Showing posts with label forging forward. Show all posts
Showing posts with label forging forward. Show all posts

Tuesday, February 13, 2018

Yesterday & Today in the Front Yard

The other day I came across these photos of the Mama's front yard in 2010. Neat and proper, how the Mama loved her gardens and landscaping to be. A philosophy that differs from mine, which is essentially a higgledy-piggledy one, although you might say that there is order in chaos.

It has been almost two years since I've taken over the Mama's gardens and landscaping. Flowers have gotten out of hand. The canna lilies, for example, were winning in their plot to take over the front garden so I dug out most of the bulbs and transplanted many elsewhere last month. The Mama's rosemary bushes, on the other hand, are getting straggly in a way that I wonder if they may be on their last legs.

The Mama's roses got rather tall. Some nearly reached the roof. She deadheaded them, but after someone mentioned how tall the roses were, she was no longer interested in cutting them back. So I thought. Now I wonder if was because it was too difficult for her to prune them and she didn't want to ask me to do it for her. Here's a link to the story about the Mama and her tall roses.

At the end of December, I got brave and pruned the roses back. They're still on the tall side. Here's how the front and side gardens looked yesterday. Notice how full the bougainvillea and jade plants have gotten near the front door. I suppose I ought to trim them for easier access to the front step.

As some of you may know I've written previously about how the Mama loved having a lawn. Green and plush, which was difficult those last several years of her life because we were in a horrible drought. We were limited to our water use, so the Mama had to choose: the lawn or her vegetable and flower gardens. She settled for the Husband watering the lawn sparsely, but there was usually evidence that she had watered the lawn when we had gone off for the afternoon. Here's the Mama's lawn in 2010.

And, here's a picture of what the ever evolving landscape looked like last month. Higgidley-piggidley in a somewhat orderly way. The daisies, roses, geraniums, and most of the succulents were plants that the Mama kept in containers.

I like to think the Mama's spirit is pleased with the changes made to the once-upon-a-time lawn. What do you think?

I'm hooking up with Our World Tuesday. Here's the link for you to check out participants from around the world, and maybe to join up yourself. Thanks, Our World Tuesday hosts!

Monday, February 12, 2018

A Monday Morning

Yesterday afternoon, and into the night, I essentially did something like a cramming session. As is my wont, I waited to the last minute to complete documents to bring to the self-help legal center at the courthouse this morning.

Monday is the only day the center is open for five hours. I made sure that the Husband and I got out of the house in time to get there at 8:00 a.m. because I was told that people begin lining up minutes before the door opens.

Half a block away I could see parking spaces right next to the building. We were so in luck!

The courthouse doors were still locked at 8:01 a.m. Peeking through the glass door, we saw no guards manning the security screening machines. Odd, right? I walked a bit further up and noticed through the windows that the shades were drawn at the counter where the court clerks ought to be. Eerie!

"Is this a holiday?" I asked the Husband.

"Is this the 19th?" he answered. "President's Day is the 19th."

"That's next week. I'm going over to the bakery. Maybe they'll know."

I took a couple of steps and happened to see the paper sign taped to the inside of the window next to the door. CLOSED for LINCOLN'S BIRTHDAY.

Oh well.

Back at the car, we were telling each other that since we're dressed we ought to go somewhere. So we headed over to a nearby local park for a walk.  My bum knees let me walk about half a mile along the path. Hurrah. The Husband walked further. When we sat on a bench for a rest before heading back to the car, I noticed that my tunic was inside out.

"It's a good thing the court was closed," said the Husband. "The impression you would've made."

A flibbertigibbet one, I suppose.  Giggle.

Monday, February 5, 2018

A Kitchen Game: Leftovers

How many dishes can you make out of leftovers? Not separate dishes. More like turning leftovers into something left over for more leftovers.

It was either Monday or Tuesday last week that I made pork ribs by first simmering them with fresh garlic and Cajun spices, then broiling them in a toaster oven. For the BBQ sauce, I mixed leftover homemade pizza sauce, made a few days earlier, with horseradish. Sounds horrible, but it tasted mighty good, so the Husband said.

