Workng on Something

Working on Something

Every time, I even thinking about writing something, I have been stopping myself except for a fictional story in which one of my friends has become a character of sorts.  I am not sure at times what she is up to but she is quite secure in whatever direction she might be going in.

Here is an excerpt:

A rather large basket was being filled with fresh baked cookies, pies, and scones. The little witch who was not a witch asked her cat, “Can you think of anything else?”

“Firestarter?” questioned her cat.  “Don’t be impertinent,” the woman said. “Not on a first meeting.”

Because of the brakes going on in my brain, I have put several small essays in this blog.  Random thoughts but they were what I was thinking at the time.  As for our life style for the man and I are doing pretty much the same things we were doing before Covid 19.  Staying home, doing laundry, cooking, eating, reading, walking, and working on writing when inspired or not inspired.

Yesterday, I felt the magic returning.  We were listening to Loreena McKinnett when the feeling returned to me.  I am feeling it now as I am playing Mummers Dance.  I could attempt to explain my magic, the joy, the beauty of realizing power.  You may believe or maybe not.  The magic may be just the beauty of the music vibrating in my body.  I know it to be more.  All is as it is intended.

Perhaps today, you will find yours.

What you’ve Got

There is a song about “You don’t know what you’ve got until its gone.  I was realizing this more and more as I worked on deleting pictures from my cell phone.  I had gotten a message from my cell phone about your space is dangerously low and could affect your applications.  I have a bit of time on my hands like so many of us do in this unsettled time of Covid 19.  I worked on deleting conversations, pictures, and videos to free up more space.

My main thought was the same one during the process of deletion.  Well, I don’t think that will be happening for a long time.  Road trips back from the valley with great pictures of clouds building up for storm, pictures of breakfasts, lunches, cookies I had bought for friends.  The moments of life, the past of truly wonderful times of being with the man, my husband doing things outside of our home, eating new things, window shopping without really buying. Telling someone you don’t know excuse me as you pass them in the narrow parts of a boutique or small shop. The man making cookies for Christmas with frosting everywhere, pictures of the Challah being braided, finally baked and cooling. 

Why, do I need to delete my life?  

Everything has its time

Each morning, I wake up and try to think, is this the day?  The time of decision of when I say I am staying home, retiring to play.  Particularly now, in this time of uncertainty I am wavering a lot.  Insurance is a good thing.  I will be sixty-six in a month from today.  Do I get a prize?

I would like the feeling of being in a bad story to go away. This morning for the first time, I faced the facts of a world turned upside down.  I have always looked forward to my latest birthday.

This year, my husband, the man is going to make a banana cream pie.  Of course, it will depend on whether or not we can go shopping, with Covid 19 everywhere.  We are becoming more and more careful each day. I had us get lots of things nearly 2 weeks ago with the intent of not shopping for a long time. But there is always something not on the list.

There are advantages.  I don’t have to pluck my eyebrows, or worry about my chin hairs.  If you are social distancing, the recommended 6 ft no one of your age bracket is going to notice.  In fact, I imagine farts are prevalent. Unless, a big cracker is let go, no one will notice.

Still, after the run on toilet paper, the charge to get graham crackers may be the next big thing.  Smores?  Oh, that is right, no outside events.  Can they be done in the oven?  I just want some for my banana cream pie.  It is a favorite.  After the birth of my son, my only wish was a banana cream pie when I got home from the hospital.  It was there.

Clothing in its place

Clothes, I have too many.  It has really hit home just this last week or so.  I have changed my wardrobe to just a few pieces.  Daily, clean socks and underwear.  Weekly, one pair of black pants with pockets to hold my photo ID, a credit card, keys for the car and for the post office box.  Two cotton shirts and a fleeced dark blue jacket courtesy of where I work. I stuff my cell phone, computer reading glasses, and badge for work in the pockets of the jacket. I added a bottle of lotion to help my parched, washed hands.  I felt naked.  The weight on my shoulder is gone. My purse sleeps at home.  I came to the realization it is extremely hard to sanitize leather.

I have a coat for work, gloves for work, a mask for work.  When I come home, I strip, black pants, long sleeved fleeced jacket are placed on bed we aren’t using for the night, I wash my hands and put on my home clothes.  I can’t imagine what others have to do.

 

I saw a shirt in a window at a small boutique. I private messaged the little shop on their Facebook page.  She checked the size on a Monday, called me and I bought a shirt on the phone.  She delivered.  It is in the trunk of my car.  In a week or two, the bag will be bought into my house.  I will take it out of the bag. Hang it up in the closet where it will stay for another two weeks in quarantine. It is pink.  It will be warm. It is beautiful. I haven’t seen it except in a window.

Not by the Hair of my Chinny-Chin-Chin

Not by the Hair of my Chinny-Chin-Chin

Since I have started to wear a mask daily at work, I am letting my chin hairs grow.  I am a woman in her sixties so it is quite natural to find a sprouting offender where nothing was the day before. Depending on the speed they grow will determine if I need a curling iron or just a couple of bobby pins like the ones my mother used to curl her hair

.

