tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62799572012-02-16T01:05:36.323-08:00a view from the cheap seatssomeonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.comBlogger6841100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-29957295879498970972012-02-14T09:40:00.000-08:002012-02-14T09:40:50.743-08:00

Willi Hart died last week. He preceded me on the path, showed what lay ahead, even in death. He gave it all he had. It wasn't enough.

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-71752018692330645412012-02-13T14:18:00.000-08:002012-02-13T14:20:42.463-08:00

I just guided my best friend Loretta to an Arco station, then pointed her across the Ross Island Bridge and southward toward her home. My old home. The past three weeks, despite surgery, has been filled with moments of joy because of my girlfriends. They carried my purse, did the driving, put up with my whining, made me lunch, brought me treats, and otherwise spoiled me. Judith, Kristi, Kristy,

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-48917956496796164572012-02-03T11:48:00.000-08:002012-02-03T13:01:16.495-08:00

Happy Ground Hog's Day!! My husband is broken-hearted this morning. Somebody got to it before he did. The nugget in the middle of the photo, the pure 28 oz shoehorn nugget from Scott Bar, should have been his. He had planned something a bit more elaborate: a Mission Impossible swat team kind of operation, hovering helicopter, ropes and guns and such to avoid alarms and discovery. But wait! No

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-1539548309285120162012-01-27T17:30:00.000-08:002012-02-06T09:11:30.590-08:00

I have been sitting here, laying here, eating here, healing here, for a week. Day eight, my husband's day off, he asks if I'd like to go for a ride up to the waterfalls. The road from Troutdale to Multmomah Falls, is, to date, my favorite place on earth. I don't care the season, the weather, the time of day, I am nourished by the dense green ferns, layers of moss and lichen, light filtering

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-86295719795794376422012-01-21T10:29:00.000-08:002012-01-21T10:29:54.145-08:00

What is the sound of one hand typing? i'll dispense with capitalization. now 20 hours post-op, the fun begins. for the curious, i had my left clavicle resected to reduce impingement of the acromium process. (they shortened my collar bone.) my husband made me comfortable all evening and just now made scrambled eggs for breakfast with blackberry jam on my toast without even asking. duffy is

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-22680941304753066372011-12-31T15:00:00.000-08:002012-01-05T16:18:58.716-08:00

It is finally friday night and we are sitting in the living room of cabin #5, Happy Camp Hideway in Netarts, just like last year. New Year's in Netarts. It may be a bit soon to call it a tradition, but here we are, surrounded by the lapping waves of an inlet just south of Tillamook, two neon palm trees and a tattered Jolly Roger flag decorate the driftwood yard. The trees do not sway in the wind.

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-22857219591023640382011-12-25T12:20:00.000-08:002012-01-02T18:53:11.793-08:00

Merry Christmas from Duffy and Sid.

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-43017710449588075392011-12-24T08:52:00.000-08:002011-12-25T20:49:11.755-08:00

I remember my untrained palette discerning the difference between the honey I suckled from a purple wildflower behind my house on Marsh Lane, and the sweetness at the base of field grass, chewed against the better judgment of my mother. "Those slivers will go through your blood stream and into your brain." She was great for death threats so far unrealized. She should have warned me about other

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-18559461527556454162011-11-11T19:43:00.000-08:002012-02-06T09:24:28.869-08:00

I've been neglecting these pages, forsaking my readers, and for what? An android. Truth be told, I've sold my soul to scrabble or something like it. Words with friends. That's the only apology I offer. But today, II.II.II, I was at my job where I go every day, living among the dying, letting it get to me in ways I never have so far, or not since the beginning when I "took it home with me" or,

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-72809667034441815592011-09-10T15:41:00.000-07:002011-09-10T16:26:50.192-07:00

It all started innocently enough. Every year we empty the truck and head down to the Jacksonville yard sales. Always the same time of year, always the same plan. We spend friday night near town, wake up, hit the yard sales (see previous posts) have breakfast with friends and family at the Mustard Seed, and after it is all said and done, head up-river to have Bob's birthday dinner at his place. A

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-33793552221342266352011-09-03T20:21:00.000-07:002011-09-04T11:47:28.976-07:00

Today we went to yard sales and I bought this tea set. It is like Fiestaware, bright oranges and blues and greens and yellows, incomplete, but a little girl would never know that. I'm not sure why I bought it. We use these toys to teach women to be servile and domestic, both of which evade me still. I like to buy things and decorate my house, but I don't think that qualifies as domesticity. I

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-37923763613116373812011-08-28T12:04:00.000-07:002011-09-04T11:11:28.609-07:00

As fewer and fewer of my immediate clan remain above ground, family reunions become increasingly extended. It was good to see my first cousins, but I didn't know anyone else, and thank God for Vali, my treasured cousin. We, with our men, drove together and escaped together, and ate and talked and looked at a wonderful scrapbook of sweet memories from a time when the only way to preserve paper was

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-76430128075083713072011-08-17T16:13:00.000-07:002011-08-20T12:31:32.904-07:00

I just want to go on record as saying that if you live in Oregon and you don't pick blackberries, it is a sin. Conversely, if you live in Oregon and you plant blackberries, it is a sin. I think its pretty much like any sin-not sin determination: you're damned if you do and damned if you don't. Also, I'm sure I've said, but will repeat myself, that cockroaches and blackberries will be the last

