greenchilesandroses

Learning to be Active Again

2012-01-24T10:19:00.000-08:00

If you have never, even temporarily, lost the ability to do something physical that almost everyone can do, this anecdote may mean very little. If you have---

Yesterday, I started outpatient physical therapy at a place I had been before. Therapists work their clients hard, and if we are willing to stay an extra half hour or more and work extra, they let us. No extra charge.

The doctor and therapists have all been telling me how fast I am healing after a second knee replacement, and I was eager to get to the stationary bicycle.

The time came. I put my feet on the pedals. To my astonishment, both feet pedaled smoothly. No pain. I could pedal in complete circles with both feet.

And I surprised myself, because I teared up for a few seconds, then finished the 10 minutes with a great, goofy grin. Inside, I was trying to figure it out. No, it probably hasn't been 30 years since I could do this, but it has certainly been more than a decade. Maybe 15-20 years since I could pedal without major pain.

Not that I had a pressing need to bicycle during that time. But something I thought was absolutely lost is found again, and I can do it. Being able to pedal will lead to other things I can do again.

Shortly before this discovery, a theapist showed me a lunge move to build up the calf and thigh muscles. It involves leaning far forward with one knee bent, the other straight. I started to say,"I can't do that because of my knees." Bingo! Light went off! These are new knees. I can do these lunge exercises without harm.

I have flared up a bit for years at anyone who called me handicapped, but I have been. I still will be--other arthritic joints have not gone away. With the healing of my knees, however, I can do so much more. I am going to be able to bicycle and get on a treadmill regularly. The aerobic activity is one of the best medicines for rheumatoid arthritis, osteo arthritis, and indeed, countering the effects of aging.

Gracie and I really will take those long walks. I may go down to the senior center and take up line dancing, if it so pleases me--and I definitely will be working in my garden this spring. All of these things give me joy.

I know this because a bicycle pedal has promised it.

Tomorrow, I will do it again.

No January doldrums in Texas

2012-01-16T11:46:00.000-08:00

One of the things wrong with Texas summers besides the heat is the sameness. We wake every day knowing it is going to be hot. In normal years, we have a few days of rain, and not too many days over 100 degrees.

Last summer, we knew every single day was apt to be sunny, uncomfortably hot, and just like the day before and the day after. Boring.

I have to laugh, because this fall when most of the country was having the grass brown, ours was finally greening up. It still is green. We've mowed twice in December--as much as all last summer.

We have had several freezes, hard freezes. Hopefully that will slow down the fire ants. chiggers and fleas next summer. Today at noon it is 71 degrees. Tomorrow afternoon, same time, forecast is for 45 degrees. Then we will have several more days in the 70s. Teens may do a little sun-bathing, or we did back in my day....but that doesn't mean the month can't end with ice and sleet. The Fort Worth Rodeo and Stock Show started Saturday. There's a reason they call the end of January Stock Show Weather. Those same Texas teens that may get out and suntan a bit may wrap wool scarves around their necks to enjoy the carnival rides, sleet permitting.

Many tales are being told of how ranchers and farmers managed last year's drought. Many hopes are being expressed that this year won't be as bad. Already, they are encouraged because the rains came this fall, allowing winter hay to be planted to feed the remaining stock.

None of us around here liked 2011 very much. 2012 already looks better.

Wonder-dog Gracie is getting plenty of outside time today. Last week, following the rain, I kept her treats and an old towel by the back door, because after the rain, she came in muddy clear up to her belly. We negotiated. She agreed not to fight me for one tiny Milkbone treat per towel rub of each leg, and two treats to rub her belly. And then, just as I figured, she headed straight for the cream-colored couch. Not a smear in sight, thank you very much. That was MY end of the negotiation.

Tomorrow, we'll throw her tennis balls a lot inside until she's not the only one getting exercise. She can catch about half the balls on the fly now. Nothing stays the same with Gracie around. Life is never boring, and that leaves me in a permanent good mood.

A New Year, A New Life, A New Knee

2012-01-06T13:06:00.000-08:00

Following surgery Dec. 21, I woke up Dec. 22 to find my pins a little more wobbly than I would like. So I spent another week in rehab hospital.

A good friend ( who had privately decided to sleep on my couch a couple of nights) told me, "At last you've regained your senses." So I was back to three therapy sessions a day in rehab, which is a really good thing. It has gone faster this time. At two weeks, I'm spending more than half my time on a cane.I didn't get off the walker the first time until after the third week. Matter of fact, I'll get physical therapy at home for this week and next before going to an outpatient facility. I'll be driving in another week.

The first time, the surgery felt like beginning something new. This time, it feels like a natural continuation of where I want to go physically.As soon as I can pedal using my left knee, I'm off to far healthier aerobics and a more active life.

I'll never be really athletic, but I'm going to put in a garden this spring and start walking with Gracie. I look forward to this with such pleasure.

My granddaughters helped their dad take care of Gracie while I was gone. They played with her, threw balls, and let her snooze in their laps. Oldest granddaughter told me that "just every now and then" Gracie would have a sad face. Then she would brighten and play some more. I tell you, this dog has great attitude.

We finally got everybody together for present exchange this past Wednesday. A number of people have asked me if I minded being in the hospital at Christmas. The answer is no. I was too busy learning how to use my new knee. The granddaughters vacuumed and did laundry when needed. Home a week, I can pretty much do that now.

I got my daughter-in-law a rainbarrel and will go get her another and one for me (they fit in a Camry one at a time.) And some more soaker hoses. I hope the coming year will not be as hot, but it probably will be as dry. More on my hobby horse later. We are going to learn now to grow things with as little water as possible.

I think it will be interesting and fun.

All I Want for Christmas is a New Left Knee

2011-12-17T08:00:00.000-08:00

Shortly after my last post, I answered my phone to have a woman with an Indian or Pakistani accent tell me she was from Microsoft and there was a problem with my system.

I know just enough to be very stupid. It took her an hour and a half, but she finally guided me to a site where, once I willingly gave her a customer id number, she and her cohorts were able to take over my computer in the night. Microsoft is aware of the problem and on their IT chat site specifically lists the site I was guided to.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

So we unplugged my machine, and things in both my son's and my households have been a little busy lately. A friend who has worked in IT (she also can cook a mean venison roast and plays the piano for church beautifully) came over, cleaned me up and put in the recovery disc to have me up and running again.

sigh. As soon as they sell their house, and it's looking promising, they will move to California to be near grandkids. We'll wave and post pictures on Facebook, but it won't be the same. Her nickname among our friends is Wonder Woman.

She'll be at the hospital next Wednesday as well to spend the day with me after I get my left knee replaced. Yep, I got clearance and I'm going in before Christmas so I can boss my hapless grandchildren around the second week of school vacation to fetch and carry for me. Doctor says I should be home Friday. the 23rd. I didn't realize how many of us "seniors" stampede for the hospitals in December when our deductible is all paid up, but apparently I wasn't the only one to think of it.

The doctor has warned me all knee operations aren't the same and this might not go as well as the first. I agree. But it IS the season of miracles, and the knee really has to be done sometime, anyway. This time, I know how to lift the leg into bed, I know the exercises, and I already have a strong right leg. We all figure I can take my walker and walk over to Matt's house for Christmas dinner and I need to walk, anyway. And I'll get the rebaked potato casserole made in time to freeze it for Christmas Day. Not that my daughter-in-law's wouldn't be better; it's just a tradition we've fallen into, and I'd like to do something.(I HAVE bought plenty of black olives, green olives, pickled okra and cranberry sauce)

My friend Nancy and I ended with 11 for Thanksgiving. I took a piece of turkey over to the cat I was minding for some friends, and they said he wasn't even mad at them when they returned. It was good turkey.

Thanks to a strong right knee, I was able to attend the Caravaggio exhibit at the Kimbell Museum in Fort worth and also spend time at the Amon Carter Museum nearby. I was exhausted, but happy. Before new knee, I couldn't have gone at all.

Knee surgery has got to be the most popular surgery in the world. This summer when I went to the store in shorts, my pink scar showing, people would walk up to me, faces alight, to share their own transforming experiences. The improved knees allow increased activity. The activity is a huge reason many are living so much longer.

I will try to post again a time or two, but it will be difficult before Christmas. In the meantime, any suggestions for tree decorations that represent different faiths? I bought some six-pointed stars last year and have decided they are my first step towards a truly ecumenical tree.

Suggestions are welcome. Meantime, Merry Christmas, and Masel tov.

Is your custom mashed or sweet potatoes?

2011-11-13T14:27:00.000-08:00

Nancy and I are up to 11 for our Thanksgiving dinner, and some maybes.

Just as a division exists between Christmas Eve gift openings and Christmas morning, for Thanksgiving there is another. With your turkey, do you serve sweet potatoes or Russets? Many serve both, of course, but if they do, one potato or the other is largely ignored.

Nancy and I haven't gotten formal about the menu yet, but we were startled to find we differ on this important menu item. I'm a Russet, or Idaho, potato fan. I'll eat sweet potatoes, but only secodarily. For Nancy, they are an important part of the feast.

I've noticed restaurants advertising Thanksgiving menus sometimes offer only sweet potatoes and I always think, "I wouldn't go THERE!" Well, part of that is that if I'm paying $30 a plate, I want to enjoy every item on it. And I enjoy sweet potato concoctions. But "where's the mashed potatoes?" I don't even need gravy, because I seldom eat it.

We simply have decided she will prepare sweets, and I will prepare whites. I usually do rebaked, with sour cream , melted butter and shredded cheddar, because my grandchildren ask for it. Probably will do again as it can be done in advance. With no grandchildren present, i may add the chopped green onions.

You know, a lot of thankfulness goes into the preparation. I reflect on my mother and grandmother doing this, that my daughter-in-law and granddaughters will carry on, and it is such a sweet, loving continuation generation to generation.

Men join the stream--my father managed the turkey and the dressing. For a man born in the early 1900s, he was exceptional, I suspect. My sons can cook as well.

It is interesting that the United States has a Thanksgiving holiday. Remarkable, really. We are thankful for good friends or even just one, we are thankful for good fortune or even survival, we are thankful for a good family, or maybe our escape and survival from the bad. It can easily be a sectarian thankfulness, and it can easily be connected to religious beliefs.

The first Thanksgiving was among Indians with an entirely different belief, and English Christians. This is a national holiday, open to citizens of any belief whatsoever.

Isn't that neat?

Where's My Shoe, Gracie?

2011-11-12T14:27:00.000-08:00

I have needed a new pair of shoes for awhile. Just kept putting it off.

My shoes of choice are SAS (San Antonio Shoes) which are made here in Texas at the --you got it--San Antonio factory. They are well-made. They are comfortable. I think they are just dorky enough to be a bit funky, but I'm looking for excuses. They had their 15 minutes of fame back in the 1970s, when everyone wanted their sandals. I had been used to buying a new pair of sandals every spring because they would be falling apart by fall. To my delight, my SAS sandals lasted several years. That was really nice because, you know, handmade American shoes are expensive. When you can amortize over several years, not so much. Anyway, I got hooked on SAS.

A trademark of the store are their wonderful caramel and chocolate caramels. You get a handful with each purchase, and if you ask for more, you get them. They are REEELY superior caramels. As good as the shoes.

My pup Gracie is quite bored. She had her spaying surgery Thursday and bounced right back. I am giving her low-dose aspirin in peanut butter twice a day to keep her from noticing the incision and licking it. She is getting rawhide chews regularly. But she brought me her tug rope. I played gently but wouldn't throw it. She brought her squeaky ball, and I wouldn't throw that, either. She feels fine, but she has to let the stitches heal. BOR-ING.

I don't know why I have never put my SAS shoes in the closet at night with my other shoes, but these are what I wear, and they have routinely gone on a stand roughly 2 feet high. She has never bothered them till today.

I let her outside this morning, then pretty promptly let her in. She wanted to play. This was my computer time. So she played with her toys on the floor at my feet and fell asleep.

Awww, I thought, and glanced over to see one of my beloved SAS shoes on the rug. She had slobbered all over it, but it was unharmed. Its mate was nowhere in sight.

Still isn't. This is a tiny house. About 900+ square feet. Not much furniture. I can't get on my knees so I brought both granddaughters over to help me search.They looked under the beds, the couch, the chest of drawers. We looked behind doors, behind the recliner--nothing. And I KNOW she didn't eat it overnight. I would have seen her carry it outside, but oldest granddaughter searched the yard anyway. No shoe. The closets were closed tight, but I looked anyway. I had those girls look under the bed 3 times.

"No, grandma," they both said. "There's nothing there."

I asked for younger granddaughter first. She's a good finder. Sharp eyes. But she didn't find. So her big sister came over, positive her younger (lesser) sister had overlooked the shoe. She didn't find it either.

Gracie, where did you put it? She looks back with total innocense. What shoe? Is that what you call it?

Sooner or later it will show up. In the meantime, I have an extremely uncomfortable pair of flats to wear with dress slacks or my athletic shoes. I'm hard to fit,my size is hard to find, I don't like to shop and I don't have many shoes.

So today I drove 30 miles to the store where I have always bought SAS shoes. The recession was brought home with two blocks of empty, once thriving stores. And SAS wasn't there. Eek.

I went over to the MegaMall, and looked around. In this huge shopping center, only five shoe stores. One was Footlocker. I was looking for other options.

Eventually, I drove home, googled SAS, and got a live number for the store I was looking for. The address was on I35E, as was the former store, so that wouldn't have tipped me off. When I called, I learned they have moved. I can drive down on Monday and get my shoes. Reduced store hours mean no Sundays. So I guess I'll go Monday and hope I can snag another pair of shoes for no more than $135. Probably more now, come to think of it. I do really, really need those shoes.

Gracie continues to want to play. Maybe if she gets frustrated enough, she will bring out the other shoe, but I doubt it. Ah, Gracie. I'm glad you are feeling better, but you are cutting heavily into my Christmas budget.

Life was more peaceful before Gracie. More orderly. No one else to consider when I went out. And without the laughter, the irritations, the hugs and life of living with another living being.

I do love this blond and white Corgi. I know she loves me too. Her destruction is never malicious. It's like having a kid around, mostly.

She got me out shopping again. That's not a bad thing.

At all.

Not Much to Talk About

2011-11-08T08:36:00.000-08:00

Except for the summers, temperatures and weather in Texas are frequently changeable. I've enjoyed Thanksgiving meals eating al fresco in short sleeves and bermuda shorts. I remember one delightfully cozy Thanksgiving when it was sleeting, and we ate while enjoying the hearty fire in the fireplace.

The weather has been so up and down lately, the Barrett pears are confused and blooming. I notice a stand of them in a stretch I know was well-watered over the summer is not blooming. The blooms may have something to do with weather shock.

We already have been told the state is losing about 20 percent of its trees due to drought. That's a lot of trees. I took some pictures in August and September. They don't show up so much now that an early freeze has started yellowing the leaves and more are falling off. Frankly, a lot of us are waiting breathlessly to find out if we watered enough or started early enough to save some favorite sweet gums, pecans, oaks, magnolias. It will be spring when we know.

Folks who are particular about their lawns and flowers actually rake the leaves up. They want the landscape to show to best advantage. The rest of us may scoop a few around the bushes as mulch and let the rest go. Fall winds, due any minute, will whip most of them away. (I am aware, yes, that a number of the leaves in my yard are from someone else's trees because the trees those leaves came from don't grow in my yard.)

I still need a quick mow now that the yard is green again, more than half weeds. It was still so dry in September, I didn't dare fertilize, or put out pre-emergent. So let's see. The grass is maybe three inches in places. It hasn't been mowed in a full five months.

Meanwhile, need to dry mop assiduously. Don't know if it is her age or what, but Gracie now is shedding heavily. I hadn't really noticed on the hardwood until I dropped a sweater this morning and picked it up covered with hair. She's six months old and having a painful all-day visit to the vet on Thursday. It's going to hurt and I really feel bad about it. Another reason to mow--don't want her tender tummy getting muddy. A good corgi video I saw said, "Corgis are just big dogs with short legs." I'll agree with that.

I've got to buy more white cotton socks. Gracie has eaten the toes out clear to the halfway point on a pair I carelessly didn't pick up. (I'm learning, Gracie! I'm learning!) She can't have anything to eat after 9 p.m. tomorrow. I guess I'll have to police the place in case this includes rawhide chews, paper, cardboard or random cotton items. She's 16 pounds now. Sure feels like more when we play tug.

Almost no local news now except criminals. Yesterday a man running away from the police in a stolen car crashed into the home a family had lived in 40 years and burned it to the ground. The man was arrested.

At least he won't be released in a day or two due to jail overcrowding.

I Welcome, and I Weep

2011-11-05T21:42:00.000-07:00

I have research to do, but when the town of Alamogordo, New Mexico, was created in 1899, a square mile of township was created by Southern Pacific Railroad where the city bar was established a block from the tracks. It is now the town museum.

The community grew slowly, but steadily. I know my grandparents came, homesteaded, then bought a home in town and established a shoe store in the early 1900s. Lots of trees were planted in the city park, close to the train tracks. These included a pond, ducks, geese, and maybe swans. I don't know when the zoo per se began. I remember feeding Johnson grass to the deer when I was a pre-schooler.

The town was small. Cottonwoods were planted. Alamogordo means "Fat Cottonwood' in Spanish. The trees provided wide and wonderful shade. I remember Ninth Street with trees touching overhead in the street.

I haven't researched, but water came from somewhere early. And the climate was kind in the early 1900s. Grass grew belly high on a cow. Wherever the water came from, there were orchards in the valley. Apple and cherry orchards in the hills, but orchards in the valley. Even today, the apricot trees fluorish.

When I was under 3, we moved to a country home with a dying orchard. It HAD been alive, with all kinds of fruit. Mostly dying when we moved in. That would be about 1946.

Where did the water come from?

There was a small swimming pool-sized reservoir in the late 1940s-1950s. I think by then it came from Bonita Lake. Water was released into the irrigation ditches, never more than two feet deep. People had wood dikes in the ditches. When it was your turn for water, you dropped the wooden dam so the water would detour on your property. When the water should go to your neighbor, you left your dam up. People were pretty honorable about that. Most of the time.

The irrigation water would flood your lands, lawn and gardens for a few hours. So glorious to wade through. The flowers and vegetables were bountiful. My father grew 100 rosebushes and a blue grass and clover lawn, and a full half-acre of vegetables. Folks would come by in the afternoons to see all the green and flowers. The home snugged under the three cottonwoods that dropped cotton bolls and purple balls that splatched in the spring. They gave wonderful shade, long before air-conditioning. And sometime every May, I would wake up convinced for an instant we had snow because of all the cotton from the trees dropped overnight.

How beautiful our white frame house looked under the heavy cottonwoods with blue grass-clover lawns and roses, roses blooming all over the place with other flowers.

My father water-witched an underground river at least 1,000 feet deep to nurture his plants. He would have wanted the town to grow. Killing his gardens? Cutting down his trees? No wild asparagas in the ditches each spring?

The town has no ditches now. No life-giving water tumbling down shallow ditches to water the lawns, flowers and vegetables of the residents. The bewitched underground river serves the city.

There are too many people. Water costs too much. Few lawns, or flowers, or trees remain.

You see a desert. So do I. But when there were fewer of us, it was not such a desert. The grass grew belly high on a cow. The flowers bloomed. The vegetables fluorished. Lawns were green. Trees, big trees, cottonwoods, gave shade.

Exult in the lights of the night. And they are spell-binding. The valley actually flickers with them in the dark.

And I smile. It IS beautiful.

I mourn the green of the daylight, and the blooms. The smell of cut alfalfa. You did not know it then.

And I shall never know it again.

Even Now, You Can't Get Away With That

2011-11-03T22:11:00.000-07:00

I've just seen the video of Judge William Adams beating his teenage daughter 7 years ago.

Should he be removed from the bench? yes. If legally. This is egregious.

Have I seen worse? Not in progress in an actual case I worked, but in results, much worse. In equally "respectable" homes.

Could he be right that his threat into withholding a Mercedes from a 23-yr-old daughter triggered this? And that matters, how? He hasn't beat her lately?

Great if he is screwed.

Do I think this abuse gives the daughter a free card on society? no. She doesn't have rights to the Mercedes (if ever) again.

I met worse stories in the break room at work. These were men and women who had grown up in neglect and abuse and chose to get out, educate themselves and get paid to stop it for others. And we talked easily, those with no abuse, those with abuse and neglect,in the break room, where we all griped about the price of cold caffeine.

A couple of reasons CPS workers don't get chosen for criminal trials: we might know some of the officers of the court, and we might be or know people who grew up in adversity and --surprise, surprise! have turned out to be law-abiding, college educated folks despite vicious, squalid cirumstances.

Actually, it's hard. A lot of folks can't do it.

Hard doesn't make impossible.

I used to be a newspaper reporter when that meant something. I always figured my job wss to let the public know what was going on, and live with what they, and I, voted at the polls. When it was this bad, the voters almost always voted the bad guys out.

Even as a kid, I knew the white hats didn't always win.

Then, I didn't know about the child beaters.

They never ever deserve to win.

Never ever.

Underage behavior? Never ever.

We clear about that?

Planned not Proactive (very early) Thanksgiving

2011-11-03T18:06:00.000-07:00

For the first time in many years, I am excited about Thanksgivig.

Before the holiday occurs, a debacle or two may occur, but then, that has happened when I am NOT excited about Thanksgiving. AND had plans.

What I know:
For a number of years in the past decade, I was not healthy enough to serve Thanksgiving in my home.Then I was, but was disinclined. Then I was inclined but it was hard to fit my sons' schedules. then bingo, we all did. Then, last year, both sons shared a meal wih me in my home.(I made the best dressing of my life, I think). DIL and grandchildren were with family 4 hours away, and work schedules intervened for sons.

I have a good friend whose husband died this spring, and her also loving family is iffy about holiday plans. Never unloving. Never nonenclusive,but...

She and I like to be proactive. She suggested inviting friends over for cornish game hens for Thanksgiving. After my sticker shock reaction, I suggested a turkey as cheaper. And maybe leftovers for attendees. We'll invite some friends with few family connections, or difficult ones, difficult schedules like ours, or with a cold, or whatever.too.

Nancy warns me we can end up with 3 or 20. Sad but true, Many would rather sit home alone with beer and chips to good friends and good food. Remember that. Been there. I wore out the Tshirt. It didn't taste good! Have to be thankful...Amen here.

We don't know what will happen.

And both of us are thrilled.

The thing is, we're planning our own party. Not where we will attend. Not who will attend. Just--y'all come. And we both are beaming.

If it looks like her and me, we'll rethink the cornish hens.

But I'm making my dressing.

And count on it--We will give hard prayers for our blessings this year.
We both survived. She without a long=lived loving husband. Me? I coulda died, but I didn't. I survived. It is a hard year we survived, and thereby celebratory.

Isn't that what the first Thanksgiving celebrated?

Survival. With thankfulness. Amen, folks

She and I are planning a meal early,but if you have survived a hard year, my prayers and hopes for yours. Food in your belly A safe place to stay, and hope in your heart for a better year to come. Books for you and children. God bless.

When you wish the vet lived next door

2011-10-29T17:18:00.000-07:00

Call to vet:
Doctor, do I need to worry about my puppy's nutrition? I mean, I give her the recommended puppy chow. You approved it. Most of the time she eats it. But sometimes she doesn't.

What does she eat? Well, she gets a lot of fiber. Mostly, you know, from paper and cardboard. I worry about that. Seems to fill her up too much. Not enough vitamins. Well, and she eats pencils, and wallboard--not too much, you understand, but I imagine it is filling. And my rug has a hole in it.

Diarrhea? Constipation? Oh, no. No problem. She poops in the yard like usual. So long as the good Lord sends rain once in a while, she doesn't give me more work. I really don't need more work.

I never feed her from the table. Ever. But she keeps jumping up. Well, she's 6 months old now. If I keep saying no, won't she stop?

Does she need broccoli and squash? I mean, to counteract the book covers, you know, and the mail? She likes raw carrots, I know. When I make a salad, occasionally a slice falls on the floor.

Well, all the books she has chewed are new, so no lead poisoning there. As for human food, the other night I fixed green chile stew for supper with light toasted sourdough bread. She stole the bread. Twice. I never caught her. Is that too much carbohydrates?

