Lobster On My Shoulder …

July 28, 2020 – Tuesday

IT finally arrived. SUMMER!!!!

I know many of you have been trying to keep cool in the sweltering heat; weeks on end of 90º + temps … I’ve had three days now of not having my heat on and I’m ecstatic!

Yesterday was IT. Nearly 80º … a slight breeze that was as light as butterfly kisses … bird song … sun … blue, cloudless skies. THANK YOU, Mom Nature! Seriously. I’ve been waiting so very long.

And I took advantage of it as only one does in the NW – knowing that that kind of day is fleeting (by 7pm it was a mere 76º and I was feeling chilled!) … and that before too long we’ll be back in the 60s … and that this might just be our ONE SHOT at this season … this ONE PERFECT DAY.

So, you do what you can.

And, I did.

I laid out in the sun. As in … laid out … in the sun. Slumber mask over my eyes, tube top on, (dare I admit) shorts! … flat out on the chaise in the yard … lemonade within reach. It was GLORIOUS!

And no, I don’t think I even got a tint of color even though I was sure I’d have reached a hint of pink after 20 minutes of said sun-soaking. If I was a steak I was sure I’d be “medium” … but the sun isn’t that intense up here and well, I’m just glad the rays reached us, even if they were weak. After 60 degree temps … nearly 80º was HOT! And I loved it while it lasted!

And, the nearby rooster must have been lulled to sleep by the heat (or half-cooked) in his enclosure so no cock-a-doodle-dooing all afternoon long! Bliss! (I usually love it – but his clock is off and he doodles ALL day long … every 20 minutes his rooster alarm goes off!)

I’m a water or tea drinker. I’m not a sugary-sweet cola/anything drinker but I drank ice cold lemonade. LOTS of lemonade. So much so that after a few hours I was sure my teeth were going to fall out. They didn’t. I do best with non-sweetened anything … but, hey … it was Summer!

I ate an ice cream cone at 5pm. Not a very good one, but an ice cream cone – in the yard, in the sun, in 79º weather! Before dinner! Fabulous!

I ate dinner after 7 … a shrimp taco with onions, asparagus and corn-off-the-cob. It was so lovely to dine on my deck with the breeze wafting over my still bare arms and the hum of the hummingbirds sipping nearby.

For dessert I ate cubes of watermelon – perfectly ripe, perfectly cold, perfectly crisp. I couldn’t wait for my nightly walk as I was feeling a little water(melon) logged!

It was so nice that I emailed, read and pretty much stayed on the deck or the stairs – moving the hose and sprinkler (I ran through it, too) until I decided I’d best get a move on down the road. I went solo – I could have taken Sadie but she’s a horror on the leash and too many deer are out early evening. I’d have road rash head to toe and I didn’t want my one day of summer to end that way!

It’s to be 72º today. Maybe. It’s now 68º and early afternoon … we are slow to warm up. It’s nice but this warmth now seems inadequate compared to the magic that was yesterday … Summer – in all her glory. We were just missing fireflies and a roasted something over an open flame. But, I’ll take what today brings! Like I said, these days are fleeting!

The other day I shared with you a story about our cocker, Sera … here’s another glimpse of her story.

Twenty-three Pounds of Sugar – 10/9/1998

I came home today to a quiet house. My personal “welcoming committee” didn’t greet me. No flash of black fur jumping at me. No curly ears flapping. No stump tail wagging. 
I wondered … where was she? She always waited for me by the door. 

It was a cold winter’s evening when Sera first came to us. I was at home, looking over mounting bills–pregnant with our second child and our nine-month-old son, Ted, was asleep upstairs. My husband, Tim, was finishing up a double-shift of part-time work. It had been a tough first month of the new year. Ted had been rushed to the ER with an eye injury. I was having major pregnancy issues and had just been ordered off my feet and bedrest (which I wasn’t doing at that moment), Tim lost his job and it had been three days since our beloved dog of six years died unexpectedly while undergoing emergency surgery. She had been my  “first baby” and I was devastated by her passing. 

Tim came home and I got up to greet him and as I approached him a bit of black caught my eye … a dear, sweet, Cocker Spaniel puppy’s face peeked out at me from around the edge of our couch. It was love at first sight. She was so beautiful. We named her Sera (pronounced Sarah) as it means “evening” in Italian and the night he brought her home was the best evening we’d had in a while.

She stayed by my side for the next two months … through the death of my grandfathers and the death of our unborn son and for the next 13 years she has stayed by my side and been my constant shadow and loyal companion.  

So, where was this twenty-three pound bundle of sugar? 

Instead of being at the back door, as always, my darling Sera sat on the kitchen rug with her back to me, head cocked, looking away across the room. She hadn’t heard me come in … hadn’t heard the door close … hadn’t heard me call her name. 

My dear sweetheart turns 13 next week. She is now deaf and won’t hear us sing “Happy Birthday” to her as we have done all these years–since my son was a baby. She is getting old. Her eyes are filmy and her vision is failing. She’s had a year of eye infections and gradual vision loss. I walk behind her or carry her up the stairs at night if I think she’s having trouble judging the steps. I know her vision is diminishing by the way she’ll cock her head – adjusting the angle to get a better view. She sleeps more. More than once I have found her asleep (in our bed) well after mid-morning. I let her sleep–the bed can be made later – as I don’t want to disturb her. 

We don’t have any older family or friends in our lives and yet it dawns on me that over the past year our family has adjusted living with an elderly family member. Sure, she might just be “a dog” to some people, but she is family to us and this wonderful creature is teaching us all about adapting to an elderly being. 

I suddenly realize how very important Sera is in our lives–not just because of her undying loyalty, affection and unconditional love–but because we are all learning so much from her at this stage in her life. We have watched her grow old–gracefully and without complaint. We have watched her adapt to her diminished capacities and capabilities with that same grace and acceptance. 

Tim’s parents were not in our lives much before they passed away. They lived 1000 miles away and lived in a nursing facility. My parents live farther away but are just turning 70 and are healthy and youthful. We are all learning how to care and cope with an aging loved one’s abilities and issues through this little wiggly-tailed bundle of love. 

We are gentler, kinder, and take more time with her because we sense she needs it. We are slower to scold and quicker to hug. We are less apt to judge and more likely to assist. Our patience is longer and our bonds are stronger – not only with her–but with each other. Our behavior, towards her, now spills over to how we treat each other as respect is greater and petty annoyances are ignored. I realize both kids (10 year old daughter, Sam, as well as teenager, Ted) hug and kiss Sera and tell her they love her before they go to bed or off to school. If she can’t hear them, I like to think she can sense their affection and what they are saying. I hear them and it melts my heart.  

I realized all this in the moment it took to walk from the door to the rug where Sera is sitting. I walked around in front of her–so as not to startle her if I touched her from behind – and all at once … she saw me! The black fur jumped at me, the curly ears were flapping and the little stump tail was rotating so quickly – I thought it would lift her from the floor. Yipping and licking she wriggled about me as I sat on the rug petting her in her excitement and joy. The “welcoming committee” was in session and I was getting the greeting that I so desperately was hoping for. 

There will be a day when she is no longer with us … and as heart-wrenching as it is for me to even think about that eventuality I know that all of our lives will have been changed, for the better, by this wonderful dog … all twenty-three pounds of sugar.  

July 27, 2020 – Monday (and yes, Covid is worse than ever)

I like to think of myself as a sun baby … but truth be told – I’m a shade baby. Yep – for all my griping about the weather here … once the sun comes out and the temp gets above 70º, I find myself a nice, comfy spot in the shade.

I love being outside – I just can’t tolerate the sun. How was I ever a lifeguard?

Today, per Alexa, it’s 77º .. our warmest day this year (I’m pretty sure) … we might even hit 80º! Woo-hoo! Summer has arrived! Well, for today. It won’t stay this warm – never does (we’ve never hit 90º on this island – ever). Today might be one of a handful of 80º days all year; I’ll take it. But, if it stays warm for any length of time it’ll have all of my neighbors so disgruntled I won’t hear the end of it! They know I like Summer to be warmer than 68º. They’re having a tough time taking off their polar fleece vests.

