A Happy July First to you, Dear Readers! And, because it's July first, I'm going to tell, and show, some of the firsts that the Husband and I experienced in June. Bottom line: summer is definitely here. Whooo-hooo! As some of you know, I do another blog called Take 25 to Hollister , which is all about where we live in California. Yup, Hollister, California. Our history and culture is not at all like the fictional Hollister, California of clothing fame. If you're interested in knowing the difference, check out this post . But, I mention the blog because our first-time experiences took place in Hollister and nearby locations. You'll also probably notice the watermark on some of my photos. Now, on with the show and tell. Hollister Airshow   Have you ever seen an air show from the flight line? It's definitely a different experience from suddenly stopping on the side of the road and peering up into the sky at the planes. That's how I've seen air show

Our sweetie-cakes is bored. How do I know Miss Molly by Golly is bored? "Break time," she mewed. She hopped up on my desk, walked back and forth on my keyboard, and checked out what was on the computer, then plopped down in front of me, insisting that she be petted. Molly rarely comes upstairs into the office in the morning on her own volition. ( Ooooh, big word. Could my ability to recall vocabulary be coming back? Take that Menopause! ) And, the only reason she normally doesn't care to seek out my attention at this time of the day is because she's enjoying herself in the Mama's garden. So, why wasn't she there on this gorgeous summer day? Unfortunately, summer brings back her seasonal harasser—the mockingbird. Every time, Molly the Cat goes outside, the bird suddenly appears and screeches at her. Molly just sits and looks at it, as if saying, "What's your problem?" The mockingbird then swoops at her and as Molly retreats to the hous

I drew socks the other day because I bought some socks for the Mama and me. They are just as colorful as the ones in the picture. The Husband bought socks, too. He was the instigator, which meant he needed socks and the Mama must have forgotten to give him socks for Christmas. Actually, it was more like she forgot to tell me that she wanted to buy his annual Christmas bunch of socks. I should've remembered, but I haven't been good in that department either. A couple weeks ago, I forgot about the Mama's doctor appointment. At least, I remembered the following day and called the doctor's office. We went on Friday for his five-minute examination to make sure she is still ticking. Yup, she is indeed. Her blood count actually went up,  and her blood pressure is that of a spring chicken. The Mama also gained a pound. She'd been losing a pound every four months for the past two years so I was very happy to hear the nurse say she was 110. The Mama's reaction. "

The other night, I made the kind of red pasta sauce for which I have been hankering for the longest time. Hurrah! The photo shows the leftovers I ate for breakfast. Getting that "perfect" taste was by accident so I have no idea if I will be able to do it again. Booo! I'm one of those people who likes to read cookbooks but modifies recipes while cooking and doesn't pay attention to how things are being changed. I also rarely measure amounts, and, when I do, I'm eyeballing amounts. That's probably why my chemistry experiments in school usually failed. Ha! on the person who copied my answers. Ingredients I Prepped Slice 1/4" circles out of two long Japanese eggplants Destem a handful of cremini mushrooms and slice them into halves Mince two fist fulls of chives (which is from the Mama's garden) Smash and mince 6 to 9 garlic cloves (assorted sizes of small to medium) Dice a small yellow onion. Slice 1/4" circles out of two basil-mozz

I'm not going to talk about garbage, other than to say that tonight we put the garbage cans out on the curb.  It seems like I just brought them in, which is my way of saying that lately the days go by much too quickly. I had planned to write a post on Monday, then yesterday, and then before lunch this morning. Now, I want to post this before I start making dinner in um 20 minutes. It's going to be a good dinner, too. We went to the Farmers Market this afternoon. All three of us—the Mama, the Husband, and me. It was a rare outing for the Mama and even rarer because she initiated the adventure. She was able to walk a block, back and forth, before she tired out. Hurrah for the 90+ Mama! Although, afterwards, when she plopped into the car, she said, "I don't think I will come anymore." And, when we reached home, she said, "I don't think I can go anywhere anymore. I want to sit down all the time." We could get her a walker with a chair so that sh