And that time she ate the dark chocolate Dove bar? I always keep my purse zipped now, and it was only half a bar, honest. and she never got sick.

I'm sorry. I have to go now. She's beginning to chew on the wirin

SHE HAS A NEW RAWHIDE STRIP. LIFE AS WE KINDA USTA KNOW IT MAY RETURN.

When you love the team, hate the game kinda

2011-10-27T16:04:00.000-07:00

I remember being from New Mexico back in the 1960s and being startled my freshman year in college to find the World Series in baseball is played in October. Naturally, I didn't know who was playing.

Being a journalist, I tried to keep up with the facts thereafter, but I never did like baseball. Maybe it was too many jammed finger joints playing softball in phys ed, but nope, I never liked it.

When my sons were little, I let them play T-ball but gently guided them toward soccer later. If my sons played baseball, I would have to go to their games. Horror!
I never liked it.

Working as a journalist, I talked to a lot of sportswriters who told me it was the best of sports, intelligent, cerebral and requiring the most all-around athleticism. I watched a few innings and my eyes crossed. I never liked it.

I've been aware through the years that I had friends who loved the Texas Rangers. I was glad for their enthusiasm, didn't participate. I never liked the game.

Over the last decade, however, I have come to like the team, the staff, the owners.
They really are a team. All of them. It has been good to see. Or rather, the results have, because I still can't watch the game. The reason has changed.

What do they say about blind tedium interspaced with stark terror? Following the Texas Rangers has been like that lately. I've liked the Rangers, specially with Nolan Ryan as an owner and Ron Washington as the coach and a team that really seems to be a TEAM. Yeah. Just--still don't make me watch much.

Game Six tonight. Any number of Texans with the wherewithall have said what the hell and are in St. Louis. Nolan Ryan said we would win in six. Rained out last night. Tonight is six.

I've found all kinds of friends who are longtime fans. Years and years. When temps were in the 100s this summer, I know a couple who went seven times. And watch every game. And she refused to cook during the playoffs until they won. I know a retired English teacher who gets together with her friends in their Ranger t-shirts and caps for EVERY game and they have for 20 years. And many more folks.The Rangers don't lack longterm fans.

I'm astonished my younger son is staying home --if he doesn't join a watch party with some friends--to see who wins tonight. I mean, this is not a general sports fan, and unlike me, he will actually watch.

So many have followed the Rangers so long. There's hype, and there's winning and commercialism.

Somehow, tonight is full of expectations and hopes. I'm part of the fringe and it's still fun to watch. I understand the games have been particularly good.
I never really liked the game. But I've read the spots on these.

And I want them to win. I want them to win. I want them to win...

When I write this I don't know. When you read, you will.

These words are foreign to my tongue but--Go Rangers!

(If the Tai Chi instructor could say it this morning, I can only add my approbation.)

Am I Overtly Sentimental Yet?

2011-10-21T07:50:00.000-07:00

If Gracie survives puppydom, then dogs have guardian angels, too. I've always suspected it.

My granddaughters are of an age where "childproofing" the house is long behind me. In many ways, I'm safe there. Gracie is unlikely to stick her nose in a light socket--although chewing the cords that lead to them may be another matter.

My new computer has arrived, awaiting assembly in its box.

"Have you unpacked it?" elder son asked on the phone.

"Not till we assemble," I replied. "Gracie would eat all the wires before we could hook up."

"Oh, yeah,' he replied.

Maybe by nebulizer fell off the bedside table this week, but I doubt it. She is FULLY tall enough on her hind legs to reach...a great many things. I found her trying to chew on the case itself, fortunately strong enough to withstand her beginning chomps. The plastic top, however, is toast. I shudder to think what that medication could do to her. Periodically, I misplace something I fear could kill her, and find it later, often with teethmarks.

Since my rebuilt knee isn't up to kneeling yet, I am getting into a routine of asking youngest granddaughter to check under my bed every few days for missing books, mail, aerosol cans, you name it. ...I heard her munching just now and found she had half-devoured an old bill. Chewy paper? Tasty glue? I don't know.

Corgis are relentless chewers. Astonishing. She has not only gotten all the juice out of a large bag of rawhide pieces, she has digested half of them. Time to buy more.

She digs. My back yard looks as though small munitions have exploded all over. Footlong sticks litter the ground, except she is bringing them up, one by one, to stack by her water bowl--which, if she drinks it dry, she turns into a toy to carry around the now pockmarked lawn.

She has found two escape holes from my back yard, escaping once even after I thought I had erected a sturdy barricade. It wasn't. So far, she just runs around to the front yard, waits for me to discover she's gone, and looks for her treat without which she will NOT come in. There are cars, and big dogs, and other people out there, and I worry. Off leash, she doesn't obey commands, and sometimes finds the freedom more delicious than bits of chicken. She's only a six-month-old puppy. I have to remember that. And keep training.

She and TC, my tuxedo grandcat, are slowly becoming friends. Youngest granddaughter reported yesterday that the cat accidentally(?) stepped on one of Gracie's squeaky balls in the (now green) grass. It squeaked. Gracie grabbed it, tore off, ran back and dropped it in front of the cat.

"Do it again!" she begged, her whole rear end, sans tail, wagging.

But the insoucient cat simply sauntered off, leaving her alone with her toy. Aw.

As I write, she is stretched, chin on my foot, all four feet in the air. She just gave a deep sigh. I don't think it's contentment.

She's just marking time till she can inveigle me into the next invigorating round of fetch.

Oh yeah, I hope she survives her puppyhood, that I do, too.

Oh, the places we'll go!
The the things we will see,
Walking along,
Just Gracie and me!

Personal info about my underage dog

2011-10-13T19:51:00.000-07:00

Training a dog, maybe particularly a smart herder animal, has changed me some, and I think it will change me more.

At class Tuesday, Gracie got many accolades, especially for her sit and stays, which she sometimes did better than the grown dogs. And she had only learned to let me back away 10 feet in class.

"Oh, she's sharp, that one."

"Very well. Oh, for a puppy, very well."

"She's coming along, yes, she is."

And one of my favorites, of course.

"You can tell you two have been practicing."

Which, actually, we have.

Last class next week, then Gracie and I will practice sit, stay, down, heel (sic), all the time. After the classes, comes the practice. It's a lifelong commitment to practicing good manners. (Help! I can no longer remember what the fork at the top of the plate is for!)

Gracie and I have practiced. She is always on my left except returning up the ramp past the unexplained threatening hedge on the left.She sits. She stays. Her eyes gleam when I put on my carpenter's apron, stuff the treats in a pocket, and clip on her leash. She gets to work. She gets to move. She gets treats. And really, she loves me.

(Lord, age-appropriate friends and I have shuddered over the full 1950s Sunday dinners after church with the Dreaded Wedge of Iceberg Lettuce with Thousand Island. And you couldn't use a knife. Failure was...wass....well, Gracie is just a puppy. Even as a dog she would never go through that.)

I will continue writing. We have a long way to go, Gracie and I. Training has made us both listen to each other better.

She was already teaching me, but training has made me relax and just enjoy, and maybe teach her a bit. I'm lazy. She gets the heavy teaching gig, usually.

The other night, after a busy day sans Gracie, I went out on the deck with Gracie and my cell. I eyed it, let it be. I thought about how her "yelling" is down to legitimate requests for attention when I have ignored her too long. Yep. And she gets off on hugs and belly rubs. All her toys were inside. I watched her play, eventually run up and eat her supper, come over for a belly rub. We shared the time. So peacefull. So sweet.

This morning, I awoke to hear her munching on the very book I set on the floor last night saying, "she's too old to eat this now." Tonight, as I was writing, I stopped to wrest away the ballpoint she had already chewed to pulp, found on a lower shelf I again thought was safe. Nothing under three feet is. I must learn this.

Neither my children nor grandchildren chewed so vociferously. On the other hand, they learned really fast. So does Gracie. She also can be redirected by rawhide. My kids and grandkids don't respond to it.

Actually, she is snuggly and loving. Her front legs are amazingly strong. She plays, and loves, with all her might.

Very sweet.

Just don't get in a tug of war with her rope.

She plays to win.

"My dear, you are simply blooming!"

2011-10-11T13:53:00.000-07:00

You may have heard last week's news story of the new business two men have in Alabama.

It was a popular story in Texas and played big.

The men are taking orders--and cremains, if available already, and using them to make shotgun shells, rifle cartridges or handgun bullets. Or all three.

I already know a number of people who have expressed a wish for this in the past.
The Alabama partners say orders are pouring in.

Sorry, I don't know where in Alabama--but the name of the company is Holy Smoke.
I believe fully in the pursuit of happiness, including the right to have your remains lie right where some of your loved ones may visit most often, or at least for a ah, sendoff.

For myself, I want something else, probably harder to make happen.
I would like my cremains to be powdered, mixed with compost, peat, and potting soil, and sold by a company called "Pushing Up Daisies."

Well, it could happen. Makes me smile. That way, I could give back to the earth, a little.

I Got Wet Yesterday, and I'm Thrilled

2011-10-10T06:15:00.000-07:00

Back in the 1980s, I remember clearly, we had a spring full of wildflowers. The rains and sunshine came just right, and for weeks and weeks, the fields were covered with wildflowers that bloomed and bloomed and bloomed.

I remember telling someone at the time that at last I knew what great wealth felt like. Plenty, and plenty and more plenty coming. My eyes feasted on those flowers.

No, I didn't take pictures. I didn't need to. Those weeks of yarrow, Queen Anne's lace, Indian blankets, Black-eyed Susans, wild larkspur, bluebonnets, five kinds of daisies,fairy cups, primrose, honeysuckle, pink roses and so much more just fed my soul.

I like to think sometimes about the seeds that may still lie dormant and bloom again someday.

I once was very comfortable financially, That hasn't been true in decades, but I have been comfortable enough. But as I associated the extravagant spring with wealth, so the ongoing drought feels like poverty. Prices are going up--especially food, which now must come such long distances. My dollars don't go as far. Somehow the drought adds to it. The land, the very land around me, is in poverty.

A rain back in August didn't green the lawns but did partially green some of the pastures around my home. Native grasses jump to the opportunity to drink and grow. We've heard a lot this summer about how weeds are water hogs in tended beds, snatching the water from the thirsty roots of the plants we want to water.

This weekend we had rain that was overall, wonderful. I've heard totals some places of much less than an inch; we got at least three inches here. Further west, where the wildfires have been so bad, rainfall ranged from four to eight inches. The rain soaked rather than poured,and the ground was so thirsty, almost none ran off into rivers and lakes. I actually saw one puddle that lasted a couple of hours.

Weather experts say that's it for now. West Texas got the most of this and needed it. South Texas, which normally grows a lot of produce used instate, has been unable to deliver this year. About 20 percent of the trees across the state are dead or dying.

Rain was great. Dog Gracie got wet and muddy, prefering to stay outside for long periods to coming inside. I actually got WET running to the car! (I gave in to superstition recently when I saw a display of umbrellas and didn't buy one. Might jinx the rain.)

It was a wonderful respite.

I actually saw a few sprigs of green in the straw-like lawn this morning. The grass could green a bit for the first time in four months. That will make my granddaughter happy.She gets paid to mow for me, and she didn't mow, even once, all summer.

Maybe now's her chance.

Of Friends and Blogs and Water to Drink to That

2011-10-05T07:14:00.000-07:00

I have no computer skills, basically. My "consultant" currently is not available to help me link to a couple of blogs I regularly read. (I need help putting that up, too.)

For my readers who have blogs, however, check out "What's In My Attic". Deb runs a great blog with magnificient pictures from the East Coast. Her latest warns of blog changes that may be coming. Info is from "Blogger Buzz.' Check it out.

Deb, between my computer and my tech ineptness, I haven't been able to leave several comments lately on your wonderful site. I'll figure it out AND get a better machine eventually. Meanwhile, I'll just comment here, if I can't there.

Claire writes "The Zees Go West", a New Englander's wonderful transplantation to a community just 70 miles from where I grew up. Hey, in New Mexico, that's considered close enough to drop over for lunch and return home. 'Course, sometimes you hit those traffic jams when you have wait while White Sands Missile Range shoots a rocket north, over the highway. At least, they used to.

Claire and family are just now completing their trip via Amtrak to Boston, where her own excellent photos and commentary gave a delightful feel for someplace I've never been. I almost feel I got to go, too, and it didn't cost me a dime. I just had to imagine their dinners of lobter, clams, etc., at America's Oldest Restaurant.
Claire, I said some of this in a comment to you after my last blog. The comment is there, but my computer doesn't count it. For some reason, my computer is undoing some of my typing errors I correct as well.

Definitely time for a new machine. Time for me to learn a little more to go with it.

Re Texas drought--Texas A&M University has announced Texas pretty much is going to stay in one, with maybe one or two years off, until 2020. Slowly, attitudes are starting to change. The biggest barrier seems to be the folks who figure they will just pay more, or pay fines, and have their water. The constant influx of more people into Texas strains the finite resources we already have.

I stumbled into an interview with the mayor of San Antonio on public radio recently, and will see if I can find a link. San Antonio was forced into conservation some decade or so ago and has learned to reduce their water usage significantly. They were forced into this by a blind little salamander whose habitat they were wiping out. They were furious. But they are now, the mayor said, so thankful. They even have fountains in use because they recycle the water. The mayor said Sea World Amusement Park has one the largest private water treatment facilities in use anywhere, and has reduced water usage monthly by several thousand gallons.

In extreme water curtailment, I am not sure commercial car washes are allowed to operate. Demand for swimming pools obviously will drop off, especially if you can't fill your pools. We are not there yet, but it may be coming. Forget watering restrictions. We are speculating if water use could become so stringent, bathing will be limited.

At least that might boost perfume sales.

And I thought walking the dog was a trick with yo-yos

2011-10-03T07:49:00.000-07:00

Gracie and I will be going to class tomorrow night, and this time, I am ill prepared. I haven't been doing our homework.

Gracie no longer barks at the other dogs in class. (Especially when I am carrying shaved particles of steak as treats to get her attention.) She will sit and stay. It amazes me how 3 five-minute sessions a day can shape her behavior so quickly.

A Pembroke Welsh Corgi, she is much happier when she has a job to do, even if she doesn't like what I am teaching. We are interacting. I have HER full attention and she has mine. This is not a dog you should routinely leave alone in the back yard all day, even with a Kong toy full of peanut butter, which I haven't gotten yet. Maybe later. She's just five months old and craves company.

Sigh. maybe too much. I played tug and fetch with her this morning before getting on the computer. She then settled by my feet to play while I write. She just interrupted to "yell"--her loud bark that demands, "play with me." Or equally, "Pay attention to me." I told her no firmly and set her down (because she jumps up to do this.) After three such interchanges, she took her tug rope and went in search of another toy. Three times it took me. I can see trainers everywhere shaking their heads at my poor work with her. (Meanwhile, I am such an amateur I am just secretly pleased she eventually followed my order.)

I admit I don't have the detachment to be a good trainer. Yes, she's a dog. Yes, I did the alpha exercises, and she responded. She has so much vitality, so much intelligence and personality, however, that I play to her sensibilities. She does have them. Like all young things, she can also be sneaky. I have to be aware of that, too.

Last week they told me I shouldn't have fed her before coming to class, which ends about 8:30 pm. I ate a sandwich before training, and Gracie was right there, so I fed her a small meal of dry food. We ate together. She was totally responsive in class to her steak bits. I am not trying to train a competition obedience dog, and I see no sense in being austere. I am the novice, however, and almost everything they are teaching Gracie and me works well.

Spraying her in the face for barking or play-biting is one distinct failure. The bottle I found shoots more of a mist rather than a stream like a water pistol. The stream might work better. After I tried it, she backed away, barking furiously and would not let me near her. I haven't tried it since. Redirecting, or using "no" sparingly, seems slowly to be working. A snap of my fingers on her nose works well, but my blasted arthritis mostly prevents my being able to do so.

She seems to respond very slowly to hand commands and I believe I am consistent. I try to say certain words predictably before we do certain things. Right now I suspect she understands, all right--she's just waiting for the treat to appear first.

She will sit as I face her and remain sitting till I pivot forward and give her treat. Good. Then we walk and she is supposed to be heeling more stylishly. I haven't practiced near enough this week, and she hasn't improved much there.

I am supposed to say "down", making a down gesture with my hand, and get her on her tummy. She dodges my hand, knowing I am going to press her tummy down. She REALLY doesn't like this one but eventually will lie in tummy-scratching mode when I take my hand away and wait for her treat. I am not physically strong and it usually takes me two or three tries to accomplish this. So far, each success takes 2-3 tries, no improvement.

She's not mean, or even unfocused. She doesn't like it and will do so only after much effort. The trainer told me all that is required is that she go down--on her back, feet in the air is fine. It seems silly to me.

I thought surely corgis are so prized there would be no rescue groups, but there are, of course. Gracie was turning into a brat and still has her moments. They take a lot of work and interaction to become the wonderful family dogs they can be. I've been tempted twice by ads in the paper offiering free young corgi males to anyone who has the time foe them. Another dog would be company when I'm not here, and I'm not here a lot. BUT. I can keep up with her--barely. Two, I think, would be beyond me, plus I bet these dogs need some corrective training and I'm still bumbling along at fledgling grade.

We'll see how far we get. A nicely mannered dog I can take out in public is my goal. Gracie's goal has a lot to do with keeping busy and doing things with me. Let's see if we can do both.

I have a deadline--I am getting the second knee replaced before Christmas and I think it would be nice if Gracie didn't trip me up as I relearn using the left leg.

I do well with deadlines. I suspect Gracie will, too.

Here's to the Microwave! Ding!

2011-09-28T07:11:00.000-07:00

"They" say our demand for all things immediate began with computers. Indeed for the fortunate with lickety split machines, it may now be so. I will agree computers have encouraged our self-absorbtion. But nope, I think our first real interaction with immediacy began with microwave ovens.

After all, the microwaves reached the mass public sooner. And as I waited the eight minutes (yes, I said eight minutes) for my computer to boot up in this little corner of civilization I live in, I pondered about this.

Overall, microwaves renew our faith in immediacy. Unless you have a smart phone, no other electronic device gives more reliable instant ah, feedback (snicker).

It is a shame we don't use our microwaves for more--they certainly can do a great deal more than heat soup, defrost the meat and cook a baked potato. Best of all, they don't have to be updated, although they certainly can be. They work, and work and work, requiring only that you clean them to sanitary standards once in a while er, I mean regularly.

Actually, I suspect other than television sets, probably no other electrical device is more widespread in American homes. True, most homes don't have 3-4 microwaves and do have several tvs. But if the tv goes out or you forget to pay the bill, you can always go over to a friend's or read your graphic novels.

With a working microwave, you eat.

For folks who have computers and use them regularly, perceived reality is that everyone has computers. Nope. Forget retired folks, of whom I am one. We can do this sitting down, bozo. It's not rocket science (although sometimes when I click the wrong application, it certainly seems I am on another planet.) Many, many young families don't have them. Especially our poor young families.

If I hit 5 seconds on the microwave instead of five minutes, no problem. If I hit five hours, it's very likely I will catch my error long before time is up. The smell also might remind me. Computers don't smell, good or bad. They just sit there.

With my microwave, I can make lumpless gravy, cook chocolate pudding in the same time you fix that cookless stuff (mine is much tastier), fix baked potatoes for three, cook chicken for a spaghetti dish or pot pie, melt the butter and chocolate for yummy desserts and so much more. I can't believe some still steam vegetables on the stove, except those that contend microwaves are dangerous. Reheated pasta dishes are just as juicy and don't taste like leftovers.

A microwave doesn't heat up the kitchen in 100-degree weather, a boon to Texans everywhere this summer.

I can't play Angry Birds on it, but then, my son won't get off his own game long enough to give me game time on his phone or IPad.

With my microwave, a solid, middle of the road standard machine, I have never thought or said the words I have said to my computer or not-smart phone.

Wave your forks in the air, a tribute to non-conflicted instant gratification everywhere.

Texas Weather Affects

2011-09-24T05:43:00.000-07:00

Unless you are interested in nature,anxious about enough water to drink, or care if Texans have it, this is a dull blog to read.

It is cooler. This morning Gracie was running mad circles in the back yard, reveling in the 61 degree F temperature. She felt frisky.

With the drop in temperature, I have to remind myself to water. A half-inch here, quarter-inch there rain is enjoyable. It does more good than the watering. It is not enough.

I was trying to explain to my fourth-grade granddaughter that yes, it rained, and yes, we are in a severe drought. She respects me. She doesn't believe me. Only time will prove what I say.

And I am afraid it will.

I will take pictures today of the almost denuded sweet gum and Barrett pear. I have tried to water, but that has been limited, too. My sweet gum has no leaves in the top third.

Here, in this climate, trees stay green and full till at least late October. Then, if we are lucky, the pecans turn yellow. Most years, the leaves turn brown and fall off. The winds come, and clear the leaves for us. Won't be as many to clear this year.

Fall gardens are doing well. Young trees, with watering, have come through.
But.

I wrote a former Texas friend about a German Shepard puppy that fell in a "sun crack" and emergency services were required to get him out. Emergency services filled the large backyard cracks with sand for the puppy's future safety. My friend laughed, and said her Oregon friends would be amazed. It isn't uncommon in dry spells for the Texas clay to crack so much that small animals and even babies can fall in. Actually, it is so uncommon it seldom makes the news. The puppy, however, fell so deep it required attention to retrieve, which generated a registered call, which resulted in a short news story.

And you wonder about soaker hoses. They aren't for gardens, usually. They go around foundations or slabs built on this crazy Texas soil.

Looks like another La Nina is forming in the Pacific Ocean. La Nina created the first year of drought. This means a second year of drought in Texas.

What scares me is the cyclical nature of weather. In the 1950s, Texas endured the worst drought ever with four years of La Ninas. We have too many people now. OK. But we also have many more resources.

It may be a blessing we haven't had 28 percent of our water this year due to zebra mollusk infestation in Lake Texoma. Authorities think they can eradicate the mollusk this winter. And of course, all bets are off if people have no water.

One of our water districts that covers several million people has announced they are going into Level 3 water preservation on Nov. 1. This will include Home Owner Associations. No refilling private pools or running fountains. No watering lawns except every two weeks. Water in restaurants only if requested. This lasts until March 31. If spring rains are as dismal as predicted, the ban will continue.

Which would you rather do? have water to drink or have a shower every day? Next year, it could get that drastic.

Which is why a lot of Texans prayed for a hurricane. That would bring the water.

Federal assistance to rebuild? Well, guess not.

I've already checked-No remedial obedience school

2011-09-21T07:02:00.000-07:00

Gracie and I went to our first obedience class last night.

Boy it was embarassing.

Imagine your taking your spoiled but beautiful child to a party where all the other children know their manners. The only reason your beloved doesn't spin out of control, spewing chaos, is that you are holding on so tightly. Yeah.

The others had attended class one (this was two). The others had already established alpha dominance and, I think, some were more submissive breeds. There was only one other puppy--a chihuahua. Gracie's barking scared him so bad he could perform as commanded, but couldn't eat his treats. Too nervous.

Gracie barks at home only to signify danger ("there's a strange flower arrangement in the living room! Beware! Beware!") or to play. Boy, did she want to play.

Bless her heart. She WAS intimidated. Most of the other dogs could step over her without stirring a hair. Off lead, she might, after all, have scurried behind my legs. But she barked. And barked. THEY, however, were smiling silently, tongues lolling, heeling fairly well, doing sit and stay nicely, and really focusing on their owners and the forthcoming treets.

"Yes," the trainer said mildly. "This one needs a LOT of training."

I knew that. (sigh)

Time to get to work, Gracie, before we get thrown out of class.

She's a really good dog. Stellar. The behavior is my fault.

Four exercises. No more than 5 minutes at a time. Three times a day. At least three days a week.

Gotta get a really big box of some really small, yummy treats.

Gracie is Officially a Southwesterner (and just maybe I'm a slob)

2011-09-19T06:25:00.000-07:00

Gracie keeps telling me and telling me:

Don't leave food or my purse (unzipped) on the floor! ever!

I guess it shows my priorities that the stacks of books I have always had on the floor are now in safe places. My purse--usually. And my groceries--not so much.

Bringing in four sacks yesterday, I absentmindedly put the sack with the green chiles and flour tortillas on the floor. And I didn't pick it up again.

