Jitters and cute cukes!

About one inch of rain fell during the night, along with thunder and lightning.  We tend to hit the rack quite late these nights, so we carefully listened first to the thunder in the distance and as it gradually came closer and became louder.  The rain fell in sheets, with enough force to knock down one of our tall sunflowers in the backyard.  Now the morning sun shines, and nature and its creatures are oh so pleased to have gotten a refreshing bath. I think there's chance of heavy rains again tonight.

Today begins my pre-op stuff at the hospital.  I just received a phone call from the gal at the hospital who coordinates surgeries and informs patients of what they can expect.  She will meet with me this afternoon at 3 o'clock, with the goal of easing the apprehension that eats away at surgery patients.  A dear friend has given me a walker to use during this escapade, and I can't help but cringe when I look at the thing.  I can tell already that hip surgery is going to be one frickin' humbling experience. 

There's alot involved with having surgery that one doesn't stop to think about.  Like wearing the stupid surgical stockings to prevent blood clotting.  I'm being fitted for those today, as well.  They haven't said yet how long I'll have to wear them, but if they'll help me not croak, then I'll wear them.  I guess I just want to be able to walk again, and be my old self so badly, that I'm prepared to do whatever is necessary.  Life sucks when the joints wear out.  But, I'm not going to lay down and play dead just because some silly hip bone decides it's worn out. I also have a pre-op exam this afternoon with my family physician to check my blood pressure and my ticker.  For someone who absolutely despises going to doctors, this is no box of chocolates!

Right after we get this medical hooplah over with, then we're heading straight out to the local campground to be with the M's where a good stiff drink will await plus some good old-fashioned joking and laughter and love.  Knowing their company awaits me, I can get through pretty much anything.

To change to a lighter subject, this weekend I was introduced to a new garden goody.  The lemon cucumber.  Now, isn't that about the cutest?

Stitch and Rock

I'ts early morning and already our outdoor thermometer reads 80 degrees.  Sure to be another hot, sticky, and basically miserable day.  Yet, a good day to burrow indoors, turn down the air conditioner to a lower temp, and read the Sunday Paper and nap.  My boyfriend offered to take me out for breakfast this morning, but it was I who thought the coffee at home tasted pretty darned good and so would a healthy bowl of Total with o.j. on the side.  Good and healthy choices once in awhile do add up to alot of good choices over time.

This morning as I walked past the small table in our livingroom, I glanced down at my mother's sewing  basket.  It is the coolest handwoven reed basket, and inside it I keep needles and various colored threads in case one of us pops a button.  I don't know if the basket was a gift to mom, or how else she might have acquired it. So many things I wish I would've asked my mother when she was alive.

A sewing basket must've meant a great deal to a young girl in the early 1900s.  Our mothers and grandmothers spent hours and hours repairing holes in socks, and knees of denim overalls, and flannel shirt sleeves.  They would rock back and forth in squeaky wooden rockers, quietly stitch and rock, stitch and rock.  What were they thinking?  Were they truly happy?  Or, did they put their feelings on the back burner and do whatever was necessary to care for their husbands and children? 

Mom used to tell me how she and gramma would cut fabric into pieces and sew quilt tops with needle and thread. They would sit in the evenings and do that when there was no television blaring in the background. The only bedspread I remember being on mom and dad's bed at home when I was a little girl was the Lone Star Quilt that she handmade as a young girl. That was their one and only bedspread for many years, and I still have what is left of the tattered and worn legacy that holds the sweet stitches she carefully made those many years ago. Maybe the quilt allows me to feel her touch and her presence, I don't know.

Time must've had a remarkable definition back then.  There were actually gaps in the days and evenings that needed filling with inspiration and creativity.  One generation carefully taught their skills to the next, and that was a beautiful thing.

When I went to high school my freshman year I took Home Ec and learned how to sew.  My parents bought me a very small portable Singer sewing machine, and as I learned in school, I came home and showed Mom how to trace a pattern, sew darts and facings.  For us, it was kinda backward in that I was showing her how.  We had lots of fun doing that, and Mom was a very good student and used that poor little black sewing machine for the rest of her life.  She used black electric tape to repair the cracked base, I remember.  Goes to show how things were made to last, plus that she was satisfied with forward and backward stitching and didn't ask for all the other fancy gadgets that sewing machines are adorned with today. 

Creativity gives life zest like lemon adds to water.  People don't realize that they're being creative when they choose their clothing and accessories.  Or, choose a  hairstyle.  It's all a matter of personal taste and pushing one's abilities another notch.  So often I hear people say they just aren't creative.  Oh, pshaw to that noise!  Yes they are.  Every single one of us is gifted. All we need is confidence in ourselves and to honor ourselves.  I'd rather try something and fail than never try at all.  (Isn't that why they make waste baskets and darkness?)  We can amaze ourselves with what we're able to do if there is even a spark of interest and a dash of enthusiasm.     

