Spring Fever is here!
I'm going out to look for the first flower that blooms in this high mountain country, the pale blue with yellow stamina of the Pasqueflower. The sun is shinning and there is just a light breeze out. Crunching through the fallen, dry pine needles made me think of all the spring rituals this time of year and how they evolved.
Spring Rites from my book, "Cooking with Memories in Historic Georgetown, Colorado".
The egg is definitely the symbol for Spring rites. Here's a myth from the Mid-eastern cultures that you may find interesting. They believed that the earth was hatched from a giant egg. Wouldn't want to run into that egg-layer anytime soon.
From the Egyptians, Persians and Chinese, we contribute the practice of dying pastel eggs. They would give them to their friends as a symbol of renewed life. Decorated hollow eggs were found in Egyptian tombs as amulets to help the soul find rebirth. Druids dyed eggs red in Spring to honor the sun.
As early as 1290, bookkeepers for England's King Edward I, recorded a charge of eighteen pence to purchase 450 gold-leafed and colored eggs as Easter gifts.
There have been many Spring Festivals over the years - Ostara, Eostre, Easter, Vernal Equinox, Spring Equinox and the First Day of Spring that all occur during mid-March to early April. The goddess, Ostara or Eostre, is always portrayed with a basket of eggs and a hare or rabbit beside her, marking the sun warming the earth, the appearance of new buds and the greening of the earth.
In Russia, the Krasnjo Gorka tradition still continues today. A woman holding a red egg and a round loaf of bread faces east, sings a spring song with the crowds, then takes a husk doll who represents Marzena, Grandmother Winter, throwing it out at the edge if the village or physically destroying it. Thus she ends Winter.
I found the story about the Easter basket fascinating. Before the chicken was domesticated, these wild chickens would fly into trees to roost and nest. The people would climb trees to hunt for both hen and other bird eggs in the bird nests. This could have been the start of the woven egg basket.
Bird's eggs are often lightly pastel colored and/or speckled in nature to protect them from predators. Could this have been the creative force for starting to color and decorate eggs?
How many of you have been part of an egg rolling contest? Where did this custom originate? In the Slavic countries, decorating hard boiled eggs, then rolling them along the fields represents the transfer of fertility of the egg to the earth for good crops.
If you have been to a sunrise service to celebrate the risen Christ, another sunrise service celebrated long ago that you might not know about is the ancient spring ritual of building bonfires at Dawn to symbolize the triumph of light and life over death and darkness.
Spring Festivals were the first customs for planting new ideas, new goals for the coming year, new business or new activities to be started. Celebrate a new day. Springtime in the Rockies is near.Spring Fever is here!
I'm going out to look for the first flower that blooms in this high mountain country, the pale blue with yellow stamina of the Pasqueflower. The sun is shinning and there is just a light breeze out. Crunching through the fallen, dry pine needles made me think of all the spring rituals this time of year and how they evolved.
Spring Rites from my book, "Cooking with Memories in Historic Georgetown, Colorado".
The egg is definitely the symbol for Spring rites. Here's a myth from the Mid-eastern cultures that you may find interesting. They believed that the earth was hatched from a giant egg. Wouldn't want to run into that egg-layer anytime soon.
From the Egyptians, Persians and Chinese, we contribute the practice of dying pastel eggs. They would give them to their friends as a symbol of renewed life. Decorated hollow eggs were found in Egyptian tombs as amulets to help the soul find rebirth. Druids dyed eggs red in Spring to honor the sun.
As early as 1290, bookkeepers for England's King Edward I, recorded a charge of eighteen pence to purchase 450 gold-leafed and colored eggs as Easter gifts.
There have been many Spring Festivals over the years - Ostara, Eostre, Easter, Vernal Equinox, Spring Equinox and the First Day of Spring that all occur during mid-March to early April. The goddess, Ostara or Eostre, is always portrayed with a basket of eggs and a hare or rabbit beside her, marking the sun warming the earth, the appearance of new buds and the greening of the earth.
In Russia, the Krasnjo Gorka tradition still continues today. A woman holding a red egg and a round loaf of bread faces east, sings a spring song with the crowds, then takes a husk doll who represents Marzena, Grandmother Winter, throwing it out at the edge if the village or physically destroying it. Thus she ends Winter.
I found the story about the Easter basket fascinating. Before the chicken was domesticated, these wild chickens would fly into trees to roost and nest. The people would climb trees to hunt for both hen and other bird eggs in the bird nests. This could have been the start of the woven egg basket.
Bird's eggs are often lightly pastel colored and/or speckled in nature to protect them from predators. Could this have been the creative force for starting to color and decorate eggs?
How many of you have been part of an egg rolling contest? Where did this custom originate? In the Slavic countries, decorating hard boiled eggs, then rolling them along the fields represents the transfer of fertility of the egg to the earth for good crops.
