The Usual Backyard Photos

 Beas, the Cockatoo

Beas's Dinosaur Toes

 Beas eating a Florida cherry

 Fibonacci special

 Florida cherries

 Florida Lilac

 Tick weed flowers

 Wild grass close-ups

 Java Glory Bower

 New Pink Flower (of course I've neglected to learn it's REAL name.

 Seeds on the pavement

 Stephanotis

 Sunflowers growing from bird seed falling to the ground.

 White winged doves eating spilled seed

Touch of Innocence

I don't know if this has happened to other people, but it has now happened to me three times in my life - and each time has been a beautiful surprise.

The first time was at a local park maybe 15 or so years ago.  I was walking through a wooded area with picnic tables.  It was late afternoon on a workday and I decided after work to stop and visit nature for a bit.  There was only one family nearby.  A man and woman and a small, perhaps 3 to 3 1/2 year old little girl playing on the nearby playground while her parents chatted.  She had dark hair, very curly, like a halo around her head and she appeared quite happy and content as she talked to herself in her little playworld.  I only noticed all this afterwards, for, as I walked slowly, looking for a place to sit down in the shade, the little girl ran headlong to me, looked up at my, to her, great height, and,  grinning widely, threw her arms around my legs.  Taken totally by surprise, I  smiled down at her and lightly touched her arm.  My first thoughts were practical - where were her parents and why did they allow their child to hug strangers.  I asked her where her mommy and daddy were and she pointed.  By now, they had noticed and called her back to them.  She went back to her playing and never paid attention to me again, to my knowledge.  

But the lovely surprise of two sweet little somewhat sweaty arms wrapped around my legs and a totally trusting smile had taken my breath away.  It was as if I had been touched by angels with maybe a little message of love from heaven in such a wicked world.  I worried a bit about her, hoping her parents would discourage further such displays, but at the same time, felt it was serendipity.  Perhaps this wasn't a habit of hers at all - perhaps it was just a little gift from God through the innocence and joy of a child.

The second time, the child knew me.  He was perhaps 5 or 6 years old, the grandchild of the Jamaican lady who lived in the condo across the parking lot from me.  They had lived there for years and we smiled politely at each other when passing, but that was all.  The little boy had never looked my way before that I know of, except on this one day, I came out of my condo and walked to my car and, as I did, he did the same thing the little girl had done.  He ran over to me and literally threw his arms around my waist and smiled a great big smile up at me.  I ruffled his hair and said hello, or some such inane thing, and looked to see his family's reaction.  They seemed to take it in stride and I smiled at them and laughed at the child's spontaneity.  But, once again, I felt when his innocent and joyful eyes met mine, that a little gift of God had been given to me - a touch of the angels.

The last time happened today.  I was shopping in the local grocery store, concentrating on which can of tomatoes to buy, comparing prices and sizes, when I felt a light, caressing touch run across the back of my sweater, somewhat in the manner that my husband does when he comes up behind me.  I looked up nonplussed - the thoughts running through my head, "it can't be my husband, he's at work, who on earth ...???" and I looked into the face of an 11 or 12 year old boy.  He reminded me a bit of a deer, very shy, but curious.  As he walked on and got closer to his dad down the aisle,  I could see the worry on his father's face that I would yell something or complain or make a scene.  But when I met the boy's eyes, I smiled and said, "that was nice - thanks."  I looked at the dad, thinking perhaps the child has some sort of condition, and smiled.  He said that most people don't react the way I did and I reassured him that his son's gesture was sweet.  How very unusual.

Once again, to be touched by God through the innocence of a child.  Perhaps this sounds weird or silly, but, if it has happened to you - if a child, a total stranger, throws their arms around you in what seems like love, or caresses your back - you'll know what I mean. 

The Secret Holocaust Diaries - And What I Discovered

I read some blogs daily and one of these is "The Common Room."  Lately, they have published several posts listing free or very inexpensive (as in $.99 or $1.99) books to download to Kindle.  Although I do not have a Kindle, I have the Kindle App on my iPad and I have downloaded lots of books.  It's almost addictive to read lists of free books and, intrigued by the titles and the positive comments of those  who make up the lists at The Common Room, download them all.  Needless to say, there are several I have yet to read.  

