Sorority Reunion

A Sorority Reunion

I graduated U.C.L.A. in 1961. It scares me to even write that date let alone conjure up what all that those many years mean. I am sure they mean as many things to as many people who are still alive and still have the memory to remember what it is like to be 49 years away from those days. We scheduled and held a sorority reunion on a lovely, warm October Saturday.

Many people who were invited did not come to the event.  I know exactly how they feel; they would rather a Mac truck hit them than attend anything like a reunion. As I said, I know how they feel, but I feel differently.  Of course the day of the event and some days leading up to it, I hated my hairstyle, worried that I hadn’t maintained my acceptable appearance, my weight was not what I wanted it to be, but hasn’t been where I wanted it for years. I worried that they would have accomplishments way greater than mine, or that they would have nothing to say to me and I, nothing to them. More

As If Looking Into a Distant Mirror

As If Looking Into a Distant Mirror

When I recently visited my uncle and stayed in a suite at The Dahlia Retirement Home, it was as if I was looking into a distant mirror and I did not hate it. I did not like it, but have, since my visit and stay at the retirement home, come to realize that it is a good fate and not some horror story.  I went to visit my Uncle Morris at his retirement home called The Dahlia, which looks like a Las Vegas Hotel Lobby and Casino.  When you ascend to the floors and the hallways are dotted on each side with doors to the individual or shared suites.  I was offered one of the suites that are set aside for out of town visitors.  I was nervous, not terribly, but worried about staying in a place like this hopefully way before my time.

I was given a key to what was going to be my personal suite for the next few days and directions how to get there.  I wheeled my bag down the maze of hallways and into elevators, finally arriving at # 221, put my key in the door and let myself into the home away from home for the next several days. I sat down and realized that once you close your doors, here or anywhere, you do not know the outer surroundings. You are just in there and you are just alone. More

Today’s Bits and Pieces: “Make Hay While The Sun Shines.”

“MAKE HAY WHILE THE SUN SHINES.”

Definition:

To do something while you have the time to do it.

To take an opportunity to do something when the time and conditions are near perfect or available.

To take advantage of a brief opportunity while it is still there. (To not waste time.)

The saying quoted here originates from farming communities. Often there would be a short or brief time in which the hay would be ready to cut. If reaped too soon the hay would be too green. To reap too late, there is risk that rain will come and it will be ruined.

I personally think it was a more than luck the day I had occasion to meet only briefly a lady who talked about the travels we were taking and said “Well, I see you are, Making hay while the sun shines.”  I thank her for getting it right and she was off in one direction and I in another.

I have been asked, “Why do you travel so much?” Don’t you think you should leave more time between trips?”  “What are you running from?” “Aren’t you content home?” or my least favorite, “Why aren’t you happy?” None of those reasons ring true and I did not have an answer except that I love to travel, albeit more than my partner, but still he goes and he gets there has sometimes, more fun that I do. I get energized and all my aches and pains disappear when traveling, but still that is not the answer.

The answer is really and truly; “We are making hay while the sun shines.”  It is as simple as that and it took me months to figure a proper real true answer for the questions some have asked. Thank you for asking, because the answer was so simple, so hard to uncover.

So you see Making Hay While the Sun Shines is not just an expression, it is a reality.

Today’s Bits and Pieces: Ever Heard of “Garage Door Tag?”

Ever Heard of “Garage Door Tag?”

A very funny thing happened with the garage door his afternoon.  I went out and pressed the door opener button because I needed to leave the house for an appointment. The garage door went up 1/2 way and then stopped. Pretty soon it went down again.  I pressed the button and it went up a little and went down again.  I began to think, oh this is awful, and I can’t get out. Then, I remembered have another car in the front of the house. Oh how lucky I thought, but still pressed the button and again the door went up a little and then went down again. I tried I three more times and was about ready to give up when the garage door opened all by itself. Then Skip came driving in.

Oh my goodness we had been playing “Garage Door Tag.”  I would press and he would press, then he would press and I would press. Poor ole’ garage door did not know whom to please. We laughed when we realized that we had been canceling out each other’s door presses. Glad someone won.  So much for “Garage Door Tag.”

Sailing Through the Chilean Fiords and The Man in the Elevator.

