The Last One, I Promise

The final prompt [for now] is from 2/16/06. We still met in the Border's store back then, kinda right out in the open and I remember starting to cry when I read this (you can read your piece if you want). The prompt was "Grandparents".
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My grandmother was a short (4'9") woman. My grandfather was probably 6'7" tall. We didn't see them much, because my father was in the Coast Guard and the coasts he guarded were far away from the red clay hills of Georgia.
The things I remember most about my grandmother are love and food, how they wrap around me like welcoming arms. Neither of them were demonstrative physically, but love was as present there as a handmade quilt. I loved them more than I knew at the time.

When I was three, she made my doll her very own tiny blackberry pie. (This chokes me up every time).
I remember walking out in my grandfather's truck garden in the early morning before it got too hot and together we would pick the best cantaloupe for the breakfast table.

I learned early that if I was quiet, I could sit on the porch with my mom and grandmother while they gossiped. There was work involved though, I was given my own bowl of peas to shell or beans to string. I had no idea who they were talking about, but it made me feel like I was part of the grownup club.

My grandmother's pantry was full of jewel toned jars of emerald green beans, ruby red tomatoes, golden pickled peaches, all the fruits of her hard labors. She cooked on a wood burning stove, indoor plumbing didn't come until the 1970's.

I didn't know until I was grown that they were "poor", tenant farmers, that they rented the house my father grew up in and sold moonshine to make ends meet.

All I knew is that some of the best days in my life were spent at their house. Sitting on the front porch swing under the tall Georgia pines watching the red dust swirl up after a passing pick up truck. Using a gourd dipper to drink some of the sweetest coldest well water in the world. Being the only one up with my grandmother before it was light watching her make biscuits.

Another Prompt

Can you tell I've been cleaning house? This one was dated 9/16/06 and the prompt was "a letter to me from my house". (For some reason, my house has a Jersey accent.)
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Hey, you - the one who doesn't go outside in the summer. My grass looks like crap and the damn squirrels have chewed some of my siding. And the deck! Don't get me started on the deck!

Inside you did good, I feel good inside. It's warm, I like the pictures you hung and the pottery. Like what you dd with the guest bath too, that color - that Mystic Iris - that's real nice.

Hey listen, don't worry about that crack in the foundation, it's cosmetic only - really. You gotta trust me on this. I wouldn't lie to you. I like you, you're a good egg. I can tell.

A new coat of paint would be nice ya know, that yellow you picked last year. I know, I know, you're still paying off the gutters. See, you are a good egg. I really appreciate not being all stuffed up with acorns.
I won't lie to ya, I hear you talking about your house in Florida and how much you loved it. It hurts my feelings sometimes. I get it, first house, like a first love I guess. You're not my first either sister.

But I do like you kid, you're trying. I can be overwhelming sometimes. I'm glad you picked me over that house in Woodcroft or the one in Trinity Park, you know the ones. You made a good choice, you won't be sorry. You'll see, I'll take good care of you.

P.S. Please paint me soon.

Doorway

Another prompt. Dated 2/21/07
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There are many doorways in the Crane Cottage, an old Italianate mansion on Jekyll Island, Georgia.
The front door is weathered wood with an ornate doorknob and plate. In the back, the courtyard is surrounded by a U-shaped, double barrel vaulted (also called a groin vault, but that doesn't sound very pretty does it?) loggia leading to french doors on each wing.

How I loved this old building. Every time I came there was a new surprise, something I hadn't noticed before: the lion's head gutter spout, wrought iron flower pot holders on the balconies, the shutter tie backs (aka dogs) on the faded peeling blue shutters in the shape of clam shells. Then there were the old peach colored bricks peeking through the broken stucco, chairs in the courtyard with wrought iron leaf backs and bright POW! blue seats. She was unkempt then, but oh so interesting to a photographer; wood, glass, brick - so many textures!

Once, a back gate was open and I snuck inside. There was a beautiful spiral staircase, parquet floor, arches in the hallways all curved angles. When I looked out the front windows, the marsh sparkled and winked at me.

