Trapped in the Airport
Originally published Monday, November 6, 2023
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Recently, my husband Doug and I flew from California to JFK on Delta Airlines red-eye flight. Our schedule was cutting things pretty close. We were to land at 8 AM, and his connecting flight would take off at 9 AM. He would go on to visit friends for a week in Virginia, and I would take an Uber to Connecticut to spend a week with my son and his baby while Mommy was going to be away at a family wedding along with her mother in Paris.
The first part of our excursion went as planned. Doug was taken by an arranged wheelchair from check-in in SFO through security, and on to our gate, with me trying to trot along next to the quick-paced wheelchair pusher. I had taken a spill two days before, injuring my right knee, (a bad abrasion of the skin), and wondered at times if I should have asked for a wheelchair for myself, since it was so far to the gate.
One good thing about needing a wheelchair is that you get to board first, and we got settled in for our 5 and a half hour red-eye flight, leaving at 11 PM, California time. Soon after we took off, Doug realized that he had left his cane on a luggage trolley back at SFO. "Darn! That was my new one that had shock absorbers. It's a good thing that I brought my old one in my suitcase!"
I can never seem to sleep on planes, but made the nighttime reservation with the hope that I would. We both took our nighttime pills,and Doug promptly dozed off at take-off. I thought I'd play with my iPhone or listen to my Calm app to relax, or if that didn't work, I'd listen to the end of a Louise Penny, Inspector Gamache book on Audible. Then I discovered, to my dismay, that my phone was in near death mode, and the cord I brought with me to charge it was one of the newer, smaller models, and wouldn't work with the bigger socket on the back of the seat in front of me. I had the old-fashioned one in my checked bag. So much for the new earbuds that I had bought for the trip. I put them back in my pocket. I hadn't brought headphones with me, since my new phone doesn't have a place to plug them in, so I couldn't plug into the entertainment right in front of me on the seat.
Finally, the attendant came by offering free headphones! I attempted to amuse myself with a couple of games, occasionally watching Doug peacefully sleep with his head on his chest. He's very talented that way. He awoke in time to have the offered applejuice and cookies, but dozed back off again shortly afterward. I ended up watching 2 and a half movies on the back of the seat in front of me with the earphones that the steward provided. I almost thought I'd see the end of the last one, since we kept on circling around New York, perhaps because of the turbulence we were experiencing. I grabbed Doug's arm as we bounced around, and he drowsily said, "Hmm? Oh, we'll be all right", and went back off to dreamland, to my envy.
Time was passing, and I started to worry about Doug's connecting flight. We landed at 8:40, and though we usually stay seated to be one of the last ones off the plane so we don't hold everyone up, we tried to get up with our backpacks and stand in the aisle. Being at the middle of the plane didn't help, since everyone ahead of us was already crowding the aisle, pulling down their carry-ons. I had half-expected the flight attendants to announce that everyone should let the folks out first who had a connecting flight...but no. A young woman next to me in the aisle commiserated that she was in the same boat. Her phone was working, and she said her flight had been changed to 2:57! I recognized that as the other option I had when making our reservations.
My son Lucas texted me wondering if we had landed yet. He said that he and the baby could hardly wait to see me. Hmm, I thought. We wondered if there were any earlier flights that Doug could take. Doug got a message that his Virginia friends had already arrived in DC, and to let them know when he landed there so they could pick him up. Uh-oh. When we finally reached the front of the plane, there was a nice man from Portugal waiting to pick Doug up in the wheelchair. He tried to figure out if we could still make it to our flight, but it was taxi-ing away. Uh-oh. We wondered if Doug's luggage had gone with it.
The wheelchair man left us at a very far away gate, where he thought another flight was leaving soon. He strode away with the wheelchair, leaving us at a desolate gate with no one in sight. He said someone would be there in about an hour. I plugged my phone into a charger next to the seats, and then I walked around to find a restroom and look at any board I could find with lists of flights. I couldn't find the one he talked about at 10:30. I reported back to Doug, and we agreed we shouldn't just sit there, but without a cane, he couldn't walk far. We spotted one of the wheelchairs abandoned near the escalator, and there was a ramp going up to the next floor near it. Doug encouraged me to abscond with it, saying, "Go ahead! Be bold!", even though they're only to be pushed by the official pushers. The ramp was longer and steeper than we realized, and as I got toward the top, pushing him, with him holding our backpacks, a Jamaican woman dressed in a uniform called out, "You can't be pushing the wheelchair yourself! It's not allowed!" I huffed and puffed and said, "Just let me get to the top! I can't stop now!" "Okay, but you really shouldn't have done this!" She was nicer after she heard our story, and called around to find out if there was an earlier flight. She even had the manager of the wheelchair team come down, and some other Delta higher-up. They all did their best, but Doug just ended up being pushed what seemed like a mile, with me trying to keep up alongside him, occasionally hopping on a people mover to get a bit of a free ride. I waved as I went by.
We ended up near the gate where he would leave from at 2:57, and they brought us to the restaurant nearby so we could have breakfast. They took away the wheelchair again, saying we could call someone to take him over to the gate later. We ordered one breakfast to share, and Irish coffees, with an "it must be 5:00 somewhere" attitude. With our phones plugged in, I contacted my son and Doug's friends with the update. His friend Sarah had decided to visit her sister in DC, so that was lucky, and I told Lucas I would try to figure out how to get an Uber to Connecticut as soon as I could.
After breakfast, it struck me that I had never picked up my luggage, and we wondered where Doug's suitcase was too. I said I'd go try to find out, and he agreed, with the caveat that I try to find him a Wall Street Journal, since he was going through withdrawals from his daily printed paper habit. A Hudson News store was right across the way, and I got their last copy, so he happily sat esconsed with his paper in the restaurant. I walked and walked, following the signs pointing to baggage claim, making a call to Lucas as I went. My knee started hurting a bit, and I coveted any wheelchair I saw along the way.
Finally, I'm almost there, and as I took one step through a door, I realized that there was a sign that said "No Return" that I had just passed. I turned around to be approached by a very officious looking security guard who told me in no uncertain terms that I couldn't come back in! I tried to explain what I was doing, and that "I'll be right back with our suitcases", and "look, just let me come back through the door, and I'll go join my husband again!" "No!", he said, pointing to the ceiling,"Cameras would see you. I would get in trouble! Just go to the office at baggage claim and they'll give you a pass to come back in."
The baggage claim lady had a line of tired looking passengers, some with small children, and even though I hadn't slept all night, I felt blessed to be alone. I also felt proud of myself to find our baggage claim receipts in my pocket, and when she checked them on the computer, she said they were still circling around waiting to be picked up! It was hard to believe, but there they were, two lonely bags going round and round! She told me to go over to Delta on the other end of the airport to try to see if they could give me the pass to get back in to Doug. I walked another long way, pulling both of our suitcases, thinking that my Apple watch would be very proud of me for all my steps.
When I finally reached my destination, however, getting a pass to re-enter the airport is something that, I was told, can't be done. They said that because I didn't have a ticket to go anywhere, I wasn't allowed to go through security! I had Doug's suitcase with his cane and meds in it. I told my sad story to the people that were in charge of wheelchairs, and by the time I talked to the third person, I got the manager. He reassured me that he would get someone to go to the restaurant to get Doug, (which he wouldn't be expecting), they would bring him out through baggage claim, and over to Delta check-in, where he could go through security once again with his suitcase that I had for him, but without me. I tried to call him to give him the heads up, but of course, as usual, his ringer was off on his phone....
I sat, wringing my hands for over an hour, and finally, he wheels up, furious that they wouldn't trust little old me to come back to get him myself. "Did they think that you looked like a terrorist?" I asked if we could sit together for a while until he calmed down, because then he would be taken over to check-in and we would say our good-byes for the week. We promised to keep in touch (he would keep the ringer on on his phone), we would call most days to try to do our Wordle game together, he would have fun with Tom and Sarah in Virginia, I would have fun with Lucas and Thea, and then we'd meet after that for Thea's baptism.
After a tearful good-bye, I pulled my suitcase along with my backpack on top of it, and walked outside to order an Uber. Once settled in, I tried to spot familiar New York City buildings as we drove along, but then discovered that somehow, falling asleep in an Uber was much easier than on a plane.
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Rings On Her Fingers......
Originally published Saturday, June 3, 2023
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It's been quite a while since I've written about what's going on in our lives.
All the while that I haven't been writing, we've been busy remodeling our old family home in order to rent it out again (at a higher price)... We traveled back and forth from Palm Springs to Richmond, figuring out how to organize all the repairs, and we even put on two garage sales, that let us get rid of many things, but didn't make us very much money toward the cause. Some keepsakes were sold cheaply, or given to those folks that showed a genuine interest in them and the story behind them.
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The things that traveled back and forth and were always with me, are my rings. "You have so many rings on your fingers!" folks exclaim. Well, that's because there's a reason for every one of them.
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My wedding ring is a story unto itself. Before Doug proposed to me, he went with his daughter Charity to the Costco jewelry department and got me a diamond ring to present to me at the Nantucket Restaurant, in Crockett, CA. We had been there before, and had even had a special walk out on the pier, where we would lay down on boards and cuddle while looking at the stars. Pretty romantic, eh?
We sat at a picnic table outside, and he proposed to me with the beautiful ring, and I said yes, and then my cell phone rang. It was my ex-husband, and it was irritating to Doug that he should call at this time. I didn't pick up, but then he called again. I answered, and told him what had just happened, and that he shouldn't be calling me so often, but I would call him. Every once in a while I had to remind him, "Divorce, right?"
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Time went on, and I got to tag along on one of Doug's many business trips to Europe to buy antiques for his store. He decided to make a side trip to Scotland once, and after we landed and drove to an inn, I pulled my hand out of my pocket, and a diamond was missing from my engagement ring! The little prongs of gold were empty. When we got home, we went to the Costco jeweler and they seemed to happily replace it. Another diamond fell out once again, though, and then I confessed that I would really rather not have a diamond that was so big, (It seemed like it could be used as a weapon!), so we asked that it could be returned and we ran off to the Oaks Jewelers, on Solano Ave, in Berkeley. I chose a modest, even cloudy diamond, lower than the others, and surrounded by three little diamonds on each side. I was happy, and I even saved Doug some money!
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After a while, I wanted to have another ring on my left hand, but since I usually am attracted to silver rings, I thought it should be a gold one so they wouldn't clash. I'd call my left one "my gold hand". So, while on a trip to Capitola, a favorite beach town since my childhood, I went into a shop called Super Silver Capitola. They have lots of choices of jewelry and at least at that time, they only charged you by the ounce. I told the person that I wish they had something in gold, and she showed me a couple of bands that were gold-plated, warning me that the gold would eventually wear off, and it would be silver. For the price, I went for it, and the nice Celtic looking ring lived on the third finger of my left hand. Later, it moved to my right hand when, just as she warned, it lost its golden sheen.
I had bought another silver ring at that store before, which I still wear. It's one of my favorites. It's smooth and strong, and always shines, showing me it's wave-like design, reminding me of Capitola.
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The ring that gets the most attention, even from strangers, is the one that Doug bought me at the ranger station at Olympia National Park for only 20 bucks. It has a beautiful swirly setting that catches the eye, and if the sun catches it right, the opal fascinates folks. I explain that it is made from little chips of opals, not a whole one. It's still the winner.
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A couple of years ago, our granddaughter, Karis, started a little online business for herself, marketing the rings and other jewelry that she makes. I noticed one that I liked, one that she constructed amazingly out of silver wire, winding it around and around in a very pleasing fashion. She quickly made one for me and sent it to me. I hope you'll check out her website: bishopkarebear.wixsite.com. Tell her "Gramma Patty sent me".
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My latest rings happened pretty recently. Doug discovered that we had known each other for 20 years, on April 11th, 2022. He wanted to get me a special ring to commemorate it. The trouble is, that my fingers are rather large, and everywhere we went to try to find that special ring, they didn't have my size 9 in stock. It was the supply chain, because of Covid, they said. (The old story...) Finally, in Macy's, I asked the person to measure my finger for the size, just to be sure. Next day, we looked online on Amazon (of course), for a size 9 ring, and I found one I liked.
It has small diamonds, is silver and has a kind of a twist in it that attracted me....sort of symbolizing our meeting.
A couple of weeks later, before that ring arrived, we had a reason to look into our safe deposit boxes. There I ran across my mother-in-law, Helen's, (Tutu's) wedding ring. I tried it on the middle finger of my left hand just for fun, (where the new one was supposed to go, and it fit so well!
I always thought that Tutu had smaller fingers than me. It's a platinum band with tiny diamonds as well. I decided to add it to my collection. When the new "meeting" ring came, it was a little too large, and I found that if I put it on first, and then added Tutu's ring on top of it, it held it in place.
All of these rings have a special meaning to me, and they help me to remember people, and even pray for them. I think of where I was when I got them with fond memories. The only trouble is, that it's a full time job keeping them all adjusted and facing upright! Oh well, that gives me more time to look at them..​
I've decided though, in case you wondered, I don't think I'll ever put bells on my toes.
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One More Different, Smaller, and a Very Electronic Christmas 2022
This year we decided to stay in Southern California, for Christmas, in our trailer/cottage in Palm Springs. There were lots of factors in making the decision. Most of Doug's kids had other plans, or just didn't have time to travel the 8 hours down here from the Bay Area, and we thought Doug was going to have a second cataract operation on the 21st, but then he changed his mind. My kids are both back east, and we just planned to communicate a lot by FaceTime especially when my new grand baby would be born. Doug's two sons and 2 of the grandkids promised to drive down on the day after Christmas, but that left us alone, together for Christmas, opening up a couple of gifts wrapped in Amazon packaging.
It's a good thing that we put up our solar Christmas lights, because before Christmas, Covid raised its ugly head once again. First, Doug tested positive and I tried to not get it by insisting I isolate myself by masking around him and sleeping in the tiny bedroom at the end of the trailer part of our home, as instructed by the doctor. He confessed later, however, that it was a relief to him that I finally tested positive! I guess that's okay, since we both had mild cases. Besides, it was difficult to be so strict when we were in such a small space. My symptoms were mostly exhaustion, everything tasted like garlic, and I had heartburn and nausea. He had a little fever for a couple of days, a headache, and general malaise. We just self-isolated and were brought gifts of homemade sour dough bread, cookies, and even a huge package of toilet paper, (which we had gotten dangerously low on), from friends and neighbors.
I kept trying to force myself to finish up the annual family calendar I put together, and then when they came, I set up my Mom's old card table in the kitchen to gradually wrap them and any other gifts that I had to send out in the mail. When I finally tested negative, I went to the post office to get some priority mail boxes to pack up all the families' gifts and treats so I could come back to stand, masked, in a surprisingly short line to send them off.
We had bought each other gifts that we both wanted, even before Christmas. Doug did a thorough study of mobility scooters to buy, since he enjoyed the one we rented in DC a few months before, and he suggested I get an Apple Watch, so I would get credit for any steps I do.
The scooter came with a caveat that it would have to be stored in our parlour, in front of the wall where I usually compose my "wall tree". I was still tired from Covid, so it didn't take too much convincing for me to let that go. We went to the Angel View Thrift Shop and came home with a little 3 foot fake tree, and covered it heavily with solar lights, and ornaments, and put it in our bedroom. Thank goodness the solar lights are almost worn out. They only work for a few hours and then have a faint twinkle for the rest of the night, not keeping us up. It sits next to our little table with a minimalist creche on it. We added a couple of cute sheep to it this year. They're very cute. The bigger one looks over at the manger, and the baby one looks at us, as if to say, "Are you paying attention?"
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Doug loves his little red "scooter", he bought it with the idea that it would encourage him to walk more, rather than less. When we start out, I ride in the scooter, while he walks with his cane, and after about a block and a half, we switch so I can get some steps in. We're in the habit now of doing our walk/ride a few blocks over to the market, or CVS, or to eat lunch at our favorite restaurant, Mario's. I've learned to switch my watch over to the workout mode to get credit for my exercise. It's getting ridiculous, how I'm trying to "close up all my rings" now. Before Christmas, when we both had Covid, my watch seemed very disappointed in me, sitting in my chair and reading or taking a nap, since it urges you to get up for a minute every hour during the day. It's training me pretty well, and I keep on increasing my daily goals. One night before bed, I confess that I went outside to walk a few more steps to close up the move ring!
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On Christmas Eve morning, I baked a double batch of Toll House chocolate chip cookies with added pecans and tart dried Montmorency cherries to hand out to friends and neighbors in our mobile park. I put 3 or 4 cookies each in ZipLoc bags and placed them in a beautiful red bag that a friend made for me, and we looked very festive as we did our walk/ride routine all around the neighborhood and visited with all the happy recipients of the cookies. I told them, "If you're lucky, you might get a tart dried cherry in a bite", since the cherries were in short supply. The next day, some folks came up and excitedly said, "And I got a cherry in mine!"
On Christmas Eve, we went to a beautiful mass at Our Lady of Guadalupe, and I got teary eyed as a little girl in a pretty red dress reverently walked down the aisle with Father Robert, holding the baby Jesus on a cushion, so she could lay him in his manger. Between all the sparkly lights, and the beautiful singing of our favorite cantor, who we have dubbed, "Sings Like An Angel" singing Ave Maria, our Christmas was just about complete.
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When we got out to the car though, Doug said, "I don't want to go home to left over Chinese food tonight. Not on Christmas Eve!" He wanted to go someplace special, and his first choice was closed. I suggested a local "dive" bar, a Palm Springs classic, Pete's Hideaway. When we first got there, it was almost empty, except for an older woman all dressed up in her holiday garb at the end of the bar. "She said, "Oh! You're finally here!", to which I curtsied, and then she said, "Oh, I thought you were someone else." We sat at the bar and had a cocktail, and toasted to each other, and then all the people who had reservations started arriving, and a singer came to start singing his holiday songs with his guitar. We decided to stay and share a plate of their Italian stuffed pasta dinner. A lovely time after all.
Earlier in the day, we had decided that we would join in with our neighbors for a Christmas morning potluck, so I had to come up with a dish to bring. I just had to buy another dozen eggs, and I revised a Christmas sausage and egg and cheese casserole that I found online, similar to one that is usually served at my sister Lorraine's house on Christmas morning.
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We also were invited to Doug's second cousin Greg's and his wife Julie's home in Desert Hot Springs at two on Christmas Day, so we had to leave the brunch early, having tried to not stuff ourselves. We were happy to actually have family to visit with on this special holiday. The desert is becoming pretty popular for retirees. A couple of members of my own family have moved down here recently too. Maybe we'll get together with them next year.
The story goes on.... Doug's sons John and Matt and our granddaughters Ava and Resie drove down to visit on December 26th in time for a dinner of what has been dubbed "Harboghetti". Then we all opened gifts to each other, so that seemed even more like a complete Christmas.
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John's better at electronic things than us, so he helped us to hook up an upgraded version of Roku that is voice activated for our TV. I had also surprised Doug with an Alexa, another toy that is voice activated, which he was delighted with. (He actually looked like a little boy on Christmas morning with a new train set.) He didn't think I would get one, since I had pooh-poohed the idea. John had to help install Alexa too, and then she, (if there really IS an Alexa), was probably tearing her hair out at all the ridiculous questions she was being asked, but she still happily answered.
The weather cleared up for them one day for a nice day at the pool, since it's been unusually cloudy and rainy here.
Doug went out to ride in a golfcart with them while Matt and Ava golfed, and I stayed home with Resie. We took a little walk, and then worked together on constructing a Disney Lego project out on the patio, and we accomplished it!
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The next day, we put together a nice ham dinner, and we've all done a good job of working on the great supply of holiday cookies, candies and treats that everyone brought. We're thinking of not looking at the scale for a few days.
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Everything's quiet now. Our company is on their way home and we're feeling rather drowsy. Tomorrow night is New Year's Eve. Here's to a wonderful, and especially Peaceful 2023.
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Originally published Sunday, January 1, 2023
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Wordle-ing
Probably most people who are in the habit of attempting the game, Wordle, once a day, just use their phones. I've found that I can't concentrate on finding the word within 6 tries by looking at the QWERTY keyboard displayed on the screen. I use a pen and paper, preferably one of my favorite BIC 4-color pens and a spiral notebook. It's probably seen by others as a little obsessive, but I enjoy writing down the 5 lines for blank spaces where the correct word will end up, and then quickly inscribing the alphabet in a fairly neat column. My husband Doug and I decided not to compete with each other on two phones, but rather to do it together, each with our own pen and paper. He'll do his figuring on any scrap of paper he can find, or on an old envelope. Every time we enter a guess, we have a silly habit that I do a drum roll with my tongue, and he taps his pen on the table, (somewhat irritating to me at times, since occasionally he starts his drum roll before I've even brought the game up on my phone!)
One time recently he said, "I don't have anything to write on. I'll just share your paper." That's when I realized how OCDish I had become about my own space. He started writing words we were going to try in the 5 spaces I had reserved for the final answer, and then CROSSING off the letters that didn't work....in MY SPACE! He also didn't have his own pen, and I had to wait my turn to use it.
Shocked to see what was happening, I said, "What are you doing??"
"It's just my way of figuring", he said.
I tried to be more sharing, starting to make a new set of 5 spaces for my own figuring. "Could you please keep away from my alphabet though? I have my own little system where I cross off the letters that are wrong, and put checks next to the ones that show up yellow, and are somewhere else in the word, see? And then I like to put a little square around the letter that's in the right place." "Hmm," he said. finding that after our first guessed word, the 4th letter, O showed up green, and therefore in the correct spot, I placed it there and put a square around it. He kept marking up my original spot, but seemed to get it that that my new area was now reserved only for me.
We continued to brainstorm, mentioning possible words, and sometimes catching each other in a mistake, like, "How about canoe?" "Nope, there is no N", or "The E can be anywhere but the end." "Darn!", I say, but happy to have missed a close call, and not wasting a turn. Two brains ARE better than one.
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The Wordle people are rather kind if a word is misspelled and not on their word list. For example, for some reason, I have it in my head to spell "bagel" wrong. I put in "bagle", and the letters wiggled on the screen, and said "not on word list", not penalizing us nor counting it as one of our guesses.
When we first started playing, Doug said, "There must be certain consonants that are in most words.", so he diligently looked up on Google what they recommended. "S, T, R, and N are the most common, so what do you think of starting with store or story as our first word? Yesterday's word ended in E, so maybe we should start with story, since it ends in y."
He always tries to bring logic into the game and tries to strategize. He realized that past words have most often been nouns. In the last few games, we feel that the maker of the puzzle at the New York Times, is messing with us and giving us the most obscure 5-letter words, leading us to choose the most uncommon one we can think of, or making us take a chance on repeating an already used letter. "Robot" was the word that introduced us to the fact that we could re-use a letter in another spot.
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We were trying to up our game, since at first we thought we were beating the system by starting with "adieu" or "adios" as our first try, thinking that we should try out a lot of vowels first. Then we realized that very few words end in U, and we have yet to see a plural word, so both of those words are a waste of a perfectly good try. Can't have that.
A few months ago, I traveled to Washington DC to visit my daughter and new grandchild. Doug and I worried how we were going to keep up our streak of about 98 Wordles straight without losing when we were apart. I told him I didn't want to take the chance of breaking our winning streak by doing it on my own. We finally decided to talk on speaker phone together each day, discussing each word.
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One evening I called Doug and we both had our pen and paper ready. I had him on speaker, as we discussed each word possibility . On the 5th try, we had E, O, and Y in their correct (green) spots. Jennie had been overhearing us making suggestions and we both agreed that "epoxy" would work. "But it can't be that," Doug worried, "It's a brand name!" It was a chance to take, but we took it, and thankfully, on the sixth try, it was right. My daughter said it was so hard for her to hear our conversations about it, since she had already done the game for the day. She was thinking, "Yes! It's a word! Go for it!" but all Wordlers are sworn to secrecy, so she painfully kept her mouth shut.
Then, I said, "I'll have to report into Lucas and Jen, (my son and daughter-in-law), to let them know how we did. We do this every day."
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"What?", she exclaimed. "I want to be in on that too!" Sooner or later, we had her husband chiming in as well, all competing together. For me it's made the world seem a little smaller, since I'm in California and my kids are in New York and DC. Now our little group uses the text also to share photos of everything going on in our lives.
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Actually, after quite a lot of time, Doug and I are the main devotees to Wordle. We're retired, and they aren't, and we all think that the words are getting harder. I mean, tryst? midge? aphid? Really.
If you've gotten this far in my story, it's probably because you like the game too. We've talked to friends about strategies, and some are as enthusiastic as we are, while I watch others' eyes glaze over at the thought of Wordle. We however, still make time in our day to try our hand at it, even though today we got frustrated and finally lost. All of our logic flew out the window, as we tried all the most obscure words first, finally losing to what we thought would be the most common one, "power"!
There will be days like that, but I guess I'll continue to inscribe the alphabet each day on my tablet. I think my kindergarten teacher would be proud.
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Originally published Monday, July 25, 2022
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Our Prius "Camper"
Originally published on Thursday, June 9, 2022
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Whenever we tell folks that when we camp, we sleep in our Prius, they say, "What? But you're so tall! How could you do it?" Well, for one thing, the clincher that helped my husband in deciding whether or not to even purchase a Prius is to make sure that we could sleep in it. He secretly took measurements before even letting me know he was interested, so as to not get my hopes up, only to be dashed. The newer version, in 2004 fit the bill, and we test drove it around Berkeley. The salesman wondered outloud, "Why is it that all of the Berkeley people want to make sure that the car is long enough to sleep in?"
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Well, we both liked the idea, since in our former lives we had enjoyed long trips across country. Mine was in an oxidized red '69 Dodge van made in to a camper, and his was in an Austin Estate Wagon. We both like saving money on motels, and we have fond memories of waking up in the morning to birdsong and cooking breakfast outdoors. Coffee tastes best that way.
This was the beginning of the hybrid craze. and we were right with the folks wanting to do everything they could to save the planet. The idea of saving money on gas made it even a sweeter deal. The Prius was so popular though, that Toyota couldn't seem to keep up with the demand. If we had wanted a certain color, the time for it to be delivered couldn't be promised, but if we took one of the next ones that were delivered to the dealership, we could get it sooner. When they came, they were all silver. Oh well, we weren't that picky.
