Thanks

Once upon a time, a long time ago in a place far away, I learned that traveling by myself wasn't bad at all. If I were in the mood to wander and, perhaps, get lost in a strange place, I had no one to account to but myself. Should I wish to stop in an eating place that appealed to me, have a beer or a cocktail in the middle of the day, and/or splurge on the whole endeavor, I needn't worry that someone with me might not enjoy it as much as I, or, more pertinent, might believe that since we couldn't afford it, we shouldn't do it. On occasions when I felt a particular event or activity or place to visit would be interesting, I never worried that no one else would want to share it with me. I just went ahead and did it. Sometimes, even often sometimes, I would meet interesting people in these endeavors and have quite interesting experiences, some of which I have shared and some I haven't.

Early this summer when I decided that it would be good for me to start doing things I've always meant to do, I told some of my now many and interesting friends of my plan. Considering my home is actually a senior citizen's home, I defined my plans as outings, and set about to schedule a number of them. To my great delight I have been accompanied on these outings by one or more of my many and interesting friends all summer. Tomorrow there will be two or three of us going to the Minnesota Zoo. A couple more outings and we're into September.

This week I have begun to realize how very much these outings and socializings (no, it's not a legitimate word, but . . .) have meant to me. I awaken each day with something to look forward to, either on that day or within the next few days. This happy time has spurred me into activity to tackle a number of mundane tasks that I heretofore (once a lawyer, always a person who falls back on archaic language from time to time) - I heretofore frequently chose to ignore. With many tasks still awaiting my attention, I am hoping this period of good behavior will continue. If not, I am still pleased to have accomplished a lot this summer.

Best of all, I have been blessed in more ways than I can count with the company of good people and really, really good friends. My thanks to you all.

Dilemna

Recently while cleaning my dining room, I spot painted some scuffs and stains in the wall; however, as I noted, I had used a semi-gloss paint, so these spots are now shiny. I found the flat version of this paint; however, it seems to be a teensy bit yellower than the rest of the wall. Should I leave the shiny repairs as is? Or should I paint them a teensy bit yellower? or, heaven forbid, am I now stuck with having to repaint the whole room - which would also require that I paint the whole living room as well. I am wallowing in indecision.

Cleaning

In my frenzy of super cleaning, which means that nearly every day I tackle a room or area of the house and do a thorough cleaning, I yesterday tackled the dining room. The rug is in the car waiting to be delivered to the rug laundry, and I have noticed that my paint touch up of nicks and marks rather shine, as I used semi-gloss paint. I have, fortunately, located the matching flat paint in the basement, so I'll be doing these over today. Makes for a rather odd look to see these shiny patches in various places along the wall. Obviously, not quite ready for company. And besides I still have the living room and upstairs to do. By then, it will be time to start over again in the TV room. A woman's work is never done.

Ellen's twisted string circus

It is possible to walk three dogs at the same time on flexi-leads, but it is not particularly dignified to do so. If they were to all walk together in an obedient grouping by my side, I could look pretty cool. If they were to all walk out in front of me in a relatively orderly manner, I could look somewhat cool. But, in fact, they run in circles, sometimes in different directions and at differing speeds. I do not look cool. The kindest description would be that I look a bit silly. That is when the only glitch in the system involves unwinding and untying the twisting ropes. The real truth is that I look ridiculous, and sometimes I get a rope burn on the backs of my bare legs as one or another of the three run around behind me. It could be worse. I could trip over the ropes or a dog or over a bump in the sidewalk. That would look even worse than ridiculous and could, potentially, hurt much worse than a rope burn.

Learning about plants

My first foray into adult learning at the Arboretum today went well. I may even have actually absorbed some new information. At least it seemed that way when we walked around the gardens after the slide presentation and lecture. We'll see how much I retain as time goes on.

Almost missed the garden tour portion of the class as I was delayed in the rest room and the class was out of sight when I emerged. Couldn't see the class and seemed to be in the middle of a group of "families" with screaming and running children instead. I momentarily feared my first attempt at a learning experience was to end negatively, but soon spotted my group and charged purposefully after them.

Learned about gayfeathers, sea lavender, naked lady/autumn lily), lungwort (once thought to cure lung disease) and naked man. Learned that sometimes hybrids evolve from nature, as plants sometimes cross breed/fertilize and new species develop of which we do not know the parentage. A really racy course, as you can tell.

There was a brief joking reference to the value of baneberries in situations where the children didn't quiet down and stop racing the halls. Sound harsh? The temptation could arise should one be exposed to such noise and annoyance for long periods of time. Actually, I jest, surely. Baneberries are, I understand, poisonous. Perhaps just a warning/a little mumbling under one's breath?

Probably should not joke about such things in these troubled times. Some people are not joking, and that becomes a tragedy.

Sickos speak out. Sadly, some listen

It is a long time since we lived in warm & fuzzy times, like the 50's, and, though there was much to improve upon during those times, I find myself yearning for their return. At least a return to the simple sense of decency and, yes, innocence, that seemed to prevail in that seemingly simpler time.

A "good news" event this past week was surely the return of the reporters who were being held in North Korea, and yet, the vicious and the small minded, the guttersnipes who pretend to be important public voices will say what they think, no matter how despicable the thoughts, in national venues.

Here's a section of the article in Salon.com today by Joe Conason entitled Clinton Derangement: North Korean Strain

"Here was an effort that exemplified the best of America -- a society that values the lives of its citizens enough to send a former head of state, with all the power of government behind him, to the aid of two women in distress. Here was a happy reunion, bringing wives home to their husbands and a mother back to her little girl, that surely uplifted the spirit of anyone who actually believes in family values. Here was a moment of pride and joy.
But not for Gordon Liddy, the demented felon and radio bigot who cackled about "Ling Ling and Wee Wee being locked up for nine hours in an airplane with Bill Clinton." Not for Rush Limbaugh, the obsessive guttersnipe who wondered aloud whether Clinton "hit on those two female journalists on the long flight home." Not for Andrea Peyser, the curdled tabloid columnist who insisted that "the whole shebang was nakedly scripted and staged as a device to help rehabilitate the image of former President Bill Clinton" (and who neglected to mention that Clinton did not speak to the eagerly waiting press corps and has given not a single interview on the North Korea mission). Not for Times columnist Maureen Dowd, who predictably seized on Clinton's mission as an opportunity for gratuitous and ugly insults to his wife, weirdly imagining that the prisoner release was "some clever North Korean revenge plot, giving the limelight to Daddy to punish Mommy." And not for the editors of the Huffington Post, who posted a very strange headline -- "Bill Upstages Hillary ... Once Again" -- on an Associated Press story that didn’t mention her at all."
Find the complete article at http://www.salon.com/opinion/conason/2009/08/07/clinton/?source=newsletter

I commented to a friend yesterday that, since my retirement, I've been reading more and am much more current with what is going on in the world and the issues we are facing. Yet, I wonder if that's a good thing. Crap like this make me wish I could find more ways to fill my time that would block out and ignore the world entirely. I'd truly love a return to simpler times, but alas, the best I can do is block out the present times and fantasize. Oh, if only I could develop selective memory loss.

My spoiled kids

Dogs,you may not realize, can and do know the time of day. They are especially diligent about meal and/or treat times. Walk times too, but in our household, these times vary more than meal or treat times.

I recall mentioning some time back (on Facebook, I believe) that someone had spoiled my Lily (that's the dog, not the huge, overgrown flowers in my front yard). No one has stepped forward to claim responsibility for Lily's spoiling, but I am living with the consequences. The sweet faced, innocent looking Lily will at various times of the day sit at my feet and give out a little yelp. I glance down and there she is, simply waiting to be waited upon.

These helpful reminder yelps, I have noted, come at certain times of day. There is the morning yelp to remind me that I should be fixing breakfast where she and, of course, the rest of the pack, are expecting little bits of cheese as a bribe to let me eat my breakfast in relative peace.

Mid morning finds my little reminder dog giving me a small yelp to to say it's time to put on my shoes and take her for a walk. Later in the afternoon, she is simply available, as her Uncle Bert assumes the responsibility to bark gently, but repeatedly, to let me know he's ready for his evening meal. Occasionally, I glance up from my reading to see the whole pack lined up in a half circle in front of me waiting in anticipation. These events are always reminders to me that I may have forgotten one of their regular treat events. Sigh!

The moral of this story is: Once spoiled always spoiled, and there's no peace until the spoiled ones get their way. I wonder if my parents ever had that feeling about me, but they did tell me I was worth it. I guess I feel pretty much the same way about my pack of "kids".

Dr ?

Dentist on TV the other night advertising Colgate toothpaste - named Dr. Joyce Fang. Really!

So, How's your summer?

My cousin in Phoenix mentioned that she was looking forward to her swim. Temperature there was 115. Here we were in the high 70's. Hard to imagine living there year round, but some folks do.

These cool days fuel my relatively moderate ambition, including a desire to clean my house. This is the thorough, compulsive cleaning that moves furniture and things on shelves to vacuum and dust behind and beneath. So satisfying when it's finished. It meant that I cleaned the bathroom, including a hands and knees scrubbing of the floor. Wash down the walls, move out the cabinets, etc. Suddenly, as I was brushing my teeth yesterday morning, I glanced down at my bathroom cabinet and saw a streak of something on the side of the cabinet. Being on a tight schedule, I skipped my flossing and grabbed the sponge and towel to wipe this down. It's what we compulsive people do.

We have sidewalks again in my neighborhood. That stuff dries so fast there was no chance to put a dog paw print in it. Probably I wouldn't have done it anyway, but probably it's also a good thing there was no real chance of getting by with it. The inner child never leaves.

The beeping is constant today as they are smoothing out the grassy areas to receive the new sod and preparing the roadway for the return of asphalt streets. Progress is being made, slowly but surely. And here it is August already.

