tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29639730225939307042024-03-27T11:43:37.719-07:00 86,400 SecondsPhotography, travel, stories and more.Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03052375488090209961noreply@blogger.comBlogger839125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2963973022593930704.post-21365815250985240742024-03-14T12:07:00.000-07:002024-03-14T12:07:17.287-07:00Short But Sweet<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb2fGhsV5ipBBUU08edSXhDjnxirGRm6OLDdfZS-t2kqGnu_8pU7GhK9qH4Ok0ifuVC-if8WwK1tO0qAkz3wOgNTAkRv3qyZi58qu5KQl-dw_KPAZwF6qlB5khObVfnz6GGKIiAjIKlhyIywJ43IfDJGDzHaxYhOwDuQoRCeDm0aH_oNsSzwmRibziKNI/s960/431914065_7740910919276570_7421316608538316401_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb2fGhsV5ipBBUU08edSXhDjnxirGRm6OLDdfZS-t2kqGnu_8pU7GhK9qH4Ok0ifuVC-if8WwK1tO0qAkz3wOgNTAkRv3qyZi58qu5KQl-dw_KPAZwF6qlB5khObVfnz6GGKIiAjIKlhyIywJ43IfDJGDzHaxYhOwDuQoRCeDm0aH_oNsSzwmRibziKNI/s320/431914065_7740910919276570_7421316608538316401_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>I took a very short getaway with my daughter and grandkids. We flew to our old stomping grounds in Santa Cruz, CA. It was supposed to be three nights but it turned into two when a huge storm was forecast for Denver, our return destination. So we bugged out of our lovely vacation rental early. Good thing, too, for the storm has arrived and it is not pretty. Here are my old friends whom I have not seen in 15 years. We enjoyed tacos and margaritas at a restaurant on the SC Wharf. It was one of those get togethers where no time at all seems to have gone by. They are warm and gracious as ever.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmQhO8D609MDpnCMoWWfyRA9Iq0R9jv2BpsEgG8_qy6I-h2oJ7VH7Q4ABgrtTViLwbSq_z6-O0bfkL3rfTUNLhyphenhyphenQhyNztueS-2wOsZ4PUfhTomMZoeiOGroatfUtJH4NsNm3BMURAIfJVISFUZXUGAl5Cgnl-93wdjhvuiBwoa_tHwkLCPDZJFTa-4q0k/s960/430124767_7740911112609884_1127208452288829178_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmQhO8D609MDpnCMoWWfyRA9Iq0R9jv2BpsEgG8_qy6I-h2oJ7VH7Q4ABgrtTViLwbSq_z6-O0bfkL3rfTUNLhyphenhyphenQhyNztueS-2wOsZ4PUfhTomMZoeiOGroatfUtJH4NsNm3BMURAIfJVISFUZXUGAl5Cgnl-93wdjhvuiBwoa_tHwkLCPDZJFTa-4q0k/s320/430124767_7740911112609884_1127208452288829178_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>The vacation rental has a hot tub, which we all enjoyed, including some friends of the grandkids. The house was quite near the yatch harbor, and I fell asleep to the sound of sea lions barking. An old familiar sound for me. I haven't been in the area in a decade, and I forgot how much I love the local flora: palm trees, evergreens, succulents, honeysuckle bushes spilling over the fence, Peruvian lilies in abundance. Oh, and the Acacia trees with their bright yellow flowers filled with pollen populating all the mountain roadways.<p></p><p>Nothing ever stays the same, and Santa Cruz is quite changed. High rises downtown, houses on the ocean front threatened by erosion and high waves and also huge buildings on Mission Street. Of course I drove by some of my old houses there, including the one where I lived with my wife before our divorce. I drove by that one, too, and lo and behold, she was out front unloading groceries from her car. I didn't stop because I wasn't sure I'd be welcome. Subsequent texting informed me that I would be most welcome. We were trying to put something together when the news came that we had to change our flight and leave a day early. So, there you go. But it was comforting to know that she wouldn't be waiting for me at her front door with a shotgun. I supposed enough time (twelve. years) has gone by to soften and make fuzzy all the very bad things that happened.</p><p>It was fun spending time with the grandkids. They were lil' champions on this trip! Upbeat and cooperative. They had a great time going to the amusement park and the local aquarium. They loved seeing their cousins and friends.</p><p>Despite having to cut short an already short trip, it was indeed a sweet time with everyone.</p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03052375488090209961noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2963973022593930704.post-4859245645450684672024-02-20T18:06:00.000-08:002024-03-04T18:16:49.536-08:00Obituary, Draft #1<p>I want to write my own. Because, you know, I know my life best. And because I don't want my daughter to have to summarise it all. I'm not near dying, which is the best time to think about these things.</p><p>Born in 1957, the heyday of post war America, Tara was born to young and industrious parents, who would go on to provide a good life for their three daughters. Ann and Patrick Crowley did a pretty good job.</p><p>Tara lived throughout California, from San Diego to Sacramento. Her most memorable years were on the Monterey Peninsula and north in Santa Cruz. Here she gave birth to her daughter at age 30, a long awaited and most joyous birth.</p><p>Tara was a young go-getter, going to college at Monterey Peninsula College while working various part time jobs and volunteering as a DJ at a local Community Radio station, KAZU. This is where she met her first husband, and father of her child, Kevin Sean Cashen. They both moved to Santa Cruz for Tara to pursue a degree in Fine Art.</p><p>After the birth of her daughter, she worked at UC Santa Cruz for 23 years in various positions within the Student Affairs division. She survived the political tumult endemic to universities, until she'd had enough and took early retirement at 52 years of age. She worked briefly as a home health aide before providing care for her mother, who lived with Parkinson's Disease.</p><p>In 2020, Tara was predeceased my her husband, Dr. Steve D. Barbour. Upon his death she moved to northern Colorado to join her daughter and family.</p><p>Tara had many interests, including musicianship, writing, fine arts and photography. She was inspired by her great great Aunt Lou Goodale Bigelow, a pioneering photographer in the early 1900s. </p><p>Tara's life was graced with intimate, lifelong friendships, from a junior high school classmate to friends of her parents. This was her passion: the friends she made in life who shared values, passions, and their hearts over the decades.</p><p>Tara is survived by her daughter, Laurel Cashen Harris (Josh) and two grandchildren, Eden and Dylan.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03052375488090209961noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2963973022593930704.post-25077013918371686692024-01-06T13:09:00.000-08:002024-01-06T13:09:36.407-08:00Garden Song<p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Have you heard the song? </span></p><p><i><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;">Inch by inch, row by row</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;">Gonna make this garden grow</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;">All it takes is a rake and a hoe</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;">And a piece of fertile ground</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;">Inch by inch, row by row</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;">Someone bless these seeds I sow</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;">Someone warm them from below</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;">Till the rain comes tumblin' down</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;">Pullin' weeds and pickin' stones</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;">Man is made of dreams and bones</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;">Feel the need to grow my own</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;">'Cause the time is close at hand</span></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0jDzsZoRwsPQtoxWqIOsVLvIEoX_97WmpkSocDMQ_8JxMCnwMr-timFsuEPhiRkBhuHOiB3MYgEIKzqfYkjP7s2M46a9YDxq-k8pvY1e3r_J8jeBlpjWndN57jzVvaaN4DDiNBVzAlvAjKLM_G-DDrewviI5aHHeJey8HB02AV_tpkn5uDPGlHoFpKrE/s3088/IMG_8209.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2316" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0jDzsZoRwsPQtoxWqIOsVLvIEoX_97WmpkSocDMQ_8JxMCnwMr-timFsuEPhiRkBhuHOiB3MYgEIKzqfYkjP7s2M46a9YDxq-k8pvY1e3r_J8jeBlpjWndN57jzVvaaN4DDiNBVzAlvAjKLM_G-DDrewviI5aHHeJey8HB02AV_tpkn5uDPGlHoFpKrE/s320/IMG_8209.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I was surprised to hear it was written by John Denver. I always thought it was Pete Seeger. Nope.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">It's a new year, 2024, and while I don't make resolutions (who needs to be disappointed?) I do like to reflect. I'll be sixty seven this summer, which is an odd thing, and yet not. Like most of us, I feel to be much younger in my mind if not my body.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">It occurs to be that the years have been teaching me patience and self-love. I have overcome huge obstacles and know that, no matter what, I am resilient as hell.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I am moving along, reaching out and making new friends; enjoying activities however small. I don't venture too far from home these days. Mostly because I have a newish dog and don't want to leave her. Also because, although I do love people, paradoxically they annoy me no end. The thought of air travel is daunting. Have you seen the mess at the airports? A sea of humanity. No thanks for now.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I try to get friends from California to come to <i>me</i>. A couple did, and they contracted Covid while visiting their son before coming north to my place. Maybe caught it in the airport, we don't know. It was a miserable "vacation" for them, stuck in a hotel room and not well enough to fly home immediately. Though the peak of the pandemic is passed, I personally know many people who have been sick with it in the last few months. It's a miracle I haven't had it (knock on wood). Perhaps it's my religious adherence to booster shots and the fact that I don't hang out in large crowds of people.