I forgot to buy a 2015 calendar for the Mama. I had planned to make her one again, but I thought about it too late to have it be delivered by the new year. I figured I'd print out the dates and attach the page to last year's calendar. On Sunday, I did that. The Mama thought it was a new calendar.  Hmmmmm.

Lately, I've been helping the Mama pick up the leaves in the backyard. Even when it's about to rain or when the wind is being blustery. Why? Because the Mama is out there. And, she'll stay out there until she is a) satisfied that she has picked up as many leaves as she could before more fall from the trees,  or b) tired and has begun ranting about the next door neighbor's dirty tree that sheds lots and lots of clusters of red berries and skinny hard leaves, which are quite difficult to pick up. After years of calling out the back window, "Come in, Mama, it's too cold!" Or,  "It's windy! Just wait until the wind stops." Or, "It's raining!" I now step outside, followed happily by Molly the Cat who has been cooped inside because the Mama decided it's too cold, windy, and/or rainy for her to be outdoors.   I usually head to the other side of the yard  with my favorite rake. The sooner the leaves are picked up, the sooner t

"How do other people clean their refrigerator coils?" I asked the Husband as he walked through the kitchen. I was laying on my side, looking at thick globs of dust clinging on the coils. "They don't," he said. "The vacuum cleaner can only reach so far." "Use a yardstick." Sigh. Earlier yesterday morning, the Mama asked me, "When are you going to vacuum the refrigerator coils?" Sigh. I thought I'd done it six months or a year ago, but the way time flies, it was probably two years ago.  I need to wash the kitchen floor soon, so I figured I might as well deal with the coils first. It would only take 10 minutes. Ha! Maybe it would've, if I had not gone and fetched the big yellow flashlight and shined it on the coils. Sigh. I had to make some kind of effort to get at those globs of dust. Not that the Mama would get down on the floor and inspect my job. That's something she can no longer do. Getting herself down o

"Do you think it would depress the Mama if she saw photos of herself from her younger years?" I asked the Husband yesterday morning. "I don't know," he said. "Would you like it?" "Sure. But that's me." I would, too. But, I wasn't sure how the Mama would feel. So, I decided not to make a mosaic photo to give her for her ninety (cough third ) some birthday. You'd never guess what happened yesterday evening. The Mama asked me to find the photos of her wearing her Maria Clara dress and make big prints of them. So, I did. She'll be surprised when she sees them because it takes forever for me to do things. She had asked me to hem her jeans on the sewing machine.  I finally did yesterday. But, the pants had sat so long on the chair that Molly the Cat took to sleeping on them. This photo was taken in November, 1962, a few weeks after we moved into the house that she and the Daddy purchased.  She was standing in the

I drew socks the other day because I bought some socks for the Mama and me. They are just as colorful as the ones in the picture. The Husband bought socks, too. He was the instigator, which meant he needed socks and the Mama must have forgotten to give him socks for Christmas. Actually, it was more like she forgot to tell me that she wanted to buy his annual Christmas bunch of socks. I should've remembered, but I haven't been good in that department either. A couple weeks ago, I forgot about the Mama's doctor appointment. At least, I remembered the following day and called the doctor's office. We went on Friday for his five-minute examination to make sure she is still ticking. Yup, she is indeed. Her blood count actually went up,  and her blood pressure is that of a spring chicken. The Mama also gained a pound. She'd been losing a pound every four months for the past two years so I was very happy to hear the nurse say she was 110. The Mama's reaction. "

I'm not going to talk about garbage, other than to say that tonight we put the garbage cans out on the curb.  It seems like I just brought them in, which is my way of saying that lately the days go by much too quickly. I had planned to write a post on Monday, then yesterday, and then before lunch this morning. Now, I want to post this before I start making dinner in um 20 minutes. It's going to be a good dinner, too. We went to the Farmers Market this afternoon. All three of us—the Mama, the Husband, and me. It was a rare outing for the Mama and even rarer because she initiated the adventure. She was able to walk a block, back and forth, before she tired out. Hurrah for the 90+ Mama! Although, afterwards, when she plopped into the car, she said, "I don't think I will come anymore." And, when we reached home, she said, "I don't think I can go anywhere anymore. I want to sit down all the time." We could get her a walker with a chair so that sh

The first, okay, maybe it was the fourth, thing I did this morning before breakfast was write that To Do list. I did finish the mystery I've been reading at breakfast. I diligently stuck with the story although I didn't care for the protagonist who was too much of an insecure whiner. But once I learned who the suspect was, I skimmed through the final scenes. I closed the book and purposely went to complete something else. For about the next two hours, I topped off the Mama's outdoor potted plants with potting soil. It was something I had been thinking about doing for the last two summers. The other week, while the Mama was watering her plants, she mentioned that they needed more soil. "Uh-huh," I said, glancing at them and thinking I need to do that before she got to it. Fortunately, for me, a few days ago, the Husband and I bought three huge bags of potting soil. The Mama requested one, but I bought two extra bags. Not because I was going to add soil to

