Spider-zilla and Melting Chilies

I am always thankful I wake up in the morning with all of my parts working.  Part of my aging is dry eye for which I have eye drops which sometimes make it into my eyes instead running down my cheeks from the near misses of self-application.  I put my eye drops in before crawling out of bed, struggling to get my eyes open for the procedure.  Dry eyes stink, it is difficult to open them whenever I wake up in the night to head to the bathroom. Always afraid I will stub my toes in the dark, I reach for the eye drops whenever my eyelids are refusing to move over my eyes. I have a bronze cast touch lamp sitting on the desk by the bed which makes it easy to turn on with minor groping about.  This morning was a typical morning, I had heard my husband at the microwave heating tea water, soft murmuring coming from the television. It was time to maneuver my little body from the deep warmth and comfort of my bed.

Stage one:  Turn on lamp.

Stage two:  Reach for eye drops.

Stage three:  Convince eyes opening is a good idea.

Stage four:  It is a good day. Drops manage to hit eye balls, well, nearly.

Off to the bathroom, we go.  Safely sitting, doing the thing of letting the river flow to the ocean. I yelled for my husband.  Even without my glasses, or the light on, I could see the dark, black, many legged, and fuzzy spider just resting on the inside of the tub. I remember my son coming out of the bathroom many, many years ago, picking up the big, black cat Puck.  Our son stated, “Time for the big guns.” I followed to watch him place Puck in the bathtub. The cat ignored the still spider, leaping out leaving us to deal with the monster in the tub. My smaller Siamese mixed female cat was the bug, fly, and spider catcher and she was soundly sleeping.

This morning ended up being a two person’s job. My husband’s comment when he saw the spider was, “Oh, Shit.” I asked him to wait until I got dressed so I could help.

I got dressed so I could open doors and to helped the man in whatever way I could.  There was some scrambling around as my husband searched for something more substantial to place under the envelope which was keeping the spider secured in the glass jar. He found a CD encased in its cover, slipped it under the envelope.  I ran to the door, opening it wide, got his outdoor shoes ready for him to slip his feet in. As he tread carefully, balancing jar, spider and paper envelope with the CD, he got his shoes on and asked me to get a flashlight so we could watch the spider make his getaway. Fortunately, it wasn’t raining as we tramped out to the bottom of the driveway and beyond.  Another spider released into the wild.

It is interesting how my mind works.  As the man and I were heading out to the grocery store, he mentioned the chilies were melting quite nicely and he had put them in the frig to continuing thawing.  Suddenly to my mind came the image of hot red chili peppers on the counter melting into puddles of color. I comment to my husband of the fun image.  He thought I should blog about it.  Well, it got me thinking about blogging.  I haven’t for quite some time. I can’t give a reason. I haven’t written anything. No poetry, prose, essays, stories.  It was like the faucet had been turned off.  I can’t say I am inspired to write nor can I say I will write.

 

I think it is like many things.  Why bother?  What do I have to say that hasn’t been said before?  Why do you get out of bed in the morning?  I know why I do.  I can’t stand to be there any more despite the comfort of it.  I want to get up, take a walk.  Why? My body, soul and spirit long for it. I enjoy the warmth of a hot cup of tea.  I like gazing at my husband across the room. I like the feel of his arms about me.  I am lucky.

So maybe just maybe someone will read this and be taken away from whatever moment they are in to a different one. I am working on living in the present.  I stop myself from doing whatever and say to myself, “This moment is perfect.  I am thankful.” Perhaps that is all I can do. Live in the moment. My future is now and it is glorious except for the Spider-zilla and melting chilies on a counter. I should add flowers.

Surprise and the Demise of a Spider

Surprise and the Demise of a Spider

I smashed a spider today. It caught me by surprise as I was opening my address book by our computer.  I squealed without a response from the man, my husband who was occupied in one of our bedrooms.  I stood rooted to the spot, looking to see if the spider would be crawling out to get me. When the man finally appeared, smiling he remarked, “Spider?”

“Yes,” I told him, “it surprised me. I am going to smash it.”

In my house we have a jar for catching our spiders. We have a catch and release policy. Lately my husband has started using a very large wide mouth jar for the long legged spiders that frequent our bathroom. Rain or shine, once in the jar, the captured spider is carried out to the end of driveway and placed in the grass. We figured it will take a least a couple days or maybe a week for the spider to find its way back to the house. Today was not this spider’s day.

I went to fetch one of my brown leather loafers working my hand down into the toes for leverage. I approached the counter where the computer, tablets, address book, etc. rested.  Carefully, I lifted the address book up and the chase was on as the spider darted out from beneath the pink address book. I whacked with my loafer, missed and the spider went sliding down the wall, whack, a direct hit followed by a few more whacks before I attempted to pick up the spider with a tissue. I picked him up, jumped, dropped the dead spider, wait a moment to make sure it wasn’t moving before I picked it up again to head to the garbage can under the sink.

 

The man commented. ”It is what happens, if you don’t make it easy.”

Insects, bugs, and spiders. I like them all. When I was in college, I would spend hours watching ants coming and going from their ant hills. Beetles were fascinating, I was forever turning them back over from being on their backs. Spiders in their webs in the morning sun with dew glistening on the strands were a joy.  I grew up in the country with fields of alfalfa growing, cows lowing in the early evening, buzzing of bees about the yellow roses by my bedroom window. It was grand.