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">In case you missed it, this is the two year anniversary of the attempted coup in Washington D.C. 45's treachery is well known even though a third of the country refuses to acknowledge it. Liz Cheney's book, "Oath and Honour" is out but you know that die-hard MAGA folks are not going to read it. And so it goes.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">On a Zoom call this morning, I told my friends that I don't get too exercised over politics these days. I've been engaged over the decades and I'm laying it aside. Of course I observe, and talk with friends about it, but it is up to younger folks to step into the fray. I'm tired and<i> tired of it</i>.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I hope your holidays were what you wished for. Happy New Year, filled with peace and contentment, from me to you.</span></p><p><br /></p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03052375488090209961noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2963973022593930704.post-3469887947776032642023-08-20T11:07:00.004-07:002023-08-20T13:36:25.859-07:00Goings On in Northern Colorado<p>Gosh, but it's been a minute since I posted.</p><p>I've been consumed with my move, and adopting a new dog! The house is coming together - I moved in July 15 - and it's been exciting but exhausting. Some days just throwing my legs over to get out of bed was a chore. I'm getting a big return for all my efforts: a house that I love. Of course I had help from family and friends, for which I am extremely and eternally grateful. I know I said this when I moved to my condo four years ago, but THIS IS THE LAST TIME. I'm too old for this shit.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoZkLCxOmk3M1Sy9B61CNJRbYDwHevoi2YBA6avN9Gof7wOqrP9BgcFc_tDoRREEeYKJ3paW0Couty1DpSpRuBkhZ_EQrU5tfEf_-CFxRQiTOCsmFfH1WRvy1z9mUT2_SzfWf41qK8GAjEcofpmWSaq7uIrgpGTWlaYxoo_6vtyzMGj6yYnJKbFUNJjRY/s1160/cutie.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1160" data-original-width="787" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoZkLCxOmk3M1Sy9B61CNJRbYDwHevoi2YBA6avN9Gof7wOqrP9BgcFc_tDoRREEeYKJ3paW0Couty1DpSpRuBkhZ_EQrU5tfEf_-CFxRQiTOCsmFfH1WRvy1z9mUT2_SzfWf41qK8GAjEcofpmWSaq7uIrgpGTWlaYxoo_6vtyzMGj6yYnJKbFUNJjRY/s320/cutie.jpeg" width="217" /></a></div>My newest dog, Dori, is bringing great amounts of joy. I'm also getting used to young energy (she's 1 yr 3 mos) and some potty training issues. She's getting better, but sometimes I still find a turd (or two) tucked behind a chair or in the laundry room. Working on that.<p></p>How could I possibly get mad at this little girl? She's adorable. Lucy is getting along with her, and just in the last couple of days they share the dog bed. Lucy doesn't look thrilled being squished in there with Dori, but she's a good sport and tolerates it.<br /><p>They are both sleeping with me, under the covers. My main bedroom is in the basement, beautifully finished with a lux bathroom. It's cool down there which is perfect for the summer heat. I don't run the air conditioning much. It's fabulously chilly and I crawl into bed and pull the covers over me. No air required!</p><p>It's been fun decorating. Orange curtains, new rugs, and a couple of pieces of furniture refurbished by a friend of mine. This is her side business and I love her work. So far I've purchased two dressers and an ornate antique side table. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsM-eJ7W5hTULoiq4xF2dxsf-SKZyeCoqys50uCETJ6tdltq8bolVowmLHk9jxR6I3nU7yo8OZgGqQAMONzY7uQeGHbUZmvTFJzV6o5XPkzWSk1Ljx5XJyHCMK3mfod5KITksCN6aFO7BgM_yihuW5G3zh8wLxOQKezVVfUbLxsiAzFeBOSEmIXcxSgAY/s1547/living%20room.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1160" data-original-width="1547" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsM-eJ7W5hTULoiq4xF2dxsf-SKZyeCoqys50uCETJ6tdltq8bolVowmLHk9jxR6I3nU7yo8OZgGqQAMONzY7uQeGHbUZmvTFJzV6o5XPkzWSk1Ljx5XJyHCMK3mfod5KITksCN6aFO7BgM_yihuW5G3zh8wLxOQKezVVfUbLxsiAzFeBOSEmIXcxSgAY/s320/living%20room.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheL0rOHKcMm_VSCMN6-ZWiAWPZjwCZwWFC2RvglcrH9QiTyAo5v5-E2R-sLt9tLDgORE1v1uG0I3YhSJKYJFHkaFQ7pSQCia8fy3S9XSD20pkvX1xaXlpKH4B4EWfA2DKClcZkhhOj7-B0FnxEwm51nJwjHfQGXC2KWgHynDWG6Ab2j3a8suEzh7OfjmY/s4032/patio.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheL0rOHKcMm_VSCMN6-ZWiAWPZjwCZwWFC2RvglcrH9QiTyAo5v5-E2R-sLt9tLDgORE1v1uG0I3YhSJKYJFHkaFQ7pSQCia8fy3S9XSD20pkvX1xaXlpKH4B4EWfA2DKClcZkhhOj7-B0FnxEwm51nJwjHfQGXC2KWgHynDWG6Ab2j3a8suEzh7OfjmY/s320/patio.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>So that's how it has been going. I don't read blogs much anymore. I don't expect that people will read mine. Gone are my days of excited posting that I kept up for over a decade. I only have so much energy. Only so much space in my brain.</p><p>Thanks for stopping by.</p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03052375488090209961noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2963973022593930704.post-37645325729739948052023-05-22T21:25:00.001-07:002023-05-22T21:25:54.254-07:00Magic and the Passing of Time<p>Just about a year ago now, I was headed for a fall. I had my bariatric by-pass surgery and was hoping to shed a lot of unwanted pounds and begin a whole new way of eating and relating to food. Not to mention moving through the world with a lot less weight on my bones.</p><p>Despite high hopes, and following doctor's orders, I would suffer from an ulcer in my stomach instead, and after not eating for almost 2 months (seriously) I was rushed to the hospital with a severe bleed in my stomach. Surgery and a long recovery that seemed endless, I couldn't possibly know that a year after my release from rehab in July, I would be moving to a new house! Selling my little condo and buying a 2 story home with room for overnight guests. I hope to fill those guest rooms with, well, guests! </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9CZe-xvayZeEL8V1qnPRkEwAMz50kDYjFTLDkMcoNkhlYM-n2YbcQrQ6L6OOeUf8wlit3vZKlmo4CPR0mR09hXKhPkGkvZcBOj5gtYDX-7D2RNFG7_1hzP-gLIUDPCJSdWalTwinttuZ4d6mfNnWOEimbGwc-un2SIgyFIM8PvsI8J6RwnNe1xoh_/s4032/IMG-7422.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9CZe-xvayZeEL8V1qnPRkEwAMz50kDYjFTLDkMcoNkhlYM-n2YbcQrQ6L6OOeUf8wlit3vZKlmo4CPR0mR09hXKhPkGkvZcBOj5gtYDX-7D2RNFG7_1hzP-gLIUDPCJSdWalTwinttuZ4d6mfNnWOEimbGwc-un2SIgyFIM8PvsI8J6RwnNe1xoh_/s320/IMG-7422.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>I truly thought my condo, sweet little space that it has been, would be my last home. I was hoping the traffic noise out the back, and the train whistle several times a day would fade into the background. But they did not. I love my dear neighbours and will be sad not to be a few steps away from them, but the noise is driving me nuts.<p></p><p>I decided to call my former realtor and ask her to work with me. I wasn't necessarily prepared to buy right away, but I thought I would look around and see what the market was doing.</p><p>Suffice it to say we saw a lot of sub-par properties that cost a lot of money. I had the insane notion of looking at homes near our city's Old Town, which I knew would be pricey but I wanted to look anyway. It was a great awakening and it led me to look in other areas close to Old Town but not <i>in</i> Old Town.</p><p>This lovely 2 story farm style house was by far the best property I saw. I put in an offer and I knew there would be multiple people vying for the same home. I didn't hope too much, so I was shocked when my offer was selected! The big advantage of my offer is that I would assume the mortgage after a fairly quick escrow and let the seller (now my tenant) stay in the home until July. I'm in no rush to get out of my condo, so I could do this. I wasn't the highest bidder, but this consideration to the seller was what sealed the deal.</p><p>I put my condo on the market last Friday and on Sunday we (Shawna, my realtor and I) were entertaining two offers. Both cash. One higher but they wanted to assume the mortgage after closing and have me pay rent. I didn't like the paying rent part. So we negotiated on that and they gave me the same deal I gave my seller. </p><p>A good real estate agent is worth their weight in gold. The financial and legal considerations are many and complex. Shawna keeps me from doing a primal scream a couple of times a day. I don't know how she manages this business. 7 days a week, late nights and early mornings. You've got to love the work because it demands a lot from you.</p><p>My daughter is concerned that I'm going from a one-story to a two-story (with a finished basement to boot), especially at my age. I thought a lot about this, and decided that perhaps going up and down stairs would aid in keeping me fit. I might be delusional, but time will tell. It's a lovely house with lots of light and a fenced back yard for Lucy. After she adjusts to the move, my plan is do adopt another dog. That's something I couldn't do in my condo neighbourhood due to pet restrictions. I love the thought of another dog hanging out with us. An older dog, no puppies for me!</p><p>Unbelievably enough, after a year of languishing and feeling pretty damned depressed about it, buying a new home has given me a sense of purpose that I've been lacking. Another gift from my dearly departed parents, the ability to buy a stand alone single family home all by myself. I hope they know how happy I am. I wish I could call them on the phone and tell them all about it. Perhaps, wherever they are, they <i>do</i> know.</p><p><br /><br /></p><p><br /></p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03052375488090209961noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2963973022593930704.post-41686622751182012052023-03-13T12:55:00.003-07:002023-03-13T12:55:58.437-07:00Can You Go Home Again?