Now she's been gussied up. They tore down the trumpet vine and the cedar tree in the front. All her exposed brick is modestly covered in a new coat of white stucco. You can stay in one of the thirteen bedrooms and eat lunch in the courtyard by the fountain in the chairs with the bright blue seats.

I miss her. She seems sad to me somehow, valiantly trying to be new again. She's too clean, too pretty.

The doorknob's the same, but I don't take her picture anymore.

Flowers

This is from a prompt writing class back in 2006 (you're given a "prompt", a sentence, poem, picture, etc. and fifteen minutes to write- no editing). As Nancy says in class - no criticism, you can only say what you like about the piece. After all it's been written in only fifteen minutes.
The prompt was "Giving/Receiving Flowers".
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Who made up the rule to give flowers when someone dies? Is it from the past, when flowers masked the smell of death, of decay? Flowers are happy and bright. They don't go with death, sadness, tears, the unforgivable loss.

I can't remember getting flowers from boyfriends or husbands. I give them to myself, although it seems a frivolous expense for something so short-lived.

Tulips I love the best. They're like two flowers in one - first closed primly in their stark sleekness, then opening to reveal their inner hearts.
There's something slightly whorish about an open tulip.
Disheveled, one petal almost off - like a slip strap sliding from a shoulder, hair mussed and sleepy eyed. Ready to give themselves for beauty, for love.

Brand New and Shiny

I wanted a bike.
Nothing fancy, just a quicker way of getting around. Of course all my friends had one, surely that was another reason.

It probably came from Sears, ordered from the catalog store downtown off one of the muddy unpaved streets. I'm being generous calling it a store, it was more like a kiosk; six or seven catalogs lay sprawled open in the tight gloom.
In Kodiak, for those of us who couldn't afford to fly to Anchorage to shop, everything from shoes to jeans to dresses came from the Sears catalog. In the hierarchy of mail order, Montgomery Ward was the bottom, Sears and JC Penney held the middle ground, and Spiegel was the bomb diggity top. First day of school, many of us were wearing the same clothes - plucked from the same catalog.

The bike came in a large carton, unassembled. Hot pink and silver, she was quite the looker.

My father, who was not known for his mechanical abilities spent a few hours assembling the bike. I can't say for sure how long, because antsy with anticipation, I left the house. It can be reasonably assumed it went something like this:
Everything came out of the box. Hopes were high, buoyed by the words "easy assembly".
My mother, always the navigator of difficult journeys, would have read the instructions to my father.
He would have paid no attention.
Eventually, my mother would say "Do it yourself then," and leave.
There would be swearing.
My father would sacrifice a piece of flesh. Or two.

But then, at last - my bike!
Except...
wait...
the front fender was on backwards, long part in the front.

I pointed this out to my dad.
"That's the way it came out of the box." He was not one to admit mistakes.

I thought I could get a neighbor or friend's dad to undo the bolts and I'd flip the fender. But to my dismay, the bolts were on so tight it was like they were welded on.

The fender stayed on backwards.

You could always tell it was me - I was the one with the mud spattered pants.

Let's See

• I had some ideas about what to write about earlier today and have now forgotten them. They were mix and match things. 
• Driving = great place for ideas to percolate - no where to write them down.
• Everyone should have coffee come out of their nose from laughter at least once in their life. My turn came this morning as I read Hyperbole and a Half's entry about moving with her two afflicted dogs. Omg. No wonder she has 31,000 plus followers. (no, that is not a typo. how does one get that many followers? besides being hilarious.)
• Picked up some hot chorizo at the wine store next to the Thai Cafe. Obviously, they have a little more than wine; local [and not] cheese, local salami, truffle stuffed/chocolate covered figs (so good!!!). I can't wait to have some chorizo with scrambled eggs.
• Speaking of spicy pork products, one of my favorite employee meals from my Steve's Bar-B-Q  days (we were Steve's Bar-B-Cuties) was the Bip Bam Hot Damn - hot links, linguica, grilled onions and cheese on grilled dark rye (price - $3.95). Yea.
• 
• That's me - the one with the circle around her 80's poodle permed mulleted big shoulder padded bad self. (it looks like I'm wearing bedroom slippers. That cannot be right!)
• It is freezing in this closet/Suite 101/home office. So cold it feels like it could snow in here.