 

Yesterday, my husband and I were talking about a woman we had seen who is always walking about the place where we work. Head down, texting as she goes.  We reminisced about when we got our first cell phones.  It had been when our son was heading off to New York City for graduate school.  It was his first cell phone as well. We talked about getting our first microwave.  It had been a present from my husband’s mom.  We would have never thought about it. It was amazing. We had stepped into the 20^th century.

This morning, after microwaving the water for tea, I noticed a small fly doing its dance in mid-air until it danced into my hot tea water.  I snarled. “Bastard.” I am not the happiest in the morning.  I took my cup to the sink, searched for a teaspoon and spend some time chasing the fly about the surface of the water until said bastard was in the teaspoon.  Hot water and one small fly do not mix. I dumped him down the drain and made my tea.

The Spider that wasn’t There

I had thought of going for an early morning walk but cooking my broccoli, washing my hair and having a nice bath had taken precedence over the idea of getting ready to walk out into the day on this quiet morning. Having eaten my breakfast with fat blueberries and raspberries over my cereal, I felt more like tackling the day.  A good cup of tea sans one small fly helped to fortify my attitude.  One hot bath coming up.

I was enjoying my tub, rolling from side to side to rinse off the soap suds. Now, my vision is not quite good when it comes to close up things. I wear reading glasses.  But as I rolled over to my left side, I noticed on the side of tub a small object with legs moving towards my tub water. I yelled for the man while I kept both eyes on legs reaching outward and onto the surface of the tub.

My husband appeared, he saw my out stretched right arm and hand and placed the glass jar in it. Next came the envelope for sliding under the jar with hopes the spider would be in the jar. You will remember I have no glasses, poor vision and solely relying upon a hope and a prayer.

The man took the jar and looked.  “Can you see him?” I asked.

“No.” He said. He headed out the door.

“I just took an empty jar outside to the grass”, was the man’s observation when he returned from his trek outside our house.

I am not surprised.  Many a toe fuzzy from our socks has died a horrible death in the tub as the identification of the fuzzy was poor due to the inability to focus with my eyes.  Despite the lack of motion upon the carpet, I have been known to jump and squeal when I thought it was moving towards me. Just another toe fuzzy or bit of fuzz. What does this really mean?

I can link it to my poor concentration in meditation. It is all in the perception.  My mind wanders, skips to the left and to the right.  I imagine good things, mostly in my daydreaming. Why? I can drift with my heartbeats to slightly different place when I meditate. While there I can do anything. Winding spirals of color around myself, my community and our world filling it all up with healing and love.  I feel it to be true. I know it to be true. But a spider dropping down from the ceiling or scrambling from beneath a pink address book makes my heart skip, and I fall out of the different place. Surprise and quite often the unfortunate demise of a spider who only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But is the spider really out of place and does it have a watch to check the time? Is there a wrong time? Perspective might be the answer in this case. It certainly is for me.

 

I am constantly bombarded by spiders, they come from the internet, the radio and television.  Sometimes, I feel overwhelmed with trying to do repair work on myself and the world.  Bless these people, sent healing to those, guarding myself from too much input. But the need is great, though I am small, I believe myself to be mighty. After all, I am just a spirit hanging out doing things.  Remembering that the next spider is getting a break, I have lots of jars.

Crumbs in the Making

I love getting out with friends, going to dinner, seeing a play.  In this instance, a couple of friends, my husband and I went to dinner before heading off to see a local play.  My husband ate a bit early as he was an actor in the play and needed to be at the theater before we did.

The food was wonderful, the company divine. After some time chatting at the dinner table at a local restaurant we headed off to the theater just a short walk away.  We resumed our chatting, our laughter sitting around a table in the lobby of the theater.  One of my friends declared a crumb emergency.  She had bread crumbs from dinner lodged in her bra.  Damn those bras, they catch everything particularly at dinner and when the bra isn’t giving you grief with the random items which have found themselves inside the cups, the air space between the two breasts the bra cuts into tender shoulders and underneath one’s boobs. Really annoying.

Thankfully, we had enough time for things to be taken care of before heading into the theater.  It was a great performance.  We all enjoyed the show presented by a local theater company.  After the show, we parted ways.  My friends headed home after many hugs were given and I waited for the man, my husband to take me home. When we walked out the door, it was perfect with no vampires, werewolves to greet us.  Best of all, no rain.

When I think of my life, it is filled with crumbs. Crumbs are not a bad thing. In fact, I rather enjoy the crumbs in my life.  It shows I have been living a life.  I am not sure I appreciate the assorted body aches but heck, I am sixty-five years old.  I can touch my toes, I can walk easily with both my feet.  My feet are enjoying the journey, buying new socks, new shoes.

 

Well, my eyesight has changed.  Definitely, I need my reading glasses for the fine print.  Sometimes, I am not sure I want to read the fine print.  I am just thankful both of my eyes work fairly well. I find there is so much to see.  The beauty of the world reveals itself daily.  The man points out things so I don’t miss anything whenever we are walking.  I have to admit the best view is still his smile when he sees me walking towards him across a parking lot.  It makes me feel special.

Crumbs. Sometimes they are just bread on your plate. Forgotten memories remembered, a happy face looking back at you, a pair of earrings you thought were gone forever. A new book given to you to read from a friend, a spoonful of soup, a bite of someone else’s sandwich (in my case, the man, my husband who suffers so).

