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 |  Just play: don't look at your hands! |
What a dumb title for a person who never got a single star  on her piano lessons!Daily practice is the thing though: the practice of noticing as well as of writing.  However, I'd much rather play duets than solos, so hop right in! You can do the melody or the base part, I don't care.  Just play along--we'll make up the tune as we go. I'll try to write regularly and deliberately. Sometimes I will do it poorly, tritely, stiltedly, obscurely. I will try to persevere regardless. It seems to be where my heart wants to go, and that means to me that God wants me there too. See you tomorrow. ![Merit Badge in Journaling
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| I'm happy to say, the new furniture is growing on me. It's had a little extra time, since I came home sick on Monday instead of going away to clergy conference for three days. Monday my back and sides hurt so much I thought, if I got a massage, maybe I could make the 3.5 hour drive. On my fourth try I got an appointment for immediately, but by the time I'd gotten the massage, which helped alot, I knew that wasn't enough. So I slept all Monday, stared aimlessly at the TV yesterday, and watched HGTV today while reading blogs. Watch enough of those vivid paint color schemes, and you begin to think-- either of ways to fix up your drab scheme, or how lucky you are that you know better than paint your whole house orange, gold and green. Those were the colors of the 60's, and they don't excite me too much now. But I did get out an old golden wicker chest to use for a coffee table, draped a goldish-yellow shawl across the blue chair, and hung a desert water color with a goldish khaki tan mat on the wall. I hunted for books with covers in that color range, and even found a paint sample called 'spiced vinegar' that I think will accommodate the slightly more taupe tan of the furniture along with the yellow of the rug. Just for a laugh, although I haven't heard it yet, I stood an old Oshkosh suitcase at the end of the loveseat to use as a table big enough to set a plant and a drink on. The case is very yellowed linen with two bands of six dark red stripes, a typical vintage design. Sorry I have no wisdom to offer in today's blog, but did want to thank all you who wisely advised me to bide my time. I'm actually better at coping and re-fashioning than planning in the first place, a good thing to know about oneself. |
 ....... ....... ....... ....... ....... ....... ....... ....... ....... ....... ....... That settles it. We're going to have to move. After years of looking at sofas to find one that felt right, we bought one last week. I'd said no new car till I got a new sofa. I'd had that one since the kids were in grade school. I wanted leather, because Bill really does spill things, and light colored because I'd liked the look of the old sofa in this room. I'd had it recovered fifteen or more years ago in a velvet that had a very itsy bitsy gray over silver stripe in it, with a tiny stripe of camel too. It was a plaid, in other words, like a men's suit though. Maybe that's called tattersall. I don't remember. Overall, it was a light neutral, and the pattern wasn't evident. Bill wanted a love seat to match, and I don't know why I agreed to that. Oh, yes, because the old leather recliner of my dad's, that I usually sit in, wasn't very functional any more. So, they're here, and yikes, I sure hope they grow on me because at the moment I hate them. They are hugely boxy and ugly. The oriental rug is a red ground with cobalt blue, kind of an olive and a gold. I couldn't find anything in those colors, at least not in leather. These are too taupe. They are too...too...and two of them, too. But they are comfortable, and have built-in recliners. And they'll be perfect in a den in another house. With some new end and coffee tables. (I need an icon for BRAVE LITTLE SMILE.)  |
| Well, no, I'm not really green; but we now have an environmentally considerate car. Several nights now, since we first looked at the Prius, Bill has made a teasing little comment on getting home from work that went, "I see you didn't buy that new car today." So, yesterday, I did! It was fun to watch his eyes grow wide as he pulled into the driveway, busily talking on the phone. Then he spent the evening reading the manual and setting stuff up. Tonight he got his Sirius radio connected to it too. His kids bought it for him for his birthday, and he's finally got a car to accommodate it. We took a quick ride last night, and he showed me how to start it and put it in gear, etc.  As if I hadn't driven it home!Today I took Robert "Red" Ford to the car wash for a thorough cleaning, inside and out. Since he is mine now, he has to look handsome. It was a little hard to give up my trusty Maxima, but I got just what I asked for it. (Must have asked too little, right?) The salesman asked me some standard questions, and then the last one was, "Do you enjoy buying cars?" I told him yes. And as long as I don't have to argue with the second and third sales team about prices, I like it fine. I like being willing to walk out if I don't get my price. Even though I'd cleaned out Max and was ready to go with the only Prius Touring model anywhere around, I would have walked out. I am not generally so into control that I have to have things entirely my way, but I don't feel bad about it with car dealers! In fact, it's pretty fun. Came home tonight and read the top newsletter in my mailbox. Steph B asked for fables, anecdotes, and parables; so I edited a story I wrote for NoWriMo that I intended to turn into a parable anyway and submitted it. I feel like I've accomplished a few things this week. Whee! |
