tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18863074129159252372024-02-22T14:48:01.879-06:00Good Enoughzydnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755467852035493353noreply@blogger.comBlogger620125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886307412915925237.post-87070455836766062432022-03-17T12:53:00.000-05:002022-03-17T12:53:38.290-05:00Being Relevant<p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b>I'd like to shout something out into the great silence.</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b>First, I stopped posting my original recipes here awhile ago because I discovered that someone was "lifting" my whole posts, pictures and all. I felt so betrayed, so robbed. So I ceased to share recipes.</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b>Second, I have also frequently heard that "no one" is blogging anymore, and what's the point because it's boring to read anything longer than a tweet. But, oh my, I tend to write a lot. A lot. So I stopped writing even though there were some people reading.</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b>Third, I recently heard a fairly well-known YouTuber say in one of her videos that older people were "not relevant" to the current world. Needless to say, I felt a bit bothered about that, so I posted a note that said that maybe I should just fade away quietly since I am older. Now, all would have been forgotten, except that the YTer herself answered my post with one of her own saying that "of course, we don't mean You specifically." That ticked me off--who specifically did she mean to insult? What are all the old people supposed to do? I unsubscribed. Doesn't hurt her but at least I used my tiny bit of power even if it didn't make a dent; she's getting no more ad revenue from this old lady's click. So there's something else I quit.</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b>I've been frustrated by a lot of unkind comments from various people (online and in real life) who have called me a liar, who have told me to die, who have told me that I should be ashamed for being from Mississippi, who have called me "a waste of time and space" (the latter comment was actually from family, oh my goodness), who have had a lot of uneducated things to say about my disability, and more. I need not go on. This stuff is just painful. </b></span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b>Seems like all I hear anymore is negativity, and that makes me feel.....bad. Just bad. And it's not fair. Even on an awful day, I'd rather sit in the sunshine than cower under a cloud. The trouble is that I have to remember to make that choice. I have frequently been guilty of cowering in the past couple of years, and that's not good. </b></span></p><p><b style="color: #b45f06; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So I have been thinking about all this stuff while I've been making marmalade the past few days. It's not easy standing at the stove, especially after surviving two bouts with Covid. But I've been gifted with some citrus fruit and I want marmalade so I'm willing to pay in pain to get the job done.</span></b></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b>I like to create recipes. Sure, I'm no pro and I am more than capable of messing things up but we learn by making mistakes, don't we? That's what I think anyway.</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b>And I still like to write. Admittedly it would be nice if people actually read. Maybe they will; maybe they don't. This reminds me of that well-worn Koan about the tree falling in the forest and no one hearing it. But I guess someone out there thought I was good enough to steal recipes from so maybe there's some reason to keep mashing the keys on my laptop.</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b>Despite being a Senior Citizen, I believe that I still have relevance. After all, the older we get, the more we have experienced in life and the more we can share. It would be nice if someone cared, if someone listened. I can't make anyone do that but I can still write, I can still create, and I can still make a joyful noise in my own way. <br /></b></span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b>Yeah, that makes me relevant. Why? Because it's relevant to me. And that is Good Enough.</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b>Life is still good enough for me to keep trying.</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b>Will I share my marmalade recipe here? Maybe. But it takes three days to make from start to finish, so be prepared. And if you wanna steal my recipe without crediting me, shame on you--your mama should have raised you better.</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></p>zydnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755467852035493353noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886307412915925237.post-33245999944004101682021-05-07T07:42:00.002-05:002021-05-08T06:44:49.718-05:00Getting Fighting Mad About the Reality of Covid<p> <span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I don't get angry often and certainly not with strangers because that's rude but about a month ago, I became so enraged that it has taken great effort to get over it. Why was I so cross? Well, a nosy busybody took me to task for mask-wearing and then she told me that Covid was "political" and that it wasn't real.</span></p><p><span style="color: #134f5c;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Not real? Yes, Virginia, there is Covid.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #134f5c;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">How do I know? I have been suffering with Long Haul Covid for nearly 14 months, and it is hellish. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #134f5c;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Can you get re-infected? Well, recently, I was chatting with a friend I ran into who told me that half a dozen members of her immediate family had been infected just that week.....I'm not certain that I was re-infected during that particular conversation but I surely got Covid again somewhere that day (only the second time I left the house during the month of April and I haven't seen one other person since, nor have I left the house in three weeks). I came down with a fever, and now I am suffering again. At the moment that I am sitting here hammering away at the keyboard, I am so ill that I have been awake for more than 30 hours, and I feel utterly desperate with exhaustion. I cannot sleep sitting up and I cannot breathe if I lie down. So, yeah, I think re-infection is a thing, too.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #134f5c;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I do NOT care if You don't believe but don't try to tell Me that I am wrong. I'm living in this shell, and I know what goes on here.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #134f5c;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Looking back: February 14, 1982. I remember; it was the last semi-normal day of my life. I wasn't feeling well so I missed my footing on the stairs in the dorm and fell up the stairs. Not down; up. I felt progressively worse during the course of that week, despite getting antibiotics from the campus clinic and finally my parents had to come bring me home to recover. But I never did recover properly.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #134f5c;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I got better enough that I was able to go on with my life for a time but it was obvious that I wasn't "right" and my health issues finally ended everything for me just four years later. It was so hard to find medical help because few understood what was going on. One doctor told me that he would not treat me until I got mental help. The psychologist called the doctor after she'd seen me a couple times and told him in no uncertain terms that I was Not sick because I was depressed; instead I was, quite reasonably, depressed because I was sick and no one believed me.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #134f5c;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">The people in my family's lives also refused to believe that I was truly ill. The question of that reality damaged relationships with family members. We lost all of our friends over my health. We lost our church fellowship over it, too. I was told so many times that "if you're right with God, He will heal you" so when He didn't, this meant that, in their eyes, I was in the wrong. But I have come to understand that they were incorrect: sometimes God just says "no" and we have to thank him for whatever blessing comes through the trials of life. I try to say thank you every day; sometimes it is very hard.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #134f5c;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Ultimately I received a differential diagnosis: ME-CFIDS. A genetic auto-immune disorder. Incurable. Untreatable. But, thankfully, not fatal. It was also not communicable unless I were to pass it on by bearing a child, so I decided never to pursue that side of my life in order to spare a future generation enduring this pain.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #134f5c;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">When Covid came along, I was immediately aware that I was at major risk because of my long-standing health issues, so I made another hard decision: I would not seek medical help. The main reason for this is that I did not wish to risk infecting medical personnel who were urgently needed by many. I also did not wish to take up resources, time, and effort when there were other ill people who had families who needed them; I have no one. My mother always taught me that "our times are in God's hands, and only He knows when it is our end" so I figured I would simply trust that either God would take me or leave me. Well, He left me here despite my battle with Covid, and only He knows why.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #134f5c;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">The funny thing (if there could possibly be anything funny at all ever) about Covid is that it appears to attack the cytokine system of the body and that is precisely where ME-CFIDS hits people. Interesting. I have been waiting and very much hoping to see in the news that the medical people have had an "aha!" moment over this, especially now that they are seeing that some people (like me) are not recovering from Covid. But, alas, nothing substantive yet. It just makes sense that the two could be linked. So many of the symptoms are the same in the two disorders. Believe me, I know this better than anyone since I've lived with ME for nearly 40 years. Ironic.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #134f5c;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">But getting back to that lady who told me off for wearing a mask: it took me many days to realize why I became so angry at the nosy busybody who was spreading false Covid information. It wasn't just her I was cross with: it was all the many people who have derided me and dismissed me and rejected me for four decades while I fought an illness that could never be healed. Her words sliced me like an icy sword even though she thought she was "helping" me to fight something that she couldn't believe. Despite how angry I felt, I still told her that day that my prayer for her was that she never should discover the truth, that she would never be infected. No one should suffer. No one. I meant it then, and I mean it now. I forgive her.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #134f5c;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">But what should we do? We should show compassion to those who suffer. We should believe. Believe in God. Believe in the veracity of others. Believe that better days will come. And we should fight for everyone to have the chance to avoid Covid: wear a mask, wash your hands, get vaccinated. It's not hard to cooperate in times of great threat; we all have a duty to one another. In that duty, we honor the gift of life.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #134f5c;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Life is good. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #134f5c;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Even when you can't breathe, it's still possible to whisper, "Thank you, God, for the life you have given me." It's all good. Really.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #134f5c;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #134f5c;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p>zydnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755467852035493353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886307412915925237.post-5467559425000846852021-04-07T15:54:00.001-05:002021-04-07T15:58:58.851-05:00Old People Life Hack #1: Rural Mailbox Helper<p> <span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">So this is something I've been thinking about a lot: Getting Old. Yeah, major nuisance and when you combine that with Long Covid.....well, there just are no words adequate to describe that experience. And, yes, I have had Long Covid for an endless year. The good news is that I can't recall most of 2020 because I was either very busy breathing or very busy sleeping 16 hours a day. Just living has been a full-time job.</span></p><p><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: large;">Before I digress further let me say that actually Long Covid assisted in the formulation of this particular idea because, thanks to the whole "not being able to breathe" thing, I can no longer walk down my driveway to get the mail. To be fair, it is a lengthy driveway and it's normally a pleasant five minute walk to and fro. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: large;">This is not my actual mailbox but you get the idea.....</span></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCI7HnTCLnrwvPNg0SwbzQmR4TYe1tW_xb9bO-281gUx7xEKz0E6qfHX-6BuZPAQFElcixA_9VQ_91We9UZrwM7zMTzBtaYxsnzFJl7D1FAzM3zK5gsD4CE1kCX75ypqC5xc5vwmjdGT4/s612/mailbox.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="408" data-original-width="612" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCI7HnTCLnrwvPNg0SwbzQmR4TYe1tW_xb9bO-281gUx7xEKz0E6qfHX-6BuZPAQFElcixA_9VQ_91We9UZrwM7zMTzBtaYxsnzFJl7D1FAzM3zK5gsD4CE1kCX75ypqC5xc5vwmjdGT4/w481-h320/mailbox.jpg" width="481" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span><p></p><p><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: large;">Now, ridiculously, I have to drive the car to pick up the mail. And therein lies the problem: since I have to drive to the mailbox, I also don't have the strength to get in and out of the car to fetch the mail so I pull right up to the box. It's a big box. When the mail carrier chucks the post in there, it slides all the way to the back and I can't reach it from the car window. Dammit.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: large;">One day when I was sitting at my desk mulling this frustrating problem, my eyes happened to light on another annoyance that was sitting right there in the utensil mug: a telescoping back scratcher. Man, I hate that thing. Every time I use it to scratch my back, it just folds back up again. Useless. But it occurred to me that it was folding up because I was pushing it down. Now if it was being used to pull up, it would stay open. </span></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNuFihhI6UFD3zGRuS4I5BZqdBaPBfaprlNFtpiMmr9PoLZmGm1zLSx0ybWK7GjFOektFuJ-5bIft-z0TStC8fEma1VQ7wTAj-Plb-uPfY96S2NsaF2ezxObEvto-GbGqVocuzbkMjzl8/s1002/backscratch.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1002" data-original-width="1002" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNuFihhI6UFD3zGRuS4I5BZqdBaPBfaprlNFtpiMmr9PoLZmGm1zLSx0ybWK7GjFOektFuJ-5bIft-z0TStC8fEma1VQ7wTAj-Plb-uPfY96S2NsaF2ezxObEvto-GbGqVocuzbkMjzl8/s320/backscratch.jpeg" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span><p></p><p><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: large;">Major lightbulb moment. I took the back scratcher to the car next time I went to pick up the mail. Letters at the back of the box? No problem. I extend the back scratcher, pull the mail forward, and (as the old expression goes) Bob's your uncle: I've got mail!</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">You know, I used to have a neighbor who was proud of being minimalist but she never had what she needed at hand when she needed it so she'd come to my house where *magically* I'd have just the right thing. She'd always ask how it was that I had "everything" and I'd tell her the same thing each time: I don't have everything; I just don't throw everything out because sometimes junk comes in handy. If I had thrown out that wretched back scratcher after the times it annoyed me, I wouldn't have had the solution to the problem of getting the mail out of the back of the box.</span></p><p><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Silly solution? Yeah. But who cares? It works!</span></p><p><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Life is good (especially when you keep extra stuff).</span></p>zydnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755467852035493353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886307412915925237.post-28240556049688661962021-04-06T20:24:00.000-05:002021-04-06T20:24:17.828-05:00An Unreasonable Flower<p><span style="color: #990000; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Today I was startled by the appearance of a truly pretty flower. </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBOcbUPo1il08J0EsBI87PjGnBpAmOsQRePfuKhHZePfiNtOtUR8i9vXIPCiODTQ3UrREUo-xMFnXDPab-zYxGEcA_jslxC5LMYdopnkMugdjU8r36GSEmQDjQHynAZLGIcV8Oom0hvgM/s1600/amaryllis040521b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="549" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBOcbUPo1il08J0EsBI87PjGnBpAmOsQRePfuKhHZePfiNtOtUR8i9vXIPCiODTQ3UrREUo-xMFnXDPab-zYxGEcA_jslxC5LMYdopnkMugdjU8r36GSEmQDjQHynAZLGIcV8Oom0hvgM/w412-h549/amaryllis040521b.jpg" width="412" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span style="color: #990000; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span><p></p><p><span style="color: #990000; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Startled, you say? Well, I really should begin by explaining that my yard is overgrown. Very overgrown. It is the sort of overgrowth that does not come from the mild carelessness of missing mowing a time or two, nor is it the sort of overgrowth that results from the failure to rake away stray tree seedlings amongst the fallen leaves in the autumn. No, this is overgrowth of the worst sort--the kind that comes from being legitimately unable to clear the yard for many years at a time. It is overgrowth from neglect. