Cockatiel Coif

I have short hair and find it so much cooler in this hot weather.  It’s a simple style, very wash and go.

The go part became a problem when I arrived at my destination one day and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.  I bore a distinct resemblance to a cockatiel.  One of those birds with the big plume out the back of its head.  

I like to drive with the windows down and when I set out with my hair damp, the breeze from the window dries it at the same time it styles it into this big pouf.

I found myself wetting down my hair to get rid of the ‘plumage’ but that didn’t really work. I needed a better solution for as long as we have nice weather, I’m going to have my window down.

I bought a ball cap, in a nice basic black except for the red letters across the front that say Canada.  

It may not be my style but it serves the purpose. 

She’s Back

It’s been six months since I last posted.  I wish I could say I was away on a world wide cruise, sailing the oceans blue, but alas, not.

It’s funny how some small changes in your life affect so many other aspects of your day to day.

For example, I received an I pad for Christmas.  It was fun to play with, all the games, the easy access to Pinterest (I’m addicted) and Facebook.  It took me awhile to get the hang of it, and I was still using my laptop for writing, email and such. The other was more of a toy, until I started to have problems with the laptop and had to send it out to be checked.

When I got it back I put it on the shelf and have not used it since.  I was able to get most of my business done on the I pad so it seemed easier.  During this time my back became an issue and I was having difficulty sitting for very long, so all of my writing went by the wayside.

I had been doing a lot of crochet, some for family and some for charity but by spring had needed a break. I went back to painting, something I had not done much of in the last few years.  And, because I have the I pad, I could watch those art tutorials all evening long.

Funny that at my age I’m learning more about art and experimenting. I feel I should have my style down pat but it is in a constant state of evolving.

So, I’m back, hope you will forgive the neglect and stick with me.

Roadside :Memorials

When I drive back from my half-way lunch dates with my brother, I take the long route home through the city and then the scattering of small towns and villages on the two lane highway. I don’t like the busy 4-6 lane 401 highway, especially at rush hour. 

On my route I pass a bicycle painted white, with a silk flower bouquet that marks the spot of a fatal road accident. 

Last week I was on a country drive with my daughter to a village, off the beaten track, away from any highway. There I saw a bicycle with a pretty basket of flowers at the end of a driveway. Then I saw another, and another and even more, throughout the village.

I started watching for them and now wished I had stopped to take a picture. This must have been a project by the locals, and it made the drive through the village more enjoyable.

And it lessened the sadness I associated with bicycles on the road, turning it into a much more pleasant memory 

Board and Batten

I love the look of board and batten, and it always catches my eye when I’m out and about. And, apparently, I comment on it, every time, to the annoyance of some people.

One of those annoyed people was my husband, who tired of my “I love board and batten”.

My son knows I like a country drive and he and his family often take me on day trips through the rural areas.  He must have inherited more of my sense of humour as it has become a joke, my constant reference to a building with a board and batten exterior.

Yesterday, I was out with my brother and his wife and we took a drive to a country store we’d heard about. Not as country anymore as the city has grown over the years and this once isolated store is now surrounded by the urban spread. But, it still has that ‘country’ look.

I stopped just outside the door and laughed. “I’ll say this once and get it over with.  Look, board and batten.” My sister-in-law laughed in return and opened the door.

Who knows the number of friends and family I’ve annoyed, or down right irritated, by pointing out this particular style of exterior wood siding.

If I ever won the lottery, I’d build myself a house, on the water, and it would be covered in board and batten. Oh, and it would have a porch. A covered porch, front and back, maybe a surround porch. I just love porches with sink-into big wooden chairs.

I think I can be annoying with my predictability. Maybe I need to surprise everyone and mix it up.

“Oh, look. The lilacs are in bloom.”

Paint Shirts

I have been on a painting spree these last few weeks, completing five paintings in a series called Feathers. All done in my mixed media style.

This week I’ve been trying something different...still abstract...but a landscape.

I liked the first effort, but felt it needed something more, tried the something more,and something more again and basically ruined it.  The nice thing about abstract is that I can paint over the canvas and start anew, the remnants of the previous work add to the texture.

After watching a number of art tutorials I had a triptych in mind, something very mixed media but found myself working on another landscape.

I wear my old not-to-be-worn-in-public pants  and a T-shirt when I paint as Acrylic paints are permanent once they dry and I’m  tired of ruining my clothes. But today I looked at my shirt and it now joins the pants as my painting uniform.

I tend to hold my paint brush in my mouth when I need my hands free, like to twist the cap off a tube of paint. This is okay, unless I turn my head and accidentally clean my brush off on the shoulder of my shirt. Then there are the paint marks across my stomach from holding the canvas as I work.

I think, the way I work, I’ll have more painting clothes before I’m done. Oh, the price of creativity.

A Lesson on Stealing

When my granddaughter has her weekly music lesson, her Mom stays with her and I get mother and son time, for about forty minutes before we all meet up again for dinner.

Tonight I was driving and told my son I had something to show him.  Something related to a new craft I saw on Pinterest. This did not meet with a lot of enthusiasm from my son. I always seem to find new crafts I want to try.

This craft involved wood, the older and more beaten up the better. Sort of like the wood you see on pallets, but they are too heavy for me and I’d need help to take one apart. So a separate piece of wood would be better. Nothing fancy, something about 3-4 inches wide, 1 inch thick and 2-4 feet long.

I took him to the new subdivision currently under construction. There I pointed out the piles of building material, heaped into what looked, to me at any rate, like discarded supplies.

“If I was to take a couple pieces of that wood, would it be stealing?” I asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “It’s on private property and it doesn’t belong to you.”

“But it’s just sitting there in a scrap pile.”

I felt I had to defend my question, but really, who did he think taught him about stealing.  He did explain that the builders would go to that pile if, for example, they needed a shorter piece of wood, so it’s not really scrap.

He did have me stop so he could check a small pile of wood, but they were all 2x4’s and I didn’t want anything that thick.

He did tell me that a contractor friend of his has a scrap pile, and he could most likely get me some wood.

I told him not to bother, it’s not like I need another craft. I have enough yarn stashed away to get me through this summer into next winter. I have a painting, as yet unfinished on the table and remnants of other projects, started yet incomplete, hidden around my house.

It’s that damn Pinterest. Too many ideas, too little time. And my daughter wonders why I hoard art and craft supplies. One of these days, I’ll find that new craft I’m dying to try, and oh look, I have everything I need.

Spider Battle

l hate spiders, and, I admit, enter into a battle to the death when I see one.