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Our first adventure was on a trip to Lake Tahoe, just a 3-1/2 hour drive from the Bay Area. We were one of the first in line at Emerald Bay campground, since it was on a first come, first served basis . We scored a place right near one of the restrooms, to make life easier for nighttime bathroom needs. We put our food in a bear locker, and then went out to shop for the rest of our supplies. Unsure of the level of propane we had for our camp stove, we bought a new canister, some tall Jesus candles to light our table at night, some pre-made shish kebobs to barbeque, and of course, Peet's coffee for in the morning. Doug found a deal on some Jameson's Irish Whiskey to warm us around the fire later.
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Spotting a sign for Fallen Leaf Lake on the way back from our shopping excursion to South Lake Tahoe, Doug said, "Let's go check that out! I haven't been there for years. We've got time." So we turned off of Hwy. 89 and drove past the Fallen Leaf Campground, down the road pointing to the little lake. It became a very windy road and mostly one lane, forcing us to pull way over into the grass to let cars and trucks pass by. We finally made it to the end, saw the lake and turned around to go back, when it started to rain. Really hard.
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We turned on our lights and had the windshield wipers going at full speed, as we carefully navigated the curves in the other direction. Glad to be through that and back out to 89, it started hailing! Huge, golf ball chunks of ice rained down on us, and we pulled over to the side for protection under some pine trees, afraid that our poor new car may get dented. After about a half an hour, a drizzly rain resumed, and we ventured out to our reserved campsite, wondering if we should just get a motel room.
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Our campsite hadn't fared very well. We sat in the car and took in the situation. The path to the restroom was flooded, and of course the picnic table was all wet. Doug looked at the radar app we had on our phone, and saw that it looked like the storm was headed north and should stop soon. He said, "Hold on. I'll be right back", as I saw him lift up the hood on his jacket, and run to the back of the car. He was back in a jiffy, a little damp, with our two camping wine glasses, the Jameson's, some crackers, two sticks of string cheese, and a newspaper. "Let's just sit here and wait it out. I don't think it'll be that long."
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I conceded that I'd give it a try, but started to dream of a hot bath in a hotel. We sat there, having a little early happy hour, at 4 pm, and did one of our favorite pastimes together.... the crossword puzzle in the newspaper. Doug specializes in the historical clues and I get the more modern answers. He kept glancing at the MyRadar app on our phone to keep an eye on the storm and bet that it would pass by in about a half hour. I looked at the pond that had formed between us and the restroom, still thinking about that hot bath.
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In about 45 minutes, sure enough, the sun came out. Doug opened the car door saying, "Let's go out and build a campfire! I put our firewood in the bear cabinet, so it will be dry."
Wow, I thought. He really wants to do this. I put away our snacks, and stepped out, gingerly avoiding the puddle that had formed outside my door. I got out our camp chairs, and positioned them next to the fire pit, where he was busily balling up the green sports section of the newspaper to help start the fire. He got out his axe and chipped off some pieces from the pine logs for kindling.
I ventured off to see how the restroom fared. There was still a pretty deep puddle between us and it, but there was a hill in the middle of it, providing me with a narrow path to navigate my way there. I decided to bring one of the tall Jesus candles with me, and my flashlight, since it was starting to get dark. Setting the candle at the center of the drier path seemed like a good idea to be able to find my way back without stepping into a pool on either side. When I got to the open door, I heard something inside, and a raccoon came running out. I guess he found a nice place to be in the storm! On the way back on the lighted path, I could see the glow of our campfire, and Doug sitting next to it, happily arranging our shish kebobs on a little rack that we carry with us. "See?", he said, "Everything is perfect!"
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After a satisfying dinner, sitting in our nice, dry camp chairs near the fire, and a couple of more Jameson's with water, we thought we'd better get busy on our usual chores. Water was heating on our camp stove so I could do the dishes, which I don't mind doing at all when we're camping, since it warms up my chilly hands.
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Doug is the one who tends to our sleeping arrangement. He put as much as he could of our supplies in the bearproof cabinet, and then carried over the small hassocks he bought at Bed, Bath and Beyond that we store our camping supplies in. He made the front seats of the Prius go all the way forward, and placed the boxes on the floor behind them so they filled in the foot space. Then the backs of the seats are folded down, and our foam futon mattress goes on top. As I placed the washed dishes upside down on a dishtowel to dry on the picnic table, I could see him working with the dome light illuminating the inside of the car, and my heart melted. He was arranging our sleeping bags and pillows lovingly and folding back the corners to invite us to bed. All that would be missing was a little piece of chocolate on our pillow.
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He had arranged our small suitcases and backpacks on the front seats, so we did what we needed to do to get ready for bed while standing outside the car. No one else seemed to be close by in the campground, I guess they chickened out because of the rain. One more trip over to the restroom with a flashlight, and I noticed that the pond was shrinking already and that the path was a little wider. I put on my jammy bottoms and a t-shirt and filled a bottle with water for us for the night, and walked back to our little nest. I could see it, glowing ahead of me. Doug had added a colorful throw on top of the sleeping bags, and it looked so cozy.
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As I climbed in, I noticed that he had lowered the two back windows so we wouldn't suffocate, so that was good. We snuggled under the covers and looked up at the grey ceiling, feeling very satisfied and proud of ourselves, stretching our long bodies out comfortably. "And they said it couldn't be done", he said, and turned out the dome light.
I dozed off, but about a half hour later, I thought I heard something outside. "I think I might be hearing a bear!", I whispered, jostling him awake.
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"It's okay", he said drowsily, " They can't get to us in here. Don't worry. Go back to sleep"
I tried to relax, but heard more rustling, and remembered what the ranger at the little museum over at D.L.Bliss State Park told us about how many bears there were around Tahoe. She said that they can smell things like candy and even perfume, and want to break in to get them. "Remember what the ranger said about bears?", I said, poking him once more.
"Oh honey, go to sleep please. I put all of our food in the bear-proof cupboard. We'll be fine."
After thinking a moment, I remembered the candy I always had stashed in my backpack, and the bag of Werther's that we keep in the compartment between the seats for snacks on the road. "I'm remembering the candy we have in here."
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"What? You want a piece now?"
"No! Just what if the bear wants to come and get some? What will we do? He could put his big claws inside the open window and pull it out! We have to have a plan!
"A bear can't do that." I could hear sleepiness and a little annoyance in his voice.
"I'm gonna rollup my window and open the one in the front a little so at least his claws won't be so close to my face," I whispered. But when I tried that, "Oh no! It won't go up without the power on!"
I struggled loose of my warm sleeping bag, and moved my pillow out of the way, to reach between the front seats to the dashboard. Doug opened his eyes to see my pajamaed rear end wriggling past his face as I stretched to reach the power button. "Now what are you doing?", he asked sleepily.
"I have to figure out how to reach the brake pedal with one hand, and then press the power button, right?", I said with my head under the steering wheel.
"Sweetheart, I think if you just press the power button twice it'll work the windows. I read it in the manual."
"Ooh. That's easier!" It worked, and I readjusted the windows to my satisfaction. "I know! We could also honk the horn and turn on the red hazard lights! I think bears wouldn't like to see all that commotion."
"Yes dear." I hate it when he says that. "Are you ready for bed now?"
"Not really, after all that workout, but I feel safer anyway." I couldn't envision sleeping, but snuggled back under the covers, spooning Doug, my face totally buried in his shirt, trying to get my nose
warm.
And then it was morning.
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Visitations
It was a busy day at Lowe's garden department. The employees complained that too many plants had been delivered, and it was hard to keep them all watered. Customers were just filled with the hope of Spring and happy to see the abundance of flowers and bushes, even if there wasn't a sale. I had chosen a beautiful white rose, that I couldn't resist, with lots of promising looking buds on it. It even attracted the comments of other shoppers I passed, as if it was a cute baby riding in my cart.
I took my place in the long checkout line, and watched, as an older woman came through the doors from the patio pushing a flatbed cart with things she had chosen. Gosh, I thought, she looks so much like Helen, my mother-in-law who passed away in 1999. Her white, naturally curly, short hair and colorful clothes brought back memories of "Tutu", and made me feel good.
Then, "Oh!", my heel had been run into by a cart behind me.....and there she was!!
"Oh my goodness! Did I hurt you?"
"It's not bad. Don't worry." She had made a quick u-turn to get into line behind me.
"You know", I said, "I'm glad to be able to talk to you, because when you came in the door, you
reminded me of my mother-in-law. I haven't seen her for a long time."
"Oh my! I hope that is a Good thing!" she said with a little wink.
"It definitely is. We were great friends. I've even been wearing her wedding band on my finger for the last couple of weeks. It's made me feel closer to her."
We chatted about the flowers we bought and how busy it was, and I noticed her nice wrinkly Irish face, and her sparkling blue eyes. Hi Tutu, I thought. As I left, I told her how nice it was to meet her, and almost asked for her name. Then I thought better of it. It would have been too weird if it had been Helen.
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I'm remembering another time I "saw" Helen. I was shopping at a Long's Drugs, looking for the perfect shampoo. A lady near me started chatting with me about which one to choose, there were so many types. Once again, the curly white hair and familiar face and attitude. I said, "My goodness, you certainly look a lot like my mother-in-law!"
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She said, "All my life people have said I reminded them of Janet Gaynor. You probably don't know who she was."
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"Actually I do! My Helen always said she was mistaken for that actress, since they were about the same age when she became popular in the movies in the 30's. Now I can see why there's such a resemblance! Thanks for talking to me first, it's exactly what Helen would have done. She was always so friendly to strangers."
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This has happened to me at other times. Years ago in a church where my family attended. My husband, with teary eyes, elbowed me as he watched someone coming down the aisle. I looked and sure enough, a salty haired man who was identical to Wally, my father-in-law, took the seat a couple of pews ahead of us. Wally had passed away a few years before. Every so often we'd see the man again, never having a conversation, but aways nodding at each other and remembering.
One other time, when I worked as a waitress at a Baker's Square, a woman came in for lunch who reminded me of my Grandma Diddo. Talking to her, her voice sounded so familiar, even with the little chuckle I recall. I confessed to her what I was thinking, and she thought it was nice. After that she always asked to sit in my section, and sometimes I'd even say, "Bye Diddo" as she left. She'd smile.
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What does all this mean? Probably nothing. They were all just what I call a visitation, a surprising little gift from God. I've heard that when a hummingbird comes and flutters near your face, it's called a visitation. This may be something a little bit more. My little visits bring back fond memories of loved ones, and make me think that perhaps they want me to still be thinking about them, and praying for them.
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Originally published on Thursday, May 26, 2022
Even Another Different Covid Christmas in 2021: Typhoid Patty!
Originally published on Wednesday, January 12, 2022
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Thanksgiving went very smoothly in Palm Springs. Most of Doug's family came down from the Bay Area, and we all mingled very happily together. All of us were vaccinated, but we ate at yet another relative's home.....some of whom were anti-vaxers, having our celebration outdoors just to be safe.
Soon after everyone left we started getting into the Christmas spirit, putting up lights, our advent wreath, my "wall tree", and our little makeshift manger scene.
But soon, Christmas became a whole other deal since the Omicron virus raised its stupid head. We decided instead, to cancel our plane reservations in order to reduce our risk of exposure, and drove up to the Bay Area, in tandem with son Matt and his daughter Ava, who had been visiting us for a couple of days.
We stopped for the night in Bakersfield, and the next morning I was delighted to find a See's Candy store in town. One more thing to knock off my list of things to do. The line was uncomfortably long, and indoors, but everyone was masked and in a cheery, holiday mood, once we all inhaled the fine aroma of chocolate. We all started chatting together about our favorite pieces of candy we would include in our specially picked boxes, and all looked forward to the free pieces of candy we would receive at the end. The lady next to me in line had some sort of chronic lung condition, was coughing occasionally, and was very enthusiastic. I was happy she was masked because of Covid, but she alone impressed me when she ordered her boxes. She chose several pieces and then when they were almost full, she said to the masked, gloved and hair-netted See's lady, "Now just sprinkle the milk chocolate covered raisins all around to fill it in." What?, I thought. then I realized...we're paying by the pound, not the piece! My boxes were all sealed, but next time....
We listened to the news on the car radio, and as more and more Omicron cases were reported, our plans kept changing. What started out as a big family potluck on Christmas Eve at one of their homes, with all 5 of my husband's kids and the grandkids, and even my son flying in from New York, was evolving minute by minute. We had a Zoom meeting to get everyone's fears out on the table.
It was decided that we shouldn't all be inside in a house together eating, drinking, talking, laughing, and exchanging gifts.....so what to do? We talked to different ones on the phone as we drove. One family decided to bow out since they all had bad colds. Since it was scheduled to rain that day, it looked more and more like we were going to meet in a park under cover of pop-up tents, and order pizza for our Christmas Eve dinner. Ho Ho Ho! Sounds festive, eh? One son volunteered to bring a camp stove along to at least make the traditional hot mulled wine and hot cider, vowing to make this a special occasion no matter what.
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We were supposed to stay with one of the families, but felt they wouldn't want to take any chances, so my sister, who we were already scheduled to spend Christmas morning with, along with my son, told us to come stay with her. Phew! Still on our drive up California, we got a call that my son's wife felt really ill and had just tested positive for Covid in New York! By the next morning, he decided he'd better not get on a plane after being exposed, and that they would just stay home and have Christmas together.
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As we neared my sister's house, I told Doug that it would probably be reassuring to her and her husband if we used the Rapid Tests that we brought with us to show them that we were fine. Telling her of this plan, we asked that they leave the back door open so we could go directly to our room at the other end of the house. We'd see them in about 15 minutes. The house smelled wonderful, of something scrumptious cooking in the kitchen.
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The tests came two in a pack, and I did my test first, setting the little vial with its test strip in the one hole provided. In order to do Doug's test though, I picked up my vial and held it while his marinated the appropriate time, and set the alarms on our phones. I became antsy, the 10 minutes dragging on, and swirled the liquid around, tilting it a bit to see if I could see if a pink line was forming under the label. When my time was up, we said, "Drum roll!", and we're shocked to see that my test strip had a VERY pink line on it! "I'm positive! I can't believe it!", I said, "But I feel so good!" I sat on the side of the tub with my head in my hands worrying about what to do.
Doug's timer went off, and his had no sign of pink at all. Hmm. What to do? We had been joking that I would come out and announce that "I'm negative,......but the funny thing is, I'm pregnant!" That joke wouldn't work any more.
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We came out and stood one room apart, hearing my niece say, "Here they come!" and "Uh-oh you're wearing masks!" We told them our news. My sister kept saying that she didn't believe the results. I got on the phone to try to get a Kaiser advice nurse to tell me where I could get a quick, official test, but was on hold for over a half an hour, finding out that the testing was being scheduled too far out and then wouldn't come back till another day. By the time I reported back with my findings, still keeping my distance, my brother-in-law's sister was putting her jacket on, and announcing that she had to leave, (because of me), and my niece took her back to her hotel.
My sister suggested that I take another test, since I had two more, so we went back to the other end of the house to our room, and I re-read the instructions for the test. Hmm. It Did state that the vial must be kept still, so I swabbed the inside of my nose the appropriate way, put the vial in the holder, inserted the test strip as if I was a lab technician, and left the room to work on some of the gifts I had brought for people, adding some of the See's milk chocolate balls to some. When the timer went off, Doug and I stared at the strip together. No PINK!
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"We're FREE!!", we said, as we returned to the Christmas clad living room, holding a box of chocolates. "Evidently it was a false positive! Can we hug you now?"
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Everything proceeded as planned then. Doug was pleased to find that the wonderful aroma we had smelled when we arrived was a tender roast beef, and we visited and laughed and ate and drank, all happy to be together after all.
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The next morning, Christmas Eve day, I thought I'd better use my last test, just to be able to reassure Doug's family. Very carefully, I repeated the steps, but was shocked to find a very faint pink line! The instructions stated that even if it was very light, it was counted as positive! "I feel fine though!", I repeated. My sister assured me that she could hardly see it, but I wondered about how Doug's family would react. We went ahead and the four of us ate breakfast together, choosing our fruit, yogurt and cereal, and little ginger scones, and making frothy warm milk for our coffee, comfortably sitting at the long table reading the two papers they have delivered.
Turns out it didn't rain that day, and since we would be outside in the park, it looked like our party with Doug's kids would happen. Just to be prudent, I sent a text out to all five kids about my false positive test fiasco, and confessed that the last one that morning was a very faint pink. We packed up our gifts and headed off to Berkeley to pick up son John. Grace had said that she would bring along the calendars I had made and had delivered to her house. While we waited in the car, for John to come out with his gifts, we received two notices, that the other two girls' families didn't want to take the chance of being around me. John and Matt still wanted to get together, so we drove a few miles back to get the calendars and leave off gifts, all masked up. Doug was sad to see his family's party dwindling by the minute and I started feeling like a pariah, calling myself "Typhoid Patty".
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John had Christmas spirit enough for all of us, with his festive sweater on, and gifts, candy, and alcohol on board. Time was a'wasting though, and we discussed with Matt on the way to Alameda about changing our venue to the Cinema Grill, a restaurant only one block from his place, since it was getting chilly and would be dark before you know it. While we were waiting for his family to come out, we took advantage of the time and each had a swallow of the whiskey that had been brought to make hot toddies with in the park. We drank to a wonderful Christmas celebration.
John, Matt, his two kids and two grandkids walked with us to the restaurant where we were kindly seated outside with heat lamps to keep us warm.
The food was great, but soon after we got it, the rain started coming down! The wait staff graciously brought us inside, where we were just about the only customers, to finish up.
After dinner, we walked in the rain back to our Prius, to open the back hatch, which someone said looked like Santa's sleigh. We exchanged gifts as quickly as we could, in the drizzle, and went on our way. We dropped off John again in Berkeley, and then drove back out to Lafayette to spend the night, wondering if we should just drive on back to Palm Springs in the morning and not take a chance on infecting anyone. But then Lorraine told me that her son promised to bring me another rapid self-test when he and his family arrived for her traditional Christmas morning brunch.
As folks began to arrive, we decided that we would stay at our end of the house again, just in case, thinking we might just be delegated to stay there during the whole party. The sister-in-law had decided to forego the crowd that day and come by herself later in the afternoon for a less chancy late breakfast. The new test arrived, and I very carefully read and re-read the instructions. I could hear my little great-grandnieces had arrived and were happily running around with little toy puppies on leashes, squealing and laughing. While I timed the test with my iPhone, I kept putting the finishing touches on gifts for Lorraine's kids and grandkids.....should I be allowed to hand them out.
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This seemed like a better quality test, and once again, we both looked at the results together. No pink line! No line at all! Brunch was starting to be served, and I came out waving my happy results, teary eyed. Everyone believed it, and we were welcomed at the happy table, our plates full of frittata, ham, fruit, and homemade cinnamon rolls.
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Next was the opening of gifts around the beautiful tree, and then in to the living room, each getting a red stocking full of thoughtful gifts from Lorraine and Bill.
My Christmas traditions had been met, but Doug still yearned for more time with his kids. We decided to drive back to the Bay Area and distribute the family calendars and a few more gifts to them. Met outside with masks on again, he got to get a little more family fix for himself.
While we were gone it was a good time for Lorraine's sister-in-law to have her lost meal, and we kept to our room till she was gone, to make her feel better. It was decided that we would stay one more day, and drive home when there should be less traffic, just resting after our ordeal. Once again the four of us sat around the table reading the papers, and eating yummy leftover frittata and ham for breakfast.
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Lorraine and I talked about how happy we were that the two of us decided to see each other this year, no matter what, and laughed that all of us had polished off both 1 pound boxes of chocolates. We've lost our other two sisters in the last few years, and we needed to hug and hear each other laugh. These days, you never know.....
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After a teary farewell, we decided to take the coastal route and headed for Doug's favorite spot for the night, Morro Bay. When we arrived, it turns out that all the power was out in the little town, and if there's no power in the seafood restaurants and hotels.....well. We moved on down the road to San Luis Obispo, where we settled on eating at the Denny's that was next door. Not exactly what we had hoped for. In the morning, I looked online and found the Cowgirl Cafe for breakfast, just to make up for last night's dinner and see a little of the local color. This relaxing morning caused us to get off later than we had planned.
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The entire drive along the coast had been gorgeous, emphasized by the fact that it had been so long since we had seen the ocean, but eventually you have to turn east to get to Palm Springs. That's when the rain started up, it began to get dark early, and we ran into the LA traffic. With the windshield wipers flapping as fast as they would go, we felt we were almost home. Our Prius was allowed in the fast lane, and after we passed the tall, familiar Morongo Hotel, suddenly the special lane veered off to the left, with tall berms on both sides. The rain was pelting down, and our lights couldn't see very far in front of us! I gripped the steering wheel tightly, and kept talking out loud about how nervous I was, like, "How long do you think this alleyway goes on? It's hard for me to see!", I'm sure giving Doug great confidence in my driving. He didn't help me by saying, "This is like we are a bullet going down the barrel of a rifle!"
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Finally our terror was over, and we were let out into the normal stream of traffic, and saw the exit for Palm Springs. Thank you God!! We were so happy to see our solar Christmas lights welcoming us as we drove down our street, and went inside our little cottage-like trailer and turned on the heater. It was time to put on our jammies, have a celebratory drink, make a quick dinner, and turn on our usual SkyNews. Everything was back to normal.
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Here's to a "normal" and healthy New Year to all of you!
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On Saturday, August 21, 2021, we decided to make the trip down to the Bay Area from South Lake Tahoe for a family birthday party in El Cerrito. It had been getting pretty smoky from the Dixie fire, and now there was talk of a new one, called Caldor. By the morning, our usual and shorter route on Hwy. 50 was reported closed, so we had to opt for Interstate 80, which would add an hour or so to our drive. I hated that idea, since I still hadn't quite recovered from doing most of the driving on the 39 day road trip we took in June and July. Still, Doug's kids seemed genuinely excited to have us come, so we packed our bags, thinking we would be back in two days.
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With the news of the highway closure, and the ominous look of the sky and atmosphere turned eerily a dark red by the smoke over the sun, we packed a few extra things. People posted items that you should pack in a "go-bag", that you would leave by the front door, in case of evacuation. Ours included our briefcase containing important papers, our big bag of pills and vitamins, and all of our chargers, phones and laptops, just in case.
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At the party we kept vowing that we would be going back home on Monday, but we were looking forward to staying with his daughter Grace for the two nights and getting in some good visits with the family. We had just about gotten used to the AQI (air quality index) from the smoke to be at 250 or so, and it was quite a treat to look out at the San Francisco Bay and realize that I was seeing fog rather than smoke. Besides, our raspy sounding voices were noticeable to everyone, and we should maybe give our lungs a break.
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My sister Lorraine asked if we'd like to spend a couple of days in Lafayette with her and her husband, and I jumped at the chance to have a nice long visit with my sister. She'd had an awful lot of company lately, including my daughter and her new baby, but she encouraged us to come. Her comfy bed and nice leisurely breakfasts in the morning, with the four of us reading the Wall Street Journal and the SF Chronicle together sounded relaxing. We started listening for alerts about the spreading Caldor fire by installing the app for a Reno news station on my phone, and we all gathered around the TV for news of the debacle in Afghanistan.
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Doug and I decided to use our time well since we were in the Bay Area. The former store that he had in Berkeley had been vacant for about 5 months, so we went over with gardening tools borrowed from Lorraine and tackled the yard. I pruned the rose bushes and Doug raked up about 6 bags of huge maple leaves.
The next day we continued our project, and bought some succulents and gazanias for the window boxes on the sunny side, and some begonias for the other side that has more shade. Now it looks more rentable.
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Things weren't looking good for poor Tahoe though. The AQI was reported at about 450, and the blaze was creeping toward Echo summit and had jumped Hwy 50. We sat with teary eyes as we saw videos of the area of the road when you have what the reporter called an "Aha!" moment. Normally you could suddenly see beautiful Lake Tahoe, but now smoke prevented that. Fire had fallen down into the valley below and was causing what they called "spot fires" in Christmas Valley, where some of our friends live. Doug was asked if we would like to stay in my sister's place at Bodega Bay for a few days, and we of course, said "Yes!" We have many happy memories there, one of which Doug proposed to me, and I said "Yes!".
Our time there was idyllic, the sea air, going to see the Bodega Head, looking for possible whales passing by,..... but we felt like we were cheating. Some evacuees where sleeping in Walmart parking lots, for heaven sake, and here we were going out to lunch at the Main Street Grill in Guerneville. We had driven to Guerneville to shop at the Safeway, since it was cheaper than the small, but cute store around Bodega Bay, and we stocked up for our stay.
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On Sunday we went to mass at St. Theresa's church right in the town of Bodega, where "The Birds" was filmed. The schoolhouse that's in the movie is right around the block. We went for a little ride around the area afterward, in denial about what could be happening up in Tahoe.
Thinking we might be away from Tahoe for quite awhile, we tried to forward our mail to El Cerrito, but they wouldn't let us do it online. It said you had to come in person. The phone line to the post office just rang, with no message tape. They were closed. When we looked online, it said that Tahoe mail had all been forwarded to Carson City, NV. We had also left our California recall ballots on our coffee table in Tahoe, so we called the election office and had them send another ballot to El Cerrito, in case we're still there.
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Everything's becoming so unsettling. We're getting tired of living out of suitcases now, after not quite getting over our big trip across country to see my new granddaughter. This is getting old now. We'd like to be in our own bed, but we wonder if we'll be seeing our nice, king-sized one again. I worry about all the plants and trees I've planted, and if the sprinkler system has been left on to keep them alive.
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We've put together an entire 500 piece jigsaw puzzle and watched every news piece that we could find about the Caldor fire and the poor people in Afghanistan. After hearing that South Lake Tahoe is under mandatory evacuation, we have decided that we should leave Bodega and head for Richmond to my house that is rented, but we have access to the basement apartment, where son John lives. News of the fire getting close to our area is making this very real now. Folks have been calling and emailing us to make sure we're okay. One friend said "You must be in agony, worrying about your home." We looked at each other and decided that there wasn't anything there that we couldn't replace, and our "agony level" was at about 2. On the way there, we stopped at a Kohl's store to add on to our meager wardrobe, which is short of underwear and socks, and t-shirts, and pants, since we weren't planning on such a long trip.
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Living back at the old house is a strange thing, since, for one thing, we're staying under a family of five that are living above us in the main part of the house, and we can hear them clomping around, and going up and down stairs.
