Twelve letters of Christmas

December 1,

Dearest Mr. Wellington,

It was delightful to spend the fall holiday with you and eat until our stomachs could eat no more.
I thought your idea to continue our merriment together throughout the rest of the year by resurrecting the tradition of the Twelve days of Christmas especially appealing. What fun it will be to buy each other a small trinket each day to extend our celebration of Christmas.

As previously discussed, beginning our celebration on the 26th of December and concluding it on January 6th is perfect and I will add these festivities to my calendar.

I look forward to seeing you for dinner December 26 at 7 p.m. for an intimate dinner and gift exchange.
Fondly and lovingly,
Miss Lorena Bell

December 18

Dearest Mr. Wellington,

I am just confirming our date and time for our celebratory dinner , December 26 at 7 in the evening.
Dress will be informal.

Looking forward to laughing and toasting our friendship together.

Very fondly yours,
Miss Lorena Bell

December 27

Dearest Mr. Wellington,

What a delightful evening! Especially surprising was your unique gifting of the beautiful partridge in a pear tree. It looks particularly festive in the conservatory, but I had to untie the partridge from its confinement on its branch so it could move around a bit. The dear bird seemed grateful and I want you to know that I  am delighted with such a thoughtful gift. I hope you enjoyed the small leather journal I gifted to you. I look forward to seeing you in a fortnight to thank you in person once again. I have messengered your next day gift so you should be receiving it soon.

Delighted and fondly yours,

Miss Lorena Bell

December 28

Dear Mr. Wellington,

I thank you for your gift of two turtledoves but I feel there must have been an error at the parcel service as I received another pair today in addition to yesterdays, along with 2 more partridges in trees. I feel this is quite enough and you have more than fulfilled our requirement for the twelve gifts of Christmas so let us forgo any more exchanges and I thank you for the birds and trees. The Conservatory is full enough.  Thank you for understanding  and please cancel any further deliveries of birds.

Fondly,

Miss Lorena Bell

December 29,

Dear Mr. Wellington,

I believe I was quite clear about receiving any further birds. The Pear trees are now occupying the outside patio and I have released the partridges to fly about at will outdoors. The Turtle doves , who were quite quaint cooing as a duo, are getting a bit loud now that there are 6 of them and 4 calling birds competing for attention. They are content to perch along the outside patio. There is no need to replicate each days gift along with the new gift.

Thank you tremendously and I hope you will take this in the very best spirit of the season.
You are truly taking this daily gifting seriously.

Fondly,

Miss Lorena

December 30

Dear Mr. Wellington,

What a surprise to receive not one, but 5 gold rings!

Although they are beautiful, I would have preferred the traditional engagement diamond if, in fact, this is a marriage proposal.

At this time, I must decline any overture toward marriage and I will arrange for the return of the beautiful bands. . . along with the additional partridges, pear trees, turtle doves , French hens and calling birds.
I have had the groundskeeper build a coop for the hens and partridges but their numbers are growing and the birds cannot seem to get along. None of them have any inclination to lay eggs.

Regretfully yours,

Miss  Lorena Bell

December 31

Mr. Wellington,

Geese! What am I going to do with Geese? What is it with you and birds. I do not want any more birds. This is a modest home on limited acreage and this property is not a farm, nor zoned to accommodate farm animals of any kind. The birds are quite loud. The rings are welcomed but I now have one for each finger.

PLEASE ....NO MORE FOWL!!!!!  The pear trees are being planted in the far corner, however they do not look like promising fruit producers and the Gardener says they may take up to 3 years to do so.
Stop all gifts immediately! I feel you have lost your common sense and treat our now, fragile friendship as a joke.

Pleading for you to stop and definitely no longer very fond of you,

Miss Lorena Bell

January 1
Mr. Wellington,

Swans?!! Really! I explicitly stated NO MORE Fowl or BIRDS!  Swans are finicky and require special care. I know for a fact that they require regulation in this state! They have taken up residence in my pool and fight the geese for water access. My patio is covered in bird droppings. The Turtle doves are looking peaked because they require specialty grain to  sustain them. They are slated for dinner tonite along with a partridge or two if they can be caught.

Stop and desist!

Miss Bell

January 2

Wellington,

I have tried to keep the gates locked and access to my property restricted to any further deliveries from you. The 8 Milk Maids have arrived in shockingly inappropriate attire to expose as much cleavage as possible and persuaded the grounds keeper to let them in, along with their buckets filled with various birds . It is more than one home can handle. I am afraid to call the authorities because I am certain that I will be ticketed and fined for violation of multiple zoning laws and for Audubon cruelty. I am having a goose cooked and feeding it to the maids who believe they are staying here at my home indefinitely.

They seem to be under the impression they will also be paid?

I am calling my lawyers. You will be hearing from them soon.

Lorena Bell


January 3

Wellington, you son of a bitch,

The dancing "ladies" are just too much. An insult to any form of culture or craft! I am sick of dealing with you! The house staff is  distracted and unable to  complete their daily work. The dancing girls are continuously kicking up their legs and half of them fail to wear undergarments that cover much of anything under their much too short skirts. The are now competing with the milk maids as to who can expose the most cleavage without nipple exposure. The maids have lost their shoes and run barefoot throughout the estate. Apparently the only skill they possess is milking cows which I thankfully have none of.

My pool is brown and green with a foot of bird crap on the bottom and we are shooting the geese and hens to feed these people who refuse to leave. Your "golden rings" are made from inferior metal and barely cover the cost of running this place for 1 day. The turtle doves are dead from lack of grain and the swans are looking peaked. The hens lay only 1 egg every other day , as well as the geese. The 24 Calling birds have been  released into the wild.

I am suing you for mental distress and invasion of privacy.

Hoping one of the birds will find you and peck your eyes out.

Miss L.B

January 4

Bastard,

The 10 Lords are leaping over the fence and helping the additional dancing bitches and whoring milk maids over it too. The maids are too stupid, living up to their title of unskilled laborer. There is no more floor or bedroom space to accommodate all of these people yet they will not leave. The  back lawns look as if an army battalion has moved in.  There is a massive bond fire in my back yard, stoked with the wood from your  fruitless pear trees and some of my best patio furniture.  Swan can be delicious if the correct  sauce is applied but frankly, I do not give a damn any longer.

Wishing you were the one roasting over the fire.

L.B.