Anyway – it’s to be in the 70s all week and I’m going to spend as much time as I can outside. This is MY time. I’m on the deck with a tray table and there is a soft breeze and it’s so quiet the only thing I hear is the soft breathing of Sadie, the golden, who is asleep at my feet. I’ve hosed her down and have a fan on inside for her – she, like my neighbors, thinks this is too HOT!

I hate to admit it but I’m wearing a boob-tube … a tube-top. I’ve had this thing for eons and it’s what I wear when I sit for my 15 minutes of sun when it’s upper 70s here on the island. No one can see me … except for the birds and the hummers that are feeding. It’s not the best look, but they do not judge. And, I get a bit of sun and no tan lines!

Today I made my dad lunch. Well, symbolically speaking as he’s been gone now almost 2 years. Time flies. Yesterday was Tim’s 14th anniversary. How can that be? We met over 40 years ago – how can THAT be?! My brother-in-law has passed and it’s already been 10 days. Time. So elusive. So defining.

Before I moved to the island, I lived in the Chicago area for 2 years. Do I miss it? No. But there are aspects of it that I miss: I loved the balmy summer nights and the fireflies (but not the 3 cold showers a day to stay sane with limited a/c) … I loved the Italian beef sandwiches from anywhere … I loved the kids I tutored (but they are all grown) … I loved going into any grocery store – large or small – and having one full wall dedicated to sausages and a deli counter. I never bought much – but I’d go and look – gawk – as it was like a sausage museum. I miss the International grocery stores – they had everything; half of which I didn’t recognize and had no idea how to use. I miss the oj and chicken salad at Marianos. (I seem to have spent a LOT of time in grocery stores during those years!) I miss the trees and the autumns and the pretty streets lined with pretty homes and pretty yards.

I also loved my little house. It was as perfectly perfect as it could get. Every inch was functional and it fit everything I had, well … perfectly. I was at the edge of an oak forest so my upstairs office was shaded and was like being in a windowed tree house. I loved it. I had a darling yard but no privacy as it backed to my neighbor’s driveway. The kids would wave to me from their drive (while playing basketball) while I was sitting on my couch! Walking around other than fully dressed was never an option! I could have put up a fence (as the next owner did) – but that would have meant the kids would have had to go around the house to get a bball that had gone over into my yard – instead of just hopping the 3 foot chain link. I couldn’t bear to make them do that. So, I just made sure I was clothed and loved having them wave to me and the dogs while we were watching tv!

My parents were there and that was the reason I went back to the Peyton Place-esque town of Park Ridge, IL for those years. They’d both been doing the revolving door thing at the local hospital … my dad one month, my mom the next, etc. So, as I really needed to jump-start my life and get out of the big, family home in CO, I went that way feeling they needed me.

They didn’t. I got there just as things were getting better on the health-front for them and my “help” with anything was seen as interference and a thwart to their independence. So, I did what I could … but that really wasn’t much. My dad was like the smart pig in the Three Little Pigs story (you know – the practical one who made his home of bricks – not straw or twigs). I’d say I’d help him trim the tree and be over at 9am. I’d arrive and he’d be coming down the ladder from said tree – having already done the pruning. I got wise to his ways … but he always seemed to beat me to the punch. I finally gave up – telling him that mom could call 911 when he fell from the roof. I was only half joking. We butted heads a lot. As in a LOT. They were in their early 80s and didn’t want to be reminded that their bodies were aging. I didn’t want to find one of them dead at the bottom of the stairs or ladder. If it was a contest, they won.

At that time my dad was still very active – riding his bike/walking long distances. And, as we were so close, there were times he’d walk my way (I lived only 1/2 mile away – to the west) and he’d surprise me with a little visit. I loved those spontaneous times. And sometimes I made him lunch. He always resisted … saying he was “saving himself” for dinner. But, I’d chat with him as I made “me” a sandwich … always something grilled … ham and some cheese … and some sort of olive or artichoke tapenade or aioli on it with a side of kettle chips, fruit and sweet pickles. I’d make a fuss that I wasn’t that hungry and make him up a plate with half the sandwich and the rest … and we’d have lunch. He’d say that I should save it and I’d say it’d get mushy and so he’d acquiesce. It was nice. Today “we” had that lunch … grilled ham with artichoke/jalapeno schmear on dark rye … kettle chips and pickles. I wished he could have been here with me. I gave a little salute to the sky as I ate my half sandwich.

Last night I did my cliff walk … I signed up for a 5K to support my sweet hippo friend at the Cincinnati Zoo – Fiona. She was the premie baby who at birth, weighted only 12 lbs! I have been following her progress through their zoo-cam. It’s great! To get in my mileage, I walked the cliff and then the ‘hood and then another neighborhood and through the woods … getting home just before dark. (It’s getting darker so much earlier!) … my animal total was 13 deer, 3 cows, 4 ducks, several dogs, 1 sweet cat and as I rounded the corner home, an eagle flew over me! I didn’t count the bunnies – wish I had as there were millions out last night! I walked part of the way while talking with my friend in Chicago … best friend in high school … still buds. We’ve seen a lot of life. She called to see how I was doing – 14 years later. And my answer, as is hers (she lost a son) is always the same … it is what it is.

After 14 years my heart no longer aches – but I fear it is numb instead. There are times when I look at his picture and wonder if he really happened. Our life together seems so very long ago – like I watched it as some Hallmark movie or someone told me about him and not that he was  mine for 27 years. It’s all weird. And it’s weird to think that he’s been gone for over half the time we were together. I say I am OK with all of this loss … but I look at his picture or remember something and there it is, that deep, resounding echo through my body and then I’m flooded with tears. Guess I’m not as numb as I think.

Covid is still raging and getting worse/not better. We need a do-over and we need it NOW. We need a federal mandate to mask up and stay home for 2, 4, 6 weeks so we can get this under control. Only then can we start to reopen … like the other countries have done. Like ALL of the other countries who have successfully quelled this virus have done. And yet – I know in my heart it won’t happen here because our leadership verges on insanity and the American people – at large – are too selfish and ignorant and continue to think that mask-wearing is political (or patriotic) and an assault on their personal rights. I’ve been doing “the right thing” since mid February and I’m getting really tired of doing it when so many others are not. This virus will continue on and on and on … and take how many more thousands with it – needlessly – because we are unwilling to stay home and mask up? Ridiculous. It’s insane and I’m tired of it. And as much as I, too, want this to “magically disappear”, I know it won’t without our intervention. Mask up people, mask up!

Sadie is back for the week – the world’s sweetest (and biggest) golden. She’s 94 lbs … but looks more like 110! I tell her she just has big bones. (Like me!) I am so tickled to have her back with me. I so miss having my own dogs. Have been looking at pug babies and Frenchies … but don’t really have an extra $3500 for a puppy! That is insane! So, I keep trawling the rescue sites … hoping, hoping. One day my pup will come. It’ll happen.

And speaking of dogs … here’s a little something I wrote a while back … meaning circa 2001 about our sweet, sweet Sera. Some things never change.

 I look at the clock – what time is it? Time is fleeting – a day flies by, a month, a year – I want more time. 

The Rolling Stones sang about time “being on their (my) side”. I say, in my case, that doesn’t pertain. Time goes by too fast. It has always been elusive for me – always slipping away – always going by much too quickly. A day of 30 hours still wouldn’t be enough. Whomever said that time stood still for them … I’d like to meet them and find out their secret. 

It’s 2am … once again, I find myself in the kitchen, eating cookies and thinking of my darling, black cocker spaniel, Sera. It’s been two weeks since I took her to our vet and had her put down. She was over 15 … times flies. Where did those years go? She wasn’t just an animal – a pet – she was part of our family. She was by my side for over one-third of my life. A lot of time. I have friends and some family that think … “it’s no big deal” … others know how I feel. 

She was a pup when Tim brought her home … a mere 9 weeks old … a beautiful black-velvet bundle of love. Ted was just a baby when she arrived … he is now driving. Time … where did you go?

A huge hole has opened in my heart and I feel its emptiness echo through my soul. 
How and why is it so difficult to lose a beloved pet? And yet, I know the answer before I even ask the question. She was my confidant, my shadow, my friend. She spoke volumes with her chocolate brown eyes and little wiggly stump tail. Her love for me and my family was without question. She was the house mother of all the other household pets. And her absence makes my heart ache. 