As our temperatures continue to be moderate, I have the energy to clean the house, am saving money with open windows instead of air conditioning and walking the dogs for regular exercise. Life continues to be very, very good.

I'm losing weight - again

Hint: You may want to skip this one - Everyone talks too much about diets, even (especially) me.

Much like my mother, I have spent a good portion of my life worrying about and trying to do something about my weight. I so love myself when I am at a weight where my clothes look good on me, or at least I think my clothes look good on me. Mother used to have a "fat" wardrobe and a "thinner" wardrobe, and when she reached a weight where she had only one dress left that fit, she would diet - again.

About three years ago I came to grips with a weight gain that I had tolerated and "encouraged" for almost fifteen years. At that time I lost just under 50 pounds on a laborious and inflexible diet program that cost me a small fortune and involved complicated meal planning, constant attention to eating and a bunch of expensive pills. I realized recently that my clothes were not fitting me well. Faced with the facts, I resolved that buying bigger clothes is not an option.

I have now set certain rules by which I hope I can live comfortably and lose or maintain a decent weight. These rules include certain idiosyncrasies of mine which establish parameters that are not usually recommended by the "diet programs" touted and for sale.

1 - I will never use artificial sweeteners. These neither satisfy my desire for sweetness, nor taste good enough to waste my money on. They usually leave a bad taste in my mouth, and I don't trust a lot of these formulas to be good for long term health. Who really understands these chemicals?

2 - I do not use nonfat salad dressings. They don't adhere to the lettuce and thus are useless for the purpose of making lettuce edible. Since lettuce is not one of my favorite foods, I need something on it to make it palatable. Controlling the amount and using Vinaigrette type dressings work well.

3 - I do not use margarine, or any variation of margarine or non dairy faux butters. I use less than 10 calories worth of butter to give my egg a little flavor, and when dieting, I do not add butter to any of the food I eat. A quarter pound of butter will last me over a month, even when I'm not dieting.

4 - I must have a dessert. In fact I consider having a dessert (of under 140 calories) after my evening meal to be essential for maintaining my diet program. When counting calories for the day, I include the dessert.

5 - I need a meal plan that does not require that I obsess all day on what to have for my meals. These may mean a monotonous program, but doesn't really have to. It's just that I'm not that uncomfortable with eating essentially the same breakfast and lunch on a daily basis, with minor variations.

6 - My meals must taste good. My discovery of the really good meals from Lean Cuisine and Healthy Choice has been a boon to my program this time. Add a salad and vegetable or a couple vegetables, plus my dessert, and I'm set for the evening. Oh yes, and one of my regular "fruit" servings is wine.

7 - Soup for lunch and my morning yogurt with fruit plus an egg or cheese get me through the day safely. Snacks are not only permitted, but helpful in maintaining my metabolism and keeping hunger at bay.

8 - My diet must include cheese. My favorites are Jarlsberg, Swiss and fresh Mozzarella in servings of about an ounce two or three times a day. I don't get fat free or low fat cheeses. They don't have a decent texture. I will sacrifice quantity to have good quality.

9 - I drink lots of water, always, and exercise regularly.

10 - I allow myself a slight break in routine at least once or twice a week, keeping good nutrition and my basic calorie intake limits in mind.

I weigh myself every day. Some days are discouraging, but now that the pounds are coming off, it is very satisfying and starts my day on a positive note. It feels so good to be losing weight and feeling comfortable in my clothes again. It is also amazing how many little things one does each day become easier as the weight disappears.

To date I have lost about 12 pounds of the 20 pounds I had allowed myself to gain. I'm thinking by the end of September, I should be where I have been aiming to be for over three years, which will be ten pounds less than I weighed three years ago. It takes a long time to put this extra weight on, and it seems reasonable to take it off slowly as well.

So here's my toast to baggy size 14s - who knows, I may get down to an even lower size. One can only try.

Scratching the Walker OFF

After reading Mary Abbe's review of the current Walker exhibit, I have scratched it from my Outings calendar.

The Walker has never held much interest for me, as mundane stuff, paintings of nothing and piles of trash in the world are, in my opinion, not art just because they are in a museum. Still, I felt I should at least visit the new Walker and see for myself. Thank you, Mary Abbe, for saving me from a terrible mistake. Ms. Abbe described the exhibit as encompassing "a bizarre obsession with excrement, which [is equated] with clay and all things made of clay." Now really! Who in the world with common sense and decent taste wants to see "vulgarly obvious" clay castings of piles of shit?

I particularly love these sentences in the review: "As Schaffner explains in the truly strange, and not at all recommended, exhibition catalog, 'Psychoanalysts may find much to read into all of the sculptural pieces of s--- and fecal matter that dot this exhibition.'"

"No." continues the reviewer, "Psychoanalysts and ordinary people alike will conclude that the curators have unresolved issues that would be better sorted out in therapy than in a museum gallery." I would suggest that these folks would do well to get a job picking up dog poop. They'd surely get their fill of the subject quickly, and decent folk would be spared exposure to their unresolved issues.

Oh how glad I am for this review, saving me $10 and a very likely, very short visit to a museum whose present exhibit, it appears, is not art. Sounds like an art exhibit being pawned off in much the same way as were the emperor's new clothes. In this case the child would point and yell, "Mommy, look at all the poop!" Saying it is art does not make it art!

Missing people

I sometimes feel silly about all the little things that pass through my mind each day, and the trivial stuff that I notice and think about. I check Facebook several times a day, and keep up with a lot of little things that make up the days of my friends as well, as if the trivia in my own life weren't enough.

Each time I pass the corner of Dowling and Xerxes, I think about the man who last summer was frequently sitting out on a lawn chair watching life go by, while he smoked his cigarettes. When I returned from my winter home, he was not there. He died in March.

A little further up the street on the corner of 42nd and York, the lawn was always a potential advertisement for Turf Builder. It was diligently cared for by an older man with whom I often exchanged a greeting. In past years he had lawn signs for candidates I wouldn't have voted for, but we didn't discuss politics. He too has died.

Last week at St. Paul's we had memorial services for two parishioners whom I knew casually. This Saturday we will have a service for a third. All of these people were a part of my world and, though I didn't know them well, I will and I do miss them.

Ok, so this is beginning to sound morbid, but it's not meant to be. One of the benefits of aging, I think, is the appreciation I have for all the lives that have touched mine through the years remembered each day in the mundane tasks of life. Each one was significant in some way. While I despair that my mind dwells so much on trivia, I can imagine that not remembering this trivia would be much more tragic. I think I shall continue to appreciate my active mind, as long as I can keep it.

The fence

Good fences make good neighbors, I think. That, as I recall, is a wise old adage. My fence is one of those offset things which allows for peaking through the slats, which had become a source of constant anxiety in my otherwise tranquil home. The neighbors, you see, have a large black Labrador, who is a sweet dog by nature, but who will naturally react to yipping, snarling attacks from my vicious sounding population. I too have been reacting to the yipping, snarling attacks, which has not, unfortunately, mitigated them.

So I have now patched my fence so that the dogs can no longer see into the neighbors' yard. It has been amusing to watch as, upon perceiving they have heard something indicating activity in the yard next door, my dogs have rushed in their usual mad fashion out into the yard. The puzzlement and anxiety on their faces as they realize the view has changed is almost funny. I am now counting the events before they fully realize that the days of wild frenzy might as well be over. What you can't see won't hurt you or anyone else. May we have many days and evenings of peace and quiet, except, of course, for their harmless and entertaining zooming around the yard, playing with each other. Hope again springs forth that this mad pack of wolf descendants will be manageable.

Thoughts on Senate hearings

A pair of letter writers in today’s Star Tribune chastised our senators Klobuchar and Franken for their lighter comments and comedic touches during the Sotomayor confirmation hearings, implying that acting like a comedian or recounting a casual conversation with the nominee’s mother was some kind of disgrace. I think we can be proud that our senators’ conversations were in stark contrast to the irrelevant long winded pontifications of the self impressed southern and assorted Republican senators on the committee. If there were ever a place where a little levity and comfortable banter should be welcome, it would be in the midst of this phony interrogation. Wasted time and nonsensical inquiry were otherwise the rule of the days.

Lovely Fall Weather

Emptied, cleaned and refilled my backyard waterfall-pond today. It's a task I do at least twice a year, in spring and fall, so it must be fall? Actually, I do it more often than that, but as we locals know, today feels like fall. I'm OK with that. I get a lot done in the fall. The cooler season energizes me. So, you may ask, why do you leave town for the winter? I have no answer for that. It would seem to be entirely against my nature.

Reminded of my Phoenix house by a call from the security service this week, I realized that, if it had been broken into and something stolen (like the TV, which is really the only thing anyone would want to steal), I really wouldn't care. I thought, "well heck, Mildred, my aunt, will just be delighted that we can start shopping to refurnish the house." No break in, however. Just a huge storm that apparently blew open the back door to the patio area. Don't think about storms in Phoenix, but this is their monsoon season.

Got everything worked out as I waited at the Vet's office for Vickie to wake up from her sedative induced sleep. Had to do that to dress her ear where her granddaughter had disciplined her a bit harshly. Granddaughter, Yo, thinks she is doing me a favor because she knows I don't like Vickie to race barking outside whenever the neighbors are in their yard. What she doesn't quite understand is that I don't like it when she does that either, and I especially don't like her disciplining Vickie or anyone else around here on my behalf.

So now, after completing my waterfall project, I go to Home Depot to get boards for the fence that will block out our view into the neighbors' back yard. I'm hoping this will provide me with much quieter evenings and more peaceful interactions between Yo and her grandmother. We shall see.

Robbinsdale fireworks

Now that I no longer have that pesky, view-obstructing maple tree in my back yard, I had a nice, relatively unimpeded view of last evening's Robbinsdale fireworks from the upstairs deck outside my bedroom. These happen every year as the grand conclusion to our annual Whiz Bang Days. They really were quite spectacular and I would have applauded if I had been properly dressed and not sitting there in the dark in my rather skimpy sleep outfit. One does not call attention to oneself in an outfit like that, at least not if one has a sense of modesty or is of a certain age or both.