Today we were awakened at 8:00 a.m. by the announcement, in our staterooms that we would be passing the Amalia Glacier.  We all had our clothes ready to jump into at the moment of notice.  We ran to the upper decks donned in our finest layers, gloves, fleeces, hats, and cameras. First they showed us from the port side then turned to the starboard side and it was quite a site to behold. There were three streams flowing slower than slow into the main glacier up next to the sea. A ray or two of sun broke through and you could hear the ahhhs from fellow passengers.  Well, the sighting was over, so everyone headed for the breakfast buffet. Now that was a crowd. Standing room only was the only option other than the outside deck where all hands, feet and food would freeze up before the meal could be consumed.

Skip went on his walk, I went to sign up for Adobe Photoshop classes and on the elevator down, and I asked my fellow rider, “Are you enjoying yourself?” His eyes popped wide open and he said, “ Well, to tell you the truth, not really?”  My floor arrived and I thanked him for his honesty and was left to ponder his statement.

I decided to collect others opinions, so I asked the same question of many others. Here are some of the quotable responses. “ I paid my money, so I better be having a good time.” “ Hell, yes, but this is not the best trip we have had.” “The sea days are relaxing.”” We are supposed to be having a good time aren’t we?”” What? Are you writing a book?” “Once we started feeling better. It was a rather rough week.” Another answer was,” What am I supposed to be enjoying?”

Now we have been sailing through the Chilean Fjords for two days. I equate this to life and the lives we are living. We are truly floating along with thousands and thousands of yet unseen, yet explored, yet undeveloped inlets, narrows, channels, and straits from which to explore and choose. Now, I have forgotten to mention the cracks, gullies, streams, impenetrable forests, impassable mountains, and endless fields of ice, boulders, rocks, pebbles, and undergrowth; you get it right?

Some sightings give the opportunity for a second or two never to be seen or discovered again. Our lives are like the ship that moves along at a pace that allows only a glimpse. Sometimes it slows down, even deliberates leisurely for enough time to make a decision. When you apprehend that there are so many unexplored places physically left on earth, right in your neighborhoods, even your own home, you might want to move from the physical to a mental detection of the unrecognized inlets, narrows, straits and channels awaiting your perception and identification from within.

Now the question here is: “ Are you having a good time?” Heck yes.  Now to the man in the elevator, I dedicate my Chilean Patagonian experimentations to you.

Isn’t there an age-old question: Goes something like this: If a tree falls in the middle of the forest and there is no one there to hear it, does it make a noise? I can’t begin to answer it scientifically, but as all of this nature passes by and when I have floated away and there is no one here to see it, does it still exist? If there is no one to enjoy its beauty is it still beautiful? If no one sees how the light plays on its continence, does the light still change the depth of perception and do the shadows still play with the variable lights and darks of the color green? So when the tree falls in the forest, what do you think?

And when you think no one is watching you or thinking about you, think again.

Today’s Bits and Pieces: Cuss Like a Drunken Sailor

I waited with AT&T for 45 minutes to change my program to a different package. Suddenly, they switched me to a survey.  I never got my request in and never heard from a real person. I gave them very bad ratings and then they said you have 30 seconds to tell them what you think and I learned something.  I can take a shower while on speaker phone, de-ball two cashmere sweaters, clean the kitchen, make the bed, get dressed for an afternoon luncheon, sew up two pockets of my favorite all time jacket on the sewing machine and cuss like a drunken sailor for 30 seconds.

Today’s Bits and Pieces: Beginning to Feel a Little Older

Okay, I feel a little old now. Not my body parts, not my mind and not anything monumental. No not at all.  It is just that I spent the day going to the bank. Well, two banks.  I took money from one account to deposit it in another bank giving higher interest. My father did that; Skip does that, not me.  Well, yes, me.  The first bank was the withdrawal bank, strictly business, but the business took 45 minutes or so.  Then, we took the long drive to get to the other bank with higher interest.  We parked and went into the new bank. Oh my goodness, they had freshly baked cookies. I’m on a diet. That was before I came in the door and after I left. Both the chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin is the best melt in your mouth kind of cookie you can get. Well, I do digress from business, but so did they. They offered us two kinds of calendars, the nice, very nice kind.  Now, I had to pinch myself to remember I am in a BANK. More

Today’s Bits and Pieces: A Yeast Rash Cure, if you are willing to try it.

I had a terrible rash break out on my face. It is about the 10th time it has happened. I cream it, alcohol it, and Hydrogen Peroxide it and it lingers. It dries and becomes alligator skin. There is no hiding; it is on my FACE.