January 5
Idiot!
Pipers are not a solution and especially not ones who do not pipe the same tune. One of them actually has a smoking pipe and thinks he's part of a grand band! These people are milling around waiting for some direction as to what they are to do besides drive me mad and create noise. I can think of a few choice places for the pipers pipes to be stored and all of those places are on your person! The cook has quit, along with the housekeeper and the gardener. I am left only with the chauffer to help me and he has taken up with a milk maid who has a lazy eye.
The BIRDS!!!! I think you hate them more than me. You send them to an inevitable death by barbecue. The only thing the geese lay are giant bird poo. The calling birds call out mean chirping insults to the remaining doves and peck at the hens.
Why are you doing this to me? What horror do you have planned for the morning? I hope it brings alcohol. I am done in. Even my ink well is giving up. My lawns and bedrooms are ruined beyond repair . The stench is overwhelming.
I wish you no good will and never want to hear your name uttered again.
You are despicable!
L






January 6

You #*(^&$^@#$*!!!!

Drummers! What the hell!

They exceed the sound decibel restriction and I have received a ticket from law enforcement which I have forwarded to you to pay. Obviously they have only one rhythm in their repertoire and it does not go along with the pipers melody at all. If you had any sense at all you would have at least hired capable musicians with more than one song to be played. There is cacophony of nonsense 24/7!

There are now 140 people milling around the grounds, 8 birds left alive and I have sold off the rings to off set the cost of your "Gifts". Thankfully the Drummers, leaping Lords and Pipers have taken to pairing off with the Milk Maids and Dancing Ladies. I dread to think what is going on in my yards!
I am done with you. The 12 nightmare days of Christmas have concluded as well as my friendship and any further association with you!~

Do not attempt to contact me, mail me, messenger me in any way or come within a mile of my home. Your restraining orders have been served. I am closing up the house, evicting these strangers and leaving the country to begin the New Year without a trace of you or your daily onslaught of more problematic deliveries.

Never yours and glad to be rid of you.

I've changed my name........

The best stocking stuffer is love

In days gone by and long ago I used to make Christmas stockings for family and friends. I was young and bored and although I don't sew, I'm pretty darn handy with the glue and safety pins. I've mastered the embroidery and basting stich so the socks stayed together well and have fared pretty good over the decades.

The last stocking I made was for my baby girl in 1988. Said baby girl has now grown up and moved to the other side of the planet living her own life and falling in love with a mysterious stranger. She called a couple of weeks back and asked if this new stranger could come home with her for Christmas. After agreeing to this she asked if I would make him a special stocking to hang at the fireplace mantel next to hers. Hmmm. That is a pretty big request and as I said yes to the request, I was already doubting that I could resurrect my crafty stocking creations.

 In the past I had 10 designs and could replicate them. Definitely dated by their decade but still cute. None of them would do for the stranger so I had to come up with a new pattern. After hours of stress and attempts at cutting, success was had. I figure I invested 18 hours into the sock. Best of all I conquered the Singer sewing machine and managed to get it rethreaded and bobbinized after a few dozen attempts. ( It is new in box. A unwanted birthday gift from Mr. Man who had  visions of me sewing a fine linen suit for him). I read the operators manual and followed pictured instructions in 3 different languages before I began. I am college educated and have used sophisticated medical equipment on real people to keep them alive. Surely I could manage a sewing machine.
 Tangled in un-tameable thread of various colors, glittered and sequined in places neither belong, and trekking beads and material bits throughout the house the stocking was done. Awed at my own newfound stitching ability, I was inspired.

   So ensued the creation of 5 new stockings for 5 new people in our lives. My self congratulatory remarks are more from actually using  material and no glue on them than for artistry. All of them are flawed with major boo-boos but its as good as it can be. My fingers are scarred from the billion pricks sewn into them ( noted- keep finger out of way of surging sewing needle.) and blistered by an erroneous hot glue gun but gladly they are done.

Their recipients seem pleased and I am happy to have made them happy.

I am officially Christmas crafted out. The mess has been packed away and any remnants of the creation have been hidden in various drawers and cupboards.

Its time now to hang those stockings up and wait the arrival of our Santa Claus and hope something delightful fills them to the brim. . . but the best stocking stuffer is love and joy.. . . . and a piece of chocolate.

Happy Christmas to everyone this 2015.

 

Don't play with your food.

Far be it from me to ridicule the  poor person suffering from a food malady or wardrobe malfunction. I have been the receiver of many indignant and ridiculous moments caused by food or food related issues.

As I sat watching the other patrons at the restaurant, trying to catch a glimpse of their entrees to help me figure out what I would order, the rented patio began to fill and spill inside to the dining room. I'm not sure if it was a plus or insult to be separated from your party, but there were 6 large tables set up for the over flow (they had the fine linen and decorative candles on their tables). It was chilly outside and the propane heaters didn't seem to have adequate coverage for all the guests outside so I would count dinner inside with us voyeurs as an advantage.

The large table closest to me sat 8 adults. Their menu was a set course so everybody got the same. No help from them to assist my ordering dilemma. Even their salads were the same but it helped me decide that I wanted one too!

The woman facing me  picked at her salad, steering the croutons and lettuce around the plate with her fork as her tablemates chatted and drank. They talked louder and louder to be heard over the band playing. She seemed disinterested in talking to any of  them and she was obviously a single and having to sit at the end of the long table alone.

Let me be clear. I wasn't staring (too much) and I certainly don't want anyone watching me as I chew and fiddle with my food, but she was RIGHT ACROSS from me so what was I to do? My table topic consisted of how many hops are in the the hoppy IPA and my mind was drifting.

The woman wore horned rimmed glasses straight out of the 60's and had curly bangs hanging down over the top of them. She stabbed a large thick sliced ring of red onion and stuck it in her mouth but it didn't fit. As she bit on the lower portion, the top of the onion ring flipped up onto her nose and splattered her glasses with vinegar dressing. Her eyes got big and she stuck out her tongue to try and grasp the top of the onion but then it got caught on the glasses nose bridge. She was so determined to get control of the onion without using her hands or fork. She bit down on the ring, and started pulling it down with her Gene Simmons tongue and contorted mouth, looking very much like the camel I had just seen at the living nativity, eating away at it in a circle until it was gone. I started laughing when she purposely did the same with the second onion slice. Now she had my attention as I watched the new and improved technique. We humans are such quick learners!

She also got the attention of her tablemates. They soon reverted to preschoolers by inventing new ways to eat boring salad amidst what apparently was a boring wedding reception. At least the onion eater was being noticed. It was dinner entertainment for me although Miss Manners would disapprove of all of us.

I was finally drawn back into my tables conversation when I heard  "floaters" in our bottles of "new" water. Yeeuckk! I certainly paid attention to my own food and tableware then. . . and I was especially cautious while eating my salads sliced onions.

Attenzione con che toungue! (careful with your tongue!)
 