Check this out:

Page views by Countries United States   3,415 Canada  132 Germany  50 South Korea  37 Netherlands  36 South Africa  19 France  13 Switzerland  11 Poland  8 Saudi Arabia  8

This is who has looked at my blog. Wow. Hello world.Well, some of the world. More of the world than I knew. Posts that got the most comments: Total Randomness: 10 Herd Mentality: 9 Old Friends: 7

Mom Update

We went out to dinner on Monday. She kept asking if she was going home, or if I taking her home with me. She introduced me as her mother.

This morning I received an email from the doctor:
"I saw your mother this week and she appears to be making the transition to Clare Bridge wonderfully. The staff reported that she was cooperative, pleasant and taking all meds etc. I did find her blood sugars much lower this week. It may be better control of diet, not sure, but have decreased her medications and will continue to do so. Her blood pressure was good."

Funny, we were paying for a carbohydrate controlled diet in Wynwood (and aren't here), yet her sugar is down, maybe because they don't let her skip meals.

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I had forgotten about this "special edition" Barbie. This was for a friend who was afraid she was going to get fat and grow facial hair after her hysterectomy. (Helen was a tiny petite woman who regularly "forgot to eat" and had to "make" herself eat half a sandwich. I have forgotten to eat, um...let me think...oh right, that would be exactly never, in my life.)
Being the sensitive concerned friends we were, we made this care package for her recovery. Mom sewed the hospital gown, wrist band, and cut Barbie's hair into a bob [of sorts] just like Helen's.

Cinnamon Toast Sidewalks

We had a nice whopping rainstorm last night and the sidewalks/streets/driveways are golden brown and crispy with fallen leaves.

In other news, I smashed two fingers while putting a new container of water in the cooler. Dangit! that hurt. Actually it is still a wee bit throbby five hours later (especially when I press on them).
What is it about something hurting that makes one want to poke at it more?
Do the words "hot plate" make you want to touch the plate? They do me.
What is that?

While We're On The Subject

I can't remember where I found this, so my apologies to whoever wrote it for not giving you the credit. This is as close to truly representing me as anything I've ever read - right down to the traveling, love of quotes and personality tests!

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INFJ - Cold on The Outside, Warm and Fuzzy on The Inside

            Most INFJs are protective of their inner selves, sharing only what they choose to share when they choose to share it. They are deep, complex individuals, who are quite private and typically difficult to understand. INFJs hold back part of themselves, and can be secretive. But the INFJ is as genuinely warm as they are complex. INFJs hold a special place in the heart of people who they are close to, who are able to see their special gifts and depth of caring. INFJs are concerned for people's feelings, and try to be gentle to avoid hurting anyone. They are very sensitive to conflict, and cannot tolerate it very well. Situations which are charged with conflict may drive the normally peaceful INFJ into a state of agitation or charged anger.

            The INFJ's thinking is introverted, turned toward the subject. Perhaps it is when the INFJ's thinking function is operative that he is most aloof. A comrade might surmise that such detachment signals a disillusionment, that she has also been found lacking. Experience suggests that such distancing is merely an indication that the seer is hard at work and focusing energy into this less efficient function.

            INFJs are deeply concerned about their relations with individuals as well as the state of humanity at large. They are, in fact, sometimes mistaken for extroverts because they appear so outgoing and are so genuinely interested in people -- a product of the Feeling function they most readily show to the world. On the contrary, INFJs are true introverts, who can only be emotionally intimate and fulfilled with a chosen few from among their long-term friends, family, or obvious "soul mates." While instinctively courting the personal and organizational demands continually made upon them by others, at intervals INFJs will suddenly withdraw into themselves, sometimes shutting out even their intimates. This apparent paradox is a necessary escape valve for them, providing both time to rebuild their depleted resources and a filter to prevent the emotional overload to which they are so susceptible as inherent "givers." As a pattern of behavior, it is perhaps the most confusing aspect of the enigmatic INFJ character to outsiders, and hence the most often misunderstood -- particularly by those who have little experience with this rare type.