Huh. No wonder she wasn't hungry this morning. She had eaten about a third of a package of 24 tortillas (They are Mission, and I bought them to go with some green chile stew, but I personally don't find them THAT good.) The sack of chiles she had, in her usual manner, carefully opened without puncturing the sack. Looks like she played with the chiles more than anything-an occasional toothmark, but they are scattered over two rooms.

Guess she is officially a Southwesterner.

Her behavior was nothing if not predictable. I know better.

Okay, Gracie.

But now it's time for walkies. I've studied this. I can do this. Just 5-10 minutes. That's ONE thing I did wrong. Treats. Thank God SOME of my clothes have pockets.
Patience.

And that's the real lesson Gracie is trying to teach me.

Lord, give me patience and I need it NOW

2011-09-16T07:33:00.000-07:00

Somehow, I don't think "Stay! You blankety blank piece of blank!" is suggested as a command in the instruction book of how to train your dog.

Gracie and I kind of went for a walk this morning. We probably covered a half mile, tops. At least I wasn't the only one panting at the end.

She was very agreeable at first. She chafed at my efforts to keep her on my right side. (I think it's supposed to be the left, but I liked the right.) Oh, she didn't prefer the left. It was just a pleasant and usually sudden alternative.

Tripping me? She gave me that insoucient adolescent look.

"Clumsy, aren't you? That wasn't MY fault."

There were some birds on the ground. She wanted to chase, and bark.

Many, many dogs in practically every house. She wanted to visit. We proceeded with my muscling her along (all four feet on the ground.)

She's a growing dog, approaching five months and 20 pounds of solid muscle and will power. She wasn't cranky about it. I was the only one cranky. She just tested, and tested, and tested limits.

How she got enough slack in the leash twice to run around me, leash totally tying my legs together, I don't know. I didn't fall, though. I think I said something about a piece of something again.

And when we started home on the two-lane highway, going south, well. Pretty good shoulder there, we were some distance from the road. Gracie made it perfectly clear that of the two of us, I was going to be the one closest to the motor vehicles. She was going to shelter in my lee, so to speak. And I didn't have the muscle to win that battle.

So we limped home. I flicked her with the leash when she yelled at the chickens. She's supposed to protect chickens, not yell at them. She proceeded with me and stopped lunging, but she barked several more times.

And this short little ramble took almost 30 minutes.

Guess I'll be reading up today.

Because, you know, having started, we have to do this again tomorrow.

What have I done?

The Heat Isn't Finished Yet

2011-09-13T06:32:00.000-07:00

Last week was lovely. Temps in the 50s in the mornings. Gracie loved it.

This week, back in the 100s again (true fall in Texas doesn't come until late November).

And the young fools living here are so happy. Dallas-Fort Worth should reach 105 today, making this the 70th day of triple digit heat. That beats 1980.

Texas already has the warmest average summer heat this year since the beginning of weather records in 1895.

I keep moaning about our 70th day. State capital, Austin, Texas, is now in day 93 of triple digit heat. Bastrop, near Austin, has now lost more than 1,500 homes, along with assorted beloved dogs, cats, donkeys, horses, etc. Fire sixty percent contained yesterday. School buses picked up the kids yesterday for the first time in a week to go back to school. Kids are at shelters, motels, hotels, with friends, etc.

No rain. None forcasted. Meanwhile, homeowner's associations require green, lush lawns and filled swimming pools.

Absolutely dumb.

It's time for me to investigate using my grey water to irrigate and invest in some rain barrels(also not allowed in HOAs). I suspect a lot of that is going to happen. Iime to look for another soaker hose or two.

We will get rain again. Sometime. But the size of the population will continue to grow. The amount of water is finite.

Can We Change the Script a Little?

2011-09-12T07:56:00.000-07:00

Thank God THAT is over.

It is Sept. 12.

And yes, I've cried several times. My nine-year-old granddaughter saw a tape at school that sounds like it was pretty good. The school kids saw the new waterfalls and pools. She thought it was a nice gesture.

I tried to explain that yes, it was probably pretty nice, but the families still grieved.

Sept. 11 is supposed to be a day of commemoration and service. Didn't Obama and his daughter go help out at a soup kitchen or some such last year? Where was the service emphasis by Americans this year?

I went to church because I always do on Sunday, but I didn't go to mine. I went with some friends to theirs, and the adult Sunday School was participating in a four-week course on forgiveness.

It's healthy to forgive, of course. They also said no one should because they ought, but when they were ready. And then someone suggested I forgive the perpetrators of Sept. 11.

I don't hate the perpetrators of Sept. 11. The acts are too far over my ability even to understand. They are dead. We go on. We rebuild. But I don't forgive. I don't have to forgive evil. There's a dodge-ball organization I probably will never see with my own eyes to blame. That's all. I certainly am not mad at people of different faiths. I don't even agree with a lot of the people I'm supposed to share a faith with.

Would I let my grandchildren play with their kids? No. That's not hate.

Did we have to sit on our fat American rumps (and most of them are fat) and cry? Apparently. The news media entertained us with hours of maudlin reminescence and recapping and solemn ceremonies. And we accomplished zero good to offset the evil that still reasonates.

Next year, I'm cleaning up a park. Or I'm taking a page from the Egyptions and taking my broom down to sweep the streets around the city square.Or...something active, something good, something satisfying those good people who died might have enjoyed doing as well.

It happened in New York and changed their community profoundly. I understand in a more minor way that was not minor at the time.I lived in Dallas when John Kennedy was shot. I got out of class at noon and heard people talking. I began running towards my dorm and the television. And from noon that day till late Sunday afternoon on a college campus, I didn't hear a single laugh. Kind of like when we didn't see a single plane flying for days.

When I came home for Thanksgiving, I was shocked to hear old classmates away at other schools were given the day off to watch Kennedy's funeral. A lot of them slept in or used the extra time to go to parties.

Not in Dallas. And all these years later, we are still a little conscious all the time of the Fifth Floor of the Book Depository Building, from which an assassin killed a president.

All these years later, the pain is still there. More in Dallas, always will be. More on the East Coast for Sept. 11, always will be.

There has to be something we can do besides sit around and cry. Or glower.

Besides, I think it will be good for my soul.

Toughness is part of American DNA

2011-09-07T06:42:00.000-07:00

How badly do Texans want rain?

Some are praying for a hurricane.

Really. It seems the only way we are going to get wet. But that isn't going to work, either. The winds don't favor us.

I do know my mouth watered as I watched Irene climb over the east coast. I keep telling you Texas is big. Irene would have covered Texas with just a little sticking out for our friends in drought-striken New Mexico and Arkansas.

That one hurricane would have ended our drought for some months, at least. After the ground was saturated, the runoff would have filled our rivers and man-made lakes. Ten to fiftheen inches of rain. Sounds delicious.

An examination of soil at the site of the Possom Kingdom Lake fires last week showed one percent of normal moisure. The fires in Bastrop County won't be truly contained, a firefighter said today, until there is rain. None is coming. The cooler temperatures and lighter winds help.

So far, about 1,000 homes burned just this week. Overall for this year in Texas? has to be several thousand. Some of these are old homesteads and Victorians that are 100 to 200 years old. Area burned 3.6 million acres, now about the size of Connecticut.

But as one man said this morning after the home he had lived in for decades burned to the ground: "I've come too far in my life to let this get me down. We'll just keep goin'."

Maybe this is my tribute to the 10th anniversary of the fall of the towers.
I remember that wonderful accent when a New York firefighter was honored for his heroism.
He gave a little shrug, a little smile, and said simply,"I'm a New Yorker."

Whether dealing with terrorists or misbehaving Mother Nature, we will survive. After ten years, the message to me is that we are a tough people, and we will survive.

That is a fact, a memory, well worth the knowing.

Home Sweet Home

2011-09-06T07:56:00.000-07:00

I actually put on a sweater this morning to go outside--temp in the 50s.

Wonderful, even if the state is burning up, which it is. (More than 1,000 homes so far, this round.)

Gracie was glad to see me yesterday, and also glad to see my oldest son, who has done most of the feeding for the past week. As usual, she has set me an example for not whimpering, whining or sulking, and making the best of it. Honestly,I have thought, "What would Gracie do?" several times recently.

I have been in the hospital, an out-of-the-blue, couldn't have planned it situation.
Met some nice people, had some really good food, and am home. Have to spend some regular time with doctors for awhile. Fortunately, the docs are very smart, and also pretty funny.

Low potassium. No precursors. A doctor hired by the hospital to solve medical mysteries like mine seems to have done it. Fascinating work--I'd like to talk to him some more. Anyway, looking back, knowing how jumbled my brain was, I'm surprised I wrote any coherant blogs. With any luck I'll improve with a more fully functional brain.

My recovery depends pretty much on taking a dose of sodium bicarb, or baking soda, every day for the rest of my life. Not expensive, or much of an impact on life otherwise.

We always brood a bit over the close calls, and this was one. I suspect not too many years ago, I might have died. Nowadays, I didn't even qualify for acute care.

I think they let me out because I had started walking the halls to get some strength back. I only know that staff had my discharge papers ready 30 minutes after the doc signed off, and I don't THINK I had been that irritating.

I had felt so bad so long, my house really needs a good scrub. And I don't LIKE housework, yet I'm looking forward to this.

Maybe I'm still a little sicker than I think I am!

An old science fiction story becomes historical artifact

2011-08-25T12:09:00.000-07:00

When I was a school girl in the 1950s, I remember having teachers telling me that petroleum was decayed dinosars preserved in the earth for millions of years. I mused in an earlier blog,"do I remember this correctly? Could this possibly be true?"

I heard from a number of contemporaries who said yes, that's what they were told , too. And we thought we were so advanced!(Wonder what silly myths we still believe today?)

Recently, my granddaughters and I were going to the used book store, and my oldest ran to her room for some books to trade. One was a juvenile science fiction novel by Robert Heinlein. The pages were VERY yellow.

"Oh, give me that!" I exclaimed. "I read everything he ever wrote and it will be fun to reread it now."

She sighed in relief. "Daddy gave me this and he really wants me to read it. But grandma," she turned a pained face to me. "I just couldn't get into it."

Well, rest easy, child. I almost couldn't get into it myself.

It was written in 1952. This family, living in Luna City buys an old spaceship and takes off for Mars, where there are several settlements. And live Martians.

Now, you youngsters, you don't know about the early 1950s and how the population romanticized Mars. People were still seeing UFOs--I saw one myself in 1947, and it's one of very few events the Air Force still lists as "unexplained."

When we looked at Mars, it seemed crisscrossed by regular, symmetrical canals. Connect UFOs with the canals, and you got some hopeful science fiction buffs who were itching to see what was there. An alien race? Oh, boy!

When better telescopes and better science came along in the mid-50s, we were told the marks were normal erosion, no sign of water--or air to speak of--and it was a big, ol' dusty planet, Well. We felt were bummed, majorly.

("Martian Chronicles" by Ray Bradbury was written in 1950 and is still a lyrically written manuscript that might hold up.)

So I'm trying to read this book, and Heinlein was forward-thinking for his day. Everytime they went anywhere, though, they all whipped out their slide rules to calculate the orbit. Scary. The idea of computers, or artificial intelligence, was too far away for his mind to grasp. The grandmother in the story is a well-trained pilot who can't get a license because women can't have them. The mother is a physician, but she fixes ALL the meals, and of course, the author has them actually cooking in space. A passenger ship comes down with "neo measles" for anyone who hadn't had the measles earlier (Measles vaccinations also were beyond his imagination.)

There's quite a lot he does get right, but overall, it's kind of "Father Knows Best Goes to Mars." And a lot of you have never heard of the tv sitcom, "Father Knows Best."At least I lived through those years and had a referant. My granddaughter had none, and her eyes crossed.

Who knew a Robert Heinlein novel could become an nistorical artifact?

Actually, now I think about it, I hadn't planned on being a historical repository myself.

But I am.

We're Still A Contender

2011-08-22T06:34:00.000-07:00

Those residents who were disappointed when Texas couldn't reach more than 43 triple-digit consecutive days have another record I hope we won't reach.

Average number of 100-degree or more days is usually 16 so far. We're closing in on 60 days. In 1980, the summer that would not die, we had 69.

Dare I hope it's another 30 years before the next one? I'll probably be dead by then.

You know, there are some things in life you just won't miss.

"The Help" is a reminder we have to keep working together

2011-08-21T06:53:00.000-07:00

A friend and I went to see "The Help" last night. Critics are probably right. It's a predictable movie, no surprises, and the ending may be just a little too happy to be realistic.

Not to worry. It still focuses on a time at least two generations know nothing about but those of us over 60 remember. The theater was full. Movie managers, no fools they, had hiked the price up from $7 last weekend to $13 this weekend. There was a disclaimer in the credits that the women in the Junior League of Jackson, Miss., in no way resemble the characters in this movie. That made my friend and me chuckle.

I used to say I never went to a segregated school, but I found out a month ago my elementary was, until I reached third grade. We didn't have many blacks. But the hispanic kids were kept separate, too. That makes me blink.
In the Southwest, the bigotry is more subtle. I remember an hispanic friend in high school I wanted to go with to a certain restaurant.

"Charlotte," she said patiently, "I can't go eat there."
"Why not?" I asked angrily.
She just shook her head. And she wouldn't go.
And she was right. They wouldn't have served her, even with the blonda chica whose father was a town leader. THEN who knows where it would go?

When I was 16, we went to Florida by car. Mother, a history teacher, and Dad planned the trip so that we stopped at the state capitol in every state and photographed it.
In one of those buildings, I saw for the first time a water fountain labled "colored water". My impulse was to go integrate that water fountain, but Mother said no, and I didn't.

I remember thinking, "I couldn't live here. I'm glad I didn't grow up here."
It was a shadow of the grue I felt years later in Dallas when hooded Ku Klux Klan members approached cars in the intersection for donations. They had the right. And I rolled up my window and locked the door. I had never seen live Klansman in regalia, either, you see. I was in my 40s.

For me, this little movie made me remember a time I never want to see this country go back to. For those younger, really unaware, maybe in some it will awaken the same determination. There is much more to do.

Only a few things in life are worth saying, Never Again.

This just happens to be one of them.

Living With Gracie--Chapter 1

2011-08-16T07:03:00.000-07:00

When I was a new mom for the first time, I had taken a Red Cross course on how to hold a baby and how to wash the child without drowning him or dropping him on his head.

My son was a C-section baby. We discovered after about 36 hours of labor that the reason he wouldn't come out was that he had one foot on each sciatic nerve. This left his feet a little hinky and I was instructed to do some exercises with him every time I changed his diaper--cloth diaper with diaper pins, no less--and I did so competently.

Let me emphasize:I had never been around babies or other people caring for them. Nada.

My mother-in-law, a nurse and the oldest daughter of nine children, came by almost every day to give me support and help me learn how to mother this child I really loved very much.

She came by one day when I was changing his diaper and asked in astonishment, "Why aren't you talking to that baby?"

I was genuinely puzzled.

"Why?" I asked. "He can't answer."

I had read a number of books, but they discussed the practical. Not one of them told me about talking to your child. I learned a lot that day, and I started talking to my baby. And while it was a while before he could answer in words, he started answering me. A good time was had by all.

Sorry, son, but training Gracie reminds me of that old story.

Of course I talk to her, but apparently not enough. I've read enough to learn that if I don't get Gracie's manners under control, she is in danger of turning into an incorrigible brat. And one tool suggested was talking to her.

My youngest granddaughter has accustomed her to the leash by taking her out and running with her. Gracie loves it. She will follow me now without fighting the leash, but she does find my pace boring, and my refusal to let her run off to jump up on the UPS man mean.

So again I am talking to her all the time. A trainer I found on the internet suggested talking to her while she eats, and I did that this morning. She liked it. He recommended two feedings; I keep some kibble in her bowl at all times. She isn't greedy. She nibbles. When she is really hungry, she sits on her haunches and polishes it off.

Somehow, she has discovered human food on her own. I have not fed her, nor have the grandkids. Last Friday, however, I scraped two chicken drumstick bones into the trash and went outside. When I returned in a few minutes, she had overturned the trash and was finishing the last few bites of the second chicken bone. Note to self: her teeth are really getting strong. So. More changes in how I do things.

She loves her puppy toothpaste so much it is hard to get the brush out of her mouth.

Obedience classes won't start until September. I would like to teach her to sit, heel, stay down, not chew up my phonebook or poop on my woven Indian rug. Oh, and not bite. I leave her chew rope to the kids. I'm too slow. After my fourth half-inch bleeding cut from her faster reflexes and razor teeth, I've decided that isn't prudent.

I've learned a herder dog means very active. Want ads today advertised a year and a half Corgi male, crate trained. free to a good home. The owner said he simply didn't have the time the dog required.

I hear that. An intelligent dog means one that needs stimulation. Whew! We're working on her ear-splitting "YAP!"

"Inside voice," I tell her in a soft tone. "Inside voice."

I swear she gets it.

Right now, she's sprawled by my feet as I type. I love that her feet always stretch behind her. When she sleeps on her back, the hind legs stretch out and the front legs fold altogether like a child's. AWWWW. Her bed is in my bedroom, and she has begun to use it instead of the cool hardwood floor. She usually wants to be in whatever room I am in.

I think we're bonding.

Add 3 more inches to that skirt and I'll buy it

2011-08-15T06:09:00.000-07:00

As goes Texas, so goes the country--so far as textbooks are concerned.

The state is so big, publishers pretty much sell other, smaller states the textbooks that our beknighted Board of Education select. (Briefly this year, Creationism arose again but thankfully was quashed.)

Anyway, Texas has hundreds of thousands of middle school and high school teenage girls.

You would think the clothing industry would like to sell these girls dresses. And they do sell a fair amount to middle class and richer kids who can afford to have dresses for parties and fun that they can't wear to school.

Because I doubt a single district in the state will let a girl wear a skirt three inches or more above the knees to school. Sundresses? Yeah. with a Tshirt underneath. No I said Tshirt. NOT camisole.

So the girls head for the trusty jeans again. No problems there and all their friends wear them, anyway.

But if makes me scratch my head. Obviously, the stores want to sell clothes. So why don't they make and sell clothes the girls can wear to school?

There's a lot of conservative school districts out there. A huge untapped market.
Oh, well, I've never been in retail.

It just seems silly to me.

Rain? It's Rain? OMG!

2011-08-13T06:35:00.000-07:00

It rained today. I don't know when it started, but probably a soaking rain for one and a half hours, at least. Maybe an inch?

Don't think it was supposed to be here.

Hope the farmer I saw haying yesterday afternoon got it in. In a good year, we get three cuttings. An okay year? Two. This is likely to be a one-cutting year.

Gracie, my three-month-old puppy, was amazed. She had never seen water fall out of the sky. Scared her, at first. Then she ran out in the yard, found all her favorite sticks and flimsy plastic garden pots she is demolishing, and brought them all up under the dry overhang on my deck. Then she finally ran around in the rain.

Good girl.

When I stepped outside and saw the wet, heard it on the metal overhang on my deck, I was astonished. What a lovely surprise.

Grandkids and mom are going to the lake cabin for the weekend--it won't have rained down there, likely. They will swim and maybe catch their supper.

It is going to be a might humid later. I'll nap, then research how to outsmart Welsh Corgi pups. Because so far this week, it is Gracie about 5, me about 1.

I can do better than that.

A Record Not Broken, and Souls Refreshed

2011-08-12T06:10:00.000-07:00

My morning paper tells me the sweet smell of rain is called petrichor. When rain falls on the earth, it causes a chemical reaction, mixing with the oils from plants and trees.

It causes that wonderful smell that makes us say, "Ahhh! It smells like rain."

It didn't rain yesterday, just the veriest sprinkle, but we had clouds and thunder--and that wonderful smell. Best of all, the temperature dropped in the approaching gusts of wind from 97 to 77 or lower.

At 1 in the afternoon, my granddaughters were running around and shrieking in the first midday fun outdoors they have enjoyed without a pool attached in months.

"Grandma," my oldest shouted at me in glee, "We're geeks!"

Some areas did get rain. Most did not. We got enough to say we got sprinkles on our faces.

The record is broken. At day 40 in consecutive triple-digit days, we didn't reach 100.Did. Not.

Today? Oh, probably another triple-digit. And on through the next week.

In the paper, the reporter wrote that business workers and shoppers congregated on the sidewalks to enjoy the cool break and see if it would rain. The break was too important. So my grandchildren and I weren't the only geeks.

We were humans enjoying pure physical relief this world can give us. Only a couple of hours of it, but we are refreshed.

The rain will come. It will come. We smelled it.

The rain will come.

I think there's a cloud at the end of the tunnel...

2011-08-11T07:07:00.000-07:00

Oh! Oh! Clouds!

Not rain on my spot of ground clouds, but maybe block out some of the sun and lower the heat a scooch clouds. Wonderful to see.

The heat is gearing down just a bit. 103 today. 101 tomorrow. Saturday? maybe 100.
Saturday would break the 1980 record of 42 triple-digit days, although all in all, 1980 will retain the record for total number of days.

Saturday, I'll abandon my vigil and go on to other things.

It has been worth it. Concentrating on sweat and discomfort has been better than wondering if any of my invested retirement funds will be left. Or brooding about the odd fact there is street violence in Great Britain. Or familiarizing myself more with sequestration--do I have the word right? What we get if Congress continues to refuse to do their jobs.

My spot of green is getting a bit larger. The St. Augustine definitely is safe.
I was reflecting recently that it is summer, and my oldest granddaughter has not had to mow in two months.

Texas summers, baby, in a home where we know the bermuda will come back when it rains again sometime.

I don't know if any critters are hitting my pan of water in the yard or not. Haven't seen any birds. Bet they don't like the shiny. I'd like a birdbath, but can't find one so far under $150. I will.

Today, the library.

Tomorrow, the pool, and while we still have our suits on, we'll wash the dust off my screened porch. It really needs it.

My mornings at the picnic table on the back porch have become a really pleasant part of the day.

Thank you, Gracie.

Dreaming of Cool places

2011-08-10T07:37:00.000-07:00

More humid today. Gee, must be at least 40 per cent.

Silly me. If we had more humidity, we might finally get some rain.

Physical therapy in an hour. BTW, the knee surgery was great, but the physical therapy the surgeon ordered after is making a huge difference. My right leg is definitely the stronger now. The still unfixed left knee is pretty wimpy, limiting the exercise that leg can endure.

My balance is incredibly better. I take normal, swinging steps when I walk, much as I did oh, 15 years ago.

I definitely will get the left knee done. I have hopes of being able to walk up to four miles again. THAT will jazz up my nature walks. Also with the improved balance, next time I'm at the ocean in Oregon, I'll be able to walk to the tide pools. Nice dreams, anyway.

This afternoon, we hit the $2 movies. That is the cheapest cooling experience I can find. Not bad, not bad.

I need another book with a mountain or winter setting.

A simple Pleasure to last all day.

2011-08-09T06:33:00.000-07:00

I step outside.

The humid, smarmy heat slaps my face,wraps around my body.

It is 85 or more. It is 7 am.

I start the sprinkler. A breeze blows through, cooling.

I acclimate and am quiet.

Now the air is pleasant. It smells of wet grass.

Birds come to the water. They land--swick, swick--on the feeder just 10 feet away.

The morning seems to exhale.

So do I.

Peace settles lightly, gently.

I will carry it with me through this day.

"We can cover your funeral expenses up to $10,000..."

2011-08-08T06:11:00.000-07:00

Only 105 yesterday.

I'm grateful Gracie gets me up and out early, in the best of the day weatherwise.
It is after 8 now, and the most pleasant part of the day is sliding away. I think part of my discomfort in Texas heat is the sweat rolling down my face, my back.
When I came to the Dallas-FortWorth area my freshman year, I thought that first bead of sweat rolling down my back was a bug. In New Mexico, sweat evaporates as you go. I had never had sweat roll down my body before. I didn't like it. Fifty years later, I still don't.

I have to laugh at my mail. So much of it is aimed at infirmities and dying. One day recently, there were three different offers to pay for "my final costs". Isn't that delicate?

The letter that bemused me, though, is from--I don't know. I presume a branch of the pharmacy I use. Or maybe the manufacturer of my pills.

I am no longer taking blood pressure medication. My doctor okayed this.

