"Stop reading," ordered the Mama. "Go outside." I'd probably been lying on the bed reading for three or four hours that sunny summer weekend afternoon. I was probably 12 years old. That's what the Mama got for buying me a bed with a bookcase headboard. It was packed full with paperback books that I purchased from the monthly Scholastic book catalog during the school year. Three or four dollars bought me a lot of books back then. I shall always be grateful the Mama and the Daddy let me buy so many, and for leaving me alone to read the books over and over most of the time. Reading was my favorite thing to do in summer, followed by riding bicycles, watching movies, and eating. Except for the bicycle riding, I seem to have slipped back into my once-upon-a-time summer routine. I'm not getting much done, I admit. And, yes, my clothes are feeling snug. Again. I really do need to urge me to step outside and do something. There's still time today t

"Make an effort." This morning I read that line in Emma: A Modern Retelling by Alexander McCall Smith). I felt like the character, and the author, was talking to me.   Please make an effort, Susie.  The Mama said it another way about herself when she felt tired, which was every day for her last several years. Plain and simple, she used to say, "I push myself." After we buried the Mama this past April, the Only and Older Brother said to me, "Keep on living." I scoffed at what the Only and Older Brother said. Of course, I'd keep on living. Why would I not? Lately, though, honesty keeps trying to surface. Drat that honesty. For that matter, dang to introspection, rumination, and heart-searching that show up in my dreams. Sigh. So, this is my effort today for the letter E for this week's ABC Wednesday : a story that I shared three years ago (April 5, 2013) about an amazing thing that reminded me of the wonderful effortlessness of life.

The Mama used to tell me a story about the time that the Daddy carried me on his back while they picked tomatoes one summer day. I was maybe two years old. "You cried and cried," the Mama said. "You kept saying, 'Go home, Daddy. Go home.'" The poor Daddy! And, all those other poor workers around us who were forced to listen to a tiny, fat crybaby of a girl piggy-backing on her poor Daddy's back. The poor Daddy! How did the Parents ever get me to stop crying? Did the Daddy take the Mama and me home and go back to work? Did I eventually calm down, get off the Daddy's back, and find a way to entertain myself so the Parents could work in peace? I don't know. The Mama never told me what happened. She simply laughed after telling me. Why am I telling you the story? I don't know. I find myself tearful all of a sudden lately. C is for crybaby me. Not pitiful me though. C is the letter for this week's ABC Wednesday , a weekly meme that is keep

I woke up this morning to Janis Joplin singing Me and Bobby Mcgee . . . . "Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose. . ." I've soaked six of the Mama's bittermelon seeds and will put them into the ground on Tuesday. The Mama started seeds in late March to plant in early May. Maybe it's too late for the seeds to take. Maybe not. My To Do lists keep multiplying. Yesterday I got three boxes full of river rocks that a lovely woman in town was giving away. Her sister picked up the rocks from our local river bed. The boxes are still in the trunk. Have no idea yet what I shall do with them The Husband and I wandered around the motorcycle rally in town, listening to the bands and watching the crowds. Vrrroom-vrooom.

I thought today is Friday. I'm a few chapters into The Coincidence of Coconut Cake by Amy E. Reichert.  I'm enjoying it and it's so easy to read because the writing is seamless. The surgeon removed the week-old bandage covering the incision that marks the spot where the Husband's pacemaker was inserted last week. "You're good to go," said the surgeon. Hurrah! Why are some people okay about their neighbors being able to hear their music, conversation, and screaming grandkids clear as a bell from their backyard? I found three bags full of the brother's children's clothes in the Mama's closet. They've been there for at least 25 years, when the brother's wife put them in the bags to throw out. Somehow the Mama got her hands on them before she could. 

Last week, the Husband and I rediscovered the landscaping supply store outside of town. Our original intent was to merely check out  the ground covering alternatives for a future pull-out-the-front-lawn project. When I came across the pit full of tiny rocks, I had to have some. So, I got about 5 pounds for about two dollars. What a bargain! I went home and proceeded to quickly use them in cup planters that I was putting together. So, of course, the next day, we went back to the store and I bought 10 pounds. I went home, and, yup, within a couple of hours I was down to a small bowl full of stones. I wasn't close to potting and repotting all the Mama's plants. To make sure I did something else the rest of the week, I didn't go to the store. Good, girl, me. Yesterday morning, I broke down and the Husband and I drove to the store and went home with four bags full of stones for a total of 120 pounds. Ha! We'll see how long that lasts. By the way, that's only

Unconnected is how I feel when I leave our driveway on Tilda-Hilda. The further away we get from neighborhoods and busy streets, well, you can guess, the more my soul smiles bigger. Unconnected has been the Husband's and my world the last few days. Our phone and DSL lines went dead. Nothing. Zilch. Nada. Big fat zero. The first day I panicked. The second day I relaxed and watched 1960 caper movies with the Husband in the afternoon. The third day I was a bit more responsible and went to the library to use a computer to access my email. The last email was from the Husband who wrote that the lines were working again. I was relieved, at the same time bummed. Unconnected. It's nice every so often. It's the letter U at ABC Wednesday . Click here to check out other paticipants. This weekly meme was started by Mrs. Denise Nesbitt and administered today by the ABCW team under the helm of Roger Green. Thank you, all!

