Sparks in the dark

In 1987 I worked as a human resources manager, but for one day, exactly 24 years ago today, I left my professional persona at home and went to work in the clothing and attitude of a punk rocker. I believe that was the one and only costumed celebration of Halloween we ever had when I worked at that office. Most of us enjoyed it, but a few serious souls objected on religious grounds.

I studied the photo above for several minutes before posting it, trying to remember  anything interesting I could tell you about that day. The only thing that came to mind was that that was the day I learned that if you chew Wint-O-Green Life Savers in the dark, you can see sparks.

No doubt the subject came up because I always kept a stash of Wint-O-Green Life Savers handy in my desk drawer, so it took less than a minute for my punk-rock self and the bearer of the candy-fire news to shut ourselves in the ladies' room, turn off the lights, and watch the mirror as we chewed mints in the dark. People, it's true: they do make little flashes of light.

I spent a large part of that afternoon passing out mints and conducting guided tours of the dark restroom. No one in the office got much work done that day. Now that I think about it, perhaps it was the loss of productivity, rather than the religious objections, that put an end to our Halloween celebrations.

I guess the repressed pagan parts of our personalities run a little wild when they get turned loose.

Happy Halloween, y'all!

Fluff 'n' stuff

When my Facebook account was "unavailable" for a couple of days this past week, I realized how much I've come to rely on that particular social network to keep up with what my friends and family members are doing. Big events usually rate a phone call, of course, but it's fun to know the little, moment-to-moment things, too.

Facebook and Blogger are both owned by Google, so my Google account password and login ID work for both FB and Blogger. Google was working properly, Blogger was working as it usually does, but Facebook was down. Late on the evening of the second frustrating day, I happened to check my third-party stat-counter for this blog. Whoa! There had been 730 hits that day, many multiples of the usual amount, and when I took a closer look, I discovered that all those visits were supposedly from me.

The stat-counter is set up so that it doesn't count visits from my IP address. The website showed that that feature was operating properly, and yet, there I was, 730 times. It's conceivable that I might have viewed Velvet Sacks a dozen times that day, and, out of frustration, I'm sure I may have visited Facebook twice an hour to see if it was working yet. I'm equally sure I've never visited any site 730 times in a day ever.

Seems fishy to me, but everything seems to be working right again.

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It's turned cooler here in the last few days, cold enough to wear a jacket outside and cold enough to force me to give up my breakfasts outside. Fortunately, there's a patch of sunshine just my size on the patio at lunchtime. I'll miss those fresh-air meals when winter sets in.

********

My daughter called yesterday to see if I wanted to ride with her to Barnes & Noble, and I did, although I didn't intend to buy anything. Kim didn't find everything she was looking for at B&N, so we also went to Books-a-Million and Hobby Lobby before she decided she'd have to order what she needed online. I, on the other hand, bought a couple of things   at each of those places. You might think that indicates a lack of impulse control on my part, but you should have seen some of the wonderful things I admired and didn't buy.

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As I write this, acorns are falling on the tin roof of my neighbor's garden shed. Each one   that hits sounds like a gunshot. Butch can't hear them, and Levi has heard them so many times he's no longer interested. Because I know the source of the sound, I actually kind of like it. It's an autumn kind of sound.

Wishing I was Mary

In the late summer of 1967 I was 24 years old, newly divorced, and the mother of two small daughters. I wasn't sorry that the marriage had ended, but I'd been sad for a long time that my dream of what a marriage could be had not materialized. I don't think I'd felt truly loved for a single day of the six years I was married.

That same summer Al Martino recorded "Mary in the Morning," a song that touched me deeply. I wanted to be loved the way the Mary of the song was loved, with tenderness and passion in equal proportions. Read these lyrics and see what I mean:

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Mary in the Morning

(Written by Michael Rashkow and singer Johnny Cymbal)

Nothing's quite as pretty as Mary in the morning
When through a sleepy haze I see her lying there,
Soft as the rain that falls on summer flowers,
Warm as the sunlight shining on her golden hair, um-hum.

When I awake
And see her there so close beside me,
I want to take
Her in my arms,
The ache is there
So deep inside me.

