A familiar story

Sometimes things just get away from us. You know. Like that zucchini you just didn't see until it was too big. "Too big." The two words my neighbor used when she brought such a zucchini to me yesterday.

I said, "Wow" when I opened the door and saw it. I didn't mean to say "wow." It just slipped out, and that caused her to say, "Is it too big?"

"No," I said. That was a lie. It's as big as my leg.

But the look on her face and the tone of her voice were almost pleading. And what kind of a person refuses a gift from a good neighbor? So I lied, and my neighbor went home happy.

If I still made zucchini bread I could make enough for the entire neighborhood. But I don't.

If I wanted to, I could probably climb onto the thing and float down the river, if big zucchinis float. I don't want to.

I think of hungry people. Truly, I do.
I think of the woman on the corner by Costco whose sign said HOMELESS. I wish I had taken the squash with me on my errands today. I wonder if the woman would have accepted the zucchini. What do you think?

I'm going to feel very bad when I don't use this squash.

Help.

Here's the Thing

Last Thursday I had surgery to remove a rather large squamous cell carcinoma on my forehead above my left eye. That's skin cancer. I don't need to tell you to wear sun screen. You know you should. This is not about that.

This is about the fact that I now look like I've had half a face lift. She had to cut down to just above my eyebrow and then across in both directions to pull skin up over the "wound." It's big and it's ugly. Trust me.

And here's what else. My left eyebrow is up, my left eyelid is up, my left eye is wider open and looks bigger than my right eye. I don't like it. I want my left eyelid droopy, like my right eyelid. A person my age should have droopy eyelids.

Tomorrow I get the stitches out--and there are MANY. I hope then the swelling will soon go down and my face will again have its normal, balanced, symmetrical look. Which is, at this time, droopy.

It's the Little Stuff That Matters

I have a resident robin, strictly a backyard bird. He prowls along the fence for bugs and worms, quite successfully, sometimes jumps up and sits on the fence, looking around, as birds do. I don't know if what I feel is warranted. It's just a bird, you know. But I am glad to see him here, glad he's mine. Even if he doesn't know it, he is mine.

Yes, I have more to do than watch birds, but I do work in my kitchen, and the window over the sink allows me to do just that--watch birds, this robin and my bird house sparrows--watch neighbors (I prefer birds but sometimes can't help it; I mean the neighbors are right there in front of my eyes), watch the changes in the daylight, and, of course, watch the ubiquitous squirrels.

I do not want to launch into another squirrel complaint.

The house around the corner has sold. Didn't take long, about two weeks. I find myself hoping they didn't pay what the realtor told me was the asking price, $414,000. I have met the woman but not her family. She doesn't look wealthy.

He has asked me twice if I want to sell my house. Guess what I told him. Twice.

Addendum: About that house, it sold for $450,000. Seems there was a bidding war between Gidleys' daughter and the family now living in the house. Good location, pool. But really. That is a lot of money.
As to the family who bought it, I have now become acquainted. They're in my ward. She teaches drama at Kuna High School; their boys go to Sage, nearby charter school; don't know what the dad does.
You wanted to know this. You know you did.

In My Neighborhood

The crows are quiet today. I'm guessing by their silence and what I see on the sidewalk below there's a baby up in that old juniper.

Yesterday, and every other day, the crows were hollering, putting the fear of crow into every living thing nearby, one crow on the very top of a pine tree around the corner, loudly announcing, "This place is mine. Stay back."

They try to put the fear into me if I step outside. It works. I picture a big crow swooping down to peck my head, send me running back into the house. It has been done before by those pesky 

red-wing black birds. This year we in this neighborhood have a bunch of crows, a gang, and you know what happens with gangs. They grow bolder by the day. One hard peck from a crow I'd remember a long time.

The juniper hangs over the fence into my yard. I wonder if the crows think I come out to do them harm, and I might say I would but that is not true, even if I could. I'd like to shoo them away . . .

but I don't fly and my shouts pose no threat. Years ago I would throw a rock up into the tree, just to frighten them. Fat chance. And I can't get a rock very high these days.

I heard a robin chirping for nearly an hour last evening, saw him in the neighbor's ash tree, excited, worried, calling out a warning: Crow is near, beware.

Today in my driveway I saw a feather torn by violence from some smaller bird's baby. I do not know for sure if it's a robin.

Today's Few Things

Yesterday we had about 20 minutes of beautiful rain, hard rain, like washing my roof and scrubbing it hard. Harder than you're thinking.

