Well, I guess it's time....

I'm getting ready to build an ark. I will have to Google the instructions, as ark-building is a class that I did NOT take in college. And I think I'll skip the part about the animals, two by two...., if that's okay.

Yes, it's raining that much, here in sunny California. I think the rain was supposed to happen in Oregon, as it always does, but got misdirected. So, Oregon: we have your rain. Please come get it at your earliest convenience! Before I go to work tomorrow morning would be great...

Okay, I know we need the rain. We have been in drought conditions for three years or more. But really, is it necessary to make up for all the lost rain in one short week? There is so much rain standing around on the ground that I don't know when it will be absorbed and join the water table.

I do love watching the rain, as I did last Sunday, but this is ridiculous! I have come home from work every day this week with wet shoes and socks, and straight hair. It's bad enough to get soaked as I dash from my car to a patient's house, but then, I sit in their homes and watch the steam rise off my jacket. So many of my patients are elderly and have the thermostat set at 80 degrees...

And people around Podunk aren't used to driving in the rain. They drive too fast and then hydroplane and hit the brakes. Driving around here is an adventure, to say the least. The other day, it was raining very hard and the wind was blowing very hard, and driving on a country road, I was dodging tree limbs as they fell off the scrub oak trees that dot the countryside.

Driving out north of town, on a heavily-traveled road, I was blown into the next lane by gusts of wind. I was able to get back in my lane without too much trouble, but it was a little unnerving when the wind blew a semi-truck and trailer into my lane.....

The little Prius handles well and fits on the shoulder of the road, I'm happy to report!

So, I have worked for the last five days and it has rained each and every one of those days. Wet shoes, damp hair, steam rising off my clothing, water spots on all my charts, and an umbrella that makes me feel like Mary Poppins. All part of a day's work this week.

We do need the rain and we are certainly getting lots of it. And, I have to remember that, with all the fuss and bother it causes for those of us who have to be out in it, there are rewards, too.

They're called Rainbows!

My Sunday Place...

Today, as I left work, it was raining. Not just a light sprinkle, but really raining. I ran to my car and got in quickly. And then I sat there, trying to decide what to do next. Should I go home and get some things done around the house?

Nope. I decided to go to My Sunday Place.

Podunk has several parks. I noticed yesterday, as I was driving around the southern part of town, that there are several new ones, near new subdivisions. Those parks have children's swings and slides and fun things. And a sidewalk/trail around the perimeter, for walking or running. Trees are planted everywhere, and benches are sprinkled along the running trails.

Quite lovely, actually...

But they aren't my park. Mine is out by the airport, Podunk International Airport. I have called it that for years, as if an International airport would have just two commercial flights a week. And, unless you're interested in flying to San Francisco or Los Angeles to catch a flight to somewhere else, the airport doesn't have a lot to offer.

On the other side of my park is a golf course. It is the egalitarian golf course in town: no membership, no clubhouse, no caddies. In fact, lots of the folks who golf there show up in pickup trucks. Can you believe that? But that's Podunk: a fancy car around here is likely to be a king cab pickup truck with fancy wheels.

I go to my park frequently in the spring, summer and fall because it is a busy place on Sunday afternoons. There are always baseball games, or bike races, or my favorite: bounce houses. No, I don't get to go in the bounce houses, because they are usually a feature of a child's birthday party. But they are pretty, dotting the green scape and adding color to the afternoon.

And the lake. If you live near a real lake, say, like Lake Michigan, our little lake is a joke. But here in Podunk, it is a lake. There is a guy who teaches casting classes for fishermen, and uses the lake. And lots of folks come to the park to feed the ducks and geese.

But, today it was raining. The skies were sharing some much-needed rain. As I sat in my car, I shivered from getting wet as I ran to the car. The sky was gray and dark, and it looked as cold as it felt. I was tempted to just go home and light candles and curl up on the couch under a heavy throw.