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I'm down in a room that has a lot of history. I never lived here myself, but now I know what all the folks that did, heard from our family living above them.
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For one thing, when Jennie took tap-dance lessons at six years old, she used to practice her "shuffle-ball-changes" on the wooden floor in the front hall. I imagine Nana, Walt's Godmother, who we took care of, loved to hear that. She never complained though.
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I've been thinking of all the different people that I rented this room to to make some extra money. So many of them have passed on, but memories of them have been coming back to me. There was Nana, who actually died here, in her hospital bed. When I came into her room, I'd say, "Hi Butterscotch Sundae!" since she loved them so much, and if I anticipated her wishes, she'd say, "You're just like Johnny at the rathole!"
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My mother-in-law, Tutu, said her prayers from her little Catholic book, told us jokes, dressed up each day with her muu-muu, with matching jewelry and shoes, and entertained and counseled my son Lucas and his friends. She sat in her chair and washed our dog Tessa's face tenderly each day with a washcloth. Tessa adored her.
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For about a year, I rented to a stroke patient, a former customer of mine at Baker's Square, who heard about how I had been taking care of Walt, my husband, who also had a stroke. We sort of adopted him into the family, even taking him with us on little vacations. He was Polish, and when we took him to Costco he was astonished to see the array of products, remembering the lack he experienced when he was younger in Poland.
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Even Doug's son Matt came to live with us with his two young daughters when he was going through a messy divorce. By this time, both of my kids had moved out, and it was fun to have the grandchildren in the house, doing artwork and learning to play the piano.
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Now here we were, ourselves. We sleep well here, almost too well. My early alarms go off on my phone, and then we keep on sleeping until 9:30 or even 10, not having a real reason to get up. Voices are heard upstairs, people are coming down the stairs outside our door to do their laundry, a cat meows, and the familiar train whistle blows in the distance. We are starting to feel as if we might be a little depressed. We have friends and family close by, and have visited with them some, but just busy ourselves during the day buying things we need to make ourselves comfortable. It's frustrating that there's no wi-fi here, but John instructed me how to use my phone to get on a Personal Hotspot, and then I could hook my laptop up to that, and we could watch movies on Netflix. I even found we could watch some news on Pluto TV on the computer. We feel desperate for news, looking constantly for how high the air quality numbers are, feeling sad for the folks that will be returning to a pile of cinders where their home once was. Then it's time to sleep again.
Our big project on Labor Day was to make ourselves chicken soup in the crockpot. Doug did his usual job as sous chef, and after I collected some herbs and spices from Grace for seasoning, it was delicious. We left 2 chicken breasts in the bottom of the pot, whole, so we would be able to make chicken sandwiches with them later. Pretty crafty, I think.
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Next day we hear that Tahoe residents are being changed to an evacuation warning, not mandatory, and are able to return home. We love that idea, but hem and haw about whether we should go, since the air quality is still in the 200's. Deciding to go for it, we packed up our bags and all of our food, including the leftover soup in a plastic container, cleaned up our room and left town. We both felt anxious and shaky, and I felt nervous driving at first. They say that being depressed can contribute to that.
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Before leaving, we put in our destination on GPS, knowing that our usual Hwy 50 would be closed, and the route we'd take would be a little longer on Hwy 80..... but at around Sacramento, the British lady's voice on our GPS announced that "because of a road closure ahead, your route has been changed". Doug looked and saw that the new route had us traveling much further, all the way over to Reno and then Carson City, and then back up to Tahoe. Feeling even more discombobulated at this news of another 2 hours added on to our drive, we tried to find out if maybe the fire had jumped over to the northern side of the lake and closed the road there too. Nothing was on the news on the car radio, and wouldn't you know it? Google wouldn't come up on our phone! We decided to press on, and try our original way, and if there was actually a road block we would have to obey. About 1/3 of the vehicles on the road were Highway Patrol cars or emergency vehicles, or fire trucks, which was pretty disconcerting. We saw a sign at an exit for a Highway Patrol office, but it had closed 3 minutes before.
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Finally, we came to Truckee, and then finding the turn-off for South Lake Tahoe, we took it. No signs of road closures. Hallelujah! Soon after that we saw the beautiful lake. The sky was pretty clear, but smelled smoky. We could see across, but the south shore was enveloped in smoke.
The sun was starting to set and was so beautiful (smoke actually makes for gorgeous sunsets), we stopped to take a picture just before we got to Zephyr Cove. Finally driving through town at Stateline, we saw a whole army of firefighters walking past a casino. I wish I would have had the presence of mind to clap my hands out the window or honk my horn in thanks for all they've done.
Driving through the familiar gates of our condo, we honked our arrival, but no one heard us. I think there are only a handful that have moved back in since yesterday. It's eerily quiet, as we walk down our path and discover that thankfully the sprinkling system had never been turned off. We had been worried that all the plants and trees that I had planted would be dried up. But no. They had some ashes on their leaves, but most were pretty healthy, also thanks to a neighbor who watered for me as long as she stayed. First thing I did was fill the blue water bowl I leave outside for the birds and other animals. It was pretty ashy too, and who knows? One of those bears we've been hearing about that are roaming around might want to quench his thirst.
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Next thing was to light our electric fireplace and sit in our comfy mission style recliners and give thanks for our nice cozy condo to live in. We both notice the blue feeling leaving us.
On the website, Eastern Sierra Fire and Ice, they had a reporter showing a map of what he called the Perfect Storm that saved South Lake Tahoe. When the fire started raging over Hwy 50 at Echo Summit, he said huge "perpendicular" winds threw fire over Christmas Valley, where there are a lot of homes, and on to the Western slope of the Sierra, heading toward Heavenly Valley, and only showering Christmas Valley with spot fires that could be handled. The area is still under evacuation, but he called this "the Christmas Valley Miracle". We'll take that. We felt that some of our prayers have been answered.
The next morning, I got up to feed my birds, squirrels and chipmunks some nuts and seeds. Only had one taker of each, but word will get out that I'm back, I'm sure. I doused all the plants with extra water from the hose, while wearing a face mask, for the smoke. The fire is only 50% contained, and hopefully firefighters can extinguish it completely. There is a chance that we might have to evacuate again, but for now, life is good.
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Ahead of me, out the picture window at my daughter and son-in-law's home in the Catskills, I can see the nearby mountain. It has a grey look about it, with its leafless maples, ash, aspens and oaks. Each day however, I notice a little more color on the red maples, their red buds are starting to show us that spring is here, just a glimpse of the glorious display of reds, oranges, yellows and purples that I've been told so much about.
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Yesterday, April 21st, it started to snow! I could see the wind blowing flakes across the front of the mountain, and behind the stand of trees that runs down to a creek below. Snow starts to stick to the screens on the porch and on its red roof, and on the branches of the few pines. I was the only one excited about this, since everyone here has already experienced enough for this year. That's what happens when you're a "snowbird".... one who chases the sun, leaving Palm Springs when it's too hot, and arriving in Tahoe only for the last snow.
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I, for one, was mesmerized by the flurries swirling around outside. The wind blows across my view and then catches the flakes in the crook of the house, swirling them out in the other direction, giving the effect of living in a snow globe.
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I hold my very tiny, new grandbaby, and stand, rocking her in my arms, swaying back and forth in front of the window, telling her about all that was going on outside that she might observe for herself some day. There's even a pond, complete with newts and frogs, that her sister will be happy to explain and explore more fully with her. Big sister is just the one to train her in making forts from fallen branches.
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For now, she's not interested in looking out the window.....it's too bright. "But it's your first snow!", I say. She squints and turns her eyes from the light, preferring to peck around on my neck hoping to find something more appealing there. She's fussy, and I resort to a song I sang to her mom, "For Baby". "I walk in the rain by your side, I cling to the warmth of your tiny hand...." Like magic, she calms and closes her eyes, seeming to enjoy hearing my voice as it rumbles in my chest when I hit the low notes. My chin touches the top of her head and I feel her soft hair. Life is good.
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The next day, the snow continued, and since the temps dropped at night, there were icicles hanging from the eaves of the house. When I reported that to my daughter, she said, "Oh no! We've had enough of that! It's time for Spring!". Trying to make myself useful, I put on my brand new snow boots that I bought specifically for this trip, and took a walk down the hill to fill the bird feeder with seeds. With all the commotion of having a new baby, I thought that maybe the feeder was being neglected. My boots made a crunching noise as I made my way down to the post, where the feeder was hanging. I filled it carefully with the scoop provided in the jar, screwed the top back on the long tube, and hung it back up on the nail. Taa-daa! The walk back up the hill was more difficult, since I could feel it in my knee. Too much sitting, I guess, after all the self-isolating.
Warming up in the house and holding the baby again, I looked up from her sweet sleeping face to see a squirrel going at the bird feeder by hanging upside down. He had knocked off the top of it, and now was trying to eat the seeds from the random holes in the tube! I jumped up to get a closer look, and there was movement out of the corner of my vision....an animal, brown, and about the size of a beaver, but with a different tail. The word "marmot" comes to mind. It walks over the snow-covered grass right below us, chomping on the chilly greens. When I looked it up on Google (of course), I was right, but it's also called a groundhog. I'm thinking that he was disappointed to have snow on the ground again. He looked pretty cute crawling around out there, but when he sat up, he had a surprisingly ferocious looking face. Maybe tomorrow I'll give the bird feeder one more try, screwing the top on more carefully, but right now I can see why some folks are so anti-squirrel.
The snow continues to dust the trees on the hillside, and swirl past my window. I hope the snow doesn't shock the new growth on the trees. I imagine they'll probably just appreciate the moisture and be encouraged to grow even more.
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I sit back down with baby, wrapped up in a warm blanket. The wind is still blowing the snow from right to left in front of the forest of leafless trees. Drifts of snow are blown suddenly from the bows of the big pine tree, and fluffy flakes dance in front of the window.
Yep, we're in a snow globe. We rock and sit near the fire by the wood stove. Grandma reads.
One month later, we're back at our summer home in Tahoe, and on May 20th, it has started to snow, to everyone's surprise. The weather app on our phone kept predicting it, but even that morning, the sky was sunny. After lunch, little hard flakes fell, even though the sun was peeking through a few clouds. I wondered if I should be looking for a rainbow. We drove along, doing errands and watched the flakes aim at our window. Back at home, the snow started building up, covering the bushes and some of the new hollyhocks and pansies I had recently planted. Tulips were weighed down with snow, and the two tomatoes were already coated, so I guess it was too late to save them from frost. I'm hoping all the plants will take it in their stride.
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Inside, we opened up our blinds wide, so we could watch the changing landscape. The stairs and railing had accumulated about 3 inches. I didn't want to be a stick in the mud indoors, so I donned my aforementioned snow boots, and went for a little walk. Flakes tried to accumulate in my warm pockets and collected on my hat. I only saw one other person out there, taking a bag of garbage out to the bin. She was so bundled up in her well-worn parka with a hood, and boots on that I didn't recognized my neighbor at first. I smiled and said, "Isn't it glorious?!!", and she just groaned and said something about "I'm just ready for summer."
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I wandered back to our condo, red cheeked, and happy. I have a better relationship with my squirrels in Tahoe. Since I'm running low on nuts and seeds to give the critters outside, I made my specialty for them.....two big peanut butter sandwiches, cut into little squares, and scattered them on the ground to watch the grey squirrels, chickarees, Robins and Stellar Jays come after them. Then I heated some water in our electric tea pot to add to their water bowl I have outside that had become all slushy with snow.
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Delighted with the day, I came inside to watch the show through the window. The American Robin drinking from the bowl, was the biggest I'd ever seen.....I think about to deliver, and the squirrels and even chipmunks seemed to think there was enough to go around. The snow continued to swirl around, some of it heavy enough in the branches of the pines to fall off in great plops, and then blow around in the slight wind.
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Once again I'm in a snow globe. Inside this one though, my husband and I judiciously work on a new jigsaw puzzle and have a cup of tea, while the fireplace glows in the corner....cozy and warm while the snow whirls outside.
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One of the good things about marrying my husband, is that he was used to having a cleaning lady come to the house every two weeks. So when he and a couple of his kids moved over to my house he kept up the habit. I called her "Mi Esposa", (my wife, in Spanish), not to her face, of course. Her name was Maria, and we hit it off famously.
When we moved to Palm Springs to a mobile home that we call "our cottage", the place was so small, we decided to only have someone come help us clean every couple of months, usually if company was about to arrive. We got a reference from a neighbor, and this woman came to our little trailer and accepted us as clients. When I asked her her name, she said, "Maria".....
So, every winter, when we're in Palm Springs, we call for Maria and her crew to come clean. They always marvel at the changes we've made, like painting, or new curtains, or lately, the new washer and dryer. When we were getting ready this time to make the change to the north, we had scheduled a cleaning day, but there were still a lot of painting and plumbing projects going on. It just didn't seem sensible to have the cleaners come when the place was in such an uproar. Doug called Maria to postpone for 2 days later. He usually does the arrangement, since he likes to practice his best Spanish with her. She answered and said that would be fine, and for some reason, asking if we would be there. Doug said, "Por supuesto!" ("Of course!", in Spanish). She'd see us on Friday.
Since the pressure was off to finish the projects, we went out to lunch. When we came back, the strong odor of something like Lysol surprised us as we opened the door. The house was clean, the bed made nicely, and the kitchen floor was mopped, ......except the 2 rooms where the projects were happening.
"But I told her to come back in two days! Her crew must not have gotten the message!", he said. When he called Maria back, she said that she never got the message. Puzzled, and figuring it was just some sort of language misunderstanding, she agreed to come back in 2 days and finish the job. We'd pay her then.
Later in the day, we got a call from our property manager for the house in Richmond. He said the tenants were irate that "a friend of our son", who lives in the apartment downstairs, came into the house through the front door which was unlocked, evidently looked around, and then went in to the bathroom and used it. When the flushing was heard, their twin girls, who were home alone at the time, came from their room and asked what she was doing there. They told her to leave, or they would call the police.
Confused, our cleaner, Maria, left the house, and seeing son John working in the garden, she asked him if we were home. He was surprised to see her after so long, and said, "No Maria. They're living down in Palm Springs." He called us soon after, and told us he saw Maria, and that got our minds reeling.
I looked at our phone to see our last calls, and discovered that Doug had chosen "Maria Lopez cleaner", rather than "Maria Palm Springs" from the list of contacts.
Poor, bewildered Maria! No wonder she sounded kind of hesitant to come. We imagined her, walking in the door, as usual, but finding it totally different looking from what she was used to. Before we rented it out, we totally painted and carpeted it and did new window treatments. Now it was decorated in the tenants taste, which I would love to check out, but it must have been so confusing to her. Then, I suppose she thought she might as well take a pee before getting down to work, and then was discovered by two irate teenagers!
One lesson learned. Apologize to Maria, but make sure we have the right number.​​​
Evacuees! It's a Long Story....
Originally published on Wednesday, September 8, 2021
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Living in a Snow Globe
Originally published on Tuesday, May 25, 2021
One Maria Too Many
Originally published on Monday, January 25, 2021
Yet Another Different Kind of Christmas: Thanks to the Coronavirus
Originally published on Tuesday, December 22, 2020
Now this is the strangest holiday season I think that anyone may have experienced. At least most of the people in our lifetimes have not been through a plague, since the Spanish Flu Pandemic of 1918. It's taken us on a long, inconvenient and uncomfortable ride, and most folks are saying, "Come on now! Aren't we there yet?"
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"Pandemic fatigue" has set in, especially as the holidays are upon us. My husband and I made it through Thanksgiving with just the two of us with a roast duck. No kids or grandkids gathered around our table, so I made some yummy Tollhouse cookies without touching them or breathing on them, and handed them out to friends in our mobile park in ZipLoc bags. They were very thankful for the treats. We participated in a couple of Zoom calls from family and friends, which made us feel that we weren't alone, and we all texted photos of our meals and toasted each other on FaceTime. Thank God for Zoom and social media giving us a little feeling of togetherness.
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I announced to my husband that "we need to put up lots of lights this year! Let's shine away 2020!" I ran to the laptop to order more solar Christmas lights from Amazon, since some years we've had lots of lights and a huge electric bill for December. This should do the trick. When they arrived, though, I found that some of the lights I ordered were classified as "fairy lights", very tiny, twinkly things, surprisingly bright for their size, but not quite right. I went back and ordered ones shaped like colorful snowflakes, in honor of the vintage 12-inch snowflake lights I used to string on the hedge each year. I checked the size on solar ones, and they were only about 1-1/4" wide, but they'd do. Then we ordered a nice, new 72 foot string of colorful solar lights for the "wall tree" that I've arranged on our living room wall for the last few years. As I kept on receiving the boxes in the mail, my husband said, "But didn't you just order some lights?" I told Doug that it was okay that I was ordering so many things, since we would be saving so much money every Christmas on electricity! Heck, we would even be doing our part to save the planet!
The lights went up pretty fast, and then the wall tree, with the traditional "Elf" movie playing in the background. It struck me as perfect, when I looked over at the TV and Will Ferrel, as Elf, said "You're very good at decorating that tree!"
I first arranged the lights, by using a string from the top to the bottom as a guide line, and then zig-zagged them back and forth on nails, thankful that the 72 foot length worked out just fine! Next, I added the green foil garlands from the Dollar Store, and then layered on lots of favorite ornaments.
Everything automatically lit up the first night, at 5:03, as the sun went down, and now each evening it's getting a little sooner. Last night, the sky darkened at 5:00 PM, even, and on they came.
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It took me over a month to gather photos online of family members for the calendar I make each year, and, being ever frugal, I figured out how to mail several of them directly to people with free shipping, saving a bunch on postage. Next was the task of finding age appropriate gifts for kids, mostly sent by Amazon, saving postage once again, but I refused mostly, to pay the $4.99 extra for a gift bag. Not realizing that my name wouldn't be on the outside of the box as the sender, only on the receipt inside, I told everyone, "If it is addressed just to the kids, don't open it, just put it under your tree." I imagine many trees are going to have lots of unwrapped cardboard boxes under them. Maybe we should stick a bow on top just to try to make it look a little more festive.
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I've never seen so many delivery vans, and now I notice UPS drivers in their brown uniforms and hats, sporting a blue surgical mask, driving U-Haul trucks. On Sundays you might spot a postal truck being driven around, since Amazon is renting them from the post office on a day they aren't usually used.
We feel really sorry for the local businesses and restaurants, especially here in California, where we are in such a lockdown. Our friend Kim and her family own the Mario's restaurant here in Palm Springs, and we try to get something to go a couple of times a week to support them. Besides, we miss going out to lunch. We're afraid that more small businesses will be closing before this whole thing is over. It's so sad.
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When we went to Lowe's last week, most of their Christmas decorations were sold out. I just went in for birdseed, but I mean! Even outside where they sell their live Christmas trees, the pickings were slim, with only about 20 trees left. It was in the paper the other day that more people are staying at home and trying to brighten up their lives with a bigger than usual Christmas tree. I guess we aren't the only ones decorating a little early.
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A couple of weeks ago, we had a short visit from one of Doug's kid's and her family. It was long planned that they and 2 other friends and their families would meet up in Phoenix for a week at an AIRBNB. Each family self-isolated for 2 weeks at home, and they packed all of their food so they wouldn't have to stop along the way. After their nice time of playing in the sun, they stopped by to see us, all wearing their masks. They texted that they would pick up burritos for everyone at Chipotle, and we sat out on the patio over 6 feet apart, So Christmas will be more Zooming with family, and this time it will be just us and a rack of lamb.
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It was hard, but everyone agreed to not come near us to visit, especially after we heard that a friend's wife passed away three days ago, after having family over for Thanksgiving. Most of the people at that party contracted Covid. This was both chilling and sad to hear, and a real wake-up call.
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So.... You know the drill. Don't forget to wear your mask when you go outside your house. Be "stand-offish" when you are around folks that aren't in your "bubble". Smile at people with your eyes, since they can't see your mouth.....and have the Merriest Christmas that you can.
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2021 HAS to be better, right?
Tahoe Wildlife
Originally published on Thursday, September 17, 2020
This title could be a little misleading. It's not about the wild life that we lead here at South Lake Tahoe. No, we're actually pretty calm and predictable. The story is just about the critters that we come across right outside our front door.
There's been talk of a big bear that comes around many times a week, that folks are starting to call "Bob". We haven't seen Bob ourselves, but we hear he's pretty large, and lumbers along. He seems to know when garbage day is, since he makes sure to check out the garbage enclosures the night before, opens the gate with the handle and then lifts the heavy lid on the bin with ease.
Our most exciting story, was when a black bear probably drank all the water from a bowl we have outside our front door two nights in a row. The missing water was first noted one morning when our neighbor's fence had been knocked down the night before, and the next day, it was reported that a bear had torn off a plank from the garbage enclosure. He must have worked up a thirst after all that work, and knew he could come by for a drink afterward. When I told my husband about all this, he said, "What?? I've been coming in and sitting in my recliner chair right by the door the last few nights. He was about 6 feet from my head! I think you'd better get rid of that water bowl, or at least move it!"
I opted for moving it, since I've been providing water for all the smaller critters for the last 5 or 6 years, and I think they depend on me.
The blue glass bowl was repositioned farther away, over behind a bush, and I placed a stone next to it so that the birds and chipmunks would have something to hop up on to get a drink. I watched and worried every day to see if anyone noticed the change. I sat and read quietly in my zero-gravity chair, looking around the edge of my book to see if I had any takers. I even put extra bird seed close by, which would get eaten, but there were no takers for a drink afterward. For a few days, the water level never went down, and finally Doug told me it would be okay if I put the bowl a little more out in the open. Soon after, it was discovered again, not only for refreshment, but for lovely baths!
The bathers, are the occasional American Robin, but two or three Brewer's Blackbirds from the flock that frequents our yard are appreciating a dip at the same time. One gets in and flaps around while the other two politely sit on the edge awaiting their turn.
Every morning, I go out with a copper cup that's meant for a Moscow Mule cocktail, filled 2/3 full with birdseed, and then topped off with shelled sunflower seeds and peanuts. I don't want a bunch of shells littering our forest floor, and I think the little animals appreciate the little effort they have to put out to get a nice buffet. Later on, I'll add a few grapes that have past their prime or some crusts of bread. I think they'll all be missing me when we go back down to Palm Springs in the end of October. A neighbor says that she fills the water bowl during the winter if she sees it getting low.
The squirrels are knocking down an abundant amount of pine cones from the Ponderosa pines lately. Someone told us that this means that we'll have an early winter or a big one. One of the two. They chew them off from way up high, and the immature cones drop down like bombs, with a big "thud" making you wonder if you should be wearing a bicycle helmet along with your mask. Then, the squirrel runs down the tree and very conscientiously chews off bits that are called scales, leaving them in a mess all over the ground, and eating up the seeds that are underneath. Only something like a corn cob is left on the ground. The more mature pine cones, that are all opened up, with their scales all flailed out, are left alone by the squirrels. I just noticed the difference this year, since I have so much time on my hands, I suppose.
Doug laughs that I identify the squirrels as babies, teenagers, and adults. But I keep watching. These brown squirrels, called Douglas, or Chickarees, seem to first appear as small as chipmunks, squealing like birds, and mostly brown, with golden bellies. As they age, to the "teenage" years, they start getting darker strips on their sides, and grow larger. The babies are fearless, and don't mind coming close to me, but the teenagers seem to grow more skittish, undoubtedly having had some experiences with danger.
I used to think that the smaller brown squirrels were the younger grey squirrels, but no.
The Grey Squirrels are much larger, with deer-like faces, longer ears, and have huge, fluffy tails. As they grow older, they grow more salt and pepper grey. They climb down the trees in the morning to see what I've provided for breakfast.
Right now, in the beginning of September, I'm starting to think that both of the species don't appreciate my thoughtfulness so much, since they have been digging around many of the plants that I have planted recently. I always say that they think that there's a new squirrel in town that has hidden a nut, but a friend told me that they just like to chew on the roots of my plants. Still though, I'm just glad that they aren't voles, like we had a few years ago, tunneling around and killing the plants. Some may hate them, but I still love watching my squirrels.
The chipmunks have been just darling lately, baby ones I'm sure, coming around in pairs of two, just like "Chip and Dale" from the old cartoons. They skitter around so quickly, from a bush, across the path, and under the steps, that I can hardly point them out to Doug in time, before they are gone again. Even the older ones, with their striped backs, (they all have them from birth), are so quick and wary, jump up to take a drink from my blue bowl. I'm delighted to provide for them.
The species of birds are many, from the big flock of Brewer's Blackbirds that I mentioned, to the Stellar Jays and their cacophony that we hear telling their friends that breakfast is served each morning. Later on in the day, a couple of mourning doves will show themselves, sometimes defending what they believe is their territory, making us think that their reputation for being so peaceful is in jeopardy. A few American Robins hang around, not necessarily interested in my bird seeds, but I think more concentrating on the worms that might be attracted to our automatic watering system. Most of them have orangish-red breasts, and some have speckled ones. I thought those were maybe the females, not being as flashy, but I've read that they are the juveniles.
Notably louder, we have huge crows, that swoop over our heads near the pool so low that we can hear their wings flap. Then they go up high in the pines and caw to each other or make a strange gurgling sound, we think is to attract a mate. There are even a few even larger ravens, that march around on the ground, almost as big as turkeys.
Another special bird is the Northern Flicker. My ears are getting so attuned to the calls of the birds, that I joke that I may have been one once. The other day I was inside, and heard a different birdcall, and looked out to see a big bird on the side of a tree, pecking at it. It didn't have a red head like some of the woodpeckers up here do, just a little bit on it's cheeks, and it was tan and kind of speckled. When it took off flying it had a beautiful salmon color under it's wings. I ran for my trusty bird book, and found it! A Flicker! Today, I found that online I could hear samples of this bird's call, so I did a funny thing and brought my computer outside and played a couple of them loudly. The other birds looked shocked and took off, but on about the third try, a Flicker swooped over to land on the side of one of the Ponderosa pines! Then he hopped down to the ground and pecked awhile. He didn't seem very interested in hearing any more of my calls, so maybe it was just a coincidence.
For the last two years, a pair of Chickadees have made their nest in a knot hole in the trim above our condo. They're winning the award for my favorite flock of birds. They fly down to a small pine tree out front, and sometimes come close to me when I'm walking by, or they hop around near by while I'm gardening, seeming rather curious and friendly. Their chirp sounds like a sort of smooching, kissing sound. I try to make that sound when I come out in the morning and every so often one flies down to me.
