Tuesday, March 28, 2017

food, chores, pad, freedom

* Gut full, I sit browsing food recipes and drooling at food photos. Go figure.

* Thank all above for several mellow cloudy rainy days when I am not pursued by garden chores.

* A clear plastic desk pad with photos and art post cards tucked underneath.

* The lamp conveys a pool of light that illuminates my book until I finish--Sofia has escaped the Paris concert hall and the Count has left his prison hotel to tramp into countryside he has not seen for years = freedom. And my freedom also. Sitting alone (oops! A dog shares the sofa) at midnight, the city hushed, the invalid tucked up, tomorrow's food simmering on the counter.

Sunday, March 26, 2017

do, days, do not

* "What do I know? Hell, I don't even suspect anything."

* Mellow, misty, subdued days when I can say, "Oh, gee. I'll read all day." And I do.

* Released from scheduled cooking and meals.

Saturday, March 11, 2017

glasses, coffee

* "I'll be glad when I get my new glasses. Maybe then I can see."
   "Honey, you don't have your old glasses on!"

* A woman of respectable age at the coffee shop wearing jolly running shoes with red laces: "I'm taking some coffee to my friend in the nursing home. She likes good coffee!"


Wednesday, March 8, 2017

tidy, roll, rosemary

* What joy! I tidy the east end of garden #4--rake the dead leaves off stones, ferret leaves from under the lilacs, create a red brick barrier, comb dead grasses. Muscles aching, I finally go inside when the wind picks up and begins to play with leaves.

* Later I sit in the sunshine surveying my work while the dogs roll in the grasses.

* I brush leaves of the rosemary when I walk by.

Monday, March 6, 2017

so what, toast, tape

* Thinking cap on.....
    face screwed up into unrecognizable form......
    hands thrown up into the air:
    What is wrong with putting catsup on a steak?
    So what to use scotch tape on a men's tie?

* I have a son who puts A-1 sauce on toast.

* In ancient times when the dress code demanded that we girls wear skirts or dresses to school I used scotch tape to repair saggy, disconnected hems.

flags, grey, off

* The flags outside the hospital are snap cracking in the wind.

* A large grey short table (actually two picnic table benches pushed together) piled with newly purchased books placed there so I can remember where I put them. "Now all we need is a samovar on it."

* The supremely wonderful super power of maneuvering the off switch on tv, radio, telephone, lights,  computer, thinking.....

Sunday, March 5, 2017

books, rugs, shed

* I sit on the floor, a rampart of gardening books surrounding me.

* Hardwood floors, totally devoid of rugs.

* I found a shed. (Whisper) I. Found. A. Shed.

Friday, February 24, 2017

horses, enough, road

* The horses brought down from the mountains for winter pasturing encircle a broken up bale of hay. When one has had his fill he shuffles off through the snow.

* At the change of the year bloggers (mostly women) named the year--willing what they want the year to be for them or finding a talisman to guide them through 2017. I thought but could not find my word for this year. The events of last year were so unexpected and draining that I did not trust 2017. I am not referring to political changes or the mood of peoples. Driving alone in the snow today I approached my search again and, engulfed in the beauty surrounding me, I thought, "Enough."

* I had the road to myself today. Horizontal snow. Snow fog.

Thursday, February 23, 2017

bushes, orange, fog

* "Snow makes whiteness where it falls.
    The bushes look like popcorn balls.
    Places I saw yesterday look like somewhere else today."

Yep. And I get lost driving home.

* Orange sticks to push back cuticles.

* Snowy fog. I like it.

hammer, hose, decks

* I FOUND THE HAMMER!!!!! (Snow bound projects can proceed.)

* Yesterday I outlined a garden project with a hose. Today snow covers the hose. On to the graph paper.

* Clear the decks (desks, really). Time for tax prep.

