November 29...

... is still my mom's birthday, though she is no longer here to celebrate the occasion. It is so firmly embedded in my mind, it will always be a day of thoughtful remembrance. I had a conversation about her with a friend recently. Not someone who knew her, but someone who knows me pretty well, warts and all. Which would have put me in a reflective frame of mind, even if the 29th were not a day that causes me to think of her.

In the years since they both died, I have had a remembrance notice printed in the newspaper in that little south Georgia burg where they spent most of their lives. A small town with a small town newspaper, that might have two or three obituaries to print on a weekly basis, or maybe six, or possibly one. Plus memorial notices on the birthday of a departed loved one, or the anniversary of a death. You may think me maudlin, but I just can't/won't forget. I guess I keep sending photos, with words of thoughtful consideration to remind the people who are still there. Folks who would have known them from church, or civic work, neighbors or casual friends. To prod their memories so they will remember what lively people those two were, while they were there, active and involved.

When I sent in my info. last week, to be printed in this weeks edition, I enclosed a photo. Along with the sweet quote from Robert Fulghum. The guy who is more famously known for the poster you might remember: "All I Need to Know, I Learned In Kindergarten."  (Be kind, hold hands, take naps, have milk and cookies when you get up from your nap, etc.) The other quote, the one in the newspaper that is in the memorial ad. for my mom:

"I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge.
That myth is more potent than history.
That dreams are more powerful than facts.
That hope always triumphs over experience.
That laughter is the only cure for grief.
And I believe that love is stronger than death."

plan B for cookies...

... that is obviously necessary due to the abject failure of plan A. I do have some of those annoying chocolate waffle cookies, should you be interested enough to come and have a taste. But will likely put the recipe in the recycle bin, after putting the waffle iron on notice: 'stick to what you do best.'

I have recruited a friend to come and help with cookie making today. She asked if I need for her to bring anything. I said 'two good hands', because with only one, I cannot hold the bowl and stir. Plus it takes a pair to roll the cookie dough into little balls before you cook.

Gingersnaps
 2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
3/4 salad oil
1/4 cup molasses
1/4 cup maple flavor syrup
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground cardamom
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 large egg, beaten
extra granulated sugar to roll dough

Measure all ingredients into large bowl, blend well with mixer on low speed. It will make a thick dough. Chill. Shape dough into walnut sized balls, roll in granulated sugar. Place on ungreased cookie sheet, they will spread and flatten as they cook. Bake 350 degrees, 10-12 min., should be slightly soft when removed from oven. Cool on rack. Store in airtight container. Makes 3 1/2 to 4 dozen.

There is also an identical recipe in my file box, with the variation of making Jumbo Gingersnaps: shape 1/4 cup of dough into a ball, roll in sugar. Place 3 inches apart, bake 15 minutes. Makes abt. 10.

My dad loved these. I have never made the giant ones, but found it interesting that the  measurements and ingredients list  were identical, from different sources - only a change in the size of the finished product. I hope we will get a double batch made, to donate to the Botanical Gardens Open House, where the cookies will be sold.

PS: I would add  bit more ginger, if I ever make this again. That would cause them to be snappier. Or else, be sure you are using really fresh ginger. There's no telling how long mine has been sitting on the shelf, half empty.  Plus the cardamom seems to be missing entirely...

a good idea fails...

... when I foolishly thought I could make cookies to donate. Everything about my 'good idea' went awry. Starting with the fact that I am incapable of cookie production, due to only having one usable, fully functional hand. There are lots of things you can do with one hand, but measuring, stirring, scraping the bowl are not on the list.

First mistake was to think I would have success with a recipe I could not even locate. One I made years ago, when there were small children on the premises, but had not replicated in at least the past decade.  The most necessary piece of equipment is  waffle iron: I gave it away when I emptied all the cupboards to repaint inside when we had the whole house painted. That means without the waffle iron - the whole scheme would be a moot point.

I thought I had donated the electric waffle cooker to a thrift shop/resale store. But found it at a daughters' house. Brought it back when we gathered for Thanksgiving. (Now I have to figure out where to store it in my cupboards.)  And googled up recipes for chocolate waffle cookies. Back to my first paragraph: I now wonder what made me think this was such a great idea? The novelty, I suppose. Can you imagine anything more time-consuming than making four cookies at the time? Arrrgghhh.

In addition to that: very messy. The batter got really thick before it was over, sticking to the 'non-stick' coated cooker, making them really hard to get out without tearing up. Virtually impossible with one hand. They are really unusual looking, but probably the most aggravating thing I've attempted in recent memory. Not easily accomplished with two functioning hands - highly frustrating with only one!

book review: "The Right Side"...

... about a young soldier who was injured in Afghanistan. Written by Spencer Quinn, published in 2017 by Simon and Schuster. The author's other books are geared toward young adult readers, but this one is definitely not rated "G".

Sgt. LeAnne Hogan lands in Walter Reed Hospital after an injury while deployed, so seriously hurt by grenade fragments she looses an eye. Her roommate, also injured in a war zone, Marci lost a leg. They become friends as a result of proximity as well as shared pain, loss, frustration during rehab. Marci dies from complications, LeAnne takes a road trip while dealing poorly with anger and PTSD, ends up in Marci's hometown.

It is a very believable tale, filled with the confusing loss felt by someone who was trained to do a difficult, thankless job, then finds herself unable to function in the world after she has so radically changed.  I can't say 'enjoyable' as the feeling I got when i finished reading, but it was very well done, and certainly provocative. I expect this story will stick with me for a long time. Haunting tale.

there was a lot of....

