Old Pictures

A fav pasttime:  looking at old pictures.  Look at that console tv!  And how do I get back that skinny body?  My memories of times gone by are wonderful. . .small house in a small town, a pervasive feeling of safety and warmth.  No restlessness I hear about so often in books or personal accounts of teen years.
My father was a farmer, my mother a homemaker and often helped out in the hot houses, cutting leaves off the rhubarb and boxing it for dad to take to market.  I was a good student, not great, honor roll, but no 4.0s.  Dad was on the school board and made sure when graduation came round that he was the board member passing out diplomas.  His kiss when he handed me my elementary school and high school diplomas meant everything. 

Growing up in the sixties certainly shows in the dress of the day, doesn't it?  Bouffant hair styles, skirts just above the knee.  I was asked to kneel one day and sent home to change because my skirt didn't touch the floor.  Scandalous!  We had one of the first tvs in town, a Zenith with a light all the way around the screen.  I watched Howdy Doody, Sherriff Tex, Gene Autry, Roy Rogers and Soupy Sales on those old consoles.  Mom read romance novels and did crossword puzzles.  Later, when she lived in an assisted living facility and her mind was fogging up, the nurses had her sitting near the nurses station and when they were doing crossword puzzles and reading the questions aloud, Mom would often pipe up, they told us, with the answers.  Memory is a funny thing.  She may not be able to remember where she is, but she remembered enough to fill many a word across and down.

Family Angst

When someone in the immediate family is at a painful crossroads, doing nothing is not an option.  Mail with encouraging words, meals dropped off, a cheerful attitude when you're together, and letting the hurting know you always offer a soft place to fall are all options that help you keep your sanity and, hopefully, help things a teensy bit. They must find their own way, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, life is not a bowl of cherries. . .all those cliches may be true, but seem trite when days are dark and sleep hard to come by.  I do often think of the bible quote (and Richard Chamberlain movie) "Joy cometh in the Morning".  So I tell myself to hang on, time will pass, occupy yourself with soul filling things - and try not to process against hubby's ear too often.  Learn piano pieces by heart, try learning to play the guitar, read books, take walks, take pictures of flowers, and concentrate on someone else.  I have a friend in Texas closing up the house of her recently deceased father; another friend is on a 32 day cruise of Europe, a family member is finding retirement a challenge, yet, another friend is trying out her teaching skills in Doha, Qatar, and a devoted husband provides me a safe place to fall every day.  Life is truly an adventure, sometimes a 1, sometimes a 10.  Here's to working back up to that blissful 10 for all my family. 

Here Comes the Spring!

This tree in our backyard tells us, just like the song, Spring will be a little late this year.  One of my favorite plants is the dwarf Nana Silvermound and they are coming out now.  They are so soft to the touch, it's surprising.  We're ready, Spring.  Bring it on!

Banana Bread virgin

Sixty-five years old and my first attempt at baking banana bread.  Wow!  A little slow on some things; but the bananas were ripe; my taste buds were salivating, so today became a baking day.  And just like I told my mother the first week after my wedding and the jello turned out okay, "Mom, my banana bread turned out okay!" 

Birthday Beignets

I have a favorite desssert at our Zen Place, Pour at Four, THE BEST wine/tapas place on Earth.  Beignets with lemon curd.  They've been serving the doughnut-like dessert for many months, starting with a lemon curd dip (my favorite), then changing to raspberry dip, and now a delicious caramel dip.  When I walked in to Pour tonight to meet two regular patrons for dinner, I was surprised to see a large balloon tied to my chair. . .I say my chair, because it's my favorite place to sit, right by the piano, close to the bar, kinda tucked back in corner, where I can see everything.  My next surprise was the offer of patron. John, to have this evening be on him.  What a generous thing.  When the dessert arrived, it was a double order, with a candle in one beignet, and sparkly sprinkles around the plate.  When someone, or several someones, goes to this much trouble, it touches me deeply.  Oh, and did I mention, the dip on the plate was lemon curd. . .which the kitchen fellas put into a tub for me to take home and added a smiley face made out of sprinkles on top.  A beautiful Saturday night at Pour at Four.  Life is good, very, very good. . .even at 65. 