I loved it, watched it a while and gave thanks for it, wished it would last and last. I thought if it kept raining, then my mower men wouldn't come, and that would be fine. Better than that. It would be really good.

As it was, the beautiful rain cooled the day a little and just made things better.

*     *     *

Richard was here. Now he's gone home.

A nice six days. He always fixes things for me when he's here. He is a good fixer, but more important than that, he figures things out. A good and valuable skill: problem solver. 

Goodness knows he and all the rest of us have problems to work on.

I wish us well.

*     *     *

I'm afraid my writing group is nearly dead. "They" decided to meet only once a month. That new schedule to begin tomorrow, June 9. Now "they" have postponed it another month. A couple of people are not feeling well. At least one claims a Southern Belle's aversion to heat. A third claims that she might have some Southern Belle in her, too. Four of the five are not writing.

I've been writing. I want to share it. I have five or six things. I'm bummed. I want to find some people who write who want to and can get together. Good luck with that, Carol.

Hmmm.

Preparation for Mammogram

Because some of the women in my family are approaching the age--now advised as 50, not 40--when they will, or should, have their first mammogram. I present the following helps.

Many women are afraid of their first mammogram, but there is no need to worry.  By taking a few minutes each day for the week preceding the exam and doing the following practice exercises, you will be totally prepared.  And best of all, you can do these simple practice exercises right in the privacy of your own home.

Exercise #1

Freeze two metal bookends overnight.

Strip to the waist.

Invite a stranger into the room.

Press the bookends against one of your breasts.

Smash the bookends together as hard as you can. Actually, you should have the stranger do it.

Repeat on other breast.

Set up an appointment with the stranger to meet next year and do it again.
Better yet, get a different stranger. Shouldn't be hard.

Exercise #2

Open your refrigerator door and insert one breast between the door and the main box.

Have one of your strongest friends slam the door shut as hard as possible and lean on the door for good measure.

Hold that position for five seconds.

Turn and do the other breast.

Repeat again in case the first time wasn’t effective.

Exercise #3 (Should be done in winter)

Visit your garage at 3:00 a.m. when the temperature of the concrete floor is just perfect.

Take off all your clothes and lie comfortably on the floor with one breast wedged under the rear tire of your car.

Ask a friend to slowly back the car up until the breast is sufficiently flattened and chilled.

Turn over and repeat for the other breast.

Congratulations! You are now prepared for your mammogram.

Seriously, as we say these days, the latest information I can find suggests that women at high risk for breast cancer should probably get a mammogram starting at age 40 and go every year for about 15 years. I hope that is no one I know.

Today

I went to Winco. It's on Front Street. Front is a four-lane one-way street, with the far left lane being the left turn lane, so you could turn left onto Broadway. But not today. Today some--and I say this knowing full well that people think I'm old--some old guy was driving in that lane towards me, towards all of the rest of us. Which means he was going the wrong way. Most of us were in the other three lanes. Thank goodness.

I motioned and yelled. Didn't help. He just kept right on going.

There were driveways he could turn into. I didn't see him do that, and I don't know if he ever did. I don't know what happened because soon everything was visible only in my rear view mirror. Then it was over.

*     *     *

Two other old guys captured my attention a little later. Both were on the street corners holding signs, asking for help/money.

The first looked like he needed help all right. But I could not read his sign. Two reasons, 1. It was two paragraphs written in not very dark ink, explaining his need, but I could not read it. (I said that.) Too faint and too long; 2. I couldn't stop.

He looked awful.

The second guy was sitting at the place where I had to drive out of the Winco parking lot. He was trying to light a cigarette. I had to stop there to check for traffic before entering the traffic. I didn't read his sign when he finally stood and held it up. I didn't give him anything. Didn't ask him how he was buying cigarettes. Didn't tell him he should not smoke.

*     *     *

My visiting teachers came today. They haven't visited in a few months. One has been ill for a while. I watched as they got out of the car and saw one of them open the trunk and get something.

Yeah, I figured they would bring something to me. I said to myself out loud, "Oh please, do not bring me something sweet to eat."

Rena, the wonderful little woman from Germany, brought homemade huckleberry coffee cake. It's sweet all right, but it's now evening and I have eaten only 1/3 of it. Yes, it's also good.

Bobbi, the one who has been ill and is highly sensitive to scent and becomes ill in its presence, brought me some cheese. Goat gouda, to be precise, because she now has goats and knows that I had goats. I used to make cheese with our goats' milk. But it wasn't gouda; I don't remember if it was even good. But the ice cream was.

I will now go out and have another bite of coffee cake and cheese.