I am thinking I might try and figure out what crumbs I can share with friends and family. Perhaps, an unexpected phone call, an old-fashioned newsy letter, fresh baked cookies to share at work.  I have in the past, picked up hot coffee and sandwiches at a grocery store for the people huddling out of the weather outside the store. I don’t give money. But food, a smile, a hello to let them know I see them.

More and more as I gain more years under my belt, I try and figure out what the person in the mirror might like. After all, I am spending a lot of time with her. I might just treat her as special. Every day, every hour, every minute. After all, she is my best friend next to the man. What do you think?

Competition

My husband and I are very competitive with each other in small ways.  It isn’t to the extreme in we get into drag down fights or hurt feelings.  More of a supportive thing. Our latest was the preparation for our blood work before seeing our doctor during an annual visit. The man decided he really needed to work on what he was eating and doing in order to make sure his cholesterol levels were better.  He tackled the problem with things he knew.  Less cheese, mainly. More of his flax cereals, eating lots of beans (not really a hardship as he likes my method of cooking them). As for red meats, pork, well, these food groups really don’t make it through the door in our mainly vegetarian household. Instead, chicken, seafood are part of our menu surrounded by various cooked and raw vegetables.  The result was a good report on his cholesterol levels when he visited his doctor. I must mention my husband is not over weight which also is a factor in his overall health. Sigh, he looks good, really good.

After his visit, I was spurred to action as I have just passed the 65 year marker in May of this year. After a really nasty bit of illness, I had lost some weight and still I have managed to keep it off.  I realize with my weight slowly going down I had not really addressed the cholesterol level, I will share it with you.  It was over 200 last year. I looked at my cheese and eggs levels.  I started cutting back.  I made sure a whole grain cereal with flax seed was added daily with lots of fruit (banana, blueberries and raspberries). I love summer. I started making sure my pinto beans, garbanzo, etc. intake was daily. I went back to my big cup of hot lemon water with turmeric, ginger and a hint of cayenne pepper as part of my daily intake. I continued with walking daily, worked on stretching muscles, thinking and meditating happy thoughts. Though I did not reach a certain weight goal before the bloodwork, I was hopefully to be a few points below my previous year’s cholesterol, maybe at 200.  Remember I was over 200. Prayers at this stage might be a bit too late as the blood sucker had drawn out the necessary amount for testing. Vampires are real.

I had a week to wait. I woke up early as usual on the day of my doctor appointment only to find a coworker was sick so I dashed to work briefly before going to my doctor.  I was hoping my blood pressure hadn’t climbed with the early morning rush. I worried unnecessarily.  Blood pressure, perfect according to the nurse at the doctor’s office.  It was a waiting game.  Finally, doctor came in, asked all the routine questions. I asked about my cholesterol levels.  He told me. My heart stopped. “What was it? I asked again. He said, “174”.  I told him how thankful I was and how I had been working at modifying my diet.  He mentioned that sugar was also a factor. Crap, I thought. I had fond memories of my husband’s peanut butter cookies.

Well, I am not finished with my home improvements (my body). After all, I am gauging the housing is going to have to last at least possibly another 35 years? The outside is a little bit lacking in some respects but overall, not too bad.  I have heard on the news I should decrease my calories in order to be healthier. It probably will work on lowering the cholesterol as well. I have various pants in my closet which I haven’t worn for years. Some of which might be out of style? It would be nice not to just try and cram just my legs into them. Skinny legs leading up to a slight jelly roll. I’m not really sure of the flavor of the jelly roll, perhaps, a combination of berries?

I have started a new project.  Besides, Buddhism, I have decided to look into Wiccan practices. Oh, I know if few of you who know me often tell me to “Do your stuff.” Whenever, something big is happening in your lives causing worries.  Just so you know, I can offer prayers, ask for guidance in your life as I ask for guidance in my own but ultimately, the great power of the universe, God and Goddess is where you are headed. You are connected just as I am.  I have always been connected with the universe. I just acknowledge it more. Believe, accept and know the information is yours for the asking.  It is just too bad about the cookies, though.  I did ask for guidance.

Someone Else's Cat and Other Thoughts

Someone Else’s Cat and Other Thoughts

I am going to begin with a poem.

Ode to Simon

Friend

Ode to Simon

Companion

Ode to Simon

Partner

Thank you.

Our life is filled with circumstances, things happen, friends walk in, walk out, heading to wherever they came from. I have yet to figure out the time frame and just maybe I don’t want to know. A lot has been going on in the small circles of being, regarding individuals I know of, care about and love. Even in my own smaller space where I was hit hard on Monday with throwing up, fever and not eating for several days.  I am better, more thankful than ever and working harder on blessing every molecule in my body.  Eating real food has never been so good. As to the short poem, it is given with love to my friend. If we are lucky, we get a chance to say Thank you.

I am happy with my life.  I am happy with my husband.  So in part on this Father’s Day, I wish to acknowledge the truth of being blessed with the goodness of this glorious being in my life.  Remember in the title of this blog, I did mention other thoughts.  You will be getting a lot of them but you can take a coffee or tea break, return to a good book or head out for a meditative walk.  The key is to stop for a moment, take several breaths and say Thank You.  Notice that both the words, Thank and You are capitalized. Use your inner self, pay attention and let it flow. No, I did not say play video games, watch a movie, or zone out on your phone.  However, you can Facebook briefly if you are inclined to read this.