If you have been to a sunrise service to celebrate the risen Christ, another sunrise service celebrated long ago that you might not know about is the ancient spring ritual of building bonfires at Dawn to symbolize the triumph of light and life over death and darkness.
Spring Festivals were the first customs for planting new ideas, new goals for the coming year, new business or new activities to be started. Celebrate a new day. Springtime in the Rockies is near.Spring Fever is here!
I'm going out to look for the first flower that blooms in this high mountain country, the pale blue with yellow stamina of the Pasqueflower. The sun is shinning and there is just a light breeze out. Crunching through the fallen, dry pine needles made me think of all the spring rituals this time of year and how they evolved.
Spring Rites from my book, "Cooking with Memories in Historic Georgetown, Colorado".
The egg is definitely the symbol for Spring rites. Here's a myth from the Mid-eastern cultures that you may find interesting. They believed that the earth was hatched from a giant egg. Wouldn't want to run into that egg-layer anytime soon.
From the Egyptians, Persians and Chinese, we contribute the practice of dying pastel eggs. They would give them to their friends as a symbol of renewed life. Decorated hollow eggs were found in Egyptian tombs as amulets to help the soul find rebirth. Druids dyed eggs red in Spring to honor the sun.
As early as 1290, bookkeepers for England's King Edward I, recorded a charge of eighteen pence to purchase 450 gold-leafed and colored eggs as Easter gifts.
There have been many Spring Festivals over the years - Ostara, Eostre, Easter, Vernal Equinox, Spring Equinox and the First Day of Spring that all occur during mid-March to early April. The goddess, Ostara or Eostre, is always portrayed with a basket of eggs and a hare or rabbit beside her, marking the sun warming the earth, the appearance of new buds and the greening of the earth.
In Russia, the Krasnjo Gorka tradition still continues today. A woman holding a red egg and a round loaf of bread faces east, sings a spring song with the crowds, then takes a husk doll who represents Marzena, Grandmother Winter, throwing it out at the edge if the village or physically destroying it. Thus she ends Winter.
I found the story about the Easter basket fascinating. Before the chicken was domesticated, these wild chickens would fly into trees to roost and nest. The people would climb trees to hunt for both hen and other bird eggs in the bird nests. This could have been the start of the woven egg basket.
Bird's eggs are often lightly pastel colored and/or speckled in nature to protect them from predators. Could this have been the creative force for starting to color and decorate eggs?
How many of you have been part of an egg rolling contest? Where did this custom originate? In the Slavic countries, decorating hard boiled eggs, then rolling them along the fields represents the transfer of fertility of the egg to the earth for good crops.
If you have been to a sunrise service to celebrate the risen Christ, another sunrise service celebrated long ago that you might not know about is the ancient spring ritual of building bonfires at Dawn to symbolize the triumph of light and life over death and darkness.
Spring Festivals were the first customs for planting new ideas, new goals for the coming year, new business or new activities to be started. Celebrate a new day. Springtime in the Rockies is near.Spring Fever is here!
I'm going out to look for the first flower that blooms in this high mountain country, the pale blue with yellow stamina of the Pasqueflower. The sun is shinning and there is just a light breeze out. Crunching through the fallen, dry pine needles made me think of all the spring rituals this time of year and how they evolved.
Spring Rites from my book, "Cooking with Memories in Historic Georgetown, Colorado".
The egg is definitely the symbol for Spring rites. Here's a myth from the Mid-eastern cultures that you may find interesting. They believed that the earth was hatched from a giant egg. Wouldn't want to run into that egg-layer anytime soon.
From the Egyptians, Persians and Chinese, we contribute the practice of dying pastel eggs. They would give them to their friends as a symbol of renewed life. Decorated hollow eggs were found in Egyptian tombs as amulets to help the soul find rebirth. Druids dyed eggs red in Spring to honor the sun.
As early as 1290, bookkeepers for England's King Edward I, recorded a charge of eighteen pence to purchase 450 gold-leafed and colored eggs as Easter gifts.
There have been many Spring Festivals over the years - Ostara, Eostre, Easter, Vernal Equinox, Spring Equinox and the First Day of Spring that all occur during mid-March to early April. The goddess, Ostara or Eostre, is always portrayed with a basket of eggs and a hare or rabbit beside her, marking the sun warming the earth, the appearance of new buds and the greening of the earth.
In Russia, the Krasnjo Gorka tradition still continues today. A woman holding a red egg and a round loaf of bread faces east, sings a spring song with the crowds, then takes a husk doll who represents Marzena, Grandmother Winter, throwing it out at the edge if the village or physically destroying it. Thus she ends Winter.
I found the story about the Easter basket fascinating. Before the chicken was domesticated, these wild chickens would fly into trees to roost and nest. The people would climb trees to hunt for both hen and other bird eggs in the bird nests. This could have been the start of the woven egg basket.
Bird's eggs are often lightly pastel colored and/or speckled in nature to protect them from predators. Could this have been the creative force for starting to color and decorate eggs?
