Tell Me What Rain Smells Like

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Photo by Nikx

The Smell of Rain

Aging & Attitude

Steel metal colored clouds consume the sky and travel my way. The sun disappears behind them, and the sky turns dark.

Lightning cracks the sky and the sound pierces my ears.

The rain falls heavily, straight down and creates a blur; like at Niagara Falls, a sheet of rain cascades off the roof gutters and I recall  standing on “The Maid of the Mist” weathering the streams of water surrounded by rock.

The pinging rain is musical and comforting.

Floridians call it “big rain,” and I pull to the side of the road, the visibility is so poor.  It is not a monsoon, a season of precipitation; although the rain in April and May seem endless.

This daytime rain smells sweet.

A smell so fragile I inhale deeply to guess its fragrance. It is clean and crisp like mountain air but not strong. It is not vanilla, nor any other spice and less subtle than an herb.

Childhood memories; searching for a four-leaf clover, cartwheels, and skipping home to snack on Wonder bread, buttered then sprinkled with sugar, permeate my mind.

Coolness surrounds my shoulders and I close my eyes to relish the moment and the smell of rain, but cannot capture words.

What do you think rain smells like?

We’ve Fallen & We Can Get Up

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   Mr. Wonderful, my husband of forty years, is wonderful, mostly.  He is my househusband, does most of the food shopping and cooking, and dusts if I ask ‘pretty please’. I’m loving it. He seems content, and has heightened status among women when they learn all he does. Although, the guys turn up the TV volume when he becomes the topic of conversation.

   I make a point of showing my appreciation. Today I sat on his lap, gave him a nice kiss. Enjoying the attention he playfully embraces me, arms behind my back. I slipped my arms under his shoulders and interconnected my fingers around his back nervous we might fall. Like Fabio on the cover of a romantic novel, he curves my back across his knee, and we topple.

“Are you okay?”

“I can’t tell. Are you okay?”

“You’re lying on my arm, I can’t move.”

“You’re lying on my chest; do you think I can move?”

 We’ve fallen and we can’t get up.

 “Claudia, you’re killing my arm, you have to move.”

 Granted his arm is underneath me, taking the bulk of the fall; his 200 lbs pressing my 135 lbs into the floor. But I am flattened like a pancake too and cannot move.

  So I quip, “Let me see if I can bench press your 200 lbs. with my nose.”

 “You’re killing my wrist, move!” He says, with a loud little boy in pain tone, to his voice.

  Wondering if I am able to take in air, I say, sweetly, “Don’t panic, yet. Where’s your other arm?”

  “What other arm?”

  “The other arm attached to your body. I’m lying on your right arm, where is your left?”

  He pauses at length to consider the possibility, and responds “You mean this one,” raising his left arm above his head.

  Relieved, I suggest he use it to lift himself, allowing me to push up so he can retrieve his right arm.

  He does. I move and guess what, we have fallen, but we can get up.

                                                                                                                                    …just saying 

Vintage Vanity

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Aging & Attitude

I never wore an itsy bitsy teeny-weeny yellow polka dot bikini. I wore a one piece swimsuit with a zipper up the back that I could swim in. I loved that pink and white plaid bathing suit. A darker pink piping set off the waist, and it was fully lined. That was during my teenage years when we swam down at Puffy’s creek or at Jones beach on Long Island.

I never owned a Rabbit fur coat. I had a fake Leopard fur coat bought on sale in Macy’s department store. The large collar and hem trimmed in black fake fur.  This Bo Derek style outer wear was stored in a clothing closet and admired when I opened the closet door, too good too be worn.

I never owned a London Fog trench coat.  I wore a navy blue raincoat with an empire waist and hood, purchased at Lerner’s.  I had black patent leather go-go rain boots and kept dry with a bubble umbrella. I have a picture, taken at the Bronx Zoo, of myself wearing this outfit, and remember feeling quite pleased with my look including the shag wig, I wore.

I never wore jeans, stirrup pants were my favorite, and proud to be the first to wear bell-bottoms, in my dorm. These orange pants coordinated with a gold and orange box plaid mini-skirt and a matching gold crepe blouse. The blouse had flounce sleeves with military buttons on the cuffs, and a wrap around neck sash that tied in a bow. I can picture the outfit in Alexander’s store window on Fordham road in the Bronx and still smile.