Even though it was a small slab of ribs, we had leftovers. Not enough for two people though. A couple days later, I added the meat to a concoction of garbanzo beans, peas, linguisa, and leftover sauteed onions and mushrooms. I also threw in a couple of frozen tomatoes. That delectable dish was served with Jasmine rice.

There were leftovers.

On Saturday, we happened to be standing in front of a Mexican restaurant. Its doors were wide open so we could enjoy yummy smells. Although mouthwatering, we weren't hungry enough to eat. When we did our food shopping, we bought chips, locally made salsa, and cheddar cheese for nachos. My version involved layering the chips, the leftover pork and garbanzo mixture, some salsa, and shredded cheese. The nachos went well with an oat-based beer.

Leftovers? Yup, about a portion's worth.

I stuck the nachos in the fridge, but being that it's two days later, the leftovers will go into the trash can instead of our tummies.  After all, we have leftovers from yesterday's dinner.

Sunday, February 4, 2018

A Bit of a Wander

Lately, it's like pulling teeth to get me to go beyond the mailbox. Some of my reticence is not wanting to catch any virus out there in the public. Some, not wanting to put on a bra and shoes. A little, the annoyance of possibly feeling a whiff of fear and hostility of someone judging me or others around me as not being allowed to exist among them. Yes, there is that. A bit, the pain of my so-called arthritic knees, which I prefer to describe as having no more cartilage. But, mostly, I haven't felt the need or urge to go out.

Yesterday afternoon, I didn't talk myself out of going out because we needed to fill up the pantry and refrigerator again. If I'm going to cook more, then I need ingredients to create decent meals. So off to the organic farm stand and the grocery store we went, along with a stop for a couple of beer growlers from Brewery Twenty-Five in San Juan Bautista. I'll write more about them another day.

Our stroll from the car to the beer place was two short blocks, but, gosh, oh gee, the wonder the camera discovered. I really need to talk myself into going out more. 

I'm linking up with All Seasons, a weekly meme hosted by Jesh at Artworks from Jesh St.G. Click here to check out Jesh and her meme. For the participants list, click here. Thanks, Jesh!

Tuesday, January 30, 2018

Front Yard Progression

May 2016
It's been awhile since I've updated the progress of the front yard, which some of you know was a once-upon-a-time lawn. The Husband and I didn't like the lawn because of the upkeep (on his part) and its need for too much water, especially during droughts. But, because the Mama liked having a well-manicured lawn, well, there you have it. When the Mama soared into the universe, thus began the undoing of the lawn.

September 2016
January 2017
July 2017
Today, January 30, 2018
Hopefully, come late Spring, sunflowers will be growing in that empty patch on the left, as well as here and there in the foreground. Can't get enough sunflowers. I'll also be sowing wildflowers in that empty patch to see if it was simply a fluke that they didn't so well last year. Last fall, I transplanted some canna lilies nearby. If they like the area, they'll take over like a wildfire, which is okay with me.

Onward and upward.

I'm hooking up with Our World Tuesday. Check out this long-time meme here.  Thanks, Our World Tuesday hosts!

Sunday, January 21, 2018

A Reminder


This morning Molly the Cat and I were traipsing about in the backyard when the doorbell rang. Molly inspected the perimeter of the yard, making sure all was well, while I checked how much the garlic had grown in its pot. I'd spied a bit of green yesterday morning just before I stepped inside, thinking I'd look for sure when I went back outside. But I didn't go back outdoors. I let melancholy rob the rest of my day.

This morning I woke up still not wanting to make an effort. What good is that? I told myself. There are roses that need pruning. I visualized myself getting the pruning shears and small saw out from the shed, as well as the rubbing alcohol or hydrogen peroxide from the bathroom to sterilize the equipment. Okay, up and at 'em.

Downstairs, opening the drapes, I noticed the layer of ice on the rooftop next door.  That settled that. I fed Molly her breakfast and made coleslaw. I've found that preparing part or all of our afternoon/ evening meals in the morning, preferably before breakfast, makes life easier when figuring meals is a downright chore.

The coleslaw done, I decided to get some morning sun. Chilled air welcomed Molly and me when I slid open the patio door. Molly blocked the door, hesitant, as if saying, "I don't know about this." I opened the door wider. "I'm going out, Molly."

