Make the most of the dash

I read a quote today that I have read before but didn't give it too much consideration.

"Your life is made of two dates and a dash. 
  Make the most of the dash."

This made me stop and really soak in the words. Best case scenario, I get to live the second half of my life in perfect health and mind, experiencing all those activities on my bucket list. I'm already past the half century mark and realistically, I only have a third of my life left!

What have I done to make that dash between my beginning and end really stand out?
It seems as if I've been waiting for a period of my life to  wind down so I could do something super awesome, but its always put off because I am waiting on another life change to occur.
My life has definitely been subdivided. . . . College, marriage, have children, grow the children, launch the children, career and the race to retirement. Now what?

Now that there's time in my days,  I am running out of them and the stuff I really want to fill them in with is pricey - like touring Europe, cruising around famous islands, climbing Mt. Whitney, going on a shopping spree and only shopping from the non-clearance items. Flying around the world visiting friends and family instead a occasional texts or phone calls.

I'm hoping for out of reach hopes and dreams to appear. . .like owning an amazing house on a hill with a breath taking view to decorate and the invention of a body molder that sucks off the fat and tones your muscles until you look like a 27 year old poster girl for Women's Health magazine. Pipe dreams yes, but great dash fillers.

I It's time to make my mark in this wide world and figure out what God's purpose for me here is. Surely there is more. I hope so! Other wise my dash is done and I have lost my opportunity.

I am proclaiming the year of 2016 the beginning of a new dash chapter. Join me. Don't let your dash end with unresolved dreams and hopes. I'm sure going to give it my best!

Crawling under cars

Back in my teens, I purchased my first car, a Honda civic. It was small and manageable and got me where I needed to go. It wasn't my dream car but it was what I could afford then....$3,899 brand new with upgraded interior.....blue plaid insets. No A/C or radio but it was mine. I was instructed to change the oil in it after its first 1,000 miles. Not having a clue how to do that, I drove it over to my best friends house (who I would later marry and call Mr. Man), and asked him to help me.

Mr. Man and his father spent their days rebuilding engines and crawling under cars looking up into their guts.

I was instructed to don the coveralls, assemble my oil , a metal pan , plastic funnel and given a little wrench to undo the oil plug. I wish I had a photo of the 3 of us grouped under that little bitty car. Just our heads fit under it. I successfully drained the oil into the tin pan, added new oil and learned how to read an oil stick. I didn't like getting oil on my hands or washing it off with the gunk -be-gone cleanser and I certainly didn't like looking at my cars under belly but it was a valuable lesson that was as essential as learning to rotate my tires and change out the battery.

 Mr. Man has tired of tinkering with the cars. It was never his passion. He logged a lot of hours under the hood and spent bonding moments with his dad under those cars. It cemented their relationship as father -son and gave them a common interest.

 If I hadn't gotten under that car and paid attention to Mr. Z, I doubt he would have given me the time of day, even after I was joined into his family and became the chatty daughter-in-law.

 Since those 40 years ago, Mr. Z reminded  me about my auto repair lessons held in what is now my own garage and driveway-
Every time I went out to his own auto garage  to check up what was new with the place, there was always one car that seemed to be in a constant state of repair, engine removal or up on "blocks". 
Sadly, I never convinced him that his new hobby could  be the restoration of a 1945 Chevy Truck for me to drive around.

My daughters have learned the same lessons from their grand father . He was thrilled that they never hesitated to crawl under the car and learn the same methods of the oil change , battery check and spark plug install the old school way. I don't think the man ever considered a jiffy lube or a Big O tire for his own cars. He was a patient and knowledgeable teacher.


The cars have never run smoother.

Good lessons for every one.

Thanks Dad.

It's raining. What do we do now?

Year 4 of the California drought.

Neighbors have had their lawns removed and replaced with "desert landscape" looking as if they really are in the Mojave desert. (They look ridiculous.)

Water conservation efforts are at full operation and the cities are imposing a high fine for any household exceeding their predetermined water allotment. (I have yet to exceed mine but I am water savvy conscious!)

If you have a green lawn, or blossoming flowers a neighborhood narc group will report you to the city to find out why and HOW.

Lakes are well below their lowest points. You have to hike a mile to get to water. Boat launches are no longer necessary.

Fish are dying off. 

No snow base in the High Sierras to determine if we will ever have water to sprinkle again.
Farmers are allowing the crops to revert to dust and can no longer afford to water the crops which drives the cost of food up even higher.

You've been hearing this all on the news. We are going to dry up and blow away.

Now, we are awaiting "El Nino".- Weeks long of storm after storm, cold weather and flooding.
All the local TV channels are a-buzz with STORM WATCH 2016. A few drops send this event to national news. Cautionary tales to continue to conserve your water. . . or else!

Moisture drips from the sky and everyone starts running around in circles not knowing what to do first.

Mothers pack their children in zip-locks and run screaming with the children to avoid getting wet. (It may melt your skin. acid rain is real)

Motorists skid out of control as their tires hit oily pavement and slide across the highway.