<p>In 1977 and 1978, my first husband and I lived in a 560 square foot cottage in a picture perfect beach town in California. It was a great little cottage, but built for summer use only with no insulation whatsoever. We left it when I went off to college in Santa Cruz.</p><p>I came across our wedding invitation while sorting old paperwork, and there was the address for RSVPs. I looked it up and <i>there it was! </i> Cleaned up, inside and out. My mind immediately began trippin' on renting it again for a vacation home. Nostalgia? A longing for my old life? A practical solution to my desire to return to the area for parts of the year? Yes, all. What would it be like to live there and spend time in the area as my senior self instead of my twenty year old self? It's still listed as a rental, not for sale. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKKGMQWDJ5ENbrhEBmaV2Wz2b4YefMENUqnzMG3lBTQx3si6Q_oqbv20Qe2o2WgHQlqSp7UbKDdALi9qE7QzElRTJ0USSyn_3dHvpmziWh7h4_PVisBHcLS6sa4M5Mx88MumIhh57ce6QnYUfGCgFKRNLZvkJpwcjIeiucjlaGSw4iqtMt40RPBbTN/s665/streetview.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="441" data-original-width="665" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKKGMQWDJ5ENbrhEBmaV2Wz2b4YefMENUqnzMG3lBTQx3si6Q_oqbv20Qe2o2WgHQlqSp7UbKDdALi9qE7QzElRTJ0USSyn_3dHvpmziWh7h4_PVisBHcLS6sa4M5Mx88MumIhh57ce6QnYUfGCgFKRNLZvkJpwcjIeiucjlaGSw4iqtMt40RPBbTN/s320/streetview.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>The concept of time is a very strange one. Emotionally, I can be back in 1977 in the blink of an eye. Naive, frightened of adult life, clinging to a husband who was not a very good match. I had delusions of grandeur that were never fulfilled. I could also feel suicidal. I think I'd like to go back now because I feel stable, and <i>okay</i>, and would like to envelope my old self with compassion and a new appreciation of life.<p></p><p>My last therapy session was about self-compassion, and then I spent several days in a funk. So much for intentions. Today, at last, I feel I am coming out of it, ready to join the world again. </p><p>It may be unrealistic to expect this cottage to be available, but I would like it if it were. I'd like to spend the better part of a year there and seeing it with new eyes. It might be good therapy. Old homes can have such poignant memories, and this one does for me.</p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03052375488090209961noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2963973022593930704.post-60635611491039013882023-03-01T19:01:00.008-08:002023-03-02T04:36:09.680-08:00Drugs, Secret Crushes and a New CareerAfter my last drug assisted therapy session, my doctor advised me to go home and journal. I took a long nap, par for the course after one of these treatments. I woke up and a stand-up skit was running through my brain. I recorded it so I wouldn't lose it. So here it is, I'm going to 'workshop' it here with you now.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3Q4MLmV0IB53-kN545yeO2OTtH9uz9_AN1oUOAtcll3aUrvfzN086gypDqOtoyb772peDGNXl3v5wHAX2UtblNvSpxUQ4JB-8v3jLO8vAHvgfLnti_3ly7D2pVLZZoUuTFPFyeNIsHcY18WKXowgECNLn5N6PJF436o5ldiwMYw5G7XgcJ22c6lHm/s1440/Marc.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3Q4MLmV0IB53-kN545yeO2OTtH9uz9_AN1oUOAtcll3aUrvfzN086gypDqOtoyb772peDGNXl3v5wHAX2UtblNvSpxUQ4JB-8v3jLO8vAHvgfLnti_3ly7D2pVLZZoUuTFPFyeNIsHcY18WKXowgECNLn5N6PJF436o5ldiwMYw5G7XgcJ22c6lHm/s320/Marc.jpg" /></a></div>
So, my secret crush (don't tell anyone) is comedian Marc Maron. It's more than a crush, really. He should be my life partner, but we don't run in the same circles, so, that's a little tough. I could stalk him but tht could get a little, uh, well, it could mean jail time and I'm too old for jail. Unless of course I ran out all my money. Then, sure, let the state take care of me. I might even get a little sex out of it. But think about it, who wants sex at my age? I mean, god, the last time I saw my libido it was walking out the front door, turned and yelled, "I'm going for some smokes!" You know the drill. It's always milk, or bread, or cigarettes. They never came back. That was that. End of story. />
But recently I signed up for a match making service, which is kind of odd since I don't really want to fuck anybody. But sure, it would be nice to have that special someone to... fight with over how to load a dishwasher or about how much sex we are or are not having, or why he leaves his underwear on the floor or why I want so much 'alone time.' But pillow talk, yeah, pillow talk, now that would be nice. Then we'd go to sleep and I'd drive him out of the room. I snore like Mt. Visuvias. I have what they call 'sleep apenea.' They say it really messes with your heart and could lead to stroke. I have, however, other things going on that are likely to lead to stroke (and have done so) so I'm not that worried. <div><br /></div><div>So far all the men have been annoying. I might switch back to women if this whole 'man thing' doesn't work out. Women are, and I'm just being honest here, are just as difficult as men. I've been married four times: twice to men and twice to women. I'm an equal opportunity serial monogomist. My paternal grandmother was married FIVE TIMES, so I'm on my way to tying, or even beating (God willing) her record. I'm not there yet, but I'm giving it my best shot. "Hey grandma, I'm trying my best! Thank you for giving me something to aspire to!"</div><div><br /></div><div>So, back to Marc. Since I don't want to creep him out by stalking him, I figured I'd take the <i>MUCH EASIER WAY</i> and become a stand-up comedian. Right? So, if I'm on the circut, I stand a much better chance of running into him, or having him hear about my bit. He'd want to check me out then, right? Doesn't matter that I've never ever wanted this career path, EVER. <div><br /></div><div> I'll do it for Marc. That's how deep my love goes. ---End scene.---
</div></div>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03052375488090209961noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2963973022593930704.post-41657160639437172712023-02-22T14:14:00.000-08:002023-02-22T14:14:10.342-08:00What A Long Strange Trip it's BeenI just caught up with the season premire of "Last Week Tonight" with John Oliver. Much to my surprise, his main story was about psychadelic assisted therapy. If you have not seen Michael Polan's series on the same subject, "How to Change Your Mind," I highly recommend it. Humans have lived with, and benefitted from, mind alerting substance since...well, time began.
When the U.S. government put the brakes on LSD and Mushroom therapy in the 1970s (FU Richard Nixon) , all the reseach was halted. Now, many veterans of war are benifitting from this therapy in order to cure their PTSD symptoms. Last election cycle in Colorado, we voted to end the criminalization of these substances and the therapudic community is now using various kinds of drugs to assist in therapy for PTSD, depression, alcohoism and the like.
I've been participating this assisted therapy for a few sessions now. Each session is very different from the other, and each time there are new insights and surprises. I trust my doctor very much, which is essential when you are this vulnerable. And vulneraable you are during these 'trips.' I used pyschadelics as an older teen, and used them in a conscious way to explore my mind and spirit, to great effect. That's one of the reasons I feel comfortable revisiting this kind of experience. I can't imagine doing this without my prior experiece. What do you do when you find yourself floating in the blackness of space? You go with it, and it leads you to a different space; maybe a tunnel or a series of shapes and colors. Most times I don't know if I'm upside down or still in the reclining chair in my doc's office. It's a true out of body experience. Much more powerful than any LSD I ever took. I'm hoping these sessions will help me shake my persistant depression, which has become much worse in the Covid world, and after the deaths of loved ones. Time will tell I suppose.
Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03052375488090209961noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2963973022593930704.post-79490338107817091352023-02-13T21:11:00.001-08:002023-02-13T21:11:15.283-08:00Of Children and Parents<p>I love David Sedaris. I've seen him read three times, and have read most of his books. There's a good interview with him in <a href="https://tricycle.org/article/david-sedaris/?fbclid=IwAR0Rjsa_4kpX5B_uacJB4tXlu9MoaHHHs3H9Mf7o8BqhXHTyXsHd_A5SZww" target="_blank">Tricycle</a>. His father died in 2021. Mine in 2022. David and I are six months apart in age. We both had fathers who were assholes, and devotees of Fox so-called News. The programming on that channel taped into and amplified their natural tendency to rage against the world. When David's father became ill with Alzheimers, he didn't watch t.v. anymore. He also became a sweet, chipper old dude. Alzheimers can really change a person's <i>personality</i> (either good or bad). My mother had Parkinson's dementia, which changed her into a very sweet and demonstrative person. She had never been that way to her children before. I know she was with various friends, but never with us.</p><p>David's father wrote him out of his will. What a rotten thing to do. My grandparents wrote my mother out of their will and left her a small token amount so that the will could not be contested. She never cashed the check. She signed it over to my sister and asked that it be donated to charity. Not one of her four siblings stepped forward to make it right. God knows David needs no additional money; he's plenty rich. But I hope his siblings made things right. </p><p>My parents were generous and even-handed in their will. Split three ways between their three children. Easy peasy. Those of us who had loans with my parents had the balance deducted from our share. My mother was a genius at penny pinching, saving money and investments. Left to his own devices, my father would have bought a new sports car every year. Thank you, mom. You left your children well taken care of. Financially.