Yesterday I saw a couple I have known since our move to Boise in 1991. But I don't see them often. The funeral brought about this latest meeting. They both look fit, trim, just as they used to. We visited briefly.
About her: I have never in those 19 years seen her real hair. Never. Don't even know if she has real hair. No matter. Her blond wigs are always very nice, very attractive. She only wears one at a time, of course, but I'm guessing she's had more than one.
About him: At least 10 years ago, maybe 15, his hair was salt and pepper gray. Not any more. Funny how that works. Now it is b-lack. Shoe polish black, coal black, ace of spades black. You get the idea. However, I almost didn't notice his hair--take my word for it--because of his teeth, which are really white and really perfect. Is there such a thing as too perfect? And they look like they might be plastic. I don't think they are plastic, but they look like it.
I have no axe to grind here. Simply making random observations.
Do you suppose they went home and wrote a blog about me? Nah.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Random
1. The small pickup with this on the side: Pepsi Bottling Ventures
Don't know why, but it struck me as strange because Pepsi has been around a very long time, long enough that its bottling might not be considered very venturesome. I'm sure it was an official truck, but I wonder what the bottling ventures are. Stuff other than Pepsi, or what used to be called Pepsi-Cola, I guess.
2. The woman: about 6'3", slender, wearing black, high-heeled boots, black tights, black very short skirt, black layers on top, very dark long straight hair, ample make-up on a face that I cannot call beautiful, (although I know, I know, each person has a beauty). Very styled and very stylish. Can't be sure, of course, but I think it was maybe a man.
3. Another woman, this one came into my home, heard the music playing on the CD player, and began talking about her record alblums. Oh yes, I heard it correctly, all four times. Made me blink and look at her a little askance. Sorry.
4. In the car, which was not running at that moment, I was talking on the phone and trying to write with a pen I keep in the car, holding the paper on my knee. It didn't work, so I said to the person on the phone, "This pen isn't working. I'll call you later." In a few minutes, my four-year-old grandson Charlie said, "Grandma, in winter everything dries up." I said, "That's right, Charlie," and was about to point to the brown hills and begin instruction on the subject. But before I could he said, "Maybe ink dries up, too."
Don't know why, but it struck me as strange because Pepsi has been around a very long time, long enough that its bottling might not be considered very venturesome. I'm sure it was an official truck, but I wonder what the bottling ventures are. Stuff other than Pepsi, or what used to be called Pepsi-Cola, I guess.
2. The woman: about 6'3", slender, wearing black, high-heeled boots, black tights, black very short skirt, black layers on top, very dark long straight hair, ample make-up on a face that I cannot call beautiful, (although I know, I know, each person has a beauty). Very styled and very stylish. Can't be sure, of course, but I think it was maybe a man.
3. Another woman, this one came into my home, heard the music playing on the CD player, and began talking about her record alblums. Oh yes, I heard it correctly, all four times. Made me blink and look at her a little askance. Sorry.
4. In the car, which was not running at that moment, I was talking on the phone and trying to write with a pen I keep in the car, holding the paper on my knee. It didn't work, so I said to the person on the phone, "This pen isn't working. I'll call you later." In a few minutes, my four-year-old grandson Charlie said, "Grandma, in winter everything dries up." I said, "That's right, Charlie," and was about to point to the brown hills and begin instruction on the subject. But before I could he said, "Maybe ink dries up, too."
Monday, January 25, 2010
Over or Under
I've been thinking of my dad, and I don't quite know how to write my thoughts. Perhaps they boil down to this: I didn't see him as just a regular guy. And I wonder if I should have, or if I had, how things might have been different between us.
When he said something, it always sounded like a pronouncement or an edict or admonition or scolding or directions for how something ought to be done, which meant it had jolly well better be done that way. And if I thought any of it was directed at me, I was worried, scared.
