Weber Foreber

Writing and not writing

2010-11-07T21:39:00.004-07:00

I signed up for Nanowrimo. What a wonderful chance to write my little stories. I started off well, getting @ 5000 words the first two days. Then of course, life interfered.

My daughter Shea fell at the local convience store and hurt her back. It took both Chanz and I to get her out of her chair at work and into the car. Then we both again had to get her into the Chiropactors office so he could do his thing to help straighten her out. Because she couldn't move I decided it would be best if I took Chaiz home with me. Three year old Chaiz, who thinks Grammy was put on this earth to play with him "Alright." Okay, that is Chaiz's word, which he uses to get your affirmative answer while he is planning what we will be doing.

The child is pretty smart and keeps me moving and trying to stay one step ahead of him. It is a lot of fun to play with him, because he is so smart. He was playing quietly with his cars so I decided to open up my little notebook and start typing. Immediately he hears the clicking of keys and decides it is time to "play a game on the com-pooter, alright, Grammy, alright." the word alright has an bit of an upward lilt at the end. Well, I can hand write my notes and let him play on the computer. I opened up the Library website Kids Zone and let him color the little monsters they have on their page. I showed him how to click on the colors and then click on the paint brush and how big to make the paint and he was off. I forgot to write my ideas down for my story. It was so much more fun to watch him paint on the computer. Soon he wanted to play another game. and we tried the word search game. I, of course, had to help him since he doesn't read. Or does he? The words shown there were Thanksgiving words, pumpkin, Pilgrim,
squash, Squanto, pie, turkey. I would glance at the square with the letters and find a word. I would point to the word, he would take the arrow up to the letter I was pointing at, I would click then he would move the cursor, while Grammy spells out the word, when his cursor got to the word I would unclick and the letters would be highlighted with a color and the word in the list highlighted in the same color. We would then move on to the next word, repeating the process. After we finished the page and highlighted all the words he would say "Let's do it again Grammy, alright?" The same words were displayed in the next game, just in different places. Again I would find a word, point out a letter and say "Let's spell "pumpkin" P-U-M-P-K-I-N. Good job Chaiz."

Only now, before I found a word on the board he pointed out a word on the list and said, "Okay, Grammy, let's find "pie" and he would point to the word pie on the list. I started to search the word search page for the word pie. Before I found the word, Chaiz pointed to the three 'P's together, "Look Grammy, those letters are all alike, they are 'P's. P, P, P. there is Pie, Grammy." and he pointed to the word 'pie'! I was speechless, or at least shocked. "Good job Chaiz, that is pie, and we highlighted it. Four different words he found just like that. I am constantly amazed at how smart this cute and articulate this boy is.

Well, you can see why the whole time I had him I didn't get any writing done. However, Shea was feeling much better on Saturday so I thought that I would beable to get some writing done then. Life happened again. My son-in-law was in the hospital and going to have some surgery done. Ray and I went over to stay with Sophie, Isasis and Maleah while their Mom was with their Dad at the hospital and waiting for him to get out of surgery. We had a great time, playing Sponge Bob Monopoly, walking to the park and exploring empty houses at Daybreak. They have a lot of fun playgrounds at Daybreak with a wonderful assortment of very unique playground equipment. But just a hint. There is one toy over there that is like a bent pole coming out of the ground, with a red disk on the pole. The idea is to have a child sit on the read disk and the adult or another child turns the bent pole and it spins around. This is great for a child, but sixty year old woman. Not so much. After Sophie twirled me around about a dozen times she stopped and I put my foot down and I physically stopped, but my eyes continued to rotate around my head. I know this because the houses across the street I was looking out also continued to twirl around my head. That was a very fun ride, I would have liked it a lot more, I think, when I was five.

Writing Realities

2010-04-28T16:44:00.003-06:00

My friend, Connie, is a writer and a reader. She is always finding new books to read and blog about on her blog site, so when Connie says check out this website, I listen. I enjoyed reading Melissa Cunningham's blog Writing Realities, http://www.melissajcunningham.blogspot.com.
Melissa is also a writer and having a contest to try and get her name out in front of the public in a unique way. She is having a contest. Check out her blog spot and sign up for her contest, who knows, you may be the next winner.

My excuses

2010-04-20T11:58:00.001-06:00

My friend, Connie, mentioned to me while waiting for choir practice to start the other day that I hadn’t written in my blog since December.

“I know,” she said, “because I check.”

