Update

I feel really old right now. Bad enough that I broke my ankle 10 weeks ago, but around 4 weeks ago I messed up my knee trying to manouver my cam boot and foot into the car when the car parked next to us made fully opening my door impossible. Yesterday I went to the ortho doc who checked my knee, and found arthritic changes. He gave me a cortisone and novocaine shot behind the knee, and it actually feels pretty good now. At least I haven't had to go to bed at night with an ice pack strapped to my knee. However, last night my right elbow began an aching/numbing thingy, I guess I must resign myself to slowly falling apart, one joint at a time.

The hub was been bitten by the golf bug recently when he worked at a charity golf tournament. I tried to get him interested in golf 30+ years ago when we lived in San Fran, and got him a gift certificate for lessons, but for whatever reason it didn't ring his bell then. I think he'll enjoy it now that he has time to spare. I, personally, would rather watch grass grow, but to each his own.

I think #1 son has actually gotten a job, full time with benefits, yeah!! It isn't the greatest pay in the world, but at least he's not flipping burgers. I thought, when he was in school, that with a degree in geology a job would be pretty easy to find, but no. There were as many as 300 applicants for one entry-level position he applied for, and although he got an interview, of course they picked someone with 10 years of experience. You hear all the time about the jobless rate falling, but my guess is that most of them are in the "service" area (burger flipping, et al.) and not in professional jobs, where I suppose a lot of the jobs are now outsourced to India or wherever. Both son and daughter can at least still live at home, because for sure you can't support yourself around here for $8 / hour.

I've been doing some knitting, and it hasn't helped with the joint problems, let me tell you. Plus, I think I would do much better if I could actually see; at no position in the graduated bifocals are my hands in focus. Sigh. I think it's ironic that now that I have the time to do leisurely hobbies, I lack the physical wherewithall to do them. If I want to feel like a total blob I'll have to try riding again, that will certainly send a message to my bones that Elvis has left the building.

It's a short trip...

The Newfoundland puppy is driving me crazy. Her latest thing is the swimming pool. We fully intend letting her swim, because she clearly enjoys water...a lot. But our pool isn't open yet; we typically open it around Memorial Day. So right now it has the winter cover on it, replete with puddled water and leaf debris. We have a deck all the way around it, and several days ago Raven launched herself off the deck and into the icky water on the cover. The cover is not intended to support a cavorting dog weighing 50 pounds (at 17 weeks), and if she were to go through the cover she would surely drown before we could tear the cover off, and find her in the mucky water. So we stretched that orange "warning" plastic fencing across the deck to block the pool, but still allow her to go from the back porch out to the fenced yard. The orange fencing is also upheld by two sawhorses, besides being attached to the deck railing. So what did she do? She just launched herself at the fence and trampled it underfoot, then plunged once again into the pool. The barrier lasted about 2 hours. And then she is not only wet, but smells like The Swamp Thing. Again. So this weekend the plan is to add to the deck railing by building an extension all the way across the deck blocking the pool, with a gate. It will be made of wood to match the rest of the railing, and it will be a nuisance because it will cross the area where we hang the hammock, meaning it must be moved too.

The cats are really bent out of shape too, even though Raven just wants to play. If she catches one of them unaware, she polishes them with a big ole lick and lots of dog spit. It has been an ongoing challenge to put their dry food where they can go and she can't; worst of all are the water bowls, since Raven pretty much inhales all the water she can reach. One of the cats (I'm not certain which, although I have my suspicions) showed her extreme displeasure by peeing on the dining table!!!!! At the time, one of the cameras was on it, and it got christened too, which is how I found about it. And we wanted pets for what??

I have signed up for an on-line photography course starting June 6th. It is a composition class, and the students upload their photos for the instructor and the other enrolled students to critique. There are 4 lessons in all, and 11 days to complete each one. I now have a decent digital camera (a Sony Cybershot), and I'm looking forward to doing this. I'll share the assignments and maybe my photos here as i go. My daughter wants to take a beginning photo class, and checked with the local Vo-Tech and the journalism dept at WVU, but both of them have discarded their black-and-white darkroom work and changed to digital only. Most digital cameras cannot be used in a manual mode that allows you to control BOTH aperature and exposure, and even then focus is auto. This means basically, that if you want a very shallow depth-of-field, where your subject is in focus but everything behind is not, you pretty much can't do it unless the background is *very* distant indeed. And trying to take a panning shot of an object in motion is impossible, as it drives the autofocus nuts. It will all be blurry, instead of a sharp subject against a streaked background. And I don't know how you can gain an understanding of f-stop and depth-of-field when you can't control the aperature at all. Sigh. This is another instance where the old was better than the new, and where technology takes the place of actually knowing what you're doing.

