In my mind, I'm five years old having a high old time wandering and wondering. In reality, I'm now in my late 60s, wowza! 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!
Day's End. That was how it looked yesterday at sunset. Disaster Rose. What do you think of that for a protagonist's nickname? David. I've always liked that name. Solid, cheerful, thoughtful. Dave. Davey. The Husband's surname means son of David. Debonair. Cary Grant. George Clooney. The Husband. Humor is part of my definition of debonair. Dig it. Can you dig it? Hands, please, who said this once upon a time, with a straight face. I do like to dig in the yard, and I do a decent job of digging, I like to think. Meet John Doe. Recently the Husband and I watched Meet John Doe , a 1941 Frank Capra film starring Gary Cooper and Barbara Stanwyck with Walter Brennan. Good trembles into arms of Evil so it may survive, but eventually Good realizes it is not Evil and scrambles back onto the path of light. The name John Doe doesn't make sense to me. I understand that it refers to a male with an unknown identity. Shouldn't it be John Bu
coffee. This morning the Husband and I shared a chocolate old-fashioned doughnut to enjoy with our cups of black coffee. Happy smiles all around. Cable. I want us to get rid of our cable subscription. The Husband agrees it's too expensive for the few channels we watch. Will we? you ask. We will, I'm sure we will. The bigger question: When will we? Procrastinators are us. ceramics. When I was 19, my big dream was to own a bookstore with a ceramics workshop in the back. Cute. The Husband says I'm cute. I tell him it's because he loves me. He says, "It's because you are cute." chicken. There are times when I think our representatives at the local, state, or national level of government are too chicken to make a stand one way or the other. Bwak, bwak cooking. I do that once a day, at least, most days. I like when it's a some day. Coast-co. "We're going to Costco," I would say to Mama. "Where?" she w
"Slow down," shouted me, leaning out the passenger door window. "Elk!" The Husband obliged. Click, click. "There are buffalo, too," I exclaimed. The Husband took me for my word. His cataracts don't let him see the details in the far distance. The animals were probably a city block or so away. Of course, we weren't in a city, but on the back road behind Mt. Hamilton, in San Jose, on the way to Patterson, a Central Valley town next to Interstate 5. That was last month on one of my birthday adventures in Sedgwick, the rental car. Today I enlarged and sharpened and did Photoshop voodoo on the digital shots until I got good enough photos. The buffalo were cattle. So much for my eyes. The other creature certainly was a gorgeous young elk buck. He looked as if he was posing for me. A tourist with her dagnabbit camera. Click, click. The dude was a tule elk, which supposedly is found only in the grassy and marshy areas of California. I read
The Husband says I am predictable with my choice of music, which is why he made a bet with me yesterday afternoon. "What do you think I'm going to play?" asked I, as I headed towards the Bose player with a CD in my hand. "Da da dah da da dah....." The Husband sang the first notes of "Baroque and Blue" performed by Claude Bolling and Jean-Pierre Rampal. Our small music collection consists of CDs of our favorite albums of yore, and I do like to play one of two Bolling CDs on a sunny afternoon. "Want to bet ten bucks on that?" The Husband doesn't bet unless it's a sure thing that he is right. "Sure." he said to my surprise. But, then, according to him, I am predictable. "OK!" I inserted the CD. Santana! Ha! "You owe me $10!" "What?" "You lost the bet." The Husband groaned. "I'll put it on your tab." It isn't often that I catch the Husband of
Miao, hello. Missus Lady says some of you have been asking about me, where am I? how am I? and all that. I'm doing well, thank you for asking. Purrrrrrrrrr. It's been too windy, too wet, or too cold to be outdoors, so I've been lazing on top of my carpeted perch. Eating. Sleeping. Scratching. Licking myself clean. Repeat. Not always in that order. Miao. Last week, my humans came home with new kind of dried food for me. I heard them say it contains probiotics, whatever that means. It's mighty tasty, for now. The old dried food was making me vomit. The food didn't used to do that. Someone must've messed with the recipe. Anyway, I like this new dried food, along with the new raw food that Hero Man says "Roar" whenever he serves it up. Miao. This morning while waiting for Missus Lady to stop playing on the sewing machine, I found her doodle of me and someone called Santa Lucia. I asked her to please do her magic so I can put it on my post. Just
In Ilocano (the parents' primary language), balasang is the word for a young woman who has reached the marriageable age, which in my parents' day would've been 15 or 16. A balasang presents herself to the world well-groomed, well-dressed, and well-mannered. Graceful and radiant, with no sassy mouth nor a defiant bone in her. Alas, that was not me. Mama did her best to polish me up with the stylish, stiff, and sophisticated outfits that she bought for me. I felt uncomfortable, awkward, and fake in them, preferring, and still do, the bohemian style. In my early 20s, when I worked in the San Francisco Financial District as a clerk typist, I wore a Mama outfit when everything else was in the laundry hamper. To break the monotony of the outfit, I'd wear something silly with it. Once I wore wool knee-high socks and clogs with a pink polyester dress that had an attached two-toned bolero-type jacket. I looked as atrocious as it sounds. Still, in the early evening, whil
Back in November I opened a box. Lo and behold, my favorite dinosaurs of old smiled up at me. In this house full of stuff, they chose to hang out in the guest bathroom. I'm glad to see them again. I'm hanging out at Say Cheese! Tuesday , hosted by joyful Jeanna of Ched Curtain . Check out all the cheesy stuff here .