I never avoided looking in a mirror, til now. The reflection is unrecognizable and I hear myself saying, “Why does that woman look so familiar?” aloud, and realizing it is me, worry about Alzheimer’s.

I never thought I’d wear elastic waist pants, funny hats or moan getting up from a chair.

I never thought myself good-looking, was never boastful, conceited, or big-headed, but loved those outfits and the way they made me feel.

Damn, I guess it is too late to be vain.

                                                                                      . . . Just Saying

Global Positioning System & Your Hippocampus

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Aging & Attitude

“Have you heard about Todd?”

“No, what about Todd?”

“He went out walking and fell.”

“Oh my God, how?”

“It’s a long story, has to do with the hippocampus.”

“The hippocampus, what is that?”

“You never heard of the hippocampus, the part of your brain that remembers things, especially new stuff.  If you move to a new neighborhood and go out for a walk, how to get back home. Where you parked at the mall or the date of a doctor’s appointment.  Well Todd’s hippocampus is shrinking, just like, he used to be six foot one and is now five ten.  It’s part of the aging process. Remember “The Graduate” and Dustin Hoffman learning that the key to the future was plastics, the hippocampus is now the key to remembering, or so it seems.

“Are you sure? I read AARP’s recent article “Age Proof Your Brain,” It lists ten things, and I don’t remember reading about any hippopotamus…

“That’s because it’s new information, your hippocampus could already be damaged. Ever have hypoxia, heart attack, respiratory failure, sleep apnea or near drowning?  They discovered new benefits to jumping up and down for extended periods. Exercise may slow shrinkage of the hippocampus and specifically the part that passes new information into permanent storage.

“Enough, I’m getting a headache. Tell me about Todd.”

“Well, it seems Todd goes on walks and is gone forever. Apparently, he gets lost in the neighborhood. Marilyn suggested he charge the GPS and take it with him.”

“Todd’s not that old to be that forgetful and who is Marilyn?”

“Marilyn. . . his wife.”

“Marilyn isn’t his wife. He’s married to Barbara.”

“Marilyn’s his wife, do you want to hear what happened? So Todd, by the way he’s almost eighty, goes for his walk and after hitting “GO HOME,”  on the GPS, gets dizzy from recalculating, falls down and hits his head.  A neighbor called 911. They took him to Emergency, eight stitches and he is still confused.”

“Todd’s not even fifty. His wife is Barbara, I invited them to dinner. What did the doctor say?”

“Stop using the GPS and see his regular doctor in two weeks.  It’s probably his spatial intelligence. There is evidence these GPS systems are effecting everyone’s ability to navigate, not just us Baby Boomers. I’m talking about the Todd and Marilyn Smith on the corner.”

“There’s another Todd on this street? How will they get to the doctor’s office without the use of a GPS?”

“Barbara’s thinking of taking a taxi.”

“You mean Marilyn, right?”

“Whatever.”                                                                                         

                                                   . . . Just saying

Homeless in Apalachicola

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GE DIGITAL CAMERA

Aging & Attitude

   My head turns with the slam of the restaurant’s screen door and I watch a woman my age, seat herself at an empty table for eight. It feels odd and she is toting too many bags.

Uninterrupted, our waitress listens to our comments and says, “Um, one got me bad the other day. I’m still scratching,” and puts menus and glasses of water on a blue tablecloth, its wrinkles accented by a small vase of pink plastic flowers.

“I’m Rachael, and I’ll be your server.”

We are in Apalachicola, a small fishing town located in the Florida Panhandle, and were sitting outside to watch a river sunset when the no-see-ums attacked and forced us indoors.

Always intrigued by the name, Apalachicola, Mr. Wonderful has surprised me with a stay at The Coombs Inn, a Bed & Breakfast.

“Where are you all visiting from? Rachael inquires, a pencil and spiral assignment pad clutched in one hand. She is wearing an orange t-shirt with Caroline’s Restaurant in cursive letters angled across her chest, and looks as incongruent as the wrinkled tablecloth.

“Ormond Beach on the east coast. We’re retired.”

“Now that’s a long haul, first time in the Oyster Capital? I bet you want a dozen fresh oysters.” She says with the enthusiasm of one who had a good night’s sleep.

We agree and Rachael says, “I’ll get that started and be back for your order, take your time now, no hurry.”