I checked the pot of garlic. Yippeeee. Green garlic shoots. I heard a man clearing his voice. The next door neighbor was out early, I thought.


Annoyed, I wondered who was visiting so early in the morning. Nine o'clock for surprise visitors is early. I heard the clearing of a male's voice again. What could the neighbor want? As I stepped inside, I saw through the kitchen windows a dark truck parked in front of the house. Oh no! It was our former neighbor, who over the years due to family and health issues had become snarly and negative about everything.

The Husband was upstairs in the bathroom and couldn't hear the doorbell over the bathroom fan. Thank goodness. But if the Husband had, he would've been able to handle our former neighbor with a pleasant "hello, how are you?" and a "thank you for dropping by" while standing at the door.
I stepped back outside.


I didn't want to invite the former neighbor's negativity into the house. I didn't want to hear him repeat his distaste and hate recycled from Fox News, nor have him go on and on about how far our town, state, and country have fallen into hell. Maybe if he inquired about our lives and attempted to carry on a cheerful conversation, or, more importantly, to take steps to get out of his blue funk, then maybe I could put on a happy face and open the door.

Maybe it wasn't the former neighbor. I sighed. I went back inside and walked slowly to the kitchen, looking out the windows. It was him! He was heading back to his truck. He looked towards the house. I quickly went out to the back. Sitting on the bench, I heard him start his truck, take off, turn right at the corner, and drive down the street.

If anything today, he, this former neighbor, was a reminder that I could not, would not, and will not slide into darkness.

Green shoots of garlic popping up through the soil is something amazingly beautiful. That, too, is a reminder.

Saturday, January 20, 2018

The Sky is Not Falling

Although there are moments when it seems like the sky is falling, especially when it comes to our federal government, which seems more so lately with the lack of leadership in our executive and legislative branches. Those currently in power seem hell-bent on funding the Haves and getting rid of the Have-Nots; hence, the folks clinging on to the sinking middle may feel they must choose between siding with the sanctimonious greedy and mighty insecure lackeys or being true to the Good Samaritan messages that our society preaches.


Frustration abounds.

Pitchforks and torches come out.

Usually the meek, the kind, the underdog are mobbed first and continually until the growling breaks out among those in power. Or, until enough of the mob breaks lose of the spell of curses it is under and defy the powerful that cast the spell.

I suspect that people who hate are scared. But, of what? A loss of property? A world of peace and love? Death? Is it as simple as fearing they will be put to death by the "other side" which says its objective to help the Have-Nots? It doesn't make sense.

This, too, will pass. "Always look on the bright side of life."

Sunday, December 31, 2017

Onward and Upward!

The Husband is down with a virus so it was not a good rest for us last night. Cough, cough. Toss, turn. You know the drill. He'll be fine, we think positively. Leftover garlicky ginger chicken soup was turned into a pot of garlicky ginger tomato soup this morning, which shall be good for a couple of days before he tires of that kind of soup. He's already on his way to losing weight for the 20-pound loss goal we each set on Christmas day (our present to ourselves) by the end of May.

So. Here we are, the end of the year.

An outrageous year for our nation, leaderless. Executive actions and congressional duplicity turning us down the path of darkness rather than so-called greatness. I want to think that we've reached the bottom and it's only up now. A lot of us have no problem standing up against harassment, intimidation, lies, misconceptions, ignorance, and down-right bullying.

The personal score: A hysterectomy took away the cancer no one was really sure was there. The knees are still without a substitute for a lack of cartilage, yet turn on the dance music, what pain?  A neighbor from my young days, a cousin's wife, a friend's sister, and the first and late Husband's son all are now soaring in peace and joy throughout the universe. A celebration of 21 years of marriage. Fun times with old and new friends. Molly the Cat purring every day. The Mama's house becoming more our home. Missing the Mama, ah, but the Mama stories we tell each other bring us smiles and, yes, laughter.

Onward and upward into the new year we go. May it be one of good health, love, joy, peace, and common sense for us all.