I almost attended the Whiz Bang Days event/s this year, but somehow didn't get around to it. I did, however, hear some of the alleged music and a lot of honking and sirens which I assume were part of the parade. A nice small town parade, perhaps like Odebolt Creek Days, but without the huge tractors and farm equipment. At least I don't think they had tractors in our parade. Maybe I should take it in next year and find out for sure. I may be missing a nostalgic experience.

Wild life in Robbinsdale part 2

A rabbit lying injured in the grass just up the street. Conversing with the homeowner, she mentioned that there was a fox in their alley last week. Also mentioned that her neighbor feeds the rabbits. That should insure a continuing presence of foxes in Robbinsdale. The injured rabbit awaits someone to pick it up and humanely euthanize it. Sad. They are so cute, but . . .

The rich see things differently

Apparently, the rich see economizing on the use of oil resources a bit differently than I do. Recent ad for a new Cadillac SUV, proudly proclaiming that it is a "hybrid", which is now the key word for gas economy - perhaps? They then brag that it gets 20 miles to the gallon in city driving. Whoopee! I think I'll keep my Subaru. It gets 26 miles per gallon in city driving, even though it is not a hybrid.

Improvements

As I continue to patiently endure the incessant beeping of the machinery in front of my house, I read in the paper this morning that Victory Memorial Drive is to be renovated. I'm quite pleased about this.

For the past few years we have endured not only huge, deep and nearly unavoidable potholes along this roadway, but also the view of several temporary street lamps. These unattractive utilities are an eyesore both in the daytime and at night. In the daytime we can view the chipped and rusted yellow poles grounded in ugly bases and at night they are seen as different colored lights. Hardly a sight to elicit pride in our city.

This spring I was mildly amused to observe the effort by some public works forces working on the potholes. This effort consisted, from all appearances, of a crew tying up traffic for a couple hours, while they worked on filling potholes in short segments of the Drive. Their efforts consisted of someone slopping black tar around the edges of the potholes, then all of them standing around and visiting for some time as the traffic worked its way around them. After this restful interlude, they dumped a pile of tar like stuff into the hole and left for the day. In the course of a month, working like this once a week on about a half block at a time, they managed to partially fill some of the holes in a two block segment of the drive. They then disappeared, never to be seen or heard from since. How proud I was to see our tax dollars being carefully conserved by the deliberate pace of this effort.

A parkway renovation on our part of the Drive will be very welcome indeed, even if it prolongs the roaring and beeping of heavy equipment. I do hope it includes road work and the replacement of the temporary lighting.

Wild life in Robbinsdale

The other day I thought I saw a fox loping down the parkway being harassed by a flock of crows. Today's paper carried a picture of a couple of foxes with a caption saying, "Don't be surprised to see a fox or two." Their abundance is attributed to a large population of rabbits, which is attributed to a warmer winter. The article did not attribute this to climate change, but we're certainly programed to do that ourselves.

Since predators go where the food is, Lynda Forbes from Brooklyn Park has found that the rabbits disappeared while a "fox stalked the yard and lay on the pool deck sunning itself, probably full of rabbit." Perhaps the fox I saw was Ms. Forbes' fox. Perhaps it was engaging the crows over a rabbit carcass. If so, it appears that the crows won that one. And Ms. Forbes will be free to use her pool for a time?

Meanwhile, in the less wild back yard at my Robbinsdale home, the robins have not returned, and the rabbits dare not enter. A mob of yipping Boston terriers is at least as good a deterrent to rabbits as a fox, and more appropriate for my back yard. It does appear quite likely that I really did see a fox loping down the parkway the other day.

Good example

StarTribune, July 6, 2009: Columnist Stephen Wilbers on Effective Writing headlined "Keep those modifiers from just hanging there." So What's a dangling modifier anyway?", he asks. Check the Star Tribune, same date, page A3, for example. "The ousted president's plane circled the airport as a mass of supporters gathered, then veered away." Can't you just see that sea of supporters veering away from the circling plane?

Holidays are for relaxing

It used to be that holidays were welcome changes from a work routine, like they are for most of you, I'm sure. The habit of treating holidays like special days when it's perfectly all right to do nothing much and waste time at it does not go away. So here I am doing nothing, and not even feeling guilty about it, but only after dealing with stresses one should not have at all as a retired person.

It all began when I saw that my anti-virus subscription was running out. My efforts (yes, I mean efforts, plural) to renew it (I should remember that nothing is ever easy in the Norton/Symantec world) were futile, as I could not activate it even though I bought the subscription. Eventually, I took it off and bought McAfee, which loaded nicely; however, in the process I lost one of my favorite games. Now that is a serious interference with my peaceful routine. I have no idea how or why, but "Scrabble Blast" has disappeared, never to be found again. Trying to get my favorite game back, though supposedly available for redownload, could simply not be done. I am in deep mourning over my lost Scrabble Blast game. I had many scores at the "God" level of skill accumulated over a period of years - clearly, irreplaceable and majorly grief worthy.

Then, also, my Word program suddenly refused to open for me, causing another episode of irritation. The Word program had to be uninstalled then reinstalled and updated to work again, wasting more of my precious "do nothing and not feel guilty" time.

All of which is irritating, and, more seriously, intrudes upon my game time. I probably should do something about this computer game addiction one of these days. Still, this is my mind's exercise program, so I must persevere.

Friends are good

Today is a brighter day for my having gone on a field trip with friends yesterday. I'm sure I'd have felt good if I'd gone alone, but I feel really good because I spent a good part of an interesting and beautiful day with friends. Friends are good, and I am blessed with some very, very good friends. Thank you!

Privacy rights

Michelle Bachmann, our Minnesota treasure in the House of Representatives, has asserted that she has a right to privacy that allows her to refuse to answer Census questions. In acknowledging the right to privacy, may we now assume that she supports Roe v. Wade? Or would consistency be too much to expect? Ok, you don't need to answer that.

Taking the back roads

On Friday I was off to Cedar Rapids, Iowa, to visit with my aunts, my father's remaining siblings. Aunts Frannie, Mildred and Edene gathered together in Aunt Frannie's new apartment, Mildred having come from Arizona and Edene from Michigan. My cousin, Jim, who drove his mother there from Michigan, and my cousins, Donna and Mary, who live in Cedar Rapids near their mother, were also there. There, now you can create a portion of my family tree and that should make it all very clear. Or, you could have skipped this first paragraph altogether, but it's too late for that. I have always loved these dear aunts of mine, and this trip gave me an opportunity to know them better.

Consistent with my recent advice to avoid I35, I took a route through Rochester, Minnesota (and yes, I hid my face as I drove through, carefully not doing anything to call attention to myself). Two lane roads were predominate, but that was no problem, as there was little traffic. On the return trip, engrossed as I was with Alexander McCall Smith's latest No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency book (the recorded version), I found myself on a hilly and winding, but lovely, road that was unfamiliar to me. Checking I found I had somehow left Highway 63 for County Road 1. Which county? I have no idea, but it was in Minnesota. As I was still traveling north (thank heaven for my car's compass), I continued on the way. Only one tractor slowed my progress.

I have decided that I love traveling the byways. My gas mileage is wonderful and what's an additional half hour or so? After all, I'm retired. I have lots of time.

Ad discussion

As part of our far ranging discussion today my friends and I expressed universal confusion as to the purpose of bathtubs by the lake, in the woods or just sitting outside in places that make no sense. Did the folks in the ad feel compelled to bring bathtubs outdoors for some reason relating to their new found ability to copulate easily and, I presume, frequently? Seems dangerous to me, as it is probably not hard to throw one's back out dragging large objects through small doorways and carefully setting them up side by side on the beach. How better to kill that newly found ability to maintain erections?

I have occasionally thought about and contrasted the ads for prescriptions that will aid "the misters" in their quest to create and maintain a happy marriage, assuming that is their primary role in that endeavor. It is my simple opinion, based on experience from long, long, long ago, that the "V" ads are more persuasive. They have that grrrr factor, while the cozy little hand stroking and insipid smile effected by the "C" product do little or nothing to create the image of highly exciting experiences. But then, what do I know? I've never been married - nor in a long term relationship of such a type either, for that matter. Perhaps my inability to respond to the mooning look and the excitement of sitting side by side in a bathtub outdoors is the explanation for many years of spinsterhood. Or perhaps it has nothing whatever to do with it.

Parkersburg Iowa

My father and his sisters grew up in Parkersburg, a place I visited many times as a child. Last year as my father's sister, my Aunt Mildred, was scheduled for her annual visit from Arizona to Iowa, Parkersburg was swept by a terrible tornado.

Aunt Mildred, along with her sister, Edene, from Michigan, are in Iowa again this week. This time they are welcomed home by a brutal and heartbreaking murder in their home town. They are scheduled to attend an all school reunion on Saturday.

My mother met my father when she was teaching in Parkersburg and my father, obviously younger than she, was her brightest student. He fell in love with her and pursued her for years until she finally agreed to marry him. My connections to Parkserburg are, therefore, somewhat stronger than to other towns in Iowa, except Odebolt, where I grew up.

When will we realize that allowing open and unregulated access to guns does result in violent deaths? Maybe they would happen anyway, but we don't know that. To save even one life would, it seems to me, make sensible gun laws essential. This gunman was not a militia (as the amendment envisions). This gunman was a mental case. Why did he have access to a gun?

I grieve for Parkersburg, and for all its residents, friends and graduates.

Question

On the radio yesterday I heard the comment, "Both live dogs and cadaver dogs were being used to locate victims." Not a joking matter, but it did cross my mind that the cadaver dogs must be somewhat remarkable. Live dogs, I would think, would be more effective.