The other day the Husband pushed my pink beach cruiser along the highway while I walked slowly behind him. Is that a sweetheart or what? I'd ridden nearly 8 miles when I heard POW! My rear wheel shook like something got caught in the spokes. A few minutes later, the bicycle was not going as fast as my feet were pedaling it. Hello, Flat Tire. Grrrr . Thank goodness, I had the camera to distract myself as I pushed the bicycle beside me. Want to see the photos that I took of cows & horses , grass , palm trees , and yellow barn ? And, I had the cell phone. Pshew. It was days like that I was glad I paid attention to the Husband when he asked, "Do you have the phone?" It took a couple of tries before I got hold of the Husband to tell him what happened so he and the Mama wouldn't worry. "Would you like me to come and walk with you?" he asked. "You don't have to," I said, "But, that would be nice." About 40 minutes later,

$3.99 for a gallon jar of kosher whole dill pickles. About 70 of them. Three to four-inches long and rather thick, too. As far as I'm concerned, the $3.99 gallon jar of pickles is the best deal at Costco.Yes, indeed. A medium-size jar of kosher pickles at the supermarkets costs more than that. And, when I think how much a single Kosher pickle of this kind costs at a deli—oh, my! The Husband and I bought our second gigantic jar of pickles last week. We went through the first jar in a little over two months. Uh-huh, we like our pickles. We don't eat a pickle every day nor do we each eat a pickle. Even though pickles contribute to our probiotic consumption, we gotta be moderate about it. We also do not want to get tired of these yummy pickles that take up a lot of space on the top shelf of the refrigerator. The Mama doesn't care for pickles. Too sour. But, she does eye the jar, no doubt thinking about what could be stored in it. I asked her if she would like the first

Ah, the Liebster Award. In the best Jackie Gleason voice doing a Scarlett O'Hara imitation that I can muster, I say, "How sweet it is!" Birgit of BB Creations ,  who I met during the 2014 Blogging from A to Z Challenge , nominated me for the Liebster Award. It is a virtual medal that bloggers present fellow bloggers as recognition for the enjoyment they receive reading the awardees' posts. That's my interpretation of the award. If you're interested in learning more about the Liebster Award, check out this post by Lorraine Reguly at Wording Well . Bloggers can choose to accept or reject the Liebster Award. I accept the award with much gratitude. Thank you very much, Birgit. Like the Oscar and most other awards, a blogger can be nominated several times over. I've been fortunate to be nominated twice. Yaay for me. So much for modesty on my part today. :-) The Rules for Accepting the Liebster Award According to Reguly , the rules vary for the

A few days ago, I met a professional photographer who told me that he never took photos between 10 AM to 4 PM because the lighting is bad then.  I left his gallery with "Never between 10 and 4" embedded in my brain, but still with disbelief. It being nearly 6 PM, I went crazy taking photos. Dang, if there wasn't a magical quality of light in the photos. I truly did not bank on it happening in my photos. So, what does that have to do with my evaluation about the Blogging from A to Z Challenge in April that I completed. Beats me. All I know is that I wanted to use the above photo for this post before I even wrote it. Maybe by the end of the post, the metaphor of taking photos will show itself. This was my second year doing the challenge. I found it more enjoyable than last year. One reason was that I did not link up both my blogs to the challenge, even though I post to the other blog, Take 25 to Hollister , every day. I chose to link up The View from the Top of t

The first, okay, maybe it was the fourth, thing I did this morning before breakfast was write that To Do list. I did finish the mystery I've been reading at breakfast. I diligently stuck with the story although I didn't care for the protagonist who was too much of an insecure whiner. But once I learned who the suspect was, I skimmed through the final scenes. I closed the book and purposely went to complete something else. For about the next two hours, I topped off the Mama's outdoor potted plants with potting soil. It was something I had been thinking about doing for the last two summers. The other week, while the Mama was watering her plants, she mentioned that they needed more soil. "Uh-huh," I said, glancing at them and thinking I need to do that before she got to it. Fortunately, for me, a few days ago, the Husband and I bought three huge bags of potting soil. The Mama requested one, but I bought two extra bags. Not because I was going to add soil to

