In my mind, I'm going on five years old having a high old time wandering and wondering. In reality, I'm going on 65, the magic age for Medicare, thank you very much! I tell you a lot of creativity is still to be found in this old young self. In you, too, whatever your age. Welcome to my barefoot world!
I like my Canon PhotoShot A1200, a gift from the Husband a couple of birthdays ago. It doesn't take images as sharp as I'd like, but then it could be just me. My ability to maintain steadiness as I click isn't what it used to be. Still, I wonder what results could I get if I had a digital SLR. Until then, I shall have fun with Photoshop. Below is the original shot of Mr. Robin.
Today, I'm linking up with Wordless Wednesday. Click here to check out the works of other participants.
I'm not much into walking, but walking I must if I want to stay up with the Husband and the Mama. Those two plan on not ever dying. Fortunately, the walks go down easier with the camera in my hand and the occasional shadow sparring with the Husband.
The Husband and I went to the supermarket yesterday afternoon to purchase fixings for split-pea soup for dinner. That meant grab a slice of ham from the meat department and fill a bag with about 2 pounds of split peas from the bin in the produce section.
But, then we walked by the fish display. Wild, but previously frozen, Rex sole was on sale for $4.99 per pound. Neither of us ever had it before. Its name intrigued me. About a pound, please, sweet butcher lady.
Then I saw the squid. Ooooh. And, the octopus. Double ooooooh. The squid would be a treat for the Mama and for me. The octopus, too, if cooked correctly so it wasn't all rubbery. The Husband doesn't care for either, but he can have 2 pieces of the Rex sole. So, I asked for about a half pound of the squid and a quarter pound of the octopus.
As the butcher lady wrapped the items, I spied the locally made sausages. I turned to the Husband. "Shall we get some sausage?"
I have a blue notebook that's entitled Efficiency Notebook. It was something I found in one the Father-in-Law's boxes labeled Office. The notebook's cover states that inside are 80 medium ruled and margin line sheets. After the Husband and I tore out the pages with the Father-in-Law's notes, fewer than 40 blank pages were left.
Why didn't we just throw out the notebook? I don't know anymore. Maybe the kuripot in me wouldn't let it go. Kuripot, for those curious, means cheap, thrifty, penny-pinching, or frugal in Ilocano. Some people characterize the Ilocanos, which is my ancestry, as being kuripot. But, then I could just be individually that way. When I hold my palm up, fingers naturally resting against each other, I can't see any light between the fingers. That, according to the Mama, means I'm pretty good about not spending a lot of money. Yes, that's the reason I think insurance of any kind is a scam.
Molly the Cat grew up today. She is now a full-fledged huntress. I wish though that she wouldn't bring her prey into the house to finish it off.
When Molly the Cat came to us, she was an indoor kitty with no experience of being outdoors other than the time her first adopted parents threw her and her brother outside because they couldn't handle the brother's constant vomiting. Poor babies.
Today, Molly the Cat roams the backyard freely and unsupervised. The Mama opens the sliding door after breakfast and Molly pops out. No looking back. Several hours later, Molly saunters through the door. "What's for lunch?" she asks, as she prods me for her meal.
The Husband's goal from the start for Molly was for her to catch her own food so that should anything happen to her humans, she would be able to fend for herself. So we have waved strings in front of her face to pounce on and thrown balls for her to tackle. The last few months, the Husband and Molly have be…
This year I decided to enter a couple of flower arrangements in our county fair. Never done it before. Entered the flower arrangement division, that is. Nor, for that matter, made a flower arrangement. So, why do it?
Well, it's because I'm turning 60 soon and this year has been all about doing new stuff. My friend Jennifer challenged me on my last birthday when she thought it was my 60th birthday. That still cracks me up. I'm glad she got it wrong. I may not have even thought about doing some of the things I already have.
So, anyway, here is one of my fair entries. It's called -- appropriately -- Writer's Block.
That's how many pounds of tomatoes the Husband, the Mama, and I picked at the Live Earth Farm in Watsonville yesterday. The farm was having its last u-pick day for tomatoes, and, we were quite fortunate to learn about it just in time.
