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!
This morning, I got up before the sunrise to take a photo of a neighbor's Halloween decorations. My hardworking point-and-click no longer takes pictures well at night or very dark settings. Poor guy. Since I was out, I thought I'd wait around for the sun to show itself, so I walked a bit around the neighborhood. But, the sun didn't pop up until I got home. Oh well. I did see some cool morning sights, including the bird of paradise hiding behind tall grass that look like cat tails.
By the way, if you're interested, click here to see the neighbor's Halloween decorations.
We use the term Xanadu to refer to "an idealized place of great or idyllic magnificence and beauty". So, today, I'm posting photos of the real paradise where the Husband, the Mama, Molly the Cat, and I live—Hollister, California, our Xanadu.
Today is the letter X on Alphabe Thursday, which is hosted by the awesome Jenny Matlock. Thanks, Jenny! To participate in the meme or to read what other bloggers have written about the letter X, please click here.
The last several days have been wonderful for the Husband and me. Yup. Lots of activity—walking, talking, being with great friends, talking, enjoying relatives, talking, eating yummy food, talking, discovering new places, talking, meeting new people, talking, seeing a high school play, laughing, talking, and much, much more. I'm pooped.
Here's a treat for you and me—a photo of the Mama's vegetable garden in the late 1990s. I'd say this is probably late February or early March. Are you as surprised as I am how few fruit trees and flower bushes were back there?
The Miracle Tree, by the shed on the right, was spindly. And, the apple tree way in the corner wasn't visible. Only the lemon tree, on the left, was going strong.
The Mama's vegetable garden was much bigger back then. She was in her mid-70s. A youngster.
Here's how her garden looked this morning. It's smaller and much of it is not visible. The lemon tree is hidden behind the apple and avocado trees. You still can't see the apple tree in the corner, which is now very tall, because of everything else.
I don't care what the movie reviewers say, I like Rock the Kasbah, the latest Bill Murray film. One reviewer, who began his review by saying how much he liked Murray, panned the movie because Murray was in nearly every scene. Hello. Murray was the main character. The story was about his journey. Duh?
Maybe some reviewers couldn't handle Kate Hudson's character, Merci, a sultry, golden-hearted prostitute, in love with Bill Murray's character, Rich, an older, down-on-his-luck music promoter. Why not? The pairing reminded me of Goldie Hawn and Walter Matthau in Cactus Flower. Matthau's craggy look was quite handsome in my eyes.
Perhaps the reviewers couldn't believe the story taking place in Afghanistan. That it was really quite a stretch to have Murray play someone who was able to persuade an Afghan American Idol-like show to let a young woman from a small remote village sing on national television.
Or, maybe the reviewers felt it was too unbelievable for Murra…
Back in March, the Husband and I stumbled upon an amazing landmark in Salinas, California, of which I think many people in our area are unaware. Standing on top of a historic mill on the Harden Estate in North Salinas was a Victorian mechanical wonder known as the Challenge Double Header Wind Engine. It's considered the only surviving windmill of its kind.
The Challenge Double Header Wind Engine was built in 1892 by Salinas Valley pioneer grain farmer and dairyman Duncan McKinnon. Back then, many called the machine's design a "masterpiece in Victorian engineering". The wind engine has two 30-foot wind wheels that rotate in opposite directions. It also has two smaller wheels which rotate the wind engine so that it faces the wind.
McKinnon decided to build the wind engine after seeing an advertisement. The man had vision. He used the wind engine to power his mill, a water pump, blacksmith shop, and carpentry shop. One source says that the wind engine was used…
Tilda-Hilda and I pedaled nearly four miles today, back and forth to downtown to pay a bill. So inconsistent, we are. Not paying bills, but working out. At least, we are getting out there now and then. It feels good when we do.
Red Pallets Zipping Down the Highway. Sounds like a good title for something, don't you think?
Yesterday morning, I saw a rig loaded with red pallets zipping past us at the traffic light. It was a poem in movement. "There goes a picture," I said to the Husband. "Too bad I didn't have my camera out."
"That truck with the red thingies on them."
"Those are pallets. What makes that a picture?"
"Because they're red. How often do you see fire-red pallets? And, a lot of them piled high on the back of a truck?"
About seven minutes later, the Husband said, "We're coming up to the red pallets."
I fumbled for my purse, hoping the traffic lights up ahead would stay red. I got the camera out. The lights turned green. I rolled down my window. The husband pulled into the left lane to get around the truck. I focused the camera.
Oh well. I got a little bit of the red pallets, at least.
Friends Jenn and Moose and the Husband and I took part in a paint party at the San Benito Olive Festival last Saturday. Altogether, there were 18 participants. Hmmm, I think the Husband and Moose were the only guys. What's up with that? Is getting guys to paint the same as getting them out on the dance floor? The Husband and Moose have no problem shaking their booties. We did a lot of that at the festival, too.
Our teacher-host was Artist/Sculptor Paul Loughridge. His robot and metal sculptures are especially trés cool. Check some of them out at his website. Okay, back to the paint party. Being that it was at an olive festival, Paul guided us through a painting of olive branches.
Having not painted since grammar school, I was hesitant about whether I could recreate his painting. Several other participants articulated how I felt. He reassured us. We were not to worry. We would be creating our own original paintings. And, so we began. He told us which brush to use, what colors to…
"You have beautiful earrings," I said to the woman in the grey coat walking beside me. I was going with the flow of the crowd checking out the various food booths and trucks at yesterday's San Benito Olive Festival in our county.
