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Little Things Mean Alot

A little sun, some grass seed and a cover of straw and look what we have created! Or rather, the earth has given forth and I am once again amazed at just what goodness the world can wrought.

Oh, I know growing grass is a little thing.

But that is what this story is about – the green green grass growing in our front garden!

And sometimes pictures speak louder than words.

Young at Heart

I was waiting to be called in to see the doctor re BigFoot (now on the opposite foot!) Feeling sorry for myself too, out in public in the middle of a pandemic, masked among other anonymously masked people.

On top of the doom and gloom mood I was in, it was raining hard and I wasn’t feeling a bit cozy even though I was dry.

Then a beautifully dressed woman came in. She was maybe in her 60’s. And with her was a little stooped man, also impeccably dressed. He looked like an English magazine ad for what to wear to look prosperously elegant.

“What an interesting duo,” I thought.

They went to the reception counter where the little man was asked his birth date. Around here in Virginia’s medical communities we seem to be known more for our birthdates than for our names. Anyway, here was the little man’s answer:

“July 12, 1918 – I have been around for awhile.”

That makes him 102 years old!

And then he walked by me, looked down and said, “Good morning.” It was 2PM in the afternoon but so what? And I replied “Good morning to you.”

That encounter literally made my day, cheered me out of my doldrums and gave me hope. I have never met a 102 year old person, have you? What a wonder that was. And I could tell he must have been and probably still is great fun.

A people person. A man who lives for rainbows.

A man who is young at heart.

Is it Halloween yet?
Photo by James Wheeler on Pexels.com

Today is downright cold. “Sweater Weather,” my Mom called it. In Florida where I grew up Autumn announced its arrival with a delightfully cool breeze that offered blessed relief from Summer heat. We knew more of that was coming and we could not wait to greet the season.

Virginia is different. Things can and do change overnight. Winter’s warnings here are loud, clear and insistent. Last night the warning came with a breeze too cold to leave the windows open and a sudden need to cover up.

Yes, summer tops look strangely out of place in the closet now and shorts, bathing suit and sun hats are ready for wistful hibernation. I should have been prepared for this since the little market down the road has been showcasing mums and pumpkins for many days now. And the internet is featuring autumn decor and Halloween.

Even recipes emerge that I haven’t even thought of all Summer. I suddenly want to make more stews and hearty meals. I am famous for simple, easy, recipes that taste like they took alot of work. Here’s a good one for Old Fashioned Meatloaf with a great tangy twist.

DOR’S BARBECUED MEAT LOAF

1 ½ pounds ground beef

1 cup breadcrumbs

1 onion, finely chopped

1 egg, beaten

1 ½ teaspoons salt

¼ teaspoon pepper

1 15-16 oz. can of tomato sauce, divided

½ cup water

3 tablespoons vinegar

3 tablespoons brown sugar

3 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce

            Combine first 6 ingredients in a large mixer bowl; add ½ can of tomato sauce, mixing well.  Place mixture in a 10x6x1-inch baking dish, and shape into a loaf.  Combine remaining tomato sauce and remaining ingredients in a small mixing bowl and pour over loaf.  Bake at 350 degrees for 1 hour and 15 minutes or until done, basting often.  Yield: 8 servings.

Waiting

Photo by Mike on Pexels.com

I am an expert at waiting:

  • Always the one who is dressed and ready to go first,
  • Always early to arrive for appointments,
  • Always flexible about time constraints,
  • I usually wait double time since I arrive early and others arrive late

Imagine all the waiting required over a lifetime – a half hour here, an hour there, etc.

Turns out even I (the expert at waiting) can be surprised stunned.

The general concensus among orthopedic experts is that I need a hip replacement. Yes, another complaint has emerged about one of two lower extremeties.

Yesterday I went to a highly recommended surgeon who, after double XRays, agreed that the hip on the opposite side of BigFoot needs replacing.

“You could get in for surgery soon with one of my partners. But I am booked through the summer of 2021,” he said.

What?

Did I hear that right?

A year?

2021?

I would have to wait a year?

In bewildered shock I answered, “It seems you are the best surgeon for this and of course I want the best. Maybe I could tough things out.”