Apalachicola is a curious mix of old and new. A throwback town that looks loved and lived in. The Victorian homes are restored; most with tin roofs. The retail signs are not deliberately retro, just never replaced. You can enjoy gelato made with Florida mango, at the Apalachicola Chocolate Company on Avenue E as long as you get there before 5PM, after that all shops close.

The only new construction is The Water Street Hotel and Marina tucked at the end of Water Street alongside the commercial oyster boats. The smell of gasoline is strong as weathered oystermen smoking cigarettes, and wearing yesterday’s clothes fuel up.

I watch the woman actively arrange her bulging shopping bags, as another waitress slips beside her. I hear no conversation, suspect it is hushed and my curiosity heightens.

The woman’s bags are not new. The retail logos on several are disappearing.

She is served a class of white wine, instead of being asked to leave or move to a smaller table, and stoops over a menu as though she needs glasses. All day travel or slept-in creases distinguish the back of her jacket.

Rachael brings the oysters, takes our order and hightails it back to the kitchen.

Mr. Wonderful continues talking, reviewing the day; a visit to St. George Island and the lighthouse.  Our conversation with the museum volunteer who informed us there are eight hundred and some year round residents on the island now, and house prices have dropped five hundred thousand to one million dollars. Yes, dropped, she reaffirmed and suggested we visit the Nature Center, which is free and contains a beautiful mural of the Gulf area.

Rachael returns with house salads and casually asks, “Have you been to Panama City or Mexico Beach?”We have and recount their beauty. The blue-green gulf water rolls in to smooch the shore,its sand the texture and color of boxed table salt, unlike the ocean waves that slap the eastern coast to prove who is boss.

Realizing we have our salads but no silver, I look around to rob some from a nearby table. Surveying the area, I notice the woman stand abruptly and leave carrying her bags, the glass of wine untouched. I surmise she cannot pay and has come to her senses to explain the abrupt departure.

“Did you see that woman leave?” I ask Mr. Wonderful

“No. What woman?”  He answers.

“The one sitting by herself with all the bags, looks homeless.”

Rachael’s arrival with the entries interrupts our conversation and we ooh and aah about the fancy plating.

My meal is broiled grouper, shrimp, and bay scallops in reduced teriyaki sauce topped with wasabi, and sides of mixed vegetables and garlic mashed potatoes. Mr. Wonderful’s dinner is broiled scallops and a crab cake in lemon butter sauce, asparagus and garlic mashed potatoes.

We are enjoying our meal when I notice she’s back, without any bags.

Keeping my head down to control my confusion I say, “Look, look in the corner, it’s her.”

“What are you talking about?” Mr. Wonderful says with food in his mouth.

“Maybe she’s staying at the motel next store and went to put her bags in the room. She’s probably mentally ill. Or even run away, had enough of everything,  I start to speculate when I notice her perfectly manicured hands flip open an iPhone, and conclude . . . maybe newly homeless.

The dinner is memorable, and the day outstanding.

I could do homeless in Apalachicola.                                                                                                                             . . .just saying

Stick Out Your Tongue for Rainwater

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English: drinking water

Image via Wikipedia

  Aging & Attitude

Remember sticking out your tongue to capture rainwater after a baloney sandwich, if a glass of Kool-Aid was not available. The strong visual enters my mind reading an article in our local paper, The News Journal, by Tom Knox. The headline, “Ormond Beach start-up hopes to tap bottled rainwater market,” hints of an entrepreneurial spirit enhanced by a Made in the USA theme and intrigues me.

Florida has one of the highest unemployment rates in the country, and needs to create jobs. Larry Curran, the retired accountant written about in the article, likely shares my view that retirement is highly overrated. Larry is 64 years old and opening a bottled-rainwater plant.

I keep reading.

Curran concerned about manufacturing plants polluting groundwater near his neighborhood, began using rainwater for swimming to showering and eventually drinking water. He shared 5-gallon buckets with his neighbors and developed a bottled rainwater business plan after researching collection on-line. His company, Choose Rain, sells a 16 oz bottled rainwater for $1.15 locally at Love Whole Foods, Peggy’s Whole Foods and Michael’s Health Food. Curran is in the process of moving into new headquarters and seeks additional funding, so consequently buys bottled rainwater for his label, Choose Rain, from Texas Rain.

I purchased several bottles at Love Whole Foods in Ormond Beach. The taste is different; subtle, sweet, almost tasteless, like water, before we started taking out and putting stuff in.