Today I'm linking up with All Seasons, a weekly meme hosted by Jesh at Artworks by Jesh StG. Thank you kindly, Jesh. :-)

Saturday, December 16, 2017

Villa Mia

I'm reading Under the Tuscan Sun right now. This is my third start (maybe fourth) in the last 10 years or so. I enjoyed the movie so I bought the book when I saw it on the "buy 3, get one free" table at a bookstore. 

I finally got to a point that I don't recall having read. This morning I learned that the fig flower resides inside the fruit and a certain kind of wasp burrows itself inside the fig to lay its eggs. If it doesn't succeed, that's okay, it has at least pollinated the flower. If larvae has been deposited, ooh-la-la! According to Wikipedia (yup, I had to learn more), a mature male mates with a female then proceeds to peck its way out of the fig so that all the females can escape. The male, now wingless and, no doubt, quite spent promptly dies. May he forever rest in joyful peace knowing that he did his job well.

Frances Mayes is the author of Under the Tuscan Sun. For those who never read the book or saw the movie, Mayes wrote about her experiences restoring a villa in Tuscany during her summer months off from teaching in San Francisco. So far, she has romanticized creating a vision from abandoned chaos; eating simple, but elegant, Italian fare outdoors; respecting old and abandoned trees still bearing delicious fruit; removing thick, gnarly tree roots from under stone walls; discovering old-time wells; and, yes, even hiding in bed as a thunderstorm lingers over her villa. I'm not even a third way through the book.

While I was reading about the figs and Mayes' discovery that some of the trees on her property produce the oh so expensive pine nuts, I glanced up now and then to the view of the backyard. Bright blue sky . . . new cedar (or is it redwood?) fence . . . the branches and leaves of the apple trees, lemon tree, avocado trees, and pink geraniums dancing with the light wind . . . the swaying of the chimes, Slinky, and other things hanging from the apple tree by the patio. . . . I'm living my own version of recreating a villa in Tuscany.  Magnifico!

P.S. That's not my view from this morning. It's what I would see if I looked sideways as I stood in the view that I saw through the sliding door window this morning.

Wednesday, December 13, 2017

Feeling Free at Sixty-Four!

Yesterday I celebrated my first day of being 64 years old.

How did that happen?

My body knows I'm old. Probably my brain does, too. I'm guessing all old people say that since I have no guidebook for getting older.

Spiritually, I'm that five-year-old wandering in the fields surrounded by tall grass, wildflowers, butterflies, and sun bubbles.

I'm also that young thing uncovering worlds and possibilities.

I feel, again, a freedom to dream, to discover, and to do!

Monday, November 20, 2017

Timidity, Be Gone

A party has been going on in my head, and it has been rather rowdy at times.

We all do need to be rowdy once in a while, but within reason.

Within reason.  Who coined that phrase? How long did it take for others to start saying it? Before it was explained in a dictionary? In a grammar book? Is this phrase an idiom? Are idioms even taught anymore?

Pshew! See what I mean? A party is going on in my head!

Some of you may have thought that my idea of rowdy is making loud and happy noises, and possibly doing a silly prank or two on the Husband. That, of course. Sure. Maybe. Not telling. Giggle. 

Rowdy to me is also playing with words and sentences, and thoughts and concepts.

Once upon a time 11 years ago I jumped out of a plane. That was not hard at all. If you freeze, like I think I did, your instructor (the professional skydiver to whom you're hooked), merely pushes you over as he falls forward. Me jumping out of the plane (from 18,000 feet up in the air, too, mind you) was quite easy compared to taking a deep breath and letting my storytelling voice cough, laugh, dance, cry, shriek, sing, do somersaults, grit teeth, zen out, play solitaire, roar, and s-o-a-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r. 

My ability to hold that rowdy door open longer is increasing bit by bit, day be day. Thank you very much for listening.

Friday, November 17, 2017

So I Am.

One thing about not being out there, being visible, being noticeable, being memorable. People forget that you're there. Until you're not there and someone asks, "Where the heck is the person who sweated this small stuff?"

SO UNFAILINGLY RELIABLE. I'd rather not have that on my tombstone. Shudder.

You might as well etch this beneath my name—DRUDGE.

Yes, yes, I know that the world can't run without us drudges. Did I say I abhor being a drudge? If I had, I would've done something about it long time ago. I would've taken the other path. Each and every time.