</p><p>I wonder if the hurts we held onto during their lives will ever leave us? Dad's narcissism and mom's coldness. None of us felt the love and support that we craved. We had food in our bellies and shoes o our feet, and always a nice home to live in. Never, however, parental involvement in the things we did and wanted to do. Self-involved, they were. There are worse things, of course. But these were the deficits we lived with and still sometimes grapple with.</p><p>With the interment of their ashes last month, we completed the circle of their lives and of our duty to them. Now it's onward to figure out how we want the rest of our years to be. I find this whole business of living to be very strange.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEip61SEsBxJe03hfIbHdCSrUa1c7BWF3_rzGIRmErQum8tZJhvrC8dZLKfPooKgEOg2lZvXmkCk9TRI3fmWEtUSGo5YPyxjP5UsrkVpk8RSGnqAgbB6gjKzgE_dvfMsRkPXCYQOVWZ7LN0g2zg3Xsiy5Xlx6wH_R1mf5HYvirVOcOUJRfTAi5cY--H4" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2166" data-original-width="2450" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEip61SEsBxJe03hfIbHdCSrUa1c7BWF3_rzGIRmErQum8tZJhvrC8dZLKfPooKgEOg2lZvXmkCk9TRI3fmWEtUSGo5YPyxjP5UsrkVpk8RSGnqAgbB6gjKzgE_dvfMsRkPXCYQOVWZ7LN0g2zg3Xsiy5Xlx6wH_R1mf5HYvirVOcOUJRfTAi5cY--H4" width="271" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03052375488090209961noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2963973022593930704.post-54400135343662355262023-01-14T10:20:00.003-08:002023-01-14T10:20:34.389-08:00Not My Cup of Tea<p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVU2Poo97XDizTvBjSPSYwOhLmvH_USzf3y2fTuUr-fCVmel7Y3wOn5TAupca0DaBMKL_mRjsDzD5re1cg4hTUKLIMpHzQlBScgnfJL27B7Be8LxNYFuCEKmJQ47dqc9bdyC7HpZMrsfQmO9XXdSOM4AYkWEEWsuPsaZpZdGF2iAxHQtxmMVbx6k5J/s1024/stalker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVU2Poo97XDizTvBjSPSYwOhLmvH_USzf3y2fTuUr-fCVmel7Y3wOn5TAupca0DaBMKL_mRjsDzD5re1cg4hTUKLIMpHzQlBScgnfJL27B7Be8LxNYFuCEKmJQ47dqc9bdyC7HpZMrsfQmO9XXdSOM4AYkWEEWsuPsaZpZdGF2iAxHQtxmMVbx6k5J/s320/stalker.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Really?</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />I must be a crazy old lady to have signed up for an on-line dating site. Two of them: Silver Singles and Zoosk. It has been an enlightening experience, shall we say....</p><p>I don't know what got hold of my mind, as I've been quite content being single. As I began to come out of the doldrums of the pandemic lockdowns and my own, unrelated, near death experience, I saw the world anew, full of possibility. "Why not?" I asked. So I did.</p><p>There are plenty of con men on-line, and both my sites have already notified me that they pulled a member because of suspicious activity. Yikes. There are also warnings about not giving people money and/or bank account information. <i>Who would do that?!</i></p><p>I have a brunch date tomorrow with a man I've talked to on the phone multiple times. We never run out of topics and we have many common interests. However, I am approaching this with extreme caution. Neutral location, no last names, yada yada. I'm also clear that whomever I meet I want to take it very slowly. I'm looking for a friend who might end up being a partner. I'm also clear I don't want to marry, and I really enjoy living alone, so they'd have to be okay with that.</p><p>Yesterday I canceled one of the sites because I just wasn't see any good candidates. I may do the same with the other. What I did do was contact a match making service. A friend of mine recently had very good luck with a service, and so I have taken the plunge. The advantages are 1,) screening and background checks 2.) a deep dive into each person in order to find a good match 3.) no need to scroll through websites every few days on a search.</p><p>This whole process may lead me to understand that I am, indeed, happy to be on my own. If that is the case, so be it. I read an article in the NYT this week that said, statistically, people who have lots of friends, or a few really good friends, have fewer risks of stroke, heart attack and other maladies. I've read similar studies before. Even more than romantic attachment, friendships are the stuff of a good and happy life. In that regard, I am wealthy beyond measure.</p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03052375488090209961noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2963973022593930704.post-62526746529489016242022-12-07T21:35:00.001-08:002022-12-07T21:35:06.701-08:00Supernova<p>I watched this beautiful film today. I love Stanley Tucci and Colin Firth, so this 2020 film was a natural for me. It deals with some pretty rough topics and I had strong reactions to the characters motivations. It's a complex story about love, living with memory loss (dementia and or Alzheimers), what it means to be human and in control of your destiny. The couple are adorable, and obviously have been together for a long time. Excellent acting, here. Each represents a realistic view of what they want to have happen as one of them declines. And they are different. Much like Steve and me, the man in decline makes key decisions that will mean the end of their relationship, and the other man fights back at this, imploring his husband to let him be there for him, come thick and thin, to the end. It was, for me, a very familiar conundrum. A painful one.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/I4Vk0CVcDts" width="320" youtube-src-id="I4Vk0CVcDts"></iframe></div><br /><p></p><p>When Steve asked me to leave and let him die alone, I was mostly very PISSED OFF. How dare he make this decision for the both of us.? I wasn't able to find my compassion until the very end, spending his last week with him in nursing care. It was only then I really understood what he wanted to shield me from. Still didn't like it, but I understood and forgave. So, yes, this movie really affected me (triggered, as the young folks say). Carthartic for me to see this film.</p><p>Next month will be three years since Steve left us. It seems like just yesterday and it also seems an eternity. I am more able now to remember the good times and what fun we had together. That's a blessing.</p><p>So, if you're up for a really good film that gets emotionally tough but has resolution, Supernova is for you. If you have film favorites you'd like to share, please do!</p><p><br /></p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03052375488090209961noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2963973022593930704.post-37737928087379786542022-11-11T18:15:00.002-08:002022-11-11T18:15:24.409-08:00Breathe<p>I'm sure I am not the only one that is happy that the midterm elections are over. Of course I'm gratified there was not a red wave, but I'm really relieved that my mail box and email are not flooded with political advertising and requests for donations. I just toss them in the trash and delete them, wholesale, from my email inbox. What a bother.</p><p>I voted early in Colorado. It's such a great system: I study the issues at home and while sitting at the kitchen table, mark my ballot. So sensible. I'm past the point in my life where I want to stand in line. I enjoy voting in the comfort of my home. Especially while the chicken roasts in the oven, infusing the house with the scent of Herbs de Provence. Lucy enjoys the organ meats, sautéed in a bit of Irish butter. I tried a bit of the liver. <i>Yuck</i>. I've made pate with chicken livers, but of course there's a ton of butter and a bit of cognac in there as well.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoDzmw31d-AKa4Qh21aGmbnAKYDrIL0V2-CXUzZDLxQTWCU6prRNBOFPfo0Eb8_MV1KaJHH1YGzaRy-C6xAHvzieByuggMeDuQet2wcnayCq_JjQcTI3d2isLjF_GCX-Kw9VISOQAZSn-5BVT_X87j7HpJvc5bsZyWx4YHmTHzeuIh4cimnujXUy_r/s4032/unnamed-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoDzmw31d-AKa4Qh21aGmbnAKYDrIL0V2-CXUzZDLxQTWCU6prRNBOFPfo0Eb8_MV1KaJHH1YGzaRy-C6xAHvzieByuggMeDuQet2wcnayCq_JjQcTI3d2isLjF_GCX-Kw9VISOQAZSn-5BVT_X87j7HpJvc5bsZyWx4YHmTHzeuIh4cimnujXUy_r/s320/unnamed-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>My antique sideboard arrived from Illinois today. I took a bit of a risk buying on line, but the seller has many excellent reviews. I like the way it looks with my parents' grandfather clock. It sits below the rug I acquired in Morocco. My decor is a bit eclectic, mixing modern with antique, art made by friends and new additions from my parents' collection. I just mix and match as I come into possession of something, There's never a grand plan. (Kind of like my wardrobe.)<div>That large light colored donut thing is Lucy's bed, which she adores. Most pampered chihuahua on the planet, she is.</div><div><br /></div><div>The temperature has dropped considerably. It was 39 F when I went to pick up groceries at 3 p.m. I hadn't dressed appropriately and completely forgot gloves, so I was one chilly popsicle. When I returned home, I unloaded and then turned on the gas fireplace. I huddled next to it. Lesson learned. The weather is completely bizarro across the globe, and while I would normally be prepared in November in Colorado, so many friends have been reporting high temps that I completely forgot. Someday I think I will find warm places to go between January and March. I did the opposite of snowbirding when I moved to snow country three years ago. It's the power and the pull of grand children, don't you know?</div><div><br /></div><div>I hope that you, too, are relieved that the elections are (mostly) over. We may breath again. For awhile.