Counting Blessings....

We've been picking blueberries for more than a week now. In our own garden. Thanks to the interest, patience, persistence, perseverance and unfailing green thumbs of The Bean. Until now I've sort of taken it for granted. Yes, he loves to grow stuff. There are always pots of this and that, in various stages of growth all around the house and garden.

His fruit tree experiments are lined up on the patio in various stages of growth....His orchids fill all the available space on the patio windowsills. Inside, on the kitchen counter, there are always cuttings of some kind, in jars of water, growing roots.....

 And we always have bags of dirt and cow manure to step over. It's not very tidy. Better Homes and Gardens would not come here for a photo shoot....... though Organic Gardener might.
 

 He would like to be a farmer. Except we don't have a farm. His great grandfather in Eastern Europe had lots of land. Until the Russians decided he should "sign it over" to the state. My maternal grandfather was a farmer, and my uncles, after he died, and now my cousins..........In Ireland. With his talent he should be a farmer.....


I went out to the garden to pick the latest batch of blueberries this morning. The bushes were laden down with fruit, and it made me so happy, just standing there in the sunshine, filling my bowl with those little berries. When I came in I went to find him [in front of the computer---finals are coming up]

"Stand up," I said, "I need to hug you!"

"Why?" he asked.

"For giving me the simple, but unbelievable pleasure, of  picking these in my own garden," I said, and showed him my overflowing bowl of berries.

Small blessings in the form of little blue berries. A big blessing in the strapping son who grew them.

So, breakfast was a no-brainer.... Yup....... Blueberry pancakes.

You could still taste the sunshine.

My Own Blue Bayou

The inmates didn't do much exciting last weekend, the one swotting for mid-terms and the other compulsively sewing. Since the weather was dull and gray, it was no hardship to be indoors, and now the scholar has good marks and I have the makings of a new quilt for the back of the sofa, to replace the rag that currently lives there! More on all that soon.

 Meantime,Tuesday afternoon fairly sparkled with blue skies and sunshine. The scholar had a break from mid-terms and I was free, so it didn't take long to figure out there was only one sensible thing to do.....Down tools and head for the river!

It was a glorious afternoon and, being the middle of the week, we had the river to ourselves. The scholar loves the tranquility, the wildlife and the workout. As soon as we were in the water, he disappeared off upstream  in a spray of water and a flash of oars, leaving me to doddle along peacefully at a considerably slower pace.

Doddling quietly along should not be confused with "dawdling," which, while it does have the advantage of being a real word, does not adequately describe the art of doddling which is my own patented way of  drifting along, willy-nilly, hardly using the paddles except to fend off attacks by overhanging branches; Gazing dreamily about, on the lookout for birds and flowers and wildlife, and wandering into quiet loops to better examine interesting root formations on the banks, where one could easily imagine colonies of Rattys, Moles and Badgers living out their days!

Without the splash of paddles to break the spell, the peace of the river fills up all the empty, lonely corners of your heart. It is so calm out there. Nothing but clear, blue-green water, birdsong and rushy sounds, inner peace and darting fishes. If there is a place to find the answers to life's perplexing questions [thank you Guy Noir!] or at least to escape from them for a while, this is probably it.

There weren't as many birds as usual, though I did spot a few herons. I saw several large painted turtles feeding on the river bottom, and some fish called, I think, alligator gar, with really long pointy snouts, that I had never seen before. They sped through the water in groups of three or four, in perfect synchronization with one another, as though in a well choreographed, fast-paced dance!

Since we are well into March, I didn't expect to see manatees. I figured they'd be moving back out to the gulf now that the weather is getting warmer, so I was surprized and delighted to come upon a mother and calf, quietly munching away, just beneath my kayak!

 A case could be made for saying that a manatee has a face only a mother could love!

 But they are so huge, and so gentle, that you find yourself falling in love with them anyway..... These two were completely calm and accepting, and happy to share the river with me. I must have stayed in that spot for almost an hour, just hanging out with my new pals! As they munched their way slowly upstream I paddled quietly along beside them.