I cannot imagine myself as a high maintenance diva. Maybe in a parallel universe I am. Heaven help those people.

Tuesday, November 14, 2017

Trying Different Things

As I settled back to read a few more pages of a novel around 11 o'clock the other night, after spending an hour or so doodling and drawing sugar canes, peppermint canes, and walking canes, I realized that I was doing different things.  (Canes are not easy to draw, by the way.)

I am actually looking for things to do, different things to try because I am. . .giggle. . .retired.

There are some things I'm no longer interested in trying
. . . hang gliding
. . .roller skating
. . . hiking the Pacific Crest trail
. . .driving a big rig cross country, toot-toot
. . .going to Mars

Yup, no longer interested in making those dreams come true. 

One of the things I have been doing is painting. I did that watercolor in the photo up there. What do you think: Does it remind you of granite mountains? Maybe somewhere in the Sierra Nevada?

Tuesday, November 7, 2017

Looking for a Fight?

Warning: This is a grumpy story that happened this past summer in front of one of my happy places. The encounter did not sour me on continuing my visits, but for a moment after the event I felt like what's the use of living when people like that guy we met is alive.

I was parallel parking into a tight spot in front of the library where a whole lot of children and their parents were lined up in front of the bookmobile. The kids were signing up for a how-many-books-do-I-want-to-read-this-summer type of program. The car in front of me hung over its rear parking mark and the car behind me was nearly up to its front parking mark. As I turned off the engine, the Husband and I heard a very angry "HEY!"

We looked over to see a man standing against the building, his arms crossed, glaring at us. "Are you talking to us?" the Husband asked.

"You hit my car!" the middle-aged man shouted.

"We did not," said the Husband. "We would've heard it or felt it if we did."

"You hit my car!"

I peered around the Husband. "Excuse me. Are you saying I hit your car?"

"Yes! You hit my car!"

"I did not," I said. "I would've felt it or heard it."

"You hit my car!"

The Husband and I got out of the car. The Husband and the guy started arguing. "Calm down," I said to both of them. I looked at his front bumper. "I did not hit your car. Look, there's nothing there."

Still in angry mode, the guy said, "There doesn't have to be anything there just because you hit my car."

Huh?  I could have lightly touched it, but I didn't think so. I was within inches of his car and to his eyes I hit it.

"I'm sorry. But I did not hit your car." (Why do I always apologize for something I didn't do.) I noticed that our car hung over the parking mark, so I went back into the car to move it forward a bit. When I got out of the car again, the man was still angrily whining about his car being hit. The Husband continually repeated firmly, "We didn't hit your car."

"Yes you did!"

"What do you want?" asked the Husband and me in unison. I added, "Do you want my arm?"

The man rushed away into the crowd of children and parents who didn't seem to have paid attention to us, thank goodness.

The Husband and I walked into the library. When I said I wanted to look around, the Husband said he would wait for me outside. Later he told me it was to make sure that man didn't try anything stupid. I found the Husband standing with one of the library technicians, both watching the man go hurriedly back to his car and get in. Not wanting another confrontation, the Husband and I waited until he sped away, which was within seconds.

"He didn't look disabled to me," said the Husband. "I didn't see any placard on his dashboard."

"He had a disabled license plate," I said. "He could have a disability not visible, or maybe it's for someone else in his family."

The Husband thought the guy was gunning for a fight.

The guy didn't have a new car, although it was much newer than ours. It wasn't shiny and polished from hours of love and care, but it was less dusty and grimy than our old fart of a car. He was probably 15 to 20 years younger than us, which was to our advantage if he was one who simply has to strike out at people who he thinks offended him.

I have to wonder what was he going to do? Hit an old man and an old woman. If he didn't have an audience of children and parents, I wouldn't put it pass him. For that, I am grateful, considering what horror could have happened.

Friday, July 28, 2017

Voila! Nothing There.

Until yesterday, that is what the Husband, Molly the Cat, and I saw when we looked out the patio door. Sitting behind the shed was a small chicken coop. Molly loved to climb up the chicken coop, along a plank, and onto the shed's southern eaves to take her nap between breakfast and lunch.

