouting baby basil, baby asparagus fern, baby geranium, and teenaged Norfolk Island pine (a few weeks back I chopped the basil, fern, geranium to ground level and they've all recovered on their own – what stamina...or is it chutzpah?)... But it's refreshing to know that only 1,112 steps away I can escape into a little Eden. Ahhh... Life is good. |
| Ugh! The weather folks promise us sunshine, low temperatures and low humidity over the next few days; some have used the word “autumnal” to describe the coming weather system. It’s about time! Fall is already a week old and it’s been anything but autumnal here at The Home. During August and September we’ve received over 26 inches of rain. I can only hope that means our snowfall this winter will be minimal. The precipitation is good news for the reservoirs north of here, but bad news for homeowners who have repeatedly been socked with flooding over the past several weeks. Dark, dreary days are my favorites, however, even I am tired of the stalled out rainstorms that have plagued us over the past two months. My daily walks have suffered a bit. And I’ve been forced to run the air conditioner to deal with the high humidity inside my abode. Next week the maintenance crew here at The Home will be making the rounds removing The-Home-supplied units from our windows; I’m responsible for removing the one I bought for my bedroom. Complaining Connie already groused about the removal yesterday, even though it won’t take place for several days: “October is too early to take the air conditioners out.” No, CC, it’s not…sorry. I guess I should consider us lucky – had all this wetness arrived during the winter, we’d have over 20 feet of snow piled up outside. That would not be enjoyable. Here’s to a clearing weekend and autumnal pleasures. Life is good. |
| Ugh! I found a grey pube yesterday…I suppose it was only a matter of time for that to happen. The hair on my head started turning grey when I was 18 and has progressed nicely over the past several decades. My mustache and beard started greying in my 50s. My thighs and ankles have been bare for the last 20 years or so from wearing socks and pants for so many years. So it should have come as no surprise that I would also turn grey down there eventually…still it was a major letdown to discover what I thought was a bed linen stray thread, but turned out to be a wiry sprig of seniority proudly sprouting in my nether regions. I guess the one positive of the whole event is that my recent weight loss has allowed me to SEE that part of me for the first time in a long while – who knows what else I may discover in my forays southward… Life is good. |
| Ugh! Well, yesterday, September 27 was my favorite day of the year. I say that because of the number 33. 33 has been my lucky number for a long time – and it has significance in my life. It all started with the day I was born: July 20. Numerically that works out to 7/20, which in turn is 7 + 20 = 27 = 33, which is 33. I was born at 2:07 p.m., which works out to 20 + 7 = 27 = 33, which is 33 (my parents incessantly reminded me I was born during a thunderstorm). My draft lottery number was 33; it was pulled on February 2, which is the 33rd day of the year. My mother’s birthday is March 3: 3/3, which is another 33. My social security number adds up to 33. My current address adds up to 33; two previous addresses of mine added up to 33. My current phone number adds up to 33. I graduated high school ranked #33 out of 196 students (I sloughed off my senior year)… September 27 is broken down to 9/27, which works out to two 33s: 9 = 3x3, which is 33; and 27 = 33, yet another 33. One could conclude I have too much free time, and one would be correct in that assumption…I should really start using my time more wisely. Like stop fretting each day on my walks when I reach step #3,333 and look to my right to see a tombstone in the Jewish cemetery at the top of the hill bearing a name eerily similar to my own. [gulp] [shudder] In the meantime, I’ll just accept any 33s thrown my way as I stumble along with my meager existence. All in all… Life is good. ____ carlton607 - looking to free-up brain space |
| Ugh! It’s a sad day when one gets discombobulated by the local weather forecast, but that’s just what happened to me. The other day, day straight #4 of rain and clouds and humidity, I heard a weathercaster say, “With all this rain happening right now, experts say there is an increased chance for less flooding in the coming months.” Huh? It’s a badly structured sentence and is ambiguous when first heard…and my old brain had a field day trying to figure out the meaning. Perhaps in my youth it would have sunk right in and I could have gone on with life. Not the other day, though. I backed up the TiVo and replayed it to make sure I heard it correctly. I did: “…an increased chance of less flooding…” despite the inches of rain pouring down. After hearing it for the third time, I figured a mistake had been made. Half an hour later, the same weathercaster appeared and again said the exact phrase. I suppose he could have said “…a decreased chance of more flooding…” which would be the opposite and I still would have been left shaking my head. At least I think it’s the opposite. It brought back horrible memories of math classes from oh, so long ago. I abhorred the “reading questions” in math class. You know the ones that start out “If a train leaves station A going 10 mph westbound and a train leaves station B going 12 mph eastbound, where will they meet…” I’m pretty sure I NEVER solved one of those posers correctly through 16 years of math. Or bad dreams brought on by the old Sara Lee slogan: “Nobody doesn’t like Sara Lee” – THAT caused me enormous puzzlement – great marketing for the sweets maker, but horrific for English teachers and people like me who couldn’t wrap their little heads around a simple phrase. It doesn’t take much to confuse me these days. I’d best find some exercises for my brain soon lest it become mush. In the meantime… Life is good. |
| Ugh! So, early Sunday morning, I’m outside The Home enjoying my first smoke of the day…in the dark. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a really big squirrel loping down the sidewalk in the dim light of the street lamp half a block off. I think, “That’s a really big squirrel. I wonder what he’s doing out so early.” It gets closer and starts toward me as I stand on the porch puffing away. Closer…closer… He raises his bushy tail. That’s when I see the white stripe on his back. Yikes! Skunk! I stub out my smoke and fumble for my key to hightail it inside. Closer…closer. “C’mon, key. Work!” Success! I look out the door from safe inside The Home and see him continue down the hill and proceed around the corner. Pepe LePew came into and out of my life in a matter of seconds. I didn’t know we had wildlife in close proximity…it’s kind of exciting. I wonder what else lurks out there. And I sincerely hope this isn’t the stray “cat” that Angie’s been trying to wrangle the past few weeks…her eyesight has been failing of late. She could be in for an unpleasant scent-sation… Life is good. |
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I shall miss your wit and wisdom. Hope all works out for you.
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no pun intended!