I’m not good with death anyway. I never have been. I just don’t like it! I don’t think it’s often fairly timed … and as far as I’m concerned, it’s much too final. In my life (thus far) I have lost four grandparents, a handful of friends, a few pets, an unborn son; none of them have been easy. Yet, with time – their loss does get easier but my love and missing them is never diminished.  

The saying “time heals all wounds” runs through my head. “Give it time” I hear people say. Time. I want more time.  

I suppose as we grow older we learn from life’s lessons which prepare us for the next passing. When it comes to losing a loved one–I’m a very slow learner. I still hurt. I still want the ending to be different than it is.  

The cookies don’t help–much–but the tears ease my sorrow and clear my head. I sigh and think before I go back to bed that she was a good dog; a treasured, loving companion and a sweet creature. She lived a long and very healthy and happy life in a warm home with a family that adored her. What more could a pet want? What more could I want for her? 

More time. 

Wishing you more time with all those you love. Tell them that you love them and go make today a good day.

July 16, 2020 … Thursday (Summer (?) of Covid)

Time. Even now with all the time I’ve (we’ve) got ~ there never seems to be enough of it.

I left the house tonight around 9:15 on my nightly walk. We are expecting rain after midnight and under the gathering clouds I walked the cliff road.

On my way down the road there is more water to see – the angle of the houses and the road offer me more of a water view. On my way back, I see more homes and trees.

The clouds were gray and thusly the Sound … it always reflects the sky. It was steely tonight … cold and a bit scary. The winds were brisk and small white caps could be seen here and there.

The winds of change.

I passed under that glorious Silver Poplar and stood, eyes closed, and listened to the swish rustle of her leaves. Below those many branches fallen leaves lay on the road and scuttled along it in the breezes. The last few nights there have been more and more leaves on the ground.

It feels like Fall is in the air. I know it’s coming … I’m just not ready. As much as I love autumn … and as much as I love pumpkins and all things cozy … I’m not ready.

I guess I could be … we’ve had our TWO DAYS of Summer. It was 71 yesterday and today. I know we’ll have warmer days to come … maybe we’ll have ONE 80º day before we head back down to the 50s … but I’m not counting on it.

I’d like more Summer and I’m not ready for Fall. Not now. Not yet. Not THIS summer. I want a REAL summer … I want hot days and warm moonlit nights and to experience ice cream melting down my arm from a cone that I cannot lick fast enough. I want a (mild) sunburn. I want to wear a tank top and NEED it. I want to sit outside at 10pm and not need a sweater and a sweatshirt over it to be comfortable.

I want a summer do-over. Hell, I want a 2020 do-over.

Tonight I saw the neighbors who walk their dog … the dog that gives me kisses. They are lovely – the people and the dog kisses. A real perk. Tonight as I passed them I felt a pang, a twinge … I wanted to hug them both. I’m missing human connection and not just for myself –I feel this country is aching for a hug.

I’m a little melancholy. The winds of change have been swirling around and I’m not ready for them to be here. Not now. Not yet.

As I walked tonight there were no deer and I counted only eight bunnies … I told the last one to scamper on home before a hungry owl found him – to go snuggle with his babies. It made me sad.

This pandemic has kept so many of us from snuggling with our babies. Friends and families are apart … parents from children … grandparents from their babies’ babies. It has kept us from being who we are … doing what we love. As I walk by the homes and lights (which were on tonight) I was heavy-hearted. I want this to be over. I don’t want another 100,000 people to perish. I want life to resume and go back to some semblance of normalcy. Yet – for hundreds of thousands of Americans and for millions, worldwide – life will never be normal again. And for far too many– life will never be again.

My thoughts were all over the place as I listened for the frogs and the birds … there were none. Not tonight. Too windy? Too late? I thought of my uncle who has Covid … I hope he and his caretaker will be okay. I thought of my mom’s friend – they have been friends for over 70 years – she won’t see August. My brother-in-law might not see tomorrow. My heart is heavy and I feel the winds of change blow stronger.

I watched Rachel tonight … that is always a balancing act between keeping in the know and maintaining my fragile sanity. We have to vote in November to ensure that this current President does NOT get re-elected. The winds of change need to blow him out of office (and into prison). I fear our country will not survive unless we do.

As I walked back home I could smell the island mix of sea air and woodsmoke. It was heavenly. Someone was having a gathering … a political rally or poetry reading? I know not. I do know that they weren’t dancing, naked around the solstice pole frying whatever brain cells were left from the massacre in the 60s – that was last month.

As I continued along I could see the last slivers of the sunset … deep pinks and vivid oranges … so strikingly beautiful and promising a good day tomorrow. As I stepped under the poplar, once again, a single leaf fluttered down and landed atop my head. I plucked it off my hair and held it out in my hand and watched it blow off down the lane behind me.

The winds of change … they are blowing.

July 15, 2020 … Wednesday (Day 2,456,987,456,345 of Covid-19 and not an end in sight.)

Here is one of my favorites from my writing portfolio … purely fiction, my friends!

Leaf Pile Perfection – March 19, 2007 

“Leaf pile perfection!” I heard that exclaimed – accompanied by giddy laughter – through the grogginess of post-nap re-entry. Re-entry into the real world … the world of laundry and schedules and a dog needing grooming.  

I opened my eyes and it took me a second longer for my surroundings to register. I was on my son’s bed … book in hand. I let my eyes skim over the remnants of his childhood … stuffed animals and dinosaurs, countless books, his keychain collection, an E.T. poster. I was enveloped in the cocoon of his youth – safe and warm, wrapped snuggly in innocence and trying to remember why I was there. 

It was the end of autumn and earlier that morning I had taken my car to the shop as I needed new tires – with winter and snowy roads in the near future it was time for the change. After dropping off my car I walked to my office at the university where I teach Cinema Studies. It was such a perfectly crisp autumn day that I decided to take my work home instead of staying in my cramped, windowless office. The streets in our area are cobbled and I felt like Gene Kelly in Singing in the Rain as I practically danced my way home along the leaf-littered streets through the falling leaves. 

Once home, the prospect of work seemed less inviting – so I decided to catch up on a little class reading in my son’s second floor bedroom. We always said he had the most comfortable bed in the house and the best view of the yard. I was watching the leaves flutter from the large, red maple and apparently fell asleep on his bed. I awoke from my nap and haziness – still with the unopened “Mastering Symbolism in Film” in hand. I could hear chatter and laughter coming from the yard and was perplexed … who would be in our yard … in the middle of the afternoon … on a weekday?

And there they were … in that leaf pile of perfection … reenacting the beach scene in From Here to Eternity … no, not Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr, but my husband, Jim, and his intern – Bambi. Her name really wasn’t Bambi, but at the moment that could have been her name – those doe eyes fawning over him. I couldn’t take my eyes off of them even as I felt the bile rising in my throat. They were lying in the leaves – our leaves – kissing like I hadn’t been kissed in ages – ever? Hands groped and felt their way to places they shouldn’t have been. I wanted to stop, to scream out, but I was mesmerized … like when you pass an accident scene or watch a horror flick and you want to turn away, you know you should turn away but you are paralyzed in the moment … transfixed with horror and fear and awe … and you watch, raptly. 

I stood over them – how could they not hear my approach? Bambi (who, by the way, was wearing a very pretty, purple, satin and lace demi-bra) was the first to notice me. That look of … what was it … not quite fear, not quite guilt, not quite sorrow . .. conquest? I don’t think it was that either … but she was saying his name so many times I don’t know how he couldn’t have heard her – maybe he needed a hearing aid? And yet he kept mumbling, “Baby. Baby. Baby … ” I’d give him that – she was a baby! All of what? Nineteen? Twenty? Old enough to be his daughter … young enough to be his daughter. The bile rose again. 

I wanted to ask her if she knew which pharmacy to pick up his Viagra prescription from – for future reference. It now seemed like she’d need to know more than I would. And was this a good time to mention his receding gums and soon to be receding hairline? In a strange and totally absurd way I felt a kinship with this lovely – yet morally corrupt – young woman … how could I deny her him? Jim was irresistible. He was model handsome. He looked far younger than his age, he was in great shape, he was charming … and I’d do the Fatal Attraction number on him if circumstances were different and if given the chance. I just hoped she’d never seen the movie. 

