Karen's Story - A Snippet

Beyond the end of the road, the girl who lived in the apple orchard shack got on the school bus every day wearing the same faded nondescript cotton dress. While climbing the steps, she tightly gripped her schoolbooks.  I wondered if she was afraid of dropping them. Her straggly brown hair hung limp and dirty over her eyes as she kept her head down looking at her dirty finger nails.

She always took the same seat directly behind the driver, stared out the window, and never spoke to others. Not that anyone ever wanted to speak to her anyway, except maybe to pick on her. But, lucky for her, she was more invisible than that. She was considered to be one of those "Cootie" kids.

I was very curious about her; wondered how anybody could be so poor as to not have a change of clothes.

We were poor, too, after the bankruptcy. But, at least my parents got decent clothes for us at the thrift shop and hand-me-downs from friends. We grew our own vegetables and raised chickens and eggs. We weren't bone skinny. I wondered why she was so skinny and most of all, how she could fall asleep on the way home from school on the bus and not wake up in all the noise. Why was she so tired?

Does He Ring Twice?

The postman does NOT ring twice! He smacks the window where the cat sits watching the world go by. Does he dislike cats? Does he just have nothing better to do to entertain himself as he walks from house to house?

My new kitten, Buffy (the Vampire Slayer) was in the window at the time. At least it was her brave little self instead of my nervous Bambi, or shy Spyder, or obese Ninja. They would have freaked out. Buffy simply jumped down. So far, she has not returned to the window ledge.

A friend was visiting at the time. We sat at the table with our coffee (tea for me) as I opened the package the post man had just delivered earlier. Is he tired of delivering the little treasures I keep winning on Ebay?

I was surprised and shocked at the sudden smack on the window. My friend, on the other hand, reacted quickly, jumping up and going out the door to give the postman a piece of his mind. That surprised me too. But, the postman is a fast walker and already two houses further down the street.

No, the post man does not ring twice. He smacks the window and scares the cat!

(Can you tell that I am miffed?)

Quake

January 13, 2011
Hmmm.... Earthquake

Talking to my niece from the midwest, she asked if I was okay. I'm fine. It's like when you have a tornado nearby. It's exciting, gets the adrenaline going. And when it's over with no significant damage to people or property, there is that "whew"!

At least with tornadoes you have some warnings. With quakes, they just happen. Truly, quakes happen here every day. Hundreds of them. But, they are so small you don't feel them.

A 3 point quake, if it is nearby feels a bit like when you are sitting in the car and the wind is blowing. You don't notice it very much at all.

A 4 point, if nearby, gives a little jolt.

A 5 is more like some stupid jokesters are jumping on the back bumper of your car.

A 6 is more like someone jumps on your car and it starts rolling. At this level, some books might fall off shelves, or whatever.

A 7 is when you instinctively run for the door.

An 8 caused severe damage back in 1989 here where I live for about 100 miles all around.

We had a distant cousin who died in it when the upper stories of his apartment fell on him in San Francisco. Others died in that too.

If you have ever watched a program on earthquakes you have probably seen a bridge crack open and car fall into the crack. That happened here in Oakland during that quake. The house I live in right now has been through that quake and it is fine. So, I guess I'll be all right if a bigger one happens.

Earthquake Thoughts

Hmmm.... Earthquake

I felt it!

Talking to my niece from the Midwest, she asked if I was okay. I'm fine. It's like when you have a tornado nearby. It's exciting, gets the adrenaline going. And when it's over, with no significant damage to people or property, there is that "Whew"!

At least with tornadoes you have some warnings. With quakes, they just happen. Truly, quakes happen here every day. Hundreds of them. But, they are so small you don't feel them. 

A 3 point quake, if it is nearby feels a bit like when you are sitting in the car and the wind is blowing. You don't notice it very much at all. 

A 4 point, if nearby, gives a little jolt. 

A 5 is more like some stupid jokesters are jumping on the back bumper of your car. 

A 6 is more like someone jumps on your car and it starts rolling. At this level, some books might fall off shelves, or whatever. 

A 7 is when you instinctively run for the door. Providing the floor meets your feet, you may arrive there. 

An 8 caused severe damage back in 1989 here where I live for about 100 miles all around. They called it the Loma Prieta Earthuake, named for the location on the fault line where it occurred.

We had a distant cousin who died in it when the upper stories of his apartment fell on him in San Francisco.

If you have ever watched a program on earthquakes you have probably seen the one where the bridge cracked open and the car fell into the crack. That happened here in Oakland, CA during that quake. The house I live in right now has been through that quake and it is fine. So, I guess I'll be all right if a bigger one happens.