For the past year,  the Husband and I have talked about taking down the structures because they were useless. No chickens for the coop (never were!) and if we did have chickens I would rather see them strutting freely (kind of) around the yard. As for the shed, only hobbits would be short enough to stand in it. If, even then.

So, why was it built?

I don't know, and I don't care to speculate about how it came to be built. When I heard a crow and saw a butterfly as we dismantled the structures, I knew that the Mama liked our decision.

It felt good swinging the hammer and being constructively destructive. Pound! Pound! Grunt! Pound! GRUNT! Pound! Pound! The most physical activity that the Husband and I have done in a very long time.

Before we began our Pound! Pound!, the world was silent. Well, except for the sawing and hammering by the neighbors on our northside, who are building a beautiful deck. Our pounding seemed to have brought out the neighbors from the two houses on our southside. They were probably curious to why the quiet fogeys were creating such a racket. It felt like a party with all the chattering on the other side of the fences, the construction noise next door, and, of course, our Pound! Pound! Pound! and yakkity-yakking.

The once upon a time shed and chicken shed came down in about two hours. And, that's only because we had the help of our awesome friend Mister D. The Husband and I are barely at 70 percent in shape, and I think I'm being generous. Mister D and the Husband have known each other since college. He has always been there for the Husband and, ever since I've known Mister D, for me.  Thank you, Mister D! Thank you very much!

Look! See the gift that Mister D gave us. The apple and avocado trees that were boxed in by the shed look happy with the nothingness, too.  I'm sure Molly the Cat will be glad as well, in time.

P.S. Mister D also helped the Husband fix the side gate for us, which got destroyed during the winter storms. When he and the Husband pulled the old post from its hole, they found that the gate post was held up by a just-the-right-size piece of branch wedged between the post and the concrete. Something, huh? 

Friday, June 16, 2017


Rusty nails.

Rusty rust.

Rusty stringing-words-into-sentences-into-paragraphs-into-stories.

I'll get there. Again. 

Sunday, April 9, 2017

Seeking Distraction

It's past noon and I haven't done what I said I would do today.

But, I did make apple scones for breakfast and went out to the front yard with Molly the Cat to deadhead daisies and pull some weeds. Now I'm writing about it all.

All distractions from filling out income tax forms.

Doing the taxes should take less than two hours. I already did a first pass last month to get an idea of the damage to our checkbook. So, no big deal, right?

I'm listening to the Full Sail album by Loggins & Messina in hopes that it will get me into the mood. Yes, right after I imagine myself snorkeling in Hawaii.  Ah, such pretty fishes. 

I'm linking up with All Seasons, a meme hosted by Jesh of Artworks from JeshStG. Click here to check out other participants.

Saturday, April 8, 2017

Not a Hysterical Report

If I had written this post several days ago, I may have been called it Hysterical Report. Actually, I thought about renaming this blog to The Hysterical Report. I'm glad I waited. I'd rather not be hysterical about anything.

I am on a new adventure. No. I take that back, it's not new. After 12 years, this adventure's path has come into the foreground. It's simply not a good idea to let the grass grow over this path anymore.

My in-my-face-but-not-hysterical-adventure is an upcoming hysterectomy. Da-dah!

Oh-oh, did I lose you? Come back when you can wrap your head around the concept of a hysterectomy. It took me awhile. I realize it helps for me to write about it.

Yesterday afternoon I got a chest x-ray, one of my three pre-op things to do. The other two are an EKG (next week) and several blood tests (a week before the operation). Did you happen to flash on the Operation board game, by the way?

Because I did the X-rays in town, I repeated myself a lot to the lab receptionist and the X-ray Lady about faxing the X-rays to the Gynecologist-Oncologist's office several cities away. Only after this conversation with the X-ray Lady did I confident that the results will be faxed.

"What kind of surgery are you doing?" asked the X-ray Lady.

"Hysterectomy," I answered. 

"We still have to do that?" she asked, which got me wondering if she was in menopausal mode.

"They found precancerous cells."