It was cold and foggy on the day of the club picnic. What better way to get warm than to play touch football.  That day, nearly 40 years ago, was the first time (and the only time ) I've ever played the game. We didn't even play it in girls PE in high school, which now when I look back, I wonder why. We had field hockey (loved those sticks), archery, swimming (my favorite), soccer (hated all that running), folk dancing, tumbling (aw, gee, again!), bowling, and an assortment of other sports, but no touch football. Not even flag football. Again, I wonder why since football was a big deal in my high school. Anyway, I digress. In case, you've forgotten, or are confused, this tale of my rare athleticism happened when I was still a not-so-petite, petite young woman in college. Everyone had traveled an hour or so to a park south of the city. I have no idea anymore where it was, but I do remember the large meadow where we played touch football. Always willing to try almost any

The other week, the Husband and I decided on a five year plan. First five year plan we've ever made about anything, too. The best part about it: We're already in year three. (By the way, did I use that colon punctuation properly?) What is this five year plan? And, how is that related to the photos of our hair? I'm glad you asked. This tale starts in 2010 when the Husband and I decided to go bald. The Husband also chose to shave off his mustache and beard. You can read that story here , if you're interested. In 2011, we shaved off our hair again. In 2012, we wondered how long our hair would get after two years. When 2013 came along, we got used to our messy look and thought about trimming it all once the temperatures got very hot. They never did. So, here we are again at our anniversary of shorn locks. The last time my hair has been this long was in my youth, albeit (oooh, love that transitional word) my hair back then was much, much thicker. The Husband says t

"Husband, what is my X-factor?" I asked, standing behind the Husband, who was at the kitchen sink. He was carefully prepping the dishes to wash. "X-factor?" the Husband asked. "What do you mean?" "I dunno," I said, trying to balance on one foot. "What is X-factor?" "It was a TV show** about aliens." "Cool! I've got my "X" post." "What?" "The letter X. You'll be featured tomorrow on the blog. Thank you very much." The Husband laughed. * Later, when I returned from taking out the garbage, the Husband said, "X-Files was the alien show. X Factor was a talent show." "Even better," I said, though I don't know why. I'm participating in the Blogging from A to Z Challenge this month. To check out other participants, click here . See you tomorrow.    

I knew the pet store was to the left, so I turned left.  "I think it's to the right," said the Husband, sitting in the passenger seat. "No, it's this way," I said, firm in my belief. "I think it's back that way," the Husband said, firm in his belief. "No." "Yes." "I'll bet you it's this way," I said. "I don't want to bet money," he said. "Jumping jacks," I said. "When you lose, you do 10 jumping jacks." "Okay," he said. Here, dear readers, you should note that the Husband does not bet unless he's 100 percent sure he's right. "And, if I lose. . .," I said. "What do you want me to do?" "Ten jumping jacks," he answered. Dear readers, you should also note that I do not do jumping jacks. "Fine. If I lose, I do 10 jumping jacks. But, I'm not losing." Half an hour later, the Husband stood ne

Verily, verily, I say unto her,  "I shall leave that spider web alone." It's outdoors. It is in no one's way. It does no one harm. The Mama thinks otherwise about spider webs.  And, if she had seen this one, she would've given me grief. Verily, she would have.  I'm participating in the Blogging from A to Z Challenge this month. To check out other participants, click here . See you tomorrow.   

The last of the remaining orchard in our area was pulled out last month. That's why we've been seeing and hearing a lot more crows in the neighborhood. Also, doves, pigeons, and other birds. Squirrels, too.  Fortunately, no rats or snakes. I hope all the creatures that once lived in the orchard have found good places to call home. FYI: The watermark on the photo refers to the other blog I write. I'm participating in the Blogging from A to Z Challenge this month. To check out other participants, click here . See you tomorrow.   

