Taking Another Tack

Remember that ONE pound I’ve lost since starting this walking regime (THREE MONTHS AGO)? Well, I must have lost it in my ankles because the strap on my ‘shackle of shame’ now fits (barely) around my ankle!  

I’ve decided to wear it on my ankle because:

1. I can’t keep looking at my progress every five minutes.

2. We have hit the summer months here in the sub tropics and when I have a hot flash the rubber strap annoys the living daylights out of me when it's on my wrist!

and 

3. This will eliminate the grocery cart conundrum.

We’ll see how it goes…….

Punny Monday

What type of shoes do plumbers wear? Cloggs

On This Date in History.......

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BIGBRO!!!

Throwback Thursday

More from: Innocents at Home and Abroad

Wordless Wednesday

I’ve been Plagiarized!!

I’m not sure how I feel about it.

My knee jerk reaction is anger.

Sheer pissed-offedness!

Not so much that some robot trolled Flickr and stole an old image.  (I have since deleted my Flickr account along with all images.)

But angry because some total jerk claimed copyright status!  

THAT’S the part that sends me over the edge!

HOW DARE SHE!

And apparently she’s not the brightest bulb in the package either. She claims copyright on an image that is cleared signed with different initials than her own!

It's not even a good sketch! :-/

DUH!

Punny Monday

What's the difference between ignorance and apathy? 

 I don't know and I don't care.

Calvin Was Dubious

……..whether they could alter his father’s Nehru jacket to fit him.

Throwback Thursday

More from: Innocents at Home and Abroad

Wordless Wednesday

Imagination Run Amok

I love my curtains. They are a source of constant entertainment for me. (Keep in mind I’m easily amused…..lol)

Having said that….I ‘see’ all sorts of things in their design. Depending on how they’ve folded back on themselves or how they’re blowing in the breeze. I can sit and stare at them for endless hours and see all sorts of creatures and beings and imagine their stories.

I think he’s a cabbie in Manhattan, yelling at someone who just cut him off. 

Punny Monday

What is a lawyer's favorite drink? A Subpoeña-colada! 

Memories of Rita.....or Ironing 101

Whenever I iron I always think of my friend Rita.

We met when I was two years old. 

Her mother used to like to tell the story of how, when she was shoveling her driveway, I marched up to her wearing my bright pink snowsuit and said, “Hi! My name is Robin! Do you have any kids my age I can play with?” 

I find it rather implausible at aged two I would have said that, but I WAS a precocious kid (read that as: chatterbox!) so….maybe….

Rita and I became BFF’s.

We played at each other’s houses, as kids do, but I much preferred when she came to my house. When I went to her house it seemed like she was always arguing with her mother. About the silliest of things! 

As we grew older the arguments continued being ridiculous.

The one I remember the most was about ironing. 

My mother and I were having a visit and we were all sitting around the kitchen table, Rita’s mother, my mother and I as Rita stood at the ironing board working on a blouse. Her mother was picking on every little thing Rita did as she worked. 

“You’re doing it wrong! You should do it this way! Don’t do that!”…and on and on.  

Rita responded with a lot of, “But mother…..”

My mother saw that Rita was getting upset. She said to her, “Sweetie, (mom always liked to call people she cared about sweetie. You knew you were in her good graces if she bestowed the term on you!) If you iron the smaller places first they won’t get re-wrinkled as you move the garment around. Do the collar first, then the sleeves, around the buttons and then the rest. It will come out much crisper that way.”  

“That’s what I’ve been telling her!” Rita’s mother exclaimed.

Except it wasn’t what she’d been SAYING.

Later, as my mother and I were walking home she turned to me and said, “Do you understand the difference in the way I spoke to Rita and the way her mother did? Words can be like weapons. Chose them wisely.”

Every time I iron, I think of Rita and the lesson I learned that day.

(and the lesson about ironing too!)

Throwback Thursday

Over the years I’ve slowly gone through some of the things I’ve kept from my parent’s house.

As I have time, and feel I can take it emotionally, I take on one thing or another.

The other day as I was dusting the shelves (yes, I know, don’t faint at the fact I was cleaning, lol!) I came across a brown, plastic three ring binder that I didn’t recognize so I pulled it off the shelf and started to look through it.

It is a collection of pictures and memorabilia from my father’s time in the service with captions in his handwriting.

I don’t know who any of the people in the snapshots are, except my father, and I don’t care. But I find it interesting to see what he went through and what he was thinking at the time.

I’d like to find a paper conservator and have them make it into a scrapbook that is archival with the newspaper pages opened so you can read them.

I have no idea how to go about finding someone trustworthy who knows what they’re doing. If you know of anyone, please let me know!

So, for the next few Thursdays these will be the images I will share.

Ever the self-promoter, this is the cover page! 

(That is my father. There must have been an artist in his unit as you'll see in the coming posts.)

Wordless Wednesday

Contentment

Husband’s birthday and Mother’s Day lined up perfectly this year and the boys came down for the weekend to celebrate. I’m at my absolute happiest when my family is all together under the same roof.