Their heads look like they're wearing little bicycle helmets, and sometimes the peanuts they try to pick up and fly away with, look half the size of their little round body.
A couple of months some of the neighbors were delighted that a mallard duck had made a nest, but were worried that she made her nest full of feathers in a precarious place, down low in a juniper bush. There were three eggs in there, and we all looked forward to when the little ducklings would be following their mother around the condo complex. Our hopes were dashed one day, when it looked like a coyote had found the nest. All that was left were the shells amongst her soft feathers, and Mama was walking around quacking, looking forlorn.
A few days later, Mama duck had taken to swimming in the pool, which seemed okay, since it was closed to us due to the pandemic. We were entertained by her dramatic landings in the water, and were happy that she had a spa, (or pond), to recover from her loss. She'd hang out at the edge, and eventually surprised us by depositing a large egg right there on the cement.... and leaving it. The neighbors all talked about how to help her, all wearing our masks and socially distancing, of course. We worried that the abandoned egg would get too cold, since the temps were going to drop that night. Finally, the maintenance guy checked it out closer and found it to be cracked. The poor thing was unceremoniously deposited in the garbage bin. Mama never showed up again.
Well, it looks like from my ramblings that I still have a lot of time on my hands. I've told you about everything wild here so far. Guess I'd better go outside again to see what's up.
The Little Creep!
Originally published on Thursday, July 16, 2020
We've been up at South Lake Tahoe since the beginning of May, and I've been having a grand time gardening for the whole condo complex, with the larger stipend of $750. they've given me for plants. I DO like to find the best deals I can, and it's even better when I'm spending someone else's money.
My new saying is "I work for compliments", since I don't get paid for the digging, but I consider gardening my main form of exercise. Besides, one of the owners said that whenever she spots a new flower, she says to herself, "The gardening fairy must have been here!" That's my new moniker, and I like it.
My routine in the morning, after we do a short meditation and prayer, is to go out and feed the birds, squirrels and chipmunks. I fill their water bowl and toss a mixture of birdseed, and peanuts and sunflower seeds without the shell on the ground like I'm feeding chickens. It's delightful for me to watch their movements out the window, but for the last two mornings, I've gone out to find the two most recent plants I've planted in our own little plot, with holes dug next to them. Whenever that happens, I just figure that one of the critters must think that there's a new squirrel in town that has buried a nice juicy nut, so I use the toe of my slipper to fill in the hole, forgiving them.
Once again, right next to the Milkweed I planted to provide Monarch butterflies a place to set up housekeeping, and my nice, red Coral Bells plant that I got for Doug for Father's Day, big holes, and the red-leafed one had had it's roots chewed on! Now this morning, everything was fine, until after I fed the little darlings their treats. We dished up breakfast, and then I glanced out the window to find the Coral Bells completely uprooted and lying on its side! Oh no!
"What the.....! Don't you guys know that I'm the one that provides for you every day?" This means war!
Leaving my coffee and turkey bacon and toast with honey and peanut butter on it to get cold, I ran back in to the kitchen to rummage through the spice cupboard to find my stash of hot red peppers like you put on pizza. These were left over from the arsenal I had used to fight off the voles 2 years ago. Doug watched as I whizzed by him to defend my territory. I plopped the poor plant back in to it's hole, filled it in, and sprinkled the hot peppers thickly around it. Take that, you little creep! Then I went in to eat my breakfast.
About an hour later, we were dressed up to finally go to mass, (we had to make reservations), and Doug saw through the window that there was a big fat squirrel standing up holding the Coral Bells and chewing on the roots! Perhaps he enjoyed the extra spicy seasoning! I opened the door and he ran off, leaving the plant looking wilted and missing half of it's roots. I only had time to toss it back in it's hole and give it some water and wish it well.
When we came home, it looked like it needed artificial respiration. I decided to give it more water and then cover it with a big glass bowl, sort of like a terrarium. Then it got overheated in the sun, and the glass was coated in moisture, so I set two ice cubes on top of the bowl. Desperate measures.....
That worked for a little while, but then when I took off the bowl, even though it looked a little perkier, I worried about the plant being attacked again over night, so I put the bowl on again.
After being exposed again in the morning though, some of the leaves were feeling as crispy as potato chips, and I decided to dig it up and put it in a pot, (no less, a ceramic pot I made myself back in the 80's).
The next day, I sat in my zero-gravity lounge chair and read a book, while glancing up intermittently to gaze lovingly at my group of critters as they grazed on their morning buffet. One of the chipmunks, not realizing I was there sat near me on the ground chewing on seeds. A robin skitters to and fro, and I notice that she keeps her head down and forward as she runs along, and then stops, more upright, and looks and listens.
But then I notice a big squirrel that is sniffing around and pawing at the ground across the way, digging little holes, and then stopping to scratch himself. Maybe he has a flea. "This is the guy!", I'm thinking. He repeats the process a few times, and by now I'm calling him "Itchy". Then he comes right over to where the red plant had been, and sniffed around. "Aha!" I wish I had a squirt gun to surprise him with.
Oh well. At least my little plant is safe up on the table. Hmm. Perhaps I should bring it in to the dining room at night.
I know there are other folks who might get out a BB gun at this point....and I AM considering a trip to the Dollar Store later to shop for a Super Soaker, but in this time of self isolating, at least I have some cheap entertainment.
The Snowbirds Have Landed
Originally published on Saturday, May 23, 2020
We've stayed longer in Palm Springs than we usually do, thinking that if we put off returning to Lake Tahoe until May 13th or so, perhaps the fears over Coronavirus would dwindle. We forgot the fact that the temperature would be rising in the south. As it continued rising into the 100's, my husband suggested that we leave the next day. Unfortunately, I had ordered a few things online, and worried whether they would be properly forwarded to us without a huge charge. So we waited, continuing to be lazy about decluttering and organizing and packing for our six months up north. Finally! The most important items were delivered and the departure date was set for two days later. The temp had risen to 104 degrees, and even though it was hard to do any work outside, most of our packing and straightening was done indoors and we put all three of our little air conditioners to work along with the swamp cooler! It became mandatory that we get our act together.
The morning we left, April 30th, friends dropped by, all donning their masks, and standing the prescribed 6 feet away, to say good-bye, give us pretend hugs from a distance, and snacks to eat on the way. I kept bringing out bags and small boxes, and our suitcases, as everyone marveled at how it might all fit in to the Prius. "Doug always makes it work. He's the Master Packer!", I said, "And besides, this year we've sort of added on a room!" I pointed to the top of the car where sat our new Roof Bag, a roof-top carrier that zips open and is made of something like raft material.
"This is one reason I wasn't worried about fitting in her old guitar this time", he said. "And all my craft supplies that I insist on traveling back and forth with us", I added. Doug rolled his eyes and shrugged. "It'll all fit fine", he said.
By 10:15, we entered our destination into MapQuest on the iPhone, and we left town, already munching on some yummy oatmeal cookies that our friend had baked for us the night before. We vowed that we would make the 9 hour trip in one day, and not dawdle, taking turns with the driving. Bagels and cream cheese, turkey sandwiches, and fruit had been packed for meals on the way, and lots of water that was in refillable bottles, would make it so we wouldn't have to stop except to pee.
The quickest route is to go right up Hwy. 395. The beginning of the route would be on I-10, past the windmills and of course heavy winds. It was the first test of our roof-top carrier, and it endured it okay, except for scooting back a little closer to the antenna. Doug tightened the straps a little more, and there was no more problem. I still tried to not drive like a speed demon, just to make sure.
About 3 hours later, for a bathroom break, we stopped at a kind of funky truck-stop, and we wore our gloves and masks, and felt we should buy a bottle of iced tea and some Cornnuts, just to pay for the use of the bathroom. Our bottle of hand sanitizer was used liberally when we got back out to the car. It's so strange to have to always be thinking about ways of being careful!
Our radio wasn't picking up much of anything, so we listened to a Trevor Noah podcast, and a little bit of a book on Audible and then some of Blossom Dearie radio station on Pandora, as we glided by old lava flows and snow-covered mountains on our left in the Sierras. Near Mammoth Lakes, we hit a rest stop that was thankfully open. The air was crisp and cool, and I took the chance to stick my nose near the bark of a Ponderosa pine to smell the aroma of butterscotch. "We're almost there", Doug said, "It'll only be another hour and a half!" That sounded pretty long to me, since it was my turn to drive again, but once we turned up Kingsbury Grade, I knew we only had another half hour.
As we drove through town, in Stateline, Nevada, the casinos were closed, and our favorite little one, Lakeside Inn, that we like for their food, gave up the ghost last month and shut down for good. So sad. Everyone's wondering if businesses can make a comeback. It'll be in a different way for sure.
We turned in to our condo area, and carried a couple of things in with us. The condo is rented out usually in the summer, so when we walk in the door, it's all nice and clean, as if we are renters ourselves. We turned on the heater and our electric fireplace, and after getting a few of the more valuable things from the car, Doug poured us each a nice drink and we sat, marveling happily that we had the opportunity to live in two such wonderful places.
Still giddy in the morning, I fed my squirrels and birds their usual seeds and nuts and filled their blue glass water bowl. They seemed really happy that we had returned. Our paper had been delivered out near the car. Everything was falling back in to place and we had breakfast from things we had brought up.
Then it was time for a walk around our condo property. We've been planting bulbs all over the place, about 1000 in the last 3 years, and we were anxious to see all the tulips and daffodils that have sprouted up.
While we were strolling around, our phone rang in my pocket, and I saw that it was our dentist's office calling. I thought, this is really strange, since they had already canceled Doug's appointment for cleaning, and I didn't think they would be opening their office yet.
I handed the phone to Doug, and the secretary told him that she had just received a call from someone who had found his wallet in the men's room at the rest stop we had stopped at near Mammoth Lakes! They tried different ways to figure out how to contact us, finally calling the number on the dental appointment card that Doug had saved in his wallet. She gave us their phone number to call them so it could be sent to us.
Oh my gosh! Doug had had trouble finding it this morning, and his next plan was to look under the bed when we went back home! Right away, we called and got Dan and Teresa, the people who Doug said, "restored my faith in human nature!" They said Dan had found it right on the floor of the bathroom, with lots of money and checks in it. "We figured someone might be missing it," he said, so they went around asking folks in cars and trucks, to no avail.
It's funny. Doug had read somewhere, that we should keep some cash on hand, should the economy take a big downturn. I had asked him where he was going to keep it while we were traveling. He said, "I think my wallet is the safest place, don't you think?" I agreed, since our track record of putting things "in a really good place", hasn't panned out very well. We can't find most of those things.
So Dan and Teresa told us they were going to send the wallet to us, and call us with the tracking number, which they did the next day. It didn't come as soon as it was supposed to, so Dan called another time to tell us that he had been tracking the package too, and hoped it would be delivered soon. A couple of days later, the USPS website said it had been delivered, and we ran over to the post office. There was the missing wallet, all intact, accompanied by a nice card. We sent them one back, thanking them and enclosed a just reward for their honesty. Another few days later, Dan and Teresa called, thanking us back, and suggested that next time we are on our way back to Palm Springs, we should stop to see them. We both thought, "now these are some folks that we would like to meet!"
That was a nice, positive way to start our Tahoe summer. This season won't be the same though. Just as everywhere else, the pandemic has the hot tub empty and the pool closed. Most restaurants are only open for pick up, and there won't be the usual amount of tourists, since the hotels are closed, and if anyone rents out their place by AIRBNB, there will be a $1000. fine.
A guy was selling used bicycles out in front of his home the other day though, and I bought one for myself to toodle around the area. Not on roads though. I'm afraid of traffic.
The lake is looking beautiful, and will no doubt be less polluted this year, without all the people boating and going to the beach. Not that Lake Tahoe is very polluted. It's always been noted that one can see an object dropped to 70 feet. I guess this is an opportunity to keep it that way. The corona virus may be a terrible hit for human beings, but at the same time it should be a nice breather for the environment.
Corona Virus Ramblings....
Originally published on Monday, April 20, 2020
Guess it's time to cut my own bangs. It'll make me feel better. There really is something to the phrase, "bad hair day". I've trimmed them before, and I've learned from past mistakes, of not holding my eyebrows up like I'm very interested. When you relax your brows your bangs are much shorter than you were hoping they'd be. A friend who has given me haircuts before, once asked me how short I'd like them. I said, "Not too short. Not like my eighth grade picture!" "Oh", he said, "so you don't want to go for the Mamie Eisenhower look?"
Perhaps I've had too much time on my hands and have been looking in the mirror too much, but now I see a few hairs sticking out of my chin. Where are tweezers when you need them? It turns out that toenail clippers don't do an efficient job, not pulling out the root, and then an even stronger looking hair continues to grow. Tweezers went on to my list for when we went shopping and I am now "whisker" free. Well, maybe until I go into the bathroom again and look in the mirror.
Also, in this time of self-isolating, I'm overdue for a pedicure. I've been treating myself to one for years, since as time goes by, I'm not as flexible, and I usually get a cramp trying to get in to the position to trim my own nails. Besides, I like to get pampered a little bit, except for when they think they have to buff all the callouses off the bottom of your feet. They seem to think it's funny, as I grab the arms of the chair and try not to squeal, at the same time trying to explain to the pedicurist to go easy on me. Then they're forgiven when a hot towel is put over my legs, and lotion is applied with a nice massage.
I trimmed the nails on one foot the other night, and today I'll do the other one, and maybe another day I'll remove the old green polish that I chose for St. Patrick's Day. The toes were never shown off, because we had to cancel our annual party because the virus was just getting under way. I'm not sure if I'll try to put nail polish on again myself, because I don't have any. I looked for some the last time we went to the drug store and each bottle was amazingly about 9 or 10 dollars! I thought the price would be about $3.00, so I guess you can tell how long it's been since I've done my own toes. Oh well, it'll probably be healthier for my toenails to be able to breathe for a while.
There are a few things I've been appreciating during this time though. We've done a lot more cooking at home. My husband and I usually go out to lunch every day, which I really loved, since I used to be a waitress who wished that she could be the one who was being served each day. So now, we've bought a bunch of food, and have been putting together fine meals, which produce leftovers and we've been making soups, especially since the weather in Palm Springs has been unusually chilly so far this year. Doug is the sous chef and I sauté a lot of the ingredients before adding them to the pot or crockpot, and then I season it. When you think about it, it's wonderful how all those raw ingredients meld together, softening, and take on each others' flavors.
Another thing I've noticed lately, is about eggs. I'm becoming an expert at making over medium eggs. The neat thing about them is that eggs kinda like to keep to themselves. I put four eggs in a fry pan with a little spray oil, and let them start cooking for a while on medium heat. then I let them sit off to the side while toast is made, and the coffee is almost ready. When I come back to them, ready to flip them over, they come apart, even though one has crept on top of the edge of another. I gently separate them, and their little cells know whose is whose. I think that is pretty fascinating. I'm sure there's a scientific explanation for that, but as you might have noticed, I'm not a scientist.
Lately I'm always looking for things to wash. I have my eyes on all the throw rugs next. This is because we bought a stackable washer and dryer last year, and they're big and shiny and they sing to me when I turn them on. In the evening, Doug and I fold things together. I prefer to do my own things, because I have my ways...., folding my jeans a certain way, and making sure that shirts are hanging on the hangers in one direction.....but it's a nice, companionable thing to do. Besides, he does all of his own socks and underwear.
Since we live in California, and I'm programmed in to thinking "water shortage!" all the time. I've had a big bowl in my kitchen sink to catch water if we rinse off vegetables, etc. We faithfully, (well, I), take that bowl, when it's full, out to water some plants, so it won't be wasted. Now that we're all washing our hands to the tune of "Happy Birthday", that bowl gets filled up many times a day. It was really rainy here for awhile, so I used the water for putting things down the garbage disposal instead. Now that the weather is going to rise up to 94 on Wednesday, and then 98 the rest of the week, we'll be glad to be pouring that water that would have been going down the drain onto our plants.
There's talk right now that we might leave and go to Tahoe earlier just to get out of the heat. If we do, we'll do a very quick transition, not stopping for the night anywhere, or visiting family, and "skedaddling", as Doug says, driving for maybe 12 hours, taking turns driving, and packing a lunch and dinner.
Not that we've been thinking too hard about it. We'll see. I suppose it's almost time for these snowbirds to fly home.
But, "Oh-oh! We have some things we've ordered from Amazon that haven't arrived yet. I find that I do love ordering things online. I'll have to put myself on restriction, and hold back on shopping till we get back north. There's suffering everywhere. Mine is very small.
Our Personal Retreat: The Corona Virus
Originally published on Sunday, March 22, 2020
We just listened to Eckhart Tolle speak on YouTube about being present and breathing, of course, especially in these strange times of uncertainty and unusual fear. The phrase that stuck in my mind, though, was to consider this time when we are self-isolating as a time for a "personal retreat". We may think that we have to schedule such a time, like a vacation, but here it is, thrust upon us. It's a gift of time to consider our life, and to appreciate what we have.
My husband and I are in a pretty special place here in our mobile park in Palm Springs. We see the news like everyone else, and it looks like the US is on the same track as poor Italy. We almost got freaked out 2 days ago, and were making sudden plans to head north to Tahoe just in case the government started not allowing folks to travel in their cars. Then, we thought, we could be stranded down here in the heat of the summer. Canadians are leaving by the droves, since they have restrictions on how long they can stay away, and their health coverage isn't as good here as at home.
So that night we ordered a rooftop carrier on Amazon for our Prius, to hold all the extra supplies we've bought. The next morning, I couldn't sleep for worrying about all the packing and cleaning we had to do, so I got up early and went outside to garden at 7 am, just as the sun was coming up. I chopped and yanked at and pulled out what we call "devil grass" from between the stones outside our door, in order to plant some Canna Lilies that my friend gave me the day before.
Some little crickets scurried from under the rocks, and a little daddy long legs hobbled away. I smiled, since I had never appreciated their unusual gait before.
When I straightened up, and walked over to our vegetable garden to water, our lettuce was finally growing like crazy along with the Swiss chard.
The flower seeds I planted in November have taken off too, sprouting yellow daisies and the cosmos plant was just blooming. The snapdragons are showing off rather psychedelically in the morning sun. Tomato plants are finally sporting some fair-sized green tomatoes. If we leave now, someone else will eat them. If we stay, we'll still share them. I don't want to go.
I came in the house and told Doug how much better off we'd be here than in the snow. He agreed, since he had been having second thoughts too. We ordered a new, bigger air conditioner, in case we do get stuck here in the 120 degree summer, and then made plans to go to the pool. The weather in Palm Springs has been so cold and different this season, so we were happy to walk, on the sunniest day that we had seen, over to the nice pool that had just had a new heater installed. There was only one other person there, so no problem with keeping away from her. As we were doing our exercises in the deep end, two mallards swooped right in and landed close by to delight us. The female seemed more interested in bathing and scrubbing and scratching and ducking down to rinse. The teal-headed male washed himself some, but mostly stayed close to her. ("Just like a man", I thought.) They performed for us for about 20 minutes, and then hopped out on to the side to preen themselves and flap their wings dry. Sufficiently refreshed, they took off just as suddenly as they had arrived. We were sorry to see them go. They were like a gift.
Listening to Eckhart's message today made me sit down to write right away, something I've been meaning to do more of. So many people are complaining about being home, but maybe they can use this odd time to be creative in ways that they don't usually have time for. It's sort of like a forced retirement. I'm thinking of taking up painting again, and playing my ancient guitar once more. Perhaps I'll make some more pots on my wheel, or just paint the wall that's full of holes from having the wall tree on it at Christmas. It's about time. I already bought the paint.
Or you can go for a walk, or a hike, or ride your bike. It's good to be outside, breathing in the fresh air, just as long as you don't share that air with others. Concentrate on that breath, and be thankful that you can breathe. Wherever you are, be present and appreciative. Perhaps a hummingbird will come and hover over you as you walk along, or you'll catch a glint of sunlight coming through the window and making a rainbow prism on the wall. How does it make you feel? Good, I think.
Enjoy your "personal retreat".
There's Porridge, and then There's Porridge
Originally published on Tuesday, January 14, 2020
When at home, on a chilly morning, I'll choose to cook up some nice, steel-cut oats, rather than have cold cereal with lots of fruit. Sometimes it'll be eggs and toast, but many times, oatmeal.
I call my version of oatmeal, "Elf Oatmeal", since it contains quite a few sweet things like Will Ferrell would have in the movie, "Elf". I even include maple syrup, as he is partial to, although ours is sugar-free.
My recipe, enough for two, is made to start with only one serving of Trader Joe's Steel-cut Oats, and water and and then I heat it while the pot is covered. As it cooks, I cut up a banana and some strawberries, leaving the pan uncovered as I stir them in. I continue to add a few red seedless grapes, blueberries, raisins, tart dried Montmorency cherries, and as it bubbles and needs more liquid, I add almond milk or low-fat milk, so no worries about being lumpy or thick. For a little special flavor, I add a couple of squirts of sugar-free maple syrup. After it's all placed in the bowls that have been warmed in the microwave, I stir in chunky peanut butter, a little brown sugar, or perhaps Splenda, some sort of berry jam, like boysenberry, and more of that sugar-free maple syrup. I heat a cup of low-fat milk in the microwave, adding 1/2 to each bowl, so nothing gets cooled down by adding it cold. My husband used to turn up his nose at the idea of oatmeal for breakfast, but after he tasted my concoction, he even requests it some mornings.
Sometimes when we go out for breakfast, I hesitate to order the oatmeal that most restaurants serve, since they usually only offer raisins, brown sugar, and milk. Only one time was I pleased with what was offered. It was at a diner in Massachusetts, and we were served by a waitress that reminded me of "Flo", in the old TV show, "Alice". I knew I could get jam and syrup from her, but when I asked if she had peanut butter, she came back with, "Creamy or chunky?"
"God bless you!", I said. I could have kissed her.
On a recent trip to Ireland, we stayed at a B&B in Kinsale, on the Southern coast, for an entire week. We were served such an assortment for breakfast, by our host, Jimmie Conran, each morning. He always remembered what our favorite things were, and he encouraged us to have porridge, as if it was a tonic for the soul. "Is porridge a type of oatmeal, or is it cream of wheat?" I asked. "Oh, it's oatmeal, but I make it over night and I like to know who will be having it so I'm sure to prepare enough," he explained in his melodic Irish accent. I succumbed, but said, "Only a half portion, if that's all right," since he had already brought out a half pink grapefruit, already sectioned for me. It was a grapefruit from Spain, and unbelievable sweet and juicy. My mouth is watering now, just thinking about it.
Then, along with the French Press coffee pot, which we were instructed to wait a few moments before pressing down, he brought me my half bowl of porridge. He pointed out the ingredients on the table to ad: honey, cinnamon, tiny bowls of raisins and blueberries, butter, and milk and sugar. He didn't balk at all when I asked for maple syrup. Amazingly, this new recipe became a new, if not favorite concoction that I looked forward to each breakfast. I mixed it all in to my bowl every morning as if it was a ritual.
Jimmie's breakfast didn't stop there. He always offered eggs cooked to order, sausage or bacon, (which had no fat to speak of), and white or black pudding. We shied away from the black pudding, since we knew it was usually called blood pudding. The white pudding, he said contains some oatmeal, and I think it tastes like a sausage patty, which I'm partial to. There's always the basket of bread on the table, and we both loved the fruit bread, spread with his soft butter, and brought a few slices of the wheat bread up to our room wrapped in a napkin to save for sandwiches we'd make for lunch. After a couple of days, we figured out that we didn't have to order everything that Jimmie offered us, as if we were eating an entire buffet. Some of the folks at the other tables, we noticed, had smaller breakfasts of eggs and sausage and bread and coffee. It didn't take us too long to learn our lesson.
We left the care of Jimmie, at his B&B called San Antonio,
almost tearfully, in a cab that he go generously called for us, and headed for the train station.
It was a long travel day, with a train to Tralee, and then a bus that took us the rest of the way to Dingle. Mistakenly, we dragged our rolling bags and backpacks all over town trying to find our next B&B, thinking it was just around the bend. Probably, we should have tried to call a cab, since the walking became too much for Doug. We found a pub on a corner and asked directions. "It's just up that hill," the bartender said. After looking out the door and up the hill, it was decided that it would be best to take the load off our feet and stop for a Guinness.
Reinvigorated, we tackled the hill, stopping to look at the charming rock walls along the way.
We finally found Highfield House, on up the hill, and were thankfully greeted by Stephan. He took took our bags off our hands and manfully carried them upstairs for us.
His Mum, Mary, served us breakfast in the breakfast room, each day. At first I didn't dare try the "porridge".
On our last day, she said, "But you must try it with a shot of Bailey's, dear!"
Bailey's Irish Cream, Hmm.... a liqueur that I've avoided, with no reason that I can think of. So I tried it.
Hmm.... Now That was yummy! It wasn't thick, but I added some milk, then raisins, and butter and the liqueur added a savory coffee flavor to it.
They also had a sideboard full of lovely bowls of grapefruit, and stewed prunes, and a platter of cheeses. Then, out comes what we actually ordered....scrambled cheesy eggs for me and scrambled eggs with onions and lox for Doug....and of course lots of bread and butter. Once again, we'll have to learn the lesson that it's not up to us to order everything on the menu.
After we came back to California, we had one night to stay in a hotel. It was a Days Inn, a pretty reasonable price, and it included what they called a "continental breakfast". We could tell we were back in America, by the usual offerings of do-it-yourself waffles, bagels, toast, yogurt, coffee and tea. ...except the waffle machine was broken.
We almost left to go to a restaurant for breakfast, and then I spotted a big electric pot that said "Quaker Oats" on it's side, and the usual cheery face that I've seen on the side of the cardboard canister all my life. I decided to give it a try.
It was surprisingly good! I found some jam, peanut butter, and raisins, and heated up some milk in the microwave. I even added just a little touch of coffee to try to bring back a hint of the Bailey's. It may have had to be eaten from a styrofoam cup, but it was passable.
No worries. Soon we would be home again and have access to all my usual ingredients. In the meantime, I've found that I don't have to be so nose-in-the-air about my oatmeal, oh er, porridge.
Another Different Kind of Christmas: Thanksmas
Originally published on Wednesday, December 11, 2019
We've had my husband's kids and our grandkids come down to visit us in Palm Springs for 4 of the 5 years we've been here. It's always been surprisingly chilly. The kids, being kids, still swam in the pool, just because it was there, and considered the big draw.
