Shame On Me

I am really ashamed of myself! When I first had the idea of writing this blog, I seemed to have a million thoughts of what to write about; lots of events on the road to 60 and beyond. Well lately, it seems that my brain has had a short circuit…brain cramps…brain dead! I am going through the worse case of writer’s block I’ve ever had in my life!

I know hope this is just a temporary thing. Maybe it’s the weather! Once Spring finally springs, maybe ideas will flow like the sap in the Maple trees.

Please don’t give up on me…I shall return!

Fess Up!

With Valentine's Day just around the corner, I thought it might be fun to trip down memory lane and share your very first kiss.

It's funny but I remember mine clearly! It was my ninth birthday, and my Grandmother had a party for me at her house, in fact it was the old mill house that I was born in. It had several out buildings, including an outhouse. There were seven of my school friends and myself and we were playing hide and seek. I thought no one would find me in the outhouse, so that's where I hid! Well, so much for that idea...my friend, Jeffrey found me and before I could run away, he planted a smooch...and then he ran away!

Okay, time to fess up...let's hear about your first kiss.

Lists

I have always considered myself to be very organized. It’s that dreaded Virgo neat freak thing! I like a place for everything and everything in its place. However, as I’ve grown older, I have more trouble remembering where that place might be. I used to have such a keen memory for everything, I never had to make a ‘to do’ list or write down what I needed at the grocery store.

It is troubling to me that over the past year, I have become the queen of the Post It Note. I find that if I don’t write things down they seem to evaporate from my brain, and I don’t like that feeling. When I worked in the corporate world, I always made lists; there were always staff meetings, client meetings, deadlines, etc. but this is not the same. My daily, mundane life should not require a sticky note! Okay, maybe I am exaggerating; I haven’t forgotten to take out the trash or walk the dog or feed the cats…yet! But what if I do?

The other night I dreamed that my entire house was wallpapered in yellow Post Its, with endless lists of things to remember. When I told my friend, Marcie she said that it’s perfectly normal to forget things. I hope she keeps that in mind because I forgot her birthday last week. She says that it’s part of the aging process, nothing to worry about. Let’s hope she’s right.

Is your memory as good as it used to be? Do you have to write things down? Do you want to go in half on a case of Post It Notes?

Frumpanista

Since the job market has forced me to become semi-retired, I have noticed a new trend in clothing. Well, not everybody’s clothing, just mine. From years of wearing business suits and dresses, I have morphed into sweatshirts and comfy pants. I just happened to glance in the bathroom mirror…Holy Moly! Not a pretty sight!

Don’t get me wrong, I really do take a lot of pride in how I look but without a definite schedule, I seem to have gotten, umm, let’s just say 'too comfortable' on the days I don’t have to be somewhere in particular.

Back in the days before pantyhose, I wouldn’t be caught dead without a girdle and nylons. I never burned my bra but I cremated my girdle many years ago! Fear not, however, you won’t catch me in Walmart in my jammy bottoms or with my midriff oozing over the top of hip hugging jeans!

I know I’m not alone in my ‘casual attire’, so what do you like to wear when you're hanging around the house?

The Gift That Keeps On Giving

First let me say HAPPY NEW YEAR to all of you that have been kind enough to follow my blog. I have been a bit remiss in my posts but I will do my best to improve in 2010.

Just before Christmas, I was delighted to find a package on my doorstep from a friend of mine that I haven’t seen since I moved. I seldom get presents in the mail so I was quite excited. When I opened the outside box, I found a smaller box, wrapped in lovely Christmas paper and tied with a red bow. Hmm…should I open it or set it under the tree? Well, I set it under the tree while I deliberated and went about my work.

When I was a child, opening of Christmas presents was so regimented, that now I just wanted to rebel and open the darn package. Later in the day, after all my work was up to date, I caved in, made a cup of tea, grabbed the package and headed for the den.

I studied the paper…so festive, I fingered the bow…tied perfectly, I shook it…gently. Okay! Enough! I confess I’m a five year old in a 62 year old body! I slid my finger under the tape…pop! then the other side. I shook the box again…nothing rattled. Now the paper was off, but the box yielded no clues…next I lifted the lid to find tissue paper…lots and lots of tissue paper!