I have gotten spoiled. Maybe the Husband and the Mama have, too. For the last four years, we have picked enough organic tomatoes to freeze and use until the next tomato season. Frozen organic tomatoes taste almost as if they were just picked. That's reason one for me saying I am spoiled.
Reason number two is that I like seeing Mama enjoy herself as she picks tomatoes. I think it brings her back to the days of working in vegetable seed research. We bring her little green bench so that she can sit as she pick tomatoes in solitude under the warm sun. "Don't go too far," she always tells me, as I go to find my own row of solitude nearby, while the Husband walks toward the far end of the field.
"I think I have 86¢," I said, when the fish lady told us the lovely looking rockfish was $5.86.
Pulling out a handful of change from my purse, the fish lady said, "Yes, I think you do."
I plucked out two quarters, two dimes, a nickel, and a penny from the coins in my hand and put them on the counter. My mind when blank. "How much was it again?"
"86¢," said the Husband.
I fished out more coins. My mind went blank again. "What was it?"
"86¢," he said.
I looked down at the change. Total blankness. "What?"
I gave up. "Okay, that ought to do it."
The fish lady picked up the change, laughing with the Husband and me as we chattered on. "And, to think he has to deal with me everyday," I said while the Husband rolled his eyes and threw up his hands.
I noticed the fish lady counting the change. "Did I give you enough?"
"More than enough," she said, handing me back two dimes.
Today I discovered a talent -- and a natural skill -- that I have.
First, let me put it all in context. I decided to enter the Country Roads Dry Flower Arrangement category at this year's County Fair. It'll be my first time. The requirement: I must make a dried flower display using a receptacle that I have found alongside the road.
So, this afternoon, the Husband and I decided to walk on the street that's next to the last small open field in our neighborhood. Unfortunately, a chicken-wire-type cyclone fence blocked us from wandering in the field. Still, I lucked out. Just on the other side of the fence was a broken toy rocket and a small kinda flat rubber ball. Bingo!
I was able to pull the rocket through the fence without busting it. Whoo-hooo! Now to get the ball that was further away from the fence. The Husband and I found a stronger and larger stick, but that, too, was on the other side of the fence. That's when I learned about my talent.
This has been a great summer for the Mama's backyard jungle. Trees, vines, and plants are producing like crazy. This is just a bit of the Mama's bounty—Sweet Asian pears, sunny sunflowers, and sour, but yummy lemons.
Today, I'm participating in the photo meme, Monday Mellow Yellows, hosted by Gemma Wiseman. To check out other participants, please click here.
P.S. 'Tis the month of the Mama and Molly the Cat.
Okay. It is a puddle of water on the patio cement floor. Water collects there when it rains or when the Mama waters her potted plants. Makes me wonder if the natural dip there may actually be over a spring. 'Tis the month of the Mama.
P.S. I'm participating in Weekend Reflections. Click here to see the photos of other participants.
August is the month of the Mama. Meaning? I plan to share some Mama love and Mama-isms with you over the next 31 days. (Not every day, of course.) Here's the first Mama-ism.
"Again," the Mama sighed.
"What?" I asked in alarm, as I stopped nearly halfway up the stairs. I tried to peek over the balustrade (yes, the balustrade), but couldn't see anything. "What's wrong?"
"Oh, nothing," she said from the living room. "It's Molly."
"What's wrong with Molly?"
"She's asleep. Again."
The Husband and I have explained many times that cats sleep a lot. They sleep after they've eaten. They sleep after they've played long and hard. They sleep when it's hot. They sleep when it's cold. They sleep when they darn well feel like it.
The Mama, however, does not accept it. Yet.
As I continued climbing the stairs, I heard Mama say, "Are you a millionaire, Molly? Are you a millionaire cat?&q…
This afternoon, I pulled a little red wagon down our driveway to the end of the street, around the corner, and over to the next block. The Husband walked ahead of me, looking for the house in front of which 20+ red bricks, three 18-inch scalloped bricks, and one half-circle of scalloped brick laid waiting for us. All free, courtesy of a recycle-friendly lady who we've never met.