Another Birthday Down

My Medicare birthday has come and gone.  Sixty-five. . .is it possible?  Why does it seem only yesterday I was walking to kindergarten with my neighbor Stan?  It was a good day.  Good report at the doc's appointment in the morning and a wonderful dinner with our son and daughter-in-law at Sullivan's in Seattle.  Two great bottles of wine, steak and deelish desserts in a lovely steakhouse.  Time spent with son and daughter-in-law always flies by and always a highlight in our month. 

My son's birthday is two days before mine, this year his 33rd.  Proud of him to buttons busting.  He has a high moral fiber that makes me smile when I detect it in his life stories.  I am still too free with advice, which isn't asked for and shouldn't be given.  My mother was so wise about that, just lending a loving ear whenever I shared a frustrating situation with her.  I want to be more like her.  Something on which to work. 

I feel lucky to have reached this age.  It's an age where I turn away from schedules and appointments, thoroughly enjoying the freedom of time.  I love staying home, not unlike Miss Haversham who never left her web covered rooms.  My wise daughter-in-law reminded me that Miss Haversham was filled with evil and selfishness, so we don't want to carry this example too far.  I am guilty, however, of having Great Expectations for my son and myself.  Always room to grow, learn and find a kindness to offer someone along our way. 

Thinking of a John Lennon song

Today is our son's thirty third birthday.  Our only child, you'd think parenting would be simpler than it would be for parents with, say, five children.  Yet, we make it more complicated by worrying over the idea of when to get involved and when to step aside.  With five children do parents feel relieved when their kids ask them not to get involved?  I don't know.  I only know it was good to see and hug him today outside his office building as we delivered birthday brownies and a gift basket.  He seemed genuinely glad to see us.  Hope so.  We never want to be a nuisance, add one more thing to an already full plate of Life.  We hope he knows we offer a soft place to fall should he ever need it.  He is the light of our lives.  And the John Lennon song?  Beautiful Boy. 

My dad was a farmer.

Ahhhh, childhood memories.  My Father was a hothouse rhubarb farmer.  I loved the strong smell of Earth in the dank, dark hot houses; Dad had two on a small ten acre farm just outside the city limits of our small town in Washington State.  Now and then I would help cut, grade and box this beautiful vegetable.  Yes, it's categorized as a vegetable, though it is most often used in the way we use fruit, in desserts, jams, and sauces.  Dad would dump a big box of rhubarb onto a large table and Mom, Aunt Glady and I would take one, whack off both ends (the leaves are highly toxic) and decide the grade:  fancy, extra fancy, or cull.  Mom stood on that hard concrete floor all day while I was at school.  I think back on that now and how hard that must have been on her feet and legs, but nary a complaint was heard.  Dad tells of breaking off a stem from the root ball and eating it then and there.  Pretty acidic little guy for my taste, but Mom made THE BEST rhubarb custard pie you've ever tasted.  Mmmmm, memories.

My father was also the foremost hop dryer on this side of the mountains, maybe in the State.  Another strong and enjoyable sensory memory is the smell of the hop kiln filled with hop dust you could see in the air as the sun rays filled the room.  The floor of the room is slatted and covered with burlap.  Dad would take a hop flower in his hands and crush it determining by the scent if it was ready for baling. 
     Two plants, one red, one green.  Very pretty.  Very unique.  Very important to my childhood. 

Birthday Week

Walked into the kitchen this morning and found this lovely glass swan rose on the island.  "An early birthday gift", my husband told me.  Awwwwwwww.  It helped soften my mood as I brushed my teeth twice, flossed longer than usual and gargled three times in preparation for my visit to the dentist today.  I'm back home now and it was the easiest cleaning visit I've ever had; less pain, shorter time, compliment on the lack of plaque.  I do have to go back some time soon to have four silver fillings replaced with enamel fillings.  Hubbie needs to have a crown first.  Hmmmm, wonder how long it will take to make that appointment? 

An early birthday card arrived from my friend, Marci.  Isn't this the sweetest picture?  I will email her this afternoon to tell her what a great choice it is.



A Peek at Spring

Ahhhhh, finally that warm feeling when you step into the garden and know that Spring is just around the corner.  I noticed several pots that need replanting.  My father was a farmer, but I'm not much of a gardener.  Wish I'd spent more time learning at his knee.  I gathered all the pots I could lift near the back gate.  Two lovely blue planters sit just outside the arbor and I'll find something colorful and pretty to put in those.  An April in Paris rose grows just below the dining room bay window; can't wait for it to bloom.  It was given to us by special friends at my Mom's celebration of Life two years ago. 