It reminded me of a conversation I had recently with my nephew, who writes an amazing blog, letting you be a part of his life by sharing his thoughts, his loves; his wife and daughter, and his travels. He hadn’t blogged for some time and both his mother and I got after him for slacking up. That is what these blogs are for isn’t it? Keeping in touch, with our friends, our family, ourselves, our thoughts & feelings.

My daughter, Shea, gave Ray and I a used laptop for Christmas this year. We had been thinking for quite sometime about getting a laptop, but haven’t made the plunge. I thought that after I got that laptop I would be able to write anywhere. It wasn't something we needed right away, after all we have a perfectly good computer sitting in my office. Please read the term ‘office’ loosely. The room is 9 by 10 equipped with a desk on one side of the room, which holds the hard drive, monitor and printer. It has a shelf above it that holds, my rubber stamps for scrap booking, discs for what ever programs I have and photo discs. To the left is a book case full of books, on scrap booking, notebooks of crocheting, scrap booking, genealogy, family history stuff I copied off the family website, card, paper, more scrap booking paraphernalia. To the right is a small desk that came with the other desk that holds shelves of paper, plastic drawers of pens, more paper, stickers, more notebooks of ….I don’t know what it has been so long since I looked at them. Oh yes, under the desk I have plastic storage containers of pictures and more scrap booking paper. On the other side of the room are some white kitchen cabinets I had in our other house in the laundry room for folding laundry on. I thought it would be the right size for my “Office” for scrap booking. I have some drawers to the left that have ribbons, tape, pens, embossing stuff, more paper and more stuff. Behind the counter top I have a peg board that holds my scissors with the fancy cutting blade. The cabinet below holds my yarn collection and UFO’s, Un Finished Objects, the drawer, my paper cutters. The smaller cabinet is home to embroidery hoops, threads and other UFO’s of the embroidery type. Yes, I have been saving some of those to finish for 30 some odd years. The space between these two cabinets has more plastic drawers with more pictures and other things I will eventually scrap book, I think.

I purchased a bar stool so I could be comfortable when I scrap book, but I have two problems with that. Number One: the bar stool and the office chair do no share the room nicely; there is just not enough room to put both of them in the office at the same time. The bar stool waits patiently in the hall for its call to duty, which doesn’t come very often because the counter top is full, of more junk.

I am a great one for piling. I collect stuff at work and put it in my car, from my car it goes onto the kitchen table or counter from there Ray, while cleaning has no idea where to put it so it goes to my counter top in my “Office”. That explains why I don’t get much scrap booking done. I have tried to explain to Ray that we need a bigger house so I can have a bigger office and scrapbook room. He patiently hears me out then, tells me that wouldn’t change a thing since I would only have more surfaces collect more junk on. His solution is to bring the biggest trash barrel he can find, sets it at the end of the counter suggesting it should all be directed into that container. That action generally brings a withering look from the collector of the hoard. All of this should explain why I am loath to go into my computer room; guilt, because I haven’t done my scrap booking. Since Shea gave us that laptop, I can now peacefully sit in the living room check out my e-mails, family website and Facebook no guilt attached. At least until Ray, interrupting my game of Bricks Breaking, tells me that he doesn’t know for sure that Shea did me any favors giving me that laptop. Oh well, at least I’ve quit playing Farmville and Farm Town on Facebook, that was really a time waster. I spent all last summer watering my virtual garden and forgot about my actual garden, not to mention that I panicked while I was on vacation worrying about whether anyone was watering my gardens at Farmville and Farm Town to really enjoy my vacation. Passing by one day while I was playing Farmville in my “Office” Ray wondered aloud if there was a “Clean-up Your Room” game where there was virtual junk that magically appeared on the floor of a virtual house that someone could actually virtually have to pick up. If they ever need an office for a model for that game, I think I can help them with that.

Anyway, Connie, does that answer your question as to why I haven’t written on my blog since December? It really made me think about what other things I could be doing instead of playing games on the computer and feeling guilty about my scrapbook junk collection which is just blocking my way to the things I really would rather be doing. I need to just decide what is in my way and get rid of it, put those pictures in a book and be done with it and stop feeling guilty about not doing my scrap booking and hiding from my computer / junk room with the games on the laptop. Hey, I might even have some fresh vegetable from my garden this year instead of those virtual ones I had last year.

Obsessive complusive

2009-12-30T10:07:00.000-07:00

I am obsessive compulsive.