The letter I got presumed a) I felt good so just stopped, b) was having trouble paying and here are some agencies to help and c) I don't remember what c was.

Imagine a world where we all ate better, exercised more and dropped a few vices.
The pharmaceutical industry would be horrified. They have college expenses for the kids.

I mentioned this letter to a friend who recently stopped another medication after her doctor observed she was developing some bad side effects. She got a similar letter.

This seems so much more intrusive than life used to be--and it is.

Back in the 1980s, I remember interviewing some computer researchers at the University of North Texas, and they said then that we were beginning to lose our concept of privacy. They said people who would never dream of rummaging through your wallet would get online and get the same information. This was 30 years ago.

Now? sigh. I grew up with a lot of privacy. I've watched slivers get carved away every year, and I wonder what effect this has on my freedom.

Probably not a lot. But some.

And that's a shame.

Fun in the heat

2011-08-07T06:53:00.000-07:00

It is warmer this morning than yesterday.

Yesterday, the town closed off downtown streets and had one heck of a good party, with several fun spots involving water, lots of vendors selling everything from snow cones to pretty good beef jerky (Texas, you know) One of the banks was selling $5 hamburgers with proceeds to go to the firefighters, police and library. There was the shoot out with blanks, of course. A good, sweaty street dance.

And armadillo races. I really wanted to see those. Those critters can RUN!

So far as I know, no heat prostration, and I do know it was a completely civil day. No arrests at all.Several thousand people. Not bad.

So, another hot day. Really, REALLY getting tired of 'em. This next week we stand fair to tie the 1980 record of 42 consecutive days of triple digit heat.

There are actually some sportin' people who are rooting for it.

My opinion shall go unvoiced.

And the Heat Goes On....

2011-08-06T06:47:00.000-07:00

It only reached 105 yesterday. Blessed relief.

No rolling blackouts yet.

A young man called a local radio station and laughed at us Texas weenies. He said he was just back from Afghanistan, and it was reaching 135 there (and I presume, no air conditioning). So humans CAN survive higher heat. We just don't want to.

Just as extreme cold can cause streets to buckle and push up, so can extreme heat. Hope my street doesn't--it was paved about 6 months ago and is wonderfully smooth. Our new light rail system just opened to my part of the Metroplex is running at 45 mph instead of the usual 60 because of concerns about warping rails.

Water is the other consideration. The severe drought conditions virtually destroyed Texas produce this year, at a loss of billions. Most of our fresh produce is coming from miles away (except, as I said, for the okra and black-eyed peas.)

Will the rains come? We don't know.

About a quarter of the area water supply is unavailable because zebra mussels invaded Lake Texoma and they aren't releasing that water downstream. Fort Worth sells its treated but not potable water to surrounding cities to use for irrigation. I know a few families who have set up the gutters and tanks to collect the rainwater for watering. I bet we see more of that.

And you folks thinking about moving to Texas? Stay home. The steady flood of people into the state makes the politicians happy. It also means less water to go around. It is hot and messy down here, and the legislature stripped our schools of so much money this year it is a wonder our upcoming kids will even be literate. Stay home.

At least another week of this high heat to go. I think I have my second wind now.

We usually get a good rain sometime between Aug. 20 and Sept. 10.

Hope we do this year.

Survival means hibernation after 2 p.m.

2011-08-05T07:11:00.000-07:00

I guess I am journaling at present.It's 9:10, DST,and the temperature is starting to climb. Another couple of hours and it will be over 100 again.

We will find out if today is when the rolling blackouts start. A big stick, indeed, to get the population's attention, but a healthy proportion of Texans are stubbornly going to cling to 72 degree thermostats no matter what. I'm wondering if I need a battery operated lantern. What bothers me most is that with no power--no fans, either. During the cold, they were publicizing 10-15-minute cutoffs, but I had one that lasted two hours. My house is not well insulated. How fast will it warm up?

Last night at 9 it was 102. I assume I am meeting criteria--my thermostat is set on 73-74, but in the afternoons and evenings, only cools to 78 or 79. This with 16 additional inches of insulation. I'm using all appliances in the morning, and yesterday even shut down the computer. The plug to the TV is behind a bookcase I can't reach or I would pull that, too. I understand DVRs pull current even when off.

Until this week, I've gone about my business, pretty much, but now I guess I'm into heat fatigue. I'm watering my volunteer St. Augustine in the back, and it has greened considerably. I've started watering the privet hedge in front weekly when I noticed the leaves on top were turning brown. They may be just scorching, but I don't want to lose this hedge. Last summer, I didn't water it even once.

The bit of green in the back feeds my soul. I've put a pan of water out for the birds and more birdseed, which I see the fire ants are prowling through. I'm seeing more birds and butterflies, even a big old toad hopping along this morning.

Gracie goes in for more shots today, then to PetSmart while I get a new leash and her doggie toothpaste. Last night, I imagined I would have to cancel--couldn't bear the thought of being out in the afternoon heat, even in an air-conditioned car I would park mere feet from airconditioned buildings.. Today, well, is a new day. So we will go.

I not only cooked chicken this morning, I've boiled some squash to go with. I figure if all I have to do is spoon it onto a plate and microwave it, I may eat this evening.

Either that, or I'll eat it for breakfast.

Think that was hot? Try hotter!

2011-08-03T07:05:00.000-07:00

And the heat goes on and on and on.

We had 110 yesterday, with a bit of humidity. Hard to breathe air that warm.
This morning, at 6 am it must have been about 86.

Today's paper sums it up for the Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex:

so far, 40 days reaching 100 degrees or more.
Typical summers have 16 days.
For instance, we usually have 6 days in July over 100. This year we had 30 days.
Did I say yesterday reached 110? Today is predicted to reach 112.
By the end of next week, we will have surpassed the record year in 1980, with higher temps.

Statistically, the heat starts subsiding between Aug 12 and Aug.20. We'll see.
If you like beef, think ahead. It's going to be cheaper this fall as ranchers who can't afford hay and hauled water now are selling off the beef they ordinarily would keep to breed next year's beef.

Next year? Yeah, baby. That steak is gonna cost ya.

As usual in high heat, the trees are shedding about one-third of their leaves. The lake water has gotten so warm, we've had several large fish die-offs due to suffocation. Wild animals and reptiles are slithering into the cities in search of water. Even snakes need a little water now and then.

Here, we had one rain in June. Before that, mid-May. We need rain. I just dread the humid heat the day after.

Today, they are beginning to discuss possible rolling blackouts. I don't understand why retail facilities aren't required to raise their temperatures, but we residents are being asked to use as few appliances as possible between 4-7 pm, the peak heat hours. It makes sense, but folks don't seem to be hearing the message much.

Yesterday I washed and dried a load of clothes before 10 and baked a meat loaf. As a matter of fact, I find I slow way down in the afternoons. Others tell me the same.

Gracie, my brilliant puppy, seems to have most of potty-training down. It's that visit outside at noon or early afternoon when we have problems. Sun directly overhead. Temperature already 100. She gives me this "are you nuts?" look, and sometimes she listlessly walks over to a patch of grass and squats. More often, she just sits, panting, looking at me now and then as I get hotter and sweatier. Usually doesn't take more than 5 minutes. Then we go inside to the cool.

I could get all hot and bothered about 'what if' the rolling blackouts start, but I'm hot enough, thank you. If it happens, we'll deal. Meanwhile, I have discovered a new survival tool called Blue Bunny Double Raspberry Frozen Yogurt. AHHHH.

Sweat Time, Living in the City

2011-08-01T05:45:00.000-07:00

"Summertime, and the living is easy...."

I hear some dissenting harumphs to this, including my own. Mother used to sing that to me as a lullaby. I remember no air-conditioning in New Mexico. The advantage there is, most always, the evenings are cool. They give relief. Mother had this really light-weight bedspread that went on my bed in late May, and that helped, too.

I could wear shorts and a shirt. I had swimming lessons in the town unheated pool at 9 in the mornings when it was really cold and I learned to swim to keep from freezing to death....

But business did slow down in the summers. There was always a pitcher of sun-tea around, and some mint sprigs to go with. The temperatures rarely topped 100, as I recall, which was good.

I remember a summer trip to Dallas with my father,mother and grandmother across the Texas desert in an un-airconditioned car. We had a big thermos jug of ice water in the car but it didn't help much. It was the 1950s, and my mother and grandmother, despite the heat, had on a slip with their hose and a girdle, else how would they keep their hose up? I remember in the privacy of the car, they pulled their skirts up a bit and knotted those hose under the knees to give them more breathing room. I remember eyeing this and telling myself, never, never,never. There must have been a lot of us in that generation...even now, when I insist at least on crop pants for church on Sunday, I don't wear hose in the summertime.

But always, in New Mexico, nearby are some mountains and cool air. Only 30 minutes away from Alamogordo. Too many days of oppressive heat, and off we would go, for an afternoon respite. I think, from the Metroplex in Texas, I just about need to drive the 600-plus miles to get to those same mountains to get away from the heat here.

This year, add extreme drought all over. Only here, in the Metroplex, did we get just enough rain to be merely near-drought conditions. This year, for most folks, the green beans and squash didn't make--too much high heat came on in June. Despite watering, the tender corn shoots just shriveled in the sun. But the cantaloupe are doing well. Resilient okra and black-eyed peas are going gangbusters. Tomatoes? We can still get some but our own gardens have dried up for the time being. They will come back in September, and with any luck, we will be picking batches of half-green tomatoes to finish on the window sills in late November. That's when we usually get a freeze.

The summer of 1980 is talked about a lot here in the Southwest. Our longest, hottest summer ever in history. And we didn't even have a drought then.

I remember the summer of 1980 vividly. I was in my 30s, worked out regularly, and still that summer seemed it would never end. Heard today that with another week of 100-plus temperatures, an absolute surety, we will have broken that record.

So it is summertime. The living certainly isn't easy. Thanks to Gracie, I'm up before 7 most days, anyway. Get in a little watering while it still is in the
80s. I run the sprinkler and Gracie runs through it like a mad dog, barking her version of a cowboy "Yahoo!" Good to see. Good to laugh.

The heat makes families cruel to one another. Parents kill each other. They leave their children in hot cars. They kill extended family. We have bodies all over the Metroplex. They are the minority, of course. Most kids are having a fine summer, even if they do notice the hot. Most adults seem to be behaving like adults and finding genuine pleasure in what is, for now, a sweaty life.

Note to you folks in Minnesota, the Dakotas, etc., who have also suffered horrendous heat. It is pretty horrible, isn't it? And hard for you to endure because you don't have the resources to deal with high heat. You don't need the resources because it happens so seldom.

Remember this the next cold spell when Texans are sliding over the roads due to inadequate sanding or salt operations. Years ago, when I was working for a Metropolitan paper,I remember a forecast for sleet. One of the reporters was assigned an article on how to handle it. The weather didn't materialize. His editor, an organized and thrifty person, stashed the article. Five years later, it finally ran. Ice at last. The reporter even still worked there.

Summertime, and I guess the living is the same in every season. It is as easy as we let it be.

A Real Grownup Cries Sometimes

2011-07-19T20:17:00.000-07:00

I worked for Child Protective Services for 14 years. I saw less abuse than neglect. And neglect kills or injures more than abuse. The nice thing about neglect is that it gives you a little time to remove the kids to better care.

But tonight I am crying, both for a kid found dead now,and a kid I didn't realize was being abused, and she's dead now. Years dead, It's just there are similarities.

Both were about the same age--2. One was a boy. One was a girl. One was with a parent. One was not.

Other than their deaths, and the way they died, perhaps there is little similarity. This boy in the news now was abused over weeks, months. One of the police officers, clearly upset, said it was hard to imagine how you could dehumanize a person enough to inflict the damage he found. This boy was never under public scrutiny.

The real similarity is that two children who could not defend themselves were killed by the very ones who should have protected them. One of these kids was my case, years ago. One is now someone else's. And whether the parents cry or not, we professionals do.

The similarity of both cases, beyond the ages of the victims, was the disbelief of the killers that they had killed. So they called 911. And ultimately were arrested.
I see that. I remember that. And it still hurts. It hurts the current officers and CPS workers, who took the untouched birth child of the killers from them as authorities sort out what they did and if possible, why they did, consistently abuse their cousin's child to death. We always talk about the victim. Have you read
"The Boy Called It"? I keep wondering what damage it does to the kids not abused or killed to see it happen.

The kid I remember is a pretty little girl with brown curls and a pretty dress who said little when I visited her. I had too many cases, but I saw this girl. She was unbruised, and height/weight appropriate. I met criteria. Cold, that, when the child is dead.

The mother actually called me on the way to the hospital. She said her daughter was not breathing from a reaction to strawberries, and she had strawberry marks all over.
Her daughter was already dead, though neither of us knew it, and the strawberry marks were beatings.

So I kind of understand the 911 call of the folks who brought this boy in. They had been abusing him for months. Why was he dead now?

Yes, I've seen it. It hurts. It hurts. We go on.

You know, caseworkers don't get paid much, especially in Texas. Police officers, more. Attorneys, most. And in the case of this current little boy,whatever the dollars, the pain is the same.

Doing the job means it hurts. And maybe I am not the only one who cries after.

(Addendum, one day later: there was a vigil to honor this abused little boy last night. It was arranged by the EMT who brought the boy's body to the hospital. No, I'm not the only one who cries.)

Cooking To Please

2011-07-17T16:54:00.000-07:00

You know your granddaughter REALLY liked your garlic mashed potatoes when she carefully gets the pot out of the refrigerator and reheats a bowl of them for breakfast the next morning.

YESSS!

I cooked from childhood. I was always very good. From 1996 to 2006 I quit cooking.
And I am still trying to get my groove back.

That decade turned out to be seminal for many things cooking-wise. Foods disappeared, changed, became available only in pre-packaged form.

I've gotten much better. And I have gone back to my natural tendency, which, I hear, is a big national thing now (I'm never original) to buy local, in season. and as cheaply as possible. Duh/ It is at its peak. It is delicious. And your point is?

One of my things these days is to find old cookbooks from women's groups in the past 50 years. or longer. I have my mother's 1935 Joanna Circle cookbook from the First UMC of Alamogordo, NM. Stoves then didn't have thermostats. The cookbook also includes my grandmother's hominy chili pie. It requires grinding the round steak and hominy. Hamburger wasn't that available at the time. I've never made the pie. I am sure it is delicious; everything she cooked was. ( tapioca. don't get me started on tapioca.)

A friend of mine just had family visitors from the East Coast. They spent 6 hours at the Fort Worth Zoo. Their children did not require medical assistance. Boy, their hydration is GOOD!

Today, I just stayed in. Grandkids are home. Gracie is really bored.
She is peeing on outings, though. I have leftovers. No need to cook. (Note to single young folks: yes, I have Lean Pockets. Ech!) I have leftover rotisserie chicken, green salad, black-eyed peas with snaps, garlic mash, baked ham, bacon and home-grown tomatoes...not to mention fresh strawberry cake and dark chocolate...

You know, with all this heat, I was feeling a little down. After reading the above, though, life seems right good.

Ya'll hug, gnosh, visit, and chaw, y''all. Comfort is what it is. I enjoy the food channel. I just don't buy into lots of pricy ingredients.

Growing with Gracie

2011-07-11T08:34:00.000-07:00

I'm sooooo tired. I planned to sleep till 7 today.

New puppy Gracie, who does sleep through the night (she said proudly), nonetheless decided that 6 a.m. was a really good time to get up. You know how we devise these diabolical routines to get the kids up? Gracie figured if she started gnawing on several somethings I had to sit up or get up and take away from her, sooner or later I would get up. At 6:30, she won.

Huh. Along about 8:30, she took a little nap. I don't have time today.

For awhile, at my house, chairs are not for sitting. My two granddaughters are mostly in residence this week, and the chairs are for storing their stuff out of Gracie's way. Gracie knows she's not supposed to mess with their stuff. But as she grabbed a sock and ran merrily into the next room with me in pursuit, it's just so much FUN!

I have gotten some vet reccomended chew sticks. That is helping a bit. She can finish one in about 20 minutes, though.

This morning while I was busy in the kitchen, she started attacking a bag of dry supplies on the floor. I kept telling her no and stop, and then I realized I was calling her Cam, the last dog's name. She ignored me completely. When I finally said, "No! Stop, Gracie," she stopped, looked at me directly and then went back to the bag. So she knows her name. And I moved the bag. We both learned something.

I have a big back yard. I'm beginning to think I need to put in a doggie playground, with pipes to run through, things to jump, and maybe a strong rubber tug attached to a strong post so she can play tug of war. I won't do it, though. I WILL look into the dog park and obedience classes. She's really missing canine companions, and most of the dogs in the neighborhood have made it clear she is the puppy, they are in charge and she should just run along.

Better go make my cake. Fortunately, I don't think ear-splitting yaps when she chases her squeaky balls will make it fall.

Thank goodnessszzzzzz.....

I finally found my forever dog

2011-07-08T08:39:00.000-07:00

I have an announcement worthy of learning how to get photos in my blog. I've planned to for a long time. It's good for my blog. It will mean I can write about more things.

But the magnificent reason is: I have a puppy. An awesome, smart-as-a-whip puppy that at 9 weeks of age, is edging into becoming a fulltime chewing machine. I am already keeping house better.(No perishables or chewables lower than two feet.) And believe me, I am putting my leather shoes on high surfaces (I don't trust her not to figure out the closet door.)

Yes, her. A nine-week old girl Welsh Corgi. She has a mostly golden coat with white muzzle, feet, and neck. The tail unfortunately was sacrificed to fashion.
She has a friendly, fun, outgoing take on life. She thinks the world is a friendly place full of good people. She's not quite so sure about really tall dogs that are fascinated by her taillessness and want to sniff her butt again and again.

She does think. She learned to play fetch and return the ball in about 10 minutes. She adores my granddaughters and vice versa. I've had her two days and nights now, and she hasn't whimpered at night. Just sprawled on the cool wood floor next to my bed, although I have already gotten her a truly magnificent dog bed which she uses to lounge in while attacking her squeaky toy rabbit.

She goes to the vet today; she's started scratching since exploring my lawn, and the fleas are very bad this year. She's too young for most treatments but the vet has some stuff.

A nearby community center has obedience classes on Tuesday evenings, and I am thinking she and I may go. One thing I've learned: her nature is so circumspect that I have only myself to blame if she doesn't behave well. Queen Elizabeth would like her.

We must have tried 100 names in two days before I decided. I thought for a while it might be a kick to have a dog named Kitty. But wiser heads prevailed.

Here is where I should have the portrait of my alert, big-eared puppy.

Her name is Gracie.

Pictures as soon as I learn how to put them in.

Since my main web teacher took off for the Pacific Northwest this morning (hmmph!) It will be a week or two.

Blogs will be a might short here and there--she's learning the concept "no", but I am trying to be as preemptive as possible and head off the nos.

More later!

Summertime, and the pigging out is so easy

2011-07-03T09:51:00.000-07:00

It happened again. It does every year.

The other day I finally bit into my first perfectly vine-ripened tomato of the year, just a sprinkle of salt, and POW!!!! my mouth exploded in this total absorption of sweet, tomato goodness. Firm texture, juicy, oh, and bright red. Bright red counts.

For me, NOTHING else tastes that good. Nothing!

I remember blogging about a similar event a few summers ago. It seems that one involved a smidge of venison summer sausage as well. Same overwhelming reaction.

Huh. So my favorite food is fresh garden tomatoes. Now I know.

It just sounds a trifle....mundane. (Never mind that my eyes involuntarily close in orgasmic bliss.)

But wait! My favorite food is not just tomatoes, good though they are. My absolute favorite is a perfect, vine-ripened tomato. And that's different.

Actually, my favorite food is pretty much anything fresh. with tomatoes heading the list. They don't have to be organic, but more and more often, they are. Baby spinach. day-old free-range chicken eggs. a perfectly ripe peach. (Ohh, the aroma of a tree full of ripe peaches! and the smell isn't even fattening.) Fresh peppers and chiles, fresh onions, baby squash, zuchinni and okra. Fresh green beans. We can't get them here, but I grew up eating raw about half the English peas I was sent out to pick for dinner. We do have black-eyed peas with snaps. Our cantaloupe are flavorful beyond what most soil can produce.

Fresh cheeses. Increasingly in Texas, we can find the soft, yummy, Mozarella and a host of others cheeses, if often at pretty prices (for the seller.)

I like my meats freshly butchered by a pro. I wish Texas had more affordable lamb, which I love. Conservationists stock more and more of our lakes and ponds with tilapia,which cause our water to taste better and are tasty themselves when caught. Catfish is fine, too. If you are from other climes, you may not know about hush puppies, little balls of cornmeal and chopped onions fried in deep fat to accompany the catfish.

I love my romaine. Some pickled stuff to go with the greens are any kind of olive, artichoke, jicama or water chestnuts. MMM.

In summer, several friends confess and I agree, celery and carrot sticks are sometimes preferable to crackers or bread just because of that fresh thing.

Texas has some very nice-flavored blueberries and blackberries, if not the size of the same produce in greener states. We have our pecans, which unfortunately are becoming so popular in the world our own prices have gone up a bit.

Anyhow, the next time I get one of those questionaires that ask my favorite food, I no longer have to write, "yes." I just state, "fresh."

Golly, gee, that even sounds trendy.

Do we blame dementia for the hearing difficulties in the old?

2011-06-25T09:55:00.000-07:00

While I was in rehab, I noticed the majority of patients were older. They would do what they were told, but often the therapist had to tell them 2-3 times before they heard the instruction clearly. This slowed down what they could accomplish in an hour.

Very few were proactive. One of the few was a vivacious 92-year-old woman who had fallen and broken her hip. She has always been active, and the fall and resulting break frightened her.

"I'm staying here as long as I can," she said. I don't blame her.

My therapist said he loved to see me coming because I was proactive. As we were going through a set of exercises one day, I talked to him about that.

"It seems to me one of your biggest problems is loss of hearing," I observed.

He said it was, but more than that, it was what it led to.

"People who can't hear tend to become passive and just go along to remain a part of things socially," he said. "They are embarassed to keep saying 'I can't hear you' and they also fear, quite realistically, that if they do, people will just quit trying to talk to them."

The habit is so engrained, he said, that it takes a while for them to realize the physical therapist isn't going to give up--if they even notice their habits by then.

(I remember the first morning in therapy I was walking with a therapist who smiled and pointed. "Why aren't you bending your knee?" she asked.

Right. I was walking the way I had before surgery and I was there to learn to walk differently.)

The therapist I talked to about hearing problems had more to say.

He said that when patients really don't hear well, he then has to determine if the problem he is working with is poor hearing, diminished mental capacity, or both.
This takes time. So the therapy I was able to do in a week usually takes them two weeks.

A few weeks ago, I heard a paper on dementia that said 40 percent of those who reach their 80s will develop dementia of some kind. But that means 60 percent will not. And we are talking 80s here, not 70s.

However, I know quite a few in their 70s who are deaf as posts.

It makes me wonder if a lot of the dottiness of old age is actually more attributable to hearing than diminished ability to think.

One thing I noticed about the oldsters in my classes--they were tough. Most did the exercises required without grumbling, whimpering or protest. Waiting for the next exercise, they would talk among themselves.

"This your first?"

"No, this is my second hip. I did the knees 10 years ago."

Then they would enumerate the heart surgeries, the appendix, the gall bladders before day surgery, and on and on. They would smile grimly at each other.

They knew full well they were survivors.

And I, doing my knee raises, or peddling, or whatever, just listened, marveled, and muttered to my Creator, "Lord, if it is possible, I don't wanna be that tough."

And it's time again for a bout of my daily exercises.

Looking Forward to Better Times

2011-06-21T14:28:00.000-07:00

Surgery has been a really social event for me. Most of it has gone extremely well, and I've had a lot of good company at the hospital and now at home. I had a couple or three really bad hours the second day when the femoral nerve block faded and the pain took its place.

About two hours into that, my friends from Oregon called. Blake completed his second knee replacement in December. Blake and Jo Ann were both on the phone, and without even saying hello, Jo Ann told me,"Charlotte, we want you to know the pain never gets worse than this." And Blake agreed. They timed it perfectly, and I relaxed. An hour later, all was well.