The cat came back. . . only to eat

I think of myself as a cat person. Love the kitty. Not more or less than a dog, but I've always had a cat. Reflecting on all the beloved felines in my life, some were more endearing than others but none were the lap cat or cuddle cat.

The cat that I had the longest spent most of her life under the bed, rejecting petting and chin scratches and usually hacking up fur balls. She lived through many traumas, (being nearly eaten by my pit bull), and outlived all of the cats and kittens that we have had through the decades, dying at age 24.

There must be something about myself that my cats can't connect with so I have yet to find a cat that will be cuddled, and carried. . . not just looked at.

Currently, I think I am cat-less. I had a cat. He is very handsome, soft fur and looks like every cat in America, a little bob cat. Recently I went on vacation and left my pets in the capable care of a friend. My cat is an indoor cat, sleeps under the bed like his predecessor, but will occasionally tolerate a head scratch and accept compliments on his soft, shiney coat. My dog, Captain Morgan, despises this cat. He merely tolerates it as a daily inconvenience and interruption of my constant attention for him. Captain has attempted to let the cat outside on many occasions by opening the sliding glass door for it and then look away as if he hasn't a clue the feline has been released. I have to admit that the cat is not very bright. He has no idea what to do outside and less on how to get back in.

During my last vacation, Captain took advantage of my absence and let his cat bro outside. Didn't even blink as he walked casually away from the door and acted like our cat was still inside to distract the pet sitter from looking for it.

Well, the cat did indeed go out. If he attempted to come back, Captain barked viciously to warn him off and if necessary, chase the cat out of the yard then stand watch to ensure it didn't come back into it.

When we arrived home, the pet sitter was distraught and had been searching for the cat daily. We calmed her and let her know it is a dumb cat and he is close by.

Sure enough, there sat my cat under a bush and I told her he was alive and I would just bring him in. As I approached my beloved feline, it went ballistic and feral, hissing and jumping crazily against the fence until it broke free of the yard and was gone. I was shocked. Surely he would welcome the loving embrace and warmth of his people. We were unprepared for the hissing howling and violent antics. The cat must be in shock.

It is day 22 of the cat departure. We have thought him dead for days. It has rained, frozen, winded, and there have been numerous cat screeches beyond the 8 foot wall. Then, there he was, sitting on the top of the fence, barely out of reach, looking at me. Doors wide open into the warm house, cat food on the patio table, soothing clucks from his people, and my cat opted to throw himself over the fence again. How bad are we? The cat chooses certain death over warm comfy home. It was shocking to see him roll off the wall. . . like the kidnapped girl throwing herself off the cliff to avoid being enslaved by the Indians in the movie The Last of the Mohicans. I guess it was the cats movie moment.

I put food and water out for my cat daily . Occasionally we see him snacking on it. His balance and wall skills are improved but I don't think he's any smarter. He has reverted to his feral roots . He looks a little thin and his coat dull but he is alive. . if in fact that is my cat. Like I said, he looks like every other cat in the neighborhood. I built him a waterproof cat haven lined with his favorite blankets and cat nip toy- to which he passes it by with disdain opting for some muddy patch under a grape vine behind the fence.

Do I want a cat who runs away at the sound of my voice or catching a glimpse of me inside the house? If I did capture him, I would only give him a dose of flea repellent, a shot for rabies and then release.

We wish him luck. I'll continue to feed him and the oppossums and squirrels. . . but we're switching to cheap cat kibble. . . and I'm rethinking my status on being a cat person. 

A hiking we will go

I have been vacationing in the beautiful city of Sedona, Arizona . Amongst a back drop of clay and sandstone rock formations, we found many adventures and met many interesting people . There is such a variety of hiking destinations, it was hard to choose the best one for us.

Our first walk was a 2 mile hike along a creek bed, dead ending at the base of an enormous rock. The rock provided  a view of the valley for those fostering mountain goat within them and a good sense of balance.  Mountain goat Mr. Man clambered up but left the camera behind so he only has a mental image of the grand view. I handed the camera to him as he edged his way downward but he refused to attempt the climb again for the photo op.

For this week of hiking and exploring, Mr. Man bought me some walking sticks. I felt foolish using them at first because they seemed to be only used by senior citizens and grey haired men. . . I was rudely reminded that my prejudiced is unfounded because that is a description of us! I refused to use the sticks until we prepped for the big hike up a canyon which was a 6 1/2 mile hike. Doubting my jacked up knee would last that far, Mr. Man assured me that we could turn around at any time and head back. Game on. 

So we hiked and I used my hiking poles, pretending I was the Black Diamond mogul skier of decades ago. The trail was beautiful and crossed a wide stream many times. After mile 3, I was getting tired and the weather was getting cold with snow on the ground. Definitely tired of being passed by dozens of REAL senior citizens in their 70's and 80's like I was standing still. One of the seniors, "Dottie", got separated from her group during a treacherous stream crossing and hiked full speed ahead looking for the group. She stopped to catch her breath and recounted how her soon to be dead husband and former best friend would rue the day she caught up to them. I suggested gently than she may be ahead of them as they had not passed us on the narrow trail and we crossed the stream before her group.

Swearing and throwing rocks, Dottie provided us with a few cussing remarks concerning her group and vowed to divorce her husband the second they were reunited.

  

I stopped at mile 3.5, knowing I had to go back the same route. Mr. Man said he wanted to finish the hike and it was only another 1/2 mile. I wished him luck, picked a comfy rock and sat there for 1 1/2 hours waiting to freeze and muscles seized up. Dotties lost spouse, BFF and others came along and sat with me as they waited for lost Dottie to get to the end and double back. They were a happy bunch and remarked how lovely the day was without Dottie. Finally, Mr. Man returned, Dottie in front of him and he stopped to rest with me before we headed back. Dottie passed her group rapidly but told them she had new friends to hike with, a lovely lady couple who wanted to be with her and walked on.

After resting, Mr. Man and I headed back. He had hiked another 2 miles before realizing the end was a lot further then the designated trail head stated, and with the sun setting below the canyon walls, the air temperature was dropping fast. We double timed it out of there. My sticks became crutches as I moved along and I used them as Pole vault poles for the stream crossings. Mr. Man was on a mission. We had to get to the parking lot to see the end of Dotties adventure and cat fight with her "former" BFF. Using the last surge of energy and muscle power, I made it back. Much faster returning down the canyon than up it. My hip and thigh muscles were screaming about the abuse but held together.

Sadly  Dottie and her senior group were much faster than I was and we missed the grand finale and face off but there weren't any blood stains or broken glass in the parking lot.

Remarkably, my legs didn't fall off in the night and I wasn't even sore. In fact, my knee can still bend and probably hike again, but maybe not so rough and far next time. It was definitely worth it though. You cannot deny there is a creator who has made such a beautiful place to experience and explore in.