I was feeling like Carrie at the prom … of course, I had nothing dripping off of me except dignity … as I watched them, in slow motion, untangle their limbs and lips. Jim was the first to stand up – and ever the gentleman – gallantly leant a hand to the concubine – who, much to my dismay, looked even better with twigs and leaves in her hair than without – helping her to her Manolo Blahnik clad feet. (Who wears those with jeans? Who wears those in a pile of leaves? Who wears those?) 

Jim stammered … “I’m confused – your car’s not here. I thought you were at work.” I shot back (with more force and venom than I knew was possible), “I’m confused. I thought you were faithfully married.” Bambi somehow extricated herself from the leaf pile (of perfection) and slowly backed away from our little cluster and headed for the backyard gate. As she laid her hand on the latch she called out … “See ya!” All I could think of was Clueless … the movie and adjective. 

Jim and I stood facing each other and all of a sudden I was astronaut Frank in 2001 … A Space Odyssey … floating off into the abyss of space. I looked at Jim’s face … the face that I loved, the face that I had awakened to for more than 27 years … and realized I’d seen that face before … 

It was the face of guilt and anguish and secrets. I’d seen it before; but I thought it was the face of fatigue and stress and overwork. This was the face I’d seen after so many, so-called late night department meetings, out-of-town conferences, spur-of-the-moment seminars. 

This was not the first time for him; just the first time he’d been caught. He looked so resigned, so much older; but oddly, not sad. Had he looked sad I would have felt and acted differently. Without much discussion he agreed to leave–immediately. I told him I’d pack a suitcase for him and he could pick it up on the front porch later. 

I knew what I had to do. I dragged up the largest suitcase I could find in the basement and took it out to the backyard … and proceeded to hand pick the leaves from the leaf pile of perfection and fill the case. Winter was in the air – and it was time for change. 

July 13, 2020 … actually a nice day out here in the NW!

For whomever might be waiting for this … here is Part II of my attempt at a Romance Novel. Originally written in April 1993 … when days were so much simpler!

*****

Romance Novel … Part II

Suddenly the impact of his words hit her heart. Her body became numb as her thoughts and his words swirled in her head … no proposal … leaving … France … good-bye. Was this really good-bye? Emily remembered little of leaving the restaurant or the drive home. Matthew walked her to the door, kissed her lightly on the cheek, said a few words of parting–that she would never remember … and was gone.

Gone! 

She entered the dimly lit foyer of the old house and realized that Grandfather was not yet home. How she could have used his wisdom and comfort. Tonight was his night to go visit Mr. Ferguson and play checkers. Emily always got a chuckle from the moniker that her grandfather had given him as Mr. Ferguson was only a few years older. “Old man Ferguson” would intentionally lose, Emily was sure, just so Grandfather would keep going to see him. Grandfather always came home happy on checker night.  

With that thought Emily renewed her scanning for shore–she knew Grandfather would be worried if she came home later but the fog was still thick and she couldn’t see any sign of land. The boat gently rocked and glided effortlessly along the current … out to sea. 

The woman on the rocks was holding a tin lantern. Emily watched it sway in the wind–back and forth, back and forth. The woman, who looked oddly familiar, was shouting something to Emily but her words were lost to the wind. Emily was almost sure the woman was calling her name. 

Emily woke with a start–her little boat was rocking along with the waves and somehow, she had been lulled to sleep. The wind has picked up and the salty water sprayed in her face and dampened her dress. The fog was still thick and she had no way of knowing where she was … or how far or how close she was to land. She realized she must have been dreaming but the image of the woman haunted her. Why had she looked so familiar? And why had it seemed like she was calling Emily’s name?

*****

Emily left the house and walked down the hill to the beach and strolled along absent-mindedly until she came to the pier. She walked along its weathered wooden structure – out to the end – where the boat was tethered. She left her silk heels at the end of the dock and untied the boat–thinking she’d just row out a bit and catch the last of the sunset and think about what had just transpired. She stepped into it and oared out. 

It had been a warm day, unusual for these parts, and the sun was getting lower in the sky. The Pacific breezes wafted over her and soothed her soul. She realized she should have changed her clothes but she wasn’t thinking logically. She tried to push Matthew from her thoughts but his words burned at her brain … “France. Paris. Good-bye.” She was looking out towards the end of the point when suddenly it appeared – the light in the old, abandoned lighthouse. It flickered against the water. Had she imagined it? Was it a reflection of the setting sun on the waves? She rowed toward the cape staying clear of the inlet rocks were the currents were strong. She went around a sea stack to get a better view and decided to go out a bit farther into the cove to get away from the rocks lest she crash into them. She turned around just in time to see the light flicker again against the waters. She wasn’t imagining–someone was in the lighthouse. But who? 

She was so fascinated with the light that she hadn’t noticed the fog creeping in until she was completely enveloped. She had forgotten the ultimate rule of the sea–never turn your back on it. She had and she sat regretting her poor judgement.  

*****

The wind had picked up and Emily’s small craft was now being tossed about like a cork on the sea. Trying to quell panic, she held tightly to the boat’s sides. She didn’t have time to wonder if she would be thrown overboard or go down with her vessel when with a sickening force the boat crashed onto some rocks and splintered into pieces. Emily somehow grabbed onto a rock and clung to its wet and slippery side–hanging on and groping around the slimy seaweed for a good hold. She gasped for air and took in a mouthful of salt water. Her mind reeled … Grandfather–I can’t be another loss to him! 

The waves were pushing her into the rocks and somehow she found a fingerhold and worked her way up the side of the rock and up and out of the surge of the surf. It was a large outcropping and rather flat where she was–she was fortunate, she knew. The area was covered with spiny barnacles that cut into her feet and hands and ripped her dress. But she was safe. She knew the tide was going out and by the time it would be coming in someone surely would have seen her. She sat, huddled in the wind–thirsty, cold and frightened and so thankful to be alive. Yet she wondered when the fog would lift and how long she might be stranded on that rock.

It was dark now and Emily sat shivering on the cold, small haven in the ocean. She laughed into the darkness and the sound of her voice startled her, “How could I be so foolish? I know better than this! I know so much better than this!” She wondered what time it was and tried to judge but she could see neither moon nor stars. At least the winds seemed to be blowing away the fog. She burrowed her face into her arms and curled up into a ball–her head tucked into her chest, her back to the wind. She felt like a half-drowned mermaid. She called out, “Hey … HELP!” but her words were lost to the wind scarcely after leaving her lips.  

Emily envisioned the local newspaper headlines to read: Witless woman found on rock at sea.  Or LOST at Sea!  Or better yet … Died of Exposure. She couldn’t bear dying – not only for herself but what would Grandfather do? She had been stupidly irresponsible and he did not deserve such heartache from her mistake. Her mind drifted to Matthew again and realized that she wasn’t as shocked – or even upset – as she thought she should have been. Predictable Matthew had surprised her after all. Maybe he was right in ending things. What had she been thinking–a proposal? What did she really know about him? It had been quite an evening and not at all how she had thought it would end up – lest with her relationship and life, literally, on the rocks.

Emily tried to keep her mind off of where she was and how cold and frightened she was. She turned her thoughts to her newest endeavor. She had recently signed the rental papers on a small store front on Main Street. She needed to paint and decorate the space and get her name out to the community but she was so very excited about it. She was tired of working for someone else and for years she had fought the urge to do something on her own … until one day Grandfather asked, as only grandfathers can do, ‘What she was waiting for–an invitation?’ So, the next day she started looking for the right space and out of pure luck she had come out of the coffee shop and practically bumped into the owner putting a FOR RENT sign in the window of the next building. 

It had been that easy. It was a cute, little place with a high, tin-paneled ceiling, two long interior walls– perfect for mirrors on one side and a ballet barre on the other. The two front windows brought in plenty of light. There were two smaller rooms in the back – one could be for changing and storage and one for her office. There was also a washroom. It was perfect and she signed the papers before she could even think twice about it. She had so many ideas for it! She would open a dance studio and share with the people of Otter Cove the joy of dance. 

Emily lifted her head as she sensed the wind dying down. She was above the water level and was no longer worried about waves but did not want to move about as the barnacles were too sharp. She was adjusting herself on the spiny bits when a light appeared – it was again from the lighthouse. She realized the fog was much thinner as the light cut through it with an eerie glow. It seemed much closer than she thought she would be in relation to the lighthouse peninsula. The fog had disoriented her and the crashing sea and the cold had numbed every part of her–her toes, especially, so she massaged them – realizing then that her feet were cut. She dared not get up and walk about as the rock was too slippery and too spiny.  She shouted out to the sea, “I’m sorry!” By now Grandfather would surely be back home from his checkers game and seeing the note on the table, assume that she was still out with Matthew–having a wonderful time. 