... family, and food, and travel. A beautiful day, with happy people. My personal assignment was pie. I might have actually volunteered for that, which certainly has considerable irony attached, considering I cannot really stir anything, due to my broken arm being immobile.  I did acquire the ingredients, recruited the stirrer, and provided supervision to assure it was properly assembled.  When  people who have already consumed food far above the 'fill line' are confronted with dessert choices, it is comforting to hear 'it's mostly air'. The primary ingredient is a bowl of whipped topping, so it really is fluff.

Oh, and the 'adapted' version of Waldorf Salad: nothing but diced apples, pecans and mayonnaise. They whine and grumble if it is contaminated with diced celery, so it is only marginally nutritious. With an extra dollop of deliciously bad mayo. outweighing the heathy-ness of fresh fuji apples. Once again: though I did volunteer to provide the salad, I could not actually make it, with disabled arm/ hand. But was responsible for the shopping, purchasing, organizing, delivery.  Hopefully there are Little Red Hen credits for a portion of the results?  I could eat it all day long, and considering having the leftovers for breakfast.

We left home soon after 6 a.m., drove to TN, arriving mid-morning. Pretty day, and pretty amazing to drive through the heart of metro Atlanta with ease, virtually no traffic. I noticed as we were approaching mid-town, how remarkably clear the air was. Heading north past Turner Field,  when you first sight the gold come on the capitol building, and tall buildings in the heart of the city. With scarcity of vehicles that normally clog the interstate highway, not producing exhaust to pollute the atmosphere, even motoring through downtown was a pleasant drive.

My favorite people (minus uncle Jay) and time together. That's hard to beat. We even took time to assemble for a family photo to add to the annual Christmas news letter. Sneak a peek preview? Yes!

the donation was donated...

... when they had a fundraiser auction.  The letter phrased it as: 're-donated' where a bank purchase at the auction will fund programs to enhance community resources like after school programs and literacy.  Which makes my donation all the more amazing, as I was so weighted down by the problem when I gave up ownership of the project.

This probably sounds obtuse and obscure, with explanatory back-story needed for clarification?   Look back in the archives, 'way into the past...maybe as far as June, or even into the foggy history of last spring and May?  When I found myself with a unique, custom-designed, hand-made Little Free Library. Only to become frustrated and aggravated, completely stymied about where to mount it for maximum foot-traffic. If you go back and read the history, you might even find yourself as thoroughly irritated by the annoyance as I was back then.  (All of this being a 'first world problem': like running out of hot water during your morning shower, or insufficient milk to properly float your cereal...)

Then the little light bulb blinked on, brightly glowing above my head. Dink! When the thought popped into my brain that I should take it to south Georgia and donate to the library in the little town where my family lived for generations. Nearly virgin territory for those oh-so-nifty little boxes filled with reading material, free for the taking.

Most  public libraries will have a shelf of second-hand books for sale, available for purchase. Where you can find variety of items donated by patrons, neighbors, and families wishing to recycle reading materials/movies.  Which would be the perfect source for filling and refilling the small space of a 'free take one box' as passers-by peruse and see something of personal interest.

With help, that big heavy wooden box was loaded into the back of my little Toyota and went south, after making arrangements with the head librarian, Mr. S. I had communicated with him, told S. my story, frustration about finding a location to mount it, and was delighted by his enthusiasm when he welcomed a donation.  I was relieved to get it out of my life, and he seemed pleased to be the recipient. I understood it would likely be in the fall before the box would be mounted some place in the community, filled with reading materials and put in use.

a long day...

... made longer by setting the alarm wrong. Hoping to be awakened at five am, to shower, dress, load up and be headed north by six o'clock.  After completing the first part, starting to get on layers of clothing, I glanced at the clock: discovering it is 4:35 rather than heading towards 6:00 am.  Leaving no doubt in my mind about the likelihood of a nap in the afternoon.

When the time reverted back to normal, in early November, from the pointless exercise that is
'daylight savings', my phone did not change. I only use it for an alarm clock, but it is not reliable. Making me think after the second mis-fire, I am better off with nothing than an alarm clock that is untrustworthy. The first time it happened, I was an hour early leaving home, which I was able to effectively fritter away by making unplanned stops while traveling. And today, the report is here.

There is the possibility that The Man Who Lives Here might be part of the problem. When I noticed that phone had not bothered to 'fall back' an hour, he offered to re-set the time. While I, with broken arm am disabled and only barely employed, there has been no need to get up and be on location in a timely manner. Therefore no particular need for waking in the dark to be prompt.

Like most conveniences, you don't need it until you need it. But when it is necessary, it is difficult to use anything else as a replacement. Need to get this worked out, without factoring in my frustrating disability in dealing with things that involve numbers.  Which will make it all the more confusing...

true confessions...

... that should be added to the previous writing about freeing up closet space.  There were a couple of things I was not quite ready to part with. I am almost certain they will go out the door next week, when I look at them a few more times, probably say: "Out, dammed spot!"  (Was that from the murderous Ophelia?)

One: the dress I got married in, 36 years ago. It would probably still fit. But from this vantage point, I find it to be remarkably ugly. I'm thinking I might take it to a resale shop, expecting someone, somewhere might think it the perfect thing for holiday partying. Its sort of sheer, a pale gray color, long sleeves, with little pearl buttons, and probably just below knee length. Just not me anymore.  Oh, did I say it's the last/only dress left in my closet?  I'm so done with that: all the others have been gone for years!