They say that admitting it is the first step on the road to recovery. I am not an A type personality. I am not a go getter. I am not the type of person who usually feels like things have to be just so. My house is not fanatically cleaned on a daily, weekly or even a monthly basis. I try to keep it picked up and things put away. Sometimes. I generally do the dishes after each meal, though, sometimes I forget or just let the two or three dishes sit in the sink until I get several more, at least enough to make it worth while to fill up the sink with water to wash them. My shoes usually end up at the end of the bed where I take them off and Ray sometimes has to remind me to hang up my clothes when the pile on the hope chest at the end of the bed gets to high to see the TV over. I don’t think I’m a slob; I am just not a neatnik who has to have everything spotless all the time.

My desk at work probably bothers me more than my house does, it seems like it is never neat and organized. I try, but for some reason, it never seems neat to me.

All in all I am a pretty kick back relax type person. Yet, sometimes there are certain things that I feel just need to be done a certain way. They are pretty dumb things too, if I have to really admit it. For example, my co-worker and friend Tamra brought me some invoices to fold. Then came back with a credit card receipt to add to one of the invoices, she stapled it to the invoice then proceeded to fold the invoice. She took the bottom of the paper and brought it a third of the way up and folded the bottom before folding the top of the invoice over and lining it up with the fold on the bottom. It was like nails on a chalk board. The hair went up on the back of my head and I held my breath. My whole being ached to tell her she was doing it wrong, yet it was she that was folding the paper, her paper, from her desk, her invoices. What right do I have to tell her she is folding the paper wrong?

Calmly, I took a breath and said. “Tamra, did you know that I am obsessive compulsive.”

She laughed, “Yes, about somethings. I’m folding the paper wrong aren’t I.”

Music

2009-11-23T09:35:00.002-07:00

I don’t like music.

Well, maybe that is probably too harsh of a statement. Music makes me nervous.

I rarely listen to music anymore. I used to, a lot. When I was a kid, or to be more accurate a teenager I can remember my father telling me to turn down the music, of course, he had to tell me over the top of the music I was listening to at the time, so he told me very loudly to “TURN DOWN THAT MUSIC!”

But even when I was a teenager, I was a bit different, preferring to listen to the bagpipe record my grandmother brought from Scotland to the Beatles, the record Mom got me one birthday of the 1900 ditties to the Rolling Stones. I like simple songs and music. The movies I pick out to watch are generally musicals. If Ray and I go to a play it is usually a musical and we will spend the next few days singing the songs around the house. I like jazz from the 20’s and 30’s but hate the jazz of today, I see it as sharp lightening bolts of colored pain. I love the old Negro ballads of yester year, but can’t stand the rap of today’s music. I love the country western songs of the pre 60’s or 70’s era, but will only listen to the current country western songs on the radio for a short time for short jaunts around town, usually preferring to listen to an audio book or nothing rather than music. I can not listen to music while I read. On several people’s blogs or their My Space accounts they have picked out several songs that mean something to them and put the songs on the sites to enhance it. I cannot listen to the music and read what they have written. I mute it. At work while I type I listen to audio books.

Several years ago at church the Bishop called me in to offer a calling to me. Relief Society Chorister. I laughed, and continued laughing. Ray, said nothing. The bishop looked at me for quite some time, concern blooming on his face. I laughed harder. The concerned look increased and he glanced from me to Ray, wondering, I am sure, if he should call the men with the white coat to come get me. Finally I was able to stop laughing long enough to explain to him that I just didn’t like music. I don’t listen to music, I don’t play music, I don’t sing. Nothing. I don’t like music. I also had to explain to him I had been thinking of our old chorister in our ward in Denver when I was a kid and had known that I would be getting this calling. Now was his turn to look shocked, since I accepted the calling. One would think that getting up in front of a group of women to lead music would not be that hard. It was one of the most difficult things I have ever done. I lead the music for about a year, and finally released to do another calling I liked much better, planning the ward parties. Did I mention I don’t like parties either?

Dumb stuff

2009-11-12T08:23:00.005-07:00

I get these e-mails all the time telling stories on what dingbats old folks are. One such story portrayed an older woman with a suppository sticking out of her ear exclaiming, "Oh, now I know what I did with my hearing aid."

I have decided that the problem for older folks, of which I am realizing either I am one at almost 60 or it is guilt by association with Ray who is almost 74; that we need to be creatures of habit for the simple reason, if it is done by rote then it is not as easily forgotten. Once one deviates from that habit is when the problem begins.

