Remember the movie The Graduate? It was released in 1967 and has become more relevant over time. One scene kept flashing through my mind as I read an Associated Press newspaper article* about the future of plastic. It’s a graduation … Continue reading
Nothing Like a Good Book Have you read one lately? Hello Beautiful by Ann Napotitan, promises to be a good read, and I’m on the wait list for a copy. I like to hold a book in my hands, although … Continue reading
Today is Saturday, May 13th , the one hundredth and thirty-third day of the year. We’ll be half way through 2023, on day one hundred and eighty-two; and there are forty-nine days until we reach that milestone, July 1st..
Why these snippets of information are important to me, I’m not sure. Never the less, every morning before getting out of bed, I mentally review the date, the day of the week and things I must do.
Does anyone else do this?
This morning, I smiled, grateful for no have to list. No doctor’s appointments, pick up this, return that, or stopping by. Which meant, no; where did I park the car, leave my cell, or oops, I left my credit card and bags in the car.
Why not head to the beach? Because, I can’t take the sun, the water’s still cold, and there are no lifeguards.
Instead, we watched the movie The Summer of 42, on TCM, at 7am in the morning. Both of us had been awake since 5.
Why do I care about forty-nine days from now and the year being half gone? Well, we know time will start to fly after July 1st., and the holidays will be here and gone. Blink and it will be 2024, and we’ll all be another year older.
I have been working on my first novel for ten years, and have a zoom session with the editor/publisher and illustrator on Monday. There will be many must do lists in my future and hopefully some fun.
But I feel the days slipping away
. . . just saying
P.S. Optomobility update; The eye doctor prescribed eye glasses with prisms to correct my walking cock-eyed. I’ve never heard of this cure. Have any one else?
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It’s true . . . I really don’t have time to write.
Today, the one hundredth and twenty-fifth day of the year, is a typical example.
Having slept well, I woke chipper and chanting, thank you God. Then, prepared coffee and my favorite breakfast, an English muffin with cherry jelly. I gathered my phone; computer, clipboard and the right pen and pencil, and sat outside to enjoy the morning air and Wordle.
On the first attempt, I had 3 correct letters, none in the right place. One hour later, I had 3 letters in their right spot, but was still missing two correct letters. So, I asked my husband for help. However, we were interrupted when a pint of blueberries fell to the kitchen floor. Sweeping them up was like playing blueberry pool, and yes, I rinsed and put them in the box. None of them had been squashed.
I can’t remember what time it was but, a downpour occurred, and I scurried outside to retrieve my phone, computer, clipboard and right pen and pencil from being soaked.
I was frazzled and hadn’t brushed and flossed, yet.
Do you own a toothbrush recommended by your dentists with a timer? I live in fear of his eyebrows being raised on my next visit.
Another reason I don’t have time to write is doctor’s appointments.
For years I believed Vertigo and/or sinus infections were the cause of my incurable balance issues. Turns out, it’s not just vertigo that causes my wobble walk, but Optokentic and Optomobility.
What is that?
To put in layman talk . . .dancing eyes. I my case, it’s my right eye that flutters and sends a mixed message to my brain. Consequently, my legs don’t know which way to go.
The cure? Watching Youtube videos of strolling through a grocery store or Muir Woods, without moving my head.
I am optimistic there will be some relief.
The last reason I don’t have time to write?
I have an editor/publisher for Morningside Drive, the novel I have been working on for ten years!
. . . just saying
P.S. I hope things are going well at your house.
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Is decluttering an obsession or a form of procrastination? Regardless, there is no time for writing. Here’s my latest pastime, finding a home, not mine, for the perfectly good items I no longer use or want. Like; a Garmin, or the shower head that was replaced, or curtain rod brackets. I save the plastic containers strawberries and other food items come in. I can see what is in each box and they snap shut. But, do you know how much effort and time goes into removing the old labels? There was no time for new labels. That’s on next’s week to do list. I probably won’t have time to write. Besides it was garbage day.
I am preoccupied with getting my house in order, i.e., fixing the outdoor water spigot that spits water in my face when turned on, or replacing the entrance way light bulb twenty feet above ground. Do you know anyone who will come to my house with a ladder? I am willing to pay.
Is it anxiety? Some people take a pill, and that is fine. I scrub, run the sweeper, and organize. I want the towels folded just right and my underwear stacked by color in the dresser. My life is about tidying-up, and how did get to be so?