The Husband and I are listening to Creedence Clearwater Revival , while I'm clicking on the keyboard. It was a fun morning. We drank freshly-brewed coffee and ate olive bread with butter and cheese, as well as finished the leftover berry strudel and custard tart that a friend brought over for dessert last night. The food and drink put me in a giddy mood. Still am.  I think the coffee was made from drunken beans. Yes, I do. As we got breakfast together, we wondered what to do today. We knew what we didn't want to do. And, so far I haven't done the laundry and the Husband hasn't cut the lawn. We thought of what we could do—maybe hike at the Pinnacles National Park, or drive over to Monterey, or go see a movie. We haven't done any of that either. I doubt we shall. We did some stuff this morning. The Husband brought in the garbage cans and cleaned Molly the Cat's litter box. I collected all of the Mama's artificial flowers around the house and washed them

"No more grandma," said an old woman who I've seen at Filipino parties but never met. The Husband said she greeted him the same way when he welcomed her into the house for the Mama's post funeral service reception. I imagine the stone-faced woman thought her quip was quite comforting and witty. She reminded me of once-upon-a-time visitors to our home when I was a kid who talked about how fat I was in their language not knowing that I understood what they were saying. We stood in the backyard. Smiling, I held up my arm and waved at the Mama's garden in full bloom throughout the yard. "Mama's here," I said. "Always." The woman looked at me, queerly. No doubt she thought I was crazed. After all, I requested "I've got the joy, joy, joy joy down in my heart" for the procession song as we rolled the Mama out of the Catholic Church. It's the letter Q at ABC Wednesday . Thank you, Roger, Di, Melody, and the rest of

"Mama's gone." Four Fridays ago, in the early evening, I walked into the kitchen to let the Husband and Molly the Cat know that Mama's spirit had slipped into the ever after. I had started making dinner. As I put the frying pan on the stove, I had a feeling and I didn't want to know. The Husband and I had been sitting at the kitchen table, talking about the house. How we needed to replace faucets in the kitchen and in the Mama's bathroom. That one day we would need to replace the linoleum and maybe it would be better to take out the carpet and put in a wooden floor. House stuff that neither of us had ever done or been interested in doing. But, at that moment, it all seemed natural for us to do. With the frying pan on low, I went to check on the Mama. She was warm, but she no longer breathed. She looked quite content. I like to think that the Mama heard us talking in the kitchen and she felt assured that her house would be in good hands and that the Hu

When Molly the Cat and I opened the curtains in the living room this morning, the first thing we noticed was the puddle of water on the patio. "Look, Molly! It rained during the night." Noticing the white petals in the puddle, I glanced up at the apple tree. "Apple blossoms!" Molly the Cat looked out the window, posed in her So are we going outside to explore further stance. She didn't seem as pleased about the apple blossoms as the Mama and the Husband did when I told them. It may be a good year for apples from that tree, which the Mama planted from seeds 28 years ago. I'm hooking up with Seasons , a new weekly meme hosted by Jeanette at St Germain's Blog. Click here to check out other participants.

Last month, while I had Gone Reading, I came across the drawing I made in first grade that started me on my path of fear of drawing, painting, and doing anything in the fine arts. "Make the calves touch the ground," wrote First Grade Teacher. She even drew an example of a calf on the ground on my drawing. Sigh. Many moons later, I realize that First Grade Teacher was merely doing her job to make sure I knew that cows belonged on the ground and not in air. Teacher did give me an A for the assignment after all. But, it would've been nice if she had also written something like "You have a wonderful imagination, Susie." Or, "The cows look happy in the air. How would they look standing on the ground?" If only. Three or four years ago, I began to embrace art. To simply draw, paint, make collages, and whatever I feel like trying. The more I do, the less time I stay in a frozen-in-fear mode at the start of a project. Better late than never, right

Hello Dear Friends! All in all I had a great reading trip, going back and forth in time and traveling all around the world without leaving home. I didn't realize I'd be away this long from the blog. I actually feel mentally stiff trying to string words together. We are doing fine, thank you all for asking.  As we head into spring, we are going outside more each day. Now and then the Mama goes out to play in her garden. I love those days. Life is kind and gracious. S ' wonderful! It's the letter G on ABC Wednesday with Roger, Melody, Di, and other ABCW team members. Whooo-hooo! Click here to join in or to read other G posts.