And a jacket that is so ready for fun, it looks like a party waiting to happen.  My amusing daughter reported she thought it the perfect thing to wear on a cruise, sadly discovering it was not her size.  So she gave it to me before we departed to go off into the Caribbean on a big boat.  Years ago, and not worn since - but it still looks in need of a celebration.

in order for it ...

...to be successful,  the first thing required is the right frame of mind. Willingness to be ruthless and not be wishy-washy, second guessing yourself, or stopping to pour a glass of your favorite beverage which might make you too reflective or possibly maudlin. If you are going to weed through your closet and do some serious donating, you gotta' be serious.

I pulled them out on Monday, bagged them up on Tuesday, and put them in the car to take to the thrift shop to donate before I had time for second thoughts.  You've probably heard the advice: leave it in the store, walk away from an impulse purchase. Should your desire be as strong after a good night's sleep, and hopefully a clear mind (and your budget well-suited), then go ahead.  This is Not Applicable for weeding through stuff you already own. Just Do It.

After heeding another piece of sound advice, I knew it was time to sort through, and pass along items decent enough to allow some one else the opportunity to wear, and possibly look 'just like me'. I had turned dozens of hangers around, so they were on the rod backwards, with the hook part pointed out. Let the seasons roll around, then notice if you have worn, washed, paid any attention to those neglected items. You will likely see those things you were so pleased with upon purchase have languished for months. Meaning you need to let them go. Just Do It. Give them a second life.

Now that it is Wednesday, and those bags full of clothing I had not worn (or thought about) in a year have been out of the house for nearly twenty-four hours: I am having second thoughts. But not enough to make me consider going to buy them back. Just to neglect, then give away again.

not original...

... but worth passing along for shop-a-holics to digest before the craziest retail day of the year occurs on Friday after Turkey Day here in the US of A. Adapted from an article I read in this week's TIME magazine.  Generally speaking I don't do any holiday shopping, and especially not on the weekend after Thanksgiving, when retailers believe those few days are their 'make or break' time for profits.

The short piece from the weekly news magazine, by Jeff Kreisler, would have you realize you don't need to consider how much the item is 'discounted' - but you should only purchase based on what it will cost you. The misleading mark down tags are there to lure you, deceptive marketing to make you buy a 'bargain'. Finding a shirt marked down from $100 to sixty isn't really saving forty dollars:  rather causing you to spend $60.

Kreisier also points out the danger of thinking in terms of percentages.  Your hard earned cash in your pocket is real, an absolute. Don't be fooled by sales people juggling dollar signs like rubber balls. "Whether it's 10% of a $1,000 sofa or 1% off a $100,000 renovation, or a bank loan: $100 is still $100".  Yours to keep in your pocket, or let some trickster at the county fair lift in the blink of an eye.

Jeff Kreisler, author of this short article is also co-author of a book on money management, "Dollars and Sense: How we Misthink Money and How to Spend Smarter."     

about the pansies...

... that were calling my name when I went to the hardware store a week ago. Purchased a little nine- plant pack to go in the planters I have diligently watered and fed over the summer. Two large pots in little patio area just outside a door at church.

When I first felt the urge to take responsibility for the care and maintenance of these containers, they were thoroughly neglected. With deceased rosemary plants, and rapidly dying English ivy, really pitiful looking. I bought some spring blooming shrubs that will keep their leaves, stay green year-round, called Sweet Spire. Supposedly very fragrant, but they did not do much the first season. Hopefully, they will be better established, over initial planting shock, and bloom well next spring.

Added some bulbs that are a wee version of jonquils, donated from a friend. Then put several small plants around the base of each Sweet Spire, that would bloom all summer. Dianthus in shades of burgundy and white.  Most survived with ample watering, though a couple did not make it through the summer, possibly due to sitting on concrete slab that radiated blistering heat. I added some creeping Jenny, to trail over the lip and down the outside of each pot along with mulch to try to preserve moisture. Most Sundays, and maybe another day mid-week, I filled a big pitcher or bowl from the kitchen ice machine, and dumped in the shrub, to melt and provide water.

I have recruited a friend who will meet me this morning to put the happy faces of little pansies in today. How can you look at the bright colorful blooms of pansies and not want to smile back? These are the little ones, sometimes called 'viloas', so they might be related to violets? My mom had them growing in her yard, where they would re-seed, and come back year after year. So prolific, in the perfect environment, they were everywhere: coming up between bricks on walkway, along the edge of asphalt drive apron.

an interesting little...

... volunteer job I offered myself for on Saturday, which you will find both unusual and possibly discomfiting: recycling used shoes.  If you fall of the far end of the 'excessively fastidious' scale, you should stop reading right now, as the following will make you very uncomfortable.  Since I was a volunteer, you might assume I knew exactly what I was getting into.  But you know what 'assuming' does, right?

Actually, I did not fully grasp the magnitude of the undertaking. I was unprepared for the handling of other people's rejects.  It was off-putting, but in retrospect, should not have been surprising. As well as drastically underestimating the quantity of donations people would drive by an drop off. That was amazed.

In the same way my naive little self was so easily duped by sleight of hand tricksters when young.  Along with those high school kids I admired from afar as a small elementary aged child, when they would volunteer to participate in performances by traveling shows. When some traveling charlatan would come to town to present his skills as a magician or hypnotist in the public schools, and students between ages six and eighteen would be herded into the small-town auditorium. All these years later, my innocence in the ways of those mystery men is still intact. How did they get those big strapping high school football players to 'baa' and 'oink'?