I was fascinated by the rain....it kept me outdoors, sorta, in my car. Watching. The ducks on the pond were oblivious to the falling rain. They swam in groups, making lovely waves on the lake's surface. Another car was parked in one of my regular “observation” posts, so I drove on around the park. I always do that: drive all around the park, first, and see where I want to stop and watch.

Watch what? You ask. Well, sometimes, I watch a baseball game. Or the dogs playing in the bark park. This past fall, I watched in amazement as a contingent of Canadian geese stopped by for the afternoon, on their way south. And I look at all the bounce houses and decide which one is my favorite, based on its bright colors.

And sometimes, I park over by the airport and watch small planes take off and land. Or I look at the other people, doing the same thing I am doing, and wonder what they are thinking about. Or watch the sunset, through the palm trees.

Today, I just watched it rain....

The List..

Sometimes, I feel like I am running. I have so many places to be and so many things to do. And there never seems to be an end. There are always more things to be done than there are hours in the day.

Today was no exception. But then, I did manage to do more than half of the things I wanted to do. And that is an accomplishment, to me. And it feels good, too. There are more tick marks on my “Things To Do” list. You know, that list that always grows? And never shrinks?

This isn't new for me. Life has always been this way.

I remember being a very young mommy, with a small child. We had a neighbor living across the street from us. Her name was Joan. And every time I got home from the store, or other shopping, Joan would call and ask “what did you buy?”

It irritated me at first but, as I got to know Joan better, I realized that she was bored out of her mind and trying to live, vicariously, through me. She was up at dawn, brewed the coffee, made a hearty breakfast for her firefighter husband, packed his lunch, saw him off to work, and then cleaned her house until it was spotless.

And by ten o'clock in the morning, she was sitting in her chair, looking out the living room window. Watching the neighbors. She had done everything she needed to do for the day. There was nothing to do until her husband came home from work.

And so, she watched me. And everything I did.

It was a good lesson for me: I decided I never wanted to be that bored. And I don't think I ever have been. Bored, that is. Of course, my house wasn't immaculate, either. I had babies and they make messes. But then, so did I. More than once, my husband came home after work to find crafty things being 'manufactured' in our kitchen.

And now, I live alone. There is no one here to be upset because I have rearranged the furniture, or painted the living room—again. I painted my living room three times in two years before I got the color right. Nobody said a word about the money I spent on paint.

Tonight, I accomplished a lot: I made a list. No, I didn't do any of the things on the list. I just wrote them down. That's enough for one night. I've gotta pace myself. Tomorrow night, I will read the list, and then Saturday, I will read it again. Perhaps by Sunday I will be ready to actually do something.

I have to remember that I am making progress. I am doing what I can, and the rest just has to wait. There are changes coming in my life and I want to be ready. I want to have things clean and presentable. I want order out of the chaos, peace and serenity instead of a frantic pace.

Better write that on the list, too.

Kindnesses Hanging on the Wall...

Well, it's that time of year again. Time to make New Year's Resolutions. Even if we don't mean to, I think most of us have a laundry list of things we would like to change in our lives. Some big changes, and some little changes, but changes nonetheless.

I have the same informal list of resolutions every year. And incredibly, I manage to keep most of them, too. For instance, last year, I resolved not to say but I digress in my blogs, and I was successful.

But, I digress...

This year is already off to a good start, for me, and there are lots of things that I have resolved to do. As always, I am digging through the closets and getting rid of things. I seem to do this every year, but this year is different: I need more space in my closets. Room for things that aren't here yet, but are coming soon.

And so, things that were “keepers” last year made it to the Goodwill pile this year. Things that seemed reparable last year, seem broken beyond repair and are going in the dumpster. Perspective, that is all that has changed.

I found some treasures when I was cleaning out the closet in my bedroom yesterday: watercolor drawings done by my daddy, many years ago. And I have resolved to re-frame them and hang them up on the walls, where they belong.

Daddy drew on his childhood experiences for his artistic endeavors, such as the traveling dry goods wagon he painted. It has always been one of my favorites, of all his works. There are some watercolor renderings of typical New England winter scenes, also from his memories.