Yesterday, an email popped into my box from the local freecycle group to which I subscribe. Usually, there's nothing that I want. Well, actually sometimes I do, but then I hear the Husband's voice in my head say, "What are we going to do with it? We still have a storage room full of stuff that we need to deal with." I heard him say that in my head as I read about the free bricks, but my inner voice overrode it. Bricks! These bricks can come in handy.
I quickly wrote a response and asked if the bricks were still available. Yep, they were. I wrote that I would tak…
The most amazing thing happened to me yesterday morning, as I was pedaling my pretty pink bicycle. Quite freaky, in fact. Totally insane. I wish I had one of those cameras strapped to my head so I could've recorded the whole thing, which lasted a few seconds but in slooooooooow motion seemed God, Almighty! long. In my mind, what I did is akin (almost) to attempting the circle-of death-biker stunt. Hey! Don't laugh. You gotta remember I'm a fat, young old fogey turning 60 in a few months, which I say in a very positive way.
Okay, okay. I think I've got your attention to the kinda, somewhat, yes, indeed risk I experienced yesterday morning.
It was about 8:17 a.m. For those of you who don't know my normal pattern, that hour is like sunrise for me. The Husband was still snoozing in bed, the Mama was eating her breakfast, and Molly the Cat was gazing out the back window probably thinking about climbing the fence. Me, I had a meeting to go to and by, golly, this time I h…
I just love it when technical things come together. After all, I am a non-techie, regardless of what others may say.
Early this morning, or late last night (depending on your point of view), I received an e-mail saying that my domain names had expired and if I wanted to keep them, I need to renew pronto. So, that I did. I decided to forgo the URL for the old blog and purchase a domain name for Don't Be a Hippie.
Purchasing su-sieeemac.com was quite a cheap thrill, I tell you what.
su-sieeemac.com? Yep. I figure I can always use the URL for something else down the line, should I ever cease writing Don't Be a Hippie. For once, I'm looking ahead.
Anyway, a few minutes ago, I keyed in the right combination of words and numbers to have Don't Be a Hippie appear in the browser when I plug su-sieeemac.com into the appropriate bar. Whooo-hooo! Another cheap thrill.
I think I will count this feat as a Doing 60. The little things count, too, in my book.
Seriously, Lady. Have you nothing else to do, but take my photo?
That's what I imagine Molly the by-golly Cat said to me after I snapped this shot.
What can I say? The friends have children and grandchildren to brag about. Me? Why, I'm pretty proud about the Husband, the Mama, and Molly the Cat.
Yep, I'm still here. I know. It has been nearly a month since I've written. I've been busy being a writing hack. And, I say that in a good way. Hope you're all doing well out there, dear Readers, each and every one of you.
The map of the world hangs on the wall above my cluttered desk and my more-than-often-than-should vacant mind. Above the map hang a few cobwebs. I'm sure Molly the Cat would be fascinated with the cobwebs if she would look up. Fortunately, the desk is too cluttered for her to find a spot to park while I work.
The map? Yes, the map. I like maps. Except for topo maps, I can read a map. Reading maps, even street maps, are fun. For me.
When I think of Africa, I see the number seven in a serif font. Australia makes me think of a terrier.
On this world map, Greenland is orange. As are Brazil, Saudi Arabia, India, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, and Korea. I see no key for colors so maybe it means nothing more than that's what the creator of the map wished to color those nations.
You would think I'd gaze at that map a lot. Nope.
I put it up to inspire me. But, it only reminds me that I haven't traveled more than I would've thought I would by now. If I think long an…
I did a lot of this and that on the computer over the weekend, rather than going here and there. My last task was merging my two blogs, the now—Don't Be a Hippie—with the then—This and That. Here and There. Now, Sometimes Then. Some of you dear readers may remember my older blog, and I thank you for following me to Don't be a Hippie.
My reason for combining the two? A sudden need for continuity. Let's face it, I stopped that other blog because I wanted a new blog title. If my first blog, Cu'Pie Baby Bird Says "Tweet, Tweet" was still up, I'd probably merge that one, too.