I'll be going again next year.... with my sticks.

Meno peli e' piu salsa

Friday nights are date nights with Mr. Man. We started this tradition to not only end our week with a little fun and to catch up on what our big plans for the up coming weekend were, but also to remind us that we are still a couple. A team. You've got my back I've got yours. We can still have fun together. We still think alike and finish each others sentences.

Some Friday nights are exciting and creative and go on and on. There are also the duds. Dinner is down the street and not so good, we are tired, one of us is crabby and / or bitchy (it ain't me), or the date starts at 5:00pm and we're home by 7:00. Ugh! That's the worst. Date fail. Home before dark!

Occasionally a date can start boring and end up awesome or amusing. This was the case on our last date night.

We were at an Italian restaurant, enjoying the ambience, the patrons talking loudly and excitedly after getting their first drink and meal. I am also enjoying the evening. My food is awesome but needed a bit of salt. (you had to have permission to utilize it by Mr. Picky Chef who assumes all our palates are refined like his. I'm paying a bundle for this food and I'll put anything on it I want! Even ketchup if called for!)

So here we are, slurping up our pasta and enjoying the meal. A large party is seated by us. They all are having the same meals we are. The fettuccini alfredo is popular as is the steak primavera with marinara sauce. I'm surprised that the young lady in my line of site doesn't like her choices and has removed the meat from her meal. She was loving the sauce and slurping up the noodles efficiently....except her long hair was mopping up the sauce out of her bowl every time she took a bite. Surely she would notice by the second....third.....fourth.....ninth bite!

Her hair was covered in pasta and LOTS of sauce.  Wouldn't you think her tablemates would have mentioned that her hair was turning into the late night special? I mentioned to Mr. Man to take a look at the sauce sucker upper seated across from us.

In typical male oblivion, he says loudly, "Who's dunking their head in their plate?". "Where is she?"

At least he alerted the tables around us to check and see if they were drowning themselves in their sauce. The young lady seemed to finally notice, or heard, and started wiping her hair down. Far too late, she tucks her locks behind her ears and pushes her plate away. There's still plenty of marinara in the hair behind her ear for a snack later.

So you see? This is a cautionary tale.

Tie back, slurp up, and wear a bib.  Less hair is more sauce.

Gustare il pasto!

NOT Mr. Man.

I needed to buy a couple of things in our local craft store. It was the last stop on our list of errands and Mr. Man was done in. He refused to come into the store with me and offer any opinion on the color hue of the cupcake cups I sought, and opted for a nap in the car. I explained that I would only be a couple of minutes and would like his input but received a shrug and a purposeful recline of his car seat, then a tug at his ball cap over his eyes.

My initial reaction was "Hmph!" at his casual disregard of my important quest, but thought to myself if he is peacefully asleep I can take my time and stroll up and down the aisles looking at things I don't need. Leaving him the car keys so he wouldn't suffocate or if he wanted soothing lullaby music, I headed in.

Admittedly it wasn't 5 minutes or even 10. Just a few longer. Afterall, I had to complete my mission. It was a disappointing venture, the store out of every item I was seeking, but I made one purchase just to show I really needed to be there. It was nearly dark when I left the store and headed for my car. Mr. Man was so sound asleep. He must have been very tired.

The electronic lock on the door wasn't responding to my code. So annoying! I knocked on the window to wake up Mr. Man to let me in. He slept on. I rapt harder and harder and told him to wake up and let me in for gosh sake! (Perhaps my verbage sounded a little harsh).

The Mr. Man figure rolled toward me and blinked at me bewildered. . . and I blinked at him because he was NOT Mr. Man. I am confused until I look at the running board and see no mud or weeds caked to it and the wheel rims seem way too shiney to be mine. The door scratch seems to have disappeared. Wait! This is NOT my vehicle. My SUV is parked exactly over one row which I made a buzz line to, rapping on the windows as I approach so I can escape the glares of the other Mr. Someone who thought I was trying to car jack him .

Mr. Man opens his eyes, unlocks the door and asks me what the problem is that I am banging on the windows? I explain the mistaken identity of the other SUV- same make, color, stickers and had 2 letters on the license plate that I remember mine has. Ditched out of the parking lot and drive to the safety of home before my humiliation fully took hold.

It's not the first time I've tried to get into a car that's not mine, but its the first time I was forcing my way into an occupied one.

Sorry Mr. Someone. Hope you got back to sleep and remember it all as just a dream. May we never meet again!

Retro 1960's Ranch style home and garden show......next door

I have new neighbors. They seem nice and are polite . Their children are kept indoors and allowed outside  occasionally with adult supervision and kept reigned in to the length of the property line. (32 yards).

Our introduction to each other was sudden and brought about by criminal activity on my block by the tweeker turned drug dealer across the street. The neighbors moved in the day the DEA and entire police force sealed off our block for 4 hours until it was decided Tweeker should go to jail. We introduced each other for safety in numbers and reassurance that we were a tight nit group of neighborhood watchers. . . something my new neighbor takes very seriously as he now has cameras mounted and alarm system installed to thwart any malicious or criminal activity against his property.

I was told by the family patriarch that he is gainfully employed, has been wealthy and settled on this neighborhood to appease his wife's passion for "RETRO 1960's Ranch style home and garden" and he intends to outfit his home to reflect an old calendar he has for reference. Good for him. Pour your money into the place. It can only help my houses market value increase.

I have yet to see the man go to work. Maybe he's made his money and retired at age 40. He tells me he used to live in a 4,000 + sq. ft. home in an exclusive gated community and traded it all for this 1700 sq ft. of paradise here in the hood .

He is home all day looking out the slits of his new shutters and he pokes his head out the front door if he sees Captain Morgan run down his bit of front sidewalk . ( IM wondering if he is the new drug kingpin. . . he did show up the day tweeker was arrested and black Mercedes parking in front often.)

I give him my,  "HELLO!. Yes I know my dog is out running but he doesn't care about your lawn so go back inside" wave. Also accompanied by well practiced smiles of tolerance and head bobbing. (I note he has also studied this form in front of the mirror. He also has the head nod-bob-clenched toothed-smile with sinister look perfected. I know it well. I have refined this also.)

We've been away from home for a couple of weeks. We returned to find part of the new retro outfitted yard plan completed next door. The promised "awesome and streamlined" landscaping and what I think the neighbor hopes is a pair of money trees, but seem more likely to be the start of a front yard avocado grove, are firmly planted in ground.