In later years, he turned his skills to ink and colored pencil, drawing maps and Victorian houses. I remember the first house drawing that he gave me, for Christmas, many, many years ago. I was thrilled. We didn't have any decent art work on our walls because we were too busy feeding our kids and putting a roof over our heads. So, receiving a masterpiece, lovingly crafted just for me, was a real treat.

We used to open presents on Christmas Eve at my parents' home, and that is where I was when I opened the present and saw the drawing. And the next morning, when my parents arrived at our house for Christmas brunch, the drawing was hanging over the living room couch.

That was not lost on Daddy.

I remember that my brothers each received a drawing from Daddy that year, too. When my parents went to visit, later on in the year, the drawings had not yet made it up on a wall. And THAT was not lost on Daddy, either.

And so, another resolution this year is to appreciate that which people do for me, with love, and appreciate their efforts and time. Whatever kindnesses are sent to me, I will hang them up on the wall, right away, to look at and appreciate.

It always amazes me the things other people resolve to do each year. It reminds me of the old definition of insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. Of course, that is the definition of politics, too...

But, I digress...

One last resolution for me: I resolve to find the joy, laughter, and sunshine in each and every day that I am given. Someone else can stew over the darkness and negativity, I will bask in the sunshine, even if it is only in my head.

And in the pictures hanging on the walls...

Cali 'Splains Buying Airplane Tickets...

Well, it's been fifteen months of grounded bliss, here on Terra Firma. And so, it's time to brave the big silver bird again. This time, it's a trip to Chicago.

And, for the first time in my life, I had to book the flight all by myself. I have flown all over the western United States and into Canada, too. Been to Hawaii, Puerto Rico, Dallas and, most recently, to Boston, fifteen months ago.

All those trips were planned by someone else. Either my employer, sending me to seminars and conferences, or friends, booking our trip through a relative who is a travel agent. All I had to do was hold my ticket, make my way through security, and board the plane.

One thing I learned, the hard way, was that, if someone else books your seat, you are not going to get to sit by the window. Flying to Boston, I spent six hours sitting in the middle of three seats, with my elbows buried in my sides.....trying to see out the window.

I'm leaving in less than three weeks, so it's time to buy my ticket....

So, I talked to friends. Expedia. They all use Expedia. Not a problem. I go to the Expedia website. I type in “Chicago”, and up come a million flights. Plus, I have to connect to a larger hub, since Podunk International Airport doesn't have but about two flights......a week.

Now, another great hint that a friend gave me: after you look at flights, on a site like Expedia, or Travelocity, or Orbitz, pick the one you want and go to the airlines website and you may be able to get a better deal. I did and I was able to book both flights I need at one time, and for a cheaper rate, too.

Finally, I have pen in hand, flight numbers scratched on a pad of paper, American Express card in my hot little hand. I'm going in.....

I choose my flight. I choose my seat. I type in my credit card number. My name. My address. My phone number. My email address for the confirmation. Ticket Insurance? Sure, why not?

I push the button. Oops! Red flag! The security number is not correct for my American Express card. Yes it is, but no, they won't take it. Okay, no problem, I'll use my other credit card. Oh wait! It expires this month. Don't I have a new one? Yes, here it is. Have to call and get it activated!

Okay, did that. Now, type in the credit card numbers. Okay.......that's everything. Hmmmm....isn't it? I push “confirm”.........and get a nice little conversation window: “We're sorry, your session has timed out....”

Now what do I do? Did it go through? Did I buy a ticket? It's non-refundable, you know, so if I did buy a ticket, and I don't know it, and I buy another one, I will have one more ticket than I need.

What to do?

And so, I called Customer Service and spoke to Marcie: she checked and no, the transaction did not go through. I have not bought a plane ticket. She assures me that I will not be charged for two tickets, after checking under the flight number, my name, and my credit card number.

Phew!

