"Do you think someone might report our backyard as a nuisance?" "Nobody can see back there." answered the Husband.  "Snoops can," I said, thinking about that drone we saw one afternoon turning around above our house. I wondered if it had followed us home. The bastard. As Mama liked to say after I said something weird, but quite entertaining to her, "You have too much imagination." "It's nobody's business how our backyard looks," the Husband said.  I imagined him word-sparring with a snoop. The Husband, my hero.  At this particular point in time, the backyard looks like a colorful junkyard in the Spring. I find its look comforting. It's familiar to a time past. It gives me strength to keep on keeping on. I wonder if that's how Mama felt when she played out there, growing her vegetables and tending to her flowers.  It's my turn now to transform the backyard into a fantasy of my making. I have

"Why are you cleaning? "asked Molly the pinky-nose (wild) Cat, as she scrambled among our feet, the broom, and the vacuum cleaner. "Are we having another party?" Nope, it's the 23rd, our monthly housecleaning date, a 2020 venture. So far, so good. With the Husband and I working together, we're done in a couple of hours. So it seemed today. Sweep. Dust. Vacuum. Scrub. Molly made sure she was somewhere else. This is what you see when you walk up our driveway. Sorry, I don't remember the names of anything that's not a rose, daisy, spider plant, California poppy, canna lily, jade, or uhm, I think that's it. Geranium! How I can forget geraniums? We have pink, white, red, bi-color, vine, bush, smelly, and not smelly at all. They live in the front yard, too. They're up towards the house so you can barely see them in the photo. I have a decent success rate of propagating geraniums for someone who goes on intuition and by hit-and-miss.

I forgot what I thought I wanted to write about. That's what happens when too much time passes between Ah-ha-I've-something-to write and turning on the computer, which may only be a matter of climbing the stairs to the office. Obviously it wasn't anything worth saying out loud. Ever wonder if you've said or written something that was quoted by others? Wouldn't that be cool? Yesterday our governor (in California) urged all of us, senior citizens, to stay put in our homes so that we won't risk contracting the coronavirus. The Husband and I pretty much hunker down most of the time, so this suggested decree is not a burden. Although I did panic for a moment when I thought we might not pay our property tax bill on time because the bank and the tax office may suddenly close. Then it came to me that we can use a credit car to pay online or over the phone. I'd rather not, so I may suggest to the Husband that we go out in the world sooner rather than l

Colors, Oh my! Vibrant and deep. Shades of color, So many Subtleties.  3D! My gosh,  Everything has depth.  -- Su-sieee! Mac This, I tell you, is what I've been experiencing since Friday afternoon when the eye patch was removed from my left eye. Oh my gosh! What will it be like when the cataract is removed from my other eye and a corrected lens inserted. Oh me, oh my!  And, now I can add my pirate photo to that of the Husband's and our dads. Daddy's cataract was removed in the late 1960s, way before the procedure of inserting an intraocular lens was a thing. No doubt, he would've loved having his sight fully back in his left eye.  Arrrrr, mateys!  Come check out one, two, or all three of these memes with me:  All Seasons , Mosaic Monday , and Say Cheese . Many thanks to the hosts, Jesh,  Angie, and Jenna.

Besides important documents, the only thing Mama kept that she brought from the Philippines in 1949 was her gold Maria Clara gown. (So called because of the fancy bell-shaped sleeves.) For as long as I can remember, she hung it in the back of her closet.  Before I was born someone borrowed Mama's gown to wear in a parade. The borrower returned the gown soiled and torn. Mama always shook her head when she told the story, which she did every time she looked at her dress.  When I was a teenager Mama had me take photos of her posed in her gown around the house. I hope those weren't the only times she wore it. I never thought to ask her: What was the story behind the dress? Did Daddy buy it for her? Did she own it before they were married? Did she think she'd go to a lot of fancy dances in America? Back in December I went into a panic thinking I donated the red suitcase in which I stored the gown. Lucky me. I found the suitcase just where I put it behind t

We left the fruit on the high branches, and some of the lower branches, of the persimmon tree for the birds and squirrels. I don't know if the neighborhood feral cats like persimmons. Molly the (wild) Cat sniffs her nose at the orange fruit. The other morning good fortune struck. I not only watched a crow in the persimmon tree, followed by a bunch of tiny birds, but also a squirrel. That squirrel was chittering so loud, the Husband and I went out to the back yard to find out what all the fuss was about. I wouldn't be surprised if the squirrel was yelling at the tiny birds to get out of its persimmon tree, because that was where the furry guy headed after it ran down the birch tree in the next yard.  January was a flurry of decluttering, reorganizing, and sewing curtains, along with getting as much heavy stuff done before my cataract surgery next week.  (My gosh, already, next week. Shudder) I was such a worker bee that I became physically, emotionally, and spiritually

Good Golly, Missy Molly! That's the Girl from the other morning. After a few minutes of hanging in the chilly outdoors, she zipped into the house and went straight to her new bed, which is one of her favorite pillows covered with Mama's jacket. The (wild) Cat must've felt pretty proud of herself this evening when she wandered around the living room without walking on the floor. She jumped about two feet from her table to a counter on which she tiptoed around obstacles, then hopped down onto the long couch on which the Husband and I sat. She paused for a long second to stretch herself before springing to the hassock and daintily stepping over my feet to a low table, upon which she carefully sniffed its expanse. When she was satisfied, Molly leaped to the small couch on the other side of the room. After a whole lot of sniffing and nuzzling of the couch, the hearth, and the back of the TV, Molly walked back over the low and wide table to settle herself into a snooze be