I find things daily in the world giving me reason to take pause, and either break down crying, weeping for everything happening to the life on this planet or I can laugh with joy, feel pleasure and happiness for everything happening with the life on this planet.  I am nearly repeating myself but there is a difference. I can concentrate on sadness, or exude with enthusiasm every miracle I hear, see and feel.  I can laugh when the opportunity presents itself.  I like that one, laughter is healing.  The pealing laughter of a child is a testimony to the power of laughter. My heart fills up every time I am gifted with the sound.  So laugh, even if you have to fake it out at first.

I was offered a moment to laugh at myself just the other day.  I was searching for my alarm clock.  In the morning, I turn the clock off, head to bathroom, set it on the counter so I can see how much time I have left when I am bathing, brushing my teeth, etc.  It is what I have done, what my husband has done for years.  You might say we have it down like clockwork.  I know, forgive me.  But did I mention that I am feeling better.

 

My husband has been in rehearsal this week for an upcoming play so I have been home alone.  I work on preparing myself for bed with some reading, watching Netflix and finally, getting undressed and redressed for bed and when I was ready, I reached for the clock on the counter in the bathroom until well, it wasn’t there. I looked twice, thrice and agreed with myself the clock was missing.  I even moved several brown paper rolls left from the toilet paper just in case, it was hiding amidst the four rolls sitting there. Nope, I was being frustrated and in my defense, I was still recuperating from being sick so my attention span was not good.

I decided to look in the other rooms thinking my husband might have placed the little black clock somewhere else. I checked the main bedroom, the blue bedroom and headed to look under piles of dirty socks in the other bedroom.  The socks are left to cover the clock at night as its insistent tick, tick, ticking is a hindrance to my falling asleep.  No clock, I wandered into the kitchen, walked to the dining table with its piles and piles of books, newspapers, both opened and unopened mail, and a jigsaw puzzle. I flipped over newspapers, fingered and moved books until I sighed and gave up again.  I believe in black holes.  I believe in moments in which the universe twitches and things I want to find disappear until the proper amount of time to reach a certain frustration level has been obtained.  But I also believe in angels.  I do asked them for help in locating my stuff, to retrieve it from whatever black hole it has hopped into.  I forgot to do this on this particular day.  Remember, fuzzy head, not thinking clearly from Monday’s day of doom.

I gave up, and still wondering where the man, my husband had hidden the clock I went to the bathroom to pee.  I have a wonderful little window in the bathroom.  It looks out at my red rhododendrons and multi-colored roses of golden yellows and orange. As I sat upon the toilet, my friend of Monday’s fun and games, I heard a tick. I went still.  I held my breath.  Tick.  Where? Tick.  I gazed down at my feet at the heavy green towel which my husband had placed on the floor for my worshiping pose on Monday.  Then I remember.  My bath one morning with the window open. The quiet of the house broken by the birds singing and the tick, tick of the clock which I stuffed in the towel so I could hear the birds. Oh, joy.

I did confess to my husband the blame I had placed on him, regarding the clock.  His comment, “Yes, I am guilty.”  He is so wise.

I think this was a final way of healing my body, a small misadventure to cause me to laugh at the clock, to laugh at myself and to laugh with my husband.  Most of what happens is a gift of some sort to ourselves. The real gift and challenge is finding it somehow.  

Dictacting Habits

Dictating Habits

I fight with myself.  So far, no bruises, not even mean words tossed randomly out on a hunt and destroy mission.  My battle are small ones.  One of my most current ones is what I am reading. Perhaps, I have touched on the subject before.  After all, I did turn another year older during this month of May so who knows what memories I have stashed in the dark, cold, cobwebbed places in my mind.  I have given up on index cards as so many of my thoughts really have no constructive purpose in existing except for being a flashing minute, whizzing like so many atoms before they decide to join for a singular purpose.  Some of my thoughts, well, are simply there.

 

Books, I loved to be surrounded by them.  I like my piles, promises of adventures leading me to hate one character, root for another or to weep with an outcry of no, not him, not her, or it.  But should I have a goal, a purpose to picking up the next one, turning the page? I read primarily for pleasure.  However, there are times I look at my various philosophy, spiritual or what I think of as nonsectarian books sitting lonely on the shelf. Books, if they possess consciousness, would they wonder where I had gone? I, too, wonder where I have gone.

 

I have been looking at my habits, the little rituals, the paths I follow daily. When I was younger I had no other goal except for drifting up a hillside to reach the top stopping to graze for hours into the valley below, watching the river wind through its channel, the elk grazing quietly on the hillside across the river.  I would wait until nearly dusk until heading down the hill to a home cooked meal by my father. I could breath. I could wonder. I was more alive.

Now my little habits gathered through the years are dictating my life.  I get up, wander into the bathroom, heading to the kitchen to make my tea before opening the refrigerator seeking breakfast. The spontaneity is sadly lacking.  Or perhaps, the responsibilities have taken over, the need to work, to make the paycheck, to pay the bills is what my life is about.  Maslow’s hierarchy of needs still applies to my life.  Without the security and comfort of my home, and the realization food will be on the table I would not even consider life has more meaning than just the basics other than breathing.

A friend who has recently had surgery suggested the following. ”You should write about how a broken toe has nowhere to go.” I decided to take it under consideration.  After all, would a broken toe want to go somewhere? Where is nowhere? And if the broken toe left on a journey, does it have a purpose in implementing said journey? Can it bring into play any goals considering its handicap? Does the toe have a consciousness? An awareness of self? Or does it only wish to be better in order to cram itself back into a very vogue pair of shoes? Back to habits. 