| Being over 50 doesn't mean you have to be alone. One stop discount insurance. Auto, Life, Health, Home, 150 Channels / $29.99 Month! **FREE HBO** No fax payday - 2 min online application; Tax Time Cash; Tired of dating? Read this. Looking for Cellular Ring Songs; Let us help you get on the road with the right car loan; CarLoan Authority ; Are You Ready to Find a Life Partner from The Love Date?; Get a loan for a brand new car from loan guys ; Ready to settle down and stop dating? Can you identify the list above? It’s the titles of a VERY small portion of the spam I received in my email today. To delete the whole list took me at least fifteen minutes. I’m trying a new tactic first. I’m forwarding it to my internet provider at spam@___. To read the whole list, you would assume I’m over 50 (true;) either single or looking for love (not true;) needing money to pay my taxes or because I spent all of it on my taxes (not quite true;)  need a new car (true;) need a new ringtone (false;) would like to be the life of the party with a new, fart ringtone ; and want dish TV (false.) That’s a better list than the some of the spam I used to get, but it’s flying fast and furious all of a sudden. By the time I’ve typed this, I’ll have at least twenty new ones; I’ll make a bet on it! Do you all know why we call it ‘spam?’ I didn’t. Spam, the registered trademark canned meat product, isn’t that ubiquitous! Other than the fact that it’s made with lots of salt and unknown meat products, it doesn’t taste all that bad. We used to fry it for sandwiches when we were camping. A slice of sharp cheddar on top helped. I should say, if I don’t want to be sued by the Spam company, that the particular meat parts and unknown to me, not necessarily to the manufacturers, and I’m very happy to keep it that way. Back to where spam in our email boxes got its name. From Monty Python! I for one would never have guessed it. It comes from a skit, first broadcast in 1970 in the 25th show of Monty Python’s Flying Circus, in which two customers are trying to order breakfast in a restaurant. The menu includes Spam in almost every item. Spam was one of the few meats which was not rationed in Britain during World War II, and people became extremely tired of it. In the sketch a group of Vikings continually interrupt the conversation by singing “Spam, lovely Spam, wonderful Spam” more and more loudly and dramatically. Here’s The Menu, courtesy of Wikipedia. * Egg and bacon * Egg, sausage and bacon * Egg and spam * Egg, bacon and spam * Egg, bacon, sausage and spam * Spam, bacon, sausage and spam * Spam, egg, spam, spam, bacon and spam * Spam, spam, spam, egg, and spam * Spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, baked beans, spam, spam, spam and spam * Lobster thermidor aux crevettes with a Mornay sauce garnished with truffle paté, brandy and with a fried egg on top and spam * Spam, sausage, spam, spam, spam, bacon, spam, tomato and spam The word "spam" occurs 132 times in the short sketch. That’s a little like the way I’m feeling about Dish Net, car loans, and dating services by now. I’m so tired of wading through them all that it’s easier to just say, ‘To heck with the email.’ However, I really don’t want to miss pictures of my grandchildren or even a good joke, so I hope my new disposal method cuts down some of the load. Wrenspam signing off. |
Asylum for the Verbally Insane. Author unknown We'll begin with a box, and the plural is boxes, But the plural of ox becomes oxen, not oxes. One fowl is a goose, but two are called geese, Yet the plural of moose should never be meese. You may find a lone mouse or a nest full of mice, Yet the plural of house is houses, not hice. If the plural of man is always called men, Why shouldn't the plural of pan be called pen? If I speak of my foot and show you my feet, And I give you a boot, would a pair be called beet? If one is a tooth and a whole set are teeth, Why shouldn't the plural of booth be called beeth? Then one may be that, and three would be those, Yet hat in the plural would never be hose, And the plural of cat is cats, not cose. We speak of a brother and also of brethren, But though we say mother, we never say methren. Then the masculine pronouns are he, his and him, But imagine the feminine: she, shis and shim! Let's face it - English is a crazy language. There is no egg in eggplant nor ham in hamburger; neither apple nor pine in pineapple. English muffins weren't invented in England. We take English for granted, but if we explore its paradoxes, we find that quicksand can work slowly, boxing rings are square, and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig. And why is it that writers write but fingers don't fing, grocers don't groce and hammers don't ham. Doesn't it seem crazy that you can make amends but not one amend. If you have a bunch of odds and ends and get rid of all but one of them, what do you call it? If teachers taught, why didn't preachers praught? If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat? Sometimes I think all the folks who grew up speaking English should be committed to an asylum for the verbally insane. In what other language do people recite at a play and play at a recital? We ship by truck but send cargo by ship. We have noses that run and feet that smell. We park in a driveway and drive in a parkway. And how can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same, while a wise man and a wise guy are opposites? You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language in which your house can burn up as it burns down, in which you fill in a form by filling it out, and in which an alarm goes off by going on. So if Father is Pop, how come Mother isn't Mop? |