I mean, now I know that it's possible his remarks were simply observative (don't think that's a word, but I like it) or conversational. It's possible. I could not see such a thing back then. Not ever, I think. Am I alone in these views, this remembrance? Perhaps so. I believe my sisters, at least, had a closer relationship with him than I did.
Surprising what brings this on. It's a TV commercial for I don't know what, but it involves people debating the proper way to install toilet paper. You know, should it roll under or over? Once, when my parents visited us in Caldwell, Idaho, my dad came out of the bathroom and said, probably to my mother, something like, "Well, thank goodness, someone who knows how to install a roll of toilet paper."
That meant I was the someone. I had done well in my dad's eyes, and I was very glad. You may think this a small thing. It is. So what.
When he said something, it always sounded like a pronouncement or an edict or admonition or scolding or directions for how something ought to be done, which meant it had jolly well better be done that way. And if I thought any of it was directed at me, I was worried, scared.
I mean, now I know that it's possible his remarks were simply observative (don't think that's a word, but I like it) or conversational. It's possible. I could not see such a thing back then. Not ever, I think. Am I alone in these views, this remembrance? Perhaps so. I believe my sisters, at least, had a closer relationship with him than I did.
Surprising what brings this on. It's a TV commercial for I don't know what, but it involves people debating the proper way to install toilet paper. You know, should it roll under or over? Once, when my parents visited us in Caldwell, Idaho, my dad came out of the bathroom and said, probably to my mother, something like, "Well, thank goodness, someone who knows how to install a roll of toilet paper."
That meant I was the someone. I had done well in my dad's eyes, and I was very glad. You may think this a small thing. It is. So what.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Vegetarianism
1. Yesterday a friend told me she plans to get more chickens in the Spring. I asked if they eat them or just use them for eggs.
"Oh, just the eggs," she said. "No. I couldn't eat them. I don't eat meat. Haven't for years."
She explained that her daughters also eat no meat. She, and they, cannot abide the inhumane treatment of animals. She doesn't even like to think about it. And so they do not, cannot eat meat.
I said I understood, and I do, and added that my consumption of meat has decreased markedly over the last few years, though it is not based on any moral ground.
She said often when she has told people she's a vegetarian she has been met with disdain, open disapproval, even hostility. People try to argue her out of her position.
I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised by that.
2. Today my friend N, whose teenage granddaughter is living with her, said the girl came home from school the other day and asked, "Grandma, what are we having for dinner?" When N answered, the granddaughter said, "No, Grandma, I can't eat that. I've decided to become a vegetarian."
N replied, "Well, that's fine, dear. But you don't like vegetables."
"Oh, just the eggs," she said. "No. I couldn't eat them. I don't eat meat. Haven't for years."
She explained that her daughters also eat no meat. She, and they, cannot abide the inhumane treatment of animals. She doesn't even like to think about it. And so they do not, cannot eat meat.
I said I understood, and I do, and added that my consumption of meat has decreased markedly over the last few years, though it is not based on any moral ground.
She said often when she has told people she's a vegetarian she has been met with disdain, open disapproval, even hostility. People try to argue her out of her position.
I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised by that.
2. Today my friend N, whose teenage granddaughter is living with her, said the girl came home from school the other day and asked, "Grandma, what are we having for dinner?" When N answered, the granddaughter said, "No, Grandma, I can't eat that. I've decided to become a vegetarian."
N replied, "Well, that's fine, dear. But you don't like vegetables."
Thursday, January 21, 2010
And Now?
There's a fearful noise that comes with a heavy wind. Last night's wind was very loud as it hit the side of my house and rattled the awning on my deck. I became quite tense, getting up to open a door, relieve some of the pressure inside the house, if only mine.
I was afraid the wind might blow something off my house, like the roof. But it didn't. Monday's wind broke off a sizeable branch of my neighbor's cedar tree. It's lying in the street, nearly, just beyond my front yard, and I'm wondering if the trash guys will haul it off today.