For example, in the morning, after putting it off as long as I possibly can I get in the shower. Starting at my head, I shampoo my hair, rinse and put conditioner on it, then start on my face and continue on down to my toes and finish with rinsing the conditioner out of my hair. However, this morning I got way to much shampoo and had tons of bubbles in my hair. Not wanting to waste the shampoo or bubbles I just used them to clean the rest of my body. When I was finished with my toes I rinsed off and got some conditioner to put on my hair, deciding to let it sit while I washed my face. The problem arrived when without thinking further my body said “You have just rinsed off your hair and it is now time to wash your face”. It was not until after I felt this cold slimy stuff I was rubbing into my cheeks that I realized what I had done. Conditioner is hard to get off your face and it gives the same feeling on ones hand as that yucky stuff that congested babies smear all over their faces. Luckily it didn’t dry like that yucky stuff congested babies smear all over their faces and I was able to scrap it off and use rather than waste it.

See I am getting old, if I had been younger, I probably would have just washed my face off and gotten more conditioner.

Ghosts and unusual happenings

2009-11-11T11:53:00.001-07:00

Halloween has come and gone. The haunting time of year always brings to mind the different times that things have gone bump in the night and made me think we had a ghost in our house. Well, to be perfectly honest some of the time the occurrences were not at night, nor were the occurrences at home. Most of the occurrences happened to family members, friends or me, since Ray does not believe in ghosts, he does not believe they happened to him, yet there are times things that happened, he cannot explain. For example:

We had recently moved into our single wide manufactured home, I was working in the garden, laying landscape blocks with a couple neighbor kids who happened by and decided to help. Ray was lying on the bed resting.

Several years ago, when Brandy was about 12, she found some small lamps that she wanted to give me for Mother’s day. She picked them out and Dad paid for them as things like that usually happen, or it could be that Dad picked them out, paid for them and had Brandy sign the card, who knows. The lamps are small; maybe about 15 inches tall, goldish colored trim, with curved glass insets with a small flower decal in the middle of each glass pane. This is a touch lamp, meaning if you want to turn it on you just touch someplace on the metal part of the lamp and it will blink on, touch it again and it will glow brighter, a third touch it will glow brightly, touch it a fourth time and the light will blink off.

While I was busy rearranging the dirt of the front yard Ray suddenly popped out of the house and asked if I had turned off the electricity and turned it back on. He seemed quite flustered to me, rather strange I thought, since electricity usually doesn’t fluster me that way, and besides, I hadn’t been in the house which is where the fuse box is. If I had turned the power on or off, he would have heard me moving around in the house. No, was my answer. He started to go back in the house, then stopped and turned around and came back and told me that while he was lying on the bed, all the sudden the lamps had come one, bright, brighter, brightest and off. He could not figure out why it would have done that as he had never known them to do that before. I told him that it was probably the ghost of the house.

The single wide we purchased was previously owned by a couple, she passed away right after they moved in and he passed away about six months later. I am pretty sure they had at least a dog and a cat; I don’t know why I think they had a dog, but when we took out the stove to clean behind it we did find cat toys hiding there. Well, perhaps the reason I think they had a dog was because there was a large urine spot right in the middle of the living room floor. I would prefer to think a dog piddled there than to think the man had fallen and died there. I have had the feeling ever since we purchased it and moved the house to its present location that we have had an unseen visitor. Cremesickle, our orange tabby, was walking by the front door one day, shortly after we moved in, I believe he was coming down the hall next to the door, when he turned, looked over his shoulder, jumped and turned so he was facing the hall, raised his hackles, hair and tail and hissed. He ran through the living room, kitchen and into the bedroom to hide under the bed, not to come out for a couple hours. Ray and I were sitting in the living room at the time and saw nothing and we had no other pets. What scared Cremesickle so bad, I can’t say.

The summer after we moved in Ray decided to take the camper up to the campground to go fishing. He left on Wednesday and one of the last things he said to me was “Don’t forget to wake up and go to work.” I am notorious as a person who can sleep through alarm clocks, turning the buzzing irritation off without even opening my eyes or my conscience enough to even realize I had done so.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry about me, I’ll get up.”

The next morning, I was vaguely aware that the alarm had gone off, but I turned it off, several times and rolled back over and went back to sleep. From the corner of the room I felt an almost physical movement of air, a shock wave, a tidal wave of a blast that I could feel vibrating throughout my entire body with the words “LYN, GET UP NOW!” Though I couldn’t see anything, the voice and the mental image was of an older man. I got up. Verbally stating that was what I was doing.

When Ray called me at work later that day I told him about my wake up call.

