Dear Blog, For the past…mumble…years, the Husband and I tell ourselves, “We need to paint the garage door.”  At least retouch the peeling parts, we say. Each time, I say, “Let me have a go at it first. (Meaning let me have fun to do whatever.) If we (meaning the Husband) don’t like what I do, then we’ll paint it the normal way.” Of course the idea of painting the peeled parts of the garage door makes me gulp. I overthink it, I freeze up.   Methinks that after this morning, I am nearly ready to go for it. While watering a couple of potted spider plants, I noticed that they’d be better off sitting high off the ground. Looking around, I saw a sturdy plastic file drawer that set upright would make a perfect plant stand. It was a bit dirty and dreary, but nothing paint would hide. Voila! We’ll see if this is the year the garage door gets touched up. Truly yours, Septuagenarian Barefoot Susie

Dear Blog, I don’t understand chairs that have a front side higher than the backside. Those chairs throw off my body big-time. Lower back grouches, cheek muscles buzz, and knees say “You know better than to sit on this chair.” As for my dangling legs on those chairs, dang. I often perch on the edge of a chair so my feet can say hello to the ground. There you go, my complaint for the day, uncomfortable chairs.  In the otherwise department, I’m feeling quite chirpy. Three things that happened within the past several hours:  Uno) Paint brushes came out. The above photo is a peek of my painting in progress. Dos) We got a 10 cent/ per gallon discount at the gas station, 30 bucks for a full tank. Whooo-hooo! Tres) We saved 60+dollars at the grocery store, thanks to coupons. Plus the organic peanut butter, ground bison, canned bamboo, and juices were on sale. Score, luxuries! Today’s yummy homemade meal: Ground bison burger with deep fried tomatoes, fresh basil, and lettuce on a toasted bun w

Dear Blog, I did some good work in the yard this morning. I transplanted the last of the basil seedlings and three milkweed seedlings, pulled out the going-to-pot carnations, culling the freshest to propagate, and pruned an overgrown pink geranium plant, which cuttings I’ll plop into a row beneath the eating room. (Ha! I wrote a long complicated sentence intentionally. Did it work?)  While sorting the carnation branches, I spied a snail perched on a branch. The little fellow gave a great performance. Yep, I made a video of it making its way out of the raised bed that included going by, over, under, and around a dried avocado leaf.  Snail seemed to be booking it, sliding three minutes to travel 12 inches or so. “Come outside,” I said to the Husband from the screened patio door. “It’s beautiful. I’ve heard four different birds singing.” And, he did, sitting nearby perusing the Internet while I played with the plants. Every so often we chatted, we sang, we laughed. I have a wonderful life

Dear Blog, If I dared I would fantasize what life would be like today if I had not miscarried 31 years ago. It was early in the first term. I’d only discovered I was pregnant about two weeks before. The First Husband and I were on a road trip.  The first day I felt different, lighthearted and relaxed. I remember breaking into song, “I’ve got joy, joy, joy deep in my heart,” as I drove north on Hwy 80 passing the Vallejo exit for Marine World. It surprised both of us. Several days later I took a home pregnancy test. I did a couple of them to make sure. Hurrah!  We had been trying for seven years. Towards the end of our trip, in the middle of nowhere, we got a flat tire. The First Husband wasn’t feeling well; he didn’t have the strength to lift the new tire in place. I thought I was being careful by sitting on the ground and using my legs to help lift the tire. Wrong! That evening the budding embryo was gone.  The male gynecologist who saw me a couple days later told me you can’t trust h

Dear Blog, Life is good. Hopefulness and joyfulness are in bloom! Truly yours, Septuagenarian Barefoot Su-sieee! P.S. Three things I did today. Ran errands with the Husband. Doodled. And, rested to recoup energy from a fun, busy week of doing nothing. 

Dear Blog, I don’t consider the Husband and I looking like hippies when we were young. What do you think? Ding dong…. “Is this where Susie and Dick live?” asked new acquaintances of ours.  “No,” said the homeowner. “Would you know where they live? They’re having a party today.” “You mean the hippies,” said our neighbor. (I’ll imagine he pointed happily across the street.) When we heard the story, the Husband and I cracked up. It’s nice to know that we are perceived as being friendly, odd, nature-loving, loosey goosey, but responsible, type people.  Once upon a time, when I was a blossoming young woman (balasang in Ilocano), Daddy looked at me, said, “Don’t be a hippie,” and walked away. Hahahahahah. Truly yours,  Septuagenarian Barefoot Su- sieee !

