Missus Lady said today's post is mine to do, if I like. Purrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Missus Lady and Mister Man did errands today. Miao, miao. They skipped the pet store mowrrr because Missus Lady's mask flew off her head. Said Missus Lady (which I'm repeating word for word), "I'd just pushed my mask up on my head and opened the car window. I heard a scraping sound so I leaned out the window to see if anything was dangling from the car. Nothing, but then I saw something pink fly by me. It was my mask." "We turned around to fetch it. As Missus Lady got out of the car, a big rig ran over the mask," added Mister Man (not those exact words but that idea). Miao, miao. Missus Lady retrieved her mask from the middle of the empty street. Miao. Because it was no longer safe to wear and Missus Lady is the designated shopper, my humans came home. It's the green can for dinner tonight. Mowrr. I am glad my Humans are home, safe and sound, even witho

The story I was told. She was a child. Ang ubing. Maybe three, maybe four. She had fallen ill. Masakit. Dakes. Terribly sick. "She pinched the air," said Lola Julia, "like she was catching butterflies." - 30 - Mosiac Monday at Letting Go of the Bay Leaf is where I'm heading now. Come join me.

"I want to be there," said the Husband. Me, too. The other day I was missing the sight of granite, miles and miles of exposed surface of batholith mountains. In particular, the Sierra Nevada mountain range. More specifically, Desolation Wilderness in the El Dorado National Forest, west of Lake Tahoe. Every year, for nine years, the Late Great First Husband and I backpacked the Sierras. At least one trip was to our favorite spot, Pyramid Lake in Desolation Wilderness, above Horsetail Falls, off of Highway 50. These photos are from my first backpacking trip up Horsetail Falls. The original prints were overexposed. Thankfully, I kept the pictures and was able to "clean" them up a bit in Photoshop. Talk about following the First Husband with complete trust while carrying 25 pounds, more or less, of food, gear, and reading material on my back. I don't know what it's like today, but back then, once you got to the base of the falls, the way

All of a sudden, Mama's roses are in bloom. Pop! Pop! Pop! I heeded the experts and hacked away at most of the rose bushes when it was pruning time. Mama liked to let them grow tall. So do I. It's just that the roses got to looking wimpy and straggly and all things not good. Pop, pop, pop. Pop! About two years ago, I transplanted this orange rose bush from the other side of the backyard. The butterfly bush had a way of hiding it away from the sun during the summer.  This year it looks so much happier than last year. Pop. Pop! Pop. It's time for Mosaic Monday . Click here to check out photo collages by other bloggers. Take care out there! Pop. Pop. Pop.

I finally got around to sewing face masks, two for the Husband and two for me. I only had one oopsie. The photo shows a collage of mask #5.   :-) I followed a pattern with straps, using bias tape to make the ties. The oopsie mask was made with elastic. Elastics elude me.  The elastic straps were like rubber bands. The mask flung forward each time the Husband or I put it on. The Great Elastic Escape.  Molly the pinky-nosed (wild) Cat likes to nap on the love seat in front of the patio window these past weeks. When summer comes, she'll scarf her last bite of breakfast, jump off her table, and scamper out the patio door, to come back for lunch or to use her litter box.  And, sometimes she'll wander back in to check on her humans. Sweet girl, her. Today I sat beside Missy, gazing out the window with her. I got to wondering how the world looks to her. Does she see the same thing that I see?  Perhaps the world looks like this. More than likely Molly w

"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