Dilemna

My financial adviser (also a long time friend) recently urged me to join and shop for groceries as well as big items at one of the big box wholesale places. I intend to do this, but somehow I don't see myself shopping for groceries there while I'm in Minnesota.

The other day I drove to the big box, thinking I'd stop in and join and look around. I was immediately put off by the line of cars in the parking aisles waiting for parking spaces. Long lines and crowds of shoppers do not excite me. Of course, in our present economic circumstances I should probably be saving pennies whenever I can. I think, however, this meager diet I'm on is saving a lot on groceries right now, giving me a good excuse to put off the wholesale warehouse shopping adventure.

Instead I went to my favorite Byerly's (Golden Valley), where I bought my one or two necessaries and checked out, visiting and exchanging smiles with my friends there. I know most of the staff by name. They are genuinely friendly (as opposed to robotically programmed friendly) and have been welcoming me for upwards of 25 years.

My mother used to tell perfect strangers with whom she had struck up a conversation that she was from a small town and always expected to know the people she saw on the street. So, of course, she looked them in the eye and talked to them. I'm not as friendly as my mother, but a little of her has rubbed off on me, and that is good.

So when I shop for groceries, I go to Byerly's. I may pay a few cents more for my groceries there, but I don't see my life being fully happy without my chance to visit with Bob or Linda or Barb or Joni or Shawna or Michel or Peggy or Kathleen or Sandra or James - or many of the others.

Disclaimer: This is not intended to be an advertisement for Lunds/Byerly's.

Life

Before I could hit the mute button, I happened to see Jamie Lee Curtis sitting with an ordinary person (not a star) for a comfortable chat about her digestive issues. "Tell me about your problem," said Ms Curtis. I found the mute button in time to avoid the sharing of this information. I can't imagine telling Jamie Lee Curtis about my digestive problems. Hell, I don't even tell my close friends about them. And I can't imagine buying Activia and going through the check out at my favorite Byerly's with it. I know these cashiers. I've been going there for years. My digestive problems are none of their business either.

Low Expectations

As I was slicing my tomato to add to my small chicken breast sandwich this evening, I noticed that among the pieces of tomato that I ate for supper last evening was a little of that paper label they put on the bottom of the tomato at the grocery store. I remember now that I thought the skin was a bit tough chewing last evening. I further remember that I just assumed, since I am dieting (yes, again) that it was part of the mundane food fare that is part of the current diet. As a dieter, I seem to have very low expectations of the pleasure of my meal. No wonder it is hard to stay on these plans. Yet, I am committed.

The end of an era

I have sold my top of the line, all the bells and whistles, roomy, efficient, refined and lovely 30 foot RV. I'm still "dreaming" about it; that is, I waken in the wee hours of the morning and, in my semi conscious state, am worrying about how to get around in it, where to park it and whether I've knocked something over with it, such as a brick fence.

My most memorable and embarrassing experience in my RV era came the time I pulled out of a gas station too fast and spilled my holding tanks all over the streets of Rochester. I still duck my head in embarrassment and apology whenever I drive through that town. Fortunately, I also had many good times in my RV travels.

I now look forward to worry free travel. Well, not exactly worry free, as it takes planning to locate and take advantage of pet welcoming motels along the route between Minneapolis and Phoenix. My former RV will now be carrying Bostons and bulldogs from Omaha to successful showings around the country. I will be carrying Bostons less often and to places closer to home. A happy ending for all of us.

Robin Watch Wrapup

I returned on Sunday to find that one of my four baby robins had left the nest. He/she fluttered away from the kennel fence as I approached from the car. Checking the nest I found that two of the remaining three were testing their wings. By the next morning, one of these was gone.

The remaining two just sat around for the next day, until this morning, Tuesday, when they finally left the nest. I can imagine mama and papa robin despairing that they were ever going to leave home, but, while keeping track of their nest, they also seemed to be feeding them sparingly. It seems they were waiting for them to figure out that they needed to fly away to find food.

Tuesday morning I found one of them out of the nest and perching on the beam. Soon this one was on the ground and the last of them was chirping anxiously as he/she watched the ground. "You come back here this minute." she seemed to say. Soon the last baby fluttered from the nest and in the next five to ten minutes both were gone, along with their doting parent who had been waiting nearby to escort them to safety. I can now open the back yard for my long suffering dogs, but I'm sure glad I had kept them confined while this was going on. Those babies did spend some time on the ground getting their bearings, and I'd have been horrified if my "kids" had gotten to them.

All is well - until the parents return and start this process again, which, if history is any predictor, they will do.

Opportunities

Friday, driving to Iowa for a dog show, I encountered several opportunities. These began when about four miles north of Faribault on Interstate 35. The traffic ahead of me - in both lanes - suddenly, (it's always suddenly) stopped dead. I was sure there must be an accident, but as time went by, no emergency vehicles were zooming up the shoulder, so that theory went by the way. This parking lot creeping began at that point and continued until at least a mile or two past Owatonna, a total of about 20 miles, more or less. Highest speed during this character building event - just under 10. Average speed, about 4.

Opportunity one: A chance to observe closely every nook and crevice in the highway for a distance of some over 20 miles. So many times I've zoomed along these highways. Who would have thought that I should stop and admire the cracks in the pavement and the unique styles of highway surface that are part and parcel of our Interstate highway system?

Opportunity two: A good perspective on all the other unsuspecting and confused folks who were also offered this rare opportunity. Many were on their cell phones. One or two got out of their cars to check on the road ahead. They couldn't seem a damned thing, but they tried. Some swerved out a bit to see. Same result. One or two changed lanes, but experience has proven that this is totally ineffective when in a two lane parking lot with nowhere to go.

Three, was the opportunity to save on gas. After an experience in a similar situation in Indiana several years ago, I learned that my RV uses substantially less fuel when traveling in idle, than when traveling at 70 miles an hour. In this case we got about 9.5 miles per gallon - which is good for a 30 foot vehicle. In my previous RV, the savings were substantially better.

Fourth, an opportunity to chatter on the cell phone with my friend, Barbara, eliciting her sympathy and understanding for this rare, but enlightening experience. Unlike the usual on the road phone conversations, this one was not interrupted with cutting out events as I went up and down hills. I was not scooting up and down hills here - absolutely not. As stable as, say, sitting in one's own home and talking on the phone.

Fifth, during one extended period when I sat with the shift in "Park", I got my fingernails both cut and filed - a job I had been putting off. Never, ever travel without a fingernail clipper in your compartments, along with your toothpicks and Chapstick.

Sixth, I labored to maintain patience and charity towards all, a truly worthy, long term personality gain. I was successful at this for at least an hour - some kind of record - until I had to provide space for new vehicles entering the parking lot at Owatonna. The huge semi truck evoked an obscene gesture, but not so he'd notice.

All in all it took well over one and a half hours to navigate this opportunity. It was enlightening to me that about half way into this experience there was a sign saying: "This project is made possible by the Federal Economic Recovery and Reconstruction Act." OMG! I can't even begin to calculate the number of votes the Democrats lost the moment that sign appeared. Mine included, temporarily.

After this extraordinary experiential opportunity, I reached the following conclusions:

One: Under no circumstances will I be persuaded to take Interstate 35 south or north again until at least 2011. I have now returned from Fort Dodge via Highway 169, but don't tell anyone else. It was sooooo smooth and easy, although a little slower. Still, my mileage on my return was 10.5 - a full gallon better than traveling in idle.

Two: This is actually the fault of our Republican administration here in Minnesota. Remember, this was Carol Molnau's department, the Department of Transportation. No traffic engineer who had not deliberately set out to frustrate Minnesota drivers could have devised such a diabolical strategy for making these alleged road improvements. I won't even go into the frustration of traveling along miles of roadway and seeing absolutely nothing going on in the blocked off areas. I'm sure you've all been there and seen that.

Three: There is going to be more of this, as in all the hundreds of times I have traveled this road to and from Des Moines and other points in Iowa, this is NOT - I repeat, NOT - the most needy section of Interstate 35. That is reserved for Albert Lea to just north of the rest stop, going north. That's a section of the highway in which you feel you are rocking on waves - regular thunk, thunk, thunk,etc. I don't want to be a victim of that Economic Recovery and Reconstruction event.

Four: There's a lot to be said for traveling an occasional two lane highway. It has been many years - over 20? - since I traveled the route from Fort Dodge to Minneapolis via 169. Amazing how little has changed, and how comforting it was to find that out.

I'm home at last. More on this significant trip in later posts.

Robin Watch Final

They're very active, and I expect them to leave the nest this weekend. I will be away, which is good. The dogs cannot threaten them from Fort Dodge. It's been fun, and there may be another nest full after these are gone. We shall see.

Cockroaches

Did you know that cockroaches can spread as many as 33 infectious diseases? I'm assuming the ad for roach removal gives us this useful information because they're afraid that, if we don't know this, we won't call an exterminator to get rid of them. Really, I would think their simply being there would be enough to send residents scurrying, like a cockroach, to consult the Yellow Pages. It would me. Ish!

Robin Watch 8

Babies are clearly getting bigger. I'm expecting they'll leave the nest this weekend. Mama doesn't need to hang around all the time to keep them warm any more, but they aren't yet trying their wings.

Man made earthquake

Bang! Bang! Bang! Thump! Roar! and, of course, the constant beep, beep, beep. The roar of the incessantly beeping (bleeping) huge machinery is now in front of my house, and the house is rocking and shaking. The moment of breaking up the curbing has arrived. Crumpling the curbing like a large line of crackers, the big old "thingee" with the large digger basket is taking aim along my street. It is creating our own minor earthquake. "I feel the earth move under my feet"

My water will soon be coming to me from a temporary line running down the sidewalk, and the street will be no more, temporarily at least. All this in the name of progress, and necessary progress at that. The 100 year old sewer system will be replaced, giving those of us who use our various sinks, tubs and toilets a certain peace of mind and sense of security.