It almost seemed as though they were being playful.....I'd have the camera poised for a shot and just as I clicked [and had that confounded delay!] they'd veer off under me, so I ended up with some very "arty" shots of shimmering shadows! But they also co-operated enough that I got a few decent shots too. Like this one....

I'm so glad we downed tools and went to the river on Tuesday! Since then it's turned cold again [I'm sitting here shivering], then the tsunami hit Japan, then California Girl called to say they were under a tsunami watch....And Mr. Gadhafi is still in power......Just the world as usual, hurtling along regardless! We can never know what lies in wait 'round the next bend so we might as well seize the day, or the afternoon........preferably out on the river!.

My Pal, Vidal

Sassoon-Deconstructivism
Originally uploaded by manos.spa

I was listening to the radio one day recently. Someone was interviewing Vidal Sassoon. Remember him?


It was the mid sixties. America was fighting in Vietnam. Twiggy was making emaciation so sexy that curvy women were jumping off tall buildings [well, thinking about it, anyway.] Hairstyles ran to flips and bee hives, teasing [back-combing] and lots and lots of hair spray. Looking natural was considered un-natural! Instead, we were supposed to torture ourselves by "setting" our hair in "curlers" every time we washed it. These were cylindrical torture devices with prickly bits to catch and hold the hair. I'm pretty sure sleeping in them caused brain damage as well as painful dents in the scalp. Rebellion was frowned upon. What? Go out without setting your hair? As soon as I washed my hair my mother would miraculously appear, all business, ready to set it for me. She was probably afraid I'd just comb it and go, and how would she ever live with the shame? Arguing with one's mother was not encouraged back then so I would grit my teeth, groan inwardly and submit.

My mother was petite. And stylish. It was a penance for her to have string bean daughters instead of dainty persons who enjoyed wearing make-up and letting her "beautify" them. Looking back, I realize the problem was that I was born either too late or too early. I would have fit right in had I been born a hundred years earlier, in my grand mother's day. Likewise if I'd been born when my sister was. But, I was born when I was born and so had to submit to my mother's plans for the perplexing question of how to turn her duckling into a swan.

I hated it! After every last hair had been tightly wound onto rollers I'd have to sit under another instrument of torture---the hairdryer. After my head cooked for half an hour and I began to think it would surely catch on fire, my mother would reappear brandishing combs and brushes and the dreaded hair spray. Taking the curlers out was torture in itself, as those prickly rollers did not easily release their prisoners. Some hairs inevitably got yanked out by the roots. Ouch! Then she would brush vigorously, but the hair promptly "boinged" back to sausage shapes. She was not a woman to give up easily. There were ways to make my hair do what she wanted it to. Teasing, or backcombing, for instance. Lord, how I hated that!

"Only a little," she'd coax. "Just to give it a little height."

Additional height was the last thing I needed. I was already taller than I was comfortable being, I didn't need six more inches of fluffed up hair! And besides, why would you tear perfectly healthy hair like that? And then, to add insult to injury, she'd spray the whole lot with hair spray. Because everyone knows that Prince Charming, when he finally shows up [and it could be any minute now,] will be longing to run his fingers through my helmet! Finally satisfied that I looked presentable she'd encourage me to go look in the mirror, hoping each time that this time I'd love it. Poor woman. Her efforts were wasted. I was an unappreciative ingrate, but would manage a sickly smile so as not to hurt her feelings. Though now I have to wonder why my feelings weren't taken into consideration? Considering it was my hair.

My sister [aka Rise, the unblogger!] was only six years younger than me but we seemed to belong to different generations. By the time she came along, rebellion was all the rage. "Teenagers" were beginning to be looked upon as a breed apart, in need of special handling. I don't think her glossy mane was ever wound up in curlers. If anyone had tried they'd have had to catch her first!

And then, one day, Mum sent me off to town for a haircut. And didn't come along to dictate how it should be done. Vidal Sassoon had just exploded onto the hair style scene with his radical ideas.

No teasing.

No hair spray.

It was all about the cut.