Emily began shouting, “Help! Someone … help me!” … all the while wondering where she was exactly and if anyone would find her before the tide came back in.

****

Clayton Williams pushed his drawing away. He was seated at his drafting table and sat staring out the windows. He loved his new job and new digs. Keeper of the old lighthouse. Who would have ever thought that he would be doing this? He was watching the evening sea and the sunset when he thought he saw a figure in a boat rounding the sea stack. He jumped off his stool and raced to his telescope and aimed it in the direction of the boat. Yes! There was someone–a female someone–alone in a small craft. Clayton watched, as if in slow motion, as the fog drifted in and engulfed the boat and its passenger. 

He knew what he had to do. 

*****

And, folks, that–as is said–is all she wrote!

July 11, 2020 … Saturday (yeah, yeah – Covid is still raging)

I’m tired. As I’m sure all of us are. I’m not just physically tired – but mentally. I am SO tired of everything! I’m tired of the angst, ire, conflict and abysmal neglect from our government officials–lest I mention the criminal activity that has me going nuts. I’m tired of being home, worrying about my loved ones and friends and if I am/are they “next” to get this virus. I’m tired of this on-going/never-ending/end-of-days pandemic that continues on due to the stupidity and genuine on-going idiocy of our President and government officials and the American people at large. I’m tired of the grocery store prices and empty shelves and people STILL – even though it’s a state and grocery store mandate – not wearing masks.

I’m tired of wondering how we will all get through these next 4 months until the election with the daily shitshow that is now our country … and what then?

I’m tired of the uncertainty of everything–not just my move/future. I’m tired of the hate. I’m tired of living in a country where the color of someone’s skin still defines them. I am an entitled white girl and have NO idea what people of color experience and I cannot walk even a step in their shoes because I am lily-white. I will never be able to experience that fully. I want the color of one’s skin to be as inconsequential as the color of their eyes or the size of their feet. Instead, why don’t we measure people by the size of their heart … like in the “Grinch”? Every life matters but until we realize that Black Lives Matter, too … NO lives matter. We cannot continue this discord … we cannot continue on this path. There is NO reason for this hatred towards other human beings. NONE.

I’m tired of watching our American values go down the proverbial latrine. Everyone needs to get out and vote this November. It is our right. And it is our civic duty. Be like Nike–Just Do It! And make sure everyone you know votes also.

We are currently under a water advisory (day 3) here in town so I have been/am continuing to boil my water before I filter it. It’s inconvenient and I’m tired of doing it (but I still have water – so can’t complain too much). And I’m really tired of October days masquerading as Summer. I’m not sure we’ll make it to 60 degrees by noon. I have doors and windows a jar hoping to let some air waft in, but I’m in sweater/pants – so I have turned on my heat. Again. I’m tired of freezing. It’s SUMMER, Mom Nature – get with the program!

I’m tired and can’t think of anything upbeat to write about because I am quite deflated by all that is happening politically and otherwise. I let it affect me too much, I think … but that is me. I’m passionate and things affect me. I have extended family members in peril – Covid and otherwise – and it makes my heart hurt.

I’m just tired of it all.

And in the midst of all my tiredness, yesterday I had one of those “aha-omg-out of the blue-where the hell did that thought come from” moments when I realized that the majority of whatever I’ve written for most of my life was sitting in a file cabinet in my office … poems, songs, stories, notes, ideas, my attempt at a mystery and one ratty piece of paper towel with stains and some scribbling on it. And I figured I’d best get them transferred/input on my computer … asap. So, I’ve begun to enter them in (tedious project) but am having fun revisiting my past works.

I hope to think that my writing has improved with age. I came upon one bundle of parchment papers tied together and wondered if I’d found someone’s writing from the Revolutionary War. Parchment? When the hell did I write (long hand) on parchment? Who am I? Betsy Ross?!

Anyway, here it it … the parchment papers … written (gasp) in April of 1993. I was shocked to see that I wrote this nearly HALF of my life ago and as I was re-reading it, I remembered it as if it were yesterday. So – enjoy this embarrassingly cliche attempt at my only Romance Novel …

The fog rolled in quickly. Emily suddenly found herself alone, lost and adrift at sea. She  hadn’t meant to journey so far from shore but the light in the old, abandoned lighthouse was lit and it beckoned her seaward. Now she silently scolded herself for being so impulsive and short-sighted. She knew the sea and its evening fog–a person could drift far out to sea in it.

She tried not to think of her fate–instead she intently searched for the shoreline or the light, but could see neither. As she sat in her Grandfather’s dinghy the waves gently rolled her on the water.

Fortunately, she was within the curve of the cove and it was a calm night. It was quiet except for a distant owl and the lap of the water against the side of the boat. Emily knew the fog would eventually lift and she could then steer for home–if she hadn’t drifted too far out. She tried to relax and keeping her eyes alert for lights or shoreline her thoughts drifted to earlier that day …

Matthew had called and asked her to an early dinner at the BayShore. They had been seeing each other for nearly two years, on and off, when he was in town. Matthew Randolph Winston IV was an art dealer and traveled a great deal. He made his home in Boston but came to this small Oregon village as much as possible–more to see Emily than to find great art treasures. But it was actual treasure that brought him here in the first place and Emily was grateful for that.

She smiled and softly sighed as she thought about him. He was as nearly perfect as a man could get–in looks and being–a real Prince Charming. Her real-life brunette Ken doll. He was rather tall and muscularly built with a (dare she say) chiseled chin and lustrous chestnut hair. He always sported tortoise-rimmed glasses. And, of course, he came from an upstanding, proper East Coast family with old money. As in OLD money. And, lots of it. She had never met his parents and wasn’t quite sure she was ready, even now, but if tonight’s dinner ended in a proposal–which she was fairly sure it would–she would soon have to meet the formidable Matthew Randolph Winston III and his pedigreed wife, Regina Mavis.

Emily had dressed carefully, picking out a light peach vintage silk dress–one of her favorites. It had been her Grandmother’s. They were both small waisted and delicately boned and both had green eyes. As her Grandfather always said, ‘As green as emeralds.‘ The dress was ankle length and fit her perfectly showing off her trim and well-toned body. Her deep auburn hair cascaded down her back to nearly her waist in flowing waves and curls. She brushed it out, applied her favorite Peach Melba lip gloss and was ready. Before leaving the house she wrote a note to her Grandfather …

To dinner with Matthew. Be home later. Hope you had fun. Love – Em.

She waited for Matthew on the front porch of the home she and her Grandfather shared. She had lived here almost her entire 26 years. Her parents had been killed in an automobile accident when she was three and she had gone to live with her grandparents–Joseph and Shannon McKelvey–her father’s parents–at their home.

“Violet Hill Farm” was in the quaint fishing village of Otter Cove off the mid-Oregon coast. The house wasn’t really a farm but Grandmother had chosen the name for the hilltop home for its many violets. Early in their marriage they had a few sheep and the “farm” part stuck. Grandmother Shannon was a warm loving woman whom Emily (and her grandfather) had adored.

Tragically, Grandmother Shannon (as she was always called) disappeared one evening when Emily was sixteen. It was a horrible time for them and their tight community. Some townspeople ventured that she was swept out to sea by a rogue wave. Others surmised she fell to her death while on one of her cliff walks or from a craggy peak. They never did find her body. The search continued on and on but finally ended without any answers. It is said that, “The sea seldom gives up her dead”. No one ever knew what happened but how they missed her. Her absence left Grandfather devastated and heartbroken and he and Emily were left alone in that home that they cherished, at the top of the hill.

Matthew drove up and Emily’s thoughts were brought to the present. He looked dashing, as always. She smiled as he greeted her. “Funny”, she thought, she had never seen him dressed casually. She could have described his appearance even before she laid eyes upon him–khaki pleated trousers, a crisply pressed long-sleeved white shirt, a burgundy tie and a navy blazer with gold buttons … and on his feet – polished loafers. He always looked like he stepped out of a high-quality men’s catalog for the Nantucket Club. Had she not known better she would have thought they were headed to his yacht.