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-25338047867643169742011-08-12T09:31:00.000-07:002011-08-12T09:54:31.687-07:00

If you are from Southern Oregon and dined on the bad chinese food at Kim's restaurant (now defunct) I was given the recipe for the pink sauce, shrimp sauce, Kim's sauce they were famous for. Posting it on the internet is piracy, I'm sure. It was a best-kept secret until somebody got as drunk as the after-hours patrons and spilled the beans. Kim's Sauce Mix all ingredients in order, stirring

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-37874216458878352632011-08-09T07:13:00.000-07:002011-08-20T12:33:04.735-07:00

John Spates died. One more of the Applegate boys is gone. We were neighbors up on Yale Creek. He lived one hill over on Shump Gulch with my running buddy, Helen, and her son Shannon. He's the one, if you remember, who killed the goat we bar-b-qued. He was beautiful. I lived in a cabin of hand-peeled logs, built by John and Kenny Powers. That was what they did. They built log things: fences,

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-75269436988375930602011-08-05T14:13:00.000-07:002011-08-05T16:08:44.536-07:00

Lewis and Clark got nothin' on us. This will probably turn into a series of shorter posts rather than one boring travel journal. We travelled many miles in not so many days, stayed in awful RV parks and worse motels and I have the pictures to prove it.This blue haired troll followed us. Sometimes he rode the motorcycle. But he always seemed pretty happy.Here he is in the Tetons. As you can see,

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-165229265488887812011-07-22T17:01:00.000-07:002011-07-22T18:55:36.827-07:00

I should be writing. This is always true. You may say: you are writing. And you would be correct, in a wrong sort of way.It was a long day, it has been a long life. I don't know any 90 year olds who are looking to extend their warranty. None who would go longer, given the option. Maybe with a new body, maybe then. But as is? Nope. When there is a rare open apartment in my unit, I spend the day

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-12180507754426160732011-07-21T19:25:00.000-07:002011-07-21T20:00:48.572-07:00

Enough about Duffy the little white dog.We've lost seven souls on the unit since February 26th. I'd say seven souls from seven seas to wax poetic and be a little bit like Janis Joplin, but this is serious. Its been a bit heavy, a lot hectic, and they are dropping like flies in August and its only July. And it isn't even like July almost at all. It is rainy rainy rainy, sky pressing down like a

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-69441109162601513022011-07-20T21:36:00.000-07:002011-07-20T21:39:43.020-07:00

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-3644020769199063022011-07-15T18:13:00.000-07:002011-07-15T18:27:00.457-07:00

Duffy's first haircut

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-64439729572739884992011-07-14T20:11:00.000-07:002011-07-15T18:02:11.746-07:00

I composed a post three pages long describing the past four days of projectile vomitting and other niceties, but pulled it in a rare act of humanity. I felt like a parentless child in need of someone to hold my hair and tell me I'd be okay, but my husband, who is not a nurse, was away at work and school, and I had only yapping dogs to comfort me. It was really hard. It was norovirus. I think its

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-18217052794462345382011-07-09T13:30:00.000-07:002011-07-09T18:17:04.515-07:00

We picked Rainier cherries this morning, alot of them, so now I have to can cherries. I think I'll make pints, and this time, use a cherry pitter. I've hand-pitted cherries, but it was labor-intensive and I'm not. These are not my favorite cherries, but they are Kurt's, so a-canning I will go. I prefer bings. mmmmmmmmmmm. The sun is out, Saturday market busy with shoppers. We found a few good

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-69286462465301860992011-06-30T20:53:00.000-07:002011-07-09T13:41:15.421-07:00

Gluttony. One of the seven deadlies. In my job, which has recently become bigger because my boss retired and the new boss isn't here yet, and the nurse, the second in command, is on vacations, so I am pretty much everybody, well, in my job, I meet people. They are typically in need, in crisis, at the end of their life or their rope or both, and I have to interview them for placement. Placement.

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-74461538776479549142011-06-26T08:10:00.001-07:002011-06-26T08:19:02.721-07:00

I never did follow up on the naturpathic business. Well, to no one's surprise, I am not Noah. I could not hang with the HCG 500 calorie a day diet. I lost 18 pounds in 14 days and was so sick at that point that I bailed. She said I'm not the biggest loser, but the fastest. But then I quit.Here's the problem. She was so nice. She put nice oils on cotton balls and taped them to my feet and playes

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-11674316292604243062011-06-24T21:25:00.000-07:002011-06-24T21:46:37.635-07:00

I am in Cannon Beach, a swanky town by my standards, for a writing conference. I have my fluffy little white dog with me and we have a lovely room with a fireplace and a view of the beach.I like this conference. It gets better each year: good faculty, interesting information. For instance, I found a way to organize my book that I have been lacking, given my general, habitual, genetic lack of

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-89001486363634598042011-06-17T14:04:00.000-07:002011-06-17T14:19:21.080-07:00

Well, after a very long haul, Delilah finally passed. Her funeral was a Catholic mass, which is always confusing for me, all of the standing and sitting and kneeling and drinking and repeating phrases that everyone but me knows about. I felt like the only heathen in the room, but my mother always told us that the pope is the anti-christ, so who's heathen now?Anyway, it takes a really long time to

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-65768185845174041512011-05-26T12:34:00.000-07:002011-05-26T13:15:12.165-07:00