That's the main street of our little city of Hollister as it looked in Eliza Does-a-lot's driver's side-view mirror. I snapped it the other day while waiting for the Husband. As a kid, the festive garlands and bows above San Benito Street was one of my clues that the holiday season was upon us. With luck, I would be able to avoid any Santa Claus lurking in the downtown stores. Yup, Santa Claus was a scary figure to this kid. In 2008, the Husband played Santa Claus at the annual Christmas Ball, held by the Filipino American Community of San Benito. For the first time, I sat on Santa's lap. This was a Mister Claus who did not creep me out. Last year the Husband created a Holiday Spirit tree with lights in the living room, more specifically next to Molly the (wild) Cat's condo. She has no problem sleeping while the lights twinkle brightly. Here's a photo from last year of the sleeping (wild) beauty and our Twinkle Twinkle Tree. This year I have cooki

It's Sunday. I'm not going to do anything," I said to the Husband, invoking the rule of Mama.  Sometimes after Sunday breakfast, Mama  talked herself into not feeling guilty about taking a day off from working in the garden. So, I think. Why did I even say that? Every day is a day off. And, most days feel like a Sunday. As it went, I chose to rake leaves in the South Room.  Molly couldn't decide if she wanted to sit in the sun outside while I worked or sit in the sun indoors. She eventually settled for the latter. The Husband came out to help move, fetch, toss, and pick up in the yard. We also surveyed the best locations to grow our crops of a single this, a couple of that, and a few of these vegetable or herb plants. I'm looking forward to that. The last time the Husband and I took care of our own vegetable garden was in the late 1990s, and that was for only a couple of years. As some of you know, the backyard has naturally divided into four rooms

Missy Girl watched Midnight scurry along the fence and cross over to the next yard. "You want to go out, don't you?" "Miarrrr." "It's cold and wet." A few minutes later, I opened the sliding door. Molly stuck her head out for a few seconds before sashaying forward. She carefully maneuvered around and through puddles, then scoot between two geranium bushes. Was she really going to sit in that wind? I glanced back at my task of sorting Mama's seed collection. Only a second. Maybe two or three. Molly was out of sight.   She wouldn't have gone after Midnight. The chimes and hanging things from the dead apple tree were dancing wildly. More than likely, she was exploring the yard and making sure everything is fine. Still, it would be best to go get her, I thought. I had nothing to worry about. Like a sprinter, Missy Molly by Golly ran into the house. She looked quite pleased with herself. All Seasons and Mosaic Monday are

The other morning I went through the last of Mama's clothes hanging in the closet. Hanging at the back of the closet was a little girl's red coat with matching red bonnet.  The outfit is in pristine shape, as if it had been bought yesterday. It was, about 64 years ago, at least.  Most likely I wore the jacket a few times. I was a fast grower in my early years, both in height and girth. See how cute the hat is on the camel in this collage. Yes, that little girl being directed to look at the camera was me sporting the red hat. Mama must've just put it on me because in another photo with only Big Brother and me, the bonnet was perched limply on the top of my head, as if Mama said to Daddy, "Put the hat on Susie's head." Snap.  I'm thinking about cutting the red coat apart, along with a few other things I found in Mama's closet: her wool black dress, a blue tweed jumper Mama made for me in 7th grade, and a blue wool skirt I bought during my early

"Let's make cards," I said, practically pulling the Husband down on the seat next to me. That's what happens when he follows me around a holiday festival that has free arts and crafts workshops.  I thought about telling him to go ahead, I'll catch up with him, but I remembered we were just talking about making Christmas cards this year. Once he knew that the idea was to make a collage card, he enjoyed himself. Any remorse, I'm sure of sitting down at a table with colorful papers and cut-outs, was gone. This, below, is his card. My card is the picture at the top of the post. Did the giraffe surprise you? While we were admiring our cards, again, at home, the giraffe invited me to draw her. So, I did. Then, she asked to be colored. Fortunately for us, the watercolor pencils were on the table. Before I knew it, Juliana the Giraffe came to life. I wonder if she knows Ghandi the Giraffe . Mosaic Monday , hosted by Angie of Letting Go of the Bay Leaf

The White Rabbit said he was late. What was he late for? The tea party? Curious minds, such as mine, want to know. Oh my. The Husband is doubl y smart. Initially I wrote "Curious minds, such as me, want to know." That seemed off. Should it be "such as I"?  Still didn't sound right, thus I asked the Husband. Neither appealed to him either. Ever the good grammar student back in the schooldays, the Husband asked, "Is it an object or a subject? My eyes crossed. "Read it again," he said. "Curious minds, such as me, want to know." "Mine." "Mind," I repeated. "Mine." "Mine?" "It's curious minds that want to know." My eyes uncrossed. I'm giving an example of a curious mind. Awwww. The Husband is a genius. Alas, he didn't know either what the important date was the White Rabbit needed to make.   HOPPING BACK TO INITIAL THOUGHT I brought up the White Rabbit

The Husband and I encountered danger yesterday—strawberry sauce. Oh my gosh! I modified a recipe that called for 2 cups of diced strawberries. The recipe probably meant a dry measuring cup, but I overfilled a two-cup liquid measuring cup. The strawberries went into a small saucepan with juice from a medium-sized lemon, a half a cap full of limoncello (in place of vanilla), and about 2/3 to 3/4 cup of superfine sugar. The sugar is a guess because  I poured directly from the box, stopping only when it looked like it would be too much. I brought the concoction to a boil, stirring occasionally, then simmered it for 15 minutes. We ate the strawberry sauce over a slice of toasted sourdough bread and a healthy sprinkling of ground almonds. Mmmmmmm. Once upon a time, I would've eaten all of the sauce in one sitting and then promptly fall asleep in a drunken daze. The Husband said the sauce caused his eyelids and the bags under his eyes to sweat. When he was a kid, sweet tart