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #990000; font-family: georgia;">At the front of the lot, which hasn't been cared for in about a dozen years, there is a solid stand of yellow pine grown all on its own. Given another half decade, it could even be ready for harvest as pulpwood, if anyone would be willing to cut less than an acre. The yard in front of the house has suffered alone for five years and is covered in such a thick growth of prickly wild berry vines that it is impossible to traverse. The face of the house itself is covered by other vining plants that reach halfway up the large living room windows and that cover the front door. The backyard, having been mowed once in the last three years, is less bad but still in undeniably poor shape. </span><span style="color: #990000; font-family: georgia;">To say the very least, my acreage is the world gone wild. Mostly I don't mind; although the neighbors don't say much, I'm aware that they dislike it. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #990000; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Wildflowers come up wherever they may during the appropriate seasons: white violets in the late winter and early spring, berry flowers in the late spring, various wild asters in summer, and, gloriously, in autumn there is an massive array of everything purple and golden--daisies and boneset and ageratum and meadow beauty and more. But nowhere in my yard is there a planting of traditional flowers, unless you count a few straggeldy untended azaleas that fail entirely to bloom properly in season but do so whenever they feel like it and that is inevitably out of season. </span></p><p><span style="color: #990000; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">There is no tended or cared-for flowering here. No annuals, no perennials, no bulbs. My parents were no gardeners, and (despite some half-hearted container vegetable farming) neither am I. As I have lived here for more than thirty years without giving great heed to planting flowers, I am still observant of what thrives locally so I know what grows here and what doesn't. Today I saw something that had no business here: it appears to be an amaryllis.</span></p><p><span style="color: #990000; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">As happy as I was to see the pretty face of the flowers, I was more entranced by the questions of why and how. Why? Why is it here? It is a bulb plant; those only grow where they are planting and they don't just come up unexpectedly in some untidy forgotten place. How? How did it get here? I just don't know.</span></p><p><span style="color: #990000; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I know how fish turn up in brand-new unseeded ponds. (They arrive as eggs caught on the legs of water birds flying from one pond to another.) I know about volunteer trees. (Their seeds get caught on the wind or they travel while in the gut of an animal who poops them out later in some other locale.) I know things like this. But I do not know and cannot explain why or how a bulb plant should suddenly arise out of nowhere.</span></p><p><span style="color: #990000; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Still, it's not good to question a miracle too closely, is it? For now, I'll make my mind up to just enjoy gazing at the pretty salmon-pink flowers while they bloom.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span style="color: #990000; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpGuMFNDs5X3Xw3WiuLwpUYnzgtd2TbwqD-OQgSROFvcnMjjeenjWaSAeRH5_72-VqEWdcX6wihy26RQCPM2JgF_95TwYkOiucBVo43BLzp36zmVgiGGSTcE1B0E43lSo8Gp6PFhS0qlg/s1600/amaryllis040521c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="348" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpGuMFNDs5X3Xw3WiuLwpUYnzgtd2TbwqD-OQgSROFvcnMjjeenjWaSAeRH5_72-VqEWdcX6wihy26RQCPM2JgF_95TwYkOiucBVo43BLzp36zmVgiGGSTcE1B0E43lSo8Gp6PFhS0qlg/w464-h348/amaryllis040521c.jpg" width="464" /></span></a></div><p></p><p><span style="color: #990000; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="color: #990000; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Life is good.</span></p><p><span style="color: #990000; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">And it's surprising, too.</span></p><p><span style="color: #990000; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p>zydnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755467852035493353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886307412915925237.post-47639837483822645432021-04-02T11:32:00.000-05:002021-04-02T11:32:38.883-05:00A Tiny Little Pocket and Changes in Technology<p><span style="color: #e06666; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">The cool weather is winding down, thus my sweaters and light jackets are nearly all in the laundry basket awaiting the day when either divine inspiration or (more likely) desperation drives me to do the wash. But it was quite chilly this morning, and I needed warmth for my journey to the mailbox. At the back of my closet was pink sweat jacket, quite an elderly one, and that would do what I needed it to do. </span></p><p><span style="color: #e06666; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I don't throw things out that are still usable, no matter how old they are. Despite a news article I saw this week that contained what I consider to be dubious advice regarding hurriedly disposing of fairly new undergarments and such, </span><span style="color: #e06666; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I must admit that I actually own a pair of socks that I bought in 1980 and still sometimes wear (yeah, I've got clothes older than you) because they are still good enough. </span></p><p><span style="color: #e06666; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">But the pink sweat jacket shows its age in an odd way: there is a tiny little pocket on the forearm of the sleeve that closes with velcro. How tiny? Three inches deep and more than two inches across. What could possibly fit? It's one of those things that you probably wouldn't know unless you already know, if you see what I mean: it's a cell phone pocket. Really. There was a time when the fad was for itsy bitsy phones--kinda showed off the forward movement of technology, you know. We had gone from massive 2-pound phone bricks to smaller and smaller cells, so it was really stylish to have the littlest one available, and even my old cheapie dollar store fleece jacket was part of that trend once upon a long-ago time.</span></p><p><span style="color: #e06666; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVxGmPzOnf5qWzpatH11GFeP87uTn4cJPMaamJrTHfip-nTluXk3ywn5DMQkbN4RtwdhnIsfZkIvv1ryy6YMj9vUHs7wW_laxbg9iUr6Xvpa4rGKb-WYb5Ud8sah33WgGj0nl6H9MrV4o/s1600/CIMG0011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="406" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVxGmPzOnf5qWzpatH11GFeP87uTn4cJPMaamJrTHfip-nTluXk3ywn5DMQkbN4RtwdhnIsfZkIvv1ryy6YMj9vUHs7wW_laxbg9iUr6Xvpa4rGKb-WYb5Ud8sah33WgGj0nl6H9MrV4o/w542-h406/CIMG0011.JPG" width="542" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><span style="color: #e06666; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Phones have gotten bigger again; flatter of course but still much bigger. I remember an online conversation I had with a posting friend (this must have taken place about the same time the jacket was new) who quite viciously poo-pooed my theory that there would be a sudden uptick in technology that would see everyone with a foldable computer in their pocket within a decade or two, and that it would instantly stream video, too. Well, I wasn't wrong, was I? Nearly anyone you care to name has access to a smart phone, and some of the latest ones can fold so that they are smaller in size. Oh, wait, do I sense another trend toward smallness? </span></p><p><span style="color: #e06666; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">It would make sense to go smaller but I don't think it's gonna happen because we just haven't got enough pockets for all of the multiple electronic bits and pieces that people deem necessary to haul around. Advances in technology are supposed to make our lives easier, aren't they? Nearly as I can tell, it just means adding to the tyranny of electronic connectedness.</span></p><p><span style="color: #e06666; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I doubt we'll see the need for tiny pockets again. Now they are just there on some ancient articles of clothing to confound the future. I don't care to go backward and I'm not a Luddite but there is something to be said for tiny pockets sometimes.</span></p><p><span style="color: #e06666; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Yeah, it's interesting getting old.</span></p><p><span style="color: #e06666; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Life is still good, though.</span></p>zydnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755467852035493353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886307412915925237.post-33991270994830945522019-11-27T11:13:00.000-06:002019-11-27T11:19:05.112-06:00Another $3 Thanksgiving<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Even though I have very little, I figure that other people are worse off than me. That's why I chose not to go to the local food bank this week. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">What do I mean when I say that I have very little? Well, this was the state of my refrigerator before I went shopping a few days ago:</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKiU2cFbKaAvlVTrMFWbgzoCqYXeyui3Dv1VDreqxmaIJ12F0Nw3VX49jbCOGs89Nu6cprOt-9wEUl-lFtwoLsViTm76waRnm3NHmGfv_gU8t2G03UJJ-21X-pYxqBfeyjqpsXHjv6jSI/s1600/CIMG3309.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKiU2cFbKaAvlVTrMFWbgzoCqYXeyui3Dv1VDreqxmaIJ12F0Nw3VX49jbCOGs89Nu6cprOt-9wEUl-lFtwoLsViTm76waRnm3NHmGfv_gU8t2G03UJJ-21X-pYxqBfeyjqpsXHjv6jSI/s640/CIMG3309.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">And this was the state of my refrigerator after I put the shopping away:</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZXpCiKVuG9Dd5s2b07JgFLWbFkm9sVSmf6aa0PmNVj5irgAjRx4tZ1Vc2erKD-yCvMlQoivPFugBbhr2CBloU5Z22OZtfqnYtYP3UQ4sc2YBa1Xb89MOy1RSk9YBWcv_QiZVi_ohFmxs/s1600/CIMG3312.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZXpCiKVuG9Dd5s2b07JgFLWbFkm9sVSmf6aa0PmNVj5irgAjRx4tZ1Vc2erKD-yCvMlQoivPFugBbhr2CBloU5Z22OZtfqnYtYP3UQ4sc2YBa1Xb89MOy1RSk9YBWcv_QiZVi_ohFmxs/s640/CIMG3312.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Kinda scary, isn't it? But I saw it as hopeful since it was sure more than I had. And I was grateful, too, that day because I was able to bake bread at my neighbor's house. My oven is broken; and if I don't have my bread, I would be very hungry indeed.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">But tomorrow is Thanksgiving. I wasn't sure what to do. I prayed and realized that I could spend $3 plus tax on food. Since canned veg was on sale at the dollar store, I did pretty well for my money. Here's $3 worth:</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAdTZtx7o6ZwBgNxXAPR_3GOQU7fkKx1IcVyyn6kNdQ72_-wVtKAc2BPNiBaq3nYrj7Jx0KXp6m06QQFLkrSi9kVUai4OUu1jSO1WrtnbPZO-lvXvzMJmdpZ7FZ9_8fzqBJgeSKmNA1xI/s1600/CIMG3314.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAdTZtx7o6ZwBgNxXAPR_3GOQU7fkKx1IcVyyn6kNdQ72_-wVtKAc2BPNiBaq3nYrj7Jx0KXp6m06QQFLkrSi9kVUai4OUu1jSO1WrtnbPZO-lvXvzMJmdpZ7FZ9_8fzqBJgeSKmNA1xI/s640/CIMG3314.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Doesn't look like much? It's a bonanza to me. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">There's not much in the chest freezer but there's a container of pumpkin I froze when I was gifted a leftover jack-o-lantern last year and there's fruit cake (which I make as often as I can because I love the stuff--the homemade kind, not the store-bought variety) and some mushroom loaf that I'd forgotten about. There's cabbage and carrots that my neighbor gave me. And there's even some frozen bananas--also from my very kind neighbor.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I've got it planned out:</span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">For breakfast: pumpkin pancakes with persimmon butter (the persimmons were a gift from another neighbor)</span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">For Thanksgiving dinner: corn pudding (<a href="https://zzydny.blogspot.com/2016/11/corn-pudding-for-thanksgiving.html" target="_blank">my mother's recipe</a>) and cranberry sauce, mushroom loaf, English peas, baked potato with"stewed" tomatoes, and squash biscuits. (Thank goodness the toaster oven still works, or I wouldn't be able to make the biscuits or the potato.) </span><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">As far as I am concerned, this is a vastly huge meal and a very rare occurence.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I should explain that my family's notion of stewed tomatoes is different than the kind that comes in a can--in this case, it's more of a thickened tomato puree topped with melted butter. I'll use only about 1/3 of the can of crushed tomatoes for this. The squash biscuits will be made using my great-grandmother Caroline's recipe (which you can find in <a href="https://zzydny.blogspot.com/2015/12/my-great-grandmother-caroline-was-born.html" target="_blank">this post</a>)--the container of frozen pumpkin will serve for both the biscuits and the breakfast pancakes.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">For supper: veggie soup (I'll use the rest of the canned tomatoes with the can of mixed veg. Although I haven't got onions, garlic, or celery, I do have onion salt, garlic powder, and celery seed; that will be Good Enough. I've got macaroni to give the soup some body. It will do for several meals.)</span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">For teatime: sliced cake and tea. </span><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Since I'm fortunate enough to have milk and eggs right now, I'll use those frozen bananas to make banana bread. (I just use the recipe from my old 1950's Betty Crocker Cookbook.) As I'll be "hotting up the oven" (as my grandmother would say), I'll also make a Bonus Cake (my recipe can be found <a href="https://zzydny.blogspot.com/2016/06/bonus-berries.html" target="_blank">here</a>). I don't have berries right now but I do have a can of peaches that I got on my last trip to the food bank. I despise peaches but somehow I don't mind them at all if they are in cake. </span><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">If there's one thing a holiday does, it's to inspire cooking! I need to use up the ingredients I have right now so baking makes sense, and it will be nice to have both thinly sliced with a mug of tea. And I'll be able to freeze some to keep for Christmas.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Finally, for Black Friday breakfast: cranberry on buttered toast. (If you've never tried this, you should!)</span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">A little bit can make a lot if we give it some thought. And I'm surely thinking.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I'll spend the day entirely alone, as always, but I'm okay with that. In my experience, it's a lot more painful to be the stray dog at someone else's table. And now that I've got the menu settled, I'm looking forward to the day.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">What I'd like to say, though, to all those who are fortunate this holiday is to remember your neighbors, your elderly relative, anyone who might have need. Perhaps you don't realize that their refrigerators look like mine or are maybe even worse. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Be sure to share. </span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Be grateful for your blessings.</span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Life is good.</span><br />