Battery power low, must close! Photo soon.

Podunk praise

Life in a small town is much different than living in a big city. I grew up in Miami, lived in Memphis and then San Francisco before moving to this small WV town, and it took me a while to get used to the different way people behave. I remember one time, I had gone to the grocery store in our pickup truck, and because the seat was pretty much filled with a baby seat and baby, I put the groceries in the back. As soon as I turned the corner, all the groceries fell over and began slidding all over. I pulled to side of the road, climbed into the bed of the truck, and to my vast surprise, someone stopped and asked if I needed help! Several people called out "You OK?" as they slowed going past me. In San Fran, you could be bleeding to death, lying in the middle of the road, and people would swerve to go around you, that's how unlikely it was that you would get any help. People here hold doors, wave you into traffic, help you load your groceries in your car and refuse a tip if you offer. Amazing.

But the more subtle result of living in a town is that people are no longer anonymous, and this can be a good thing, and a bad thing too. I would tell a funny story about something the babysitter said, everyone would chuckle, and then someone would ask, Who's your sitter? And I would answer, and inevitably someone would remark, I went to school with her, or, my brother is good friends with her brother, and I'd gulp and try to remember if I'd said anything hurtful. The connections seemed to be a network that encompassed everyone. You couldn't be rude when you were driving, cut someone off, flip the bird, because when you got to the grocery store, there they were, your checker. Who clearly remembered the incident. We've lived here 25+years, and although the population is 25,000, less the students, still everyone now looks vaguely familiar, but you can't recall in what context. Was it Girl Scouts? 4-H? High school band? When my kids were learning to drive, we forbid them from taking anyone else in their car. I think it is a huge distraction to an inexperienced driver, and I couldn't imagine how I could face the parents if some child were hurt in a car mine were driving. And I pointed out to them, that everyone here knows everyone, and if they gave a ride to anyone, I WOULD hear about it, make no mistake. And it worked very well, I might add.

But I guess the down side is that it is all to easy to know the private things too. Like when I went to the Psych hospital after a failed suicide attempt, the clerk that admitted me was a former co-worker. Her husband taught my kids at the junior high school. We both belonged to the local kennel club. N knows hundreds of people from work, and would run into them everytime we went to the mall, usually when we were having a little dispute about what to buy. In San Fran, I NEVER saw anyone outside of work unless it was a planned event, never at any mall, theater, hairdresser, park, anywhere at all. It was so different here, I felt intimidated about the books I got out of the library, the videos we rented, the bar we went to, everything. Everytime I came home with fast food, I felt like the neighbors were saying, Doesn't that woman ever cook? They even published (then) the names of patients admitted or released from the local hospital in the local newspaper. They still publish the daily police report, so you can see that, yes, your boss WAS arrested for DUI. So I can understand why people find small town life too stifling, too much like living in a fishbowl. Still in all, I'd rather be here than the greatest city in the world. When my friend from Miami visited me a few years ago, we went to the mall, and at one point sat on a bench. She said, Look where your purse is, then look where mine is. And sure enough, hers was on the bench between us, still looped over her shoulder and with one hand on it. Mine was on the floor near my feet. She said, That's the difference in living in big city. And I guess she is right.

Has it been that long?

While I was still working I thought that once I was retired I'd have time to post all sorts of things. But in reality I am posting less often. I have been told that it takes a full year to get used to retirement, that in the first few months you feel like you are on an extended vacation, and then you get caught up in all the things to do in/on the house now that you are there to see what needs to be done all day every day. And all that is true, I think. But I found that a broken ankle that keeps you from doing anything in the house, or going out, or doing much if you ARE out, mainly leaves me feeling so depressed I could barely get out of bed. Many days I never got dressed, brushed my teeth, or combed my hair. All I could tell myself was "this won't last" like a mantra.

And it didn't. Today the doctor told me I could forego the walking boot and launch out in actual shoes. This means I can DRIVE! I haven't been so excited about getting behind the wheel since I got my license at 16. Freedom! So the depression may get bad again, but I will tell myself "this won't last" once again.

And I'll try to post more often, if only to have a place to air my thoughts, such as they are. And if people read it and think "boring" It doesn't matter; it's not like I'm delivering a paid product, after all.

Hooray!!

The cast is OFF! Went to my new ortho doctor, who x-rayed and decreed that my ankle was OK to go into a (removable) walking boot. I can take it off to shower, to sleep, even to hobble gingerly to the bathroom. I feel like dancing..err..not quite. But soon...