Dear Blog, Yesterday morning, I had in mind to visit a museum in Santa Cruz, then I began moving a piece of furniture in the living room after which I discovered a brown water stain by the kitchen table that led to moving more furniture, along with dish ware, cookbooks, and big plants. Ouchy, Mama. Hmm, could be why I’m tired today. Fortunately the stain was caused by the overflow of water from the plants. I need to finder deeper planter saucers.  Before all this happened I was already in the motion of making pickled cucumbers. Eight pickling cucumbers yielded a small jar of relish, two jars of dill pickle spears, and a jar of bread-and-butter pickles. All first time things to try for me. I follow recipes for refrigerator storage because I don’t trust my ability to can them safely. Besides, how many pickles can we, two old fogeys, consume? The Husband was a willing participant to all of yesterday’s action. The old guy can still lift and nudge a heavy object into place with the skills a

Dear Blog, The online weather guys say it’s 89 degrees at this moment. The intensity of the heat is what makes it unpleasant, but bearable, even with the breeze. This, too, will pass. I have a riddle for you: What Northern California region gets many complaints?  Answer: The Wine Country. I thought the Husband would get it because we were watching a TV cooking competition featuring chefs from the wine country. I get such a kick when I get one over him. He does, too, so I believe.  Three things I’ve done today? One, I deep watered the fruit trees and the vegetable plots before breakfast. Two, I dug holes for a squash and some canna lily plants, which I’ll transplant tomorrow before it gets too hot. And, three, I have apricots (from our tree) simmering on the stove. They’ll probably end up being jam that I’ll store in the freezer and be happily surprised finding when winter comes.  Life is good, despite all the craziness around us. Sincerely, Septuagenarian Barefoot Susie

Dear Blog, Mama’s roses continue to reach for the sky. Not as many like it was when they were under her guidance. I keep pruning branches shorter to revive the bushes, hoping they’ll become full again. This year two blooming hollyhocks grace the front yard. It only took seven years of sowing seeds for them to finally take. The first hollyhock to bloom is gorgeous pink and gigantic! Even without its tippy-top pointed straight up, it hovers a bit over the roof line.  This hollyhock is growing where I didn’t toss seeds, surprise, surprise. When it first popped up, I thought it was a volunteer squash plant, then as it grew and grew and grew, a sunflower it must be. I like to think of this hollyhock as the mother plant of future generations of hollyhocks to come. One can hope. Sincerely yours, Septuagenarian Barefoot Susie

Dear Blog, This morning I painted the board temporarily planked down as a bridge in part of the backyard. Squirt, swish, smush, scrape….My intent was to use up the box of pour paint. (I didn’t.) Because I didn’t feel like searching for more paint brushes, I painted with twigs, dried flowers, and a toy train, toot, toot. Body parts that haven’t bent, reached, and moved in a while now twinge and ache. Worth it! Truly yours, Septuagenarian Barefoot Susie

Dear Blog, “Do they think you’re an immigrant?” asked the Husband, looking up from his tablet “Do I look like an immigrant? Do I sound like one? Do I act like one? I don’t think so. If anything they probably don’t know what I am.” They refers to people  who assume anyone who looks like me has to be an immigrant, possibly an illegal one.   “True,” said the Husband. “Even the Filipinos don’t know what you are. What did that Filipino therapist think you were?” “Half Native American, half FIlipino.” “Whatever the heck half is,” said the Husband. (Another example of why I love the Husband.) “What are you reading that you asked me ?” “Project 2025.” Yeah, little old, fat second-generation Filipino-American me scares the bejusus out of them, there people. Boo. Truly yours, Septuagenarian Barefoot Susie

Dear Blog, I didn’t come back yesterday like I hinted I would, so very sorry. When I was about to work on a post, the Husband said the Internet was down. It came back in the evening but I was done for the day. Now, why did I feel a need to give you an excuse for not showing up yesterday? I know better.  Own it, let it go, move on. That’s what I learned from my dad. Not in those words, but that idea. Daddy wouldn’t accept excuses from me while I was growing up. He stopped me short anytime I tried. He had no time for lame reasons about why I didn’t do what I was supposed to do. Nor did he want to hear why I did something such as crash into a car coming around a blind bend on a mountainous road, which I suppose a teenage girl should not have been driving on. Daddy expected me to accept the consequences, and because he was fair, quite fair, I did so willingly. And because I told him the truth, and probably showed my remorse, most of the time he would give me his fierce look, grunt very fir

Dear Blog, I renewed my domain name for another year. So, here I be. Will I be a consistent writer this time around? We shall see. Three things I’ve done this morning: One, I gathered all the jade trimmings around the yard and sorted them into throw-aways and to-be-propagated. Two, I painted a hat. Three, I am writing this blog post. Until next time (possibly tomorrow) Sincerely yours, Septuagenarian Barefoot Susie