I admit it. I've watched a lot of TV in my life, ever since the Mickey Mouse Club in the 1950s. But, not enough to call myself a tvholic. Oh, sure there are days or nights when I sit in front of the TV and jump from channel to channel during commercials. That's so I don't think about stuff, including writing projects. These days, I usually fall asleep after an hour of TV, if even that, including on programs that I like. For instance, I rarely make it through Elementary , the show about Holmes and Watson in modern day New York. It could be a genetic trait. The Mama falls asleep in front of the TV after dinner.  Molly the Cat snuggles alongside her and they both snore in front of the TV. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.  I suppose I could stay awake if I wasn't lying down. "Sit up," says the Husband, waving his hand in front of my face. "I'm awake," I mumble. Barely, of course, but I'm not going to say so. And, maybe I shouldn't close my eyes durin

When I was a youth—did I really write that?—the battle cry was Seize the Day! Today it's more like, uh, seize the moment . In just a snap of a moment, I might finally do a load of laundry. . . vacuum the living room. . . make that darn appointment with the doctor. . . re-order supplements. . . read a chapter. . . prune the lemon tree. . . sew the Christmas gift for the Husband. . .  draft the working outline for a book idea. . . or. . . . You could say I procrastinate. A lot.  At least, I make no excuses. Walden Pond taught me that. So, did the Daddy. I realize and accept the consequences for every action that I do. Or don't. Though I wonder if that is an excuse in itself. I'm participating in the Blogging from A to Z Challenge this month. To check out other participants, click here . See you tomorrow.   

If you were physically separated from your significant other, for whatever reason, would you still want to get back with him or her after a year? Five years? Thirty? About a month after the Only and Older Bionic Brother was born, the Daddy, a naturalized U.S. citizen, returned to the United States. He realized that there would be more and better opportunities for his children in America than in the Philippines. This was in the late 1940s. He worked hard and within a year, he made enough money to book ship passage for the Mama and their son. The Mama did not want to leave her home and family. The Mama's mother told her that once she married, her life was with her husband's. She, the Mama, no longer belonged to the Grandmother. Thirteen months after the Daddy left, he and the Mama were reunited in their new home in California. The stories of my two ninangs (godmothers) were different from the Mama.  They waited much, much longer to reunite with their spouses. The story of

  "Charlie, tell me the story, again, about that day we put away the benches at Sunnyslope School." "Remember how we used to move the benches back to the side of the building after we ate lunch in fourth grade. Maybe it was fifth grade. There were only a few guys who could carry a bench all the way by themselves. I felt so good that first day I carried one by myself. Then I turned around and I saw you carrying two benches, one under each arm. I was impressed." I don't remember any of it. If there was an exaggeration on Charlie's part, it would be that I was carrying the benches rather than dragging them. Charlie Quaid and I had known each other since fourth grade. He was very cute in his blue cub scout uniform. He had the sweetest smile and, when I look back, the kindest regard for people, which perhaps he didn't know he had.  That, I think, contributed to why he was well-liked by both sexes throughout his life. Charlie was one of the smarte

As the Daddy started the car, the Mama pulled an orange from the paper bag. She dug into the orange with her thumbnail, pulled away a bit of the peel, and handed it to her teenage son in the back seat. The Daddy eased onto the two-lane highway when the Mama took out another orange. This one she peeled completely, then gave the juicy fruit to her seven-year old daughter who peeked over the front seat.   In her mind, the Mama already forgave the children their mess. The Mama reached for a third orange. The Daddy kept his eye on the road, maintaining a safe distance from the car in front of him. The Mama slowly peeled the orange, glancing now and then at the passing scenery. The teenager swallowed his last slice of orange and burped. His sister giggled. The Mama reached over to the Daddy and touched his right hand with a piece of orange. His eyes still on the road, the Daddy took the orange and ate it in one bite. When he swallowed, the Mama gave him another piece. She looked at th

One of my favorite places to go to is the ocean. Notice I didn't say beach. I like the beach, but I don't necessarily have to be walking or laying on one. I'm happy to be standing on top of a cliff overlooking the ocean. And, when I can swim in ocean that's warm as bath water, whoooo-weeee! That to me is heaven. All my life, I have lived within a 40-minute drive away from the Pacific Ocean. At one time, I was just 10 blocks away when I was living in San Francisco. Oh, and how can I forget the apartment where the ocean was just a short walk down the hill. Although, the Husband will say that was a bay and not the ocean. But, a bay is part of an ocean, right? I had to search deep into my computer files to find a photo for today's post. You know what that means? The Mama would say, "Mapan tayo idiay baybay!" Let's go to the ocean! What's one of your favorite places to go to? I'm participating in the Blogging from A to Z Challenge this m