The rehab hospital was everything I had hoped. Three hours a day, I had physical or occupational therapy. From the third day, I walked down two long halls to therapy, unassisted on my walker. I came home after a week because by the third day, I had reached 100 degrees of motion and could hold the knee down flat. And that is a tribute to the hours of therapy I put into prepapring for this. I didn't even need help dressing the second day!

In rehab, I saw many patients of other doctors. Some had the white compression stockings. I think some used the machine that straightens, then bends the knee automatically. I don't think it matters too much, so long as we exercise and get no infections.

Yeah, it's still sore. Since the surgery, though, I am standing differently and my lower back no longer hurts. I trundle the walker down the drive to pick up the paper, then again to get the mail. A therapist comes 3 times a week and the nurse comes twice a week. I run through exercises twice every day.

I see the doctor July 5 and hope then I will be able to drive and stop taking the damn coumadin. I am beginning to get hints of the change in my life that is coming. With only one knee repaired, I will be able to do so much more. When I do the second knee next summer, it will move my internal clock back years. Wow.

I suspect one reason so many older people are living quality lives so much longer today is due to knee and hip replacements. I know my orthopedist believes that.

Matt mentioned that it was a REALLY bad knee. I understand one can, if one wishes, see a knee replacement operation on YouTube. Now, I used to be a medical writer. Saw a bunch of operations and wrote about them. One of my doctor's operating staff wandered in the third day and said more than I really wanted to hear about extreme hammering and chiseling. I know the whole leg was black and blue, and my surgeon prides himself on not leaving much brusing.

Nope, I don't really need to know more.

I have a few things else I want to say, though, so I'll probably post a couple more times on knee replacements and me before getting on to something else.

Computer and writer both going for repairs

2011-05-18T12:24:00.000-07:00

This is my first time ever to sign in on a library computer. Live and learn.

About 10 days ago, I stupidly opened an enclosed http file from a friend. This same file hit the same person who supposedly sent it and several others. They either had Windows 7, which can eliminate the virus contained, or deleted and shut down. I opened. I haveWindows XP.

I'm going to need professional help to clean the drive. This time, I'm backing up the pictures, too.

I will try to post once or twice in the next week while this mess is getting cleaned up, but in the meantime, June 1 I am going in for a total knee replacement.
I've opted to go into rehab for about two weeks, which hopefully will accelerate my recovery to a cane by the time I get home.

I apologize for the void right when I have been trying to accelerate, but life has interfered a bit with my plans. I have high hopes both for the computer and the knee. Both are being upgraded.

OK-Buckle Up-Keep your own arts program going

2011-05-06T00:48:00.000-07:00

I always thought "full of yourself" was derogatory.
Until my granddaughter was tonight. She was bubbling over, laughing, emoting charm 20 feet away without realizing it, and yes, she was full of herself.
I loved it.

It was after the concert.

Before, she gave me only a 2-hour notice, although she said she told me yesterday.
I was tired. I had had a hard day. I----went.

At the beginning of the year, my son spent a lot of time at the school arranging her schedule so that she not only got her accelerated courses but the Blue Band, which you must understand is more competitive than the White Band.

Same director for each. And what a director he is. Wow.

Can you imagine your angel volunteering to take the instrument home over the weekend and actually practicing? He got that, from bunches of kids.

My oldest granddaughter plays French horn (yes, I know it's one of the most difficult instruments, and it is beautiful to hear). At which point, my own"full of self" over my granddaughter exudes. She is good. And I will tell you so in an instant.

They played a very difficult program for UIL competition, and were rewarded with Sweepstakes when they played it very well.The music tonight was just for fun. For the parents, and grandparents, that remember Blackeyed Pea and Journey.
Oh, yeah! It was fun, and it was tuneful.

In the White Band, the director recognized 5 students for going above and beyond in practice. In my granddaughter's Blue Band, he recognized 10. My granddaughter is one of them and will receive a trophy with her name engraved on it.
The 10 rather enhances than detracts from the honor. The trophy represents hours of practice every one of them did. It's a trophy to discipline and hours and resulting performance. I hope she sees that.

Not many of us get trophies for the extra hours and work on improved ability that my granddaughter is getting in seventh grade. It's a good life lesson. The warmth of doing something she loves so much carries over to her academics. Success in one field often carries over to another. When she brings the French horn home, it isn't her cacaphony, but her practice on her part of a tune we all know that disconcerts us.

Earworms. How we hate them.

She is a second year student, first chair French horn, in a middle school band that can charm the older generation with melodic--admittedly amateurish versions--of songs we all loved.

I LOVE this school system! They even figured a way to keep most of the teachers.
Thank God, her music director is one of them.

Bin Laden is Dead

2011-05-02T22:12:00.000-07:00

I like the symmetry.
This morning, I heard Osama Bin Laden is dead.
Almost 10 years ago, at about the same time of day, I heard about the first airliner hitting the World Trade tower. As I continued to dress for an important meeting, the second airliner hit. And the startled newsman said, "What is this?"
On the road, I heard about the third plane hitting the Pentagon.
"What is this?" I screamed in my car.
As a news junkie, I had probably heard his name before. It didn't register. The day after, I heard Osama bin Laden made this happen. He attacked innocent people in my country.
That attack changed many lives forever. I know of one who joined the military, one who joined the paramedics, another who became a minister. All because of one event.
At the time, I was working for Child Protective Services in Texas.
I knew what caseworkers in New York were going through, and their story was never told that I know of.
In Texas, it was the Branch Davidian coumpound with American David Koresh near Waco, Texas,1993.. There were children in that compound.
If I remember correctly, 37. The Feds attacked it, and the inhabitants put the children under the floor, and then set it afire. And they burned.
CPS workers from throughout the state had been called in and assigned to those children. They knew their names, their ages, in some cases personal information.Yeah, it is a beaureaucracy, but you know? When the kid is assigned, you stand for them. Even if you have never met them. And I guess you could say, David Koresh paid for that.
And we all watched while they burned to death.
I was a newbie in CPS, but I had colleagues who had been called to handle the children. They were devastated. I guess folks expect beureaucrats to have no feelings. Well, we do.That was my second year in the agency.
So when the towers collapsed, I knew there were a lot of people just like me scrambling to find the kids who wouldn't have one or more parents coming home and would need care in a city of total disorganization.

The same ocurred in Okalhoma. Another home-grown terrorist. A trial. Closure.

In New York, almost 10 years later, we finally have closure. And the pain wells up again, a bit. I still feel lighter. I've heard others say this.

And it is justice. It really is.
And I honor those who did it, right up to the President.
I'm glad he's dead.
A chapter closes. And a new chapter continues.

Living Until You Die-When Love Overwhelms Me

2011-04-30T16:53:00.000-07:00

It has been almost a year since I moved into my house. I know my neighbor felt some happiness and pain as she sold me her mother's house. Her mother had died. I am the new tenant.

She not only left me a clean, orderly house, she left extras. The mat in front of the front door. The lacy window curtains--waterproof-- over the window in the shower. The egg holder in the cleaned refrigerator. Just little things. But I felt so welcome to the new (to me) house.

Even then, she was fighting cancer. She didn't have much energy. But she left me a clean, welcoming house.

Now, in the fourth year of her battle, she is losing. Her husband has taken off six weeks to stay with her. She still gets up and out as she can to tend her garden, to welcome so many coming by to see her.

I see a lot from my screened front porch.

The other day, we had a break in the sometimes stormy weather, and he wheeled her out to the end of the block in her wheelchair.

They made it to the corner and turned back. When they reached my yard, her husband called, "Charlotte, shut your eyes!"

He stepped into my yard to cut a spray of blooming red roses, and scraped the thorns, then handed them to his wife, so tenderly.

I called out,"I won't hide my eyes. It is good for mature women to see romance."

And in a strong voice , his wife replied,"Yes, it is."

She lifted her roses to sniff.

And we all laughed, and he wheeled her home.

And my eyes stung.

A Little Heat Comes Into The Mix

2011-04-20T20:43:00.000-07:00

I know I live in a very large state, bigger than most foreign countries, bigger than the other states (no sneer), just big.
Texas.
As of last night, more than 1.4 million acres have burned, 1 million estimated since April 1. The fires are all over. The big one at Possom Kingdom Lake mesmerizes the Dallas-Fort Worth metroplex. Over 150 homes destroyed, many busineses, at least 3 churches. The state park is 90 per cent destroyed. Fires are 70 miles away. They think--THINK!--they won't reach the metroplex. That is this fire. There are many others.
How big is this state? We have now burned much more than than the land-span of Rhode Island. Most of Texas survives.
How scared am I? Not much. Not for me or mine.
Last night, I got a call from a friend that her daughter had tentative evacuation orders. The daughter is near Weatherford, where fires are close. My friend here has a one-bedroom cottage. I have two bedrooms, one with a trundle, and a large backyard,significant because they would be bringing three children, three dogs, four goats, four hens and 14 chicks.
So far, they haven't had to come. The daughter went to work today and took the kids in case evacuation orders ensued. My friend and I have smoothed out emergency procedures.
This is one family, which puts faces for me on the others.
Losing everything. Well, in the US, we have insurance, and some don't have that, but. I haven't heard that anybody starves. Often, we can rebuild.
Possom Kingdom Lake State Park won't recover for years. Neither will many of the victims.
I grieve. Of course I grieve. and I worry. And I marvel.
How fortunate we are.

When Easter Means A Whole New World

2011-04-20T20:35:00.000-07:00

A year or so ago, I asked my youngest grandchild what her favorite holiday was.

Given her penchant for all things art, I wasn't too surprised when she said Easter, but I asked her why.

She talked about coloring and drawing designs, and making beautiful eggs. I smiled. Pure her.

And then she said,"And that is why we use eggs to celebrate Easter. Because on Easter--- Jesus hatched!"

A happy hatching to you.

When a Grandchild Gets Hurt on Your Watch

2011-04-05T02:46:00.000-07:00

The visceral scream of a child in major pain is indescribable. We recognize it, even if we haven't heard it before.

I first heard it when my oldest son was five. We were moving, and I was packing up the kitchen. He went outside to play. And then, there was this train whistle of sound as he ran for me, his right arm now W shaped. He had fallen out of a tree, breaking his arm and dislocating the elbow. I was pretty calm. I called the emergency room and told them we would need an orthopedist. I called his dad, in a meeting, asking him to meet us. This was before cell phones, and all calls were long-distance. I mention this because I never dropped a digit.

While we waited for the orthopedist, who of course wasn't contacted till we arrived, I remember my son whispering, " I didn't know my body could break."

But it did, and he recovered.

Yesterday, I picked my granddaughter up from school. She turned nine on Sunday, got a near-perfect report card on Friday (one 88), had her snack, and finished her homework. She said she was going outside, and went out the back door. I didn't worry. There's a tree there she has been climbing all year.

I was going through her binder, checking for news and any other assignments that might be coming up. But the tree had a dead branch and it broke. She fell about eight feet on her back before her head hit the dry, clay soil lawn.

I heard the screams. I didn't recognize them at first. She rushed in, tear-streaked, clutching her head.I checked for blood. None. Checked for broken. None. Pulled her into my lap, holding her tight. She clutched her head. She couldn't tell me what hurt, or where. Except her head, all over. So much pain scared her. It scared me, too.

Later, as the pain in her head subsided, she realized her back hurt, too. I had her take off her shirt and found a scrape on her shoulder. No ribs, no vertabrae, seemed to hurt. Then I called her dad, who was on duty. I put her on the couch, got her some juice, put cartoons on and went outside, where I found the broken branch and realized the fall was only eight feet or so, not higher as I had feared.

Her dad, when he checked her out, found her eye movement jerky, her balance unsteady. She suddenly said she might need to throw up. She didn't, but he called her mother at work, called the doctor, who has started some evening appointments, and coordinated wife, child and his mother meeting at the doctor's office.

I couldn't believe how much better she was an hour later. Her eyes tracked. Her balance was good. Left knee reflex? Not so great, but the rest was good. No diagnosis of concussion. Free to go to school. No restrictions on play. Well, I have some. I'll be discreet. At least, now the trees have leafed out, she will notice the dead branches.

Both of us had a shock, and we need time to recover. Just because it turned out well doesn't mean there wasn't pain and a crisis. She had a lot of pain, We were both very afraid, if only for a short while. So, we will be gentle with ourselves for a day or two.

That's really okay.

Japan Teaches Us All a Lesson

2011-03-16T18:49:00.000-07:00

I keep hearing the Japanese are resilient.

Heck, yes,they are. They are the only country to survive two atomic bombs and the aftermath, and then build nuclear reactors. And I admire that, hugely. They have built carefully.

This is not a judgement call. Or a finger, or an agenda. Because I have none beyond my grief that this has happened.

The quake, the tsunami, could not be planned. The country planned, but never for this. Never for this. It is way-beyond imagining. And it happened.

Humans keep thinking we are in charge, and we build, and we proliferate, and then we learn we are NOT in charge, however many fail-safes we institute. Then we get scared.

I sit in the middle of a state prone to turnados, lightning.thunder, floods and fires. NO place on earth is safe.

No place has ever been.

I pray for the people of Japan, their relatives and friends in other places.
I know many have been lost. I hope many more will be reunited.

I don't have to hope US citizens will come forth--whatever we can do, we do. And it keeps us strong.

A Largely Unreported Disaster of Sorts

2011-03-02T08:20:00.000-08:00

Texas has unimaginable square miles of dry grass and vegetation in the winter. High winds and a single spark can decimate miles and miles in a day or two.

The fires more commonly happen in West Texas and the Panhandle, which are more sparsely populated. The rest of the state also gets the fires, which are more vigorously covered by media when a lot of people in a small area are threatened or affected.

I was surprised when I turned to page 2 in my local paper last Sunday and learned 200,000 people were evacuated in Amarillo on Saturday because of grassfires that totally destroyed 58 homes, damaged others. Live power lines on the ground made it difficult to get emergency aid to the people. One fire burned 45 square miles before it was contained. Lubbock was seriously damaged, too.

The firefighters did well--containing over 75 grass fires in 2-3 days that consumed more than 700,000 acres. One litttle five-year-old girl died in a car crash near Midland when the vehicle she was riding in crashed in the heavy smoke over the highway.

Talking to a woman yesterday, I asked if she knew about the fires. She said she was, primarily because her ears pricked up when fires were mentioned in the Lubbock area and her brother lives there. She said she called and he said he and his were all right. The fire came within five miles, but they were unscathed. Friends on the other side of town, though, had their home burn to the ground. They lost everything.

When something similar happened a few years back, media attention was aroused when the wind continued for several days. Grassland the size of the state of Rhode Island was burned to the ground, including the cattle, sheep and horses therein. Some of the homes destroyed were more than 100 years old.

The winds last week blew for a blessedly short interval. Few Texans paid attention, much less the rest of the country.

Burn bans are now in effect over half the state. Accidental sparks, however, can ignite fires from the most innocuous events. More fires are likely. More high winds are also likely. According to the forecasts, our usual quota of spring rains is unlikely.

I guess, overall, we are still the West. What happens here doesn't get out to the rest of the country necessarily, despite our World Wide Web. It would have been a little dangerous to stand and video the approaching fire and consequent destruction of the family home. Even for a chance to go viral on YouTube. And maybe it wouldn't even have done that.

It makes me wonder what other big events go on that no one knows about, sees, reports or notices. I expect quite a bit, actually.

Huh.

My Heart Leaps Up When Spring is in the Air

2011-02-22T17:54:00.000-08:00

This weekend, my older son and his wife assembled the really pretty wood picnic table they gave me for Christmas, and I planned to celebrate it with an al fresco lunch Monday. A front came in, however, and I know 58 degrees isn't that cold, but there was a stiff north wind. I decided to wimp out for later in the week.

I've always loved picnics. I've always loved eating out of doors. One of the things I loved about visiting in Oregon a couple years ago is the amount of outside eating (minus the fire ants, chiggers and ticks, as well). In New Mexico, (also minus the fire ants, chiggers and ticks) in the heat of the summer, we were 29 minutes from picnics at 5,200 ft.- plus, with trees, cool breezes, meadows and wildflowers. Or we could wait till evening, go to the White Sands, roll down the gypsum hills that look like sand but don't retain the heat, and either barbecue or knosh on fried chicken, potato salad, sliced garden tomatoes, somebody's pie and somebody else's cake or cookies. And cold watermelon. Just spit the seeds in the sand. MMM.

In summers, at the White Sands Monument, fantastic scientists come out mid-week to give free lectures on subjects you have not thought of, grasshopper. And the universe, in your imagination, expands a bit.

Texas in these parts has changeable, unpredictable year-to-year weather October through June. July, August and mostly September are scripted: hot.

Except for breakfast, I won't use my picnic table much this summer. But I can now, and in the fall, and even in contrary days in winter. And I hope using it can be a we as much as possible.

The extreme cold for 3-4 weeks has been followed by an extreme warmup. Just two weeks ago the temperature was in single digits. There was ice. There was snow. With fragile knees, I didn't go next door to my son's family for 10 days. Ice. Long gone.

After 10 days in the 70s, I notice the grass is greening. Oh, dear, the Barrett pear (non-bearing, but so pretty) is budding. Daffodils are budding and blooming. Native Texans muse, "Can the next snowfall be far behind?"

We will get more cold weather, just not in the single digits or teens, if usual. Dogs and cats are shedding. This early warmth must have the peach farmers terrified. One or two more big freezes are almost obligatory. Sigh. I do love me some fresh, local peaches.

Weather patterns are changing all over, some subtly, some overt. The world keeps changing, and we humans continue to be astonished at that. It's funny to me at my age, and thirty years from now, if I am around, it will be even funnier. I hope.

Meanwhile, I have my deck, my picnic table, I am chopping out the unwanted iris and planning to fill the empty space with herbs. Maybe some coreopsis, salvia, marigolds here and there.
Some deck pots to fill for bright and pretty.

We'll see how the farmer's market runs this summer. I like local. I like eating stuff locally in their time so I don't get tired of it and eat the same stuff-inferior-from thousands of miles away.

Like the fruits and vegetables, I want to savor each thing in its time.

Even life is juicier that way.

Make Room Under the Bridges-Legislature is in Session

2011-02-15T09:22:00.000-08:00

The weather is gorgeous. Kids were out of school yesterday and wearing shorts. Last Thursday, morning temperature was 7 degrees. This morning, the low was 56.

When I went into my exercise place yesterday, I counted 15 people. Usually there are 3-6. Rest of the week will be the same. I will get out and start gardening some. Take some aggression out on iris rhizomes.

There is a lot of aggression to vent. And exercise, the smell of honest dirt and real plants will help. I write this blog as a discipline in a way. I try not to whine or point out the ugly or mean unless deeply moved, not just entertained. I do that because I can easily be negative. And when I am positive, my day not only is happier, but I get more done. I try to pay attention, though, and that's why I need to go outside and dig.

Texas undoubtedly is going to lay off a lot of teachers. How many remains to be seen. Classrooms will be larger. College tuitions are going up. The state has floated a balloon that would close 113 nursing homes that take Medicaid, by refusing to pay. Where are these people supposed to go? Will we eliminate CHIPS? The sickening thing is, this debacle is due in large part to the way previous legislators have handled the money. Other states are facing the same. Some more than others.

Lately it has been driven home to me that as we huddle under our various umbrellas with others of our shared viewpoints, it is awfully easy to dislike those with different beliefs. And sometimes I do. When the truth is so absolutely crystal clear to me, how can a friend or acquaintance have a belief that is so patently, obviously wrong? What universe are they in? Idio---oops. I just broke my own rule.

Don't they see? Well, yes, but something different than I'm looking at. Sometimes they haven't seen my picture. Sometimes I haven't seen what they are seeing, either. Too often, though, I think too many are "members of the club" who give their fellow members a free pass without looking too closely. They've been to too many pep rallies.

If I go outside and dig, I can be my ownself. I can get something done and improve my mood. I won't snap at little children or argue with some of those idio--oops--I still call friends. Or at least good citizens most of the time. I can think of something positive I can do about this. Because that's enough. I've got to do something. Something positive.

I can give thanks for a beautiful day I've wasted in fuming. And dig in.

Hmm. I won't even take my cell phone.

My Heart goes out

2011-02-08T23:34:00.000-08:00

Valentine's Day.

My granddaughters will celebrate Friday, if school is open, and be off on the actual holiday.

Third-grader granddaughter took home my colored construction paper, my pink and red tissue paper, her crayons and a box suitable for cards last week when the last ice storm approached.

The teacher will give a prize for the best decorated box. My granddaughter completed hers with her very artistic mom, and I presume has delivered it this week. Every kid in her class will put in a card in every other kid's box in her classroom.

Right now, in my neighborhood, in this time, homemade cards are an item. She wants to make all her cards herself. No boughten ones. Her sister in middle school is also working on cards to give some friends. And this makes me smile.

When I was a child, I understood Valentine's Day was romantic, and also about love, because my parents included me. It also was about mutual giving, because I remember my mother taking me to the store to find Valentine cards for her, and for Dad.And she picked her own. Not so many to choose from, for the man, back then. But Mom thought the romance was equal. Reciprocated. Mutual. And included the child they had made.

So on Valentine's Day, at breakfast, I always had cards from both. And heart-shaped redhots from Dad and usually a lace or embroidered handkerchief I would never, ever use, from Mom.
I think I used one at my wedding. Which made Mother smile. She had planned this.

Mom got chocolates. And yes, I was a little jealous. I loved chocolate even then. Mom would always give me a piece, though. Right there! At breakfast!

Unlike many men, my father loved Valentine's Day. Maybe it was the generation. Those old-timers didn't need biz or ads, or promotion. Dad just said St. Valentine made a special day to announce his love, and any time he could, he would. And Mom would smile at him...

I grew up in that.

Wasn't I lucky?

I was going to talk more about the holidays of my youth, but I think I will save it for another year.

There are so many good stories to tell. And again, aren't I lucky?

Someday, grasshopper, this will end

2011-02-05T08:11:00.000-08:00

Blech. The light dusting of snow predicted for Friday turned into several inches of the stuff.
Surrounding areas sent another 49 snowplows. I've never SEEN a snowplow in D-FW.

Stir-crazy folk, thinking snow would be easier to drive on--it is--ventured out, only to quickly meet the thick ice beneath. Cars performed like a motorized session of Dancing With the Stars.
The overnight snow was thick enough to cover streets, curbs, medians--impossible to tell where the road was. Businesses desperate to get back on schedule insisted a lot of their employees come in, and a fair number actually made it.

Director of the Denton airport got a guy with a jet engine to blast chunks of ice rapidly off the runways. We have Super Bowl patrons, coming in, dammit. And so the can-do people made it possible. Clearing the runways in this peripheral metroplex airports means a place for corporate private jets and prop planes to land.

Ice chunks were reported in the Trinity River. Never seen THAT before, either.

We are tired of this. We have more "winter precip" coming in Tuesday or Wednesday.

I am really impressed with the truckers who have brought the groceries and goods in. Yes, they get paid. For that much aggravation? I don't think so. They know they are depended on. And they deliver.

Seems like as many freight trains have gone by as usual, at the usual speeds. How does that work? Ice and snow have hit the rails, too. But the trains keep moving.

It has been interesting. I've seen a lot of individuals being kind to one another this week. I was one of the recipients. Seems I was a little overconfident about my ability to handle a skid. When I got stuck, an older woman, her daughter, and son-in-law got out and pushed me the necessary inches to reach traction. I felt so helpless, and so grateful. People really do stuff like that, all the time.

I didn't venture out yesterday. Today--I'll see.

It's already 29--highest temp in six days. (sob) We may even break freezing.

One thing I know--there was money to be made this week in the Metroplex. We just didn't think so much of it would be going to the auto body shops.

Thank God the Groundhog Predicts an Early Spring!