When the planets align like this I like to take a picture of all our shoes piled up by the door.

It’s a simple illustration of how I feel and what makes me happy!

This time I decided to sketch it. 

Punny Monday

What fancy hotel does a cheese stay at? Stilton!

‘One of these things is not like the others,

One of these things just doesn’t belong.’

Can you tell which one it is? LOL

I thought I knew what my series was going to be for the ‘Y is for Yellow’ class. I was so sure.

Then I started ….or rather I procrastinated.

 I started and stopped and changed my mind a gazillion times.

Faces.

I wanted to push myself and do more ‘painterly’ faces.

In different mediums. Watercolor, acrylic, pastels….on canvas or cradle board.

To have tangible pieces when I finished. Not just a digital file.

I did the first one in acrylic. I hated it. Hated to process, hated the result.

Okay, next ones done in watercolor on canvas board I had either collaged or gessoed.

I got as far as the basic face shape/color.

Then I did the redheaded boy and froze! THAT didn’t go as well as I’d hoped!

I procrastinated some more. I was afraid the rest of them would turn out as lousy as the redheaded boy, so I scanned them into my computer and finished them digitally.

Why fight it?

In the immortal words of Popeye, ‘I am what I am.’ My style is what it is.

I got as far as five and I’m calling it a series!

DONE!

Cinco de Mayo

I’ve wanted to share this for some time but I have been hesitant. I’m not sure it’s appropriate for here. 

Not sure if it’s too raw and I apologize if I offend anyone.

I have been thinking about writing a 'book' about the not so pretty side of things. But would anyone be interested? 

Is it any good or just rubbish?

(Maybe it's just something I need to vent and then keep to myself.....)

'It is a Tuesday morning. I’m just back from the bagel shop with a deliciously overstuffed everything bagel. As I spread my breakfast out on the desk my beeper goes off.

It’s my mother.

I pick up the phone and dial her number. Aunt Kay answers.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“Come home, your mother needs you,” she replies.

“Okay, I’m on my way.” I answer.

I call my boss and tell him I’m leaving. As I gather my belongings I think if she needs an ambulance, like last time, I should call from here and meet them at the hospital. So I call back and suggest this to Aunt Kay.

She repeats, “Come home, your mother needs you.”

It is then I realize it's a rehearsed line and I know what it means.

In all the times I have rushed to my mother’s side, at hospitals or at home, this is the first time I deliberately stay within the speed limit. At each stop light I pray it will turn red. I pray the entire way there, ‘Let it be over before I get there.  Please, let it be over. “

Because I am a coward.

Because I know I don’t have the courage to hold my mother’s hand while she dies.

Could I do it for my husband, absolutely. Could I do it for my children, without a doubt. Why can’t I do it for my mother?

I’m 45 years old and I don’t know what to do. And the person I would normally ask for advice is lying on the couch looking like she’s napping, except she’s not.

The EMT’s come but it’s obvious it’s too late.

A police officer shows up, I don’t know why.

The coroner comes. They tell me the next step is to call a funeral home.

I don’t want to. I don’t want them to take her away.

I want my mother to wake up.

The funeral director comes. I leave the room but not until I see them put her in a maroon body bag.

I don’t want that to be the last memory I have of her, but it is.

I’m in shock. No one else is. Am I the only one who didn’t see it coming?

What was the last thing I said to her?

It’s funny; you don’t realize the last thing you say to someone is going to be the last thing you get to say to them.

I’m not the only one this happened to. It happens every 1.8 seconds (I looked it up.) But I feel like I’m the only one.

Like a kite that has lost its tether.

Rudderless.

I don’t know where to go. I don’t know what to do.

I know I need to be doing ‘things’. But where do I start? Who do I call?

I’m not used to feeling like this. Out of control. I’m a very ‘in control’ person.

But now I am lost.'

Cinco de Mayo is the day she died. It's been eighteen years. 

My Aunt told me 'It gets easier. Not better, but easier.' 

Now I understand.

Wordless Wednesday

Image by Alisa Burke

An Open Letter to My Doctors

Which they will never see because I lack the nerve to send it and I doubt very much any of them read my blog……

I am sixty three years old.

My father died at sixty seven.

My mother died at seventy seven.

My maternal grandfather died at seventy five.

My maternal grandmother made it to eighty.

Some of my aunts and uncles made it into their later years, some of them died much younger.

It’s not likely I’m going to live into my nineties is what I’m saying.

Which makes all this testing* you keep ordering seem useless and just plain wasteful at this point.

*This post was inspired by the fact that my insurance company is refusing to pay for a very expensive test my PCP ordered back in November. A scan she ordered AFTER I had THREE other tests that came back NORMAL!

In a way I don’t really blame the insurance company. In principle I’m on their side.

Except……..I might be the one who ends up paying for it.

Color me disgruntled.

We now return you to our regularly scheduled program……

Punny Monday

Did you hear about that new restaurant on the moon? Great food but no atmosphere!