Finally I felt something through the tissue, I ran my hand around it, trying to guess what it could be. It was on the heavy side, it felt almost like the outline of a frame. I had teased myself long enough and ripped the paper off. I was right! It was a lovely silver picture frame, with intricate silver vines woven around the edges.

It would have been so much more delightful, if it hadn’t been what I had given her last year, for her birthday!

Have you ever given or received a re-gifted present?

My friend does not own a computer so I know pray she will not read this.

What's In A Name?

My morning usually starts off with a cup of tea and reading the online edition of the newspaper. I never have time to read the entire paper but I always read the obituaries. The other morning I noticed that a Mr. Pitz had passed on, I didn’t know him but I continued to read…he was survived by his wife of 55 years...her name was Olive. Please believe me, I mean absolutely no disrespect…but for the past 55 years, this woman has been known as Olive Pitz.

This got me thinking about other people I have known with ‘unusual’ combinations of names. In England I went to school with an Olive Green, and an Anne Teek. In high school I knew an Ann Franscisco.

As a teenager, I had a summer job at a bank; we had a customer named Izadore Bell (is a door bell), sometimes keeping a straight face wasn’t easy!

Another woman I knew was called Hope Lewis, she married Larry Hope and became Hope Hope. I wonder if she thought about that before she said, “I do.”

A good friend of mine used to date Jim Bagg, and I still like to tease her about that! For a while I worked with Mr. Fish…his mother’s name was Iona. Iona Fish, I dare you to say that without a smile!

In elementary school, my son had a teacher called Mr. Case, his first name was Justin. Justin Case…what were his parents thinking?

I’m sure I’m forgetting a few others, I probably will remember them as I fall asleep tonight!

Have you come across some odd name combinations?

Christmas Past

The other day, as I sorted through Christmas decorations, I found myself tripping down memory lane and thinking back to when my Dad was in the RAF and no matter where he was stationed, we as a family, always went home at Christmas time. When I say home, I really mean my Grandparent’s house in Cornwall.

Nan and Gramps lived in an old mill house, in the village of Tregonissey just outside St. Austell. It was an old stone house with no central heat, no running water and no indoor plumbing.

Even after all these years, I still have vivid memories of Christmas when my Grandfather would go in search of the perfect Holly tree. I never knew where he found it but he somehow managed to bring one home, much to everyone’s delight. He would then set it up in the front room and I, along with my Mom and Dad, would help decorate it. When it was completed we would light the little candles for a few minutes. Yes, you read it right…real, live candles on a real, live tree! Looking back that may have not been the smartest thing to do but that’s what people did back then, and nobody burned the house down…amazing!

Back in Christmas BC (before computers), gifts were simple and delightful. A game of Snakes and Ladders, a book, a rag doll; all gifts were appreciated, not matter how small. Most presents were hung on the tree and nothing was touched until after Christmas dinner was finished and dishes were done. Finally everyone gathered in front of the fireplace and a ‘Santa’ was selected. Presents were open one at a time, and displayed for everyone to admire. It always seemed like there were a lot of presents but actually there weren't, it just took so long to open them! Waiting for your turn could be agonizing when you were only 5 or 6 years old.

In the early evening, the oil lamps were lit and all gathered at the table for Christmas pudding. I HATED Christmas pudding! My only incentive to eat it, besides my Mom giving me her famous ‘mother look’, was the hope of finding the sixpence, wrapped in wax paper and hidden somewhere in the pudding.

While the ladies cleaned up, Gramp would crank up the old gramophone and slowly Christmas Carols would fill the room. Before I knew it, Mom would remind me that it was bedtime and because I knew there was no point in presenting the ‘but it’s Christmas argument’, said my goodnights, collected my hugs and climbed the long stairway. The only warmth provided was from an antique space heater and a huge, red hot water bottle. I always tried to fall asleep fast, before I froze to death!

What fond childhood memories of Christmas do you have?

Collections

The other day I visited my friend Betty. Betty collects angels, and must have well over a hundred in various forms; figurines, pillows, plates, pictures and even an angel rug. One of the good things about collectors…they are easy to buy gifts for and always seem grateful for an additional treasure.