Nothing mysterious or surreptitious occurred: mostly me not thinking it through sufficiently to consider how disgustingly nasty those used shoes and hiking boots would be. They were pretty rank. But there were also some pairs that still had tags on them, never worn. Every type shoe you could name or imagine. Flip-flops and slippers. Pumps or kitten heels. Athletic shoes and work boots. Steel-toed construction boots and warm fuzzy bedroom shoes. Sandals and pointy-toed high heels. Tiny little 'Nikes' small enough to have been on wee little feet that never hit the ground. Huge man-sized hiking boots that looked like they would fit Sasquatch. We took 'em all.

They were matched up in pairs, bundled together and bagged up.  Every bag was supposed to hold twenty five pairs. By the time I left the designated location: it looked like we might have filled two dozen bags. That is a LOT of pairs of shoes.

My understanding of the purpose of the recycling event was two-fold: 1.) keep the shoes out of the land fill. I'm guessing the rubber soles of athletic shoes would last as long as old tires, linger for a thousand years.  Plus (the best part): 2.)  they will be packed into cargo containers and shipped to places where people can use them. Here, I am assuming to third world nations where people do not have, or cannot afford footwear.  I readily admit some of those hundreds of shoes that were donated on Saturday were  unsuitable, and seriously: ridiculous as far as 'practical'. So definitely not 100% usable.  But... still... shoes vs no shoes? Footcovers win every time.

about eye glasses...

... and having to do with The Man Who Lives Here.  I often wonder how he can get to where he is going, with vision so clouded by dirty lenses, covered with dust, grime, unmentionables. He will occasionally hand his spectacles to me for cleaning with my shirt tail. When he suddenly, apparently  discovers how limited his vision is from all the stuff preventing clarity.  I will pass them back, after removing smudges, bits of shed skin, possible sneeze prints (sorry about mentioning the unmentionables- not only is it nasty, but it is also true!), for him to comment: "Wow!" and "Oh, my goodness!"

The last time be passed me grubby, vision-limiting eye glasses needing cleaning, I noticed one of those little oval pads that support the frames on the bridge of his nose was missing.  Upon returning the now sparkling clean lenses to the owner,  I pointed out the missing part, and told him he needed to get it repaired. It would be an easy, quick fix at the optical shop, probably taking three minutes of time for some one with the parts and tools to install that small replacement.  It didn't happen. After a week, I asked if he had gotten that little chore squared away.

He reported he had another pair of eyeglasses, with frames very similar to the ones he had been wearing. What he called the 'back-up specs.', that he located and started wearing.  But when he took those 'back-ups' off at the end of the day, he discovered those glasses were missing a little nose pad also. I predict he used his all purpose bad word!

So when I saw him next, he was wearing the back-ups for the back-ups: looking like something from the 1980's.  I offered to go get #1 and #2 repaired.... which is a story for another day. Sufficient to report it was a thoroughly frustrating, irritating, convoluted, unsatisfactory experience. Ultimately, I found some innocent by-stander who was persuaded to take the one little nose pad from #2 and apply it to #1 using the world's smallest screwdriver, scavenging parts to make one comfortably serviceable pair of specs. Until I can get to the VA clinic (for the third time) and get him back in working order.  

a little jobette....

... when I went to do a day of substitute teaching on Thursday. Thinking I should try to at least get ten days of sub. work in before the end of the semester in mid-December, I found a position that I hoped would work.  I called the school to ask if it would be acceptable for a one-handed person to try to manage for a half day. And was given a counter proposal: take a Kindergarten class instead, though it would be a full day. I had the day open, and wanted to give it a try, willing to attempt when I heard there would be a para-pro in the class as well.

I did, we did, it all worked out. Everyone survived. So I signed up for another one today.

Being so handicapped, and limited with what I am physically able to do: writing is a real struggle - possible - but really difficult. With the left hand, it looks like the work of  five year old.  Since the right hand continues to be confined in a cast from palm nearly to elbow, anything I can produce (with either hand) looks cramped and cribbed. Hopefully, only two more weeks of this, then on to rehab.

went to work...

... today, though it only might, maybe, possibly, marginally qualifies as 'work'. The boss decided he could put me on the schedule one day a week to come in and smile for several hours. I am to stand by the platter of tasty bites and say: "would you like to try a sample of our fresh, tasty ________?" Last week it was pineapple chunks. Today it was new crop, fresh south Georgia pecans.

I was putting them in little sample cups, using my left hand and little clear plastic tongs. Thinking if I should ever get to the point where I am really feeling skilled and adept with the little plastic pinchers, I will be ready to eat with chopsticks. In the unlikely event I get sufficiently coordinated to master the wee tongs, moving food from the bowl to my mouth with chopsticks will be a breeze!

It was not a profitable day. I probably gave away two pounds of nuts, and might have sold six of the one pound bags for all my smiling effort. Practicing my smoothest sales pitch, with remarkably poor results. The pineapple chunks were much more successful last week: understandably since that was a BOGO (buy-one-get-one).  While the one pound bags of pecans were so high (even on sale with $1 off), no one was willing to purchase as an impulse item. If it was not on the list, it was not going in the cart.

as a result of ...

... going to that very entertaining musical last Sunday afternoon, I had a hankerin' for more.  I was remembering having seen the movie that came out some years ago about Johnny Cash and June Carter, titled "Ring of Fire." (?) I sent an e-mail to my local library requesting to borrow the DVD.  I have been to my branch twice, hoping to find it had been transferred, but it hasn't come yet.

There is also a bio. about the wild piano playin' man, Jerry Lee Lewis, with Dennis Quaid cast in the leading role. I saw that one years ago, but would love to see it again too. Lewis was definitely a guy willing to live life in the edge. I don't know much about Carl Perkins, who was the fourth guy of that historic "Million Dollar Quartet", other than he was a great guitar player. Here I go, off to google again...