Dictating habits? Often I do the same things over and over instead of creating a new way of doing something until it nearly hits me in the head with an ah moment.  Suddenly, I am aware of a whole new consciousness, barriers have been lifted and I look into myself trying to figure out where the new idea came from.  For a moment, my heart leaps, I do the happy dance, joyful in suddenly finding something new in what I have done before. There is a glimpse of my other self, the mystic, the child of the stars who disappears again.

I am still building up my piles of books, reaching for the tantalizing quick read rather than the more thought provoking tomes of insight. I am sometimes conscience-stricken at my imagined lack of dedication to enlightenment.  Until I find what is dictating habits in my life, I will just move on moment to moment, reading another book, wondering if a broken toe can ever find enlightenment or the perfect shade of shoes.

Melting in the Sun

Melting in the Sun

“Strawberries coated in chocolate melt fast in the sun.”  This is a great truth passed down from mother to daughter.  Strawberries with chocolate swirled around them are so beautiful, tempting in the clear plastic box in the cool air conditioned air of the supermarket.  But get them in the car after walking over heated pavement in the parking lot, let them sit on your lap in the hot sun which is beaming through the clear window of the car while you take a picture of their succulent beauty. Well, thankfully, I had lots of napkins on this past Mothers’ Day, a patient husband watching me scarfing down one, two, three, and four chocolate covered berries trying not to coat my fingers, drip on my clothes, car, etc.  Watching, trying not to laugh as chocolate oozed and clumped off of sun heated berries. Not a moment to linger.

Somehow, I think that they were better suited to a leisurely moment in the shade beneath tall trees by a gurgling brook or rushing creek.  A soft moving zephyr rustling my hair while violins play nearby. An old fashioned picnic with a comfortable blanket to rest on, fragrant, pungent cheeses with slices of breads to linger over and chilled water, wines to sip.  A much better picture than me, sweating slightly, eating the damn strawberries with their melting chocolate in a quickly heating car.

As things go, obviously I was swayed by beauty and not content.  So often is the case in our fast paced world.  We go for the quick, instant gratification without much thought to what might be happening around us.  In my case, I was at a grocery store on a very warm day.   We had stopped on our way home from vacation to stretch our legs, get a restroom break and pick up more tea to drink on the next leg of our journey towards home. I was slightly chilled, cool from walking in the store when I saw the strawberries, chocolate, and very convenient Mothers’ Day sign.  I was hooked.  After all, I was a mother, it was my day, and I was on vacation.  The man dutifully grabbed my tea, said go for it and left me to fulfill my desires.

 

Life is filled with after thoughts, after deeds?  An after deed is what I think that I should have done after the before deed happened.  I should have left the strawberries, been content with my tea, smelt the flowers on the way out to the car.  Oh, don’t get me wrong, the strawberries were good, very good for warm, melting chocolate puddles of goo.  But the chilled ones are so much better.   

Having an Icky Day

Having an Icky Day

When you are sick, nothing is good. Food doesn’t taste right, the friendly comfortable bed has begun to develop pits and mountains making it near impossible to navigate with various arms, legs and trunk into a resting position.  Your head makes it impossible for light reading or any other kind of reading as eyes can’t focus, the brain can’t take in meaning of squiggles dancing across a printed page.  A Kindle is worse with the bright screen hurting sensitive eyes. It just plain stinks.

As for taking a walk to clear your fog bank dwelling in your head with fresh air. Well, the best movement is back to bed.  Let me say boring. Disruptive to one’s work week, planned social events or having a simply lazy day in which to do many things if the mood grabs you

.

I was knocked down by an icky bug, no need for details.  Enough said I spend all of my time sleeping for two days, making it up for a bit of tea, eating a good breakfast that my husband prepared.  He knows me.  I would have ignoring eating.  As it was I lost several pounds without a good exercise routine.

Three days later, the man walked me around the block before declaring it good enough.  Today, I missed out on the fun things going to Farmers’ Market, getting a massage and just going to the grocery store.  I contributed a shopping list.  My list for Farmers’ Market included stopping to say hello to some of my favorite vendors, getting fresh baked bread which they had our favorite (honey oatmeal wheat bread), looking for good soup (I provided a jar with a good funnel) and some fresh vegetables.

Ah, but my bug was a small bug.  A small inconvenience for me, a bigger one for my poor co-workers. My apologies.  It does make you sit up and take notice. I am actually quite healthy.  I am going to be a year older in a month.  Sorry, if I keep harping on it.  You should hear the people who keep asking if I going to retire.  I am just as bad. Frequently I ask several individuals I know if they will be retiring on the big day of turning sixty-five.  Meanwhile, I just keep going.

I am taking more time for things I want to do.  Really, I am.  At least, in my mind, I think I have a plan.  I should probably talk to the man, my sweet husband so he can be involved, too.  It would be a lot more fun than him waiting on me hand and hand when I am sick.  Or would it? I should probably asked after he is done loading the dishwasher, heating me up something to eat. No, I will ask him after he finishes the laundry.     

Spiriting

Spiriting

I was raised with the idea of spirit inhabiting everything.  Ask before you hug a tree. Apologize, asking forgiveness when you walk on the grass and when you weed your flowerbeds.  As one of my Wiccan friends said, she needed to do a lot of apologizing to the fairies and spirits for all the yard work she had done one day in early spring, she was feeling the anger and grief for the disturbance from the fairies.

