Sunday, June 25, 2017

The Purge Continues

As we try to clear the decks for The Big Move, some furniture just needs a home other than our basement 

          The big TV cabinet (remember those from the days before flat screens?) that our son bought and then left behind. I painted over its lacquered emerald green and black hideousness and used it for basement linen storage. 

          The metal credenza My Guy lugged home from a workplace, and whose only purpose ended up being storage fro all the Lego, Lincoln logs, and our set of a plastic castle and knights. 

          A pretty little Windsor chair we’d forgotten about and never used, and. . .

          The beloved kitchen table we bought for $2 at a tag sale in California 47 years ago (remember the “antiquing” painting process back then?) and which sat in a corner of the basement with tax bins piled on top of it.
          We scheduled a pick-up from the Salvation Army, piled everything in the garage, and banished my car to the driveway, a victim to the current relentless rain of caterpillar poop.
          At the beginning of the week, the big red truck finally came backing down our driveway, only to pull away 10 minutes later with not one of those items in it. Turns out they don’t take painted furniture or items that can’t be whisked immediately onto the sales floor.
          The good news was that before he left, the guy in charge suggested I put the LetGo app on my smart phone.
          Within 3 hours of listing all the items as free on the site, I had 6 offers. We scored big-time with the one I chose. He not only wedged everything in his pick-up, but happily took a number of other things hanging around in the garage and promised to return for more when we’re ready.
          There just might be a light at the end of that self-made tunnel of possessions.

Wednesday, June 21, 2017

Laura Ingalls Wilder has nothing on us

Remember that chapter in On The Banks of Plum Creek?  
"A cloud was over the sun. It was not like any cloud they had ever seen before. It was a cloud of something like snowflakes, but they were larger than snowflakes, and thin and glittering. Light shone through each flickering particle."  

Well. . .

Thursday, June 15, 2017

Extra! Extra!

“A good newspaper is a nation talking to itself.”
Arthur Miller

Nowadays, it’s a busy time to be a reporter.

Tuesday, June 13, 2017


I’m developing a routine here in the land of downsizing. I spent this morning sifting through our 47 years of detritus and boxing up the items for donations.

Sunday, June 11, 2017

They're Baaaack!

I remember in 1978 at our last house coming home at night after my 3 – 11 shift as a secretary in pediatrics at the hospital. With two young kids, these hours worked out well. I only went in two days a week, either Friday and Monday or Saturday and Sunday, which meant I only needed one of the teens in the neighborhood to sit a few hours until my husband got home from work.

          I was a little short on sleep those years, but that wasn’t the hard part about getting home late. Our trees and our house were under attack that year. To reach the front door I had to first travel under the giant maples in the front yard and then under our portico. Both were festooned like a steamer covered in bon voyage streamers, except these were sticky and ended in a creepy caterpillar and they were impossible to see in the dark so I ended up a bit festooned myself.

          The gypsy moths had arrived and they were on everything.

          Our weapon of choice was masking tape and Vaseline, the plan being that the creepers wouldn’t get past the barrier to nest and eat the leaves up.

It worked pretty well except the trees didn’t appreciate the tape either and we lost a few anyway.


 So it was not good news when I looked out the window and saw this.



 And when I looked above the clematis and saw this.



 And even when I looked down on the bedroom floor and  - you guessed it.


Monday, June 5, 2017

A Walk and Random Thoughts

          The weather here being distinctly un-June like, I put on my fleece and took Mamie for her afternoon walk.

Friday, June 2, 2017

I Know All the Best Places

We are on the verge of a major life change here, and before it even happens my day-to-day life is filled with new experiences. I’m now not only spending an inordinate amount of time at liquor stores (source of all the best free boxes), but I can now speak knowledgeably on thrift stores in our area.

Tuesday, May 23, 2017

And the battle goes on.

     At the last Town Meeting we passed a warrant item allowing chickens in suburban yards, a ruling apparently embraced with enthusiasm.

Monday, May 22, 2017

Fuzzy Afternoon

It probably says something about our social life that the highpoint of our weekend was a picnic for dogs.