The Mama and the Daddy asked six of their friends to be the ninongs and ninangs, or godparents, when I was baptized.  The Roman Catholic Church recognizes only two baptismal sponsors, and one ninang (female godparent) and one ninong (male godparent) did sign on the formal lines of the baptismal document a long time ago. The other four signed on the right hand top of the page. I have a feeling the godparents signed it all at once at the church, which makes me wonder if the priest panicked that the church rules were not being followed. The parents taught me that the spouses of the godparents were also ninangs and ninongs, and I was to address them as such. Altogether, I had 10 godparents. I have many memories of these elegant people. Here are a few of them. Ninang Deling taught me my numbers in Ilocano. She was quite patient with the four-year old me that bounced and danced around her as I repeated after her—maysa, dua, tallo, uppat, lima. . . When I was six or seven, Ninong Cle

The Mama, as some of you dear readers know, is in her nineties. The tiny, fragile, slow-stepping Mama is doing well, thank you very much for asking. She's as fit and magnificent as the flowers and vegetables that she grows. The only medication she takes is for her thyroid. I can only hope that I haven't screwed up the genes she gave me too awful much. This morning, I found a poem that I wrote about the Mama two years ago when she was rushed to the hospital. The Mama is amazing. The Sleeping Mama Slipped into her ER room. She was fast asleep, Hooked up to the IV, heart monitor, and oxygen. In one moment, she could not move no matter how hard she tried. And, she tried, and kept trying, to stand up. "Walking pneumonia," the doctor said. "Dehydration." What did she say?  "This is going to cost me a lot." © 2014 Su-sieee! Mac I'm participating in the Blogging from A to Z Challenge this month. To check out other participants, c

Nearly 35 years ago, a college professor, who hailed from Australia, told me if it weren't for the awkwardness of my writing, I would've got a higher score on my paper. She forgave me for some of my usage and grammar because, according to her, "English is your second language." For once, I kept my mouth closed rather than enlighten her on how wrong she was. English is the only language I can read, write, speak, and understand fluently. Proficiently, too, except for the lapses in awkward writing and the proper use of grammar, word choice, and cliches. I'm especially good at forgetting articles (the, a, an, and so on) and getting prepositions mixed up, which, I think is because the Ilocano language has no articles and, as far as I can tell, one preposition. As I was growing up the parents mostly spoke Ilocano to me while I spoke English to them. I still do that with the Mama, and the Husband finds it very strange. It's really not unusual with immigrant

This is Molly the Kitty Cat. For short, we call her Molly the Cat. Prrrrrrrrrr. I've told many a tale about our sweet Missy Molly by Golly. If you'd like to read one, please click here . Have a great weekend! Prrrrrrrrr. I'm participating in the Blogging from A to Z Challenge this month. To check out other participants, click here . See you tomorrow.  

Because I was born 10 days after the cut-off date for first graders, I was sent home on the third day of school. Fine. The Mama had her hands full caring for Baby Sister and figuring out the new house that we had moved into about a week before school started. That meant I got to go with the Daddy for part of the day. Great! The Daddy irrigated the rows upon rows of crops on the valley floor. During  his morning break, the Daddy came home to fetch me. I'd get in the car with my Golden Books, coloring books, and crayons and down the hill we would go. While the Daddy worked, I entertained myself with my books and when that became tiring, I'd wander and explore, but never too far from the car and always where the Daddy could see me. We'd go home for lunch and sometimes I'd get to go back with the Daddy. A ditch stood between the fields and the car. It also separated me from the Daddy. Without help, I could not get over the ditch, especially when it was filled with w

Itty-bitty bananas are growing in our backyard. It's quite amazing. Don't let that photo fool you. I took it close up. They are truly very small bananas. Bananas have grown before, but normally they sprout at the end of summer, then before you know it, the weather is cool, and so much for the fruit. This year though, ooh la la, we may be eating bananas from our trees. I'm participating in the Blogging from A to Z Challenge this month. To check out other participants, click here . See you tomorrow.  