Those who came before us did what they had to do to keep on chugging.  These days I fear our generations are becoming far too needy and unmotivated.  None of us are entitled.  We are here to contribute and earn.  We are here to mend and repair the holes in the self-centered society we've unintentionally created.  If only the tools to do that were as simple as a needle and thread.

Nobility

"Pianos are such noble instruments --

they're either upright or grand."

Preserving the Goodness

The bounty of the earth is upon us.  Along with the bounty, comes the goodness of sharing.  Neighbors and friends offer the excess of their gardens to others, thereby maintaining and preserving the doctrine of good will.

Tonight we will be supping on wonderful BLTs and sweet corn.  The all-time favorite summer meal.  The tomatoes are ready, the vines sagging with the juices of ripeness.   The best part is preserving them for winter cooking in stews, chilis and casseroles.  I'm a semi-domestic, meaning that I take shortcuts and the least labor intensive process possible.  I simply cut up the tomatoes, put them in the blender, hit the button to smoosh them to a puree, pour into zip-lock baggies, and they're ready for the freezer.  Ever so simple, but ever so yummy. 

We freeze zuchinni, too.  Simply cut it up in small pieces,unpeeled, put in baggies, and freeze.  They add special taste to homemade vegetable soups.  I always think it's excellent for us to ingest home-grown vegetables that we know have not been tainted with harmful and disgusting chemicals. 

When the acorn squash are ready, we like to bake the scooped-out halves, then fill the centers with creamed mixed vegetables, and top with fried strips of bacon.  This makes for a nice presentation, as well as very delicious.  We bake the yellow butternut squash, too, scoop it out, and freeze in baggies. Before I bake it, I add brown sugar and butter.  Simple preparations.

Fresh salsa with chips is a great summertime appetizer or anytime-tizer.  I can make a meal out of that alone and sometimes do.  There are a gazillion recipes for salsa, blending tomatoes, onions, and peppers of varying degrees of heat.  Some like it hot.  Some don't.  I'm one that can tolerate a pretty zippy salsa, but when tears start falling down my face, well, then it's probably a titch too much.

Growing up on the farm, we, of course, had a half-acre garden, or so it seemed.  The garden was up on the hill in the field, so we either had to hike up there or take the car.  When it was time to bring down vegetables, we naturally drove up there because we brought down 5-gallon pails full.  I'd help pick the vegetables and then tip the beans and shuck the peas.  My interest in gardening never grew to proper proportions, simply because of my snake phobia.   Anywhere I was.....they were.  So, I grew up knowing that if I stay out of the weeds or the garden, I won't have to encounter them and suffer the phobic panic. 

It's no fun having a phobia like that.  It deprives a person of doing certain things we'd really like to do.  We have a creek that wanders through our back yard.  When we first got married, it was so fun going down to the creek.....until I realized it was territory that belonged to the wigglies.  I'll bet my neighbors have never seen me down by the creek, and that's the reason why.  Instead of putting myself through the trauma, I stay clear and as far away as possible of any potential encounter.

When I think about the countries where people are starving and children dying from malnutrition, I can't help but wonder why I am so fortunate to live where I live and have what I have.  Our daily frets so often obscure our life vision.  I don't know if it comes with age, but my sense of gratitude is growing by leaps and bounds.  I find myself being so thankful for my friends, for my home, for my family, for the birds that eat at our feeders, for the squirrels that drive my husband nuts, the bunnies that munch on our lawn, and for every single good thing that happens every day.  Maybe it's because time is growing shorter, I don't know.  But, it's critical to my day to say a small sincere prayer of thanks to the Great Spirit who has been so good to me. 

We are all inter-connected.  One kind act sets off a ripple effect, and where does it stop?  Perhaps it doesn't.  Maybe every kind deed creates a ripple with no end.  The simple gesture of sharing garden goodies is one such interconnection.  We nourish our bodies from the soil and toil of another, knowing it was given with love and thoughtfulness.  Now, what in this big troubled world of ours is neater than that!

Missing Hedgehogs

We carefully watch the newspapers and flyers that come in the mail luring shoppers to their store with bonanza sales.  So often those sales are bogus going-out-of-business sales that really don't amount to anything for the shopper.  So has been our experience.

Some years back we bought a livingroom couch and love seat that we felt was earthy, patterned with brown and various shades of green leaves, but after we got it situated it in our home it's attraction diminished quickly and both of us learned to dislike it alot.  So, yesterday we figured, aw heck, let's try again and head to the furniture store with the Lazy Boy sale. 

