Doing Nothing

Photo by Elias Tigiser on Pexels.com

Searching For a Four-Leaf Clover

“Do you like doing nothing?” The question, posed by fellow blogger Kim is intriguing and 67 people commented.

Kim said, if you’d like to do more of nothing; start small, plan unstructured vacations, and choose soft fascination, aka go for a walk. She quotes three University of Michigan psychologists to support the point that nature heals.

Most comments favored doing nothing, I disagree.

Once I start doing nothing, I’m stuck and can’t return to doing something. However, my nothing was not their nothing and many comments addressed the definition of nothing.

The doing nothing discussion was really about the self-imposed lack of unstructured vacations or leisure time.

I can remember only one unstructured vacation for our family of ten.

What I do remember is being sent outside to play after breakfast with strict orders to be home for lunch. Playing cards under our Weeping Willow tree and walking to the pool by ourselves in the afternoon. If I really had nothing to do I’d search for a four-leaf clover.

 

. . . just saying

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Day One of Vacation

A chartreuse pillow similar in shape and size to a to a large dog bone sat on a purple couch in the hotel lobby. The clerk was all smiles telling us we were early. So, we sat on the purple sofa and waited, mesmerized by a carpet cleaner. The bubbling steamer was pushed back and forth by a housekeeper determined to suck up its remains. The noise and disinfectant smell quickly drove us outside into the Florida heat and sun, which was worse. So, back inside. . . we stood, as the lobby was now crowded. An audience of turning heads as though attending a tennis match watched silently, and I wondered if they would applaud.

Upstairs, I loved the room and fantasized about living in a Tiny House before we headed out to dinner. The restaurant was with-in walking distance, but we decided not to walk hearing thunder, once downstairs.

So, my husband took the elevator to get his car keys, but returned saying the room key didn’t work. He held out the key to examine and discovered he was using a hotel business card to open the room door.

The sky opened-up with what is called “Big Rain” in Florida, as we drove to the restaurant and although wet, we eventually we had dinner.

Day one of the vacation from hell.

. . . just saying

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Happy Fourth of July

Bob and I have returned from a “vacation” in Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons. It is a long story that I am working on. In the mean time I hope you enjoy my poem, written some time ago. Its a favorite of mine.

The Itsy Bitsy Bug

Red White and Blue

Can an itsy bitsy bug be patriotic?
His red, white, and blue symbolic,
A political view
Understand freedom . . . be equal too

Like a school age kindergartner
Raise his hand to hold the flag
Chosen, glad with honor
Knows to say a prayer

Can an itsy bitsy bug be patriotic?
Puff his chest, recite the pledge
Listen to a voice within
Battle for the helpless, or let the bullies win!

Stand side by side with those who care
Silently and stare
Misty eyed while taps is played for those who dare
Think America is beautiful

Can an itsy bitsy bug be patriotic?

. . . just saying

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Easter 2022

scan0019Pictured above, Aunt Carol with leucite handbag, sister Judy, Mother (Pregnant with sister Abigail),  sister Mariellen, Me, Grandmother, and standing at attention sister Martha Gertrude

Easter Hats and Egg Hunts

As Easter approaches I find myself reminiscing about days gone by, holidays I tried to duplicate for my kids and grand-kids that only slightly mirrored mine.

In Florida, the smell of spring and Easter that signaled renewal by a burst of color on Long Island is missing, but memories of blooming Dogwood trees linger. The Weeping Willows wore yellow-green buds to announce the occasion.

We woke to Easter Baskets filled with love made by our grandmother. Hollow chocolate eggs squiggled  with confectionet sugar peeked out of cellophane surrounded by squishy marshmallow chicks called Peeps and jump ropes, jacks, pink Spaulding balls, and socks trimmed with lace, for the girls and for the boys; army men, matchbox cars, baseball cards, and cool shades.

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Great Granny B and 4 month old great-grand son, Tony

My grandmother also baked trays of cookies, some made to look like an Easter baskets, by adding a  handle, shredded coconut, and jelly beans. She used cookie cutters for Bunnies with chocolate ears, and cherry jelly linzer cookies, egg white cookies laced with walnuts and her famous chocolate chips cookies. 

We usually had new dresses and shiny black patent leather shoes, bought by Aunt Carol at Macy’s Herald Square. The shoes fit perfectly because Aunt Carol would trace our feet on card board, cut the pattern out and bring it with her to the store where she and a shoe salesman determined the correct size.

Aunt Carol always carried a pretty handbag and a tasteful hat, similar to  these: 

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After opening our baskets my mother dressed us in order of our behavior, and told to, “Sit on the couch, and don’t move, or else!” And we didn’t.

Drew, the youngest at the time, was dressed, after my mother dressed, and held by the hand until he was in the car and Mass over.

The Easter Bunny  hid real hard-boiled eggs dyed the day before and shortly after  company arrived on Easter Sunday, a whistle was blown, and we ran, desperate to  find THE GOLDEN EGG, a chocolate egg wrapped in gold foil. Little did we know my brother Victor searched ahead  of us, yes cheated, while I prayed to find the Golden Egg . . . . just this once. The prize was one dollar.

