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Showing posts from February, 2013

Who me? Very Inspiring?

Uh-hem. Back in October of 2012, a fellow blogger bestowed on me the Very Inspiring Blogger Award. Today, I shall complete the task for having accepted the reward. What can I say, I thought it was just yesterday. Well, at least I let my blogger friend—Widdershins—know pronto that I appreciated the honor.

About the Award
Blogger awards that we bestow upon fellow bloggers come with rules. Those rules often get modified as they make the rounds around the world, and that I shall do.
These are the acceptance rules:
1. Thank the blogger who nominated you. Thanks again, Widdershins Worlds.
2. Place the award on your site. Done
3. Share 7 random things about you. You can read them below below.
4. Nominate 15 blogs. Let them know they've been nominated and how to accept the award. 
There are many blogs that I read frequently, sporadically, or just once or twice. They all inspire me to write, to sew, to cook, to eat, to read, to exercise, to dream, and do many other things. Yes, that means,…

A Lively Spirit—The Daddy Was

The Daddy and I were both born in the Year of the Snake, according to the Chinese zodiac. Sssssssssss. 2013 is the year of the Snake. May it be a great run around the sun for us all!

Today, I'm sharing an edited post that I published on February 25, 2011 on my former blog This and That. Here and There. Now, Sometimes Then. The post is about the day the Daddy died.  (That blog is still up if you're interested in reading other posts later.  Here's the link.)

The Daddy died from a heart attack. He was 76 years old.

Maybe he didn't pick how or where he died, but I think he was happy it wasn't at home where the Mama would've come home to find him after a long, tiring day at work. He was always protective of her.

That day the Daddy decided to go to lunch at the senior center with his good friend Danny, one of the godfathers of mine. The Daddy hadn't been there for quite a long while. He hadn't been feeling well, but those last three days, I was told, h…

Molly the Cat, One Year Later

Molly the Cat aka Molly the Kitty Cat aka Miss Molly by Golly. These days, she's also known as Molly Girl. Last week was her first anniversary with the crew. We, humans, had no idea it would be such a pleasure to have a cat that lives indoors. We hope the sweetie pie is just as happy as we are about living together.

Molly Girl plays no favorites. She adores the Husband. He is the one who plays with her before giving her dinner. She likes me because I am the human who mostly takes her outside to wander and offer her a snack at lunch time. And, she cherishes the Mama because this human massages her and gives Molly food to break her fast every morning.

The Two Ladies
Molly the Cat and Mama are so cute together. After a year, I see similarities between the two ladies.

Both are picky eaters. Unless they feel ravenous or truly like the food in front of them, they'll leave just a little less than half on their plate. Will they eat the leftovers the next day? Ha!

They like to snugg…

Today's Weather Report

Goooooooood Morning, Sunshine!

Yesterday was a wonderful dark day of rain, rain, and a bit more rain. Something we definitely needed. Today is a bright, cheery day of sunshine, although cold and colder in the shadows. And, a head full of snow is on the mountains to the east. As for tomorrow—and the couple days later—with grace, it shall be raining again.

Don't you just like how the Mama's pink daisies look with their shiny faces full of rain drops?


A Love Story that (Thank Goodness!) was Not to Be

I am very fortunate that I have met not one, but two gentle men, both of whom I married. Of course, not at the same time. When I met the current husband,  I told him that I didn't date. I went on adventures, but not dates. I rarely dated before the first husband, so why begin then.

But, today is not a story of either husband. Instead, my ramble is about the man who would not be my husband. He was the first—and last—man that the Mama and the Daddy dared try to match me with. Yes, I know. So old country. At least, they did not attempt to do an arranged marriage for me. 

I was in my late 20s, an old age to still be unmarried, according to the old ways. I lived alone in San Francisco, over 100 miles from the parents, which were two other no-no's for young women.

The man in question had a name that some women would think romantic. I thought it was just sappy. Other women would've described him as very dreamy. I saw him as looking superficially slick. One who would have noth…

Going to Church with the Daddy

One of the last times I went to church with the Daddy was to a Good Friday service. The Mama scored big that day as she not only got the Daddy to go with her, but me. I don't know how she did it. Maybe I didn't even sulk as I drove them to church. More than likely I did daydream through the service. That is, until the Daddy caught my attention.

