Lost Week

More and more than usual physical blockades.  Migration to new body parts.  These lessons are beyond me.

Could not write.  Could barely read.

Peeked in on the Cory Booker show.  Give the man a bounty of credit.  Until the $30 SNAP week experience is mandatory for anyone in government I fear this effort will be quickly forgotten.

Peeked in on the Sandusky show.  Poor thing.  He's chafing at the limitations of prison life.  Can anyone see that sentence and not burst into tears of laughter?  He wants to be placed in regular population.  Do It!  DO IT!

One of those will undoubtedly have a better week coming.  One deserves to rot in hell.  One is gritting teeth and begging for hope.

Start The Day Out Right

Joy Joy Joy Unmatchable (Is That A Word?)

Friday is laundry day for me at Elder House.

Having clean sweats and bath towels and all is very nice.

But the best of all has nothing to do with laundry.

Most Friday afternoons my glorious Middle Daughter (I've got to find a better pseudonym for her.  "Middle" has some inappropriate connotations that don't hint at how swell this young woman is.) and her equally glorious little girl stop by.

Yeah, I know, my pictures are always blurry.

This is an old one anyway.

Check out those chocolate filled Twinkies.

Believe it or not those were a BIG disappointment.

Her Mommy lets me share one cookie or saltine with Miss Ellie Bananas.

Fair enough, it is close to her dinner time.

Twice now I offered the classic:

She doesn't have the hang of nibbling the cookie while it remains like a ring on her finger.  But she's got the gusto already!

This time I was left slathered in shortbread mush on both shoulders and chest.

I LOVE THOSE GIRLS!

Now if I can get the rest of my precious offspring and their precious offspring to drop by also...

Meanwhile I am revelling in those Lucky Fridays and nice clean clothes.

I Swear! I Googled Wes Anderson

Go Zombies!

So Very Nifty

Would've been really excellent.

But I'd have been guilty due to the cross country postal fee.

Thoughtful and kind in and of itself.

Quirky to be sure.

Cactus will take up space in the dark bowl.

The guitar shaped measures will be chomped on by Miss Ellie Bananas.

Use for the other items will be found.

Swanky, sparkly yarns.

Traditional tomato pin cushion (my first EVER).

Glittery rick rack, pastel figured ribbon and molded paper flowers.

Any one item would have been special and put to very good use.

All of them together, and a phone call, truly nifty galore!

Miscalculated Yet Again

My  first error was that I thought today was Library Guy's Day. I am only mildly disappointed.  Nice clean shower, extra time to attempt some simple crochet, very welcome phone conversation with doctor receptionist who actually spoke and understood the same language I was using, and the last of the blackberry jam.

My non-errors included one item that I know one does not have to write an entire blog to enter a comment.   Others are apparently unaware. There is a block provided for comments at the bottom of the post.  Maybe those were big words. 

Another non-error is my being very sure who I write about. The reason bloggers use pseudonyms or AKA's is to be polite or courteous.  Believe me, when I want to highlight a specific idiot I will use names.  Till then you usual folks can  continue to assume every single blog I post  is about you. (Because the essential part of my life is whatever involves you.) Look up "ego."

Final non-error for today, and please read very closely:  Three of my siblings, females, have block or deleted me from their facebomb pages.  I cannot see ANYTHING they write or communicate on their public pages.  Get it?  They can say anything they want about me and I am not able to respond.  I considers this incredibly gutless on their parts because they apparently present themselves as innocent, understanding, kind, sweet hearted humans and I am ...What?  A robot? 

Anyway I don't consider facebomb the appropriate medium.  Any of you three can telephone, email, or (if you can figure it out...) leave a comment on the blog. If you wanted anything other than drama, which I doubt, anyone of you would have the human dignity to contact me by one of these methods.

If you all dislike this content, please stay away.  This is my blog.  Using other siblings  or off spring to jazz up your own agendas isn't fair to them and will NEVER accomplish any REAL communication.  More of the same from you will simply prove that the drama is what you desire.  Too bad for all of us.

Oh I forgot...I don't text.  Don't know how.   And I am extending kudos to one of the sisters for visiting me while I was hospitalized.  Still not sure I understand why, but I'm amazed by her effort.  Trying to be fair.

Little Bitty Goody Goody

Yes, this was a cartoon from my childhood and consequently explains much.

The little goodies:

Simmering pot of oranges and cloves

Gold metallic rick rack

Completely unexpected floral arrangement from an amazingly thoughtful human

Stained glass

Very large rippled philodendron half price

Four new composition notebooks in four different colors
Palm cookies

Two more library books

Lee Krasner

Ice cubes

My black sweater

Voices from people I love

Goodbye September

Lately I've been thinking of great names for blog titles.

 Not having much success developing the blog posts themselves.

I've changed many routines around my home.  For the better I hope.

Fighting years of bad habits is more than just difficult.

Especially now that so many words and speech abilities are apparently lost to me.