A couple months ago we were watching television, I was crocheting in my chair and Ray was sitting in his chair on the other side of the room. Mia had been sitting on my lap as I crocheted, then she had hopped down to go sit in Ray’s lap for a while. She is an equal oppertunity cuddler. As I was crocheting I saw a small dark head pop up and look over the left arm of the love seat at the yarn. I thought Mia had been sitting in Ray’s lap so I was surprised to see the cat in the corner, then I realized I had a bag holding several balls of yarn in that corner, she could not have been on those balls of yarn because that bag crackled every time it was touched, I would have heard her if she had climbed up on it. I noticed the cat was still looking over at the yarn I was crocheting with; I sharply turned my head to Ray who was oblivious to me, no cat in his lap. I turned to look back at the cat in the corner. No cat. I turned back and looked around the room and saw Mia asleep with her back toward me on the hassock, as my head turned back to look at the corner I could still see the cat looking over the arm of the loveseat with one outstretched paw almost touching my yarn.

This, of course, brings us up to last night.

Mia passed away at midnight Oct. 31st. Last night Ray was dozing in his chair when he felt a weight on his lap, like when Mia used to lay on his lap as he watched television. So, Ray, do you still not believe in ghosts?

Mia

2009-11-02T11:20:00.006-07:00

Our cat, Cremesickle, disappeared one November. He was a big orange tabby and he was mine. Or was I his? He followed me around like a young child. We would converse, he would listen to what I said, then voice his comments in a mellow meow. Cremesickle, would sit with me while I watched TV, or if I lay on the couch he would stretch out on my stomach, reaching from my chin to my thighs. He was a good and mellow cat allowing Chanz at three to carry him all over the house, of course, she could only lift the front half of him, the bottom half would tip toe along side her. He had been with us over ten years when we let him out one night and never saw him again. I checked all the animal shelters around, put up signs, but we never saw him again. I would find myself crying at seeing a cat cross the road. I would wake from sleep to look out the window, sure I had heard him meowing to be let in. One night I dreamed I heard him meowing outside the window, in the dream, I got out of bed pulled the curtain aside as saw him standing on the bench, patting at the window to be let in. It took a long time for me to mourn Cremesickle.

It took a couple of years then Ray and I talked about getting a dog, a small dog that we could keep easily in our single wide manufactured home. I went back to the same shelters I searched for Cremesickle, this time looking for a small dog. After visiting a few different times I wandered into the cat section. As I walked by one cage the cat inside reached out and tapped me on my shoulder. It was a young Chocolate Point Siamese. She was just what I was looking for, but didn’t know it.

She arrived at our house on March 11th, Ray’s birthday. I wanted a cat for me, but from the moment she saw Ray, she was his cat. He chose her name, after looking up the history of cats on the internet, he decided to call her Mia.

Oh sure, she would come sit on my lap while I watch TV, join me while I work on the computer, usually on the desk directly in front of the monitor, or on my hands while I am trying to type on the keyboard. I would pick her up and put her on the back of the chair where she would watch to see if anything interesting happen on the monitor, then she would hop down for a closer inspection. When I crocheted she would gaze intently at the yarn to make sure I was crocheting the afghan correctly; industrially patting the yarn to be sure it was unwinding at the proper speed, sometimes grabbing the yarn with her teeth and taking it across the room if she felt it needed to be stretched out. Chanz and I spent one day cutting material for her costume for a play. Mia, of course, did her best to help, laying on the material and pattern as we cut around her. After I lugged the sewing machine onto the kitchen table she would gaze at the fabric as it emerged from the needle and presser foot, occasionally patting it to assure herself my seams were straight. When I called her she would look at me with the look that spoke volumes. “Me? You want me to come to you? No, you come to me.”

Mia was Ray’s cat. She would follow him around as he was weeding the garden, occasionally pawing at the dirt as he turned the soil. Safely supervising from the porch or picnic table Mia watched as mowed he the lawn, not really scared of the lawn mower, but smart enough to stay out of the way. She knew when it was best just to let the man do his job. They would play cat n’ mouse, Ray’s fingers emerging from the chair in which he was sitting, she would catch his fingers, then paw back into the hole in which the hand disappeared.
Ray would talk to her like a girlfriend, calling to her, she would answer, but her voice was so quiet he could rarely hear her soft meow. He would wander the house looking in the corners, under the tables, in cupboards, searching for her. She would watch him from her position on top of the entertainment center, meowing each time he called her name so softly he couldn‘t hear her. It was her form of hide and seek.

She watched him from a safe distance as he washed his car, staying well away from the spraying water, if the water sprinkled her she would walk a few feet further back and sit down and continue watching. When Ray cooked dinner she would sit on the counter, carefully observing the preparation and cooking of the food, hoping she would get a taste. She usually did. If she wanted a cuddle she would go to Ray. Rubbing her belly he would tell her she was getting fat. She would wrap her paws around his hand and take a quick nip as if to tell him, ‘Don’t tell me I’m getting fat’.