On the drive home from Betty’s house, I started thinking about all the assorted collections I have had in my lifetime. When I was a youngster, I collected dog figurines; I had about fifty of them when my interest turned to stuffed animals. Bedtime became a nightly ritual of clearing the bed to make room to climb in and the morning ritual of putting them back usually made me late for school. After a year or so, I donated all my stuffed buddies to the Shriners Children’s Hospital.

During my teenage years, a friend got me interested in stamp collecting, and I in turn got my Dad hooked on philately. (Don’t you just love that word?) I also collected Beatle records, oh how I wish I still had them, I probably could retire on their value!

Over the next forty years I have collected, not at the same time; cats, wolves, WW2 memorabilia, foreign money, Pairpoint Cup Plates and cobalt blue glass. Not to mention the accumulation of things that I didn’t purposely collect, like ticket stubs, 45 rpm records, shoes and such.

When I married my husband, he came with a collection of dragons, when my parents passed on, I inherited their collections.

There reaches a point in life, for many of us, when we have to downsize. A time to part with items packed away, perhaps for so long, we forget we had them! A time for someone else to provide a good home and dust enjoy.

All my collections have been sold or given away, except one…for over ten years, I have collected sheep. No, not real sheep and not cutesy sheep…they are more primitive and folk art sheep; and because they are not easy to find, my collection is a reasonable size. I can’t think of anything else I want to collect except maybe time and money!

What do you collect?

'Tis The Season

I'm not really sure what my problem is...for the past couple of years, I haven't been able to find my Christmas spirit. It's not that I'm a scrooge or anything like that, I love everything Christmas...getting together with family and friends, the decorations, wonderful food and not to forget Santa!

So what the heck is wrong with me? I just feel BLAH! My Mother loved Christmas, it was a huge production at our house, the baking, decorating the tree and all the other fun things associated with this time of year. Maybe that's why I feel this way, maybe now that Mom and Dad are gone, Christmas memories are on one hand a happy reminder, and a sad one on the other.

My mother-in-law loved Christmas, it was even a bigger production for her with five sons and daughters-in-law, fourteen grandchildren, five great-grandchildren and countless friends. Mom-in-law would start shopping the day after Christmas for the following year! We shared a house for seven years...now she is gone and I miss her.

I think I need a good kick in the pants to move me forward, to stop dwelling on the past! Now, I haven't been totally remiss in my holiday preparations, I have the makings for my Christmas cookies and I've located the tree ornaments...not much, you say, but it's a start.

Am I alone in my seasonal funk, or do you also experience overwhelming feelings of Holiday Humbugs?

Please Pass The Earplugs

Do you know what it’s like to try and fall asleep with the racket raised by two cats a dog and a husband?

The racket I’m talking about is snoring! Now I’m not saying that I’m not guilty of a few grunts here and there but the four of ‘them’ are a regular ‘out of tune’ symphony. The sound that Lilly makes resembles what I would compare to banging on a bee’s nest with a stick. Bzzzzzzzz!

Molly, switches between an asthmatic snore and the sound of someone gasping for their last breath of air. Lucy doesn’t really snore but is prone to doggie dreams that result in a very high pitched whimper accompanied by leg and face twitches.

Now my husband is a symphony upon himself, he has snores that start with a large inhale followed by a quick succession of exhales that sound likes peeps. If you’ve ever watched the Three Stooges you will know exactly what I mean! Then there is the huge inhale snort and then…nothing, this is when I check to make sure he’s still breathing. He also excels at the snore-mumble, a combination of snoring and talking in his sleep.

With the four of them all at once, all that is missing is Arthur Fiedler to conduct!

The animals are pretty easy to quiet down, usually with just a gentle nudge. My husband, however requires a little more effort but I have discovered one thing that seems to work. I very, very gently touch the end of his nose, like a fly landing on it; sometimes I have to ‘land’ several times but eventually he tries to swat it away resulting in all kinds of strange noises, gasps and grunts and then…voila! He rolls over and continues sleeping…like a baby!

This may seem like a mean thing to do but it beats an elbow to the ribs...don't you think? Ha-ha!