Frightening and threatening.

Ah, yes.

Carry on after all.

Another month to attempt.

This late bloomer thing is killing me.

Too late to be a Renaissance Woman without any special learning?

Then I found the above.

Perhaps in the nick of time.

And so, I am creating memorabilia (until I think of a better name for them) for the important special folk in my life.

Meaning to me, and hopefully to them.

Letting go of ridiculous rules and using the time available.

If this is my adulthood I will continue to do the best I have.

Truly grateful for what I have.

Challenged by what comes with each day.

Victory has a new definition.

Welcome October.

6:26 PM

Two perfect days here in the Midwest.

Both days had glorious special breezes (required for swell weather).  Leaf breezes.  Grass breezes.  Sifting evergreen into the windows breezes.  Even the ridiculous squirrels were stopping and popping on the sidewalk breezes.

The sky on both days were worth writing home about.  But, less admit it, sky blue in and of itself isn't something special.  There are a jillions blue shades that I prefer.  Cobalt.  Turquoise.  Cerulean.  Beany Malone bed room walls.  My grandchildren's eyes.
But when the sky has the cloudy condiments in the usual blue it is damn well acceptable.

Yesterday was a sweet shopping day.  Found each item:  wooden clothes pins, the blue toilet tank bowl freshener, hot Oke Doke cheese popcorn, votive candles, key lime yoghurt, and the giant coral cactus I've been scouting for two months.  Such a happy girl.

AND... I got to drive myself home in my precious Ancient Vehicle with two new tires!

Today I replanted plants.  Met the PT chap.  Spoke to five (FIVE!) of my favorite peoples.  Watched the Children Parade which I've missed this summer.  Made an almost perfect tuna sandwich.  Realized how lucky I am to have the daughters, friends and grandchildren that I have.  Especially today I am grateful

Oh, it got dark at 6:26 pm.  If it stayed a bit lighter a bit longer....oh, yeah... I'm focusing on gratitude.

Proud To Say WOMAN

Drug Dream

Madonna was shampooing my hair.  She had thick, moon shaped nails that she used to scratch and massage my scalp.  It felt terrific.  She rinsed my head with water from a shallow cobalt blue bowl.  We both smiled but did not speak.

When I woke at four in the morning it was raining.  It was like rain in a movie:  all parallel rows, a consistent whooshy sound, and dramatically back lit.  It went on like that for thirty minutes.  When it stopped it just stopped altogether.  No dripping.

There are so many prescription meds in my repertoire these days I sometimes don't know what is me and what is chemically induced.

Up And Attem

• Flipped the clock
• Little Red Hen
• Sad dead ficus
• "Countertop" sun tea
• Postcard project
• Oriental Trading
• Shiny pink pig
• Future cactus
• Choking on lime jello
• Dandy dreams of brothers and movie stars
• Excellent reading material
• Scented candles
• How much do I hate coffee breath?
• I didn't know they were called "mood boards"
• Toenails
• Slipshod correspondent
• Love that carpet sweeper!
• Schemes and Themes tonight!  Alas Subterranean may be no more
• Chicken salad

Get Out Of My Way

This week I have been sleeping scandalously late.  And for me, that means 8:30 to about 9ish in the morning.  I've been an early starter since my children were teensy.  Never minded it and never needed or used an alarm clock.  And I realize that 9:00 am isn't that late; but here at Elder House there are folks who are up and around at four!  No, no, no.  That can't be good for a person.

This week I've been stretching and snicking the eye gunk out of my eyes and reading book after book.  My load this week from Library Guy has been especially good.  Nora's last, The Language of Flowers, and the second Stieg Larsson.  Yummy.

So why the snark?

Beats me.  I , like Snoopy, "feel every now and then that I wanta' bite someone."

Let's see.  The property manager still hasn't responded to an email question I sent on Saturday.  But I didn't really expect her to and it's not a big issue anyway.  That's not the reason.  Neither is the third day in a row of 100+ temperatures.  Nor is it the fact that I heard on the news that grasshoppers are going to reproduce THREE times due to the weird weather this year and they will eat all the grass and grain and humans will starve to death and die of bread withdrawal.  Nope not it.  A loaf of good bread, expensive at $2.78 a loaf now, will cost over $5.00 by fall.  Close, but not.

Well, what the hell is pissing me off then?

Yup, that's it.  I want my 20 year old body wrapped around my this year's brain.  I'd be freaking unstoppable.  And I bet Mick wishes the same thing sometime.

Fashion Nincompoop

Along with everything else, I envision myself as one of the great undiscovered fashion stylists of our time.  Being the relic that I am, and the self-proclaimed arbiter of good taste, and that I have frequently been labelled "all talk and no action" I can pretty much say whatever I want.  Slowly but surely I am closing my ears when that nagging childhood voice leaps in criticising every choice I make.