This was my kind of guy! I went, in one short half hour, from a boring school girl haircut to the very latest sculptured hairstyle. Vidal, he said in the interview, would like to have been an architect if he had not been cutting hair. Not such a stretch. In the past I'd come away from the hair dresser's feeling naked, as though I'd been scalped. [My hair was wavy and it was my mother's considered opinion that it looked better short. My considered opinion didn't get a look in]

From this haircut I came away feeling gorgeous! Me! And it wasn't because of any artifice. It wasn't because my hair had been teased to within an inch of its life, or sprayed until it was stiff as a board! I couldn't stop smiling. I felt beautiful. For the first time in my life.

Next day, of course, I had to go to school. And face the nuns. Amazingly, the haircut looked just as good after I'd slept on it. My friends were wildly enthusiastic. The unassuming MB had gone and done something daring! There were some raised eyebrows and pursed lips, notably from the Mag, to whom this new haircut looked alarmingly unsuitable for a convent recruit [she was still entertaining hopes for me at that stage!] The Mag was the squirmmeisterin, but this time she didn't succeed. I just tossed my newly glamorous head and refused to feel bad about looking good!

Vidal came along just in time to save me. If growing up was to be about masochistic hair setting rituals, I wasn't sure I wanted to have anything to do with it. His architectural approach was perfect for the way I thought. A good cut every 4-6 weeks and the rest of the time just comb and go! Maybe growing up wouldn't be so bad if you could do it your way!

Does A Bear Poop In The Woods?

It was brown, at first glance, when we walked in the woods on Sunday. Chilly enough for a sweater but blue sky and sunshine spilling down. The recent rains had made the carpet of leaves squishy in low spots while the higher ground was already dry and crunchy. We squished and crunched along companionably enjoying the fresh air.

If  I were a woodland creature I'd hope this cozy dwelling was available for immediate occupancy.......

...........at the base of a mighty oak, with a swimming pool located conveniently nearby........

Mother Nature is quite the decorator. We found a fallen tree bedecked with these frilly fungi....

There's not much colour yet in the woods, but these tiny flowers peeked from beneath the dead leaves......

.
And this gorgeous vine surprised us round a bend in the path. We'd seen its fallen blossoms along the way and wondered, then came upon the real thing. Mystery solved.

Well content, we climbed back into the car and headed for home. Gradually my nose became aware of an unpleasant odor........."Did we brush off some plant in the woods that had a nasty smell?"

Unpleasanter by the second.....Oh crap! We hadn't stepped in something, had we?

Indeed we had. The waste product of some, undoubtedly charming, woodland creature was thickly adhered to the sole of my shoe...........The offending shoes were removed, gingerly placed in a plastic bag and relegated to the trunk.... No harm done.

As I was saying, it was brown in the woods on our walk on Sunday..........

Itching To Quilt.....

Last week came a package from my friend Em. Inside, some bits of fabric.  Em knows I'm a quilter. What she doesn't know, and I have no intention of enlightening her, is that I am a horrible fabric snob. I know that the W store sells fabric, but I cringe when I hear anyone talking about actually using it in a quilt. Fabric from the J store is sometimes acceptable, but, for the most part, if I'm going to spend half my life making quilts I want the best quality fabric available. Of course I'd rather not have to pay top dollar for it, so my favourite parts of quilt shops are the sale shelves!

So, back to Em and the fabric of dubious origins.....I had mentioned to her once that I was making blocks for breast cancer quilts. That may be what started this....... I scratched my head, surveyed the bits and puzzled what to do....These bits were not particularly suitable for the BC quilts. They looked more like leftovers from projects she'd done with her several granddaughters. An idea started to form. It grew and grew and my grin got wider and wider......I'd make her a quilt!  Don't groan. This was an excellent idea on many fronts.

1. It would be small, something she could use as a table topper.
2. It would be simple. I'd start with nine patch blocks and let it evolve.
3. It would be finished within a week, so, no danger of adding to the UFU pile.
4. No agonizing allowed. I'd just cut and stitch, with my eyes closed if need be.
5. I would use only Em's bits and fabric I already had.
6. Best of all, play therapy, badly needed, for me!.