The other night I was reading in bed and noticed a dark spot in the corner, at ceiling height. A spider. This presented a problem because there was no way I could go to sleep and leave it there.

I couldn’t sweep it away, and chance it falling in my bed, so I needed a weapon.  I pulled out the tape and stuck a blob of it to the end of my broom handle. This might sound strange, but I have had success with this method.

I must have been tired, my aim was off and all I did was cause the spider to run down the wall. I made several valiant attempts, but in my own defence, the end of a broom is not very big. I lost sight of it for a moment, then found it on my pillow and responded bravely.

I shrieked and grabbed the pillow to get it off. That send the spider to the wall again. I needed a new strategy if I was to be the victor. I needed a new weapon.

Stepping into the bathroom, luckily close enough I could keep my eye on the spider, I leaned down to grab a wad of toilet paper. It took me a moment, as the stars I was seeing from smashing my cheek on the towel rod had to clear. Big ouch.

Finally, with the toilet paper I captured that spider and, after carefully verifying my success, I vanquished it down the toilet, gone in a flash and a flush.

Alex Kava...the Ryder Creed Series

I have been a fan of author Alex Kava for many years. She writes a series of books whose central character is an FBI Profiler named Maggie O’Dell.

Maggie is a complicated character, driven to find and stop serial killers. But the demons she chases are not all killers. She has issues, to say the least, and demons of her own.

There are many secondary characters, her boss at the FBI, her partner, and her friend, a psychologist she met at Quantico.

And then there are the men she meets along the way. First, the husband who makes her chose between him and the FBI. End of marriage ensues.

Then there’s the Sheriff she met on a case and sparks flew. He makes an appearance in several books, but the timing never seems right for these two. Exit the Sheriff.

Next there was the army doctor. Things looked promising, but he had issues of his own and through a number of books, their relationship seemed doomed for failure.

I’m rooting for Maggie, hoping she will find someone. Not that I think a woman has to have a man in her life to feel complete, but Maggie is young, and given what she does for a living, she deserves to have someone there for her.

Enter Ryder Creed. A wounded soul with a painful history. He operates a canine search and rescue operation and meets Maggie on a case when he is called in to do a search. Now I’m excited, because Ryder is just the man Maggie needs. And talk about instant attraction and heat. But nothing happens.

Next thing I know, Ryder Creed has his own series of books. I’m thinking No, not possible, he’s meant for Maggie. I buy the book and what do you know, Maggie is there. But so is the doctor, as he and Maggie are still uncertain friends, at the will they or won’t they stage.

But the first three Creed books had me frustrated. I wanted these two wounded souls to be together, and they aren’t.

I’m having a flashback to other books, movies, television shows, that drag out the sexual tension between characters. I know there is a risk, that once these characters...come together...the tension is lost and the readers/viewers will lose interest.

I did the preorder on book number four, anxious to see what happens, especially as this book promises answers to Ryder’s past.

After reading it, I was left in a quandary. Yes, Ryder and Maggie altered the dynamics of their relationship, but it was a bit of a let down. Not that I’m a peeping Tom kind of person, but I did expect to be party to these characters’ feelings, if not the details of their sexual exploits.

I suppose I should just give Alex Kava a high five for a job well done. As a reader I want more, I want to know how this will roll out in the future. Will these people ever find happiness?

What happens next, Alex? It better be good.

MS Walk for the Cure

I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis in 1997, after years of testing and visits to the neurologist. In  2001 I had deteriorated, more cognitively (memory issues, concentration) than physical though fatigue was a major problem. I could no longer function safely or efficiently at my job and went on disability.

My children were in their early twenties at that time, and each had their first child, making me a grandmother. Now with seven grandchildren, on this day of the MS Walk for the Cure, I realize those kids have grown up with my disease, some seeing more changes in my abilities than others.

I remember the day my youngest grandson asked me why I had a "stick", meaning my cane. Now I use a walker. My other grandson has taken notes from his father. He opens doors, waits for me to get in and out of the car, assists with the walker, waits at a curb to give me a steady arm. It's become a natural thing for him to do. The other grandkids are doing the same, making it seem normal, natural.

At times I fall into a little "Woe is Me" mood and stress about the things I can't do, but then I bounce back and am very thankful for those things I can do.

My fantastic team.

It means the world to me to have my family, as a whole, participate in the local MS Walk. As some of the kids are small, or were smaller when we began, I drive to the half way point of the walk and pick up anyone who wants a ride back to the high school, the starting point. They called my van the "Whiner Wagon" today and I had three tag along with me, and two ten year olds who completed the whole distance for the first time.

We had fun, a lunch of hot dogs and pizza, and a lot of laughter. This year, as it is usually cool weather, we had very bright colored sweatshirts with our team name..."Debby Does MS". When my kids came up with the name I had to wonder how they knew about those movies that the name spoofs, but figured it was better not to know.

Done for another year. Congrats and much love to the team.

School Fundraisers

The schools are always having fundraisers, to pay for school trips or new equipment. As a grandmother, it is expected that I will do my part and support whatever that fundraiser might be.

The latest fundraiser at my grandkids' school was selling donuts. Krispy Kreme Donuts. Of course, I had to do my part and buy a dozen.

I remember a number of years ago when Krispy Kreme first came to Canada, but unfortunately the outlets to purchase were not in my area. People raved about how good these donuts were and even lined up to get them fresh from the oven.

My son just delivered my box, which had eight donuts in it. Funny, I always thought a dozen was twelve. Then he informed me he'd given the kids one each at the school.

I sat down with my tea and one of these baked delights and I must agree, this was the best glazed donut I've ever had. I could eat the whole box, but I won't. I'll share with my neighbor, maybe freeze some for later.

I'll still support the walk-a-thons, the read-a-thons, but the food fundraisers are the most appealing.

Remember those boxes of chocolate covered almonds from World's Finest?  Their outlet is not that far, a nice country drive away so I can still indulge.

Those donuts are looking too good, and I swear they are calling my name. Best I take some over to my friend, have her rescue me from overindulging.

A tasty treat, and money well spent.

Aging

When I moved to my apartment eleven years ago I made friends with a neighbor. It was an odd friendship, one, as she was 18 years older than me, and two, because we are so very different.

I could never figure out why she liked me as I was a creature of whim, and was never ruled by routine. She is a very precise person, in her diet, in taking her meds, in how she does things. But we bonded over her innate sense of kindness.

We were standing in the lobby of our building, waiting for the snowplow to finish clearing the parking lot. The weekly papers were sitting on the table, and I grabbed a couple, one for the weekly flyers and the other for the local news and the crossword puzzle.