<br /><p><br /></p></div>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03052375488090209961noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2963973022593930704.post-61613134101370183292022-10-24T16:33:00.002-07:002022-10-24T16:33:39.986-07:00The Circle Game<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBI-Sz9bKKsdTiXB8_G_KWHIbty1_ZOC-KCcfgGur8xY4pcVFpVXYG0Lb5WA9WE03yW0GwyAucqHRfBFeWUvwFQs7G09JUjxOzDs55kLvN_IV6RcVdVmXr9NuTJMz_5tjDHS_dhh0PD9bjJl_Jx7pVVoud6KDwKb2MyvXQShck1oqgnOy94pKSpG5d/s960/Mom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">c</a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7SIB4iO7_MnKigki0Re8AUl2bIcqwkGdYj4YOkFN5wzIJV2fl920TumvSsXq7LCOiiwfGu_nF_C-qOziDmYitCXvnNonEroFuol1ND6uAvc2JtqWA1l8GIutviioapkb_v7yEaw9P-0nLBGLytpNsErjq9B4tZjPICm9Jx1r32g4lUJkGTGpw_f6l/s960/sixteen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7SIB4iO7_MnKigki0Re8AUl2bIcqwkGdYj4YOkFN5wzIJV2fl920TumvSsXq7LCOiiwfGu_nF_C-qOziDmYitCXvnNonEroFuol1ND6uAvc2JtqWA1l8GIutviioapkb_v7yEaw9P-0nLBGLytpNsErjq9B4tZjPICm9Jx1r32g4lUJkGTGpw_f6l/s320/sixteen.jpg" width="240" /></a></div></div>I continue to sort through boxes from my parents' house. Slowly, I am making headway. A large box, full of binders, has travel mementos from their trips abroad, including Australia, Hungry, France and the South Seas. They had a very good traveling life that lasted for a couple of decades. Very few personal photos in these binders, but I look through all of them so I don't miss any gems. Then they go in the trash. I doubt that even my parents looked at these binders over the last 30 years. The receipts for hotel rooms or cups of tea mean nothing to me. Occasionally there will be a photo of them together, and I save those.<p></p><p>I found this photo of me when I was sixteen. My dad took it at our house in Carmel. The sea shell necklace was made by a boyfriend, who dropped me at the end of a summer romance because I wouldn't 'sleep' with me. I didn't feel ready and I stuck to my guns. He didn't want to wait. Oh, hormones.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjji2nOg_V3yxe2n7l6sN4hzi4O8WKbF_G0j0X3wDOSVGhNz9FfXUbKvo2smGQKpuoKAgkDfOUg5MnWttXNfHmRZaBun2GxxWJz-msHx3LUxtskYJtOsLl_lv4zKqmAk-k89HalApO5wxgF9pupa9TEZBTDrNHdfg5fi9KPUfHX0RsLFkGo_zo4BflX/s960/Mom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjji2nOg_V3yxe2n7l6sN4hzi4O8WKbF_G0j0X3wDOSVGhNz9FfXUbKvo2smGQKpuoKAgkDfOUg5MnWttXNfHmRZaBun2GxxWJz-msHx3LUxtskYJtOsLl_lv4zKqmAk-k89HalApO5wxgF9pupa9TEZBTDrNHdfg5fi9KPUfHX0RsLFkGo_zo4BflX/s320/Mom.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p>This photo is my mother in 1960, when she was twenty-five. They already had three children by then. We were living on Rio Road, just down the street from the Carmel Mission. </p><p>I forget how beautiful she was. The last twenty years of life were hard on her. Parkinson's is a terribly cruel disease. She had beautiful handwriting which deteriorated significantly. She loved to read books, making regular trips to the library all throughout my childhood. Her eyesight failed her for her last decade and that delightful past time was lost to her. It helps me to remember that she once was young and strong and led an interesting life. She had smarts, and talent, and being a young mother in the 1960s was restrictive. She took the traditional role of wife and mother, and wasn't always very happy about it. They played bridge with friends, took us kids on a lot of field trips, and did a fine job overall even though they were excessively young. </p><p>Going through all these old photos makes my mind reel a bit. Have all those years really flown by so quickly? Still many boxes to go, and who knows what other gems I will find.</p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03052375488090209961noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2963973022593930704.post-68730351400640799482022-10-22T23:55:00.001-07:002022-10-22T23:55:22.860-07:00Somebody Feed ME<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBZWWclzOTLrA20g4rXIkF79QXJpd9BX6Jc7xs8eraeOOA6anRSmVehzRwyu18RY0uzCC6qvD-ce3UgqNkenTyaMDitBj0Cn7rykURPI-LyLQyDu61B_asdzbkxSYiuU-npOvkHAJZkeRkDE9YfDp7MjRIjyzQOtutd3EEYgJ1Z84DBCk91uS5BKyI/s960/pile%20of%20leaves.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="349" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBZWWclzOTLrA20g4rXIkF79QXJpd9BX6Jc7xs8eraeOOA6anRSmVehzRwyu18RY0uzCC6qvD-ce3UgqNkenTyaMDitBj0Cn7rykURPI-LyLQyDu61B_asdzbkxSYiuU-npOvkHAJZkeRkDE9YfDp7MjRIjyzQOtutd3EEYgJ1Z84DBCk91uS5BKyI/w262-h349/pile%20of%20leaves.jpg" width="262" /></a></div>Yesterday it was raining leaves all over my street. Bright yellow leaves catching the sun as they dropped to the ground. A neighbor and I sat on her patio and watched the show. I tried, but did not get, a good video. Today I watched as another neighbor's grandkids raked a huge pile of the things. I waited for the gleeful shouts of kids as the dove into that pile, but no, the pile still remains. What's wrong with those kids?! Turns out, <i>nothing</i>. I watched them later, along with their grandparents as they dove into the pile and then raked again.<div><br /></div><div>Today, a big wind blew most of the leaves off most of the trees. Leaves are piled high on my front patio, and I wonder when the landscape company will come to clear them up. I cleared a path for Lucy, who dislikes leaves almost as much as she dislikes snow.</div><div><br /></div><div>We've had a few days in the high seventies, but rumor has it we're in for a cold night and lower temps for the next few days. I'm watching the national weather, and some people are getting snowed on while others bake. I watched a news story about how low the mighty Mississippi is now. It's disrupting cargo ships from getting through at certain points. This is happening to rivers all over the world. So much for a river cruise.</div><div><br /></div><div>I continue to feel better and better; getting out into the world and enjoying it immensely. I went to a taco joint that my son in law recommended, and had lovely carnitas and pork belly tacos with a delicious margarita. Very nice staff, all very young, and I sat at the counter and enjoyed their company. Those tacos were perfectly succulent and satisfying. I <i>will</i> be going back. The Netflix show, "Somebody Feed Phil" has got me excited about Mexican, Tex-Mex and BBQ foods again. My appetite is back! I bought his book and it arrived today. I doubt I will cook from it because I'm not cooking much anymore, but maybe someday I'll get my mojo back. How great of a job does Phil have? Traveling and eating great food! It's a true 'feel good' program, and if you like food and feeling good, this is the show for you.</div><div><br /></div><div>Off to Boulder tomorrow to meet up with friends and have a lunch at their country club. The club has a great view, and perhaps some lingering fall color. Cross yer fingers.<br /><p></p><br /><p><br /></p></div>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03052375488090209961noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2963973022593930704.post-1192034408051269122022-09-25T20:00:00.003-07:002022-09-25T20:00:55.149-07:00Turning the Corner<p>Whoeee, boys and girls, I do believe I've turned a corner. About 10 days ago I had a really really good day full of energy and a zest for living. I thought, "I'm feeling like the old me again!" Then it happened the next day, and the next. I had a few days in there where energy disappeared again, but it came back. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkpr6lnhemdOrI1hXUO4GXuSYmtczSpAJ467N24zPx-o6YIPKZgl56v7JpyhO4N9QoPEwQM48DBXdCf2v3Txd07QTt97Aq6Q4D147D6KIf7KbOXVqkgYyWRsB3G7A2NDRZ325bnymeUDloqDAAU7beaUOfIOJYq-_yn-cXSXK-9rgmGwzvg9pmGeHc/s960/floor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkpr6lnhemdOrI1hXUO4GXuSYmtczSpAJ467N24zPx-o6YIPKZgl56v7JpyhO4N9QoPEwQM48DBXdCf2v3Txd07QTt97Aq6Q4D147D6KIf7KbOXVqkgYyWRsB3G7A2NDRZ325bnymeUDloqDAAU7beaUOfIOJYq-_yn-cXSXK-9rgmGwzvg9pmGeHc/s320/floor.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The week was busy with getting my new flooring installed in the living room. Wednesday the movers came to move the furniture into the garage. Thursday the carpet was removed and new flooring put in. Friday the movers came back and did the job in reverse. Saturday another mover showed up to deliver things from my parents' house, including a grandfather clock. I didn't plan it that way, I just knew I wanted to get the flooring in before the clock arrived. The universe provided the impeccable timing. I'm extremely happy with the flooring, as that poor rug just kept greeting me with new stains from gawd knows where. Some were created by Lucy, but others were a complete mystery. My only complaint about the job was the tile dust that spread throughout the house when the tile was being cut into and removed. No sheeting was put up between the living room and the kitchen/eating area and so everything was covered with fine, almost volcanic, dust.<br /><p></p><p>Friday night I went to see a favorite comedian of mine, Marc Maron. I love his east coast, sometimes dark, very honest, Jewishness and the lens he sees the world with. He brought his A game and I laughed so much I almost lost my breath. I had a dynamite seat, stage left, about 5 rows back. I would love to meet him and become friends. I don't imagine that will ever happen, but I'd love it if it did.</p><p>The next day I packed up the car and my little Lucy, and headed down to Boulder to have dinner and an overnight with friends. It was a great evening, and B pulled out all the stops on his dinner menu. Much wine was consumed for a change, and then we watched the new Elvis biopic on HBOmax. Well done movie and the acting was superb. Never a fan of Elvis, but this movie was compelling and made me care.</p><p>I went to brunch with my friends this morning at a little inn in the mountains. I drive by it when I come to Boulder, and have always wondered what it was like. Now I know. Built in the late 1800s when the area had a gold rush, it has been many things, and now finally, a restaurant and event center.