She also offered to book my flight for me, but told me that she would have to charge me $25 to do it, and “you already know how...” she said. And she was right. I do know how.

And so, I typed in all that stuff again, without all the interruptions, and now I have a confirmation number and a ticket, and the seats I chose, too.

Window seats, of course!

Friday Night...

Well, the weekend's here. And I have so much to do that I don't quite know where to begin. I have Christmas put away, mostly, but the house is a mess. There is furniture to be moved, bags of stuff to take to Goodwill, and dishes in the sink.

At the end of a work week, I am not surprised that there are dishes in the sink. And Saturday is the designated day to find the kitchen counter, so that's not a problem tonight. Tonight is the problem. It's Friday night.

Friday nights in high school and college were special nights. I went out with my friends. To a game and then a dance, or just a dance, or a movie. Actually, I only did that once in awhile. Mostly, I worked. In high school, I was very much in demand as a babysitter. Apparently, most of the kids I babysat liked me.

It bothered me, too, that I had to babysit instead of going out with my friends. But then, I needed money for college. And I lost a lot of money by babysitting for my parents. They enjoyed going out and my brother, Charlie, was too young to stay home alone. That was back in “the old days” and there was never any question whether my older brother or I would get stuck with Charlie.

I remember once, when I was very brave, approaching my mother and requesting that I be paid for babysitting my little brother. Not every time, of course, but anytime I had to give up a paying sitting job in order to stay with Charlie.

Well, I might as well have asked if I could put a rope around his neck and tie him to a tree. The answer my mother gave me was not audible. It was a look. A look I have never forgotten.

I never asked to be paid again...

And so, I sat and read to little ones on Friday night. We played games and watched television, and then I put them to bed and read to them. And then, I sat and did nothing for the rest of my Friday night. Sometimes, especially at one particular home, I was allowed to listen to the radio and I would listen to my friends call in “requests and dedications” to their boyfriends and girlfriends.

But not for me...

In college, I worked at the local department store. Friday nights were spent stocking the clothing department for the onslaught of Saturday shoppers. I worked in the Campus and Career clothing department. It was okay, but not all that good for my bank account. Normally, when I got my paycheck, I would take it to the Layaway Department, sign it, and trade it in for my new clothes.....for campus and career.....

Oh well....

So here I am, all these millions of years later......lamenting my Friday night. No plans. No schemes. No place that I plan to go. I don't even know what is on television tonight, since I hardly ever watch it. Oh, there' s HGTV but, I watch that all week. And there's football, but that's not till Sunday. Maybe the Packers will go to the Superbowl this year.....or maybe not.

It's cold outside, and warm in here. The Spice Girls are curled up in their bed, snoring....I may not have anything to do tonight but I know that will change soon. I know that the weather will warm up, the sun will shine, and I will have places to go, people to see and things to do......and it will happen before I know it......

Life is good, especially on Friday night.

Stolen Chances...

I feel badly: I can't remember his face. It has been a couple of months since I went to see him. And I only saw him once.

I do remember where he lived. I got lost trying to find him. Actually, the directions to his home were clear, and I had no problem finding the RV park. After driving up and down the rows of RV's, I had to call him and get more definitive directions.

Thirty or forty years ago, the RV park was probably quite pretty. Nestled among eucalyptus trees, west of the state highway, I can see that it used to be quite well maintained. Winding dirt roads, between rows of mobile metal homes long past their prime, led to the edge of a cow pasture.

If the park was prettier in its heyday, it certainly was never more crowded. Even on a busy summer holiday weekend, in the seventies, it couldn't have been more populated. Every RV had at least one vehicle in front. Most had children's toys gathered in the dirt that served as the front “yard” for each.

Dogs, on chains, languished in the yards, watching the occasional stranger wander through the park. As I pulled up to his RV, the patient was waving to me from the door. His RV stood out to me: there were pansies planted in circular plots, around each pole on the property. The phone pole, the address sign, the propane tank....all were decorated with sweet, blue pansies.