One of the downloaded titles covers a part of history that has always fascinated me in the way people rubber-neck at accident scenes - WWII Europe. The other historical subject that is equally interesting to me is Russia just before, during, and right after the revolution.  The book, "The Secret Holocaust Diaries," includes both, so I not only downloaded it, but read it in one afternoon, AFTER leaving work at 3:30pm, WHILE getting my hair done.  

It is the story of a woman who is remembering her lovely childhood as a member of a wealthy Cossack family right after the Russian Revolution.  Her family lives in the Eastern Ukraine and the small village of her mother's mother, Konstantinovka, has not felt the reverberations of the Bolsheviks just yet.  Nonna Lisowskaja  is the daughter of Cossacks on her mother's side and possible Jewish roots on her father's side, which she never nails down.  Her father is of Polish birth and changed his name from Lisowicz to Lisowskaja to sound more Russian and, perhaps, less Jewish.  Once the events of the late 1930's hurled Poland into war her father's family, murky to her at best (she never met them since traveling outside the Soviet Union even in the early days after the Revolution was impossible), disappeared entirely.  If they were, indeed, Jewish, they mostly likely perished.

Nonna's happy memories are luminescent.  Her descriptions of the Last Great Russian Christmas that her grandmother was determined her family should experience, especially the children, in the old fashioned pre-revolution way, in 1932, are the most beautiful.  The visions of her grandmother's large house and the woods nearby blanketed in yards, not feet, of snow, and the sleigh ride by horse to the Orthodox Church on Christmas Eve remain with Nonna forever and are surrounded by the nimbus of cherished memory.  

The problems come when the Revolution finally hits Konstantinovka, and Nonna's grandmother is forced to "donate" all her farm animals, family keepsakes and most of her land to the newly created local collective.  Next, WWII officially begins with the invasion of Poland by Hitler.  Soon Hitler is breaking his non-aggression pact with the Soviet Union and attacks Russia through the Ukraine.  Nonna's beautiful childhood is over.  She relates her experiences from this point on with vivid anguish.  

I devoured this book, turning each page waiting for the family pictures that Nonna saved and that are mentioned so many times.  After all, before the bad times came, her father was a professional photographer with his own dark room.   The pictures are not published in the book.  I couldn't believe it.  The images of this woman and her beloved family, in words, were burned into my brain and I really wanted to look into their eyes.  

Not one to give up, I began to surf the Internet.  First  I  typed the title of the book into Google and clicked on "Images".  Sure enough, there were a few sepia and black and white photos that looked promising.  I clicked on one and found the book's official web site, "Secret Holocaust Diaries.com".

At the top of the home page is a link called "Photos and Documents".  I had hit the motherlode.  All Nonna's pictures are there.

Next, I clicked on another, more modern 1960's image and found this blog,"Becoming Ukrainian".    This is a blog written by Nonna's children after finding and reading their mother's memorabilia, and then publishing her diaries posthumously.  Like any normal children in the modern age, they try to find their mother's Ukrainian village, Konstantinovka, to walk in their mother's footsteps and to see what, if anything, is still there.

They find their great grandmother's house idealized in Nonna's diaries, the one where she spent that idyllic Christmas, somewhat the worse for wear, but still there.  They also find some cousins that remember Nonna and were contemporary with her, and their grown children.  It is fascinating reading.  

The one most painful thing in Nonna's story is the loss of her mother at a very late date in the war.  It is April, 1945 and Nonna has heard from her mother in Ravensbruck.  After that she never hears from her again.  She receives an anonymous letter from someone after the war has ended that tells her that her Mama has been incinerated in an oven at Ravensbruck.  She still doesn't give up hope.  She encounters a woman in the hospital where she is working who has had a stroke, depriving her of speech, yet when Nonna shows her a picture of her mother, the woman becomes very excited and has to be given a sedative.  She recognized her, but could not say, or, presumably write, any information, and so Nonna gives up.  Her mother's last letter tells her to go to America if she survives the war.  And, in 1950, that's just what Nonna does.  After a wonderful marriage to a kind American named Bannister, three lovely children, and a much happier life Nonna passes away in 2004, never having seen her native land or her family again.

