Dandelion Lunch

January Poem

2012-01-31T07:51:00.000-08:00

The new year's resolution made a mere
four weeks ago: compose one tiny
unambitious poem each month this year.

I figured I would manage easily
to come across the finish line, grinning
ear to ear the last day of January.

Unlike a goal of shifting twenty pounds,
this was supposed to be fun and easy -
then the power went out and snow came down.

Dishes piled up and there was laundry,
I caught a really nasty head cold
(thus adding insult to my injury).

So here it is the thirty-first and this
is all I have to show for the month.
February looms. Into the abyss!

Brunch with the Bunch

2012-01-30T09:24:00.000-08:00

Ice and snow having released them from their winter captivity, the Burien Senior Writer's Workshop stumbled into Li'l Pat's Cafe famished as bears coming out of hibernation.

It was Occupy Pat's fueled by endless cups of coffee and Tabasco-laced hash browns.

Scintillating conversation and good eats! What could be finer than to sit around a diner with writer friends? (Two of which discovered they had been in the same high schoolgraduating class! Go figure?) We must do this again soon.

CABIN FEVER

2012-01-20T09:14:00.000-08:00

Snowed in all week. Only now the melt begins, icicles drip, drip, dripping from the eaves.

A week of missed appointments but rare beauty. Dug the Subaru out several times with no real intention of going anyplace. Made a huge pot of vegetable soup.

Came down with a head cold that couldn't have come at a better time - didn't want to stir from the couch anyway!

But with the warmer temperatures comes the realization that soon I'll be able to stir from my den once more - get up to the store to replenish supplies. And I'm more than ready to get out and around. I'm running out of tissues - and good humor.

POEMS FOR 2012

2012-01-07T15:25:00.000-08:00

Resolved: Write a poem for each month this year. The collection is called Twelve Occasional Poems for the End of the World. I'll publish it on 12/21/2012! Once it's out there in the universe the universe can go ahead and implode for all I care. I will have done my job.

I love the whole idea of the end of the world. Change is the only constant after all. Every day is the end of the world as we know it. Half the fun is seeing what's coming at us over the eastern horizon. The other half? Seeing what we can make out of whatever it is before we lose the light.

Boxing Day Delights

2011-12-26T08:19:00.000-08:00

Turkey soup and grilled cheese sandwiches.

Fresh baked gluten-free fruitcake cut with my gloriously lovely new knife (Thank you, Victoria and Eric!).

Two sleepy tabby cats on the daybed.

Ahhh - all the simple pleasures of the day after.

Happy Solstice!

2011-12-19T08:27:00.000-08:00

This will be such a quiet Solstice this year. No rushing around, no stressing over cards and shopping. We have chosen to give ourselves the gift of peace this year. We aren't even planning a big dinner. I have a 20lb turkey I got for free up at Fred Meyer at Thanksgiving. Today I'll throw it in the oven and forget about it until it falls off the bone, at which time I'll dismantle it, divide it into packages for the freezer and set the stock pot to work for a massive turkey soup. If anyone drops by I'll greet them with steaming bowls of soup and gluten-free bread.

There is no snow forecast but I love this photo from Christmas a few years ago. It sets the proper mood. May your holidays be filled with love and laughter (and fragrant soup)!

Sunset on this November novel

2011-11-30T06:21:00.000-08:00

Here it comes! Still have about 3000 words to go to the 50k mark. This is always the hardest slog there is. The mental muscles are burning, the breath comes in ragged gasps. Will I make it before midnight? Will I actually manage to come up with a PLOT???? The jury is still out.

Have to admit I despair of this year's novel. Sad to say, it is a disappointing child. It is unruly and unfocused. I catch her daydreaming in the back of the class. If anything comes of her I shall be the first one to be surprised. Ah well, the value is in the journey. See you in December when I'm sane again.

HERE WE GO!

2011-11-01T09:36:00.000-07:00

Okay, it's the first day of November which means that I'm writing a new novel. This one is number seven. The working title is Foggy Night, City Bridge and for the first time I'm writing a fantasy. Here's a brief synopsis of the story (What do you think?):
Fog enshrouds the First Avenue drawbridge. It is stuck in raised position to allow a tug to push a barge up the Duwamish River. Homeless Vietnam Era veteran Dee Dee O'Neil stands at the rail waiting for the bridge to lower so that she may pass to the other side. She is late for check-in at the Pioneer Square shelter. Once the doors are locked she will have to sleep in a cold doorway as she has done countless times before. She won't make it to the shelter that night or any other. Instead she will be transported back to the war years where her life twisted out of control. A mysterious young woman offers her the opportunity of editing her past choices, thus changing her fate. But will she take the chance?

Ghost Story Month

2011-10-10T07:42:00.000-07:00

October is a month made for reading ghost stories! (hint, hint - Red House Blues is a ghost story. Read it and review it PLEASE! Thanks a bunch.: Red House Blues)

My cozy mystery set in Westport, High Tide and Low Expectations, is on its final revision. Have to have it off and away by the end of the month because (wait for it) next month is National Novel Writing Month - AGAIN! And I'm so far from having a plot for this one that I'm already panicking.

(photo: Inn of the West Wind looking toward the Maritime Museum at Westport - key scene in High Tide and Low Expectations. Hint: the widow's walk plays a role in the murder.)

Want to do something completely different with the new NaNoNovel. Considering writing a fantasy set in the years 1963 to 1967 - Kennedy to war protests but with a twist (not sure what that is yet - time travel? It's been done but it's fun.). This Spring I transcribed a packet of letters I wrote during those years - surprised they were so content-thin and self-involved considering how momentous the period in our history. Ironically that was the only decade I didn't keep a journal. So since I have little to check my memory against I can give free rein to the imagination . . . I'm welcoming all ideas. What do you think?

RIP

2011-10-06T07:13:00.000-07:00

My Macs are in deepest mourning this morning - rest in peace Steve Jobs - and thanks!

Minding my own business

2011-10-05T07:09:00.000-07:00

Well, it's finally happened - I've become a meddling old busy-body. Who woulda thunk it? Here's the situation: on our street there are three elderly women living in horrible conditions in what I would characterize as a shack not fit for habitation. It has a warped slab of plywood for a roof and a window that was broken out last year and never replaced. (What they are going to do when the weather turns is anybody's guess.Freeze to death probably.) They have no garbage pick-up, burying their garbage in their yard when they are able. When they can't dig they leave the black garbage bags in piles all over their property. As you can imagine this has resulted in an impressive population of rats overrunning our neighborhood.

Thinking that these women had somehow fallen through the cracks in the system, I sent an email to the City of Burien outlining the problem.

Turns out I am the "problem". A gentleman from city hall called me yesterday. Since he didn't give me his name I'll call him Nameless Official. He told me that he was well aware of the women's plight. His points were:
1. People are entitled to live any way they want. (I thought the exception was if they were endangering themselves and others - apparently I was mistaken.)
2. Rats range for miles. Who knows where they are coming from? (Actually I don't care where they are from - the point I was making was that they ended up on our street drawn by the heaps of trash.)
3. The women don't want any help.
4. The problem will resolve itself as soon as the older woman dies since her two mentally disabled daughters are living on her Social Security check. Since they have no income of their own . . . (Not sure what his point was here.)

Gee, I sure got told. He didn't actually say "mind your own business, lady" but that was the gist. And here I always thought (to quote Dickens) "mankind was my business"! Whatever happened to the concept that communities must look out for the welfare of their most vulnerable citizens? I must have missed the memo that that concept had been repealed. It took Nameless Official to remind me to butt out. And to think that I pay taxes for him to do so. Live and learn. I hope he sleeps well tonight. That will make one of us.

Dead in the Water

2011-09-20T08:33:00.000-07:00

Stalled out on the rewrite of "High Tide and Low Expectations" until I had a sudden inspiration! Came up with the perfect way to kick a case of writer's block. I'm calling it the S. O. S method (which stands for Sallie's One Star method). See, what you do is search amazon.com for your favorite author's most highly rated book - then read every one star review of that book - ONLY the one star reviews. Knowing that even the finest writer out there gets buckets of crappy reviews removes all the pressure to reach for an imagined state of excellence. The poet William Stafford once told me that when you get stuck on a poem the best way to move things ahead is to lower your standards. That was perhaps the wisest advice I've ever received. By letting yourself off the hook you open up a world of endless possibilities you otherwise would have rejected out of hand. Give it a try.

And yes, "High Tide and Low Expectations" is chugging along again at a healthy clip. Should have it finished by the end of this month.

2011-09-17T07:32:00.000-07:00

This was the summer that never was. I borrowed a sunflower from years ago to bring color to this post. My present garden is a slumping disappointment draped with dew-spangled spider webs. It's given up. I'll be lucky to harvest a few green tomatoes. The cukes were stunted nubbins, the green beans made one meal, a single zucchini struggled into existence. (I gave it to our neighbor thinking surely there would be more appearing soon - nope.) Slim pickin's indeed.

This week I put away the deck furniture and cleaned up the front courtyard. There is little chance anyone will be sitting in the sun before next year. Of course we in the upper left hand corner should count our blessings - compared to the rest of the country the season was blissfully benign. No hurricanes, no triple-digit temperatures, no floods or fires. Basically, no nuthin'! And here we are, ready for winter. I'm hauling out the trappings of Samhain already and before I know it I'll be clipping strings of lights on the gutters to celebrate Yule. Happy New Year!

It's almost a year since our big family reunion. Already it has slipped into memory as a watershed year - the year Mom took her fall - the year I became a full-time caregiver. I have to look at it as a learning experience. The best we can do in life is roll with the punches - do the best we can with what we have. Though I know I'm pretty inept I just keep plugging away. Even the worst garden imaginable will sometimes produce a lone zucchini you can gift to a hungry neighbor.

2011-09-01T08:41:00.001-07:00

When I announced I was publishing Red House Blues in e-book format people were asking me "how come?" - why an e-book? So I thought I'd take a minute to talk about my thoughts on the subject.

The other day I read an interview with one of my favorite mystery/thriller writers, Earl Emerson. (If you don't know his work, it's worth your time to check him out. He's utterly brilliant. He's also a Seattle author, and I'm all for supporting the locals!) In the interview he points to the radical change in the publishing industry in the last few years, what with the growth of print-on-demand and e-books - quite an understatement, I'd say. He wonders why writers continue to play the silly antiquated games foisted on us by the New York publishing industry. He's ready to bail and start publishing his books as e-books. He's not alone. (He also says nobody is reading anymore - a statement I don't agree with, but more on that later.)

It's a disillusionment I've been hearing quite a lot lately from traditionally published writers. Why on earth would anyone these days put up with the idiocy of submitting a manuscript to a couple of dozen publishers without getting so much as a howdy-do? Then - should a miracle occur and you get your novel accepted - you're looking at a lag time of a few years before your work actually sees print! That's outrageous. A friend of mine who has been publishing romance novels with some of the top houses in the industry for over 20 years can't get a reading anymore. Why? Because the purse strings are in permanent spasm back east. Publishers are terrified of committing the bucks unless they're guaranteed they have a bestseller on their hands. And even then there are no guarantees they'll sell enough to pay for printing, distribution and marketing - even if your novel is up to its jugular in vampires and teenage witches. That means if you aren't writing what has already sold, you aren't going to be selling a darn thing.

Now, Earl Emerson says he doesn't see people reading anymore. I do think that's true of print media. We can blame our lousy economy in part. When you have to choose between supper and an $8 paperback . . . well, it's a no-brainer you'll opt for a pizza (gluten-free of course). Which you will eat while reading a dollar version of the novel on your Kindle! (You don't even have to buy a Kindle device - just put Kindle on your laptop and you're good to go. Who knew?)

The sea change came to the music industry years ago. We can all remember the days when bands used to cut demos and pray they get signed by a record label. Now all they have to do is throw their work out there on the Internet and sell per download. Maybe we writers are a tad behind the curve but we're catching up. Check out smashwords.com and you'll see a boggling number of free or cheap-cheap-cheap books available for download. Clearly, people are still writing and they're reading - and saving trees while they are at it.

Technology is freeing our creativity, opening channels of expression unheard of a decade ago. No longer is writing and publishing reserved for the elite and favored few. We all have our stories and now that it's so easy to share them we have an obligation to do so. Fly, be free!