A message on the bottles reads, “When water evaporates, the tiny drops mingle in the clouds, like nature’s spa in the sky. There they soak up the sun’s purifying UV light, get zapped by the lightning’s ozone, and then all nice and clean head back to earth.  At our Welcome Station we catch the rain before it hits anything nasty on the ground.”  And continues to explain nature’s process is replicated here on earth before put it in a biodegradable bottle.

Larry can be contacted at Larry@chooserain.com.

Texas Rain has a plant in Smithville Texas.  “We believe it’s the largest fixed capture rainwater collection site in the world,” says David Schraub, Founder, President, CEO, and self identified “mad Scientist,” and environmentalist with additional ideas about solar energy. You can capture the true scope of the company in this video http://www.kxan.com/dpp/living_green/drink-rainwater-to-boost-solar-power . What they do is impressive.

However TankTown, the company that bottles Cloud Juice, in Dripping Springs, Texas, has been collecting rainwater longer, since 1994. You got to love the perspective; that all water is rainwater at some point, so why not capture it before it goes into the ground and is subject to pollutants.

Richard Heinichen, Founder, says, “There is nothing in rainwater. It is naturally soft and made safe for drinking easily and without chemicals.”

Who knew?

Heinichen claims a few firsts for the industry and that “water snobs say they taste a difference. You can order a case of Cloud Juice (16 oz. bottles) online for $11.50, about fifty cents a bottle.

Ordering rainwater is probably the way to go, the cost of a Tank Town home collection system for four people is between $10,000 and 15,000 dollars. You can purchase his book, “Rainwater Collection for the Mechanically Challenged for $15.00 and attempt the work yourself.  I like this man’s humor.

It is encouraging to learn we have water alternatives. Imagine if towns built rainwater plants powered by solar energy.

I am thinking differently about rainwater, how about you?

                                                                              . . . Just Saying

The Art of Saying Nothing

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                                                                                   Aging & Attitude 
Conversations at Vermillion

Conversations at Vermillion (Photo credit: JeanineAnderson)

Conversation is changing. Verbal communication is evolving and taking a new direction. The ability to converse for a significant period and say nothing is the trend. Notice that off colored jokes and heated discussions are a thing of the past. As small talk was through the 1990’s, saying nothing is an art form you are privy to if you experience these symptoms.

  1. Feelings of confusion, stupidity, or that you are old and simply do not understand.
  2. Low self-esteem after listening to a superior sounding conversationalist.
  3. Yelling “What are you freakin talking about?” in your sleep.
  4. Withdrawal from Face Book and other social media.

Please do not confuse this with the romance of saying nothing in Ronan Keating’s song “What I Hear When You Don’t Say a Thing” because that void clearly conveys passion and emotion.

Do not include the nothing, inquired of an advice expert, “What does it mean when you invite  women to date and they say nothing?”

That nothing says something, too.

The type of nothing Politicians use to avoid answering a question and turn the discussion to a character assault of opponents does not count either. Nor does the nothing created by a double negative i.e., “He didn’t say nothing,” (The double negative cancels the saying nothing out and you said something, we just do not know what.)

“He didn’t say anything,” is a legitimate form of saying nothing but not the one we are talking about of.

To acquire skill in saying nothing choose a topic, not safe and guaranteed non offensive like, weather, food, and travel, something slightly controversial, but politically correct. Create the impression that you are expressing an opinion or point of view that the listener cannot grasp, and you will say nothing successfully.

Filler words, such as; um, uh and you know, are prohibited, and considered cheating.

Now, I am practicing and far from an expert, but tell me, have I successfully talked about nothing?

. . . .Just Saying

Kreativ Blogger Award/JustSaying

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I am  green to writing and a new blogger, and when notified I was a recipient of the Kreativ Blogger Award thought it was a poke, like on Facebook.

Pleased by the  recognition, I graciously accepted and immediately sent a thank you to Christine Speno of Words,etc. For some unknown reason, Christine has taken me under her wing and gladly meets with me to discuss various how to subjects. Why? Christine does not need a why, she is a giver and we have become friends and writing partners.  I’m loving it. Thank you Christine.

What is the Kreativ Blogger Award? I searched Word Press to find out.

The Kreativ Blogger Award is a peer award, as is the Golden Globe Award. The fact that another blogger thought my writing worthy is encouraging.

Husfrauas Memoarer, a Norwegian, came up with the idea on May 8th 2008, pieced together fabric for the original design, (shown below)

and bestowed it upon four fellow bloggers.