Oh yes, and Raven is also out of her splint and only limped a bit for a few days afterward. Now she is back to harassing the cats, who had gotten used to her limited mobility and now have to hustle to get out of reach. She is now 15 weeks old and weighs 35 pounds. She MUST learn to go down stairs, even muscular son is having difficulty carrying her when she needs to go out.

I am avoiding all TV news because I cannot bear all the post-tragedy rhetoric about Virginia Tech. The horror of what went on, especially for the survivors, makes me feel physically ill. Just writing this much makes me feel ill.

Yesterday was the husband's birthday. He always has a mixed attitude about it. On one hand he wants us to make a fuss about him, and on the other he doesn't want to acknowledge that he is, well, (whisper) older. How can we win at this? Make him a birthday cake and then pretend it's for no special reason? We went out to dinner (first time since I broke my ankle) which was very yummy. I gave him a WW II photo of the flying tigers, autographed by the commander, which I ordered online. A fun time was had by all.

New depression med is perhaps helping with the persistent depression. I ardently hope that the other meds are not losing their efficationess. If that's a real word. Going off one anti-depressant and onto another has in the past sent me into a total meltdown, and I'm running out of classes of drugs to try. I wish I could take my brain out and give it a good scrubdown and then reboot.

This is certainly an uninspired post, I think I'll just give up now....bye!

Those were the days, my friend

I noticed today, not for the first time, that I am definitely getting old. In some ways, on the inside, I still feel like I am 18; I still feel awkward and gauche in social settings, un-informed about current events, certain that everyone else is better than me at cooking and housekeeping, that my kids are lazy and self-centered, and I'm a lousy driver. But yet as I look around me, I can see that, like the lyric in 'Strawberry Wine' there is nothing that Time hasn't touched. I think of my Lotsa dog, and with a jolt I realize that the puppy times for her were more than 20 years in the past. I think about heart-ties to pets that no one but me and N remember. I think about friends that came and went in my life, some moving away, and some passing on. Family traditions that have vanished because there is no one left to do them. Places like playgrounds and parks that are no more. They're tearing down my old high school this year, a school that was 'state-of-the-art', and building a new one just in time for my 40th reunion. Physical things, old photos that have faded to illegibility, dried corsages that are ribbon and dust, a quilt that is nearly transparent from use, even prosaic things like my rolling pin, a gift on our wedding day from my to-be father-in-law, that got crammed in a drawer once too often. Who expects to wear out a rolling pin? And like my mother did in her day, I find many new things to be unsatisfactory; much cheaper in price, but poorly made, solid old brick buildings replaced by new cracker boxes with paper thin walls, lovely big trees cut down between one day and the next to make room for more parking spaces. I always thought that I was someone who embraced change, like when the music of the 60s disappeared I found the current music to be fine too--right up until the 90s ended, and the music began to sound too strident, too incoherent, and yes, too loud. Now everyone looks too young to me, doctors, plumbers, mailmen, everyone, and when I see old farts on TV gabbing on and on about the Vietnam war, it's a shock to realize they are in fact my age. The entertainers like Cher and Robert Redford are old farts too, and the new ones on the magazine covers are completely unrecognizable. People talk about movies I've not only not seen, but never even heard of, when did that happen? When I tell the kids an old old joke, they laugh instead of groan, because it's not old to them. When I watch TV, I spend an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out where I've seen that actor before, only to find out it's the son or daughter of the actor I remember. And god knows my body is wearing out, I've only to listen to the cacophony of my knees to know that.

Anyway, as I reflect on all of this, I wonder if it wouldn't be the best to accept, even embrace my ever-growing decrepitude. Go ahead and wear cotton housedresses and ankle socks. Give up makeup, haircolor, and tweezing my bristles. Keep playing LPs, go back to Windows 3.1, put cash in little envelopes for groceries, clip coupons.

Wait a minute...would I have to vote Republican?

Never mind.

Discouraged

Saw the ortho doc today. He said there was a little healing occurring on the broken ankle in one (small) spot, put on a new cast and said "4 weeks more" minimum. It is 25 days today since I broke it. I went home, and 4 hours later I'm back at the doctor's, unable to bend my leg at the knee without tourniqueting my leg. Sheer pain! I said, get this thing off, no more casts, I can't bear it for 4 more weeks, and he said, it's either a cast or find another doctor. So I got another cast, AND my x-rays to take to another doctor tomorrow. How dare I object to his medical wisdom? I need a doctor who will work with me on this, keep me from going berserk, and if it isn't healing, go for the surgery. I already didn't like this guy, and he wouldn't even discuss a walking boot, air cast, or anything but a damned fiberglass cast that can't be removed, gotten wet, or balanced on.