I made the blocks on the  weekend, and alternate blocks at spare minutes during the week. At first my alternate blocks were square within a square. But, do you know how boring they get after you've made four? Deadly! So, what to do? Em's bits were mainly reds, pinks and greens, several had hearts, so I dug around and found some blocks leftover from a ragged hearts wall hanging I'd made years ago. [Vindication for saving useless crap!] They were a bit too big, but a little judicious surgery took care of that!

Onward! No agonizing. Lay them on the floor, switch 'em around, stitch 'em together! Smokin'!

Rummaging in the stash produced fabric for borders and backing. Before you could blink I was pinning layers together. The end was in sight!

I attached my walking foot and sat down to quilt. And that's when TROUBLE reared its ugly head.

One furlong to run and my horse quit. Sat down in the middle of the track and wouldn't budge! I foolishly urged her on, when, obviously, she wasn't up to the job. Drat! Two lines, the width of the quilt, of ugly puckers! I sat for an hour unpicking those ugly puckers, glaring all the while at my recalcitrant horse. She's a game old girl, my Bernina. We've been together for twenty years. We've made some beautiful quilts and had a lot of fun in the making. But I've been neglecting her and she just couldn't take it any more.  She's way overdue for  some R&R.

This morning I made a reservation for her to spend a few days at Dr. Gregor's spa for tired and creaky, overworked and cranky Berninas. She'll stay for a few days and enjoy some badly needed, richly deserved, pampering at the expert hands of Dr. Gregor. He'll give her a full body massage, with aromatic oils imported especially from Switzerland. He'll scratch all her itches, lubricate her aching joints, adjust her stitch width and length regulators,  feed her only the finest oats and make her feel like a young filly again!

And since there'll be no full body massages, or pampering with aromatic oils going on here while she's off , having the time of Reilly, I hope she comes back with her work boots on! We've got a quilt to finish!

Wordless Wednesday....Or # 11

Still Scavenging...

No. 4 - Yarn

When I went to visit in Ohio last October, Lily let me play with her yarn. She knows I get twitchy if I don't have something to do with my hands when I'm out of my natural habitat so she produced this..........

There was lots more than this to start with, but I used it up making a cozy scarf........dashingly modeled for you here by Teddy, my ancient, blind bear.

[Aside from Teddy: "She'd be better employed knitting me a decent pair of socks. Do you see how shoddily shod I am? I'm just saying...."]


No. 6 - A Library:

 

This is not our library proper, but then I'm not a proper rule-follower. Besides, the Little Red Schoolhouse makes a more interesting picture than the actual library. This is where old library books go to die..... or, with a little luck, find a new lease on life.






No. 10 - Something out of Place.

I was stuck for this one, until this morning..........

"Hey Dude! Where'd you park the car?"

......................when I came across these two fellows looking a little distracted in the parking lot.

                                                                   Only four to go!

Photo Scavenger Hunt, Straggler Style

Here's that Photo Scavenger Hunt list I found over at Anna's. I'm sure there are rules, but rules are made to be broken, or so I've heard. There's probably some picky requirement about having to do it in January; probably another that you do all twelve in one post; possibly a requirement that all of your pictures were taken in January. But having spent the best years of my life following the rules I'm now indulging in some long overdue rebellion. To my credit, I did get #1 in on time, but got carried away on a tangent, so it had to stand alone.

 

Slow and [un]Steady also gets to the finish line....eventually! Usually about the time all those over-achievers have dusted themselves off and gone home. Besides, if you follow those rules you get one post out of it, whereas having already got one, I intend to get a few more before I'm done. Devilishly clever, don't you think?

 This photo of a stained glass window, SL #2, was taken in a little chapel we wandered into on a visit to the OC's alma mater in upstate New York some years ago.......

A bit too modern for my taste; I prefer traditional church windows, like this one, taken on a trip to England when our youngest grandson was born........
.

Here's a reflective surface, SL# 9  [not a mirror] taken on a recent walk in the park.

Here's  playground equipment, minus the players....SL# 5 .....Another violation.....photos out of proper sequence......I'll probably be black listed by the Scavenger Hunt Committee. Oh dear.....

SL#3 was "a goldfish." This fellow probably has another name, but he looks gold to me! I found him lurking under the aforementioned "reflective surface."

