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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What’s New?

Very Cool

Shipping Container House

Are you tired of the same conversation or afraid to have any conversation about vaccines, politics or the wacko world we live in?

Me too! Here’s something of interest. The article appeared in The Daytona Beach News Journal about this art collector, turned house designer.

“Stepping foot into Rob DePiazza’s house is like winding back the clock to the height of the 1960s’ pop art revolution. 

All Andy Warhol- and Keith Haring-style prints, bold patterns, primary colors and mid-century mod design, the structure DePiazza has designed looks and feels like a museum exhibit dedicated to all of those cultural influences.

Oh, and then there’s the fact that it’s all housed in nine shipping containers — proudly rusted out, mind you, as far as DePiazza is concerned. The display certainly stands out in this sedate residential neighborhood populated mostly by modest old Florida stuccos or split-level ranches off U.S. 1 in St. Augustine.”

. . . just saying

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What Are You Reading?

Just Do Something

Famed naturalist Jane Goodall has dedicated her life to protecting wildlife and the environment, and at age 87, she continues to reach out to as many people as possible to advocate for a more sustainable future. She talked with correspondent Seth Doane about her new book, “The Book of Hope: A Survival Guide for Trying Times,” and about how everyone can contribute to reversing mankind’s destruction of our only home.

I am sure it is a great read for those inclined, however, her simple plea; JUST DO SOMETHING, has stayed in my mind. I thought my recycling helped but recent local reports suggest otherwise. China no longer wants our garbage and it is more than likely the recycling is floating on barges somewhere between here and there. There is talk that clothing donations are so abundant designer jeans are washing up on third world countries shores.

We need to rethink things. But Ms. Goodall’s request is simple. So, what can we do? These are my two favorites;

  1. Delete old emails. A server needs electoral power to save data, emails are data. Think of it as storing junk mail in a storage unit you pay for.
  • Don’t run the water in the sink, (especially when brushing your teeth) Clean water empties into dirty water and needs to be cleaned all over again with whatever chemicals your municipality uses.

                                                         . . . just saying

laurenstaton.com/what-really-happens-to-our-donated-clothes/

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Eighty-Three Days Remaining in 2021

Photo by Designecologist on Pexels.com

Why?

I still read the newspaper and watch a morning news show . . . More accurately, I tape the news program, then fast forward the segments causing me anxiety, and skim the newspaper for stories that interest me. There are a few.

The number of days remaining in the year is always mentioned.

There are eighty-three days left in 2021.

The days are flying by, and highlights another news alert; the short supply of basic items and more importantly items on peoples’ Christmas list. . .  Not holiday, Christmas!

I will be curious to see this news-story’s trickle-down affect over the next two months. The supply shortage will more than likely go away. But what is not going away is vaccination resistance and many are asking; why?

Alan Alda’s interview on his podcast, Clear & Vivid, with author Lee McIntyre addressed the issue.

McIntyre attended the Flat Earther convention in Denver, Colorado, hoping to understand the thinking of those who believe strongly that the earth is flat. Perhaps, like myself, you might think the convention a joke or spoof; possibly a metaphor for a comedy show.

No! It was a serious convention.

McIntyre attended the convention to gather information he hoped would combat disbelievers of global warming and change, his real passion and topic of most recent book.

The experience was eye opening for the author. Attendees attempted to convert him to their belief that the world is flat.

McIntryre was unscathed and determined attendees shared five traits;th

  1. Cherry picked facts, believing only some, i.e., The Santa Marie never returned.
  2. Believe in conspiracy theories, i.e., Queen Isabella wanted revenge.
  3. Quoted fake experts (people who lack legitimate credential’s) and denigrated real experts, i.e., Christopher Columbus needed glasses.
  4. Express illogical reasoning, i.e., the world is flat because you don’t fall off.
  5. Want Science to be perfect,.i.e., Lemons can’t cure scurvy.

. . . just saying

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A New Favorite

Afternoon Coffee

I’m a coffee lover. There is nothing more enjoyable than a great cup of coffee. At thirteen years of age I fell in love with the aroma, taste and boost, and was allowed to have a cup of coffee in the afternoon. It was instant coffee, brewed by boiling water on the stove in a tea kettle and poured over exactly measured one teaspoon of dark crystals.

Over the years I graduated to a Corning Ware and then Farberware electric pots. Today of course a Keuric is the way to go.

But it got even better when my daughter introduced me to a frother and I found ecstasy., cost; $15.

Steps to making a great cup of coffee

Heat the amount of half and half you like in a large mug in the microwave for 15 seconds.

Use an electric milk frother to froth.

Brew your coffee into the cup.

Add a sugar to taste, or something sweet, like a lemon cookie and I’m happy.

* * * just saying

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In the Way

In The Way

It is 10AM on the morning. I’ve been up since seven, read the newspaper, had breakfast, even exercised and showered. I’m dressed and headed to my office with a fresh cup of coffee to write when something gets in the way.

As I pulled my desk away from the wall, ever so slightly, to retrieve a slip of paper, the jewelry holder fell to the floor tangling the necklaces that dangled from her golden arms and stretched neck. I considered throwing the mess in the garbage, but the doll, a collectable figurine by Heriloom Edition was a gift from my mother who is now deceased.

Mercury Retrograde was at it again. I scooped her up, rested the damage on the bed and turned on my computer. I refused to be deterred. I didn’t take the detour, the roundabout way to writing.