And recently discovered that Kurt Russell did a movie about Elvis. I don't know if the plot is really a biography, or just loosely based on the life of the 'King of Rock 'n' Roll', but with Russell as the lead character, it would have to be good entertainment.  My library procurement source reported that the Elvis movie is on order, but  the other one cannot be located. I know it exists, as I have a very clear memory of being thoroughly astounded at what an outrageous person Jerry Lewis was portrayed to be.  A man who clearly had no hesitation about shocking people with words or actions. And, though slowing down due to age, still scandalously shameless with egregious behavior and uncensored language.

but the real reason...

... the 'thing' that captured my attention when I saw the flyer from Emory University, was the opportunity to go and see a temporary exhibit of textile arts called 'molas'. What? Molas. No, not some ingredient in Latino recipes. No food or drink allowed in the museum.

Molas are decorative fabric panels made by indigenous people of Panama, specifically those living on islands along the eastern coast, in the San Blas island chain. You probably did not even know Panama had islands, right?I am thinking that the natives did not start making the brightly colored designs until after the Conquistadors invaded their lands.  You remember: bringing Christianity, deadly diseases, wiping out centuries-old cultures and languages. While searching for a new trade route to the far east.

Those 'civilized' Europeans were horrified at the lack of propriety and modesty they discovered among the natives living in the heat and humidity of equatorial lands. In time, the cloth began to be used to make beautiful intricate designs on their clothing, with the aid of technology: scissors! The process is difficult to describe, but fascinating to see. I first heard of these painstakingly produced works of fiber arts when studying art history years ago. Instantly fascinated by the beautiful designs, as well as the time-consuming effort required to imagine, plan and create the finished piece-work.

Perhaps best explained as a combination of applique and quilting. Even though difficult to envision the finished product can be breath-taking when you consider the many hours invested in layout, assembly and completion.  Starting with two contrasting colors of fabric, with many smaller bits of other colors of material sandwiched in between the top and bottom, small slits are cut though the top layer to let the other smaller pieces/colors appear, with the cut/raw edges carefully folded under and hand sewn to create a finished piece.  Designs can be birds, sea life, mammals, native plants, or even abstract, all inspired by and adapted from their surroundings.

I don't think these finely crafted pieces could be done without that nifty addition of sharply honed western technology: scissors used to make those slits and snip tiny holes in the material.  Though it does not outweigh the loss of lives and vanished, irreplaceable cultural history that disappeared under the ravages of European domination, these amazingly intricate works would not otherwise exist. A wee small bright spot that is a result of the greed of the Spanish Queen who financed that first voyage in 1492, when Columbus sailed the ocean blue...

about the field trip...

... that started with the mailed out flyer about special events on the Emory University campus during fall semester. The exhibit I wanted see (long before I fell and broke my arm, resulting in semi-disability) was textiles from Central America. Specifically: amazingly detailed work done by Native Americans. Well worth the trip. On display through the middle of December. I knew waiting another month was not wise, as I have vast experience in The Art of Procrastination.

I actually got much more than I bargained for, as the exhibit included carefully preserved hand woven fabrics from centuries past. There are places in the high dry desert of south America, Peru if I am remembering right, where mummified internments have been found from thousands of years ago. I'm sure there is research out there, readily available at your fingertips about fairly recent discoveries of native burial sites. It seems like I recall having read articles with detailed descriptions, and photos of indigenous peoples, complete with funerary offerings to provide archaeologists with a wealth of information. Perfectly preserved in an arid climate, dressed in their traditional garb for eternity, then found hundreds of years later, leaving students of those ancient cultures with more questions than answers.

The fabrics they were wearing, or used to make bags, baskets or other storage vessels were woven from natural fibers, gathered by locals, or received from afar as trade goods. Baskets and other containers, carefully woven with remarkably intricate designs, and clothing incorporating feathers from native birds. Amazingly complicated patterns depicting animals, and scenes from their natural environment. Carefully planned color schemes using materials they had at hand, or fibers available through established trade routes from different peoples/climates hundreds of miles away.

There were embroidery pieces so meticulously done as to be works of art all these hundreds of years later. Done by very experienced hands exhibiting great skill, using what we would consider to be rudimentary materials and primitive tools. Showing painstaking devotion to their work, and great patience in every minute stitch. Tiny decorative chain-stitching with a single thin thread meticulously done to perfection that far exceeds my handiwork.

interesting little field trip....

.. we took on Saturday, when I went to the city. Almost driving to Atlanta, actually getting to Fulton County, where I left my car in a strip mall parking lot, and went as a passenger. Daughter agreed to pick me up in union City, on I-85 just southeast of ATL airport. I'm doing OK with driving myself single-handedly around well known places, but not yet ready to take on traffic that occurs in there big city metro-area.

I had received a little flyer that had a listing of interesting events scheduled on the Emory University campus during the fall semester. All arts related: musical performances, both vocal and instrumental concerts, a few plays, and special exhibits at the Carlos Museum. It is a really interesting place. Lots of history. I do no know much about the origins, but assume Michael Carlos was  major benefactor?
Hmmm... let me just google that up!

Alrighty, then: the museum was started in 1876. At Emory University, when it was just a tiny little backwater institute in middle Georgia, in the small town of Oxford. Over time, the school relocated to a campus (probably in very rural setting in Decatur at the time of the move) closer to a much larger population base. The museum was renovated/enlarged in recent years, and named for the very generous Mr. Carlos, with donations given in the twenty million dollar range.