Raven got her splint off, and is still a little gimpy, but running and playing all the same. She goes tomorrow for her first trip to the groomer, so hopefully she will smell better for a few days at least. It would help a lot if, when she squats to piddle, she didn't subsequently SIT in the puddle. I mean, isn't that a little dumb? The, ah, aura surrounding her is particularly noticeable when she is draped over the shoulder while navigating stairs.

I got my MacBook back today from repair; somehow one of the hinges broke, and it is all of 3 months old. They were amazingly fast, received and shipped it out the same day, can't beat that. It was a warranty repair; when I Googled "Macbook broken hinge" I got 33,400 hits. I thought from the beginning that the hinges were a little creaky, and I wasn't sure how far I could tip the screen back, because it felt like I was forcing it. Alls betta now!

While I am immobile for so much of the time I am doing a lot of reading and a lot of crossword puzzles. I have never been able to use those books of puzzles because I fall to the temptation to look up the answer when I get stuck. Now I download daily puzzles to my Palm Pilot and can get a hint of a single letter or a single word, if I absolutely have no idea (I am REALLY bad at geography questions). And when I get it totally solved, the screen says "congrats!" It's pretty lame when you have to get your kudos from a inanimate object.

We Match!

I never realized that casts were contagious. Little Raven got in the way when the guys were unloading hay into the barn, and got a 50 pound bale dropped on her. We rushed to the vet (on a Sunday, of course!) and the xray didn't show a break, but in puppies, with all the growth plates in the radiogram, it is hard to tell. So, splint and wait for a week; and meanwhile she can no longer sneak up on the cats. Hearing her walk in the kitchen from downstairs sounds like the sound effects from a horror movie, SCRRRape, thud, SCRRRape, thud. Now she has to be carried outside AND inside, and she has gained 10 lbs since she was 8 weeks old, she now weighs 29 pounds, at not-quite-12 weeks old. Needless to say, I'm not the one doing the carrying. My ortho doc says, no signs of healing, come back in two more weeks, and I am discouraged to say the least. The only saving grace is that I don't have to work anymore. But this surely isn't what I had in mind for me OR the puppy when I retired.

Right now there are other sound effects; there are 5 guys on the roof doing a lot of pounding, as they replace the roof. They do not have complimentary things to say about the last roofing effort, but then, have you ever known a workman to say, "Hey, those last guys did a heckofa job, we really can't do anything better"? No of course not. Anyway, after we get a few good rains and verify that the damn dining room ceiling isn't leaking, they will come back and put up new drywall on the ceiling and re-plaster. Hopefully it will match, but even if not, it will be a big improvement over the hole and brown stains:



Sigh. We've been in this house 25+ years, so I guess you have to expect some fairly major upkeep along the way, but it feels like it's a big hole into which we throw money. Worst of all right now, is that with me laid up, the cleaning is not getting done, but I just look the other way and promise to do a real job of spring cleaning on it once I am mobile again. I've never enjoyed the role of nag, and the kids and N have enough to do as it is. My main interest right now is getting OUT! Just a little cabin feverish, you know.

The patient is resting quietly

Can you see the little black nose on the far left? That's the puppy, and the reason Beans looks like she's possessed. They'll work it out.

Having an 11 week old pup who can't go down stairs without being carried, a split level house, and a broken ankle is not combination I'd wish on my worst enemy. Plus, I have cabin fever big time, since the only time I've been out of the house since I broke it on the 15th was yesterday, to the ortho dr. I came home with a new, tighter cast, and the news that there is no sign of healing. I bet that I'll go through weeks of gimping around on this, and THEN the dr. will decide to do surgery, thus ensuring I am laid up for twice as long.





Mega rain for this area, flood watches out. And us with a leaky roof! The repair will start in 2 weeks or so; meanwhile it's...........

Need a carpet cleaner

The puppy is a lot of fun, don't get me wrong. But although she seems to feel OK, it is also true that in the poop department, she has no equal. We took her to the vet for anti-diarrheal meds, and then in the end taking her back for the vet to keep for two nights and give her anti-spasmodics, sedative, and so on, to get on top of this thing. She is home now, and seems to be much improved, so we are back to trying the housebreaking game again. I guess it is a foregone conclusion that all the carpets will eventually have to be cleaned. Meanwhile, we make daily use of the SpotBot we got a year or so ago (mainly to clean up cat barf stains). It works great, too great in some cases, leaving a clear light area amid a more dingy background. Isn't pet ownership fun?