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zydnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755467852035493353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886307412915925237.post-79099127399796804212019-09-20T16:56:00.000-05:002019-10-06T18:23:20.835-05:00Climate Protests? What Are You REALLY Willing to Do?<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>Okay, so maybe I'm old and maybe you don't wanna listen to me because of that. And maybe I'm a little cranky by now because I think that sometimes people don't listen when they should. Don't whine about TL/DR, just give me a few minutes of your time and read this. Please. </b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>Certainly I'm old enough to remember all the hoopla about recycling and saving the planet since before the very first Earth Day was celebrated in 1970. And I also recall quite clearly how most people forgot about it when it no longer became fashionable to worry about the health of the planet. These things go in cycles. Like wheels, they keep turning. Loving our home here on planet Earth means absolutely nothing unless we make habits of our changes; the second we let our guard down and we get lazy, that wheels starts spinning and we're off and thoughtlessly busy about other things.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: #38761d;">When I read the buzz about all of the protests occurring this weekend, I have to admit I eye-rolled a little. (Hey, I already warned you that I'm a little cranky.) I had that reaction because I want to know </span><span style="color: #351c75;">How many of those protesters are actually living the reality of lowering their carbon footprint</span><span style="color: #38761d;">? Are they all talk or are they taking action? It's something I know a little bit about at a literally grass-roots level, and I have been making an effort for years.</span></b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>What does it take? </b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>Well, for one thing, sweat. How is the AC running in your house? I live near the Gulf Coast where it is helly hot nine months out of the year, and I have had problems with chronic heat stroke (among other quite serious health issues) so I need to be careful. But every year, I've been raising the temperature higher on the thermostat to see how far I can push this. This summer, I've hit the target; I know just what I can live with: I leave the AC off all day until after sunset. The house gets pretty hot by late afternoon: 87-90 F. But it's still cooler than outside. At night, I turn the AC on at 80 F so I can sleep. As a result, I've lowered my electric bill for the summer months by at least 50%. Yes, it's uncomfortable but I can live with that. And I'm using less power so that's good for the planet. Would you be willingly uncomfortable like this for a good cause?</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>Another thing: just how much do you drive your car? Do you do a lot of driving you don't truly need to? I live in the country outside a town. There are no stores within easy walking distance. There is no public transport of any kind. I am unable to use a bike and don't own one. So if I need to go somewhere, I have to drive. I wait until I have several errands to run. I plan my route so as to be economical with gasoline and time. For years, I've made a habit of keeping a notebook in my car to record where I've gone and why, to record gas purchases, to keep track of mileage. It's enlightening reading. I've managed to figure out how to drive less miles while making the same errands by simply taking a different route. I've learned something else, too: last year when my car was broken down for four months and I couldn't afford repairs, I discovered that I didn't really need to drive as often as I'd thought. So now I tend to drive about 4-6 times in a month. Yes, I am often at home (alone, as it happens) for as long as 10 days at a time. My total mileage for this year from January through mid-September: less than 500 miles. Could you do without driving like that?</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>What is your diet like? Do you eat meat? Do you cook? Or d</b></span><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">o you eat fast food? I haven't eaten meat in about 35 years. In my case, this was not voluntary (there's nothing to make you a vegetarian quicker than a doctor who says, "you can continue to eat meat OR you can live; you can't do both") but I'm glad to be vegetarian, and it's nice to know that it's a pretty good choice for the planet, too. Yes, I cook my own meals. I don't buy what I can make: like veggie burgers, bread, and marmalade. The food I make is healthier than the processed food that is available. I save a lot of money by not buying pre-made items, and I also greatly reduce package waste. When I have to heat up the oven to cook something, I think about what else I can make at the same time so that I don't waste the power that it takes to use the oven. Fast food is not an option, either financially or as common sense. My one exception to this is to buy French fries in December because my mother and I used to do that when Christmas shopping; it's a happy memory thing, and a once a year treat is no vice. Could you do that? Avoid fast food? Bake your own bread? Make marmalade like Paddington Bear? I do. Anyone could. But would you?</b></span></span><br />
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<b style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">What do you do about garbage? Are you throwing out stuff you could otherwise re-purpose? I've reduced the waste that I send to the landfill by about 80% over the past ten years. I buy less and I re-use things more carefully. I re-use boxes and other containers by re-making them to be used in other ways. You know those spouts that are on the sides of half-gallon cartons of milk or juice? They make brilliant spouts for use on Mason jars if you just take five minutes to adapt them for the purpose. You know the plastic lids from bulk oatmeal containers? They make the best possible bowl scrapers if you take a moment with a pair of scissors. I look at everything carefully to see whether I might be able to get some other use out of it--just for example I recently re-purposed a glass sauce bottle to replace the broken container for a hummingbird feeder; it took me all of five minutes to accomplish. Would you do this with your "garbage"?</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>Do you have the option for recycling your waste? I don't. There is no trash pick-up in my neighborhood (I rely on the kindness of a neighbor who takes my garbage with his when he goes to the landfill monthly), so there is no recycling pick-up either. However, there is a recycler in a nearby town who pays for any type of metal waste, so I save up cans and other items to take several times a year. It's hard to be consistent about this because it's so easy to just throw something in the trash but I try to remind myself that I'd rather have the pennies for the few moments that it takes to rinse and store recyclables to be sold later. Would you take the time and make the space to do that? </b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">What about your food waste? I have made a simple compost bin for the back yard, but I try to make sure that as little waste gets to it as possible because I want to use up all of the food that I can. </b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Did you know that you can make excellent bread out of any leftovers? I frequently save leftover rice or cabbage centers or soup or even vegetable peelings for this. That bread takes about ten minutes to prepare and rises overnight. It makes a wonderful healthy breakfast food and, no, it does Not taste like cabbage. We just have to remember that vegetable trimmings are still edible. There are so many things that you can do with them. </b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Seriously, what do you do with the outside leaves from cauliflower? Do you throw them away without thinking? Or do you eat them? You can eat them. You should. I do. Would you? </b></span></span><br />
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<b style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">How often do you buy items like aluminum foil and plastic wrap? Do you just tear off some plastic wrap when you need to cover food? There are other ways to keep food fresh; it's a matter of habit. Why use plastic wrap to cover over a mixing bowl, if you can plop a plate or even a pan-lid on top instead? What else do you have that you could use creatively? Sure some plastic stuff is gonna sneak into the house (margarine or whipped cream tubs and the like), are you re-using those? It's better than single-use waste. You don't really need aluminum foil to line baking trays if you'll just oil and flour-dust them properly when baking and then wash them well afterward. Does that take time? Yes, it does. Is it worth it? Yes, it is. You can save money and resources at the same time. It's win/win. But are you willing to do it? By the way, at my house, I am so careful about use that rolls of plastic wrap and aluminum foil last for at least a year or more. Could you make them last longer than that?</span></b></span><br />
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<b style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">What about paper towels? Do you really need them? In the past year, I have used a total of two rolls of paper towels. How many rolls do you use in a month? Probably more than I use in a year? You can do with less. I only get the cheap stuff that disintegrates easily but that's what I want it to do anyway--the expensive ones take forever to degrade and that's bad for the environment. Paper towels, to my way of thinking, are only for wiping up things like oily spills (it's unsafe to put items in the dryer that have had oil on them) or for cleaning up cat vomit (which I only care to deal with once and then forget about). If I want to dry my hands in the kitchen, a cotton towel works well and it can be re-washed. For napkins, I have a collection of pretty linen napkins that I purchased more than a decade ago for $1 at a yard sale, and I expect them to last another decade (hopefully I'll last that long, too). I just keep washing those napkins. Would you be willing to accept this small inconvenience? Or will you buy single-use waste?</span></b></span><br />
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<b style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Now that I've mentioned the dryer, what do you do about laundry? Do you use all the latest products that are full of nice chemical scents and that are pre-packaged so that the manufacturer decides what amount you need to use? Yeah, I don't do that. Those things are over-priced, over-processed, nasty for the environment, and mostly just not necessary even though they look and smell pretty. I buy off-brand, and I've experimented until I figured out the smallest amount that I could use to achieve cleanliness. Minimal. It works. In the days before I was vegetarian, I saved all my meat fats to make soap; it was excellent soap, much better than any I buy now, and one thing that I miss being vegetarian. Do I use my dryer despite the financial expense and the possible cost to the environment? Unfortunately, yes. Humidity here is regularly above 80%. In my experience, that can mean that if I hang sheets on the clothesline at 8 AM and leave them in overhead sunshine all day, they may very well still be damp when I bring them indoors at 4 PM. Sometimes, you've gotta make your choices by dealing with the issues at hand: I dry on the line and finish in the dryer. Common sense in the given circumstances. At least I am reducing the amount of time that drying is needed. Would you be willing to do this? Do you have a clothesline in your backyard?</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>Speaking of backyards, what is your yard like? You would undoubtedly think mine is a mess because I don't "garden" like most folks do. For years now, I have been chosen to allow my two-plus acres of land to re-wild naturally. Instead of a lush three-quarter acre lawn fronting the road, there's now a whole bunch of pines and sweet gums. As the trees grow taller, the eco-system around them changes and more species of animals have taken to living here. The more species an area can support, the healthier it is naturally. Maybe I can't save the whole planet but I can give it most of the space I've got. In the half-acre or so that I keep for myself, that is plenty enough for the house and the clothesline and a container garden. Could you do that with your land? Would you?</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Speaking of container gardens, do you try to grow your own herbs and vegetables? Even if all you have is space for one 5-gallon bucket, you could grow something. Every little bit makes a difference. My land is mostly wetland and not arable. Container planting is my wisest choice and the easiest for me because I'm not capable of heavy labor like digging. What containers do I use? Whatever I have been given: cut-down plastic barrels, leftover plant pots (again plastic), old bathtubs. (The bathtubs are my favorite--it's fun to grow peas in a tub!) But "plastic" you say! Oh my. Well, </b></span><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I wouldn't buy them myself but </b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I'm re-using items that are discarded, and that has to be okay enough. I can't always grow as much food as I'd like but I do as much work my health allows. Do you do as much as you can?</b></span></span><br />
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<b style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Of course there are many things I cannot do, things that I have no control over. My house is all-electric. That is not good and I'm aware of it but I can't move and I can't change it, so I try to be responsible as best I can. I am, admittedly, lackadaisical about taking re-usable totes to the grocery store. In my defense, let me say I plan to use those grocery bags for garbage since I refuse to buy garbage bags. Really why would I want to pay for something just so I can throw it away? Makes no sense to me. The thing that I can do is to be aware of making the best choices that are available to me.</span></b></span><br />
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<b style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">There are so many ythings that I would love to try. I wish I could do solar. But the set-up costs are very far beyond my means and the principles are beyond my simple understanding. I want to replace my big water heater but the price is also beyond me. Failing that, I wish I could put a timer on the water heater but that, as inexpensive as it might be, alas, is also unaffordable as far as I am concerned. There are even more other things I'd like to do but can't. I'd love to try doing without my washing machine but haven't got the physical strength. The important thing is that I am doing what I can every day and that I'm paying attention to what I'm doing.</span></b></span><br />
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<b style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Sometimes I also pay attention to what other folks are doing. Today I kept seeing those headlines about climate protests. I wondered how many of those protesters got to the meeting place by car. Did they carpool? Did they use public transportation? Did they walk? If you're gonna protest, how responsible are you about how you're gonna get there? It's important. Live by creating the change you want to see.</span></b></span><br />
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<b style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">So I decided to check a website today that allows you to calculate your Carbon Footprint. It asked a lot of questions, and I responded honestly. My total footprint was about 80% LESS than the average American. What is your footprint? Could you do better than you are right now? I would like to do better. There's always something more to try.</span></b></span><br />
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<b style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Zero waste is a lovely idea. Unfortunately, it is a utopian ideal that is both frustrating and impractical for most people. However, reducing your footprint in simple ways, by small actions taken day by day in a regular way, IS possible. It's very possible, it's not hard to do, and it DOES make a difference. The more people cooperate on this, the bigger difference can be made. </span></b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I'm just one disabled old lady in Mississippi but I'm committed to doing this. Can you? I bet you can do more than I could ever dream of doing. Will you? I have no doubt whatsoever that almost everyone is capable of more than I could do. But would you?</span></b></span><br />
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<b style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">It's just fine to protest about something you don't like. But it's much more important to LIVE the reality, to be willing to take the time, to be a little uncomfortable personally, to commit to doing what it takes. So, yeah, I'm a somewhat underwhelmed by noisy crowds. I'd rather see some substantive and realistic action on a daily basis. That's what will make a difference. Can you do that? Take up the challenge. </span></b><span style="color: #351c75;"><b style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Less talk. More action!</span></b><b style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></b></span></span><br />
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<b style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I still believe that life is good.</span></b></span><br />
<b style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I'm working hard to make it that way.</span></b><br />