He was accompanied by a flotilla of little turtles, of whom, unfortunately, I could not get a decent picture. My camera's zoom is misbehaving, so the only way to have gotten a good picture of Mr. Goldfish's little friends would have been to go wading in after them. When it suits, I do obey the rules......

I wasn't even tempted !

That last photo wasn't on The List....Oops! More demerits!  Five down, seven to go!

This Old House.....

 Thimbleanna made me do it.  All she had to say was "Abandoned Building." Abandoned houses intrigue me. Look at this, then close your eyes. And Imagine!

• what it was like when it was new,
• and someone regularly mowed the grass, and pruned the shrubs;
• when shouts and laughter echoed 'round the garden, 
• and bikes leaned at crazy angles 'gainst the wall;
• when dogs barked joyfully and raced for balls tossed by freckled kids on reckless bikes;
• and crisp white curtains fluttered at the windows, and panes, now gray and grimy, gleamed in the morning sun; 
• when flowers blazed where weeds now rule;
• when  "Honey, I'm home!" brought children tumbling out to greet him;
• and delicious smells drifted from the kitchen.;
• when all the relatives came for Thanksgiving, and parked every which way under the trees;
• and Christmas saw a fir tree lugged up the steps into the living room, and there bedecked with ornaments and fairy lights;
• when someone's dreams were in full swing......
• ."and the bird was on the wing."                        

                                             


Do you think old houses remember? As the weeds grow up and the Spanish moss hangs down, do they weep for all their ghosts?

Read, Laugh, Bawl....

"What are you reading these days?" Ali wanted to know. My night table is groaning under the pile,  but it's hard to say what, exactly, I'm reading. Everything and nothing. Let me see....

The book that's been in the pile the longest is "Bird by Bird" by Anne Lamott. I just dip in and out of there occasionally.....Eeeeeh....not inspired.

"Tinkers" by Paul Harding caught my eye on a sale shelf at the university bookstore back in November. Tinkers, with their horse-drawn caravans were part of the landscape when I was growing up, so I was intrigued. And more so by the Pulitzer Prize sticker on the cover. It is the author's first novel. I tried, but it was slow going, and so it sank down .....down.....down.

"The Art of Loving" was a Christmas present. I've read it before but I wanted my own copy and now I've got it!

"The God of Small Things" by Arundhati Roy has been on my TBR list for ages. It won the Booker Prize...

I finally checked it out from the library....and made it to page six. It's due back in two days. 

The problem has to be me. I have not been able to focus or concentrate....

"Sarah's Key" and "The Lace Reader" arrived in the mail from my friend, Marilyn, a couple weeks ago. We pass books back and forth all the time. Started "Sarah's Key."  It was really interesting....Really.. But my book marker is stalled on page forty......

At the library, one day, ["What on earth were you doing at the library with that unread stack of books at home?" you might well ask]  I came across Jonathan Franzen's book "The Corrections." Big hit back in 2001, and he has, only now, written a second one. So I checked out "Corrections" to see what all the brouhaha was about. I like his writing style, but I haven't warmed yet to his characters. My book marker made it all the way to page one hundred and forty nine though. So there is hope..

And then "Room" by Emma Donoughue, hove into sight. She's Irish. That's got to be in her favor, right? And the reviewers were gushing.....While waiting, I tried to read another of her books. Decidedly not interested in the subject matter, I returned it to the library and thought I might take myself off the list for the raved about "Room." But before I could, I got a call saying  "The book you requested is in. You may pick it up....."  It looks like I was destined to give it a go. I'm on page eighty and stalled.

Marilyn e-mailed me again.....Always brief and staccato....."Read this." The link took me to "Lift" by Kelly Corrigan. The library only had some kind of media copy, which I could download to my computer. Ha! Do they know who they are dealing with? I actually went through the motions and it appeared to work. But hi-tech and me make very strange bedfellows. Totally not compatible. Sure enough, all I got was gobbledygook, computer hieroglyphics. I gave up. If only I lived within an asses' roar of a decent bookstore!

 Had to be content with the book section at Target. Found "Chosen By A Horse" by Susan Richards. Never heard of her, but I couldn't put it down. I rationalized buying it rather than looking for it at the library with the thought that our horse crazed California Girl would love it too and I'd pass it on.

