Happy New Year 2024

Photo by Anna Tarazevich

The temperature is forty-five degrees this morning in Ormond Beach and I am sitting outside with blankets and a hot cup of coffee. My nose is cold and occasionally I slip my hands into my robe pockets to keep them warm.

 I feel optimistic about the new year, and don’t know why. Certainly world affairs and political agendas paint a dismal picture at best. Perhaps it is the realization of  how little power or influence I have. Frequently I have offers, from other seniors, to help me load my groceries into the car. I accept their help gracefully.

As I look back on 2023, the highlights are trumped by health events and staying alive. Please don’t be nervous. My husband and I are well, however, it is a time consuming effort.

Moving forward into the new year, call them resolutions if you like, I’ve decided to stop worrying about; recycling, global warming, the wars in Israel and Ukraine, and how to get people to delete stored emails, or if a semicolon or comma should be used after about in this sentence.

Good health and publishing my novel, Morningside Drive, will be my focus. I planned to publish in February, because Roxanne Hart marries on Valentine’s Day. However, staying healthy got in the way. You’ll be hearing more about Joy Webb, the main character, and her return to Daytona Beach after missing thirty years, to confront her father about the past.

Thank you for supporting my writing.

I wish each of you good health and happiness in the year ahead.

The Alphabet Series-O is for Ordinary

Aging & Attitude

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New Thoughts on Words

“Honey, I’m home,” yells Mr. Wonderful,* as he parades himself through the front door carrying a boxed Hamilton Beach toaster oven I requested he buy. I meet him in the kitchen as he continues saying, “You’re gonna love it,” his chest buffed out, ready to strut his feathers like he is a peacock.

“Great,” I respond as excited as he is, “Was it still on sale?”

“Yes, $37.99.” He answers and reaches for a sharp knife to cut through the cellophane tape.

“Wait!” I demand. “Don’t open it! You didn’t get the red one. It says black, see.”

I point to the bold lettering on the box.

Hamilton Beach Toaster Oven

Black

“What’s the difference? They didn’t have a red one. Black, red, it makes toast, heats rolls, melts cheese.”

“Black is ordinary, dull, predictable. Black lacks distinction. Red adds, pizzazz, makes a statement.”

He says, “Who needs a statement? I want toast in the morning, ordinary, plain toast. I add cherry jelly if I need pizzazz. Dull and ordinary is just fine by me.”

“Fine? As in average, common and mundane. I want better than fine. Red adds color, interest against the black granite. I’ll take it back, where’s the receipt?”

“What difference does it make, nobody sees it. It’s a toaster.”

“I see it. Now I’m a nobody?”

“Claudia, that’s not what I meant, you’re being ridiculous, why can’t you ever be happy?”

“So I’m a ridiculous unhappy nobody.”

“I didn’t say that. Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“It doesn’t matter what you said, what you meant was, STOP being a pain in MY butt and settle for ordinary.”

“Geezzzzzzzzzz, What if it only came in black, you’d have to be happy with black.”

“Now I should fake it, pretend I like humdrum black. Did you look for chrome? Chrome, at least chrome would be different.

“You’re right. I’ll take it back. Why be ordinary? God forbid we’re ordinary. Whatever you want. If a red toaster oven makes you happy, I’m happy too. Yada, yada, yada”

*Mr. Wonderful is my husband of forty-two years. This was posted in 2013. He returned the black toaster oven and we still have the red one.
The picture on the left was taken this morning. Still looking good he prefers to be called, Bobbie C. And yes we are still married. . .fifty-two years.

….just saying

Say Goodbye

Autumn Thoughts

I have trouble saying goodbye, not to people. . . I think I’m good at that. But to objects;  like my orange library card with the metal stamp. Clothing, my black cocktail dress (it still fits), mush cards from my son, and Martha Stewart Magazines.

 The above photo was snapped from a Halloween issue.

There was a time, when I traipsed through the woods to find and assembled something like that. Well it never came close, but had a lot of dried stuff.

 In Florida, that is not happening.

The alternative is to thumb through the magazine, and I do so, happily.

Autumn is short lived in Florida. There is no raking of leaves, then jumping into the piles.

I still hear the children laughing.

Remember. . . this was called fun.

The Christmas hurry up will begin Thanksgiving day, or November 23rd, and like it or not. . . my world will turn red, and green.

 I’ll have to say goodbye to the golden colors of fall.

 I’ll tuck Martha’s magazines away, take out the past Christmas issues, and go into the woods to cut down our Christmas tree.

A is for Acerbic -The Alphabet Series

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   (The conversation below is between two women in a doctor’s waiting room. )

                                                                                                                                                    Acerbic

“Unacceptable!  My time is of value, too.  Why aren’t you complaining?”

“I was told the doctor was running late when I signed in.”