            Usually self-expression comes more easily to INFJs on paper, as they tend to have strong writing skills. They have an unusually rich inner life, but they are reserved and tend not to share their reactions except with those they trust. With their loved ones, certainly, INFJ’s are not reluctant to express their feelings, their face lighting up with the positive emotions, but darkening like a thunderhead with the negative. Indeed, because of their strong ability to take into themselves the feelings of others, INFJ’s can be hurt rather easily by those around them, which, perhaps, is one reason why they tend to be private people, mutely withdrawing from human contact. At the same time, friends who have known an INFJ for years may find sides emerging which come as a surprise. Not that they are inconsistent; INFJ’s value their integrity a great deal, but they have intricately woven, mysterious personalities which sometimes puzzle even them. Rarely get into conflict, but when it erupts, can be very bitter.

-  value personal integrity and "being true to yourself"

-  are on a lifelong search for a unique identity and meaning; spirituality is important to us

-  can be hard to get to know, depending on the other person (reciprocity)

-  are sometimes seen by others as cold and hard on the outside

-  can be difficult to "peg"; sometimes INFJs may not recognize fellow members of their own type

-  may find it easier to express their deepest feelings and sentiments non-verbally or in writing

-  abhor evil or injustice, especially that directed towards the innocent or helpless

-  are sometimes looked upon by others as naive, mostly due to our idealism

-  can be quite gullible; many INFJs build up a protective armour over the years to protect against  this  and being "used" by others

- enjoy thoughtful discussion but dislike arguing for argument's sake, as this often degenerates into ugly conflict

-  are bookworms, love bookstores and libraries

-  love personality tests and other self-improvement tools

-  love quotes/quotations and are often "philosophers" or "theologists"  

"Mute withdrawal is a major INFJ defense."

            When the INFJ is in a stressful situation, their initial reaction is "flight".  How they do this is by distancing themselves from the situation, usually separating from the problem while buying time.  They need to step back and consider what's going on.  They tend to move away from what isn't liked, and sometimes even stay away from that.  To others, it may look as if they are detached or are fleeing from the problem.  But after they adjust to the situation, they will face the problem with a solution in hand.  When there is conflict, the emotion they tend to express is "afraid."

            It's obvious that the American dream is to be extroverted. We want our children to be "people who need people." We want them to have lots of friends, to like parties, to prefer to play outside with their buddies rather than retire with a good book, to make friends easily, to greet new experiences enthusiastically, to be good risk-takers, to be open about their feelings, to be trusting. We regard anyone who doesn’t fit this pattern with some concern. We call them "withdrawn," "aloof," "shy," "secretive," and "loners." These pejorative terms show the extent to which we misunderstand introverts.

The majority of Americans are extroverted (about 75%). Introverts are wired differently from extroverts and they have different needs. Extroverts get their energy from interaction with people and the external world. Introverts get their energy from within themselves; too much interaction drains their energy and they need to retreat from the world to recharge their batteries. Since extroversion is the dominant mode in our society, there are no "closet extroverts," but there are many "closet introverts," people who are so ashamed of their introversion that they try to be extroverts.

So what then is an introvert? The essence of an introvert is to focus on his or her internal life.

This does not mean that an introvert is self-centered or is not involved with the external world. An introvert operates predominantly internally by thinking quietly.  (In contrast, an extrovert operates predominantly externally by vocalizing while thinking.). Thus, whether the introvert is working on external or internal issues, he or she will tend to be taciturn and reticent.  (In contrast, an extrovert will tend to talk.)

However, if an introvert ever gets into a discussion about a topic that he or she has a particular interest in, then his or her internal machinations may be externalized. Such a discussion may be quite beneficial, functional, deep, involved, and/or emotional. The tendency amongst introverts is to have discussions of the most meaningful sort; otherwise, no discussion at all is preferred. From an introvert's point of view, most other discussions are simply chatter.

Needless to say, there are many problems involved with this. Most people, i.e., most non-introverts, need more communication and feedback. There is useful information and bonding that can be acquired via "chatter." These problems do not mean that introverts should convert into extroverts!  It would be a dull world if everyone thought and operated in the exact same way.