So we decided last year to change things up a little bit. Thanksgiving in Palm Springs is usually pretty warm, so why not celebrate Christmas early? We'd still have a nice turkey dinner, which we would all contribute to at the community hall in our mobile park. It would be Thanksgiving to everyone else, but to us..... it would be Christmas dinner.
So Doug and I started to prepare for the great event. To get in the mood, we put on our Amy Grant Christmas album in the car, and sang along, belting out, "It's lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you!" And we took off to the stores to shop. We were happier than most, discovering that stores were decorated early and sold supplies for Christmas way before Halloween.
I worked on things in stages, making lists and crossing accomplishments off.....being rather proud of my obsessiveness. For days, I fussed over the calendar I make for the family every year. Each person has a photo of themself on and around their birthday, and a few are added in the blank spaces at the beginning and ending of each month. The top page of each month displays an array of photos of our travels, or places we visit near where we live. I must admit, it's a nice way to get people to look at photos of "what I did on my vacation" without tying them to the sofa with a big album on their lap. I imagine folks standing and brushing their teeth while gazing at the photos. Well, I do that some times....
My concentration gets so focused on the computer, for so long, that just as Doug is about to complain he's being neglected, Ta-Daa!! It's done! It's sent by computer to Shutterfly, and the hard copies are delivered in a nice orange box in just a few days.
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I wonder if anyone will get the meaning of the print?
The next task is the family Christmas ornament, with each person's name written on it. Usually, I can find these at the last minute, at Cost Plus, or Michael's, when everything for Christmas is half off, since I have to buy over 20 of them. But no. All the ornaments that were available were beautiful, but at full price, they were over my budget. But then, in Michael's, a huge craft store, they had wood cut "DIY" ornaments, Do It Yourself. Hmm. And.... they were only $1... And they were Half Off! I figured that I could get away with painting a red nose on the reindeer, and just minimal highlights on all the others. I bought a couple of colorful indelible markers, knowing that I had some acrylic paint and brushes at home. I decided to get up early in the morning and work on them. So at 6:30, I sat at the kitchen table with a nice cup of tea, sorting all the types of ornaments according to families, and sparsely painting something on each one. Well, THAT doesn't look very festive! I'll have to add more paint. But THAT should be sparkly, to reflect light from the tree! Another trip to the craft store was made to decide from their grand array of glitter paint, (which I didn't even know had been invented)! Only 2 more early mornings, and I finished, rather proud of myself.
Christmas presents hadn't even been thought of yet. Mainly they're for the grandkids, but so many of them are tweens and teens now, that it was suggested that they might like "cold, hard cash". So checks were in order, but we decided on an amount for each one including a smaller, more personal gift that was more fun to open up. Michael's proved once again to come through with creative things like special pens and journals for the older ones, and there were other arty projects, scientific discovery games and beads to string for the younger ones.
Doug offered to help me to wrap them all when I was ready. I had done a few, and was happy for the offer. He tackled the first box, and was wrestling with the paper and scissors at the same table as me. I quickly realized that he didn't have the gift wrapping gene. As I grimaced and squirmed in my chair, he caught it that I wasn't approving. He said, "I'm sure glad you're not my manager! I'm not meant for this menial type of job!". Grinning, he announced, "I need more of an executive position! I went to Yale, you know!"
Laughing, I came back with, " Well, I'm your manager, and we're shorthanded, so I'm working in the trenches with you.... but, (wanting to save my reputation as a pretty neat wrapper), "I think I'll promote you to the job of unpacking the gift bags, writing names on the tags, and then writing out the checks."
"Oh now that would be fine!", he said, "That's right up my alley!"
After that, manager and employee worked well together, giggling and bantering back and forth all evening.
Now that the gifts were pretty much done, the "Wall Tree" had to be tackled. I've hammered nails in to a wall in the shape of a Christmas tree for the last 4 years, and I've strung lights and green foil garlands around them, and then arranged the ornaments from them.
Last year, we came up with the idea to use a long string of solar Christmas lights for the tree. The small solar panel is parked outside our door, and goes along the floor a bit till it can be included in the tree. We anticipate each evening the exact moment that the sun will go down and the tree lights will come on. Every night they turn on a minute or so sooner.
I really wasn't looking forward to putting it up this year, since arranging the in and out formation of the "branches" is so difficult to plan out. By now, I have made so many nail holes in the wall, I can't copy from last year. (I vow to fill the holes and paint this wall in January. It's getting embarrassing, and no amount of framed paintings that hang there the rest of the year can hide them all.) The new idea is to put a string, like a plumb line, or guide line, hanging from a top nail, and coming down and out to the side, making a nice, crisp, sort of modernistic tree shape. Once again, I was happy, and once again, the lights all came out even, crisscrossing back and forth on the Thanksmas tree.
Here it was, only November 22, and we were ready for Christmas! Oh, er, Thanksmas! Family started arriving a couple of days before Thanksgiving, and it was cold and fiercely raining. There were complaints that it was supposed to be warm in Palm Springs. Then we saw that it was not only raining elsewhere, but snow storms, and something called a "bomb cyclone" was expected to happen along the northern California coast! That appeased everyone somewhat, and the kids ran off to the pool through the rain, accompanied by a couple of adults that watched from the nearby hot tub.
We cooked our turkey for the dinner at the hall, made gravy, and Doug prepared his traditional Danish red cabbage dish. Each of the "kids" prepared something to share, since there were 14 of us. After dinner, we decided that our Thanksmas celebration and gift opening would be the next morning, since we were all so full of pie and good cheer already. And the kids wanted to go to the pool again.
Next morning, we all gathered at our little place after breakfast, and the excitement of the grandkids deepened as we found seats for all 14 of us in what we call the "parlour", (where we parle). Presents were arranged in front of the tree by Sinjin, who appointed himself to be Santa's helper, handing them out to everyone.
The only trouble was, that the tree lights weren't on, since it wasn't dark outside..... It didn't look very festive at all. Suddenly, Doug's daughter, Grace, suggested "What if you cover over the solar panel so it thinks the sun has gone down?" Whoa! What a good idea! Sinjin ran around looking for something to cover it with, and came up with a tile I had on the stove top to set spoons on. No sooner had he placed it, halleujah! The tree lit up!
Of course, Doug wanted us to do the other Danish tradition of dancing around the tree while singing carols. That was impossible, since we'd bump in to the wall, but we all sat in our places in the little room and sang a few songs, holding hands. It did the trick.
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The "Nut Prize" was next on the agenda. That's another family tradition, where everyone gets a cup of chocolate pudding, and only 1 has a pecan secretly placed in it. Quickly, I cover the tops of all of them with whipped cream to disguise the winning cup, and they're served to everyone on a tray. There is quiet, while everyone carefully eats their way through the pudding, and then, Ava, 10 years old, happily announced, "I got it!" She had waited years for this. The prize this year was a fancy, rather adult coloring book about sea life and creatures, and she was pleased.
The kids stayed a couple of more days, occupying themselves with crafts, like these cute reindeer made from Palm tree bark that fell down during the storm. They now live happily on the side of our Palm tree out on the patio, and the birds like to sit on their antlers.
Rainy days kept everyone painting too.
One day, many of us went to the Living Desert, a local zoo that focuses on animals from desert climates. It was pretty cold that day too, but we bundled up and braved the brisk 45 degree F. temps. Well, That's pretty brisk for Palm Springs!
The next day, most of the family had long, tiring drives back to the Bay Area, through some snow over the Grapevine and then stalled traffic. The trip that would normally take about 8 hours, added up to 11 or 12. We're thinking they might be too discouraged to come back again next year. Maybe it will be our turn to go to them next Christmas.
Now it's back to just the two of us. It's such a relaxing feeling to know that we have Christmas done already, except for sending out gifts and cards to those who didn't celebrate early, as we did. When we were in CVS yesterday, I saw a woman grabbing about a dozen pairs of warm fuzzy socks and throwing them in her cart. She had kind of a frantic look on her face and a long list in her hand. Phew! Been there, done that.
So we still sit in the room with the tree in the evening and bet when the lights will come on. Only one night they didn't! I thought, "Oh no! They're broken! I'll have to start the tree all over again!" It turns out though, that Doug had strung a few more lights over the front of the house, and he figured that it was so bright that the solar panel didn't know that the sun had gone down. He had an idea, and out came the little tile from the stove again to save the day.
As soon as the tile was placed, on came the lights! Voila!
Hmm. but now we'll have to find something else to occupy ourselves with, instead of the betting-when-the-lights-will come-on game.
(Retirement concerns.....)
Oh wait! It's still almost Jesus' birthday! We can still wait in anticipation for the gift he continues to give us every year.
Happy Christmas Everyone! Here's to a very calm New Year.
Traffic Stop
Originally published on Tuesday, June 11, 2019
This story has been brewing in my mind, and I feel enough time has passed now, that the cop that stopped me may have forgotten all about it.
The day started out with breakfast at IHOP in Palm Springs. We had our usual, sharing a vegetarian omelet, and fruit instead of pancakes. Always watching the waistline, you know. We read the paper, Doug did the Jumble, and I, part of the crossword.
Coming out to the car, everything seemed fine, until we got in. It REEKED of skunk.....not the animal, but the scent that we've been smelling more and more around here since marijuana has been legalized in California. We looked at each other, shocked. Our Prius' windows were all rolled up, and the car had been locked. Could someone have left a burning joint under our car? We immediately opened all the windows, turned the air conditioner on full blast, and drove along Hi-way 111 trying to air it out.
We were on our way anyway, to Trader Joe's in Cathedral City, and thought that would do the trick. Almost there, we noticed that the light on the dashboard that tells you it's time to get gas, was blinking. It actually started blinking yesterday. It's pretty embarrassing to think of running out of gas in a plug-in Prius, so we drove a little past Trader Joe's, and I pulled into an Arco station. After Doug finished pumping, washing the windows, and paying, I pulled over to a driveway to exit the gas station.
Hi-way 111 is a pretty busy street, and folks drive along at quite a clip, so after waiting awhile to turn left to go shopping, I gave up and turned right, so I could make a u-turn at the next corner. I scooted across the 3 lanes, and got into the left turn lane. When I looked up, I noticed a "No U-Turn" sign. While sitting waiting for the light to change, I noticed that there was a 7/11 on the corner. Thinking fast, as I turned, I decided to do something, that some of you may have done before..... Doug may have been surprised, as I turned left in to the 7/11 parking lot, since it wasn't in the plan. As I turned in, I said out loud, "Oh, let's go to 7/11", but I was about to then say, kind of laughing, "Oh never mind! We don't need anything here", and then I was going to go out the other end of the parking lot, thus performing a U-turn.
But actually, as I made the left turn in to the 7/11 parking lot, I saw lights on a patrol car following right behind me! I thought, what I consider now, to be quickly, and skidded in to a parking spot, bumping into the cement berm in front, making quite a loud noise. I then, conspiratorially looked at Doug, and said, "You really need a Coke Zero now, right?"
I saw the officer get out of his cruiser, and as I casually got out of my Prius and closed the door, I looked back toward the officer.
He was walking toward me saying, "Are you feeling alright Ma'am?"
"Yes, I am officer," I said, "What's going on?"
"Well, I think you were driving rather erratically."
"You do?"
"Yes, well, you made an illegal turn in to this driveway."
I looked past him, over his shoulder to see what was so illegal about my turn. "Hmm, well, there's a double line out there, not a double-double line, right? I think it's okay to turn in to a driveway if it's only a double yellow line", I explained, looking straight into his eyes.
"Well not at this intersection, Ma'am, it's very busy".
"Well, that shouldn't make a difference though, should it?", I asked.
"Um, uh, I had to check to make sure you were okay, as I said before."
"I'm fine, sir. Thanks."
"Okay then", he said. "Drive carefully."
He turned to get back in his police car, and to turn off the red lights that were still flashing. I walked in to the 7/11 to get the planned can of Coke Zero.
As I entered the store, I noticed that the checker's back was facing a big window and I could see our car right outside. The people in her line were all chatting together and then smiled over at me as I walked toward the soda fridge. When it was my turn at the register, I commented to the girl, "I guess everyone saw me outside with the police officer. You must not get much business coming from Hi-way 111, if people can't turn left into your driveway."
She looked at me quizzically, and said, "Oh, no. They turn in that way all the time."
"Hmm", I thought.
When I went back out to the car, Doug said, "Do you know how lucky you are?"
"That did turn out pretty well, didn't it?", I said, proud of the way I had talked to the officer.
"No", he explained, "You were lucky you got out of the car, and didn't just roll down your window! Can you imagine what would have happened if he had leaned his head down and smelled this skunk?"
Eyes wide and feeling my face turn red, I very carefully backed out of the parking space, the low front bumper on the Prius, scraping once more on the berm, reminding me to "drive safely".
Irene Good Night
Originally published on Sunday, January 13, 2019
My husband just played the old song "Irene Good Night" on his keyboard, and it brought back a flood of memories.
I probably first heard it on the Lawrence Welk Show, or maybe my Grandma Cuneo or my Mom played it on the piano. My kids and I learned the first few lines when we had our cherry-headed Conure, Polly. We covered her cage with a king-sized pillowcase and wanted her to go to sleep, thinking there was a chance that she might get past her repertoire of "Hello" if we sang her a song. We made it a habit of singing "Irene Good Night" to her. She never did one "peep" of the song.
While working at the eye clinic at Kaiser Richmond, there was a favorite patient of mine who came in with her daughter every couple of months. Irene, with her metal cane clicking away, was pretty spry for about 92 years. She had a twinkle in her Irish eyes, and was probably pretty spunky back in her day, but now she was a little forgetful, and her mind wandered from her tasks, like reading the eye chart in the hall. Of course, she couldn't see it very well, so she probably got bored trying.
Since my mind connects words and phrases often to songs in my memory, when I first met Irene, I thought of that song. After finishing with the eye chart, she kept stopping on our walk to the exam room, to say something, or just to wonder what we were doing. When I said, "You know, Irene, your name reminds me of a song. Do you know which one?"
She said "Maybe".
"Well", I said winking, "sing it with me if you know it, and we can continue walking down the hall".
"Okay", she said.
I started in singing "Irene Good Night", as she smiled up at me. I shifted her chart into my left hand, offered her my right elbow, and we shuffled along together, arm-in-arm, without stopping, singing to each other,
"Irene, good night. Irene, good night.
Good night Irene, good night Irene,
I'll see you in my dreams".
That was all of the song I ever knew, and Irene didn't seem to mind. She stepped up onto the blue exam chair and was ready to see her corneal specialist. He came in smiling, knowing this patient, and her attitude would give him joy, as usual.
Over the years, it was the habit of Irene's and mine, to happily sing our song down the aisle to her eye appointment.
Too soon, Irene's daughter came asking to see me in the eye clinic. She had tears in her eyes, and told me of her mom's passing. She wanted to ask me if I would consider coming to Irene's memorial service, which would be at her home.
I had never communicated with patients outside of the clinic, but told her I'd be happy to.
The next Saturday, I drove up to the address in the Bay Area hills, and made my way to what was Irene's house. Family was gathered there, and I was introduced over and over again to sons, daughters, cousins......not many aunts or uncles, since Irene was the oldest of all of them. She had been sitting in what is called, "the front row" for some time.
We all partook of the array of spare ribs, chicken, potato salad, baked beans, desserts..... whatever is included in a potluck to honor the dead. Heartfelt toasts, with beer and wine, were made to her in her kitchen, in her dining room, and living room by all her family and friends.
But, when it came to the actual memorial service, I'm not sure what happened. We were all in the living room, which looked out at the San Francisco Bay. As many of us that could, fit in there, and I happened to be among them.
There were a few relatives that stood to speak some words of memories of their auntie, or sister, or friend, but it seemed that the remembrances were falling short.
Someone stood up and started to say, "Thank you all for coming.", but I couldn't help myself, and thought maybe I should speak up.
I raised my hand, asking for attention, and stood. I told of my relationship with Irene in the Eye Clinic, and how we had sung our song. "So, do you think? Maybe? Before we end up this special memorial for her, that we could sing the song together that I sang with her?"
Everyone nodded, or said yes.
"So", I said, "Let's sing....."
And we all sang....... "Irene, good night. Irene, good night.
Good night, Irene, good night Irene,
I'll see you in my dreams."
There wasn't a dry eye in Irene's house.
Another Different Kind of Christmas, Palm Springs Style
Originally published on Friday, December 28, 2018
We've adapted pretty well to living in a smaller space, going from a 5 bedroom, 3 bath home in the San Francisco Bay Area with plenty of room for a 7 foot Christmas tree, to a trailer in a mobile home park in Palm Springs, California. Well, as I like to say, ours isn't your average trailer, and just get the thought out of your mind about "trailer trash".
Ours may have been one of the first trailers to be installed here. We think so, because we have our own mailbox. Nobody else does. Our lot butts up to the city street, and we propose that it was one of the first "mobiles" to be installed in the park. It's a 1955 Columbia, and the first owners cleverly added on a big room with a vaulted ceiling and wood-framed windows that make it look more like a beach cottage. One friend enthused that it reminded him of cabins in Maine. Another room was added on to the other side of the trailer probably years later, and now folks have a hard time even realizing that there's a mobile home smack dab in the middle of it.
Still, our first Christmas here, I knew, wouldn't be a big Douglas Fir tree in the living room.
It worried me.
I would have to be creative.
Then came an inspiration. Actually it was in a dream. I figure out a lot of things in my dreams. There's a nice, tall wall in one of the added-on rooms, where we had installed a sconce light on the wall. I decided to use that as the top of a Wall Tree (my new invention). I made the outline of a simple Christmas tree with strands of holiday lights.
So, I don't suppose we will be doing the traditional Danish singing and dancing in a circle around This tree. After all, someone might bump in to the wall.... I knew it was a good idea, when someone mentioned to us that he had walked by our place one night and saw our tree through the window and he thought, "How did they get that Huge tree into their place?"
The coolest thing about this tree is that we've figured out how to use solar lights to illuminate it! The tiny solar panel sits outside the door. We waited like "Johnny at the rat hole"* to see when they came on in the evening. At first it was at 4:46pm, and then gradually got a couple of minutes later each night as the days got longer. If you blink or turn away, you miss it. So frustrating!
Along with the cherished ornaments, I brought down the, what I call "antique" snowflake ornaments that we used to hang on our ivy covered wall back in the Bay Area.
Our Ficus hedge was just the place for it here in Palm Springs, so there it twinkles proudly after sundown.
I regretted not bringing down more of the historical ornaments, since my idea of decorating a tree involves not having any uncovered spaces. Never fear though. The entire Coachella Valley is known for wonderful thrift shops, chock full of Christmas cheer for me to pick through.
We have a theory about why there are so many. Palm Springs has been a mecca for retirees for years, and you know, ahem, when they finally go to their final reward, their collection of ornaments are liable to end up in a thrift shop, for all of us to pour over. I have a friend who returns most of her decorations every year and starts from scratch. I would never do that.
I'm too sentimental....but this little guy was chosen to come home with us, and he seems happy hanging on our front door.
So, family traveled down from the Bay Area for our first Christmas here. While I was going through stuff in our Richmond garage I ran across some marionettes my family had made in what seems like another lifetime.
After a trip to a craft store for some missing parts, I had enough supplies to make 8 puppets and, once again delighted a new generation with our "Boogie Birds", a toy that had been manufactured back in the 70's and 80's......long before any of the grandkids were born.
As dinner time approached, everyone helped out in our tiny trailer kitchen, taking turns with the mixer and the cutting boards and the oven, happily bumping in to each other. The assorted tables were being set out on the patio, but then it was realized we were short by 7 forks!
"How about some plastic ones?", someone suggested?
"Nooo!", said I, since I've been campaigning against plastic for years. I stood there, sweat forming on my forehead both from the oven and the outside temp of 82 degrees. And then it dawned on me. "Oh gosh", I said, "I remember when Doug and I got together, I bought some new silverware to accommodate his big family, AND, I thought ahead and bought another set of forks" (as, I thought, most assuredly this family would be growing.)
"Now, what did I DO with them?!" We had moved and sorted through all of our possessions so much. Where were they??
Then I automatically started asking .... "St. Anthony, Please come around, the forks are missing, and can't be found."
My mother-in-law, Helen, used to swear by this, and now Doug and I find amazing parking places with St. Anthony's help. Catholics are just that way.
Well, what do you know? I marched right in to the little bedroom of the actual trailer and found a box that we hadn't yet unpacked, and there they were, all still wrapped in their original packaging!!
So....a good feast was had by all, and no one had to share a fork. This will hereafter be called "The Miracle of the Christmas Forks."
Hope everyone had a wonder filled Christmas. Here's to a new and improved 2019.
* What does "Johnny at the rat hole" mean? I believe it refers to an animal, such as a dog, waiting at the edge of a gopher hole, anticipating the emergence of the gopher. ....or someone who anticipates your needs.
My Gardening Obsession: Seasonal Gardening at South Lake Tahoe
Originally published on Thursday, October 4, 2018
Some of you may have read a previous post about what I call my "stealth gardening" at our condo at South Lake Tahoe, California. When we first moved here for the summers in 2014, the landscape was pretty bare, but the watering system was regularly sprinkling the dirt at least twice a day......and this was during one of the worst droughts we've had!
I couldn't stand it, since I consider myself the Water Police when we're in Palm Springs, Even though the HOA (Homeowners Association) handbook said "Thou shall not change the landscaping", I decided I would disobey, and plant a few things in front of our place wherever I saw water being wasted. Our yard started looking pretty nice, so I expanded to the area around the pool.
After 3 years, I finally confessed to the board of the HOA, that it was I who have been beautifying the neighborhood, and they proclaimed that they thought it was great and proclaimed me "The Beautification Committee". They also gave me the dubious honor of being in charge of the sprinkler system, and told the residents to come to me if they wanted to add a little feeder to the existing water hose in their yard. I even got a special tool to attach them..... Little did they all know that I am learning as I go, and have only had success at gardening the last few years.
This year, I decided that I would open my mouth and ask if some of the residents would perhaps give me small gift certificates to the local garden center, since Doug and I had been purchasing all the plants and soil ourselves for the last three years. But our maintenance man, who appreciates the free help I give him, piped up and said, "How about we give Pat $250.00 this season from the budget, and we can address it again next year?" There was some discussion, and then to our surprise, after the maintenance guy pointed out that "She doesn't charge for labor", they okay'd it. The only thing was, they said, "We'd like you to beautify the WHOLE complex." My jaw kind of dropped, since there are 72 units, but I'm figuring out that I can also plant some wildflower and poppy seeds and then more bulbs at the end of the season. Feeling kind of flush, I got a good deal on a couple of lilac trees...$20. each, since I've seen them making a splashy impression around town. Many of the perennials have come back from the years before, having hidden under the snow in the winter.
The GOOD news is, that the rodents, the "Name that shall not be said.", except in a whisper, "the voles AKA the Little Bastards", haven't shown their fuzzy little heads yet. (Shh!) They caused me such heartache last year, and I was glad to see them gone......I think they are.
I have great fun feeding the squirrels and chipmunks every morning, even though I know they are rodents too.
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A squirrel, though, may dig a little hole next to a newly sown plant or bulb, probably thinking there's a new squirrel in town that has buried a nice nut that he wants to abscond with. But no, it was only me beautifying the place. At least he doesn't tunnel under it and eat it's roots.
The birds have great fun eating the nuts and seeds with the chipmunks and squirrels and drinking out of my blue glass bowl of water I provide for them. They've come to expect me to come out the front door in the morning to pick up the morning paper, and shaking my jar of seeds. Blue Jays fly to the tree above me and on the fence and squawk to the rest of their friends, announcing that it's feeding time. I'm discovering that one of them likes to collect the peanuts and set them on top of the fence post of the pool for a later snack. A pair of Mourning Doves make noises with their wings as they soar to a different branch, but actually one of those doves has "attitude" and chases after the Stellar Jays, who squawk back at him. Quite the drama to behold as we sit on the porch or I peer from our front window.
Chipmunks sit near the steps or hide under a Lupine bush, venturing a little closer if I sit to watch, then run to the rock to get a drink out of the bowl, holding on to the edge of it with their little hands.
When we first arrived in May, there was a pesky bunny that chewed off the tops of most of the plants that I planted. He especially likes the Shasta daisies that I want to plant. He ate them even though I faithfully sprinkled hot pepper flakes on the dirt around the plants, and now, in July, he's been gone for so long, that I stopped doing even that. Guess he burned his tongue. One of the best native plants to plant around Tahoe is Lamb's Ear. I imagine the bunnies don't care for it because it's fuzzy grey leaves probably feel icky on their tongues.
When I finished spending my stipend for plants for the year early, I asked one of the board members if I could get a little extra so I could buy more plants while the season was still young. I was so hot to plant my vision of a bunch of hollyhocks and daffodils and Clarkias, and I was on a roll. He said that the board was trying to stay in a budget, so no. The next day however, his wife came over with a nice donation of quite a bit of cash and 3 plants!
Yellow Clarkias and Magenta Hollyhocks
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We immediately went down to this other nursery and found plants that I hadn't seen lately, but were a bit more expensive.... hollyhocks that were two in a pot for $12 and close to blooming, and stargazer lilies which everyone had been missing by the pool, since the voles (shh!) ate up their roots last year.
Then, when our friends upstairs, who are becoming my co-gardeners, took us down to Costco in Carson City, we bought $100. worth of daffodils, tulips, and freesias. They went back the next week and bought 5 More bags. All four of us had the best time running around digging holes for a few days, and depositing an "uneven amount" (maybe a wives tale to guarantee success) of bulbs in each hole all over the complex. The effect should be glorious in the spring!
I saw a T-shirt advertised that I should probably have bought,(but I don't like T-shirts). It had a nice, colorful painting of several birds, and on top of that said "Easily distracted by birds". I really have been lately. It's become another obsession. Sometimes I'll be talking to someone, and notice a bird, and interrupt my own sentence, or theirs, to point it out. Well, the birds DO seem to like me.....