Tuesday, February 21, 2017

watering, wind, rosemary

* "Make sure to mid winter water your trees and shrubs." What? Icy hoses, frozen spouts, numb fingers, snow, Arctic winds=what? This year, this year=yes! The blowsy wind makes the hose water dance but this is the first year I have ever been able to water in February. Lovely, lovely.

* The fierce wind catches the tendrils of orange-golden limbs of the willow trees. They flow as though alive. Wait...they are.

* More rosemary plants resting in the kitchen sunshine.

Monday, February 20, 2017

Lift, piñata, sheep

* The out of world feeling when I cannot lift a finger from exhaustion.

* A happy birthday party with a piñata.

* The fuzzy muzzle of a fuzzy sheep.

Sunday, February 19, 2017

hose, notes, here

* Ahhhh....February.....the time of garden planning and garden dreams. A time to grow a fresh perspective of what I have and what I can do. I map out a project with a garden hose.

* The versatility of post-it notes. Don' t want to or cannot paint a wall (landlord)? Paper  it with post-it notes.

* The dog follows me from room to room, always finding a comfortable place to settle. He does have his favorite rooms and when I am in one of his least favorite he stands looking at me, "Do you really want to be here?"

Saturday, February 18, 2017

sit back,earrings, board

* To sit back and let someone else navigate and drive.

*  Dangling turquoise earrings.

* My plant board across the kitchen window (put there to screen me from my neighbor's view) crashes to the counter. The top screw is insufficietly long enough and it popped out of the wall.
The new counter is undamaged! One planter broken. Dirt covers the floor. I repot the plants and give them some time outside while I tidy the floor--at the last minute remembering not to wash it with water (mud) until I sweep it. All is well. My visitor says "Um....do you ever use those plastic things pushed into the wall with a screw?" Noooo....I just got a longer screw. We smile at one another.

Sunday, February 12, 2017

chair, people, veg

* "How am I supposed to keep track of things if you move them around all the time?" And he falls off his chair from laughing.

* Watching the Grammies--"Who are all these people?"

* Pasta sauce with all kinds of vegetable in it.

switching, bookstore, cookies

* Switching between movies and thus disorienting him.

* Sitting with a friend at the bookstore, devouring books---not done with him since June.

* Girl Scout cookies and remembering they were 45¢ when last I sold them. ($4.00 now!!)

Saturday, February 11, 2017

pt, intersection, furniture

* A paper towel freaks me out. R scratches (thin skin) and bleeds easily (blood thinners) and has the habit of sopping up his blood from little nicks he gets (needles...insulin) with paper towels which he thumps onto the table beside his chair. When I walk past his table I see a paper towel with blots of purple (instead of red). What? What now? What makes blood become purple? Then I remember he spilled  some illicit red wine last night. (Next thought=if I do not tidy up how long will that purple splashed paper towel remain on the table. I will keep you posted....)

* Learning about intersection construction before it begins.

* When I move some furniture I decide that this arrangement is much better than the old and then I remember I decide that everytime I move furniture.

red, feeders, art

* Pure red lipstick, expertly applied. (Is it the memory of my mother meticulously applying red lipstick as I watched, entranced?)

* I have hung the bird feeders again. To hell with the squirrels.

* Ikons. 

Friday, February 10, 2017

visit, towels, load

* The excitement of an impending visit. Things get fixed. I replace the toilet seat held together with silver duct tape for more months than I have fingers. A final coat of paint in the alcove. The mysterious thing removed from the garbage disposal that sounded like some great beast gnashing teeth. I will not even begin to write about the state of the microwave.

* Enormous yellow and white striped towels.

* Lightening a load.

Thursday, February 9, 2017

July, fingers, sloshed

* "How is he/"
   "Since July it has been a rollercoaster."
   'Nough said. I do not venture into the gritty parts.

* In the early hours I peek at the clock, count on my fingers the hours until I have to get up. Until the early morning light pushes its way into my room through the slates of the blinds. What relief that I have 5 fingers of hours.