Mia was Ray’s cat, she would come when he whistled, amazing the neighbors.

When Mia was hungry she would sit on her food rug and patiently wait for her food, she would only eat Meow Mix. If we were not prompt in feeding her she would lean down and closely examine the bowl, to be sure she would know the exact moment when the food would magically appear. She would keep that stance until one of us would pick up the bowl, empty the remainder of last nights dinner into the trash and fill it with fresh Meow Mix. She would join us at the table either sitting to my right on the table or on the chair, our preference, not hers. She would delicately accept small pieces of bacon, ham and chicken Ray and I fed her at dinner time while we ate, but only to be sociable .

It took us a while to figure out her bathroom routine. We first put her litter box at the far end of the house. That was unacceptable and Mia soon let us know that her preferred bathroom was the one off the master bedroom. Ray put her kitty box in the master bathroom, tucked in the corner behind the toilet. She forgo the use of it to pee in, choosing to pee on the floor under the toilet paper roll, then unrolling the toilet paper onto the mess and neatly gathering it into a nice pile for us to pick up. She now has a Poop box filled with kitty litter and a Pee Box filled with toilet paper.

When I went to work, I could expect to find Mia sitting on the table by the front door waiting for me to return. Ray stated “With all the cars that go by she only perks up when she hears your car pull into the parking spot, then she makes a dash for the door.” I would notice the same behavior when Ray left and I was home with her. As soon as he walked up the porch, and opened the door she was there to greet him.

We thought everything Mia did was cute and took pictures of her like a grandchild.

‘Oh, look, she’s playing with yarn, take a picture.’ ‘Honey look at Mia sitting on the plant, looking out the window, take a picture.’ Her first snow, hiding on top of the cupboard, relaxing on top of the swing, we took pictures of almost everything she did. We have files of pictures of Mia on my computer, so many pictures my daughter, Shea, commented, “You have more pictures of your cat then you do your grandchildren.”

Mia did not like company, whether it was one of my family members from out of state who occasionally would stop for an overnight visit or Shea, Chanz and Chaiz who stopped by to spend time with us. There wasn’t anything we could really put our finger on that let us know why she didn’t like adult company, we just knew. With Chaiz, from the time he first came home from the hospital she resented him. One night while I was watching him, as a newborn, she came over, sniffed him, then proceeded to try to bury him, as she would do to something nasty in her litter box. Her opinion of him didn’t improve as he got older, to keep her safe or at least untraumatized we would put her in the bedroom and close the door, which worked until Chaiz was being potty trained and his potty of choice was Bum-ma and Bump-pa’s potty. Mia resented the imposition.

When Ray and I left town whether to go on vacation or camping we left Mia home. She did not like to be left alone. Having Chanz or Shea come over to feed and pet her just was not good enough as far as she was concerned. We left her free to roam the house until she started peeing in the living room as a display of protest at being left home alone while we went gallivanting around. She was then confined to the bedroom and bath, when we left the next time. The corner next to the bathroom door was her protest spot. From then on when we left she was confined to the bathroom, with the window open so she could watch the world outside. We heard her yowling at us under the bathroom door as soon as we opened the door. Our first order of business was to let her out of the bathroom, pick her up and give her lovings. She ate that up until we put her down to unpack “Yoew, yoew, yoew, yoew, yoew” she would exclaim as she walked back and forth with us as we unloaded the car and trailer. She would comment loudly the entire time about what happened while we were gone, asking why we had abandoned her and why in the world we thought whoever we got to stop by and feed her could be trusted to do such an important job.

We went to South Dakota to visit our son and his family and my parents the first part of July, when we got back, we noticed that Mia was thinner and she was refusing to eat her Meow Mix. She would still eat little bits we feed her from the table, but just to be sociable as before. So we thought perhaps we should try a different type of cat food. We tried a couple another brands as well as various canned foods. She didn’t like salmon or beef. She would accept cubed chicken eating a small bit, but enjoying the gravy. Then she quit eating that. I took her to the vets last Saturday, she weighed 4.8 lbs a full pound less than what she weighed when we first brought her home 4 years ago. We are sure that she had weighed at least 6 lbs before she quit eating.

During this last week Ray noticed that she was getting weaker, observing that she would not stop at her food rug to even sniff at the food. Hiding in dark and unusual places, places she had never hidden before. Previously Mia sit for a brief time Ray’s lap and then up looking for another adventure, now she spent most of her time cuddling on his lap. Only getting up when he set her aside because he needed to move. “Honey, we’re losing her.” were the words he stated when I came home from work on Wednesday.