Stepping carefully inside the fifth wheel, I was amazed at the fact that he was living there, not traveling in it. My nursing bag and I barely fit through the door. He motioned to me to sit on the couch with him. Sitting there, talking to me, he could reach his “kitchen”, his “dining table” and his bed.

It's good that he could reach things without having to move because his breathing was severely compromised and he became short of breath with only minimal exertion. We had to talk loud over the noise of the oxygen concentrator.

He was a Vietnam veteran, injured many times during his tour of duty there. He says that smoking is what did him in, and he only quit because the doctor told him it was going to kill him. Besides, he can't get outside to smoke, and he can't smoke around the oxygen. He knew he had to stop, and he apologized for being so crabby: he was only in his second week of not smoking.

In the course of our visit, he had opened up to me and been quite talkative. He was truly looking forward to his new chance in life. In telling me his story, he was very matter-of-fact. Even though some difficult things had happened to him, he was not feeling sorry for himself. It's just the way things were in his life.

The nurse who usually visited him was on vacation and had asked me to see him and, if there were no new issues, to go ahead and discharge him from nursing services. The physical therapist was still working with him, trying to help him increase his energy levels.

And the social worker had been to see him, too. It seems that the patient was trying to find a place to live, in a real apartment. The social worker had helped him find an apartment in senior housing, and helped with the paperwork for him to get in.

I remember asking him how he was going to move his things, since he couldn't drive. He had already found a young man to help him move, in exchange for his fifth wheel. So, things were in place for him to move on and have a better life.

Things have been really busy at work recently, and I hadn't thought about him in quite a while. Today, I got an email from the social worker: it seems that the same week that he was supposed to move into his apartment, he fell ill again and was hospitalized.

I would like to tell you that he is all settled in his new apartment and enjoying his new life, but I can't. He never made it out of the hospital. Once again, in his attempts to better his life, someone or something snuck in and took it from him. I don't pretend to understand why such things happen.

Or why his last chance had to be stolen from him...

Dear Jon....

I hated to do it, but I had no choice. I have given him every opportunity and he has continued to ignore me. It hurts, of course, but I guess I asked for it...

I have never been shy about sharing my feelings about him. In fact, most people know how much I like him. At least, those people who know me personally. My friend, Tommy, even calls me to let me know when I can see Jon......and where. Thanks, Tom, I appreciate your help.

I can't tell you exactly when I first noticed Jon, or where I was. I just remember that I thought he was quite talented, and worth getting to know more about. He had that certain je ne sais quoi that I find so terribly appealing.

And so, in typical “school girl admiration” I posted his picture on my bulletin board. I would like to tell you that it was a picture he sent to me, but it wasn't. I tore it out of a magazine. There he was, buttoning his shirt, asking me if I had rocked somebody's world...... And he was looking RIGHT AT ME!

Oh, I know what you're thinking: how could I think he would notice me? But then, listen to the words he wrote, just for me: “You Want to Make a Memory....” I mean, really, how could I not think he was as smitten as I was?

I was cleaning house this weekend. No nook or cranny escaped my query. Garbage bags full of unused, or hardly used, things are ready to go to the Goodwill Store. Broken things are in the dumpster. Jon went in the shredder.

I looked at him every day, as I sat at my desk in my home office. Oh sure, recently, after getting WiFi, I wasn't spending as much time with him as before. But I still thought about him. I still listened for him. And nothing. Nothing at all from Jon. Shredding him might have been cruel, but not as cruel as his dogged determination to ignore me.

It is still jarring to walk in my home office and he isn't there, staring at me, buttoning his shirt. Yes, Jon, you rocked my world, even if you never even noticed me. I will still listen to you, and recall your tenure on my bulletin board with great fondness. But that's all. It's over. I'm moving on.

Ciao, Jon Bon Jovi!!

Two Pink Flamingos....

Sometimes, near the holidays, there is a fine line—for me—between nostalgia and melancholy. As I think back on the way things used to be, and the people who used to be in my life, I can get sad, if I try.