I didn't know she had the newspaper delivered daily until I found a week's worth of puzzles, neatly cut and clipped together in my mail slot. I did the neighborly thing and thanked her with  some home baking.

That was the beginning of our friendship.

I'm not sure I would have finished my first book if I hadn't had her ear to listen to my ideas, my stops and starts, to read what I wrote and give me encouragement to continue.

We spent a lot of time together, as it was easy to walk down the hall for a cup of tea.

The years since have not been kind, though we are both ambulatory. I have progressed from cane to walker (I have MS) and in spite of the fact she could use one or the other, she stubbornly refuses.

After two falls a year ago, and two concussions, she has deteriorated significantly into a state of, I suppose you could call it, dementia. I sometimes question her reasoning and she has lost most of her short term memory. Her vision has decreased and she has difficulty with reading, books, papers, menus.

We often went to Costco and as she has the membership, she paid for my items. I went to pay her back the last time and she didn't know how much I owed her nor did she remember that I did owe her. I joked and said I should have told her I'd paid, saved my money. I could have cheated her, with her none the wiser. I wouldn't of course, but others might. And that is a concern.

Yesterday we were out and there were so many mix-ups in the day because she couldn't remember what plans we'd made. I just go with the flow. But I know, for her sake, it's time someone gave her some tough love, as she doesn't have family close enough to know what is happening.

Next week will be that time. We're going to get her linked up with the Access Center, so she has a resource person to call when she needs more help,or the nurse's advice. We're going to arrange for a personal alarm, in case she falls again. And, we're going to look at other living accommodations, as she really should not be living alone, preparing her own meals.

She'll fight me on some of this, but I'll be persistent. I won't leave her to deal with all of this alone. I have my children and grandchildren to help me, she has virtually no one.

As she said yesterday, "Growing old sucks." I wholeheartedly agree.

The Competition

)A little competition can be a healthy thing, unless it gets out of hand. Something happened this week that reminded me of these old song lyrics.

Irving Berlin wrote this song in 1946 for the  Broadway musical "Annie Get Your Gun". It was performed as a duet. Here's the first of it, all I can remember.

"Anything you can do I can do better, I can do anything better than you."

"No, you can't!"

"Yes. I  can."

"No, you can't."

"Yes, I can."

"Yes, I can! Yes, I can!

So, the competition.

Last week I had a fall at my son's place when the dog rushed out the door at the same time as me (the dog rushed, not me, LOL) knocking me off balance. My daughter had exited ahead of me and was down the couple of steps. She stepped in and broke my fall, as my son grabbed for me from behind.

We all ended up on the floor laughing. I'll admit that night I felt the aches and pains of that jarring, but was relieved, as the outcome could have been much worse.

Yesterday, while painting a bedroom, my daughter fell off the step stool, and managed to land on the floor without spilling a drop of paint. Scored a 10 for that landing, for sure.

So now we are even, one fall apiece. But, she's a competitive soul, that kid of mine.

Parking on the left side of her driveway, when she usually parks on the far right, she exited the car, assuming she had lots of room and found out quickly that there was a limited amount of space.  She once again found herself on the ground with a scrape on her leg, a few bruises and even more aches and pains.

I declare her the winner of this Falls Challenge. She's too tough a competitor for me.

Next time, I'm hoping for a Bake Off, something a bit easier, and with better rewards.

Roosters in the Kitchen

At my daughter's home the other day, and she received a lovely gift...a statue of a rooster. Beautiful, modern, in tones of grey it matched her kitchen perfectly.

Someone else in attendance was surprised she didn't already have one, and it brought back memories of the red rooster statue that was in my grandmother's kitchen. Little did I know that this was an important feature, and why roosters have been such a popular item in kitchen accessories.

A rooster in the kitchen is thought to bring good luck and good fortune.

It was said if a rooster came into your kitchen it foretold of wealth and prosperity.

So, if you are looking to improve your finances it might help to make sure you have at least one "rooster" in your kitchen.

I think I'll have to keep my eye out for a little rooster of my own. It can't hurt.

Road Hockey

For some the hockey season is over and done, but for those kids who eat, breathe and live hockey, the season is never done. They just change the venue from the arena to the street.

Sports Sunday

I have been watching sports all afternoon, two of my favorites, golf and tennis. I am amazed at tennis pro Roger Federer, who has been winning consistently this season and last, at 36 years of age, and after a 6-8 month absence due to injury.

The final match is still playing for the Indian Wells tournament, and it is nail biting. Second set went to a tie break and this third and deciding set is very grueling to say the least.

I was also watching the Arnold Palmer Invitational in Orlando, Florida. I'll admit I haven't paid much attention to golf, not since Tiger Woods went off with his numerous back issues. Many said he would never be back, or ever play to his old form. Well, last weekend he came in tied for second, and this week he was a serious contender until the 16th hole.

Rory McIlroy is back, and I suspect was the winner, though I turned off to see the end of the tennis.

I have always been surrounded by sports. My Dad was a pro football player, and played both golf and tennis into his retirement. The television was always set to some sports event or another. My son played hockey and I earned the title of Hockey Mom.

I watch hockey, usually just the Maple Leafs, our 'home' team. I try to keep up because my grandson and son-in-law are such fans

I like sports, and will watch the Blue Jays once they are home and the season begins.

I spend most evenings crocheting, or reading, and sports make a nice background. If something exciting happens the announcers always give you warning, and then there's the instant replay. I don't have to worry about what I am missing when my eyes are on my work instead of the screen.

Come on guys, let's get this done. Third and final set....at a tie...and Del Potro has finally beaten Roger Federer. Darn. It was exciting, but not the outcome I'd hoped for, but now I can go back to what I was doing.

My Addiction

I am addicted to yarn, and as I already having a fondness for on line shopping...have found myself in a spot of trouble. I got an e mail from my favorite yarn company offering 30% off some yarns, and clearance prices for others.

I have ordered from this company before, and loved the yarn and their prompt service. Problem is that this is a US company and as I live in Canada I need to convert to Canadian currency. Fortunately I can do that conversion as I order.

Also, in order to get free shipping I need to order $75 worth of product, so that makes the bill a lot more when I convert. I have a strange way of justifying my order. If the price in Canadian is less than or on par with what I can buy local, it's a good deal, and the color selection is so much greater.

If the shipping was going to be about $15 or $20 dollars, and I was close to the $75 dollars in my order, I just ordered more. If the money is going out, one way or another, it might as well go for yarn. That's how I justify making the order
.
I live a quiet life, don't take vacation, the highlight being family get-togethers or meals out with friends, so I figure I can spend my money on yarn as I get so much pleasure out of creating, and giving.