I came across a fun meme today. It's called Sunday Stealing hosted by Bev Sykes of Funny the World. Every Sunday she posts a bunch of thoughtful questions that she has "stolen" from elsewhere for participants to answer. Who doesn't like to answer questions, especially about themselves? Intrigued? Check out Sunday Stealing here , after checking my answers, of course. 1. The strangest place you've ever been. The strangest place I've ever been is a thinker. Shall I consider a place itself as being strange or a place where I encountered something weird? Better yet, the unfamiliar concept of being in a certain place, and it still feels unfamiliar (thankfully) after I leave that location? My answer. . . Thummm tha tha tha Thaaaaaaaa! . . .the hospital last year. From the moment I entered that hospital near dawn to the moment I stepped out the door the following afternoon was surreal. My gosh! 2. Unusual food combinations you enjoy. Pancakes, syrup,
I got so pissed this morning, I could spit. Would you say that I'm saying this literally or figuratively? FYI: I did not, am not, nor will I spit about what got me furious. Spitting I reserve for when I am sick (better out than in, right?) or for root hormone (some gardeners say that spit makes a good substitute). The Mama pretended to spit whenever she broke glass, followed by a plea to Mary, Jesus, and Joseph that they don't hold the broken glass as a point against her. Too much TMI? Sorry. I continue. The cause for my growling spew? Let's simply say that my tolerability cap for political beliefs got blown off for a moment. I allowed myself to care that I was disappointed about humanity and so became bummed. As you can see, not anymore. The Husband and I took a drive to Freedom to purchase food for our precious, and spoiled, Molly the Cat. The 60-mile round trip drive, more or less, had us rolling by green hills and zigzagging through a canyon and among f
I like big-print books, I cannot lie. Mentally I jump with glee when I find a new big-print book that I want to read at the library. These days, my near vision is a laugh. I read by holding the reading material inches from my face, unless it's a big-print book. It's the most comfortable way for me to read, which isn't comfortable at all. The increasing kink in my near vision may be caused by the cataracts developing in my eyes, particularly the left. Until I got new lenses last year, I blamed the rips and tears in my old glasses for me not seeing clearly. Ha! I only had to put out $600 for the new eyeglasses to find out how wrong I was. The Husband has cataracts too. Worse than mine. He'll have cataract surgery for both eyes (one at a time) in the Spring. Once he's settled, I'll get at least the left eye done. I'm glad that both of us are on a decent Medicare Advantage plan. Fictional Characters I Like Speaking of books, which I was at the beginn
I don't recall whether Apo Dios refers to God or to the sun. Maybe I didn't ever know. Ilocano was the parents primary language. I understood Ilocano but couldn't wrap my Americanized tongue around Ilocano words to speak it. So, yeah, we were one of those families in which immigrant parents talked to their American-born children in their native language and the children responded in English. Think of interpreters translating in real time. The term Apo Dios is a combination of two languages. Apo in Ilocano means father or grandfather. So, I've always thought. An online Ilocano-English dictionary says otherwise. It says Apo means God. Dios is a Spanish word that means God. Spain colonized the Philippines for over 300 years so of course Spanish is going to seep into the native languages there. That same Ilocano-English dictionary defines Apo Dios as God. Usually, my parents addressed Dios when life was going fine, such as "Hi, God, how are you doing? We'
"Joy, joy, joy." is one of the things that Cu'Pie, our once-upon-a-time dear yellow parakeet, liked to say. Frequently. A wonderful thing to say, I say. And, I wish much joy, joy, joy to you all! I first saw the above joyful sight of a hillside on Thanksgiving Day. It caught my breath in such a way that I made Eliza Does-alot do a wicked swerve onto the road to which I turned that nearly all of the fried lumpia fell from the back seat onto the floor. Fortunately, most fell onto folders and envelopes so none of Filipino eggrolls were tainted. Thank goodness. They were our contribution to a dinner. A couple of weeks later I took the above shot that I painted today with Photoshop art filters. That day I made a somewhat gentle right turn, but came to a halting stop, in the grey rental car, which the Husband and I named Sedgwick. No lumpia sat on the back seat, but Good Friends J & T were. They, the Husband, and I quickly unbuckled our seat belts and tumbled out of