2011-08-30T14:56:00.000-07:00

I'm still trudging through Camp NaNo-land trying to reach 30k on "Washed up on Barnacle Beach" - but I have managed to publish "Red House Blues" as an ebook on smashwords.com this morning. Really not as hard as I had imagined! I should do a few more. Here ya go with a link: Red House Blues

A KIND OF MADNESS

2011-08-12T08:24:00.000-07:00

It's an addiction at this point, this novel writing thing. Wrote a novel last month in conjunction with Camp NaNoWriMo and figured that was all I needed to feed my habit - but no, now I've launched a second novel in as many months - this one called Washed up on Barnacle Beach. It's set in Westport, Washington (my home away from home) - my third novel set in Westport.Here's a link: CampNaNoWriMo

Wish me luck that two novels will be enough for me for a while. It wasn't too long ago I was stretching it to write a ten line poem. What a slippery slope!

A Letter from Camp

2011-07-25T06:23:00.000-07:00

Hi! Can't believe it's the last week of Camp NaNoWriMo! Friday I reached my 50K mark in my new novel, "Speaking of Witch . . ." and I'm pressing ahead, searching desperately for a PLOT!Have to say I'm having a fun time with this one. After all, it's summer camp. I remember one summer I decided to read everything Jane Austen ever wrote - now that was a slow slog (but I recovered). And a few summers ago I set myself the task of writing 200 haiku poems. Another year the goal was everything Dickens. Now THAT was a long season.Check out this year's progress at CampNaNoWriMo!

CAMP NANOWRIMO!

2011-07-06T15:55:00.000-07:00

For some reason the National Novel Writing Month people decided that one novel per year isn't enough for me to write. So for the first time ever they are challenging the world to write a 50K word novel in the month of July! And since I can't pass up the opportunity to write a novel in one month, I'm pounding away on my new novel "Speaking of Witch . . ." (spelling intentional) - Check Camp NaNoWriMo to track my progress and read an excerpt of the novel. Of course it involves the ghost of Lord Byron and a Wiccan priestess who is determined to expose his lordship as a geeky fraud who used a body double to do all of his swashbuckling and womanizing for him. Obviously pretty heavy reading. :)

So if you don't hear a whole lot from me this month . . .

Solstice?

2011-06-18T08:11:00.000-07:00

I have pulled this sunny summer photo from my archives to remind myself that we are on the cusp of Solstice. Woke this morning to dark and gloomy rain. The garden is at least three weeks behind schedule, we have had so few warm days. There are less than six pea plants listlessly twining up their strings. They have not begun to bloom. I'll be lucky to get any peas at all this year. Perhaps I should prepare to learn how to garden on a glacier while making friends with the neighborhood polar bears. Climate change is taking its toll on my garden, though yesterday I noticed hundreds of darling golden honey bees on my climbing hydrangea. Happy to see they aren't extinct just yet!

I have launched into revisions on my novel High Tide and Low Expectations. An excellent rainy day pursuit. This novel is a cozy mystery set in Westport, Washington. Lots of pirates and smugglers, rusty crab pots and irate seagulls.

It's the story of Cora Jane Dooley, ex-wife of a serial killer the media had dubbed "The Boise Butcher". She's on the coast living in her RV, seeking an uncomplicated retirement far from the eyes of the tabloids. Oops! Here comes murder and mayhem . . . and she is compelled to become involved in order to clear herself from suspicion. All in all a perfect rainy day project. I'll keep you posted on how it's goin'.

Red House Blues

2011-06-10T07:43:00.000-07:00

I've finished the fifth rewrite of my novel, Red House Blues! Now the fun part - having a cover designed, getting the proofreading and editing sorted out, getting it published - etc, etc. I will be publishing through Creatspace probably by the end of summer.

Many of you know that I've been participating in National Novel Writing Month for the past five years. I figured it was about bloody time I got one of those stories out into the world! This particular novel was sparked by a conjunction of deadly incidents surrounding one particularly nasty old house in the Central District of downtown Seattle. (No, that's not the house in the picture but that structure is only blocks from the house in question. The meeting hall pictured has its own fascinating history - it was one of the first places Jimmy Hendrix played. It's reputed to be haunted, by the way.)

It's a supernatural/mystery/thriller combo plate of a book that I have had huge fun writing. The story centers on Suzan Pike, a young widow who goes in search of her murdered husband's lost notebooks and in the process stirs up a mindless and voracious evil. As soon as it's up on Amazon.com I'll let everyone know!

2011-06-07T08:30:00.001-07:00

Oh yes, the cheese! A former plant care client of mine, Kurt Dammier, has been in the local news lately ever since his mac and cheese made Oprah's top ten favorite things list. His company, Beecher's Handmade Cheese is well worth checking out. For years I urged him to come up with a gluten free version and I'm happy to report that it's in the works! His restaurant already offers it if you call ahead. Thanks Kurt!

COUPON CLASS AND CHEESE

2011-06-01T10:29:00.000-07:00

Okay, I'm ready to admit it, I've become addicted to couponing! Last night I took a two-hour class at the Burien Community Center on how to more effectively feed my addiction (and thus my belly). The place was packed with eager cheapskates like me. Instructors were a mother and daughter team from the neighborhood who write a couponing blog. It's a sign of these hard times that we are all pinching pennies. But it's more than that. It's FUN!!! Every week the "junk mail" contains free money! Who knew?

My garage pantry is exploding!

My wonderful sister-in-law has been doing this for years and is a genius when it comes to getting things for pennies on the dollar. She is a true inspiration to this rank beginner. She has actually used bags of chocolate candy as packing peanuts when mailing more fragile goodies to us. Blows my mind! One time she shipped some homemade jams inside a giant box filled with tuna packs. We're still happily eating tuna-mac practically every week.

Which brings me to the subject of cheese . . . (to be continued. Have to get to yoga class.)

Shimmer Contemplating Sun

2011-05-10T08:39:00.000-07:00

Shimmer warms his nose in a rare sunbeam, perhaps fearing that given the kind of spring we have been experiencing it may be the first and last indulgence of its type this year.

He teaches me to grab fleeting pleasures with both hands (paws in his case). This morning, having nothing scheduled, I sit in my semi-cozy chair revising a novel. In the living room Mom is finishing her breakfast while catching the news. Shadow is outside completing her early morning prowl of the garden. Later, if I can manage to get motivated, I will do the laundry and perhaps make a pot of spaghetti for lunch. What the heck. Perhaps the sun will break free once more from its cloud prison. I'm optimistic. Can't think of anything more nourishing.

2011-04-24T13:03:00.000-07:00

It's been a long time coming this year but Spring may be sneaking in the back door. Yesterday I cleaned our algae-clogged fish pond, emptying it of all but a few inches of green water before I discovered that our three goldfish had survived the raccoon's winter foraging! I hadn't seen them for quite some time so supposed they had met their fate as a sushi platter. Happy surprise! There they were: Eenie, Meenie and Minie swimming delightedly around in their now-pristine pond. Alive!

We should be used to miracle resurrections by now, shouldn't we? Today we celebrate Easter with friends and family. This is the time of year our ancestors too celebrated the yearly resurrection of life.

And of course today our family is celebrating Mom's return from the brink! Happy Easter one and all!

CARING FOR THE CAREGIVER

2011-03-24T07:15:00.000-07:00

My Spring visit to the inimitable Doctor Amos Shirman provided a wake-call. I'm pretty much back to where I was last Spring, health wise. And I was doing so well before Mom's fall last Fall! As Doctor Shirman pointed out I haven't been taking very good care of the caregiver. Stress, worry, and lots of comfort food has taken its toll. So the "Doctor Shirman's Orders" list has gone back up on the refrigerator door. No added salt, no butter, watch the red meat and cheese, pile on the veggies, get back to yoga class, drink lots of water, get more sleep. The usual.

He is right, of course, in getting tough with me. If I fall apart, who takes care of Mom? Which is more of an incentive than the fact that I'll be able to zip the jeans. Mom is doing pretty well now. She's been home almost three weeks and is getting around the house with her borrowed walker. Still pretty weak but gaining in strength every day. We have had a steady parade of physical therapists, occupational therapists, social workers and personal health care aids. It's gotten so that I really need a bigger calendar for all of her appointments! It is enough to wear out a pro football player.

Check out the photo of Mom and our friend Mary sitting down to St Patrick's Day supper. Hard to believe Mom was deathly ill a month ago. She's one tough cookie. That's how you get to 96.

Still, it would be short-sighted of me to think she won't need my assistance for the foreseeable future. It's easy doing your duty by someone who needs your help - not as easy to pay attention to your own needs. Women tend to think they are being selfish if they take time for themselves, are taught that they're a good mom or caregiver only if they sacrifice themselves. It's something we must get over. Martyrs by definition don't thrive - not to mention that no one likes being in the same room with their self-destructive behavior. I'm keeping that in mind as I round up a crew of "mom sitters" so I can get back to yoga class once in a while.

It's been a pleasant surprise how many resources are actually out there for caregivers. At first I was so totally overwhelmed, feeling that I was doomed to house arrest 24/7 while I looked after Mom. That was before the army of social workers began showing up at our house (Thanks Gerry, Stephanie, and Selena!). I learned there are many services that provide respite care - as well as support groups where caregivers may vent and regroup. Through Medicaid, Mom qualifies for household helpers who can spell me off a few times a week. Sure, I'd heard the horror stories about how Medicaid takes away your home etc. Happily those stories seem to be urban legends. Yes, if you have to go to a nursing home your assets are tapped after you die to repay the system for your care - but assisting you to stay in your own home is so much cheaper! Thus, the in-home care programs that cost the client little beyond, in some cases, an affordable co-pay. I'm beginning to believe I can do this without killing myself in the process. Who knew?

Oh, almost forgot to mention: the dandelions are up in the yard! Already harvested and ate the first "crop". Doctor Shirman would approve - they are wonderfully jam-packed with vitamins and minerals. Yum. Called my son Paul, inviting him for lunch. He had some sort of lame excuse why he couldn't make it. Go figure.

PENNY-WISE/POUND FOOLISH

2011-03-07T10:40:00.000-08:00

Penny-wise/pound foolish - or how Medicare saves money by "losing" patients: Here's a sneaky little trick we discovered over the weekend. When a Medicare patient arrives at the E.R. they are given written notice (double-sided) of their rights to appeal should they believe they are being discharged too early. They must sign the notice acknowledging that they understand their rights. It is stated that you must appeal to the Quality Improvement Organization NO LATER than your "planned discharge date and before you leave the hospital". Once you are out the door you have no right to appeal. Sounds good? You have an option, right?

Here's how we discovered how underhanded, sneaky and downright criminal this system is: Friday night the doctor in charge of Mom's case told me that she had one more week left of her coverage (see previous post). Did that constitute a "planned discharge date"? Nope. Just a vague indication that she was going to be in the hospital maybe until the end of the week. The very next day, Saturday afternoon at 1 p.m. I get a call from a nameless person at the hospital informing me that Mom would be discharged at 2 p.m. and I was to come pick her up! One hour notice! On a Saturday when Medicare offices are not likely to be responding. The medical attendants had unplugged Mom from all the various devices, stripped her bed, put her in a wheel chair and fifteen minutes later we were virtually shooed out the door for home. So much for time to appeal her release!

Our tax dollars preserved at the expense of the people they are supposed to be helping. Hey, I'm as patriotic as they come (seven years in the United States Air Force has to count for something) but today I'm thoroughly ashamed of a few aspects of our so-called health care system - and I also feel a bit betrayed. May the morons who are dragging their feet instead of reforming the system live long enough to get thrown out of a hospital on one hour notice - and to make it even more fun may they be thrown out in the dead of night wearing only a backless hospital gown. That outta show um, don't you think????

2011-03-05T08:05:00.000-08:00

Health care in America - Perhaps you've heard that it's in trouble, that we have the crappiest health care system of any industrialized nation. You might not believe that. You might point to all the amazing machines and wonder drugs that seem to be able to cure practically anything that can be thrown our way. Granted, we have made huge strides in curing all sorts of diseases and patching up the human body when it's broken. So what is there to complain about?????

Imagine that you are lucky enough to reach the ripe old age of 96. Imagine that you take a fall one morning as you come in with groceries. You end up in the hospital emergency room with broken bones. Not to worry, right? Doctors and nurses will rush to your aid. You've seen this on countless TV medical shows. You hardly ever miss an episode of House. You'll be just fine in no time. We have a fabulous health care system in this country.

Not so fast. From the moment you enter the system, the clock starts ticking. Your body had better get with the program or get left behind. You have a finite number of days to get back on your feet. If, heaven forbid, you get an infection or two along the way to slow down your recovery or your body just naturally heals more slowly you are in a world of hurt in more ways than one. Your Medicare rehab money runs out in 100 days. The day after the money runs out you are on the street whether you can walk or not.