If you're on Blogger and interested in merging two or more of your blogs, check out this tutorial (How to Merge Blogs in Blogger?) at Blogger Tips and Tricks.
A cane is a very useful tool. It helps you steady yourself as you stand up. It offers you support as you make your way down your path. It's also something you can point with and you can use it to hit a car (or person) that comes too close for comfort.
Yep, a cane is a useful tool.
The Mama, however, will have nothing to do with one. She says (not these exact words, but this idea), "The more you use a cane, the more you won't be able to walk on your own." I suppose, in her mind, a cane is proof that you've given up to old age.
Fortunately, when she works in her gardens, she turns her rake or broom upside down and uses it kind of like a cane. But, she's not really using a cane, you see, because she's just transporting the rake or broom.
All in all, the Mama is very strong for a frail-looking woman in her 90s. (Don't let that fragility fool you. The woman is pretty much all muscle.) By using a cane, the Husband and I would have false confidence that …
It was only recently that I realized I did. My passion to create via the sewing machine comes in spurts and usually 10 years apart. It is probably just my lazy nature that kept me from becoming skilled at the craft. Unlike the Mama. She is a talented seamstress. A very precise one, too. Though not anymore. She still has a pedal Singer sewing machine, but it's too heavy for her to work, and the electric sewing machine confounds her. So she says. These days, she asks me if I'd mend something for her on the sewing machine. That makes me feel darn-tooting good. Fortunately for me, she has mellowed and doesn't care that my seams are still not perfectly straight and tend to be wiggle-waggle looking.
One of these days, I'll tell you, dear readers, the story about the time the Mama got a C (or was it a C minus) for my homemaking project in seventh grade.
Today, I want to mention the Giveaway Day event that Sew, Mama, Sew!is hosting at its blog. Quilters, cra…
Sometimes, it feels like this when I'm working: Herding sheep (which are the words) into a pen.
The sheep, however, are not being nice about going into the pen. Sheep there. Sheep over there. And more sheep way, waaaaay over there. Then, of course, I must not forget the sheep that are hidden from view. Or, those sheep that have made their way to a meadow I had no idea existed. Where's Little Bo Peep when you need her? But, wait, she lost her sheep.
I wonder though if sheep is the best animal to stand for the words.
How about a horse? Gallop. Trot. Nostrils flaring, head tossing back, foot stamping. Such attitude. Neighhhhhhhhhh.
Maybe the words are more like cattle or milking cows. Mooooooooooo.
Definitely not cats.
Be nice if the words were more like dogs. Woof-woof. Here I am. How ya doing? I'll hang out with you. Can I do anything? You need a nuzzle. Give it a rest. Let's go for a walk.
The Daddy lived in Honolulu, Hawaii when World War II began. He was getting his hair cut the morning that Pearl Harbor was bombed on December 7, 1941. (I write about that here.) In April, 1942, he signed up for the U.S. Army.
It was a Sunday afternoon. The Daddy was hanging out with a friend in Ala Moana Park.
"Compadre, let's join the army," his friend said, seeing the army recruiting truck parked nearby. "I'm going now."
“You go yourself,” the Daddy answered, thinking about how good the wages had become. He was making a dollar an hour. "I'm working tonight."
“I’m going” his friend said.
His friend ran to the truck and jumped on. The Daddy watched as more men jumped onto the truck. Soon, another truck stopped and parked. More men ran and jumped onto that truck. Before he realized it, the Daddy ran and jumped on the second truck, too.
Said the Daddy: They took us to the camp. They gave us clothes. After they fed us, they had us exercis…
"Yes!" ". . .We have no bananas. We have no bananas today. . . ."
I like that song a lot. It was written for a Broadway revue in 1922 and became a hit the following year for Eddie Cantor, according to Wikipedia. I first heard it in an old-time cartoon that I saw on TV when I was a kid. I love those cartoons from the 1930s and 1940s. They introduced me to old ditties such as "Yes! We have no bananas." and "Mairzy Doats and Dozey Doats" as well as classical and jazz music. Today, cartoons will flash through my mind when I suddenly hear certain classical or jazz songs.