Yeah. We don't think of grey-haired postmenopausal women as needing hysterectomies. Certainly, not I. My Gyn-Doc wanted me to get a hysterectomy 12 years ago when the biopsy of a uterine polyp showed the cells to be in a state of complex hyperplasia with atypia. Untreated, there was a good risk of me getting cancer. Not having health insurance, I needed to find another route. So the Gyn-Doc put me on birth control pills for several months which chased that condition away and, until this year, the pathology results of subsequence polyps reported benign cells. Yaay!

I went 12 years before complex hyperplasia with atypia reared itself up again.  Only this time a pathologist said I had "precancerous cells" and that meant my Gyn-Doc put her foot down. The only treatment was a hysterectomy. 

Not totally convinced, I took the Gyn-Doc's referral and met with the Gyn-Oncologist Doc over a week ago. I thought he would take another sample to double check that I got the same result. Nope. The Gyn-Onc Doc said that during the hysterectomy he would take another biospy. The lab results I have were good to go by, he said. Oh.

Then he convinced me I wanted this hysterectomy. He drew two lines on a piece of paper. The left column was Good, the middle, Precancer, and the right, Cancer. In the middle column, he wrote I, II, and III. He circled III and said, "That is you."  He wrote 40-50%. "That is the risk of developing cancer," he said. He paused, then continued, "There is no hard line between precancerous and cancer."

In other words, I could develop cancer, I could not. I could already have cancerous cells growing. That latter thought sunk in quite quickly and deeply. Now having affordable health insurance (thank you, President Obama), I did not have a reasonable excuse to dilly dally about shall I take the risk, or shan't I.

I'm slated for a laparoscopic hysterectomy in 34 days. The Gyn-Onc Doc will use da Vinci robotic technology. That's cool, don't you think? I almost want to be awake to watch. Gyn-Onc Doc suggested I look it up on You Tube instead.

So there you go. Stay tuned to more of my trying-not-to-be-hysterical adventure.

Joyful joy, joy, and joy.

Wednesday, March 15, 2017


When I saw the episode of Grace and Frankie, an original Netflix series starring Jane Fonda and Lily Tomlin, in which Frankie (Lily) mentions her diary and Grace (Jane) responds with "Your bullshit diary where you write in the air?", I thought that's how I've mostly been blogging the last 11 months. Unlike Frankie, I mentally write the words.

Have you seen Grace and Frankie by the way? In a nutshell it's about two vibrant women in their 70s who suddenly become roommates because their husbands announced they are gay, been having a secret relationship with each other for years, and want a divorce from Grace and Frankie because so that they can married. A mouthful, huh?

The series revolve around Grace and Frankie coming to terms with suddenly being on their own after 30-40 years of marriage. It's also about the women becoming each other's main support, although they don't think much of each other's life style. Grace is an uptight former CEO of her own company while Frankie is an old hippie artist. There are also secondary stories about Bob (Grace's husband played by Martin Sheen) and Saul (Frankie's ex played by Sam Waterston), as well as the adult children of Grace and Bob and Frankie and Saul.  Another mouthful!

I love this show. The storyline. The subject matter—after all, how many TV shows feature older people in a not-so-schmaltzy way. The cast, wowza! One of the creators of the show is Marta Kauffman who also co-created Friends. Quality! And, lots of strong writing, I must add.

Okay. Enough about this show before I distract myself from my original intention of today's blog. If you want to know more about the series, check out the Grace and Frankie website or the Wikipedia article about the series.

My original intention? I began this post on Sunday. Today is Wednesday.

My original intention?

Focus, focus, Susie, my darling dear.

My original intention?

Just—in all senses of just—to let me know that I need to express. . .to articulate. . .to humor. . .to feel out loud what's inside my soul.

Just often sad.

That shall pass.

And, while it is passing, I shall do my best to write my thoughts via the keyboard rather than in the air.

It's ABC Wednesday. This was my J post. Click here to please check out other participants. Thank you ABCW Team!

Wednesday, February 8, 2017


With all the current churning of evilness in our country's leadership, we need to take time every day to look for the wonder, the beauty, the eloquence, and the love in our lives and our environment.

Call me simple, if you like. Doesn't matter. I have faith that we shall get positiveness, common sense, and humanity back in power again.

It's the letter E at ABC Wednesday. To check out ABCW posts from bloggers around the world, please click here. Thanks ABCW Team!