Now imagine that you are home from rehab just two days when, your body already weakened, you develop a life-threatening infection? You find yourself back in the emergency room. And the clock starts ticking once more. You have exactly two weeks to get well. Nobody really cares if you are breathing well or can get out of bed or can recognize family members or eat without help. You will be sent home to live or die on your own at the end of two weeks.

Oh sure, there are options - if you have lots of money in your savings account. However, if all you have is a thousand-dollar a month Social Security check between you and starvation you are (pardon the expression) screwed. At 96 years of age you are sent home to fend for yourself.

This is what our so-called health care system is doing to people who never managed to become internet billionaires or Wall Street wizards. This is the fate of The Greatest Generation. And this is going to be your fate too unless something is done. You are one stumble over a door sill away from utter disaster and despair. This is you, wondering how you'll get up out of your bed to use the toilet. This is you, crying yourself into a fevered sleep. You, wondering how it came to this. How? After a long happy marriage, a life of hard work building a comfortable home and rearing your children in the American Dream here you are - a throw-away in the gears of a heartless and broken system.

If my mother lived in Sweden, England or Canada she could get the care she needs. As it is she'll have until next weekend to get well. Yesterday she had a small stroke as her attendants gave her a sponge bath. She was totally unresponsive when I arrived to help her with her breakfast. She couldn't talk, couldn't move. Never mind, her days at Highline Community Hospital are numbered. Literally. I have applied for Medicaid for her though I have no illusions the paper-pushers will treat her plight with any urgency.

I never imagined that this blog would become a soapbox but I'll tell you a story. I was a high school student the year the road in front of our house was scheduled to be straightened and paved. It was a cold, especially wet Fall. Half way through the project the road crew packed up their gear and left. They had already torn out the culvert through which our creek ran, cutting us off to the east. The road west was a muddy, churned-up construction site. I set off to meet the school bus one morning through a driving rain for the paved north/south road a half mile up the hill. Nearly to the road I slid knee deep into a sucking mud hole. I couldn't move. I clawed at the mud to get out, clawing for something solid. It was like glue, like quicksand. Eventually my younger brother found me and helped pull me free. That afternoon our mother tied a wool scarf over her hair, buttoned on her old farm coat and pulled on her "barn boots" - black knee-high rubber boots she wore where she went out to the barnyard to feed the cows. Mom trudged through the rain and mud to the main road where our old Ford was parked. She drove two hours of the state capital in Olympia, marched into the office of the highway department, trailing mud and water after her. She demanded to be heard. She told them they had nearly killed her daughter by abandoning us with no safe way out. She stood her ground and demanded that the state do its job. Two hours later when she returned home the machines were already back on our road. After that day whenever Mom took on a cause we would say that she was "pulling on her barn boots again". Oh how I wish I had a pair of barn boots that I could pull on this morning and march on "city hall" to save her from the terrible pit that is even now pulling her down! But I can't fix this alone. It's too big a mud hole for me to climb out without help.

2011-02-17T08:29:00.000-08:00

Caregiver panic has set in! What’s caregiver panic, you ask. That’s when you wake up at midnight (as I did last night) in a cold sweat over where you’re going to get something called a “gate belt”. (Later found out it's a gait not gate belt.) No, it’s not the same as a belt of fine Irish single malt (though that would have been most welcome). It’s a device that helps you steady a person who needs a bit of assistance with their mobility. Mom’s physical therapist says I will need one when she comes home from rehab next week.

For those of you who don’t know, my mother took a tumble over the front door sill back in November, breaking her shoulder and cracking her pelvis. Since then she’s been in a rehabilitation facility eight miles south of here. They’ve taken fabulous care of her, giving her physical therapy three times a day to get her strong enough to come home. And now the time is almost upon us! Medicare cuts her off within the next week and she’ll be “kicked to the curb” (aka sent home).

I’ve cleared out her room to make way for a hospital bed and wheel chair, painted the room, wired it for cable tv and internet and put up new curtains. I’ve provided special grab bars etc in the bathroom. I’ve sent for a fancy portable access ramp, rounded up a wheel chair, and ordered a cute sort of panic button thingy Mom can push to summon me from the kitchen if she needs a drink of water.
But the panic has, as I said, set in. I’m going over and over in my mind every possible scenario. The what-ifs are driving me nuts. What if she can’t manage to climb in the bath tub? What if she has trouble getting out of her chair? What if, what if. What if she needs something in the middle of the night? And then the HOWs set in – how am I going to get out to buy groceries if I can’t leave her? How will I teach my Wednesday night yoga class up at the church if I can’t leave her? How will I manage to get out for two hours for writer’s workshop on Fridays? How do other caregivers manage????

I’ve done a lot of things in my rather checkered life but NEVER have I ever been in the role of caregiver. Well, except in the early days when my son was young but I was younger then too. Younger, stronger, more laid back. It’s quite a different matter caring for an elderly person. With a kid you can always drop him off at daycare or take him along with you if you have to run up to the store for groceries. What do you do with a frail elderly woman? One who still thinks of YOU as “the kid”?

Oh the joys of being a Baby Boomer! An entire generation is learning how to “parent” their aging parents. At least it’s a comfort to know that I have lots of company in this process. I’m fortunate that my mother is mentally keen and has managed to keep her sense of humor throughout her recent ordeal. She’s recovering well and should be just fine before too long. She’s doing better than I am in many respects. I’m the one getting up at midnight to shop Amazon.com for a “gait belt”! (Which I found, by the way. Less than $15 with two day shipping!)

There are no doubt many considerations that have not yet occurred to me. There will be many more sleepless nights because I want to do the best I can for her and am not at all sure I’m up to the challenge. It’s scary to be responsible for someone else’s physical welfare. No doubt about it. I think of all the millions of people who routinely and gracefully care for vulnerable family members and I’m in awe of them! How do they do it? Do they ever wake up in the wee hours of the night in total mind-numbing, gut-churning panic???? I’ve decided that for my own peace of mind I will assume that they do, that we are all in the same leaky boat and bailing as fast as we can. There is a certain comfort in that.

2011-01-19T08:08:00.000-08:00

What the heck happened to last year anyway? It was such a chaotic whirl wind of projects and ideas, heavy lifting and short deadlines, parties and broken bones, sound and fury. I am thinking it's possible I fell victim of the dreaded plague of the newly retired: late onset attention deficit disorder - so much time, so much to do, so many people depending on me, so many dreams deferred for way too long! It was overwhelming! By the end of September right after our big family reunion I hit the wall.

And the poor old blog had run out of steam. I had clear intentions starting out but somewhere in the chaos of events and expectations it had lost focus. It had become a chronology of projects and a bit of a journal - a combo plate that served no purpose well. So I've been letting it get some rest, letting it catch its breath.

This morning I noticed that the garden is just beginning to show some life. Chives are threading up from the cold soil, buds are forming on the hydrangia bush and crows are loud in the fir tree. Certainly winter is not through with us yet but there is every hope it's loosening its hold. Perhaps it's time for the blog to emerge from hibernation?

A Month of Downward-facing Dog

2010-09-19T08:05:00.000-07:00

(My first class as a Yoga-Fit Instructor: "The Writer's Workshop Warm-up". Barbara, Mary, Darlene, Peggy, and Miki. Missing from photo are Judi, Betty and Martha. That's me on upper left. The dog is Miki's guide dog, Tiger, who does an authentic downward-facing dog pose.)
This month I became a yoga instructor! Quite a departure from everything I've ever done. Back in high school I was the girl who pulled a sicky rather than go to p.e. class. The most "athletic" I ever got was aqua-robics a few times a week at the local pool but that was the eighties and nineties. Never felt the need to get all sweaty in a gym.

Then I got oldish. Funny how it sneaks up on a person. One day you're light and lithe - next day you drag your creaky carcass out of bed, realize that sometime during the night everything has shifted south and your joints have all the flexibility of a crow bar. Adding insult to injury your adorable general practitioner (the inimitable Doctor Amos Shirman) drops the triple bombshell: overweight, high blood pressure, high cholesterol! And the battle is on.

So a year ago I signed Mom and me up for Low-Impact Yoga at the local community center (of course telling myself it was primarily for Mom) - to my surprise I got hooked on the stuff! Bought myself a mat and a yoga dvd to guide me through some stretches at home between classes. Soon I was on the yoga mat an hour a day doing downward-facing dog, cat/cow, tree pose, warriors 1 and 2, plank, cobra, moon-flower/sun-flower, triangle, child pose etc. etc. etc. Couldn't get enough. It was fun and I felt great! Even better, Doctor Shirman stopped scowling at my numbers.

Something else was going on while I was firming up and getting my blood pressure under control - I began to notice I wasn't the only one fighting the good fight against decrepitude. The class was packed with other Boomers intent on doing themselves the favor of getting and staying healthy. After all, what's the sense in having a longer life span if you're stuck in a nursing home for the later half of it? My generation isn't willing to settle for less than full participation in life. We want to be able to climb a flight of stairs at 100 without a crash cart standing by.

So this Spring I decided I would help fellow seniors be the best they can be in this amazing time of our lives - I would teach yoga for seniors. Since then I've been going to school and doing my practice teaching at the Community Center, as well as substitute teaching in the Low-Impact class where all this started. I finally know what I want to be when I grow up! Pretty exciting isn't it? You bet! And the best part? All the wonderful people I've gotten to know on the mat. What a fabulous, enthusiastic bunch - sweet, loving, supportive of each other. Can't wait for my next downward-facing dog. Namaste!

2010-08-16T06:36:00.000-07:00

(Shadow and Shimmer)

Thanks to the poet Barbara Cornwall for challenging our Writers Workshop to write acrostics! Here's mine:

CAT-CROSTIC
Caught in a sunbeam, immobile
as web-snared moths,
the tigers sprawl across the deck,
Shimmer and Shadow
nose to nose, whiskers
an arrangement of filaments
pulsing with each languid breath,
paws relaxed, striped flanks
iridescent with sleep, while
nearby in the ash tree squirrels
gambol and chitter, jubilant
in shady branches, safe
now for the moment from feline
threat, free as hummingbirds
hovering at the begonia baskets,
each animal in its own mind
something special in a nurturing
universe, one with the loving
nature of the summer sun.

2010-08-11T07:45:00.000-07:00

This morning it has been exactly two months since I began the much-delayed kitchen makeover. The cabinets have been stripped and repainted, the gleaming new hardware sparkles in early light. There is a new coat of paint on the walls and the shabby old Formica counter top is now a gentle cocoa brown. It has been an enormous amount of work with so much remaining to be done - a new sink to come, new floor tiles, back-splash and counter edge molding . . .

For months I have been totally focused on each minute aspect of the project, taking time out only for yoga practice and writer's workshop, every bit of creative energy directed toward the goal of a reborn kitchen. So many other concerns sitting on the back burner - this blog for one. Today I will restore balance by sitting quietly in my geodesic dome noticing each turn of leaf, each shift of shadow as Summer sun turns the Japanese maples into stained glass panels. I won't go anywhere near the garage where a stack of mill-work awaits my attention. Or so I say over my second cup of tea. We'll see.

RENEWAL

2010-07-13T06:43:00.000-07:00

Since last month my kitchen has been an impossible disaster as I strip forty years of ugly paint from the cabinets. It's a task that has niggled my mind since I bought the house back in the last century but before this summer I managed to find a slew of excuses for not plunging into the process.

Oh sure, it would be SO much easier to just demo the entire room down to the studs and start over. The DIY cable shows make it look like a piece of cake: bring in a crew of brawny guys in muscle shirts to heave the shabby cabinets into a boxcar-sized Dumpster, hang the pretty cherry boxes, fit shiny granite counter tops and gleaming sink and faucet. All the fixin's. In a day or two the old kitchen is an unpleasant and distant memory.

But that was not how I was taught to do things. Back in the 1940s my parents bought a Victorian Era farmhouse in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains and almost immediately started tearing it apart. It started innocently enough when they discovered that the "foundation" of the house consisted of wooden blocks - which were disintegrating to mush. Dad figured that was a good opportunity to add a basement. Just dig a huge hole under the house, pour concrete walls and floor . . . well, that was the general idea. Next came adding an edition with three bedroom and a bath, then removing the second story. Followed by building two enormous sandstone fireplaces by hand (We kids learned masonry that summer). Tiling the bathroom. Building a deck. It went on and on, year after year - always something in the works.