Nothing's quite as pretty as Mary in the morning,
Chasing the rainbow in her dreams so far away,
And when she turns to touch me, I kiss her face so softly,
And then my Mary wakes to love another day, um-hum.

And Mary's there
In summer days or stormy weather.
She doesn't care
`Cause right or wrong the love we share,
We share together.

Nothing's quite as pretty as Mary in the evening,
Kissed by the shades of night and starlight in her hair,
And as we walk, I hold her close beside me,
All our tomorrows for a lifetime we will share, um-hum.

********

Before another year had passed I found that kind of love. Okay, so it lasted twelve years instead of a lifetime, but by the time it ended, I was no longer desperate for it. I'd experienced it for a time, I'd remember it always, and, most important, I'd learned that I was worth loving. Maybe that was what I'd really needed all along.

The song has remained a favorite, although I've grown to prefer Elvis Presley's version, which is the one I'm bringing to you today. (This one's for you, 4th Sister; I know how much you love Elvis.)

_______________________________________________________________

(Thanks to utmom2008 for posting this video on YouTube.)

No butts about it

Ronni Bennett's post about fashion this morning reminded me of a story I'd almost forgotten to tell you. It happened on the first day of my recent vacation.

The plan was for my sister to call me when she left her home in Texas, which she did. I knew I'd have three hours from then to load all my ready-for-packing clothing into luggage, bathe, put on makeup, and get dressed. I wanted to dress at the last minute so my traveling clothes would be fresh.

The problem was that my sister made really good time and arrived half an hour early. I still wasn't dressed. My daughters were here to see us off, so they visited with their aunt while I hurried around in my bathrobe to finish up. I threw on my clothes as fast as I could, then we were ready to hit the road.

I had chosen to travel in a chocolate brown T-shirt, brown sandals, and a pair of light-khaki pants. I'd picked that outfit specifically because of the pants. They were lightweight, didn't wrinkle much, had an elastic waist, and were about one size too large for me--not so large that they were ugly-baggy, but plenty roomy.

As the day progressed, I was comfortable and pleased with my choice. We stopped a few times that first day, for gasoline, restrooms, and cold drinks. At one of those stops I attempted to put change in my pocket, only to realize there were no pockets. "Hm," I thought to myself, "I could have sworn these pants had pockets." No big deal, right? I didn't give it another thought.

We traveled through three states that first day: Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama. Just after dark we stopped for the night at a hotel in Montgomery, Alabama. It was late and we were hungry, so we dropped off our luggage in our hotel room, took turns in the bathroom, then picked up our purses to head out for dinner.

My hand was on the doorknob when my sister yelled, "Stop!" I turned around to see what was the matter and saw her laughing and pointing at me. "Your pants," she giggled. "The fly is in the back." Indeed it was. So were the pockets. I had displayed myself across three states with my pants on backwards.

I would have been embarrassed, but I knew I'd never see any of those people again in my lifetime, so I just turned the pants around and went about my business. In fact, the more I thought about it, the funnier it got. But then I thought about it some more and the humor began to wear off a little.

I wore my pants backwards--through three states--and couldn't tell the difference. What does that say about the shape of my recently slimmed-down butt?

Drive-by Autumn

Yes, Virginia, there is an autumn, but in Louisiana you have to look harder for it. You'll find one tree on this road, another on that one, and maybe, if you drive a few miles farther north, you'll even spot a whole cluster of trees with red-orange leaves.

I drive around this area in search of autumn leaves every year about this time, and the pickings are almost always  slim. After taking some disappointing shots yesterday, today I resorted to looking through old photo files for patches of boldly colored nature. By zooming in  on previous years' largely green photos, then cropping the hell out of them, I've put together a small collection entitled "Seeing Autumn in Your Shorts and Sandals." Enjoy!

Too much TV?

I remember only fragments of my dreams last night, but I'd like to be able to repeat one of the things I do remember:

As I drifted off into a dream state, a screen popped up in my head, looking very much like the list of DVR recordings on my TV screen. It was a list of dream topics. I selected one (telepathically, I suppose, for I had no remote control), my choice was highlighted for a brief moment, and then I began dreaming about that very pleasant subject.