Here's the kick in the stomach.  Guess what her children find out when they visit the Ukraine in 2010?  They find out Nonna's mother, Anna, DID live.  She made it back to Konstantinovka, and she came back with a new husband and a baby son.  She taught music and painted up until she died in 1975.  She raised her son to love music, and so Nonna's children have a half brother in the Ukraine.  

I sat back from the computer screen and just stared into space.  Poor Nonna.  She never knew that her mother was alive and well and lived until 1975!  She could have seen her mother again, could have had a whole 25 more years with her, but Nonna kept all of her past life a secret to both her husband and children, only once in a while bringing out some of the old photos to show her children who their ancestors were.  By essentially burying this portion of her life and never openly acknowledging it, she lost the possibility of finding her mother, whom she adored.  Nonna lamented at war's end that she was the only one left and there was no one with whom she could share memories, both good and bad.  They were alive in her head alone - she thought.  She had a beloved brother who, for his protection from being drafted into the Russian army, was sent to Riga  in 1938.  His name was Anatoly and she never saw him again either.  Perhaps Nonna's children will go there next and try to find traces of him.

Oh - and one more site - where you can hear Nonna's voice  in a recording she made for her children in 1993 for Christmas. When Nonna came to the US, she landed in New Orleans.  She must have stayed there for a long while because her English is American Southern.  It is the most delightful accent I've ever heard - a thickly Southern tinged Russian accent.

 

Holy Cow!! It's Almost Aprl!!

How did THAT happen???  It was just Christmas and next week is Easter break.

 

Hubby and I have been VERY busy.  In the yard, both front and back, in the house, and, of course my favorite, the dumb daily chores that often take up so much of my time (besides full time work outside the home) that I haven't time left for extras.  This past weekend I took down all the baskets I have attached to the top of the walls near the ceiling.  I was cooking one day and feeling all cozy and clean and using a shiny new pan...and I glanced up at the baskets.  BIG MISTAKE.  Their dust bunnies had children it was so bad.  Then I made the additional mistake of looking at the ceiling fan - ewwwwwww.   It sure spoiled that oh-so-homey-clean feeling.  So.....this past weekend I took down the baskets and took them out in the back yard, power sprayed them with the hose and set them in the sun to dry.  When they dried, I took them back in and displayed them again in the same place, but added some metal signs that were on sale at JoAnn's Fabrics (is it still called that?) at 75% off.  At that price I thought I was finally paying what they should have cost to begin with.  Here are some pictures and you can even see the clean blades of the ceiling fan!!

 

 

 

While I was working on the baskets AND, incidentally, moving the microwave to another counter (and moving all the stuff on THAT counter to where the microwave was), hubby was emptying an old bookcase in the living room by the door so we could discard it (old and made of fiberboard) and replace it with a nicer looking  Ikea bookcase - no better made, but wood look finish and much newer.   Once the old bookcase was removed, the floor underneath and the wall behind had to be scrubbed.  Then, once the new one was in place, all the books had to be dusted and replaced, except for some we decided to give to Good Will. 

 

I know this doesn't sound like a lot of work, but it was exhausting for one 57 and one 60 years old, both not in the best of physical shape.  

 

It sure does feel good, though, to look toward the corner with the new bookcase and feel satisfaction, and to look above when I'm cooking or doing dishes - and see CLEAN.  

3D Printing

I have what may be, to those who write articles about 3D printers, a stupid question.  Printers - normal ones - use paper.  They print images of things.  If you print something in 3D, aren't you just printing a 3D image of something?

The articles I read make it sound like someone could buy a 3D printer and start "printing" their own guns or phones or chairs.

What do you put in the printer?  Wood chips for the chair?  A gooey mix of liquid plastic, memory chips and color for the phone?

Something is missing in these stories.  I cannot be convinced that, if I buy a 3D printer, I'll be able to create my own knockoff designer purses.

Am I crazy?  Perhaps the printer just prints a plan?  Which, for designer purses, would mean you have to buy leather and make a purse just like anyone would make an old fashioned dress - from a pattern.  Why would you need an expensive 3D printer for that?