Thursday, May 18, 2017

What global warming?

     Yesterday I climbed out of bed, pulled on socks, sweatpants, sweatshirt, sneakers, and parka, hitched up the tiny dog to her leash and took her out for her morning pee. 
     This morning at exactly the same time of day, I climbed out of bed, pulled on shorts and t-shirt, and stepped into my flip-flops and took the tiny dog out. 
     Today it's in the 90s, 
     Tomorrow night it will be 46 degrees.
     New England is a whimsical place.
      On the plus side, Mamie got a bath today minus the scary hair dryer, but the rest of the day will feature lots of sitting for everyone.

Monday, May 15, 2017

Before Nutrition

 I remember my grandmother telling about her shame at school in Mangum, Oklahoma when she had to take “dirty bread” out of her lunch pail. Even back then my forward-thinking great-grandmother Lucy Wilson had already figured out the benefits of whole wheat bread.
And I like to think my mother approved of watermelon for breakfast because of its antioxidants and amino acids. (In reality, a grumpy kid in the blazing hot Virginia summer mornings could have been a factor.)
But John Gray’s recent post at Going Gently about his sheep and their love of white bread triggered a couple of memories from the 1950s food pyramid.
It’s been years since I’ve had one, but every now and then I’m tempted to pick up the ingredients for a baloney sandwich: spongy white bread, Miracle Whip, and the ultimate illicit pleasure, a big pack of baloney.
Granted, your peanut butter and jelly sandwich was usually bleeding grape jelly through one side by the time you opened your metal lunch box in the cafeteria, but the bread itself was great for wadding into grey balls and flicking at your neighbor.
And in spite of my mother’s offerings of a crunchy peeled white turnip or celery sticks with peanut butter and raisins for a snack, just as common as an after-school treat at our house was white bread spread with margarine and a generous sprinkling of white sugar.

Emptying the Basement

      In spite of a monsoon weekend, our tag sale went off without a hitch. Miraculously, the morning was chilly but dry – a good thing since we had cleverly positioned several things on the lawn to lure shoppers farther in to our garage.

Thursday, May 11, 2017

Begging for Boxes

We have a tag sale on Saturday, and of course the weatherman is tossing around predictions of four straight days of rain beginning guess when.

Monday, May 8, 2017

Hoover Horror

Sorry – I didn’t mean to drop off the edge of the blog world. My absence is due more to mundanity and inertia than a madcap social life.

Tuesday, May 2, 2017

Public Service Announcement

     It's not often I have a chance to use this blog for good rather than just blowing off steam.
     (The fact that it's a slow news day here could be a factor, too, so maybe I'm not all that altruistic after all.)

    Anyway, one of my favorite bloggers, Henny,  at Henny Penny Lane  included some helpful advice in her comment about my !!!TICK!!! adventure and I'm quoting it verbatim:

"One easy way to remove a tick that is buried and biting is to rub a little liquid hand soap on the tick and wait a few seconds, and the tick will easily come off."

     I haven't tried it yet, but anyone who spends the amount of time she does in her garden knows what she's talking about.

Sunday, April 30, 2017

From Author to Victim

      Okay, that’s it. I’m ready to return to the artificial world of Florida where everything feels new and clean and landscape people spray away every possible living thing that could bite or sting.

          Yesterday started out well enough. I packed up a rolling suitcase full to bursting with my books, candy for customers, and one dollar bills to make change and headed off to set up my table at the local authors’ fair in our town.

          We authors were a diverse group – my friend Cheryl's children’s bible stories, a graphic novel about a paranormal investigator, a beloved sportswriter and his memoir, Ellie’s new book about her trip to Tibet, a collection of letters from a family in the 1700s, a novel of history and witchcraft, and an ophthalmologist.

          And we actually had an audience, unlike last year when not even family showed up. I caught up with friends, reacquainted myself with others, and went home a few books lighter. 

