In Memorium

I got word the other day that a woman I knew from childhood had passed away.   I would like to call her a friend, cause even though I might not see her but every few years, and we always chatted a little when I saw her.

I first met her as the pesky little sister when her family moved into a house next door to ours.  Well, it was up the hill a little ways, cause when you live in the country you don't live right next door as you do in suburbia.   Her older sister and I played together as children, more from proximity than real friendship back then, and as we got older, we developed separate friends and interests.   And then I moved away, far far away.  And I'd see Delma from time to time when I was back in Duncan.   We always exchanged pleasantries, and I told her she had an open invitation to come visit me anytime she came to the States.   I would like to think that if I had stayed there we could have been real friends.   All I know is, she was always smiling, always sweet and I liked being able to talk with her, even though it was always very brief.   I wish now I'd tried a little harder to stay in touch.  But then we connected on Facebook and I got a glimpse of her life, and it was a rich, full life.  She had a life partner, she had children, she traveled, and documented that in pictures.    And I was so glad to see that.   

And now she's gone and as cliche as this may sound, the world is a smaller and colder place without her.   

Small towns, gotta love them

I was just in town, had to visit the grocery store, visit the post office, etc.    As usual, I ran into someone I knew, chatted for a minute, then we went our separate ways.  It's very unusual for me to go to town and not run into someone I know, and we always say hello.  So different from where I used to live, I rarely, as in count on one hand, ran into people I knew there.  And even if I did, the only exchange was a curt nod, an acknowledgement that you were seen, if you were lucky.   Or if you knew the person well, they were usually in a hurry to get done and go somewhere. 

   I needed to go to the post office next, and as I'm driving there, I spotted a young bear, just meandering across the road, taking his/her sweet time about crossing.   I was about a half a block away, and before I could liberate my camera from underneath the groceries on the front seat, it was gone.  Now, this wasn't really on the outskirts of town, this was a half block off of what would be Main street in most towns.  But we do abut a large forest, and it's not uncommon for bears to come into town for a snack.   Especially if it's garbage day.  

But as I was getting my mail, it made me think of a couple of instances where living in a small town was really great.   When we first moved here, before we really knew anyone, our mail was delivered and one of the letters came postage due.  Well, the mail person left a note, saying that we owed the post office some 30 cents or so, not a lot of money, but she had gone ahead and delivered the mail anyways.    I had to go into town a day or so later, and I stopped at the post office and showed the postmaster the note and said I owed someone 30 cents.   You know, he wasn't even surprised that I made the effort to pay it.   And then there was the time I accidentally put a letter in the box outside and forgot to put a stamp on it.  I realized it as soon as I dropped it in, so I went inside, told them what I had done and purchased a stamp, knowing that it would be affixed and my mail would go out.   

There are many pluses and a few minus' to living in a small community, but I don't think I could go back to living in anonymity any more.   I like it here.   

Anchors, the good kind

So I'm lying in bed the other night, thoughts swirling around, and then memories started surfacing, and I had fun ping ponging around in my mind and memories.   Some of the images that were brought to mind, brought other remembrances to the forefront and then I started tracing some of those thoughts, memories and images back.  

What can I say, I have trouble falling asleep right away, I think they call it insomnia, but I call it FREE TIME, cause I can think, with no distractions.  Well, apart from the dog having chasing dreams and yipping in her sleep or the bird muttering to herself in her cage or my DH snoring away.   But I can tune all them out and just think.

Which is sometimes a good thing.  And sometimes not.  

This particular night I was thinking over a conversation I had with a friend about another mutual friend and it was not gossip, really.   We were both talking about the fact that our mutual friend and her husband had sailed around the world, in fact they've spent most of their married life on a sailboat, sailing where ever they wanted to go.   And it made me think.   I said I wasn't that adventuresome, I need an anchor, a place to call my own,  to go back to, or leave from.   And I've had that for most of my life.  Which means I could fly without worry, could explore, experience, learn knowing I would always have a place I could go to.    I've actually done a lot of stuff most people would not have done.

When I was twenty I moved to Europe and spend a few months in my birth country, I got to see so much of it, and I regret now that I did not explore more, but while there I did get to see a little of a few other countries.   However, I always knew I could go back 'home'.  

I left my family behind and moved to another country when I got married in my early twenties.   In retrospect I'm surprised at myself, but my family gave me the stability and love and support that meant I could do just that.  I didn't need to move away to get away, I knew I could always go back.   Maybe not to my childhood home or a physical home per se, but to family.  I still had an anchor.

Then circumstances happened that meant we could become snowbirds while still in our forties.   I was able to leave my home and go to another state and stay there for months at a time, because I knew I had my home to return to.  Again, an anchor. 

Then as life happens, we finally embarked on a journey where we didn't know where we would end up.   We sold our house, and lived full time in an RV for a few years.  I had no anchor, well, not a physical one.   I knew if I had to, I could go back to my family, and for a long time that was good.  I still had an anchor that while not a physical one, it was a loving one.  

And now I'm anchored with not only a house but have the freedom to continue to explore, when I choose.  Not a bad thing, all in all.

Blogs, defunct, ongoing and occasional.

Every so often I'll click on the 'next blog' button at the top of my blog.   And just see what's out there.   You would not believe how many blogs are out there.  Have to be millions and millions of them.   And so many of them have bloggers who posted a lot on a regular basis and then, nothing.   No explanation, no reason, nothing.

Some of the blogs are interesting, a lot are boring, some well written, others not.    As with people, they encompass the full spectrum of wishes, dreams, anticipations and all that life offers.    Some blogs are heartrending, others full of hope and dreams and then ___________ nothing.  And every so often, I find one that makes me laugh out load.   Some are so full of beauty, whether it is words or pictures, you just stay there and soak them in.      