My basement is also vastly changed, although there is still work for me to tackle, and much, much more stuff to throw away. Hard to believe watching Rick's trailer full of stuff disappear to the dump that there would be anything left, but there is, and I must attack this project soon, before I lose momentum. It would be so easy to just shut the doors and return to the upstairs. Why, I even have carpet in my laundry room, and extra light too. A laundry room makeover, so to speak. Clean clothes for me from now on - no excuses.

Arby's sign

Arby's sign in Brooklyn Park reads in part:
SAND W DRINK

Lots of drink, I would hope.

Clean Basement

For three years or more I have had on my To Do list to clean the basement. Today my super, excellent, thorough, hard working, honest, reasonable and all around nice guy - my handyman, Rick - cleaned my basement. Thank you Rick. And if anyone wants to know where to find this gem, just drop me a note. He's the best around. No job too small. Sometimes my friends monopolize his time, but I'm still happy to recommend him.

Robin Watch 7

Now and then I can see the babies little open beaks above the nest. Am trying to catch a shot of them being fed, but I have my window closed today (surprise!) and opening it for the picture changes the picture - so to speak. They all fly away - actually only Mama and Papa fly away. I think there are about four babies, and all seem to be doing just fine.

Personality improvements

No positive personality change will go untested. I found myself on Saturday being friendly to strangers, in a way that was really not like me at all. The test came as I was leaving the event, when I stupidly backed my car into a tree, causing some not insignificant damage to my right rear taillight casing and bumper. I handled it without raving, screaming or crying. I did, however, swear a little. I'm trying to ignore it, but with the right rear taillights now stuffed in the back of the car, that is hard to do. Right turn signals don't register with anyone outside the car - so next up will be getting it fixed . . . soon. And for an obscene amount of money, I'm sure.

Another stupid health warning

Oh for heaven's sake! Our reusable shopping bags may harbor bacteria. Wow! What a surprise! Everything in the world may harbor bacteria, and we apparently should be concerned about our reusable shopping bags. I scanned the article to learn that, should you allow your food to rot and develop mold or allow unwrapped or sloppily wrapped raw meat sit in your shopping bag, it may leave bacteria which might be harmful. Well, as the kids say, "Duh." Did any of you out there not know that letting mold grow or perishable food rot in your shopping bag could result in harmful bacteria. At the very least we must realize that it would be "icky". And stink! Shouldn't that be enough to tell us to wash it or throw it away? Surely, this is not a necessary warning about using reusable shopping bags.

Sudden kitchen makeover

Today I had a new light installed under the cupboard and over my main work area. I now have a bright, light, yellow kitchen. It was always yellow, but being bright is so much better. Who'd have thought my kitchen makeover could be so cheap and so quick. I'm so excited!

Robin Watch 7

Caught both Mama Robin and Papa Robin together at the next, feeding their babies together. So sweet! I'm thinking there are at least three babies here. I can't see them without intruding, but I did hear peeping yesterday as I had my cocktail on the patio.

Scapegoat for violence

The Week: June 5, 2009, Best Columns: Europe - Germany. Sad to know that politicians are apparently the same all over. Commentary by Michael Thalken of Kolner Stadt-Anzeiger (Scott will translate this?) After a killing spree at a high school, the government apparently decided to "take action to prevent school shootings" by banning paintball games. It seems the shooter loved paintball and the officials thought it probably "lowered his inhibitions against doing violence." Public outcry caused them to can this idea, and, indeed, to drop the whole idea of taking action. Commentator Thalken suggested the politicians might invest in more counselors and better outreach for troubled kids, but then noted, that would be expensive, time consuming and "wouldn't make a splash with the media." And this from a somewhat more socialistic country than the U.S. of A. Is there any hope for practical, caring and effective programs anywhere?

Baseball as it's meant to be played

The other night, watching Cleveland vs. New York, being played outdoors, as baseball is meant to be played, I was amused at the players waving off the hoards of midges swarming all over them. Baseball, played outdoors as it's meant to be played. I'm betting Cleveland is enjoying the indoor Dome experience here. At least it is midge free. Just wait, however, soon we'll be playing outdoors too, and, should we ever get rain again, we can, perhaps, offer swarms of mosquitoes to make Cleveland feel at home.

In Cleveland the Seagulls gather to feast on the midges. Here, I suppose, we could encourage bats (no, not baseball bats), as they eat lots of bugs. Probably wouldn't work though, as bats only come out in the dark, and baseball can't be played in the dark. Here's a plan. We can turn off the lights between innings to allow the bats to clear the field of mosquitoes. Think of the fun we could have in the stands in these dark interludes. And the joy of it all is that it is ecologically sort of a balance of nature outcome.

Rethinking gray

Silver threads among the gold. Ok, so maybe I am getting a little gray. I noticed this morning that my silver hair can be very shiny and even kind of pretty. Also noticed in a Star Tribune ad featuring a number of recent high school graduates that all of the girls, who were uniformly beautiful, had long, flowing hair. Good thing I'm waaaay past high school graduation age. I never, ever looked good in long hair. I was never beautiful either, at least not in a traditional way.

Robin Watch 6

The babies have hatched. Mama Robin is feeding them. I sneaked a peek through the slats on the porch - chasing Mama away for a bit, but she soon returned. I await their open beaks peeking above the nest.

Blog posts

My favorite "friend" blog site is being shut down. I shall miss it. It was both my inspiration and my source of concern as I considered and finally set up my own site. I enjoyed reading Scott's blog, but feared that I could not be as entertaining at this sort of thing as someone so much younger than I - about 30 years - and a college student with a sharp mind at that. I do now realize that what I do has some amusement value at times too.

The thing I'm realizing about this blogging thing is that I find almost everything I do or see is now being sorted through my brain for it's blog value. Should I write about my klutzy propensities, mentioning, for example, that I crashed into the clasp on the hand bell case in church yesterday and nearly screamed in pain. This klutzy act having been topped this morning when I opened the closet door on to my foot, leaving a space too narrow to safely access the closet itself. This, in turn, caused me to bang my head on the door as I reached into the closet. That's the klutzy behavior that takes actual talent to accomplish, and reminds me of the time I opened the car door and, as I was getting into the car, bounced my head a couple times off the door and the car roof - apparently because I hadn't opened the door far enough to get into the car safely. Ok, so now I've written about that, and I occasionally wonder that I've survived without more significant brain damage for so many years.

Now, where was I? Ah, yes, I'm now reconciled to the fact that I will write as I write, and will try to avoid boring. I think it's healthy to pay attention to the mundane and trivial in one's daily life, perhaps to find something that can be amusingly expounded upon. Or not!

Robin Watch 5

According to my calculations, it has been about 14 days since Mama Robin started sitting on her nest. Based on the information I have found on the ever educational Internet, they should hatch at 13 days. Get with it Mama! We haven't got all summer to get these babies out of here. She's still sitting there . . . daydreaming.

Intelligent Homosexual

The new Tony Kuschner play, The Intelligent Homosexual . . ., is new and ever so modern - with almost graphic sexual scenes and lots of the "f" word - and is presumably still being written. Admittedly, I had reservations after reading the Graydon Royce review in the Star Tribune. He summarized it well when he said "Now the playwright can set his hands to clarifying his irresolute intentions, for Kushner has not yet discovered his own purpose in writing this play." I reached pretty much the same conclusion without having to sit through the whole thing, and I'm no theater critic - or am I?

There was a time in my life when the dramatic introspection and intensity of the family members' sexual discoveries would have entertained, or at least, interested me. As I reflect, it seems to me the most dramatic and intense dialogue hinged on the sexual interests and understandings. When I was twenty years old, I might have cared. I don't much anymore. The other premise, that daddy, Gus, the labor organizer who felt no longer useful, intended to commit suicide as soon as he could sell the family home for a lot of money, was unconvincing, at least in the first act. It also seemed to generate less real feeling in the cast than their various graphic discussions and manner of coping with their sexual identities. Maybe that's what makes it realistic - assuming it is considered to be realistic.

The theater was cold, and I was preoccupied with staying warm. I left at the first intermission. The question I asked myself was, "Do I care enough about how it will end to justify sitting in the cold theater for two more hours?" I didn't, so I didn't.

Frustration squared

Today I received my usual email notice that my QWest phone bill for my Phoenix home is due. Glancing at the amount, however, I was disturbed, since I have been "away from the phone" in Phoenix for nearly a month, and the bill was about $30 higher than the previous month's bill. Thus began one of the more frustrating search and discover experiences in my recent history.

As I receive these bills online through my CheckFree bill paying service, I first had to get "authorization" to see the bill. This involved digging through my various records to locate a complicated number known as "Your Security Code". This having been accomplished, I located the bill and began to review the details, discovering tacked on to the end of it a set of charges for $30 for something called ETSB or ESBI or something like that. These charges listed, with no date of billing, some email discount something or other and Orbit online services. For questions, they listed an 888 number, which I called.

I shall spare you the details of this first call. Suffice it to say the contact, after listening to the various automaton instructions, was a person who declared that they were some kind of clearinghouse for these calls, and she had no information nor authority to do anything about them. She claimed I needed to call the various companies making the charges - for which there were no phone numbers, of course.

After "gently" hanging up the phone, I proceeded to dial "Spirit of Service", where, after going through the various automaton instructions, I spoke with Jennifer, who explained that some government regulation or lack thereof allows other companies to put their charges on my phone bill. She kindly contacted the company's representative for the charges on the bill. This person, whose accent made her hard to understand, explained that I had enrolled in whatever these plans are, but that she would credit the charges, which I thought was just fine although I had not enrolled in any such thing.

After saying this, she began an interminable interrogation about my name, phone number, email address, number of children, years since last sexual experience (ok, I'm exaggerating here), etc. I finally said if you don't already have this information how did you put your phony charges on my bill in the first place, and sure enough, she started reading the information to me instead of the other way around. Having thus been assured that I didn't have to pay them or recite them to her, I again hung up the phone.