This kind of thing annoys me.  Somewhere between the sentence about famous knock-offs (like copies of expensive watches, purses, etc.) and the sentence that states that 3D printers are a threat to the business of name brands, there should be some sort of explanation.

Like - what the $%#^%#@# is a 3D printer and what do you put in it to make it print.

Pet Birds and Other Things

If anyone posted a REAL LIVE comment to this blog and didn't see it show up until now, it's because I've been spammed to death - so please forgive me!! 

As some of you know one of my pet birds met with an unfortunate end last week.  I slipped up just ONE time and my killer cat got the bird. I had Mrs. Greenberg, a peach faced lovebird, for over 7 years, so I had a good track record.

I sobbed and cried over the sweet little thing.   It was the most affectionate love bird I've ever had.  Never bit.  Loved to be petted and get it's feathers rubbed.  

But now that the dust has cleared, I am - I'm ashamed to say it - relieved.  I have too many pets, most of which were acquired from my daughter or, in the case of the cockatoo I have, Beasley, a rescue bird.

As much as I loved the little peach faced boy bird, he had some peculiar habits that grossed me out.  He thought he was about to find the love of his life every second, so he took to heaving up half digested food on favorite objects, making a sicky sweet smelling mess that hardened  into cement.  He did this on stuffed animals, he did this on the top of my new curtains, he did this on various toys in Beasley's cage.

I got the lovebird as a sort of companion to Beasley.  Cockatoos are very high maintenance parrots. They need constant love and attention, and, if you work full time, like I do, it's hard to satisfy that type of bird. He was a rescue from a local tourist attraction because he was a feather plucker and was no longer attractive for show purposes.  Poor baby - that immediately put me in his corner.  That and my daughter, then about 12 years old, begging me to bring him home.  Sucker that I am, I did.  I had always secretly wanted a parrot but don't think they should be pets, so I would never buy one, even if I could afford it.  

I bought him a giant cage.  At that time, I had a middle aged 13" beagle named Shady. Period.  No cats.  So Beasley was allowed to walk around the house, threatening to bite people's feet (my daughter ran up onto a chair more than once to save herself).  He rode on my shoulder, and slept in my bedroom in his giant cage that I bought and placed by a window looking out at a golf course.

Life changed when I got remarried and my daughter went off to college.  She tried to keep a cat in her dorm, got caught - I took the cat, incidentally, this is the killer cat that did in my lovebird last week - named Neko ("cat" in Japanese - I did not name him).

When my daughter moved to an apartment and took Neko back, my husband and Imissed him and wanted a cat, so we both went to the shelter and brought home Buster.  For some reason I can't remember, Neko became ours again. So now we have a very old 13" beagle, 2 cats and a big cockatoo.

Beasley decided he did NOT like my husband - his competition - and so he was relegated to my computer room, no longer sharing my bedroom.  He had slipped to second place in my attentions when home and he knew it, although I spend a LOT of time in my computer room.

A few years went by, Shady passed away, daughter got another kitten and over time decided to move to Colorado from Jacksonville, FL - as one does.  This kitten was the all time cutest, most adorable, most cuddly Maine Coon cat I'd ever seen.  I wanted him, and when Ashley moved, she let me keep him.  So now we are up to 3 cats and 1 cockatoo - Neko, Buster, Squeebles (best name EVER) and Beasley, the bird.

After hurricane Wilma in 2005, friends of ours brought over a peach faced lovebird that had been lost in the storm.  When they opened their front porch door after the storm passed, a small bird just walked in.  Luckily, they were looking down.  They had several cats and dogs and did NOT want to keep the poor little orphaned bird. We put up announcements and signs around the neighborhood, but no one came forward to claim him, so I now had acquired a peach faced lovebird.  Not knowing whether it was male or female, I named it "Mrs. Greenbird" or "Mrs. Greenberg", whichever came to mind.  Once I realized this bird would never lay an egg (as previous lovebirds I had in the past-and THAT is a whole 'nother story) as he was not a she, it became Mr. Greenbird/Greenberg.