Mia passed away about midnight. This morning Ray cried as he made our breakfast, Mia was not there to supervise the preparation of the meal. Ray called me to breakfast, as I came in, I looked at the table and realized Mia would not be sitting in her normal place on my right, politely waiting for her piece of bacon. We cried again in each others arms,

Passwords

2009-10-28T16:57:00.001-06:00

I just want to tell you I hate passwords. I can never remember them. I am constantly having to reset my passwords on my blogspot because I use it so rarely that I forget what it was.

2009-10-28T16:55:00.000-06:00

I am not going to tell you just how many of the previous signs of age I thought "Oh, yeah, that's Ray", then realized it was also "Oh, yeah, that's me too." We have major discussions as to whether those sock are blue or black and if it will go with the suit he is wearing. Trying to remember the name of a particular person and where we laid my keys and his watch, or whatever it is we are looking for.

Kids, you want to know what people do when they get old, We revert to our childhood and play games:
Concentration (What was his name?),
Hide and Seek (Now where did I put that?),
Musical Chairs (Oh! you're using this bathroom, I'll go to the other one),
What color is it? (What do you mean that is blue, it looks black to me),
Pictionary ( You know, the thing, that I picked up from the store, that you cut cheese up with, no, not the knife, the other thing, you can make hash browns with it, no not the frying pan, the other thing)

Love ya all, (and its a good thing I don't have to name names, I would probably forget a few)

Ma / Lyn

Old age ain't for whimps - Helen Hays (Ha! you probably don't know who she is, She's the actress that played in .....Oh my, what was the name of that Movie....)

OBSERVATIONS ON GROWING OLD

2009-10-28T16:51:00.001-06:00

(Got this in an e-mail)

01. It's harder to tell navy from black.
02. Everything old is new again, but if you wore it before, you're too old to wear it the second time around.
03. Your kids are becoming like you---and you don't like them, but your grandchildren are perfect!
04. Yellow becomes your big color---your eyeballs, your skin, your teeth, your underwear.
05. Going out is good; coming home is even better!
06. When people say you look "Great", they add, "for your age!"
07. When you needed the discount, you paid full price. Now you get discounts on everything---movies, hotels, flights.
08. You forget names, but it's OK because other people forgot they even knew you.
09. The last 2 outfits you wore had spots on them.
10. You ask your spouse or friend how your outfit looks, and they tell you the truth.
11. The 5 pounds you wanted to lose is now 15, and you have a better chance of losing your keys than the 15 pounds.
12. You realize you're never going to be really good at anything---especially golf.
13. Your spouse is counting on you to remember things you don't remember.
14. The things you cared to do, you now don't care to do, but you care that you don't care to do them anymore.
15. Your spouse sleeps better on a lounge chair with the TV blaring than in bed. It's called "pre-sleep".
16. Remember when your mother said "Wear clean underwear in case you GET in an accident"? Now you bring clean underwear in case you HAVE an accident.
17. You used to say, "I hope my kids GET married." Now it's, "I hope they STAY married!"
18. The best place to have a conversation with your spouse is in the bathroom-- you have his/her full attention.
19. You miss the days when everything worked with just an "ON" and "OFF" switch; when GOOGLE, iPod, email, modem were unheard of; and when a mouse was something that made you climb on a table.
20, You use more 4-letter words---"what?"..."when?"
21. Now that you can afford expensive jewelry, it's not safe to wear it anywhere.
22. Your spouse has a night out with the guys/gals but he/she is home by 9:00 p.m.; next week it will be 8:30 p.m.
23. You read 100 pages into a book before you realize you've already read it before.
24. You notice everything they sell in clothing stores is "tight & sleeveless" for women and "tight & below the butt" for men.
25. You never heard of any of the people in People Magazine.
26. Your concealer doesn't conceal, your lipstick bleeds, your mascara clumps, and your eyebrows are disappearing.
27. You don't have hair under your arms and very little on your legs, but your chin needs to be plucked daily.
28. What used to be freckles are now liver spots.
29. Everybody whispers.
30. Now that your spouse has retired, you'd give anything if he/she would find a job.
31. You have three sizes of clothes in your closet, two of which you will never wear again.
32. But old is good in some things---old songs, old movies, and best of all---old friends!

blogs

2009-10-22T11:13:00.002-06:00

Gee, almost a full year since I posted anything on here. I am sooooo dedicated to this blog.