If he can do it, I can do it. I'm on day 7 of 40. Fifteen pounds and counting.As much as I detest using my blog as a diet diary, I'm a bit consumed by what is happening to my body. I feel better most of the time, am not so much hungry as weak, and had accupuncture yesterday for the first time. It didn't hurt, and may have helped. The only lingering problem is leg cramps. I was having them prior

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-85252248862469220772011-05-19T20:14:00.000-07:002011-05-21T21:34:19.734-07:00

Don't misunderstand. I'm still all for the natural way, however, I have now signed up for the diet program. Why, I'm wondering, are all nutritional specialists tiny? What do they know? Do they understand the intrinsic mistrust of the fat for the thin? Seriously.Naw. She was nice. Just in a tiny way.So I feel much like Jack in the hours just after he purchased the magic beans. I am hoping for a

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-57834201640270444432011-05-14T16:16:00.000-07:002011-05-15T17:14:55.124-07:00

I'm complaining, formally, about the weather. I'm not complaining about the luscious lilacs in my back yard, or the sprouting baby grass where the dogs used to poop. I'm cold. I'm tired of being cold. I want to be warm now. I'm done. I am, to quote any teenager, over it. My feet are cold. They've been cold for months. I am grateful not to be in Mississippi right now. I'll give you that much.So,

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-19140923797729327082011-05-05T18:45:00.001-07:002011-05-05T19:52:33.749-07:00

I am subdued. I finally think I understand the psychological underpinnings of my poor health. Fair warning: I am going to try to explain it to you.As you've read, I grew up dirt poor. Not third world poor, but make your own clothes poor, no dental/health care poor, charge groceries at the corner store so your mother can have wine poor. See? Somewhere along the line I developed this notion that

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-48478768622949380222011-04-30T18:20:00.000-07:002011-05-01T13:47:34.179-07:00

The Canby Spring Garden Faire is this weekend. I bought eight Lucifer Crocosiums, three Spanish Lavenders, two Beefsteak tomatoes, one Golden Keriea and one Clair de Lune Clematis. I'm not certain of all the names, but, like my sainted mother, I'm willing to make up what I don't know for sure. There was so much to choose from, so many unusual plants and garden art. The art was mostly sharp and

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-14605906462007375432011-04-24T11:25:00.000-07:002011-04-28T18:36:17.211-07:00

If you read this sad little column (put a bird on it ,Portlandia) and you skip the comments section, well, you really are missing the best in life. Those of us who thrive here in the blogosphere, or who once-thrived and now make guest appearances due to interlopers such as facebook stealing our thunder which wasn't so much thunder as rumbling in the distance, grumbling, more like it -- there

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-64527412154219730962011-04-20T17:10:00.000-07:002011-04-22T19:43:25.900-07:00

entropy and anomie live together in perfect harmony.I've been deathly ill for a week now. Well, three years, but let's not quibble. I've been in my spot overlooking my street for many days in a row, now. since last Friday, really. I am so sick. I've been so sick for so long that I really think I'm going to not so much change doctors as investigate additional ideas.I donated about a quart of blood

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-87819512371511218232011-04-16T17:48:00.000-07:002011-04-16T18:18:50.851-07:00

Let me apologize in advance for the apparent loss of the paragraph function in my blog. Not sure what's up or how to fix it. I like run-on sentences, but run-on paragraphs are a big fat blur to me. Well it was pretty fun to sit with my friend Athena in the OPB audience and clap when the sign was lifted. I've always wanted to see a live radio show like Prairie Home Companion, but Garrison Keillor

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-21310045929955533022011-04-08T16:01:00.000-07:002011-04-08T17:07:02.896-07:00

I dumped all of the dirt out of many of my many pots because tomorrow is FUSCHIA SATURDAY AT FRED MEYER!!!!!!!!!! FREE DIRT. I'll stop yelling now. It is a great thing they do. I take all of my pots and plant the heck out of their little fuschia starts. I like "dark eyes" and "lena" and "pink marshmallow." but each year, I get what I can and I think that some years the fuschia elves go in the

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-18232025067803213522011-03-25T18:58:00.000-07:002011-03-26T20:17:00.121-07:00

what if.....

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-66397608688006014192011-03-03T16:28:00.000-08:002011-03-03T16:30:29.879-08:00

They make gold encaustic wax. Just sayin'

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-44867696978194404052011-02-28T19:29:00.001-08:002011-03-02T19:39:45.697-08:00

Sometimes I think I know how things should go -- who, for instance, should get an easy death. I think my priest should have gotten a pass.I don't know if I have explained in my not always succinct manner what hard work it is to die. Or how earnestly we hang on, for that matter, as our attachments, each one a thread, unravel in unpredictable succession.We tend to focus on how hard it is for the

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-65712640542775787002011-02-21T15:51:00.000-08:002011-02-21T16:37:52.223-08:00

Encaustic painting (painting with melted, pigmented beeswax) gets to that place in me that always wrecked the candles, dripping layer after layer, color after color, until the candle was no longer a candle, wax spent, morning arriving too early, again. So this is what my busy little hands have been doing. Please buy one. The wax is expensive.They are titled, top to bottom: Solitary Crow, A bird

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-54065807877368303872011-02-12T21:24:00.000-08:002011-02-13T12:08:26.353-08:00