Or maybe a braid like I have seen on a few men with long beards.  Somehow, I doubt I will ever get enough chin hairs to warrant a braid.  Though my skills at braiding are quite adept.  But then again if I let my chin hairs grow will my mask fit?

The man, my husband has shaved off his beard so his mask will fit better. I had been having him wash his face each night after coming home from work despite the fact he was wearing a mask in and out of his office.  Sigh, a fresh beard that I can’t snuggle next to.

I washed two of our masks last night.  I might have been a bit over cautious.  I boiled water in a saucepan, let it cool a bit and added soap.  I placed each mask in carefully at the end of tongs and whisked the masks about in the steaming water.  I let them sit in the hot water before the man rinsed them for me. We placed them on a towel to dry.  Good fabric—no shrinkage, no bleeding of colors.  My friends who made the masks really know their stuff.

One of my friends made some more masks with the hopes that hair ties would be a good substitute for elastic, she had run out. I was going to send some masks to our son.  I am glad I tried one on.  Ouch, unfortunately, the hair tie is too thin and cuts into the back of my ear.

I search my closet and found some more elastic, there is enough for half of the masks she made me.  The rest of the masks will have to do with the elastic straps from some of my bras.  Bright pink and a nice chocolate brown.  I could not part with my purple bra so the straps stayed.  We will see what my creative friend can do.

I toyed with the idea of fixing my new straps on the mask myself but remembering the conversation I had with my friend who declared she was having problems figuring out what to do, I decided to give her the joy of ripping out seams and attaching the elastic.  She is retired and really stuck at home.

Since the writing of the above paragraph about hair ties, I have received a gift of fabulous crocheted extenders.  You loop the hair ties or elastic over a button so you have nothing over your ears, I am in love. The bra straps are going back on the bras.

    

(I lasted a week on growing my chin hairs.  I plucked the six quarter-inch little devils this afternoon as my husband was not very supportive of the idea of letting them grow.  Oh, he didn’t care about them growing but it wasn’t a project he had interest in.)

Each day brings a new reality.  A new moment of wow, is this really happening?  But I am grateful. It is the only thing I can be.  “Walk as if you are kissing the Earth with your feet.” ― Thich Nhat Hanh

Walking Along

Walking Along

Easter Sunday, I went for a walk this bright, sunny morning here in the Northwest along the Oregon coast. 

Birds chirping—a murder of crows off in the distance raucously calling to each other. I drove or steered my man and I as we walked down one street to the next.  We walked to our little church on this Easter Sunday where the parking lot was empty in the midst of Covid 19.  We walked on.

The man and I walked by the elementary school where a reader sign proclaimed in bright letters, school closed for the rest of the year.

We walked on the back road behind the school where a lonely trillium plant blossomed with its singular white flower.  On the mossy bank where water steeped slowly, little yellow flowers close to the ground bloomed.  Yet, we walked on. 

To where the pavement ended, we walked.

The gravel left puffs of dust at our feet. In the quiet, the crunching of stones loud beneath our shoes.

We continued arm in arm—happy for the touch, the comfort of  one another in the cold morning where our breaths curled and gather in wisps until we reached our stopping point. To listen to silence, silence shattered by calls of birds while small insects hovered and flitted here and there.

Across the ravine, a forest thrives and for the moment so do we.

This is the first of my small essays

Our Conversation

While crawling out of the tub this morning, my toes and feet started a small but serious conversation with the scale in the bathroom. It went sort of like this.

“You really should consider it.” The scale voiced encouragingly.

“The pants fit just fine, thank you.” A rather sarcastic comment from the thighs and butt.

“Wait,” the toes speaking sharply, “Conversation is with me.”

“Ah,” a chirp from the feet, “I was included in this. After all, we will be standing there.”

A comment from high above, the head and brain, “Well, we will be the ones getting us there.”

“Says who,” just another complaint from the thighs with butt being silent.

In exasperation, somehow it happened. I was on the scale.

“Now,” said the scale somewhat smugly, ”that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

With everything going on in the world, do I need to worry about a few pounds added to my already gorgeous body?  Hell, yes.  I am thinking of my pants, and other clothes made wherever, plus my growing paranoia about touching things in the stores. Things just might be hard to find.  Now might be the time to really consider fitting into the other pants hanging in my closet for the last 10 or more years.

It really is a zipper problem. Zippers need to be able to expand on their own to accommodate the bulging tummy. I struggle after every washing of my black jeans which seem to give it up after a couple of hours of wearing, regrouping about my middle to a comfortable state.

I could be like one of my nurses who stated “It has come to this. I am wearing my sweats.”  But I don’t own sweats.  Hmm, maybe part of the problem of the bulging tummy?

Thankfully, all of my nurses and I work in a locked door clinic.

We are lucky.  I am lucky.  I didn’t realize the extent of how the open door bothered me until one of the supervisors brought up a sign stating the doors would remain locked until further notice.  I cried. Together we hung up the sign.

I am still going to work.  I am thankful about that as well. I just wish my next size pants weren’t several pounds away.

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?