I'm not a shopper to begin with.  Unlike most women, I'd rather stay home than go to the mall.  But, anyway, we took time to see what was out there.  After browsing the store, each of us picking out possibilities, talking them over,discussing prices and repeating that process about five times, we both agreed on a new couch and chair for both our den and our livingroom.

Our intention was to go with light colors to lighten up our home.  But, once again common sense prevailed and our final decision will bring in darker tones.  Durability won out over glamour, as is always the case with us.  I guess if a person has common sense, you might as well use it.

For a couple of years, our little fur-girl has been missing her favorite toy hedgehog, that we named Harley.  She had it since she was a tiny puppy, and we could tell her to go find Harley and she would run find him and bring him to us in her mouth.  Like a little retriever.  When Harley came up missing, we about ripped the house apart looking for him.  We thought maybe we left him in our camper when we traded it in, so we replaced Harley with another stuffed hedgehog.  Well, it wasn't long before we were looking for that one.  He was nowhere to be found.  The next time we visited the pet store, a third stuffed hedgehog came home with us in the hopes that we could once and for all replace Harley and the four of us could live happily ever after.  Well, the same sprites that steal socks must've been scooting around the corners of our home, cuz hedgehog #3 came up missing as well.  Frustrated as we were, we didn't alert the cops, because we thought this had to be an inside job.

And, it evidently was.  Yesterday the hubby was checking out our double-reclininer couch in the den when he reached down inside of the split cushions and pulled out Harley #2.  Hurrah!  He reached in again, found Harley #3.  Hurrah hurrah!  And, the whole house shook when he pulled out Harley #1 that had been lovingly patched by my hubby's mother.  Now, who do you suppose hid her Harleys 1, 2 and 3?  I kinda think the mystery is solved, especially after seeing the look on her face when her daddy discovered them!

Can't wait for our new furniture to be delivered, and I'm especially pleased with the money we saved.  Surprisingly, it was a true blue sale, and Lazy Boy is a brand well known for its good wear.  Sales like that don't come around every day.  I figure any money not spent, is money earned.  I've learned there's a big difference between labeling someone "tight" and labeling someone a "smart shopper."  As my dear mother would say, "A fool and his money are soon parted."  Having been raised with that sort of guidance in spending, I'm more than satisfied to be the smart shopper who checks prices twice, compares prices, and sometimes decides I really don't need the item after all.

Oh, by the way, we're going to keep a very close eye on our newly discovered litter of stuffed hedgehogs!

Look What I See......

When I ponder the privileges of having been gifted with a human life of my very own, I'm forced to my knees when I think about the significance of our senses.  Sight.  Isn't it absolutely unreal how two small orbs inside our head can give us so much pleasure and guidance during our stay here on Earth. 

Garden Elegance

A Lonely Lily Pad

Our Summer Sanctuary

A Miniature Niagara

Deer Dining at Dusk


"Sight is by much the noblest of the senses.
We receive our notices from the other four,
through the organs of sensation only.
We hear, we feel, we smell, we taste by touch.
But sight rises infintely higher.
It is refined above matter,
and equals the faculty of Spirit."
                     --Laurence Sterne

My First Bike

The year was 1953.  Rural America.  First bicycle received for Christmas.  Blue and Yellow.   I was the happiest girl in the whole USA. 

Spring arrived.  Bike parked on front porch of our old stone house.  I didn't know how to ride it.  The rest of the family was too engulfed in farming to listen to my whines for help to learn.  Already at that age, a stubborn spirit was growing inside of me.  

One day something in me popped.  Our house was on the top of a decline, with the farm buildings below the house.  Stones and packed dirt made for a lawn.  Thoughts of not being loved, nobody caring about me swarmed through my tiny brain until I'd had it with my family.  If they didn't care enough about me, I'd manage on my very own. 

Like it was yesterday, I remember guiding the bike off the porch, finding 'the' spot, straightening the handlebars and wheels, confidently putting my butt up on the seat, my hands on the handlebars, putting my feet on the pedals and taking off with my long pony tail bouncing behind me.  Speed built to where I had to take my feet off the pedals, and I got so scared I froze.  No control.  At a good clip, me and my bike plowed right smack dab into the corn crib.

Funny how family members can respond to yelps and cries and screams of terror.  All three of them came flying from different directions to see if I was dead.  For their sake, I wish I had been.  I was skinned up and bleeding, but not bad enough for anyone to pick me up and carry me to the house.  But my beautiful Schwinn was no longer beautiful.  I'd busted out the reflector light, twisted the tires, the handlebars were screwed up, and lord knows what all.  The bike never was the same, because it was merely straightened out to where I could ride it and that was the end of it. 