If you were physically separated from your significant other, for whatever reason, would you still want to get back with him or her after a year? Five years? Thirty? About a month after the Only and Older Bionic Brother was born, the Daddy, a naturalized U.S. citizen, returned to the United States. He realized that there would be more and better opportunities for his children in America than in the Philippines. This was in the late 1940s. He worked hard and within a year, he made enough money to book ship passage for the Mama and their son. The Mama did not want to leave her home and family. The Mama's mother told her that once she married, her life was with her husband's. She, the Mama, no longer belonged to the Grandmother. Thirteen months after the Daddy left, he and the Mama were reunited in their new home in California. The stories of my two ninangs (godmothers) were different from the Mama.  They waited much, much longer to reunite with their spouses. The story of

The Mama, as some of you dear readers know, is in her nineties. The tiny, fragile, slow-stepping Mama is doing well, thank you very much for asking. She's as fit and magnificent as the flowers and vegetables that she grows. The only medication she takes is for her thyroid. I can only hope that I haven't screwed up the genes she gave me too awful much. This morning, I found a poem that I wrote about the Mama two years ago when she was rushed to the hospital. The Mama is amazing. The Sleeping Mama Slipped into her ER room. She was fast asleep, Hooked up to the IV, heart monitor, and oxygen. In one moment, she could not move no matter how hard she tried. And, she tried, and kept trying, to stand up. "Walking pneumonia," the doctor said. "Dehydration." What did she say?  "This is going to cost me a lot." © 2014 Su-sieee! Mac I'm participating in the Blogging from A to Z Challenge this month. To check out other participants, c

Nearly 35 years ago, a college professor, who hailed from Australia, told me if it weren't for the awkwardness of my writing, I would've got a higher score on my paper. She forgave me for some of my usage and grammar because, according to her, "English is your second language." For once, I kept my mouth closed rather than enlighten her on how wrong she was. English is the only language I can read, write, speak, and understand fluently. Proficiently, too, except for the lapses in awkward writing and the proper use of grammar, word choice, and cliches. I'm especially good at forgetting articles (the, a, an, and so on) and getting prepositions mixed up, which, I think is because the Ilocano language has no articles and, as far as I can tell, one preposition. As I was growing up the parents mostly spoke Ilocano to me while I spoke English to them. I still do that with the Mama, and the Husband finds it very strange. It's really not unusual with immigrant

Snap. Snap. Snap. "Mama's always finding something to snap in the backyard," I said to the Husband, as I peeked out the back door to see what she was snapping. "She'll always find something," said he. The temperature was in the 50s. Very cold, she would complain, if she was inside the house. Outside, she doesn't feel how cold it is because she says she's always moving. Always doing something in her garden. She has already dug up her vegetable boxes. I won't be surprised if she starts planting beans next month and then complains a month later why it takes so long for them to sprout. That's the Mama. Keeps her strong, I know. She is, I believe, healthier than the Husband and me right now. At least all the trees are pruned. The apple trees. The persimmon trees. The apricot tree. The miracle tree. The avocado trees. The ornamental pear tree on the front yard. Too bad we didn't have a prune tree to prune. Of course, there is th

"Su-sieee!" the Mama called from the bottom of the stairs. "Su-sieeeeeeee!" She shouted two seconds later. I had only begun to get my head out of whatever I was writing. "Su-sieeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" She yelled louder. "Hold on. Hold on." I called as I stumbled down the hallway to the stairs. "What is it?" Silence. Halfway down the stairs, the Mama held up a bottle and asked, "Do we have Windex?" "Windex?"  I immediately envisioned her standing on the highest step of the tall ladder to clean the windows from outside. I peered at the label over my computer glasses. "This is Windex." "It's not blue." Oh, God, I thought. Will she ask me to go to the store now? Can I get her to use vinegar instead? "Windex comes in different colors now," I said. "This has lemon in it." "Okay," she said, taking the bottle from me. "What are you going to do?&qu

Sixty-nine pounds of organic tomatoes. That's how many pounds of tomatoes the Husband, the Mama, and I picked at the Live Earth Farm in Watsonville yesterday.  The farm was having its last u-pick day for tomatoes, and, we were quite fortunate to learn about it just in time. I have gotten spoiled. Maybe the Husband and the Mama have, too. For the last four years, we have picked enough organic tomatoes to freeze and use until the next tomato season. Frozen organic tomatoes taste almost as if they were just picked. That's reason one for me saying I am spoiled. Reason number two is that I like seeing Mama enjoy herself as she picks tomatoes. I think it brings her back to the days of working in vegetable seed research. We bring her little green bench so that she can sit as she pick tomatoes in solitude under the warm sun. "Don't go too far," she always tells me, as I go to find my own row of solitude nearby, while the Husband walks toward the far end of the f

This has been a great summer for the Mama's backyard jungle. Trees, vines, and plants are producing like crazy. This is just a bit of the Mama's bounty—Sweet Asian pears, sunny sunflowers, and sour, but yummy lemons. Today, I'm participating in the photo meme, Monday Mellow Yellows , hosted by Gemma Wiseman. To check out other participants, please click here .  P.S. ' Tis the month of the Mama and Molly the Cat.