In a related topic, I've been taking a bunch of photos, not surprisingly. What was surprising was that among our many many cameras, 35mm, 110 and

I stopped right there to get ready to go out for an appointment.

I started downstairs to get my purse and coat.

I fell on the stairs and broke my ankle.

it is now evening on the 15th and I am in bed with my leg in a cast propped on pillows. I broke this same ankle 10+ years ago, just the tip of my fibula, but after 5 months it hadn't healed, and I had surgery to have two screws inserted to hold the fibula in place. The doc today told me good news, the old break is well healed and the screws look fine; the bad news is there is a spiral fracture of the fibula just above the screws. He sent me to an ortho doc, who said he was fairly sure I wouldn't need surgery for this break, but I'm to come back in a week so he can xray it again. I feel really down, since I am diabetic my bones are slow to heal, and I remember the sheer misery being one-legged caused me in the past. No walking the dog for me, just as she gets to where she frolics instead of gluing herself to my leg. I have to ask for help at every step, can't drive (right ankle) and our house being two stories means I am either up or down, and whatever I want will be on the other floor.

Feeling down doesn't begin to cover it.

Puppy Mom

Above is the photo I took a few minutes ago. There are inherent problems with photographing a solid black dog. They may be clearly defined in the viewfinder, but simply put, they don't reflect as much light as, say, a tan dog. In my film camera, I can use the backlight compensation (+2 for instance), but my simplistic digital camera doesn't. So as I get my film processed, I ask for a CD, and from that I'll uplaod a better pic.

Getting a new puppy is more work than I remember from 20+ years ago. The whining at night, the housebreaking accidents, the necessity to put everything UP above nose height (which will get higher and higher as she grows!), it's all a constant struggle. Garbage cans. Kleenex. Shoes. Candy wrappers. The only saving grace is knowing that, unlike babies, puppies grow up really fast, and in 6 months the worst will be over. I shall endure.

As for the cats, the youngest one has hidden in a back bedroom for the last week, but the others are getting pretty blase about the pup. Mind, they too recognize the value of getting up high. Fortunately, she is unable to use stairs, so they can go up when she's down, and vice versa.

We named her Raven. She's 8 weeks old today, and weighs 18 pounds.

On the mend

Slowly recovering the ability to breathe through my nose, but still in bed to write this. More snow today, but mid-week it is supposed to warm up into the 40s. This is good news because Friday we drive to the Cleveland area to pick up the new puppy! There will be pictures posted, not only of the puppy, but of 5 very ticked-off cats. This should, at least, have the upside of distracting them from the aquarium, where new fish are darting and air is bubbling, and the fish won't swim near the front of the aquarium for fear of attack.

The hub and son made a run to the store yesterday for orange juice, and came home with candy, cookies and cake as well, bless them. My appetite has been nil with the cold, for everything except sweets. Being diabetic, I am careful of amounts I eat, but I can't eat nothing either.

In addition to general web surfing, I have been ebaying quite a bit. I was on ebay back when I had to explain to people what it was. Too bad I didn't invest in it too. Anyway. I've had good fun with it, getting everything from clothes to Christmas trees. Currently I'm interested in old cameras. We have several that were bought new back in the 50s to the 70s, and recently we sorted through them all in the process of re-arranging furniture. Somehow, I can't get into the whole digital scene, the comparable pixel-to-film comparison is generally thought to be 12 Mpix = 35mm at 100 ASA, and do you know what a 12 Mpix camera costs? Some sources say it is actually more like 24 Mpix, if you want to make a significant enlargement. Plus, I like photos I can hold in my hand, or frame, or fill an album, and the cost of printing digital photos is absurd. And too, I think of archival properties. How can a digital photo be preserved in a format that will be usable in, say, 50 years? CDs don't last more than 20 or so, I've been told, even if the hardware and software to read them is still around. The same goes for flash cards, hard drives, etc. Remember 5 1/4" floppies? I have family photos as cabinet cards dating back to post civil war times, taken in the Matthew Brady studio in D.C. But yet the film part of photography is taking it on the chin. It is exceedingly hard to find film in 110, 16 mm, 120 mm or most polaroid formats, let alone someone willing to process them. I'm sorry we did away with our home darkroom, at the time I had a really great one available at work (for doing electron microscopy), but now some of that technology has been subverted to the digital format too, although believe me, the film used in EMs, at an ASA of around 8 and magnifications of 100,000 x, make the digital cameras on the scopes cost in the hundreds of thousands, often equal to the cost of the scope itself. And the digital files are, of course, gigantic. Anyway, no darkroom here anymore, although I think the Vo Tech still offers classes in B&W photog. I took photo classes in San Fran where the emphasis was photography as art; here at the university I took photojournalism classes, which is an entirely different kind of slant on photos. The funny thing about any kind of photograph is, if you show someone a really good bunch of pictures, the almost universal reaction is to say, wow, you must have a good camera. And not that you yourself had any influence on the subject, composition, exposure, depth of field, etc. Just that you had 'a good camera'. The best camera in the world, with every shot technically correct, won't equal having a 'good eye'. Neither will Photoshop.