Emily couldn’t help but smile. They turned many heads when out together–as they were indeed a very attractive couple. She shivered as Matthew took her arm and led her from the porch to his rental car–always the same sleek, black sedan with leather interior and gorgeous woods. His car choices were always predictable – as that was his trademark. No surprises with Matthew. Tonight’s car was no exception and he held her hand as she slid onto the smooth seat.

The drive to the BayShore was a beautiful one. This area of the coast is heavily wooded and forests march down to the sea … rocky shores and black pebble beaches … water and land wildlife galore. Emily couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. The winding forested lane that led to the secluded resort was lined with lush foliage … amazingly tall ferns, cedars, moss and wildflowers. The resort was hidden amongst the trees and ferns and greenery. The restaurant was at the end of the cliff and overlooked the ocean below. It was quite breathtaking, especially at sunset but tonight’s dinner was early and the sun poured in over them causing Matthew to ask for the shade to be lowered into place. Emily was disappointed as she loved the view but some of it and the sun still squeezed through the semi-closed blinds. She had always wished the windows opened so they could hear the roar of the surf and the barking of the sea lions below on the rocks.

While the view was simply wonderful– the interior was a bit too overdone with the brass and smoked glass and deep woods. It was beautiful and the wood tables and railings gleamed from constant polishing but it was a bit too haughty or stuffy for her. Matthew always said it reminded him of home. But Emily couldn’t know –  not even once had she  seen his home. 

All through dinner Matthew seemed somehow detached and far away. Emily dismissed his distance as nervousness at the ensuing proposal. Barely able to sip her espresso she sat with near giddiness until he said, “I’ll be leaving in the morning.”

Emily had already known that he’d be going back to Boston the next day and wondered why he seemed so stiff and ill at ease when telling her. Then, without looking into her eyes, he added, “France. I’m leaving for Paris.”

Emily was a bit surprised for he hadn’t mentioned a business trip to France to her before then. “Paris?”, she asked. He took her hand and looked at her with his incredibly deep blue eyes and said, “I’m taking a position at the Louvre–head of gallery acquisitions.” He faltered a bit and added in barely a whisper, “This is good-bye.”

Okay folks … that’s the end of this segment. If you want to find out what is next you’ll have to come back for more of this untitled romance about Emily. What happens? Is this the end of her and Matthew? Is she still adrift at sea? Segment II will be coming in a few days …

June 29, 2020 … Monday

We are still in the midst of this pandemic. We are going on month five of issues/escalating cases, hospitalizations and deaths, resurgences, steps backwards and chaos. I have four friends who have lost parents to this virus. It is real. It is scary. And, as things are going, there is not an end in sight.

I’ve been reading a lot (as in a LOT) during this “down time” (aka: Covid quarantine/stay home/stay healthy/stay alive time). Months of time. Months of reading.

Every once in a while I’ll come across something that brings me to tears. Today was such a day.

You know what I think of our President. This pandemic is not a political problem. It is a health problem and we are in crisis. Our President thinks it’s based on partisan politics and he is the problem.

Instead of simply wearing a mask – as has been found by other countries and our own – to quell the spread of this disease along with physical/social distancing – he refuses. And in doing so tells his pro-Trump base to do the same … undermining that which those of us wearing the masks are trying to do. Stop this virus, save lives, get the economy back up and get our lives back to some semblance of normalcy.

Instead of mandating that the country wear masks in public – he shames those who do. He criticizes and makes a mockery of science, health leaders and the media who share this info. Instead of wearing a mask and getting this country on the same team … he is divisive and deadly. Because of him people are and will continue to die.

Today I read an article about the end of WWII. The war ended nearly 15 years before I was born … and by the time I would even think of asking anyone in my family about it – another 15 years had gone by. In home nor at school did we really go over much of the every day life of how the war affected Americans during those years. But my parents, friends, their families all lived during that time.

And during that time, the country came together. Men who were at work – went off to war. Women, who otherwise had been home, went off to work. Kids pitched in doing everything from cooking meals, babysitting, working and saving scraps. People organized local rubber, scrap metal and paper drives. Everyone collected. Women gave up their hosiery. Rations of all kinds pervaded the entire country. Shortages and outages were not uncommon.

And what did all these people do … who had loved ones gone … or worse/killed in action? They rallied around their neighbors, communities and country. They grew gardens. They shared. They protected others. They sang songs. They worshipped. And they gave.

That war lasted five years. They were called on to be better … and they stepped up and were not just better but extraordinary.

I got an email notification recently as a reminder to wear face masks due to the statewide mandate put in place on Friday. There was one comment attached to it and it simply said, “No.”

I broke into tears. No????? WTF is wrong with people!?!

Why is this country so selfish? What happened to us? My parents and their parents were called to war and did what they had to do for the betterment of their communities and country – without grumbling. Without saying no.

We’re not talking about going to war for five years here … we’re talking about wearing a mask for a few weeks or months – staying in and watching TV.

We need a President who will lead us. One who will bring us together and guide us through difficult times like this by example, reason and intelligence. A President who is compassionate and understanding but also no-nonsense. One who is backed by science and experience and trusted advisors. One who loves America and her people and who holds decency at the core.

We do NOT need a President: who grabs pussy, is an egocentric lying POS, who retweets videos chanting “White Power” and praising violence, who violently removes peaceful protestors away for a photo op, who tries to kill affordable health care for millions during this crisis, who down-plays this virus and the strain on our country’s healthcare systems and providers, who is misogynistic and racist, who is a hate monger, who deepens his own pockets through taxpayer monies … nor who has zero response when told that our troops were handed over to bounty hunters by his Russian pal.

What we need is for our President to wear the mask and to call on the people of this country to come together. We don’t have to go off to war. We don’t have to worry about shortages (talking to you – TP hoarders). We don’t have to do anything but stay home and if we must go out – wear a mask. How hard is that? Compared to what people did 80 years ago … it’s embarrassing. It’s pathetic. And, it’s shameful.

So, if our President isn’t going to call the American public up to be better – it’s up to us. Make sure you tell every one you know to wear the damn mask and keep their distance. And please remind them to vote in November. We need decency back, we need true leadership for this country and we need everyone pulling together to make that happen.

June 24, 2020 – Wednesday (yes – we are still battling Covid 19 … day 2,456,897,052)

I must have been a cow in a former life. Seriously. The older I get the truer it seems.

I’ve taken to an evening walk in the past months. Sometimes a week goes by without me ambling down the road … other weeks I’m out their nightly – rain or mist, clouds or clear skies. Sometimes sunshine, too. The sunsets have been phenomenal.

The other night I went out walking … Saturday, June 20 … the first night of Summer. It was lovely.

I seem to venture out my picket fence sometime between 8:15 and 9:30. We stay light til nearly 10pm now … it is fabulous. It’s a nice evening window … some nights I’m back home before the street lights come on … other nights, like tonight, I’m walking home after 10pm under their soft glow. I love walking when the lights are on … it’s somehow very cozy. With the gathering darkness I know I’m being watched by deer that I can no longer see; their shapes blend in with the blurred landscape but I can feel them watching. I’m glad they aren’t lions.

The other night I left the yard and latched the gate behind me sometime after 9pm. I like walking later – usually I have the road to myself. Sometimes I see neighbors walking their little, sweet poodlette. I like when I see her because I get a little bonus dog kiss on my way. I leave my yard and make a right and go one house where the road T’s … (my neighbor’s home looks like some hurricane winds picked it up somewhere in New England and plunked it down on the corner of my street – all brown shake-sided and Nantucket-coastal looking. It adds a nice element of eastern charm to this corner of the NW.) At the end of her property is the cliff road (Edgecliff) … I turn right and wander down it until it dead ends at the property that I’d love to snoop around on. It’s a big beautiful old house with a pond and another cottage … beautifully landscaped lawns and their front yard falls into the sea. It just rolls right off and over. I have no idea how they mow it! The road used to continue along until, years ago, the storm took out that side of the cliff and the road with it. Once at their gated driveway I turn around and retrace my steps home. Sometimes I sit in the empty meadow on the cliffside – looking out over the sound towards the east and the mountains/cities; most of the time I don’t and I just continue on towards home.