The doc did not seem surprised as he outlined the plan. “My nurse will call you with a date,” said he. And then they gave me a folder on exercises to do post surgery as well as what to expect in the hospital.

Are they serious?

In a year there may be technological advances that would call for exercise instead of surgery!

In a year I might be DOA from Covid-19. Notice how I can talk in initials now?

In a year I may be too old for surgery.

In a year ANYTHING could happen.

I still cannot imagine WAITING A YEAR for a date with a surgeon can you?

On the other hand, I am an expert at waiting.

A Home for Living

It has been over 30 years since first we came to this bit of Camelot in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia. There was nothing here but we camped out on the land and dreamed of the perfect house to shelter us right into old age.

A Home for Living

All on one level with an attached two car garage we have given thanks many times for the cover during rain or sleet or snow. It is a modest house designed by Bill, that has bent with the years to accommodate many changes. In the beginning my mother came to live with us for several years, then Bill’s sister moved to the area and spent every weekend here. My brother and Sister-in-law and kids came too, and long time friends returned and returned. Our son came early on, married, and then grandchildren arrived, and we had dogs and horses and a garden and we grew along with the landscape and we changed too along with the house that accommodated and sheltered us all.

There are rooms with a view, mostly of the Blue Ridge Mountains which really do look blue sometimes. Other rooms look out upon our green green world and what I call the Forest Primeval.

Bedrooms have their own thermostats for individual heat control in case we lose power. But there is a big wood stove which heats the house so efficiently that I sometimes have to open windows in the middle of a blizzard.

Even though I always see this home as almost perfect, we began some upgrades in 2018. A big change was the addition of a “Whole House Generator.” It is still hard to imagine we no longer need candles. Oddly enough I still have a major stash of jarred candles “just in case.” But the generator keeps working its magic and we haven’t had to use a candle yet (except to add romance of course).

In addition to the magical generator, we upgraded the kitchen with a quartz countertop that feels cool and looks so cool that I think I am working in a brand new place. I love the view of the mountains from the kitchen too.

Kitchen Before – Outdated Cabinets and Formica Countertop
Kitchen After – Counter is actually a Dove Grey

Nope, we do not wish to sell the house! And this is not a pre-prepared advertisement. I have simply run out of adventurous things to blog about, and my self imposed isolation means you get a little tour of Camelot. Also, between you and me, I am practising using the new WordPress block editor format. What do you think?

Starting my day during Covid-19 has its challenges.

Oh, I still rise each morning with a singular goal.  Get dressed. 

This is a short way of saying, “Pajamas may be comfy, but you MUST maintain an element of dignity.”

Even if no one but the UPS man comes to the door, one must be ready.

And so, I gather up an outfit that mostly matches and then head to the bathroom mirror to wash up and “put on my face” as people used to say in earlier years about pancake makeup and polaroid cameras.

I do smooth on a light foundation to fill in roadmap crinkly areas and then  add a bit of blush (to highlight the cheekbones that used to be there) and of course some mascara to bring out the few sparse lashes still clinging to life.  Then there is the final finishing touch – lipstick! 

But Oooops!   I keep forgetting.  The actual finishing touch nowadays is the mask! 

I keep forgetting the mask that covers up:

cheekbones with an added blush of sun,

and lips of coral gloss and glow.

And now each morning I ask myself, “Why?”

  • Why do I continue to make up a face that will be 95% covered by a mask?
  • Who will know me that way anyway?  I have barely left home for 4 months now.
  • Can friends really recognize each other for grocery store chats?

I could just leave my mask on at all times and no one would ever know there are unlipsticked lips underneath.

  • And who would know if the old unmadeup hag under there is smiling or grimacing or sticking out her tongue?

The only sign of emotion might be in the eyes.

I could make up eyes and brows to look surprised all the time or even happy.

But underneath the mask I might be making all sorts of negative grimaces.

Well, “You get my drift,” as they used to say in one of my earlier eras.

Pandemic discoveries I have learned, are about life and living.

And my sage words of wisdom for you today is what I have learned about masking during Covid-19. 

In the end it is not the mask that counts but the person underneath.

To Do or Not to Do

 

I am so envious of my friends here and my friends out there in the blog-us-fear who manage to organize closets and drawers and even garages during this evil Pandemic.

How clever you are to use your time away from society so wisely.