Able to get in and out of the bars of Beasley's big cage, Mr. Greenbird could come and go and hang out with Beasley.  They got along famously and the big bird never tried to hurt the little bird, although he chased him around the cage now and then.  Beasley would wait patiently while Mr. Greenbird was belly deep in his food bowl eating Beasley's food or taking a bath in Beasley's water dish.

I only let Mr. Greenbird out during the day, but once he started chewing my books and my bookcases, as well as heebing (my term for his unfortunate upchucking for love habit) on curtains, stuffed animals and other various things, I curtailed his "out" time to when I was actually in the room.  Even then, he made a noise when he was preparing to upchuck food that positively made my hair stand on end.  I would have to put my headphones on so I couldn't hear it.  He couldn't help it - this is what male parrots do, although Beasley is a male and - THANK GOD - never exhibited that habit. Maybe it's only certain parrots that do it.

So - now that Mr. Greenbird has moved on to heaven, along with Shady the Beagle and a couple of hamsters my daughter had when she was small, I am finding that it's a relief to close the curtains at night and not have moist bits of birdie seed upchuck come flying down on me and my surroundings.  It's nice not to hear that noise, and it's nice to have one less cage in my room, and one less area of bird debris to vacuum every day.

Now Beasley is a different story.  I've had him for over 20 years and the lifespan of a Cockatoo is as long or longer than a human.  Considering I did not acquire him at my birth, and I have no idea how old he is - he could outlive me.  So now, I am looking for a bird sanctuary where he can live the life of a retiree bird.  There is one north of Tampa, FL that looks wonderful.  Beasley will be angry that I didn't put him there years ago.......so I'm working on that.  It will probably be months before we actually take him there, but I will be down to 4 cats then - I forgot to tell you about the last cat, a stray kitten we found in our back yard trying desperately to eat a shelled peanut that we put out for blue jays.  That did it  - we took him in and he is now ours, and, incidentally, Squeebles' best bud.  His name is Junior Beans.

Tent Life in Siberia, and Adventures among the Koraks and Other Tribes in Kamtchatka and Northern Asia

Like that title?  That is the title of a book I've been reading on Kindle.  It was originally written in 1864-65 and it's about a group of Americans who travel to Kamchatka to see if telegraph wires can be installed through Siberia and down through Russia and then into Europe.  The stringing of telegraph wire under the Atlantic Ocean shortly after that made the trip to Siberia a moot point.  However, the adventures of the young men in Siberia at that time in history is fascinating.

 

One of my favorite activities when I'm trying to fall asleep is to imagine the safest or coziest or most beautiful place in the world in which to go to sleep.  I have imagined small snug cabins built into the tops of huge strong trees - or - being wrapped in layers and layers of furs and warm blankets out under the Arctic sky, surrounded by sled dogs and a fire circle inside of which no wolves will come (I hope).  I have pictured the velvet ice cold sky and me lying warm in the middle of the frozen waste and the painting of the Aurora Borealis across the heavens. 

 

This book is like that second imagining of mine - the Arctic one, except it really happened back in the time when men loved to adventure in obscure or untrodden places.  Kamchatka at that time, and maybe even some of it today, was wild and untrodden. 

 

The writer, George Kennan,  was an American explorer, noted for his travels in Kamchatka region and in Russia.  He was a cousin, twice removed, of diplomat and historian George F. Kennan (2/16/1904 - 3/17/2005). 

 

Here is his picture from Wikipedia:
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In his book "Tent Life......." (I don't want to repeat that loooong title) he describes the native peoples and the Yurts they live in.  It doesn't sound very comfortable.  The Yurts are round and fur covered.  In the middle is a fire over which, in the roof, is a round hole.  The smoke doesn't go up through the hole completely, but spreads around inside, and the hole in the roof is also the door into the Yurt.  You must climb up on top and drop feet first into the Yurt.  How you avoid the fire, I don't know.  Little fir compartments are created around the wall of the Yurt by hanging fur robes as walls.  Inside those are the various wives and children of the natives.  The little fur rooms are stuffy, smokey, smelly, dark and cold. The whole inside is cold - just not freezing and windy like being outside.  I did NOT fantasize about sleeping in one of these. 