2011-02-03T10:08:00.000-08:00

Monday, the ice, sleet and snow came in.
In my portion of the D-FW Metroplex, that meant about 2 inches of ice, topped with another 2 inches of snow. And cold. So much cold. It has been decades since I have experienced single digit cold. With wind.
My newspaper carrier hasn't delivered in three days, which is okay. I can drive on this stuff, but with two bad knees, I can't walk on it. So I couldn't have gone out to pick up the paper.
Yesterday, I finally got out and drove around. I checked the streets around the schools and accurately predicted we would have an unprecedented third Snow Day with the schools closed.
Friday, I don't know. Probably.
We have had about 16,000 households that lost power. Not so many, with a population of several million. Some of them will have fireplaces. They will get through.
Yesterday, with the failure of a bunch of energy plants around the state, we had rolling blackouts all over the state. Most Americans are really ignorant on the size of Texas. It is almost 1,000 miles deep, about 800 miles across. The whole state has been affected by this Super Storm.
While the overnight temperature in the Metroplex was about 7 in my neighborhood, it was in the 20s in Corpus Christi, on the coast. At least we are prepared for the cold, and build for it. In South Texas, this has been like a horrible cosmic accident.
The rolling blackouts were supposed to be for about 15 minutes. No schedule; we didn't know when they were coming. Most of mine were 20 minutes, about 11/2 hours apart. But some folks had them only minutes apart. Others had an hour off, 20 minutes on. It wasn't fun. I thought of the people in Iraq, who have been living with this for years. It's hard to plan anything. I've put off a wash, and I've cooked when the power was on.
Around the Dallas and Fort Worth downtowns, the blackouts were exempted. Cowboy Stadium and the venues where Super Bowl events were happening also were exempted. This is business, and I understand it. But school children who WERE in classes yesterday in South Texas were in dark, cold classrooms for minutes or hours at a time to provide that power.
Today, there is buzz that the power stations that failed are newer ones that were built improperly and not weatherproofed for the extreme cold. Apparently, they were built on the cheap. And how we have all paid.
Overall, it hasn't been bad at all. My daughter-in-law's office was closed, and she defrosted a turkey and made dressing, sending a big dish over via granddaughter, so I didn't even have to get out. Yum!
Yesterday I took the roast potatoes left over from a pot roast, nuked another two potatoes, and made potato soup. I used the pot roast juice and beef broth, added diced onions and a bay leaf, more garlic, and pureed the potatoes in my blender. I chunked up some of the roast and added a can of carrots. I ended up with a brown, smooth soup that is yummy and tastes like really good brown gravy. With a chunk of bread, it's a really good meal.
I found my long johns, not needed for years, and topped them with sweats. Layered T-shirt, longsleeve shirt and sweater. I'm keeping the thermostat on 68, or 69, and I am comfortable.
Yesterday, it was colder here than in Green Bay or Philadelphia. Both teams opted for indoor practices. Sunday, those standing outside in the parking lot will be in a chilly 40s with wind. I'm sure they'll enjoy it,and again, I understand our whole state sacrificing a bit for the Super Bowl.
I have some issues with the guy who lost power in the middle of his home dialysis, with his blood in the tubes.I have issues with the fast food places having to close because they couldn't depend on power to feed the usual crowds, much less the visitors. I'm sure our visitors from all over will grumble about how we have handled this huge weather crisis.
We did get a few snow plows to scoop the icy slush off the busiest freeways because of the Super Bowl. Those go back Saturday.
I am not sure if I will watch the game Sunday. It is still awfully icy for safe walking most places if I go out. But if I stay home, I may miss part of the game anyway if rolling blackouts resume.
And they may.
Fortunately, I went to the library Monday while I filled up the car and bought enough extra diet Dr Pepper. I can always curl up with a good book.
Sometimes, the old solutions are still the best.

Gettin' Ready for the Super (Texas) Bowl

2011-01-24T14:20:00.000-08:00

Super Bowl primping is going on everywhere in the Dallas-Fort Worth metroplex.

Did you know the NFL has some fund to pay for planting trees to make cities more beautiful? Why, that's right nice. Heard today some 6,500 trees have been planted hereabouts by school and garden volunteers getting ready for The Big Day.

Traffic has been disturbed a bit lately by maintenance crews planting flowers in the medians.

The sister of a friend of mine was surprised when city maintenance crews came through her neighborhood last week and mowed and trimmed every last lawn on the block. She lives a mile from Cowboy Stadium, you see. In a year where the state budget shortfall indubitably is going to impact county and city costs, the City of Arlington simply has reorganized its schedules of operation to tidy up the city as much as possible for tourist scrutiny.

So has every other city remotely involved around here. Believe me, folks, we aren't usually this neat and clean. Of course, shortly after a kazillion or so visitors hit the 'Plex, it probably will look a little...disheveled?

Will the cell tower coverage be sufficient for the phones? The cell phone companies say so.
D-FW is getting ready to throw the biggest party ever held in these parts. Like any hosts, we want the visitors to have what they want when they want it to the best of our ability. No shortages. Enough amenities.

And Lord help us, this week is beautiful. Feb. 6 could be anything from 70 degrees on down to the 20s with sleet and freezing rain.

I'm not going to any parties. I'm not making any money off this. My cell phone may not work sometimes, but the traffic probably won't be too bad. In my whole family, I'm the only one who might actually watch part of the game, but probably I'll just go shop. It's a great time for it.

Do you know, Jerry Jones is selling $200 tickets to people--in groups of four, or $800--so they can stand in the parking lot outside the stadium and watch the game on some big tvs? Watching the hucksters score definitely is part of the event. Dadgum. The price of those parking lot tickets would pay for some primo dental work I need. Or the attic insulation. Or, more fun, tickets to the Pacific Northwest again.

We've never had the Super Bowl before. It will be interesting to see what happens.
But a lot of the people in every city where it's held simply go on about their daily business and skip the gridiron entirely. Just as well.

Someone has to tend to bidness.

Enjoying a Dollop of Cold in my Winter

2011-01-17T09:42:00.000-08:00

It snowed last Sunday, and THEN the next day we got a Canadian cold front. Didn't get above freezing for three days. Result: snow on the ground till Friday. Five days!

In the Southwest, that's pretty amazing. Streets were pretty clear, though. It was a great excuse to make soups and hearty food, like my stuffed cabbage rolls that I hadn't made in awhile. My old recipe didn't show up on any of the many internet recipes I looked at, so I relied on memory, and they came out great. Youngest granddaughter turned out to be a whiz at filling and rolling the leaves.

"You said it was like making a burrito," she told me. "And I've seen Daddy make those a LOT!"

Still, next time I think I will fix it the lazy way, with chopped cabbage added in with the tomato sauce after the meat is browned and rice added.

A puzzlement: when it is nice and warm inside, why am I so much more hungry in cold weather? It's a fact, however. Just as in summer, when the house is nice and cool, I am less hungry. I think I am simply happy such a season occurs in my year.

The snow looked really pretty. Only a few inches, but with the continued cold and no wind, the trees remained limned with white for several days, and the bushes wore their pretty snow hats.

Temps are going up into the 50s now, with clouds and fog. This, too, in unusual weather.

Oh well, the Fort Worth Exposition and Livestock Show started this weekend. There's a reason they call this time of year "stock show weather." Nevertheless, hearty Texas teens will ride the ferris wheel and other rides bundled up in coats, jeans and cowboy boots. Stock ranging from exotic chickens and flop-eared rabbits to llamas, cows and horses and more will be on display for the next couple of weeks. There's the drafty matinee and evening rodeos, and the many, many fried foods, with a little barbecue thrown in.

More snow flurries possible later in the week.

Think I'll make another pot of soup.

When we are happy and others are crushed

2011-01-15T17:44:00.000-08:00

A friend on Facebook asked if it was okay to narrow in on her own happy life with the awful stuff going on around the world. She cited an Australian boy who was swept away after he insisted rescuers pick up his brother first. Then a friend chimed in with footage of a girl trying to save herself and her dog in South American floods. She had to let her dog go to save herself.

How do we deal with this?

It is, probably, a little easier if they are not young. But not always.

I think we have to care, however sad. I also think we have to care about what is going on in our own lives.

If there is something we can do, well, we must.

Today, things go well. Tomorrow--hopefully the same. But we love each other. We love our neighbors.

My own life is happy currently. Mud slides won't crush us. Tornadoes, and other events, could.
What I have, what the victims had, is today. Let us make use of it. Let us say "I love you" every time. It could be the last chance we have,

And that is not a sadness. It actually is a way of life. I try to make sure I say it with every person I love in conversations. It makes me feel better. And if anything happens to me, I hope it will comfort them.

For God's Sake, Don't Confuse Us With the Facts

2011-01-11T08:12:00.000-08:00

Coverage of the Giffords shooting has frustrated me profoundly. Substance makes up less than half the coverage I've been able to find. Spin has covered far more. Opinion, argument.

It's gossip, masquerading as journalism. It obscures the truth.

I spent an hour yesterday researching news stories, videos, 911 calls, the Arizona Statesman, the local publication that, of all media involved, should have had an in-depth account and timeline of Saturday. I couldn't find it. Maybe it is there--my online research techniques are not stellar. My point is, the information shouldn't have been that hard to find.

I have heard or found two references to a woman "who tried to prevent the shooter from reloading". What did she do? what happened? I assume it was about the same time "two people" one report said, and "two men" in another tackled him and restrained him until law enforcement arrived. Then what happened? I've seen a full feature on Danny Hernandez, who rushed to his boss when she was shot and used his previous experience as a medic to try to stabilize her, in spite of continuing gunfire. No one has identified the three who actually intervened in a slaughter. It's as if they were some random piano who fell on his head.

What happened Saturday morning? We've gotten the sound bites, and then off to the glitz-the nine-year-old girl, which indeed is a heartbreaker--BUT! she is also the granddaughter of someone famous. What happened to the neighbor who took her along? A judge died, but so did three women who were older, apparently ordinary citizens, and beyond their names being listed among the dead, have gotten no attention. The headlines I see. The stories, I can't find.

In hindsight it seems likely that the shooter may have schizoid symptoms. Not uncommon in tragedies like this. Often, the families have been trying to get help for the person for a long time. If they are over 18, this isn't easy. We got the peers saying how weird he was, and all the excited rhetoric that goes with it. There is a lot more to THAT story, too.

But the media is thundering off to the next stories. Is it Sarah Palin's fault? Is it the left? the right? the tea party? Arizona gun laws? Almost before the bleeding bodies are carried from the scene, it's all about the spin, how this helps this point of view or that. There is a great deal of opinion, but very little truth, or facts, in all that.

Chaotic, shocking events like this don't have all the facts immediately, It seems, however, more should be available.

Facts? Who has time for those? After the bare facts, journalists have leaped to the spin pieces. He came, he shot, he was stopped. Now here's what I or X, Y, or Z thinks this means, or shows.

There's a loss of freedom in this. Not just in this one incident, but in the trend it signifies. I can still find a lot of information on the internet and in news coverage, but increasingly it is slanted, leaves out information, or includes opinions as if they were facts. Or, perhaps, maybe I just notice it more.

Of course, one person's facts are another person's opinions.

Even mine.

How To Deal When Parents Aren't Immortal

2011-01-07T00:16:00.000-08:00

All of us lose our parents.

According to Francine Russo, never in history have so many of us had to deal with the declining health of our much older parents. At the same time, our culture belatedly is realizing the profit in providing services for the grey-haired halt, lame and the mentaly challenged.

In other words, the agony of diminished parents is probably gonna cost you. If you have siblings, the joint consensus in health care for a parent may cause time, grief, angst, confusion, and even possible expensive legal maneuverings. There is also a very real possibility, however, that all this cost leaves you with fellow adult children you can share the rest of your life with.

The book is "They're Your Parents Too!" or "How Siblings Can Survive Their Parents' Aging Without Driving Each Other Crazy" by Francine Russo.

My father died when I was 19. My mother died when I was 35. I was the only surviving child. So why my interest?

I do a lot of volunteer work with persons in crisis. I lived in a retirement village for three years, observing the decline of some delightful people in their 80s and 90s. I have seen, firsthand in the last year, how siblings--loving siblings--have responded in the emergency of the sudden illness (months only) and death of women 74 and 90.

As Russo notes, we aren't always talking about the loss of our mothers, but typically, women outlast fathers, whether married to them or divorced.

IF you are able to be introspective at all, this book is incredibly valuable and cuts new ground.
If you have parents aging but in good health, it is excellent preparation ground. It is a book I would want to read if my own parent or parents were waning, or if my siblings and I were having trouble communicating or deciding how bad things are. It isn't a be-all by any means. It does offer resources for evaluation and possible outside help. As an aging parent myself, I find it valuable in potential decisions that will affect my sons and daughter-in-law.

Every country in the world is dealing with this problem of the first large-sized generation old enough to need longterm help from children still supporting their own children into adulthood.

I haven't finished the book yet. I am just now going into the chapters on dementia, which affects 40 per cent of the aging. I confined my own mother at 57 with dementia. She died at 71. In her time, there was no assisted living. Only a nursing home. And I was lucky to find the one I did.

I can't find the portfolio with the poems I wrote from that time. But I remember the beginning of the one I want:
"A shadow lives who used to call me daughter.
She, who has no memories, is one...."

My own sibs died before my memory begins. Reading this book, I see they still were a part of my journey. And that maybe there are things I can still do with adult sons to make my children's future better. Or maybe not. But I can try.

It is a very good read. I will stuff it down the throat of every volunteer and professional caregiver I know. Unless you are a self-absorbed narcissist or have NO family, You I will skip.

READ IT. Even if your parents are gone.

Really.

May the Road Fall Before Ye

2010-12-31T12:20:00.000-08:00

Here it is. The new year! Woohoo!

Not just one month slipping into another, but a mankind-given chance to stop, assess and start over. Great!

In my youth and middle age, I loved to go out. To party, except I almost never had a hangover. I don't do excess very well. Tonight I will snuggle in and drink some wine and then, tomorrow, clean up the detritus of Christmas and gird up for the new year. I already have four meetings planned. Next week. Not every week --just next week.

New Year's. It's like some wonderful package I'm itching to tear into.

And we all will.

This was a really good year. I bought my house--a surprise. good health. good friendships and some old ones revived. some good projects completed. Enough money to pay the bills. People to hug, including family. new friends. And I also lost four friends who were deeply important to me.
Funny about aging. I take comfort from the memories of these lost friends and add to the joys of what I gained. Yeah. It was a really good year.

The joys are just pure, shining silver. The sadnesses have a silver lining that adds to the weight of the joys.

May you have a year that shines, through tears or sunshine.

The End is not always The End

2010-12-28T18:09:00.000-08:00

Went to a funeral today. Yeah, I know. I've had a lot of those this year.
I didn't know the deceased at all well. Have known his wife for decades.

The thing is, when you are dealing with an aging population, nowadays, you have several participants who are wearing hats because they are in chemo. They have no hair. But they have hope. And they are feeling well enough to attend.

A lot of cancer gets cured or postponed today. The deceased didn't have cancer. He died from surgical reasons. He was 82. That is okay. The infection--not so okay. So.

He died a week ago and was cremated. I want cremation myself, and wonder how our care of the dead will go. I know personally, I want the least expense. The body is the leftovers. The spirit is where the spirit goes. No cost. Shoudn't be.

I expect God to be with me when I die. What happens after happens. I don't know. I do know my present life is better with God in it. When I meditate. When I pray. When I ask forgiveness.
I KNOW God will be with me as I die. Afterwards, eh. Up to God. Much of what my fellow Christians believe, I do not. Doesn't scare me. Nor do I want to contradict others who believe otherwise.

But I do believe in spirituality. I do believe in God. As a Christian, I also believe in Jesus, but I don't believe he negates the other paths to God. We have muscles. We have brains, We also have spirit. And it is a separate mileau from muscles or emotion or logic. If you have not experienced it, you can scoff. If you have... you smile. there is no argument.

Learning to see outside the box

2010-12-21T22:46:00.000-08:00

I think it is great that so many come together for toys for children at Christmas.

In fact, I took my own Angel tree kid and got her a Dora Explorer doll, toy, coloring book and crayons. But the food bank that issued these also has a clothing bank. So I am pretty sure she has a warm coat and a few new clothes (or gently worn). And her parents got some food if they needed--beyond Christmas baskets, day to day things like peanut butter and jelly, cereal, canned meats and vegetables, even toilet paper. I know because as a community, we donate it all year long.

I do it through my church.

But it isn't only the little kids. Teenagers need stuff, too. Razors and shaving cream. New shirts and jeans. Hairdryers. Body wash. Cheap calculators for school. Earrings for the girls, aftershave for the boys. Coats in cold weather. Sometimes backpacks. CDs. clock radios. Hair bows, headbands, even some of that gel stuff. Lip gloss.

In my area, the state provides duffel bags for the belongings when foster kids move. Used to be garbage bags. This is better.

Most are generous. Sometimes a Grinch or two wraps up rags or garbage, wraps it pretty and turns it in as an Angel Tree donation. I don't get it, but some do it. So the gifts are now asked to be turned in unwrapped.

Recently, I saw a woman with so very little take an Angel Tree kid off the list. She wanted to. She will sacrifice to do it. I honor her. With her income, it means cutting severely into any treats for the next month. Or two. But she wanted to. And she smiled so happy.

Christmas.

What does it mean? What do we do?

A little more.

Each year, a little more.

.

Want some fruit with that?

2010-12-17T12:11:00.000-08:00

Christmas is coming. I still have gifts to wrap and baking to do, but I am confident this year I will be ready before it gets here.

Here in the Southwest, as in the South, we love our fruit salad. A friend recently served one I in turn took to a Christmas party. I like the dressing better than any other I have had. Goes well with the ham, or even with Great-aunt Bertha's melt-in-your-mouth pound cake. It's another internet prize. It's fast, delicious and can be made ahead--just add the dressing and banana just before serving. Other fruits can be substituted, but these are easy, can be bought ahead and kept in the pantry when ready.

For 6-8 persons, Refreshing Fruit Salad

1 (11 oz) can mandarin oranges, drained well
1 (8 oz)can pineapple chunks, drained well
1 medium banana, sliced
1/2 Cup seedless grapes, halved

Dressing:
3 Tablespoons Hellman's mayo (for best results)
3 Tablespoons sour cream
1 Tablespoon honey.
Mix thoroughly
add 1/4 Cup chopped walnuts
1/4 cup flaked coconut

Refrigerate all.

Add dressing and sliced banana just before serving. (For banana, you can slice early and thoroughly coat with lemon or lime juice to prevent browning, if you wish)

Frankly, this will go well with any poultry, as well. I had some fresh mint to use for garnish. It was both pretty and tasty.

When Kids Spell It Out

2010-12-12T18:21:00.000-08:00

Stealing from a friend, a young mother with two smart, precocious daughters--
They were in the grocery, picking up items, and came to a blocked aisle where two older women were talking, their carts firmly blocking passage, and oblivious to other shoppers trying to pass.

Her 3-year-old daughter suddenly yelled "AhhOOOGa!" (where did she learn that?)
She said the two women jumped about a foot in the air, came down and hastily moved their carts so the mother and her daughters could pass. Go, Bailey!

This nice-mannered mother passed with embarassment--and also satisfaction. Brilliant child. Simply brilliant. At three, she already knows how to get things done.

The other day, I was pulling into a handicapped space (my knees are bad, and my lower back has a kick), when my 8-year-old said, "Gramma, when I grow up, I think I might like to have just a little handicap. Then I will always be able to find a parking place."

When I quit laughing, I told her that good legs and backs are much better than handicap parking places, which really aren't always there, anyway.

Well, she sees the silver lining. And so do I. Life is much more doable today for persons with disabilities. I have a ramp over the steps to my front door, put in by the last owner in a wheelchair.The ramp is much better for my knees, and many of my friends. And easy for everyone, really.

This spring, I will plant some Knockout Earthkind roses that will grow 4x4, hide the ramp from the street, and bloom May to December.

And I will keep listening for the advice of the children I know.

Christmases Then and Now

2010-12-04T16:16:00.000-08:00

On Christmas Day, about 25 years ago, we opened some gifts from an office friend and found three Santa hats.

It had been a lean year. I think that may have been the year I sold a gold ring to buy a Christmas tree and Christmas dinner.

She had wrapped what at the time I thought was a load of crap so the boys would have stuff to open. Paper clips? Postits? But they DID enjoy the unwrapping, and laughing over the triviality. And they loved the hats. They put them on. I can still remember how cute the youngest was in his hat, both of them chuckling.

But I was full of bitterness. Overflowing with it. I felt pitied, not loved. Sometimes kindness can be the deepest cut of all.

And I, without benefit of chemicals or anything alcoholic, went berserk.

What I remember, what we all remember and can now laugh about, was that I ran into the kitchen for my treasured best scissors (wonder what happened to those? can't find those anymore) and I began to cut that hat up into many, many pieces. Which I then threw on the floor and jumped-jumped! -up and down on repeatedly. Presumably noisily.

I have never behaved so before or since in my life.

I didn't touch THEIR hats. No, no. But do you think they wore them the rest of the day?
I still remember a glimpse of the bewildered, hurt, frightened youngest son, about 6, taking off his hat.

And since no permanent insanity, nor drugs, nor alcohol was involved, the rest of Christmas Day went on pleasantly. I hope. There was a witness. A lifelong friend of my oldest was there and apparently marveled.

I still remember how good it felt to go berserk. To jump up and down on those scraps of hat. But I hurt my family. They have long since forgiven me and laughed about it. Recently, so have I.

For a long time, it rankled.

Christmas hats became an icon for my lack of control over what happened at the holidays, both what I couldn't control in my life, and what I did when I reacted. As such, I wasn't fond of them.

I thanked the co-worker again, and she was so pleased she sent more stuff the next Christmas. No Santa hats, though, because we had those, didn't we? Did I ever confront her? No, I didn't. Even then, I had the sense to understand she truly meant well. I think my Nana used to say something about not slapping the outstretched hand even when you wanted to.

Life went on. I gained a little wisdom.

Despite a graduate degree, I have never chosen work that pays well. It has been fulfilling. Meaningful. And we always had enough.

I'm retired now. I still work, but for free. And I have come to realize, I not only have enough, but more than enough. When you add the wealth of family I really love and like to be with and friends, ditto, I am actually filthy rich.

All these years later, I look back at that berserker woman with amusement at what she still had to learn. Bitterness grows no fruit. Love does. I forgave both her and myself. That's what I mean when I say I gained a little wisdom.

Today, I bought two Santa hats for my granddaughters, who both have performances upcoming requiring holiday gear. They look adorable.

Heck, I may go back and get a Santa hat for me.

Noticing the Creature Comforts in the Night

2010-11-30T13:55:00.000-08:00

Last night, another cold front came through, dropping the overnight temps to freezing here or thereabouts. In an older house, the thermostat is constantly catching up, and I keep it 68 or lower at night. The wood floor was a mite chilly when I had to get up briefly around 4 am. Still sleepy, I slipped gratefully back into the still warmed bedding and pulled the cover over my shoulders.

I was warm, cozy, snug. The bed was soft. Had a moment of thanksgiving for the luxury, and as I drifted back to sleep, I realized I didn't feel any age at all. I just felt like me. The always me that's been there since childhood.

And I was content.

I slept well.

You want good stuffing? Smell your way!

2010-11-26T17:39:00.000-08:00

I love Thanksgiving turkey. For many years, when I have leftovers, one of my favorites is the after-Thanksgiving turkey sandwich:

2 pieces of multi-grain bread, toasted.
mayonnaise to suit.
slices of turkey-white, dark, does not matter
slices of dressing
slices of cranberry sauce
sliced piminto olives
lettuce

All told, should be about 1 inch thick. Great on an empty stomach. Even greater in a lay between still-high Johnson grass on a quail hunt. Hot coffee optional. Air should be cold.

BUT this year, I made the best dressing I've made in years. It's purely my Dad's recipe, which relies on smell. If you can't smell, don't try it. I mean it. I have a lazy eye. Can't hit a ball. Don't try baseball anymore. If you don't smell smells, a great many don't. Other recipes will suit.
You probably can do many things I can't, and I envy you.

I happen to have a nose, as did my father, and it is critical to this. It is not rocket science. just organic. You must notice your sense of smell.

I guess this is a commercial. I've tried several cornmeals. my favorite is Aunt Jemima, and that is the recipe I use, sans sugar.

Several days ahead, buy a loaf of white bread, let it lie around.

reheat oven 425 degrees

In sifter(check internet if term is unfamiliar)
Add 1 Cup cornmeal
1 Cup flour
4 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
Sift into bowl
Add:
1 egg
1 Cup milk
1/4 Cup vegetable oil

Stir

Add to 8X8 pan, buttered or whatever, greased

Bake 20-23 minutes or until toothpick comes out clean. Let sit briefly, THEN

Cool briefly, then plop int LARGE mixing bowl

Fresh cornbread. Break up.

Take 4-5 slices stale white bread and toast. Don't burn it, but really toast it.