          Once home, I morphed from local author to yard lady. My Guy and I grabbed our rakes and blowers and started in on the leaves that had gathered over the winter in spite of our marathons of yard work in the fall. Mamie helped by sitting in the pachysandra, the periwinkle, and following me worriedly every time I disappeared from view around a corner.

          After two hours or so, itchy and sweaty, we stopped for a water break. I was scratching my thigh and looked down to find a dark spot surrounded by a red, sore, and unhappy skin.

       We put down our water, stuffed the dog in the house, and took off for the urgent care center.
          Where      time       slowed       d  o  w  n.

          No one there looked particularly sick, and one family seemed to be having a great time, chatting and ribbing each other when they were loudly recounting past trips for emergency care.

          Even though I knew I could feel the tick burrowing deeper, and even I was sure my leg was becoming more and more painful, I sat for an hour and a half while others went in ahead of me. The people with the clipboards were obviously uncaring that my tick was probably spreading its toxin through my system as each minute passed. I tried not to think about the joint pain and loss of cognitive functions and God knows what-all that can happen as a result of a tick bite.

          Finally, finally, I was called in – the last patient of the day – and waited another 15 minutes for the doctor. He came in, took one look at it, and ordered one round of an antibiotic and left after telling me I was his 10th tick bite that day.

          Yes, I knew our area was reported as inundated this year with ticks.

Yes, I was stupid, stupid, stupid to be working in shorts.

          But it was actually Mamie I’d been worried about, since she’d been bitten in the fall and had 6 weeks of antibiotics as a result. Friday I’d sprayed the front yard with tick deterrent (we were working in the back) and yesterday wiped her down with a topical deterrent for pets to augment the drops I already put on her once a month.

          Looks like I’ll be using the same wipes on myself, and the next time I lift a rake or a trowel my gardening ensemble will make beekeepers look like they’re headed to a wanton day on the nude beach.   


Tuesday, April 25, 2017

Rollin' Home

It must be the effect of those two 12+ hour days in the car that it’s taken me this long to announce that we’re back from Florida.

Monday, April 17, 2017

Friday, April 14, 2017

Familiar Faces

          I’ve grown resigned to the wonky knee, the shock of seeing my mother in an unexpected glimpse of a store mirror, and the difficulty of staying out and awake past 10 at night.

Wednesday, April 12, 2017

Claim to Fame

I checked in on Going Gently, my favorite blog in the ENTIRE WORLD (and judging by the numbers of comments, the favorite of the entire world) and was intrigued by his topic for today.

Saturday, April 8, 2017

Wednesday, April 5, 2017

The Gray Rush

         One of the things that most amazes me about Florida is the huge expanse of undeveloped land interspersed with cattle ranches.

Saturday, April 1, 2017

Age and Trust

          So the other day at the pool a neighbor whom I barely know turned to me and inquired whether I had a doctor locally.

Friday, March 31, 2017

The EGGs meet Venice

Looking for shark teeth, one of Venice's claims to fame.

          So, yes, you can fit seven people into a two-bedroom condo. 

Monday, March 20, 2017

Condo Etiquette


     Some adjustment is inevitable when you switch from living in a free-standing house on over an acre of land to a condo sandwiched between three other condos and topped by more above.

Friday, March 17, 2017

A slice of the olde world

      Here in the US, today is a day for some to celebrate their heritage, or just borrow it long enough to lift a few green beers. My errand today, though, took me in another direction.

Wednesday, March 15, 2017

Florida Factoids

          One good reason to open your home to company is that it will spur you to get up out of that armchair and actually go out and see the sights where you live.

Saturday, March 11, 2017

Public (and Publix) appearance

     Late in the afternoon I made a dash to the grocery store to pick up a rotisserie chicken (how, or how did I survive before they came on the scene?) to make a salad for incoming company.

Thursday, March 9, 2017

Broadway on the Gulf

We’ve been meaning to get to the Venice Theatre, one of the largest community theatres in the country. Last night we saw Crazy for You, “a madcap story with the Gershwin brothers’ musical magic.”