<b style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">What are you doing to make life better for the planet? </span></b><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>zydnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755467852035493353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886307412915925237.post-3746114292703605982019-04-29T01:17:00.001-05:002019-04-29T01:36:48.238-05:00It's Not Just Stuff<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>I know. I know. I shouldn't read online comments that people make. But I do read them. Don't you? I read one today that made me really cross. </b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>The poster said quite blithely that you could and should judge people on their possessions--that if a person cared about having things then they could not be trusted to care about people. </b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>I shouted at the computer sceen: So unfair! Not true! I love people but I also enjoy having some things. </b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>This is an issue that I've been faced with more than ever during this difficult past year when I've had so little money that I've gone weeks without toilet paper. It has been a time when meals were very thin indeed; sometimes I have been hungry. And the few people who have spoken with me have asked me why I didn't sell this thing or that thing. </b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>I believe that they meant kindly but they didn't understand: the things that they said I should sell have little monetary value but their presence in my home makes me feel comforted, makes me feel as though somehow at least one little piece of my world isn't in the center of the maelstrom that is my life. Yes, I could sell that pretty plate from my dining room for $2 but the cost to my peace of mind would be much higher. </b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>It isn't a matter of greed. It's a matter of continuity and of visual confirmation that things are okay, that things will continue to be okay, that somehow there is still hope. </b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>When I was a kid, we moved a lot. A lot. My mother would give me a small box and tell me that I could take only what I could fit into it and nothing more; everything else would be left for the trash man. It was often heartbreaking, and thus I could never allow myself to fall in love with dolls or really enjoy a toy because I knew I might not be able to keep it forever. Perhaps I still live in fear of the existential pressure of that small box. </b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>As a young adult on my own, I still moved house often. Before I ever unpacked the necessities, I went right to decorating. I hung curtains, put pillows on the sofa, and placed a picture or two on the walls. Only then did I bother with cleaning the bathroom and putting the kitchen to rights--those things just didn't matter as much as setting my heart at rest. If some space in the house was pretty and pleasing, I didn't mind living almost anywhere. I still feel that way. </b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>Things can give a sense of belonging. And sometimes they fulfill a sense of simple longing.</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>A few years ago when I was preparing for a yard sale, a family member noticed my collection of hair barrettes; she said I was too old for kidstuff and that I didn't need those things and that I should sell them to someone who could use and enjoy them. I gulped. I held my breath. I emptied the drawer of barrettes. I sold them. And later when I was alone, I cried. The one who had really needed those barrettes was me, even if I didn't wear them.</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>Without consciously realizing that I was doing so, little by little I re-filled that dresser drawer with pretty hair jewelry--barrettes and hair sticks and scrunchies. Dollar store stuff, nothing fancy, certainly nothing that cost more than a dollar or two. But it was shiny and pretty and satisfying. Why do I need it? Ever since I can remember I was told that I was ugly, that my sister was the pretty one. And I remember that no one would brush my hair even when I was little--I desperately wished for that; it seemed like the greatest sort of caring. Now I'm an old lady, and I still sometimes wish someone would brush my hair.</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>I'd rather not believe that my family was unkind, and I do know that they were busy dealing with troubles of their own. Things happen, and we have to move on. I can't go back to being a little kid but I can soothe the child in me with a barrette every now and then. I don't have to wear them; I just like imagining. And, yes, sometimes I give them away to real children because they need to feel pretty as well.</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>There are other things I keep. One of the important things is a feathered owl mask hidden in the bottom of my dresser drawer. No one else knows it's there but I do and I know why. </b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>Women of a certain age might remember a long ago fantasy TV show; there was an episode that took place at a fanciful costume ball where two characters wore feathered owl masks. I watched that romantic show with more than a little longing. </b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>Only in my mid-20's I had become incurably disabled and I was housebound. Realistically I knew that I would never go to a costume ball or even on a normal date; I knew that my life was doomed to disappointment in the future and there was nothing I could do to change that. But I could still dream; and when I found a feathered owl mask at a flea market, I paid the dollar for it without thinking twice. The mask was enough. It was my deep and unfulfilled wish but it was also a dream I could hold in my hands anyway. More than that, it was my secret defiance against everything that kept me chained and unable to fight otherwise.</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>The dresser that holds my barrettes and hides my owl mask is another important thing. It originally belonged to my grandmother. Granny was a tall skinny woman who had to wring from life what little it would give her. She was never pretty, never had a chance to be. That's what my mother remembered about her mother-in-law, and she often wondered why on earth Granny had chosen to buy the gently feminine dresser that didn't suit her; after all, Mother said tartly, Granny was so tall that she had to bend over to see her face in the mirror. </b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>I know why Granny chose that dresser. She needed it just the way I do. Maybe she wanted more than life gave her. Maybe that dresser was her fist raised in defiance of those who couldn't see that her as anything other than an old hardscrabble immigrant farmer's wife. But Granny could dream. Her dresser is proof. Those small secret symbols make the hard corners of life less sharp, more easy to bear. It doesn't change reality at all but it invites a dream and encourages a hopeful smile. Granny's dresser reminds me that I should dream, too, despite knowing that dreams don't truly come true; it's healing to wish and to ponder.</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>Sometimes things aren't just things. They are symbols. They quietly remind us to endure, to have courage, to keep the faith, to keep going, to reach out in hope. </b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>In this past terrible year and a half, I have had no money at all--not for necessities and certainly not for niceties. I've held on hard and gritted my teeth while I felt like grim death. I have done absolutely nothing for myself beyond survival, and sometimes little enough of that. I reached a point where I had no hope and where I couldn't allow my self to wish. It hurt too much. Recently I realized that this was wrong. No matter how poor I am, too much of doing without joyful things is wrong. </b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>I became aware of this when I saw a barrette on the main page on eBay. It was a China cheapie--a shiny rhinestone snowflake, and it was on auction for a ridiculously low price. The auction was ending within seconds. On a whim, I bid. And I won the pretty barrette for seven cents. Seven cents. It felt like seven hundred dollars. The good it did me was worth much more. </b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>Oh, how I enjoyed waiting and watching for that snowflake barrette to come in the mail. It was something to look forward to and that was so important because I had had nothing to anticipate for such a long time. When it arrived, I was stunned at how pretty it was. The barrette stayed on my worktable for a long time just so I could look at it every day to admire (to be honest, it's still there glittering under the light). And little by little, I've been recovering the drive to keep fighting.</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>So that's why I was upset by reading that thoughtless online comment. We have no right to judge others, and we certainly should have nothing to say about what other people choose to own. Sometimes they actually need the seemingly unimportant things they hold. In truth, we can only understand others by listening to their stories and by watching what they do. That's something we should all afford to do, and it's something we should make time for. </b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>Sometimes someone's stuff is the essence of their courage and the basis for their hope. No one should shame them for it.</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>Life is good.</b></span><br />
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zydnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755467852035493353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886307412915925237.post-34852712423620512332018-12-09T11:51:00.001-06:002018-12-09T11:51:27.163-06:00The $10 Dilemma<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>Recently I ended up in a place where nobody wants to be: the ER.</b></i></span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>Now I tend to avoid medical personnel as often as possible because I'm tired of having to explain my health issues to doctors who just don't get it. But that was neither here nor there last Sunday night because I could not breathe. Really couldn't. I'm accustomed to dealing with asthma but this time I couldn't get it under control. After hours of struggle, I decided that I needed help. And I'm not a person who is likely to ask for help unless the situation is dire.</b></i></span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>So at nearly 11 PM, I drove myself to the hospital because there was no one to take me. I won't trouble you with the stories about how the warning light on my car was saying that it was nearly out of gas or about how I'm night-blind and couldn't find the entrance to the parking lot. </b></i></span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>Maybe I also shouldn't talk about how the nice folks at the ER ignored the fact that I couldn't breathe and instead tested me for other things while they left me sitting around for four hours waiting while they ran the tests again because they were freaked out by the results. On the ailment they were testing me for, a score of zero is normal and four is dangerous. My level was at fifteen.</b></i></span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>So the doctor was fussing at me. Didn't I know I needed medication? Yes. Why wasn't I taking it? No money. That was no excuse, he said. I sighed. Later he came back to my room with the wonderful news that I could get my scrip filled for just $10 at Wal-Mart. He was so pleased with himself for coming up with that idea that he looked like he had pulled a rabbit out of a hat.</b></i></span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>What could I do? Explanation was futile. This guy obviously had no idea that $10 is a LOT of money, so I thanked him and promised faithfully to take my medicine. I meant it. After all, I'm no fool; I know those test results are dangerous.</b></i></span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>(By the way, they never did treat my asthma.)</b></i></span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>Wal-Mart is pretty much my idea of Hades. Or maybe just the Temple of Mammon. I refuse to go there unless it is a last resort (like when my printer runs out of ink). But I dragged myself over there to fill my prescription. </b></i></span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>There was no line at the pharmacy counter but I still had to wait and wait and wait. Since my bones were aching per usual, I decided to take a seat on the sole waiting bench next to an elderly woman with a very full shopping basket and she started chatting the way that folks here in the South do and that I generally enjoy. She told me that she had to get presents for her various neighbors but she said waspishly that she wasn't willing to spend more than $10, and she wondered if they might want the candles on a nearby display. Her tone made it clear that she didn't much like her neighbors.</b></i></span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>I didn't think the candles were worth $10 but didn't like to say so. Instead I said that a present like that would brighten the day and warm the heart for her neighbors, and that it was very kind of her to think of them. It's better to say something nice, isn't it? But, to tell the truth, I was tearing up because I was thinking, "oh my, what I could do with $10!" because there won't be any Christmas at my house this year and I already know it. I really wish I could give presents to my kind neighbors but I have nothing to share.</b></i></span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>Then the lady pointed out a large bakery container of Christmas cookies on the bottom rack of her shopping cart--also $10 (surprising how that amount kept repeating itself). She told me that she had dropped them and that the cookies had spilled on the floor. She had shoved them back in the box. They didn't look broken, she said, so she was just going to put them back on the bakery shelf. "That would be okay, wouldn't it?" she asked me, because she would just get another one. </b></i></span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Why? Why would anyone do such a thing? Would you want to buy food that had fallen on a filthy high-traffic floor? But I didn't say that. I suggested that she turn the container in to the bakery clerk and explain that it had been opened. Presumably my horror showed on my face because she decided to resume shopping after that instead of talking with me. </i></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>By then I was actually crying. Why do people think it's okay for someone else to have to accept something they wouldn't touch themselves? I don't understand it--it's like the long-expired food that turns up in food donations. If you won't eat, why give it to someone in need? Are they less human than you are? Yes, I have eaten expired food this difficult year. I didn't want to but it was what I was given and it was all I had. I have sometimes been so very hungry.</i></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>While I waited on the bench, other people sat down, one after the other, and complained about spending money for the holidays. I responded as pleasantly as I could, although I really had nothing to say on the subject, and I certainly didn't want to admit that because I was spending $10 on a prescription, I would be doing without toilet paper and several other necessary items this week. </i></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Once more, I am reminded that I don't live like other folks. Maybe my values are way out of whack, I guess, at least the way this world looks at it. I'd rather be kind whenever I can. It costs nothing and it can do a lot of good. I'd rather be honest when making mistakes, especially if someone else might be harmed. I'd rather keep trying to look for hope in the holidays, even if there's none there for myself. </i></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Life is good.</i></b></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>And we can make it better.</i></b></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>I decline to give up.</i></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span>zydnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755467852035493353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886307412915925237.post-25921972170998978172018-11-27T13:04:00.000-06:002018-11-27T13:04:05.787-06:00Hearing and Listening<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>"It was a raccoon," my neighbor said with certainty.</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>I tried again to tell her the facts of what I knew, "But....."</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>"No buts. It was a raccoon, and I am sure of it." And then she began to detail her experiences with raccoons.</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>I nodded politely and agreed that no doubt she knew best because I was taught (and quite correctly, too) to respect my elders. But, you know what? She didn't know. She didn't know, and she surely didn't know best because she hadn't heard all the facts. </b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>We're all like that sometimes, aren't we? We theorize ahead of the information and we shoot from the hip believing that we know best. What we should be doing is listening and not merely believing that we've heard it all. I am as guilty of that as anyone else. It's a lazy habit, and I believe that it's a result of the way we receive pre-digested news bites and potted previews of information. We learn little or nothing and wrongly suppose that we have heard it all.</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>It's good to reflect on that so I can try to improve myself. But the fact of the matter is that it doesn't address the mystery that I was trying to discuss with my neighbor. I assure you that the answer is Not "raccoon."</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>I first noticed the signs of the mystery last week when I was looking outside my bedroom window at my bottle tree. I've mentioned my bottle trees (a Mississippi tradition that I love) here before several times, most notably when someone marauded one of my bottle trees and stole antique bottles from it. (You can read about that in <a href="https://zzydny.blogspot.com/2016/12/the-haints-are-gonna-getcha.html" target="_blank">this post</a>.) This time, a bright blue antique bottle lay at the base of the tree.</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4RNX2A7AoFpNX6Tyr2L1e6oEEpLQfNjSwkYp0BNQSWfUMPo4Yho61A6pdm6KA9r5aOU2VX33f5G7rLjinV1pUArO8b-j5I6it7E90Xqu5_gP5DVQ5mo-7U-rsrGVmYRnmPJglpoPC5KM/s1600/side+bottle+tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4RNX2A7AoFpNX6Tyr2L1e6oEEpLQfNjSwkYp0BNQSWfUMPo4Yho61A6pdm6KA9r5aOU2VX33f5G7rLjinV1pUArO8b-j5I6it7E90Xqu5_gP5DVQ5mo-7U-rsrGVmYRnmPJglpoPC5KM/s640/side+bottle+tree.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>I refuse to believe that a raccoon is the culprit. Why? The most notable reason is that a different bottle had been substituted for another one that was missing. It's clear glass when all my bottles were color. It's a bottle I've not seen before. I have no idea where it came from. And that is just creepy. </b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>A raccoon seems highly unlikely to bother to (or to be able to) reach four feet up to slip a bottle down onto a 4-inch long twig to say thank you for the bottle it has stolen.