* Warm salty water sloshed against sore gums.

Wednesday, February 8, 2017

gloaming, crown, shoes

* In the gloaming I sit waiting for my turn. Traffic snaking up the hill toward me appears like so many jewels.

* I enter the  office dreading the procedure then remind myself of the competency of my pony tailed dentist--her name was a Civil War battle. Such a cheerful, sweet smelling place! I wonder if I can put the super comfy chair into my pocket and take it home with me. A hygienist passes the doorway singing a Billy Joel song. I am immersed in the technology and techniques of the day's work so much so that I forget to gag. Four hours later I leave with a new crown.

* "Mahalo for removing shoes."

Tuesday, February 7, 2017

Brooke

These I have loved:

White plates and cups, clean-gleaming,
Ringed with blue lines;and feathery, faery dust;
Wet roofs, beneath the lamp-light; the strong crust
Of friendly bread; and many-tasting food;
Rainbows; and the blue bitter smoke of wood;
And radiant raindrops couching in cool flowers;
And flowers themselves, that sway through sunny hours,
Dreaming of moths that drink them under the moon;
Then, the cool kindliness of sheets, that soon
Smooth away trouble; and the rough male kiss
Of blankets; grainy wood; live hair that is
Shinning and free; blue-massing clouds; the keen
Unpassioned beauty of a great machine;
The benison of hot water; furs to touch;
The good smell of old clothes; and other such--
The comfortable smell of friendly fingers,
Hair's fragrance, and the musty reek that lingers
About dead leaves and last year's ferns....

Rupert Brooke

in, del, ana

*Unasked for,  the home healthcare nurse carries my newspaper in with her.

* To delegate:to commit a task to someone

*Musing on the recurring question: is a human's life to be analyzed on the basis of brilliant artistic productions or how much of a total sh** they are?
(Musings are gems because that means I have time and space to sit and think!)

Monday, February 6, 2017

Oatmeal, red, list,meetings

* Oatmeal.
warm,
add anything you want to it,
chewy,
filling,
tummy soothing,
reliable,
simple,
neutral color,
ancestor connected.

* A red hot water bottle, full of hot water.

* In the wee hours I stumble out of bed to view the day's to do list. "Well now, what really, really has to be accomplished today?" The list shortened to one, I ooze back to bed.

* I ruminate over which meeting to attend...D---has the possibility of containing people attempting to grind me down with their politics with no hope of telling them to shut up or offering an alternative view (they will not listen & it would not further our relationship). S---will offer disheartening stories with a little humor (I will do my damness to inject it) and possible glimmerings of hope. Or I can stay home with the red hot water bottle.



Sunday, February 5, 2017

crown, garden, streets

* I have an appointment for a crown....dental. I disclose here that I dread dentistry done to me. This dread is a shadow of the days when I followed my brother into the dentist's chair (always). A chair still wet with his copious tears. "Okay, now it is your turn to go into this odd smelling room from which recently loud howls have come." At which point I remember that the present day room smells quite nice, the chair ultra comfy, and the modern dentist cheery and kind. Deep breath, pull up the big girl panties. (Why am I saying that so often these days?)

* Joyous February days when I plan and sketch and dream of what I will do with the garden this coming season.

* Empty streets bereft of football game watchers--so easily navigated.

Saturday, February 4, 2017

clock, remember, plants

* I just realized there is no clock in the great room--it has been gone since I gave a clock to someone --and I do not miss it. Just kind of flow with what I decide needs to be done. (The dogs, however, do remind me of their nose bag times.)

* I trundle through the day's list, plodding not unhappily but plodding. Then I remember my birthday weekend and a real satisfaction overcomes me so the air is fresher and my eyes are spark-o-lee.

* I did not hang curtains at the kitchen window because I like to look out at the darkness. Oops! The near neighbor has the same idea! A row of plants across the window is the solution. I can still gaze out at the night but now from behind greenery.