I should get healthy. But to do this, I need to get well enough to leave the house. So I stay home and paint wax pictures and write books. This is my epitaph: I tried.Seriously.The encaustic work is going well. It is the perfect combination of image and language that has always appealed to me. Layers of color and words, graphic images, a beautiful mess. the real draw for me is that I don't have

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-75506639453084963082011-02-11T20:35:00.000-08:002011-02-11T20:42:54.500-08:00

I like to think work doesnt' really matter, that my job is just a means to buy books and new colors of encaustic wax and nice pens for writing and valentine presents for my own true love. But this week the great state of Oregon showed up and graded my performance. I was so happy when I got an A+ for working.My husband just finished watching Men Who Stare at Goats. He thinks we should drop acid

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-16000460912388406612011-02-03T20:12:00.000-08:002011-02-11T20:35:07.276-08:00

I'm not crazy about zealousness. Not about anything. My mother was a Christian zealot. I was completely surrounded by zealots at one time in my life and my soul was nearly consumed by them. They meant well. Really, they did. They had my salvation in mind when they sought to control my behavior. I'm not mad at them. I get it. What pisses me off is when zealots, who do not believe my eternal life

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-26329020474082124352011-01-25T13:10:00.000-08:002011-01-25T13:24:06.745-08:00

I am home and I am sick. I have something like a cold, but not really. My head is pounding like a baby chick is trying to get out my right temple, or sometimes like it is full of mud, or some other metaphor I can't quite grasp. I can't think, and I will spend the next few minutes proving it.I am trying to work at home without a brain. I got up this morning, took two Extra-Strength Excedrin and a

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-90751286698809138022011-01-15T17:38:00.000-08:002011-01-15T17:54:47.784-08:00

I keep thinking, what with my general lack of people skills, that I would do well in the monastic life. I would, I think. Of course there are a couple of caveats: first, I'd have to be allowed to decorate. And it would have to be a nice monastery with, like, Pottery Barn candlesticks and dripping wax and great calligraphers to take notes. And nice monks. Nice, quiet monks. Second, they'd have to

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-41920301077259439622011-01-09T12:15:00.000-08:002011-01-09T13:05:51.721-08:00

NEWSFLASH!!!!!!!!!!!There is some groundbreaking news from the world of alzheimer's research: if you are nice to people with dementia, their behavior improves. If you let them have their way, they act better.Stunning.This new buzz is being touted as "emotional memory." I have it. You have it. They have it--only a little bit differently. While you and I can refer to the specific insults of any

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-84939905397475810472010-12-29T17:43:00.000-08:002010-12-31T14:41:39.273-08:00

We are off to the coast for a much needed vacation. For New Year's Eve. For fun. Half the challenge will be getting there, as the crack Portland weather crew fortells of winter snow storms to rival the east coast. In the coast range there might be an inch or more. An INCH of snow. In Oregon. Can you imagine it? In December? Christ almighty.Anyway, we are staying in Netarts at this funky little

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-76126283690600998562010-12-25T19:43:00.001-08:002010-12-31T14:43:25.670-08:00

Started the day with Sunrise and eggs benedict, homemade hollandaise. It took us all five hands to get breakfast happening what with answering the phone and promising to call back. Julie sent us these fantastic english muffins from Harry and David, where I worked when I was seventeen, where I sat in a large carboard box and blew dirt off the crocus pots with an air hose; where I sorted through

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-8394174428022816002010-12-24T19:28:00.001-08:002010-12-25T18:48:07.927-08:00

I have spent the past few weeks imbedded in Christmas past, spending time with so many levels of family, family that has changed with the passage of time, marriage and death, separations and reunions, and really, not much changes at all and is still changing.Clearly, I am having a difficult time expressing my thoughts.Here's the thing: Taditions are gravity. They remind me who I am, who I have

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-79574146499330021112010-12-19T17:41:00.000-08:002010-12-19T18:30:46.794-08:00

We spent the weekend in Southern Oregon -- actually, Northern California. (Is it necessary to capitalize directions?) at the outlaws. We found time for everyone. We stayed in the cabin and woke this morning to a dusting of snow, a winter wonderland. That is what it looks like, for a minute. We were the first ones on the road -- it is now a gated community -- JoBar, three miles north of the Blue

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-79382866714000646942010-12-06T20:55:00.001-08:002011-01-04T18:32:30.098-08:00

The tree is up, cards are written and almost ready to post. I didn't make them by my own little hands this year. I took a year off. Sue me. I'm writing a book. I did like my cards last year, and will do them again, no doubt, but I can't seem to find enough time to pursue all of the creative endeavors I want to in the time alotted after the job and the house have taken their respective pounds of

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-12235069422333498162010-11-26T17:05:00.000-08:002010-11-26T17:35:49.896-08:00

After dinner, most of the food went home with the kids, packed in little plastic boxes that were also nice to be rid of. Food was great, company pleasant and it was good to be home, nowhere to go, nothing to pack and unpack except the bird, which was small. The kids did the dishes. Yay kids.I don't like turkey. Stuffing? 'nother story. Gravy? Worth fighting over. But as for retaining the carcass,

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-61802913776924509742010-11-23T20:38:00.000-08:002010-11-25T18:32:24.239-08:00

I am a listener. All day I listen to people who are coming apart, who don't know where they are or why, or who knows them or doesn't, and they are surprised when I do."Its a miracle!" she said. "I have so much less to worry about now."She was right, but didn't know why.So when I come home, I don't want to listen, for instance, to other people's health problems, or problems of any kind. I don't