</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>The bottle tree that is at the bedroom side of my house is not easily visible from the driveway and it is obscured by shrubs and the like. You have to know it is there before you notice it. </b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>I should also say that my driveway is about 600 feet long and there is a heavy treeline that obscures my house and most of my yard from the road. And you pretty much have to know that there's a house here before you notice it as well. My two-acre property is a quiet and secluded place. I am very alone here. That's why the next thing that happened startled me enough to try to talk to the neighbor.</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>My half-grown kittens Frank and Dolly are unaccustomed to seeing any person but me. If someone else comes by, they dash away to hide silently. They only do this when they see a human being. That's why I knew what had scared them in the middle of the night when they were sitting on the sill of the window that looks out onto the bottle tree. There was a sudden thump as they jumped down and then complete silence. They never leave me in the middle of the night like that. There had to be someone outside.</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>I kept as quiet as the cats were doing, and I didn't want to look out the window to betray my presence. I listened, and heard nothing. But it occurred to me that I didn't even hear the night birds and the frogs that are usually quite noisy here. All was silent. </b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Since then I've noticed a couple of things shifted around in my yard--like the big plastic chairs that are in front of my workshop. They have been moved a few feet away from where they have been for some years. And this happened several days after the strange bottle turned up on my tree. Someone has been here.</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>There's no concrete proof that I can offer that anyone else would understand. No one notices the little details here but me because almost no one is ever here but me. During this past month, I've seen only three people.....and now I'm trying to figure out one mystery.</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>I'm watching carefully. I'm listening cautiously. But I wish I had been heard when I was trying to tell my tale. And I hope that my mystery visitor never returns.</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Life is good.</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Be vigilant, and stay safe.</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>zydnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755467852035493353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886307412915925237.post-3178083614288014002018-11-23T12:50:00.000-06:002018-11-23T12:50:56.479-06:00The $3 Thanksgiving<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>This has been one whale of a tough year. Still is tough, to be honest, but I'm trying to overcome. </b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>And here come the holidays, oh my. I no longer wish to be asked to join anyone's celebrations because those just make me feel even more isolated than I already am. Crowds make me confused and uncomfortable even on a normal day. So I don't mind being on my own. Truly. And I really like choosing my own odd little "borrowed" holidays (like Tanbata when I borrow a stalk of bamboo from my neighbor's yard and I light sparklers after dark).</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>But this year, I have not celebrated any day at all (not even my own birthday) because I could not. There was nothing. Nothing at all. Nothing to celebrate with. And I was desperately sad. But I was also often just plain hungry.</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>It was all too hard, too shaming, too much of too little until I just sort of collapsed in the middle for awhile. I have found it very hard to recover my bounce. </b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>This month, I vowed to change when Guy Fawkes Day (another one of my borrows) came around. Sometimes we have to change our own minds while we change our circumstances.</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>I splashed out $1.35 (yes, I went without something else to do so--no laundry soap now at my house) at the dollar store for oatmeal to make parkin (a chewy, oaty sort of gingerbread, traditional in some parts of the UK for Guy Fawkes). But I could not afford the syrup the recipe requires. Instead, I used persimmon butter that I had made when neighbors gifted me with a bag of fruit. It was lovely parkin, and I enjoyed it. That the only celebration I had but at least it was an act of defiance in the name of hope.</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Then I had Thanksgiving staring me down. </b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>What to do? My pantry is still quite bare, and even the local food bank could not be of assistance. In fact, when I went there last month I received a notice that they were low on food and that I could not expect help again for more than six weeks. They had little enough to give me that day: six cans of veggies, two loaves of out-dated bread, and a jar of peanut butter. </b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>They also had a huge bunch of fresh collard greens that were loaded with cabbage worms. The worker apologized profusely and said I didn't have to take it but I told her that I was grateful, that bugs were natural, that I could cope. And I did cope (despite some screaming and squealing as I cleaned the leaves) because I was too honest-to-God hungry to say no. I made a dozen servings of collards to freeze, and am enjoying them while sternly refusing to recall the worms. You might be surprised to know how desperately you wish for anything green to eat when you have had to do without.</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>So, Thanksgiving.....I've been lucky enough to be able to spend about $5 on food every week this month so I had a tiny bit of this and a little bit of that: a couple of onions, two very small potatoes, eggs, and home-made frozen leftovers. I made a plan based on that bounty, and then I went to the dollar store to spend $3 on the rest: a sale-priced can of creamed corn for 33 cents, a can of jellied cranberry for $1, and (my big splash-out expense) $1.50 on sale-priced cream cheese. </b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Was my supper any good? </b></span><br />
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Yes, of course! And part of what made it good was the effort of planning to make something out of very little.</b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Celery with cream cheese</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Salt-roasted potatoes</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Boiled onion with cream cheese sauce</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Dressing with cucumber (like stuffing but vegetarian)</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Corn pudding</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Cranberry sauce</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Persimmon hand pies</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>.....and the inevitable mug of tea</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>A week or so ago, I had made half a dozen small casseroles of cucumber dressing when I found a bag of clearance sale cucumbers for $1 at the grocery and I used one of the loaves of bread from the food bank to put it together with. It would have been better with some cheese but there was no money for a big purchase like cheese (believe me, anything that costs $2 is a big purchase). I've also got quite a few stuffed cucumbers in the freezer--yes, you can cook those things. Our ancestors certainly did.</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>The persimmon hand pies were made from the fruit that my neighbor gifted me. I'm still trying to use up the last of those persimmons! And I'm not complaining--I'm grateful. </b></span><br />
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>There really was such bounty from small things!</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>What I did not expect was that a friend from a local church would show up on Thanksgiving morning with a bag of food. More bounty: canned corn and beets and aparagus (oh my!) and water chestnuts (yes!) and olives. Rice, beans, a box of pasta (all of which I had been out of). A jar of pickles. She said that it was all she could find from donations at the church. I don't know if she understood how touched I was or how much this means or that I truly was filled with gratitude. </b></span><br />
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Yes, I cried. And I began to think ahead to Christmas supper. I suspect that I'll be saving the asparagus and the water chestnuts for that. Maybe the pickles and olives, too. I'll work hard to imagine something special.</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>It's nice to have something to look forward to. I could not have gotten this far without the kindnessof friends and neighbors.</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Life is good. </b></span><br />
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>We have to remember to live in hope.</b></span><br />
<br />zydnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755467852035493353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886307412915925237.post-46711248090013328612018-09-13T16:37:00.002-05:002018-09-13T16:37:26.107-05:00Going North in the South Bound Lane<br />
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<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I was on my way home today from running some errands when I saw something horrifying: an elderly man driving a car headed up the off ramp of the Interstate. He was trying to head North on the Southbound lanes. Cars coming off the ramp stopped and beeped and tried to caution him. Cars headed East and West on the cross road stopped and beeped--I was one of those. Even a school bus stopped. There must have been 15 vehicles trying to get his attention but to no avail. Very scary.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">But for me the thing that seemed even scarier was the response that I got trying to communicate with the 911 operators. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The local operator wouldn't send the city police (the most immediate choice) or the county sheriff (the next nearest) because the problem was with the Interstate (even though the car was on the part of the road running through town). No, she had to transfer me to Highway Patrol, and heaven only knows how far away their cars might be.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br data-mce-bogus="1" style="box-sizing: border-box;" /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I could not make the HP operator understand that I was NOT on the Interstate; I was on the the crossover bridge headed East. But she kept asking me for the nearest Interstate mile marker. How would I know? I told her the exit number and the name of the town. </span><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">She wanted me to describe the car's make and model; I hadn't been that close and I only saw the color. </span><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> She said they would try to look into it. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I had done </span><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">the the best I could do; at least I tried. But it was s</span><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">o frustrating! I prayed for the safety of that elderly man and for those in traffic around him. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br data-mce-bogus="1" style="box-sizing: border-box;" /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It was when I got home that I remembered that this was the second time in the past month or so that I had had to report a traffic situation to 911, and I had gotten a lackadaisical response the previous time, too. I realize that these folks are in a high stress profession but it shouldn't be this hard to report something hazardous.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br data-mce-bogus="1" style="box-sizing: border-box;" /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The previous time I called was about a woman whose car was stalled at a traffic light intersection on a State highway. It's a really busy road, and traffic was backing up for at least a quarter mile in either direction. Again, I was on the cross road, so I went about my business at the Post Office and assumed that someone would give her a hand--this is the South, after all; there's usually some Good Old Boy who would be willing, at the very least, to push the car to the verge. But nearly ten minutes later when I left the PO, she was still stuck at the light, so I called 911.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br data-mce-bogus="1" style="box-sizing: border-box;" /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I explained the situation but the operator couldn't figure out which agency to call because that stop light is right on the city/county limits. She had to dither awhile trying to decide whether to route my call to the police or the sheriff. And she made me explain three different times which side of the stoplight the woman's car was on so she could decide who she should send out. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br data-mce-bogus="1" style="box-sizing: border-box;" /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Seriously, how hard is it to get help before something goes wrong? One difficulty in communication is something that can happen to anyone. Two times in a row seems like the beginning of a pattern of incompetence when it comes to deciding the matter of jurisdiction. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I am really not impressed. Not at all. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Life is still good.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">.....but sometimes I think it could be better.</span></div>
zydnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755467852035493353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886307412915925237.post-43564775331083421592018-08-06T13:59:00.000-05:002018-08-06T13:59:46.016-05:00The Hunger Next Door<span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>I haven't been posting much this year but, honestly, I've been dealing with some tough stuff and it isn't made any easier by the fact that I deal with health issues and with PTSD every day. It's important to me to stay positive but it was reaching the point where I didn't have anything good to say, so I simply had to hush.</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>In the past year or so, I've written a few "guest" (in other words, unpaid) editorials for the local news rag and they wanted more free work from me. But when I offered an article as long as it would be published anonymously, they refused. I can understand that. But I also couldn't put my name to the story because local folks know me, and I didn't want to deal with the shame and any attention my situation might get me. </i></span><br />
<span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>So, it has taken me awhile to decide to toughen up and share my little editorial here on my blog. Undoubtedly my few intrepid loyal readers have probably all decamped by now but if this story reaches only one person who can reach out to one other person in need, then that will be enough. Good Enough. The way it should be.</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: #6aa84f;">I'm not asking for anything for myself. Just look out for your family, friends, neighbors, local folks. </span><span style="color: #6aa84f;">Share with others in any way that you are able. </span><span style="color: #6aa84f;">It's all good.</span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Here's what I wrote that the local newspaper wouldn't publish without my name attached:</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>The Hunger Next Door</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>This is tough to admit: I have been going hungry.</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>I don't mean "hangry" like those silly TV ads. I mean hungry, as in often doing without enough food due to poverty.</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>It has only been through the help of a few thoughtful and observant friends that I have endured this difficult year.</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Most people are unaware of my struggle. Certainly when I went to church recently, no one would have realized that I was actually truly very hungry when I laughed off my growling stomach as merely the need for an early lunch. I didn't look any different from anyone else but then you don't expect a sign to appear over a person's head that says, "Please, help me, I'm hungry." </b></span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>There was a notice in the Sunday bulletin that the church was asking for donations for the poor but I was too uncomfortable to admit to being one of them. And I was ashamed that I had nothing to give.</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>It isn't just me. There are hungry people all around but we may be so busy about our own lives and so unaware of what it is like to go hungry ourselves that we may not notice them. And those who are hungry may be unlikely to tell you because it is an embarrassing thing to have to admit.</b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>The painful fact is that hungry people may be right next door or maybe even in the pew beside you at church. </b></span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>How do we recognize those in hidden need? Take time to listen to your friends and to your neighbors, to the relative that no one really likes, to the old man down the street who doesn't get visitors, to the student who always seems tired. When you open your heart, you may hear the true need: that person may be hungry.</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>It doesn't take much to help; just share that extra can of tomato soup from your pantry or give away the bountiful squash from your garden. There is so much encouragement shared when the gift is given with a kind heart and only a quiet comment. </b></span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Life is good. It's up to each of us to make it better.</b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>:</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>
