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, 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

  “I’m so excited, and I just can’t hide it./I’m about to lose control and I think I like it….” Who remembers that 1982 song and which group sang it?  Why am I so excited? Today I received an email from Baker Creek that my heirloom seed order, which I placed yesterday, is in the mail. Yi-haw!  Here’s what I ordered. Veggies 1. Blauhilde Bean (climbing) and Cantare Bean (bush, la la la la) 2. Abashi Bittermelon (from Okinawa) 3. Orchard Baby Sweet Corn (this with Blauhilde will be part of the Husband’s Three Sister plot) 4. Nagasaki Long Eggplant 5. Serpente de Sicilia Cucuzzi (a long, pale green gourd, which from the photo looks like the Filipino tabongow) 6. Job’s Tears (seems you can make rosary beads out of this grain) 7. Ishikura Bunching Onion 8. Banana Sweet Pepper Flowers 9. Canterbury Bells, rainbow mix 10. Candyfloss Red Cosmos 11. Twinkles Phlox 12. Ki No Mai Stock (butter-creme yellow, so stated the description) 13. Hopi Sunflower (supposedly the Hopi used the seeds to make

I did it. Today, I did precisely what I said I will not ever do again, to randomly toss handfuls of wildflower seeds in the yard.  La, la, la may lupine be sparkling all over the front of the house this spring la la la la. Yellow coreopsis, too! 

On this fourth day of the new year:   1. No resolutions did I make to break by today. 2. I figured out what the “auto sense” feature is all about on our new washing machine. The machine is sousing the clothes with water before filling up the basket. That is as high tech as this non-smart washer gets. Thank goodness. 3. Health Benefits, which is reported to be a fake insurance company, has been calling our landline at least once a day for the past couple of weeks or so. I can’t decide if the caller is a machine or a real person. Today I responded by saying nothing after the initial hello. When the voice asked, “Are you there?” I responded, “Are you there?”    Click went the other end. I did not hang up until I heard another click and a dial tone. Next time, I’ll ask the voice to verify herself. 4. I took my first dose of medicine this morning to deal with isolated systolic hypertension, which is when the top number is high while the bottom number is normal. Dr. B has been patient with m

“World peace.” Has any pageant contestant who answered that ever won a title, particularly a national or world one? Could that be why it hasn’t ever been achieved?  Cutting out hearts from paper and fabric helps me find zen, I discovered today. No questions asked, not by me. Wow, am I really not going to analyze why this is?  Ha, I finally understand my friend who said to me, “You make a federal case out of everything.” I was 10 or 11 at the time, I thought that was a bad thing. I’m still impressed that KT knew the term. Perhaps it came with the territory of having lived in another state and having a fire chief for a dad.   I don’t know. I could use that incident to spin a make-believe story about a first generation American kid growing up with two cultures, if I had the ambition. Who knows, maybe cutting hearts may help me find a steady spark of passion to wake up the ambition. Unlike last time, I’m letting you dear readers know that I’m meandering away from the blog for the rest of t

This is the first in my series of food and flavor memories.  Every so often, the Husband and I get a yen for fried chicken, usually when we’re out and about doing errands around town. Depending on which side of town we happen to be, we’ll stop in at the Lucky’s or Safeway’s deli for fried chicken legs and thighs, which aren’t too salty, greasy, or mostly batter. (Did you know that both supermarket chains are owned by the same company? That surprised me, too.)  Yummy fried chicken.  The best ever fried chicken that I’ve eaten was cooked by Daddy all those many years ago. He got an occasional yen for fried chicken, too.  First he’d butcher a chicken into 10 pieces. Whack, whack, easy peasy.  Next he gently shook the pieces in a paper bag with the right amount of flour, salt, and black pepper, and then he placed them in the right amount of fat heated at the right temperature in Mama’s  revered   Revere pot. Daddy didn’t use a thermometer.  He also didn’t crowd the pot. He fried one side o

I shall make a list, to check twice, sometime today. Any tasks undone by the end of the week makes me not naughty or nice.   The weather experts say our area is in for four days, more or less, of rain. Whoot, whoot! That means doing indoor stuff. I need to bring the outdoor carpets inside or drape them in such a way, the rain washes them. Methinks the latter. This morning we treated ourselves to a trip to the cafe for cups of mocha and artisanal pastries. What’s an artisanal pastry you ask? A flaky, robust almond croissant, for example, coated with toasted almonds and tasting of quality ingredients worthwhile of it being six dollars. I’m getting better at not flinching at the cost of treats.  “Baby, it’s cold outside,” the ants are singing as they single-file prance their way into the house. I caught them twice invading the tropical plants by the sliding door window.    So far the ants have laughed at the lavender and rosemary sprigs, the vinegar wash, the spray of citrus-scented house

I enjoy raking autumn leaves. Love it, to be precise. I like the rustle of the leaves, the scraping of the rake, the scrunching beneath my feet, and the crinkling as I shove them into a box or bag. I don’t rake up all the leaves. I’m not Mama, I tell the Husband. She had raked and picked up leaves nearly every day that she lived in her house, about 28 years. I’ve seen her pull drying leaves off the fruit trees. Be ahead of the game, I suppose. She would definitely shudder if she saw how unkempt both the front and back yards are.  Leaves, leaves, hello, leaves. Yep, I was that kid who loved to stomp through leaves.  P.S. Here are a couple of stories about Mama and l-e-a-v-e-s. Mama and the Leaves   Don’t Take My Picture  

Happy Birthday to meeeee!  I’ve written this post on Sunday. (How strange it is to write this post, which I’ll publish in the future, in past tense rather than present tense.) And now I lost my thread of thought because that parenthetical thought took a while to get the words in order. Only thing I can do then is to sing it again and sing it louder. Happy Birthday to meeee!  Seventy years ago, Big Baby me was born . Whoot! Whoot! Whoot!