Have to admit I resented growing up in that chaos. We kids couldn't have parties or sleepovers because the house was a construction site. I couldn't invite friends to my house for fear they'd kill themselves falling over the stacks of lumber. My bedroom in the attic had no walls, just rafters. When I whined about how crappy my life was all I got was the promise: "When the house is finished it will be beautiful, perfect. You'll have all the parties you could ever want".

I grew up and moved out without seeing that happen. When Dad died in '78 the house was still not "finished". When Mom sold it a few years later the new owners brought in a crew to complete the renovation. Yet now from the vantage point of old age I realize a few things. The experience of watching (and helping) my parents work on that miserable wreck of a house provided me with an unparalleled education in self-reliance. I learned to hang wallpaper, drive a nail, run a floor sander. I know what a two-by-four is and how to mud Sheet Rock. I am not afraid to get dirty or put in a new light fixture. I absolutely LOVE painting! Nothing makes me happier than repainting a shabby room. Such a feeling accomplishment!

And a lesson in how to live - the importance of continual renewal. Nothing is ever "finished". Living is a process - as soon as you complete one project there is another on the horizon to engage your attention, spark your creativity. Get your juices flowing. The minute you decide there's nothing left to do is the minute you die. It's as easy as that. Maybe not physically - at least not right away - but dead in your own dusty attic. Once you are not creating, or re-creating something in your life you have left life. Knowing this, I keep tearing things apart and putting things back together - better, brighter, cleaner, more efficient . . .

I'm in the midst of renewing myself as well. This past weekend I completed the second series of trainings toward becoming a yoga instructor. Today the muscles are still a bit sore but I feel I've come a long way in the rebuilding process. One thing yoga teaches is that a person is always learning, evolving, and becoming. As soon as you think there's nothing left to do or learn something falls apart, peels off the wall or shorts out and you're off on another project. And hurray for that I say! Drop on by and I'll hand you a paint brush.

Solstice

2010-06-20T08:04:00.000-07:00

(Photo: sugar peas in bloom at Summer Solstice)

After nearly a year of "retirement" I'm wondering what ever happened to the silly notion that without a paying gig I'd have so much more time to write. Took a gander at my "Done" list. (That's the list of completed items from my "To-Do" list. I also have a "Maybe Someday" list and a "Not Hardly Likely" list. I'm big on lists.) In the past 12 months I have:

Re-covered the geodesic dome
Re-barked the garden (7 yards of medium bark)
Redecorated my office and the bathroom
Replaced all the bedroom ceiling fixtures
Re-stained the back deck
Polished the fireplace insert
Painted: deck chairs, umbrella stand, one wall each in kitchen and hall, two bookshelves and a file cabinet.
Repaired my bedroom window screen
Cleaned and organized the garage
Hauled 4 carloads of "usable items" to Value Village thrift store
Spread 10 bags of compost on the back garden
Set up a disaster survival storehouse in the garage (see previous post)
Renovated the front courtyard fountain . . .

That's not the full list but you get the idea. And somehow while up to my tushy in household projects AND full-time elder care for my mom AND teaching Friday morning writers workshop I succeeded in squeezing an hour of yoga into each day. What I haven't managed to do is fit in all that writing I envisioned I'd be free to do once I left the 40-hour-a-week grind. Really MUST put that on the To-Do List.

But right now I'm in the process of stripping 40 years of ugly paint from the kitchen cabinets. (Whoever painted the kitchen algae green in the 60s must have been on acid!) Figure it will take me another week before I get it repainted. Going to put up new moldings and shiny new hardware. Kevin, my next door neighbor, has promised to help me install a new stainless steel sink and faucet. It's going to be gorgeous!

In honor of Father's Day I bought myself a cool DeWalt orbital sander - 45% off! Just the thing to help with my next project: refinishing the hardwood floors.

As soon as I free up my calendar I'll get back to that novel I was working on last November. Promise. Of course it won't be right away because tomorrow I have CPR training and then there's yoga instructor training and after that . . . . . Some retirement this turned out to be!

2010-05-20T07:02:00.000-07:00

In observance of the 30th anniversary of the eruption of Mt St Helens I revisited our disaster preparedness. Winter before last we depleted supplies during the big Hanukkah Blow storm. Power was out for a week. However since we had on hand plenty of candles, food, wood for the fireplace insert etc. we managed well when many of our neighbors struggled. (We did meet some very nice but cold and hungry neighbors that week - turned the disaster into a fun block party!)This past winter was fortunately mild or we would have been in deep doo-doo - I hadn't gotten around to restocking.

Then a few weeks ago Mom's church put on a disaster preparedness fair in their gym which nudged me toward getting serious about fixing things up in our garage "storehouse". I came away with renewed resolve and a binder full of checklists. Tuesday I hit the stores, lists clutched in my hand, debit card poised for action, virtue oozing from every pore. By afternoon SuzyQ the Subaru was jam-packed with groceries, the bank account was on empty, and I was exhausted!

Results: The garage storehouse is ready for action. In addition to filling the shelves, I packed a suitcase for each of us containing a change of clothes, shoes, snack food, bottles of water, first aid supplies, toiletries, flashlights - even a compass, pocket knife, duct tape, whistle - in short, everything recommended by the Red Cross in the event that we have to exit stage left on short notice. We have two wind-up/solar powered radios, a cell phone, and a small stash of ready cash. The cats are all set with a carrier each and extra food and litter. SuzyQ has her own big tote filled with emergency supplies tucked next to her fire extinguisher and little red gas can. All in all, we's ready for anything comin' down the road at us! It's a wonderful feeling. I highly recommend it.

Last night the weather forecast was for unseasonably fierce winds, thunder storms and heavy rain. I unplugged the computer and tv, shrugged and went off to bed.

Community Center Open House

2010-05-16T06:37:00.000-07:00

(Photo: Darlene Burrill manning the Writers Workshop table.)

My Senior Writers Workshop is in new digs this Spring. We have moved from the creaky old Burien Community Center (which was an elementary school in a previous incarnation) into the renovated former library building around the block. We're adjusting quite well. It's a super facility with high ceilings, fresh paint, shiny wood floors and that new-Community-Center-smell. Plus our workshop has doubled in size! Many new writers contributing their genius to our ranks. I think there's something about being in a new place that energizes the brain cells.

(Photo: Open House Crowd)

Yesterday the Community Center hosted a blow-out open house. Even the sun decided to show up for the occasion! An auspicious sign. Our Writers Workshop displayed writing projects from years past and schmoozed with the populous. I was pleasantly surprised with the turnout, considering how lovely the weather was! Would have thought the siren call of garden and beach too much for most people to resist, envisioned talking up my workshop to an empty room - but the place was packed wall to wall with excited Burienites.

Mom and I moved out of our comfort zones yesterday to help yoga instructor, Janet Crawley, demonstrate some low-impact yoga poses to the throng. The two of us up on the stage doing up-dog! Who would have thunk it??!! We managed not to fall off the stage and even had fun with the experience.

(Photo: Our yoga instructor, Janet with her YogaFit table.)

I believe in the inherent evil of comfort zones. A belief I came to rather late in life, I might add. My dearest friend hasn't budged from 1985. Change terrifies her - I'm safe in writing this because she won't read it - she doesn't use the internet. (Not that she has no computer - she bought a "cute" Apple laptop in 2004 yet hasn't gotten beyond charging it and turning it on. She deserves a whole post all to herself! Maybe a whole book.)Chaos unnerves her to the point of paralysis. Which creates problems where our friendship is concerned - things can get pretty crazy around my place when I'm in the process of yet again "reinventing" myself. She doesn't know what to make of my recent passion for yoga; can't understand why I repainted my office and reorganized the garage; was horrified when I bought a new car last year and donated my old one to the Volunteers of America - in fact pretty much everything new I decide to do presents challenges for her, the poor darling. Wonder what she'll make of me and my 95 year-old mom demonstrating yoga poses to all of Burien? Can't wait to tell her about it!

2010-05-11T07:44:00.000-07:00

This pugnacious tuft of grass teaches a valuable lesson: flourish where you are. Make the best of what you have. A few years ago I spotted it growing out of a rusty utility access hatch in a busy loading dock. Unconcerned by its less-than-glamorous surroundings, the little critter looked HAPPY! Certainly had it been given a choice it probably would have preferred a sunny spot on a fertile hillside, but that's not where the seed happened to fall. Still, it could have sprouted in a far worse place than the loading dock. Nourishing muddy water runs over it every time it rains; its roots are protected under a shield of cast iron; it's just beyond reach of truck tires - and it's likely to be left alone, unnoticed and unmolested. Whereas if it had sprung up in the middle of a manicured bed of petunias it might even now be shriveling in the compost bin. Guess it's all in how you look at it.

I tried to keep that in mind this week when the bathroom sink clogged. At that miserable moment oh how I longed for one of those glorious homes showcased on the looky-lou DIY programs - three bathrooms with double sinks and garden tubs (what the heck is a "garden tub" anyway? There's never a garden in sight.) But no, my lot was one tiny bathroom with a solitary sink that had decided to become a frog pond.

It had done this once before. That's the way things go when you have elderly plumbing. That time I called in a professional plumber who snaked the drain, trashed my bathroom and left me with a budget-breaker of a bill. Once bitten, twice shy, I say. So this time I marched up to Fred Meyer, bought myself a pipe wrench and a clever little red pipe auger and proceeded to wrench and auger until the bathroom looked like the aftermath of a dirt-bike demolition derby. Pipes and sludge and muddy water everywhere. But I thought I'd fixed the problem. Until I got it all put back together and turned on the faucet. And the water rose to the rim with nary a trickle exiting the drain pipe.

You'd think a few extra days of brushing teeth and washing my face under the bathtub faucet would have motivated me to "woman-up" and call a plumber. Wouldn't you think? But I was still wracking my brain for plan B when I took Mom to Mother's Day services at her church. Frankly, I had underestimated my mother - she'd somehow sent word out among the church ladies that we had a plumbing issue. (Must have gotten tired of waiting for me to solve the problem.) Lo and behold, the plumbing adept husbands of the congregation flocked to our rescue right after services! Thanks to Brian and Jeff we can once more use our sink! Oh the simple pleasures of washing your hands in the bathroom!

What has this got to do with the grass growing in the loading dock, you ask. Darned if I know. Seems I got a bit off topic - which happens a lot around here. Though I might observe that like that tough little weed, Mom made the best of the resources available to her to get the job done. Where there's a will, there's a way. Good going, gal!

Celebrate Gluten-Free Month!

2010-04-27T10:18:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago Mike, a young friend of mine, nearly died. His health had been steadily declining for years, mystifying his doctors. Yes, he has type 1 diabetis but his blood sugar was well under control. So why was he losing so much weight; why was he dangerously anemic? In desperation his doctor ran diagnostics on his upper digestive track and there it was - Mike has celiac disease! Hurray!!

I say "hurray" because of all the things that could have been killing him, that's one of the easiest to correct. I know first hand because my mother and I both have celiac. (Celiac is an auto-immune disease - usually hereditary - in which the body reacts in some rather nasty ways to gluten proteins. Gluten is found in wheat, rye and barley.) The only "treatment" is to completely avoid gluten - FOREVER. There is no "ease into it" option, no room for cheating, no safe amount of gluten. The bad news is that if you have celiac and you continue to eat gluten you die. Not a dramatic, drop-to-the-floor kind of death you might experience if you had a peanut or wheat allergy (celiac isn't an allergy) but a lingering painful, messy sort of death. We won't go into the grusome details. The good news is if you decided to commit suicide you could do it with a pizza followed by strawberry shortcake.

I know what Mike is going through right now. I've been gluten-free for over fifteen years (Mom, who is 95 years old, has been gluten-free for over thirty). Mike has learned he has a potentially fatal illness. He is in deer-in-the-headlights mode, just beginning to realize how radically his life has changed. Never again can he mindlessly grab a burger at the local MickeyD's or pig out on crispy fried chicken. For the rest of his life he'll need to carefully study product labels - gluten sneaks into a staggering number of products under mysterious names like "modified food starch". Lucky for Mike the last few years have brought an explosion of gluten-free products to the grocery shelves! Used to be you had to go to expensive "health food" stores to buy GF (gluten-free) options for baked goods - and the goods all tasted like ceiling tile! Or you could do the baking yourself using one of a tiny hand-full of GF cookbooks ("Gluten-Free Gourmet" by Bette Hagman was the first one I ever saw - and I still use it. Check Amazon.com for GF cookbooks today and you'll find zillions of titles.) Now, GF foods of every description pack the shelves and freezers of local supermarkets. It's become trendy and cool to be GF. People who don't even have the slightest intolerance have gone gluten-free to clean up their poor dietary habits and maybe lose a little weight along the way.