An experienced (or self-aware) INFJ makes provisory [travel] arrangements to cope with sensory overload by scheduling some "down time" if the duration of the visit permits it.  In fact, INFJs can be rather anti-social while traveling.  They may appear cordial, but they truly dread the taxi driver's, "So where are you from?" or the bellman's rote inquiry, "Are you traveling on business or is this a vacation?"  They would prefer to be ignored entirely.

A Little Zen

I have a problem.
When kind, loving, caring people (usually that I don't know well) ask me to join them at their home for a holiday meal, my inner Grinch/introvert snarls into action.
With a look of what is probably pure horror plastered on my face, I vomit some fabulously delightful response like,"Oh god no! I'd rather be alone. Stand around and make total crap banter with perfect strangers for hours?! Thanks but no thanks."

I don't say that exactly, but close.
It usually goes like this:
Kind person: What are your plans for the holidays?
Me: Nothing! (said with joyful glee and a big smile)
Kind person: Oh, come to my house then! - completely missing the glee (how can they?!)
That's when the ungraciousness starts.
Feeling trapped and tangled in the extrovert's web, (Ahhhh, get it off me!), I start flailing and thrashing about verbally. Hurting people's feelings.

Sigh.

I am definitely missing a Southern chromosome.
Why can't I think those things, but say "Oh, that's really so very lovely and kind. Thank you so much, but unfortunately I already have plans."

Oh the other hand, people need to stop being so insistent, thinking everyone else needs to be with people during the holidays. That's what YOU like/want to do.
And don't go getting all defensive and thinking I don't like you, or your family. I'm sure they are wonderful people, because you are.
Pay attention please: IT'S NOT YOU. It's me.
Some of us really, really don't mind being by ourselves. Really.
We are not lonely or suicidal.
We are introverts.


Okay, I'm off to practice being gracious AND sincere (even trickier!).

I am a rock, I am an island

Fall

Driving back from Durham this afternoon the light was so deliciously sharp, sparkling on chartreuse, vermilion, pumpkin, and gold colored leaves, it made me smile. And tonight when I went out to the mailbox the air was crispy, edged with frost.
I love fall.

New Room and Old Pictures

Here's the new room:

When we moved her, we found a box full of loose photos, some old, some newer. Some old ones:

 Mom in Fernandina Beach, FL

 Aunt Trish and Mom by a logging cart

You mean now I have to cook something?!

 I love this picture! The look on her face - hilarious.

This is where my sister gets her looks.

My mother never thought she was pretty. I always did.

All Done

Whew! It only took from 9 AM - 4:30 PM. She wasn't weepy or anything. Honestly she surprises me all the time.
I couldn't have done it without Daphne, Barbara, and Steffi; they packed and schlepped, while I threw stuff away (it has been determined that is my forte, I have been called "brutal". I take some pride in that label).
Let's not forget making me laugh - the most important job of all. Oh, of course, all the prayers and good thoughts from cousins, aunts, family, and friends old and new, on-line and off. I'm convinced that's what made the whole process go so smoothly. Thank you.

We found the DVD player remote that I've been looking for almost two years! Also found the remote to the TV in the lounge across the hall...ahem...in her room. Scored a big box of labeled [bonus!] old photos. Confiscated the machete and fillet knife I found in a box of my dad's stuff. Yikes.

She sat in the lounge most of the day, I think that's how she dealt with four people pawing through her stuff. TROSA officially started moving at 2 PM and it was all in the truck by 2:30. Two quick right turns and we were at Clare Bridge, they had probably unloaded everything by 3:00. Billy had come down to get her for her hair appointment right before we headed over with the loaded truck, so I took advantage of that "alone" time to unpack most everything, get her bed made, hang a couple of pictures.


During a lull between packing everything and TROSA arriving, Mom and I played with Barbies. She used to sew Barbie clothes (my Barbies' wardrobe was the envy of the neighborhood), Daphne found a box under the bed with clothes, shoes, hangers and dolls.

Daphne sent me a text as Mom was dressing one of them, and when my phone made the little noise it makes for texts, Mom held the doll up to her ear. I had a good guffaw over that. It was so childlike and innocent. She laughed too. She is a good sport most of the time.