 

There are also Russian people in villages that the author travels to.  Invariably, because he and his comrades are important Americans, they stay in the nicest house in the village, maybe of the priest or the mayor.  This turns out to be a snug wooden house with fur and animal skin rugs soft on the floor that your feet sink into.  There is a roaring fire in front of which one can warm up and drink hot cups of tea.  Slipping into clean sheets and blankets (after themselves bathing, of course) just sounds so delicious considering they have been slogging around freezing Siberia getting frostbite and staying in the same layers of clothes for weeks at a time.  It's the coziest reading ever when I come to one of those chapters.  The other delightful reading was when a group of Russian Siberians led the group through an area with trees.  At night, the dog sleds were arranged in a "U" shape and the Russians proceeded to dig a large round hole in the snow inside of the U.  Then many furs and skins were laid down around the outside of the shoveled area and a roaring fire was built in the middle.  The men said they were truly warm in this setup and enjoyed sleeping under the stars.  Later that night the skies erupted with some of the most dramatic auroras ever seen, even by the natives, who were almost frightened by the display.  I have to look up if there was a volcanic eruption in the world - or a giant sunspot eruption at that time to cause such a display.

 

This has been my go-to-sleep reading on my Ipad as I lay under my own cozy sheets and feather blankets.  It fires up my imagination and I can't wait to read more about this man's travels (he later went to the Caususus region) in Russia back in the Good Old Days.

 

 

 

After Fear

Phew - as you could see from my last post, yesterday was bad.  My mind just wouldn't let go of fear and self-blame and self-recrimination, guilt - you name it.  It wasn't fun, but my sister and Island Rider both commented wisdom, love and prayers - and I thank you both.  So enough about that.

Frustration in the back yard - there is a neighborhood cat and a hawk on vacation that keep scaring the birds eating at my feeders.  Between trying to spray the cat with the hose (when I catch him back there, which is pretty much daily) and clapping loud and yelling at the hawk - I'm ready to put a net over the whole yard.  That would keep the hawk out.  Now what about the cat?  Maybe I'll go to the hunting store and buy coyote urine or something (how do they produce THAT product???) to spray at the 2 entrance areas where Mr. Cat jumps over our fence.

It's very frustrating trying to run a small Eden on this fallen planet, and keep it protected for certain creatures by keeping other ones out.  I'm not even as angry about the hawk as I am about the cat.  Hawks are inevitable - cats not so much.  If people kept them indoors.....rant, rant, rant (fill in the words).

Glad it is heading toward Friday tomorrow - AND - it's my birthday this weekend.  Maybe that is part of yesterday's angst.  My husband turns 60 this year - he's none too thrilled himself.  For better or worse, we have similar temperaments - so he gets angsty, too.  What a pair!!

Next up- pictures from a day out in nature recently. Nothing makes me feel better than a trip into the middle of nowhere for the day.  We went to Dinner Island in Hendry County.  This is a piece of land that is not an island and no one serves dinner.  I have no idea why it's called that, but it's next to Devil's Garden and Cow Bone Slough, so go figure.  It is farming country that has been purchased by the State of Florida and, once the farmer's leases are up, it is being released back to it's original wildness.  It is one of the few areas where, if you are the luckiest person alive, you MIGHT someday see a Florida Panther.  When we pulled into this wildlife area from Rd 846, there were a number of campers parked in a cleared field next to some trees on our right.  A man on horseback was leading a number of other people on horseback - and it looked SO inviting and wonderful to travel that way, then come "home" to a little "house" on wheels with everything you need and a comfy bed.  I pictured them lighting a fire later that night and cooking and sitting out under the stars.  There would be no interference out there with the velvet sky and the starlight.  Maybe hubby and I could rent an RV when it gets cold again, and take it out there overnight.

This is along the canal that goes right through the Indian village on Jose Billie Highway, a.k.a., Rte 833.  It was a cold and beautiful day.

Below is an area of "Dinner Island" that has been allowed to return to the wild.  It is beautiful.  It was SO hard to turn the car around and head home.....

We NEVER are able to photograph Belted Kingfishers, a.k.a., "Bed Head Birds" because they are usually so skittish, the minute you aim your camera and try to focus, they have flown away.  But this day we were able to get a female (below) and a male.  The female has a bit of red on her chest.