“This is ridiculous.  I’ve been waiting more than twenty minutes.  My appointment was for nine fifteen.  What time was your appointment?”

“Well, I’m not sure; I think nine thirty, why?”

“It’s better if everyone is out of sorts.  I can complain for you, make something up, like your dog is in the car, sick and needs to be taken to the Vet.”

“Reading here is as enjoyable as anywhere.”

“Boy, you people are annoying, must you be so perky and pleasant?”

“You’re upset.  Why don’t you thumb through a magazine?  There’s a travel article about Hawaii in this one.  Have you been there?”

“You think looking at pretty pictures of places I can’t afford to travel to will help me… what?  Be happy I have to wait for a man, I pay to tell me I’m sick.  And looking at colorful advertisements won’t help either.  I’m Acerbic.  My parents and grandparents, on both sides, were Acerbic and proud of it.”

“Acerbic?  Is that … American or … a religion?”

“Acerbic is a way of life.  You got a problem with that?  Our dispositions are generally crabby.  We find fault in others quickly and enjoy being sarcastic.”

“Golly gee, everyone feels crabby from time to time.”

Golly gee?  Golly gee, we’ve been sitting here over a half hour.  Can’t you pretend you’re a little annoyed?  That wing back chair looks awful uncomfortable.  These doctors are all the same; think they’re better than the rest.”

“His nurse said the doctor had an emergency, it sounded serious.  Are you really Acerbic?”

“Our whole neighborhood is Acerbic.  We don’t like friendly.  People yell, ‘Don’t park in front of my house, jerk’ and threaten, ‘If your dog pees on my grass, I will call the police!’  Although things are changing.  Someone, I can’t find out who, moved my garbage pail out of the street on a windy day.”

“You don’t mind if I read my book?’

“Of course I mind.  I get it.  Why not say shut-up?  Add please if you have to.  It’s easy; watch my lips, ‘Will you please shut-up!’ ”

“No, tell me about your life.”

“Actually I had a great childhood.  We owned a small cabin not far from Route 95 below the Georgia border.  Dad named it Acerbia.  It was a retreat where we could be sour and discontent on weekends and during vacations.  You know, say nasty things about neighbors and relatives.”

“Was that fun?”

“Are you kidding, of course, the best.  By the way, they call me Unfortunately.  I’m Unfortunately Fortunato.  What’s your name?  Not that I care.”

“Unfortunately is a first name?  And Fortunato your family…?”

“Mom wanted an Acerbic name, nothing cheerful or common like Hope, Joy or Grace.”

“That had to be a difficult name for a child.  Did she think it was a mistake?”

“No, Difficult and Mistake are my brothers.  Mother named them good, too, because Difficult is in prison and Mistake, chronically unemployed.”

“Was that a surprise?”

“They still haven’t called anyone.  All they do is talk on the phone.  Someone else has to complain.  You can do it.  I like your pink eyebrows.”

“My eyebrows are pink?”

“Yea, they match your lipstick, compliment that bluish tint in your hair, and look cool on a woman your age.”

“My hair isn’t blue! I’m not that old.”

“Isn’t that book you’re reading in large print?”

“It’s easier I don’t have to remember my glasses.”

“Most seniors get a little forgetful.  It’s normal, not a problem unless you can’t remember what glasses are.  You know glasses magnify things, right?”

“I know what glasses are for and I didn’t forget them.  I do not need them to read a large print book.”

“Did you hear that?  The receptionist called Ms. Fortunato.  That’s me, Unfortunately.  Doc’s ready for me.  Have a rotten, day”

“You too, and my eyebrows aren’t pink!”

                                                                                         . . . just saying

   The Alphabet Series is an approach bloggers use to infuse new life or creativity into their writing.    “Acerbic” is the first post in my series “New Thoughts For Words”.   “Acerbic” draws on personal experience and is published in FWA, Let’s Talk by Peppertree Press.The challenge for that Anthology was to use a dialogue format to present your short story.

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Easter’s What Not

The Days of My Life Series

Easter is a significant Christian holy day, although many of the traditions and symbols surrounding the day have roots in agnostic celebrations.

Can you imagine Easter without the Easter egg and Easter Bunny and all the other what not? I can not.

Some historians maintain that the word “Easter” comes from Eostre, or Eostrae, the Anglo-Saxon goddess of spring and fertility. Others explain Easter is a derivative of a Latin phrase alba or dawn.

The History webpage linked above explains in detail all the popular non-religious Easter traditions, including Easter eggs, and related games such as egg rolling and egg decorating. The egg represents fertility and decorating them a way to celebrate of life.

The Easter Bunny? No one can say for sure. . . although there is the metaphor; to multiply like rabbits.

In Florida, things will be quiet. But I have wonderful memories of Easter Sunday mass, baskets, new dresses and bonnets, egg hunts and searching for the golden egg.