Yesterday was the third, and maybe the fiercest, day of wind, turning what looked like a pretty day into a cold one. I've never liked the wind--The Great Equalizer, as I call it--so I'm glad it's over. Today is calm, bright, and warmish, which is a good thing. Weather does affect our spirits. Mine anyway.
Sorry to say it, but I can't help wondering what's coming after a day like this one with its comforting 50-degrees. After all, it's January 21st, quite exactly mid-winter. We'll have more cold, more snow, I suspect, and shouldn't be surprised by it.
For now, a person had better get outside and do some walking and some giving thanks while this day lasts.
I was afraid the wind might blow something off my house, like the roof. But it didn't. Monday's wind broke off a sizeable branch of my neighbor's cedar tree. It's lying in the street, nearly, just beyond my front yard, and I'm wondering if the trash guys will haul it off today.
Yesterday was the third, and maybe the fiercest, day of wind, turning what looked like a pretty day into a cold one. I've never liked the wind--The Great Equalizer, as I call it--so I'm glad it's over. Today is calm, bright, and warmish, which is a good thing. Weather does affect our spirits. Mine anyway.
Sorry to say it, but I can't help wondering what's coming after a day like this one with its comforting 50-degrees. After all, it's January 21st, quite exactly mid-winter. We'll have more cold, more snow, I suspect, and shouldn't be surprised by it.
For now, a person had better get outside and do some walking and some giving thanks while this day lasts.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
I've read . . .
we ought to write our dreams. So here goes.
Last night I dreamed I needed to go downstairs for some task which seemed terribly important. I hadn’t time to take the stairs so I decided to jump down. As soon as I felt myself in the air I knew this was a mistake. I could break my legs, be otherwise injured, maybe seriously, maybe even die. I prayed, asked for help, for protection when I reached the floor below.
As I landed, not on my heels or with my feet flat (thoughts of which and the attendant dangers had come into my mind during my descent), but on the balls and toes, a soft landing, one I could hardly feel, I knew all was well. It was as if I had floated down. The landing or the dream, I don’t know which, brought me a sense of well-being, of joy even., and I saw the end of it as my prayer answered.
Always with dreams I wonder why. My mother used to say that eating chocolate at bedtime brought nightmares. This was no nightmare, though it could have turned out to be. She said nothing about what you might dream if you ate nothing at bedtime after eating nothing all day. Maybe dreams of flying or floating and of safe landings come from fasting.
Sometimes with dreams I wonder what. Am I supposed to understand or learn something from it? Often dreams are nonsense, a jumble of people and events and places and those inexplicable instant changes in the elements of the dream, and I dismiss them, count them as a mix of what I've eaten and seen and heard and thought through the day. I don't know if that's right.
This dream had its nonsense aspect. I mean, I would never climb over the banister and jump downstairs. I might try to hurry down, take all fifteen steps at a brisk pace—harder and harder to do, you know.
Perhaps this dream means nothing. Perhaps it means the simple thing it seemed to mean.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
By the Way
Today is not the only day I think of my husband. I write of him today because I think it is quite acceptable to do so.
But I think of him every day. Every day.
Last week, maybe Thursday, I had a hard time. Calling to him, crying sort of, doing that quiet but audible sigh thing. It's like a moan.
For now, I do not know what else to do with how sad I get sometimes, except to write about it and sometimes not to write about it.
Ann's friend and my former student, Cathy, has suffered the sudden death of her father a few months ago and is now suffering what comes after that. She and Ann have summed it up very well. And I quote. It sucks.
Just so you know.
But I think of him every day. Every day.
Last week, maybe Thursday, I had a hard time. Calling to him, crying sort of, doing that quiet but audible sigh thing. It's like a moan.
For now, I do not know what else to do with how sad I get sometimes, except to write about it and sometimes not to write about it.