I have made baby hats for the newborn nursery, chemo hats for the hospital and hats and scarves for the women's shelter. My family (the girls) are fussy and I learned not to waste my time making things they would never wear. My son likes sweaters as he's an outdoors guy, and his kids are always taking hats I've made for winter.

Their other grandmother knits and makes them hats and mitts so I wasn't surprised when they pulled out a huge bag of hats we have made them over the years.

I occasionally get requests to make items, like a family set of matching Christmas stockings or funny hats. I only charge friends for yarn, giving my time for free.

This last order, was troublesome. I wanted the colors to start my Christmas crochet. That's when I make every person in the family the same type of thing. I've done hats, of course, then slippers, socks, and last year surprised them all with a stuffed animal. I make 15 in all, whatever it is. The fun for me is finding that pattern for each individual. Boy, are they going to be surprised this year.

I had some computer trouble when placing my order and parts of it were, tripled. It happened to be the Christmas order. So, rather than send it back I decided to keep it and figured the charities I crochet for would get a nice donation next year.

I had to scurry to store it all, and have yarn tucked away in every nook and cranny of my small place. If need be I know the kids will store a bin for me but I like to keep it close, just in case my creative urges need that particular yarn to be satisfy my inner artist.

I am a happy hooker, hoarder, whatever.

Time Change

There have been a number of articles and conversations about the time change and the negative effect it can have on people. One of those negatives is when you forget to change your clocks and arrive early...or late.

A few years ago I was to meet my brother for lunch. The clocks had changed the previous weekend, back, as it was autumn. When we are meeting I get ready and leave, and either shop first if I am very early, or sit and read, whatever works for the day. I don't wear a watch and depend on the clock in my car.

That day I was reading, and reading, and reading. It seemed like I was there forever...and where the hell was my brother? He was never late, and here he was over 45 minutes late, and I was worried as he drives across the city. With no cell phone he couldn't contact me.

I went into the restaurant where we habitually met and hoped he might have called and left me a message. No. He was now over an hour late and I was getting very scared.

Suddenly I saw him appear through the windows, walking casually, taking time for that last drag on his smoke before entering. Need I say, last straw. Safe and sound, just rude and late.

"Where have you been?" I asked, my stress showing.

"What? I'm only a minute late."

Then it dawned, I was going by the time in my car, that I had not changed. So he was on time and I was...in another time zone.

Yesterday I called my 90 year old neighbor to ask if she wanted to go to the grocery store. She said she was just sitting down to lunch. "Late for you, isn't it?" I asked.

"No, it's just noon."

"No," I said, "it's two o'clock." She argued with me, but finally realized what she had done. Instead of the usual 'spring forward' for...well...spring...she did the 'fall back' time change and was now 2 hours out of sync. But, boy, had she ever accomplished a lot for her day thus far.

Myself, I don't mind the time change. But then I have so little structure to my day that I barely notice. I just need to keep all of my clocks current, and have already changed the car.

Text Talk

When I got the new I phone I was with my daughter and we were in the store for awhile as she had her phones updated and data transferred. I was anxious to try out my new texting ability and texted my son. It was a strange experience.

Me: Hi Sweetie. I have an I phone. I have joined the masses.

Him: Who is this?

Me: It's your Mother. LOL Who did you think it was? Who else calls you Sweetie?

Him: Are you sure? What's the last thing I posted on line? My Mother does not call me Sweetie.

Me: The gun control thing on Facebook. Better call you Kiddo.

Him: That's better. LOL

I was assuming that my name showed up as a caller, not just the number. Of course, he wouldn't recognize a strange number. I laugh at how cautious he was, and if I'd thought about it, I would have used kiddo from the start. I was just eager to get started.

Written communication, texting, does not always come across as the sender might have intended. Comments can be taken seriously when actually meant as a joke. That's why there are so many LOL's used, just in case.

I have a strange sense of humor, one that my granddaughter doesn't get, but then she's only nine. I texted her one school day and asked what she'd studied that day. She replied "tobacco". I questioned her further..."about how they grow it or did they take you out behind the shed and teach you how to smoke?"  It was the grow part. She ignored the rest.

I tried again, on a Saturday morning, asking what she was up to. The answer was they were having a laundry party. I knew that meant the family was all involved in doing laundry and putting it all away. When both parents work it's often a weekend chore.

My reply was...."Are you fluffing and folding? Will there be music and dancing?"

Her reply was not as enthusiastic..."it's just what Dad called doing the laundry".

I know this kid has a great sense of humor, but she needs the face to face, otherwise I may become that strange old lady they call grandma.

LOL

Cell Phone Etiquette

For years I have been the only adult in the family without a cell phone or tablet. The teens and preteens have phones, and everyone has a share in the use of family tablets.

I finally broke down and agreed to get a cell phone. I wanted the use of a the camera, and the ability to text when away from home. And okay, in case of an emergency, it might come in handy.

My daughter set the phone up for me, added my contacts and organized some apps. See, I know the lingo. I also have an i pad and have enjoyed the portability of it over the laptop. The downfall is trying to write with it, something I haven't attempted seriously as I use the i pad in bed.

So wasn't it funny, after all the family gatherings, dinners out, coffee get togethers, where others have been on their phones, texting someone else while I sat there idle, that I found myself at the table with my phone out when everyone else had theirs in their pocket.

No fair, this time I wanted to be the one to ignore everyone else, and what happened? I got called out for being on my phone, the only one on their phone. I found the situation hilarious, and couldn't help but laugh.

I was actually seeking assistance as I had texts that didn't go through and needed another lesson. I just wasn't expecting the lesson to be one of cell phone etiquette. I should have complained before, for all those times I was ignored.

I do understand some of the cell phone use when out with others. My daughter, for example, uses her phone for work and some messages need a time sensitive response. And, she has kids, two of them teenagers, so enough said.

I feel like that cartoon about the young child on the phone, giving his grandmother advice for her computer. Amazingly enough, I am that younger person for my older friends. The level of knowledge is greater the younger you go. I had a lesson on the i pad from my thirteen year old granddaughter.

I was going to blast my kids with a plethora of texts, just to show how right they were that their old Mom needed to get with the times. I do have a strange sense of humor.

But, with the i pad, I have been annoyed with that constant ping, ping ping. I would be in the middle of a crochet project and didn't want to stop, but curiosity always wins out. And I do love that daily connection with family, with my children and the grandkids.

So ping away everyone.

Goodbye Velma

I named my van a couple of years ago, thinking if we were on a more friendly basis, she might stop acting out. There were a number of times she wouldn't start, demanding a new battery, and I gave in.