The Husband and I stood in line at the big-box home improvement store. As we waited our turn, I watched the busy movement around us. All the lines were long, a given for a Saturday,  I suppose. Men and women pushed their carts forward in line, all heaped with lumber, sacks of soil, cans of paint, plumbing fixtures, and other large and bulky items for their DIY projects.  Finally, it was our turn. The Husband placed his items on the counter—a tiny light bulb and two drawer knobs. The transaction was quick. As the cashier handed a tiny bag to the Husband, he said, "Enjoy your project." The Husband still cracks up when he recalls that moment. I'm participating in the Blogging from A to Z Challenge this month. To check out other participants, click here . See you tomorrow. 

It started happening last year. Well, I noticed it last year. A wonderful phenomenon that sometimes happens at intersections where there are no traffic lights or stop signs. The Husband and I stand at a corner, waiting to safely cross the street. We are in no hurry, usually. So, if there are several cars about to parade in front of us, no big deal. But, then, unexpectedly, a driver stops for us. We walk as quickly as we can across the street, waving our thanks to the driver.  The first few times this occurred, I was amazed that there were still kind drivers in the world. One day it occurred twice—drivers stopping their car to let us go by. The first time was in a parking lot, the second at a street intersection. As Yul Brynner in The King and I sang, "But is a puzzlement." Then it dawned on me. The drivers who stopped saw two old people standing on a corner. Perhaps we looked forlorn or lost. Ha! I doubt it. Our normal stance is silly. They probably felt sorry for us

Free! That's how I feel when I pedal my clunky bright pink bicycle. Being short, I've got a lot of power in my stubby legs, so says the tall Husband, who sometimes huffs and puffs after me. "That's okay," I tell him. "I can't keep up with you when we walk. Since December 31, 2013, I've pedaled nearly 320 miles on my pretty cruiser.  I'm rather proud about that. Several days a week, I take off before breakfast and pedal up and down and through the flat and hilly neighborhoods or trace a perimeter around town. Because I'm alone, I generally follow the streets and roads. Now and then I forge quickly across a field or ford the dry riverbed. The Mama is almost used to me going out on my own early in the morning. Just when I think it's not a big deal for her that I'm out roaming alone, she'll say something like, "Do you go far away?" "What takes you so long?" or "Aren't you afraid to ride by yourse

Lately I've been hearing this phrase a lot— the elephant in the room . For example, a character says, "We can't ignore the elephant in the room anymore." That said, I shall address the elephant that has been showing itself the past few days on my blog. The drawings. Rather, the doodles.Those are mine, you betcha! Very rough and kid-like. You'd think I'd be embarrassed to show them. Nope. This elephant -- my doodles -- is just another something new for me to attempt. Ever since my first grade teacher told me that my cows needed to stand on terra firma , I have been insecure about drawing, painting, sketching, and anything to do with art. Not anymore. The elephant in the room is now s-i-x-t-y and can do whatever she darn well pleases. So, I may be posting a doodle every day of this A to Z challenge. Or not. Because I'm talking about the elephant, I may not be inclined to do any more. But, then, as I'm composing this post, I can't think of w

The morning the First Husband died, I had thought about doughnuts. Frank was 21 days into hospice care, which we elected to do at home. On that 21st day, I woke up feeling strangely relaxed. Unlike the other 20 days, I wanted to sleep a bit longer. Thump. Frank lightly tapped me on my head. Two times. I felt heartened. He had not been able to move any part of himself for days.  I opened my eyes. He looked at me intensely and clearly. I smiled. He hadn't been this alert since the first few days of Hospice. "Okay, Frank, since you insist, I'm getting up," I said. I opened the blinds to the living room where we had been sleeping on the sofa bed for the last four months. "It's a beautiful day, Frank." Our morning ritual began by turning Frank onto his side, then holding a glass of water mixed with a bit of morphine for him to sip from a straw. On day one of hospice, Frank decided to stop eating to bring death on quicker. He, as well as the hospice nurses