I read the whole thing!

It made me laugh and it made me sob. My grandfather was a vet back in the early part of the nineteen hundreds. He dealt mostly with horses. I never knew him as he died before I was born, but we had a collection of horse books on our shelves at home that came from him. I used to pour over the the illustrations and make endless drawings and think I loved horses. But though I thought they were magnificent animals, face to face, I was intimidated. My father was horse-crazy growing up, being around them so much. He wanted to be a jockey but he grew too tall!  It's an abominable miscarriage of justice that he didn't live to meet his grand daughter, who obviously inherited the horse gene from him... Reading this book, by a woman who not only loves, understands, and is no more intimidated by a horse than by a pussycat, but also writes with sensitivity and humor, gave me a look inside my daughter's brain. Even if you are skittish around horses like me, you will love this book!

 I want to finish all of these books. But I feel like a ten year year old on crack, with attention deficit issues. You've seen the ads---"This is your brain on crack..."

Well, this is my brain on stress!

Go read!

Making the Most of the Verb "To make"

I've just been over at Jen's, reading her daunting list of New Year's resolutions. I could rattle off a list of my own recurring resolutions without even so much as a glance at a list. Assume a sing-song voice and repeat after me:

1. I will not start any new quilting projects this year because, if I swore off housework, reading, cooking, shopping, bathing, sleeping, socializing and gardening, and holed up in my sewing room, with catered meals slipped periodically under the door, it would still take me at least five years to finish everything in there that is half done.

2. I will not darken the door of any quilt shop this year, because I do not need any more fabric. Want is another matter entirely. One I will ignore this year.

3. I will organize my sewing room this year----- A little louder please--- with  feeling!

4. I will organize my sewing room this year............That's better!

Well, you get the picture. Every year the same tired old resolutions, halfheartedly made, even more halfheartedly implemented.

So I made one resolution this year: To make something every day. The general idea was to work on one of my UFOs every day. No huge or daunting commitment, but progress at something, every day, even just a few stitches. I was good for the first few days. I made a little tote bag for one friend, a little doll for another. Then I made a cake for someone's birthday......Hey, that counts as "making something"........in a pinch! So far I've  had to count "making" the bed, making supper, making a loaf of bread....Can I count "making" a wish? Or "making" a trip to the grocery store? Or "making" a comment on a blog? Or "making" sure I lock the house when I leave?  Or "making" a face at the cat....Or "making" excuses for why I haven't "made" anything today?

I have "made" inroads in organizing the sewing room! I bought a wonderful wall shelf at Ikea with lots of square compartments, that covers one entire wall. With a little more organization, it should be pleasant, once again, to sit in there and make things more tangible than wishes and excuses!. One resolution that covers a multitude.  I should be able to remember and carry out something so simple.......Any bets?

"Caw! Caw! Caw!" Said the Blackbird.....

My dilemma: to drive home [twenty minutes], putz around with beds and dishes and laundry for an hour or so, then drive back, or park the car and wait. Not being sure, I had armed myself with a book, the newspaper and a scribble pad, and thrown my sneakers in the back. However, it was 9 a.m.  Fields and trees still shrouded in fog. I'll stay, I thought, and hope the fog burns off. The campus is several miles out of town, set among fields and huge oak trees, which provide a haven from the heat, in summer, for the cattle always grazing there.

I parked overlooking the fields and opened the newspaper to the most important section: Sudoku and the crossword puzzle. While my brain did its morning work-out, my eyes kept tabs on the fog. The sun was slowly burning through; it was going to be a nice day. I set off walking towards a line of trees that stretched away, invitingly, toward the horizon.

The pine needles felt so nice underfoot, carpet-soft and springy from the recent rain. A fence paralleled the line of trees, separating me from a field of grazing cattle.The quiet of the morning was broken only by the distant hum of traffic and the twittering of birds. The cattle munched serenely, looking at me with only the mildest of curiosity. How now brown cow? Bet you don't lose sleep at night worrying about your calves. Didn't think so. Animals have so much more sense than we do.....Not much into fretting about things they cannot change.