Anyway – on Saturday night when I got to Edgecliff and made my turn, I started counting the bunnies. They are plentiful on this island and now is the time of year when they have their cute babies hopping about. Local lore has it that years ago someone let out the domestic rabbits from the 4-H barn during the county fair. And you know what rabbits do … and pretty soon, the island, at least our end of it, was inundated with rabbits and bunnies. And these weren’t any rabbits and bunnies … but coal black ones, fat apricot ones, pure white or brown and white spotted. They are big and beautiful and every once in a while I wish I could touch one – they are just so pretty! Now and then you’ll see a wild rabbit – but it’s the wild-domestic ones that stand out because well, they don’t blend in! The coyote population determines the bunny population. I’ll take a herd of 100 rabbits any day over one coyote.

I set out on Saturday evening with the sky a cerulean blue and streaked with clouds the color of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. It was gorgeous. (The water reflects the color of the sky so it was exceptionally stunning that night.) I usually start out at a decent pace … I’m not on a race here … but I’m not shuffling along – until I’m on my way home and then I slow down a bit more. My knee is bothering me but I like to look around and that makes my walking slower. I’m a counter … and I know that it’s roughly 3000 steps (round trip). I always mean to count the houses from my house down to the end – along the water side and the land side – but somewhere along the way I get distracted by deer in a meadow or bunnies nibbling near my feet or an eagle soaring overhead … or the way the breeze ripples the reeds growing in the water culvert at the side of the road.

Saturday night I lost my house counting track because the Silver Poplar tree was rustling. It’s lovely when that happens. It’s almost musical. Not too unlike what I’d imagine to be the swish rustle of a ballgown with petticoats under it. This Silver Poplar is a huge tree – probably 80 feet tall with several sizable white and black (like birch trees) trunks. The leaves of this tree are a 5-pointed, shiny, emerald green and the backside of the leaf is a soft, velvety white. The leaves are on stems, like aspens leaves, and they shake and twist in even the slightest breeze. We had one of these trees in our backyard when I was growing up. My dad planted it when I was a baby. It grew but the trunk split and he chained the two trunks together and it grew and grew and arched gracefully over our patio for 20 years. They are graceful and beautiful trees.

Along the way that night I lost track, again, of my house count … but I managed to count 1 cat, 13 deer and 21 bunnies! The most I’ve counted in a single one-way walk since I’ve started walking. I figured they were all out celebrating the solstice and it was a 21 Bun Salute to Summer!

Today, due to me trying not to venture out and grocery shop unless absolutely necessary, I am down to the last of my fruit … a few apples and an orange. I’ve had summer fruit (berries/melons) on my brain for a week now – I’m feeling deprived! As I walked out of the gate tonight I noticed the sky … not a cloud in it and such a clear blue … the blue that is the water on any globe you’ve ever seen in any elementary classroom. I walked along the cliff walk/road and looked over my shoulder (west) and the sky was that blue streaked with the color of a perfectly ripe cantaloupe. By the time I had reached the end of the road and was heading back, the sky had darkened to that of a papaya … and as I was reaching home it was a mouth-watering watermelon. It was truly breath-taking … and I realized it’s also time to get myself to the produce department!

Summers in the NW arrive at the same time, on the calendar, as everywhere else … but in temperature, we’re behind by a few weeks. And most of the time we just don’t get up to what most everyone would deem “Summer” temps. Today we were 69 … maybe this week we’ll hit 70 but I won’t hold my breath til it happens. We might have 2 days next week of 72 … wonders never cease! But, again, I won’t hold my breath and that’s HOT for us. And while Summer still means you need to wear a sweater or sweatshirt at any time of day and certainly in the evening … it can be extraordinarily lovely with a slight breeze wafting the island scents around … clean air, flowers, grasses, sea.

As I walked home tonight I heard nothing for a while – absolute silence. No water lapping on the shore below me … no birds or frogs peeping as it was too late and they were already abed. I passed by the house for sale with the 2 acres and perfect old barn and if I had $1.3 mil I’d buy it in a heartbeat. The house sits on the cliff/the barn is across the road … in the event of a catastrophe I’m glad they thought to keep the animals safe while the house would probably slide off the cliff! Further along there is a house – a super tiny cabin with Edison bulbs strung along the front porch. It’s half hidden behind an enormous cedar but I can see the rocking chairs and it looks like it belongs in the Appalachian Mountains somewhere. I can smell the honeysuckle that drapes over their old shed/garage long before I see the house. It’s perfect. It’s also next to a freshly mown hay meadow … and I walk very slowly past this house and the field … inhaling the perfumed air until I’m sure I’ll hyper-ventilate and pass out.

These are the times when I think I must have been a cow in a former life – it all just smells so wonderfully good! It’s all I can do to stop myself from running into that field and rolling around! There are enough weirdos on this island that maybe no one would think twice about it! Maybe I should keep it as an option while on a future walk.

As much as I say I want to leave here – it really is a beautiful place. And however cool our Summers may be … it’s a lovely spot for a late evening walk and a 21 bun salute to Summer.

June 12, 2020 … Friday (Day 1,234,567,890 of Covid-19 Quarantining)

I am sick. I am tired. I am sick and tired.

Of Covid-19.

And is it Covid-19, Covid19 or Covid 19? I’ve seen it all ways! And being one who is obsessed with grammar (even if I do not do it well myself!) … this is annoying! But, any way you spell it … I am sick and tired of it. Aren’t we all?

And I didn’t even have to sit in a 2.5 hour line (this time) to take a test to confirm that! Innately I knew! And there is a new term for this … and even though I have self-diagnosed, I know I have …

Quarantine Fatigue … aka: The Blues.

This has been a week. From (omg, I’m such an idiot to think of it as a low point) Trump wielding a Bible like it was a newspaper he was going to swat a fly with … to the vandalism and violence during the protests due to George Floyd’s horrific murder by a police officer, to the in-our-faces racism in this country, to our President’s conspiracy theory belief of an elderly protestor, to Mom Nature going crazy around the globe, to our stock market plummeting and our unemployment sky rocketing (twice as high as the all time high during the Great Depression), to more Covid cases/deaths, to voting snafus in Georgia, to other political mayhem …

It was too much to take. It was a week.

And then, to either bring me a bit of peace or heartbreak (or both) … I had an injured fawn in my yard.

I noticed her on Monday … thought she was lying oddly against a neighbor’s fencing. I watched her all day and until it got dark – hoping Mama Deer had just left her while she was off grazing. But when the rains started in just before 2am and baby was still out in the open/too near the road/not sheltered at all, I went over and picked up her spotted little feather-light body (all eyes and legs) and brought her into my yard. That was a first for me. I’ve never touched a deer before. There was nothing to her. I put her under the canopy of the big maple – on the lawn next to some bushes and flowers. She was perfect. Except I knew that something had to be wrong for Mama to leave her there. I live where there are woods/lush over growth … this was not a place to shelter a fawn.

I watched her all day/every day – from my deck, from my dining and living rooms – sometimes with binoculars to get a closer look. I worried about her when night fell and when I figured she was still alone. I so badly wanted her to have warmth and comfort. I was in touch with my vet’s office and knew that mama deer leave their babies. I learned that if they are in distress, the baby’s ears fold back like spent flower petals. Her ears were fine. She was perky. Mama must have come under the cloak of darkness and let baby (Jane Doe) nurse. I felt so relieved.

But, I never saw her stand up and I wondered if mama had told her to lie low. But when I saw her do a GI Joe crawl on her inside-out (as they are) front elbows and drag her little spotted and striped body a few feet across the lawn … with no movement in her back legs … I knew something was definitely wrong. And I knew I had to do something.

So, the wildlife people were texted photos and I was not given much hope. It looked like her legs were broken and possibly her spine. She didn’t seem in any pain so I figured she had no feeling in the back end. Had she been hit by a car? My heart fell … again … like it had all week … to another low.

My vet’s angel techs came out and assessed her and determined she needed to be put down. So, I softly scratched her head and told her she was beautiful and loved and they gently crated her and took her back to the clinic to do the deed. I was thankful I didn’t have to witness yet another euthanasia. She was such a perfect, sweet little creature; I just couldn’t bear it if I had to watch.