Monday, March 6, 2017

Power to the People

The first skirmish I noticed here at the commune was the monthly ladies’ luncheon. These are at a different restaurant each time and should draw a big crowd, considering there are 130 units here in our complex but that day there were only about 10 people. In a world full of retired people you’d have we would have filled the place.
          And there are the bi-weekly cocktail Thursdays by the pool. Again, perhaps 15 or 20 at most showed up.
          But I hadn’t yet learned about the power plays going on behind the scenes.
          My next door neighbor, M, who organized the Thursdays, never goes to the luncheons, and B, who organized the luncheons, won’t attend the cocktail Thursdays. Hmmm.
And then there’s C, the head of the social committee, reportedly as difficult to unseat as the Pope and who keeps an iron control over the pot lucks.
Who knew Shangri-La would be so riddled with power struggles?
Our condo board takes this to a whole other level. At least here the politics are about things that matter, like water bills and maintenance.
We’re still the newbies here, but even we have figured out that our complex is in need of change. Our complex is governed by a board of 5, and the place is overseen by a management company that deals with the day to day administration.
Our current board president – S - has dug into her position like a tic on a hound dog and seems to have forgotten that this isn’t a life-time term.  She also doesn’t realize that the management company actually works for us, not the other way around and so we’ve received pretty lackluster service. Painting is flaking on one of the older buildings and the landscape company hasn’t fertilized the grass for over a year.
I’ll give S credit though – in spite of being 80, you’ll see her everywhere, on the job. However, people who have been to her unit on the third floor of her building report that she also keeps a pair of binoculars on the ready. Her place overlooks the pool and heaven help the person who puts a float in the water or who stops by to chat for a moment with their dog.

   The good news is we’ve just elected two new members to the board and S is due for re-election next year. I see a coup in the making.

Friday, March 3, 2017

Me and the Monster

I’m one of baseball’s unlikeliest fans. I certainly didn’t have a sports-filled childhood. My parents’ idea of a leisure activity was a spirited dinner argument over how to pronounce ‘medieval’, reading the latest New Yorker, and building a better cocktail.

Sunday, February 26, 2017

Spa Girl to Biker Chick

     A few weeks ago, our first attempt with a Florida dog groomer was not an encouraging experience. It was off-putting enough to find hair on the floor, dogs barking, and the owner making conversation as she trimmed a dog.  And the girl checking us in kept referring to Mamie cloyingly as “Baby.”

Friday, February 24, 2017

Shirking my Duty

 I’ve made an executive decision. It happened at the time of day that life-altering epiphanies usually arrive – when I was lying in bed unable to sleep.

Wednesday, February 22, 2017

Mystery Solved

. . . . goulies and ghosties and long-leggedy beasties
And things that go bump in the night. . .

          We’re still adjusting to life here in the commune. After years and years and years of living in a house, we’re used to hearing water run and knowing who flushed. Now we have two floors above us, and in spite of having two feet of concrete between us and our neighbors, sound still manages to travel. 
          One night last week I woke at 3:30 a.m. to Mamie, usually the most silent dog on the planet, barking her head off. This was immediately followed by pounding feet running upstairs.  I made it to a front window just in time to see a car in front of the building, motor running, passenger door open, and a young woman sprinting toward it.
          Robbery? Family drama?
          The next morning I asked the woman on one side of us if she’d heard anything. Nope.
          I asked the woman two doors down if she’d heard anything. Nope.
          Later in the day I asked the neighbor next door if he’d heard anything. Nope. But as a year-round resident he’s also sort of the mayor of our building and has keys to many of our places so he can check to make sure we don’t come back to ugly surprises. Nobody had arrived yet at the units above us so he said he’d go upstairs and take a look.
          When I saw him the next day he said the doors had been locked and nothing looked disturbed.
          Huh. The next night I thought twice about leaving our window unlocked, but I slept soundly, undisturbed.  
          Days went by and the upstairs neighbors arrived, followed by their three granddaughters in the 7 to 13 age range. In person they look sedate enough, but once in their grandparents’ condo they must strap on hobnail boots and while away the hours moving furniture. The first night they were there I woke again to running footsteps at 3:30, but attributed it to the heavy-hoofed kids above us.
The soundproofing between units is excellent, but our concrete block and iron buildings carry percussive sounds so effectively they’d be perfect should we ever find ourselves duck-taped by evil-dooers and forced to tap out a cry for help in Morse code.
Yesterday we had our annual condo meeting, and after discussions about landscaping, building color, water bills, and non-working street lights, the grandfather from upstairs raised a tentative hand.
He asked, “Has anyone else heard running at 3 in the morning?”
He was answered by puzzled and affirmative head-noddings.
So, I thought, that latest pre-dawn clomping hadn’t come from his family after all. .
Then from in the back of the room someone called out, “Oh, that’s the paper delivery.”