Doctor Sherlock and the Mystery Solved

Brr! It's quite cold and windy for this time of year, and freezing at night. There is even a wind chill factor! Would you believe it, in mid-coastal California? I guess I shouldn't complain, though. Other parts of the country are still having much more serious weather than here. I've lived in New York state and Indiana. I know what that is like.

I went to see the Neurologist to find out what he would say about the recent occurrence of breakthrough seizures. Lucky for me that I carry little plastic bags of my prescriptions with me. They resemble zip-loc bags, but are smaller and thicker. I get them at the pharmacy, and put my drug labels on them, so I don't have to carry a lot of bottles in my purse. Dr. G (stands for Gorgeous!) went over them all, looking for a correlation between them and the Lamictal which I take for the seizures. He determined it doesn't seem likely that there is an interaction between my meds.

I like it when a physician is willing to play Sherlock Holmes, and try to figure out the mystery of why something is going on with a patient. He could have just played the guessing game and said, "Let's try something else and see if that helps." I can understand why a physician might do that. Sometimes it would be too time consuming. Otherwise, if one has a large practice, perhaps the easier way to challenge a problem on their best guess based upon what they might know. As for me, Dr. Sherlock Gorgeous is the most fascinating challenge, as I really have to think, and respond carefully to the questions he asks. It's really hard to describe the seizures when I am not exactly aware of all that was going on! Some things that I take for granted, he was able to pluck out of my communications, and deduce the probable cause of this latest development.

As soon as Dr. G put two and two together, he pointed out that my insomnia might be the culprit. It clicked with me right away and was so simple! Among other things I have had a life-long pattern of sleep disorder. I wont go into all the boring details. Seizure prone people apparently need their beauty rest! We discussed it and if I can just get myself back into a good sleep pattern, then I wont really need to take any sleep aids, which is my preference. In the meantime, I have a prescription for break through seizures.

Finally! A chance to go for my walk! Since I was nowhere near home, traffic was heavy, and the wind still so cold, I opted for walking in the mall. It is nice and flat in there. I spent nearly an hour walking. Though, I did dawdle a little bit, and at one point I did break down and buy something. I wouldn't mind walking in the mall regularly, but I would have to leave my purse in the car!

A Day of Revelation - Personal Journal

"When the Cat Lady sleeps well and awakens refreshed it is because she sleeps with a cat sitting on her chest, purring in her face! The cat is her instant alarm with whiskers ticking her nose." You may quote me on that.

The preacher man at the holiday party was slimmer than the last time I saw him. I didn't think too much of it when he told those interested that he had done it the "easy" way. All he did was use a free online site where he recorded his daily intake of food. After the holidays I suddenly realized I had quickly, the easy way, gained too many pounds from over-grazing the highly laden table for several days. I was in shock. Had I really nibbled that many calories? How could I be so blind as to not notice. After all, I had gotten sick from the overindulgences. That's more than a subtle hint. But in my mindlessness, I didn't notice until too late.

Yet, the scale does not lie. I called to learn what the site was my Reverend Grandson had referred to. I signed up and have to agree, it is the easy way. There's no pressure, no insistent articles. No ridiculous ads. It is straightforward and useful. As long as I record my daily intake I naturally begin to limit portions and think twice about having seconds. I've also incorporated some exercise. (It's about time!) And spent more time contemplating and meditating.

The results have been mixed. I've lost ten pounds, but have gained back two. There is a place on the site where one can record one's exercise. It provides you with the calories burned for those exercises. Can you believe? You burn calories just sleeping! Hmm. I wonder if it is more if there's a cat on your chest. After all, one must work harder to breathe. RIght?

I went for a walk down by the ocean this morning realizing that I was in a low mood, and discouraged that I am not putting my all into this. The dichotomy is that I am doing too much. The intentions of my mind are stronger than my body. It betrays me! My body has it's weaknesses and cannot live up to the pressure I put on it to perform. For example: I had breakthrough seizures (Simple Partial) after my walk and it left me "out of sorts" for most of the afternoon. I struggle with clarity afterwards, feel unfocused and somewhat fuzzy. I don't like it. It's annoying. Will be seeing doctor tomorrow afternoon and I intend to discuss this with him. I am pretty sure he will encourage me to follow through on the walking program, but I hope there is some method or treatment to prevent the same results I had today.

Upon reflection I think about how, when I am well rested, that I don't have this problem. After a sleepless night, the seizures are more likely to occur. Perhaps I need more cats to sleep with me. Eh? I also have some books on gentle exercise. I have the feeling I need to pull them out from the shelves and re-read them to refresh my resolve.

Begged to be Written

I couldn't sleep but three hours, too much on my mind; my heart heavy.