Evidently Kreativ is German for creative. Hulda is still blogging about inspirational crafts at blogspot, She is creative and displays beautiful  photography.

The design, and criteria have changed over time.

Now a recipient lists ten things people may not know about them, displays the award on their blog and passes the honors on to six other bloggers.

It has been fun viewing and revisiting blogs to make my decision and grueling to list things about myself.

Ten things you may not know about me;

  1. I am average, and have no hidden talent unless you consider singing, “Gold Finger” at the Windham Arms Hotel Summer Talent Show, of significance.
  2. Although I have big opinions, and not shy about expressing them, I am shy.
  3. I have four sisters and three brothers, but no first cousins.
  4. My son complains he has never seen me drunk.
  5. I started writing in 2009, secretly.
  6. Visiting the White House at Christmas is on my bucket list.
  7. I am published in “Let’s Talk”, a collection of short stories by Florida Writers.
  8. Given the choice between eating leftover pizza and a baked sweet potato, choose the potato.
  9. Am still friends with my best friend from High School and my first boyfriend, they married.
  10. Think youth is wasted on the young.
Kreativ Blogger Awards recipients are:
Chris Hamilton writer of Florida Writers Conference Blog. FWA is a great organization, the mission statement is  Writers Helping Writers and they mean it. Chris shares valuable information, keeps the mundane interesting and is task driven.
Kristen and Jacqueline, the brains behind “Chicks with Ticks”, amuse and enlighten women about the great out doors.
Michael Ray King, poet, etc., is as diverse a writer as they come, and more importantly, a romantic mush.
Jennifer Ward – Pelar an environmentalist and writer is cheer and funny.
Renee Fisher, author and former hula hoop champion makes driving in the boomer lane fun.
Sue Healy an award-winning writer, tutor and journalist, not ashamed to say she is Irish; I like her take on writing.
Thank you Christine Speno, receiving the Kreativ Blogger Award has encouraged and validated my efforts to write.

                                                                                           Just Saying,

Claudia

Household Tips & Disclaimers

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Aging & Attitude

There is a fantastic household tip I want to share with readers, however legal recommends prefacing this break through idea with a disclaimer.

You know what a disclaimer is, right?

The Encarta Dictionary definition is, “refusal to accept responsibility for something, e.g. a denial of legal liability for any injury associated with product or damages arising from an accident.”

A standard disclaimer says, if I suggest or recommend something and something stupid happens causing you injury, I am not to blame. There is no opportunity to sue because you assumed the risk, like swimming in a pool with no lifeguard on duty; it is your fault if you drown.

A real time situation is; I recommend using duct tape as a cost saving measure to remove facial hair and in attempting to do so you also remove several layers of skin, you cannot ask me to pay for any necessary cosmetic surgery.

Remember Forest Gump, “Stupid is as stupid does.”

Please, do not try this, although it might work, common sense indicates using duct tape in this way could be extremely painful.

The example demonstrates the legal necessity for a disclaimer, preventing attempts to get money for stupidity, not that I think anyone reading this is stupid.

You get the point.

You will not be signing anything. Suffice to say, if you use the household tip below you agreed to the disclaimer because the only way to learn about this life changing tip guaranteed to reduce stress and frustration, is to read it here.

It is similar to signing papers in the doctor’s office that we give permission, well not really permission; informs us our medical information is shared with everyone, except our husband or a close living relative. It sounds like we have a choice but try not signing; the doctor will not see you. We have no choice but to sign.

Here you have no choice, either, but you do not have to sign, makes more sense to me.    

Get ready for this life changing household tip.

You know those plastic caps that will not come off spray cans in spite of squeezing, pulling, and repositioning your hand numerous times, then finally pop off with a jolt that jackknifes both elbows and knocks over a Waterford crystal wine glass, well I do not know of an easy way to get it off, but here is the tip; do not put it back on, under no circumstances.  Throw the top in the garbage or hide in a mysterious place.

That is it, could not be easier. Your quality of life will improve greatly. The first cap is the hardest to throw out, and it is normal to keep the cap, just in case; but soon you will be roaming room to room searching for caps that can be discarded.

A word of caution, do not attempt to remove several caps the first time as extreme euphoria has been reported, and in cases of euphoria lasting more than four hours, call your doctor immediately.

                                                                                                                                                                    . . . .  Just Saying