1) Four glorious days and nights of rain, off and on, enough to soak the ground, but not to get it ookey-muddy that I sink. Wish it did though. 2) We've been in a drought since 2011, not including the one year that the governor and experts said it was over. Really, though, we ought to go back to 2007. The experts said it was over in 2010. Ha!  Poor plants. 3) The experts predict that our part of the world should experience another exceptionally dry winter. I hope not. 4) From four days of collecting rain water and a couple of buckets of grey water from the kitchen, we have filled up a 30-gallon garbage can and a vintage metal milk churn (also called a milk can). Hurrah! 5) Yesterday, I got in a panic that the insurance company hadn't approved my upcoming knee surgery. Usually, it sends me a copy of any authorization it makes for me. Not seeing anything in my online account, I called the orthopedic center. The gatekeeper put me on hold to ask the nurse, returning to say the nurs

Let’s see, my knee surgery is scheduled for December 14, today is November 7, so that makes…what…37 days to go. Oh-oh. I haven’t even begun to clear the surfaces in L Studio, particularly the bed we think we’ll be sleeping on during the first weeks of my recovery. Who knows, maybe I can make it upstairs.  For that matter, I haven’t made my to-do list for this week and it’s already time to think about about what to make for our main meal of the day. Something out of tofu, black beans, white rice, zucchini, and a portobello mushroom. There are a couple slices of bacon in the fridge, too. This morning I thought about pickling peppers and making kimchi. How time flies when you’re retired. I’ll just put them on my list. The Husband and I did go for a walk, yaay! We were figuring the shortest way to walk to  the physical therapy clinic where I’m supposed to go for a pre-op session later this month. We are still without a car, so I must think these things out. It’s a little over half mile awa

“ Hay-zeus-mar-ee-yo-sup!” Mama swore when she was frustrated, disgusted, or nearly angry.     She also said it when she was spooked. “Hay-zeus-mar-ee-yo-sup!”   And, should Mama break a glass, she spat out, “ Hay-zeus-mar-ee-yo-sup!” followed by Tph . Tph. Tph. Three pretend spits to the floor. Bad luck, go away! It was years, decades before I figured out what Mama meant by “Hay-zeus-mar-ee-yo-sup!”  All those times, Mama was pleading to the Big, Mighty Three. The Holy Family.  Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. -30- Prompt for  Friday Writings : The Power of  Three. 

Oh, my gosh, did I have fun shopping last Saturday morning! Good pal L and I stopped in at the thrift store, which was having a half-off everything except for the jewelry, and two garage sales. I scored, I tell you, like a bandit. The photo shows some of the stuff I’ll be reusing, repurposing, and enjoying. All together, I bought: (1)  Five picture frames, of which one is a framed bulletin board (2)  Two silk scarves and a pair of black shorts  (3)  Two paperbacks and the Pride and Prejudice DVD with Colin Firth playing Mr. Darcy (4)  Seven or (or is it eight?) metal racks of assorted types and sizes (5)  Fabric scraps, including a yard or so of felt in gorgeous peacock blue (6)  A 6.5-inch tall ceramic mug with blue flowers (7)  A basket that looks like a picnic basket Yogi Bear and Boo Boo might steal (8)  A long two tier candleholder centerpiece, which may become a planter for succulents (9). An old pasta drying rack (that will probably never be used for its intended purpose; I lik

1) I finally put this plant, a cousin of the bird of paradise, in the ground. I stuck it in a pot with the bottom ripped out so the roots will have access as it, hopefully, grows. 2) Of course I had to paint the pot before I put the plant in it. 3) The tyrannosaurus rex asked to be more colorful.  4) I dug out two wilting geranium plants that used to hang out behind the plant. They’re now sitting in a bucket of water to be planted elsewhere. 5) A brown butterfly flitted and rested around the Jupiter’s beard flowers, slurping at each stop. 6) A hummingbird drank from the geranium blossoms. I think it was an Anna’s hummingbird. 7) A blue jay tried very hard to crack open a nut.  8) The neighbor behind us told me that possums hang out in our yard late at night. They’re quite active, she said. At least they’re not rats, I said. Thank goodness. 9) It’s day two of the Husband’s cold. Poor guy. I’m willing myself to not catch it. I have a rag and a bottle of rubbing alcohol handy to rub off a

I’ve been the packhorse of the household these last few weeks. I’m not complaining, simply stating a fact. We’re temporarily carless, so we’ve been walking and taking the bus for errands, and because the husband’s shoulder is still on the mend, I’ve been the carrier of goods with my old workhorse of a purple daypack. Olé!  I got to wondering what are the attributes of a good packhorse, whether a human, donkey, snail, or other animal. 1) Not a wuss. 2) Stubborn. 3) Keep on keeping on. 4) Resolve. 5) Happy feet. 6) When there’s a will, there’s a way. 7) Determination. 8) Entertains oneself while chugging onward. 9) Mindfulness. 10) Positive. 11) Willingness. 12) Self-motivated. 13) Looking forward to the yummy carrot at the end of the trail.  It’s day 55 of my countdown. Being a packhorse right now is a good thing, as it helps me build up physical and mental strength and endurance. As for any pain, I can imagine flicking it away with my imaginary packhorse tail. It’s a long one, too. 🙃

Meet Sweater Bear. And, his friends Pumpkie Bear and Pinky Bear. They’re all in their 40s and continue to give me comfort and joy.  The duct tape hat I entered into the county fair has been claimed by Sweater Bear who no longer feels naked. He has been without his white knit pullover sweater for a few years. It was taken off to be washed some time back, and well, no more, no more. Sweater Bear belonged to Mama. I bought him from a thrift shop and gave it to Mama. I figured, she like me, didn’t have a stuffed animal when she was a child. If she had, I’m sure I would’ve had one, too. Mama kept Sweater Bear on her prized bed that she rarely slept on.  I was in my late 20s when stuffed animals began finding their way into my home. Some I bought for myself. Others were gifted, and others had been  “trades” with with my nieces. Pinky Bear once belonged to the youngest niece. Oh, and I can’t forget those won in carnival games. Pumpkie Bear was a prize from the Circus Circus casino in Reno. I