So, at six when the kitty brought me his mouse, I flung it across the room for him to chase. He'll slam himself into a wall to fetch it and return to me, panting, with the thing crammed in his mouth.

I picked up my book to while away the time hoping I would grow drowsy, but to no avail. Got up, made tea and toast, and a poem begged to be written.

My eyes sting but do not cry,

Another friend to face surgery again,

another bone tumor in the skull.

How much can the front 

of the face be cut away?

For years now, my friend,

phone calls across miles,

him joking all the time.

My insides churn,

My throat protests.

Why I took this on,

this helping others

with the same disease,

seems hollow to me now.

So hopeful was I

to imagine bringing others

down that familiar path,

one surgery after another.

Little did I know so many

would result in death.

I ask myself why did I survive.

Something My Sister Wrote to a Distraught Friend

I see you, with your feet planted firmly on Mother Earth, absorbing blessed strength. 

Your eyes fixed on the horizon, realizing your dreams. 

And your heart connected with Spirit, knowing your truth. 

And all is well. 

~~~ Suzan Deane-Simpson

Sweeping Out the Old Year

Shirley stood in the doorway, broom in hand, fiercely shouting out into the 15 degree night, her dogs jumping excitedly about her feet. "BE GONE! BE GONE!" I was absolutely sure that whatever or whomever she was shouting at, most certainly had high-tailed it out of there. Still, it felt weird to observe this elderly gentile lady turn into a New Year witch.

Though she was a practicing Episcopalian, I knew she also had "aulde ways" about her. I couldn't quite join the two together in my mind, but she was fine with it. There had been times when she seemed to glow with with lunar light, or sprinkle the stars over a room full of people with her exuberance and wisdom. I remember the time we sat against the tree trunk and I felt enfolded by it as she introduced me to her own special source of strength.

When I think about it, I realize that her ways were little different from anyone else. As a society, we make a lot of noise celebrating the New Year. We leave the past year and all the mistakes we made in it behind us, sweeping it out of the way to make room for the fresh future with a new freedom in our hearts.

As I wrote about last year in this blog, my mother, raised in the hills of Pennsylvania, sent me out in the snow on New Years day clanging pot lids together to scare away all the bad luck from the previous year. Later that day, she scoured and cleaned the house from floor to ceiling. Another form of sweeping out the old year. From an early age, I learned about resolutions, promises we make to ourselves for self improvement. I asked myself how I could stop myself from being a naughty girl throughout the whole year, not just through the Christmas season, and I made a list of things I wanted to accomplish. Some of which was not always so high minded.

I know many people do not observe this old practice of resolutions, but I do. I take stock of my life. Like the ancient pagan God, Janus, I look back over the year and contemplate how it unfolded. Sometimes I am disappointed that I didn't achieve a certain goal. But, I don't allow myself to dwell on it as I am always pleased about some aspect of my life that turned out well. And like Janus, I look forward to the future with eyes open to possibilities.

When Shirley slammed the door against the night demons, she turned to me with a fire in her eye and said,  "No regrets! Just go out there and live it with determination and spirit!"

Rest in Peace Shirley 1930 - 2009

Breakfast Treats

Cinnamon coffee cake muffins and mini donuts. That's what I bought before getting ready to drive to Los Angeles. There would be many family members and friends present. I was sure breakfast would be forgotten. And, it was! I forgot to bring the many boxes of muffins and mini donuts. Because they were sitting there waiting for me when I arrived home, that is why I threw it all in the garbage yesterday. Oh, I could have eaten them. I could have eaten them all, given enough time. I could have scarfed them down in a matter of days. But, after the plethora of sweets and treats laden upon the table during those Christmas days, and the nauseated, heartburn pay-back of my innards, I knew eating them would be the worst thing I could do. Still, being the junk food junkie, I knew I would be tempted to make myself sick again. Therefore the toss into the garbage. They sit there now beneath other garbage, there insidious vibrations mocking me.

At least I have the presence of mind to NOT go digging down to fetch the "treasures" in a rescue attempt. Even the Lindt chocolate truffles still in their wrappers are laid to rest. I will not tell myself it is a sin to waste them. I wish it would stop raining long enough for me to haul it all to the outside trash, as it sits here in the house smoldering in angry rejection that they will not be eaten. "Too bad" I say. My new sweets and carbohydrates are going to be the kind Mother Nature has prepared for me! Yes, yes. I know. They are still sweets and carbs. But, if I'm going to crave them, better they be fresh. Eh?