I knew the facility housed a large collection of reproductions (as well as quite  few authentic items dating back to the era of the extravagant Egyptian Pharaohs)  from the pinnacle of Greek and Roman civilizations.  It had been years sine I was in the building, and possibly there to see some special exhibit, also recalling a number of pieces of art from Mediterranean area. Architectural detail from temples, statuary from pediments, vases and other smaller items from antiquity. Enough that you could spend the day and not see it all, with reading signage, studying each piece displayed, walking through galleries and perusing items fro the permanent collection.

movies galore...

... were viewed last night. A really surprising turn of events for a couple of reasons: one being the last couple of times I checked movies out at the library, they went back without me even looking at a single one. Primarily because I don't know how to use all three remote controls necessary to start playing the DVD. Plus, by the time they are available though the public/free lending library, they have passed the period of general interest, or demand. When no longer newsworthy, no one cares about seeing the movie: it's 'old news'. Except me, of course, who failed to see stuff on the Big Screen.

It was a damp, cloudy, rainy windy day here. Perfect for sitting on the couch and being immobile. I'd been to the library for more books as reading is generally easy to accomplish with one hand. And randomly checked out five DVDs as well. We looked at three of them starting late yesterday afternoon, and finished about 10:30. Some hardly worth mentioning. But I will, if for no other reason than to save you the misery of thinking they might be worth viewing. 

After enjoying "The Lincoln Lawyer", with the very appealing Matthew McConaughey, I recall having seen it. But it did not all come together until near the end, when I finally remembered, plus he is always pleasant to look at. An interesting tale, with a surprising twist or two.  It seems to me that it was well reviewed when it was released several years ago.  Another, more recent movie that got a lot of critical attention and good reviews, was "Manchester By The Sea", with Casey Affleck. Pretty much everything about the plot-line was distressing: cold, drab, colorless scenery of winter in the northeast, physical and emotional hardships, broken families, but with a surprisingly satisfying ending. I would recommend both of these.

The not-so-hot third one, that we actually played first was "The Chocolate War", based on a novel written by Robert Cormier.  I thought I wanted to view this, after starting the book, though I did not finish it. I vaguely remembered there had been a movie based on the story, and requested it from the library. It might appeal to younger people, adolescents the original book was aimed at. My suggestion is  you would find your time better spent taking a nap.

We have two more to look at tonight...

handy household hints...

...or possibly useless information dredged up from a dust bunny-filled corner of my brain. I read some place, years ago, that putting balls of  woolen yarn in the tumble dryer would lessen the static electricity build up in clothing. Prevent clothing from clinging - to other clothing, or you - when you are dressing. So when I had a pair of warm cozy wool socks that got holey, I balled them up, like you would do to store in your sock drawer. And tossed them in the the clothes dryer. Two pair in fact, that just live in the dryer.

Occasionally, one of the two will manage to escape. Often disappear within a load of fluffy white things: sheets and towels when I pull a jumble out to take to the other end of the house, dump on a bed to fold. When found at the bottom of the pile, after everything is put away, returned to the dryer.  I recently noticed there was only one pair of balled up socks in the barrel when I opened the door to put in wet items. Baffled as to where the other socks might have escaped, knowing I did not recall finding them in recently folded items. But then that thought slipped away...

Days later, I solved the mystery: when I put on a clean, long-sleeved shirt that was hanging in my closet. Only to find one sleeve blocked/impassable. A pair of balled up socks prevented my hand from exiting the end of the sleeve. Quite amusing discovery! I laughed, then put the socks back in the dryer...

raining....

... here overnight, which perfectly suits my dark dreary mood. Usually mostly positive, I will need some sunshine/vitamin D to improve a dismal attitude. Struggling to see those rays of bright glorious light behind the damp, drab, sodden, low-hanging clouds...

My follow-up appt. with hand surgeon was yesterday.  I was very hopeful about receiving good news, telling everyone who asked I hoped to be set free! I had mentally prepared myself to hear him say I would be starting therapy, and be relieved of constricting bindings immobilizing hand. No such luck, sad to say.  Took off all the wrappings.  Removed sixteen stitches: wow that hurt!  Took more x-rays, and gave bad news. It has not grown back together like he planned/expected. So I will be wearing a cast for three more weeks. No bending, no lifting, no using.

With great reluctance, I agreed, accepting the unexpected change of plans.  I feel like I am back to square #1.Came home sad, frustrated, aggravated, disappointed and more sad, sadder, saddest. Willing to take the high-priced advice my health insurance is paying for, but not yet reconciled. Not quite ready or able to be gracious about the continued confining disability.  And left my misplaced optimism right there on the cold, hard, indifferent floor...

no need to...

... feel ignorant if think you are the only one who never heard about the "Million Dollar Quartet." Nobody else did either, until some one unearthed the photo we saw at the end of the play. The show will run for two more weeks at the Springer Theater here in beautiful Uptown Columbus. I actually thought the story was fiction, made up of whole cloth, until the very end, when we were shown that picture of the four of them gathered around the piano in the Sun Records studio.

We went to the play, based on this obscure event that lasted only a few hours in Memphis back in the 1950's. All four of these guys were fairly young, just getting established as professional musicians, struggling to make their way in the industry. Three of them were, or had been, under contract to Sam Phillips, owner and founder of Sun.The outrageous Jerry Lee Lewis from Louisiana came to try to persuade Phillips to help him start recording. The others: Carl Perkins (wearing the famous 'Blue Suede Shoes'), John Cash (dressed in black from head to toe), and Elvis (wildly gyrating), were artists who greatly benefited by the opportunities provided by Phillips.