Well, just writing this has tired me out, so I'll give up for now. Hope everyone is keeping warm!

sick, sicker, sickest

Having a cold/the flu is the pits. Between the sore throat, the hoarness, the drips, the aches, you get the picture....

I haven't had so much as a sniffle in years.

Outside it is 20 and snowing, with wind gusting to 30 mph. Thank gods I don't have to work, or even go out, except the Miata is supposed to go to the shop on Friday, which will only happen if we get the sunshine plow through here sometime soon (not likely). I think I caught the cold at the grocery store, but we bought enough for two full weeks of cooking, so I can hibernate as needed.

Signing off for now....

TA DA! We have a kitchen!

OK, the kitchen is done. The entire job: vinyl floor replaced with ceramic tile; painted; new curtains and border; new corian (tumbled glass) counter tops with new corian sink. Doesn't seem like a lot, put that way, but it took nearly 6 weeks. We used the original cabinets, but I cleaned them with steel wool and re-stained where necessary.

So here is a photo showing a bit of the floor and up to the border


Here is the other side of the kitchen


And here is a close-up of the sink and counter


And this is the view of the other corner, showing the new pantry/door.


The kitchen is actually 11' x 11', but the side not shown is just one tall cabinet between the reefer and the freezer, not too interesting.

These were all taken with the MacBook's on-screen camera.

What a huge relief; my dining room is still not quite recovered, but frankly I ran out of energy. Tomorrow.....

Worst Fiction

Yesterday's retreat reminded me that years ago I won second place in a WVU contest for faculty and staff to write the first sentence of the world's worst fiction novel. As I recall, there is a national contest for this as well (I'm too lazy to google it to check that). At any rate, I thought I'd share my entry, and the entry of the first place author.

Mine:
The prince had danced with all of the eligible women at the ball, most of their brothers, some of the castle livestock, and anyone could see he was thoroughly bored, so Cindy was determined to make an unforgetable impression, twitching her ammo belt to reveal the right amount of cleavage, adjusting her satin cape and matching eyepatch, checking that the spikes of her wrist gauntlets were glittering, she tugged the leash of her dire wolf, stepped briskly across the floor, slapped the prince firmly across his plump cheek and in a husky voice snapped, "Wake up, dolt! My pumpkin's double parked. You interested in hauling ashes?"

But mainly I wanted to share the first place entry. Maybe you can guess the year from this...

Bill Case
Ronald Reagan Abercrombie (his mother had named him for her favorite TV actor, and the Abercrombies, whose pretensions to New England respectability were still strong then, not diluted by the events that came later, never forgave her) slipped his feet smoothly into the size-12 Bruno Magli leisure shoes the well-spoken African-American man had tossed at him from the window of the speeding Ford Bronco on LaCienga Boulevard, thinking fondly of the last leather shoes he had owned before his vegetarian girlfriend shamed him into wearing only cloth and plastic on his knurled and tired footsies--she was gone now, gone far away and would never--he hoped!--return, not in this life, not without some sign from above--the kind of sign he saw out of the corner of his eye through the smoggy Los Angeles air--a sign that called out to him, him alone, in a gaudy neon imitation of the tablets Moses wrested from the mountaintop in some old black-and-white movie his mother dragged him to in 1959, from its perch on the six-story block of flats, once owned by The Italian, now home to fallen movie stars, lost hillbillies, hopeful models and not a few forgotten felons--not that the shoes fit, mind you, but their very looseness was itself a luxury to him, who had known so many and missed them all.

I think you can see why it took first, yes?