I remember the first blood orange I ever had. Charles and his wife had a dozen shipped to them from Florida to California at great expense. Someone they knew owned one of the first productive orchards. Marlys held one in her hand as if it were a precious baby chick. "Guess what I have." She seemed to shimmer with anticipation or was it just the odd winter light behind her from the window? Before I could hazard a guess, she turned to the counter, grabbed a large knife, and with one precise quick slash, it was open. Blood orange is a good name for it. Blood red, the juice leaked onto the counter as Marlys quickly lapped it up with her fingers.

She handed me half, cut in thin slices, keeping the rest for herself not even asking if I wanted any, or even if I could eat oranges. What if I were allergic? But, thankfully, I am not. It was the most delectable thing I'd had in a long time. Afterwards, I enviously eyed those other oranges sitting in the bowl wondering if I would be offered more. But, alas... no.

So today, when I bought spinach salad makings, irish cheese, a chicken breast, some apples, bananas and blackberries, I turned in surprise when I saw them. Blood oranges!

Guess what I did next!

Santa Hat Grandbaby

My youngest Great Granddaughter discovers Santa Hat

 

She's got the right idea! Yes?

That was fun!

Okay, I'm done with this. What's next?

Confessions of Christmas Indulgences

 .

 

Five flavors of Lindor truffles, imported puffy crisp cookies, chocolate covered macadamia nuts, rasberry streusel cakes...

Yeah! Yep! Yes! That's right! 

All of them... in the garbage! 

Whatever happened to Christmas?

Whatever happened to Christmas?

It's gone and left no traces,

Whatever happened to the faces or the glow.

Whatever happened to Christmas,

to Christmas way of living?

Whatever happened to the giving,

the magic in the snow?

Remember the sights and the smells and the sounds,

And remember how love was all around,

whatever happened to it all?

Whatever happened to Christmas,

bells in the streets are ringing,

Whatever happened to the singing,

the songs we used to know.

Where was I, and whatever happened to you?

Whatever happened to Christmas and you?

Lyrics written by

Jimmy Webb and Frank Sinatra

1968

Christmas Presents and the Grandpas

Memories of Christmas Past

We practiced memorizing songs for weeks ahead, carefully choosing in what order to sing them. We decided that from one house to another we would jauntily sing Jingle bells, loudly, to let people know we were on our way.

Caroling late evening snow with Maria DeRosa, her little sister, Linda and the Milan girls, Maureen and Janet,  I remember trudging through unshoveled sidewalks to houses where people wouldn't answer the door, though we could see their shadows behind the curtained windows, and there were some who offered money. We were confused by these unexpected occurrences and thought we were doing something wrong or would give into it. 

Weren't people supposed to stand in their doorway, smiling, with the light shining behind them as they listened in joy and reverence as we belted out our three songs in the cold?

We were surprised too of the offer of coming in for cocoa. It had not been on our itinerary. We politely but firmly turned them down as any good girl should. After all Santa was watching to see if we were naughty or nice. Besides, I had timed all the songs to get us finished on our block and back home at the time promised to our parents. Another naughty-nice ratio to consider. Just the same, we were late anyways as I forgot to consider the hampering of the snow in that plan. Luckily our parents didn't mind, and assured us Santa probably approved of our caroling.

I have always looked back on that experience with fondness not for the final act for which we worked so hard to produce, but the time together, the bonding we had those weeks beforehand and the incredible love of music so easily memorized and engraved in my mind.

Then there was the short marriage with the husband, who shall remain nameless. He picked out the best tree in the lot, asked for it to be flocked, and did not pick it up until after the lot closed!

He had waited until the last minute and stole it on Christmas eve with my child in the car! What could I say? I wasn't going to spoil the magic for my daughter.

I've never liked flocked trees and I certainly haven't considered having one again. We lived on Chatauqua Lake in western New York state at the time. The evergreen woods behind our house abounded with heavily laden branches shimmering in the moonlight. There is no comparison to an artificial flocked tree.

One Christmas the local Mall in Indianapolis had a clever promotion supported by the pet shop located within. I took my cats in to see Santa Claus and have their picture taken. We stood in line a long time with all the other pets that had been brought for this special event. It was a cacophonous Christmas event!

My calico, Keli sat on top of her carrier sniffing the air with curiosity, inviting people to pet her, and daring the doggies to look her way while Boo Boo, my Siamese, cowered inside. When it came time for the photo shoot, I couldn't have them both together as I'd planned. Miss Keli calmly posed like a professional model.
But, Boo hated Santa and struggled so hard, Santa had to keep a good grip on him while the picture was taken. I wonder how many wounds that dear man suffered that evening. To this day anyone who looks at that picture of Boo, comments, "That is one pissed off cat".

Do you have unexpected Christmas memories dropping in to visit your psyche?