Recently I was planting a couple of yarrow plants over near this huge pine tree that looks like the most beautiful, perfect, 30-foot Christmas tree. I've always noticed that a flock of Chickadees likes to hang out in it. The whole time I was digging, they were nearby, making their cute little sounds that I liken to a squeak toy. I was, of course, squeaking back, as I do. I sometimes feel at one with St Francis and his love for animals as I am with the birds, digging holes, planting plants. I took my little watering can to pour some water in the hole, and one of the little birds flew down to get a drink as it came out of the spout! It fluttered mid-air as I kept pouring. Delighted, I poured a little more, and another one came flying to me! I ran to the house to get some birdseed to give them a little gift, and place some on a wooden post that they frequent. When I peeked later, they were busy eating the seeds. Now, is it just me, or isn't that the cutest thing?
So now, as I finish writing this, at the beginning of October 2018, we've only got one more bag of freesias to plant, and it's scheduled to snow in about a week and a half in Tahoe. Just before then, the watering system will be shut off and my plants will be on their own. The bunny was spotted again the other day, and cute as he is, he was caught munching on a Hollyhock leaf. Humpf! We'll be leaving in about 2 weeks for Palm Springs, so I won't have too many days of watching my growing garden succumb to the cold weather. The good thing is, the bulbs will greet us when we come back in May, and it'll be exciting to see all the perennials popping their little heads out of the ground to have another go at it.
As my Grandma Diddo used to say...."Ain't Life Grand?"
This Artist's Yard Is His Gallery
Originally published on Sunday, July 8, 2018
In the Bijou area of South Lake Tahoe, California, you don't have to travel far to find original art.
Every person who has come to visit us in the past few years, we have treated to a tour that includes a drive past a certain house on Bobby Grey Circle. It's hard to miss the place. The house, garage, and entire property are covered in designs made of barbed wire, branches and old rusty tools.
This artist, Gilberto Ramos, is not new to South Lake Tahoe. Born is Jalisco, Mexico, he's lived with his wife, Lilliana (a dealer at Harvey's Tahoe), in South Lake Tahoe for 30 years and has been working at Cafe Fiore for 27 years.....25 of those as the head chef. The restaurant is just off of Ski Run Blvd, and is known for being a romantic place to go for a special occasion and to taste the delicious Italian cuisine, but it also is another venue to appreciate Gilberto's rustic art.
You're greeted at the door by a 9-foot tall weathered wood and rusty metal guitar. "Nothing is thrown away," he says, as proven by the rusty nails for tuning pegs and the old wrench as the guitar's nut.
Diners are treated to smaller items by their table while they're sipping their wine. The owner, Nick, lets me fill up the empty spaces on the wall. If someone likes them...." he gestures toward a heart, made out of wine corks and sticks, displaying a blue Lake Tahoe shape, "....they can buy them."
Back home on Bobby Grey Circle, we walk under this mare and her colt, as we come through the gate.
"I don't work so much with barbed wire much any more. It's too hard on my hands", he says.
Still, he has a a huge display of wire-made items, including what I call "Woman Walking", which shows off his talent for design.
Ramos has never been trained as an artist. He says, as he raises up his hands to the sky, "I just receive inspiration from God."
Something that he says he'll never sell is a replica of Roberto, a small donkey that he grew up with in Jalisco. the baby donkey's mother died when he was one day old, so Gilberto's mama raised him indoors like a family pet. When he grew big enough he was put outside, but Roberto knew how to get into the house, which was made from adobe and sticks.
He commonly entered the kitchen on his own to pilfer some fresh tortillas and then ran back outside.
The donkey lived till he was 25, finally succumbing to a rattlesnake bite. Ramos' model of him is a loving tribute.
When asked which piece was the artist's favorite, he thought for a moment and his eyes landed on the big wooden bird that stands in his yard. It's also the favorite of a woodpecker that has bored a very round hole high up on its neck for a nest.
The majestic bird resembles a Sandhill crane, and it is sturdily attached to the ground by rebar and made to hold fast against the wind by a hardly noticeable wire. The legs are made from branches that have tufts of moss on them, and the body is formed from only a few big pieces of weathered wood.
Finding the right piece of wood for the bird's head is the deciding point of beginning your basic bird. It's a gift that Ramos has, it appears.
There are a couple more of Ramos' big birds hanging out at the pool at the Alder Inn on Ski Run Blvd. The owners, Mike and Laura, are big fans of Ramos' work, and have even included some of his smaller items in their room decors.
Probably the most surprising piece is yet another guitar. Ramos loves it when folks do a double-take and are shocked by his work. That's his goal.
This guitar is made of mostly branches, and is still a work in progress, but the decision has been made to leave the branches sticking out in the back. Now that makes it a "Wow!" piece! It's as if the guitar just blew into town, or it emerged right out of a tree. This piece should have Hard Rock Hotel and Casino's name on it.
His personal collection of cowbells, spurs and cow horns, reminds Ramos of his past, growing up in Jalisco with horses and cows.
He once had a booth at the cowboy Fest in Genoa, Nevada, where he appropriately displayed some of his baskets made from lariats. People told him "you've moved so far away from everybody else.... your work is so different." Those words are ones he loves to hear.
In his gallery of a backyard, nature has an effect on his work. The stream that runs right now at the edge of his overflowed so much after the big snow in 2016-17, it crept up almost 2 feet on the "outhouse" he built to keep some of his supplies.
"It was kind of scary," he says, his wife Lilliana nodding in agreement. "We could see the water coming closer and closer to our deck!"
Just imagine his big bird wading around in the marshy yard.
You'll just have to make a trip to see Gilberto's work for yourself. There is so much more to see, like the big wooden swordfish swimming on the side of his house. The tail was made from one piece and stripped of bark until he came down to the core.
There's the other, metal fish jumping, it seems in mid-air, to be caught on the hook of a giant fishing pole.
Then, there's the life-sized teepee made from barbed wire, rusted knife blades and railroad spikes.
"Everything is recycled," he says.
This guy is prolific! And there's going to be more - a beautifully made little wagon is stocked with more branches. "It'll all be used", he says. "God always inspires me."
Many of his items can be found locally at Wildwood Makers Market on Tallac Avenue, in South Lake Tahoe, and more of his art is on display at Fire and Rain Gallery in Folsom, CA.
Not everyone wants to buy the big things, so I make some small things for them."
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This article was printed in the Tahoe Daily Tribune on July 7, 2018, but only with 3 pictures, so I thought I'd do Gilberto justice by putting it on my blog. Pat Reilly Harbo
Seasonal Gardening in Tahoe and Palm Springs
Originally published on Saturday, April 21, 2018
I've always had a garden....or at least tried to have a garden in the San Francisco Bay Area in California. I've never had a great one. We always had high hopes of a beautiful vegetable garden, with huge Beefsteak tomatoes and abundant zucchinis, but I guess since we were working, watering sometimes didn't get done, the soil was hard clay, probably didn't get amended enough, and nothing really ever flourished. I also blamed the foggy weather that headed right for our house on a hill across from the Golden Gate Bridge. Then the drought happened and we resorted to planting native plants and grasses that we got at Annie's Annuals, a magical nursery in Richmond, right near the train tracks. It's a good thing we did, because those plants are still thriving! Now that the house is rented, I don't have much control over that garden, but the perennials that I planted are still holding on.
Our lifestyle has changed, and this year the change has really kicked in. This is the first year that our retirement dream of spending winter in Palm Springs and summer in Tahoe has seemed to fall into place.
This picture of the Palm Springs garden was taken in late December! We have access to a little garden next door to our place, that we share with our neighbor, who has a Kelly-green thumb. The really crazy thing is, that in this climate, we were stunned that we could plant tomatoes in November! The kale and chard that we planted thrived and we felt so healthy. We planted collard greens too, and enjoyed eating them, when suddenly the plant sprouted a lovely cauliflower! I had wondered if it was okay to eat the abundant leaves on cauliflower, and now I can tell you they are NOT poisonous, and they are delicious, steamed with some kale and chard, and served with butter and salt and pepper, and maybe a little vinegar if you're so inclined.
Makes your mouth water, eh?
We'll have to start again from scratch when we come back in mid-October though. The temps that go up to over 125 degrees during the summer don't allow many things to keep growing. We pay a neighbor to try to keep the orange and lime trees that we planted alive while we're gone. And then there's the hibiscus tree that went in this year. Others have installed automatic watering systems, so maybe that's a project for next year.
a giant Lupine near the pool
In the summer, when in Tahoe, I've been doing what I call "stealth gardening", since I saw in the condo rules that we shouldn't be changing the landscaping. Well, the sprinkler system kept going on regularly, and I just couldn't stand it! I figured if I put some native plants in next to the sprinklers in front of our place and near the pool, who could complain? But here I was watching to see if anyone was looking from their porch just waiting to report me. In the next three years, I didn't get reported, but I did gradually get thanked for beautifying the place. Folks came by and talked to me and told me how much they appreciated my taking it upon myself to spruce up the place. In fact this year, at the meeting of the HOA, (home owners association), I confessed to what I had been doing, and was given a title. I AM the Beautification Committee.
That made me bold enough to go out and buy a little gardening seat, and an "old lady" grocery cart to put my soil and supplies in. No money was offered for my services, just praise, but my husband Doug says he's supporting the arts and my hobby since I enjoy it so much. I've loved going over to the local Nel's Garden and Hardware to buy my plants at such good prices.
Sometimes I go to their "clearance rack" to try to save a little on the damaged plants.
So, I've just kept on planting next to the already spouting sprinklers. The day I "came clean", I told the board of the HOA that I had visions of planting a mass of hollyhocks near the pool fence to fill in when the existing lilies had passed. Running off to the garden center, I bought 2 six-packs of promising looking hollyhocks and planted them. The next morning, I discovered they had all been devoured by voles, their young lives cut short by ravenous critters that are related to field mice and moles! Heartbroken, I went to the internet to study up on these destructive rodents, or "little bastards", the name I've coined for them.
The garden ravaged by vole holes and trails.
Turns out, they had made themselves a home in a system of tunnels under the juniper bushes near where I had planted my doomed hollyhocks. It was suggested online that putting granulated garlic, crushed dried chili peppers, or cayenne pepper in the hole when planting would deter them. I made a concoction of all 3, and then also left a dose on top around the plant. There was also an idea, about scaring them away with a predator. I saw a neighbor brushing masses of fur off his German Shepherd, and asked him, rather awkwardly if I could have his dog's fur to put down the vole holes. He started leaving little gifts of balls of fur on our patio table, until he moved and I lost my supplier. Going to Petco's grooming department didn't do much good, since all they had was hair from poodles that day, and it didn't seem to work as well.
Hearing that voles don't like plants with yellow flowers, my neighbor and I invested in dozens of daffodil bulbs, which had thrived the year before. I was also told they didn't like mint, but our voles have different tastes, I suppose, because they thought it was delicious!
Another idea presented to me was JuicyFruit gum, which they are supposed to choke on, but they ignored it. Fire crackers down their holes was a notion that we rejected, along with poison. But no, we're trying to stick to non-violent methods. Besides, we don't want to have the death of a family dog or cat on our hands.
The rest of the garden was thriving when we left in the fall, so it will be interesting to see what revives after a snowy winter. I look forward to walking along the path to our place, head down, watching for any new growth.
So after so many years of being a frustrated gardener, I can't say that now....except for my nemeses, the voles. The little bastards.
Prius Confusion
Originally published on Thursday, October 26, 2017
We decided to beat the heat in Palm Springs and head for Idyllwild, in the San Jacinto Mountains. Eighty-two degrees sounded much better to us than one hundred and three. One night turned into two, and we had to go to a market to get a few supplies.
Doug drove there, and I opted to wait in the car in the passenger seat with the air conditioning on, checking my phone for e-mails. I was pretty involved with what I was doing, when the driver's side door flew open, and a skinny old lady jumped into the seat and pressed the Power button! (Luckily this turned off the car.)
I thought, "Wow, she really thinks I'm wasting energy by leaving the motor running, and wants to take it into her own hands!" But then, I realized that she thought that this was her car. I nudged her, and said, "Ma'am! You're in the wrong car!" and tried to shove her again. She didn't even look at me or acknowledge that I was there. I repeated myself louder, as she pressed the Power button on again, with her foot on the brake pedal, and closed the driver's door.
I said, "No! You have to get out! This ISN'T your car!" Trying to shove her to no avail, since the door was shut. I pressed the button to OFF again, and she calmly said, "Don't worry, he's not coming yet." Her long, stringy hair covered the side of her face, and she still didn't look my way. She pushed the button ON again.
Just then, a young man came running out of the store with his groceries and saw me struggling with her. He opened her door and said, "Lillian! This isn't your car!", and to me, "She has dementia. I'm so sorry." She didn't believe him and resisted his pulling her out of our car. After our car door was closed, she kept holding on to the door handle, as he tried to cajole her away.
Finally, he led her to their silver Prius, parked next to mine, and got her to get in the passenger side. I'm thinking, "Ooh! So that's why....she really thought it was her car." But by the time he reached the driver's side, she had scrambled over the console and was trying to start up that car. (I was impressed. She's pretty spry, getting over that console. I would have a hard time doing that as gracefully as she did!) So he pried her out of the front seat and got her to sit in the back, where she complained and fussed with stuff that was on the seat, including a yellow fishing pole, which she jammed up into the ceiling. He got out and removed the fishing pole, etc., to the trunk area, but she was so agitated, that he tried to appease her with some pasta salad that he had bought.
Doug had come out around then, and the man told him, "I'm sorry", but he wasn't sure why. When he got in the car, he wondered why it smelled so bad, like pee, and then our phone rang with an important call, and I couldn't explain my experience till later.
As we drove away, she had convinced him to let her sit in front with him with her salad. I worried about the lady, but especially the man, a relative or caregiver. I can't imagine what he goes through every day. I wanted to tell him though, it's not unusual for a Prius owner to mistake another car for their own. When the door doesn't open for them, they just take a better look inside and realize their mistake. We've actually done it a few times ourselves....
Thoughts keep coming into my head too. What would have happened if he didn't come out of the store? Would she have backed on out and taken me for a wild ride? I try to imagine, how I could stop her. She evidently knew how to drive a Prius, since she automatically put her foot on the brake while pushing the Power button, so that Prius had been hers before she lost control of her life. I had the key in my purse, and I wonder if I would have thought to throw my purse or the keys out the window, and then turn off the car. Any ideas?
Living in an Aviary
Originally published on Saturday, May 6, 2017
When my family was young, we always had quite a menagerie. My daughter was usually the culprit when it came to adding on to our collection of critters. We prefer furry ones....dogs, cats and bunnies....or feathered ones, shying away from reptiles, especially snakes. At one point we considered having an aviary in our home, since we really didn't like the idea of keeping our birds cramped in cages. We fantasized about a room-sized aviary that we could walk into just off the dining room. It was only a dream and never came to be, and now that I think about it, it would be one huge place to keep up, it could be smelly...... and the birds would still actually be in a cage.
The last few years, since I love to watch birds in the wild so much, I've been feeding them in my yard wherever I'm living. There's never been much interest shown at my bird feeders, though, until this year. There's a huge, fat palm tree in our patio in Palm Springs, sometimes referred to as "the elephant in the room", and this year I took a notion to hang a cage that holds a brick of birdseed on it's stubby, toothy, chopped off frond. I added a sort of suet block as well, only it's made from peanuts and it doesn't melt all over the ground like the beef suet does in the desert heat. Soon after, I had quite an audience. Mostly the crowd consisted of red and orange house finches and white-crowned sparrows, with mourning doves foraging on the ground and hummingbirds sucking on their own feeder.
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On the colored brick wall, next to the Ficus hedge, I set a little ceramic bird feeder that I made years ago and a little flat dish which I keep loaded with already shelled sunflower seeds. It seemed logical that the birds would have an easier time without having to deal with shells, and there would be less mess for us to clean up.
It's been delightful to watch the little finches work their way down through the bushes to the wall to poke their heads into the holes of the feeder to get the seeds. We must be on some sort of flyway, or at least the word has got out about our bird buffet. If I sit quietly and write, the birds ignore me and go about their business of feeding their families.
Sometimes as I'm writing out on the patio, I have to pause to witness an argument, or bird fight over exactly who's feeders these are. Mostly I just look up to appreciate how up close and personal I am to these beautiful creatures.
Most of them gather in our overgrown bougainvillea on our patio. There is always a cacophony of chirping and chortling and tweeting. There may even be a nest in there, but it's so dense that I can't tell. They joyfully whistle and chirp and call and then they suddenly stop as one. It's as if a grand maestro has raised his arms and said "Stop". There's a startling silence, it's quiet for awhile, until a soloist starts warbling once more.
Those warblers are so amazing! Their songs are so loud and carry such a long way, that I thought they must be pretty big birds. One day though, a bird the size of a hummingbird came down to check out a Lantana plant, and warbled while he was there. I looked him up on Merlin Bird ID on my phone, and found he was a Warbling Vireo. I played his powerful song from the phone and it matched the one that serenades me in the yard!
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Speaking of hummingbirds though, they are very curious little guys. I have my potter's wheel out on the patio, and sometimes I'll hear the thrum of their rapidly moving wings close by and look up to see one hovering in front of me and checking me out. One also darted under the awning when we were sitting out there having our first drink since arriving in Palm Springs. "Well Hello", I said, "Yes we are back, and I'll get right on filling your feeder!"
Just a little bit of trivia.... Did you know how hummingbirds hover? They move their wings in a figure 8 about 100 times a second!
Once this season I went to a nursery to buy plants, and one of the workers there asked if I had ever seen a baby hummingbird. She led me over to a lemon tree (that was for sale), and showed me the tiny nest that had four little brown things inside. I thought they looked like little brown capsules with a fuzzy mohawk all around the edge. Their tiny heads must have been tucked under and I just saw the body, since they have to eat somehow! I couldn't get close enough to see.
Anyway, here I am sitting in the most wonderful aviary one could ever want. Sometimes I'm reminded of Cinderella, and all her little bird friends. The Mourning Doves are coo-cooing, the Mockingbird is perched high on a treetop recounting everything that happened to him last night, with many choruses, the hummers are sipping at their nectar, and the finches are climbing through the bush. Even an occasional Verdin hops through with it's bright yellow head, scavenging some of the seeds others have dropped. It's a little bit of heaven for me.....and for them too. No cages are involved.
The 5-day Intensive Spanish Class
Originally published on Saturday, September 17, 2016
My husband has always wanted to have more command of the Spanish language. He goes on bouts of studying on his own, pouring over text books, dictionaries, and listening to CD's on headphones while he mutters his responses to himself. He used to communicate with people working in his store, and now his main reason is to be able to speak fluently to our son-in-law, who is from Honduras. When he found out about Lake Tahoe Community College's Intensive Spanish Summer Institute, (ISSI), I knew he was going to sign up for it. What I didn't expect was that I would join him. I envisioned myself gardening or writing, or maybe even painting, which I never seem to get around to, keeping myself busy at home. He went in to chat in Spanish with the program's director, Susan O'Connor to help her decide what level he should sign up for. She boosted him right in to Intermediate level ll. I hadn't realized there were so many levels, and wasn't really planning on signing up, but the more she talked about it, it sounded like fun, although time-consuming, and besides, we usually do things together. I boasted to her about the Spanish I had learned in the "clinica de los ojos" at Kaiser. I knew all the letters on the eye chart in Spanish, and could communicate pretty well with the patients till the interpreter arrived for their appointment. The most beginning class was called "Low Beginning", and I thought that I could skip that with all my "knowledge" that I had acquired in the school of life. We both enrolled and became college students again! We walked out to our car making up a silly fight song for the school's team, the Coyotes.
Within a month till the class started, my decision of skipping the basic course started to worry me, since I realized that, having studied French in high school, there would no doubt be verbs and tenses to memorize. Doug was madly studying night and day, and I had an aversion to even trying. Finally, I realized that I must change my class to Low Beginning, which had sounded to me as if I had never ever communicated with a Spanish speaking person, which is pretty hard to get away with in California. After I changed my class, I felt better. No pressure. Yet another reason not to study before class.
We had signed up for an extra class, called, "The Difficult Trip", and were each sent a packet of fake documents: ID's, customs forms, play pesos, and traveler's checks. Poring over each piece of information, we filled everything out in advance for the 4th night of class, when the entire lobby of the school would be transformed into a Mexican airport, complete with customs, car rental and baggage check.
Yet another packet came telling us where our homeroom for language and grammar instruction would be, a map of the campus, and all the optional mini courses or breakout sessions that were offered each day. This award-winning course is in it's 23rd year, is always in the first week of August, and folks (especially Spanish speakers) from the community of South Lake Tahoe and beyond come to share their knowledge in classes in everything from Don Juan, to the Incas, and even Salsa dancing. We chose carefully to take a few of the extra classes together, so that we could see each other at some point during the day.
On the first day, we showed up for school at 7:30 like good little boys and girls, and were happy to see snacks and coffee provided and lots of folks with badges there to point us in the right direction. Much of the college itself is arranged in a sort of cloverleaf, with many of the buildings attached by hallways presumably to make it easier to navigate to class when it's snowing outside. They're working on heated pathways to the outer buildings for the winter too.
When we went to the introductory assembly, outside, we were surprised to see how many grey heads there were in the audience. Many of these "life-time learners" had come each of the 23 years and were already speaking Spanish with each other. There was no shortage of younger people too, some wanting to get a jump on their Spanish in their first year of college, and lots of educators, wanting to be able to communicate better with their ESL students. Yes, we were in a group of folks who were excited about life, and wanted to keep on learning new things....and at least for the older ones, they say that learning something new is good for the brain.
So there we were, students on our first day of school, and yes with a little bit of anxiety of the unknown. We each went our separate ways, to our grammar and vocabulary classes. My teacher, Profesora Carol, had a nice smile and was happy to be there. The other students were friendly as we introduced ourselves to each other, already using our new language. "Como se llama usted?" "Me llamo Patricia", I answered, rolling my R.
Mi Profesora, Carol, threw us in to the deep end (gently), in the afternoon, to have us conjugate present tense verbs ending in er, ar, and ir. To our surprise, we were catching on, working from our workbook in pairs. Doug had a little bit of review in his class, but I'm sure he was way ahead of us newbies. When it came to choosing the "breakout sessions, Doug and I had different tastes. He preferred to push himself with lots of conversation classes, and I chose to learn about the art of Frida Kahlo,
Frida Kahlo class
The perfect chile, stuffed and ready to cook.
...or how to make chiles rellenos, using the proper type of chiles, dark green poblanos and Mexican cheese, (and of course, she let us eat them).
Look at that Huge Paella pan!
I especially loved the class on how to make Spanish Paella, made outdoors as is the tradition. Our energetic chef gave us an animated demonstration, telling us as she cooked, that "you can make a paella from whatever you have on hand. If you only have chicken then that's okay. If you're on the coast, you would most likely add el pescadore (fish), or camarones (shrimp), also, many times chorizo is included." She showed us the special huge, flat paella pan she used, passed around the saffron for us to smell, and tantalized all of us with the wonderful aromas. The cooking classes were so well organized with young people from the college helping out with the prep work and serving us.
We did agree on the Sing the Songs of Cuba and Latin America class, where Marco Pereda sang and played his guitar while we sang along. "Cielito Lindo" was one of our favorites. Some day, I'll be able to insert a video of him singing.
I hope you will all want to find out more about this award winning course. Go to www.ltcc.edu/issi. You'll find out how to know about everything from Spanish Swear Words and Street Slang to an Environmental Series about Baja California.
Pero (but) you still have to hear about the evening that most students look forward to in this course. It's the Difficult Trip.
I must tell you, that I was nervous, being in the "lower beginning" class. We were offered to be guided to our first destination and I ran for that line. We were lead personally by Henry Wilds, who invented this crazy "trip". He first took us to El Banco, where we stood in line to change our fake Travelers Checks in to play Pesos. I learned from the people in front of me that I should say: "Puedo tener pesos para mis cheques de viajero, por favor?"
Then I was sent off to fend for myself. We all had to go to a list of places in the lobby/aeropuerto and have things checked off. I chose to go to customs first. The first thing I'm asked is my name. I can handle that. "Why are you traveling?" ....... How much money do you have? I'm nervous, can't find the papers he asks for and can't figure out how many pesos I've cashed my travelers checks in for.... after all I've just learned the word for a hundred, "cien" that morning. I start to perspire. My face is flushed.
There's a commotion behind me. I turn to find my husband, Doug, arguing with a (fake) policeman. He's saying something about not needing a passport, and would the cop take some dinero?
I'm thinking that perhaps he's having too much fun and I'm too worked up and serious.
Doug has moved on to my spot at customs and also tries to bribe the officer into letting him in without a passport. I'm moved over to baggage. As I'm finishing up my encounter, I see my husband telling the "baggage" person that she "should lift his bag very carefully because it has grenades and rifles in it. But don't worry. It's for my work." The woman looks over at me and says, "Su esposo?" I say, "No, I've never seen him." She looks at a note that has been passed to her from customs about this man. She flips a coin to make a decision. He's a lucky guy. He doesn't have to go to (fake) jail.
I went to the Pharmacia to get pretend pills (Skittles) for a headache (Tengo un dolor de la cabeza). Doug told the pharmacist that his headache was from too much Tequila, and he needs opiates for it. He asked to have it without a prescription, and finally, the amused pharmacist gives it to him literally, "under the table". (More Skittles, of course.)
We met again at the makeshift restaurante, where we could gather our thoughts and buy a yummy tostada for $2.00 with real money. Then we were approached by a waiter and handed a menu that had everything on it as if it were a real Mexican restaurante. This was one of the places to be checked off our list. It turns out that you can order anything you want, but all you'll really get is a dish of chocolate or vanilla ice cream. Doug spoke to the waiter in his best Spanish and ordered half the menu. I just ordered chiles rellenos. "Chocolate, por favor."
The evening was coming to an end, but we hadn't gone to the mercados upstairs. We each went our separate ways and I learned to negotiate and barter with the merchants. I'd say "cuanto cuesta?" when I was interested in say, a scarf. "Cincuenta pesos,", she'd say. We were all encouraged to bargain, so I said, "Puedo darle veinte." (I can give you 20) She came back with "treinte" (30), and we smiled and agreed. I gave her 30 of my play pesos, but I didn't actually get the scarf. She signed my card to say I had gone through this exercise.
After a couple of more transactions, my card was all signed, and I met Doug in the lobby. Proud of our accomplishment, finishing the Difficult Trip, we walked out to the parking lot. "I bought you a gift!", he said, as he dashingly pulled a fancy fan from his pocket and opened it. Aww, I thought...but.... "How did you do that? Nothing was really for sale."