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-55120410149693491092010-11-03T20:11:00.000-07:002010-11-03T20:24:06.940-07:00

Sometimes I get too involved. Sometimes I care about the living as well as the dying. I am always interested in the deathbed experience, and it is difficult to talk about it here, here in cyberpublic. But I love this old woman and her husband was dying and she wanted to be alone with him and she, like most, has some kids. And some of them are, shall we say, a little Ozarkian? A daughter with

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-80631641536182571792010-10-06T20:08:00.001-07:002010-10-13T16:34:52.124-07:00

There are two new monkeys in the monkey clan. Nicole took a photo and will hopefully upload it for me.We are in the Indian part of the summertime. It is too warm for fall, mornings not yet crisp, still leaving the bedside window open at night -- which I would do if I lived in Antarctica -- but anyway, no need for the bed warmer just yet. I sleep with the window open and one foot out from under

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-10494111088477069622010-09-26T19:21:00.000-07:002010-09-29T09:56:16.091-07:00

I've already missed one appointment. I have this burgundy leatherish appointment book at work. I keep most of my schedule in there. I forgot a hair appointment for today, but when I made the hair appointment, I'm certain I forgot that it was the day of the Memory Walk. Memory Walk indeed. I have no memory.So, this morning I wandered down to Pioneer Square in the pouring rain -- actually, my

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-77653357432168342252010-09-24T20:35:00.001-07:002010-09-24T20:40:19.062-07:00

I'm not good at this. Self-care. As I was lying on the narrow gurney, head turned right to expose my cervical spine to the needle, the surgeon says, "What do you do to relax?" I said, "Watch soap operas." He said, "Think of something else." I couldn't. So this tells me that I have to consider things like meditation that I have never really put any energy into learning about. Slowing my mind has

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-41542689786731799042010-09-18T12:39:00.000-07:002010-09-18T12:55:57.850-07:00

I think what I'm getting at, after all these years as a professional something, I should rather be paid to sit at home and think. I think pretty well, and know some stuff, and its just that now I've dyed my hands brown and have to go to a convention on Monday, and I just can't figure out what to wear.I just wish I had to wear a uniform and that the condition of my fingernails didn't matter. I

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-26749948231845091782010-09-17T14:08:00.000-07:002010-09-17T14:47:47.109-07:00

I'm a storyteller: a liar by trade. I love stories, always have. Some, if not most of the stuff I take the time to type right here, is true -- at least true in my memory which is faulty by anyone's standards.But today was staff appreciation day, and we boss-types made breakfast for the crew. Picture me, sitting with my coworkers around the breakfast table, talking about goat meat. I think the

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-11511718507061386632010-09-13T18:22:00.000-07:002010-09-29T09:55:12.511-07:00

The trip South felt nostalgic this time. I don't regret moving north -- I never will. I've hated that Rogue Valley hot weather my entire adult life. Walking the streets of Jacksonville is always memory lane for me -- for us. My husband reminiscing about the time he bashed his head through the plate glass window of the JVille Tavern on purpose. Ah... those were the days. But walking the barely

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-46072956108812738492010-09-06T19:10:00.000-07:002010-09-06T19:18:59.417-07:00

I know you're probably thinking that this is it: the big face off, face down, face it head on kind of thing, but really, its just that I went out in the boat on the Columbia. Now seriously, that river is huge, with swells as high as the boat, the possibility of getting swamped very real. But it turns out that the Alumacraft people thought this through and filled the seats with foam, so the boat

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-78860671989857690482010-08-27T18:28:00.000-07:002010-08-28T20:38:02.544-07:00

Today I leaned down and whispered in Stella's ear: Go on, now. Your husband is waiting. Your children are fine. Go on now and squaredance in heaven. I'll bet it will be really fun.So she did.Stella loved to squaredance. She loved the company of men, and touted the benefits of vitamin D long after she'd lost track of time and family. Every day she would ask me if I'd seen her people. I'd lie, like

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-18888710252286054642010-08-24T18:54:00.000-07:002010-08-27T18:27:57.196-07:00

Aubrey's heart is dying and she knows it. Today I sat down next to her and she said,When is this service going to be over?Me: Are we at a service?(Nodding) The funeral.Me: Oh. Who are they burying?Anyone who stops by.Me: Ah. Well, I can't hear them. I didn't know.Well, they don't talk in words you can hear.Me: Oh. I see.It is hard to know when a hypochondriac is sick. Even harder to convince a

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-75762669424341846892010-08-22T11:58:00.000-07:002010-08-22T12:13:39.118-07:00

My cousin Darla sent me the poem below. I love it.Last night she and her guy and me and mine had dinner at our house: a seafood boil. It was an experiment in trust. Us to make it, them to eat it. We layered red potatoes, broken corn on the cob, fish fish fish, 5 lbs. of steamers, 2 lbs. of shrimp, 2 dungeoness crab --(Crab is plural for crab. Like sheep and sheep. You wouldn't say "crabs." Crabs

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-64422006326597685622010-08-20T20:34:00.000-07:002010-08-20T20:46:40.163-07:00

I was driving home today, trying to figure out what to make for dinner and Bad Moon Rising started playing on the radio. I have had the best last few radio days, B-52's Love Shack, Don't You Forget About Me (Simple Minds), but Bad Moon Rising, that was pure Joyce. I knew immediately that she was controlling the music and playing it for me.I don't really believe that, but I could.So I thought of