It is a celebration of life, new beginnings and hope in the world.

Happy Easter.

                                                                 . . . just saying

https://claudiajustsaying.com/2018/03/31/easter-hats-and-egg-hunts/

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An Eye Opener

The Days of My Life Series

Yesterday was an eye opener. Not just because it was the 83rd day of the year and there are only 282 days left, but. . . because I fell.

Thankfully, I wasn’t seriously hurt and able to get up. However, I’m now calculating the days until I fall and can’t get up.

I’ll be 75 this year. In five years or 1,825 days I’ll be 80. This isn’t new math. You get the picture.

The other issue is that every day something else occurs, like. . . someone backs into my car in a store parking lot, or my Facebook account is hacked. . . again. One day my social security 1099 form was accidentally shredded and I drove 30 miles to the closest office and waited in line outside for a very, very long time to get a duplicate. It’s as though I playing Monopoly and keep landing on Chance.

I would rather be writing, than on hold attempting to reorder the toothbrush charger I’ve missed placed. It’s hidden somewhere in my house. I just can’t remember where, and none of the 20 other chargers or adapters I find, fit.

But not to be side tracked, how did I fall?

Well, it was 6:30 am and I was sleeping peacefully, when my Tandem insulin pump alerted me wake up and drink juice. I knew where the kitchen was in the dark. So, I walked with my eyes closed, attempting not to wake myself. Except there was a crash, and I found myself laying across an opened dishwasher. It was an eye opener and I cursed like a banshee.

Why was the dishwasher open with the bottom rack pulled out at the crack of dawn?

Well, I’d rather not talk about it, and another something that pulled me away from a day of writing.

Anyway, I’m thankful; I could get up, didn’t have a fork stuck in my nose and had not been woken by a Russian bomb dropped on my house.

                                                                                      . . . just saying

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Tangled In Your Underwear

dry tree twigs with small berries in autumn
Photo by Jonathan Borba on Pexels.com

Help me here, is tangled in your underwear a metaphor, colloquialism or good advice?

Regardless, it happened to me and I’m wondering. . . .Has this happen to you?

Let me start at the beginning. I lost my balance and things were getting scary. Fear of falling resulted in my sitting down to put my pants on. It was vertigo.

A physical therapist shook the crystals out and explained, that although poor balance is assumed to go hand in hand with aging, behavior changes are a huge factor and the root cause of my loss of balance.

She was right. I was holding on to kitchen counters, walked with my arm tucked under someone else’s and sat down to put my pants on.

She recommended an exercise program.

The good news; my balance was restored, and I set a goal to dress standing up and had success except when my toes got tangled in my underwear.

Pointing my toes provided mediocre results as did wearing socks.

It is a daily challenge, so here are a few tips:

  1. Always have a bench or chair behind you.
  2. Practice standing on one foot leaning against a counter or wall, first.
  3. Graduate to standing on one foot with your eyes closed and then the other.
  4. When you’ve mastered the above introduce the underwear; concentrate hard and one leg at a time . . . go for it.
  5. Expect to wobble but refuse to fall-down.
  6. Continue to do balance exercise, daily, for the rest of your life.

. . . just saying

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An Attitude of Gratitude

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It’s 2022 but I have a 2021 hangover. I don’t know whether to celebrate the end of a weird year with optimism for the future, or not.

It’s like waking up from a bad dream, uncertainty lingers and you’re afraid to fall back to sleep.

Please don’t misinterpret my angst, we had a great New Year’s visiting our friends in Lake Wales, Florida. They live in a gated Recreational Vehicle community with a private lake. We watched fireworks explode from their boat when it grew dark, and after a delicious dinner, enjoyed a movie by the buyer of their house in Pennsylvania; called, The 100 Foot Journey.

We all agreed the movie was a better choice than countdown to midnight TV shows.

The highlight of our visit was completion of a puzzle while my husband stayed in his new PJ’s and binge watched football with his friend, Ed.

Read the print carefully; I’m Grumpy . . . Deal with It!

Now that captures an attitude.

Gratitude? Well we’ll get to that.

When we arrived, my good friend Kathe was working on a puzzle she’d received as a Christmas present from her niece. I hadn’t done a puzzle in ten year. Kathe is a master and why she was gifted this puzzle. It was a find from the 1930, only 300 pieces but NO PICTURE.

The only clues were the title and shape; color matching was confusing at best. We eventually figured out Interlooking implied and in fact meant the pieces slipped apart. They did not lock together.

The two of us accomplished the impossible. We completed the puzzle. However, I’m sworn to secrecy and will post a tease, not the completed puzzle with one piece missing. thumbnail

Gratitude? Well, it is a different time in my life. A time when simple things give me enormous pleasure. Like good food, good friends and completing a 300 piece puzzle.

. . . . just saying

. . .

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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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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