Applauding his eagerness to be the first on the block to have sustainable guacamole providers but he may be disappointed that these 10 foot trees will not be producing fruit for a few more years and are going to make a huge mess all over his manicured retro front lawn if they live that long. And lets face it- they aren't very pretty trees. As long as they stay on his side of the fence and away from my sewage lines, I'm okay with it.

 

We noted that he has the trees planted directly next to his sewage line so we wish him luck with those 55 year old pipes and future roots. Do I dare tell him the homes original owners removed all of the front lawn and side walk trees 30 years ago because they could no longer keep the tree roots from growing up out of the toilet and taking over their home? The deed is done and my opinion not solicited so we wish him a bountiful crop of avocados and clear sewer lines.

It's nice to have friendly new people. You never know who will move in and if they may be your newest nightmare. Fingers crossed and hopes for kind gestures and daily exchanges of pleasantry even if no friendship abounds.

Crossing my fingers those are Haas Avocados and a few fly over this way! My chips are ready!

"Who are the People in your neighborhood, in your neighborhood, in your neigh-bor-hood, oh
who are the people in your neighborhood.? The people that you greet each day."
                                                                                                           -   Sesame streets Big Bird

The wall

The wall in my family room is covered in various tools and implements.

I like the old school look and the fact that if all electricity fails forever, I can go to the wall and pick out the right tool to build a shelter, turn the soil and even defend my territory with something spikey.

 The wall is a reminder of a simpler time. Each piece on it was handed down from father to son or daughter for 3-4 generations. Some of the pieces have been restored and polished and others left with the rusted bits to enhance their ruggedness. I can remember my father and grandfather using the saws to make the porch steps and cut the stump end off of the Christmas tree.

It might sound strange to have this kind of wall display in an urban setting, especially when most of the house has a contemporary décor; but the wall is a physical reminder that I come from generations of the common hard working laborer, farmer, craftsman who worked with their hands and made do with materials available and for the most part were a humble people.

I'm proud to be a product of hard work and grit. It helped me to work harder to provide for my own family and instill in the children a  work ethic that they carry on .

My father-in-law recently passed away. He liked my wall and brought me his favorite "oldie but goodie" tool each time he came for a visit. He enjoyed looking at his old tools being displayed like fine art- even though it baffled him why I would allow it in the house when it obviously belonged in the barn. Even better, he would give a brief history about  the tool and a project he remembered it was used for or who it belonged to.

Dad had the mother lode of all tools and rusty farm equipment. The family went through his workshop and garage, finding a plethora of old tools and I was brought many "treasures" to put on my wall. I can say with assurance that the wall is full. I'm not sure about the 8 foot scythe. It looks  sinister but I'm pretty sure if I was armed with it against an assailant they might back off and rethink their strategy; or, if I need to mow the lawn, and the mower is out of gas, I could resort to using it for that!

I hope you have something in your home displayed to honor your past and what was instrumental in making you the person you are today.  The old saw with engraved leaves on the handle and etched initials of my great-grandfather is my favorite. It's tough, gritty and gets the job done with the right amount of effort and motivation. It's still functional , a little rusted with age, has a sturdy handle on its large frame and a couple of crooked teeth.. . . just like me.

"Not with my Frisbee you don't"

HRecently, my husband and I were in Northern California and staying at the family's mountain home.
It's a long drive from our hometown....about 12 hours door to door , and we don't make the trip very often.

This time, we weren't sure how long we would be staying, so we opted to take Captain Morgan with us and expose him to mountain and rustic living.

Being cooped up in a bumpy car for so long is tough on the most seasoned of travelers and by the time we hit the dirt road curving up the mountain toward the homestead, we were done in and the dog ready to run free.

Captain was exhilarated to be released into the wild and smell all of the new smells only available in this area. He dashed from tree to tree to rock and back. He marked his new territory diligently and discovered it was going to take a few more gallons of water and days to encircle  his claim on the entire mountain.

We went for a Frisbee outing on his second day where he could run for it with no boundaries and the smile on his face was constant. On a particularly long toss, Captain caught the Frisbee and kept running up the hill into the forest. In about 10 seconds, he came running back, looking over his shoulder and clenching the beloved Frisbee tight as he ran for the safety of the gated compound. Captain Morgan had just encountered his first deer. Not only that, it was a deer herd turning into stampede mode chasing after him. He was bewildered at the creatures. . . "What long legged and odd looking monster is this and why is it chasing me?". I've never seen the dog run so fast for cover and Frisbee play ended abruptly. He safe guarded it until the next day.

We went out to play again, this time with caution, checking for monster deer presence, but our play was interrupted with the appearance of "Dingo", a cattle dog belonging to one of the local ranchers, who had adopted us during our stay.

Dingo had never seen a Frisbee before but picked up on the general idea immediately. He is lightening fast and catching the Frisbee mid air not his forte, but if Captain missed, Dingo would jump on the Frisbee, pick it up and shake the crap out of it like he does to the squirrels that he catches for dinner!

Captain didn't hide his contempt for Dingo but  that didn't faze this tough dog. He killed that Frisbee in about 1 minute ripping the "indestructible" saucer to pieces and depositing it at my feet-Obviously not schooled in appropriate Frisbee etiquette. Living out in the middle of no where, there aren't a whole lot of Frisbee stores so we had the squeaking dumbbell and a tennis ball left. Again , Dingo snatched the "squeaker" and ran off into the woods with it. Dingo came back but squeaker was buried somewhere on another farm never to be seen again. He was all smiles so it was hard to yell at him. Country dog through and through.

Captain Morgan became tolerant of Dingo, even acting civilized, but I don't think he forgave him for destroying his beloved play things. When it was time, he was glad to get into the car and head home, safely away from the stampeding beasts and wild dog. We left the barrel of apples for the deer, the remaining tennis ball for Dingo and waved good bye. Captain is happy. He got a brand new Frisbee and Chuck-it set for his troubles, along with a brand new can of tennis balls. . . He still runs from pictures of deer though and looks away when he sees one on TV's Animal Planet.

Singin' and Dancin' in the rain

It   rained in Southern California. It didn't just rain, it was a torrential downpour, running off the packed dirt and flooding streets in minutes.  The outside temp. was 80 degrees.

 My yard was a casualty , all drains clogged with leaves and debris turning it into a giant rain basin. I sloshed out there with a shovel and bucket, scooping up leaves off the drains one at a time. The yard water swirled delightedly like a huge toilet but there was so much water draining into the flooded street, the yard took a while to empty . I kept eyeing the back doors wondering how much water was getting into the house to add to the interior problems we already had.

In the midst of this, the plumber had been summoned to rescue me from my leaking shower which has warped my floors and I've had a gaping hole in the bathroom wall with plastic hanging out of it to catch any other drips until it could be repaired.