I must say I think about organizing things.

I have thought about the closet now for at least four months.  In fact, I stand in it every day and assess the situation.  There are the shoes in haphazard piles and the winter clothes still not packed away.

It’s almost winter again anyway right?  I have forgotten since I do not frequent the stores anymore who used to let me know about the changing seasons.

Oh yes, there was a catalog reminding about Halloween.

Is it Halloween yet?

I think about all our 40 Photo albums too.

There is a whole big cabinet dedicated to the old non-digital touchy-feely photographs collected over my own lifetime and the lifetimes of my parents and Bill’s siblings who have all since passed.  There are many shots of roads or trees or other unidentified scenery.  And lots of unrecognizable people and many with no dates. 

My inherent need to organize draws me to that cabinet over and over again but I never open the doors.  The job is simply too overwhelming to contemplate.

I also think about the garage alot.  I have to go through the garage to take Elsa-the-dog for a walk and we pause en route so I can think about how to organize things.

There are all those leaves that blew in last Autumn and maybe I should get the leaf blower out and take care of that first.

But then there are all those loose things and tools we never use anymore, and rusty stuff.  Maybe we should look into renting a big rubbish bin.  Never mind, “Come on Elsa.  Let’s go this way.”  And off we go out of the garage.

Uh oh!  I find myself out in the green green world.  But the green is not always well manicured lawns.  The green is really enormous weeds that have taken over every flower bed and the gravel driveway.  If I think too much about the work to be done in my green green world, I tend to hurry home with Elsa after she has done her bit to fertilize the earth.

There is so much to do.

There is so much to think about doing.

To do or not to do is the question.

But I prefer to think about it.

The Enigma Bundle

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We have our little rescue dog for almost two years now!

She is still an enigma, a bundle of odd behaviors and idiosyncracies.

Here is Elsa.  And if you are a dog psychologist, maybe you can explain who she really is. 

Bathroom Pleasures:  You have your place and I have mine!

We have acres of grassy lawn but Elsa prefers to water the small rock bed just outside the front door.

There is a surprising benefit from this odd preference.  Since no weed can survive Elsa’s acid rain for long, the rock bed stays her pristine and weed free watering place.

Maybe in her previous lifetimes she was walked on leash in a neighborhood of homes and chastised for going on a neighbor’s grass.

Play? 

Huh?

Elsa does not play, will not fetch a ball or anything else, and has no apparent interest in stuffed squeaky animals or even treat-stuffed toys.   Squeak a toy at her and she will turn away as if to say, “Stop hurting that poor little thing!”  Throw a ball and she will watch its trajectory without moving a muscle.

No!  No!  Nooooo!!!!!  Not the Car!!!!!!

Elsa does not enjoy riding in the car.  She acts excited pre-entry, but once inside,  hunkers down to shiver and shake in fear.  Fear of what?  Why doesn’t she look out the window or enjoy the breeze in her face like other dogs do?

Most times Bill drives and I ride in back with Elsa, who promptly puts her head in my lap and shakes and shivers.

Yes it is true! The Sky is falling.

Our poor little pup is terrified of thunder, airplanes, rain, far off traffic noises, falling branches, gunshots, firecrackers, and more.  She is under my desk as I write this (shaking and shivering).  I am sure she thinks the sky will fall because she is constantly looking to crawl under something.

 If I am quiet will they come?

She is quiet and respectful of visiting deer, squrrels, groundhogs, birds or rabbits and never barks at them even when they get wind of her and begin to flee.

I have never had a dog who didn’t enjoy barking at visiting creatures, especially when they turn and run.

Well, she does bark at people (who I consider the most predatory anyway) and she did bark at that bear who came through.

I think she thinks protecting me from truly dangerous looking intruders is her real job.

The Lady-Who-Limps Saved Me.  I will never leave her side.

Oddest of all, Elsa prefers my somewhat droll sedentary company to any other living thing.  She rarely leaves my side and has evidently decided I am the only human who counts.

I totally agree with that last assessment of course.

And I enjoy the adoration until she follows me into my own non-rock bathroom.

Are you inviting me to get up there on that sofa with you?  What will happen to me THEN?

There are times I would really love it if Elsa would jump on the couch or the bed, just for a hug.  But even when I invite her, she refuses.