I went to a very top, top specialist in the field of Dermatology. Even though I belong to the prestigious network of physicians and services called Kaiser, I went privately for this persistent, ugly and annoying problem. I have had this diagnosed and treated by my prestigious network as well as privately, but this new high class private specialist said it is a type of yeast rash. I acted stunned and horrified. This was a very new diagnosis for me. She said, “People all have yeast inside and out side of their bodies and it sometimes breaks out in various rashes, itches and just a myriad of other problems.” She prescribe several different types of medications. One was $150 dollars and burned like fire. It wasn’t working much.  Then, I got a cream for $515.00. You read that right and remember now I am OUT of network on this.  Plus, I received several samples of other medications in case the others did not do the trick.  I tried them all and I was still plagued.

In trying to figure out a way to help myself, I remembered the doctor saying YEAST.  I looked into the drawer holding my arsenal of drugs and creams, and staring out at me was a  3 day cure pack, which states it cures most vaginal yeast infections. Don’t be disgusting I said to myself as I slathered on that 3 day anti-fungal cream cure on my face, neck and ears for the full 3 days and more for good measure. It worked and is a fraction of the price I paid for those fancy creams. Now, men, I have to assure you, I have had men try this wonderful cure and it cured their red, blotchy faces, their itchy ears and other problems in 3 days as well. True the package says vaginal cream, and you fellows have no vaginas, but you have yeast infections on your face, hands and perhaps feet, also who knows where else. If you have itchy ears, vaginal anti-fungal cream will have gone. Try it, and now tell me any of you what do you have to loose?  Well, I will tell you, about $10.95 plus tax. Be aware that it will work. Get the kind that has the cream separately from the applicators. Good luck.

P.S. Go online to see what cures there are for this kind of yeast rash and you won’t find any that work.

Today’s Bits and Pieces: A Beginning

This is a story I would like to finish, but am stuck on the lessons they/you will learn. Read the attached story and then, please contact me with a good lesson you have learned and I will add it to the story. The most recent lesson was told to me this morning. An aging beauty queen had a date with an aging leading man. He finally kissed her and she said it was a kiss you give to your child. A quickie peckish kind of thing. Her lesson was that if the kiss does not send you and the spark is not there, it is over until something else worthwhile surfaces.

Here is the beginning of the story:
What are the Lessons of Forest Gnomes?

I opened the back door and found small footprints in the sand. The wind immediately blew and covered them so quickly that I only have my memory of them. What were they doing at my back door? Who made them? Why were they covered up so quickly? Was there some sort of message they were delivering? How can I begin to find out? More

Today’s Bits and Pieces: The Colors of My Mother

THE COLORS OF MY MOTHER

Nearly two years after my mother passed, my father passed. Many of us were helping to clean out the condo and ready it for sale. My niece came upon a bag stuffed full with what appeared to be dozens of scarves. She gave them to me and said she thought I might like to have them. I tucked the bag of colors in my box of goodies and when I came home the first thing I did was to empty the scarves into the drier for a whirl. After 5 minutes I opened the drier door to a shock that went through my body faster than a bolt of lightning. The colors of my mother leapt out of the drier and into my hands. I carried them to the table and continued my astonishment. My mother appeared out of every single scarf and her expressions changed as each scarf was laid next the one that had already given a performance.

My mother liked a preponderance of light brown, the color of caramel and ground spices. She liked to back it with a light aqua softness. She splashed a green color to keep things up front, insuring she would not disappear in the background of softness. All of her colors are background colors to me, but when I look at this bunch I can see that her background colors were foreground colors to her.

She used a golden rod yellow to accent the soft browns, therefore gathering the strength and brightness of sunlight, yet allowed for the softness of sunbeams as they cascade down the scarves giving a prerequisite to the uplifting spirit of caramel and ground spices on overloaded.

As I look at the collection of my mothers colors, there is one slight, almost splash of red. Oh mother are you saying, ‘blood of my blood?” Our blood of each other has created such different entities. Our colors are so very dissimilar. I always knew that, but this experience with your scarves is so graphically explicit. I have hung the scarves on a beautiful hand carved hanger and they intermingle creating an interplay that is expressing to me all of you and all that I knew about you.

I would someday like to uncover a secret, a hole in your character, but that will never happen because you strove to be perfect; you always were and you always will be. I do thank you because I always knew you did the best you could, more because you wanted the best. I know now that we are who we have become through the ages, through the stages and it remains just this way today as well as for those who will continue after us. We have done our best with our soft and vibrant personalities, with our soft browns and our brilliant reds, through our yellows, our greens, your blues and my black. You never wore white, neither did I. If you could see the beautiful colors of you, I would see your precious smile again.

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