"I paid for it with the play money." he said.
"But nothing was really for sale! We were just learning to barter and then they would sign us off. You have to return it. It belongs to one of the real vendors."
Doug looked sad, but said he would do it in the morning.
We both must have thought our car was in a different spot, since I was going right and I saw Doug veering left. Then I saw something move behind him. "Bear!!", I called in a whisper. It was dusk, and a bear had gotten in to a dumpster. Doug moved quickly toward me and the car.
It was the first bear we had seen this season.
"We're in a Prius", he said, "It doesn't make much noise. Keep the lights off and go past him and we can see him up close!" I had second thoughts, but did it anyway. Thank God, the bear, rather large, darted away from his foraging long enough for us to pass, and then went back to his business.
The next day, the last day of classes, I had to tell my conversation teacher about Doug and his antics. She paid me a nice favor in reaching in to her briefcase and bringing out a lovely black fan to replace the one I had made him return. Thinking it was all funny, she had me repeat my story to my class.
Later that day, Doug and I met for lunch, and on our way we met "mi professora." I winked at her and presented "mi esposa". She said, "You! He causes me problems all the time!" It turns out that Professora Maria was Doug's "homeroom" teacher.
Well, the good ending to all this, is that we decided that we should make plans to go to Spain to try to really be immersed in the Spanish language. Our hope is to include part of the Camino Santiago de Compostela, the 500 mile pilgrimage that folks make that ends in North Western Spain, with the cathedral that houses the tomb of St. James, a disciple of Jesus. Our plan is to hop on and hop off, (no, not on a Red Bus, but from our rental car), taking in a few miles at a time, and ending, God willing, with a grand finale of a few miles at the end.
Folks might look at us strangely with our light packs, and going the opposite direction back to the car.....but from what I hear, this is called, "the Harbo way."
Company in the Pool
Originally published on Tuesday, June 14, 2016
Today I was a "golf widow", I suppose, since my husband went off to play a round and get some exercise. I decided that my exercise would be in the pool outside our condo in Tahoe. Not a soul was around, and I set myself up on a lounge chair with my supplies, a big hat, sunglasses, and my library book that I had 20 pages left to read. It was windy, about 61 degrees, but sunny, so I still felt warm enough. The idea was to lay in the sun for awhile before getting in the pool because the wind probably wouldn't let me afterward.
The book finished, I prolonged my lounge time by finishing a crossword puzzle I found in my pool bag. My mind tried to talk me out of even getting wet, but I pictured Doug coming home after walking the course and I'd feel bad if I hadn't done.... something. I spotted some flotsam floating around on the surface of the pool, so that gave me a sense of purpose. I could pump iron with my foam dumbbells AND clean the pool to make it nice for others.
As I climbed down the steps into the water, I spotted a pretty cream-colored maple leaf floating at the other end of the pool. As I made my toward it, I captured quite a few pine needles that had blown in, carefully rescued a bee that seemed grateful, since after I flicked him out he flew off in a second. I went backwards toward the maple leaf, kicking my way there, but when I reached the opposite end it was no where to be seen. Hmm. Oh well. It was time to move around a little, I used my Aquabells to do push-ups in the water, and then some shoot-throughs and some jumping jacks. I began to twirl around in the water, (my favorite), when I spotted the maple leaf floating right near my shoulder.
Rather than toss it out of the pool, I decided to look at it more closely. It was totally dry on top and it didn't have a stem. It also had a passenger.....a tiny reddish brown spider was holding completely still on the leaf. I was looking so closely that my breath hit it, and it moved a few steps in shock. "Don't go! Be my company", I pleaded, realizing that I was talking to a spider. He stayed, and happily rode along on his leaf, which was collecting yellow pollen on its edges. I should take a picture of this, I thought, and planned to get out soon and dry myself off enough to handle my iPhone. I did a sort of bicycle move heading toward the other end, and I think because of the pumping up and down I did behind my back with the aquabells, I moved faster, and the leaf was propelled along side me. It actually passed me, so I tried to do the same movement in the opposite direction to make it follow me again. It didn't. It reached the wall, and turned left, the spider getting the ride of his life as it twirled along the edge. Finally it turned toward me, as I kept up my plunging movement. I thought I had better get out and get that picture while it was so close to the edge, since I was composing a story in my head, and what good is a story without a photo? As I headed for the stairs to climb out, the creamy colored leaf kept moving in my direction, along the edge of the pool.
And then, to my surprise, SWOOSH! leaf and passenger were sucked in to the pool's drain on the side. It hadn't dawned on me. So no picture....but still a story.
Mrs Magoo, post-op
Originally published on Tuesday, May 17, 2016
It was time for cataract surgery....I had been mistaking things for other objects, or my vision was so fuzzy I couldn't make them out. My husband accused me of being like Mr. Magoo, only a feminine version, we called "Mrs. Magoo", who saw life through such cloudy vision, it caused me to endanger my and others' situations.
Fireworks, as seen through a cataract
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I had one more Magoo-ish incident before the surgery. When Doug was driving us down from Tahoe so I could have surgery the next day in Oakland Kaiser, my vision was worse than ever. I confessed to him that I couldn't see the big green highway signs until they came up in my passenger side window. "Another reason that I'm driving and you're having the surgery, right?", he said. So true.
When I had the measurements done on my eyes, it was said that I would benefit from going with a "Toric" lens in my eye, one that could be turned on an axis and cancel out the "steepness" of my cornea, which caused an astigmatism. I had to pay extra for this lens, but it still wasn't the most costly one. It was the one I needed, letting me see more crisply at distance and maybe for the computer. My rapidly progressing cataract was so bothersome to me because it had only been 8 or so months since I had seen clearly, so I went for it. The nurses in the OR praised me for paying extra for the "Gucci" lens.
Before the surgery, I was reading a book...."All the Things We Cannot See", by Anthony Doerr, which seems appropriate, right? I loved it so much that I read it with a magnifying glass, with good light, while tilting my head to see if I could go around my cloudy lens. Sometimes it seemed to work. The book was due before I finished it, so I returned it to the South Lake Tahoe library before we traveled to the Bay Area for the surgery. When I got back, my vision was so bright, that I could read the print without glasses or contacts....and I thought this surgery was mostly for distance vision! The Toric lens, (which isn't for everyone's eye), has me seeing the computer and not so fine print (as long as I hold it pretty far), without glasses!
The only downside, that is downright depressing, is that I can see more wrinkles. It seems as if I have aged 10 years over night....of course that's only my opinion, since everyone else has been looking at me like this all along! No wonder I had been receiving more comments, like "Well, if you were my mother, I would suggest that you make this decision....after all...at YOUR age...." Gosh. It's time to start testing wrinkle creams. My doctor laughed and told me that most people just discover that their homes aren't as tidy. They see dust bunnies that they didn't realize were there. Well there's that too.....
I've been testing my vision All The Time. In the shower, I can now tell the difference between the shampoo and conditioner bottles, which most folks have a hard time with after they turn about 42, which is normal, but annoying. Have you ever applied lotion to your hair in an hotel? Not easy to get out.
"Now I can read that sign over there!" "Look over there at the robin flying with it's straw for it's nest in it's mouth!"
But, when covering my "new eye", the cloudiness of the right eye is more pronounced; I was told that that might be the case.
As if on cue, I received a notice from the DMV to renew my driver's license. I worried and stewed about the vision test I'd have to perform. Testing my vision on each eye on street signs didn't give me much confidence. I decided to go for it and walked into the Department of Motor Vehicles for my test. I figured that if I failed, I could get an extension till I had surgery on the other eye.
I sat in the waiting area, which faced the eye charts, trying not to look like I was attempting to memorize the lines.
In an abnormally short amount of time, my number was called, and I smiled and purposefully didn't offer any information about my level of confidence of my vision.
First, the man pointed and said, "Now, with both eyes read the 3rd line on chart C". I aced that of course. "Now cover your left eye and tell me the 2nd line on chart A". I took a breath and murmured, "Hmm, not quite as clear", ....as I tried to focus. I said, "CFDBE". "Good!", he said, to my surprise!
I breezed through the left eye, of course, and was delighted to be granted my driver's license renewal.
It turns out that I may have been testing my vision on smaller letters at the DMV by sitting farther away from the chart and I'm embarrassed to say that I wasted the minutes I tried to memorize the chart.
A few weeks later, I'm still testing the parameters of my vision. I can see the newspaper crossword as long as it's a little far away from my usual reading distance, and I'm so glad to see the swallows flying in the distance...and that's with my right eye still seeing a little cloudy. One day....another day, I'll sign up for a new adventure with cataract surgery on my right eye. No worries.
Mrs. Magoo
Originally published on Wednesday, April 6, 2016
When coming through the gate of the community pool at our mobile park in Palm Springs, I leaned my head to my husband and whispered, "Who are those people on the other side? Anyone we know? "
He looked incredulously at me and said, "Oh my gosh! You're becoming like Mrs Magoo!"
He was right, but I said, "Well I don't want to offend someone by not speaking to them, and I can't quite make them out."
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Many younger readers may not recognize the reference to a bald, myopic cartoon character called Mr Magoo, played with the voice of Jim Backus (who may or may not be remembered more as Thurston Howell III, the millionaire on Gilligan's Island). Mr Magoo mistakes everything for something else, and often puts himself in dangerous situations.
Another day, when we proceeded to the far side of the pool, I said to a friend lounging there, "Hi Lisa, Where's Cathy today?" As soon as I had those words out of my mouth, I saw Cathy's belongings on the lounge next to Lisa's. With the sun shining in my eyes, I followed a voice that was about 10 feet away in the pool. Cathy was bobbing around on a noodle, calling out "Here I am Patty! Not going blind, are you?" I mumbled something about the glare of the sun....
One of the worst things that has happened is when I picked up my son at the airport, I almost ran through a stop sign. I really didn't see it, but I accredited it to being excited to see him. I decided to let him drive me around. I notoriously find it hard to be a passenger, but he drove very nicely.
While driving recently on the freeway toward Yuma, Arizona, Doug was driving, since I banned myself from being behind the wheel. He steered valiantly, I might say, through a sand storm, white knuckles and all.
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I said, "This is amazing! I'm going to take a picture of this so I can show the doctor how I really see." So, I took the photo with my iPhone, and when done, I saw Doug look toward me to see what I was doing. When he turned his head away from the road, I instantly worried that I had distracted him from driving. I whipped around to look at the road, and saw us rapidly gaining on a black car that seemed to have stopped ahead of us! I braced myself, pointed, and said "Car!!", as my life did the proverbial passing before my eyes. .....We came upon the said stopped car, and to my amazement, ran over it, as I realized that all it was was a rectangular patch of tar in the road! Doug said, "You're really going to have to trust my vision over yours!" Still my heart was racing and my arms were tingling as I realized we were still alive.
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Only yesterday, my husband was driving us around town, and I saw a young child's electric wheelchair strapped to the back of a truck. I thought, "Oh, that poor child. We should pray for the family. It must be really hard for them." When we pulled up alongside, I saw that it was a gardening truck with a fancy lawnmower strapped to the back of it! Once again the subject of Mrs. Magoo was brought up.
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Having worked in an eye clinic for 17 years, I heard many complaints from patients about not being able to drive at night because of the glare of car lights with halos around them. Then there is the story of the sun causing another type of glare, or haze, that I can also attest to.....not to mention not being able to read the crossword puzzle clues without squinting, or with extra light. That is a real pain to me.....since I always look forward to doing a crossword after breakfast. Right now it's not so relaxing. So all of this adds up to cataracts. I'm scheduled to have the worst eye operated on this month, and I have confidence that I'll have my good distance vision back afterward.
All of this is normal, you know, "At your age", I've been told too many times recently. Cataracts happen to almost everyone if they live long enough. That's what I used to tell the patients, and now, here I am, one myself.
In The Kitchen
Originally published on Wednesday, September 23, 2015
We've lived in this old house for 33 years, and have been emptying it out, getting it ready to rent. The kitchen is one of the last rooms to evacuate, since we've still been cooking in it, but today is the day to empty the cupboards of food and pans, but for me, the memories are still there.
There are three of us working in the kitchen. My husband is changing the funky old knobs to cute chrome ones shaped like a cup and saucer and a teapot.
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A friend is emptying out the cupboards so he can clean them, and putting the contents around the kitchen for me to sort through. I call my job "search and destroy", but it's not true. For each item, I have to decide if I want to keep it, (does it give me joy?)...... does someone else want or need it?..... Should I put it out in the changing pile of "leavings" that we've left by the curb for passers by to take?..... Can it be recycled?..... or, is it truly garbage?
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The hardest part of this sorting for me, is to also consider if the item suits our mobile home in Palm Springs, or the condo at Lake Tahoe, or could we use it in the little "in-law" we're making for ourselves downstairs. Our kitchen there, will consist of a microwave, a crockpot, a coffee maker, a George Foreman Grill and an electric pot to heat tea water......no place for pots or pans. Storage is at a premium, so I have to be brutal, but if I have fond memories of an antique cookie sheet or muffin tin, I'll bring them to Palm Springs to replace things that were already in the kitchen when we bought the place. Things for entertaining go there too, since there are always a lot of pot lucks.
It must look as if I'm moving in slow motion, to my co-workers in the kitchen. I see the clutter on the counter of bowls and utensils and half used cleaning products growing, it's upsetting to me that I can't seem to keep up with the flow. My brain, in the meantime, keeps playing movies of times past. As I get out the muffin tins from a corner of the cupboards, I fondly remember the "apartment" that Tigger, our orange tabby had made in there. We found that he opened the cupboard door with his paw, crawled in and didn't come out. Turns out, he could see the side of the drawer that had dishtowels in it, and he reached into the drawer, and pulled out a few towels with his claw to make himself a nice little nest in the cupboard. I discovered his lair one time when I was suspiciously low on dishtowels. He watched as I cleaned it out, and in a few days, he had refurnished it.
Another time, I caught Tigger rubbing up against Tessa, our dog, and ending up with his head in Tessa's gentle open mouth!
The soon-to-be-replaced kitchen sink brings back a vision of a favorite photo of my kids, Jennie, 5, and Lucas 1-1/2, way back when, standing on chairs, "doing dishes". Lucas especially concentrated on the Tupperware cups that were unbreakable. Both of them had vintage child's aprons on, and Jennie's hair cascaded down to her waist. This has always been one of my favorite photos, and it has been the problem with getting this story done. It has gotten temporarily lost in this huge shuffle we're in the midst of, but when I find it I'll add it in. I promise.
The kitchen sink was also captured when someone got a picture of Polly, our cherry headed conure (one of our menagerie) perched on my back as I washed my hair.
This reminds me of more animal activity in the kitchen, which, when I think about it, was pretty common.
A few cocktail glasses appeared on the counter. Some were Christmas glasses with poinsettias on them, that would probably be sent to Goodwill.....but others were etched glass, ones that had been brought over from Hawaii, when Helen "Tutu" and Wally, "Grandpa" came over on the Lurlene, a cruise ship that brought my kid's Dad, Walt, at 3 years old, laiden with leis, to the mainland.
I remember in 1998.. ., Wally was gone, Helen lived with me, and when I came home from a days work at Kaiser, I'd find her sitting in the old rocking chair in my kitchen, decked out in a nice Muu-Muu with matching nail polish, and sometimes a silk lei. While I jumped right in to cooking dinner, still in my scrubs, I told her what happened at work that day. She told me what happened at the house, and we had cocktails. We made up our own, one time calling a tequila and apple juice drink a "Juanie Appleseed". Good times.
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There were so many other memorable things that happened in this old kitchen. Lucas shot magnetic darts past my back onto a target on the refrigerator as I did the dishes when he was 5, and Jennie practiced her shuffle-ball-change on the linoleum when she was seven. I truly hope that the new family that moves into this home has as many wonderful, wholesome memories in this kitchen and in all the other rooms. God bless them.
A Stroke of Bad Luck, From Dependence to Independence : A story I wrote in 1998
Originally published on Wednesday, June 10, 2015
I saw something tonight that made me cry while I was waiting at a stop light. A man started across the wide street, slowly, with a cane in his right hand, his left hand curled up in front of him. He did the slow step-together walk of the wedding march, that I've become used to. It's not that I've been in so many weddings, but because Walt walks that way, since his stroke in 1987.
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Walt in 1988
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I wondered about the man who was slowly crossing the street. "What kind of life did you have before? ...before life as you knew it was changed in the twinkling of an eye? Your blood flowed through your brain and got stuck there for awhile, long enough to damage crucial parts. What was your life like back then? Did you have big plans? Was it your birthday? Do your children recall what you used to be like? Maybe not. Some of them may have been too small to remember the warm hugs and the rides on your shoulders."
As I sat there in my car, I prayed that the man would make it all the way across the street before the light changed. I imagined the tension of the people in the other cars as they thought about the places they had to be 5 minutes ago. I thought that the folks in this man's family and those who know Walt, should acknowledge the people that these men were before, but should also appreciate how courageous any disabled person has to be to go out into the world on their own. We all must remember how they used to be and then appreciate how difficult it is for people with strokes and for other disabled and even blind folks to go out, and on with a new life....a completely changed life with fewer skills to draw upon.
This is not something you would wish on anyone, and you hope doesn't happen to you or anyone you care about. Just imagine someone you love suddenly not being able to sit up, or walk or speak with you in a simple conversation. It's not a dream. It's really happening and it won't go away. "What will I do?", you think. But what will THEY do?......these people that are struck down? They're given a lot of support through physical, occupational, and speech therapy, but they have to have a strong spirit to pull themselves out of an hospital bed and into their new lives.
The attention they're given is like water on a plant. Sometimes Walt would brighten up all through his physical therapy sessions, and swear enthusiastically to the therapists that he would do all the exercises, only to come back the next time to charm her once again with his crooked smile, without having practiced one exercise.
As these people are given the skills they need to get on with their new lives: how to sign their name, cook without being burned, and how to make a phone call, they bravely go out into the world using their canes, wheelchairs or electric Lark carts, to try to take care of themselves. Walt, for one, hasn't let the stroke keep him at home. Even when family members tried to protect him, and keep him there, he found ways to escape from his home in Richmond, CA, take BART to San Francisco riding his Lark cart, and visit some of his old haunts. He used to work at the Hilton as a banquet manager, and fight for the union rights of Local 2. He'd have lunch, and then come home a little too late to keep the family from worrying.
Soon it was realized that he still had his sense of direction, and even though he had trouble communicating with speech (aphasia), and was paralyzed on his right side, he could still have adventures and have his longed-for freedom. His daughter made him a little card that he hung around his neck with his ID, explaining about the stroke and his difficulty with speech. In order for his family to know where he had been that day, he collected souvenirs, like matches from restaurants, business cards, notes from people he met or sometimes he took a photo.
Perhaps since he has had more "time on his hands" (not really, if you count the extra time it takes just to get dressed), Walt notices things that are wrong about the world of the disabled. He likes to feel he can do something about them. Conditions that effect disabled people are at the top of his list. People in wheelchairs (including Walt), have gotten off at BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) station where it's necessary to go to a different level to transfer to another train, only to find out that the elevator has been out of order. Very frustrating! "ADA!", he shouts, pointing his left index finger to the sky. (FYI: ADA is the Americans with Disabilities Act, which was passed in 1990).
On the night that I write this, he tells me through a series of charades, words, and faces, that handicapped people who have had trouble with the elevators on BART have a class action suit going on. "Class Action!", he shouts. He and some of his friends documented all the times they were left stranded without an elevator, leading to the suit being won. The result of the suit was that everyone who sent in a form stating that they had had a problem with this, could get a free BART pass. Also, if you are standing in a BART station you'll most likely hear an announcement about which elevators are working, or which ones are out of service. There is also a number you can dial to make sure the elevator is running at a station you are about to go to.
Walt is always proud to think he had something to do with that. He likes to think he's a helper. Sometimes he's hard to understand, and he can be very exasperating, but he really would like to make a difference. This new person he has become is one of those people riding around on a Lark cart with a red flag sticking up for safety. He could also be the person walking slowly in front of your car as your stop light turns green. Give him the time he needs and smile at him. Give him a little wave. He could be YOUR husband or father. He could be YOU. Think about it. He's on a mission ....to live his brave new life.
Walter Romer is living now (in 2015), at the California Veteran's Home, in Yountville, CA. He still makes regular trips in his electric wheelchair by bus, BART and even the train. The folks at the Veteran's Home have gotten used to his comings and goings. He still has a good sense of direction.
Giovanni's Mama
Originally published on Sunday, May 3, 2015
Back in 1974, I worked as a hostess at Giovanni's Restaurant, in Berkeley. I was hired, as most employees were, because I was related to someone. My husband had worked there as a waiter in times past, and as was the tradition, I became part of the restaurant family seemingly by osmosis.
The family atmosphere of this Italian restaurant was heightened by the frequent visits of Mama, Giovanni's mother, to share cakes and cookies she had baked herself with the customers. Her portrait hung over the mantle piece of the fireplace. There she sat, a proud Italian mama in her black dress with a white lace collar and her hands folded on her lap, looking out over the customers as they ate some of the recipes that she had invented. (Our favorite is Chicken Marsala).
Last Saturday, Doug and I decided to have a "date night", including dinner and drinks at our beloved Giovanni's. As we approached the building, we saw yellow caution tape over the windows, and the bar gate was closed over the front door. As we strained to look inside, we could smell charred wood and saw that the fireplace had been torn apart. There was a note on the door that a fire had occurred on April 22 at 6 AM, and that no one had been hurt. I was heartsick, as I stood at the door with an old story in my hand that I had written for a newspaper about the owner John's "Mama" way back in 1980, right after she had passed away. I had wanted to give it to Giovanni, his wife Anna, and daughters Anastasia and Sarah, since it is close to Mother's Day. I couldn't, so I'll copy it out here instead.
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From the Archives. Written in 1980, by Reilly Romer (AKA Me, Pat Reilly Harbo)
Mothers are wonderful people. They nurse us and care for us and cherish us, spoil us and discipline us, protect us and love us. Many young people think that once they've left the nest and are flying on their own, all that nurturing and worrying ceases.
But they've never been mothers before. I haven't been a mom for very long myself, but I know it's a very special thing to be one. It's even more special to be called "Mama" not only by your children, but by everyone who comes in contact with you.
Mama Savaria (Sarah) Schipani was that type of person. She died in San Pablo, CA, on December 30th at the age of 75. When she was a child in Calabria, Southern Italy, little did she know that she and her cooking would be the wellspring of at least five fine restaurants.
Cooking was to become Savaria's life. While growing up, pasta and bread making were everyday events and she became adept at the recipes that were indigenous to that region of Italy. Eventually, the couple left Italy for West Virginia, where Bill worked in the coal mines. They lived with Bill's cousins, so Savaria helped with the household chores and the cooking, picking up additional recipes from her new-found family. The region that these immigrants came from was richer than Savaria's, so they had more meat in their concoctions and they used slightly different spices. With these recipes added to her repertoire, she was becoming quite creative in the kitchen.
While living in West Virginia, Savaria earned the title of "Mama" by giving birth to four children: John, Frank, Rosie, and Katherine.
Next, the promise of big money in the steel mills brought on a move to Indiana. Like most immigrants, Bill worked hard and saved his earnings. He subsequently opened a bar in Gary, IN, called Bill's place. It was only supposed to be a bar, but there was a kitchen, so Mama was naturally in it, cooking. Customers got a whiff of the delicious aromas and asked if they could buy some of whatever she was making. Mama loved to see people enjoying her good cooking, so it didn't take long for Bill's Place to develop into both a bar and a restaurant.
During the years in Gary, tragedy struck, and daughter Rosie drowned at the age of eleven, but Mama's family continued to grow. Bill and Savaria had three more children, Fran, Bill Jr., and Jim.
In 1962, California lured eldest son John away from home to open his own restaurant in Berkeley, called "Mr. Pizza". Gradually, his brothers and sister Fran followed and also fell in love with California. Mama and Papa wanted to be close to most of their family, so they too, relocated in the Bay Area.
Forever the cook, Mama enlarged John's pizza and salad only menu, by cooking her spaghetti and meatballs. The customers loved the addition, and that encouraged Mama to come in a couple of days a week to concoct her recipe for lasagne.
The restaurant's name was changed to Giovanni's, (John's), and in 1967 business was so good, a move was made to a couple of blocks down Shattuck Avenue to a larger building. Caffe Giovanni continues to be a popular place to dine mainly because its fare is based on Mama's recipes, like her Veal Scallopini and her stuffed Eggplant Parmesean.
Mama's special touches always made dining out a pure delight. She made the customers feel at home by passing among them with a tray of cookies. Many regulars began calling her Mama and asking for her when they came in to eat. Mama never spoke much English, but she managed to communicate her appreciation to the people who enjoyed seeing her.
Employees grew to expect a huge cake baked expecially for them each week. Daughter Fran read the recipes to her in Italian, but Mama couldn't let a chance go by to change a recipe and make it her own. She added an extra egg or two this time, maybe four next time, or perhaps some pudding (before it was even thought of by Betty Crocker). Mama would especially delight in watching the thinner employees devour her creations , commenting in her dear broken English and sign language something like, "You gotta eat! You too skinny! Mangia!"
At Mama's house one day, Franny told me, that the milkman finally confessed to her that every day after making his delivery and smelling the aroma of Mama's cooking, he had to run out to his truck and eat his sandwich because he became so hungry. Fran laughed and relayed this loudly into Mama's ear, for her hearing was impaired. Immediately a chair was pulled out for him, and he was told to "Come! Eat!" So began a weekly routine for that milkman....every Tuesday for over two years, Mama had a luncheon waiting for him.
At one point, he said his wife wasn't sure she believed his innocent story of eating at a nice Italian lady's house every week. When Mama heard this, she had him take his wife a picture of herself and said, "Tell her I old! No worry!" She also sent a jar of her special spaghetti sauce home with him. When that milkman left the company, his replacement was hoping he would get the same fringe benefits. In Mama's eyes he never qualified for a free lunch.....maybe a piece of cake.
Mama Savaria is what the restaurant business is all about. She loved to cook and she loved to watch people eat what she had cooked. She treated employees with respect and warmth. An example of her big-heartedness to everyone, she was instrumental in training her offspring to be generous. The sense of "family" seems to permeate anything Mama has had anything to do with. The Schipani's have acquired a reputation for hiring people who, if they aren't related to them or their present employees, they are old friends, or friends of friends. This provides the atmosphere of caring of which Mama was very proud.