So, today I am at home … alone … again. No dogs. No baby deer. Watching the news and more Covid cases/hospitalizations/deaths (1000/day in the US) … and people are antsy and wanting to “open up” and are being incredibly stupid and selfish. Yeah, I get it – I’m sick of this, too. But the authorities are saying that ANOTHER 100,000 people will DIE by September if we keep this up. Seriously people … 200,000 of us in this country will be dead! It’s needless. It’s insanity! I hate it as much as you do but … stay home! Stay in! Tell everyone you know to do the same. OMG … no one really needs to go to Target or get their nails or hair done!

Stay home and let’s quell this stupid virus! Yeah – it’s making us all crazy or crazed or antsy … but sometimes, if we let it … it allows us to reflect and slow down. It allows us to connect. It allows us to breathe and calm down and just BE.

And sometimes it makes us creative. Find something else to do. Start a hobby. DO something. Become active in a local campaign – you can help from home. Clean your house. Alphabetize your spices. Write your (even non-existent) grandchildren letters to open up on their wedding day or their 21st birthday. Paint something. Adopt a pet.

Today I’m rapping … so, get your bad-ass on and rap along! (And if you don’t like rap – you can also read it like a Dr. Seuss poem!)

Quarantine Fatigue aka: The Blues …

Another day … I am at home … all alone. Come on Covid – throw me a bone!

It’s chilly and gray and Junuary cold. Ugh, oh man … this is getting real old!

It’s gloomy and rainy – this is not Summer! Our temps are 50 – man, what a bummer! 

No visiting friends or having guest dogs … I’m just cleaning the attic – oooh, Lincoln Logs!

I could go for a walk. I could phone for a talk. I could talk on the phone when I’m out on a walk.

I could sing me a song or dance me a dance. I could sing and dance like I have ants in my pants!

 But I don’t want to walk or talk or sing or dance. And I certainly don’t want ants in these pants! 

I’ve got Quarantine Fatigue aka: The Blues … and I’ve got them bad from my head to my shoes. 

I could do a jumble, crossword or wuzzle … but my brain is mush and can’t do a puzzle. 

I could read an old book. I could cut my hair. I could purge my closet and see what (still fits) to wear. 

But I don’t want to puzzle, purge, read or snip. I’m getting antsy yet feel like a drip.  

I’ve got Quarantine Fatigue aka: The Blues… and I’ve got them bad from my head to my shoes. 

I could cook stew or roast … but, my expertise (lately) has just been toast. 

I could learn to speak Andalusian or French or learn how to use a crescent wrench.  

But I parlo italiano and I know how to use tools. And come on, it’s Summer – I just want to jump in some pools!

I could very well do more exercise or just sit around and swat some flies.

I could totally do it – every bit and all … but need to pace cuz I’ll be here come Fall (2021). 

I’ve got Quarantine Fatigue aka: The Blues … and I’ve got them bad from my head to my shoes.  

Funny thing is – I’ve been barefoot since mid March! Stay home! Stay healthy!

May 26, 2020 – Tuesday (still sheltering in place – Day 2,465,839) …

I’m on a roll. A lobster roll! Ha ha … omg – wouldn’t that be terrific if I WAS on a lobster roll … or was at least EATING one! Yum. No lobsters here in the NW – except for me!

As our friend Mr. Rogers said – more than once, ‘”It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood.”‘ It’s sunny (yay) and to be mid 60s today. If you live about anywhere else, you’d think I was crazy to write home about mid 60s temps … and yet here I am! Woo hoo … SUMMER weather! I know, I know. It’s pretty pathetic … but I’ll take it!

When the temps (here) surge past 58 it’s gonna be a good day. Then I can wear only one sweater! If the temps go up to 62 … I might break out the 3/4 sleeved tshirt … if it’s to be 64 or 65, I will venture out with a short-sleeved tshirt (but might still have a sweater handy) … and anything above 68 … it’s tank top all the way! I’m thinking if I move anywhere that has temps higher than 72 I might just have heat stroke repeatedly – until I get acclimated!

However, I have noticed that when I’m in Denver and it’s 72 degrees, I’m freezing! Go figure!

My mom gave me a book for my birthday – a country year ~ living the questions by Sue Hubbell. I emailed a friend this morning and told her it will be coming her way after I’ve finished with it as the author was a beekeeper (and my friend’s husband has also “kept” bees). It’s an interesting read but I’m not liking the author – she seems a bit hard-edged/caustic to me (and I could be totally wrong) and it reads like a text book in some areas. There’s so much latin (as in bug/flower/bird identification) I’m feeling like Julius Caesar … not fluent in Latin but wishing I were dead as it is in the book … ad nauseam! See? It’s rubbing off on me!

I much prefer Gladys Taber’s writings of all things country in her “Stillmeadow” books. They are lovely. I can curl up anywhere and feel like we are just two gals having a chat about her life in the country – with a sweet dog (or two) by the fireside. If ever I have a dinner party where I’m allowed to have people attend who have passed (that is always a Miss America question, you know) … she’d be on my list. And Abraham Lincoln. I’d love to pick his brain! Metaphorically speaking only.

It’s another quarantine day … “Shelter at Home” – “Shelter in Place” – “Stay Home-Stay Healthy” … whatever it’s now called. I’m still here/at home/sheltering. Well, MOST of the time. I was out “getting air” the other day and drove through town to see if anything had changed since I’d last been there – which now seems like lightyears ago – and the aroma of pizza made me park my car and stand in line for a slice. (Said line consisted of one woman ahead of me – not in line – but tangled up in the leashes of three chihuahuas and clogging the sidewalk.) She ambled away and it was my turn. I had my mask on – I have been wearing it from the onset – since way back when the dinosaurs roamed the earth.

It’s a “rule” in our town that I’m all for. The guy behind me, an apparent mask-free visitor, stood grumbling and swearing under his breath about freedom and justice and f*g masks. I turned around and smiled sweetly (and then remembered he couldn’t see me smiling with my mask on) and told him it was a city rule … for the benefit of everyone. He grumbled louder. There are signs all over town telling people “No Mask – No Service” … good! He walked 2 car lengths and retrieved his mask and HELD it. I was a bit po’d by his attitude so I told him he wouldn’t get served unless he was WEARING the mask and for emphasis, I pointed to the sign in the window. HOLDING his mask wasn’t going to cut it.

More grumbling and swearing – at me this time. He said he didn’t need a lecture from me. Well, apparently he did – cuz he continued to hold the mask. Lovely. Go home, idiot. We are trying to do our best for each other and our community so that life can get back to some semblance of normalcy as quickly as possible without a resurgence of this virus. We would like our shop and restaurant owners to get back on their feet … we would like all of our “first responders” to catch a break and catch their breaths. We would like our older population to remain vibrant and if wearing a mask and keeping six feet apart keeps this vastly older community from being six feet under – I’m all for it. Idiot. I left with my pizza, muttering loud enough so he could hear me, about how good it was … and he was still (holding the mask) on the sidewalk arguing with the pizza guy in the take out window.

Butter. There is no segue from pizza to butter but here I am. I had an English muffin earlier for breakfast/brunch – with a perfect egg – and the last of the whipped butter. I rediscovered whipped butter a year or so ago. How did I exist so long without it? I don’t know! It’s a mystery! It’s just SO good. The same about pre-cooked bacon. My store has a store-brand (Essentials) pre-cooked bacon that is ready after a minute in the microwave. It’s perfect … tasty/crispy and done in 60 seconds (or less). And it costs a fraction of any of the other bacons! Thank you universe!

While those are great (and yummy) things … sadly, I have a body by butter and bacon. A while back I tried a Keto diet. Apparently I wasn’t doing it quite right. I gained 15 lbs! Leave it to me to gain weight on a diet. Anyway, thanks to said diet and having those things back in my life … I am now eating whipped butter and pre-cooked bacon in moderation (well, sometimes). If I look like the Michelin Man by the end of this covid crisis – so be it. I’ve gotta find comfort somewhere!

And, thinking about that … I find comfort in writing. Solace comes in many forms and mine is the written word … hence, this 3rd post in a week! So, if you are reading this – I hope you enjoy it. And while so nice, I do this more for me. I’m on a roll! And speaking of which … I could find comfort in a lobster roll, too. And, omg, I just remembered I bought a tail for my bday that I haven’t eaten it yet … so, huh! Wonders never cease – I know what’s for dinner later! I’ll thaw that baby out and … yum! But, I’ll have to venture out to the store, though … I need more butter!