Tuesday, June 23, 2009


I hear that frespa in Gilbert had a really busy day on Saturday.  That pleases me no end.  Except that I hadn't made my appointment, and therefore couldn't get squeezed in.  As a result, I spent Father's Day un-manicured.  So, who noticed?

A young man stopped to see me Sunday.  Well, he still seems young to me, though he's in the latter half of his fifties.  He was a close friend of my middle son, became a lawyer, married and had four kids, and I hadn't seen him for years and years.  He still calls me "Mom" and has hardly changed a bit -- unless you call having a salt and pepper beard a change.  Ron even looks slightly like my son, though Paul's beard is almost as snow-white as Santa's.  

Ron was almost like another son. At some time or other I must have told him to make himself at home, because he did. I remember being busy folding laundry in a back bedroom when I heard the front door open and close.  I listened quietly. For some stupid reason or other, I didn’t call out, but waited for a clue to guess which child it was.

I heard the refrigerator door open and close, a cupboard door bang shut and liquid (I presumed milk) gurgle into a glass.  The toaster clicked down, and I smelled bread warming.  A drawer squeaked slightly, chair legs scraped over tile, and I heard a knife spreading butter.  While I was debating about going into the kitchen or just waiting to see what would happen next, the tap ran water, the dishwasher door closed, and the front door as well.   Ah haw.  The dishwasher clicking shut was my big clue that it wasn’t one of my kids.  It had to be Ron.

Ah, memories.  They’re what make life worth living.  Great in the making, they’re even more so in retrospect.

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Free Time? What's That?

I loved Cindy's post on color and free time. One hallmark of a good writer in both prose and poetry, or so I've been told, is the ability to encourage readers to think. It may be easier to write, and very tempting, but didactic composition has a tendency toward being too preachy, and is lack of choice is apt to turn readers away. Of course it depends on who's writing, but it still stands. Everybody does not react positively, even, or especially, to prophets. However, the greatest example, Christ himself, taught in parables, multiladen with food for thought. Cindy's blog last week took me into paths I didn't expect to take. I'm not going to re-quote it here. If you found this, you can find hers. She did indicate that black (the title of this blog) was to be avoided, because we all need free time. I agree with the concept.

However, being rebellious, I chose to color myself black, that svelte, slimming, sophisticated color. Why? Because all those lovely things on her free time list have often made their way to my 'to-do' list at some time or other. When I take too long and get too little done, it's not free time I've used, it's time stolen from something else -- often sleep. Nothing is free. We barter for our 'free' time with forfeiture of other joys or goals we might have chosen. I no longer choose some of Cindy's colors. I seldom watch TV any more, nor sip sodas, and I prefer to drink my water un-iced; I hardly ever go to a movie, but I do put a tape or DVD on now and again. I schedule reading scriptures, fiction, non-fiction; writing is definitely on my list; I schedule shopping trips whenever it's necessary; and exercise is usually the last item crossed off on my list. I'll talk forever on the phone, but seldom look up a number and dial a friend, I've never quite finished any one day's to-do list, and napping always takes me by surprise. Now, if you had "knit, crochet, or other handwork" assigned a color I'd take that. Or a color for Sudoku. The real trick is to like what's on the list. Since for some reason or other we've chosen what to do, or what to list, then we surely want to at least have it done. That's reason enough to decide to like our choice and gladly get at it -- unless we can assign, pay, or talk someone else into doing it for us. Since everything on the fun list could be allocated as scheduled time, and since we're all given 24 hours a day with a hint that we're accountable for every moment of them, I ask again: "Free time? What is that?" Can you see my tongue in my cheek?

Monday, June 15, 2009


I discovered long ago that email doesn't always go through with the same line set-up that I write with, but I thought blogs did better.  No, cut and paste can be terribly scattered and hard to read.  Sorry.  if I'd taken time to preview before publishing, the following blog would have looked (and read) much nicer.  I could go back and edit it, but why?

Life is full of little oops and sorrys, but even fuller with ahs and yippees.    (Spellcheck doesn't like me to be creative with my spelling, but please bear with me and forgive my idiosyncrasies.  After all, I'm the publisher here, and have no editor breathing down my neck.  However if you're a spelling purist and it annoys you, jut let me know.  I can reform when I deem it necessary.) 

Passalong for your enjoyment

Sorry, I've neglected this spot for over a week.  It's time I got busy.  Sorry this blogspot is still so unadorned.  It's actually a test to see if anybody will read just for the fun of reading, instead of for all the trappings.  Don't get me wrong.  I love trappings, too.  But then, I've also published a little picture book with no pictures. It's rather fun, and a real challenge, to be different.

Today is my wedding anniversary, and the second one I've celebrated without my husband.  It's not sad, so far, but it does seem a bit empty. It's not the first time I've been without his physical presence.  He spent a year in Iceland without me, and another year in Vietnam.  His decease seems more to me like just another overseas assignment with no dependents allowed to accompany him.  Therefore, I'm determined to fill today with all the fun things I can think of.  After all, life is still good and, as Charles claimed, "sweet to the taste and very desirable."  

Here are a couple of quotes from my email that I'm passing along.  Don't ask where they originated.  I have no idea.  I do know, however, that I don't have to have created a thought to enjoy it.  I'm surrounded with great people, great friends, great thoughts, great sights, and even great opportunities.  There are also a few unsavory things in life, but I try to keep them shoved into the periphery.  

Life is not measured by the number of  breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.

This was forwarded to me by my firstborn, Marolyn.
 You've heard about people who have been abducted and had
 their kidneys removed by black-market organ thieves.
 My thighs were stolen from me during the night a few years
 ago. I went to sleep and woke up with someone else's
 It was just that quick.
 The replacements had the texture of cooked oatmeal. Whose
 thighs were these and what happened to mine? I spent the
 entire summer looking for my thighs. Finally, hurt and
 angry, I resigned myself to living out my life in jeans.
 And then the thieves struck again.
 My bum was next. I knew it was the same gang, because they
 took pains to match my new rear-end to the thighs they had
 stuck me with earlier. But my new bum was attached at least
 three inches lower than my original! I realized I'd have to
 give up my jeans in favour of long skirts.
 Two years ago I realized my arms had been switched. One
 morning I was drying my hair and was horrified to see the
 flesh of my upper arm swing to and fro with the motion of
 the hairbrush. This was really getting scary - my body was
 being replaced one section at a time.
 What could they do to me next?
 When my poor neck suddenly disappeared and was replaced
 with a turkey neck, I decided to tell my story. Women of the
 world wake up and smell the coffee! Those 'plastic' surgeons
 are using REAL replacement body parts -stolen from you and
 me! The next time
 someone you know has something 'lifted', look again - was
 it lifted from you?
 THIS IS NOT A HOAX. This is happening to women everywhere
 every night.
 P.S. Last year I thought some one had stolen my Boobs. I
 was lying in bed and they were gone! But when I jumped out
 of bed, I was relieved to see that they had just been hiding
 in my armpits as I slept. Now I keep them hidden in my
 Thought this was too 'important' not to pass on Have a
 wonderful day - with a joy filled heart
 BTW - These same thieves come in my closet and shrank my
 clothes! How do they do it????

    Hope you enjoyed it.  
Have a good day.