It is probably a good thing that she is never on the furniture since she is a prolific shedder.  Again, I suspect she had some harsh training to keep her off the furniture. No amount of cajoling will entice her up, even in a thunder storm when she really wants to be cuddled.

I think I kinda like it here!

What Bill and I notice lately though is a more trusting happy dog who does a whole lot of tail wagging (on those occasions when she isn’t shaking in fear of something benign).

Elsa is full of strange behaviors and habits and fears, but maybe aren’t we all?

She is a little bit off, a little imperfect, a lot insecure, but aren’t we all?

It will be a two year anniversary soon and we think Elsa knows this is her safest place and where she lives with her most ardent fans.

And we know we will always be warned of visiting bears and unknown humans, and we are serene in the knowledge she will tell us when the sky is falling too.

 

 

 

 

pexels-photo-3952231.jpeg

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

I am one of those people with invisible veins.  I hate getting blood tests!  They leave me slightly nauseous, sometimes black and blue.

This leads me to my most recent blood letting encounter during the time of Covid-19.

First off, the sweet girl who first made my doctor’s appointment, said she would fax the blood test order to the lab.  In about a week I was mentally and emotionally sort of ready but had a funny feeling that nothing had been faxed, so I called to check.

Sure enough.  It had not been done.  But the next sweet girl who spotted the mistake said she would fax the order over immediately.  I took her at her word.

O.K.  I was again sort of ready.  It was early Friday morning and I had fasted for 12 hours, drove to the lab and then stood outside in the fresh air with mask on.  A sweet girl asked a series of questions regarding any possible virus exposure, then put a little squirt of hand sanitizer in my hand and said, “Sign in at the desk” and then sit in any chair with orange tape (the chairs were 6 feet apart to honor social distancing).  There were only one or two chairs left because the place was packed.

I was greatly impressed by all the protective measures, that is until following orders, I went to the desk to sign in.  There was a pencil on a string that loomed larger and larger in my imagination.

Who exactly had touched that pencil?

Where had their hands been until they reached the sign-in point?

Yes, I was given hand sanitizer but was it enough to make me sterile?

If I touched that pencil would I die?

Was it worth it?

I mean, to die following orders?

You can tell, I am a follower of orders AND a worrier.

But I did sign in using that contaminated, pestilence covered pencil!

And I made a note of the date to count off the days til I would come down with the virus!

But the story continues.

I waited and waited and waited.  I waited an hour.  And while I waited a young woman came to the door and was answering all the probing questions.  “Have you been around anyone who tested positive for the coronavirus?”  Her answer was, “Yes.”   (!!!!!!)

At that point, I left.  That was Friday.

On Monday I returned and the lab was again packed so I turned around and went to the doctor’s office to tell them I could not get a blood test in preparation for the appointment.  They changed the appointment to give me more time.

On the third try, I fasted from 10PM to 10AM and went to the lab again. This time I was the only person there!

The problem was they did not have an order from my doctor!  So, the second sweet girl forgot to fax the order over too.  This was beginning to literally be a comedy of errors!

Fortunately my blood-letter lady called the doctor’s office and they faxed it over while we sat and chatted.  Thankfully, I was the only patient in the place. And my blood-letter was an expert and got what she needed on the first try.

Now let’s hope the blood test shows everything normal and that I will not have to get another test for 6 months or a year.  And mostly, let’s hope I am mistaken about the Pandemic Laden Pencil used for sign-in at the lab!

 

Return to Eden

animal animal photography big big cat

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

He didn’t stay long.

And of course he arrived uninvited.

I was just having breakfast and almost choked on my tea.  I looked out toward the forest and there he was.

Was that a dog?   Maybe.

But, no, too tall –  and the legs were way too long.

And then, as if he sensed I was watching, he disappeared into the forest.

Google to the rescue!

I found close enough photos to confirm what I saw was a Bobcat!   He was the size of a very tall athletic dog with long gangly legs.  And in a strange way he was quite beautiful.

May Bob reside peacefully in our forest primeval alongside his friends (the bears and other wildlife we are suddenly seeing around here).

Do you suppose the months of lockdowns for the corona virus have lulled seldom seen critters into thinking our rural habitat has returned to Eden?

 

 

 

 

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