Here's the male:

Below is a Scissor Tailed Flycatcher whose tail isn't open so you can see the two strands/feathers.  They have a lovely peachy chest and underside and VERY long feathers.  This is a migrant and not here in the summer.  They love Hendry County and are often scene in a few select locations there, among them route 833 and route 846, which we were traveling.

Another migrant.  Either a red shouldered or a red tailed hawk, I think.  They are VERY common here in the winter.  We have a sharp shinned hawk that goes after doves and pigeons in our back yard.  This fella below is bigger and more formidable. 

A Phaon Crescent butterfly on some roadside plants.

 Another area of "Dinner Island"

Some sort of store, I think, on route 833. They had nice LED Christmas lights on the roof, but we couldn't appreciate them in the middle of the day.  Funny - it was a Saturday - and the place was closed.  I really have no idea WHAT it was.....

Fear

Fear is a big part of my life these days.  Fear of ending up like my father, only sooner, with Dementia/Alzheimer's.  I'm always forgetting words in the middle of a sentence and have to come up with a work-around.  As I approach the word, I know it won't come and I look like an idiot, stopping half way through a sentence with a vacuous look on my face...searching for a substitute.

 

Fear of financial armaggedon.  Suffice it to say we're in trouble and working on a solution, but it is going to hurt. 

 

I'm overweight, so I'm afraid of:

 

a.  stroke that DOESN'T kill me

b.  cancer

 

I drink too much wine - and am fighting with this - and I live in fear of brain damage, liver damage, you name it, God's judgement on me because I keep struggling with this.

 

I'm afraid of losing my beloved animals, illness of any loved one, worldwide catastrophe, which always seems just on the brink, living in an America I no longer recognize in a city that is mostly foreigners.

 

I'm afraid of moving to a new place and losing my familiar back yard with all it's flowers and birds and butterflies.  I'm afraid of NOT moving to a new place and staying in this old-house-that-needs-work forever.

 

I know I need to pray, go to church, connect with people (I'm a BIG time loner and intimacy with people is something I do NOT do well, including family), exercise, lose weight, never touch another glass of anything alcoholic.

 

And the first thing I want to do when I go home is wait until after dinner and have a drink and the calm and good feeling that it brings. 

 

I probably need to go to a recovery group at the church I don't attend.........

 

Writing this helps - somebody else out there just might feel the same or have felt the same......

A Long Time Ago

Tonight snow is falling all over New York State, from Middletown, where I was born, to Saratoga Springs, where my father was born, to Utica and New York Mills, where my mother was born.  My father loved to tell me how he sledded down a big hill smack into where the  Northway Super- Highway is now.  Back then, it was wilderness, wild country, right outside of town.  The boys would drag their toboggans and sleds to the Big Hill (which he would point out to me when we were driving on the present Northway to Saratoga, and I'd have to try and picture  no road and just snow) and down they'd go.

My father has passed into eternity, but because I'm human and still stuck here, I like to imagine he visits the scenes of his youth.  About a month before he passed, as he lay helpless in bed 24/7, I whispered to him., "You'll be back in Saratoga soon" while stroking his soft gray hair that still held a slight wave, and he opened his bleary, foggy eyes and looked at me, but I know he did not understand.  Now he is unfettered.  He can walk through Congress Park now, like he dreamed when he was unable to walk.   How he loved his home town and the memories he made there. 

Tonight the snow is falling and blurring the line between the present and the past.  The sky is white with reflected snow, and the air is hushed.  Lights and the present are hazy and blurred, and it could be 1921, when my father was 2 years old.  84 White Street might not look so modern with it's addition and paint. 

That is what I would imagine if I were there, walking the streets in the midst of the heavy snowstorm.  Cars are unable to get down the unplowed roads and remind you of what year is it, and the black tree branches hold inches of snow, like icing, while the lights of the present appear haloed and dim through the snowflakes, and it's easy to travel back in time while I walk.   The air is hushed, every sound is blunted by the low hanging clouds;  it is very quiet and I can imagine my young and handsome father, just a young man, striding with his long legs down the sidewalks to home.