This is a great time to be gluten-free. Seems like every week I find a terrific new GF product - last year's fabulous finds were Annie's GF Macaroni-n-Cheese and Tinkyada brown rice spaghetti. I was so ecstatic to find pasta that didn't cook down to a mushy sludge, that can be mistaken for the "real thing", that I bought a case of each and stored them in the garage for fear I wouldn't find the brands when I next went to the store. I have a freezer full of Van's gluten-free waffles I use for open-faced sandwiches. That's the way it is when you go gluten-free; you more keenly appreciate simple things like a tuna melt sandwich or a plate of al dente spaghetti buried in red sauce. I recently spotted a pizza take-out joint that advertised gluten-free crust. YEAH! Way to go!

You become more mindful of everything you eat when what you eat can kill you. That's a GOOD thing (to quote Martha). Personally, I think having to go gluten-free was the best thing that ever happened to me. Truly. I know how weird that sounds, to be glad to have a serious health issue - but before I went gluten-free I was always tired, sick, stressed, depressed, and generally miserable though I didn't recognize it at the time. I thought everybody felt that way; I didn't know what it felt like to be WELL! Because celiac prevents you from properly absorbing nutrients, sufferers are always malnourished. And let me tell you, that affects every system of the body not just the gut! It can screw up the chemicals in your brain and the function of major glands but until something totally shuts down and refuses to cooperate you often don't even realize you're sick. By that time . . . well, you get the idea. Fortunately it doesn't take long to turn the scene around once you stop poisoning yourself. Purge your diet of gluten and within 24 to 48 hours you feel the difference. It's quite amazing how fast the body begins to heal itself. (If you suspect you may have a problem with gluten give it up for a few days - if you feel better you may be on to something. Get checked out - they've recently developed a blood test for gluten intolerance. Really beats the invasive gut-scope that used to be the only way to diagnose the disease.) So how am I these days? Glad you asked; I'm fabulous! Rarely get colds or flu, have lots of energy, am happy and enjoy life - polar opposite from my glutenizing past.

My friend Mike has cleared his kitchen of nasty gluten/poison. The other day I made him a big bowl of GF mac-n-cheese and this weekend I'm going to his place for a massive GF-gluttony supper. He says he's gained weight this week and is feeling pretty good. He's on the mend! He'll be adjusting to the new life-style for awhile but I have every confidence that a fabulous healthy life awaits. By the way, May is National Gluten-Free Month - have a plate of gluten-free fried rice and lift a glass of gluten-free beer!!

(Sidebar: We all know that the mind/body is a complex interlinked system - poison part and you poison the whole. I have long wondered how many people have been misdiagnosed with mental illnesses such as bi-polar, depression, autism, attention deficit etc who are actually gluten intolerant. Not to minimize the seriousness of those challenges but it would be interesting to see a study on how gluten intolerance effects mental function. Hmmm.)

2010-04-17T10:29:00.000-07:00

Saturday, 17 April 2010
A clean slate - I have a new computer (another Apple of course) that has as yet no name, purchased because this week Pippin went into cardiac arrest and became a rectangular door stop. We sniff around each other like two cocker spaniels meeting on a path. I discover we do not share a common language. Everything I wrote on my previous computer is in a form incomprehensible to the newbie. I am left no choice but to have the old-timer repaired so that I can convert all my documents to text format, a form familiar to the probie. On Monday I'll pack Pippin down to Re-PC for repair. Dang. More money swans away into oblivion. But I'll have a spare on hand in case of yet another disaster.

Last night I had a visitation from my least favorite dream - the one in which I am at work and discover my route has changed. I don't recognize any of the accounts, don't know where they are or what I'm supposed to do once I find them. I'm in an elevator with no clue which floor the account is on - or I'm driving around in an unfamiliar neighborhood in the dark, knowing I'll get fired if I don't finish my route but having no idea how I'm supposed to do that when I'm so totally lost! I wake up frustrated and bone tired. Not at all ready to learn the mysterious ways of a brand new computer.

I have managed to transfer all my photographs from thumb drive to iPhoto. It is a start. You have never truly moved into a new home until you hang the artwork on the freshly painted walls. So something has gone right. Progress is being made. However I miss my old word processor which has been left behind in the technological dust along with IBM Selectric typewriters and punch card programing. Apple no longer offers AppleWorks. A mixed blessing - on the one hand I knew how to use the thing but on the other hand nothing I wrote with it could be read by a Windows machine (which pretty much left me talking to myself).

I have (obviously) managed to get the probie on line and am now beginning to re-bookmark all my crucial sites (bank, email, brokerage, blog). Had no idea I was so dependent until I couldn't access any of my stuff! Been going through computer withdrawal all week but now I'm set FREE!!!

2010-04-10T07:02:00.000-07:00

I've often thought January is a dumb place to start a new year. Makes much more sense to start a year when the tulips are blooming, birds are raising a riot in the pink trees, skies are peacock blue, and tiny seedlings are pushing up in the vegetable beds. It may be all sorts of poetic to think of April as the cruelest month but I consider it the most hopeful.

Great time to plan sweeping changes in your life when all of Nature is setting a good example - nudging toward a bright future. Which could be why I picked this week to set into motion a "career change". (I put that in quotes because I don't think I've ever actually had what I'd consider a career. "Career" is such a grand and rather pompous term.) I'm all signed up to start training as a yoga instructor! - with an emphasis on yoga for seniors. I'm also very interested in the uses of yoga in treating stress-related problems such as post-traumatic stress disorder, obsessive-compulsive disorder, drug addiction, depression - there are some very promising studies on the benefits of yoga for people with these challenges. And who of us doesn't know someone trying to cope with one or more of those?!

I know first hand how life-changing yoga can be. You should see us at the senior center moving through our tree poses, pigeon poses, stretches and bends - many of us who barely made it out of the recliner last year! What could be more exciting than the opportunity to improve the quality of life for yourself and others? This promises to be a wonderful adventure! Now if you'll excuse me I have to roll out my daffodil yellow yoga mat on the deck under a brilliant early spring sky. Ahaaaaa.

P.S. Progress Report: down another five pounds since last post and the cholesterol and blood pressure are now officially normal. Hurray! Keep on keepin' on.

2010-03-26T11:14:00.000-07:00

Progress report:
Down 15 pounds since January - easier than I imagined! (I realize that’s probably not what anyone wants to hear. People want to believe that making major changes in their lives is a difficult thing - gives them an excuse to abandon the project before anything actually happens.) My plan of action was simple enough: eat oatmeal or low fat granola every morning for breakfast to address the high cholesterol issue, then cut lunch and dinner down by half (If it doesn’t fit on a salad plate it’s too much food.), being careful of the salt and fat content. Looks like it’s working!

Another change I made to my routine: including an hour a day of yoga. Twice a week I join friends at the Senior Center for instruction - on other days I use a dvd to guide my workout. Firming up as I’m getting svelte! It’s become such a part of my day that I’ve decided to take teacher training in August - focusing on helping seniors and other physically challenged folks find the benefits of stretching out those creaky bones and stiff muscles. Should be quite the adventure for this gal who was never the physical fitness type herself.

If you want to try my granola recipe, here it is:
Combine 4 cups of gluten-free rolled oats with 1/2 cup each sunflower seeds, chopped walnuts and almonds, toasted sesame and flax seed. Add 2 teaspoons of vanilla and 1 teaspoon each ground ginger, nutmeg and cinnamon to 1/3 cup canola oil and 1/2 cup of honey. Mix everything together thoroughly. Divide between two cookie sheets. Toast in 300 degree oven for 20 to 30 minutes, stirring frequently until golden brown (burns easily so check it every ten minutes). When cool mix in a cup of raisins and dried fruit of your choice - and/or chocolate chips! Yum. Store in an air tight container. Great with soy milk or sprinkled over some tasty yogurt.

2010-02-23T06:07:00.000-08:00

Here come the dandelions! I’ve harvested my first colander of the season from the back yard. Lovely, nutritious, FREE! Weeds, you say? Oh ye of little imagination. (Of course I have noticed no one came over for supper the night I put the word out that we were having dandelion greens.)

Made low-fat gluten free granola the other day and have concocted my third batch of Thermos bottle yogurt, here’s how ya do it: heat some milk to just below boil (about 120 degrees - use candy thermometer), cool it to between 112 and 115 degrees, mix in a few tablespoons plain yogurt (make sure to use live-culture yogurt) and pour the mixture into a pre-warmed Thermos bottle, screw down the lid and wait 6 to 8 hours. That’s all there is to it. I like to drain off the whey for a cream-cheese consistency. (Put yogurt into a cheesecloth lined strainer over a bowl. Let drain in the fridge overnight.) Be sure to save a few tablespoons of yogurt as starter for your next batch.

What’s next in my getting-back-to-basics, living-off-the-land campaign? Tie dye peasant skirts? Macramé plant hangers? Dumpster diving? Backyard chickens? Stay turned.

2010-02-11T08:32:00.000-08:00

This week California is being washed into the Pacific, the east coast is under mountains of snow and ice . . . and I am getting an early start on spring garden chores. Perky primroses are going in, yard bags are being filled to the brim with last year’s leaves, and muscles that have been sleeping all winter are stretching out. Sure, there is a gentle drizzle in the air but we north-westerners consider that an asset: free skin moisturizer.

It’s a time of endings and beginnings - my favorite season. I am solidifying healthy new habits as I meet the challenges of high blood pressure and a few unnecessary pounds (actually 20 - but who’s counting). Have shed seven pounds this month and found it to be easier than I imagined. Just made some small adjustments to how I do things: cut all portions in half, use only salad plates, use meat-cheese-wine as seasonings only, double up on vegetables and fruit, oatmeal for breakfast.

In addition, I increased my yoga practice from three times a week to an hour a day, thus tightening up as I slim down. Feels really good on those gardening-stiff muscles! I’m considering a yoga retreat later in the year if I can work out the logistics, financing, and scheduling.

Update on Twinkle, my new rice cooker: I’ve tried it on basmati, brown, and jasmine rice to great success. Enjoyed a super bowl of rice with fresh chives from my garden. Yum! Haven’t turned Twinkle loose on oatmeal yet - though it’s so easy to cook oatmeal on the stove, why bother? It cooks the rice a bit stickier than I like but I think I should be able to perfect it if I tinker with the water-to-rice ratio a little bit.

There’s something about spring that brings out the mad scientist in me. Yesterday I revived the nearly-lost 1960s art of making yogurt in a Thermos bottle. Haven’t done that since the good-ol’ granola days of yore. Of course I could have blown fifty bucks on a fancy electic yogurt maker to sit next to Twinkle . . . nah, what fun would that be? (The yogurt was wonderful by the way - sweet and creamy.)

Rice Logic

2010-01-31T10:25:00.000-08:00

The slimming process is well under way (see previous posts for background on my anti-obesity project) - three weeks into it and I've shed five pounds of chubbiness. The blood pressure is easing off and though I haven't located my six-pack abs yet my yoga practice is pumpin'!

In order to make it easier to add lots of lovely fibrous grains (gluten-free of course) to my diet I've just acquired a cute little state-of-the-art rice cooker. It's a Zojirushi "fuzzy logic" machine. I've run three batches of brown rice through it so far and though I have no clue what fuzzy logic means, Twinkle makes some totally awesome rice!(I have named her Twinkle because she plays "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" when she begins the cooking cycle.)

I've also bought a rice cooker cookbook and am excited to try all kinds of super yummy recipes. When I tell people I can't eat wheat, oats (except gluten-free oats), rye or barley they inevitably ask "What's left?? A natural question when you realize how wheat-heavy our American diet is. Like high fructose corn syrup it seems to be in absolutely everything on the grocery shelves. That's one heck of a lot of subsidized, fattening grain! Still, when you swear off of it you realize how rich the possibilities are. Most of the world's cuisines are basically gluten-free, based as they are on rice, corn and potatoes - which makes those three foods pretty important to quality of life for people with celiac disease. Thus the fabulous rice cooker that now has pride of place on my kitchen counter. Will keep you posted on how Twinkle and I are getting along as we get acquainted.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LORD BYRON!