</p><p>I arrived home around 3:00 this afternoon, and after unloading the car, took a nap and slept deeply. I was so tired I didn't want to get up to have some dinner. But, as many diabetics know, it's important to eat on schedule to maintain blood sugars, so I forced myself up and had mushroom risotto with some green beans. Yum.</p><p>I'm hitting the sack at 9:00 pm and hope to wake up tomorrow with some energy. I have a lot of boxes to unpack. I'll have to figure out where I have room for things (or not). It's a little odd to see my parents clock in my living room. They got it in 1975, and it's been a feature in their living room ever since. I'm glad to have it as it brings back good memories.</p><p>So, this return of energy? I know it was a process, but when it really kicked into high gear, if felt as if a switch had been flipped. I looked at the world anew. I still am looking at everything with fresh eyes. It's the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.</p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03052375488090209961noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2963973022593930704.post-2323811659581772982022-08-17T00:06:00.001-07:002022-08-17T00:06:49.405-07:00Self Acceptance<p><span style="color: #050505; font-family: inherit;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">A certain amount of life-review is going on with me. Suppose it is the culmination of the events of the past three years and my recent near death debacle. When I think about when I was most happy over the </span></span><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">last decade, it was when Steve and I bought our house and, days later, married. I felt settled, content and satisfied that my life had come to this. My parents liked my husband -- a new experience for me! Husband number one - nope. Wife number one - definitely nope.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #050505;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #050505;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFHS_TE8DC6VAwX46Gpa_d4Snxzh0zA-GKa9HocY6w_CDqkhleANE7iGsjpWpDq3dhR0GYUKWOMs_YQhgvTLvMnuWHCFn40bCO2Km0GW_9OWm7vJzRWrCjH46o8FyLHVs8uI_qgLDh6I7bkvTVlFsib0qtctEzJcr7YMlxoodJqfYpO9I98-xA6gjP/s2048/11875029_1023773440990385_6269689513258309460_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1530" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFHS_TE8DC6VAwX46Gpa_d4Snxzh0zA-GKa9HocY6w_CDqkhleANE7iGsjpWpDq3dhR0GYUKWOMs_YQhgvTLvMnuWHCFn40bCO2Km0GW_9OWm7vJzRWrCjH46o8FyLHVs8uI_qgLDh6I7bkvTVlFsib0qtctEzJcr7YMlxoodJqfYpO9I98-xA6gjP/w320-h240/11875029_1023773440990385_6269689513258309460_o.jpg" title="Morning in the backyard when all was well." width="320" /></a></span></div><p><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="color: #050505;">Finally, here I was with a spouse that I could take to my parents' home; we socialized together, drank martinis and became silly together. And Steve adored my mother. I loved my new home and the lovely park like lot it sat on. I had a hammock out front -- my "Happy Place," I called it.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="color: #050505;">When Steve's Parkinson's became worse, it was clear that we needed to move to a place where he could be cared for as his disease progressed. We sold our much loved house only a few years after we moved in. It was the move from hell. Steve was no help at all, and that was only partially due to PD. I carried the load on this one. And it pissed me off. Then I felt guilty for my anger towards him. After all, he was <i>ill.</i> </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="color: #050505;">The next couple of years were a blur for many reasons, both his and mine. I think about what I could have done differently and feel bad about the times I did not rise to the </span>occasion.</span></p><p><span style="color: #050505;">I carry 'guilt' not only for those times, but previous relationships as well. I am hard on myself. I am working on this. This quote came across my Facebook feed today and really spoke to me.</span></p><p></p><p><span style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-family: inherit; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">From Buddhist teacher Jack Kornfield. "A quality of mature spirituality is self-acceptance, rather than guilt, blame, or shame for the ignorant acts we've committed or the fears that still remain within us. It understands that inner opening requires the warm sun of loving-kindness. In deep self-acceptance grows a compassionate understanding. We are asked to touch with mercy the parts of ourself that we have denied, cut off, or isolated. Mature spirituality is a reflection of our deep gratitude and capacity for </span><span style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-family: inherit; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a style="color: #385898; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit;" tabindex="-1"></a></span><span style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-family: inherit; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">forgiveness.</span></p><div class="cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql o9v6fnle ii04i59q" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">Excerpt: "Bringing Home the Dharma: Awakening Right Where You Are"</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">My stumblings were born out of my ignorance, or out of my human shortcomings. I endeavor to pluck the memories of good deeds and good things that have also (abundantly) populated my life. It is a never ending exercise.</div></div>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03052375488090209961noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2963973022593930704.post-67795586930070940852022-08-15T09:10:00.001-07:002022-08-15T09:10:30.360-07:00Moving Along<p>Well, hallelujah, it's only 71 degrees outside this morning. We have been enduring hellish heat this summer, breaking records. The air feels marvelous.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjTAPkP1cr-KcXnPsmDZ94WU0UCJxbv7xWDxd36LHvu-L3BR47h7kwvLMBUj25EfilDV5M5Mny9tB0jVuov8VOgMANkdLZ_rMEZcq7v7GpFTKg73rdKIRdiCAo6JAyMucu-duiR8MXuXWZkQyks8P1AQfNYi5FWHvQhegdflD7QWqK3SQlgiC761yoT" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="318" data-original-width="250" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjTAPkP1cr-KcXnPsmDZ94WU0UCJxbv7xWDxd36LHvu-L3BR47h7kwvLMBUj25EfilDV5M5Mny9tB0jVuov8VOgMANkdLZ_rMEZcq7v7GpFTKg73rdKIRdiCAo6JAyMucu-duiR8MXuXWZkQyks8P1AQfNYi5FWHvQhegdflD7QWqK3SQlgiC761yoT" width="190" /></a></div>In two weeks I'm hosting a concert in our clubhouse, and the air conditioning is not working. Given that we live in an HOA and have to run decisions by many people, and get bids from three contractors, it is not likely it will be fixed by the concert date. Either the day will be mild and we'll meet inside, or it won't, in which case we'll find a shady spot under the trees. I'm counseling myself to live gracefully with the uncertainty. Our musical guests are a folk duo who tour frequently and perform at house concerts. Since my condo is not big enough, I'm using the community clubhouse (or not). Bob and Judi live in California, and I used to perform with Bob back in the day.<br /><p></p><p>We met at an open mic, and along with another fellow, formed a trio. It was the first time I made a serious effort at practicing my singing and songwriting. I was a marginally good guitar player, but Bob and Chris made up for it with their instrumental skills. Back then I thought I would make a career out of music, but I lost my mojo and I truly don't remember why or exactly when the three of us went our separate ways. It's hard work, being a musician/singer, and if you don't have that fire in the belly it's just not going to happen. I admire people like Bob and Judi who take their talent into the world and have an actual career.</p><p>Bob recently urged me to read Joan Baez's autobiography, "And a Voice to Sing With," primarily for the chapter on her relationship with Bob Dylan. I had just watched the documentary on Dylan's Rolling Thunder Revue that toured the country in 1975 (the year I graduated high school). Joan joined the tour, as did many others (including Joni Mitchell) and it was a chaotic free for all most of the time. Though I admire Dylan's talent, he was a real cad. Not honorable in his relations and seemed to enjoy screwing with people's minds. In Joan's book she confirms this. </p><p>Like any artistic community, there are some real difficult characters in the music business. Sometimes I think I dodged a bullet when I didn't pursue that line of work. On the other hand, musicians have a large community of like-minded friends who come together to produce that magic that is music. There's a lot of pleasure in the music camps, the songwriting workshops (I did one with Ronnie Gilbert) and the performances. I haven't seen Bob in roughly thirty years and I'm looking forward to both the concert and the conversation I'll have with him and Judi about their years on the road and their lives as working musicians.</p><p>You can listen to their music <a href="https://jaegerreidmusic.com" target="_blank">here</a>. </p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03052375488090209961noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2963973022593930704.post-48641831268844030982022-08-07T10:16:00.001-07:002022-08-07T10:16:28.953-07:00What Lies Beyond<p>"Grief Sucks. Life moves on." I recently read this. And, yes, indeed, grief does suck, and life does move on. Eventually, even those dear to you grow weary of hearing about your grief.</p><p>Certainly, I have experienced a lot of grief in the last few years. As has my daughter, and friends; my sisters. At some point, however, it's time to turn my attention to other things and to reengage life. My recent experience with my own possible demise was a stark reminder of how quickly everything I take for granted can be taken away. Either my health condition, a car accident, a random act of violence, or some other catastrophe (just ask them in California or Kentucky).