I'm not sure where the name Velma came from but it seemed appropriate, suitable for the grand old lady that was my vehicle.

I called her maintenance trips to the garage Velma's spa trips, a bit of pampering to keep her happy and running smooth. Much like me, where the mind, or in Velma's case the engine, was willing but the body was failing, Velma suffered from a case of terminal rust.

Her spa master had warned that the rust was getting so bad he would soon have to take her off the road for safety reasons, so I could see our relationship changing.

Our Canadian winters are rough on a vehicle, and I'm the worst kind of driver for this climate. I only drive short distances, to the store, to see friends, and don't drive every day.  So Velma sat out in the damp and cold, the salt off the roads eating away at her from the underside. Other than that she was in pretty good condition for a fifteen year old car with 150,000 Km .

The thought of buying a new car was daunting, But then I was given a special gift.

A long time friend of mine, eighteen years my senior, lost her license, doctor's orders. Her car, also a van, was older than mine, but in better condition. My friend gifted me her van which I have named Bertha. She drove even less than me and had neglected it a bit, so I took her to the spa for a checkup  and some required repairs before we did the paperwork to change the vehicle into my name.

I am now her designated driver, and very appreciative of her generosity.

Let me tell you, growing old sucks. I have watched my friend change into a frail old woman over recent years. She has fought the aging process, but it gives you with new challenges on a constant basis and she was losing the fight. Sometimes, I tell her, it makes life easier to give in to things like a cane or walker, but she would rather struggle through, fighting to maintain every ounce of her independence.

We all manage the best we can, and for us, we'll continue the fight, helping each other as best we can.

Change One Thing...

Have you ever noticed that when you change something, be it a routine, vehicle, or the introduction of something new, there is a snowball effect and many things change because of it.

I got an i pad at Christmas, and it has caused many changes in my life.

I love the i pad, especially the portability and the camera. It's use has caused me to change the way I do things.

My daughter set the i pad up for me and I have had fun playing games, keeping up with Facebook and of course, my addiction, Pinterest.

Before I used my laptop and went through a morning routine, checking E mails, Facebook and Pinterest. I have many craft patterns saved to Favorites as I do the sites for keeping up with the Maple Leaf hockey schedule, the current tennis tournament and whatever is of current interest.

I use the laptop for writing, and because I have never set up my blogs on the i pad, I need to use the laptop there.

Here's where the change comes in. In the late fall I got a new chair with a big ottoman so I could put my feet up. But I don't have the proper table that would allow me to comfortably use the laptop. So I have not been writing, the book or either of my blogs. There are health issues that add to this but that's another issue.

I found I could use the i pad in bed, and as I need to rest, put my feet up, it seemed ideal. Except that the light glares on the screen and when I lie down the screen changes from vertical to horizontal every time I move. Damn annoying.

I found I was leaning up on one elbow to see the screen and keep it steady, but this put pressure on my shoulder and put a kink in my neck. Increased pain I don't need.

I can tell you the number of boards I have on Pinterest, and the number of pins has increased dramatically. I have such plans to create, crochet and art and photography. More ideas than energy I'm afraid.

I'm using the i pad so much there are days I don't use the laptop at all, and then I fall behind in checking E mails, the blog. I really need to get that set up on the i pad.

The biggest change with the i pad is the new ability I have to communicate. I now text with my kids and grandchildren, and just a short message at the end of the day is great, heart warming.

Now, a cell phone, maybe that will be my next adventure. What changes might that bring?

NCIS Cast Changes

I am a die hard fan of the television show NCIS, the original and the offshoots into the cities of Los Angeles and New Orleans.

As the show is syndicated, I can watch reruns most any day and any time. I am able to watch as often as I do because I don't pay much attention. The television is background to whatever I might be doing. Usually it's art, or crafts, maybe cooking, less often housework.

I have detested one character in particular, that being Tony DeNozzo. He is, without mincing any words, a jerk. He bullies his coworkers, especially if they are male and might have some superior skill, as with McGee and his talent with computers.

He feels every female agent should be falling for him, as he is a gift to all womankind.

And as much as he seems to respect Gibbs, their fearless leader, he mocks him for his age, his need for glasses, his many failed marriages. I was tired of the antics of this character on the show, and if I did nothing but watch, would most likely have ceased to watch years ago.

When I heard that Michael Weatherly, the actor playing Tony DiNozzo, was leaving the show, I was overjoyed. Finally.

Other characters had left, namely the two female stars, to be replaced by the character Ellie Bishop. Now her I liked.

And I liked the other two characters thatrecently joined the NCIS team, though one only lasted that one season.

Now I read that Pauley Perette is leaving the show. She plays lab rat Abby Scuito. Many fans might be disappointed to hear this news, after all, she's been on the show from the beginning and seemed to be a key part of the Gibbs team.

Myself, I like to see a character grow and change, and I grew tired of this character's little girl yet Goth persona. She never seemed to have an ongoing relationship and really, after 14 years could she not wear her hair in something other than those pigtails?

I read an article on line that stated she was leaving the show because Mark Harmon (Gibbs), brought his dog on set and she was afraid of it. Apparently Mr. Harmon ignored her requests to have the dog removed and she had no recourse but to quit the show.

The article stated that it was so bad on set she couldn't film a scene with her coworker, who is also the executive producer. This made me curious so I watched the last three segments of the show on On Demand and noticed that indeed, these two actors did not appear in a scene together. Maybe there is some fire to go with all that smoke.

Makes you wonder if it was as harmonious on the set as it was depicted, that an issue like this, if real, could break up the cast.  I for one, am looking forward to see who joins the cast, and hope they make whoever it is is a real person, and not some cartoonish character of a lab rat nerd.

The eccentric, odd ball brainy type is wearing thin, as every crime show has their own version. (Bones, Scorpion, NCIS Los Angeles, NCIS New Orleans, CSI, Elementary to name a few.) People with superior brains can be just as "normal" as the rest of us.

Photo Shoot

I was out for lunch with my granddaughter one day last week, and fully intended to take some wonderful photos, with both the camera and the i pad, but the day was not as successful as I'd hoped. The sun may have been shining bright, deceiving one into thinking it was warmer than it actually was, as we dealt with an icy cold wind that sent shivers right to the bone.

I discovered it is difficult taking pictures with the i pad when the sun is streaming across the screen. You see nothing but your own reflection. And it takes a bit of getting used to holding something that big, and awkward.

