Wednesday, July 26, 2017

A Whole Lot of Show n a Little Bit of Tell



How did this make it through the mail safely?


From the Dodson, D's. Family Vacation. That 3-D is such a toy.


Whimsey gets me every time.


Babushka birds, eh! Both pieces are fromPatty.



As are these! Thank you, my friend. I'll be handy capable soon, and I'll art 'em up like it's nobody's business.


From Anna.


More from Patty, the real Wonder Woman.


Dodson didn't lie. There's always a little bit of this-that-n-the-other inside each envelope, and I do declare dog saliva was used to wet the glue on a flap two letters ago. Ahem. That's the bee I freed. 




Goodies from Anke in Germany. Thank you. I am crazy for the envelope, the lovely stamps, the ephemera, the note . . . Simply everything.


These are the chicken's knees. I remember seeing these on Flynn's blog and drooling. 


I cannot tell you what it meant to see these here in Texas. I won't even try.


And this? This is a bird I coveted unlike anything else. It's egg yolks, a tequila sunrise, sunrise itself, happiness, warmth from sunlight, a mystery . . . It brightens the room. Thank you, Finn. Wow.


And then there were three. Proof that the French finally learned how to be funny. *grin* 


These two will never cease being funny. I'd share the punch line but . . . It's private. Please note:  Aged people have a brand of comedy that's all their own. *grin* And the older I grow the less stodgy and stuffed I become. *grinning with both cheeks stuffed with laughter*


. . . to be continued





Tuesday, July 25, 2017

Another Matter of Opinion

Do you know that choosing not to use childproof caps on prescription bottles requires a written request and signature? Did you know I've held on to my iPhone 5s out of sentiment? Sadly I must  to upgrade to a larger phone. Being a holdover holdout is a sign of old age or passive resistance, right? Or, proof that a believer in "if it ain't broke you cannot fix it" still makes sense. I like my little phone so-o-o much. My opinion matters, but truth is, I do need a new-larger-not-but-not-too-much-bigger phone. 


It is my opinion that I can no longer effectively play my favorite iPad game since all the tapping makes my index fingertip swell and hurt like . . . Well there's nothing in my memory bank to compare it to. Inferior tapping results in my fortress being over-run every night; it doesn't matter how many potions or arrows I have in my arsenal if I can't get the bow into position to kill the little vermin. And those infant imps make me sputter in indignation! I am a good bowwoman! Do you know there's no such word as bowman? My keyboard insists on telling y'all the word is bowman. That, too, is a matter of opinion.


A fatter stylus. No, it isn't new. We have been friends for awhile now. Yes to a broader stylus--this one in particular because I like carpenter pencils. Paper 53 makes a great tool, and I like it. I played a fingerless game of The Skull Legends last night and I liked that too. So no more sad because of painful swollen finger pads.  *grin* I'm keying with my right hand as I mouse with my right. Had forgotten I'd picked up that trick some surgeries ago. Improv, improv, improv!



JC washed my new gloves last night. I washed them again. They still smelled. I rinsed them in a vinegar and water bath; then I really had a stink on my hands. I gave them a wash in the washer with my favorite bath towel, hung them in the sun to dry, the gloves, not the towel, and here we are. 

I took the photo while JC fed the birds this afternoon. He's getting better at it. I planted a packet of seeds in a clay pot back in late spring; the survivors grew leggy--folded back on themselves in loops, and day before yesterday one plant offered up a single little bud, the size of cooked couscous pearl. It opened yesterday. I was in love! Still am. I'm embarrassed to admit it but the name escapes me. Pretty doesn't always need naming though, does it?


I discovered these after our dinner date at Saltgrass. Red stands out no matter where it finds itself. I spied the little beans on our way down the handsome stairs to the forward-facing left turned right side as you exit path, where the last step meets the sidewalk; perhaps I missed them going in due to tunnel vision compounded by hunger. But how could I have missed their pods? Hmm.

Needless to say, JC was mortified when I used my cane to drag one within reaching distance, and to humiliate him further, a couple exiting a few seconds behind us stopped to watch. The cane method took too long so I gingerly stepped into the bed and picked up three. One for dissection, one for Patty, and one for me. The little beans rattle.; there's something inside behind the navel! The male of the couple told us how he thought the shadow cast by my sweet cane was a snake. Really? And I suppose he figured I was a snake charmer? A snake wrangler? Ah, I know . . . A snake whisperer! I like people now. Perhaps it explains why someone always starts up a conversation when it's least expected. Naw. They did that even when I wore a warning scowl. Maybe JC is right, and I do make people wonder. 