Apparently they all showed up at the same place at the same time, in the recording studio. Providing a little footnote to musical history. Making me wonder if any of the songs they would have done together in that late night jam-session survived. The music was great, a most entertaining show.

book review:"The Wages of Sin"...

...written Katie Welsh, with a 2017 copyright. She lives and works in the United Kingdom. This book, her first novel, though she is a journalist, writing weekly columns and appearing on BBC radio programs.

The tale is set in Edinburgh, during the Victorian era, when women were basically considered property, with men dominating every facet of their lives. The lead character is Sarah, sent to live under the watchful eyes of her prim, condescending aunt and narrow-minded uncle who live in Edinburgh. Her desire is to become a doctor, well before the time females were accepted by society as capable or worth the investment to educate. As a first year student, she is often harassed by male students, humiliated by other female students, and belittled by professors.

Sarah is determined to be successful, though when she expresses too much interest in mysterious death of a patient at a clinic where she volunteers, she is opposed by one of the doctors who is her instructor. The plot thickens, more gruesome deaths occur. Sarah is held captive in an unexpected turn of events.

The descriptive references to the gritty lives of the unfortunates are probably very realistic, while painting a very grim portrait of life at that period in history. Only the wealthy got medical care when needed, and by today's standards of both care and sanitation, it was primitive at best. The under class, poorest workers,able to eke out the barest of subsistence, living in the meanest of circumstances, were often doomed from birth. Short difficult lives of continual hardship, rarely escaping their positions in the social hierarchy.

it has been truly ...

...amusing: the thing I have been reporting to anyone who has looked at me and observed my limitations of the past three weeks. I start off with a vague explanation as to how I came to be in this situation of obvious disability, with a non-functioning right hand. It is still attached to my person, so hopefully regaining full range of motion and usefulness is in the future.

Quite amusing to say: 'I was with my cousin at the Willie Nelson concert.'  And let them come to their own conclusions, make wild, unfounded assumptions, and think the worst?  You might, with no more information, believe I was under the influence, possibly a controlled substance was involved? Or just offer sympathy, without the hilarity of concluding we were out there, in the dark at Chastain Park misbehaving like crazy people.

As the inquiring onlookers express interest, and want the story, they receive only a teaser. It has been great fun to watch their brains digest the information. Slowly making connections, putting the piecse together, assembling what has been published in news factiods about Mr. Nelson's history with illicit substance, along with what I reveal. Then they laugh out loud, ending with a smirk, assuming they know some juicy trash.

Truth be told: we wern't consuming any illicit substances whatsoever.  Just singin' along, toe-tappin' and hand clappin', havin' good clean fun. But in retrospect, we should have taken along some Adult Supervision. Someone who would have provided a modicum of caution, thinking ahead to realize a flashlight would have been invaluable while stumbling around in the dark.  Oh, well...

visiting with a friend...

...dear sweet, generous, caring woman I do no see often enough. I was hoping to persuade her to go with me to a local event next week that sounds interesting, but not intriguing enough to lure me into going alone. She will be out of town, so no dice. But I like her so much, when I discovered her volunteering at Botanical Gardens this morning, I went just to chat.

We have in common: a love of growing things (master gardener volunteers), supporting the place where she was providing assistance (donating time and skills to Botanical Gardens), good food (she enjoys cooking, I like to eat whatever she is stirring up).  In reality, I obviously do not know her very well, as we shared some family history heretofore unknown to the other.  I knew from a mutual friend that an adult son had recently been in an auto. accident and had a badly damaged foot, requiring extensive surgery to repair.

As I inquired about the accidental house guest she has been caring for over recent weeks, while he hopped around her home she told me more of his story. He is old enough to have a family, with adult children in their 20's.  He was in devastating wreck some years ago, resulting in permanent injury, with him being 100% disabled, no longer employable. He has serious brain damage, causing him to be impaired with no ability to make wise decisions, among other issues. Wife walked out, children estranged. More heart-wrenching details...

All of which made my heart ache for this bright, smart, energetic, amusing 2 x cancer survivor. While at the same time, feeling profoundly, thoroughly thankful for clear headed daughters who are employable and employed, productive members of society. I am continually grateful for my own mental acuity as I stumble through financial tangle of dealing with my auntie's care. But hearing of adult children who will never be fully cable of  an independent life makes me all the more aware of oft overlooked blessings. 

after halloweening...

... when jack'o'lanterns, decorations on the front stoop featuring carved faces (scary or not), and various sizes and colors of pumpkins, it's abruptly over. What to do with the remains? Corn stalks, fall leaves, dead mum plants, caved in grungy items from the farmer's market.

I saw a video recently of elephants having a party with pumpkins. They were in a zoo environment someplace in the mid west - where elephants should never be. Not in the corn belt of the central plains of North America, nor ever incarcerated. But that's best left for another day. They were having a grand time destroying and eating the donated produce.

The giant-sized vegetables were from the state fair. Planted and nurtured, fed and watered to be submitted in the contest for the mostest biggest. An excellent way to get rid of all the contest entry pumpkins: every one's a winner! The mammals were rolling around in the generous serving of the greatest pumpkins the state's farmers had to offer. I expect there were numerous categories and age groups, so the quantity of vegetables grown and shared with the local zoo was plenteous.

The video was so amusing, I suggested in an email to the nearby 'Wild Animal Safari' park they should ask local sources for donations. The grocery stores will be putting pumpkins in dumpsters this week, and destroying edible produce. Perfectly good, usable items that would provide food as well as great entertainment for local captives.

just so you know...