Windshield wiper blades, formerly used only to do a quick swipe now and then to remove morning mist, are now found to be shredding and ineffective when needed to perform against rain falling for more than 5 minutes. Auto shops are holding seminars on how to purchase-install-and use wiper blades.

I too have fallen into the crazed state of wondering what to do when so much water befalls us in such a short time. Add the lightening and thunder and we all assume its an earthquake- we know what to do for that act of nature.

As my swimming pool overflowed and the yard drains obviously plugged up from the foreign occurance of water gushing into them , I was scrambling to create a dike and sand bag effect to keep the rising water at bay and out of the house.

I scoffed at myself to have been caught so unprepared at the watery onslaught. Within seconds I was wet to the core and stripped off the pants weighing me down and got into flip flops. What a sight as I scrambled around in the frigid rain and kept it up until my teeth were chattering and Mr. Man got home to save the day. His comments about me outside in underwear and flip flops was unwelcomed. If any neighbor is looking out at me scrambling to save the house by myself without offering any assistance then shame on them!

Donning his only water proof jacket available, a red hooded windbreaker you could see through, a long sleeved Columbia hike shirt designed to wick away moisture, snow pants from the last ski trip circa mid 1990's when the waist line was in the LOW 30's and hiking boots, he forged out and began the clearing of the drains.

Removing a tree root as long as a foot ball field and a sludge-root mass the size of a bowling ball, we achieved yard drain success as the entire yard began to swirl like an enormous toilet bowl and slurp down the multiple drains now cleared.

Lips blue and teeth chattering, the 3 hour drain clean out left Mr. Man hypothermic and waiting for hot soup and hot shower simultaneously.

I had to laugh at him as he started removing the wet clothing, and peeling off the soaked "waterproof" ski pants but especially laughed at the dismal failure of the pricey Columbia brand hike shirt that absolutely could not wick away a drop of the water it had absorbed nor provide any kind of thermal relief from the freezing rain.  Even the hiking boots proved a fail and I expected fish to fall out of them when they had the water dumped out.

Yup. You know you are a true Southern Californian when the best rain coat you've got is a GLAD Trash bag. Even my golf and beach umbrella proved insufficiently waterproof.

Now that the yard and house are saved, we are ready for the next STORM, coming this way in 2 days. I can safely sit back and revel in it.

I love the rain. I love to dance in it. I love to listen to it and watch it make drip rings in the pool. I've already got the next rain outfit picked out. It covers more body real estate, its warmer and my rain barrels are upright and ready. Bring it!

Here's my take on the old hand clap and jump rope song . . . .

"Say say oh playmate, come out and play with me.

And bring your doggies three,

Climb up my big palm trees.
Jump into my rain barrels,
Slip slide into my French doors.
And we'll be rainy day friends,
Forever more----one, two, three, four."

"So sorry playmate,

I cannot play with you.
Ive sadly got the flu,
I cough until I'm blue.
Ain't got a rain barrel,
and only a sliding glass door,
But we can still be friends,
Forever more--one, two three, four."

10,000 uses for Duct tape- # 976

Mr. Man and I were having a busy and productive morning de-decking the halls and boxing up the lights and garland. We have it down to a pretty decent efficiency level and it's always easier to take it down then put it up.

Our Christmas tree, which was one of the best in near memory, lush with full, deep green bows, stayed fragrant and beautiful until December 30. This is the day it shriveled up, folded itself up like a big beach umbrella and pretty much removed its own decorations all at once! Guess it knew when it was time to  leave! I hauled it out to the curb by myself, recalling how it took the two of us to wrangle it indoors from the truck and how heavy it was. Now, it weighed about 5 pounds. This began our prompt to start the clean up and put away process a little earlier than usual.

 So, as Mr. Man removes lights, cables, and elves from our roof  he hands them down to me and we get the job done double-time. Up on the roof, he has a birds eye view and tells me there is a couple walking their dog in a weird stroller so call in Captain Morgan.

I turn to watch the couple advance. Not a dog or a stroller. It is a pink Little Tyke scooter that has a handle attachment in the back for the parent to push the kid along. The kid in this case is a darling 10 month old baby girl bundled up in a furry hoodie. Her mom and dad are very young. . . teenagers, and thrilled that all my tree ornamental balls are blowing about the yard and bouncing merrily down the sidewalk. Baby is holding one they captured on its way down the block.

We exchange pleasantries and I notice that the baby has been duct taped into the scooter seat and her legs duct-tapped to the sides to keep them off the ground. Pointing this out to mom that it may be illegal to duct tape an infant into a scooter, she laughs and says,
 "Isn't it great? She was dragging her feet on the ground and we couldn't get any where or she would fall off the seat! Now we can walk fast! I even brought the roll of tape in case she starts to slip. Duct tape is the best!"

Wishing I had my camera to capture this oddity, they are gleefully waving goodbye, pushing fur coated baby with zebra tights and red shoes wiggling as they continue their walk down the block.
Mr. Man has been watching from his rooftop perch. He says, "I think that's illegal?"

I'm not sure. The baby is happy, her legs and arms weren't blue. Her little red shoes showed active toe wiggling and her  Mom and dad were happy. I think its okay if there isn't duct tape over the mouth or face.

What do you think?

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!)