Gaining self confidence is tricky when most of one's developmental stages have already been achieved.  Still, it is a battle I choose to fight.  And I can hear the snide chuckling in the background.  Hopefully there will be enough "big words" in this post so that those saboteurs will be completely confused.  Anyway, I like to tell myself that I am gaining ground.  At least I know my choices are mine.

As a young lady I kind of missed out on fashion.  I was (and am to this day) the quintessential Fat Girl.  I cannot remember buying clothes off the rack; I sped past the available sizes in area department stores quite rapidly.   Luckily for me, Mommy Dearest was an accomplished seamstress and so I did have something of a wardrobe.

Skirts were required at church, of course, and at school too for most of my adolescence.  The dress code was relaxed for my final two years of high school.  These years were the transition from hosiery to panty hose.  Both were nightmares for fat girls.  Hosiery required girdles and garters and twisting stockings over bulging knees.  Panty hose could be sliced in two: one side of one pair yanked up on the right.  The other side from the other pair yanked up on the left.  A tight squeeze  but at least the crotch landed in the right place.  When a run or snag appeared, the damaged leg, so to speak, could be changed out for a leg from one of the remaining cut up pairs.

Runs were the death knell for stockings and panty hose.  Clear nail polish or hair spray could sometimes halt the progression of the run.  Or the ruined leg could be twisted even further so the (runned? ran?) area with the run was positioned on the inside of one's leg and would be further camouflaged by taking very small steps.  In any case a good girl, a nice girl, a stylish girl did NOT let herself be caught with runs in her stockings.  Which is why I've been so surprised to see photos like this:

This one is from the Sartorialist but Zana Bayne favors this look also.  And, I amaze myself sometimes, I don't hate it.  It makes me wish I could do my teens and twenties over again.  Im-poss-ee-blay!  I know.  I also can't help but wonder (thanks, Carrie) what their mothers must think.

Yippee!!

To Welcome

Silas Cooper Smith

And So I

Gathered together all the books for Library Guy

Made three new hair clips

Found a dazzling new afghan pattern

Phoned Baby Sister

Listened to a strange animal noise outside my bedroom

Addressed envelopes

Pondered the "Kerry Weaver" crutch as a possibility

Drooled over the chicken taquito fragrance from the mainentance guy's lunch

Took some photos as my ficus slowly gives up the ghost

Crocheted just a little

Cleaned the top of my dresser

Organized photos in the ultimate photo box

Stayed very quiet

Uber People Watch

New fave on this do nothing day:  the Sartorialist.   MMMMmmmmm.  His blog archives to 2005 and every page is delish.  The above is, believe it or not, a street person in New York.  Style IS all around us.

This darling splash is from 2011, Paris.  Contrasting the two photos is amazing.  What an eye this guy has.  I admit, I was in the dark as to the photographer, and was hoping he was an unknown, undiscovered amateur.  This is not the case and I don't mind a bit.
Such an intriguing blend of so many elements.  The young and not so young.  Famous and not.  Some so colorful and some that actually look as if they existed in black and white.  One wonders how many beautiful people garbed so fetchingly can congregate in one place.  How the settings and backgrounds can be so magical and so appropriate.  I wonder what drew him in for the above shot?  The overwhelmingness of the jacket or the underwhelming starkness of the wall.


Enough gushing.  Make your favorite adult beverage and prepare to be dazzled.  I'll probably get killed here in cyber land for using these images without permission.  Ah well.  Go here:        http://www.thesartorialist.com/biography/  And hail Mr. Scott Schuman. 

For Baby Sis

This is corny, but I know she will get it.
Can't wait, Honey!!!!!

Thanks for listening as always!

Resulto Bizarro

Nights here at Elder House are always an adventure.

Many of my neighbors are heavily medicated; and so tend to wander at strange hours.

At all hours.

                                            I do not wander, bad knees and whatnot, but I observe.

                      Last night there were two ambulance runs: one right after another.
                       The second rig was waiting in the street for the first one to pull out.

They were both gone within a half hour and I eventually dozed off.

REM sleep is rare for me.

Imagine my surprise at the following dream.

I'm at a wedding.

There are heavy curtains at the back of the building.

They open with much fanfare for each bridesmaid to make her promenade down the aisle.

Up the aisle?

                                                         
                          But in the dream they are not wearing ghastly bridesmaid dresses.
                                       They are wearing ghastly bridal gowns.

And I couldn't find images of gowns as hideous as the ones in my dream.

These come close.

But there were more ruffles, more flounces, more poufy things, and several of those Janet Jackson

microphone floral on the face attachment things.

So this morning I had a bit of a giggle thinking, "This is what happens when there are too many sirens and flashing lights when I'm trying to sleep."

Then I said a quick prayer for two hospitalized neighbors.

My heart is in the right place, just not instantaneously.

Dream Ahem

Kelly Clarkson

and a Dior lampshade  (in the dream it was red)

and an itty, bitty brown wooden night stand

Is this my subconscious wishing me a happy mothers' day?

Doubtful and weird.