What unexpected treats this day has brought! I had a delightful visit first thing this morning with a woman and her daughter who moved home to be her caregiver. That is not always a good thing, but I’ll leave that story till another time. This pair is not especially close. In fact, the daughter tells me they do not get along at all; but the very modest home is immaculate, sparkling all the way to the chandelier. It is the house where the patient was born, and is filled with clocks and china brought by the patient’s mother from Germany around 1900. This is the fourth patient I’ve visited who was dying in the same house he or she was born in. The daughter served her mother a meal that was attractive and balanced, with fresh fruit and vegetables, and she graciously brought me coffee, a first in all my patient visits. Last week each was critical of the other, even in each other’s presence. Today each praised the other, although one compliment was a little “left-handed,” as my mother used to say. After some work at the office and a lunch of leftover stir-fry, I got some personal business taken care of and headed toward home. I had three calls yet to make, and they are the ones I least enjoy. All three are institutional settings: a nursing home, a group home for developmentally disabled, and a memory care center (dementia unit.) None of the interactions with patients was extraordinary in any way, but the trip to the nursing home was terrific. Two men, one on a steel guitar and the other an acoustic, were entertaining, and they were terrific. This was only the second time they had played together, the first time in this place. Residents who had previously shown hardly a glimmer of life clapped appreciatively. I had such a good time that I’m wondering who’s playing in the local bars tonight. That would pretty much be a first for us too, Bill and me, to go out to a bar to hear the music. I envy those of you with neighborhood pubs nearby.  Yesterday I took my hundred-mile drive to the hinterlands, the beautiful Palouse, to see my patients out yonder. There’s a bicycle race scheduled along that country road today, and I didn’t want to be navigating through that kind of traffic. As it was, there were pieces of road equipment that I don’t know the names of slowing traffic in one area, big, yellow monsters made by Caterpillar, with blades like snowplows but angled over to the side. They were cleaning out the ditches, vertically scraping the banks of the wheat fields that ended sometimes as high as eight feet above the road, and then cleaning up the resulting mud from the asphalt. Quite an undertaking. Having rushed out of the house without my camera, again, (sigh,) I decided to let my eyes be my camera, trying to see everything with the wider lens of my peripheral vision as well. That’s the thing I keep trying to capture when I have my camera with me: the sense of being in these high, rolling hills that are anything but predictable. They are not spaced evenly or going in the same direction like the ripples in the sand at the edge of the sea, although this was a seabed at one time. Glaciers also acted on the geology; and the steep inclines have little regularity, either in my view from the road or the airplane. The spring wheat is so intensely green that the sight is thrilling. Some fields have just been tilled, and the earth is rich and dark. The most unusual look is in the fields that have been threshed and seeded over, so that the tracks of the heavy machinery have made flatter rows in which the green wheat shows clearly. In between the wheel marks, the stubble shields the new growth, causing it to look chartreuse. So, in effect, those fields are striped. I hope I can get a picture of that next week. Maybe it's strange to be so moved by scenery, especially without mountains or an ocean in view, but I was. As I thought about it while driving home, I tried to name my emotions. One of them was thankfulness. I momentarily felt sorry for people who don't believe in God, because they wouldn't have that feeling of gratefulness and awe; but then I thought, sure they do. Even if I did not believe in some Creator, some prime mover or force for good, I would feel grateful to be in that place at that time and to experience the wonder. I wonder what you think about that. |