</p><p>My doctor says it is likely that I won't feel quite myself again until November or December. The body takes a long time to heal. In the meantime, I try to keep up with the laundry, the house cleaning, the meal making. I've scheduled a carpet replacement for my small living room. I prefer hard flooring, so I've engaged a company who will rip up the wall to wall and lay down some vinyl. I'll hire another group to move everything out of the living room and into the garage for a couple of days, then move it all back. I won't lift a finger except to write the check.</p><p>A few days after that is complete, I am hosting two friends who will entertain us with their songs. They are making their way across the western states performing house concerts. Jaeger and Reid, they are, and if you're interested you can Google them. I had set this up with them well before my stomach surgery. I am somewhat tempted to cancel because of the perceived amount of work involved, but really, my part is small and doable (order cookies and drinks for intermission), and I would love to sit and listen to their music with my friends and neighbors. It's something positive. I want positive.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNiaZ3zfaS2xFpm9cM715xeRsDKTc41uYo-xDo0crtEOQSNGu0ePf2XHDHV8VPX3TJ81CLn753L37ZUzvWcMuaqbqLz0EXXf0Sji8QuZNsI_6E_P0qoedEHJlqlfo4edEPi8EosAfs3b36gpDpfKMtu4AfgcBnlYY0La5N8cPfTKsqeheO6ZY2iX1C/s2048/kitchen%20lace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNiaZ3zfaS2xFpm9cM715xeRsDKTc41uYo-xDo0crtEOQSNGu0ePf2XHDHV8VPX3TJ81CLn753L37ZUzvWcMuaqbqLz0EXXf0Sji8QuZNsI_6E_P0qoedEHJlqlfo4edEPi8EosAfs3b36gpDpfKMtu4AfgcBnlYY0La5N8cPfTKsqeheO6ZY2iX1C/s320/kitchen%20lace.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>On the one side is a friend losing her brother, another friend needing to place a spouse into memory care, and another losing a home to a forest fire. We need to survive. We need to imagine our lives long after the tragedy has passed. The alternative is to let the tragedy dominate our existence and to turn our world into a small, dark place. I'm not down for that. Don't misunderstand: it's important to honor whatever has happened and to take our time absorbing the magnitude. When you are able, lift your eyes to what lies beyond. Let it stir your imagination, and maybe your desire to step outside the dark circle.<p></p><p>What does life still have waiting for you? What is the next adventure?</p><p><br /><br /></p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03052375488090209961noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2963973022593930704.post-64160662287475452172022-07-30T15:22:00.003-07:002022-07-30T15:22:53.564-07:00The Big Wide World<p>I made it out this morning. First breakfast and then a local "Urban Homestead" tour. I was joined by a good friend and my son-in-law. It's an annual fundraiser for youth programs, and they sell about 400 tickets each year.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV7dBOK1vJqjWHdemA88KdFY7mT0MB_cS2KW9g8UNWYXI611SeBduZPfkDvqJqk5wKGdTiibFGUtxHj55iUsF1e6GPGFQxE7jvGRLqjXEtauFPCYFAE6YWAE0lnphwuoRht6XV2WbcJXDk-l8zv--xxqZed_IJcVY8WwR0bF29UYdtH-K5IsweDIWD/s4032/farm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV7dBOK1vJqjWHdemA88KdFY7mT0MB_cS2KW9g8UNWYXI611SeBduZPfkDvqJqk5wKGdTiibFGUtxHj55iUsF1e6GPGFQxE7jvGRLqjXEtauFPCYFAE6YWAE0lnphwuoRht6XV2WbcJXDk-l8zv--xxqZed_IJcVY8WwR0bF29UYdtH-K5IsweDIWD/s320/farm.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p>I thank the homeowners for opening up their yards to the hordes. I made it to two homes before I hit a wall and knew I had to go home. I really wanted to go to the farm that had animals, including a miniature donkey, but I just couldn't. Luckily I had my 4 wheel walker with me, which I needed at the second stop in order to remain upright. Nevertheless, I enjoyed the farms and marveled at all the work that people put into them. Once upon a time I was an avid gardener and boasted lush beds of corn, potatoes, tomatoes, zucchini, eggplant, beans and peas. We had so many tomatoes that we made sauce and canned it. My father in law thought that was hilarious, something they did when they were poor. Now they could just buy jarred sauce. He didn't understand the pride we took in growing this food and preserving it.</p><p>One of the farms today had a greenhouse with pot growing in it. A pretty thin, weedy (no pun intended) crop that looked anemic. When I think back on the illegal grows we used to have, oh my. Our plants were 8 feet tall and had trunks like trees. Deep green and thick bushes. Being a guest at their farm, I kept my big mouth shut.</p><p>It was great getting out but I needed a two hour nap when I got home. I had a visit with my surgeon yesterday and he said I could count on another 4 or 5 months before I began to feel normal again. A little shocking to hear. I want to be better NOW. My brain thinks I can do more than I actually can. My body says, "Oh, hold on there, sister!" I have a friend who had cancer last year and it was a long hard slog for her. She says it took her a full year after her surgery to feel better. This being sick stuff demands our patience and perseverance. </p><p>Tomorrow is my grandson's birthday. party. He'll be 11 next week. I'm planning on making a short appearance, and have no other plans for the day. He's my priority. I was there when he was born (also for my grand daughter) and it seems like just a few years ago. Ha - joke's on me! Next thing I know, truly, he will be graduating from high school. Ready to launch into this big, wide world. The oldest question is "where did the time go?!" Heck if I know.</p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03052375488090209961noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2963973022593930704.post-61778666713732290572022-07-18T13:17:00.004-07:002023-06-30T00:05:19.713-07:00Survivor<p>I know blog posts are more compelling when photos are included, but I can't seem to manage that right now. I've been home from rehab for just over a week, and it is <i>good to be home</i>. I had my physical therapy this morning -- a nice woman comes to the house. Working on my ab muscles, which were cut into during my surgery. Tiny little exercises that isolate the muscles and can be done on the bed. Then a walk down the street before it got too hot. I'm still in a state of amazement over all I have been through. I am a survivor for sure! </p><p>Last year at this time I was hospitalized for diabetic ketoacidosis. A precarious and life-threatening condition. Came out of that okay. And the year before that, at the end of June I had a small stroke which landed me in the ICU. Holy shitski, I think to myself. Can I just get through next summer with no mishaps? Please? </p><p>If there's anything to learn from this, other than appreciate each day because it may be your last, I don't know what it is. I feel like an old lady now that I'm 65 and have come out of this catastrophe. Feeling a bit shaken (not stirred) and looking to find the way forward. I've been watching the Netflix series "How to Change Your Mind," featuring Michael Pollan, on the clinical use of psychedelics to treat depression, anxiety, etc. It's fascinating and I think I would benefit. I did, in fact, take mushrooms, LSD and mescaline when I was a young adult. Not as a drug to get wild with, or in any kind of a party situation. Always as a spiritual practice. With trusted friends. It was quite beneficial to me and I'd like to try it again. Perhaps a reset; a course correction for my senior years.</p><p>Meanwhile, as the new strains of Covid are on the rise, I watch as friends and family travel and recreate. Enjoying their lives. I'm keeping to myself, unwilling to take chances. Sure, I'm jealous, but I cannot imagine what Covid might do to me. Wrap me in bubble wrap! I'm fragile like bone china! Someday, the fates willing, I can move about freely again and not concern myself with the invisible enemy. </p><p>For now, I watch nature programs on the telly, travel shows and movies. I move about the house doing small bits of laundry, or the dishes, calling friends and loving on my dog. I'm mostly eating frozen meals (the good ones) and ordering out. I'm not up for cooking. I'm going to be talking with a home chef about possibly doing meal prep for me in my own kitchen once a week. I tell her (it's a her) what kinds of foods I'll eat, we come up with a menu, she does the shopping, prep and cooking for the week. This sounds like heaven. I can afford it, and it will keep me on the right track. Stay tuned.</p><p>Have a good week, and stay safe!</p><p><br /></p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03052375488090209961noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2963973022593930704.post-48355096095501885762022-06-26T09:02:00.004-07:002023-06-30T00:02:37.949-07:00Happy Birthday to Me<p>Things went from bad to worse, my friends. Not related to the bariatric surgery (we think) I experienced an ulcer that ruptured and I almost died on my bathroom floor. Sounds dramatic, but that 's what actually happened. My neighbor/friend found me there and called 911. Always pays to have a neighbor who has access to your home. I was taken into surgery and the repair was made, and the bariatric surgery reversed. I didn't know you could do that, but apparently you can, and the surgeon who first did it was the one who reversed it. He said he was more concerned with saving my life, and I concur.</p><p>I was a week in the hospital, and now I've been in rehab for over a week, and probably another 10 days. I have to build stamina and strength, which I lost not only after this latest surgery, but after my bariatric surgery. If I only knew what awaited....it has been a very very difficult time and I am slowly coming out of it. I can't quite believe it all happened. It seemed that goodness and luck were all around me. Until. I am determined to get well, and then make the most of what my life still has to offer.