(I dropped my phone so many times today, I'm surprised it makes a sound at all!)

Zombie Barbie

When I went to get her, all the aides hugged her neck (as we say in the South) and we sashayed out the door.
"You and I are leaving this place."
Yup.
We drove to Hardee's for a cola beverage, then around to Clare Bridge.
"I know it here."
You do? Great, this is your new place.
"It is!? Wow."
When we got inside, and she found out she had a new room, well, she was pleased as punch. It's the same direction as her old room, but has much better light and a nice view of a trellis and trees.
We looked at her 43rd anniversary book and a photo (I had typed phone!) book my sister-in-law made of the family (she's really good at that and a great photographer as well), then it was time for dinner. She went off without a fuss; when I left, she was sitting in the living room watching a movie.

Sweet dreams Mom.

Today's The Day

Been avoiding Mom since last week. I really have had a cold, but it's more cowardice on my part.
Honestly, this whole journey is rapidly becoming like dusting.

I hate dusting. Can someone please invent one-time dust? It doesn't need to take precedence over a cure for cancer or any other crap disease, but you know, really, really soon after that. Thanks in advance.
Here's the conversation in my head about dusting: "What?! More dust?! I just did it three weeks ago! (or was that five...) Where does this stuff come from? [glares suspiciously at cats innocently lolling about nearby] Do you guys have a dust manufacturing plant nearby? Is THAT what you do all night while I'm sleeping?!"


Some very kind friends are coming to help, one of them even picked up boxes. I hadn't even done that. Such a loser. I'll go over before them and tell her the news. Crap, just remembered I need to get $200 in cash to pay the movers. Maybe I can pack her off to the hairdresser's today. Lord knows she needs it.

On a total different note, my niece, (another one, not the one responsible for my startlingly fast addiction to Ancestry.com ;), picked me to be her pen pal. (Seriously, how adorable is THAT?) Her letter came yesterday. She told me about her Halloween evening and going to a haunted house nearby. The last line was "[her brother] brought a friend. I brought a friend too, my dad." Awww!

Well, I'd better go get dressed and, in the words of Miracle Max in "The Princess Bride", ..."have fun storming the castle."

Ancestry.com

So my niece asks me, on Facebook, about genealogy yesterday.

$19.95, two glasses of wine, two bowls of ratatouille, one piece of gingerbread, and six hours later, my little desk, creaking under the weight of my dad's briefcase, genealogy binders, and books on Cumberland Island,
looked like this:

What you don't see is the box that held the binder, the loose pieces of paper, photos, and tidbits that are lurking in it. Or the sheaf of military papers that came out of the briefcase.
All waiting for some order.

Total Randomness

I feel completely validated in that title because my blog is "...and other random stuff". So without further ado, here is today's randomness, in no particular order.

1) If, while eating some delicious food item, Whole Foods Chicken Alfredo for instance, a piece of bone or gristle appears, I eat the rest of it tentatively waiting for another bad thing.
Does that happen to you?

2.) Been listening to "Middle Cyclone" by Neko Case (solo & New Pornographers). There are so many great lyrics that speak to my poet's ear, such as:
"...I have waited with a glacier's patience...",
"...When I'd rake the springtime across your sheets..."
"...I love your long shadows and your gunpowder eyes",
"...yes, there are things that I'm still so afraid of...but my courage is roaring like the sound of the sun..."
"...to a passage, so poorly lit, there are moths flying away from it..."

3.) Things I saw today:
a headless deer (who has the car with the head?!), a bumper sticker of a cow with a chicken on its back, the movie "Megamind" (so funny), a very massive brown Newfoundland, one tree, in the midst of green mediocrity, so full of flaming red fall I did a double take.

4.) I'm now binging on books about dogs after enjoying "Scent of the Missing" so much.
The one started today, "Last Dog on the Hill", set a new crying record. That's right - freakin' page one.
"Red Dog Rising" ("...true story of Jeff Schettler and his police K-9, Ronin, a bloodhound...") is next.

5.) Prosecco/champagne/cava/etc. is my legal drug of choice.