Yeah. So, here we are—the letter "Y". Tomorrow, Zeee. The next day, zzzzzzzz! on the blog. Just kidding. Maybe.
As I'm writing this post, I hear in the near distance the sound of seals barking. Yawp, yawp, yawp! But, here's the thing. I live about 25 miles from the ocean, if I was a crow.
Yep. Halfway through the A to Z Blogging Challenge, Rhonda at Dizzy Stir nominate…
A Special 23rd Date Fourteen years ago, about the same time as I'm writing this, I'm
getting food ready for the next day's festivity. Getting married to the
husband, it was.
Fourteen years ago, about an hour or
so from now, I will have finally laid down beside a very anxious
husband-to-be. He would be so anxious, he would not be able to sleep.
And, that would mean I would not get to sleep.
The Daddy's cousin was cutting Daddy's hair in their kitchen. They talked about this and that when suddenly they heard in the near distance Boom! Boom! Boom!
"Hurry up," said the Daddy. "Something is happening at the harbor. Let's go see what's wrong."
December 8, 1941
At the same moment, thousands of miles to the east, the Japanese Navy Air pilots were bombarding the U.S. bases in the Philippines, a U.S. territory. The Mama was staying in Baguio, a mountain town, where the John Hay Air Base was located. The town was immediately evacuated.
The Mama said it took her and her family about a month to walk their way down the mountain to their home in Pangasinan, a province in Central Luzon.
Yesterday afternoon, while the Husband and I worked in the Mama's garden, Molly the Cat walked along the fence. We didn't know what she had been up to until the Husband went looking for her. He found her heading down a connecting fence. Fortunately, she turned around when he called to her. He took her off the fence, put her down on the ground, and followed her to the house all the while praising her for a job well done. After she went inside the house, the Husband shut the door.
Molly the Cat rested beside the screen door and watched us hammer poles into the ground, untangle wire fencing, and attach the wire between poles for vegetables to climb up and up. She did not say a word unlike the neighborhood dogs when they want their way.
When the Husband and I came to the screen door, Molly the Cat sat up.
In April of last year, I stumbled upon a handsome batik-like print with ukuleles. Immediately, I thought, "An Hawaiian shirt for the Husband!" Without giving it another thought, I bought 2 yards of the fabric. I didn't care that I hadn't ever sewn a shirt before. When the Husband saw the print, he was just as excited as me about the idea of a Hawaiian shirt for him.
Throughout May, I looked at patterns online. The thought of sewing collars, yokes, and buttons made my hands sweat. I needed to turn this shirt into something fun to sew.
"What do you think about a tunic?" I asked the Husband.
The Husband went into a happy place as he described a Mexican tunic he once owned when he was a young man. How comfortable it was. How neat it looked. And so on, and so forth.
In June, for his birthday, I gave the Husband a written promise of a hand-sewn tunic in the ukulele print. Over the summer, I kept my eyes open for the perfect tunic pattern.
"What is that noise?" I imagine the Pop of the mom-and-pop grocery store said.
The Mom walked over to the front window and laughed (so I conjecture).
Scrape. Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.
"What is it?"
Scrape. Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.
"That darling little chubby girl is skating."
"On what? Cans?"
Scrape. Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.
I was probably 6 or 7 years old when I skated for the first time. With each foot snugly encased in a crushed beer can, I slowly made my way around the bend of the gravel driveway to the road and along the shoulder. I crossed in front of the mom-and-pop store with the goal of reaching the stop sign. There I rested for a long while. Most likely I wished I had a nickel for a candy bar or maybe a dime for a bottle of Nehi soda. Skating was more work than I thought it would be.
Up, I stood, and took off again. It was just a few yards down the side of the store to the other end of the gravel dr…
Did you think I was going to talk about rock and roll stars? Hahaha. Nope.
I'm talking about actual rocks. Granite—or are they basalt?—rocks that edge the ocean shorelines, to be precise. But, my question can be about rock formations anywhere. That question: Do you ever see faces in rocks? How about figures?
Here's what I saw at the rocky shoreline in Monterey recently.