From then on I turned into a fearless biker who could tackle any of the hills on the farm, could fly down our quarter-mile driveway at defying speeds, and come screeching into the yard with stones flying.  I had more accidents, some that were pretty scary.  But, none of them got the best of me.  Just goes to show the value of stubborn determination.  All these years there's been a little chip perched on my shoulder that I can't seem to brush off.  I still think one of the three could've taken a little time away from doing chores to devote to the preciously adorable, sweet, and loving little piece of sugar that lived with them.

Buck Up, Girl

 

I've decided to openly share a soon-to-be event in my life.  Recently I turned 64, and as we all know, that's no small number on the life ruler.  I'm also going to humbly confess that there were years that I actually thought I could fool Mother Nature and be the first person in human history to skate through the aging process, remain forever young, and maintain lasting good health.

Well, here I am pushed up against a wall facing distressing reality.  Mother Nature has slapped me on the head as a consequence for my selfish notions. 

With that said, let me share that two weeks from today I will be having total hip replacement surgery done on my right hip.  I've chosen to have the anterior approach, minimally invasive procedure, and the fangs of fear are biting at me like the teeth of a pit bull ripping my leg to shreds. 

I tell myself it's okay to be scared.  After all, my main frame is going to be sawed into and part of it replaced with a couple pieces of metal.  I asked my doctor if my legs will be the same length when it's over, and he smiled and said to me, "Do you have something against changing your name to Eileen?"

Yup, I'm facing the use of a walker for awhile.  Now, that's hurts the vanity within.  But, you know what, if it's gonna help me get me back to where I can walk around the block or walk around the mall without that nasty jab of pain, then I'm gonna be a big girl and do as the doctor prescribes.  Maybe I'm feeling the need to openly admit to fearing the surgery-- fearing that I might need blood, and fearing the realization that this is really going to happen to me, when it should only be happening to 'old' people.  That darned thing called 'fear' can really cause havoc with our heads and our days.  Wasn't it Woody Allen who said, "I don't like to be afraid.  It scares me."

My surgeon was carefully chosen.  I think we occupied his time for over an hour.  That's how long it took him to answer my list of questions.  Prior to our appointment, I'd done my homework and watched virtual and real videos of hip replacement surgery and read every article and forum I could find about it.  Some of my questions piqued the surgeon's interest, like how would I know to ask that.

Thousands of baby boomers are having successful joint replacement surgeries every year, and, so, I'd best buck up and be a brave girl.  It's simply my turn.  Medical science, along with the skillful doctors and nurses who devote their lives to helping humanity, give us opportunities that those of other generations wouldn't have dreamt of.  There were no surgeries available to help my gramma's arthritic pain and suffering.  So instead of harboring anxiety and fear, I've got to get myself tuned to the right station and listen to the music of scientific discovery and let myself be healed by its amazing powers. 

We are having a wedding in the family in October.  My nephew is getting married.  My goal is to be able to take hold of my husband's arm and walk pain-free down the aisle to our assigned seat without other assistive devices (other than the arm of a handsome usher).  It's good to have something like that to shoot for, cuz it gives a person the incentive to work hard to be the very best we can be.

Ali's Suggestion

Awhile back I asked for suggestions about what to call someone who isn't a morning person and isn't a night person......well, I just went through the comments, and found one from Ali......she suggests we call them Bedbums. 

So, another of the world's problems has been solved. 

People who function best in the morning are Morning Stars.
People who sleep late and function best until later in the day are Bedbums.
People who function best at night are Night Owls.

Hey, thanks, Ali.....and, I'm with you.  Nothing like snuggling in and taking a whole lot more winks!!!!!

Fascinating Anagrams

Yesterday I read the book "Bee Season" by Myla Goldberg.  It's a story about a young girl with amazing word-spelling ability who manages to win spelling bees.  On page 170 of the book is the sentence,  "Within EARTH, there is HEART."  Isn't that a wonderful anagram?  That's all it took for my mind to now be saturated with thoughts about words and phrases that have the same letters.  So far this morning I've found some really neat ones....

The eyes = they see

Tom Cruise = So I'm Cuter

Debit Card = Bad Credit

A Decimal Point - I'm a Dot In Place

Clothes Pins = So Let's Pinch

Dormitory = Dirty Room

Statue of Liberty = Built to Stay Free

Astronomer = Moon Starer

The United States of America = Attaineth Its Cause, Freedom

Conversation = Voices Rant On

Saddam Hussein = Human Sad Side

Eleven Plus Two = Twelve Plus One

Listen = Silent

A Domesticated Animal = Docile, As a Man Tamed It

Garbage Man = Bag Manager

Now I'm liked a caged tiger, wanting to sink my teeth into the fresh meat of new anagrams.  What should I do.......GOOGLE?   or   GO OGLE?

Ta-ta and have a sweet Sunday.