45 Lessons life taught me.

2008-11-06T09:36:00.000-07:00

These are good life lessons, ones that we have decided to emulate. Lyn & Ray

Written by Regina Brett of The Plain Dealer, Cleveland, OH

To celebrate growing older, I once wrote the 45 lessons life taught me. It is the most-requested column I've ever written. My odometer rolled over to 70 in August, so here goes:

1. Life isn't fair, but it's still good.
2. When in doubt, just take the next small step.
3. Life is too short to waste time hating anyone.
4. Don't take yourself so seriously. No one else does.
5. Pay off your credit cards every month.
6. You don't have to win every argument. Agree to disagree.
7. Cry with someone. It's more healing than crying alone.
8. It's OK to get angry with God. He can take it.
9. Save for retirement starting with your first paycheck.
10. When it comes to chocolate, resistance is futile.
11. Make peace with your past so it won't screw up the present.
12. It's OK to let your children see you cry.
13. Don't compare your life to 'others.' You have no idea what their journey is all about.
14. If a relationship has to be a secret, you shouldn't be in it.
15. Everything can change in the blink of an eye. But don't worry; God never blinks.
16. Take a deep breath. It calms the mind.
17. Get rid of anything that isn't useful, beautiful, or joyful.
18. Whatever doesn't kill you really does make you stronger.
19. It's never too late to have a happy childhood, but the second one is up to you and no one else.
20. When it comes to going after what you love in life, don't take "no" for an answer.
21. Burn the candles, use the nice sheets, wear the fancy lingerie. Don't save it for a special occasion. Today is special.
22. Over prepare, then go with the flow.
23. Be eccentric now. Don't wait for old age to wear purple.
24. The most important sex organ is the brain.
25. No one is in charge of your happiness except you.
26. Frame every so-called disaster with these words: 'In five years, will this matter?'
27. Always choose life.
28. Forgive everyone everything.
29. What other people think of you is none of your business.
30. Time heals almost everything. Give time time.
31. However good or bad a situation is, it will change.
32. Your job won't take care of you when you are sick. Your friends will. Stay in touch.
33. Believe in miracles.
34. God loves you because of who God is, not because of anything you did or didn't do.
35. Don't audit life. Show up and make the most of it now.
36. Growing old beats the alternative of dying young.
37. Your children get only one childhood. Make it memorable.
38. All that truly matters in the end is that you loved.
39. Get outside every day. Miracles are waiting everywhere.
40. If we all threw our problems in a pile and saw everyone else's, we'd grab ours back.
41. Envy is a waste of time. You already have all you need.
42. The best is yet to come.
43. No matter how you feel, get up, dress up, and show up.
44. Yield.
45. Life isn't tied with a bow, but it's still a gift.

Love

2008-10-31T09:37:00.000-06:00

We have quails that wander around the parking lot by my office. These are beautiful little birds that scurry along in pairs from the strip of weeds by the freeway wall, across our lot and under the chain link fence to the storage property next to us. Later in the season we slowly drive down the driveway as the parents hurry their offspring across the driveway to the wild strip of land next to us. That wild strip of land is about ten feet wide and about a quarter mile long, it runs between our building and the I-15 freeway. It is home to ferro cats, foxes, skunks, an occasional deer and of course our quails.

One morning when I arrived I noticed one of the quails had been hit by a co-worker’s car. I could see that it was no longer alive as I entered the front door and I resolved to have one of the guys pick it up and put it in the dumpster on the other side of the building. The guys didn’t do it the first day and it was still there the next day but hidden by a wheel of a car. The mate of the quail spent the day wandering the parking lot. She would wander over by the fence to the wild strip, then wander back to the area by the storage property, never coming close to the building as they never had before. She wandered the whole day searching for him only leaving the lot when people exited the building for their cars.

The next morning I didn’t see her when I arrived, but around 10 AM I heard a peeping noise about every 30 seconds. It took me a while to identify the noise, when I finally looked out the window I saw the quail balanced on the top strand of the barbed wire surrounding the storage property, she was calling to her mate then waiting for him to respond. She continued to call the entire day, continuing even as the employees left the office for their cars, each person stopping to notice and grieve for the forlorn bird calling to her mate. The next day I arrived with trepidation, fearing to experience the loss of the small bird further, but she wasn’t there and has not returned since. I marveled at the grief of this small bird and realized love and grief are not solely human emotions.

Hi Gang

2008-09-23T16:35:00.000-06:00

Okay, I started a blogspot for Ray and I, What we will do with it remains to be seen.