Slice bread into bite size pieces. Toss with crumbled cornbread.

On slicer board,
Slice 3/4 large onion in itty-bitty pieces

Slice three ribs celery in 1/4 inch pieces, approx.

One tart apple, peeled, quartered, and diced

Melt 1 stick margarine in skillet, add onions, celery and apple, on low medium till smells good. Shuffle with spatula
Add black pepper to taste
Add one can chicken broth,while warm
3 Tablespoons fresh poultry seasoning,
2 Tablespoons sage
Stir. Add to cornbread/toast in big bowl
Stir.

Smell. It's up to you whether to add second can of broth now or when you dump the first and heat up the second. You WILL use 2. How does it smell? How moist is the mixture? Stir.

Add 2cd can broth to cornbread/toast mixture. Refrigerate at least 4 hours,

Let it sit, and smell. Smell. My father said when it smells right, it is right, and this year, it smelled perfect. And it was the best I've made in years.

This recipe will serve a family of six, 4 large men or 8 regular adults who don't work out much.
Or half of it will feed two adult sons and their mother, when said sons have been deprived of their mother's efforts in the kitchen for a few years. Let it sit in the refrigerator a few hours, then bake at 350 for one hour.

You may like gravy. you won' t need it with this. It should be moist when done.

Personally, I find gravy really overrated. I am in an extreme minority,That's okay. My sons tell me the gravy was good over this.

To me, what I have said is easy, but I know so many assemble rather than cook. Don't use a mix--scratch makes higher, tastier, cornbread. Glad to anwer questions.

A good day, unread, is still a good day

2010-11-23T19:45:00.000-08:00

Frankly, there are quite a few influential, some even famous, people I know or have known--and past tense is probably the kicker--in my life.

I live quietly and obscurely now, and that's okay.

But my sitemaster tells me I am barely read, and that hurts. I write well. I know that for a fact.But apparently I don't care about or notice the things the rest of the world is interested in. Darn. Too many old duffers don't blog.

In my personal life, things are well. Had two grandkids and their best friends most of the day today. For me, it doesn't get better. I'm not stellar in their lives either, but being part of the bedrock--that feels good.

And at the end of the day, I sent all four home to my son and his wife to shelter for the night while I relaxed, wrote this, and went to bed early.

Smile.

Giving thanks in the face of adversity

2010-11-21T19:59:00.000-08:00

Every state has its own list of what it supports, and what it does not.

Texas actually came out ahead in the short run on the deficit, because the state pays very little for anything besides roads, prisons, education,minimal social services,and law enforcement, but not in that order.

The legislature faces a $28 billion dollar shortfall. Legislature will be in session next year.
Beware. Euphoric Republicans are celebrating the fact that they now have the largest majority in the state legislature since Reconstuction. And I don't trust either party in a euphoric, "we're the 800-pound gorilla" mood.

A balloon has already been floated by our governor-who-isn't-running-for-President proposing cancelling Medicaid and CHIPS. Supposedly, we can fund this cheaper ourselves without any federal money. Even with Medicaid and CHIPS, Texas currently has either 5 million or 6 million uninsured.

Medical professionals are already saying this is nuts.

Fact is, Texas hasn't got much fat to trim. Politicians will have to go into the muscle.

One of the things I've learned is--we all want cuts in government spending, just not the program that directly benefits us. So it all is going to come down to who screams louder. The elderly with dementia, the homeless and mentally ill, the minor children who are being neglected or abused, these folks can't scream too loudly. The shell game with taxes and who funds education is apt to leave all but two state universities--Texas A&M and the University of Texas are protected by the state constitution--to be forced to raise tuition again as state support wanes further. School districts forced to fire teachers they can no longer afford to pay? Could happen. More potholes in the highways? less bridge maintenance? More toll roads? that's a big favorite. There are locations in the Metroplex I can't get to without a detailed pondering of highways if I don't want to pay several dollars in tolls for the trip.

The recession hasn't been fun. Nope. And whether we like it or not, the consequences are setting in. The debts always have to be paid. Most of us will survive.

Sounds grim on a holiday week, but the first Thanksgiving was celebrated by less than half the Mayflower passengers who set out for America. The others died. Those remaining gave thanks for their survival, for being alive. They looked forward to surviving another year, and making it better if they could. They gave thanks for each other.

That isn't bleak. That's core to the best of humanity. It requires steadfastness. Resolution. Hopefully a lack of self-absorption. Being alert as well.

Thar still be some bars in them thar woods.

How Do I(fill in the blank)?

2010-11-16T17:14:00.000-08:00

I desperately need some help in baking.

I've used Crisco all my life. Haven't baked much the last 10 years and am making a comeback--EXCEPT the pie crust and bread have both come out greasy--the crust not short, and the bread not cohesive and draining oil. I currently have most of a can. I tried making an applesauce-mincemeat bread recipe today, using the recipe amount of 11/2 cups shortening. It was so greasy, it wouldn't hold shape and oil ran from the dough after cooking.

There HAS to be a conversion table. If your old recipe used X amount, now use Y. I'm guessing half. That would be cool. I've done a brief search and found comment sites complaining the same, but no company site giving me a conversion--you know, like a tablespoon fresh herbs converts to a teaspoon dried. Something like that. Toss in another egg? No instruction on the can. That seems shortsided to me. It's healthier--no trans fats. so please tell me how to use it.

I've talked to a good cook who used to bake a lot, but doesn't anymore, and she recommends I use half the Crisco called for. I'm wondering if that is enough or if there are other adjustments I need to make. She said she now uses pre-manufactured crusts or uses butter. Expensive, and today's shortening may be more healthful, but I don't know anymore. I'm not finding ready information from folks who do.

All I want to do is bake some stuff, using ingredients I know--but I don't know them any more.
No wonder all the food ads say cooking is hard and just buy----

Less and less I trust the products I buy. Now it extends to food. All I wanted to do was make a couple of loaves of bread for my son to take hog-hunting.

My frustration is palpable.

A good week to be an American

2010-11-13T09:55:00.000-08:00

Veteran'a Day was Thursday, and in the last couple of weeks, I've gotten a close look at patriotism and the American child. It is healthy and well.

One of my grandchildren is in elementary school, the other in middle school. Both had music to learn for a program Thursday in the football stadium (fortunately, the cold front and rain didn't come in till Friday). Both know all the words to the national anthem, the pledge of allegiance, and a number of patriotic songs. With all the enthusiasm of well-loved children, they believe in honesty, truth, and the law. They make me look at the future and smile. The adults around them are teaching them well.

In Brownies, the troop members were all given a sheet of paper and asked to draw something that symbolized America to them. A number drew the flag, two drew the liberty bell and one drew the capitol. My imaginative granddaughter drew a flag--and then drew a strong, muscular arm in the middle of it for the ARM-y, she said, and to show America is strong.

She likes to fetch my mail, and on Thursday when we got home, I told her thare was no mail because it was a national holiday.

"That's silly," she said, "You won't get your Happy Veteran's Day card in time."

I laughed at that. But maybe the card industry should look into it.

On Sunday, veterans at church have been invited to come in their uniforms, or any remnant of their service.

One Korean veteran has announced his intention to bring his old rifle, which has raised a few nervous eyebrows.

But this IS Texas.

New Mexico sunset

2010-10-28T18:45:00.000-07:00

I want to draw attention to some extraordinary photography of an awe-inspiring New Mexico sunset.

Clairz put some exceptional pictures up.

I literally gasped when I saw these. And remember when you view: I could be there, seeing sights like these, but five faces I love keep me here.

When Things Change and Stay the Same

2010-10-27T08:08:00.000-07:00

My last blog alluded to the interruption of my pleasant day by technology interruptis when heavy rain caused my tv to go off three times. It is a routine matter today--even my 8-year-old granddaughter is aware of it and the cause.

It is part of life today. I still grumble about paying for tv that was free most of my life, but the visual quality and quantity of channels is certainly improved. I suppose it is my fault I cannot seem to find any programs I want to watch regularly.

Last night, I attended my older granddaughter's fall chorale concert. The music was as sweet and good as any I've heard. The students behaved well. The auditorium was crowded with proud families and friends. And among the performers were two students who wouldn't have been there when I went to school--a vision-impaired girl and a young boy in a powered wheelchair. They and the other students took it for granted they were there and participating. Wouldn't have happened when I was growing up. The technology for the wheelchair wasn't in existence, and probably not the medical and educational techniques needed for the vision-impaired girl as well.

Something has not changed. We accept as truth facts which are untrue, information "everyone knows", accept as "always" the way things have been done in our memory. We look at one another and smile, and take comfort in our accord. It was a bit of "always" for me last night, attending a school program where kids were still fresh-faced and ready to perform with a community of families to support them.
I hope that does not change. I do think one value of aging members of society is our memory of when realities were different, even when history as we experienced it is different from "what everyone knows."

Schools still teach information that isn't true. Can't help it. A whole generation of folks going through school in the 1950s and earlier were told petroleum came from the remains of dinosaurs under the earth. I've checked with others my age and older, and they confirm: yep, we were told as truth that petroleum was basically distilled dinosaur guts. It was a tall tale. But we were told it as truth. I wonder what tall tales persist. A lot I hear about deal with "can't" and "impossible." And then we learn it can be done, or the impossible has quietly been going on without human observation all along.

I remember learning how to write a formal letter back in 1950-51 (letter writing was a big deal back then, of course), and being called down by a teacher for writing Post Office Box 607 for our address (oh, and there weren't zip codes, either).

"You don't need to say Post Office," she said. "They all are. They always will be."

Fast forward to my driving along a rural highway in East Texas some 15 years ago, where I saw an old woman stepping up to her rural mailbox to get her mail. And I wondered how long that would be a reality.

I wish I had the analytical ability, the intellect, to shrewdly predict what would last and what would expire. Oh, what a blog I would have. Oops. Blogs are one of the things I don't know will persist.

In the 1970s, I regularly read a professional medical magazine with a columnist, Dr. (Joe?) Alverez, who knew medical lore already being forgotten and who wrote a popular collomn commenting on lore already being lost. He always quoted a saying I do believe is true:"Half of what we know about medicine isn't true, and the trouble is, we don't know which half."

Except, I think that is true in general. With so much so-called information out there on the internet, I think many would agree.

Trying to keep up, to assimulate, analyse and act, gives me a great mental workout day by day.

And that is what I like best about the present. I will add this to the value of elders in our population: with the sheer weight of new information getting our attention, things we already knew and have already discovered often get buried. Sometimes age can bring a fresh approach by retrieving information we really can't afford to lose.

A Cooking Chicken and Falling Rain Beats TV Anyday

2010-10-24T21:08:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, the thunder rumbled and invited me out to my deep, screened porch just as the rain begain to fall. Intermittant splashes became a torrent of water on land untouched by rain for at least a month. Lights were on inside--the clouds all day left a twilight visibility. It was kind of homey.

I retreated inside and set some chicken cooking. The appetising smells of chicken, garlic and sauce filled the air and it was cozy inside, with the thunder, lightning and rain outside, the comfort of a dry home, dinner cooking, and an undemanding day.

For the first time in heavy weather, I turned on the television, only to have it lose signal three times. Regained it three times. Had heard about this--in bad weather, why would I want to lose the signal? Oh well. I've Bundled. Phone, satellite tv, computer. Same provider.

Huh. I am such a non-tech. Is THAT why later, when I came to my blog, I couldn't access it? and when I went to internet tech support, I failed again and again?
But I didn't know exactly how to get where I needed to be for quite a while. I got there. And it is embarrassing how long it took. But it didn't interfere with a fine day yesterday and a fine day today, ending with a new password and the ability to write this and read some other postings.

Today could have been dicey weather again, but it was east of here. We got almost 2 inches of rain yesterday, and we needed the rain. Tomorrow, I will start chopping out way too many iris in my backyard. Today, I went to church, mellowed out, made real mashed potatoes and green peas to go with my already cooked chicken, visited a couple of friends I love, and came home. And finally got a new password and back on the internet. It took more hours than a savvy person would have, but i did it, and I still had a great weekend.

I start my week charged up with happy. Hope you do the same.

Never mind--you're not doing what I wanted.

2010-10-18T10:13:00.000-07:00

Years ago, when I was in CPS, a woman called into the office and talked to a secretary.

She said, "You can tell that investigator you assigned not to bother any more. She's not doing what I wanted her to."

And we all laughed. Fact of the matter is, people make reports all the time about neglect or abuse of children. Concern for the child is only one of the many reasons they call.

I think we, as voters, have our agendas, too. A lot of us think our representatives aren't doing what we want. Or if they are, then their challengers are going to try to make them look like they aren't. That's politics. I think, however, voters increasingly feel they aren't getting what they asked for, and they can't find any alternatives. color us frustrated.

It adds up to a whole lot of whoppers on the airwaves this fall. Texas doesnt even have contested races in half the positions, but where we do--I don't think I've ever heard such a pack of amazing lies in my life. Not to mention inaccuracies I suspect are grounded in dumb ignorance rather than lies at times. Only a few weeks to go.

I'm gonna be listening to a lot of music for the next couple of weeks. I love it that I can go in early, at my leisure, to vote. And I can root for the Texas Rangers. That's fun to think about.

As I say, I will vote. Always have. Always will. When I was a state employee, I was expected to behave honorably with the families I worked with, to find the services they needed to make a better family for their kids. Some of them made amazing changes in their lives.

Seems to me the people we elect keep saying that's what they want to do, too, to work for their constituents. Then they get in office and it's all about party solidarity and what they can scarf up for themselves....yeah, that's been going on forever. I am just tired, perhaps.

Freedom is still good. I'm still glad to be an American, and I actually know and like several of the county candidates this time around. And the first Tuesday comes extra early this November. Lots of positives.

I can, after all, just go out and sit on the porch. Not so hot now. Lots of sunshine, and tons of butterflies. Can't do anything about all that, either, but it sure is nice to contemplate.

Stopping to Look Around On a Really Nice Day.

2010-10-12T11:30:00.000-07:00

The Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex now sprawls over at least seven large counties. We have more than seven million people and umpteen area codes, but we also are spread out some. Public transportation has improved to sucky. It used to be more or less nonexistent.

For years, I would pass the lettuce farm on both sides of I35, less than a mile from the downtown skyscrapers. Whole working ranches--some measuring in sections, not acres--are surrounded by new housing and strip malls that have sprung up to support the 300+ people that move in every day.

In short, we have a lot of rural in our cityplex. Acreage of beef cows, and increasingly goats, are scattered about. Some mighty fine horses get raised here. I have three neighbors in one block who raise a few chickens. Just enough for the family and to sell a dozen or five every week.

The late, very wet spring followed by the intense 18 days of above 100-degree heat, made for the poor tomato crop this summer, but the fall crops are coming along.

Okra and black-eyed peas are re-invigorated and producing again.

I've seen 100 degrees in October, but about three weeks ago, an unusually cool wave of air came along and hasn't really left yet. This is the last week of the State Fair in Dallas, which started Sept. 24. The weather has mostly stayed in the 70s and 80s. If attendance is off this year, it's the economy, not the weather. Nigh perfect. Texans loves to fry just about everything at the fair, but I am still a fool for the corny dogs, funnel cake and Belgian waffles with whipped cream and strawberries.

We have a bumper crop of ragweed this fall, which really needs a more useful purpose than spiking antihistimine sales.. The silvery doveweed was plentiful this year, too, and in the early mornings and evenings I've heard the shotguns in the neighboring fields as hunters test themselves against the wily, fast dovebirds in flight. Even in the so-called city, the country intrudes.

I doubt most city dwellers go out to get the morning paper, sniff, and look around to see if the passing skunk is still around like its aroma.

A couple of years ago, drinving to Fort Worth from Denton,I saw a large buck bound across the road foom the thin greenbelt on one side to the greenbelt on the other. Wild turkeys hide out, too.

Life is busy right now, but I try to stop, look around and smile at folks who, like me, are just enjoying an ordinary day in the land of North Texas.

When we choose to go easy into the night--or not

2010-10-01T13:14:00.000-07:00

When my mother's autonomic system began to fail from advanced Alzheimer's in 1978, she was hospitalized, and I was given a form to fill out. It asked, specifically, if I would approve any of the listed "extraordinary measures" to save her life.

I remember being so very thankful Mother and I had discussed this in depth when she was still reasoning and lucid. It was hard to check "no", but I did so. (By this time, I was also her legal guardian, but still.)

Today, the patient must have a signed, notarized document on file, as I understand it. When my friend recently died of lung cancer, things got dicey when her lungs started failing and no DNR was in the orders. She was one day away from being put on a ventilator when a 24-hour hospice service finally accepted her and took her home. She died within 48 hours. If she had been on a ventilator, it would have been the end of any real life as she knew it, but she might have lasted days or even weeks at great expense. Nobody wanted that. The staff was upset. The family was upset. My friend would have been upset, but her oxygen level by then was so low she slept most of the time.

She died easily, family with her, in her own bedoom, nurse attending.

That's an institutional DNR. It seems such a simple thing, but in an emergency, it is hard to know when to utilize it.

Another friend's mother has just died. She was 88. She had never had surgery. She never took any medications, although she knew her blood pressure was high. She donated her body to the medical school, an aging, unsullied, hopefully interesting specimen for some aspiring doctor to learn from. She was so adamant about no extreme measures that she had a DNR document posted at the house. She was up for a stroke, and she knew it.

And she had it. When a daughter found her, it had probably been 12-18 hours since the first massive seizure. The ambulance transported only to the hospital. And there, not knowing the severity, not knowing enough about what was going on, her family agreed to treatment. And she survived. Half her brain gone, part of the other gone, but she survived. She shouldn't have been able to move her arm, and possibly not been able to talk, but she could. Memory and reasoning nowhere near who she had been, but there. She was in the hospital awhile. Assuming she was going to survive another few months or even a year, family submitted to having a feeding tube put in, as partial paralysis made it hard for her to swallow. The doctor expected this to rectify in a few weeks. But this extraordinary woman was apparently lucid enough, herself enough, to make her wishes known. Her three children conferred,and the tube was removed. They all understood the consequences. They brought her home on hospice. They rearranged their schedules, because hospice for them, until the last few days, involved a daily visit only. It was scary for the family, these responsible, loving, middle-aged children who nonetheless had no knowledge of caring for a dying mother. They learned. They turned her, talked with her, bathed her, changed her, yes, that, too.

My friend said her mother would have been appalled at the cost of the medical treatment. She commented herself that with the Baby Boomers aging, our nation cannot survive the cost to Medicare if everyone chooses to go this way. Her mother, she said, would have said the money would better have been spent on well baby visits, vaccinations, on those who can recover from their body's blows, on those who have others to care for.

I know this is a growing dilemma. When I went in for my physical, I asked my doctor about an out-of-hospital DNR form. She was startled and said she didn't have them in her office but she supposed I could get one online. But, she asked, what if resuscitation could bring me back to a productive life? It often does.

My medical DNR, dutifully notarized, has been in the folder with my will, my power of attorney, my medical power of attorney and my living will, for five years, at least. I don't know if a conditional DNR is possible. I guess I will have to check back with my attorney.

I heard on the news last week that it has been 50 years since CPR was introduced to the world. This procedure, in so much time, has undoubtedly saved thousands, maybe millions, of lives. But 50 years ago, CPR could carry a patient only so far. The medical support available today didn't exist.

I see older people all the time who want to survive at any cost, literally and figuratively. I see the poor souls like my mother who had no choice, but have been treated longterm with tenderness and care.

I have seen grieving parents let their dying child go peacefully. Most of us know at least one person whose family just couldn't let go until they went through hell.

CPR. Such a simple thing. Even I have taken lessons. Hard to imagine Before.
But After involves complications that those who developed CPR never anticipated.

Before, they really couldn't.

2010-09-25T19:31:00.000-07:00

Ordinary people and their extraordinary pets

2010-09-20T09:23:00.000-07:00

I've been reading the want ads lately for a bargain on a good dog. I've got the house, and a big, fenced yard. Time to get another dog. And stingily, I hope. I've been thinking about it.

My younger son has a Welsh Corgi I love to death. He is smart, beautiful, and just about the perfect middle-size dog I want. But he sheds incredibly, and I am not a woman given to mopping the wood floors every day (now there's an understatement). So probably not a Corgi. I still get all excited when I see Scotties, but I haven't seen ads for any. They aren't very smart, but they are fiesty, and you can't hurt their feelings and they are affectionate and very, very cute. But. Not another dachsund--I've got stairs. I'm looking. I'm looking.

Today I ran across another pet choice. To quote, "Hand tamed fancy rats. $8 adoption fee.3mos. old. Black/grey. For pets only, not snake food,pls. Very sweet/great pets.(Number followed.)"

I snickered. With all the universities around, a proscription on using them for lab testing might also be wise.

When I was a sophomore, I took an introductory psychology class, and we were required to do a lab experiment using rats. The professor brought in his daughter's brown rat named Friar Tuck. Friar Tuck was indeed a calm, nice-mannered rat, who ran up my professor's arm and kind of cuddled next to his neck. He insisted we all come up and practice lifting the amazingly patient rat up by the tail and set him on our hands, then lift him back. This was to prepare us for doing the same thing with much less attractive, much less socialized lab rats we would be using in a maze experiment that semester.

Desensitization, I think we call it.

I had no trouble performing the chore, setting him or her in the maze and recording the results. The problem was, to me one grey lab rat looked like another. Halfway through the experiment, I somehow started using the wrong rat. My error wasn't discovered until the testing period ended. To say my professor was not pleased would be to state the patently obvious. He didn't rip me to shreds, but for a few minutes he looked like he wanted to. My mistake had basically flawed the entire experiment for everyone. I had made all my lab sessions. I had written up my results. I had done well on all my tests. So with extreme restraint, he gave me a C for the semester instead of the F he probably wanted to award.

The next semester I took abnormal psychology. I really enjoyed it. No rats.
I have played with someone else's rat on a few occasions. I have never wanted to own one.

So I wish this rat owner well in providing happy homes for the rat babies. At least they smell better than ferrets. (Do pet snakes --isn't that an oxymoron?--eat ferrets, too? I thought folks mostly bought crickets and mice.)

I look for biases in my makeup and realize I am highly skewed as a pet owner towards dogs, then fish, then cats. I knew a family with an adorable pet chicken once, and the folks across the street have bunnies, and my niece once owned a corn snake for awhile. I've seen enough ferrets to know I wouldn't want one. Gerbils, hamsters, guinea pigs? We had the guinea pig when my sons were young, and I'm still convinced I killed it by feeding it some banana. Pot bellied pigs? Parrots?

So. Did I say I was getting a dog? I'll stick with that.

The Cover Doesn't Begin to Explain the Book

2010-09-16T20:43:00.000-07:00

This is a transaction thought from a conversation from my third grader:
She was telling me how you can't judge a friend by looks(ugly or good-looking) or dress(shabby or smart). And that is a good lesson. And I thought.

Earlier, she and I had gone to Lowe's for some construction stakes for posters I want to put up for my church chocolate festival. I was told to go to aisle 13, where I met a salesman who told me I wanted aisle 16, and walked along with us to find them. They were fairly bulky, not unmanageable, but he insisted on getting a cart and walking with us to checkout. Then he offered to carry them out. I told him no, I could manage. We left. Just as we reached the trunk of my car, a well-built, 20-something man appeared and asked, "Ma'am, do you need help?"

I laughed. I told him no I didn't, but since he was there I relished the assistance. I opened the trunk, he deposited the stakes, then told me he would crate the cart since "it's on my way anyway." And he did.

When we got in the car, I told my granddaughter, "You have just witnessed three blessings. One was the man helping us in the store. The second was the man who showed up to help me at the trunk. And the third is I recognized the first two as blessings."

Earlier in the day I had been fuming to a friend because of my bad knees and arthritis, I limp. And because I lost weight after age 60, I have wrinkles. And my hair is greying. And I feel sometimes as if people spring to help because of the old lady with the limp, and I'm stronger than that and I hate it. All of which is true when I am feeling negative. BUT. All of this happened later, and wasn't it nice? Human beings are still kind to one another. Of course I smiled.

I have been thinking when to bring another interchange up. It was in the shop where my damaged car was being repaired. A woman came in, carrying a couple of Walmart bags. She was picking up her own repaired car. She was wearing a navy blue shirt and khaki pants. As she and I waited, I asked her,"Do Walmart employees get a discount?"
I was genuinely curious. I have had nothing but intelligent, good service there. And I know the pay is minimal, so I wondered if there were perks.