The gas man did and wasn't shy about it either. Have you ever had a utility turned off because you forgot to pay the bill? It happens. It happens especially when you get older. But the nice young man stayed awhile, and he adjusted the water heater's thermostat. Our water has scalding. It's been that way since the new water heater was installed over a year ago. I'm too old and tender to be sliding between what feels like hot raindrops in the shower! 

But anyway, all I know is I've loved the tree that produced since we first met. It's like me--different, bordering on unusual, or as my uncle Kelly used to say, "peculiar." Its leaves are quite remarkable, its flowers even more so. Their bright yellow lit up the view like a sun on fire. Hmm. There's something wrong with that sentence but it'll work itself out. 


Brighter than Patty's firstborn hatchling! Isn't it cute??? Such big feet!


There's a second one . . . Notice how easily I segued from trees and seeds and flowers to chicks and the color yellow and Patty and her little chick wrangler/egg girl . . . ? Special K II is also one heck of a softball player/pitcher. Can you believe I know three  Miss Special Ks? Well I do. Kailey/Kaylee/Kailey. 

So like I said, they let me christen the first two! Well, I was given the honor of naming just one--the first one--but a name for the pair dropped down from up above, where I do believe Charley Pride, the rooster is roosting after having been taken away in a space ship. Patty's CSI team did not find any evidence that might explain Charley's disappearance in any other suitable fashion, so this is my story and I'm telling it like it 't-i-s in my mind's eyes. CP  wasn't the only victim either, but he's the one Patty allowed me to name. I have such good friends. *grin*

Oh wow. What if me naming poultry jinxes them??? Oh dear. Let's not think on the possibility. *shudder* Instead of CCSI (chicken crime scene imaging) theories, I'll tell you this: Patty said there are two more new chicks, and Kailey named them Spot and Juliet! Grandpa Davidson named the new rooster Darth Vader! I am so loving this! 

. . . to be continued


Oops. There has to ba a mail bit to qualify this post as mail related. Here goes:





I wrote a little note to a favorite new poet/writer, Tracy K. Smith last night--purely on impulse. Her "Life on Mars" made me clap out loud last night. I laughed and laughed at the pure magic of this woman's rhyme and the formation/acknowledgment of a singular bond that fit more like an umbilical cord than anything else. You know it's good when you read out loud and it sounds good even in your voice. That's what Tracy K. Smith does for a body. 

So I did it. I finally wrote to someone to tell them just how much I enjoy their creative genius. It's been awhile since the last time I did that. Surely such gifted folk need to know how we feel about them? Who have you surprised yourself with recently?

Keep writing.














Monday, July 24, 2017

A Little Mystery to Figure Out, Baby


This little darlin' gives me something to talk about. A little mystery to figure out. 


They never mentioned the need for wee tweezers, or as JC recommends using in a pinch: two quarters. The screws are just that hard to tighten! The gadget is right up my alley though. It reminds me of "Transformers" before they made the second movie. My favorite Transformer is Bumblebee; those blue headlamps are ugly though. My second is Optimus Prime. He sounds smarter than he really is though. Okay, I like The Twins too. 


The first pair of my arth-ree-tus gloves came today. Oh, yea! They smell, make my eyes burn, and my skin itch, so JC washed and hung them out to dry, otherwise I'd have them on right now. They either feel good or they're a sly placebo. I'll keep you posted as to their effectiveness. 


Until then, here's a peek-in-the-box. I'm watching Clint Eastwood lay down some terribly bad acting in Gran Torino. He pretends to be gruff and mean and racist in real life too, and succeeds at being bad at that too. I'm on to you Eastwood. 

And, by the way . . . Does anyone have a clue why a letter and a postcard came back, for no apparent reason I can see?



I think someone at the post office is just messing with me. Could be they just want me to come in and raise a little hell to heat up their summer, huh? 

Happy mail to you. Until we write again . . .