How many of you have been part of an egg rolling contest? Where did this custom originate? In the Slavic countries, decorating hard boiled eggs, then rolling them along the fields represents the transfer of fertility of the egg to the earth for good crops.
If you have been to a sunrise service to celebrate the risen Christ, another sunrise service celebrated long ago that you might not know about is the ancient spring ritual of building bonfires at Dawn to symbolize the triumph of light and life over death and darkness.
Spring Festivals were the first customs for planting new ideas, new goals for the coming year, new business or new activities to be started. Celebrate a new day. Springtime in the Rockies is near.W
Monday, July 16, 2018
Splat, again.
This was about two & 1/2 years ago. My times flies.
Update: Again November 1st, I had another really bad fall in my daughter's driveway, ended with a ride in a First Responders ambulance to the emergency room where they found a tumor on my adrenal gland. Operation in April removed the whole gland.
I still get dizzy and fainted last September when working for the Visitor Center.
I'm living with these facts of life and still enjoying every day!
blog from 2014
"When you are in your seventies, you do NOT want to fall. Even remembering where there is a step, is sometimes fleeting. Yesterday at my daughter’s, I was walking with my glass of water and my iPad following her to watch "20 Feet from Famous" movie on their big TV screen. Her husband and my granddaughter were waiting. And yes, we were talking, I know not what about now. Thump, I see my self falling toward the wood floor entryway, water hitting the floor before me in large splashes everywhere, my iPad skittering across the floor like it’s an ice rink. My knee hits the top step of the entry, hard and I am down, still holding my glass, now with very little water in it. My daughter turns around to find me splayed out across the floor.
I am so embarrassed at the mess I’ve just created and frightened that I might have broken something I cannot recover from. My knee hurts and I imagine there is wet sticky blood coming through my black jeans.
Then it happens. A slow welling of tears I cannot stop, and a deep wail comes out of my mouth. The flood cannot be stopped or the sobbing either. My daughter is concerned and wants to know if I’m hurt. Between sobs, I tell her no, I’m fine. I’m standing upright now, so nothing is broken. Then I try to get out an apology for the mess I’ve created. She keeps such a neat house, and I have totally destroyed that with water everywhere. She is still trying to understand what happened and what the heck I’m saying, to no avail.
I’m apologizing for everything and trying to ask for a towel to clean it up, but she can’t figure out what I’m saying. She repeats, “What happened?” This of course starts another bout of sobs when I think that I didn’t even see the two steps up to the hallway. I have known those steps have been there for the decades she has lived here. Slobbering on, I try to get out that that my eyes are not what they use to be and I hate getting old - etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.
She mops up the water and tries to calm me down, but every time, my emotions seem to be subsiding, I think about getting old, blind, feeble and dangerous to others, here it comes again. I am not only embarrassed now, but angry at myself for not being able to get control.
I’m not going to go into the family room and watch a movie and upset everyone, So I tell my daughter, I’m going to my bedroom and lay down… for the night! Nothing she says makes any sense and I’m sure nothing I say makes any sense, so up I go.
She came in to check on me after the movie, which, you guessed it, started the water works again, but no sobbing, so I knew I was better. I did have a bruise near my knee, but nothing else. Finally the house settled down and I slept like a log. As the saying goes, this GETTING OLD IS NOT FOR SThis was about two & 1/2 years ago. My times flies.
Update: Again November 1st, I had another really bad fall in my daughter's driveway, ended with a ride in a First Responders ambulance to the emergency room where they found a tumor on my adrenal gland. Operation in April removed the whole gland.
I still get dizzy and fainted last September when working for the Visitor Center.
I'm living with these facts of life and still enjoying every day!
blog from 2014
"When you are in your seventies, you do NOT want to fall. Even remembering where there is a step, is sometimes fleeting. Yesterday at my daughter’s, I was walking with my glass of water and my iPad following her to watch "20 Feet from Famous" movie on their big TV screen. Her husband and my granddaughter were waiting. And yes, we were talking, I know not what about now. Thump, I see my self falling toward the wood floor entryway, water hitting the floor before me in large splashes everywhere, my iPad skittering across the floor like it’s an ice rink. My knee hits the top step of the entry, hard and I am down, still holding my glass, now with very little water in it. My daughter turns around to find me splayed out across the floor.
I am so embarrassed at the mess I’ve just created and frightened that I might have broken something I cannot recover from. My knee hurts and I imagine there is wet sticky blood coming through my black jeans.
Then it happens. A slow welling of tears I cannot stop, and a deep wail comes out of my mouth. The flood cannot be stopped or the sobbing either. My daughter is concerned and wants to know if I’m hurt. Between sobs, I tell her no, I’m fine. I’m standing upright now, so nothing is broken. Then I try to get out an apology for the mess I’ve created. She keeps such a neat house, and I have totally destroyed that with water everywhere. She is still trying to understand what happened and what the heck I’m saying, to no avail.