Savaria was full of pride when it came to her family. She has a right to be. Sons Billy and Jimmy helped Johnny operate Caffe Giovanni's for years until they each decided to branch out on their own. Bill and his wife, Karen opened the popular Shattuck Avenue Spat's Restaurant. Fran Bisbiglia, Bill's sister, also helps to run the Berkeley restaurant, and Mama regularly came in to prepare several of her specialties and to ply the employees with cake.
John decided to enlarge upon what he did best, and opened Baci's, a seafood restaurant on Pier 39 in San Francisco, while brother Jim moved to Reno to open the elegant Washoe Zephyr Restaurant. Even daughter Katie, still in Hobart, Indiana, owns a restaurant called the Mortor Joynt.
There's only one son that isn't in the restaurant business. Actually, he used to have a restaurant, but he's found something more lucrative. Frank is a professional blackjack player.
It seems to me that Mama has left quite an inheritance. There's not only her legacy of love, but of recipes, aromas, and happy taste buds....of memories, values, and old ways......of family ties that are strong. What more could a Mama want?
The End
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Post Script: This story was written 35 years ago. (hard for me to believe too!) The lives of the people in this great family have had many twists and turns, as all of ours have. I was just going to hand my typed copy to the family when we went to eat at Giovanni's, but since we saw that there had been a fire, decided to post these memories for all to see. Our prayers are with Johnny and Anna, Anastasia and Sarah, and all the crew at Giovanni's.
We hope that the damage wasn't so much that many folks' favorite restaurant won't reopen. There are still many taste buds waiting to be tantalized! Pat Reilly Harbo
An Old Cat and Dog Story from 2001
Originally published on Monday, March 2, 2015
In the last few years, my family's pet population has dwindled from two cats, one dove, one cockatiel, one cherry-headed conure, two parakeets, 19 bunnies (it's true that they are prolific), and 12 goldfish in the pond. The menagerie has declined, due to old age, bunny sales, birds flying the coop or being buried in the side yard, racoons, and no replacements. We are now down to two pets.
Alas, our cat, Tigger, a 14 year old orange striped tabby, has cancer. All of six months ago, he had a surgery which supposedly removed the whole tumor from his abdomen. Because of his age and our fondness of him, I figured the $180. for the surgery was affordable, but I knew I didn't want to invest in chemo. When the tumor returned, the vet said, "Just let him have anything he wants. If he starts to feel bad, let me know and you can 'bring him by'." On the way home, I stopped at the store and bought Tigger some special kitty treats.
That's how my morning ritual started. Tigger directs the scene as it opens from his post outside the kitchen window over the sink. It's 6:30 A.M., and my dog Tessa, and I come down stairs to the kitchen. The rather heavy pit bull/lab scrambles down ahead of me and anxiously waits for me to fill my whistling tea kettle with water for my cup of coffee. She finally makes eye contact with me, and then pushes her way past me down the laundry room stairs, wiggling her whole body impatiently till I get the back door open. She runs in place on the cement like a cartoon dog, before bounding out to pee under the plum tree. She is noisily greeted by the dog next door, but doesn't take time to respond. I close the door just enough that Tessa can push her way back in.
Tigger stands on his hind legs outside the window doing his morning stretch, reaching almost to the top of the second pane, showing me how bad his sore is on his belly. He scrapes his nails luxuriously down the upper window pane. I raise the window and he jumps to the counter and then the floor, where he stops to rub against my leg. Next, he saunters over and sits in front of the little bowl I've placed on the floor in the corner for his morning treat, instructing me to open the cupboard and get out his first course.....salmon-flavored kitty treats. He munches on them and makes a strange guttural sound, as if he's devouring a bird he has just killed.
In the meantime, Tessa has made her entrance through the back door and looks toward the cupboard for her "usual". I toss her one small bone-shaped biscuit, which she handily catches in her mouth and takes to chew on the living room rug. She comes back wagging, happy to find that I've hidden another bone on top of the recycling basket. I'm touched that she remembered from yesterday and the day before.
Tigger's not finished. He meows when I get my milk out of the fridge for my coffee, and sits by his bowl again. I act like I don't notice, and he rubs against my leg and meows a pitiful cry. I say, "Of course I'll give you some."..... but I think to myself that I never used to give him milk very often. The vet did say though, to "give him anything he wants". Now, for the first time in these last few months, this athletic, lanky cat is finally getting some meat on his bones, cancer and all. I wonder if he's noticing the pampering... that I'm honoring him and showing him my love in this little ritual of ours. Whatever he notices, he's got me trained pretty well.
Koi in the Library
Originally published on Saturday, January 31, 2015
As I sat in a comfy chair in the Palm Springs Library, browsing through the book choices I had made, I spotted a little 4 year old girl running toward the Koi pond that is in the center of the building. She was calling out "The fish, Grandpa, the fish!" He told her to stay right there while he was close by. She installed herself, standing on tiptoes. I noticed her blue overalls, as she held on to the circular railing, to gaze at the fish.
She stared, delightedly as the fish gathered near her, and then she let go one hand from the rail to give them a shy wave and said "Hi", softly.
Grandpa came to say that it was time to go, and she reluctantly followed him. A couple of minutes later she galloped back to the railing to peak at the fish one more time, and standing once again on her toes, waved and said "Bye". Before leaving, she looked at all the Koi, who seemed entranced with her, jumped off to the floor and called out for all to hear,"I wanna be a fish too!"
A Different Kind of Christmas: 2014
Originally published on Friday, January 2, 2015
Some of you may have read the story I wrote last year called, Getting Ready for Christmas: The Tree. The zeal and Christmas spirit shown in that tale have been harder to come by this year. After stating how much I've loved Christmas in the big old house we've lived in for 33 years, it looks as though this will be the last one here.
Wonderful things have happened to us in the last 12 months though. Happy decisions were made..... lifestyle changing ones. There was no plan to make the changes we did. One thing just led to another, each opportunity seemed right, if not daring, in some folks eyes.
Last January we fell in love with and bought a retro 1955 trailer in Palm Springs, that had been added on to each side with a long room with vaulted ceilings. We decided it looked more like a beach cottage in the desert, and have pushed that idea, adding on to the seashells that were already abundant in the yard. There is also a patio facing the big mountain, where I've installed my potter's wheel. All this for less than the price of a new car!
Many of the residents in this over 55 park are artistic, as evidenced by the decor and the different types of gardens, some lush and tropical, but mostly desert plants. We/ve even planted an orange tree and a lime tree. Tlie lime tree is the happiest, sporting some cute little blossoms. Every year there's an influx of Canadians, Washingtonians and New Yorkers.... the "snowbirds" are happy to thaw out in the warm pool. This park has also been discovered by gays, and they, along with the youngish seniors have fun together at the wine tastings, ice cream socials, and pool parties. We've decided that we'd like to spend our winters in Palm Springs, but not the summers, since the temps could rise to as high as 115 degrees! As I write this, though, in early January, the night temps have been about 34 degrees and 50 or 60 during the day. Next week, is predicted to be more to our liking, at a civilized 79.
Before we left there in April, I noticed that the dizzy spells that I had had since February were happening more often. I ended up in the ER, where it was discovered that my heart was "pausing", or as I say, "stopping" for 5-6 seconds every time I had one of those spells. When we got home to Richmond, a cryo (freezing) surgery was planned, but not right away.
Our 2004 Prius had a few dents in it, and the air conditioner died, so Doug said "Hey, let's just go check out the new Plug-in Priuses." I was dumbfounded, but agreeable, and we ended up getting a Plug-in, and sold the 2004 to his daughter.
The new Prius, of course, had it's maiden journey two weeks later to camp at Donner Lake, where we slept in it like a tent, just as we did in our lovely 2004 Prius all over the country. It was near Lake Tahoe, my old stomping grounds. It was beautiful, and brought back a lot of memories for me. Next thing I know, we were driving on to South Lake Tahoe, where I had been a blackjack and roulette dealer in the early 70's. We contacted a real estate agent, and ended up buying a condo there, which is rent-able during the winter months when we'd rather be in Palm Springs, and helping to pay for itself.
After all that, I had my surgery in September. The cardiologist said she was "delighted" with the outcome, since, she said that she doesn't always have the instant gratification of seeing the heart beat regularly while doing the surgery. We were too. I kept feeling my pulse afterward, and my heart was beating like a champ. Thank you Lord!
About now, folks are thinking we should give retirement lessons! The final piece of the puzzle is that we realized that we should rent out our house in the East Bay Area that I have lived in for 33 years, and save the bottom two rooms and bath for us to stay in when we're home to visit with family. At first it was hard for me to take.... to MOVE...and clean out all the places I had stored and stuffed so much memorabilia! Then I had an "aha!" experience! Most people move more often than 33 years. Well, at first it seemed daunting, and I was kind of frozen when it came to letting go of Anything. From then on it became a "freeing" experience. (I just realized that I used the words "Frozen" and "Let It Go" in the same sentence.)
Back to Christmas.... I usually go shopping for the tree with someone, but Doug was in Home Depot, and I ventured out to see their trees in the parking lot. All the 7-8' Christmas trees were gone, and I had to resort to a 6-7' size. only a few were opened up, and it was cold out. I found one possibility, and then walked over to another section. When I spotted another family headed for my first tree. I was certainly at a disadvantage being by myself! I ran over and held on to my tree and looked at all sides, sort of claiming my territory. It was taller than me, (one of the criteria), and looked pretty good. Not perfect, but it would do. I could feel myself letting go of the perfection that I had always demanded.
My two kids couldn't make it from New York, a disappointment..... but all of Doug's kids and our 8 grandchildren helped bring the excitement of the season back to me. A couple of the grandkids helped put the ornaments on the tree, after I had painstakingly put on the lights. They were very good at hanging each one in it's appropriate place, the angels on top, the wise men and Jesus nearby, a section for birds, and for Santas, but as I looked for my first ornament, the little nutcracker, all we found was his head! So sad! It wasn't till the next day, that I found his body and carefully glued him back together.
We spent our Christmas Eve together, only on Dec. 20th, so everyone could come. We did the Danish dancing around the Christmas tree, opened stockings, exchanged gifts, and ate too much. It was beautiful! The next night, Doug and I invited some old friends (only 8 of us), to fondly remember past Christmases and to appreciate this last one here.
Having Christmas early was a boon for me, since I could take time to go through some things....setting some aside for a garage sale in the spring, making many trips to the recycling center and thrift shops to make donations, and giving things to friends. Thank God I have 3 places to furnish, so I can keep Some of the things that have memories, but are also useful.
One of the traditions has been to spend Christmas morning with one of my sisters and her family, so that brought back nice memories, and we got to see all of her growing family. Doug and I stayed later and sang songs with my sister on her ukelele, Doug on the piano and I on my guitar. There were lofty ideas of us starting a band....
What happens next Christmas, I can only estimate. Looking back at this last year I never would have believed all the unexpected changes in our lives. We'll just have to play it by ear. Celebrating Christmas in Palm Springs is a thought...... but that's a decision for another day.
Zion National Park: More of the Travels With Our Prius, the 13th day of our 2 week trip
Originally published on Wednesday, November 19, 2014
For those of you who have been following my stories about my husband and I camping around the U.S. and sleeping in our 2004 Prius, I have a few more to tell you.....
We drove to Zion National Park, in Utah in early May, and stayed for 2 nights, once again sleeping in our car as a camper. The only place that was left to stay was in the group camp, called Watchman, below the peak of the same name, so we shared our campfire with others.
We are surprised that there are so many Europeans camping everywhere. That night, we had a UCSB chemical engineering graduate from Israel, doing a road trip across the US before going to work in Germany, and also another little family from Israel who have been grad students at Stanford. The woman said "It is so Israel", that they would meet someone else from Israel.
The only problem with this campground is the caterpillars. They must drop down from the cottonwood trees, since there are a lot of nest-like things in the trees. As I was reading in a camp chair in the sunshine, a furry creature came into my peripheral vision as it crawled over the top of my book on to the page. I scared Doug when I jumped up, dropping my book in the sandy soil. Then I found one on my pants leg and then a couple on his shirt! They're so sneaky!!... and quiet! We saw four little cocoons lined up along the wood frame of the restroom with another caterpillar making plans to spin his own little "sleeping bag".
After dinner one night, our cell phone rang, with it's characteristic "Quack quack quack", startling us from our idyllic reverie in the woods back into reality. Tenants from a house we were renting out with utilities included had their power turned off! They were sitting in the dark with their new baby and found out the bill hadn't been paid. We could barely hear them over the bad connection, but the frustration was heard loud and clear. I was ashamed to think that I had organized so many other things for this trip, but this had slipped through the cracks. What else had I missed?
We told them we'd call them back and called PG&E, and promptly got put on hold, all the while watching the battery on our phone dwindling away. We turned on the car, and plugged the phone cord into the charger, (formerly known as the cigarette lighter). Someone answered finally, and said it would be restored within an hour. We relayed the message to the tenants and apologized. Hanging up, we cracked up laughing that we were conducting business while camping in the woods! What a difference a cell phone makes!
Doug proceeded to make up our bed in the Prius while I finished washing the dishes by our solar lamplight. The water I heat on the camp stove is always so welcome to my chilly fingers after the sun goes down.
We walk together up to the restrooms to get cleaned up for bed. On the way back to camp, our sweet Prius is seen through the trees, waiting for us, with the light on inside. I commented on how cozy it looked, since Doug had arranged the pillows so nicely and the covers were turned back, beckoning us to get in. After that stressful call, I was ready to relax. I went to open my passenger side door, but it wouldn't! Doug tried his, and no go....and then another and then another. Frantic, we went over what could be wrong. Both sets of keys were locked inside, but that shouldn't happen. You're not supposed to be able to lock your keys in the car. It shouldn't let you....in fact it beeps at you till you figure out to remove your purse or whatever they are in. We circled the car as if it was prey, trying each door over and over, and of course praying. It was getting cold, and we were so close to our nice warm bed. A man walked by and asked us what was up. We told him and as soon as I went to show him, all of a sudden, the door opened! The only thing we can figure is that since both of our keys were in the car , it thought it was protecting us from robbers who were trying all the doors to get at us. Thank you Prius, I guess.
After all that, nice and cozy in our bed, no caterpillars, no more phone calls, no more civilization. We just rolled down the windows a crack, listened to the sounds of the forest and folks around a nearby campfire, someone softly strumming a guitar, and slept.
The next two days we took the free shuttle around the park. We walked along the River Walk. It was about 3 miles round trip, not so difficult......but even so,we were proud of ourselves for doing it.
Other more athletic folks were all geared up with their paraphernalia to walk into ""the Narrows" at the end of the River Walk. They walk in to the 47 degree water through the canyon walls that are closing in overhead, with walking sticks to help them keep their balance. Doug went so far as to take off his shoes and walk into the water to cool his feet. I sat on a rock and talked to a nice lady from England.
Our very favorite area was at the Weeping Wall. You have to walk pretty much up hill, about a quarter mile in, so for us, we were puffing pretty hard. Just as you break into a sweat in the 91 degree temp, the big rock wall shows itself in a sort of cave/grotto shape, seeping water. A knowledgeable sounding person said that the water coming from the stones was thousands of years old. It drips cool water on your head and shoulders welcoming you. Tiny purple Columbine flowers grow out of the damp rock. When you finally turn around, you see the valley from which you've climbed, but only the tops of the tall deciduous trees framed by the reddish mountains on either side.
We broke up camp that day, sorting through all our old camping supplies and replenishing expired things. When checking if we left any last minute things, I found our friend's Yamaka, from when he said his prayers at the spot where we read in the morning. It's my favorite souvenir.
To get out of the park, we drove toward the east gate. In 1931, they blasted a long dark tunnel, that has a few arched windows to let you peek out to the scenery. There is a different look to the sandstone on that side.... almost a melting effect. It's so astounding, that you have to stop about every few feet to get a better look and take photos. Zion was a gift to our senses.
Next we drove to Kanab, Utah, a little town known as the "Hollywood of Utah", since many old westerns were filmed here. The beautiful red and tan sandstone mountains that surround Kanab drew producers of westerns to use it as their backdrop. The Hollywood Museum in town is free, and they have well preserved buildings from movie sets. We're thinking we will rent "Outlaw Josie Wales" some time to spot the house that we were in today.
It was about then that Doug proposed that our two week retirement trip wasn't set in stone. We didn't have to go back right away, since everything was basically being taken care of at home for a while. The great beginning of our extended retirement trip began with Doug saying, "I wonder if my friend from high school is home in Colorado. Maybe we could go there and visit him!" Well, he was.....and we did.
Being Auntie Pat
Originally published on Tuesday, September 16, 2014
I've always told people that I was an "afterthought". My parents had already had 3 girls, the youngest of whom was 12 years old, and the eldest, 19. There is some proof, however, that I wasn't a surprise...I was planned. I felt some comfort in the fact, that my mom had a miscarriage before me, but still, even at 41, tried again. Perhaps I would have had another sister or brother, or maybe I wouldn't have been around.
When I was four, my oldest sister had her first baby, a girl. They lived a couple of hours away, so when they came to visit a couple of years later, my sister helped me bring her to my first grade class since it was my turn to "show and tell". I imagine that I educated the class about what a niece looks like, and the fact that I was the youngest auntie in the class.
Over the years, my sisters ended up having 10 more babies, and I found myself delighted with my little playmates. I was, after all, closer to their ages than I was to many of my own cousins. Most of them lived close by in the Bay Area, and would often come over to my house, where I lived with my Mom and Dad.
This is during a time way before video games or cell phones. We had a great time just being outside playing together. Running around my parent's white stucco house, chasing each other, was a major pastime. One game was called "the farmer and the chickens". It consisted of one kid being the farmer, trying to catch all the chickens before they ran all around the house and crept in to the "chicken coop", aka the porch swing, in the backyard. Much giggling and shrieking was involved in this game, as we tried to get by the farmer, who clearly was at a disadvantage being on his or her own.
Another memorable game was played on the cement front steps that were painted the obligatory red. It was called "school", and one child, the teacher, held a rock in one hand, and put forward both fists for a student (all of whom were sitting on the bottom stair), to choose a hand. If they chose the one with the rock, they graduated to the next step, but if they didn't, they either stayed where they were or, later in the game went down one step. This game was really good for all ages, except for the times when one of the littler kids felt bad about losing all the time, cried and wouldn't move. The first one to get to the top stair was the winner, and was the next teacher. I remember everyone having red chalky stains on the back of their pants after sitting on the stairs.
The lawn in front of the house was on a hill, so it was great fun to take turns rolling on our sides, over and over on the cool grass down to the sidewalk. The sidewalk usually had a hopscotch drawn on to it with chalk. Some of the older kids played hopscotch, while the younger ones tumbled down the hill. I learned from recess in grade school, that you should have your own bit of chain as your marker. I think it is called a taw. My dad gave me a few links of a toilet chain he found in the garage, while my friend had a small chain that hooks at either end, usually used as a key chain. The chains landed and stayed put where a rock might roll around, so it was preferable. A chain, being longer though, might drape over a line when tossed, causing you to miss a turn. Sometimes, if there was a taw in each of the first three squares, you'd have to get a running start to make a flying leap over all the squares, and keep your balance on one foot after you picked up your chain, and then finishing the grid. We all had to keep an eye out for the toddlers, though, that they didn't randomly walk through the game, picking up the chains.
Back in the house, my Dad was always willing to answer the pleas of the grandkids to let them do "flips" on him. He'd hold their hands as they walked their little feet up his legs and on to his chest. Then they'd flip over backwards. The older, more experienced ones could flip back the other way, face beaming, and then get back in line for another turn. By the time all this was happening, I was about 12, and a little too tall for such things. I remembered wistfully that I had had my share of flipping in my day.
A couple of years later, I sat in front of the TV every couple of nights for my Laura Weber guitar lesson on KQED. I was very devoted and practiced every day, sitting by myself in the living room in my Dad's big chair. That's where I'd sit after a while with all my attentive, darling nieces and nephews, singing along with me, as I played and sang, "Oh They Built the Ship Titanic", and other songs that I still have in my Corduroy Book, a binder full of folk and pop songs. They had been painstakingly printed by hand on binder paper and many of the chords and words had been,.carefully transcribed by me and a friend by listening to records on my portable record player in the living room.
The Corduroy Book is still in use, as last May, I was asked to bring my guitar and music to my first niece's 60th birthday party. Her special request was to sing the Titanic song. We were sitting around a campfire, and as I looked out past the flames at the crowd, I saw many of my sweet nieces and nephews next to their own grown kids, singing along with their Auntie Pat once again.
Sickroom Supplies, Part 2.... The Hospital
Originally published on Friday, June 20, 2014
You may have read my other story called "Sickroom Supplies" from last year when I was home with the flu. This time, I'm writing from a hospital bed in Kaiser Richmond ICU with an IV port on the back of each hand, and an oxygen monitor attached to my middle finger. It lights up the end of my finger just like ET's, only red instead of green. I think the nurses may have heard my not-so-original quip about "ET phone home" a few times before. They're getting used to my sense of humor, though, since I've been here now, for almost 4 days.
When my husband and I decided it was time to take me to the emergency room for repeated dizzy spells (I won't go in to details), we grabbed a couple of things to help pass the time. Both of us knew that a visit to the ER could involve a great deal of waiting, so Doug first grabbed the morning newspaper so he could be assured of his daily Jumble fix. There would also be a couple of crosswords in there; one for each of us, and a Sudoku or Cryptogram if I got desperate, depending on my condition. I also grabbed a few sheets from our New York Times calendar that has a page with a crossword on it for each day. We mainly just do Monday through Wednesday, since they get harder and harder through the week. I always have a few in my purse in case of a "crossword emergency".
Turned out it was a good thing that we went to the ER, since it was shown that my dizzy spells happened whenever my heart paused, or STOPPED for 3-6 seconds. I had been having these faint feelings since January, but didn't take them seriously, blaming them on dehydration or inner ear problems. My advice to everyone reading this is to not ignore dizzy spells. .....So that's how I ended up in the intensive care unit. At this time in my life, and at least for this emergency, I seem to be one of the younger, and relatively healthy ones in the ICU. Most of the patients in the other rooms need more constant care, such as turning them so they don't get bedsores. The person in the next room had some sort of breathing problem, and every time she coughed, the machine she was attached to made a sound not unlike the horn on a taco truck. She wasn't conscious, but I think if I was, I'd be trying to figure out how to cough to make a tune. (Sorry, that wasn't very nice.)
As for me, I feel pretty well between the "dizzy spells". They seem to pass over me and leave me feeling fine afterwards. Because I felt so fine, Doug and I made a list of things that would keep me entertained during my hospital stay. He thought he wanted to stay with me all night in one of those recliner chair beds, but one of the nurses discouraged him with tales of all the night noises, alarms and beeps that you shouldn't have to hear unless you had to. So, convinced that I would be well taken care of, he left with a promise to return in the morning with my supplies.
There really wasn't a very long list. My iPhone was almost out of battery, so he had to bring the charger so I could communicate with friends and relatives that were outside the 510 area code (the only ones that I could call from the bedside phone). Also, the iPhone isn't just a phone. I'm figuring out that when the din of the hospital is so loud, I can put on the Hawaiian music or George Winston station on Pandora Radio and pretend I'm in a spa. I can text our kids and check email, and even Tweet! When I can't go to sleep and want a story read to me, I can listen to Podcasts of Garrison Keillor doing his daily Writer's Almanac stories and poems with his soothing voice. It's like a bundle of goodies to soothe a person cooped up.
I still love to read a real book though. Even though I had read it before, I asked for my copy of Bill Bryson's "A Walk in the Woods". We entertained each other the next day by reading aloud from it. One of the sentences couldn't be completed because I was laughing so hard, and Doug took the book from me, finished the phrase, and then got stuck, just as I did, both of us with tears rolling down our cheeks. Isn't it wonderful when a writer can communicate so well?
On a calmer note, I chose a book about settlers in Washington state, "The Living", by Annie Dillard. We're taking turns reading that one, since it's the history of the area where Doug was born, in Snohomish county.
Actually high on the requests were my favorite pens, a Bic 4-color one, and another that I got from an art supply store that has 6 (count 'em! 6!) colors of ink, plus a pencil. These are for crosswords. I bought a bunch of these pens when we retired, so we could always find one. We look like Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dee, sitting in a restaurant doing a crossword together, each with our own color ink. Also, if a letter is changed, it goes in a different color, or if we cheat and look at an answer, it's in another shade yet!
Evidently, Kaiser is trying to be classy and gives each patient what looks like a little blue voile "spa" bag with all the grooming products one might need, including ear plugs and a sleep mask that has helped me through most nights, and a nice Kaiser "Thrive" shopping bag with fruits and vegetables on it, rather than the usual medicinal plastic bags to take your "parting gifts" home in. My mother-in-law, Helen would have said they were "fadink", her word for fancy. All I had to ask for from home was deodorant and jammy bottoms to hide my bottom when visitors come.
Some of the nurses have commented that they've never seen anyone in ICU sitting up in bed using a laptop, but that was one of my requests. I love checking on how many folks have read my stories and where in the world they live. I've been handing out my new cards printed lately with my blog address, to anyone who will take one, and I reminded myself of how Mr Dowd (Jimmy Stewart) gave everyone his card in the great old movie "Harvey".
Since I'm mostly here to monitor my heart, and figure out how to control its irregular beats (atrial fibrillation), I feel pretty well, surprisingly, even though my heart pauses sometimes, every 10 or 15 minutes. I have my share of IV ports, blood draws and shots in the tummy (heparin for anti-coagulation). It's not comfortable or as if I'm on vacation. If I ever got out of bed to walk the 3 steps to the toilet, I had to be unleashed from the short cords monitoring BP and oxygen. The very patient, knowledgeable nurses made it all bearable. One of them visited with me one night before she got off, and laughed so hard with me, as we both told each other jokes we've heard Paula Poundstone say and recounted our favorite stories from Garrison Keillor to each other. I ended up leaving the Bill Bryson book for her so she could laugh some more. It's true about laughter being the best medicine.
Late on the fourth day, a medicine has been found to regulate my heart, and I get to thankfully, go home tomorrow. I have a short list to make me happy when I get home. A long shower, a nap in our own bed, a nice, ripe, Santa Rosa plum off my tree, and a piece of Dove chocolate. Mmmm. Home sweet home.