 My plumber is too familiar with this old house . He found me standing in the midst of my flooded yard with the Captain, both of us wet to the core and the rain not letting up. He offered to help me with the yard drains, but I had pretty much succeeded in clearing them. The patio gutter began to over flow as we stood there and, as if on cue, it dumped 10 gallons of stagnant roof water and dead bugs on my head in a cascading waterfall - I was in utter disbelief and caught off guard.

 Plumber Eric couldn't help but laugh. I was a sight. He asked if I was all right.

 The horror of having nasty rain water dumped on me was almost my undoing. My playing in the rain came to an abrupt end as I stood there spluttering and spitting out wet tree blooms.

 My plumber said he had to turn off the water to the house to work on the bathroom. I begged him to give me 10 minutes to shampoo my hair and bathe Captain who was also saturated with the roof run off. He said I couldn't use the shower though and would have to wait a couple of hours until he was done.

 Heck, I've got a shower in the back yard. Standing in puddles swimming over my flip flops, in the pouring rain, I took a record breaking shower, shampooed my dog and all done in 5 minutes. Plumber said, "You've done this before". Yup! About a hundred times!

Eric complemented me on our expedited cleanup but knowing he was charging me by the hour, I was highly motivated and he probably a little disappointed!

The shower is repaired. The floors are still a little warped. The yard is draining and cleaner than its been in years, and its hot again. The rain gutter is cleared out and functional, waiting for the next downpour.

 First day of fall will be welcomed at 100 degrees and it already looks like its never rained here .

I'll wait patiently during this epic drought for the next opportunity to be "Singin' and Dancin'  in the rain!" ....and I'll stay clear of the gutters!

Along came a spider. . .

Singing around the campfire at the sea shore. Oh what fun!
Young man E. comes over to our adult grouping and says, "There's a giant spider over there! It's big an black"

No good can come from being around a black spider so I caution him to leave it alone in case its a Black Widow. He says, "Well, it's giant." He makes a large circle with his forefingers and thumbs but they aren't touching.

"Wow! That is pretty big, Where is it?"
E says," It's in the street walking over this way."  I turn around in my chair and by golly, there it is. . . the big black spider  is marching deliberately toward us and its waving its big hairy legs hello at me as I envision it becoming as big as the house rooftop its  attached  itself to and looking for someone tasty to eat.

We all get out of our chairs and encircle the spider. Some one mentions its probably not deadly and just a local tarantula looking for some place to spend the night.  There is a furor around the campsites as every kid aged 2 on up encircles this tarantula . They are curious and amazed at the creature. Not a favorite of mine but I know its not going to eat me but my arachnophobia is kicking in and I just want it to run away. The creature was obviously exhausted waving its front legs around in attack mode and the kids now want to squish it . This isn't even an option for me because I don't want to walk past its remains every day to get to my campsite. One of the kids tosses a pink sandal at it  . All the other camp adults are back in their seats but the 12 kids are still encircling the tarantula and the only other adults are me, E's mom, and my friend Matt. I tell Matt I'm going to get something to get the thing out of the road so it isn't squished.  Wasn't he the spider expert claiming it wasn't deadly? I turn toward his trailer, spy a child's bucket with darling heart shaped shovel and return. Now I realize this bucket must be for gnomes or mini people and wonder why couldn't Matt splurge and buy his kid a normal sized pail instead of the 4 cup size with the teaspoon shovel? And where is Matt? Where has he gone? I am now the only adult and there is no one to pass the pail to and get the tarantula into it.

 I hold my breath,  use the teaspoon, okay, micro shovel, and quickly herd the tarantula into the pail where it immediately begins to hoist itself out because its bigger than the pail. I'm certain it was flexing developing biceps at me.  This thing is much bigger up close and personal and I was certain it was growing every second it was in my possession . My heart clenched tighter than my teeth and the horror of carrying it 20 feet away and tossing it into the sea of ice plant on the hill felt like time had stopped and soon we would all be a headline in some rag periodical about alien spiders taking over the planet . I am listed as the first fatality in the invasion .

"UNIDENTIFIED   SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA WOMAN KILLED IN ATTEMPT TO RESCUE TOTS FROM MONSTOROUS TARANTULA!"  

                                       

The story describes how My face has been  eaten off by the tarantula army and as a lasting horror to me my tombstone asks me to   R.I.P    with an engraved spider hanging from the P.

Never mind'  I tossed Mr. Tarantula far and away and return to our camp inquiring all the adultx, "What the HECK?  Where did you all go and why did you leave me alone with a hairy spider and children armed with sticks and plastic silverware?"
Oh. Yeah. They all said no way were they going to mess with that thing -or lamer, "I'm afraid of spiders and creepy crawlers". 
Where was Mr. Man in all this? Yes. Where WAS Mr. Man? Somehow he got lost between our camps for an hour before he came back and I suspect he was napping! HE actually likes tarantulas.


Mr. Tarantula scurried away never to be seen again. Now I've learned, those things can jump 4 feet high, can be territorial and rush at you.
My career as spider wrangler is over. NO THANK YOU!

Flip Flop

Flip Flops are my foot wear of choice. They used to herald the beginning of summertime and it was exciting to go to the local Thrifty or Sprouse Ritz stores to pick out the lucky pair I would make my only shoe for when school was out. If I wasn't in flip flops, I was barefoot.

Not only do they fit nicely on my freakishly big feet, they are acceptable foot wear for just about anywhere I frequent in this warm climate of Southern California.

I have to wear a men's sandal so I thank the trend of todays designer to make the sandals of mens and women's look virtually the same.

I love the noise the flip flop makes slapping against my foot sole as I walk. I can wear them shopping, to dinner, with dresses, skirts, blue jeans and to church. Light weight and available in a rainbow of colors and styles make these the foot wear every Californian wears out on the town.

My favorite sandals are my black Nikes. So comfy, and slimming to my feet. I wear them every where and just about every day. Of course I took them to the beach with me. I wanted my feet to look as fine as they felt in the shoe .  They fit right into that seashore lifestyle. No socks for us. It wouldn't matter if it was 20 degrees outside, we are at the beach and flip flops is it!

Part of our daily beach routine is to walk the beach, It's about a 3 mile walk and we usually have most of those miles to ourselves and a handful of experienced surfers,

Our dog, Captain Morgan, loves the beach and is an expert Frisbee player, romping into the surf to fetch his brightly covered and unsinkable disk. As I walked along the shoreline, tossing the Frisbee, I took off my sandals and waded barefoot into the surf. An aggressive wave hit me in the thigh and I lost grip of one of my sandals. I watched in dismay as it disappeared under the foaming tide. I stood there in disbelief. My beloved flip flop gave itself a burial at sea in seconds.