I’m apologizing for everything and trying to ask for a towel to clean it up, but she can’t figure out what I’m saying. She repeats, “What happened?” This of course starts another bout of sobs when I think that I didn’t even see the two steps up to the hallway. I have known those steps have been there for the decades she has lived here. Slobbering on, I try to get out that that my eyes are not what they use to be and I hate getting old - etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.
She mops up the water and tries to calm me down, but every time, my emotions seem to be subsiding, I think about getting old, blind, feeble and dangerous to others, here it comes again. I am not only embarrassed now, but angry at myself for not being able to get control.
I’m not going to go into the family room and watch a movie and upset everyone, So I tell my daughter, I’m going to my bedroom and lay down… for the night! Nothing she says makes any sense and I’m sure nothing I say makes any sense, so up I go.
She came in to check on me after the movie, which, you guessed it, started the water works again, but no sobbing, so I knew I was better. I did have a bruise near my knee, but nothing else. Finally the house settled down and I slept like a log. As the saying goes, this GETTING OLD IS NOT FOR SISSIES."This was about two & 1/2 years ago. My times flies.
Update: Again November 1st, I had another really bad fall in my daughter's driveway, ended with a ride in a First Responders ambulance to the emergency room where they found a tumor on my adrenal gland. Operation in April removed the whole gland.
I still get dizzy and fainted last September when working for the Visitor Center.
I'm living with these facts of life and still enjoying every day!
blog from 2014
"When you are in your seventies, you do NOT want to fall. Even remembering where there is a step, is sometimes fleeting. Yesterday at my daughter’s, I was walking with my glass of water and my iPad following her to watch "20 Feet from Famous" movie on their big TV screen. Her husband and my granddaughter were waiting. And yes, we were talking, I know not what about now. Thump, I see my self falling toward the wood floor entryway, water hitting the floor before me in large splashes everywhere, my iPad skittering across the floor like it’s an ice rink. My knee hits the top step of the entry, hard and I am down, still holding my glass, now with very little water in it. My daughter turns around to find me splayed out across the floor.
I am so embarrassed at the mess I’ve just created and frightened that I might have broken something I cannot recover from. My knee hurts and I imagine there is wet sticky blood coming through my black jeans.
Then it happens. A slow welling of tears I cannot stop, and a deep wail comes out of my mouth. The flood cannot be stopped or the sobbing either. My daughter is concerned and wants to know if I’m hurt. Between sobs, I tell her no, I’m fine. I’m standing upright now, so nothing is broken. Then I try to get out an apology for the mess I’ve created. She keeps such a neat house, and I have totally destroyed that with water everywhere. She is still trying to understand what happened and what the heck I’m saying, to no avail.
I’m apologizing for everything and trying to ask for a towel to clean it up, but she can’t figure out what I’m saying. She repeats, “What happened?” This of course starts another bout of sobs when I think that I didn’t even see the two steps up to the hallway. I have known those steps have been there for the decades she has lived here. Slobbering on, I try to get out that that my eyes are not what they use to be and I hate getting old - etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.
She mops up the water and tries to calm me down, but every time, my emotions seem to be subsiding, I think about getting old, blind, feeble and dangerous to others, here it comes again. I am not only embarrassed now, but angry at myself for not being able to get control.
I’m not going to go into the family room and watch a movie and upset everyone, So I tell my daughter, I’m going to my bedroom and lay down… for the night! Nothing she says makes any sense and I’m sure nothing I say makes any sense, so up I go.
She came in to check on me after the movie, which, you guessed it, started the water works again, but no sobbing, so I knew I was better. I did have a bruise near my knee, but nothing else. Finally the house settled down and I slept like a log. As the saying goes, this GETTING OLD IS NOT FOR SISSIES."
Update: Again November 1st, I had another really bad fall in my daughter's driveway, ended with a ride in a First Responders ambulance to the emergency room where they found a tumor on my adrenal gland. Operation in April removed the whole gland.
I still get dizzy and fainted last September when working for the Visitor Center.
I'm living with these facts of life and still enjoying every day!
blog from 2014
"When you are in your seventies, you do NOT want to fall. Even remembering where there is a step, is sometimes fleeting. Yesterday at my daughter’s, I was walking with my glass of water and my iPad following her to watch "20 Feet from Famous" movie on their big TV screen. Her husband and my granddaughter were waiting. And yes, we were talking, I know not what about now. Thump, I see my self falling toward the wood floor entryway, water hitting the floor before me in large splashes everywhere, my iPad skittering across the floor like it’s an ice rink. My knee hits the top step of the entry, hard and I am down, still holding my glass, now with very little water in it. My daughter turns around to find me splayed out across the floor.
I am so embarrassed at the mess I’ve just created and frightened that I might have broken something I cannot recover from. My knee hurts and I imagine there is wet sticky blood coming through my black jeans.