Appetizer ...with apologies to "Invalid Item"  where Kimchi has a full course menu! Take a look!First, on a homey note: the birdhouse hanging in a white pine outside my window is supposed to be for chickadees. That's what the Audobon Society said when I bought it. Earlier this spring I saw two big starlings trying to negotiate a deal with three or four sparrows. One cold day I even saw a pair of chickadees take the tour, one sitting out on the limb all fluffed up while the Mrs. peeked inside. Today, the wrens are busily stuffing it with dry grass, and I see a piece hanging out the side already. I'm disappointed. I don't think they'll ruin the neighborhood like the starlings would, but I was so in hopes of some little chickadees. It's probably illegal to put out a sign saying, Only Chickadees Allowed. Entree I turned on my car radio this morning, on my way to a hospice call, and got into the middle of a discussion on National Public Radio about memory. Cathryn Jakobson Ramin was being interviewed about the topic of memory loss and her new book, Carved in Sand: When Attention Fades and Memory Fails in Midlife. As a journalist, she had always relied on an accurate memory and fast recall to do her job. When she crossed into middle age, she was dismayed by the changes her brain was undergoing. She couldn’t remember names, dates and facts. She was plagued with insomnia. Even though she was told these changes were normal, she said they were unacceptable. To research the subject, she put herself through many tests and clinical trials, and ultimately was able to make significant improvements in her mental abilities. One of the common problems she found is fear. We are afraid, when we have increasing difficulty remembering names, or finding our keys, that we have started down the slippery slope of losing our minds. We are afraid of losing our identity and our grip on life. That anxiety, naturally, compounds itself. Clinical psychologist Harriet Lerner, author of The Dance of Anger, says, “Forgetting becomes globalized.” It’s no longer just about forgetting a phone number you just had in your hand; it’s about “the prospect of rapid mental deterioration.” Although we seldom feel the effects of it, our acuity actually begins to decrease after it peaks in our mid twenties. The more people ruminate on the loss, the more they catastrophize it, the less productive sleep they get. Pretty soon it isn’t about not being able to remember our pin numbers and passwords, it’s whether we can hold onto our jobs, make our mortgage payments, not wake up in the poor house or the ‘memory care’ facility. Ramin went on to talk about Alzheimer’s and the very real threat it poses, not only to those genetically predisposed but also to all people who live long enough. Money for research has been cut this year, for the first time. If we can find a way to reverse the process early enough, we might be able to greatly improve the quality of those extra years we’ve been granted by way of other medical advances. A caller said that she owned an answering service, and began having increasing difficulty allowing herself enough sleep at night. One of the things Ramin said in response that particularly interested me is that sleep is a time when we dump all the irrelevant material out of our brains. Without that chance to forget what Suzy wore to the office yesterday, and what size shoes Peter said he wore, etc., how can we expect to remember the important things? She talked about anti-oxidants, and the role they play in mental health, and many other things, like getting good sleep, aerobic exercise, and exercise for the brain. Unfortunately, I had arrived at my appointment site by then and did not hear the rest of the conversation, but I think I’ll buy the book. To read more about the subject: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=9650307 What? No dessert? Oops, I forgot to bake one. |
| I've noticed that my favorite-to-read blogs are not necessarily written on a daily basis. They have real material in them, not just my day's laundry list. So I'm thinking of giving that a try: actually coming up with a topic, at least on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Then if I want to yap or rant on other days, okay. Since there's no prize for keeping a blue month (like keeping a good Lent?) I don't have to keep trying, compulsively. It is very disappointing to miss the deadline one day and lose out. This is Tuesday, so I'll try to think of something to write about tomorrow. Right now I'm watching CSI as I write, McGee, the probie and author, is writing a book, and the characters are based on real people who then come up murdered. He is charged with coming up with the killer, although he has been stuck with writers' block and hasn't written far enough to know. Interesting plot. I think he should write a trap to catch the killer. We'll see. Cheers. Cheers. |
| It's a day to celebrate! I don't know what the holiday was that gave us an extra day to get our taxes done, but I'm all for it. I looked around on line today to find out if I need Photoshop. There are things that iPhoto just won't do, or at least I haven't figured out how. The pricetag is pretty steep though. What do you all use to make the clever sigs and other graphics you display here? Maybe I should just spend more time w-r-i-t-i-n-g, instead of trying to play around with photos and graphics. But don't girls just wanna have fun? |
Spent half the day in church again today, because the Bishop was here for confirmations. Great liturgy and great music, with a flute and cello accompanying the grand piano at one point. I reviewed several things today, and then got to playing at the site Kåre Enga in Montana  listed in his blog.Do go try it out. It's fun! http://www.crayola.com/coloring_application/index.cfm?referrer=/index.cfm&mt=dig... Now, if I knew how to post the picture, I made some lovely irises to go with his poem. But now it's time to go to bed, and probably read awhile. Night all. |
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