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-5902631301692188032010-08-07T21:33:00.000-07:002010-08-15T17:57:03.414-07:00

When my honey hooked the truck up to his new boat and trailer and said, "I'm going to take you blackberry picking," I knew we were really just going on the maiden voyage. A boat ride. Nevertheless, I wore my overalls, the painting ones, the ones that are more patch than pant, and a red cami underneath. It is so hot. Too hot for me. But I won't pick berries in my good clothes. I know better.So

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-82663748865846232342010-08-01T13:18:00.000-07:002010-08-01T13:29:01.843-07:00

Thanks to K&F Coffee Shop for this one, torn thoughtlessly out of the June 7 New Yorker.A MaximTo live each day as if it might be the lastIs an injunction that Marcus AureliusInscribes in his journal to remind himselfThat he, too, however privileged, is mortal,That whatever bounty is destined to reach himHas reached him already, many times.But if you take his maxim too literallyAnd devote your

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-12230917459251404952010-07-30T20:41:00.000-07:002010-08-15T18:00:32.317-07:00

In my family we die too young. We barely make sixty, if that. It is usually because we drink.There are certain people who have geographic weight. I can't explain this. Joyce lived in Central Point and now she is gone. It is hard to know why I would go back there now. She tethered our family for over forty years, a family that was fractured by her presence. She came to stay when I was thirteen and

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-90441895789801752372010-07-27T20:26:00.000-07:002010-07-27T20:49:43.977-07:00

Saturday was the Division/Clinton Street Fair(e). We walked up Division looking at all of the booths and I am always intrigued, and frankly, bored, by the similarity of all the crafty offerings. We drove from Ashland to Nevada City to Yosemite, to San Fran, to Tomales, to Fort Bragg and to Port Orford, and everything is pretty much the same. Not the view. Not like that. But things that are for

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-77779258284378825682010-07-11T15:20:00.000-07:002010-07-11T15:26:58.609-07:00

Now I prepare to camp. I am always pretty much ready, but lacking a memory, I must forage through pre-packed boxes and make sure I don't get far from home without a coffee pot. And coffee. Let's not forget the coffee. And matches, all safe in baggies, and dish soap. I own everything one can own for camping with the exception of a camper, which, the older I get, the more appealing they are. Was a

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-23723232764055892302010-07-08T23:15:00.000-07:002010-07-08T23:36:53.750-07:00

There is alot to be said about National Parks, and OPB did a fine job of it last year. Their piece on Yosemite inspired this vacation. This part of this vacation anyway. At this time I am back in my (90 degree) house, dogs as happy as we are to be out of the truck. We've travelled some 2000 miles since last Friday, and I only drove for 45 minutes. Men.So, Yosemite... As a writer, I should be able

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-31382476903748625352010-07-05T13:43:00.001-07:002010-07-05T14:25:47.582-07:00

Sutter's Mill 4th of July Parade, Nevada CitySutter's Mill Three tin buildings in Nevada CityStone house in Nevada City, Downtown NCCastle Crags where Kurt didn't want to go but I insisted because I was absolutely certain the view would be better but it wasn't.Spent our first night at Shona and Bobby's house in Ashland, breakfast with Cooky and Tracy at the Talent Cafe where I used to breakfast

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-20686593282660055242010-06-26T18:19:00.000-07:002010-06-26T18:27:42.062-07:00

I am in Manzanita again, Summer in Words, a three-day workshop with various writing instructors, writers, poets, wannabees. Few of the latter this time around. Very good information about structure that pulls little threads loose from the fabric of all I think about writing and unravels certainty.This is not a bad thing. But it does inspire me to create a folder called "writing practice" and put

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-24990126596401636462010-06-14T12:58:00.000-07:002010-06-14T15:36:57.642-07:00

This is not the photo I intended to post. I was going for a shot of my coffee table, but here is it anyway, my old house in Talent.From time to time I dedicate a day to saving myself a little, or a lot, of money. It usually evens out in favor of money, but I do what I can.I am a catalog shopper. Truthfully, I'm just an all around shopper, but for today, let's just focus on the catalog

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-57838546305361241352010-05-29T17:03:00.000-07:002010-05-29T17:55:09.971-07:00

I am (we are) finally finally finally getting new carpet and linoleum. Carpet in the living room, linoleum in the entry and the kitchen. And you are first to see it. As you might expect, I chose linoleum that looks like faded barnboards. Poverty lingers. Had things gone my way, I'd have had the carpet changed before I moved in. I didn't post a picture of the 60's gold hi-low shag that

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-79064122645704785372010-05-24T19:54:00.000-07:002010-05-26T17:56:45.643-07:00

Soft new green spreads seductively across the rolling hills of southern oregon, my homeland. They will be brown mid-july. Its all a trick. But there is nothing like the Applegate Valley in the springtime.The first night we stayed at Marky's house. He made a London broil and a great salad with Yukon Gold potatoes. He is such a good cook. He says I always made red potatoes. He talks alot about his

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-86875527068232085442010-05-16T09:04:00.000-07:002010-05-19T17:32:08.327-07:00