Then it happens. A slow welling of tears I cannot stop, and a deep wail comes out of my mouth. The flood cannot be stopped or the sobbing either. My daughter is concerned and wants to know if I’m hurt. Between sobs, I tell her no, I’m fine. I’m standing upright now, so nothing is broken. Then I try to get out an apology for the mess I’ve created. She keeps such a neat house, and I have totally destroyed that with water everywhere. She is still trying to understand what happened and what the heck I’m saying, to no avail.
I’m apologizing for everything and trying to ask for a towel to clean it up, but she can’t figure out what I’m saying. She repeats, “What happened?” This of course starts another bout of sobs when I think that I didn’t even see the two steps up to the hallway. I have known those steps have been there for the decades she has lived here. Slobbering on, I try to get out that that my eyes are not what they use to be and I hate getting old - etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.
She mops up the water and tries to calm me down, but every time, my emotions seem to be subsiding, I think about getting old, blind, feeble and dangerous to others, here it comes again. I am not only embarrassed now, but angry at myself for not being able to get control.
I’m not going to go into the family room and watch a movie and upset everyone, So I tell my daughter, I’m going to my bedroom and lay down… for the night! Nothing she says makes any sense and I’m sure nothing I say makes any sense, so up I go.
She came in to check on me after the movie, which, you guessed it, started the water works again, but no sobbing, so I knew I was better. I did have a bruise near my knee, but nothing else. Finally the house settled down and I slept like a log. As the saying goes, this GETTING OLD IS NOT FOR SThis was about two & 1/2 years ago. My times flies.
Update: Again November 1st, I had another really bad fall in my daughter's driveway, ended with a ride in a First Responders ambulance to the emergency room where they found a tumor on my adrenal gland. Operation in April removed the whole gland.
I still get dizzy and fainted last September when working for the Visitor Center.
I'm living with these facts of life and still enjoying every day!
blog from 2014
"When you are in your seventies, you do NOT want to fall. Even remembering where there is a step, is sometimes fleeting. Yesterday at my daughter’s, I was walking with my glass of water and my iPad following her to watch "20 Feet from Famous" movie on their big TV screen. Her husband and my granddaughter were waiting. And yes, we were talking, I know not what about now. Thump, I see my self falling toward the wood floor entryway, water hitting the floor before me in large splashes everywhere, my iPad skittering across the floor like it’s an ice rink. My knee hits the top step of the entry, hard and I am down, still holding my glass, now with very little water in it. My daughter turns around to find me splayed out across the floor.
I am so embarrassed at the mess I’ve just created and frightened that I might have broken something I cannot recover from. My knee hurts and I imagine there is wet sticky blood coming through my black jeans.
Then it happens. A slow welling of tears I cannot stop, and a deep wail comes out of my mouth. The flood cannot be stopped or the sobbing either. My daughter is concerned and wants to know if I’m hurt. Between sobs, I tell her no, I’m fine. I’m standing upright now, so nothing is broken. Then I try to get out an apology for the mess I’ve created. She keeps such a neat house, and I have totally destroyed that with water everywhere. She is still trying to understand what happened and what the heck I’m saying, to no avail.
I’m apologizing for everything and trying to ask for a towel to clean it up, but she can’t figure out what I’m saying. She repeats, “What happened?” This of course starts another bout of sobs when I think that I didn’t even see the two steps up to the hallway. I have known those steps have been there for the decades she has lived here. Slobbering on, I try to get out that that my eyes are not what they use to be and I hate getting old - etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.
She mops up the water and tries to calm me down, but every time, my emotions seem to be subsiding, I think about getting old, blind, feeble and dangerous to others, here it comes again. I am not only embarrassed now, but angry at myself for not being able to get control.
I’m not going to go into the family room and watch a movie and upset everyone, So I tell my daughter, I’m going to my bedroom and lay down… for the night! Nothing she says makes any sense and I’m sure nothing I say makes any sense, so up I go.
She came in to check on me after the movie, which, you guessed it, started the water works again, but no sobbing, so I knew I was better. I did have a bruise near my knee, but nothing else. Finally the house settled down and I slept like a log. As the saying goes, this GETTING OLD IS NOT FOR SISSIES."This was about two & 1/2 years ago. My times flies.
Update: Again November 1st, I had another really bad fall in my daughter's driveway, ended with a ride in a First Responders ambulance to the emergency room where they found a tumor on my adrenal gland. Operation in April removed the whole gland.
I still get dizzy and fainted last September when working for the Visitor Center.
I'm living with these facts of life and still enjoying every day!
blog from 2014
"When you are in your seventies, you do NOT want to fall. Even remembering where there is a step, is sometimes fleeting. Yesterday at my daughter’s, I was walking with my glass of water and my iPad following her to watch "20 Feet from Famous" movie on their big TV screen. Her husband and my granddaughter were waiting. And yes, we were talking, I know not what about now. Thump, I see my self falling toward the wood floor entryway, water hitting the floor before me in large splashes everywhere, my iPad skittering across the floor like it’s an ice rink. My knee hits the top step of the entry, hard and I am down, still holding my glass, now with very little water in it. My daughter turns around to find me splayed out across the floor.