I think if I stop blogging about this and that and nothing in particular, I hope I will have the sense to just take down the blogs.  Or I could bequeath them, hmmm.   Of course when it comes to recipe blogs, please leave them up.  I've found so many great ideas, hints and of course, recipes on defunct blogs.   I just wish that the authors had kept them up.   But that's just selfishness on my part.   But I do bookmark them for those times when I want to read more of them, but just don't have time at the moment. 

I've laughed at some, cried with others, marveled at the crafts and expertise that some people exhibit.   I'm always in awe of genuine talent, whether it be cooking, photography, crafts, writing or commentary.  

So go ahead, explore, read new blogs, you never know just what's out there. 

Thoughts

Haven't shared any thoughts here lately.  Maybe cause I haven't had many?  Nah, I've had plenty of thoughts.  Some good, some not so good, and some that made a fleeting, and I do mean fleeting stop.  Not even long enough for me to grab hold of and wrest the meaning of them out.  

I've thought a lot about my sister who passed away a few years ago, I miss her so much, but not as much as her kids do.   Both of whom are married and have children, well one of them has one child and the other couple will welcome their second child in the fall.   My sister would have been over the moon with joy over all of them.  And I can just see her ping ponging her way between both households being Mormor or Farmor or maybe just Grandma or some other version to the kids.  I would have had phone calls from her telling me of the latest triumph one of her grand daughters had done, she would have shared every new tooth, every bump and every triumph.   If she was still here. 

I've been thinking about my parents too, my dad who called us up and told us that he was glad he'd lived long enough to see Mt. St. Helens erupt, but was so saddened by the loss of life and habitat, but still, it was a natural wonder.   And while it was bad, he was awed that he was able to witness even a small part of it.   He shared how they had ash falling on them, and they were so far away, all the way up on Vancouver Island.    

And I think about my Mom as I go outside and tend my plants in pots.  Mom and Dad both had awesome green thumbs.   I swear they could plant rocks and have Dahlia's come up.   I was just outside counting the lemons on my Myers Lemon tree.   I have it in a pot, but this year, thanks to my brothers advice to make sure I feed the pot weekly I may get more than 3 or 4 lemons.     Can anyone say Lemon Meringue pie or Citronfromage or Lemon and Ginger cookies or, never mind, I'm getting hungry for lemon anything.

I've been admiring my parsley plant, poor thing gets eaten every year by the Swallowtail butterfly larvae.  And then it comes back again.  I think I'm going to have to go and plant some more parsley just for those little guys.  And hope they leave me enough to cook with from time to time.

So there I go again, just thinking of stuff.      

What idiot designs public restrooms ?

Sorry I had to yell there, but honestly I have to say this.   
What kind of idiot designs the stalls in public restrooms?  
 I'm not talking cleanliness here, although I have a couple of ideas on that one, but just the basic sense of design.   And if I offend you by talking about toilets, don't bother reading any further.

Let me give two examples.   And see if you can follow along with me on this.

I walk into a nice large restroom, lots of aisle space, and then go into the stall and cannot close the door without brushing against, no, almost having to climb on top of the toilet to close the door behind me.   All I needed was an extra inch or two, and it would have been fine.  And there was more than enough aisle space to get that extra two inches.   Of course that might have explained the footprints on top of the toilet seat.   I am not exaggerating, well, not that much, but really?   Who wants to get up close and personal with a toilet, unless it's in your own home and you're the only one who uses it and cleans it every day.  

Example number two.   I'm in a large chain store, run into the restroom, it's actually pretty clean in there, and there is room to close the door without climbing onto top of the toilet, but...  The toilet roll holder protrudes so far into the space you have to perch on the side of the toilet cause there's no room, and you have to reach back to get to the toilet paper.   So here you are, you've managed to hit the toilet, then you have to contort yourself to get to the paper and well, I'm just not built that way anymore.  

And the cleanliness thing?  Well, what's wrong with a poured concrete or other floor that can be hosed down?  Just shut the restroom down every few hours and hose off the floor.  Have  a drain that can handle it and voila!  Clean floors.   Of course it doesn't take care of the other idiots who can foul up a public restroom in seconds flat and who don't even care.  

My complaint today is the space inside the stalls, and I wonder if anyone else feels the same way.   I do care, but for now this is my space and I can complain if I want to.

Young music, old bodies

We were at a local watering hole a week or so ago, and there was a musician, well, two musicians on stage, playing the music of my youth.  And as I walked into the venue, I looked at the audience and saw the graying hair of the people rocking along with the music, and thought, gee that's so cool even the older people are really enjoying this music.  For a moment, well, almost three and a half moments, I was a young person again, then I realized that, hey, I'm one of them. I've got the grey hair, (it may be hiding amongst the golden strands, but it's there).   

I'm looking at the stage seeing the gray hair of the singer, tied back into a ponytail and listening to the music of my youth, time has marched on,  the music has stayed young but the bodies show the years that have passed.   Grey hair, or just thinning hair, grey beards, we're all showing signs of age, but the music, it has stayed young.   

Time was, the audience would have been young, and the singers younger still, but at least we've all aged together, some more gracefully, some not so much.     

Life has happened to many of us, most of us have embraced life, ridden the waves of fortune and despair, and come out of on top.    We've weathered storms, broken marriages, deaths of parents, children, spouses, pets, and we're still here.  We've won and lost, and we're still here.   We've worked, squandered, played, despaired, and we're still here.   

And for a moment or three, as we listen to the music of our youth, we can go back in time, when our skin was still smooth, our bodies young, our ambition fresh and new, and we're still here.