From there I checked my email notice from the Washington Post and found the following amazing article. I refer you to it, as somehow, in juxtaposition with my morning fun with the phone experience, I found myself laughing out loud at this one. Hope you enjoy it as much as I did. Here's the link: http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/05/27/AR2009052703627.html?wpisrc=newsletter

Robin Watch 4

Mama Robin has been sitting on the nest for about ten days. She appears to be daydreaming.

Daydreaming

The Week, May 29, 2009, Health & Science section: "Daydreaming is good for you" Although "often viewed as a sign of laziness . . . [during daydreaming] there's a lot of activity in regions of gray matter dedicated to high-level thought and complex problem-solving." The article goes on to note that the average person "spends as much as a third of his or her waking hours in reverie."

Wow! Who would have thought it? But, wait a minute. What exactly is daydreaming? I'd define it as letting my thoughts drift off to a quiet ocean beach, or lake shore where I observe cloud patterns and watch the hawk making lazy circles in the sky. But if we spend as much as a third of our waking hours in reverie, then the definition of daydreaming must be much broader than that. I'm wondering if the hours I spend doing jigsaw puzzles and playing Scrabble are in fact productive hours. Wouldn't that be great?

How exciting to know that I'm using gray matter dedicated to high-level thought and complex problem-solving. Shoot, I don't think I've engaged in high-level thought for years. My thoughts, quite frankly, are trivia, and not even productive trivia. I couldn't compete in the game of Trivial Pursuit, nor do I ever have even a faint idea the answers to the baseball trivia questions that tease Bert's and Dick's minds during the Twins baseball broadcasts. No, my trivial thoughts pursue recollections of insignificant, useless events of the past connected with my daily habits and places. Of course, nothing is more trivial than that, nor more boring.

The researcher summarizes or surmises that, when you're not paying attention, for example, to the sermon in church, "your mind may be taking that time to address more important questions in your life, such as advancing your career or personal relationships." What are the theological implications of that?

But what if they're right? Maybe my boring trivial thought pursuits are more than they seem. I'll try to give that some thought, just as soon as I finish this jigsaw puzzle that I'm so close to solving. It's a picture of a sandy beach on the shore of a beautiful ocean. Really!

Ms Yo

The license plate I just saw on a Lexis, no less, reads "MIZ YOYO". So, maybe it's a more popular name than I thought.

My YoYo is a young dog (under the age of two) who, I thought, was ready to show in an agility trial. However, in the true spirit of growing children, Yo drew from her instincts and some long ago connection to a Beagle and late on Saturday afternoon put her nose to the ground to sniff out . . . Who knows? Mulberries, perhaps. She eats a lot of these on our daily walks. Perhaps she had a bead on the preceding canine performer who had completed the run. Surprised occasionally that her nasal quest put her in front of a jump, she either walked around it or took a lazy leap over it, before dropping her nose to the ground again. Her intense curiosity over this enticing smell had not abated by Sunday morning.

On Saturday, in retrospect, I should have just picked her up and ended the run before I made a complete fool of myself. I would have done so, had I not been misled by her earlier performances into believing she would suddenly look up, see me waving my arms and repeating one word commands and would smile, apologize and begin her high class performance. I could have, however, just accepted that she's young and distractable and not yet all that confident about what she is doing in an agility trial. It's the old gambler's lament - shoulda, woulda, coulda! And, believe me, working with dogs is often a gamble.

Sunday, with the wisdom of my Saturday experience firmly planted in the reachable part of my brain, I knew just what to do when Yo failed to pay any noticeable attention to me. I gently picked her up and cuddled her (well, not exactly cuddled) and left the ring, thus charitably contributing my rather substantial remaining entry fees to the Bloomington Obedience Training Club.

YoYo is not a part of my license plate and is unlikely to be displayed there or on any other sign of my life's successes for some time to come.

Too much like Phoenix

Wind, wind and more wind! When will it stop? As I drove home from my weekly dog training and massage session, the horizon was filled with dust. Trees are swaying and whipping around in the wind, and the dry dirt and sand is whirling in the air. And the temperature is in the 90s. Ok, so I'm back in Minnesota where we have opinions about the weather, which changes from day to day and sometimes from hour to hour. Actually, our opinions also change from day to day, but we do know how to appreciate a good weather day. All I can say is, it is too hot, dry and windy here the past couple days. Fortunately, that will change later today or tomorrow. That's one of the things that makes it Minnesota, not Arizona.

Weblog shortened is Blog

Digital life, Star Tribune May 20, 2009. Headline: "Re-rip music so songs will play on the chopper." Not long ago that headline would have made even less sense than it does now. "When you ripped songs from CDs, the default Windows Media Player setting probably was to copy them as WMA files. You can fix that by re-ripping your CDs as MP3 files." What surprises me most is that, nonsensical as it sounds or would have sounded to me a few years ago, I in fact get the essence of its meaning and envision clicking things on the computer to make music "download" onto some gizmo or other in a different format.

A friend, who claims she will not read blogs and wants nothing to do with them, does not even want to hear the word. She claims the world is divided into mammals and dinosaurs, and she is a dinosaur, minus the large teeth and weird body shape, of course.

A few years ago - or maybe it was just a few months ago - I wanted nothing to do with blogs either, but here I am. I used to dismiss them, although I read a few and was entertained. I feared I could not be clever like the others and scoffed at the idea of being a blogger. Yet, I like to write, so now a "blogger is I". Still up to taking risks, I guess.

Now there's Twitter, which I understand is a short form of messaging that many do from their telephones. I have insisted that I will not do texting and will not get into this twitter thing, but you never know.

I've learned that I can't upgrade my phone to a Blackberry device until September. Okay, so I did ask about it. Do you suppose in September I'll tiptoe another step into the 21st century? At my age perhaps I should do as much of this stuff as I can understand for as long as I can understand it. One of these days I may find that I too am a dinosaur, and when someone talks of re-ripping music, I'll envision a choir anthem being torn into bits of paper. I may then suggest anthems to rip based on the dullness of their alto line. That ripping effort could take years to complete.

Robin Watch 3

Mama robin continues to diligently sit on her nest, except for a few minutes last evening when I thought it would be nice to have my G&T on the patio. She kept watching me from the fence in between forays towards the nest, as if to say, "Please leave." So, I left. Someone today suggested I should have stayed. It is after all, my patio, not hers. But, my belief in freedom of choice does not negate my deep respect for the right to life.

Robin Watch 2

For several days one or another of the robin pair have visited the nest outside my window, but they didn't stay. Today, they have stayed and, in my amateurish observations, mama appears to be sitting a little higher in the nest. Perhaps she has laid her eggs and will be around incubating them. I shall keep watch and report.

Summer in the city

Today is the day, according to the advance warning bulletins, that my street and sewer line destruction and reconstruction is to begin. We have been notified and told to get our cars off the street. For the past few weeks, we have been subjected to the roar and clamber of machinery and incessant beeping on the next street over, where the road has been dug up and now, temporarily, filled over the frames for our new sewer pipes and such. These are worthy projects, as, I'm told, the present sewer lines are well overdue for replacement. One cannot overemphasize the importance of timely replacement of sewer lines, not to mention that the streets have been in horrible shape for many years as well.

As if in a preliminary show of strength, a couple of giant machines with forks on the front lumbered up and down the street in front of my house about 7:15 this morning in preparation for the big event, then disappeared. As of 11:10, they have not returned. Perhaps they were intending to scoop up any leftover cars parked on the street which on Friday was posted no parking and has, by this morning, finally been cleared of these pesky obstacles to progress.

Other than a big truck with word "vac something" on the side racing down the street a couple of times, the street is eerily quiet. I wait. With some trepidation I resolve to be patient and understanding during this upcoming time of trial. I shall then look forward to quiet evenings after work hours, when the frequent hum of lawn mowers will be relatively less intrusive to my tranquility - maybe.

Robin Watch

My herd of wild Bostons may have scared them off, even though I reassured papa robin that I would keep his kiddies safe. He did, as I mentioned, look skeptical. I saw no sign of them yesterday, and was about to post a sad commentary on my unfitness as a bird sanctuary, but then caught a cameo appearance of mama bird today. I'm guessing that she hasn't laid her eggs yet and maybe she's keeping this option open. This is creating very mixed feelings for me. I'd love to nurture nature and have baby robins here, but it is a minor nuisance to have to look out for them and be sure they are kept safe and relatively undisturbed. My Bostons can and do create quite a ruckus on occasion.

Summer garden phase 1

Tomorrow my new tree arrives, but today I headed out, in spite of the cold wind and my sense that fall is already here, and bought a few new perennials to replace those that didn't make it through the winter. I shall confess here that I don't know as much about gardening as, say, my parents did. Probably not as much as most anybody, but I have managed to produce blooming lilies. Actually, that's not true either. The blooming lilies were given to me by my father some years ago. They seem to thrive no matter what I do.

Yesterday I cleaned the pond and started the waterfall. That's a lot of work, but is worth it. I'm sure my robins are delighted to have the fresh water near by as they carry out their hatching rituals.

As I was perusing the various offerings at the local nursery, I read that the begonias which, having been pushed a little, are already blooming beautifully were labeled "Habit: Mounding". Hesitating, I asked myself if I really wanted plants "mounding" around in my back yard. Still, they do look quite pretty there at the moment. I shall watch their behavior very, very closely.

They're back

Two years ago, while waiting for my new puppies to arrive, I enjoyed watching the progress of a pair of robins who had made a nest under the floor of my upstairs balcony. After they and their progeny had flown the nest, I took it down and was glad not to see them there last summer. This year, they're back.