2010-01-22T09:53:00.000-08:00

Today is Lord Byron’s 222th birthday! I’ve belonged to the International Byron Society since the 70s, joining in college, but I’d been a Byron fan since high school. That’s saying something since Lord Byron has been out of favor for probably a hundred years. Thinking back to when my passion began I can’t actually remember what sparked my initial interest. Probably it was his biography rather than his poetry that first attracted me as a teenager.

Byron was the world’s first media superstar - and like today’s superstars he invented his public image as he went along - which makes him an endlessly intriguing individual. Byron had everything the tabloids relish, then and now; he was gorgeous, scandalous, brilliant, reckless - “mad, bad, and dangerous to know”, as Lady Carolyn Lamb declared him. Some have argued that Byron’s greatest work of art was his own legend.

Possibly, but it’s worth the effort to get past the glitz and glamour of the man himself to the wacky topical wit of his comic verse. Known best for his “romantic” poetry (a taste of the time in which he wrote), Byron is at his best as a comic poet. He’s a keen observer of human nature and society who’d be right at home on the “Daily Show”. Pick up a copy of “Don Juan” and dive in anywhere. Don’t be put off by the conventions of the 19th century English. Just listen to the man’s voice and play of thought. This is a guy you’d enjoy knowing.

So, Happy Birthday, Byron! Tonight friends will come over for a celebratory feast of spaghetti (because he lived the majority of his life in Italy) and Greek salad (because he died in Greece). We’ll read some poetry, his and ours. Maybe the man himself will show up in spirit to rock the party. Wouldn’t be the first time.

SLIMMING IN SEATTLE

2010-01-18T09:52:00.000-08:00

When I was a kid in the ‘50s there were two overweight kids in my high school. That’s right, two. And they were mere stick figures compared to 50% of the kids in any school you happen to pick today. When I was a kid, fat people lived in Russia and wore huge fur hats; they weren’t waddling down the aisles of our local supermarkets. Oh how things have changed. Now of course we’re up to our chubby cheeks in . . . well, chubby.

A week ago I started on my doctor-directed “slimming program” to shed twenty-five pounds so as to get my cholesterol and blood pressure under control. You’ll notice I did not use those dreaded words: loss, lost, losing, or diet - all of which are horrible negative words triggering depression, discouragement, and feelings of defeat. I quarrel with the use of “Biggest Loser” to indicate a person who has succeeded in becoming svelte. No one wants to be a loser. People want to be winners!

The British have it right. Over there if you’re a bit chunky you go on a slimming program. You don’t lose fat, you shed unnecessary weight. It is a much more positive attitude - and attitude is everything when you are improving yourself.

In pursuit of my plan I at first checked into the various programs available: Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, Nutrisystem. Couldn’t find one that had a gluten free option, which of course made them useless to me. A few offered vegetarian or diabetic options but there was nothing for vegans, gluten free or nut-free, Kosher or Halal. Still, it’s no great loss (I can use the word in this case) since I thought the food they did offer resembled chocolate covered ceiling tiles and tiny piles of yard waste. In addition, why should I have to pay twice as much money to eat half as much food?? Doesn’t make a heck of a lot of sense to me so I decided I could do better on my own.

This morning I see I’ve shed the first five pounds - the next twenty should depart at the more leisurely pace of a few pounds a month. The Seattle Slim Plan: oatmeal each day for breakfast to clear the cholesterol (I’ve found a source of gluten-free oatmeal! Yeah!), locked up the salt shaker, banished butter and other animal fats, swore off red meat except as a flavoring, cut all portions in half, doubled up on fresh fruit and vegetables.
I am also fooling my silly brain into thinking we’re eating more than we are by using salad plates instead of dinner plates. And to reward myself for this fine behavior I have sent for a cute, computerized rice cooker! It’s my birthday present to me. Besides cooking all sorts of rice it can also be programed to have my fragrant gluten-free oatmeal ready for me when I get up in the morning. So far, so good!

OATMEAL AND EARTH SHOES

2010-01-13T15:52:00.000-08:00

Every once in a while if you are lucky something comes down the pike at you, slaps you up-side-the-head and sets you on a better path. For me it was this week’s doctor’s appointment. Apparently while I was busy doing all kinds of other things my cholesterol and blood pressure were busy heading through the roof. How could that have happened? And were was I when it did? Obviously I hadn’t been paying attention.

I left the clinic with a fist full of prescriptions and instructions - and with the growing realization that the times they are a-changin’ for me. My marching orders: ditch twenty-five pounds, walk at least half an hour a day, chuck out the salt shaker and animal fat etc., etc., etc. My head was spinning. None of this matched my image of myself. In my mind’s eye I was still the scrawny twenty-year-old who could eat anything she jolly well wanted. High blood pressure, high cholesterol were something big ol’ beer-bellied bubbas get, not me. Definitely not me!

As soon as I got home I commenced filling the garbage with all the “bad for you” stuff from refrigerator and cabinets. The memory surfaced of fifteen years ago when I learned I was gluten intolerant, when I filled big black garbage sacks with bags of flour, pasta, bread, frozen waffles, and a staggering number of products I never suspected contained gluten until with new eyes I read the labels. Cans of soup, bottles of soy sauce, boxes of potatoes au gratin went to the local food bank. I came to think of it as the Great Gluten Purge. Now here I was once again purging my kitchen, this time with anything that contained sodium, cheese, red meat, butter. Goodbye bacon, goodbye sausage! It took the better part of an hour.

While I worked I contemplated how apt the title of this blog has very suddenly become. I started it when I retired last year, intending to explore self-sufficiency, foraging, economizing, coupon clipping, recycling - all the nearly forgotten hippie values of my youth. But it has been a slow shift. I dawdled, stuck in my ways and a little afraid to take the necessary steps to change. With the news that my health has been compromised by our ever-lovin’ fat-lovin’ American lifestyle the choice has been taken out of my hands. (Well, of course I do have a choice: I can stroke out or have a heart attack! Naw, no choice.) So here I am folks, in my new incarnation: gluten-free, oatmeal-vegetable-fruit-tofu eatin’, Earth Shoe wearing, yoga chick! Tomorrow I’ll stock the cabinets with brown rice and cans of low sodium tomatoes. Yippie!

I’ll be keeping you informed on how I’m doing. Knowing you’re there cheering me on is sure to be the kind of encouragement I need. What I discover along the way I’ll pass on to you - you never know, you may at some time need it. Hope you don’t but I didn’t think I needed it either!

AND WE'RE OFF!

2010-01-01T11:23:00.000-08:00

Today we launch a bright shiny new decade. Happy New Year everybody! I continue my tradition of cleaning the daylights out of the house on the first day of the year so as not to drag last year's grime into such a pristine place. The sheets are swooshing around in the washing machine at this very moment. When I finish here I'll wash the floors. I'm giving 2010 every chance.

Last night I stayed up to watch fireworks spangle the Space Needle. Quite an accomplishment for this early-to-bed-early-to-rise girl. I vaguely remember a time I could welcome the dawn after a night of partying. Gone are the days, I'm afraid. It takes something momentous to keep me up past nine. Some would call it encroaching old age - I call it an increased appreciation of the value of eight hours sleep.

Taking a break from the novel this week. I'm putting together a chapbook of haiku called "French Press - Coffee Shop Haiku". Poems inspired by years of starting my work day at Starbucks. Strong black tea as the sun clears the mountain. I do miss that sense of community now that I'm retired - seeing the same sleepy Microsofties and Geekatopians every morning lining up for their jump start. I wish them a double grande low fat soy half-caff new year.

HO HO HO!

2009-12-18T10:42:00.001-08:00

Almost the end of the year but not the end of this year’s novel. Yes, I reached the 50K mark by end of November but that isn’t the end of the story. Nope. Still at least three chapters to go before I can type “The End”. To make matters worse I decided it wasn’t working in first person so this morning I started converting it to third - which is like having nearly finished knitting a ski sweater when you decide you should have used another pattern entirely. Sure, I’m going to use the same yarn but I have to unravel the whole dang thing and start over. Ugggggh!

To make matters worse, here comes “the holidays”. Over the years I have made peace with the fact that I am not a sender of greeting cards or Christmas letters (I leave that to Mom who enjoys it). Our house is too small for a tree so I string lights on the house plants (see above), getting me to some extent off of the decorating juggernaught - plus I’m gluten intolerant which exempts me from the seasonal pressure to bake cookies and fruitcake. Since I’m retired and therefore poorer than Bob Cratchet’s pantry, shopping is a thing of Christmas past. And as a retired plant lady I wouldn’t let a poinsettia in my door if it came with a diamond necklace and a date with Brad Pitt. All in all I pretty much have a hall pass to skip the whole deck-the-halls rigamarole.

That being said, every time I turn on the tv this time of year I feel keenly how far I fall short of expectations. I try to spread cheer as best I can in my own way - stuff the red kettle with a fist full of ones, roast some meat, pour the Yellowtail, light candles and watch "It’s a Wonderful Life" with loved ones at least three times before New Years. It doesn’t measure up to the make-the-season-bright standard of excellence. It’s too little and pathetic and colorless and doesn’t have enough LED lights to qualify me for holiday hostess of 2009. So I’ll end this year knowing that I failed miserably yet again but vowing to do better next year. And since I hear the world will end in 2012 I have a few more tries to get it right. May you do better than I did - or have fun trying! Happy Holidays!

IT'S OFFICIAL!

2009-11-30T07:02:00.000-08:00

Today is the last day of National Novel Writing Month. Yesterday I came over the 50K finish line a whole day early! Not that the story has wrapped up - still may have a chapter or two to write before I can type "The End" but it's a good feeling to be this close. Thanks NaNoWriMo! It was great fun.

This year's novel is a fantasy - nice departure from the mysteries I've written in the past. This year three of my friends participated which really inspired me to pour on the coal. Thanks MiKi, Kate, and Chris. Strangely all four of us wrote fantasies. Could that be a reflection of how attractive reality is right now??? We'll have to do this again next November.

So now what? Become rich and famous novelists of course. (Speaking of fantasy.)

SAMHAIN PEANUT BUTTER COOKIES

2009-10-29T16:23:00.000-07:00

Happy Samhain, folks! Today I made a batch of peanut butter cookies to share at Senior Writers Workshop tomorrow.(Hope we don't have any allergies!)

This is the simplest cookie recipe I've ever discovered (Thanks go out to Jennifer of Symantec for this gem), plus it's GLUTEN FREE! Try it:

Mix 1 egg with 1 cup of sugar and 1 cup of peanut butter. Stir in some chocolate chips and/or nuts if you so desire. Mark the cookies with those cute little fork marks if you are feeling artistic. Bake at 350 degrees (for approx 7 minutes).

I know it sounds weird but that's it, the entire recipe. Truly! No, REALLY that's all there is to it. Seriously! No, I didn't forget anything. Honestly, would I trick you???

THE PLOT THICKENS

2009-10-14T10:00:00.000-07:00

It's that time again - trees are coloring up, mornings are cooling down - time to start thinking about this November's NaNoWriMo novel! So I put my home improvement projects to one side until I've crossed the finish line on November 30th, my new 50,000 word novel set free upon an unsuspecting world. As excuses go it's as good as any to get me out of finishing the garage sort-out!

For the next few weeks I'll be trying out plot ideas and sketching possible characters. So far I have a 16 year old girl named Sylvia (Sylvie) Bee who, when her mom is sent off to prison leaving her daughter to the tender mercies of the foster care system, sets out to find a grandfather she's never met - a grandfather who has just completed a reunion tour with his geriatric rock band, a one-hit wonder from the early 70s that has recently been nominated for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Could produce some interesting conflicts and interactions. Especially when the band buys a decommissioned convent on the coast in which to retire - a convent that comes complete with three ancient nuns who may be more than they seem. What else could I throw into the mix? Hmmm. Will give it some thought. Have no idea where this will go but that's part of the fun. Visit the National Novel Writing Month site and cheer me on (search for Salt Cellar under "authors" - that's me!) NaNoWriMo

THE CASCADING NATURE OF RENOVATION

2009-09-30T17:41:00.000-07:00

On the DIY and HG channels home renovations seem so focused, so straight forward and organized. Need a bathroom redo? Gather some samples, a construction crew, building materials and let the sledge hammers fly! From personal experience I can tell you that’s as close to the reality of home improvement as Iron Chef is to the fry baskets at Mickey D’s.

Also, there is no such thing as an isolated improvement project. My most recent foray into Home Depot Land started when Mom bought six fluffy white bath towels. They looked lovely hanging on their towel bars. So much so that I decided we needed matching hand towels and washcloths (Fred Meyer’s had a 20 percent off sale which didn’t hurt the motivation). I came home with an armload of terry and a cute new cabinet to hang above the toilet - which inspired me to weed out the shabbier items in the linen closet. Now, next to my nice neat linen closet and snowy white towels the bathroom looked grungy and dated. I started peeling wallpaper and thumbing through paint samples.