Reader, Writer, 10 O'clock scholar

So, I attended the writer's 'retreat' today and thought I would marshal my thoughts here. There were 9 of us, all women of middle-ish age (I guess), and we all introduced ourselves, said what we wanted from the effort. Everyone mentioned what she was reading, or was inspired by, except me. I recognized none of their authors, although I might have read a review of one of them, but I didn't think telling them I was currently reading Dean Koontz (Brother Odd) would foster the image I was pretending to have. That's of being literate, without mentioning that I never voluntarily read anything other than for pure entertainment and/or escapism. Well, not counting Newsweek and Time, since I never watch the news on TV because they go too fast for me. The poetry we were given to read did what poetry always does for me--nothing much. To me, poetry is like marzipan; it tastes good, but in the end your mouth is empty and you've left thinking, is that IT? Some poetry is OK, but it doesn't go far enough for me, I want more story, details. I feel the same about short stories; even if my favorite author writes them, I never read them. So I think I'll forget the bi-monthly workshops, but still I got what I wanted from this session, which is the inspiration to get cracking again on my science fantasy novel. I never seemed to have the time to really make progress when I was a worker bee. Now that I am a Lady of Leisure, I can't use that excuse any more. Great literature it isn't, but I like to think it's a decent enough tale.

Monday is supposed to be Countertop Day, but I'll believe it when they carry it in the house and not before.

Now the 10 degree wind is howling around the house, revealing every ill-fitted doorjamb and leaky window seal. The outdoor cats are all in the garage huddled around the heater or under the rugs/blankets etc. The horses are in the barn wearing their winter woolies. They have liquid water twice a day for at least some time; I tell them to drink fast. Several years ago we had a water pipe burst in the house and had to shut off the water at the main valve. We attempted to melt snow for the horses to drink, but do you know how much snow it takes to get 15 gallons of water? Twice a day? In the end, we turned the water back on and held buckets under the split pipe for them, until a plumber could slog out to repair it. If someone had stopped by with a horse trailer and $50, they would have been gone, that winter.

I made bread last night (and it's all gone today). I ended up letting it rise inside a pre-warmed oven, because there are drafts in the kitchen from, weirdly enough, the attic. All my dishes and glasses are pre-chilled; if only we were drinking champagne or eating bouillabaisse or gazpacho. My old gas stove had pilot lights instead of sparking lighters, so the oven would be just right for bread. And yes, I know the new way is safer, and environmentally sounder, etc. etc., but I still wish we had an old one. It was also just the thing to hold your hands over after being outside.

All in all, it's hard to envision global warming today.

Still dreamin'

OK, so here it is 3 weeks and counting, and still no kitchen countertops. We have kitchen accoutrements strewn far and wide while we try to do simple cooking tasks that don't require, say a whisk, or the top to the big pot, only because we haven't found them yet. All the carefully labeled boxes are so much random scribblings because their contents have been shuffled while we search for ever-elusive bits of cookware. Now I am resigned to our fate. Maybe next week.

Meanwhile, I have signed up for a local writer's workshop. What, you don't think I need one? Ah, shucks, ain't nothin' much. But seriously, I expect to be completely at sea, struggling to comprehend difficult concepts like character development, plot lines, and who knows what-all else. I plan to do much listening and no talking. If I think I can get through my extreme shyness with strangers, I may sign up for the new weekly group sessions, I'll just have to wait and see how this goes. I have a novel half written that I've piddled around with for at least 10 years, maybe I can actually set shoulder to the wheel and get it finished. No promises. And what I'll do with it afterwards, I haven't a clue.

A sweet Newfoundland puppy is in the immediate future; she's now 4 weeks old. We'll drive to Ohio, up near Cleveland, to pick her up near the end of Feb. Big changes in store for a bunch of very spoiled cats who have ruled the roost for a long time. I have a photo at 3 weeks:

Dreeeeam, dream dream dream

Did I say the kitchen the would be done this week? HO! and HO! Everything has been going along like clockwork. Cabinets packed up, the countertops and sink removed, cabinets disassembled, old flooring ripped out, new ceramic tile down, grouted, then sealed, cabinets replaced, leveled, stove re-connected. Next to come is the corian countertops. Fabricator notified, and tho we were ready for them yesterday (monday), they called to say they couldn't get out to do the "template" until Thursday. When I said, then when do the countertops themselves get put in? And the answer was, oh, 2 to 3 weeks!!! We hit the roof. We ordered the countertops and paid for them on November 3rd. The whole point was to have all the many people involved to be ready ready as each was called upon. Our contract says, date to commence, Jan 2, expected date of completion, Jan 15. Clearly this isn't going to happen. The manager of the really big Home store thru whom all of this is being done says, Oops. When we threatened going to the regional manager, they conceeded that perhaps we "had a failure to communicate". In compensation, they agreed to have a temporary sink installed (hopefully today) so we can at least use a kitchen that has running water, instead of washing pots in the bathroom tub.

