1. Next month the U.S. Post Office will be selling forever stamps that celebrate Hip Hop. According to the USPS website, the sheet of stamps features rapping, break dancing, DJing, and graffiti art. I don't know what floors me more -- Hip Hop commemorative stamps or that the first kids into hip hop are now in their 40s and 50s? 2. Our local library has been closed since early March due to the coronavirus pandemic. This month, the librarians decided that we, patrons, can check out books online for pick up. The pick-up process today was easy-peasy, even though I forgot to bring my library card. Nine new books to entertain me. Yippieeee! 3. A few weeks ago, the Husband painted this headboard, full of delight and whimsy, perfect for the Banana Room, once known as the Shady Room. The banana plants look to be coming back, and the bamboo, gardenia, and wongo-wongo plants seem to relish their move there. I also replanted a camelia shrub by the headboard. Does that all s

"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

1.  Sweet Pea Song, my iMac, is 10 years old, more or less. Unfortunately for Sweet Pea Song and me there are few, if any, updates available for her system, as well as for the applications I use. 2.  She fooled her developers with their planned obsolescence. She continues to be a song of a sweet pea. 3.  Lately I've been tippy tapping on typewriters at garage sales and thrift shops. Will I buy one? 4.  Smith-Corona Coronet. That's the kind of portable blue electric typewriter on which I tippy-tapped during my 20s when I was into writing short stories. It gave out a comforting buzz that complimented the tip tip tip tap tap tip tip tap tap of the keys. 5.  I miss inserting paper into a typewriter, rolling up the paper, pushing the carriage back, hitting the space bar three times, and pressing the keys. Voila. Magic words on paper. 6.  Older Brother gave me the used typewriter in exchange for babysitting two-month-old Eldest Niece so her mom could go back to work.

1. My last name starts with the letter E . When I spell it to someone, I sometimes say "E as in Europe". I'm not trying to trick the person. That's simply what pops into my head. 2. I figure customer service people can spell Europe . Am I wrong to think that? 3. Mama pronounced the letter E as "A". That's how she learned it as a kid in the Philippines, a U.S. territory (then), which had been a Spanish colony in Mama's grandparents' time. "The old-timers spoke Spanish. They tried to teach me," said Mama. I wonder what Mama was interested in instead. 4. The silliness it was when Mama asked 12-year-old Susie to spell a word that has one or more letter E 's. Oh my gosh! Let's suppose, Mama asks, "How do you spell Elephant?"     "E-," I start.     "What kind of E?" she asks.     "E." I say.     "E as in A. or E as in E."     "E!" 5. Before I understood th

Thirteen years ago, I would've replied "Nooo. Really?" should future me had reached into the time spectrum to tease me about my today. Never ever would I have thought 13 years ago that I would actually do these things. One. Taking 15 years for us to move the Husband's parents' belongings from a rented storage locker to our garage. Two.  Buying artist's and crafter's paints. Three. Tending to all sorts of flowers on what was once Mama's lawn.  Four. Mulling over the possibilities for curtains I'll sew for the bedroom, L Studio, and living room windows.  Five. Interrupting a task to play Scrabble with the Husband, and knowing that I'll finish the task when we're done with the game.  Six. Painting a mural. Seven. Being told by a specialist that he can't straighten my leg. Crooked? That was news to me. Eight. Receiving my social security benefits! Nine. Being loved by Molly the Cat. Ten. Meeting many ki

Caw. Caw. Caw. Caw. A flock of crows have been hanging around the neighborhood lately. I've watched some of them fly through the backyard, coming to rest on the tall, leafy skinny tree (possibly a birch) next door.   Caw. Caw. Caw. Caw. I never paid attention to these birds until one Sunday afternoon in 1994. The First Husband and I lived in an apartment building on the northwest flank of Mt. Sutro in San Francisco. That afternoon I was home working while the First Husband was attending a powwow. While I was looking out the window, a crow landed on our balcony. I moved closer to the window. It didn't faze the crow. That crow and I gazed at each other for a long while. I felt the crow was assuring me all would be well with the First Husband who was diagnosed with cancer. Until a few weeks before he died, I saw and heard crows often. There were afternoons where I'd see a crow circling above the trees near our carport. Same crow? Maybe. Hearing or seeing a crow mell

Sewing machines, bicycles, and vehicles are the things that I like to push pedal to the metal. Here are 13 of my favorite ones from today to long ago. Kenmore portable sewing machine. About a decade ago, good friend BB gave me her 1970s portable sewing machine when I was having a sewing fix and she was in a down-sizing mood. After a thorough tune-up, the machine was good to go. Vrrrroom, vrrrooom. I'm going through another spurt (and probably last) of sewing. This morning I started sewing curtains for the upstairs hallway. Yup, that's them in "draft mode" in the above photo. Eliza Do-a-lot. Some of you know about dear 25-year old Eliza.  She's a no-nonsense old lady's white sedan with hardly any blind spots. Eliza was Mama's last car. When Mama broke her hip in 1997, I started driving Eliza back and forth from El Cerrito where the Husband and I lived. By the time Mama felt confident to drive again, she needed to renew her license. She couldn'

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

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

That's me standing in the back on the far left side in the photo. I was editing the photo this morning when I noticed the dress and thought it sure looked like the one I used to wear back when I was in my 20s. And, what do you know that was me. haha I cannot remember what the celebration was all about. It could've been the end of the summer youth program for which I was coordinator, which would've been 1980. Then again it could've been the last day of the literacy/job skills program I taught the following summer. Both programs were administered by the West Bay Pilipino Multi-Service Corporation (West Bay), a community-based organization in San Francisco that served Filipino immigrants in the City, most of whom lived in the South of Market. I was totally out of my element: I did not speak nor understand Tagalog, and I was American born who grew up in a small agricultural town 100 miles south of San Francisco. Even though others assured me it didn't matter, ins

    At the moment, I'm working on my photo entries for the county fair (due tomorrow). As usual, I let the days go by like three years ago, the last time I participated in the fair. My post from September 28, 2015. ************** Yesterday afternoon, procrastinating me started thinking about my flower arrangement entries for the fair, which are due on Wednesday afternoon. I opened one of the kitchen cupboards and staring boldly at me, obviously begging to be in the fair, was an Eiffel Tower martini glass.  "I'm for the A Touch of Glass dry floral arrangement," it proclaimed.  "Okay," I said. "Let's go." We went to the office where I set the Eiffel Tower martini glass on the drawing board, into which the poor Husband keeps bumping as he goes in and out of the office. Before I knew it, the dried green moss called out from its basket on the floor, "Hey! Hey!" Bammm! A handful of moss planted itself in the glass,

This morning at the end of breakfast my fingers locked into a Vulcan salute, and I wasn't even trying to make one.  "Look," I said to the Husband who was intently bent over his iPad. "Wait, I'm watching this video." I constantly interrupt the Husband while he's in the middle of reading or watching a video online. Sorry, Dude. My fingers weren't moving. Now what? Gah. That got me thinking about what kind of Medicare Advantage plan to get. I think I'm in good health for being a life-time fatty. Poor Mama, the doctor pulled out 21-inches long and over eight pounds me, cesarean style. That must've been awfully scary for her. Baby Sister (who lived two years) and I were cesareans. Older Brother was a natural birth in a jungle in the Philippines. Just kidding about the jungle, though I would love to claim being born in a jungle. I don't know whether Oldest Girl was a cesarean, too. Valentina, the sister who died on the day she was born