Thursday, February 16, 2017

Obstinence and Triumph

     My Uncle Sam had polio as a child and was bedridden with it for several years. After several operations and lots of physical therapy he eventually walked, but it was probably during those years that he became such a proficient knitter – what could you do with a kid in bed in the thirties with no TV? – and all that reading paved the way for him becoming a distinguished and published English professor.

          Putting on new sheets today reminded me of how adept Mama said Granny became at changing the bed with Uncle Sam still in it. 

Sunday, February 12, 2017

On a Happier Note

(Taking a page from Steve at Shadows and Light, here's a snapshot from my travels in Sarasota. )

     We went to the Sarasota outdoor arts showcase yesterday and wandered around from booth to booth admiring things we'd never considering buying, let alone bringing into our house, and others that we'd love, love to have but could never afford. We came away empty-handed, but got a nice lunch out of the day.

     We exited the restaurant at the same time as a woman who'd been sitting nearby with the fluffiest dog I'd ever seen. You could have attached a broom handle to it and cleared out every dust bunny in your house.  Curious, we asked what kind of breed it was and were dumbfounded to learn that it was a Coton de Tulear, the same breed as our dog. 


     Mamie's family tree is documented back to both sets of grandparents, but I don't think she'll ever look this aristocratic - mainly because I don't intend to spend every waking hour with a dog brush in my hand.
    It was comforting to see that this meticulously groomed dog had the same grubby whiskers as my own little snuffler. 

Saturday, February 11, 2017

Jan 1948 - 2017

Four years ago, I was semi-newly retired and still sorting through what to do now that I was no longer starting my day at 6:45 in a high school classroom.

Monday, February 6, 2017

Not-so-parallel universes

I knew that being in Florida would feel very different from slogging through the winter in Massachusetts. This weekend, though, I passed through so many alternate dimensions I might as well have been in an old episode of Star Trek.

Friday, February 3, 2017

Fear and (Self) Loathing

The excuse I give anyone who will listen is that I just learned how to play golf. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it – even though in reality I took lessons at least four years ago.

Thursday, February 2, 2017


     In Venice this weekend an entire street closed, tents went up, and crafters and artists set out their wares. People strolled by with giant bags of kettle corn and others struggled through the crowds with metal sculptures or topiaries made of shells.

Saturday, January 28, 2017

Phlorida Phenomenon

Hon, we’re not in Massachusetts anymore:

-         There’s a remarkable availability of wine and beer – now I can stop by CVS for face cream, Neosporin, and Merlot.
-         With day after day of 75 degrees, it’s tricky remembering what month we’re in, but we can always tell it’s Sunday by the number of stores with their doors locked up tight.
-         I’m finding empty shelves that should have been filled with boxes of my shade of hair color (L'Oreal's Excellence Golden Blonde). Apparently, store inventories are challenged in this land of perpetually blond women.
-         Instead of the sweet elixir from our well at home, I’m buying bottled water and making heavy use of our Brita water pitcher. How can a state so inundated with water have such bad tasting H2O?
-         The preponderance of little white dogs – under patio tables at restaurants, trotting on leashes at Home Depot and Home Goods, riding in bike baskets, and pushed in dog strollers down city sidewalks.
-         On the plus side, there’s no end of dining opportunities: