Breakfast and Broccoli

          My good friend Judi and I settled into a booth this morning at the back of one of our favorite breakfast spots for a long-overdue visit with each other. The waitress was really hustling and it took a few minutes before she got to us with, “Coffee?”

          We said we were both tea people and in a few more minutes she swept by again, this time leaving two mugs of tea in her wake. No spoons, no napkins, and it was a good thing neither of us take milk or lemon.

          When she eventually returned, we gave our orders and she rushed off. We learned later that they were down two waitresses.

 Soon, a very tall teen came in and sat at one of the long tables next to us. After about 10 minutes, two more largish young men joined him, then another, and another, several in the same football jersey, and one so broad in the shoulders that I asked Judi if she thought he was still wearing his shoulder pads.

          It looked as though we’d been graced with the entire football team of that town’s high school. It was a little surprising since it was 9:45 in the morning and they should have been in school. But they were well-behaved and they reminded me of my three large grandsons. Particularly their hair.

          Face-timing with my 15 year-old grandson Eli, I noticed he was constantly finger-combing his hair over his forehead, but unlike almost every person in our family, his hair is straight and doesn’t lend itself to the current styling trend, kind of a curly version of the Beatles’ mops in the 60s. His brother Gabe, with his uber-curls, is more successful.

          According an article this summer in Newsweek:

“Mullets, move over—a surprising new hair trend dubbed "the broccoli" has taken Generation Z by storm. The rise of the broccoli cut, also known as the zoomer perm and bird's nest hair,”

 

          The group at our neighboring table had, I’d say, a 60% success rate.

 

          After a little food-theft from each other’s plates, and the appearance of a borrowed can of whipped cream to spruce up their waffles, everyone trundled out and we learned later that a water main break in town had been the reason for their unaccustomed morning off.

Back in the Flatlands

          I’m back home now and happy to be here. It was wonderful spending time with family over the weekend, but the added bonus was an increased appreciation of my own home.

Heroic Art

          I’m here in the mountains of New Jersey at my daughter’s for a brief visit. Yesterday we descended to Hamilton, not far from Trenton, where My Guy and I met in college, and also not far from Princeton, where I was born. So I suppose my ties to the state are pretty firm at this point.

Marbles and Murder

 

My Guy and I are currently (sadly) nearing the end of PBS’s Inspector Alleyn mysteries on Amazon Prime.

Small news - hummingbirds and ants

 A quiet couple of days have gone by, so not much to tell about, but I figure they’re better than the nothing that would have been here otherwise.

Straddling the Seasons

 We have rain in the forecast, so I was up and out in the backyard fairly early for a Sunday.

There aren’t many signs yet of the impending autumn – 

the petunias in my hanging pot in front are pushing out a last gasp of blooms,

My New Best Friends

 

I’m being stalked.

Vermont Idyll

 

We’re home after three blissful days up the road.

          We loved this place years ago, and if anything, love it even more now. It’s remarkable that you can travel a bit over two hours and feel like you’ve been to another land. 

           In this case, a land of fancy cars, outlets (an eclectic mix of Armani and Eddie Bauer), quaint inns, and a fly-fishing school.

  

     I can only imagine how busy it must be when there’s snow, with Mt. Stratton and one end and Bromley at the other.

                                                                          We ate, we shopped, ate some more, 

saw the world premiere of True Art in Dorset’s small theater,

 stopped by the oldest marble quarry in the U.S.,

(which I guess explains why many of the sidewalks in town are marble)

 followed by

G & T’s on the lawn (Vermont Gin? Who knew?). 

Perfect.  

Vermont perfection and a small rant

(Unfortunately I’m unable to figure out how to post any on my iPad of the pictures I can’t seem to stop taking

    We’re here in Manchester, VT for two days.

Rainbows and Cemetery Plots

 

Apologies for being so long away. There’s absolutely no reason for it. I haven’t even been doing anything especially interesting. Or I guess that's the reason.

          Anyway, keeping with the dullness theme, my morning so far has consisted of reading (a book by the fabulous Elly Griffiths than I can’t put down) , walking, and picking up Saturday’s mail. Woo hoo.

          I skipped my usual Monday Boomers’ exercise class – which I actually enjoy quite a bit – for, again, no particular reason, and instead did a walk through the complex where I was treated to a rainbow.

       

   I find it too mind-numbing to do the same walk two times around and so took a short cut, only traveling about a mile and a half. Still, a respectable distance – certainly not deserving of the mail I picked up:

A flyer inviting My Guy and me to a scintillating evening touring an assisted living facility and secondly (covering all possibilities) a pre-planning offer from the funeral home in town.  

Next World

 

I remember when my grandfather in Oklahoma would call long distance to us in Virginia. This involved a fair amount of yelling into the receiver so that our words would reach Tulsa, and the need to keep the call short because of the extravagance.

Baby Buds and Ego Boost

 My Guy and I did our breakfast thing. Yes, it was a bit of a greasy spoon filled with locals, but I enjoyed an excellent omelet filled – and I mean filled – with every vegetable imaginable. Ever had eggs and summer squash?

Communication after 54 years

There is a place in the next town called Girlee’s.

Future Gardens

 

As we teeter back and forth these days from the Slough of Despond to tenuous hope, it might be heartening to contemplate the gardens I see on my walk.

Ye Olde False Front

 

Today I had lunch with a friend at an inn so historic that its trees in front were planted in 1791 by Ebenezer Crafts. A lovely story, but I do have to wonder a bit since they’re supposedly elms, and in the 1970s 77million elms died thanks to the Dutch elm disease that swept through New England.

Gardening for the future

 

In keeping with this whole national hyperattention to aging, My Guy and I met with an elder lawyer on Friday. First of all, I feel in no way qualified to count myself in the ranks of elders, but there we are.

Ageism

  

    A few years ago, when sweet Mamie was still with us, mention of my perfect little dog would somehow end up in my conversation. 

Monday at the Mall

 For the first time in what has to be at least two years, I paid a visit to the big shopping mall in the next town.

Home on the Farm

 

A quiet day here, catching up on laundry and completing riveting tasks like putting baking soda and vinegar down the drain to clean it up a bit.

No fireworks - just family and food

 It was a great Fourth -  just my speed.

Hail the conquering homeowner

 Yesterday didn’t start all that auspiciously, with a fall at pickleball that at least only resulted in a bruised ego and a sore hip (those pesky extra 10 pounds padding me are proving their worth).

          But I racked up one success after another as the day wore on.

          After 5 landscape companies ignoring my calls more consistently than I do spammers, one guy did get back to me, bless his heart. He began his yard and home maintenance company only a few years ago and so is still small enough that his only employees are teenage sons.  

 

         I’ve been trying to get rid of these big holly bushes in order to replace them with something lower maintenance.

        

 

When I arrived home after pickleball, there he was, and there my bushes weren’t. Yay!

 I think I’ll put in some more roses and perhaps a big grass in the back of them.

  

        The other home issue has been the microwave, which had decided to light up its filter replacement message. We just acquired it last fall, so I wasn’t sure of the process.

      

    First, the useless “manual” I received with it. Three pages telling me not to do stupid things like cook with aluminum foil and a useless diagram for some other model.

 

         Second, Google it. But the only instructions online were for previous models.

     

     I opened up the microwave. It was obvious where the filter should go: in back of that long black plastic cover. Up on a stool, I could see instructions on the top that said to slide to the left. Except it wouldn’t go. I didn’t want to snap it.

    

      Off I motored to the store where I’d bought it. Amazingly, the salesman climbed on a chair, located the critical screw, removed it, and demonstrated how to slide the panel. It could have been my personal charm that made him so helpful, but it was more likely the fact that I shamelessly repeated several times that last year we’d bought from them not only the microwave, but a fridge, oven, and dishwasher.

          Today I got out my trusty pink stepstool and screwdriver and slid that sucker right off, popping in the new filter. Ta Da!

  

        Except now the fridge has a message for me.

         

Medical Breakthrough??

 

I know how lucky I am.

    

Wildlife

 

Today we stayed home and putzed around the house, perhaps waiting for the next weather excitement.

 (THE NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE HAS ISSUED A TORNADO WATCH IN EFFECT UNTILL 8 PM EDT THIS EVENING. . . ) 

Gotta say many of us in town might be a tad edgy since we had a humdinger of a tornado tear through here in 2011.

            But it’s not been dull in our backyard.

           

First off, one of the local rabbits has claimed a quiet corner in my garden to stretch
out.

 

         Then, right on schedule, the three amigos – occasionally four – have done their morning march across the backyard, returning and marching back the other way as they always do later in the afternoon.

          

And our hummingbirds are glorying in not only their feeder, but the the new-found wealth of the
now-blooming bee balm.

          It occurred to me today that as species go, the birds that visit me couldn’t be more extreme examples, going from one of the largest to the smallest.

A hummingbird, is usually only about 2- 4 inches long, weighing less than a handful of pennies, while male wild turkeys can reach 25 pounds.

This reminded me of one of my favorite scenes of all time from a favorite television show, West Wing, which was chock-full of wonderful moments.

 It was one of the many hallway scenes, this one with Allison Janney and Kristin Chenowith.

Maximal Mix-up

 (A Crabby-pants Thursday with a happy ending. . . For some)

After years of owning our cars – for almost twenty years in one case – we now lease. I like the security of knowing I’m driving a relatively new car that’s probably going to give me few surprises.

Golf and Gherkins

 

On Monday, I met a friend to play golf on a course I’ve played before – over half an hour away but worth it since they at least had tee times in the morning.

Celebration and Woe

 We’re off today to New Jersey, land of my birth (although I only lived there for about a year before my family moved to Virginia) and meeting place of My Guy and me at college.