Although Easter was about baskets and dyed eggs, it was really about hats. as seen in the above picture and  I remember shopping at Montgomery Ward’s, the day before Easter in a panic then  thrilled, to find the hat I am wearing, an exact match to my homemade celery green coat.  My sister, Judy, was ecstatic with hers, the red band makes the outfit pop, and sister Mariellen’s  perfect in classic white.

Don’t we look marvelous?

Now if I only had that hat.

.   .   .   .  just saying

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Christmas In Florida

By Gosh By Jolly

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Christmas In Florida

It’s far from cold today in Florida; not even chilly. The temperature will climb to the mid-eighties.

I miss the snow.

Christmas doesn’t feel like Christmas when I’m wearing shorts and sandals.

My poinsettias won’t get the recommended sunlight inside our house so they are spending time outdoors. However, they might experience wilt since they prefer air temps between 65-70.

 The local newspaper gave detailed instructions on how to care for the plant and suggested that, with a bit of work, they would bloom again. It sounded like a lot of work to me.

I’ve never had them bloom again, in Florida, but was successful in New Jersey, when I threw them off our deck.

Miraculously sometime during spring cleanup they were in bloom

. . . just saying

 

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Wine Not and Cataract Surgery

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Wine Not and Cataract Surgery

Those of you who have had cataract surgery know what I’m talking about; the world is brighter. I see the walls in my house as cream, not mustard. And my hair, isn’t dingy grey. I’m hoping after the second eye is corrected, I’ll have fewer wrinkles.

Rumor was the regiment of daily drops three days before surgery and up to one month after was the most annoying part.

They were right.

Although, I had to strip naked and wear a surgical gown three times too large; told to use the restroom which was locked, and consequently, had to sneak into the hall with my butt exposed.

The surgery was everything promised. After the doctor marked my forehead to indicate the left eye was to be operated on, I didn’t feel a thing.

In recovery I overhead the nurse’s discharge instructions for the patient in the next bed; no driving, DO NOT bend at the waist, and no alcohol.

However, she did not include the no alcohol in her discharge spiel to me, nor mention the difficulty one might have walking. One eye is new and improved, but patched and vision in the other eye is cloudy and compromised. A glass of wine was in my future.

After dinner I poured myself a glass of wine and watched the level rise in the glass, carefully, not to over do it. There was no rise in the glass and I thought the glass could be cracked, only to realize I had been pouring the wine on the counter.

Fortunately, it was inexpensive wine.

Fortunately, the spill didn’t travel to the floor. I would have had to bend at the waist.

Note to self; in preparation for the second eye surgery, buy straws.

. . . just saying

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Good Grief; there are 34 days left in the year!

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It Is. . .What It Is

“Today is Saturday, November 27, the 331st day of 2021. There are 34 days left in the year.” Like other newspapers, our local paper reports this information, and includes significant events from previous years, i.e.; Macy’s first Thanksgiving Day parade took place in 1924 and the release of the Beatles album “Magical Mystery Tour” in 1967.

Only 34 days left in the year! Good grief! Thirty-four days to achieve the goals I committed to 331 days ago.

Oh well, . . . it is what it is.

This expression, one of resignation, is included increasingly in conversations.

Why?

We never catch a break from mayhem.

So, I’ve been watching Lifetime Christmas Romance movies late at night and was thrilled not to see any uniformed police officers during the televised Thanksgiving Parade.

I’m thinking of sending a personal thank you note to Tom Selleck, you know the Police Commissioner of NYPD.

I know. . . I know, he’s not really the police commissioner in New York City. But you may agree, he should be.

. . . just saying

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Thanksgiving Holiday

Happy Thanksgiving to family & Friends

Thanksgiving Preparations

“I bought a young turkey,” said my husband.

It was difficult to find a small ten-to-twelve-pound bird and he had been on the lookout.

“Thank you,” I said kissing him on the cheek.

“If the label said Old Turkeys would anyone buy one?” He wore a humorous expression.

“Isn’t an old turkey a Tom turkey?” I visualized Old in bold letters.

“No, a Tom turkey is a male turkey.”

“So, if a male turkey is call Tom, what’s a female turkey called?”

“Gertrude?”

This is how we amuse ourselves.

I went on line. Sciencing.com to confirm what to call a female turkey.

“Wild female turkeys, or hens, weigh from 5 to 12 pounds and range from 30 to 37 inches long. Hens bear less colorful feathers than males, with rusty brown, white or gray-tipped breast feathers. Their heads are either white or blue-gray, with small feathers on both head and neck. Their wattles, snoods, caruncles and spurs are small. Hens make vocalizations such as yelps, clucks and cuts. Approximately 10 percent of hens possess a “beard,” or elongated chest feathers. Hens do not strut or fan their tails. Females can lay from nine to 13 eggs, which they incubate for around 28 days.

Yesterday, I transferred the turkey to the refrigerator to defrost, arranged the flowers and made cranberry sauce.

It’s a very forgiving recipe. I boil cranberries in orange juice, add raisins and diced apple. Sometimes I sprinkle sugar during the cooking process to counter the bitterness.

Today I’ll make the pies, stuffing and roast vegetables.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

. . . just saying

You don’t need a WordPress account to comment. Write your comment in the box below or click on the caption icon to the right of the title above. Ignore requests for a name/ username and press post or save. Your comment will be posted anonymously. Please follow me though, to receive notification of new posts. Thank you, Claudia