When I returned home on May 1st, I specifically checked and was pleased to see nothing in the way of a nest. Yesterday, however, I glanced up and, what do you know, the nest is back, and mother is snuggled down with that familiar sense of purpose. So, we're in the hatching business here again. The previous robin nesting produced two . . . (broods?) (They're not called litters are they?) That is to say, they hatched one batch, got them off and flying, and next thing I see, they're at it again, sitting on the nest, I mean. Proliferating and sending off two nest fulls into the world.

They have no idea how much less safe my yard is for them this year. I have two of the pups that were incubating two years ago, and these two are real devils. I chatted briefly with Mr. Robin yesterday and promised I'd protect his offspring. He seemed to understand as he cocked his head and looked at me - skeptically? I shall have to watch closely to protect the little creatures when they hatch and are about to fly. It should be an interesting summer.

The Maple Tree is gone

It had not been doing well for the past two or three years, and last year I studied it often trying to get up the energy to cut down some of the dead branches. I never did, and this year the number of dead branches had more than doubled. It was time to say goodbye.

A side benefit of the economic downturn is that when you need something done, it is possible to get it done right away. Monday the estimator came and gave me a bid and Tuesday the crew arrived and took down the tree, removed the stump, and, while in the neighborhood, trimmed the crab tree in the front. For several hours their chain saw and stump chopper drowned out the incessant beep, beep, beep of the road crew working in the next block. Today, the beeping is back, and my back yard feels naked.

I thought the dogs might miss the tree. I have no idea why I thought it would make any difference to them. Obviously, I was anthropomorphizing again. (Wow, that's a long word) They have a great time digging in the loose dirt and wood chips, and eating I don't know what in the process.

Today I shall look for a new tree for the back yard. Probably a flowering crab that will not grow as large as a maple, but will provide some shade, some color and some sense of adornment for my bleak and barren yard. Perhaps I should also plant more flowers. Life ends and life is renewed and changed, but where it has ended, there is a big, empty space.

Mother's Day

The Star Tribune featured mothers' remembrances today, including one mother who memorialized her child's butt cheeks in green ink for her baby book. So very glad am I that my mother did not do such a thing for me, although having been the one to go through all her letters and papers, I'd have had the final word as I shredded it, as I certainly would have done. Sentiment has its limits.

My mother saved letters. Actually, she saved everything, but that's another story. She stored things in our home of 54 years, setting them away in the basement, the attic, various closets and the storage spaces under the eaves around the attic, not to mention the garage, carriage house and shed. She saved what appeared to be pretty much all of my father's love letters to her over a period of the six or seven years he was in law school and was courting her, the only woman he could ever love. He fell in love with her when she was his high school English teacher and was never seriously interested in anyone else. Mother's oldest brother, it seems, had also saved every personal letter he ever received, and mother had conscientiously saved these too, although she probably never read any of them.

Mother also saved my letters, from the time of my leaving home for college until about ten years ago or so. I haven't started to look over these letters, as they are, I'm pretty sure, mundane and dull. I have now looked through all of my father's love letters and reviewed my Uncle Harry's stuff to glean information about my mother's life before me. Mother didn't dwell in the past, as she was always more interested in the future - where she might travel and what adventures she might have.

Mother died a year ago January and this month is the fifth anniversary of my father's death. Most of the letters she saved are now shredded, as she requested when she allowed me to read them, saying, "They're awfully mushy, you know," and they were, sometimes tediously so. I spent time this winter writing down my memories of her life based on this information and on our many, many long talks together. My best friend all my life, Mother remains a big part of my daily thoughts and prayers. I believe she and my father watch over me still.

Re-adapting to Minnesota

Home a week and still getting back into the Minnesota groove. I am not used to weather being a significant topic of conversation. In Phoenix the reports consist of daily predictions of sunshine, with occasional clouds, and temperatures measured against whether they are a few degrees above or below average. But really, what difference does it make if the temperature is 82 degrees rather than the "normal" 76 degrees? It hardly warrants paying a meteorologist to rush side to side pointing things out on his electronic maps to obtain this information.

Here, as I check out at the grocery store, the clerk asks, "Isn't the weather beautiful?" And notes that she plans to step outside awhile to enjoy the weather in the upper 60's with light cloud cover. I'm out of the habit of thinking of the weather, so I am slow in responding. Of course, 68 degrees is beautiful in May here in Minnesota.

I keep also finding that I see things that seem to have changed slightly, such as a corner by the church that looks more bare than last time I saw it, or a home up the street that seems to be missing a tree. Yet, try as I might, I don't remember what it looked like before, just that it seems different. Priding myself, as I always have, in noticing details, I was caught off guard at the home of friends when they pointed out that they had painted the family room. I mumbled a little, as I hated to admit that I hadn't noticed - not even noticed a difference. It must be because I was just so glad to see and visit with them that I failed to take in the surroundings.

In Phoenix, as I mentioned before in this space, I learned that I did not need to rush through breakfast to tackle a day full of projects, errands and events. This has created a calmer me. Here, however, there is danger of falling back into old habits, as I have many more projects, needs, activities and events to address. I'm learning to procrastinate, or, shall we say, space things out in a more orderly order.

So here's to staying calm and enjoying the variations in weather that make a 68 degree day with light clouds and slight breeze so special. Here's to being a Minnesotan again.

Home

The grass is green and the trees are hinting at it. My flowering crab tree will be bursting into beautiful pink blooms in about a week.

Leaving Oklahoma, into Kansas, Missouri and finally, Iowa, I was never without Public Radio. Eventually grew a little tired of hearing about the "flu", and whatever else was bandied about with the tireless energy we always find on public radio. Not until Minnesota, though, could I find classical music, which is the only kind I can stand to listen to for more than 60 seconds.

High point of the drive in Missouri was the sign advertising "Toot, Toot", a family restaurant. Now, really!

Spring is springing, the sun has riz' - I wonder where my ??? is? Spring cleanup is high on the list of priorities.

Traveling through Bible Country

Traveling across Northern New Mexico, Texas and Oklahoma is generally not an inspiring experience, in spite of the many opportunities for Biblical inspiration and 24 hour evangelical preaching. There are the Spanish speaking stations, the Bible thumping stations, the Country music (using the term, music, loosely) stations and, very occasionally and for brief periods of time, the Public Radio glimpses. Five minutes maximum before static takes over that radio band. There were capsule insights into the news, including the good news that Arlen Specter has joined the majority party.

The normally rather nondescript countryside in this area of my drive was made more so by a long period of fog. As the sign for "Gray County" came into sight, I thought, "Oh, now I understand."

There is also a rather odd expectation along this part of Texas (and possibly throughout the state, but I wouldn't know that for sure) that all people want to do when they stop to "rest" is to picnic or just park. Absent the notorious use of adult diapers, the best thing you can have as you drive across this area is good bladder control. And when the one and only full "rest" stop arrived, I almost missed the only sign just before the turn off.

I had an interesting experience at a Chevron station outside of Oklahoma City. Stopped to fill the tank and found it was a pump it yourself, without the automated card reader. The reading started with a 2 cent charge on it, then filled at a total charge of $20.95. The price was also about 20 cents more than it should be, and I'd almost decided to drive on - a decision which in retrospect I should have followed.

I went inside to pay and was told I owed $20.99, as the man handed me back a penny. I wish to make it clear that I do not care that much about the few cents here and should have just walked away, but I called his attention to the discrepancy, saying, "The pump said $20.95, and it had 2 cents on it before I started," at which he reached into this till, took out a dime and pushed it on me, saying, "Here's a dime. Now get the hell out of here." I left the dime on the counter and walked away wondering, "Is this little game worth something to him, or was it just a bad day at the shop?" Next station I passed posted its gas at 20 cents less than I paid there. I'm still puzzled by it all.

So I am here in Oklahoma City relaxing with my cousin and her husband, while my circus act of Boston terriers plays havoc with their peaceful life. Tomorrow I go to Des Moines, and on Friday I'll be home. It is raining here and everything is very green and lush. I shall soon see the green, green grass of home, and by next trip, I think I shall have installed a satellite radio in the car.

The green, green grass of home

"Yes, they'll all come to meet me, arms reaching, smiling sweetly.
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home." This refrain has been haunting me for several days, as I plan my getaway from the hot, hot sands of Phoenix. Not, of course, that I don't love Phoenix in the winter. But, it's time to go home.

Mornings here are beginning earlier and earlier, as I think my body is crying out to be back on Central Daylight time. Here we are two hours earlier, as Arizona is the only state in the U.S. that doesn't go on daylight savings' time. They have some cockamamie theory that they want early sunsets so that they can cool off in the evenings surrounded by the hot, hot sands of Arizona. What they're missing in my opinion are the cool, cool mornings and the luscious rays of rising sun which, by virtue of my early waking, I can enjoy in peace around 5:30.

I catch up on the news while covered in Boston terriers, then enjoy my fruit and yogurt with my mealtime partner, Lily, who sits on the chair opposite me, or on the window sill beside the table, watching me eat and listening to my insightful observations on the day. At home this will change, as the seat across from my breakfast table is bar stool height, too high for Lily.

Then there are the morning walks, which, should I get distracted by my Facebook reviews and daily cryptogram, my faithful Yo will remind me about in her own rude and insistent manner. Three walks, total about two miles, take about an hour. I look forward to these walks on the parkway, where the dogs can run from tree to tree, romping through the green, green grass etc.

At home I get the news of the Twins, which I miss here. I've tried, unsuccessfully, to appreciate the Diamondbacks, but, really, how can one get excited about a team named after snakes?

By next week at this time, I shall be back in green grass country and will have home well within my sights. I don't expect they'll all be out to meet me, arms reaching, smiling sweetly, but I won't need that. Home reaches out and makes me smile sweetly - and all will be well.

Class reunions

She's just a little older than I and definitely much grayer, but she looks a lot better for her age than I do. We were high school classmates. I seldom think about high school classmates. In fact I have forgotten most of them, and some of them are dead. I've only once or twice attended a class reunion, and it seems this was a long time ago.