<br />zydnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755467852035493353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886307412915925237.post-62843907619040638412018-05-17T12:29:00.002-05:002018-05-17T12:30:34.255-05:00When Waste Is Not An Option<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><strong>Normally, I'm cautious. Lately, I have had to be stringently vigilant. Waste has not been an option at my house this year. The old adage that my folks taught me when I was a kid has never been truer or more important than recently:</strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><em><strong>Use it up</strong></em></span></div>
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><em><strong>Wear it out</strong></em></span></div>
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><em><strong>Make it do</strong></em></span></div>
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><em><strong>Do without</strong></em></span></div>
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong>Perhaps I'd make a cross stich Sampler of those words if they hadn't already been embroidered on my heart. </strong></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong></strong></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong>Last night's supper was surely about using things up and making things do. I was "protein hungry" (something that other serious vegetarians may understand but that carnivores are unlikely ever to know), and I became aware that I really needed a bit of extra nutrition. The food that I have on hand is limited and choices are few because there hasn't been any money at all for replacing pantry niceties, much less necessities. All told, I've had a grand total of about$80 to spend on groceries in the past four months; everything else I've had has come from food donations. To say that things haven't been easy would be an understatement.</strong></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong></strong></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong>But to return to the story of my supper: I was rescued by a simple decision I made a month ago when I was preparing lentil burgers to freeze: I saved the leftover bean broth from when I strained the lentils to puree. Truthfully, the broth was the result of a careless mistake: I'd simply added too much liquid to the cooking beans but that cooking water from those beans just seemed too good to throw away. I admit that I very likely might have been careless about such a matter in the past--it's far too easy to discard things (especially the results of mistakes) without thinking, isn't it? I suspect that this is a bad habit that will only be broken by the painful knowledge of necessity; at least that has proven to be true in my own case.</strong></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong></strong></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong>Now I didn't know at the time how it would work out when I froze that bean broth but I figured it might be put to use in cooking rice. Last night I had the chance to try it out, and it worked brilliantly. I melted the frozen bean broth in the microwave and put it in the cooker along with the rice with enough additional water to account for the heavier starchy element in the broth. The extra water was a good decision because it turned out that it really was needed--any less would have made for chewy undercooked rice. As it was, the rice cooked just right but only barely so.</strong></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong></strong></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong>The rice was a lovely brown color and it had a rich, almost nutty, flavor. It was so good! And it served to quell that "protein hungry" feeling that had been nagging all afternoon. (As I've mentioned in a previous post, rice + beans = complete protein; </strong><a href="http://zzydny.blogspot.com/2016/02/protein-combining.html" target="_blank"><strong>protein combining</strong></a><strong> is a sensible way to approach meals as a vegetarian.) I'm happy to think that there is leftover rice in the fridge for a meal today. </strong></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong></strong></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong>Good stuff. Very good stuff that might otherwise have been thrown out. That makes me happy, too. It doesn't take much care to keep instead of dispose. But it does require thinking ahead, and it requires a willingness to experiment a bit in the kitchen.</strong></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong></strong></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong>One thing I've been keeping in mind in recent days is what a cook would have done during World War One when food supplies were scarce and no one could afford waste. This WW1 notion came to me when I had to deal with two dozen donated large oranges that had to be used up right away but I had no pectin for making marmalade. I had no way to go to the store and no money to buy pectin even if I could go and there was no means to refrigerate the fruit--thank goodness I had sugar on hand. That's when I recalled an original WW1 era canning cookbook I was given many years ago. Cooks back then made do without pectin. If they could cook successfully using old-fashioned methods, I was sure that I should be able to do so, too, and I got busy cooking.</strong></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong></strong></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong>The marmalade madness that ensued was an interesting experience that required three days start to finish. The resulting marmalade is such as I'd never tasted or made before (it's rather more like a heavy jam and the flavor is very tart) but which I am greatly enjoying and will continue to enjoy for months to come. I subsequently made another batch of WW1 marmalade later when I was given lemons and limes, and I will surely be glad to make WW1 marmalade again and again and again in the future. It's very worthwhile. It takes only a small amount of effort, and it does not require as much active work time as it sounds like (although it does take place over a matter of days).</strong></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong></strong></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong>What can we do when there is only a little? What can we do when nothing can be wasted? How can we cope when we can't always choose what we want? In our modern lives, we have all gotten well and truly lazy; that's something I find that I can no longer afford. Not every experiment is as successful as my bean broth rice or my WW1 marmalade but that's okay; it's all about learning something new. At the end of the day, I've come to see that working in the kitchen isn't about recipes so much as it is about cooking methods. <span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">I'm glad for those life lessons, and I'm truly grateful for the food on my table. </span></strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong>Wisdom cannot be given; it must be gathered.</strong></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong>Life is good.</strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"></span><br />zydnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755467852035493353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886307412915925237.post-55299642032599751302018-05-16T11:03:00.001-05:002018-05-16T11:03:26.425-05:00Say Not.....<strong><em><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Somehow I have managed to ignore my writing for this endless springtime. It's not a "oh-I-should-have" kind of thing; it was more that I was staying in fallow ground. </span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">This has been a time of changes and endurance. My car and refrigerator problems lasted rather longer than I could have anticipated, and it was only a few weeks ago that both were resolved through the help of a family member and of friends who spent both money and time willingly and generously. For my part, I could only pray and wait. I was, quite honestly, too afraid to hope for better days. Good stuff can seem uncommonly frightening sometimes.</span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">I have learned new things out of sheer necessity--like how to candy citrus peel and how to make quite good oven-baked homemade corn chips. </span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Should I share my most recent recipes with you? Alas, I am not sure I should. You may thank those people who have pirated from my blog in the past. They are, incidentally, part of the reason for my recent reluctance to write. Life has stolen quite enough from me already, and so it seems even more unfair for internet thieves to take what little remains. (Yes, I DO check my blog traffic so I have noticed what has happened--it was an unpleasant surprise to find my work elsewhere.) The things that I have left are my thoughts, my creativity, my words. It would be nice if those could be credited when shared.</span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Should I come back and continue writing? Well, I have enjoyed it so I likely will since there are those who read and listen and who are honest.</span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">In the meantime, this is what was on my mind this morning: a short poem by the Victorian English writer Arthur Hugh Clough who knew rather a good deal about dealing with adversity and endurance, about what it means to question and to believe anyway.</span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Say not the struggle nought availeth,</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">The labor and the wounds are can,</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">The enemy faints not, nor faileth, </span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">And as things have been they remain.</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></strong> </div>
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<strong><span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">It may be, in yon smoke concealed,</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers,</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">And, but for you, possess the field.</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></strong> </div>
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<strong><span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">For while the tired waves, vainly breaking</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Seem here no painful inch to gain,</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Far back through creeks and inlets making, </span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #674ea7;">Comes silent, flooding in, the main.</span></span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: #674ea7;">And not by Eastern windows only,</span></div>
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<span style="color: #674ea7;">When daylight comes, comes in the light,</span></div>
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<span style="color: #674ea7;">In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly,</span></div>
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<span style="color: #674ea7;">But, westward, look, the land is bright.</span></div>
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<em>Life is good. Still. Always.</em><br />
<em>It is all in how we see it. Sometimes that seeing is an effort of will and an act of faith.</em><br />
<em><br /></em> </span> </strong>zydnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755467852035493353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886307412915925237.post-13574391922641101632018-01-05T10:40:00.001-06:002018-01-05T10:41:36.503-06:00Hermitage<br />
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><strong><em>My mother used to say that sometimes we are set aside in life so that we may have the opportunity for reflection. But it still confounded her that it seemed that I had been set aside by life at all times. Honestly, it sometimes confounds me, too; and especially so lately when I have been confronted greatly by the need to endure.</em></strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong><em>The end of 2017 was uncommonly difficult. My dear old cat Daisy went home to heaven on December 19. My car broke down on December 23. And my refrigerator quit working on December 28.</em></strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong><em>In the meanwhile I have been clustered round with stray and throwaway kitties that I cannot afford to feed but really must. I'd only meant to fed Cleo and Byron. But now there's Moonpie and another I've only seen from the back.</em></strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong><em>Life is full of trials and testing. Perhaps it all wouldn't matter so much if there was money but of money I have none. The car remains where I parked it two weeks ago. There is simply nothing I can do about it. The refrigerator stands unplugged and unrepairable. I want to replace it with a dorm fridge but can't, although I found one on Craigslist for only a dollar.....after all, I can't buy what I can't travel to collect. Oh my. Oh well. The only direction is forward.</em></strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong><em>And the weather has been cold. So cold! For a person with circulatory problems, the pain for hands and feet is horrid. In a house set on a concrete slab with no insulation in the walls and the heat set on 60, you can just imagine how deeply chilling it can be.....but really I hope you can't. It's not pleasant.</em></strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong><em>The interesting matter in all of these trials is that of solitude.</em></strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong><em>On December 29, I had to ask my good neighbor to carry me to the dollar store to buy cat kibble and toilet paper. It was nice to visit with him and with the cashier who is friendly to me. I have not seen any other person since. Not one. There's a friend who contacts me daily by text or by cell (we each check to see that the other is alive and kicking) but that's my only contact with the world (not accounting for the web, of course).</em></strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong><em>I am so grateful now when I think of all the time I have been sidelined by illness and other difficulties, when I remember the two years that I had to live in a bubble environment, when I consider how I was always expected as a child to remain quiet and alone in my room. </em></strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong><em>Experience prepares us for things. My experience has been in learning solitude. I can imagine other things I might have preferred to have been ready for but this will do; this will do just fine. </em></strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong><em>It's not hard being on my own. I don't mind time in hermitage. The world is still an interesting place. There are movies and TV shows online. There are books to read. There is much to do. And there is so much to plan for. </em></strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong><em>I believe with all my heart that there is goodness to come. Somehow. It will take work. I will pray for strength and I will keep moving forward, one step at a time.</em></strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong><em>Believe it or not, life is good.</em></strong></span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong><em>Being set aside is not such a bad thing after all.</em></strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"></span><br />zydnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755467852035493353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886307412915925237.post-18949536683925304622018-01-04T09:19:00.001-06:002018-01-04T09:19:06.344-06:00Reaching for Light<br />