"Thank you," the woman replied, stopping to give me a better look at her earrings, so I thought. They were dangling earrings in an intricate delicate design with tiny balls hanging at the top and bottom. They had an East Indian look to them.
As she was telling me how she had a lot of earrings that her relatives gave her she began to take one earring off. I figured for me to look at the lovely design closer. Some women do that—take off an earring to show another woman who is admiring them. I've done it myself. Why do we do that? I don't know.
She handed me both earrings, which startled me. I studied them. "Gorgeous," I said, as I handed them back. She did not take them.
The ornamental pear tree in our front yard is totally mixed up. Flowers are blooming on some of its branches. They are definitely pretty, but that's not supposed to happen in October.
Nor, for that matter in December or January. That was going on last year and earlier this year.
Some branches bloomed in mid or late Spring when they are supposed to do their thing.
I don't think it's because of the drought. This tree is said to tolerate drought conditions. I think it's the hot temperatures we've been having the last two months that's causing some flowers to bloom.
We have yet to see flowers bloom on every branch at the same time. If it did, wowza, I imagine it to look like a tree full of snow.
Vegas as in Las Vegas. The fertile lowlands of a city that's in southern Nevada. Yes, fertile lowlands is the English translation of the Spanish plural las vegas. Hmmm, could that be why you can find quite a lot of golf courses is Vegas?
Some might say that the fertile lowlands refer to something other than terrain. But, I'm not going there.
I've been to Vegas four times. The first time was in 1975 when I went cross-country with a college friend. The Strip wasn't a big deal yet and Downtown Vegas was so-so, but then I was still 20 so what was the use of being there. The second time was another quick stop as the first, late dear Husband and I were driving back from our first big camping trip together. Again, yawwwwn. We had after all spent a week down in a canyon by the Colorado River.
In the late 1990s, the Husband and I spent a few days in Vegas and by then the Strip was a very big surreal deal. The photos are from that trip. We gambled our nickels away at the variou…
The Husband and his Sun Flame rode with Tilda-Hilda and me today. Hurrah! That's always fun. We pedaled nearly six miles on as flat of a route as we could find. There were a couple of hairy spots with inattentive drivers. Silly people.
The lighting was strange this morning because of a fire about 20 miles away to the south of town. It's very dry out there; unfortunately, the fire has spread over 300 acres, the last I heard. Hopefully, the firefighters can contain it today. Talk about being brave. Those men and women are the best examples of courage.
See you tomorrow with Jane Austen, Action Doll.
Update: The fire has now spread to 600 acres, eating up hillsides and mountainsides. More than 200 fire fire fighters, including firefighting pilots, are working on the blaze. According to afternoon news reports, only 10 percent of the fire was contained by mid-afternoon.
Yesterday, Tilda and I pedaled more than 2 blocks. The last time before that was 2 weeks ago. I contracted that silly bug that lingers in your throat and chest, which causes you to cough and cough. Fortunately, I didn't have a horrible bout of it and, best of all, neither the Mama nor the Husband caught it.
Even though I can still feel something in me, I decided to go for a bike ride that meant putting on shoes rather than sandals today. Tilda-Hilda and I pedaled 4.6 miles in 24 minutes. We are stronger than I thought. Hurrah! Who knows, we may be able to pedal longer miles by the end of the month. We shall see.
I wonder if Molly the Cat knows that she's a cat. Does she think we are different-looking cats? Or, maybe she thinks she's a human. Does she ever wonder why we're in charge of food, and, why we can't always get right what food she truly likes.
The Husband wondered about the time she was stalking a mouse and whether she thought she was shopping for food. Did she wish she had a shopping cart?
Molly is sleeping at the top of the stairs as I'm writing. She has a new routine of coming upstairs in the evening. Earlier this week, she was having tummy problems, and it was cold downstairs, so I brought her upstairs to sleep with us, if she liked. She did and does. She generally waits until we're both asleep before she jumps onto the bed. In the early morning, I've waken up to find her squeezed between us or settled into the back of my knees when I'm on my side.
"And that's how our generation does it!" exclaimed one of the rocking band members, who was in his early to mid-60s.
"Whoooo-hoooo!" shouted the Husband and I, clapping wildly on the dance floor. We'd been dancing our hearts, souls, and bodies out for the past three hours to soul, funk, and good old rock 'n roll. That last dance—Johhny B. Goode. Whooo-hooo!
Most of the evening, we shared the dance floor with a few other old fogeys and one younger couple who had sweet technical dance moves. During the last hour, young men and women of the reunion Class of 2005 streamed into the lounge. But, it was not until the last two songs that they had enough liquid courage to get out on the dance floor, and finally get into the music of their grandparents generation.
What a fun night! The band even dedicated a song to me—Cinnamon Girl. First time, ever.
Look up in the sky. Is it a plane? Is it a bird? No. It's Su-sieee! Mac.
Nine years ago, I fell through the sky with my fellow Jumping Beans Jeanette, Jennifer, and Charlie. That was our big thing to mark being in our 50s.
Yes, yes, I know. I've mentioned my jump before in other posts. But, I haven't ever described being up in the sky, free-falling, and then floating downward. It only took nine years to write about it.
We, jumping beans, waited four hours one Sunday afternoon to board a small plane, get attached to a professional skydiver, be dropped off at a certain point in the sky, and fall, then float, within minutes to the drop zone. Interestingly, none of our significant others wanted to experience it all with us.
Charlie and I opted to fall from the highest altitude—18,000 feet. Gulp. I just came back from figuring how high that is—about 3.4 miles. Wowza (said in a little voice).