                                                                                 

The path narrowed to squeeze between the fence and the woods. It's a sorry reflection on modern times that my footsteps faltered for a moment. The raucous cawing of a blackbird mocked me for a Fraidy Cat, so I pressed onward, glancing apprehensively now and again into the trees on my left, hoping that none of the unsavory characters from Grimms' Fairy Tales, or their modern manifestations, would choose this increasingly sunny morning to visit Central Florida.
 

                                                                              

To my surprise, a bend in the path brought me to a familiar park. One where we'd spent many a summer evening, watching soccer games, back in the Bean's high school days. I had it completely to myself. I passed the soccer field, the kiddie playground, and several baseball diamonds, and found a bench, and sat and scribbled, and mentally chewed my pencil and wondered......I thought by now I'd be off this particular exercise wheel, moving placidly into my dotage, but the universe, apparently, has other plans. Thanks to what could be called, depending on your point of view, [and your gender] my worry gene, my naivete/ignorance, or my dumbass quotient, here I am, still stuck on the same old wheel,  still going 'round and 'round, wondering when and where it will end. I've gone over and over it in my head and I still think I was right to be alarmed, but probably wrong to let bureaucratic pen pushers get involved. Who knew they could, with a few strokes of their uncaring, unconcerned pens, wreck such havoc with our lives?

What's that saying----No good deed goes unpunished? Ha!

Time to retrace my steps. The cattle have retreated to the farthest reaches of the field. The blackbird  raucously taunts me. Caw! Caw! Caw! The fog is gone and the sun is high in a blue, blue sky.......

random, random, random

 


Want to write. Can't write. Stuff in head too hot to handle. Glad the old year is gone, let him go! let him go! Don't let the door hit him in the donkey. Is it safe to be optimistic? Is it safe to answer the phone? Is it safe to get out of bed?Is it safe to hope the new year will be  better? Or are we on a roll here? Will it bring more of the same? In which case I'll just go back to bed now.......That pious piffle about writing for its own sake? Hogwash! I write for the connection. Lonesome for the comments. Standing on the corner, hat on the ground, sign in hand: "Will write for comments!" My Pollyanna persona has taken a beating. I'm in danger of becoming a pessimist.

Just as I am sinking into the morass, a friend sends me a 40 point Guide to living in 2011.

# 8: Sit in silence for at least ten minutes each day. So I did. Talk about Miss Fidget! At least five times in the first ten minutes I thought of something I needed to get up and urgently do, right now, and then I remembered, and sat back down, and closed my eyes and breathed slowly until my timer went off. The second day was easier. Concentrate on breathing. Ten minutes goes by so fast. It's easy to spare them to do this. And it muffles the noises in my head!

#10: Walk outside for 10-30 minutes each day. It's been cold here. No snow, no sleet, no ice, but, by our usual standards, frigid! Tempting to huddle indoors, pour another cup of tea and wait it out. But once you bundle up and venture forth into the anemic sunshine, and listen to the birds twittering [or could that be their teeth chattering?}it's not so bad, and before you know it you've circled the garden twice and are heading towards the 30 minute mark and you have to run inside to get the camera, because, though mostly things are brown and brittle, there are cheerful berries, and creamy rosettes defying the brownness.

Part two of # 10 was---"And while you walk, smile."


So, maybe there is room in this new year for guarded optimism. I'll raise my [Irish Cream-laced] cup of cocoa to that!

"E.T. Phone Home!"

You know you're having a bad day when you pick up the TV remote, punch in the telephone number you need to call.......And wonder why they're not picking up.

It's a Pup's Life

I have been traveling, virtually, to Kazakhstan, on traipses around Edinburgh, and camping adventures in the Australian outback, all of which make my feet itch. Edinburgh, in particular, makes me long to live somewhere so similar to where I grew up, although the weather would probably immobilize me! Meantime, I have not been sitting home, wishing. Those itchy feet took me north recently, to visit Daughter, Lily, a once-upon-a-time blogger, who, sadly, no longer has the time to blog. That's what two small boys will do to you! Seven and a half and six. It's go-go-go from morning 'til night. But, as busy as her boys keep her, Lily, who always had canine friends growing up, recently adopted a puppy!