<strong><em><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">It's winter. It's the sort of winter weather we don't often get a lot of in my little corner of South Mississippi. In fact, I've seen perhaps five winters like this in the three decades I've lived on this little plot of ground.</span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Cold. Strings of days with highs not reaching 40 degrees. Long nights of hard freezes with temperatures in the teens and 20's. </span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Now that might not sound like much if you're accustomed to it, but I'm not and I can't cope with cold anyway. I shut down in many ways and I hunker down in the warmest space I can find. It's hard to find a way to fight back against it.</span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></em></strong><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"><strong><em>One of the things that has been worrying me during the past weeks of cold is cats. </em></strong></span><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"><strong><em>I've been caring for two strays. </em></strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"><strong><em>Byron (who was likely born feral) appears to be a Himalayan mix with lynx point markings; he's lame on a rear paw and fiercely independent. </em></strong><strong><em>I agreed to care for Byron so that he would stop being a bother to my good neighbors but I wasn't too happy when Byron brought me his girlfriend. </em></strong><strong><em>Cleo is a gray-brown tabby who seems to be a throwaway. She obviously hasn't been treated kindly by others because she is fearful that hands are for hitting and because there is a BB pellet lodged near her little ribs.</em></strong></span><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Cleo, it turns out, is a cat of character. She has stayed determinedly near me during difficult times this winter, and I've appreciated her empathetic presence. Despite the cold, she won't agree to come in the house, so I've made a pallet for her on the porch with an old bedcover and a fake-fur throw. Cleo sleeps there happily at night.</span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">This morning, the sunrise was glorious. The skies were clear finally, and the sun was bright. When I went to feed the cats, they were not on the porch. I saw them outside sitting next to a pair of sawhorses that I'd left after painting. The kitties were seeking the sun, raising their faces to the light, basking in that small solar warmth.</span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">But for Cleo that wasn't quite enough: she had to try harder, to reach higher. As I watched, she jumped up on top of the sawhorses to get just that little bit closer to the light. And then she raised her face again in praise of warmth. </span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Perhaps we should all be more like Cleo--braving despite fear, staying the course, and always reaching higher.</span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Life is good.</span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></em></strong>zydnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755467852035493353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886307412915925237.post-87166126885787864752017-11-14T11:11:00.000-06:002017-11-14T11:11:56.361-06:00 A Unicorn and a Goal of Five<br />
<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><strong>I like telling myself bedtime stories. </strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><strong>Yeah, I know that sounds silly but, as a person who has a great deal of difficulty in getting to sleep, I've learned that if I tell myself long complicated stories with lots of details I will eventually become drowsy. Typically I repeat the same bits of the stories over and over again because the details will help me nod off but also because I don't want to end the story.....if I do, I'll have to start a new one and that will leave me sleepless for a week. Some stories will go on for months while there are endless revisions and re-tellings; there are other stories that I have come back to time and again for years.</strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong>Do you wanna know what the stories are? Well, sorry, I'm not gonna tell you. If I did, they wouldn't work so the secrets must remain mine to keep.</strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong>There's one thing I'd like to share, though, and it's something that I learned from a character in one of my stories. Believe it or not, I can actually find out new stuff from someone who only exists in my own head! </strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong>This fictitious elderly gentleman is a reliable person who is known for giving sage advice on making goals, and he tells the same thing to his employees as well as his family. It's a simple plan to make a list of six things only. Not four, not seven, not ten. Six. </strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong>The plan for the six goals works like this: the first three items on the list should be things that you are reasonably capable of doing and that you can accomplish within the near future. Working on those three things will give you a sense of ability so that you will comfortably be able to move on to other tasks. The next two items should be more difficult and they will require more time to complete; you might even need to learn new skills or have to study to get the necessary knowledge. Working on those two things will help you to become stronger and to find more faith in your will to achieve. These first three goals will be constantly updating and changing, so you should expect them to be in flux. The next two will necessarily remain longer on your list.</strong></span><br />
<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong></strong></span><br />
<strong><span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">The sixth item is unlikely to change. Ever. It should be very, very difficult to achieve and the time it could take to accomplish is unlimited--indeed the sixth item may never be fully within your grasp. It should be your deepest hope and your sweetest dream. And you will call it your Unicorn. You can have only one Unicorn. Never more than that. This will give you focus and keep you on course. </span><span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">Although you might elect to tell others your first five goals, the Unicorn must remain a secret hidden in your heart; if you tell anyone, the Unicorn loses its power.</span></strong><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong>I've been thinking about the goals lists for the character in my story. But I never really connected that to my own need (and admitted inability) to set goals for myself. So in one of those silly <em>Aha!</em> moments that I tend to have while I'm chatting to myself alone in the car while driving to the Post Office, it suddenly came to me that perhaps I need to try to maintain a Unicorn and a Goal of Five.</strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong>Consistency has always been my hobgoblin. I never do anything the same way twice. When I make lists of things to do, I immediately rebel and turn entirely to stone. Although I am utterly inconsistent, incongruously I am also deeply persistent. The two sides rub together in me in the most irritating ways but I wonder if the charm of the Unicorn could work on me. After all, it's a gift from my own imagination. </strong></span><br />
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<strong><span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">Will I tell you if this works for me? Probably not. But I am sharing so that you can try it out for yourself if you like. </span><span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">Maintaining a bit of whimsy along with some common sense seems like a wise way to face the world.</span></strong><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong>Life is good.</strong></span><br />
<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"><strong>Go chasing after a Unicorn.</strong></span><br />
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<br />zydnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755467852035493353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886307412915925237.post-68047422424590712442017-11-01T11:56:00.001-05:002017-11-01T11:56:54.607-05:00The Gift of the Unexpected<br />
<strong><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Aphasia is simply a fact of life for me and has been so since I was about 27, and I forgot how to read. When you're a PhD candidate, this is not a good thing. Not at all. My life as I knew it was over, and I had no choice but to do differently.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span></strong><br />
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><strong>Ever since, I forget easily. I turn my back, walk away, and it's like something has never been. This can be a problem when it comes to things like laundry left in the washer or dirty dishes waiting in the sink. </strong><strong>I've even walked away in the middle of a meal without realizing I had do so. </strong><strong>I'm not ignoring things. I've forgotten, quite literally, that they were even there. It's more than a bit frustrating to find a proverbial trail of breadcrumbs from the unfinished duties of my days. But there they are. And I have to be honest enough to say that this sort of situation will remain unchanged as long as I am here on this planet. Eventually stuff gets done. (This is no complaint; merely an explanation--what I deal with on a daily basis is something most folks never have to know personally, and thank goodness for that.)</strong></span><br />
<strong><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">But sometimes there's joy in forgetting and finding again. And this morning it made me laugh.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">I should explain first that I've been plagued by the dustiness of my bedroom. It's autumn; that's when I clean house. Now I know that spring is the traditional time for cleaning but I believe that tradition is rooted in Northern climes where dust and detrious collects during the winter months while the house is shut up to keep the heat IN. Here in the Deep South, especially here in South Mississippi, we have little winter (perhaps six weeks) and a great deal of summer (about nine months). So it is autumn when I want to push the summer's accumulation out the door because the house has been shut so long to keep the heat OUT. It makes sense when you think about it. Plus autumn cleaning prepares home for the holidays.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">A week or so ago, I gave the bedroom a good going-over with a damp dustcloth, from the ceiling fan down. Picture frames, door frames, all those fiddly little edges that antique furniture tends to have, all the little bits and pieces that I enjoy displaying on every available surface.....as I've said before, I'm no minimalist. I like stuff. Lots of stuff. It makes me happy.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">The problem was that I ran out of energy before I ran out of places that wanted dusting and, recovering as I still am from walking pneumonia, the rest of the cleaning had to wait. This morning I didn't want to wait anymore--the dust bunnies in the corners and under the bed were showing their teeth. </span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">The bedroom is small-ish (about 9 X 10.5) and this house is very short on storage so the space under the bed serves as a prime place to keep boxes full of sheets and blankets and curtains. The boxes I keep under my antique cast iron bed (the base of which is fully a foot off the floor and thus offers excellent space for storage) really haven't varied for twenty years or so, and that's the only reason I recall what is in them. That's why I was surprised this morning to find more than 4 plastic bins under the bed. There was also an opaque tote of some sort--big and quite heavy.....but what was it? I didn't have any idea and certainly no memory of having placed it under the bed.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">I peered inside. Green, the sort of avocado green that was popular back in the 1960's. That's nice; I like avocado green. Satin. Also nice; I've always loved satin stuff. Brocade embroidery of delicate wispy leaves in deep gold; very pretty and something else I adore. But what was this green thing exactly? I had no idea. And then light finally dawned when I fully opened the container: it was an eiderdown! A truly vintage German eiderdown! It was the real deal, not like those new "down" blankets that are just tolerable and not really warm. This was meant to be weighty and wonderfully warm for winter.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">When I helped my German-born friend pack up her house last year prior to her move to Alabama, she was down-sizing seriously to move into a single room in her daughter's home. Eiderdowns require space to store, and she knew her square footage would be severely limited. Her family, she said, wouldn't be interested and wouldn't value it, so she gave that precious heirloom Eiderdown to me. And I promised to keep it safe. Well, I have kept it safe.....but I also forgot it. And that's why it made me laugh out loud for joy this morning. I'll be using that Eiderdown this short winter.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Friendship keeps us warm in more ways than one.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Life is good.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></strong><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0xr9mgc00Gl64ffW3ChCKUcDmRf18jRaiK76Te5zIYkPQWcjOwwsDwK6V4dFFu86ZigtLdyOD5TgdKQDjjHKlGs6SICfImNzCYgGmx_QGqEmXDwFukupw_TBxg6ZZwxrm3BWd9_w-Efk/s1600/IMAG0018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0xr9mgc00Gl64ffW3ChCKUcDmRf18jRaiK76Te5zIYkPQWcjOwwsDwK6V4dFFu86ZigtLdyOD5TgdKQDjjHKlGs6SICfImNzCYgGmx_QGqEmXDwFukupw_TBxg6ZZwxrm3BWd9_w-Efk/s640/IMAG0018.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<strong><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia;">Although I tried, I could not take a picture that would do this lovely Eiderdown justice so this simple snap will have to do.</span></strong>zydnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755467852035493353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886307412915925237.post-30841637616931838092017-11-01T10:59:00.001-05:002017-11-01T10:59:16.667-05:00And So I Return.....<br />
<strong><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">We all, sometimes, need a vacation. A time away. As my mother used to call it, "a time out of mind" where we think of other things. </span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I have been resting. Peering through layers of sediment to see what they might mean--cutting the head off the snake was a start, and there's always more work to do. No matter how old we grow, we must continue learning. </span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Although I can't change my life, I can change myself. And I know that no one can truly begin all over again. But we are presented with bright possibilities with every sunrise. We must not waste them.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Life is good.</span></strong>zydnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755467852035493353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886307412915925237.post-40350756253680909142017-09-17T10:03:00.001-05:002017-09-17T10:03:36.480-05:00Time to Cut the Head Off the Snake<br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">So I haven't been writing as much lately.....I like to write, clear the air, chase out the cobwebs. But it feels like I've mostly been complaining a lot and that's not something I generally approve of. </span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">We've all got trials and troubles. We've all got </span><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">losses and crosses to bear. The current trend seems to be that we should all blare our agony across the wide world. But I don't like that trend. And I most certainly don't care for it when I do it. The fact of the matter is that I only vent here because there's nowhere else to do so and because no one in the real world is listening (which can be really much more painful than you need to know).</span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">There comes a time to cut the head off the proverbial snake, and I've been trying to make decisions about a variety of those matters in my life. It's hard to know what to do. So I make no promises, and I'm still trusting God.</span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">For now I'll keep writing here because some folks appear to be reading (heaven only knows why). Maybe I'll try to be more organized. Maybe I'll even follow some sort of theme, although it's very unlike me. It's my nature to be persistent rather than consistent but, hey, "I am fearfully and wonderfully made" (Psalm 139:14) so I'm just fine the way I am even though my health doesn't work so very well.</span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">This past week has been tough (pneumonia hit me as I thought it might). This past week I've received a little good news but also more bad. This past week I haven't felt remotely motivated or capable of anything. </span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">But I refuse to give in.</span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Here's what I think: Even if you can only do one single thing, then that's the place to start. Find a place and take a stand. It's okay to fail; but try anyway--at least you learn in the attempt. Keep walking forward; don't look back (or at least don't look back too much).</span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">I said this elsewhere this week and, unfortunately, no one took account of it (although there are many in that place who are in need of the thought). It's an old saying but I believe it's worthwhile:</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"><em>It is better to light a candle than curse the darkness.</em></span></div>