I want to learn to play the cello. So I say right now. In the past year, I have changed from wanting to play the bass guitar to the bass, accordion, trombone, drums, and violin. And, now it is the cello. The Husband says settle on one already. Easy for him to say. He can play the trombone. He can read music. He can sing on key. Me? I can read the C-scale, specifically the first five notes C-D-E-F-G. The first time I sang along with the Husband during our courting days, more than 18 years ago, he told me I was off-key. After another song or two, he said, "You're tone deaf." Huh? What? That was news to me and I'd been singing 40 years by then. But, it did suddenly make sense why the elementary school chorus teacher didn't let me join the group and I couldn't for the life of me tune my guitar when I was an angsty teenager. Fortunately for the Husband, I haven''t let that imperfection keep me from singing when I feel like it. He has even said

Names have been changed because I just don't remember them anymore. "Need any help, Bea," a grey-haired woman said heartily, from the doorway of the Friends of the Library Bookstore. "Laurie, good to see you, darling," said the elderly Bea, turning from the bookshelves. "You're not scheduled for today." "I know," Laurie said, walking into the shop. "I had to come down town to pay bills and return books. Since I had to put on a bra, I thought I'd stop by and do a couple of hours if you could use me." Both women laughed. I laughed, too, from the side of the room. Yup. I could hardly wait to get home and take my bra off. I'm participating in the Blogging from A to Z Challenge this month. To check out other participants, click here . See you tomorrow. 

"Sometimes it's a good idea to teach A, B, D, C rather than the usual A, B, C, D." That's what I said at a job interview for a youth counselor position in the late 1970s. I cannot recall what the interviewers had asked me, nor can I remember why I chose to give a "thinking out of the box" response.  This was my second interview for the position so perhaps I tried to sabotage myself. I was very good about things like that back then. I did not get the job. No surprise there. But, I figured it was more so because I didn't have the desired skill of being bilingual in Spanish. A month later, the group offered me a temporary position as one of the eligibility officers for its summer youth employment program. That job turned out to be more compatible with my personality. A few days on the job, I met the woman who was hired for the youth counselor position. Unlike me, she had a working relationship with the interviewers, having previously worked with th

Just call me #2028. For now. That may change throughout the month during the Blogging from A to Z April Challenge . This is my second year. Unlike last year, I have no expectations. I may finish, I may not. And if I don't? Then I will have recognized that my world has become too stressful and doing the daily post challenge is not a priority. Hmmm, I believe I have turned the corner into Serenity Now!

Okay. So, I changed the name of the blog, from Don't Be a Hippie...Then and Now to The View from the Top of the Ladder . Will a new name get me to write regularly, or just write? We shall see, dear Readers. I haven't written in a long time. Anything. No, that's false. Occasionally, I write short articles for moolah, and  I post at Take 25 to Hollister , with the goal of doing it everyday for a year. But, until this moment, I haven't said anything about my intent there. I just post. I'll know on January 7, 2015, if I have accomplished my goal. A second time. This is the fourth blog title change for me. The last three times, I started a new physical blog. This time, I realized whatever for. My writing voice hasn't change. Neither have the topics that I  write about because there is nothing new under the sun, including my "writer's block" that has been going on  for more than several months. Possibly years. Some would say that I don't ha

Snap. Snap. Snap. "Mama's always finding something to snap in the backyard," I said to the Husband, as I peeked out the back door to see what she was snapping. "She'll always find something," said he. The temperature was in the 50s. Very cold, she would complain, if she was inside the house. Outside, she doesn't feel how cold it is because she says she's always moving. Always doing something in her garden. She has already dug up her vegetable boxes. I won't be surprised if she starts planting beans next month and then complains a month later why it takes so long for them to sprout. That's the Mama. Keeps her strong, I know. She is, I believe, healthier than the Husband and me right now. At least all the trees are pruned. The apple trees. The persimmon trees. The apricot tree. The miracle tree. The avocado trees. The ornamental pear tree on the front yard. Too bad we didn't have a prune tree to prune. Of course, there is th