I am tired of writing about the failure of my physical body.I just signed up and paid for a weekend writing workshop. It is called "deepening the craft." I paid for it so I have to go. This means I now must fine tune the first few chapters of my book for the pros to look at. Hey wait. I'm a pro. Anyway, Even though I am bringing chapters to be "workshopped," I don't want to be caught too

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-14492731569354131642010-05-09T18:50:00.000-07:002010-05-09T21:17:50.444-07:00

I know I shouldn't let my happiness hinge on a single phone call from my son on Mother's Day, but it does, these thirty-some years later. And he called early, so my day was a happy one.We took Kurt's mom out for breakfast and my eggs were cold, so was the sausage, but the french toast was fine. I only order the eggs and sausage to justify the french toast anyway. My logic is complex. Live a long

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-11153692613429685552010-05-06T19:28:00.000-07:002010-05-06T19:47:43.221-07:00

I am scheduled to have an injection in my spine next Tuesday. That gives me four days to think about it, or talk myself out of it, which I would if my neckshouldercollarbone didn't hurt so freaking bad. I've had the year of bronchitis, the year of the bladder infection and now, the year of pain. But sticking pins in me..... in my spine, ick. I have quadraphobia: the fear of becoming quadraplegic.

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-66399236003899739472010-05-05T19:00:00.001-07:002010-05-05T19:08:19.685-07:00

What's it all mean? Is this Mexican independence day or what? We went out to dinner at a crappy Mexican restaurant on Division. I wish restaurants would only serve what they are good at. For instance, this place probably does great vegan food -- it has a full vegan menu -- but the carne asada, my favorite, was awful. Tough as shoe leather, flavorless, no charring, no salt, and no salt in the

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-31947130277529561472010-05-01T20:20:00.000-07:002010-05-01T20:33:27.175-07:00

It has been six years since I married the boy of my dreams. I remember so clearly, ironing his shirt before we left for the small ceremony, a light blue denim to match his eyes and my baby blue summer linen dress. I carried flowers that Deborah gave me and even though I didn't like them, I put a bunch of roses from our back yard in among them and they were beautiful. I didn't plan a wedding. I

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-510997119980510412010-04-26T16:55:00.000-07:002010-04-26T17:52:19.653-07:00

The first LazyDogCrazyDog Newsletter! Duffy makes the front page!

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-18525095510252219842010-04-25T17:38:00.001-07:002010-04-29T19:06:50.928-07:00

The first bite was mine -- utterly unexpected, and the squeal that followed (my brother Marc always referred to it as my Hollywood Scream) was heard across the Willamette. Alas, it was a native and we set her free after what looks to me like a significant amount of suffering. No blood-letting, but still, if you set a hook in my lip and drug me upstream against my will, well, I'm just sayin'.So,

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-89624288812900459102010-04-16T12:37:00.000-07:002010-04-16T16:59:35.970-07:00

I am playing hookie. or hooky. whichever. I am actually staying home because my nerve bed or something is squishing out between C-5 and C-6 and my arm is numb and my face is becoming number and my brain oh my poor good brain is mush now. I am going to have a shot in my spine and it will get better I just know it. It has to. I can't ride my bike or shrug, and with my indefensibly poor attitude,

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-29754525743910166202010-04-09T19:57:00.000-07:002010-04-09T21:11:51.693-07:00

All of my adult life, which began in earnest at about forty or so, I have been plagued by mail. It comes, every day, unsolicited piles of it, each piece demanding my time and attention, neither of which I have to spare. Avoidance, however, is more time consuming, mentally and physically, shifting uneven piles of shit from one place to the next, purchasing yet another plastic box to store it in

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-29061538898328341412010-04-04T12:32:00.001-07:002010-04-04T12:39:36.473-07:00

He is gone, Alfred Mosher Butts, the creator of Scrabble, whose name, anagrammed, spells: "board flusters them". I learned this on the Sunday Morning Show and called my friend Madonna -- my scrabble partner for years. Although I know "q" words that don't need a "u", am damn good at triples and am known to pull out of a slump and make an eighty-pointer late in the game, I am not a tournament

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-69154950708728834752010-03-20T21:22:00.000-07:002010-03-20T21:49:36.243-07:00

I made kabobs, or, more accurately, kebabs, for dinner. I also made white sticky rice with almonds and green onions and little individual cheesecakes for dessert. Tiny little cheesecakes with a vanilla wafer for the crust and white chocolate on top. (see previous post). I love kebabs because in the mix were 3 vegetarians and 3 carnivores and the veggies each at a different level of dedication. I

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-19595747965319184082010-03-19T21:43:00.000-07:002010-03-20T14:53:06.854-07:00

I give up. Now, in a long line of ailments, add a pinched nerve in my cervical spine that is causing my left arm to go numb. At least that's what I think. Again, I await diagnosis and relief as my left arm hangs at my side, buzzing like it has fallen asleep and can't get up. It isn't a heart attack. this much I know.Whoever said getting old ain't for sissies wasn't kidding. And here's the thing -

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-42306404034796589962010-03-17T16:59:00.001-07:002010-03-17T19:08:46.833-07:00

I'm sure I've mentioned this before, but I hate the news. If I hear one more tagline that goes something like, "...and all that remained was the sound of lapping waves, and they aren't talking." I swear, I'll puke.Since when is Victorian prose a requirement? Since when are sappy metaphors a substitute for information? Somebody kill somebody quick, or pass healthcare. Something. Anything. Give the