I frequently saw this orange color and finally realized I kept moving my finger over the lens. And then, so used to a camera that clicks with the picture, I never knew if I'd taken a picture or not. Well, of course, I hadn't, because, being the slow learner I appear to be, I was not pushing the button that was for taking pictures but the other button, you know the one. It changes screens, is the touch on etc.

Needless to say, I missed some good shots.

I reverted back to the camera and got a few photos before the batteries went dead. This one shot was worth it all.

I'd have more to share but I write this on the laptop and have all the other photos on the i pad, and have yet figured out how to make them share. That's a lesson for another day.

A Smelly Situation

I don't like to think of myself as one who finds enjoyment in another's suffering, but I found myself laughing at a man's discomfort the other night.

We were at my granddaughter's soccer game, played indoors. The parents all sit along one side of the gym to watch. As is usual for this kind of thing, the siblings of the child playing come along, though their interest in the game is minimal.

I was there with my son and his wife, and beside my son sat a friend of his whose daughter played for the opposing team. The guys were talking and they got a little noisy, and I wondered what was going on.

There were a couple of kids running up the sidelines, chasing each other. They dropped to the floor and the bigger boy grabbed the little one, about 2 or 3 years of age, and dragged him by the foot past us.

There was an immediate affect to my son's friend. He was turning away, holding his hands over his face, gagging. What was going on, I wondered.

And then I knew, as I too caught the whiff of a diaper load of poop. Stink? It was terrible.

Between bouts of gagging the other man asked the group, "Where are his parents? Why don't they do something about this?"

I couldn't help but laugh, the poor man was really suffering. He commented that in order to change his daughter's diapers when she was little he had to mask his face to get through it.

I swear the poopy kid had a sixth sense about this man as he seemed to stop and stare every time he passed.

I know it wasn't nice, but I laughed so hard my face hurt. The game finally ended and the man shot out of the gym. Dad points for staying for the whole game first.

Oh, those were the days. Gone but not forgotten.

Short Story...The Volunteer

This is the short story I found in my file. It was the only copy, the original must have been lost on my old computer. I hope it makes you smile.

The Volunter

He must have been out of his fucking mind. Mason figured that was the only rationale for why he was sitting in his car on the side of a country road. It was his own fault; he had forgotten his number one cardinal rule, never volunteer.

Hoping to gain Brownie points with the boss, who had been less than impressed with his job performance thus far, Mason had ‘agreed’ to deliver some legal papers to an out of town client. Muttering to himself, he climbed out of his pride and joy, his baby, his boy toy, and surveyed the driveway ahead of him.

“No way, no how,” he said. This went into the above and beyond category he was thinking, and gave the rutted and overgrown drive a quick perusal. He was not going to drive his low profile Camaro up that lane, it would be suspension suicide.

. Maybe, he had made a mistake. Maybe, this wasn’t the client’s house after all and he could return to the city, admit he’d gotten lost and make his apologies to the boss. Mason stood at the foot of the lane and looked around, catching sight of a battered mailbox sitting atop a crooked post to his left and knew he was out of excuses. The client’s name was boldly displayed in black stick-on letters on the metal mailbox.

It was a decisive moment. He could drive up the neglected lane to the house and chance damaging his car, or he could abandon his responsibility to the client along with the hope of any job advancement. Or…he could suck it up and walk to the house, deliver the papers as he’d agreed. It was going to have to be door number three, he decided.

Mason returned to his car, grabbed the thick white manila envelope from the passenger seat and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. He pushed the lock button on his key and locked the door. He didn’t figure he was leaving it in a high risk area for carjacking, as he hadn’t seen another car since he’d left the concession road, but better safe than sorry.

He began to walk along the road, placing his feet carefully to prevent tripping in the ruts hidden beneath the thick and overgrown weeds. Hiking boots would have been more in order, but the kind of boot that could traverse this drive was not to be found in his shoe collection. He was more the loafer, or desert boot type.

As he made his way he cursed that he was wearing his best suit, that he hadn’t left his jacket in the car. Despite the shade offered by the wooded area to each side of the road, it was hot in the woods. He reached up and loosened his tie, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. He found no beauty in nature; rather found it strange and foreign territory. Still, he plodded on.

“Ouch,” he said, feeling a sudden prickling sensation in his leg. Snake bite, was his immediate thought, and he jumped back in fear of further attack by some slithery creature hiding in the long grass. His left foot landed on the edge of a deep rut, and he turned his ankle, felt an intense and immediate pain. With arms waving like a windmill he tried to maintain his balance. But, it was a lost cause. In what seemed to be slow motion, he felt himself start to fall, took one small staggering step back on his right foot to catch himself, and another landing heavily on his injured ankle. The pain was horrendous, and his knees buckled. Falling to the ground, he threw his hands out in front of him to cushion the impact and the momentum carried him off the side of the road and into the ditch.

Sharp, pin prick sensations felt over his entire body had him scrambling to his knees and climbing back to the road, trying to escape the nest of vipers he was sure he’d fallen into. When he felt he was safely away, he glanced back, but could see nothing, no snakes, no movement in the grass. The prickly feeling did not go away, but worsened when he ran his hand down his leg. His skin felt like it was on fire, and he saw a number of bristles deeply embedded in his palm.

Burrs. He had fallen into a patch of burrs. With a lot of moaning and cursing he struggled to his feet, or foot as it was. Standing on his uninjured right foot, he barely touched the other to the ground, only enough to maintain balance, not enough to test if it would hold his weight.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he said. His teeth clenched tight, hunched over with one hand resting on his thigh, his body wavered to remain vertical. “At least it wasn’t snakes. I hate snakes.”

Reptiles aside, he took inventory of his status, and saw he was completely covered in burrs, their sharp bristles embedded in his clothing, some having worked through the fabric to prick his skin.

“See,” he informed the world around him. “See where volunteering gets you. It gets you stranded on some god damn isolated road in the middle of fucking nowhere, covered in fucking burrs and suffering the pain of a thousand pricks. Fuck.”

He was a city boy. Not used to walking in the countryside, and he was at a loss as to how to proceed. As long as he stood still, the constant jabbing from the burrs in his clothing eased, a bit, somewhat, not really. It was the ones stuck in his hand that caused him the most distress, other than the ankle of course. One by one he pulled the barbs from his palm, a slow and tedious task.

Now what, he thought. He couldn’t see his car through the trees, and figured since he must be closer to the client’s house than he was the car, he should journey on. It only took one step on his ankle to make him reconsider, but unless he was willing to stay in the woods for the night, he had to move, one direction or the other. All the worst case scenarios entered his head, what if his client wasn’t home, what if he met a bear in the woods, what if he fell down and…ha ha, couldn’t get up.