Weeks later the bathroom was freshly painted and lookin’ good - except for the ugly, cracked 60s lighting fixture over the medicine cabinet. This realization caused me to take a fresh look at the other lighting fixtures in the house (see previous post entitled “Let there be (porch) light”.) I bought a new porch light as well as a new light fixture for each of our three bedrooms. BUT there was a hitch in the bathroom lighting issue: the only electrical outlet in the room is part of the lighting fixture. If I replaced the lighting I would have no place to plug in a hair dryer. There are also no grounded outlets anywhere in the house, much less the bathroom. I started collecting estimates for running a new line into the bathroom (cannot afford to rewire the whole house though I’m terrified an electrician will take one look and decide I need a brand new breaker box - where is that Lotto ticket???).

But before that can be done I have to clean out the attic so that the electrician can access the area directly above the bathroom. And before I can do that I have to clean out the garage so that I have someplace to put the junk I haul out of the attic. Cleaning out the garage will entail sorting through two filing cabinets containing decades of dusty documents. It’s sure to take weeks to sort and shred that mess. Then there are all the tools to organize . . . and where do I put the deck furniture now that Fall is here?

And what of the kitchen? How can I possibly fix up the bathroom without addressing the totally out of date and unworkable kitchen? I haven’t an inch of counter space (note photo at left) and the cabinets need to be striped and repainted. And If I do that wouldn’t that be a good time to install a back splash? But since there are no grounded outlets . . . plus what of the horribly inadequate lighting? Oh no, here we go again.

THE PERSISTENT PURPLE POTATOES

2009-09-15T12:39:00.000-07:00

They are back, this year wriggling up from beneath the fragrant thyme bushes like a purple and green hydra. I can never predict where they’re going to surface. Last year they emerged from behind the birdbath, the year before that it was smack dab in the center of the bean patch. They are sneaky, perhaps suspecting that if I knew where they had wintered I’d ruthlessly dig up every last scrap before they could weasel up from the soil in the spring.

Years ago a well-meaning friend presented me with a trio of grape-sized, grape-colored potatoes. Purple. What does one do with a purple potato, I wondered. Who had ever even heard of purple potatoes? My Irish ancestors cringed in their crypts. Potatoes were meant to be fat brown lovelies that turned into fluffy white mountains flowing with fresh creamery butter. But purple??!! Purple was for egg plant and the shoulders of turnips, for grapes and red cabbages, lilac flowers and summer shadows.

Unsure I wanted such a monstrosity in my vegetable garden, I buried the tiny nubbins in my compost heap. That was the beginning. Before I knew it they had sprouted out the top of the pile. I should have gone after them right then but I have to admit I was curious. What would they become? What would I do if they produced actual potatoes? So I let them sprawl all over the compost pile. By the end of summer they were covered with rather pretty mauve flowers. As winter neared I lifted the tired vines out of the heap. Hanging from the roots were dozens of gorgeous amethyst globes! Digging around in the compost, I unearthed a treasure trove - a bushel basket full. What had I gotten myself into?

I started experimenting. First disaster was when I boiled them too long and they totally disintegrated into an ugly grey soup. From that I learned that purples are more delicate and cook faster than white, yellow, or red potatoes - they don’t play well with others, needing to be boiled or sautéed separately. Gentry treated they turn an attractive blue - over do it and they lose all color and texture. Another thing, they don’t bake worth a darn so forget it. They also don’t have much in the way of flavor by themselves.

So are they worth it? You bet! I have since learned that these little sweeties pack quite a nutritional wallop - more so than their pallid cousins. They are chock full of super antioxidants, nummy vitamins and minerals. Plus they have the advantage of freaking out your guests - the “blue plate special” for sure! (I make a red, white, and blue potato salad for 4th of July.) My favorite recipe though is to simply sauté sliced purples with onion and garlic, then add them to steamed zucchini or green beans. Gorgeous as well as delicious! (Always nice to have something to do with the boatloads of zukes coming off this time of year too.)

And I might add that it’s a darn good thing I’ve come to love my weird purple potatoes because they, like vampires, are immortal. That first season I was under the mistaken impression that it was possible to dig every last potato from the compost and thus limit the adventure to one season. Did I mention the purples are sneaky? They are nearly impossible to see against dark soil so the moment I innocently spread the compost out over my garden I created a monster. Now, every spring they return. Of course I’m delighted to see them but where oh where will they show up next year??? I’ll let you know when I know.

LET THERE BE (PORCH) LIGHT!

2009-09-13T08:43:00.000-07:00

Traveling through my second month of retirement to-do lists (yes, there's more than one) I've finished restaining the deck, painting the deck chairs, redecorating our bathroom, and a dozen lesser projects. Notable this week was installation of a brand new shiny front porch light to replace the scary, spider infested rust-lantern I've been cussing out for the last fifteen years - can't believe I suffered in semi-silence all that time! Given any amount of wet weather (note that in Seattle that's pretty much every week), moisture inevitably seeped into the socket, blowing the bulb like the climax of a New Years Eve fireworks display. Don't know how many dead light bulbs I contributed to the landfill but I'm wracked with guilt. Never mind, I shall sin no more in that regard.

Learned many things in the process of installing my pretty new porch light. At the top of the list: it's wonderful to have a tall son who can be coerced into assisting. Even with a step ladder I was still below the cascade of dessicated bug parts that came pouring out of the old fixture. Bluck, ptui. Another thing learned: it's wise to notify all the members of the household BEFORE you throw the circuit breakers! Mom thought she'd finally inflicted permanent damage to her computer. In addition, remember that it's a silly idea that all your fingernails need to be all the same length. And make sure that before you launch into a similar project you are current on your tetanus shots and you have a complete first aid kit. Have fun.

CANNING DAYS

2009-08-24T06:28:00.000-07:00

PRESERVES

Fresh off the truck from Yakima,
they arrive - flat brown boxes of velvet Clings
yellow and pink as mountain mornings,
days on end, weeks even, steaming
the kitchen days on end - Mom bending
over the water water bath, gleaming Mason jars,
a snowy dish towel tied around her
like a sarong, sweat rolling down her neck
days on end - golden rings like pirate booty
piled on the white enamel table -
she pushes wisps of hair out of her eyes
with the back of her wrist, screws the jar
lids tight - morning til night, days on end
blanching the skins off, paring slick
globes in half, pulling wrinkled pits
from red centers until her finger tips
are old and the last peach slides
round side up into the last jar
and the day ends and the memories begin.

This weekend I worked at my local Fred Meyer's giving out samples of iced tea and nut clusters. It's a gig I enjoy and it gets me out of the house into the heart of our neighborhood. Where better to take the pulse of a community than where everyone shops? And everyone in Burien seems to shop Freddie's. I see all the same people each weekend. Lately I've started observing what folks are purchasing, taking an informal inventory of their shopping carts as they stop at my table. This weekend I noticed that Burien is canning! Their carts are overflowing with boxes of Mason Jars, canning lids, pickling salt, sacks of sugar and packets of pectin. A nearly lost art rediscovered in these tough times. I imagine all over town people are clearing space in their garages for gleaming jars of fruit and vegetables.

One of my most cherished childhood memories is of Mom's late Summer canning frenzies, every surface of our farmhouse kitchen covered with cooling jars of peaches, pears, jams and jellies. Mom stored them in the cellar on neatly labeled shelves. How beautiful they were in the dim light of the single bulb that dangled from the ceiling. Yellow, red, white, green treasures. All through Fall and Winter we enjoyed peaches or pears with every supper. A few years ago Mom and I revisited the farm, meeting its third owner since we sold it in the seventies - touring the renovations, marveling at the changes - then down the remembered stairs into the basement were the concrete walls of the cellar were still lined with shelves my mother had so long ago carefully labeled "PEACHES", "PEARS", "BLACKBERRY JAM", "PEAS" . . . empty and covered with dust. But are they empty now? Or have the present owners been laboring in the farm kitchen all month filling sparkling new jars with bright fruit? I sincerely hope so.

Setting Sail into Retirement

2009-08-15T11:02:00.000-07:00

Westport Morning

Past driftwood benches
dedicated to dead men
a rusty Ford pickup,
splashes toward the marina
through seas of ice rain.
Over the breakwater
rocks a thin mist moves
like a memory of past
catches lost in the wake.

Beating myself up that I haven’t been writing more since I gave up the day job a few weeks ago. I figured by this time I’d be well on my way to a stellar career as the next hotshot literary flash-in-the-pan. Find it’s taking a bit longer than I thought to reorganize my entire adult life - go figure, after 20-something years slogging around Geekatopia with a brown water bucket in one hand and pruning shears in the other.

I’m finding that the first lesson of retirement is it’s not what any of us imagined - not that golden carrot at the end of the stick making sense of all the nonsense we’ve been putting up with since our eyes were bright and our stomachs flat. Nope, it’s a whole new set of carrots and sticks. Only trouble is we are the ones tying the root crop to the apple bough these days - without which we grow mycelium into the couch before reruns of NCIS (How many homicidal Petty Officers can there possibly be?).

Not that I’ve been idle. I’ve redecorated the bathroom (see previous post), painted the west wall of the kitchen, reorganized the spice cabinet, cleaned the fish pond, processed a whole bunch of green beans for the freezer, baked two loaves of zucchini bread, and bought a whole new wardrobe (no longer have company uniform to wear so it’s either shop or go bare), (Hmm, nice rhyme.) Today I’ll bake some oatmeal cookies. Tomorrow I’ll pick up some brown stain and tackle the back deck. Seems like all those tasks I put off for years by saying: “Can’t start that. Gotta go to work in the morning” have caught me excuse-less at last. But next week, yep, I’ll start that vampire novel I’ve been meaning to write.

WATCHING PAINT DRY

2009-08-01T08:51:00.001-07:00

As delightful
as the blossoms were,
who would wish
to miss this
lush and fragrant fruiting?

After months of living the half-life of half retirement, working half a route while the boss tried to figure out how to do without me I am as of last Wednesday a lady of leisure! No way of knowing just how long I will be content puttering around the house but for a few weeks I intend to putter indeed. Been a long time since I had the luxury.

I just finished painting the bathroom and have moved on into the kitchen with the idea that before midnight tonight the West wall will have a fresh coat of pale sky blue. Many retired friends warned me there is no busier time than retirement - I’m beginning to understand how true that is. Without the day job I have no excuse for not tackling the household projects that have up until now been caught in planning-stage limbo.

Of course having been technically “laid off” means I’ll need to cast around for another job so as not to run afoul of the system - but since it is no doubt fairly unlikely in this economy that I’ll be snapped up any time soon I feel confident there will be a few coats of paint on the walls before the work world intrudes once more (if ever). With that in mind I will put my feet up while the sky blue dries and count myself the most fortunate of mortals. And if it indeed turns out that plant ladies are as in demand as typewriter repair technicians, who knows?, could have the whole house spruced up by Fall!

BEAUTIFUL BEANS

2009-07-09T14:01:00.001-07:00

My small, shady garden has a delicious secret this year. Tucked behind the lavender hedge, below the mountain ash tree is a patch of bush beans - green, yellow, purple. The purple are a glistening deep regal color that glows with the shifting sun like the color of grape juice. They are by far my favorite. Crisp, shiny, tasty - and surprising in that I really had little hope I'd get a crop - too shady I thought. This is one of the times I'm glad to be proven wrong about something.

Aren't they spectacular? I've been picking a fist full of lovely fresh beans twice a day all week. We've enjoyed them stir fried with garlic and Walla Walla Sweet onions, made into bean salad, and today as a key participant in chicken vegetable soup. I'm feeling quite the farmer. When will we begin to tire of beans every meal? Hard to tell but should that unlikely thing come to pass my freezer will fill up with bright beans to enjoy on dark winter days.

The Pleasure Dome

2009-07-04T08:11:00.000-07:00

(son Paul and cousin Eric "skin" the dome)
"In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea."
(Samuel Taylor Coleridge)

During the past month while I continued to struggle with computer/internet problems a second major project was in the works around here - the creation of my poetic get-away, The Pleasure Dome (son Paul christened it). Years ago my friend Rick gave me the makin's of a geodesic dome, a wooden framework we bolted together at the bottom of my back garden. We stapled greenhouse plastic over the frame and for 3 or 4 years I used the dome to grow bushels of sweet tomatoes and spicy peppers. But the plastic eventually started to disintegrate - after I stripped it off, the dome was a rather odd sculpture for the next few years.

