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Musings on anything. |
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My blog was filled up. I'm too lazy to clean it out. So I started a new one. |
| For the second time, I have shingles. The first time was about 30 years ago. I've had the old vaccine. I've had the new 2-part vaccine more recently. I am probably going to be housebound for Thanksgiving because being bounced around in a vehicle hurts. You don't realize know how bumpy the paved roads and parking lots are until you've had an injury or a disease. The blisters are all sizes in all stages, red and painful. A few are itchy. It will take about 10 days to heal with the medicine I'm on. Sometimes you just wonder, How did I get to be so lucky? |
| If you have the chance to view "All Her Fault". do so. It is spell-binding. I couldn't wait to see what happened next. It was based on a book by that name. the stories are layered and intertwined. Everyone appears to be the boy or the girl next door, but they all have their secrets and are capable of horrible things. I did learn a new term, Tran sensory. That child appeared to be normal, and we were told he would be no trouble and have a "normal" life. By contrast there was a child twice as old, but maybe emotionally younger. They never used the word autistic, but he appeared to be. The focus wasn't on the child as much as it was on the parent who loved him. If you have to have a moral to the story it would be "Don't lie." They certainly spun a dangerous web of lies. |
| Heading to an oyster party. I plan to stay inside as much as possible, although the kids and a few of the adults will have a small fire. I'm not really into oysters unless they are stewed, maybe fried or in a dressing. They will be eating them raw by the bushel. There will be raw veggies and Brunswick stew. I'm taking a dessert. I don't know where this tradition started, but they do it every year. It's a long drive for me, so I need to start soon. It's a fair but dry day for it. |
| Many years ago, I worked in a grocery store, smaller than today's supermarkets. It is still around and sits in an odd section near a rich neighborhood and in a poor neighborhood. It draws people in with its prices, service and location. When I was there, we still had paper food stamps, which were replaced a long time ago with EBT. We had a large number of winos, the original homeless. When the downtown branch burned down, all the winos had to walk the extra blocks to get their cheap alcohol from us. We sold Boone's Farm, Wild Roses, and MD 20-20 (Mad Dog). It was very cheap and did not have to be controlled by the state alcohol board. Most of these men were smelly and dirty. One day a fellow smelled so bad, you could smell him in the aisles even after he left them. Once he was out of the building, a young manager went up and down the aisles spraying disinfectant before other customers could start complaining. They sometimes paid in coins and would slowly count out the exact amount. Most people would drop the coins in your hand or possibly lay it on the counter. This one guy was determined to touch your hand before he released the money. I didn't want him to touch me. I could see how dirty his hands were. I held my hand out flat, to avoid contact. His nails were long, and he kept lowering his hand. I lowered my hand, but he didn't get the hint. He wanted to put the money directly on my hand. The lower my hand went, the lower his hand went. I finally gave up and let him brush his fingertips into my palm. Sometimes the paper money they handed me was wet. In a down moment with no customers a few cashiers were standing there cleaning or stocking the endcaps and the subject came up. I said something like "They must sleep in a gutter or they get rained on." They broke up laughing and one of them said, "They peed on it." I was dumbfounded. They teased me for what seemed like ages because I reacted with such a shock and was speechless for a moment. I started looking. Sure enough, some of them came into the store with the inside of one leg wet. They were so out of it, they either didn't know what they had done or did it in their sleep. It never occurred to them to get dry before going around women, or they just didn't care. I was always careful about washing my hands. I had no choice if I kept working there, but to handle their money, make conversation and be polite. I felt sorry for them. Today, I suppose those types-the hopeless alcoholic- are still around but have more options for shelter. They are joined by a lot of people who can control their drinking a little better and by families that don't have permanent housing. Despite all the negative things you hear, the city does do a better job of protecting these men and making help available if they want it. |
| Let me start out by saying that I believe in the power of prayer. If you don't agree, stop reading here. I see street beggars everywhere I go. They stand in the median of busy intersections and hold up signs and take handouts. They might walk down the line while the light is red, hoping someone is going to pitch in while just idling the car. They may have a coat or a lunch bag or backpack which they leave at starting point. I don't give because we've been told it's bad for them psychologically. We are to find some other means of helping, which range from supporting the homeless shelter, giving to the food bank, or creating new entry level jobs. I can't pull over my car and give advice about places they can go. (I have found most needy people don't want your advice of agencies or procedures to get help.) I can pray for them, which they will never know. Every time I see one, man or woman, I am reminded to pray. I ask that the individual will not be hurt in traffic and will be safe this day from all harm. I ask that he or she find some better, more productive way to spend his time. I pray for their employment, shelter, medical assistance, mental and spiritual needs. They also have social needs; they still want to mingle and interact with others in a non-judgmental environment. Reporters tell us that some of them make a killing which they could not make on a low-level job. So, they get used to the degradation and disregard the stigma. We've even heard of a beggar who had a really nice new car parked a few blocks away. But I also met one who slept under the bushes outside my employer's door. They are not all alike. We've even been told that they work for a "pimp" who delivers them in the morning and picks them up in the evening and takes a cut of what they've collected. Maybe some do. Regardless of his or her circumstances, and "business" arrangements, they are still children of God and in need of His peace. I can pray for them until they disappear or I do. |