Okay. It is a puddle of water on the patio cement floor. Water collects there when it rains or when the Mama waters her potted plants. Makes me wonder if the natural dip there may actually be over a spring. ' Tis the month of the Mama. P.S. I'm participating in Weekend Reflections . Click here to see the photos of other participants.

August is the month of the Mama. Meaning? I plan to share some Mama love and Mama-isms with you over the next 31 days. (Not every day, of course.) Here's the first Mama-ism. "Again," the Mama sighed. "What?" I asked in alarm, as I stopped nearly halfway up the stairs. I tried to peek over the balustrade (yes, the balustrade), but couldn't see anything. "What's wrong?" "Oh, nothing," she said from the living room. "It's Molly." "What's wrong with Molly?" "She's asleep. Again." The Husband and I have explained many times that cats sleep a lot. They sleep after they've eaten. They sleep after they've played long and hard. They sleep when it's hot. They sleep when it's cold. They sleep when they darn well feel like it. The Mama, however, does not accept it. Yet. As I continued climbing the stairs, I heard Mama say, "Are you a millionaire, Molly? Are you a mi

I just love it when technical things come together. After all, I am a non-techie, regardless of what others may say. Early this morning, or late last night (depending on your point of view), I received an e-mail saying that my domain names had expired and if I wanted to keep them, I need to renew pronto. So, that I did. I decided to forgo the URL for the old blog and purchase a domain name for Don't Be a Hippie . Purchasing su-sieeemac.com was quite a cheap thrill, I tell you what.  su-sieeemac.com? Yep. I figure I can always use the URL for something else down the line, should I ever cease writing Don't Be a Hippie . For once, I'm looking ahead. Anyway, a few minutes ago, I keyed in the right combination of words and numbers to have Don't Be a Hippie appear in the browser when I plug su-sieeemac.com into the appropriate bar. Whooo-hooo! Another cheap thrill. I think I will count this feat as a Doing 60 . The little things count, too, in my book. So, as not

Seriously, Lady. Have you nothing else to do, but take my photo? That's what I imagine Molly the by-golly Cat said to me after I snapped this shot. What can I say? The friends have children and grandchildren to brag about. Me? Why, I'm pretty proud about the Husband, the Mama, and Molly the Cat. Yep, I'm still here. I know. It has been nearly a month since I've written.  I've been busy being a writing hack. And, I say that in a good way. Hope you're all doing well out there, dear Readers, each and every one of you. Molly yawns healthily  at night because of the prowling she does during the day in the Mama's jungle.

A cane is a very useful tool. It helps you steady yourself as you stand up. It offers you support as you make your way down your path. It's also something you can point with and you can use it to hit a car (or person) that comes too close for comfort. Yep, a cane is a useful tool. The Mama, however, will have nothing to do with one. She says (not these exact words, but this idea), "The more you use a cane, the more you won't be able to walk on your own." I suppose, in her mind, a cane is proof that you've given up to old age. Fortunately, when she works in her gardens, she turns her rake or broom upside down and uses it kind of like a cane. But, she's not really using a cane, you see, because she's just transporting the rake or broom. All in all, the Mama is very strong for a frail-looking woman in her 90s. (Don't let that fragility fool you. The woman is pretty much all muscle.) By using a cane, the Husband and I would have false confidence

I like to sew. It was only recently that I realized I did. My passion to create via the sewing machine comes in spurts and usually 10 years apart. It is probably just my lazy nature that kept me from becoming skilled at the craft. Unlike the Mama. She is a talented seamstress. A very precise one, too. Though not anymore. She still has a pedal Singer sewing machine, but it's  too heavy for her to work, and the electric sewing machine confounds her. So she says. These days, she asks me if I'd mend something for her on the sewing machine. That makes me feel darn-tooting good. Fortunately for me, she has mellowed and doesn't care that my seams are still not perfectly straight and tend to be wiggle-waggle looking. One of these days, I'll tell you, dear readers, the story about the time the Mama got a C (or was it a C minus) for my homemaking project in seventh grade. Today, I want to mention the Giveaway Day event that Sew, Mama, Sew! is hosting at its blog. Qui