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">So, it's time to cut the head off the snake. </span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">That snake is called Complaining. </span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">We draw energy to ourselves through our beliefs and our actions and our words. I need more sweetness in my life. I need more light. I need hope. While there's not a lot I can do about what others do and say, I am in charge of what I produce. And I want my works to speak well of me. It all starts with my own heart.</span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Looking forward.</span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">I hope you will to.</span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Life is good.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span>zydnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755467852035493353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886307412915925237.post-2022683216148143832017-09-16T11:30:00.000-05:002017-09-16T11:30:24.288-05:00Mindfulness and the Minimal Effort of Avoidance<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">A few months back, a short bypass road opened up in my little town. (Actually I live outside of town but that's beside the point.) That bypass takes a mile off my journey to the PO, so I use it more often than not. And I use it because I save a mile. Now that might not seem like much but this is the math that goes on in my head:</span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">1 mile X 5 days (average number of PO trips per week) =</span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">5 miles X 4 weeks in a month =</span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">20 miles = 1 gallon of gas</span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Thus, over the course of a year, that means that I earn the equivalent of a full tank of gas (mine only holds 12 gallons) with the minimal effort of avoidance (i.e. I don't drive through town the way I used to).</span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">It's good to review to see where you can save on small stuff that adds up. It's a simple matter of choosing to be conscious and conscientious about your actions--like not leaving the lights on in a room where no eye needs to see (besides the cost of the electricity, there's also bulb life to be considered--wear it out faster, and you have to replace it sooner).</span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Waste worries me. I try not to fuss about what other folks do but I can't help seeing it. </span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Once I watched a woman toss a pretty red calculator in the garbage because it wasn't working. I asked her if she minded if I reclaimed it. She was surprised but said she didn't care. There were batteries at home that I was pretty sure would fit. They did. Ten years on, I'm still using the calculator she threw in the trash for the want of a ten cent battery. </span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Last week I watched someone throw two pretty red (red again, that color captures attention) apples in the trash because each had a thumbprint-sized bruise. I was aghast but held my tongue. She saw me looking. Although I hope she was embarrassed by her action, I figure that she probably was not. What could you do with bruised apples? Cut the bruise away and make applesauce (less than five minutes, max, including microwave cooking time). Make a couple of apple turnovers. Make apple muffins. Or, if the bruises were bad indeed, rough chop the apple and put it in the undergrowth for wild creatures to feast upon or to compost gently. I would do nearly anything other than toss it in the trash but in this case, I decided it was best to mind my own business.</span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">There's much I want to do that I cannot because I am just one person. There's much I wish that I could say but I hold my tongue--that's avoidance, too, for maintaining the energy for living. All any person can do is to try to the best of her own power and to be aware of what is going on around her. One person cannot save the world but each of us can improve upon our corner of it.</span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">I'm gonna keep trying.</span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Life is good.</span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">.....by the way, the view of the sky from the access road was so spectacularly beautiful (kinda reminded me of the skies in that famous El Greco painting of Toledo) when I went to the PO this morning, that I pulled into a turning lane to snap a picture.</span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdb76Pp2wyzt440liRPexw-WK_muhrMIdasaZjNeXbgiLJlH2hsSsmBdDpf1-w63vR7PAeyQTdkVsmM4bmNc8MrhfJ1phpt_HgRsSOFQ1vWaG2o82DkjFtTt5TNffhpCuIRqF37mo94rk/s1600/091617sky.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdb76Pp2wyzt440liRPexw-WK_muhrMIdasaZjNeXbgiLJlH2hsSsmBdDpf1-w63vR7PAeyQTdkVsmM4bmNc8MrhfJ1phpt_HgRsSOFQ1vWaG2o82DkjFtTt5TNffhpCuIRqF37mo94rk/s640/091617sky.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Look at the wonder all around you and rejoice.</span>zydnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755467852035493353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886307412915925237.post-9684767355842574622017-09-12T18:35:00.000-05:002017-09-12T18:36:37.634-05:00Even Though It May Seem That Way.....<br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Beg pardon: I am about to vent; if you don't care to read, just move along.</span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">If you saw a person in a wheelchair, you wouldn't insist that they run up a flight of steps, would you? If you saw a person wearing dark glasses and carrying a white cane, you wouldn't ask them to paint your portrait, would you?</span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">It's understandable that if a person has a disability that you can see, you will automatically make an adjustment of your expectations. Sometimes those adjustments may be a bit off the mark but still you'd mean it kindly, wouldn't you? And you'd be trying to do the right thing.</span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">But what if a person looks perfectly normal but has a disability that is not immediately apparent? You might ask them to do something that they can't and you'd undoubtedly be told that it was impossible. That's fine; the disabled person would be requesting respect. And you'd give them that, wouldn't you?</span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">See, you're being perfectly reasonable all down the line. </span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">Now, what if an able person who is fully aware of a disabled person's inabilities coerces (or even forces) that disabled person into doing something that will aggravate the disabling condition? That is cruel.</span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">That's the position I was in recently. </span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">And, for the record, I'm NOT the able person; I'm the other.</span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">My family always taught me to step up and do what had to be done, no matter how hard it was. I was expected to put forth more effort than anyone else. It was, in fact, demanded of me. I can hear my parents yet in the back of my mind, snapping their fingers and telling me tersely to "pony up!" To this day, it is my knee jerk reaction to do what cannot be done, never to give up, never to give in, to destroy myself if necessary in getting the job done whenever someone else expresses a need. I pony up until it kills me.</span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">Yeah, life isn't fair. I'm sick right now with a fever and suffering the nasty symptoms of MyalgicEncephalomyleitis. And this is due, in part, to my inability to say no or to give into my own exhaustion (yes, I'm owning that). And it is due in large part to someone else's failure to recall that I cannot merely find a lever to move the planet all by myself. These are people who have known for years that the stability of my health wobbles on a very thin thread indeed. But I don't think they've ever believed it because I look like I'm perfectly healthy when I'm really very much not.</span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">Atypically, I am furious--absolutely incandescent at the unkindness, the thoughtlessness, the lack of respect that put me in a position that made me unable to say "no, I cannot help you." I'm not a person who gets angry often (and almost never on my own behalf) but I am enraged. To be fair, I am as angry at myself as I am at others. So, I am venting here.</span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">I'll get over it. But I'll have to spend rather a lot of time resting until I do. This is time I cannot afford to lose because I have much to do and the Christmas listing season is in full swing, plus I need to have another yard sale to make money to pay the bills. Hopefully I can get past the pneumonia that is threatening to erupt. In any case, I feel utterly helly.</span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">It's hard, so hard, to do everything alone. But it's much, much harder to be misunderstood. I'm not lazy. I'm ill. I wish I were not. I wish I could be like other folks. I can't. This condition is genetic. I do what I can to keep things under control. And I don't remind people all the time that I can't do things (although maybe sometimes I should). I'm tired of being brave and toughing stuff out.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">I'm just tired.</span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">Life is still good.</span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">.....but not so very nice right now.</span><br />
<br />zydnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755467852035493353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886307412915925237.post-17895927977250855512017-09-10T10:09:00.000-05:002017-09-11T07:47:03.348-05:00A New Feline Friend?<br />
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">When my folks bought this property years ago, the previous owners had abandoned two cats that we took responsibility for because it would have been unkind to do otherwise. There was one we called Dash (because that's what he did best: run away) and the other we called TUC (The Unknown Cat: we knew we were feeding a second cat but it was years before we ever actually saw what he looked like because he avoided us so). Dash eventually disappeared but TUC, after a decade on the run, finally became a much-loved kitty and we were devastated when he died of old age. </span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">But, before TUC went to his eternal reward, he bought us his wife and her kittens: Gracie (a Russian Blue; ie Gray C[at]) and her three sons, Tiger (Maine Coon mix), Boris (in need of a tough name as the runt of the litter), and Bubba (dumb as a rock, poor dear, but a very good brother). We cared for them all of their lives, too.</span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">And there have been many, many, many others because people have had the awful habit of dumping unwanted animals in this neighborhood and many of them (mainly cats but also dogs, a rooster, geese, ducks, fowl, even a horse) have found their way to my door. But it is most often the cats I've been able to care for: Ebenezer and Moon and three following generations of their family. Then there were Tinker, Winnie Esmeralda, Genevieve, Tom Good and Tuppence Dear, Peck, Ira Haze, Texas.....many, many, many. I quit counting but I didn't quit naming. Every cat needs to be called something, and the name should be kind wherever possible.</span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">For the past couple of years, a pair of brother cats have been marauding the neighborhood and they've mainly pestered my good neighbors. They call them the "beige" cats--true enough, they are beige. I suspect that they are sons of Henry the Navigator, a lynx point Siamese who wandered the local landscape but never found a mooring. Certainly the brothers bear some of the markers of the breed.</span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">The good neighbors' cat Smokey and their new puppy Sandy are very accepting of one of the brothers but not the other. The second brother is crippled in a hind leg and he fights viciously with any other animal--and reasonably so, if you think about it, because he has to work harder to protect himself, so he offends rather than defends. Gotta admire a cat who makes the first strike to distract others from noticing he's in a poor position to win. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">Siamese were originally bred (as I understand it) to be temple guardians. They are fierce fighters, even more than many cats are. So the crippled kitty is within the breed profile as well as being within common sense of self-defense. The neighbors call him Gimpy.</span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">When I was talking to Mrs. neighbor the other day, she happened to mention that Gimpy was creating serious havoc with the puppy who utterly despises him (while casually ignoring his healthy brother). That's when I admitted to Mrs. neighbor that I had, on a few occasions, put food out for the crippled kitty. Now my good neighbors have mentioned that they would prefer I did not feed strays, so I have respected that wish and I have not fed any since they took my Texas to the pound (yes, he was being overly aggressive for territory and I did agree to this). But I had not been able to ignore this lame beige kitty whom I'd find hungrily hunting through the vegetable peelings I toss into the undergrowth, so I took him a bowl of kibble sometimes.</span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">Surprisingly this born-feral kitty seems somewhat calm with me. At various times (even when not offering food) I have spoken to him and have made the appropriate feline signs of respect and liking. He has never come near. But he does happily empty the kibble bowl after he feels sure that I've walked far enough away. Even more surprising is the fact that Mrs. neighbor approved of me taking over with this cat, so I agreed to make a project of him.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">No pictures yet; that will take awhile. Very probably a very long while, if ever. I don't know if I can help this kitty. But I do know one thing for certain: I absolutely cannot and will not call him a derogatory name. So, the other day, the crippled kitty became Byron (a name that seems apt if you know anything about the famous poet). And, you know what, the cat approves. When I speak that name, he lifts his head and looks me right in the eye. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">Welcome, Byron. </span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">Life is good.</span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">Let's hope it gets even better.</span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"></span><br />zydnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755467852035493353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886307412915925237.post-5110764889990178322017-09-06T17:40:00.000-05:002017-09-06T17:40:13.394-05:00A Warning About a Flea Control Product<br />
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<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The other day I happened to be reading some posts on a message board when I happened upon one that had the following title: <strong>Warning for Sergeants Silver Spot On Treatment for Cats.</strong><br />
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The writer of the post quoted from a lengthy Facebook post by a veterinary assistant, and it detailed the suffering that animals endure when using Sargeants Silver. (Link to the board post is <a href="http://community.ebay.com/t5/Animals/WARNING-FOR-SERGEANTS-SILVER-SPOT-ON-TREATMENT-FOR-CATS/m-p/27435273#M114327" target="_blank">here</a> )</span><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">As you can see in the following link to Consumer Affairs, there are a huge number of people complaining about serious health issues in their animals after using Sergeants Silver Flea Control:</span><br />
<a href="https://www.consumeraffairs.com/pets/sergeants.html" target="_blank">https://www.consumeraffairs.com/pets/sergeants.html</a><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">After I read the article, I suddenly realized that this was the product that I had used on Daisy when she nearly died a few months ago.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqlOufz5xjw_b94BIErjFWmSYzPv9G_QnEqvSsheb5kNa3r_0RpKVLYrAid0loO9ShTONCTjdbBikPUmQMSX49Z5DOAb78ZHv8IqZlEDKBtEBUQ4Bk_mYulNmfQU8HeWU60BoBZa5gM9o/s1600/IMAG0104.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqlOufz5xjw_b94BIErjFWmSYzPv9G_QnEqvSsheb5kNa3r_0RpKVLYrAid0loO9ShTONCTjdbBikPUmQMSX49Z5DOAb78ZHv8IqZlEDKBtEBUQ4Bk_mYulNmfQU8HeWU60BoBZa5gM9o/s640/IMAG0104.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">Sergeants Silver is sold at dollar stores for around $5-6 so it is readily available to people who may not have access to veterinary assistance or to pay for a more quality product. I know that this is true because I bought Sergeants Silver at Family Dollar early this year when my dear elderly Daisy was suffering with a bumper crop of fleas.</span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">Even if I could afford to take Daisy to the vet (and I surely do not have the funds), she could not go. Daisy has serious fear-related behavioral issues that stem from her mistreatment by previous owners. I've taken her for vetting before and she reacted so badly that she has now been banned by two vets here in my little town. Bathing Daisy is also out of the question due to her behavior. My only recourse has been to use spot flea treatments, and this time I couldn't pay for a better product. Usually she's sleepy for a couple of days after a spot treatment, and then she recovers.</span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">When I used Sergeants this spring, she was sleepy again for a few days. The next week, she began to lose strength. She was shaking. She lay down in her own excrement and did not care to move out of it. She developed pneumonia. And it became apparent that she was dying. There was nothing I could do but pray. Pray I did. I gave her to God; in his goodness, he gave her back to me.</span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">I don't really know why I did not connect Daisy's decline to Sergeants (perhaps her reaction was different than other cats because she didn't show negative signs as quickly maybe she is elderly, perhaps because she was dealing with other behavior problems at the same time) but I feel sure now that this is what nearly killed her.</span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">I consider it a miracle that I still have my cranky old kitty, and I don't take that gift for granted. If you love your animal, don't use Sargeants Silver. I surely never will again. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Daisy, please forgive me.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">Life is good. </span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">It's better with a feline friend.</span>zydnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755467852035493353noreply@blogger.com0