Perhaps it’s about control. The world has become chaotic. We wake up to another mass shooting, unprovoked invasion of countries, and weather disasters.
I want hospital corners on the bed and the pillows fluffed.
. . . just saying
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Flash Fiction
Today, crisp cool air mingles with a blazing sun as I leave my minuscule apartment on Lexington Ave. The weather has been dreary. This morning is glorious.
Around noon, I stop for lunch at a typical outdoor New York café; the tables are round and small; the metal chairs look uncomfortable, but are not when I sit.
A waiter fills my water glass, and announces he will be my server. The menu choices are unexpectedly appealing; fennel quiche, gazpacho soup, and more.
I take time ordering.
The man on my left, glances my way. His thick blond hair is sun streaked and he looks familiar, a little like my friend, Sam.
Groomed brows frame his eyes. Carefully pressed gray slacks, and a wrinkle-free dress shirt complete his polished look.
I sit back to wait for my meal and people watch; New Yorker’s enjoying the sun, walking and talking loud. A biker babe dressed in leather, pushes a doggie stroller. The dog wears goggles and rests his paws on the bar celebrity style. I laugh aloud.
My order comes, and the man who looks like Sam stares in my direction, again. His eyes searching, and as the tables fill up, the man gives a knowing nod my way, and conceals a smile.
He faces me, but, I can’t tell if he is looking at me, or not.
Behind me a couple seat themselves, and I refrain from turning around. They create a stir dragging empty chairs across the concrete and arranging shopping bags, and I realize the man who looks like Sam is studying them.
When the waiter takes my empty plate, I order a Cappuccino and the ‘Chocolate – Chocolate’ cake, and listen to the couple’s banter, intrigued.
The woman protests, “I didn’t make you come here, you said it was your favorite restaurant.”
The man responds, “Eve, you’re the one who claimed the food was something else.”
“You loved the zucchini mushroom quiche, and what about the gazpacho soup? You raved!”
“No, you never listen; I said the quiche was good if you like quiche. And the soup ‘the best’ Gestapo!” His words are slow and deliberate. He gets up. “I’m going to the men’s room.”
His voice sounds like Victor’s, and I look.
Sam rushes to fill his empty seat, firing off questions, “What’s going on? You said you would be at here 12 o’clock, alone.”
Coyly, Eve removes her Hollywood style sunglasses, checks her diamond wristwatch, leans forward, and whispers, “Oh, my, it is past noon, isn’t it.” Playing with her neckline she continues. “Victor’s golf was cancelled. When he learned I was coming to the city, he said he was coming.” She shakes her head and says misty eyed. “He’s my husband. I couldn’t persuade him otherwise. We’ll do it next time.”
Sam laughs, “You think me a fool, Eve; there are other restaurants in town! Why lunch here? There won’t be a next time.”
“Next time . . . answer your cell, damn it!” She shouts after him.
The husband returns. A tan complements his brown eyes, perfect Roman nose, and romantic lips. Approaching the table, his aloof expression becomes surprise, as our eyes meet.
He is my Victor, and my heart pounds.
Sitting across from his wife, he tucks in a cloth napkin. “Who was that? You seem upset. Is everything alright?”
Eve clears her throat, forces a smile, and explains, “Someone who goes to my gym. It’s nothing. I’m tired, and sorry. Sorry we had words.” She reaches across the table to take her husband’s hand, “Can we forget it?”
Eve appears confident and why not? I’m the other woman.
I play with the raspberry sauce on and mush the the ‘Chocolate-Chocolate’ cake.
I stop at the couple’s table when leaving and smile, “Victor, What a surprise to see you and your wife.”
As I walk away, Eve asks, “Who’s is that? You seem upset. Is everything alright?”
. . . . just saying
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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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The Days of My Life Series She wore unhappy clothes and her hair hugged her face beneath a hood. Even the dog she walked seemed forlorn. I watched her through the front window of our breakfast nook, daily. Frequently, she … Continue reading
The Day After Christmas
It was the day after Christmas the presents unwrapped. The plants nestled and covered. . . taking a nap.
We stayed in pajamas relieved only three gifts go back,
Then what to my wondering ears did I hear, “didsomeonejustshout?”
Confused, I responded, “what are you talking about?”
Bob repeated, “didsomeonejustshout?”
I hollered back.
To which he exclaimed, “WEDNESDAY…THE…GARBAGE…GOES OUT”
Wishing you a happy and healthy New Year
. . .Claudia just saying.
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“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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claudiajustsaying 