As we drove home from the valley yesterday, well the man, my husband was driving while I gawked in wonder at the display of clouds ringing the valley. My little body was vibrating with the utter joy I felt, getting me caught up in wondering how many cloud spirits it might take paint the sky with the mass of thunderheads I was seeing. Back lit with the sunshine, my heart was stilled. Which lead me to wonder about fire spirits, how many fire salamanders are needed to keep my little fire in our wood stove burning.  What about the wild fires burning every year? Spirits, billions and billions of spirits are inhabiting just the bodies of human beings, animals, insects, plants and heavens know what we are incapable of viewing with our eyes. It is easy to be overwhelmed.

 

Probably it is not a good thing to dwell on it, the mechanics of what is going on around us every single moment.  I am constantly amazed by myself. Egotistical?  No, just amazement for the body I have which in turn processes the good (a really great salad) and bad things (okay, I ate four chocolate chip cookies. They were homemade by the man.  They had a bit of oatmeal and whole wheat and all of the sugar and butter); I eat into a breathing, walking, thinking bag of protoplasm.   I mean Wow.  As a woman, I did an incredible thing.  I grew another creature inside my body.  Other than the initial hard work done by my husband and I in the set up for the biology experiment, I really didn’t do much.  I was lucky. The experiment now lives in New York.

Spirit, spirits.  Miracles, sparking everyday occurrences. Life. It happens, right?  I need to take more time out to feather dust my spirit. Let the sparkle shine.  Time to let some spiriting happen. 

 

Sweaty Buns

Sweaty Buns

When the man, my husband came in to wake me in order to go to our local REC center, I declined, telling him that I needed to cook my broccoli which had been sitting in the refrigerator for more than a week. After he left, I returned my alarm clock to the floor with a nice pile of dirty socks to muffle the tick, ticking of the clock.  I don’t like the noise while I am trying to go to sleep so over the years I have developed a routine of hiding my clock under a towel or discarded clothing but I have found socks work exceedingly well.

I began thinking of my day, cooking the broccoli, what to wear, figuring out what to have for breakfast.  Soon I began tossing, turning and ended up pushing the bedding to the foot of the bed allowing myself to steam off in the cool air of the bedroom.  Sweaty buns, I thought to myself as I flung my body onto its side.  My right bare arm rested on my side, my right hand touching one of the buns in question. Yes, definitely sweaty or is it a glow. Supposedly, women glow. Yeah, glowing, my royal ass.  Baby, I am sweating. In all of the creeks and crevices. Just a note, according to my sister Cindy, it never goes away.  Changes, yes, but never goes.  Just eat your dark chocolate during the day and you will know what I mean.

Luckily for me I never had to take hormones or rather I choose not to.  I had a brief period in which I would start stripping down practically everywhere.  Once in a jewelry store.  Fortunately, we knew the owner who smiled and continued to help us. The man, my husband told her, she gets hot. I did keep my blouse on but fanned myself a bit too rigorously defeating the purpose of fanning cool air on my body.  It is a good way to impress others.

Often, my own little ritual would begin with the removal of one piece of clothing followed by another piece and more articles of my attire until the blessed sweet cool air danced on my skin.  For a while, ice packs in my sports bra front and back was a new fashion statement in the privacy of my home.  Occasionally, our scrabble friend would see the sweater, t-shirt slide off and on throughout our game as I tried to adjust my temperature until I was sitting in just my bra on my torso.  I was aided in the process with a glass of cold water to put against my forehead and the back of my neck. The scrabble game went on.

Thankfully, I am way past those days.  My heat is mild lasting about 30 to 45 seconds.  Most of the time I sleep comfortably in my cotton flannel nightgown. I am resting beneath several quilts, a dark blue comforter, a couple of cream colored hand knitted afghans and a couple of small cotton blankets depending on the night.

 

I like to sleep with lots of things.  When I was a girl, it was the time of single pane windows that the winds whistled around and through.  Everyone slept with heavy quilts and a sibling or a cousin.

I would wake up with frost on inside of window from our breaths’ moisture in the night. The windows in my home are double pane now. Despite the whistling and howling of wind there is no frost except on the rooftops, the lawns about us. I have to wonder what the next decade has in store for me.  So far, I have begun to develop the attitude that this too shall pass.  Hopefully, the only future sweaty buns will be hot out of the oven with steam rising from the baking.

 

Aggravation and Relief

Aggravation and Relief

Sometime the simplest thing can aggravate you.  Perhaps this is not a conversation for the faint at heart as it involves potty talk. I am talking about heading to the small room after waiting too long, standing in place, trying not to dance as you try to separate the paper toilet seat cover in order to use it.  Aggravation, near terror, hopelessness and a compelling thought to stand and hover to take care of the problem.  Damn paper product.

Allowing the flow of bodily waste to pass warm from your body is one of the greatest pleasure in life. There is no judgement, no need to hurry once the process is in place as you rest gently in a publicly designated spot, in a stall with the door firmly closed behind you.  I have been out in the woods with rain or snow hitting my bare backside.  The great relief was not diminished in any sense.  Though the drip drying was not exciting.

 

I am trying to take my moments of aggravation out where I can examine them more carefully, to dig out the roots, to laugh at myself for nonsensible emotions I seem to be having at the time.  This is my truth. “This moment will past.” “The next moment will come.” “I will be.”