Did you ever see the movie Up , the animated movie about the old man who ran away by tying balloons to his house and flew to a waterfall in South America? He and his companion, a stowaway Cub Scout, met a mechanical dog by the waterfall. The very intelligent speaking dog got sidetracked every so often by squirrels and when he thought he saw one, he'd suddenly turn and say, "Squirrel!" Well, that's me. 

The Husband and I made a special trip to Monterey last week so I could spend the birthday money the Mama gave me for someting pretty to wear. I was hoping to find a new top or two in Macy's. No such luck. Nearly everything was made out of flimsy, slick-like fabric. It reminded me of polyester from the 1960s and 1970s. The few things that I did like were too expensive even at 50% off. For instance, I saw a bohemian (aka hippie) style tunic that was cute, but at the original price of $200+, no thank you. I checked out a couple of other women's apparel shops in the mall. Zilch. About two hours later, I met the Husband at our meeting spot. We sat on a bench and enjoyed the warmth of the day for a long while before we headed back into Macy's to buy us some bed sheets. We found a package of 700 thread count sheets for half off, about $60. A great deal. The cashier made it even a better bargain by giving us an extra 10% from a newspaper advertisement. "Thank you," I

I bought this painting for my birthday. Isn't  it darling? It was showcased in the recent children's art exhibition at our local art gallery.  The painting is based on the Pete the Cat books. Guess what books I'll be searching for when I go to the library. This cute painting was done by a class of transitional kindergarten (TK) students in Sunnyslope School, which is a couple of blocks from our house. That's where I went for fourth and fifth grades over 50 years ago. My gosh! The note attached to the painting says that the students used their thumbprints to create the flowers that Pete the Cat is enjoying.  So sweet.

"It's 9:01!" "It is!" exclaimed the Husband, throwing the bed covers off him. As if it mattered that we got up late. We didn't have to get anywhere or have anything done by 9:00 a.m. today.  Although getting up later meant no early bike ride with Tilda-Hilda. Maybe we'll go for a spin around the neighborhood after I rake leaves in the backyard and prune some vines and such in the front yard. I wondered why our alarm clock didn't wake us up. I opened the blinds in the living room. Molly the Cat looked up from the couch. Ha! The Mama? I peeked into her bedroom. She was sleeping soundly. Yes, a perfect Sunday morning. Now a perfect Sunday afternoon. I still haven't gone outside. Those colored pencils distracted me.

It's not my birthday. It feels like it though.   Today, the Husband and I drove over to Freedom to buy food for Molly the Cat. Our task was done quicker than we estimated, so we headed down the road to Watsonville to visit the art store and bookshop before lunch. I'd only planned to buy a couple of new colored pencils at Wild Rose's Artists' Supplies and Custom Framing , but you know how it goes. I checked out the shop's art paper. Marbled paper. Oooooh. Wavy, corrugated paper. Gotta have that. Small rectangle-shaped suede paper. 25 cents, sold! My plan is to make masks. Yup. At Crossroads Books , I bought a mystery called Shaking in Her Flip-Flops . Can't go wrong with a title like that.  Another neat thing about the book is that it's written by Joyce Oroz, an author who lives in nearby Aromas . The Husband and I also decided to purchase a copy of The 2016 Farmer's Almanac . That's always fun reading. To top off getting all this coo

Lately, I've been using a facial cream made up of tallow from grass-fed cows and organic extra-virgin olive oil. Every time I rub the stuff into my face, I think of fried steak. Yummmm. That's the smell of the cream. And, that's what my face smells like. The Husband has no sense of smell. Poor guy. He doesn't get to smell how deliciously like fried steak I am. Why am I using this yummy eau de fried steak ? I have a horrible case of facial eczema and experts say that tallow fat mimics human skin, has minerals that help heal and protect the skin, and has natural cleansing and anti-inflammatory properties. It's too early to say if eau de fried steak is working. No. I haven't been eating a lot of fried steak lately. But, I do think about it each time I apply eau de fried steak on my face. P.S. Tilda-Hilda and I did a quick pedal around the neighborhood this morning. I totally got myself out of breath. Maybe, I'll talk myself—and the Husband—into

Klunga-langa-tank. Klunga-langa-tank. Klunga-langa-langa-langa-lagna-langa-tank! That's the Husband's and my new song, based on the sound my purple pencil makes when I push on the end of it. Over and over. And over. And, over. Words are on strike in my brain today. Or, maybe it's my brain that's on strike. The words are simply in their cubbyholes waiting to be put together into a story. So, if you please, I hope you'll come back tomorrow for my Alphabe Thursday post about the Gilroy Yamamoto Hot Springs. Ciao. And chow, I would definitely like right now.