Sunday, July 23, 2017

A Sunday Short

JC treated me to a meal in the pre-evening hours that included the crab cakes I practically lusted after all week. While being out and eating a good meal I didn't have to cook was a blessing, the cakes were burnt, there was lipstick on my glass of Pellegrino, and the shrimp were overcooked. All in all it was a delicious meal. Dessert was a long ride--a backtracking to Barnes and Noble--where I picked up several August issues of some really read-worthy magazines. Oh! And a lovely toy that has to remain undisclosed until I'm able to take photos of the thing in better light. It deserves every advantageous perk available; it's just that sweet. 


This has to be my third "O Magazine" in years. It's thinner, less . . . less of a sensory overload, and free of perfume samples, which makes it good enough. Hip-hip! Back when I subscribed, I requested scent-free issues only. Accommodation creates a degree of loyalty, don't you think?

It needs more women of color in the ads and articles, items on the O List are too expensive-- shamefully so--and border on being darn near decadent, in my opinion, but perhaps I am not one of "O Magazine's" target audience members. The "Bootyful Dreamer jeans that'll have you backing into a room" is clever enough copy. It made me laugh before I thought, "Women are more than booty, Oprah." Truth is, "Man of Letters" is the real reason I bought the magazine anyway, so "leave the booty and the rest of the stuff alone, girl," is what I'm telling myself as I type.




"Man of Letters" begins:  "Three years ago, my father began sending me a postcard every day. 'Twentieth century texting," he called it.  They were the kinds of cards sold on revolving trees in gift shops . . .

Then there's "Haven't Got Time for the Pain? Don't just lie there, read page 71!" It just blipped on my scanner radar when I gave it another thumb-through just for you. "Movement as Medicine" is right up my alley because it's true. It's in the Feeling Good section. I recommend it. And check this out:

"If you can't love it, eat it, wear it, sleep with it, make peace with it, gain strength with it, find joy in it, the time has come to let it go." *grin* 

I'm saving "Garden & Gun"for a future post. I learned a major lesson from the movie, "Moonlight" that was reinforced in an IKEA ad. Lessons come when and how they will.


As did another in "Mother Earth Living." 'Age in Comfort.' I am so on a mission. Plain and simple.

Be well. 








Saturday, July 22, 2017

Saturday's Evening Post

A Stamp People album grows . . . Debbie's People . . . to include family. Perhaps a village will follow? One can only hope. *grinning*

Two treats in a day! Susan Branch. This is for all you Downton Abbey lovers who cannot wean yourself from the show's teats. Treats? Well, Susan offers such lovely treats throughout this lovely post. I'll never make it across the great pond, but I've yet to make it across the Grand Canyon either, so . . . No matter. Here's an interesting thing I noted:  Reading Susan's post took me away from the dark skies, stormy weather, and pain . . . until I came to myself! No lightning bolt dodging involved! That's what good writers do for their readers. I'm grateful for this love of reading that's never left me since it first shook my hand. Imaginary hand, but still a hand. 

Left handed pecking isn't so bad when great links do most of the work for your own post. There's another welcome storm showering us with lovely rain and cooled air. I love rainy days. The day's pomegranate ignited my appetite, so I managed a messy grilled cheese sandwich for my one meal of the day. The pickle chips were so good. Yum! No morning appetite here. My meal was so recent that I'm still full because I broke down and had a mug of "milked" tea too.  I'd give up reading for a week if I could have two of the Saltgrass Steakhouse's heavenly crab cakes, a loaf of their brown bread, the Caesar salad, and a glass of their homemade lemonade. I must be hungry again!

Being sidelined has its perks. Am blessed to have a copy of Octavia E. Butler's Parable of the Sower to entertain and delight me through my "recovery." Does one ever recover from age? Hmm. . . So, see? Giving in to unexplained urges to buy books you never imagined reading does pay off in the long run. Crossing genres expands my minds--not that I'm new to SCI-FI, but Butler is one of the finest SCI-FI writers to ever live on the planet. I finally get Gloria Steinem's glowing introduction. (More on that later.) JC is out buying food and supplies and such. Minuet and I agreed to get along as long as she stops trying to balance on my right knee instead of my lap. She's the runt and her claws are like curved scimitars; they gouge harder when she kneads, and I need her to stop adding insult to injury. *grin*

Birds are singing so surely our storm is over.