Several days later I summoned the fortitude to untangle the numerous strands of necklaces, without yelling, screaming or cursing. There’s some real personal growth taking place here Dr. Trugillo. I remembered to count to ten, take deep breathes and do whatever else needed to behave sane. “I am an adult.” I repeated to myself again and again.

However, it was a reminder that retirement is highly over rated. You think you’re going to do what you want, go where you want, eat what you want . . . all your wants will be cared for.

But no, I wake up to new health challenges, world disasters or situations that need attention, daily.

Staying focused is a challenge. Should I wear a face mask again, get the booster vaccination before or after the flu shot? The increasing concerns make me dizzy and worn out. I wasn’t going to mention the remote situation, but will, briefly. Spectrum had to mail us four new remotes, none of which turn the bedroom TV on.

And then the guilt! I don’t have loved ones near the fires, fighting or returning from Afghanistan, in Ida’s path or battling covid,

But damn it, I’m going to have fun and be happy even if it kills me.

* * * just saying

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Is Today Friday?

456 pic from cell may 2019 154Is Today Friday?

Monday morning, as soon as I was out of bed, the day felt like a Friday. The newspaper indicated it was Monday, June 1st. But, seeing the day and date in print didn’t help. It clearly felt like a Friday.

Tuesday, the next morning, did not feel like a Saturday. Why had Monday felt like a Friday?

By Wednesday, the week seemed to be on track until, my husband said, “Boy this week is going fast.” Then Wednesday adopted a few nuances of Thursday.  

Finally, on Friday it felt like Friday, probably because we had pizza for dinner.

Has any of this ever happened to you?

I asked,  Google; Why does it feel like Friday?

 “Fridays are associated with the ending of work/school, so people are happier and go to parties, bed later, etc. See, if you associate something with the day and it doesn’t happen, it can feel like a different day.”

It is a stretch. . . But if Monday is associated with work, and I am retired, therefore, work did not happen; the day might feel like a different day. Logically, however, the different day,  should have been Saturday. I have to assume they missed my notation about pizza for dinner.

According to Google, People also ask;

  • Why does the day feel so short?
  • Why is the day dragging?
  • Why do days of the week feel different?

These are questions I frequently ask, along with other questions, i.e., What is cow tipping?

Asking the right question is more important than finding the right answer.

Why can’t every day feel like Friday?

What do you think?

. . . . just saying

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What Are You Thinking?

 

Bings Landing, Hammock Florida

A friend phoned to invite me out today, I declined saying I was hoping to have a thought, something to write about, as Sunday is my day to post. I had not had one yet, and explained that these days I have to jumpstart my brain, and in addition, my sister had been visiting and we had been sightseeing. The pictures above were taken at Bings Landing where we had lunch at The Captains BBQ and enjoyed the view.  

The conversation caused me to think about thinking, or my failure to. I take that back, I think but not quickly and grab paper and pencil to write down my thoughts, so I do not forget. It didn’t used to be this way.

Before turning 70 years of age, I could keep a thought or idea in my head to be retrieved later. It occurred to me that maybe there is no more room in my head for new thoughts and perhaps the reason we keep thinking old thoughts, i.e., when I was young milk was 25 cents a gallon is because we have accumulated too many thoughts, many of which are dated.

Is there a way to get rid of old thoughts? Head concussions and strokes cause memory loss although these measures would be drastic. Perhaps we can delete or compress some thoughts to make space for new thoughts by viewing old thoughts from a new perspective. For example, can stale bread be made into bread pudding?

The Daytona Beach News-Journal article, ‘Luckiest guy in the world’ reported on the 100th Birthday celebration for Howard Turner a volunteer ambassador at Daytona Beach Airport. When asked about aging he said, “I’m lucky to be walking around. I don’t have a cane. I’m not in a wheelchair, I’m the luckiest guy in the world.” Who could argue with him. He did not talk about memory loss and says he looks to the future, perhaps that is his delete button.

We know the body slows down and the mind becomes stale with aging, but should we throw the loaf of bread out or make bread pudding?

I am thinking of standing on my head, it is just a thought.

What are you thinking?

. . . . just saying

 

The Smell of Rain

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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 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 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 seems 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 and sugared, 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?

Silence in Lackawaxen

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Photographer: ДмитрийВладимирович

Silence in Lackawaxen

     A silence resides among us; the sound permeates the wooded areas, and hovers in the breeze.

     It is different from quiet.

     You hear its stillness when the wrestling trees pause; a falling acorn fills the void, and  you turn in the direction to catch the eye of a doe, her large chocolate brown eyes searching for her fawn, absorbing the emptiness a bent hoof suspended midair.

     We are vacationing in Masthope Mountain Community, near Lackawaxen, Pennsylvania. There are many homes, a few cars in driveways and silence.

     In these woods the doe, fawn and buck, run playfully through the woods, and wait by the roadside respectful of passing cars.

     Although we lived in New Jersey over twenty-five years I am unfamiliar with, “this neck of the woods,” but discovered Lackawaxen is home to the Zane Grey Museum. He and his wife, Dolly lived here from 1905 to 1918,. The area was one of his favorites.

     The silence, interrupted by chirping birds,and chipmunks jumping in dried leaves, creates a cloak upon our shoulders and has become a new best friend.

 

. . . .just saying