Gratitude should play into this somewhere.  Being grateful for a body which takes care of itself without much effort on my part is a win-win situation as far as I am concerned.  But I am working on it.  I am making an effort.  Adding various different vegetables into our meals, yes, the man, my husband is involved in taking care of ourselves.  Not only are we working on eating better daily, stretching our bodies, walking, playing games but periodically we attempt meditation on line with Deepak Chopra and Oprah.  We are not good at doing it daily but we are at least aware perhaps a higher view point would be good for both of us.  Procrastination is not just a big word.  It is a lingering habit right up there with the promises of an afternoon walk which does not materialize, reading uplifting prose to expand my mind, hell, just head for the cookie with a cup of coffee or tea to wash it down.

I am getting older.  I will be sixty-five in a few months.  I think I am doing well.  I can still walk and think.  I can touch my toes.  I practice it daily or try to.  When I was on the bed placing the eye drops for my dry eye problem, I found myself just continuing to rest on the bed.  There was really no pressing reason to get up yet for our walk. I relaxed my knees and let my legs rest fully on the bed.  This moment is perfect I thought to myself. I am perfect. I am loved. I gave thanks to the glorious father and divine mother.  I allowed myself to breathe in the perfect moment.

I find myself seeking these moments more and more as the days go by. It is better than aggravation.

 

Waiting for the Other Shoe

Waiting for the Other Shoe

            Do you ever have those moments of feeling like you are waiting for something? It is almost a heightened state of awareness bordering on some of the same effect I feel when I am attempting to meditate.  It causes me to pause, to listen and to reach out with my heart.

 

I had a moment last night as I work towards drifting to sleep. Not really a feeling of what will happen next but instead a feeling while I was compiling a list of what I was grateful for in the day I had just traveled through. I had a moment of awaiting, holding my breath, seeking out with my mind for a thread to grab, looking for the clarity to gain some insight.  I lost it. Gone as drops of rain dripping off a leaf to be absorbed into the earth. At least, out of my sight.

It seems I am getting a lot of messages. I just wished the telegraph system was better. I can hover in my mind on the edge of the universe taking in the view all I want, but when I return I am reminded of so many things, when turned on edge, seem to be lacking something.  I ignored most of it.  Instead, I watched the man going about his business, vacuuming, doing dishes and I enjoy the occasional nuzzling of my ear on his way to complete another errand.

Today after going to the grocery store, I let him know I was going to be reading for ten minutes before I started the casserole dish.  I put some items in the refrigerator and promptly sat down to enjoy a new book I had barely started.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw my husband looking intently at the recipe that his mom had given him years and years ago. Soon he was cutting up the onion, preparing it to sauté in a small frying pan. I read a few more sentences and headed to the kitchen.  Patience is not a state for his tummy.

Patience, it is hard to have patience.  Currently, I am waiting for the years to roll by so I can retire. I am still absorbing the idea.  I am hopeful I can treat it as new job. Get a schedule started.  One, get out of bed. Two, think about breakfast.  Three, kiss husband as he heads out the door for work.  (Yes, I am a cougar.) Four, take a walk. Weather permitting.  You get the idea.  Purpose, reading, writing and arithmetic to be enjoyed daily. Why, the arithmetic?  Well, how much money will I have?  Expenses? How long will I be enjoying this world?  I ought to have a plan of some sort.  Or I could simply wait for the other shoe to drop.

Confessions of a Sock Whore

Confessions of a Sock Whore

I am a self-proclaimed sock whore.  I come by the title honestly.  Some of us like shoes, jewelry, collecting dishes, spoons, glasses, paintings, you name it and I bet someone collects it.  My older sister Cindy once asked me what I collected.  I really could not come up with anything I collected. In desperation, I said embroidered pillowcases. I have a few so therefore I have a collection.  I don’t think of socks as a collection.  They are a necessity. My feet need them.  In all my years of living, I have come to respect the opinions of my feet when it comes to both socks and shoes.  Life is way too short to not have comfortable feet.  Just ask mine.

You can imagine my delight when a friend said she had slightly worn loved socks for me.  Would I like to have them, I restrained myself, and did a little happy dance in my mind. It was easy to reply on Facebook and I said yes without capital letters. No reason to scream with unbridled exuberance at the thought of new socks.  I have been thinking that I needed to buy some more socks as a few of my faithful playmates had given up and left for a rubbish bin without toes mended.  I have mended quite of few of my favorite socks back when I was a college student and thread for mending was cheaper than buying socks.  I would put the worn out soul upon my foot, bend over and mend the toes of my socks.  I must admit that I am not quite as limber as I use to be but I will still make the effort of fixing some of my socks while they are on my feet.  My mom-in-law says that life is too short to mend socks.  As always the universe supplies.

I have toyed with the idea of making gloves with some of my socks.  It seems a shame to toss them away after years of devoted services.  This idea has come and gone in my mind every year. I let the thought pass.  I go and buy gloves.  One year I might clear off the sewing machine, bring out my scissors and then call a friend to see if she can do it for me.  I will provide the socks, the ideas and lots of hugs, go my merry way while she works away on my project because she loves me.  I hope.

I have been on a blog hiatus.  I started this one in October 2018.  It is now January 20, 2019. Where did I go? Or rather, where was the inspiration for writing.  My man has been faithfully writing a blog each week. I think I got into the mind set of why? Do I really have anything to say? I still have thoughts about the purpose of my writing.  I really do write about mundane things.  Like what happened to me during the week or on a Saturday/Sunday’s afternoon.  I am not sure I have a life during the week.  I work, I eat, I sleep and if I am lucky I read.