I am so embarrassed at the mess I’ve just created and frightened that I might have broken something I cannot recover from. My knee hurts and I imagine there is wet sticky blood coming through my black jeans.
Then it happens. A slow welling of tears I cannot stop, and a deep wail comes out of my mouth. The flood cannot be stopped or the sobbing either. My daughter is concerned and wants to know if I’m hurt. Between sobs, I tell her no, I’m fine. I’m standing upright now, so nothing is broken. Then I try to get out an apology for the mess I’ve created. She keeps such a neat house, and I have totally destroyed that with water everywhere. She is still trying to understand what happened and what the heck I’m saying, to no avail.
I’m apologizing for everything and trying to ask for a towel to clean it up, but she can’t figure out what I’m saying. She repeats, “What happened?” This of course starts another bout of sobs when I think that I didn’t even see the two steps up to the hallway. I have known those steps have been there for the decades she has lived here. Slobbering on, I try to get out that that my eyes are not what they use to be and I hate getting old - etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.
She mops up the water and tries to calm me down, but every time, my emotions seem to be subsiding, I think about getting old, blind, feeble and dangerous to others, here it comes again. I am not only embarrassed now, but angry at myself for not being able to get control.
I’m not going to go into the family room and watch a movie and upset everyone, So I tell my daughter, I’m going to my bedroom and lay down… for the night! Nothing she says makes any sense and I’m sure nothing I say makes any sense, so up I go.
She came in to check on me after the movie, which, you guessed it, started the water works again, but no sobbing, so I knew I was better. I did have a bruise near my knee, but nothing else. Finally the house settled down and I slept like a log. As the saying goes, this GETTING OLD IS NOT FOR SISSIES."
Wednesday, May 16, 2018
Lessons Learned Along the Way
This is the first chapter in a story that my daughter inspired me to write. She always makes me a better person.
Although I am trying hard to be calm, positive, happy and to live in the moment, those old habits hanging onto negative hurts or anger exploded out of my mouth before I'm aware of it happening.
Then I read the response in my daughter's face and know my words have hurt her deeply. Once those simple words are spoken, no amount of apology or since sorry can ever erase what has been said.
My quest for happiness is now tainted with worry. Even worse. I know how hard she has been trying to be kinder than ever before, to be more accepting, and to change her habits too.
If she stops coming up often to spend time with me, I can understand. Although she still answers my texts and remembers to send beautiful cards, I may not be included in her plans the same way.
Lessons learned along the way are hard. And this one is even more so.
Be careful of your words. They are powerful and cannot be forgotten easily. Bring words of understanding, hope, laughter, happiness, support and encouragement. This is my wish for everyone.
Monday, January 15, 2018
VOODOO DRUMS
Voodoo Drums
Who would think that my first Caribbean Cruise would lead to such an uncomfortable, troublesome, adventure.
It started off with all the excitement one might expect from winning a cruise trip for four from the Simmons Beautyrest Mattress company in the mid-70s. To make the trip even more special, we took my dad and step-mother from San Diego.
It was our second port of call, Haiti. My husband just wanted to sit on the beach in the sun. My folks wanted to take a tour of the city and me… anything with horses caught my eye. The cruise line offered a day trip, on horseback through the jungle, up to the Citadel on the top of a mountain overlooking the bay.
I confess, I was very aware of the past horrific acts of the past dictator. It was an uneasy feeling, but the opportunity to ride horseback through the jungle, come on!
The cab, a scheduled hour's ride to the horses, was old and no frills. I shared it with a young couple from the cruise line. Soon we were out of the dirty city and into the country side. Small huts with no doors or windows spotted the landscape. It was uncomfortably hot, no air conditioning here. Driving the dirt road kicked up dust trails that somehow managed to drift into the cab. All of a sudden, the cab began to buck and sputter... then it stopped dead in the middle of nowhere.
Now, I tell you, it was an uneasy, frightening moment. All kinds of scenarios flashed through my head. None of them had a good ending.
Everyone exited the cab, too hot to stay inside it. While the driver checked under the hood, I looked around expecting to see poverty at its worst. There was a square shaped hut not to far from the road, children were playing and laughing. It looked as though a few woman were taking some kind of fruit from the trees that shaded their home. One had a baby in some sort of sling over her shoulder. Birds were tweeting their song, and even a brief breeze fluttered through. This was not what I thought poverty looked like. (More poverty looks like?)It wasn't long before our driver hailed down a passing cab, and we all squeezed in to complete our ride.