For the rest of my walk and Frisbee tossing, I searched the shore for the lost shoe, hoping it would emerge from the watery depths and do a true flip flop on the sand. I kept ahold of the left sandal hoping to get its mate back some time before having to head back up the hill to our camp across hot lava sand and asphalt.

No such luck. I donned the left and only got a lonely "flip" sound and limped rapidly to the next tolerable place to rest the burning right foot. Mr. Man stepped in an epic puddle of tar hiding under hot sand and it oozed between his toes. Not wanting to mar his new beach crocs, he put a plastic bag on his foot which came up to his ankle and then the shoe. We were quite the site walking back to our camp. We received many comments about tarry feet and warnings about hot streets. Thanks folks!

Back at camp I found the back up flip flops and tested them out but their tone was deeper and not as sassy or appealing as the lost Nike flop. The next few days of my beach wanderings were spent scanning the horizon for a little black boat shaped like my shoe and poking at sea weed bundles to see if it was hiding under their bulky shapes. I found plenty of "blackish" things I thought were my flop, but all turned out to be ominous looking sea plants, bits of sea tattered clothing or dead bird.

I've mourned the loss of the Nike flop and deposited its friend Flip into the recycle bin before leaving the oceanfront for home.

Digging into my shoe bin, I've recovered 6 pair of various flip flops and I'm retesting their capability to make that charming noise I love to hear as I walk around. I've settled on leather OP's for now and started a quest for my next favorite pair.

Happy flippity flop to you. We all walk to a different song!

This has left a Sour taste in my mouth.....

Lemon in ice water is one of my favorite beverages. I usually ask for it when we are out to eat. It's what I prefer when I'm even at a party if its available. I love infused water.

The drink is refreshing and thirst quenching. A couple of a lemon slices squeezed into a large 12-16 oz. glass is perfection, and I don't care if the lemons have seeds or not. If I happen to encounter a seed, I just remove it and put it onto the bread plate.

Mr. Man prefers his water plain and clear and rarely drinks any when we are out and about - So I am surprised when he reaches over for my large glass and takes a big drink out of it. That's okay. I share. We have swapped drinks and bites of food for decades.

I turn to retrieve my glass just in time to catch Mr. Man spitting seeds back into it. I'm appalled. "Why are you spitting into my lemon water sir?"!

He shrugs." I was thirsty and I didn't want to swallow seeds. I'm just putting them back where they came from."

Now I have trust issues about letting him eat from my plate and drink from my glass. Has this behavior been ongoing since we met in 1974?!! How many second hand spit outs have I ingested over the years?

I argue with him that its as gross as taking a bite of food , changing your mind about it and returning the unswallowed portion back to my plate. He scoffs at me! I think he may have called me a hysterical woman and said its not going to kill me. I'm not even sure he is remorseful....something about- 'it's no big deal and everyone does it'.

He has been warned there will be serious punitive action if this is ever repeated.

Emily Post has been consulted and I believe she is going to side with me!

This has left a Sour taste in my mouth and its not the lemon water!

I think I need a tissue

I have finally accepted my children are full grown and no longer want to live with me, near me or visit more than necessary.

They have flown the coop, left the nest, took up residence in paradise, found their calling, and are successfully living their lives independent of parental guidance or assistance. They are done with the hustle and bustle, traffic and general population of this city. Even coercion to swim daily in our cement pond in our backyard retreat won't change their minds. Their vacation days are spent traveling the world and experiencing new adventures. I get it. I forgot to do that as a young adult and still haven't left these United States and start my check offs on the bucket list. I must go to them if I want to see their sweet faces.

Yes, this is what we planned for.

Yes, we even encouraged them to go and find themselves and make their own way.

Yes, they are successfully launched and I should be doing that happy dance to be free of their dirty dishes, ransacked rooms and unpredictable mood swings.

I have written about my preparing the child for the road...not the road for the child.

The bedrooms remain unchanged and full of childhood memories, toys, games, puzzles and clothes. Today, I began packing up those toys and beloved  treasures. I wrapped them in tissue, carefully boxed the breakables and wrote little notes and stories behind each of the most beloved items designated as "NEVER GET RID OF" by their owners.

 

The wall papered pre-teen border is coming off, and the overdue cover up of the botched wall "texture" of 1998 is going to be redone in a bright new hue of citrus green and accents in yellow. Baby photos, pictures, even the carpet are being replaced. It is so difficult to make a change but its time.

I spend hours gazing at photos and books and remembering the day and event they made their appearance and reliving it. The girls were the best. Never any trouble and always happy with what they were given and grateful for loving parents and happy home.

Youngest daughter claims to be returning homeward next year and taking the furniture away. Will she take her childhood with her?  Hoping it will be so but having it packed up and ready for the trip will make it easier for the final parting. Number One wants to have her things but regretfully lives in a tiny apartment with no storage. Her things are also boxed up and ready to find their way to her when an empty closet becomes available. (mocking laugh here). For now, I will remain the guardian of all things sentimental and beloved to ensure their safe keeping but who's going to take care of all my own mementos?

Missing you girls more than I can express but I am committed to changing it up for my new launch into mid life . Want your stuff? Please come get it and I will hold on to you tighter than you could ever imagine, but I am willing to let you go again to continue your pursuit of happily ever after.

Dang! I think I need a tissue!  Must be the paint fumes blurring my vision!

Shall we dance?

I love it when my life reflects a movie moment. Spontaneous, fun and memorable.

One of my favorites was when I was shopping at a large mall. At the center, there was a large holiday display and seating for the weary shoppers. My goal was to get to the other side of the expansive walk and have a rest. Just as I'm crossing, I almost bump into a man. He pardons, and we both start to go right. Whoops! Pardon again, and we both go left! On the third attempt, he sets down his bags, grabs me around my waist and we waltz around the circle laughing. The dance ends with me pointed the direction I need to go  and him his. We were applauded for our spontaneous dance. I didn't even know I could waltz like that. He was an accomplished dancer and guided me around effortlessly.

What an ego boost and a lifetime smile for me! For a minute in time, I was Cinderella at the ball except I was in blue jeans and sneakers.

Shall we dance?

A night out for a beer

A night out with friends for a beer taste with 5 course meal. After cocktail hour, we got to the seating area and began the tastings. I don't like beer in any form, so I was the designated driver and observer, sipping my diet coke.

As the heavy pours continued over the next 3 hours, enough alcohol was consumed to make even the most practiced drinkers bleary eyed and stomachs full of enough food to commence a food coma.