Honorary Auntie Erin baked a cake for her sweet little friend, Sydney, who turned one. I might get in trouble for this but how could I resist? 


There's the sweetest picture of Sydney eating her slice, and as tempted as I am to show you, I asked for permission to share it here. Here's hoping approval arrives soon. The girl is a foodie of the first class. She eats Thai like I never will, seeing as how I've never had it, but there's a photo of that too. And there's a story behind the cake pans used to bake this cake. Short version:  JC found them in the pantry, packed and mailed them to Chicago just in time for the birthday girl's b'day. Imagine that! She's not even our grand . . . That's one lucky girl. 



(7-23-17 Permission granted.)

Happy Birthday Sydney! 

So. I ordered a pair of the new--as my friends Alex, Fatima, and Genesis say--"arthree-tis" gloves; I ordered a fingerless and a fingered pair. I bought a pair for my mother a few years back; not the same ones though. These are a newer design and they're made with some new fabric. I refuse to do down without exploring every avenue that might or will lead to remission. Yep. That's how I think. That's how I believe. I cannot even imagine not being able to write or draw or lift my awesome pots and pans, drive, pick up my cameras, braid my own hair, pull weeds, type, cook, wag a finger . . . It takes longer to write a post, but to paraphrase Ceely, "I might hurt, and I might take too long writing, but I'm here."

"Write, write, and then write some more," is what I plan. Or, better yet, "I'll write when I can." *grin*





Wednesday, July 19, 2017

A Reminder to Remember


This red ribbon is my reminder to remember all the things I want to tell you. There's such good mail! How could I ever forget? 

It might remind me to remember how less is more in the telling. Perhaps this lovely ribbon is a reminder to do all things necessary to find the balance between pain and wellness. Not to use a hot water bottle anytime soon? Maybe it's time to give in and go in for a wellness check? Who knows? 


I just remembered this:  My two fingers in my left hand had bee stings last night. I could have gone on living quite nicely without being reminded of the significance of bee stings in fingers; but then I am also reminded that I must give thanks for both hands, and remembering how they've been so good to me. I must be good to them in return. And I will. Just as soon as I finish this.


Note to self:  Try using your left hand more? 
Self to Note:  Naw. We're too old to be trying for ambidexterity. 
Note to self:  Well excuse me. I was only trying to be helpful.
Self to Note: You were. You reminded me of the wisdom in keeping such thoughts to myself. A little rest and recovery and I'll be back to telling . . .
Note to self:  Perhaps you might manage a hint or two as offerings?
Self to Note:  Aha! Now I remember why I keep you around, you clever thing you!


All but two of the little yellow fellows have been released into the world of letters. Will there be more? Remind me to tell you later.



There's a new PBS catalog to tell you about! I like the series, but the book brings you closer to the characters. Masterpiece has been a marvel since I was a girl; it still is.


I must remember to let Dodson, D. tell you about his vacation. He was gracious enough to allow me to tag along via post. I believe Miss "Special K" enjoyed it too. *wink*


A bit of red ribbon will remind me to share the magic that isn't Disney. 


No reminder is necessary to tell you this silly little tip:  A too-thick disc of sealing wax can be thinned by simply pressing the still-warm wax with the back of your match box; it'll comply with postal standards, and you won't have to pay more. Remember to apply your seal near the lower part of the flap and it won't bother the Mangler.


I won't need a reminder to get me talking about the demise of Patty's Charley Pride, rooster extraordinaire. I'm still mourning his loss, but paused long enough to create a fitting tribute.  Poor Charley.




Oh, Anna! What have you given me? Hours of telling and touching and exploring and imagining and wishing . . . There's so much! I'll have to charge my batteries for this gem alone. Yet there's so much more, from so many people everywhere. Beat steadily my heart!

See? You might have thought I was making it up as I typed. Aha! Never underestimate the veracity of a limner. There's always a thing or three that needs limning. The spirit is willing even when the flesh rebels. Ouch.

Note to self:  Ask yourself, why foolish people think they're meant to carry on as usual simply because they've taken a pain pill?

Self to Note:  You can't fault a girl for trying, albeit an old one. Ouch.


Reminder to self:  Gotta run! I forgot! They're looking for me! 

Write as often as you remember to. Need a reminder? Go for it! Just write, and you will be written to.