Remember I said horses? When we arrived at the parking lot where we were to start our trek, there stood the scrawniest, boniest, most pathetic creatures that could ever be called a horse- a very small horse at that. The saddle had both a breast collar and a tail piece to hold the saddle on. At each horse's head was a pony boy that would lead the horse. As I got closer, I saw an open sore peeking out from a thin saddle blanket. I refused to get on, telling the pony boy that I would walk. He didn't understand a thing I said. I tried a little Spanish, then a little pantomime. Nope, he just smiled and held the stirrup for me. At this point the head wrangler was getting irritated that I was holding up the trip. He was yelling at me in a language I certainly didn't understand, all the rest of the tour was mounted and ready. So, I mounted the poor horse and off we went into the jungle.
It was cooler as we climbed into the trees on what looked like a dry creek bed. I tried to keep as much weight off the horse and into the stirrups. The smiling face of my pony boy was always there every time I looked at him. Birds were singing, the sound of talking drifted down every now and then. A horse would knicker. A sound of a stone rolling as the hooves loosened them.
Was that a drum beat? It was getting louder and most definitely it was drums. I caught the eye of my pony boy and pointed into the jungle where the sound of drums seemed to emanate. He nodded and said something I didn't recognize. He said it again slowly and drawn out. VOODOO. My eyebrow flew upward and my lips stretched tight. Voodoo? I questioned. He pointed toward the drumming and smiled his pony boy best.
As I said it was an uncomfortable, troublesome, adventure, and I lived to tell you about it.
What Happened After the Voodoo drums?
Well… nothing. Our horses finally got us to the top. At the Citadel , the tour people had lunch for us and soft drinks that were flown in by helicopter. I loved the tour around the fortress. It's history was intriguing. One lady was sick, and she was flown down to the hospital at Port au Prince. Normal tourist stuff. Then we got back on those poor horses and headed down.
In the parking lot, as we all were dismounting, a swarm of children surrounded us with their hands out, begging. From out of nowhere came a gang of uniformed military guys with guns, yelling at the children, hitting them with the butt of their guns, pushing them away from us. They were little children. We were quickly escorted into waiting cabs and down the road we went, dirt flying.
I know I told you nothing else happened.
The drums had stopped, and the guns came out. Yes, big rifles.
I was so happy to return to the safety of the Cruise ship and my loved ones.
Who would think that my first Caribbean Cruise would lead to such an uncomfortable, troublesome, adventure.
It started off with all the excitement one might expect from winning a cruise trip for four from the Simmons Beautyrest Mattress company in the mid-70s. To make the trip even more special, we took my dad and step-mother from San Diego.
It was our second port of call, Haiti. My husband just wanted to sit on the beach in the sun. My folks wanted to take a tour of the city and me… anything with horses caught my eye. The cruise line offered a day trip, on horseback through the jungle, up to the Citadel on the top of a mountain overlooking the bay.
I confess, I was very aware of the past horrific acts of the past dictator. It was an uneasy feeling, but the opportunity to ride horseback through the jungle, come on!
The cab, a scheduled hour's ride to the horses, was old and no frills. I shared it with a young couple from the cruise line. Soon we were out of the dirty city and into the country side. Small huts with no doors or windows spotted the landscape. It was uncomfortably hot, no air conditioning here. Driving the dirt road kicked up dust trails that somehow managed to drift into the cab. All of a sudden, the cab began to buck and sputter... then it stopped dead in the middle of nowhere.
Now, I tell you, it was an uneasy, frightening moment. All kinds of scenarios flashed through my head. None of them had a good ending.
Everyone exited the cab, too hot to stay inside it. While the driver checked under the hood, I looked around expecting to see poverty at its worst. There was a square shaped hut not to far from the road, children were playing and laughing. It looked as though a few woman were taking some kind of fruit from the trees that shaded their home. One had a baby in some sort of sling over her shoulder. Birds were tweeting their song, and even a brief breeze fluttered through. This was not what I thought poverty looked like. (More poverty looks like?)It wasn't long before our driver hailed down a passing cab, and we all squeezed in to complete our ride.
Remember I said horses? When we arrived at the parking lot where we were to start our trek, there stood the scrawniest, boniest, most pathetic creatures that could ever be called a horse- a very small horse at that. The saddle had both a breast collar and a tail piece to hold the saddle on. At each horse's head was a pony boy that would lead the horse. As I got closer, I saw an open sore peeking out from a thin saddle blanket. I refused to get on, telling the pony boy that I would walk. He didn't understand a thing I said. I tried a little Spanish, then a little pantomime. Nope, he just smiled and held the stirrup for me. At this point the head wrangler was getting irritated that I was holding up the trip. He was yelling at me in a language I certainly didn't understand, all the rest of the tour was mounted and ready. So, I mounted the poor horse and off we went into the jungle.
It was cooler as we climbed into the trees on what looked like a dry creek bed. I tried to keep as much weight off the horse and into the stirrups. The smiling face of my pony boy was always there every time I looked at him. Birds were singing, the sound of talking drifted down every now and then. A horse would knicker. A sound of a stone rolling as the hooves loosened them.