</p><p>Here's where I make my request for you to donate blood, if you can. Transfusions saved my life here. I've donated over the years, but never needed a donation. Here was the payoff. </p><p>Here in rehab, my cloudy sleep filled days have begun to evolve, with physical and occupational therapy. They get me out of bed and I'm very cranky at having to do anything. But then I do it, and it's done, and I feel some accomplishment. Each day is different. My abdominal incision doesn't really hurt, but the drain tube sticking out from my stomach does. I get it out in two weeks. Yesterday was spent feeling terribly nauseous, and in the night I was sick and had to call the aid to remove all the wet sheets and bedclothes. Sorry if too much information. Today I got myself up early, dressed, and had a good breakfast (they are not all good). I've been in my recliner watching the new season of Peaky Blinders, as nasty and violent as ever. Some things never change.</p><p>I tire easily, of course, and will have some additional help at home when I get there. Funny thing, all this happened as I was turning 65 and getting my Medicare. Medicare is covering all my costs, and will cover some home health costs as well. What brilliant timing. Happy Birthday to me!</p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03052375488090209961noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2963973022593930704.post-17420898329578134512022-05-24T17:05:00.003-07:002023-06-29T23:59:37.755-07:00Going along<p> It's been weeks of agony here, folks. I can not keep food down and I'm nauseous all. the. time. Yesterday I finally went to the hospital, where they hydrated me with a bag full of vitamins and minerals. Finding a vein was the hard part, as anyone whose ever been dehydrated can tell you. But they called in "The Man" as I called him, and he took awhile finding one but he triumphed and I was over the moon.</p><p>My daughter and son-in-law took turns being with me. The nurse found a med for nausea that actually worked and allowed me to rest for awhile. Those ER beds are NOT comfortable, and my back was screaming at me. My SIL dutifully (and lovingly) found ways of stuff a pillow behind me to provide relief.</p><p>I'm home now, and hydrated, and a feeling better than I have in days. But I still have a way to go. I'm down 40 pounds since March 28 and it's been a terrible way to drop weight. I am confident I will pass through this phase and when I'm on the other side we'll all have a good laugh about it, right?</p><p>I just heard on the news about the elementary school shooting in Texas. Read it in the NY Times. Not even going to turn on the t.v. We all know the story too well by now, don't we? We are a sick country. Maybe should amend that to say sick politicians, who lack a moral backbone and won't do a damned thing about gun control, even though most of the country wants them to.</p><p>I've been tuning out the news and most television, since while being sick, I find I get motion sickness watching the screen. I'm okay with that.</p><p>Looking forward to better days.</p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03052375488090209961noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2963973022593930704.post-3918230988776261252022-05-08T21:57:00.004-07:002022-05-08T21:57:54.591-07:00A Mothers Day/The Role of Women<p>Two different origin stories on "Mother's Day." The first one, the one I believe, is <a href="https://heathercoxrichardson.substack.com/p/may-7-2022?s=r" target="_blank">told by Heather</a> Cox Richardson. Women were so appalled at the blood spilled during the Civil war and Franco-Prussian war that they strongly believed that women should take charge of world affairs in the 1870s. The second, in 1908, was created in America to honor women as mothers. So it has been for one hundred and fifty years, that women are still largely relegated to their maternal roles and not so much their role as powerful leaders.</p><p>Today, on Mother's Day, apostrophe, I was not up to doing anything with the family, so I took it easy at home while they did what they did.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihpbDUPn4ItOhDzfYCsXlWbW2APetsBL_vfGOpwY9BHFxENgnk7evA0xqeZp5ZQ5yiWkm5FWB8aNu6BpqkZVJ4NwplO40OjW_Vy22qgMPvogyV-5nZKCV6Cg0Ss11xaZ_4QljNKTOqJwVs5me5HXuXmpFSs6ZXlFsdY5EJpYIeFQzhfLjcnkYvf0jr/s1080/mom%20as%20girl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="896" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihpbDUPn4ItOhDzfYCsXlWbW2APetsBL_vfGOpwY9BHFxENgnk7evA0xqeZp5ZQ5yiWkm5FWB8aNu6BpqkZVJ4NwplO40OjW_Vy22qgMPvogyV-5nZKCV6Cg0Ss11xaZ_4QljNKTOqJwVs5me5HXuXmpFSs6ZXlFsdY5EJpYIeFQzhfLjcnkYvf0jr/s320/mom%20as%20girl.jpg" width="265" /></a></div>Here's my mother at a tender age. This was the first Mother's Day without her. On May 28 of last year, she died of complications of Parkinson's. My dear friend Robin was the only one of my family or friends to acknowledge this. She is a good one, that Robin, keeping note of important life passages such as this.<div><br /></div><div>Mom wasn't really a big fan of the day. She called it "a Hallmark holiday." But still, we made cards and gave her flowers when we were children.</div><div><br /></div><div>I trust by this time next year I will be feeling better. Right now I am still struggling to get nutrition after my bariatric surgery. I didn't imagine it would be this difficult: no food goes down easy and everything, including water, makes me nauseous. Still. Ugh. I'll meet with the doctor again this week.</div><div><br /></div><div>For those of you who celebrate the day, I hope you had a lovely one. For those of you who don't, or are indifferent, I'm there with you. I'd much prefer it be about women taking over world affairs, especially during these dark and backward times.<br /><div><p><br /></p></div></div>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03052375488090209961noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2963973022593930704.post-43677165379700952262022-04-19T15:43:00.005-07:002022-04-19T15:43:57.461-07:00The Report<p>How in the WORLD can I still be so flippin' tired?! I'm too tired to keep my house together, so I do a few tasks before the dizziness and exhaustion take over and I have to sit for awhile. Being up for about 4 hours at a time is my limit. </p><p>Adequate protein is key...and I'm getting most of mine from shakes, though at this stage I am able to move on to soft foods and crunchy things. No doughy things like soft bread or pasta or rice, as they will get stuck in the stomach pouch. I'm so tired tonight I have order some sashimi, edamame and miso soup from my favorite Japanese restaurant. Hope it all goes down well. We'll see.</p><p>I'm taking my vitamins, and a B12 every day and that should be helping. </p><p>I tell ya, my surgeon would be over here kicking my ass if he knew how I'm behaving. But what to do when every fiber of your body tells you to LIE DOWN?</p><p>It's no joke that right now my JOB is to get protein and fluids down the hatch. Even if I don't feel like it AT ALL. I have a support group on line, and I share this info with them.</p><p>This lethargy, this absolutely exhaustion, has got to end soon. It's essential for my success. I set my alarm for 8 a.m. today, determined that I would get up. But I had insomnia last night and didn't get to sleep until 4 a.m. Did I get up? No. I slept until noon. </p><p>My daughter said that the surgery was the hard part. Hardly. THIS post op stuff is the hard part. Hopefully I will be able to look back and laugh. In the meantime, send me all your energy prayers, please.</p><p>Oh, by the way, 22 lbs. down.</p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03052375488090209961noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2963973022593930704.post-91956875993814598402022-04-07T14:46:00.001-07:002022-04-07T14:46:07.215-07:00The Longest Journey Begins<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJzmYOStdlOmxkPIcMq97BZ9H9ARox5zQOXy6XinNHcbtfNcqNvs_9dIxEJlnhfEbolmvG3989MFX3hefVaG8AKAreOA1SAmWJgPZ44Tqc_iDb2HIVXFpFojSzGw1DU89h3-kNewT_GPOdOJDXtRxCx5opS1L44KDiqX4VqKyTv-TpuLsKTkXeJ8zo/s400/back_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="272" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJzmYOStdlOmxkPIcMq97BZ9H9ARox5zQOXy6XinNHcbtfNcqNvs_9dIxEJlnhfEbolmvG3989MFX3hefVaG8AKAreOA1SAmWJgPZ44Tqc_iDb2HIVXFpFojSzGw1DU89h3-kNewT_GPOdOJDXtRxCx5opS1L44KDiqX4VqKyTv-TpuLsKTkXeJ8zo/s320/back_n.jpg" width="218" /></a></div>Surgery went well and I've been home a week now. Lots of protein drinks, water, flavored broths, sugar free popsicles and jello. Some days I feel moderately energetic, most days not. I'll get there. No hunger at all, which is the major benefit at the moment.<p></p><p>I'm having dreams of riding bikes with friends, over the hills near San Francisco, looking out to the Golden Gate bridge on a windy day and laughing loudly into that wind. Thinking, "I never thought I'd feel this way again." Grand exuberance.</p><p>So many years ago I was very active with back packing, biking, hiking. No need for a gymnasium then. It was all youthful energy and swagger, pounding my chest as the first of the group to make it to a mountain top. </p><p>Age and health have had their way with that. That's just the way of life, and I'm glad I did those things that bring me joy when I remember them.</p><p>My goal, my dream, is that this surgery will help bring back all available energy and enthusiasm for getting out and doing whatever I can. It won't be the body of my teens and twenties for sure, and I'm okay with that. I have reasonable expectations. They are a lot more than what I have now.</p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03052375488090209961noreply@blogger.com8