Then this spring, with retirement looming and visions of glorious produce firing my imagination, I decided it was time to set up the greenhouse once again. Unfortunately I hadn't taken into consideration how my garden had changed over the intervening years. The trees had closed over the top of the dome, making it too shady to grow much beyond ferns and moss. To grow sun-lovers like tomatoes I'd have to remove two Western hemlock trees, limb up the English oak and the Chinese juniper, chop down the neighbor's sick old apple tree. Major forestry. None of which was going to happen. What to do?

Change plans, of course! My greenhouse would transform into a place of peaceful refuge where I can sit and write (as well as surf the internet if I can ever manage to get the wireless thingy up and running), listen to birds in the sheltering branches, decompress! I've run a long extension cord from the house, hung Chinese lanterns, arranged furniture, plugged in a fan. There is one tomato plant just because. Oh, the comfort! Tonight as fireworks light up the sky I'll be in the Pleasure Dome writing a poem to liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

Techno-conspiracy Theory

2009-06-14T18:17:00.000-07:00

14 June 2009
I have come to believe that tech writers deliberately leave out important instructions in order to stymie non-techies who foolishly think they can upgrade their technological appliances all on their lonesome. Perhaps it’s in retaliation for childhood bullying inflicted by “normals”. Who knows, perhaps their are just intrinsically evil. Whatever may be the cause, I’ve again been the victim of techno sabotage.

It all started months ago when my internet browser suddenly went senile. A newer version of Firefox popped into existence and refused to play nicely with my two fairly mature computers. I tried to download the new browser to my laptop and ended up deep-sixing the previous version, at the same time that I learned that I didn’t have the right stuff after all to upgrade - new browser didn’t browse so much as just sat there in the dock like a lump. My operating system was too old, I didn’t have enough RAM, bla-bla-bla. This was coincidentally (or not) about the same week I decided to switch from my dial-up modem to something speedier and called Comcast to “bundle” me. A month later when they had finished the installation, I no longer could access the internet from my laptop but had to use my antique iMac, “Blueberry”, which cannot be upgraded in any way since it is destined to become a key exhibit at the Smithsonian.

This was the same week my 401K plan’s web site stopped functioning with the previously mentioned earlier version of Firefox (and Safari for that matter) and I could no longer check my net worth (a mixed blessing). Since I couldn’t upgrade the browser on either computer because of the elderly operating systems I sprung for OSX.5 to the tune of . . . well, you don’t want to know. Suffice it to say, there went the lunch money for awhile. I also bought an Airport Express thingy that theoretically would let me use my laptop wirelessly, my notion being I’d upgrade all the bells and whistles on the laptop (the iMac being firmly stuck in the 20th century like an ant in amber) and be blazing away on the keyboard in no time, writing great novels, blogging, poetizing . . .

That was the vision. Understand that the Airport Express needs OSX.4 or higher to operate - so my new OSX.5 would do the trick, right? Wouldn’t you think? The instructions were so clear: stick disk in the slot and follow the prompts. Piece-a-cake. Even I could do this, I thought. I slid the disk into the slot, whereupon several prompts moved me toward my goal - I hesitated only briefly before pressing “install” - the computer made loud grinding noises and started to sweat. Two hours later the little swirlything-of-death was still swirling in the upper left hand corner of the screen. I tried to abort using every combination of deletes/escapes/ejects that I could think of to no avail. It would not spit out the dang disk. I was ready to reach for a can opener. Finally I just turned off the computer and wept like a baby.

First chance I got I took the laptop to the Apple store for a disk-ectomy. The twelve-year-old at the help desk had the disk out in two seconds flat but delivered the news that, no, I couldn’t possibly install OSX.5 on my laptop because it needed twice the RAM available. He recommended I go up to 1G to be on the safe side. And no, he didn’t have any RAM to sell me at that location. And no, even if he had some they didn’t install at the store - he wrote down the numbers to several Mac guys who could do the upgrade for me (You better believe I wasn’t dumb enough to start taking my laptop apart by myself!).

I have to wonder why the guys (and it’s always guys) who work in these places feel they have to make their customers feel like complete idiots. I toted “Pippin”, my poor little laptop, off to the repair joint to get its memory augmented and the first thing the guy said to me was: “Why do you want OSX.5 on this machine anyway? You really should be going to OSX.4. You got a late 2004 G4 here. OSX.5s goin’ to be slow.”

“But I already bought the OSX.5, so what do I do? Are you saying it won’t work?” I was beginning to panic.

“Oh, it’ll work but it’s going to be slow.” I wondered what that meant. What would “slow” prevent me from doing?

“Well, if you have a .4 could I trade my .5 for it?” I asked.

“Sorry, I don’t have an OSX.4. You could try Amazon.” I didn’t tell him that was where I bought the OSX.5 which was the only one they offered.

“But you’ll install the 1G stick for me?”

“Sure, no prob. Just so you know, OSX.5 is goin’ to be slow.” He looked at me as if I had just asked him to install a turbocharger on a tricycle.

I get it, it’s going to be slow.

Update: When I got “Pippin” home I managed to install the OSX.5 without any problem - though I can’t see a bit of difference aside from two new icons on my dock, the function of which is a mystery. This morning I set about installing the Airport Express so I can go wireless. You can guess where this is going. I plugged in the proper plugs, inserted the install utility disk thingy, followed all the instructions to the letter. Nothing. To post this blog at the end of this paragraph I will have to save it to thumb drive, move it to “Blueberry” (which still has a functioning internet connection albeit with an earlier version of Safari), paste it to my blogger account and PRAY it posts! Now do you understand why my posts have been sporadic of late? I had no idea my computers would retire before I did!

CLOTHESLINE ENVY

2009-06-03T16:22:00.000-07:00

My fixed income prompts me to examine expenses from fresh angles. Do I need this item? How might I reduce the cost of this service? It seems on the surface to be an austere and negative stance yet as I go back to basics I’ve been finding that the “belt tightening” process is producing unexpected joys.

This week as the weather revs up toward summer, reaching for record temperatures I gaze with longing over the backyard fence at my neighbor’s clothesline - to the crisp fragrant sheets and bright shirts. A few years ago her husband had scaled a fir tree at the property line and attached a pulley half way up in a horizontal line from the back porch. Soon laundry was flapping cheerily in the breezes forty feet across the yard. If I gave it any thought at the time it was to wonder if it would adversely affect our property values!

But heck, in an economy when property values are in free fall anyway there are other values to consider - energy conservation for one. (And consequently saving a buck or two on the electric bill!) So I dragged my antique wooden drying rack out of storage. How it had escaped becoming kindling decades ago I’ll never know - could have something to do with being buried under boxes of Christmas ornaments and a selection of dusty mouse traps. I washed off the spider webs and grime and set the rack on the deck in the sunshine.

As I write, my third load of wash clings to the rack in the heat - jeans, underwear, towels, polo shirts. At twilight I’ll fold each stiff, sun bleached item, proud of my enterprise and frugality. I’ll bury my face in the towels luscious with the scent of fresh air and lavender - while being alert to the possibility of hitchhiking honey bees. I have no idea how much money I’ve saved by giving the electric dryer a rest this week - probably no more than a few cents - but I have taken an enjoyable trip back in time, have resurrected memories of my mother’s double clothesline from our back porch to the apple orchard.

Memories of the womanly lore of wash day - which as I remember was usually Monday. Remember that there was a particular order in which the wash was hung. Supposedly every woman knew from birth the proper way to hang a load of laundry - though beyond the importance of hanging like items together, the vast storehouse of hereditary knowledge seems to have passed me by. Mom tells me her Irish grandmother’s laundry line was a masterpiece, a legend in the land - but then Great-grandma Tierney was a pro, doing laundry for the mansions “up on the hill” in Cincinnati in the days when rich ladies wore starched white cotton gowns dripping with lace to afternoon tea parties. Great-grandma Tierney would be utterly horrified if she could see how ineptly I’ve managed the ancient art - not to mention how scandalized she’d be by the items themselves! Jeans and polo shirts for women! Horrors!!

THE INFAMOUS DANDELION LUNCH

2009-05-25T07:52:00.001-07:00

A mere three working days left until retirement! And I’ve never worked so hard - stocking the shelves for the long fixed income fast, tidying the garden, preparing instruction books for the three women who will be replacing me on the route. (I like to think it takes three people to replace me but it’s just that the boss can’t hire anyone new just yet so she’s divvying my clients up between three existing routes.)
Enough about that - I promised to tell you the story of the “Dandelion Lunch”.
It was the mid-seventies. I was the divorced mom of a seven-year-old son - unemployed, barely surviving on Welfare and Food Stamps. One day in early April I was down to pocket change. It was time for desperate measures if I was to feed my hungry kid. I took to the streets (No, it’s not what you think! Shame on you!). I walked up to the store, bought a few chicken wings and on the way home I foraged along the roadside for dandelion greens.
“What’s this weird stuff?” asked my sweet son pointing to his supper plate.
“It’s gourmet,” I said. “They pay big bucks for this in fancy restaurants downtown.”
He stared at the mound of greens as if it had tentacles.
“But what is it?”
Here it comes, I thought, no way out now.
“Fresh Spring greens sautéed with shallots and chicken wings, topped with grated parmesan cheese.”
“Looks like weeds,” he said, prodding his lunch with one fork tine.
Having been backed into a corner I pulled the mother card.
“Just eat it or go hungry!” I almost added the bit about starving children in Africa - my mom’s particular favorite - but I’d pushed things too far as it was.
I can’t remember how much of that lunch my darling son actually ate - after all it’s been in excess of thirty years - yet I do remember enjoying it myself. Pretty tasty to my way of thinking - not to mention creative! But then I also believed he bought the “Spring greens” description. He was a grown man when he finally revealed he’d been wise to me all along.
“Jeez Mom, kids know a dandelion when they see one,” he said. “Even without the fluffy foofies.” I smiled at the use of his childhood term for the seed heads.
“I’ll have you know dandelion greens are extremely high in calcium and all sorts of other vitamins and minerals,” I countered, sinking fast.
“Sure, Mom,” he said with a smile.
Every April since, I’ve asked him over for lunch as soon as the first succulent dandelion greens sprout in the back garden. Most of the time he shows up. Laughing.
With retirement only a few days away I recall those long ago hardscrabble times - recall the lessons learned and how good it felt to survive on my wits. I was proud to be self-sufficient and resourceful in a desperate time - just as my parents were to have survived the Great Depression. In this new blog, “Dandelion Lunch”, I’ll explore nearly forgotten skills I am going to need to marshall once more as I learn to live well on a fixed income. But no more foraging on the side of the road - YUCK!

Retirement: Creative Frugality Rediscovered

2009-05-15T08:40:00.000-07:00

In a few weeks I'll be retired from Geekatopia (see old blog: www.raintownlowdown.blogspot.com) It's turning out to be much more work than I expected. So many considerations - Social Security paperwork, Medicare paperwork, budgets to hone, bills to pay off ahead of impending poverty - that sort of stuff and much more. Cutting ties with my employer is not something done lightly or easily. I'm up in the middle of the night wondering how my route will get done without me - wondering what I may have forgotten to pass on to the people taking over my work. I've given them many months notice but there is still so much to be done before I can make a clean break.

But it's a great adventure. Kind of like setting off into a vast wilderness with a daypack filled with granola bars. Scary. And exciting. I couldn't have picked a weirder time in which to give up the day job - imploded economy etc. When I tell people I'm retiring they inevitably say, "Oh, I'd love to retire but I can't afford it right now." Well, who can??? But did we wait until we could afford it before we: bought our new car, had a baby, went back to school, signed the mortgage? Nah. We're the children of the generation who survived the Great Depression - we're exhippies who lived on Food Stamps and airy illusions - we muddled through. Our idealism is boundless. Along the way we learned some valuable lessons about our own creativity and stamina. Wisdom and skills that we must now revisit as we set off in the unknown.

What's with the geodesic dome in the above photo, you ask. It's part of my retirement plan. Remember back in the 70s when people were "growing their own"? Now the term means something slightly different. It means raising a few organic vegies to stretch the Social Security check. In this new blog I'll chronical my rediscovery and recycling of nearly forgotten Hippie values and skills - ideas that are coming back around to serve me once more - things like repairing, reusing, recycling - rethinking how I live my life. In the next post I'll explain the name of this blog: Dandelion Lunch