Was that a drum beat? It was getting louder and most definitely it was drums. I caught the eye of my pony boy and pointed into the jungle where the sound of drums seemed to emanate. He nodded and said something I didn't recognize. He said it again slowly and drawn out. VOODOO. My eyebrow flew upward and my lips stretched tight. Voodoo? I questioned. He pointed toward the drumming and smiled his pony boy best.
As I said it was an uncomfortable, troublesome, adventure, and I lived to tell you about it.
What Happened After the Voodoo drums?
Well… nothing. Our horses finally got us to the top. At the Citadel , the tour people had lunch for us and soft drinks that were flown in by helicopter. I loved the tour around the fortress. It's history was intriguing. One lady was sick, and she was flown down to the hospital at Port au Prince. Normal tourist stuff. Then we got back on those poor horses and headed down.
In the parking lot, as we all were dismounting, a swarm of children surrounded us with their hands out, begging. From out of nowhere came a gang of uniformed military guys with guns, yelling at the children, hitting them with the butt of their guns, pushing them away from us. They were little children. We were quickly escorted into waiting cabs and down the road we went, dirt flying.
I know I told you nothing else happened.
The drums had stopped, and the guns came out. Yes, big rifles.
I was so happy to return to the safety of the Cruise ship and my loved ones.
I AM INVISIBLE
You know that feeling. You call your children and they are too busy to really have a conversation with you. You call your friends to get together, the same thing, too busy, got appointments. At work, your conversation is interrupted because, as you are talking, your boss starts walking away. I hate, hate, hate that words, NO, CAN'T, BUSY.
Can one really be invisible? It's a valid question. For me, I started feeling invisible when Luc, my little longhaired chihuahua, died. I thought it was grief, and part of it was an overwelming feeling of missing him, of loss, of loneliness. It's when those agoraphobia tendencies started to set in making me a self-made prisoner in my own house.
Let's face it, we talk to ourselves all the time. Some might call it thinking, some might not think they do. We talk all night in our dreams. We talk to ourselves when we are listening to others, driving a car. We talk to ourselves as we read, immersing ourselves in characters or in understanding fiction or non-fiction plots. Sometimes I'll get so engrossed in my thoughts, that I have to back up the TV show to catch up on the story I am watching.
Now that my family is grown and their families are grown, and I'm long retired from my dream jobs, this feeling of loneliness rears up. Then again, I can be very lonely in a crowded party or event. My charisma takes over, I can be charming! No one there would ever know I felt invisible at that moment.
I've felt like this for quite awhile. It was worse years ago before I discovered Facebook. A place for me to be social, I said. Even if I'm stuck in my home, I won't be alone, I said. It's easier to post multiple photos than to send in an email, I said. I can write my blogs (pages), I said. If this is all true, then why am I writing about being invisible, you say? See, you were talking to yourself. Ha.
Saturday, January 7, 2017
I Live with Thieves
I wasn't sure how to tell her. "I never see them, but I know when they've taken things."
"Mom, don't you keep your doors locked/" I could hear the concern in her voice or was it shock! As my daughter persisted, "Should we change the locks and codes?"
Still thinking, I pause as I wonder how to tell her.
When I worked as a tour guide at the Stanley Hotel, in Estes Park, Colorado, which promotes a ghost riddled hotel, it seemed that every tour, someone would ask me about my sightings of the infamous ghosts. My answer was always, "Even though I personally have never seen any ghosts or unusual sightings, I certainly have had guests tell me numerous stories." I was off the hook!
This, this was different, no easy answer now.
"It is sort of scary." Not usually at a loss of words, I hear my voice shake a little. "It happens when I'm in the house alone." Now she frowns and fold her hands.
Haltingly, I continue, "Sometimes when I'm preparing food, these thieves come when I'm not looking or have just stepped out of the room, and I know because one of my ingredients is gone, off the counter, not anywhere in the kitchen. Thinking, I may have distractedly taken it to the dining room table, I look there. Nope. Then my glasses are gone when I've just put them down."
Poltergiest, I imagine, though they throw things. My inner voice takes over my thoughts. Maybe a impish elf. Prankster. Gives me a start and a slight feeling of fear.
"What else, Mom?" Her voice brings me back to the present. "It is so frustrating. What really bugs me," I look her right in the eye and let her in on this weird phenomena, "Often, I'll go back and there it is, right where I knew it should be. It's like these thieves are laughing at me."
Damn it! She is smiling, stifling a snicker.
"I'm serious!" I hurl back at her. "Lately it's been getting worse." My daughter's face becomes taunt with a serious frown.
Okay, I'm just going to say it. "These thieves are stealing my words and it happened when there are people right there listening. These thieves are following me around now." I look down at my feet. "It is so embarrassing."
Now I watch as she looks around. What? Did she see one of these thieves? Looking around, I see... nothing.
Oh my god, they are stealing my mind!
Thursday, July 28, 2016
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)