He could call 9-1-1. Considering how foolish he would appear, it had to be the last resort. But, just in case, he pulled his phone from his jacket pocket, and was immediately alarmed when he realized that was not an option…no signal.

He noticed a long branch at the side of the road, and remembered all the movies where the hero made himself a makeshift crutch out of a tree branch. Keeping his injured leg elevated, he leaned over and slowly edged the tree limb closer and closer until he could grab hold and drag it close.It took some awkward finagling but he finally found a rhythm with a hop-step gait, and leaning heavily on the tree branch, he made his way up the lane toward the house.

Mason wasn’t sure how much time passed, his concentration was on moving forward, beating back the pain so he could continue on. When he reached the clearing, and saw his client’s house, he almost cried with relief. It was more a cabin than a house, constructed of hewn logs with a large covered porch across the front. There were flowers in pots in pots at each side of the door and in the gardens on either side of the centre set of steps. Not a touch he’d expect from a minimalist woodsman.

Best approach with some caution, Mason thought. With no sounds of a car to announce his arrival, he didn’t know how the client would react to the surprise visit of a stranger.

“Mr. Lewis,” he called. “Mr. Sydney Lewis? It’s Mason Hamlin from the law office. Mr. St. James sent me to deliver some papers.”

There was no immediate response from the cabin, and feeling weak from the effort of walking, he dared to approach, wanting to sit and rest his battered body. He called out again as he staggered to the stairs and collapsed in a heap on the second step. The relief he felt at being off his feet was incredible. Leaning back on his elbows, he rested his head on the top step and closed his eyes.

He heard a woman’s voice singing and thought he must be dreaing, but as he was awake it had to be a hallucination, brought on by the stress of the afternoon’s events. Maybe he was in shock. Maybe there had been a snake and he was delirious and dying from some poisonous venom.

“Fuck me,” he said. This was not exactly a dignified death, covered in burrs, bruises and with a broken ankle. What an ignominious end.

“That’s rushing things a bit don’t you think?” the woman asked. “I like to at least the man’s name before enjoying the kind of intimacy.”

Mason opened his eyes and saw a nymph standing before him, a glorious spirit of nature. Her long hair, the color of autumn leaves tumbled in a mass of curls over her shoulders. She wore some kind of light robe, like a beach cover-up, that left her long and very shapely legs exposed. Her face was beautiful, eyes a bright and twinkling blue, her mouth smiling.

“Did I die and go to heaven?” he asked.

He heard her laugh, or thought he did, and had to wonder if it was his imagination, if the woods were playing tricks with his mind.

“Since you’ve been dispatched by my attorney, I think you can be assured you’re alive. And as I can see you’re hurt, this is a bit more hell than heaven for you.”

“Where did you come from?” Mason asked.

“I live here,” she answered with a smile. “I’m Sydney Lewis.”

“Fuck me sideways,” he murmured, dropping his head back to the step, closing his eyes.

“You are determined to have your way with me, aren’t you? But first things first. Let’s get you inside and get your clothes off.”

“What did you say?” Mason asked, jolting to a sitting position with her statement.

Her eyes, a pale crystal blue, watched him as she waited for him to stand. “We need to get these clothes off; the burrs poking through the fabric must be a constant irritation.”

“For sure,” Mason said, suddenly very amenable to her plan. “They hurt and itch something fierce,” he agreed.

He moved his foot and didn’t have to fake the grimace of pain that came with his action. She was immediately concerned when she looked at his ankle, now swollen to twice its usual size.

“Oh dear, you’re hurt. Let me help you.”

It took some manoeuvering, and a lot of close personal contact, but eventually she was able to assist Mason up the stairs, into the cabin and onto the sofa. The effort was physically draining after his walk from the car, so needing her help to shed his clothing was not entirely feigned. She gave him a throw to cover himself, but otherwise didn’t seem to be fazed by his being naked. From the glimpses he’d caught of nothing but skin under her robe, she was close to naked herself.

She carefully gathered his clothes and left the room, stating she was going to toss everything in the wash, to get rid of the burrs.

Mason settled back in the corner of the sofa, and elevated his foot on the arm at the other end. After his battle to get there, he had to think he was being rewarded for his perseverance. Sydney Lewis, he thought, was a beautiful woman, and not the rough and gruff outdoorsman he’d expected. Finally something was going right with his day.

“Sydney,” he called. “The papers I was to deliver are in my coat pocket.”

He heard her enter the room, but didn’t open his eyes, his day having taken its toll.

“Mr. St. James wanted them delivered personally. He said you didn’t leave the cabin if you didn’t have to, so I figured they must be important.”

“It’s the final paperwork for my new venture. I’m starting a sort of…camp, for nature enthusiasts.”

“What…like bird watchers?” he asked.

“As I have the papers, it’s official. Do you want to be my first client?”

“I have to be honest, Sydney. I’m not much into birds.” He continued to rest, not giving their conversation his full attention.

“Mason,” she said. “It’s more of a back to ‘au naturel’ than a ‘back to nature’ camp.”

Mason thought about what she ha said and opened his eyes. “Oh,” he said on seeing his nymph standing naked in front of him. “Au naturel.”

Mason deliberated for maybe a millisecond before giving her his response. “After all it took to get those papers in your hand; I don’t see how I can refuse such a generous offer. I must warn you though; with my sprained ankle I’m not going to be much help.”

“I’m sure we’ll manage,” she said. “I intend to take very good care of you.”

Mason patted his chest over the spot where his heart was beating at a rapid rate. “Be still my heart,” he whispered. He didn’t care right at that moment if he’d died and gone to heaven, or if this was his reward on earth. He was living every young man’s fantasy, alone in an isolated cabin with a gorgeous and naked woman.

It was definitely giving him a different attitude about volunteering. Maybe, he laughed, doing a good deed brought about its own reward.

Ping Ping Ping

I have managed my life, thus far, without a cell phone. I really don't miss it, though how can you miss something you've never had?

There were times I wished I had one. Like when I'm out and want to check in with friends or family, to see if they're home and up for a visit.

I suppose it would be handy to have a cell phone in case of car trouble or some other kind of emergency. You know, be a Boy Scout and Be Prepared.

For the most part I would want a cell phone for the camera. It's awkward to carry a real camera around with you, and a phone is so much smaller.

But now I have an i pad, and I can text, face time and take pictures. Okay, it's not small like a camera but it still fits my purse.

What I can't get used to is the frequent and repeated "pings" calling for my attention.