She huffed,"I do not work at Walmart", and sailed out the door. Almost immediately, she came back in. She said, "Why do you think I work at Walmart? I am a professor at _______." She seemed flustered.

I answered truthfully, "You are wearing a navy shirt and khaki pants, the uniform for Walmart employees, and you are carrying Walmart bags."

She blurted,"I will never wear this outfit again." And she left.

I thought at the time she was oversensitive.

Today, I examined that in view of my 8-year-old getting lessons in not picking a book by its cover, so to speak, and in my own almost terminal prickliness when good people try to help an independent, aging, limping woman. Today I had the sense not to be prickly. I hope later, the prickly professor laughed.

But all of us, my 8-year-old, myself, the middle-aged professor, are always striving to read and be read, as a book without our cover.

We aren't. Most of the time. What I personally have to learn is to bless the goodness of people when they mean well, and only whop them in the chops when they try to escort me across a street I didn't intend to cross.

When I can't prevent evil but deplore it

2010-09-08T19:09:00.000-07:00

I am sorry. I am a dilettente, and perhaps a sponge. I remember reading that when FDR said "We have nothing to fear but fear itself", he was quoting. Which means it had happened before.

And it is happening again.

It has happened many times. We fear, we strike, we kill, we fight....

Doesn't mean there are are not reasons to fight. Doesn't mean we don't have enemies that imperil us. But in fear, we often include innocent people.

My fear is that it is happening again. It has happened over and over. A lot of times, it is the little guy that loses--life, liberty, possessions.

There's the mosque or community center several blocks from ground zero, where by the way, several Moslem (even American) victims fell.

Then there's the bookburner who plans to burn the Koran on Sept.11. A bookburner in particular is repugnant to me. That he chooses to burn religious books, of whatever faith, makes me want to vomit. He has the right. But he is evil.

I don't use that word lightly. Evil. I've seen it. I know it exists. It is horrible when directed towards children or neighbors or supposed friends. Evil. It is a total disruption of the peaceful,loving course of life. It is a total disregard of the well being of others.

Do we have to have someone to hate? Is it a human need, at least for some? Sept. 11 gave us no country to fight, and in my opinion, no religion. But there are terrorists. Extremists. Do we blame a whole religion for that? Some apparently do.
Tim McVeighy parroted Christian teachings. And he bombed Oklahoma City. Very successfully. And we don't condemn Christianity.

We don't know the Koran. How many of us have read the Bible? Damn few. Moslems, Christians, and Jews share two commandments: Love the Lord Your God with All Your Might, and Love Your Neighbors As Yourselves. Most of us in all three religions fail to live up to that.

That causes trouble.

Will there be protesters at the burning of the Koran? I hope so.

This is a better country than that. We can absorb such as these. We do not have to agree with them.

And I do not. I hate it with every fiber of my being, and agree with my country's constitution that however repugnant it is, he has the right. Goddamn him. That, of course, is out of my hands.

Recipes before you were born feed you still

2010-08-30T08:34:00.000-07:00

Remember the days when you had to shred your own cheese? Really good cooks, like my DIL, still do. I will on occasion; mostly I just try to buy fresh the day before. And in this big, wide metroplex I live in, I can think of only one grocery within 15 miles that has the beautiful, round orbs of quality mozzarella for sale. In fact, down here in the Texas land of cheddar and Monterrey jack cheeses, it wasn't so long ago I quit using ground parmesan in the can--and I have friends that still do.

Today is my oldest granddaughter's birthday, and yesterday was mine. Her mother was out of town till late, so tonight I'm fixing a family meal for the five of us. I have to gear up for that: cooking for my three friends for Yahzee made all of us laugh when we took recipes for four and inevitably had at least two helpings left. But this is Matt G.'s family, with his very active, rapidly growing daughters and busy wife, and I'm hoping my one 9X13-inch pan with bread, salad, ice cream and cake will be enough. I do know this: there will be no leftovers.

I pulled out a 70s pasta recipe I really like because it can be made ahead, even frozen. It's even better if made ahead. Even in the 70s, we were using prepared sauces. Shell macaroni is called for. Although I halved the recipe. I made adjustments for current eating habits. I tripled the pasta. The ground beef, of course, is 93/7, meaning 7% fat, then simmered with mushrooms, onion, a jar of sauce and a one-pound can of tomatoes--which now has been downsized to 14.7 oz. Half the meat mixture layered over the pasta, dabbed with about 1/3 cup sour cream, topped with cheese...and that was the other really big adaption. We are used to much more cheese in the dish than in the 70s. (Then we used plain hamburger, so the fat probably came out about the same.) A second layer of each, topped with the rest of the cheese and leaves from a stem of my fresh basil bush.

I thought about changes in popular foods, snacks, flavors from generation to generation. It's sort of a hobby. I love to get really old church cookbooks and see what they have. I was delighted last spring when a friend had a Maine cookbook with a recipe that came from the back of a can of Carnation evaporated milk in the
50s. It is a really easy chocolate sauce that was yummy on ice cream. I don't know if even Carnation has the recipe now, because it certainly is not on their web site.

When I was a kid, one of the few patent medicines for a cough was Smith Bros. Cough Drops. They came in licorice and cherry. My father loved the licorice and couldn't understand why I made a face. I did like the cherry. My dad also loved horehound, a root beer flavor of candy popular in the early 1900s. Mom was with me--Mars bars and 3 Musketeers all the way.

A major dish in the 1930s was tomato aspic. Punches usually had a tea base with added fruits and juices. During rationing during World War II, an older woman told me how she was able to buy one can of tuna on the black market and made a salad for herself and three friends which they relished. The tuna, you see, was mostly sent overseas to the troops. And Spam was born.

My parents also loved picallili and chow-chow, and a lot of people still do, but at least here in Texas, not a majority. Mostly older people eat it, but overall, probably just as many of us eat pickled okra--and that I like well. Does anyone under 70 drink buttermilk by choice? (I seem to remember a Weight Watcher recipe for buttermilk, fresh fruit and artificial sweetener that was pretty good in diet times.)
Whatever happened to Polski Wyrobi dill pickles?

In the 60s and 70s, cubed bologna and cheddar was sometimes served in bars with a beer. Summer sausage was always there in the summers--I used to make big chef salads with vine-ripened tomatoes, onions, lettuce, pepperoncini peppers, summer sausage and cheddar with oil and vinegar dressing.

For some reason, the main time I see summer sausage now is around Christmas. It's all beef, but I've found a meat plant that packages venison for hunters and makes their own sausages from the trimmings. Venison summer sausage makes beef sort of pale into the far distance. Last winter, I gave packages of the sausage, rat cheese and high quality crackers to several men I care about...family and some friends.

I had never eaten a casserole as a child, though I had eaten many a pan of enchiladas and bowls of pinto beans. Campbell triumphed when they marketed their soups as thickeners for nutritious, easy, cheap family meals, beginning with the news-awarding green bean casserole.

There was a cookie--a scalloped edged shortbread round cookie, with orange icing drizzled with chocolate stripes. They just disappeared one year. Then there was the wave of lemon desserts. Green apple candies. This summer, almost every recipe I've seen from salads--especially spinach--to deserts, to sauces for chicken, includes strawberries.

A cross-generational conversation got me started. My youngest granddaughter asked me, "Gramma, do you like gummi bears?" I admitted I didn't because I didn't like the texture. She asked me, "What were the things you used to eat that we don't have any more?"

And this blog is the partial result of that.

I know how much I enjoyed the conversations with my grandparents, and their part of my rearing. They connected me to history through their own lives. I think ideally, three generations, at least, should rear the children. As I hear about more and more families like mine living next door, in the same homes, on the same propety with each other, I am aware that many Americans, from many, many cultures, do that.

My grandchildren keep me updated on the latest food fads in their generation. Sometimes, I feed them some of mine. We get to know each other better. And I believe fervently that eating together is an important part of family. Through food, there is communion. Add to the word and you get communication.

I'm all for that.

Seasonal Changes

2010-08-25T04:03:00.000-07:00

On Monday, the first day of school here, the 107 degree heat tied the record for hottest day set back in 1952. We've had I don't know how many days in a row of 100-plus days, and even we natives were longing for a break. Sometime around the end of August, we usually do get a heat break or good rain AND a heat break.

Yesterday afternoon we got both, a little rain and a little heat break. I was able to sit on the porch last night at a bearable 86 degrees, and this morning promises to be in the low seventies. It hasn't been below 80 in way too long. My active, hearty 8-year-old granddaughter actually was able to ride her scooter in the street a little while. Unlike her mother, I am not the least crafty, and that makes long terms in my house a bit dull. She watches a little television, reads her books, and then is ready to Do SOMEthing. As we spend more days together, we will find those things for both of us.

I wrote last week of my friend with lung cancer. On Friday, her breathing worsened and she was approved for home hospice care. She got home Saturday, and her sons invited everyone over. It was a great party, with 30 or 40 friends and family. We all had personal time to visit. She was so content to be home. On Sunday, she slipped into sleep. Her breathing became lighter and lighter, but not labored. And shortly before 7 in the morning yesterday, she slipped mercifully, peacefully, away, with her family around her. About as good as it gets.

I was so happy yesterday, knowing she wasn't hurting, that she was really with God.
I am saddened as well. She was cremated, and the memorial service is Saturday. Next week, the three of us will play Yahzee again, for the first time at my house. We will visit and talk, as we always do. We will laugh.

We will go on.

Shilling for Sandra Brown

2010-08-20T07:53:00.000-07:00

In my summer reading list, I left out a book I meant to mention. It is by a chick writer, indubitably chick, but this is entirely differet from anything else she has written.

I first heard of Sandra Brown on a flight from San Antonio to Dallas about 12-15 years ago. Bad weather had delayed the flight about 3 hours, and it was still raining and windy in Dallas when we landed. My seatmate was a contented woman who had this realllly goooood book she was reading, and we talked a few minutes before I let her get back to it. And I started getting the books.

Her plots are good and she writes some of the best--and longest--sex scenes I've ever read. Her books have a fair amount of glitz in them. She is huge with women.

"Rainwater" is a very different book. In the author's note, she says she wrote it when she had time between two contracted books. Set in a small Oklahoma town in the late '20s or early'30s, it is filled with historically authentic details. It is both sweet and at times a bit grim. Elements of racial tension, very much a real part of Oklahoma at that time, plays a part. There is no mystery I was puzzling out, and the last page surprised me. It has left a lingering sweetness on my mind.

Try it. I hope she will write more like this. It's a short book. I think I finished it in an evening.

The Ribbon of Sad in the Mostly Happy

2010-08-17T05:53:00.000-07:00

About the time I became a homeowner, one of my Yahzee friends found out why she has been feeling lousy for seven months. Despite repeated vists to a half-dozen specialists and her general practitioner, it was only when her oxygen level was below 90 at the arthritis doctor appointment that she was finally sent to the hospital. She was diagnosed with Stage 2 lung cancer.

Because she is already so fragile from a variety of maladies related to her diabetes, surgery was not an option. Chemo and radiation was, to my surprise. Always an optimist, she opted to try to shrink the tumor(s) in an attempt to have more time, better time. The opposite has happened.

Most of the last six weeks she has been in the hospital, now a transitional one. She is very weak. Yesterday, I was in tears when I left. She could hardly speak; she dozed a lot. Over the weeks, we have talked about things we have scarcely touched on in the years I have known her.

She is a strong woman, and an honest one.

"I smoked for 50 years," she told me bluntly. "My mother died of lung cancer. I brought this on myself."

And yes, I am still smoking. It seems more and more stupid. For me, it has been 30 years.

Her friends, her family, have to say goodbye to her, but she has to say goodbye to all of us. That's a lot of goodbyes. A lot of grief. Her two youngest granddaughters are only 2 and 3. She realizes they will not remember her--and she had looked forward so to seeing all her grandchildren grow some more. She has always looked forward to what comes next, part of her charm.

She believes strongly in God. I know I hear a lot of you puzzle out why that would matter, but to those of us who do, it's a source of strength, of not being all alone, because we can feel the spiritual tie. In her way, she's still looking forward.

The thing is, I've written about a lot of happy in the last few months, while this has been going on at the same time. The happy belonged of a piece. So does this. She is still my friend. She has added to the goodness of my life, and I thank her for that, still. Always. The happy goes on.

Any minute now, my youngest granddaughter will be over to spend the day. Oldest is at a sleepover. We went to the library again yesterday, because, as active as they are, these girls love to read. We got a couple of movies, too. There might be a sno cone later, but we also have root beer and ice cream on hand. I will reheat the spaghetti and meatballs I made for lunch yesterday.

Tomorrow I will visit my friend again. She may be weaker still, she may be a bit better. My sadness is a ribbon through the sweetness of everyday.

This is the point: Life is good. Finally, I have learned that. Life is good.

I love my books, which never lose their power

2010-08-16T08:01:00.000-07:00

This time, I think, I'm online for good. The great experiment to save me some cash failed to stabilize. So I have bundled through the phone provider I decided I needed after all.

Having not had my computer, and having little love for television--just spent an hour politely but firmly explaining (well, most of that time I was on hold) that I don't like to sit by myself and watch movies so yes, I was certain I had not ordered HBO and Showtime. They took off the charge, and I can blog, and it's a pretty good day.

What I did do was read a bunch.

I'd like to tell you about a few, starting with the one I finished this morning, "The Butcher and the Vegetarian," by Tara Austen Weaver. Yes, she's a West Coast liberal, and grew up vegetarian. Due to health problems in her thirties, she was advised by several doctors to eat meat. Already an established writer on food, she researched a lot about meat, and goes extensively into organic beef, chicken and pork offerings. She visits Prather Ranch in northern California, within sight of Mount Shasta, which I saw last summer from the Oregon side while in Bend. Gives me a good idea where this is. She meets the author of Meathenge, "Biggles", who barbecues a hunk of bacon with the rind on, and she comments, "Bacon is the gateway drug." It's a good read, thoughtful, and it seems to me, balanced. I once interviewed a cultural anthropologist who explained that historically, men did eat the red meat because the heavier fare was sustaining for cutting down trees, cutting firewood, laying down miles of fence, etc., etc., etc. Women and children were relegated more to the chicken and lots more vegetables.
I really think a lot of male folks could get into it. It fills in some corners for me. Not so many venetarians in Texas, although I do know a woman who raises organic beef here. She's a vegetarian.

I hope this isn't made into a movie. I understand "Eat, Pray,Love" is a whiny film, notwithstanding Julia Roberts. The book isn't whiny. A friend who points me in wonderful book directions sent me this, and I confess I didn't finish it. Not, however, because I found it superficial. I think, in books, maybe especialy in non-fiction, the reader and author need to converge on a common path of discovery for awhile before each goes on in individual directions.

A book that would make a good movie is a chick read, "The Christmas Cookie Club," by Ann Pearlman. Pearlman has been nominated for a Pulitzer for a previous book, and the writing is excellent. Twelve women between their early thirties and early sixties bring cookies they have made to share with the group, and to tell their year of passage to the others.

Oh, yeah. Each chapter starts with some excellent cookie recipes (in fact, she has co-authored a cookbook as a spinoff from this.) There are essays on baking ingredents between the narratives. That it is cold and starts to snow as the book progresses made it perfect for me, hibernating in the air-conditioning on a 100-plus degree day to read it. I can see this being a beach book, too.

Another chick read by a favorite author, Anne Quendlin, is "Every Last One." It isn't a fun read, but it engages and invites thought. No one gets out of life without tragic consequences from time to time. Some events just happen. And sometimes--did that misstep in the past weave through, loop around and contribute to this? And now, how do we live with it? How do we go on? And most of us do.
It ends on a hopeful note, and I was satisfied.

There were a bunch of other books too. At the library, I was surprised to find two Robert Parker books I had somehow missed. I read them with both pleasure and sadness. He keeled over on his computer at age 88. Boy, that sounds good. All of it.

Read a new Lee Childs paperback featuring Reacher, the caring guy who can fight so bloodily, and never keeps ties or owns possessions. An impossible anomaly, I think, but a fascinating concept, and I enjoy most of them, even though oldest son tells me disgustedly that Childs doesn't know his firearms.

One movie detour. The grandkids wanted to see "Despicable Me," so we went. It was okay. I was disgruntled to spend $27 for a matinee for three tickets when I can't see 3-D. (Poor kids didn't get any popcorn this time around.) I kinda maybe got a hit or two in "Avatar." But something has changed in the technology. As I say, the cartoon was okay. BUT! I could see almost all the 3-D effects, especially the cute antics during the credits at the end. And I cracked up to see the voice for Gru's mother was Julie Andrews.

OH THE HORROR! Accidentally shot with an epi pen

2010-07-14T07:56:00.000-07:00

At exercise class on Monday, one of our most vibrant members breezed in. Vitality vibrates off her. She walks so fast, she could be a New Yorker, not a native Texan. She runs on the treadmill. She does the eight pound free weights (I currently am at four and starting five.) She is violently curious, indefatigably enthusiastic, and constantly on the go. She hates exercise, she groused once to me. But she had a heart attack a few years ago, so she perserveres.

They had an oldies station on, and the woman on the next mat and I began talking about some of our favorites. Anita breezed up, exchanged a few comments, said, "Bye, Lucy!" and left.

The woman laughed. "Lucy!" she said with another laugh. "That's not my name. She's my neighbor." And, she said, there was a story with this.

Anita is allergic to wasps. I guess it's all the rain, but they are bad this year. About a month ago, Anita came running across the street (not recommended when fearing anaphelactic shock), waving an epi pen in the air.

It was early, and the narrator hadn't even had her morning coffee yet.

"You've got to shoot me," Anita cried. "Shoot me! a wasp stung me."

She pressed the epi pen in her neighbor's hand and promptly dropped her pants.

"Wait a minute," the woman said. "I've never seen one of these before."

She carefully read the directions, took off the lid and plunged--the needle into the palm of her own hand. She had held it upside down. She got the full dose. Anita didn't get any.

Her husband drove BOTH women to the emergency room. Anita was fine. She was treated in time, and felt very well in a few minutes. The woman who had accidently shot herself with the epi pen, however, shuddered and shaked and experienced a rapid
heart rate. She had to stay a couple of hours. She felt AWFUL.

And that's when Anita started calling her "Lucy".

Huh. I have my own ideas about who Lucy is.

But I admit, this woman made an awesome Ethel.

Home and a Functioning Computer--Sweet!

2010-07-12T07:56:00.000-07:00

THAT took longer than expected.

Moving itself took a matter of hours. Basically camping out the first night, I still felt "home" the next morning in a brandnew place. I think, perhaps, because this house is mine after renting for 16 years. I own this space, good, bad or indifferent, and apparently, that makes a difference.

The green space makes a difference, too. The large backyard is just begging for flower beds, and, of course, a vegetable garden. I've gotten some plants out in the front bed particularly, and I have basil, oregano, rosemary, parsely, dill and mint growing for cooking. Between my own family and several friends and new neighbors, I have a steady supply of yellow squash, zuchinni, eggplant, Bell peppers, fresh corn, chilies, and tomatoes.

I haven't really thought about it before, but in this part of Texas, many people, even on suburban streets, have begun raising chickens--most town ordinances allow them so long as no rooster is in the mix to crow and make noise. On my street, roosters are allowed. Why not? We are close to the railroad track and have frequent train whistles we are accustomed to ignoring. A crowing rooster is pretty feeble next to that. The roosters are the administrators of the flock, I find. If no rooster is present, the Head Hen takes over. A young friend, knowledgeable in types of chickens and their pluses and minuses, tells me a Head Hen not only bosses the other hens, she often ceases laying. Too busy, I guess. The eggs are wonderful, and I have three sources to buy eggs--two women charge only $1 a dozen. These eggs are two or three days old at time of purchase. Supermarket eggs are generally four to six weeks old. My fresher eggs beat much higher, and I swear they taste better. And I don't eat them with guilt over the way the birds have been treated to produce my eggs. Good eggs from happy chickens. Makes me smile.

I didn't get my hardwood floors refinished. The price, though fair, was more than I wanted to spend at this time. Maybe later. I'm going to check Home Depot to find out whether polishing has changed since the 1960's, my last time with hardwood floors. Surely so. Meantime, I've bought a Swiffer instead of a dust mop.

The weather has been crazy. More than 100 degrees during most of June, the temperature abruptly dipped just before July, and daily rains came. My grass is brilliant green. It rained so much, in fact, my newly planted flowers gasped, drowned, and are lying flat on the ground at this point. Temps going up again this week, only into the nineties, but the heat index with all the humidity is over 100. As a former resident of New Mexico, I like humidity about as much as most cats like water. (It was a pure shock at age 18 in Dallas when a bead of sweat rolled down my back. At first I thought it was a bug. In New Mexico, sweat evaporates.) All these years later, I am still sweating--in no way "glowing", as ladies were supposed to do. Hoeing and weeding is hot, sweaty work. The trick is to do it before 9 a.m.

My neighbor has made good on his promise to mow my grass. I get eggs for them, too, and share the extra produce, a pretty lackluster return for his work on my behalf. I seem to be making out like a bandit.

I still have four boxes to go, then the task of getting a few rugs and some curtains.
The delay has not been so much due to so many boxes as that I tire of the process and wander off to do something else. Such as writing this. Those boxes are waiting, but I have fresh peaches my DIL brought me to peel, sugar, and freeze, and then need to make eggplant parmesan with the two eggplants a friend brought me.

So I have moved and settled in. Youngest granddaughter came over yesterday after church with a deck of cards to play Slapjack. She had to tell me what to do--I hadn't played it since I was her age. When my friend recently brought me a four-pound zuchinni, I took it to my talented DIL, who whipped up some incredible muffins full of spices and sugar. She sent youngest granddaughter over one morning last week with a warm muffin straight out of the oven. Great start to the day.

I need to buy a new jug and begin making sun tea again. (With hot summer sun, water and tea bags are set in the sun for a couple of hours to gently diffuse a most delicious beverage) My fresh mint will be tasty, too. As a Southwesterner, I prefer cold tea unsweetend for the most part. On really hot, humid days,though, it is delicious with slices of orange, lemon and lime squeezed in with the mint over much ice.

I look forward to having the house "finished". I have a little more time. Then I will begin having folks over in a way, I believe, I never have. Certainly not in the past 30 years. The last third of my life is beginning.

I think I'm really going to like it.

A Moving Experience (couldn't resist the pun)

2010-05-24T07:53:00.000-07:00

Things have been busy. I'm packing boxes. My sons are renting a truck Thursday and moving me. This week a man from my church is painting the inside--tan walls, white woodwork, to go with the hardwood floors. He may have to suspend a day to let our hustle and bustle take over.

I wonder how long it will take to UNpack? But it's coming along. I'm disappointed that the temperature is predicted to be mid-90s, but then, it IS almost Memorial Day. It only goes up from here, which is why family is planning to blow in more insulation in the attic ASAP.

So much to do. It really is a nice little house, and I am happy to have all these things to do.

I won't be online until after. Maybe a week or two. Huh. and my computer has Microsoft XP which needs to be updated before July 13. There's always something, isn't there?

When we are happy, that fact is security.

A day to remember

2010-05-18T05:22:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was a memorable day.

I bought a house. And my car is NOT totaled. A great deal to do.
I went to a meeting last night with a lot of folks older and much younger than I, and the common trait of all seemed to be awareness of others, and an eager air of curiosity and looking forward. Or maybe I am projecting, but I am too comfortable with these folks not to share a lot of common ground.

My car will be ready in a couple of weeks, and I will begin a new life. There is something to be said for taking out a 30-year loan in my sixties. I most certainly did not encounter age discrimination, gender discrimination, or any other kind.

As I signed my name over and over yesterday, I thought of my dad, considered so liberal and forward thinking because he made a loan to two sisters widowed in WWII without requiring a male relative's signature. In 1948, he let them sign their very own selves to buy their candy shop, Ma-Lee's, and set up in Ruidosa. New Mexico. They did smashingly. Best divinity and fudge I have ever tasted. (sigh) It was a great business.

Yesterday three women--me, the bank officer and the title company representative, sat down to do a little business ourselves. It was a sweet taste of the present and the possibilities for women today.