... that I did participate in celebrating All Hallow's Eve on the last day of October, in an off-hand sort of way.  I did not have any plans to observe the day, mostly due to the on-going disability. Otherwise, there is always the opportunity to dress up in any (company-approved) silly costume and wear your bizarre attire to work.  As a result of being literally 'handicapped', I have not been on the clock for over two weeks.

But I received a call on Tuesday afternoon, asking if I was interested in putting in few hours for trick-or-treating. Of course. Yes. Certainly. A three hour paycheck is better than zero. I went home and put on that white graduation gown I recently found that mysteriously appeared in the weekly church laundry. And quickly fashioned myself a little circle for my head from yellow pipe cleaners. Took myself to the store to play silly games and give away candy. Every area of the store was to have a 'game' and give out candy to little people who came through.

Can't say what others were doing, but my little bean bag toss was remarkably lame. Plus everyone wins a prize:a fist full of sugar from the variety of BOGO candies with spooky wrappers. I might have eaten too much chocolate during various lulls in the intermittent stream of Spiderman, Hulk, Batman, Princesses, Minions, pirates, witches. Mildly amusing....

so, what about...

... going to work and being a productive member of society? Or even just going to keep from loosing your job? As will happen if you continue to be  slacker for another two weeks when the computer that does the scheduling for thousands of employees decides you don't work there any longer? Hmmm...

As I understand, the way it works with my employer: if you fail to clock in/out in a month's time, you are not on the payroll. No longer considered to be an associate. Most of the scheduling is done remotely and by technology/logarithms, based on history, factoring in calendar/seasonal events. Meaning if I should not have a 'payroll punch' in the course of four weeks, I would be unemployed.  There is also a rule that you cannot apply for re-hire for six months. I am hoping for 'none of the above'.

as a matter of fact, yes...

... I have been driving with one hand all this time - since the accident on October 14. I did not drive back from Atlanta in that condition, nor was I behind the wheel during those few hours when under the influence of scary drugs.  It didn't take me long to want to put that Rx up on the top shelf in the closet and well out of sight/use. After one night of hallucinating, bizarre dreams I was completely cured of that stuff!

But in order to get to where I want/need to be, I will readily admit  to single-handedly motoring around town. On familiar territory, going places I routinely frequent, where I am familiar with the lay of the land. Doing what I do, making the rounds...

I found myself in a situation last weekend that required more skill than I had readily available: where I had made a commitment I could not keep. A local non-profit was having a fall festival, with vendors, kids fun, food trucks. I had agreed to be there to do face painting, just quick, simple, easy designs on little faces or hands. Sadly, not do-able with my left hand, so I started scrambling to find others who could/would. It was 'way more complicated than it should have been, causing me to feel a sense of desperation. I have discovered volunteering others is far more difficult than offering oneself!

After several days of anxiously awaiting various responses that never occurred, it all came together: a dear friend offered to jump in, unexpectedly, when I called hoping to recruit her teen granddaughters. A huge relief: a replacement - and a responsible adult at that! Then, as things evolved, the whole event was cancelled, due to the likelihood of bad weather.

I still have another week of feeling disabled. I am very curious to see what is under all the wrapping: cotton batting, immobilizing splint, Ace bandage. It all happened when I was oblivious due to drugs, so I have no idea what to expect when unveiled next Wednesday. Also scheduled to start with rehab/exercising program on the same day, and probably not released to work until near year end. 

book review: "Ranger Games"...

.... written by Ben Blum, published by Doubleday, 2017.The subtitle reads: 'A story of soldiers, family and an inexplicable crime.' I heard the author being interviewed when I was driving, listening to public radio. It sounded so interesting I wrote the info. down, and requested it from the library, just finished last week. A fascinating tale that is so unlikely as to be baffling, but surprisingly true.

The author, Ben Blum, is the cousin of the main character, Alex. Young Alex has wanted to join the Army, complete basic training, and become one of the elite Rangers since childhood. Everyone who knows him as a youngster is aware of his desire to complete Ranger training. His family has seen him talk, walk, dress, breathe Army since grade school. Alex finishes high school, talks to a recruiter and signs up. He is dedicated to his goal, devoted to exercise and a healthy lifestyle, serious about his determination to qualify and complete the demanding training required to become a Ranger.

After weeks of basic training, then qualifying for Rangers, he completes the exhausting stressful  Ranger training at Ft. Benning GA. Alex is posted to WA prior to being deployed to the mid-east. He meets an older Ranger who has twice deployed, and this man, Elliott becomes a mentor to Alex. It is not unusual when these men are off duty, as amusement, they will look at their surroundings and plan how to secure the building, or 'take down' the occupants. Just for  entertainment, 'casing the joint', practicing what they have been trained to do in guerilla warfare, talking, egging each other on, though nothing actually happens. At a bowling alley, or fast food eatery, any place they happen to be with overload of testosterone.

Elliott lured Alex into participating in the robbery of a bank near Seattle. Several others recruited by Elliott were involved. Naturally they all were caught and incarcerated. Alex maintained he did not they were serious, actually holding the bank up, when Elliot asked hm to drive the group to the bank. His family was stunned when they realized what this straight arrow, single minded, devotedly Army, patriotic to the core guy had done.

The book is well written and researched. Ben spent years talking to the people involved: meeting with the participants in prison, talking with attorneys, interviewing experts in psychology and brain washing, military personnel, family members.  All done in an effort to piece together how Alex, a man who seemed to be so focused and devoted to making a career of the Army became so naive, and easily lead astray.