The snack conundrum

 (A non-crabby pants Thursday post)

My return to my local book club yesterday was very pleasant.

Life in the Fast Lane

 Another morning of putting on my winter robe. Today should reach upper 70s, and I know I’ll be complaining next week when it hits the projected 90s, but this is June?

SPF Alert

 

There we sat – the sleepy, the marred, the (mostly) old – in the waiting room.

Customer Appreciation

 (Crabby-pants Thursday)

A friend of mine texted me this week, asking if I’d been at our neighborhood grocery store the day before. I had, in fact, and said so. She said she’d seen me at the end of the soda aisle, and I’d looked right at her, turned away, and left.

Our own stamp

 In 2017 we left our house and moved across town to condo-land and haven’t once regretted it.

Book Bonanza

 After this morning’s Boomer exercise class at the Y, I watered everybody in the garden and then showered up to run errands.

          I needed to visit the library because I’m completely out of books, which for me is kind of like a smoker after his last pack. I’ve even finished the required book club book; I expected it would be sad and tough going, but it turned out to be a good read.

DONE

 The past few days I’ve solved a few household annoyances. I’d pat myself on the back were it not for the fact that this is the second time I’ve “solved” them.

A Grad By Any Other Name

 (Crabby-Pants Thursday)

Bed Making

 

Once you’re retired, it can be tricky holding on to what day of the week it is.

Beast and the Beauty

 

More yard news.

Today was gardening day, i.e. trying to regain a little control in the back yard.

Born to the Purple

 

Factoid: During the Bronze Age, only those of high social status could afford to wear purple, the dye being costly to produce. It was made in the Phoenician city of Tyre, and was desired not only as a status symbol, but also for its ability to resist fading.

Mining the laughs of despair

 Here we are nearing the weekend, and if I continue with my idea from last week, that makes today Crabby Pants Thursday.

Sunshine and Slapstick

 

I woke up to fresh air today, the first night sleeping with the window open – it’s supposed to reach 90 degrees this afternoon. I’m off to buy geraniums and more this afternoon.

Wilbraham, aka Calvin

 

One thing about being away for four months is driving around and checking out all the changes that have occurred.

John Q Public

 

It’s hard sometimes to come up with yet another idea for a post. Maybe I should take a page from other bloggers and designate a theme for particular days.

For instance, Thursday could be Crabby Pants Day.

Full Days

 

          One thing about being a working person who’s retired is the urge to feel a purpose to your day.

A body bent on sabotage

 

In the (probably futile) hope of reducing the number of surprises this aging body has been springing on me, I showed up this morning for the Boomer Boot Camp class at our local YMCA.

Everyday Memories

 Friends and family may be scattered or gone, but they remain around my house, triggering memories as I go through my day.

No Excuse

          I’ve been away in more than one sense. Yes, we’ve put Florida behind us until next year and are back in Massachusetts trying to adjust to wearing shoes again.

Flashback

 

          After a delightful breakfast out (an omelet and a fabulous scone with a hefty helping of Devonshire cream!), I visited the WC before leaving.

My Dogs are Barking

 It’s been a tough spring, feet-wise.

My Shelf Runneth Over

 Last year I guess I was out of library books but too close to our date of return to Massachusetts to check any new books out. I must have mentioned my plight because a friend loaned me a paperback mystery, which saved me from the horror of having nothing to read. In the meantime, I had downloaded one to my iPad, so I was doubly rich.

Tech Day

Power and Plants

 I was on the phone with our daughter in New Jersey who, after an onslaught of wind and plunging temps, is without power and therefore heat. Kindness made me avoid revealing that I was sitting on our porch in my jammies.

Retail Robbery

       My Guy was off sitting behind an easel at an art workshop, so I took myself out for some retail therapy. There was little on the agenda other than a poke around in the stores at a neighboring town but I ended up at the same discount store I shop in by our condo.

Looking over my shoulder

 I faced the unfaceable and stuffed my Temple of Carbs into a bathing suit for the first time this year. I was off to the small pool in our complex to read and maybe catch some conversation.

          Unlike everyone else, I dodged the sun and planted myself safely under the shade of an umbrella and opened my book, but after a while, the chatter in the pool drew me in.

          While we stood in the water, swishing with our hands, one woman there mentioned that when she returned North, she’d be going back to her job in an assisted living facility. I knew one of my friends there at the pool had sold their house in Georgia and moved with her husband to such a place. Both facilities were the ‘staged’ sort, where you might begin in the independent living portion but when the need arose, you would then move on to the next level of care.

          My friend spoke about the changes she’d likely see there when they returned to Georgia from Florida – people needing more help in the common dining room than before, others who they might not see again at all.

          One thing I like about being here is that most of the people I see are in my age range and out and about, which means that paradoxically, with few opportunities for comparison, I tend to forget how old I am.   

          I don’t think I’d like living in a place where the ongoing frailties of others would serve as a graphic reminder to me of what’s ahead.