Ann's friend and my former student, Cathy, has suffered the sudden death of her father a few months ago and is now suffering what comes after that. She and Ann have summed it up very well. And I quote. It sucks.
Just so you know.
Monday, January 11, 2010
colaptes auratus
Not that I'm into Latin names.
This is the Latin designation for the Northern flicker. It's a bird. The species I know is the red-shafted type. It's a large bird, much larger than finches and sparrows, about the size of a small crow, if there is such a thing as a small crow. I like its looks, the flicker, but do not like its habits when they threaten my house.
That may sound over-dramatic, but I don't think so. These flickers, bug eaters, have pecked their holes into several areas of my house, and when they were here and happy to be, they drilled on the chimney cap multiple times every day. LOUD. Annoying.
I remember my neighbor, Jim, telling me, "They'll peck their way right into your attic, and then you'll never get rid of them." That went beyond nuisance. Downright scary. Made me think of an Alfred Hitchcock movie. You know, The Birds.
Measures we took to protect ourselves were not drastic--neither of us could kill one of them if we had the chance--but they seemed to work. Nail a board over one of their favorite pecking places; throw rocks, shout; spray the hose in their direction; rattle the fireplace damper. They worked, and silly me, I thought they worked forever. After all, I have not heard the bird around my house for a few years.
But he's back. Or they are. I hear them out there marking their territory, and it sounds like they're going all around my house to call out a "stay away" message to other birds. One would think that the building of a house would mark this territory as ours, now mine. But it doesn't work that way.
I don't like it. They make me nervous. And my fake owl is not fooling anyone.
This is the Latin designation for the Northern flicker. It's a bird. The species I know is the red-shafted type. It's a large bird, much larger than finches and sparrows, about the size of a small crow, if there is such a thing as a small crow. I like its looks, the flicker, but do not like its habits when they threaten my house.
That may sound over-dramatic, but I don't think so. These flickers, bug eaters, have pecked their holes into several areas of my house, and when they were here and happy to be, they drilled on the chimney cap multiple times every day. LOUD. Annoying.
I remember my neighbor, Jim, telling me, "They'll peck their way right into your attic, and then you'll never get rid of them." That went beyond nuisance. Downright scary. Made me think of an Alfred Hitchcock movie. You know, The Birds.
Measures we took to protect ourselves were not drastic--neither of us could kill one of them if we had the chance--but they seemed to work. Nail a board over one of their favorite pecking places; throw rocks, shout; spray the hose in their direction; rattle the fireplace damper. They worked, and silly me, I thought they worked forever. After all, I have not heard the bird around my house for a few years.
But he's back. Or they are. I hear them out there marking their territory, and it sounds like they're going all around my house to call out a "stay away" message to other birds. One would think that the building of a house would mark this territory as ours, now mine. But it doesn't work that way.
I don't like it. They make me nervous. And my fake owl is not fooling anyone.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
My January Lesson
My friend Stephanie says snow is to play in. So she does. She takes her five-year-old daughter Maude outside and they play in it, making snow angels and snow men and otherwise having fun and frolic. I like her attitude. It's youthful and practical. She expressed it amidst complaints from others about snow and the difficulties it brings.
Thirty years difference in our ages, Stephanie's and mine. Those years and our circumstances could account for our differing views about winter. And I quickly defend myself: I'm not the only one who said things like, "Beautiful to see, hard to get around in." (One could wish to say something more original, more profound.)
But I take a lesson or two from Stephanie. Not that she set about to teach me.
Thirty years difference in our ages, Stephanie's and mine. Those years and our circumstances could account for our differing views about winter. And I quickly defend myself: I'm not the only one who said things like, "Beautiful to see, hard to get around in." (One could wish to say something more original, more profound.)
But I take a lesson or two from Stephanie. Not that she set about to teach me.
- Make the best of what each day presents to you.
- Play more.
- Wear warmer clothes in winter. She didn't say anything about this, but I just need to do it.
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