And as if that weren't bad enough, late last night we suffered a major catastrophic Plumbing Failure, in that the Master downstairs bathroom, toilet, whirlpool tub and 4 foot shower all backed up with every bit of water sent down the drains in the two upstairs baths, which mostly ended up on the floor. I felt like I was trying to stem Noah's Flood with a squeeze mop. We had a bucket brigade going out side, and my whole goal was to keep it from reaching the carpeted bedroom. After two hours I got the last of it mopped up --not clean, mind you, but mopped up-- the plumber called to say he couldn't get here until this morning, and we ran out and bought a camping potty to use meanwhile. I was supposed to get a Mammogram and then a visit to the surgeon this morning, but no way was I going without taking a shower first! The plumber is here now and hopefully I'll be able to wash all the wretched towels and throw rugs used in the Great Flood currently residing in the Washer soon.

I'm too annoyed with the whole world right now, and I'm going to go shopping. As soon as I get a shower.

The New Year

I've been noticing that quite a few of the blogs I read regularly have not had any recent posts. Of course, neither has mine. Maybe I just lurk on a lot of slacker blogs (not Ginger, tho!), but more reasonably it's the holiday and new year ennui that leaves everyone saying,"Oh, the h*** with it".

I'm sitting in the living room with the MacBook while two hard-working guys lay ceramic tile in my kitchen. Having the entire kitchen pulled to pieces is way more disruptive than I had anticipated. We started demolition 5 days ago, and the house looks like Dorothy's house after she landed in Oz. There are narrow pathways to thread between cabinets, appliances, and boxes, and for cooking we have the microwave and the toaster. We nuked a casserole last night and then discovered we had packed all the serving spoons; all we have are plastic tableware. By the time it was served it was cold and had to be re-nuked. Tonight it's going to be a restaurant. The kitchen won't be useable until next week, probably Friday. I have a ton of stuff to throw out, I found stuff in the cupboards I didn't know we owned, like a presto hot dog cooker, and a belgian waffle maker, neither of which show any sign of ever being used. Goodwill will get whatever doesn't go in the trash, and maybe we'll be good for another 25 years here. Any future remodeling here will be done with a box of kitchen matches!

But other than this mess, I'm getting used to being retired. It is so cool to be able to work on a project without having to anticipate leaving it half finished until the weekend. I like being able to schedule appointments for the middle of the day instead of first thing or last thing a 5. I like running errands when I take my time instead of rushing in and out, and getting vexed if I forget something. But I never realized how far things have been let go, cleaning and organizing, yard work, and let's don't think about the attic, I'm sure I never sanctioned all the stuff up there, what is in all those boxes?

I've been able to work on the genealogy records, one of those jobs that you can't stop when you're working through, say, census records in a given area, not unless you plan on reviewing the same records more than once. So much more on-line sources, even actual images of the hand-written records. As a side note, never let anyone maunder on about the poor penmanship of the modern era, those census takers back in 1870 had atrocious handwriting! No wonder the transcribed records are unreliable. I never met my paternal grandfather, he and my grandmother were divorced back in 1922 when Dad was a baby. I discovered that he (my GF) was illegitimate, that the family name comes from his mother who was a servant at a neighbor's farm at the time he was conceived. And I discovered he lied about his age to get in the Army in WWI. And I found he is buried at Gettysburg National Cemetery. Interesting.

I once considered posting my genealogy files, but despite containing 1800+ relatives, it's still very much a work in progress. And probably will be, forever....I figure I'll use my knowledge to bore the socks off all the other little old ladies when I'm in my dotage. Meanwhile, I'll spare the rest of you!

This is the first day of the rest of my so-called life

This weekend just felt like any other one, but today! A Monday of permanent workless-ness! So nice.

On my last day, my co-workers took me (and the Hubby) to lunch, followed by a nice cake-and-snacks party, and a lovely gift of a fountain pen (which I collect). They are a nice bunch of people, and I like to think I did a good job for them these last 30 months. As for the two or three b****s that I barely survived back before this last job, I am secure in the knowledge that what goes around comes around, and that there will come a day when they are in need of a helping hand and they won't get it. PFFFTTTTT.

I am propped up here in bed writing this on the new MacBook. The screen is so much brighter than my desktop, and I can position it so I can actually read with my bifocals. I tell my family I don't need a thing for Christmas, that I have everything I can think of, most especially the freedom to pursue my interests full time.

And right now I think I'll pursue a snack.......