| In Flanders Fields In Flanders fields, the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie, In Flanders fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields. by John McCrae, 1915 This poem is for those who have died for their country in a specific time and place by a Canadian soldier. But it stands the test of time and honors all who lost their lives. It honors the living who carried on the battle, and those who have not been to battle yet, but want to carry on the legacy. I like to read this every Veterans Day. Those of us who never go to battle can honor them and do what we can to pass the torch. |
| Back in May I realized my parents' headstone was missing. There was a new grave above theirs, so I let it go, hoping the gravediggers hadn't broken it. When I went back to check on it, it still wasn't replaced, so I called. The office knew nothing about it. I called someone related to one of the sales staff. A week later, I got some phone message that the wasp nest had been removed and the stone replaced. When did they start taking headstones out of the ground because of wasp nests? I still think they broke it, ordered a new one, and while it sat in back of the office, wasps started a nest. Today I checked. It looks like it's supposed to, the right numbers, names, etc. I placed some peach-colored roses in the vase you lift out of the ground plaque. I also added small white roses to each of my brothers. Maybe as we get older, we get more sentimental. The nearness of our mortality hits, too. I talked to them; they couldn't talk back, so I could say anything. I miss them all so much. Probably because I am living in my parents' home with all of the whole family keepsakes. I told them that someday my bones will lying close by. It was so cold and windy on that mountain, after a pleasant day yesterday. While there, I drove further into this huge cemetery to visit my maternal grandparents. I found my great uncle almost immediately near the driveway. I knew that my family was on the third row below Grandpa's brother and wife. I still walked back and forth, up to the road and down again. Finally, it hit me. I must have walked right past it in all directions. They were buried in the late 70's and early 80's. Their other grandchildren live in other cities, so I will be the last person to visit their grave sites. We will all be forgotten someday. It still gives me peace to know I showed respect. |
| For some reason, I crocheted a lot of colorful squares and set aside. They are edged in black and ready to attach together. I lived away from my hometown for over 20 years, but left some things in storage at my parents. I have been back in town for 17 years. I have been going through the things in their home, since I'm living there now, and trying to sort them. I discovered these squares which could make a queen size spread, so I washed them. I didn't have any black yarn. I have tons of other colors, since I have crocheted other afghans and always had leftover yarn. I finally got some, and started connecting squares last night. There are uneven numbers of each color. For instance, there is only one brown one, twelve red, 4 yellow, etc. If I connect 42 or them, I'll have 4 leftover and can make pillow covers of them. It is so satisfying to sit and crochet. I have given afghans to almost everyone in the family, and who can use multiples? I don't pay close attention enough to make baby clothes. These days not many people want crocheted clothes, accessories, or stuffed animals. So I stick to afghans. I couldn't sell them. If I paid myself by the hour, the price would be outrageous, and that was before the price of yarn soared. Assembly line products are cheaper and preferred by most people. I'm going to finish it because it makes me happy. It will never be an heirloom, mostly because younger generations don't treasure the belongings of older family members. Maybe we baby boomers were the last to feel nostalgia for Great Uncle Hubert's tools or Great Grandma's jelly bowl, or Great Aunt Maggie's tatting. Relics belong in museums and don't work in a high tech household. |
| A group sat around a big table last night, talking about Rembrandt. The youngest person there, about late 30's, asked if you started dating right now, would you do it like you did before you were married? the universal response was no. We proved his point, that with age and experience your attitude and approach to things change. The reasons varied all around. Some just said, I wouldn't get involved with someone again. I might date, but not with a long-term relationship in mind. Others said they couldn't risk the heartache again. One person agreed with me that there would never be another joint bank account. Two older ladies said they had had long happy marriages that could never be duplicated, so they wouldn't date. Most of us felt like we had found our voices; we could speak up for ourselves and not be pushed into something. We won't tolerate the crap that we did in our twenties. We have a clearer idea of what we want and what we can't stand. But I also think that we aren't just more demanding and less tolerant; we are wiser, more giving, more nurturing. Even on a job, we won't do whatever it takes to get ahead, but can be more patient with co-workers. If we didn't learn anything along life's path, what good did the mistakes and the pain do us? We don't look the same as we did at age 20 or 30, but we like to think we're better. The small things can slide. We know what counts to us and others. We could never do it- dating, working. friendship, parenting, setting up house- the way we did when we were young. By the time we have some of the answers and some wisdom, we're falling apart. That's the irony of it. That old saying, "Youth is wasted on the young" maybe still applies. |
| Someone asked me today, "What is your favorite season?" I said, "Fall", just to be polite. What I wanted to say was "Any season that I'm still alive and can take care of myself is a very good season." It's true all year. There is much to be said about spring with all its new growth, sounds, and fragrances. But summer is sweet, yet torrid, bountiful, and memorable. Fall is colorful, brings the harvest and like middle-age, that last great burst of beauty and productiveness. Winter may be more inhibiting, unless you ski or snowboard, but it is a time for contemplation on life's and the earth's delicate beauty. Any time I get up in the morning and can get out of bed, I am thankful to be alive. I am thankful for whatever season is upon us and any holidays ahead of us. I am glad to have work to do, things to read, and conversations to hold. Life is precious in all its seasons. |
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I marvel at the things I'll be able to tell my grandkids about someday. Life is accelerating - or maybe it just feels that way!