It has been 53 years since I graduated from high school. Our last class reunion was, I think, three years ago. I didn't go. I was in town at the time, and I considered going, but had not troubled to find out what was happening or where. I made a halfhearted attempt to find some classmates, but nothing came of it. I was in an adjustment period, with my father recently deceased and my mother in assisted living in Des Moines. Our old home was pretty lonely, with many items cleared out and the rest spread out on the living room floor. I think it was a last review of stuff before the big sale to clear out the rest. Obviously, not a time when I was in a mood for partying.

After my visit this week with my old classmate, I am thinking I might attend a future reunion. Our town holds all school reunions in conjunction with their annual Creek Days event. Some towns have lakes, others have rivers, but in Odebolt, it's our creek, the Odebolt Creek. Was the town named after the creek, or the creek named after the town? No one knows. Anyway, I think they dam it up downstream to be sure there is water in it for this annual event.

My reservations about returning for one of these events is now related to my parents' deaths. For so many years I was blessed with their being there, sort of right where I'd left them and always the same, except, of course, older. Could I make it there as a stand alone Dresselhuis? Might it be a healing experience? Do I need a healing experience? Or might it just be fun to see where people I sort of knew way back then have been and how they're doing now? Or might it just be fun? I'm thinking about it.

Arizona is getting hot

It's time to go home to a place where even 42 degrees sounds good! Today it will hit 98 and the next two days 100 degrees. Next Monday I leave for Minnesota. I'm almost counting the hours. Warm in winter is nice; hot in spring is not. Green lawns in summer are nice; brown lawns and sand under very, very hot sun are not. God bless all of you who live in Arizona for welcoming me as a winter visitor. God bless all my friends in Minnesota for being there for me when I come back. I'm coming home!

Al Franken won

The court has declared Al Franken the winner after lo these many months of testimony, arguments, counts, recounts and maneuvering. It appears to me that the public is strongly urging Coleman to accept the result and allow the candidate we elected to be seated as Minnesota's second senator. A little cooperation by our governor would help too.

In this day of commenting, blogging, twittering (whatever the heck that is, and don't even try to tell me), emails and networks, everyone's opinion is out there somewhere, and nearly every one of them would like to see their opinion as "the last word' on the subject. Many of the opinions are useless and irrelevant, as they reflect only that their writers are angry, illiterate, stupid or uninformed, or all of the above. How frustrating to have to plow through these rantings to find those comments you can click "like" on. It is tempting to add my own thoughts to these litanies until I note that what I'm reading is one of 282 posts, and I realize that I would do just as well throwing dishes against the wall and keeping my priceless prose and uncommon insights to myself. Ah, but I have a blog, so I can thoughtfully, candidly and insightfully put out my own opinion where someone might read it. Or not, as they choose.

No one will be surprised that I think Coleman should quit this expensive court battle. Strange how much people dislike and distrust lawyers until they find some who will take their money and battle windmills for them, no matter how meritless the cause. But this isn't about Norm Coleman, is it? He has no political future in Minnesota anymore anyway. No, this is about delaying the seating of the duly elected Democratic senator from Minnesota as long as possible. It's all part of the politics of "no". Will we ever get used to this crap and assume it is something we should expect? I hope not. Will the electorate remember this childish behavior by the Republican party at the next election? I certainly hope so.

Non-scientific personality tests

As I was growing up, my mother, the wise one to whom I still defer for advice, told me, "Ellen, you'll never be able to get by with anything. You are a person people will remember." I knew she was probably right, but I did a lot of things that I'm glad I did get by with. They were generally speaking rather fun. Perhaps, however, this little personality test I just did on Facebook is right after all. It says, in part:

". . . you are such an honest and true individual sometimes it is easy for others to move through life as if you are invisible to them, pushing you around and hurting you in ways they would never imagine doing to [other types of people]." Maybe I was invisible when I behaved in questionable ways, because I was thought of as honest and true. It's lovely to be thought of so nicely, but I really doubt I have ever been invisible.

But, for those of you reading this who might be concerned that you have pushed me around and hurt me in unimaginable ways, let me assure you, I don't remember any of it. This memory issue - perhaps not an issue, but yet another blessing.

Easter Sunday

Ah! The Easter Parade. Ladies in fancy clothes and interesting hats paraded in New York every Easter. They even had their own song. Remember The Easter Parade? We'll be all in clover, when they look you over. You'll be the proudest lady in the Easter Parade. Or something like that. Maybe you don't remember that. I age myself again.

It was important to have something new for spring to wear to church on Easter morning. As a child, my parents couldn't always afford new Easter clothes. This caused my mother anxiety and increased the pressure of her constant financial worry. Many times my best outfits had been purchased at the annual P.E.O/D.A.R rummage sales. [These clubs alternated years, as I recall, though their memberships were overlapping.]

I remember the year I was allowed to wear my new outfit to school before Easter because I was to be in an all school assembly program and wanted to look my best - or rather, Mother probably wanted me to look my best. As I recall, I was just excited to have something new to wear. The hitch in the plan, however, was that I was, as usual, late to school. Riding my bicycle to school, as my brother and I always did, we were suddenly confronted with a freshly tarred street that had to be crossed, or ridden an extra block to bypass. My brother made it across just fine.

Mother was not happy - actually she was very, very unhappy, I recall, as she helped me scrub off the tar with kerosene. I can't say that I was too cheerful either. I don't remember what I wore for Easter Sunday that year, but it definitely was not the tar soaked skirt and blouse I had hoped to wear.

Whatever happened to the Easter Parade anyway? Should we consider reinstituting it? It might help get us spending again and boost our economic recovery. I'd be safe now, as I am seldom late and I never ride my bike to anything anymore.

Haircut

A haircut costing $55 is way out of line! I'm thinking it had better last more than twice as long as the ones I get at home, as it really doesn't look that much different. The warning signs were obvious when I opened the door. I should have taken them seriously. It was a place with trendy, modern looking furnishings, but not a tool of the trade in sight. Old fashioned beauty parlors could be so messy, with bottles, sprays, combs, hair dryers, scissors, etc. lying about. The place was also empty of customers, although there was a meeting going on where a few young, hip and trendy looking people sat around looking bored and shuffling through some papers. As the pretty little girl (Hey! She was young, pretty and short) was tenderly snipping a few hairs at a time and much time was passing as she did so, I knew I was in for sticker shock when I checked out. She did giggle some at my attempted witticisms, but not enough to justify $55. And she agreed that I am not as gray as her mother, who is 40. I was glad she didn't compare me to her grandmother. I tried to convince myself that this was some kind of pampering, and that I should enjoy it. It didn't work.

I do look better than I did before the haircut, but I'll also look better after the next haircut I'll get, which will cost about $24 back in Minneapolis and take half the time. Next winter I'll have to find a cheaper hair cutter, or, perhaps, just let it grow.

I'm no gray haired lady

My hair is only gray in pictures, never in my mirror. I don't know why that is, but I can clearly see some highlights of gray when I look in the mirror, but never a whole head of gray hair.

I do, however, wear the colors lavender and rose, though usually not in the same shirt. One day some years ago I approached the checkout counter at Daytons (you can see how long ago that must have been) with two blouses in these colors. A gray haired older woman was standing there and commented, "Oh those are such good colors with our gray hair." "Our gray hair"? I chuckled as I drove home. This was either a defining moment or an effect of the store lighting. I never did look quite the same under department store lighting.

I suspect the reason I look so gray in photos also has to do with the lighting. Take a picture in the bright sunlight, and the gray hair shines so brightly that it simply overpowers the other, more abundant, shades of color in my hair.

You may suggest that I could just color out the gray with a rinse. You see the ads all the time for men to color their gray, and if men can do it, surely we can too. Unfortunately, that would lead me into another difficult spot. I am, as of this writing, still putting off a haircut that I have needed since early to mid March. It is now April. How much worse might I look if I were coloring my hair and put it off for weeks at a time? It doesn't bear thinking about, really.

I've decided the best solution to this problem is for my friends to simply accept that I am not gray, except for a few enhancing hightlights mixed with my normal hair, and for me to try to stay out of the sunlight - at least when there is a camera around.

My Orange Tree

Vegetation in the valley, as this part of Arizona is known, is somewhat a mystery to me. Of course, there are the various species of cactus, which are an interesting study. Some people I know (actually one person) just love cacti. I'm trying to get past the aggressive look of most of them - that is, they are all armed with tiny spears, sharper than tacks, and some of them, I'm told even attack animals and people. I do understand that these are adaptions of the plants for survival - to ward off predators who might steal their water and weaken them in the process.

The valley also sports an interesting variety of coniferous and deciduous trees. Where my dogs will snarf down mulberries from the post Dutch Elm plantings in Minnesota, here I'm having to ask them to spit out the olives that cover the ground up at the park. Among the trees in my neighborhood are citrus fruit trees, including lemon, grapefruit and orange trees.

I met the orange tree in my back yard during my visit here in June last year (temperatures hovering around 110). It had been sadly neglected while my house had been vacant and in these temperatures, without water, the poor thing was looking pretty sad. We could determine by careful inspection that it was a fruit tree, but what kind of fruit tree was not immediately apparent.

With a little attention my orange tree has borne fruit, not a huge crop compared to the trees around it that have been well cared for, but a respectable production. As I was once given a beautiful orange off a tree in California and had found at first taste that it was sour and unpleasant, I was cautious about my own oranges. To my great delight, they are sweet and juicy and make a wonderful mix for a shot or two of vodka.

I have now picked the last of the oranges on my tree, and have eaten most of them - technically, I have drunk most of them. And I have come to treasure my orange tree. We have fertilized it and arrangements have been made for it to be watered regularly, even when I'm not here. It is not just that these lovely orange fruits are decorative in the landscape, it is that they are free, sort of. And healthy! As a lifelong northerner, I'm delighted with the idea that I can pick fruit right off my own tree and enjoy it at cocktail hour. Some might even find it nice for breakfast.