I like my husband’s blog.  He writes about changes in the world, he thinks about what he grew up with, books he has read, television shows he watched or movies he has seen.  The God and Goddess knows I really don’t remember anything like what he has experienced.  I am writing about the importance of my socks or the slug I found in my salad (last Sunday’s blog). I had a childhood.  A good one filled with wonderful journeys, a great family.

I guess talking about what is going on in the world is too painful. Do I want to be sad all of the time? No, I rather think about happy moments for me, the gift of socks from a friend, a surprise visit from a brother, a beloved cousin who travels hours and hours to see me for a day. I am certain of only one thing.  I like my socks.

Slugs and Other (Vegetables) in Salad

Slugs and Other (Vegetables) in Salad

Winter is hard in some ways as the favorite vegetables of the season have gone away. The harvest land is now covered with the white of winter snow in some areas or has the constant cold rain pelting on the ground in our part of the county on the West coast.   When visiting our local Farmers Market, my husband pointed out the salad greens on display and asked if I want some for our dinner.  I was delighted.  We grabbed a bag of greens, a few other things from the organic vegetable vendor and continued our shopping.  It was a delightful morning as we had met up with a friend and I strolled arm in arm with her for a bit. We stopped to buy bread, a new hat for me and beautiful red-black place mats for her. My husband followed with my shopping bag ready to be loaded up with my purchases. My friend parted with us at the door after I picked up my Saturday fresh brewed cup of coffee.  It was a good beginning for our day.

Saturday is our grocery shopping day.  We make a list. We head to the store and if we are lucky, we have the list otherwise two great minds struggle to remember the list sitting on the table at home. Generally, we try and cook something up for the week in order to have something for a quick lunch when we come home from work. Our commute is five minutes from work if the traffic lights are with us.  The supreme advantage to living in a small coastal town. Vegetable chili is our pick for this week. For our Saturday dinner, fresh wild caught salmon and the greens for our salad.  It was a good day for shopping with no wind and no driving rain just beautiful sunshine. Lucky us.

This Saturday is the day that I decided to have some of the stories I am working on printed up to make it easier on my eyes to edit.  We picked up a new thumb drive and after unloading the groceries, having something for lunch I started to load the thumb drive with the help of my man.  For us, a quick drive to a local print shop was all that I need. Or so, I thought.

Trip number one:

I grabbed the thumb drive, headed to the front door and put on my shoes.  Realizing I have the wrong glasses on (my reading glasses for the computer), I cried out to my husband to bring my glasses. I make it to the printers.  He printed out my stuff handing it to me.  I say, “Is that all?” I was looking for more.  I quickly check and realize I had selected a wrong file. He sends me home saying I can pay when I come back. I let him know I am minutes away as I head out the door.

Trip number two:

I open the door to my house. Calling out to my husband.  I need your help.  I forgot a file.  He quickly loads it up and happily I head out the door. The young man greets me and takes the thumb drive. “I can’t print this,” he says. “It is in the wrong format.”  I ask him what is wrong with it as he lets me look over his shoulder at the computer screen.  “Okay, I will be back.”  He hands me the thumb drive and off I go. At least, it is not raining, I think as I drive down back streets, across the highway remembering to miss the bump on one of the streets as I go.

Trip number three:

My husband is vacuuming.  I have to wait as he finishes the cleaning of the heat pump on the wall.  “Help. He says it is the wrong format.” I explain what I need and my husband replies he is my IT guy.  Soon the thumb drive is reloaded with the proper format and as a plus I found some of the story hidden in a different file so we add it to the thumb drive. I head out the door, sure I have everything.  As I wait at the light to get back on Hwy 101, I recite to myself, “Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more.”

The third time is the charm.  With a small box of papers I head home.  I am content. After all, the day is sunny. I have a lovely dinner to look forward to, books to read, there are board games to play with my man before we watch television.

Dinner.

My husband works on baking the salmon as I work on reading my collection of mysteries, selected by Ellery Queen.  I have read mysteries here and then.  Mostly, Agatha Christie.  I am working on branching out from science fiction and fantasy.  I take a break from reading when the salmon comes out and later when the freshly baked chocolate chip cookies come out.  My contribution was chopping the walnuts.

I get out the salad greens and pile my plate high.  My husband says, “Did you wash them?” 

I reply, “I think they were already washed.”  I added my salad dressing.   I sit down and start to read again deep in a mystery of a new author.  Carefully spearing bits of lettuces, etc. on my fork gazing absentmindedly at my load before forcing the fork full in my mouth.  They are fresh, tasty.

 

I ate several mouthfuls before I see antennae sticking up, followed by a brown head as a three inch slug begins its journey around my plate.  I don’t scream.  Calmly, I let my husband know of the invader as I head into the kitchen to dump the creature into the compost.   After seeing a slimy thread connecting some of the greens, the rest of my salad follows the slug into the compost well-seasoned with a shiitake sesame vinaigrette.  I head directly to the fresh warm cookies eating two in my suffering.

I washed the rest of the greens in a slightly salty water bath.  I inspected each piece on all sides.  I placed them to dry on a small red towel on another cookie sheet.  I am thankful.  I missed spearing the slug. I am thankful. I missed cramming him into my mouth to rest on my tongue or to slide along my teeth before my teeth closed down on its body to force cold internal fluids into the cavity called my mouth.  Now as I sit here writing this I think I just might need another cookie as I think about slugs and other vegetables in my salad.