The trouble with being an absentee grandma is that you don't know your grand children as well as you would like to......

I got to see them in all their sports.......Training for the world cup.......................

      

In center field....

#2 Grandson as goalie.......

And as goalie, relaxing while the ball is at the other end!

Laying the groundwork for the NFL.......................

Endlessly riding their bikes up and down and around------Tour de France, watch out!..

 But with puppies? No obstacles. You're here now---let's be friends!

Barely three months old, cute as a button, very calm, very friendly. And as you will see, very chatty! After he exhausted himself playing he'd sit by my chair in the garden. Between snoozes, we chatted. Of course I had to really guard my knitting from him as all that flickering yarn could get a guy very excited! When I wasn't knitting, he had a dozen suggestions for what we could do......

"Oh! You want to tickle under my chin? Here, let me move a little bit to the left, make it easier for you!"

"Perhaps you'd like to play tug-of-war with my squeaky toy? It's loads of fun....c'mon!"

"Say, do you like to dig? I can show you how! I love to dig! Especially right here, near these herbs....the soil is especially cool and muddy...."

"I can share my sticks with you if you'd like...They're lots of fun to chew on!"

"Come with me! Let's run around back and dive into the jungle [Lily's vegetable garden!] There are the prettiest round, red peppers in there. I'll pull one off and you pull one off [just grab it in your teeth and yank!] Then we can lie down in the grass and chew their deliciousness for at least half an hour. I do it every day. One drawback is that you get all these seeds in your poop, but Lily picks it up with her handy dandy pooper scooper;  she doesn't seem to mind! I think they're all past being good for canning or freezing anyway..."

He twitches his ears and glances furtively around, then whispers  "There's a lovely carpet in the living room. It's my favourite place to piddle. Lily gets very bent out of shape when you piddle on this carpet, so you have to be super sneaky. As soon as you feel the urge, don't wait. Scamper in there [make sure she doesn't see you] and do the deed. For some reason she thinks I should enjoy piddling in the grass. But between you and me, the grass can't even begin to compete as a primo piddling spot!"

"I absolutely love going for walks! I wish they wouldn't put that red, leash thingy on me though! It sort of cramps my style. For instance, every morning I get to walk my boys to school. You wouldn't believe how many other dogs we see along the way. I know they'd make great buddies, since they live in the neighbourhood, but that dang leash pulls me up short every time I try to dash across the road to say hello and indulge in a little mutual sniffing. It's enough to make a fellow feel downright downhearted! But, on a positive note, there are all kinds of pee-mail messages to sniff, at trees and bushes on my side of the road, so I guess I should be content with that. 

"I really wish I could go to school with my boys.They have this rule about no dogs on the playground. I don't feel that should apply to me. I'm just a wee pup. Don't they know that wee pups need to bond with their boys? It makes me sad that they spend so much time at school! But oh, the joy! At three o'clock, I get to walk them home again! And Buck, the neighbour dog, sometimes walks with us. Buck is only a few months older than me but lots bigger. He's a black lab, very big, and sleek and he likes to play just as much as I do, except that one of his paws could squash me.  Buck is my hero! Sometimes I hear him playing on the other side of the fence and I wish so much I could go and join him! He's a bit stingy with his toys when I do get over there. But I don't mind. It's enough for me to be on the same side of the fence with him for a while!"

# 1 Grandson

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Marty Moose, # 1 Grand-dog. 

It was a lovely visit. The weather produced some Indian summer days, especially for me; I got re-aquainted with my grandsons; introduced to Marty-Moose, so called because of very large paws---we all know what that means, right? He might soon be as large as his hero, Buck! Lily and I drooled over yarn and she produced some of her stash so I could knit! Will show off my scarf when I finish it.....Regulars here will know to keep breathing in the meantime! And now, I'm back in my own nest, having satisfied the wander-itch without having to travel all the way to Australia. It's lovely to go, but being at heart a homebody, even nicer to come home again!

Note: And as easy as Blogger  makes it, having gotten into this "caption" mode, I have no earthly idea how to get out!