It was a struggle for his old bones to do all the physical activity that takes place during a Catholic mass, especially at the longer Good Friday service. You stand, sit, and kneel a lot.  I don't think the Daddy realized he was protesting out loud. I still wonder if God and I were the only ones who heard him.

Stand.
Sit.
Kneel.
"Shit."

Sit.
Stand.
Kneel.
"Fuck."

Kneel.
Stand.
"God damn."
Sit.


Stand.
Sit.
Kneel.
"Shit. Fuck. God damn."

The Husband loves this story. After all, what's not to like: An old man swears in church.

How I miss the Daddy.

Jenn's Challenge: S-i-x-t-y Things!

My birthday was a couple months of ago. It was a delightful day, spent wandering with the Husband. One of the many highlights of the day was a package from Jenn, a dear long-time friend. Many years ago we worked together in a community-based nonprofit in San Francisco. She  developed on-the-job-training jobs for at-risk youth, while I counseled them about staying in school.

Jenn and I had a lot of fun moments within our serious ones. She could get me to do things I would not consider doing, such as buying a disco dress in all its femme fatal glory. Not just once, but twice. And, then there was that time we were walking back from some serious moment, talking about non-serious things as we passed by the panhandlers, street musicians, and the folks talking into objects before there were cellphones on Market Street. We stopped in front of a wig store and gazed at the display of gigantic Barbie doll heads sporting long and short hairdos.

"I wonder how I'd look in a long blond-h…

The Bareness of Winter

Molly the kitty Cat and I never know what we're going to see in the Mama's backyard. The other day, I shared with you the roses. Today, uhm,  the apple trees in their naked splendor.






Leaks!

Warning: It's graphic today.

Leaking things.
Under the car.
Around the base of the toilet.
Under the water heater.

Leaking bodies.
From the gut.
Norovirus.
Postmenopausal bleeding.

Aaaaaaaaaaaack.


This will all stop.
Eventually.
Hopefully,
sooner.
Not later.

How's the Mama?

When we meet up with friends, they eventually ask about the Mama. They've come to expect a doozy of a response about the tiny, not-so-frail 90ish gardener.  For example, one time I replied: 
We were gone 90 minutes to do errands. Only 90 minutes. Do you know what she did while we were away? She whacked off the tops of the banana plants. With her machete.Ba-dum-bump. Tishhhhhh.

And then there was the time I got to tell our friends this story.
We were gone most of the day. We came home to find that the Mama had pruned the apple tree next to the small shed.

"Did you use the ladder?" I asked.

"Only my small one," she said. "You'll have to prune the top. I couldn't reach the branches."

I looked at the tree. I couldn't figure how she got the middle branches without climbing the taller ladder.

"How did you get those middle branches?"

"Oh," said the Mama. "I stood on the roof of the shed."Ba-dum-bump. Tishhhhhh.



The Mama's Roses

The theme is still the inability to get started. That is, the brain of my mine.

Plutter... Pletter... Splutttttt....The sounds that the brain of my mine has been making.

So, on Saturday, I tried to jump start the brain of mine by snatching up the camera and going outside.

Some of the Mama's roses are in bloom. Take that cold weather, they seem to say.

And, yes, the roses, the snapping of photos, the doing of something creative seems to have sparked something in the brain of my mine.

Of course, dear readers, I must share with you the Mama's roses.







© 2013 Su-sieee! Mac. All rights reserved.

Back in the Saddle. Maybe.

The words unfold themselves in my head. The hands though won't jot them down on paper or key them onto a blank document. That's not an excuse. I have no excuse.

The Daddy accepted no excuses from me when I was a kid. If I did something stupid, then I did something stupid. I suffered the consequences. I learned quite early what the consequences were so I did my best not to do stupid things—or, at least, not to get caught.

For a man with a gentle voice, the  Daddy gave very stern scoldings. So stern that it brought on the tears. And, should I cry, the Daddy said, "No crying." The longer the crying, the harsher the scolding.

The Daddy used his belt for the dumbest decision-making acts I did. One or two quick slaps on my legs. The sting of the leather brought on the tears, too. "No crying," the Daddy said. Sucking up the tears just gave me the hiccups.

I only recall two instances when I got the Daddy's belt. Both times I was no where to be found and cam…