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-88590146370846261472010-03-10T18:30:00.000-08:002010-03-14T18:34:39.763-07:00

Is this a cute puppy or what? Now, five months later, chew marks on every table leg and piss spots on my Pottery Barn carpet, he is still a little cute. Now where was I? It has been a long fucking winter. Not weather-wise, just gray and dreary for oh-so-long. Kurt says he thinks he has SAD. I said maybe its more like MAD. But we knew this going in.My only complaint is probably the opposite of

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-83987954432238860382010-02-22T14:52:00.000-08:002010-02-22T15:04:50.895-08:00

I blog along in relative obscurity, happily assuming my exaggerations and blathering go unnoticed but for the loyal few.Not necessarily so. Enter Blogger alerts.In the previous post I reviewed a Valentine's Eve performance by a female singer and noted that she looked like a librarian. Imagine my surprise when her comment posted. Apparently this was not the first time she was referred to as more

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-62206753396674655312010-02-14T13:45:00.000-08:002010-02-14T13:58:48.265-08:00

I used to try to think of clever -- or at least germane -- titles for each post. At one point I began numbering them. That didn't last long. I'm now down to initials.Happy Valentine's Day.Last night we went not dancing, (see previous post) but out, nonetheless, to listen to some blues. My favorite thing to do other than a drive through the gorge, which isn't as fun at night. Last weekend, still

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-66739044041027688942010-02-12T16:21:00.000-08:002010-02-12T16:45:45.976-08:00

This coming Monday I am having an MRI to establish, to my surgeon's satisfaction once and for all, what is wrong with my knee. Again. Still. He kept saying the things that Dr's say to me. You know, the eat-right-get-more-exercise shit. Then he said it was probably gout. But I'm not a rich man so it can't be that. The things they say to fifty-something overweight women like me. He kept saying, I

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-31173582167226693912010-01-25T18:16:00.000-08:002011-12-28T17:20:35.961-08:00

asha is in town and because asia is in the midst of home revival, we were allowed a slumber party at my house last night. What joy to sleep in and spend the morning with my friend. I am sick, and home at my doctor's bidding, but still and all, it was a timely visit for us both, I think. The chatter was wonderful and welcome and so so missed. There is nothing like a good girl friend and lots of

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-18046717354752822972010-01-22T18:55:00.000-08:002010-01-23T18:48:01.473-08:00

Tonight, its dinner with Haley at the Barleymill Pub on Hawthorne and 21st. He's bringing me home a reuben. Sounds fine. I feel like I may live after all. Today I spent half the day in the Drs office and had a chest xray. I'm fine. Just sick, as usual. It is Friday night and I want to rent movies. Instead, we went to a Hollywood Video store that is closing and bought 65.00 worth of old movies.

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-28863620659170399412010-01-20T21:23:00.000-08:002010-01-21T19:47:52.545-08:00

I was watching Rachel Ray make fish tacos after watching Paula the Southern Belle make five dishes out of cheese after watching four consecutive episodes of House Hunters International, and having decided a move to Bali was a great idea, I saw the mandatory mosquito nets and decided to stay put. After being sick this long, the mindnumbingness of daytime TV is evident. I am paralyzed, coughing fit

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-77511086038433515082010-01-18T13:49:00.000-08:002010-01-19T21:59:14.215-08:00

Well, "a little under the weather" has turned into a bit more like a hurricane. I am sick.Bronchitis again. But happily, it is the first time I have been sick since May, and with my track record, that is fabulous. I'll take it. One bad spell. I'm waiting it out, hoping my body and the various supplements will put up some kind of a fight. I'm rooting for the C and D combo.Changing the subject --

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-58061751229640171242010-01-15T11:25:00.000-08:002010-01-15T11:54:36.980-08:00

I am home from work today, feeling a little under the weather, a little happy to be home. Probably happier than I should be, but not going to work is exhilarating, even when it is legit.My blog suffers from my busyness, my consumption with the need to make a living. I wish I was one of those women who could live simply to simply live, but I don't know how to not work. (Today being a notable

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-81049342203829800122010-01-03T19:19:00.001-08:002010-01-03T20:08:14.939-08:00

I have been to seven funerals in three months. Too many, even for the angel of death. I should show some caution throwing words like that around, but so often, in the winter, it seems true. I look forward to spring and the promise of new life and green where there is mud and blue to overtake the gray. I wrote a line in a book once that went like this: the season progressed in a continuum of rain,

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-90132523884210806722009-12-06T10:55:00.000-08:002009-12-06T11:05:41.048-08:00

Well, the Charlie Brown tree is out of the box and on the table -- the best I can do with Sid and Duffy tearing through the house playing tug of war. Sid doesn't wholey understand the game. He has spent five years sitting in front of us, waiting for us to throw the ball, toss the frisbee, hold one end of the rope. Now, with Duffy a more than willing participant, he is confused and territorial --

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279957.post-62911622572584610732009-11-22T19:41:00.000-08:002009-11-22T20:14:24.286-08:00

One of the worst things I do in this blog is generalize. My cousin Jimmy (always Jimmy, never Jim and certainly not James) said the broad strokes were basically right. My caveat is always that I am not a writer but a liar, and so keep myself off the inevitable hook of accurate historians (not Jimmy, he was great about reading my account of his family's history and mine.) Anne Lamott says she is

someonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17487639977501825586noreply@blogger.com2