I almost did tonight....

I was on the phone with my former daughter-in-law, discussing Christmas and our plans. I feel very fortunate that we are still very good friends and I was touched that she expressed concern that I be able to see all the grandkids and spend time with them during the holidays.

Of course, it's hard not to think about holidays past, since I live in the house I grew up in. I put the Christmas tree in the same spot my mother did, and decorate the same mantle she did. And I share her love of little white lights and gold and silver baubles.

As I felt myself leaning towards melancholy, I made a conscious effort to change directions. I put some of my favorite music on the stereo and turned up the volume. I straightened up the bedroom end of the house and filed a stack of papers, all the while be-bopping to the music.

It helped a lot...

I received the annual Christmas letter from my sister-in-law today, so I composed my own letter to send to both my brothers. Tomorrow, I will get it printed out on Christmas paper and mail it to them. Mostly, I told them that I was thinking about them and that I am glad they are my family.

And so, feeling better about things, I came in my room and was greeted by My Very Own Tree. I call it that because it is in my bedroom, and it is for me. It is not THE Christmas tree, and it is not decorated like THE Christmas tree. It is decorated like My Very Own Tree.

The lights on the tree cast a magical glow on my bedroom. It is enough light to sit here and type, but it would not be enough to read a book by. And so, I won't read....and spoil the magical glow by turning on a lamp.

The melancholy has gone away, replaced by a silly smile. What turned my frown upside down? The pink flamingos on the tree! I love their graceful, long necks, their long, skinny legs, and the fact that they are looking at each other.

I don't think I have ever seen a real flamingo, but I had plastic ones in my yard for awhile. It's funny how I got them: they were the first thing I ever “won” on ebay. I was looking at garden stuff on that site, saw the flamingos, and bid on them. And amazingly, I won the auction. I think they set me back about six dollars, if I remember correctly.

I emailed the seller with my information, so she could send me the bill. And she sent back the mailing information, so I could send my money order......With literally millions of people using ebay on any given day, I had managed to bid on, and then win, a pair of flamingos from a seller who lived in.....Podunk!

I went, in person, to pick up my flamingos and promptly named them after the seller and her husband. We visited for about an hour and became fast friends. At least, until she moved to southern California and I decided that I was spending too much money on ebay......and we lost touch with each other.

And the flamingos? They have moved on. A dear friend did me a favor and I wanted to repay her. She wouldn't take money from me. She took the flamingos instead.

I guess I should name these flamingos, too....

Jennifer Juniper...

Well, it's official. At midnight tonight, it will be fifty years since the Sixties started.

I was busy in the Sixties. I studied hard, finished high school and started college. I finished junior college and got married. I guess you could say I got my MRS degree. And I started my family.

The Age of Aquarius was a time of diapers. Long nights of partying were really long nights of comforting a colicky baby. I watched the sun come up with her more times than I care to remember. A song by Donovan became her nickname: Jennifer Juniper. Actually, one of many nicknames she had through the years.....

More kids, more songs, more nicknames. My poor son still gets called Rocket Man. And I have nicknamed his son Goggle Boy......so history does repeat itself, I guess. But then, the names are meant as a form of endearment.

So, I guess I missed the Sixties the first time around. But I did listen to the music. And danced with a baby in the middle of the night. I didn't drop out, or drop acid, but I did have many sleepless nights. And glorious, sunshine-filled days with my little ones....later in the Sixties.

I have heard the saying that, if you remember the Sixties, you weren't really there. And obviously, I wasn't wherever “there” was. But now it's 2010. Maybe I will wear flowers in my hair, and long, flowing dresses, and a peace sign necklace. And listen to Sixties music.

Somebody said you can never go home, and somebody else said you can't take it with you. So, maybe I will just savor the moment and put some sunshine in each and every day this year. The Sixties may have started fifty years ago, but the Here and Now is starting.......here and now.

It's a new dawn, it's a new day, and it's a New Year.....

Wishing you Peace.......and Sunshine!