As we were preparing to leave, a lady in front of us stood up, turned around to say something to her date, took a step back and fell backward over her chair, losing  both her shoes as they flew off her feet kicking toward the ceiling. Another guest stopped her from actually hitting the floor, but her date got to see the color of her underpants and stood in a daze as she commanded him to help her find her lost footwear as she composed herself, looking around to see if anybody caught her indignant topple. She smoothed her skirt and hair down, and began her deliberate exit carrying her shoes. Her gait was a little unsteady as she exited with dignity unbeknownst to her I would be blogging about her the next day.

Our group found the way to the car without incident, although there was talk about how we all were fine, just fine, and would have no problem driving home but wouldn't pass a breathalyzer test. I was happy to be the designated driver. I had just as much fun and participated in the Q&A with the rest, and I didn't even fall off my chair!

Keep it in mind to have your designated driver on those party nights coming up. You might just be saving a life other than yours.

Stay safe out there friends!
Have fun and enjoy your night!
Don't forget to buy your designated driver a coke!
Try to stay upright and all right!

Cheers!

How old am I?

I am extremely annoyed at myself.

For the past year, I have believed that I am 2 years older than I actually am and now that my natal day is approaching, my Mr. Man has reminded me that we are the same age and have been for the last 3 months! Even more annoying is that I have listed my age INCORRECTLY on my latest medical information and license renewals. So, I can either stay this ancient age for another 2 years and pretend that I have been in a cryogenic slumber, looking amazing for my age, or own the real age and see that this lined face and these gray hairs belong to a virtual youngster? Either way, it is really upsetting that I have lost my faculties enough to wish myself two years older and didn't even get any birthday cake to wish upon!

I'm younger than I say I am! whoop! Hope this continues into my 90's!

Communion Sunday

It was Communion Sunday at church. I always try to attend the second Sunday of the month so I can be part of this symbolic gesture as we renew our relationship Christ and remember his sacrifice for me

. As the trays of communion wafers and cups of  red liquid are passed through the church, there is always some beautiful song playing in the background. Our church takes the cups and wafers as a church body and we wait until every one has the "body and blood of Christ" in their hands. It is a solemn ritual and one I take very seriously.
  During one of our recent communion services, there was a pew with several residents from a local convalescent home. As the communion plates are passed along, it was handed to an elderly man who wasn't able to hold the plate upright. His neighbor held the bulky plate for him as he tried to grasp ahold of a cup and pick a small 4 cm. wafer out of the bowl with crippled fingers twisted by the ravages of arthritis and age. The church usher stood by his side and helped him to get hold of the two items. With shaking hands and determination to keep the cup upright and not spill it, the old man tucked his hands under his arms to steady them. The congregation waited patiently, the song was extended effortlessly and the pastor held off the prayer until the old man was composed and ready.
 As the congregation of 500 took communion and thanks, I thought, wouldn't it be wonderful if the world could just slow down a bit to accommodate those who are a little slower than ourselves, be considerate and thoughtful of others, and to help each other in times of need, even if its just the smallest gesture?
Be grateful and live the day to its fullest. It is a gift. Thank God above for all the riches you enjoy.
This day, do a good deed for another out of the love of your heart.

Vege gone wrong!

I fell for it again. Seeing a delicious and beautiful, perfect food created with just a few ingredients and photographed then posted to social media and thinking I could do that!

Some of the recipes even have a video, showing how easily the mango will fall away from its seed, the avocado from its seed, the pineapple, the watermelon, the egg perfectly boiled and peeled. The apple rosette, the olive stuffed penguins.  I try the recipes that look simple enough and beautiful to impress, but they are either gross or a total fail.

I decided to do zucchini chips. How hard could it be? Slice, season, oil and bake. I followed the directions exactly. Epic fail and gross to taste. I ate the first "chip" but it was just chewy and not chip like at all, not puffy and golden as pictured,  but other than it gagged me. Then I thought maybe it was a fluke. It looked kinda like the photo-just flat and black, so I gave it another taste. Spit that out and then I realized most of the problem was the smell. Two days later and I still smell the dang things, the odor lingering like charred popcorn in the microwave.

Spending the day descenting and destroying any and all evidence that I experimented with the vegetable and wish I had just sautéed the zucchini like I usually do and ate it old school.

I don't know what strength of Febreeze is being touted on the commercials that absorbs all odors and the people are blindfolded and surrounded by trash and cat litter unaffected by the odors, but I'm writing the company and calling them out on their bogus propaganda. It isn't working and I'm resorting to spraying the stuff on the ceilings and ovens and my tongue. Relying on the old fashioned bowl of vinegar to suck away the odor of the vege gone wrong!

Welcome to Greengate street

New neighbors are expected for this weekend. The house next door to the west of me has been occupied for the last year by a couple of very quiet, non-interactive, unobtrusive women. Before their departure this week, they had a gardener come to rejuvenate the now dead lawn, trim the bushes and rid the front walk of weeds. I don't think they counted on total annihilation of anything resembling a bush or shrub, and alas, the "Dr. Seuss" tree crunching both of our walls and really not a tree at all but a sucker bush with giant tree envy puffed up on a leaking drip line-remains unscathed. They dodged that tree removal cost. At least its something green.

Gone are the beautiful rose bushes that lined the fence and were often plundered by me on the down low, for beautiful floral arrangements throughout my house. Especially sad is the removal of the Lady Bird Johnson Rose bush which had the proud history of winning a Blue Ribbon at the L.A. County fair in 1973. I'm sure the new owners will be surprised at the lack of any landscaping when they arrive. It certainly is bare and brown now that the gardeners took the machete and turbo week whacker to it.

Always iffy wondering if the new folk are going to get along with us. We may not be the best of friends on this block, but we do look out for each other and learn who's who and Who goes where and with what kind of dog or cat. Certainly they are clueless that there is a Tweaker drug dealer directly across the street and that his clients like to park on their curb.

I know there are 2 boys, under age 10. Hopefully they won't be peepers as the first, and second residents were, watching me through the decorative brick on top of the fence. I'll take them the customary "welcome" basket full of snickerdoodles, shake their hand and introduce myself. After all, we look into each other bathrooms and down the hallways if the windows are left open on both houses. Luckily that's the guest bath so no shower show for these folks. We should be on a first name basis!  

Wishing some body I knew and liked were moving in . It would be fun to fill the neighborhood up with nice friendly people. Where are all my peeps looking to move to Southern Cali?? Seems as if everyone is set on moving OUT of here!!!

Welcome to Greengate street. You are now part of the Kravitz vs. Kravitz watch team. You're gonna need a pair of binoculars and a journal. And this isn't called the Circle City for no reason. Once you are here there is no escape!