Here's a before picture of one part of the garden.  I'll post an "after" pic when blooms are abundant.

And here is the Spring picture in bloom.

The arbor wisteria is in bloom and the wheelbarrow loves sitting under the arbor.

Easter Sunday

I awake this morning with a kiss on my forehead and a soft male voice saying "The Easter Bunny has prepared breakfast for you."  I'm not ready to wake up yet, but how can I not honor this lovely offering.  I throw my legs over the side of the king sized bed, choose a pink top for this Spring holiday morning, run a brush quickly through my recently permed hair, wash my face and hurry downstairs to see if I could yet help the beloved chef.  The Easter Bunny is sitting in a chair in our newly remodeled kitchen watching a sports channel on the tv over the new gas fireplace while he works in a Sudoku book.  He jumps up when he sees me and says, "The hashbrowns are ready, I'll do the over-easy eggs now."   When I look into the frypan, the hashbrowns are the perfect shade of golden brown.  I go out to the porch laundry room to start the coffee, Vanilla Nut Royale this week.  I send back East for my coffee.  I can't be described as a coffee lover; I drink coffee every now and then, mostly as an after dinner treat when dining out and occasionally in the morning at home.  This Easter Bunny has lived in my house for 44 years this coming August.  He is my soft place to fall, my hero, and my irritant when he can't find the clothes hamper which resides at the foot of the bed.  I have such respect for this man, especially in the way he fathers our only child, a son about to turn 33 years of age, two days before my Medicare birthday this month.  I know for this treat of breakfast on Easter Sunday, I will return the treat tomorrow morning with something special:  probably Irish oatmeal and blueberry muffins.

     This is a sad Sunday as I watch the news and learn of the deaths of Thomas Kinkade and Mike Wallace:  one a surprise and too soon, the other in a golden year and part of a long goodbye for his family.  Leaving this Earth has become a more frequent subject for rumination after experiencing the six year decline of my beloved mother who reached the age of 97 with such grace and kindness.  It has taken me two years to reach the place where I can let the bubble of my personality return and remember Mom with the joy and respect she deserves.  I will remember Mr. Wallace and Mr. Kinkade today as I work the last stitches of my afghan and prepare deviled eggs for an afternoon snack. 

Geek Squad to the rescue!

Computers could very well be an enemy plot to drive us mad.  When they work, it's bliss.  But they go "wonky" so often, it gives one pause to wonder if something isn't afoot, as Sherlock Holmes was heard to utter.  The Geek Squad guy is due any time between noon and 4, so it's a waiting game.  I cleaned off my desk, a bit; it is still evident a woman works here:  nail file, heart shaped earrings, hand cream, stationery (sparkly roses), bag of jewelry, and a miniature sequined purse I just couldn't resist which holds a flowered pin and a leprechaun key ring at the moment - all adorn my Hooker computer desk.  Maybe this is a perfect time to remove more items from my desk; decluttering is always a good thing, yes?

Fun Friday

Hair washed, no appointments today.  Sun is peeking through puffy clouds casting branch shadows on the back fence.  Choices for the day:  watch tv, listen to Pandora, crochet, organize years of pictures in bins in the basement, read Hunger Games part 2, go out and see Mirror, Mirror, ask husband what he wants to do.  All lovely choices.

April in the Village

I look out my window and see the branches of the Himalayian Cedar swaying slightly in the gray April day.  We all hunger for Spring in the village.  Even, I, who don't mind the winter months.  I've always thought dark days make the inside appear cozier.    We're talking about building a shed in the back yard.  We await the bid from our marvelous handymen duo, Andy and Dan.  I'm crocheting while I watch the beginning of Season Two of Game of Thrones, really too violent for my taste, but I want to be able to discuss the episodes with my husband. 
     Hmmmmm, wondering how I add photos to my blog.  I would like to put up a picture of the afghan.  Have some research to do.

Day 2 Blogging

My second day as a Boomer blogger.  Called hometown to transfer ownership of cemetary plot.  Definitely something a Boomer might do.  Found Mom's will, called for appointment.  Will spend eternity next to my dear parents, a lovely thought.

Neophyte

Today is the first day of my first blog.  Kinda scary, putting thoughts out into the universe for strangers - or friends - to read.  Reading other blogs has my interest piqued so we'll see how this goes.  A Boomer joins the Blogging World!