I was snuggled into bed the other night, the i pad over by the sofa, recharging, when I heard it ping. Got up and went to answer the text from my daughter. I waited a few minutes and when it seemed she wasn't going to send any further communications, I went back to bed.

Nice and comfy, and it went again. "Ping". Back up and texting back. Now we're having general conversation, and I finally called it quits, said I was going back to bed and staying there.

It works both ways. I did a little project for my daughter, and wanted her input so took a few pictures and forwarded them to her. She'd been asleep, woke long enough to give me her opinion in a couple of words (a first for her LOL) and said she was going back to sleep. Oops. Sorry.

Even as I write this I've been pinged twice. Make that three times.

I like the quick text conversations with the kids and grandkids, the face time at Christmas, but sometimes I miss being the great unreachable. Still am when out as I need WIFI for the i pad, so it's not quite the same as a cell phone.

Still, it's fun and I'm learning many new tasks. And I love that I can use it in bed, for Facebook, Pinterest or games. My usage has gone way up which was never an issue before, so I may have to switch my plan to unlimited.

"Ping". Gotta go, someone's pinging for my attention.

Good Intentions...Waylaid

I can't say that I've been that busy over the last few weeks, but I've been home, trying to get some things sorted out. Spring cleaning in the deep freeze of winter, to be exact.

The funny thing is that I'm doing all this sorting and cleaning before my new housekeeper starts. Crazy, I know.

I had a week when Velma was visiting some family, Velma being my van of course. So I was without wheels, and decided to dive in with some long needed projects. Well, that was the plan at least.

I sorted through clothes, and finally threw out the old black T-shirt covered in paint. Which led me to pulling out a canvas and beginning a new painting. It's still sitting on the table, as I make changes, then leave it so I can think about where I want to go with it.

This planning is why the mess of paints, brushes, mediums and papers cover the table and some of the kitchen counter.

I've been sorting through my file bin of papers, initially looking for photos of angel statues, thinking I might use them in my current art piece. But I got waylaid. This file contained all the patterns, notes and samples of previous projects.

Like the kids' calendar I was going to do with a story related through the twelve months. I completed some of the pen and ink artwork, some pencil sketches. The idea was to have it all in black and white to make it a coloring book calendar.

I found stencils made for a series of toddler T-shirts, ages 1 through 4. I have the stencils and patterns for murals painted on the grandchildren's bedroom walls.

I must have been into calendars because I once did twelve pen and ink wreaths, with calligraphy quotes.

I found the book I started in 1986, after my divorce. A book of poetry and prose about learning to be alone, a single Mom, beginning again.

Also found the book I started about the years before that divorce, when this city girl learned, often the hard way, how to live on the farm.

And I found two short stories I must have written long ago, printed copies with my friend Connie's edits. I don't think these stories exist anywhere but in these paper copies, so this was a good thing.

Found the angel photos, rejected that idea and moved on to plan B. I hope I can get it finished before my girl comes to clean, if not she'll have to work around it. The creative process can not be hurried.

Good Start to the New Year

My new year has gotten off to a good start. First, I'm very pleased and proud to have this blog hit 30,000 views. Readers are from around the world, the top five countries being the United States, Canada, Russia, France and Germany.

I get as excited with this as I did when I received a letter from a pen pal when I was a young girl.

Today, being garbage day, is the day I try to pretend I'm Suzy Homemaker and am going to spend the day cleaning. I usually get a few chores done but I definitely won't win any awards, or pass the white glove test.

Today I began with the bathroom. I emptied out the vanity, the medicine cabinet and the cupboard over the toilet. I found a shoehorn, which I need to get my new boots/shoes on. They are basically 'croc' in style, but solid with a covered heel. Waterproof even if they are not very warm. I hope they stretch a little bit with wear, making the shoehorn unnecessary. The biggest plus...they are skid proof.

I found I have bandaids galore. Loose, all over the drawer of the three drawer storage under the sink. Those I put in an old plastic container, and will add the little first aid kit I discovered to the glove compartment of my car.

I have plenty of toothpaste and soap, and lotion. Found a single use face mask that I'll try later, as you are supposed to lie down and relax for fifteen minutes with it on. After that my face will be soft and glowing. There was no promise I would also be wrinkleless.

I finally got my laundry done last night and got it all put away this morning, so the cupboard with all my sweaters, T's and jeans is neat...for the moment.

I hope to vacuum later, the entry if nothing else. Everyone who goes in and out of the door carries in the gravel off the walkway. I need to clean that up before it's carried everywhere.

That's a good start for the day. The garbage is out at the curb for pick up, so whatever else I clean and sort through for discard will have to be stored for the week...designated for the dump or recycling. When I'm in this kind of a mood I keep a box handy and keep adding stuff to donate until the box is full.

I never hit the pantry yesterday as I planned, so I guess that's next. Monday cleaning, only it's Tuesday. At least I'm getting some housework done. Still, that painting I have in my mind is pushing at me, wanting to become a reality. Housework, housework, housework. Today is housework, I keep reminding myself, tomorrow we paint.

Happy New Year

January 1st, the start of a new year. I know people like to make resolutions, but I find it an exercise in futility. Why make resolutions, which for me are the same ones every year, when the odds are I won't keep them.

So I started the day with a different kind of 'In with the New, Out with the Old'. I went through my refrigerator and cleaned out all those outdated jars and bottles. Like the mayonaise that was 6 months out of date, the old and opened salad dressings (and who needs 6 salad dressings anyway) and the salsa that had black lumps that I doubt are part of the original recipe.

Now my fridge is looking clearer, and with a few wipes with a damp cloth, cleaner.

I then organized the cupboard, checking dates on canned goods and jars. Nothing to be tossed here because that job was done a few months ago when I bought a shelf rack in my continual plan to reorganize.

Taking a break to have my morning oatmeal and my pile of pills. And the lemon in hot water. Ugh. This is a resolution I'm trying, experimenting with.

Next in my cleaning/organizing will be the top of the pantry. I have it designated as a sort of desk and craft cupboard. In reality it's the place I hide stuff when I need to do a quick clean up. I see there are a number of items for craft projects never started. Maybe I'll get to that as there are many winter months ahead where I'll be house bound and looking for something to do.

Some of my gang are coming into town, and we're doing lunch. After that it will be back to...not cleaning, not organizing...but creating. I have this idea for a painting and want to work on it.

The other stuff can wait. I like to think that because my style of art is mixed media collage, every art project is sort of organizing and cleaning out. I use scraps of paper, paint etc and that reduces the "junk" in my stash.

See, it all works. You just have to have the right attitude.

Happy New Year to everyone. Hope it brings you health, wealth and happiness.