6.) Watched "Mon Oncle" again. (rented from the library) What a great movie.
My brother and I saw "Mr. Hulot's Holiday" forever ago in Petaluma and laughed so hard - oh god, when he gets the fox rug stuck on his spur, I come undone.
I like "Mon Oncle" a scoch better. It's so charming, gently hilarious, never mean spirited.
Jacques Tati, you were a genius. (and a Libra, same BD as another genius, John Lennon :)

7.) What in the world is the purpose of blowing leaves? In the fall? Seriously. I passed a landscaping company blowing leaves - into the street - today. A rainy, windy, fall day. Are you kidding?!
What a waste of manpower and gasoline. Errgh.

HOW MUCH IS THIS GOING TO COST?!

Just kidding.
No, wait, I'm not. 

It's official. Mom needs to move to the...(dundundun)..."memory care unit", a.k.a., the locked building, the Alzheimer's section.
Over $1000 more a month than she's paying now.
She could stay where she is - except with a 24 hour sitter that makes where she is now WAY more expensive. 53 hours x $17 an hour is $901 - for just over two days.

 Tuesday's the big day. Haven't told her yet. Been staying away, mostly because I have a cold and partly because it sucks. She has an inkling I think.
Why, why did she have to go for a walk?! She doesn't even like to walk.

Oh man.
Called TROSA - the easy part, they're on the ball.
Called Time Warner cable - who keep hanging up on me because they know how much I enjoy being on the phone with them. I still have to call them more. arrggghhhh.
Then pack her up (for the third, fourth time?) and let the schlepping begin!

I didn't go on the interview in Raleigh. Part time, $10 an hour. Not worth it. 3-8 PM which is not bad, if it was around here. I don't see so well at night anymore so I-40 at night would not be fun.

Anyway, I plan on making this weekend fun. "Megamind", book club, and Prosecco. Yea.

Storm cloud through leaf on windshield

And So It Begins

Wednesday I have a "care" meeting about Mom's state of mind; whether she should move to the locked unit.

I have a cold and an interview in Raleigh tomorrow. I don't want to work in Raleigh, it's [at least] a thirty minute drive. I've been fortunate for most of my working life to live three miles average or less from work. I see no reason that should change. There are people who think I should suffer and have a commute. (Those people are mean.)
It's only a part time job at that. Ugh. Am I supposed to be grateful or hold out for what I want? Always a dilemma for me.

Went for a lovely walk this afternoon with B., from Weaver Street Market in Carrboro down Franklin St. to Hillsborough St.; it was such a pleasant day (and company). The briskness is back in the air. It felt so very southern with the grand houses (now mostly sororities or fraternities), and row of massive trees shading the brick paved sidewalk.

Later, we had a squirrel watch!

 So that's been our day.

Oh, more randomness -
Book: for dog lovers (and likers ;), "Scent of the Missing", an account of one woman's training of her first search and rescue dog, a Golden Retriever named Puzzle. Fascinating, funny, and poignant. (Did you know they are all volunteers?!)
Documentary: "Afghan Star", an American Idol type search for the top singer in Afghanistan, after the Taliban has been ousted and singing is legal again.
TV Series: "Bramwell" (1995. Apparently was on PBS in the late nineties) - terrific British TV series about a young woman doctor set in late 1800's London. I love Netflix!

Happy Samhain

Samhain (SOW-wan) is the Celtic New Year.
In the spirit of the season we went to Fearrington for their PumpkinFest Friday night. Fearrington is a "village" down the road towards Pittsboro. It used to be a farm. They kept the silo, a few of the belted cows and goats as a reminder of what used to be. There's a barn where weddings and the Folk Art Festival is held. A gift shop, a nice book store, a casual dining place or two, an inn, and a very expensive (and I hear very good) restaurant. And houses.

I didn't know what to expect, but I sure didn't expect the absolute horde of people. Silly me.
Children in costumes, (my favorite was a little girl dressed as a unicorn, wearing the unicorn head sideways), dogs, knots of people in front of each pumpkin.You had to do the fair walk shuffle: couple of quick steps, stop, quick step, stop, try to step around, stop...

Here are some of the turnips and pumpkins:

 These are turnips - the original jack o'lantern.

The turnips smelled a little.