Do you suppose the head honcho in charge of the human psyche has hired a tech support team? And if this was just a trial offer, do you know where I can sign up for the upgrade?

What I'm Reading Today: The Walk West

I enjoyed Peter Jenkins' first book enough that I was eager to follow him along the rest of his journey. Here's the sequel:

(Click the image above

for more information about this book.)

Trinkets and Treasures - No. 8

We're definitely in trinket territory today, but there's something about this particular napkin-holder that appeals to me every time I see it. I bought it at least thirty years ago, in Georgia, I think. Though it's no longer in use (my "napkins" come on a roll now), it's always on display somewhere in my kitchen.

Who would have thought that a handful of colorful grains, encapsulated in Lucite, would have the power to make me happy for so many years?

Carving with a sharp knife

It's funny how much a child can remember about people who passed through her life, then moved on, never to be seen again. I'm thinking now about a man named George. (I remember his last name, too, but won't say it here.) He was my divorced mother's boyfriend when I was about seven or eight years old.

Here's a photo of handsome George, an expression of concentration on his face as he carved a Halloween pumpkin for my little sister and me:

I don't know how long George was a part of our lives. It seemed like a very long time, but when I think back now about the vast span of time between the Christmases of my childhood, I realize his relationship with my mother--with all of us--may not have lasted as long as I thought it did.

George took us along sometimes when he went out with my mother, and he visited us at home (where we lived with my grandparents) often. I remember one of those visits more than others.

George was a policeman. One day he drove up in his patrol car, parked it near the end of the driveway, and left it with the motor running while he sat on the front porch longer than he should have and visited with Mother and my grandparents. When the radio in his car began chattering, George ran to his car, listened for a moment, waved a quick goodbye, then drove away.

He didn't go far. Seconds after he left, he pulled into our next-door neighbor's driveway. The neighbor lady had hosted a card party that night, and while George was sitting on our front porch, someone had climbed through the neighbor's window, stolen the contents of her guests' purses, stuffed the purses with leaves, and fled. This all happened on the other side of a tall hedge that bordered our driveway, but no more than twenty feet away from where we sat.

Considering that plenty of fallen leaves were available for purse-stuffing purposes, I'm thinking that this incident and the pumpkin-carving event must have taken place no more than a few weeks apart.

However long George was around, his role in our lives ended abruptly. I remember feeling disappointed that he wasn't coming over anymore and sad that he hadn't told my sister and me goodbye. I don't remember what Mother told us at the time, but I'm quite sure she didn't tell us the truth.

I mentioned George to my mother once, not many years before she passed away, and she told me then what had really happened. She'd discovered that George was married. He wasn't the first man who had lied to her and wouldn't be the last.

It's funny how much a child can remember about people who passed through her life, then moved on. It's funny how someone can cut a tiny hole in a child's spirit and never even know it.

What I'm Reading Today: Under the Skin

I pre-ordered this book, having read five others by this author and hungering for another visit with the series' main character, Elizabeth Goodweather. The book finally arrived, and it feels great to be right there with Elizabeth (Lizabeth, Lizzie Beth), her family, and her neighbors as they untangle the threads of yet another mystery.

(Click the image

for more information about this book)

By the way, the author, Vicki Lane, is a fellow blogger. I enjoy reading her daily posts at "Vicki Lane Mysteries," where she mostly writes about the same kinds of everyday things and events you and I do, with a little book talk (it's her job, remember) thrown in.

Good reading, everyone.

To a friend...

...in deepest sympathy.

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(This song is "Into the West" by Annie Lennox.  Thanks to 1xxxNoNamexxx1 for posting it on YouTube.)

Halt! Who goes there?

Levi (on the left above) knows everything that goes on in the neighborhood. When the neighbors on any side of us have company, Levi hears them and barks loudly to let them know he's paying attention. Butch, with his blindness and almost non-existent hearing, rarely has a clue anybody's moving around outside, unless he can hear Levi, and then he wants in on the action.

I didn't know the curly-haired pup I brought home at the end of last year would grow up to be a watchdog, but he's turned out to be a good one. I hope he'll figure out soon that folks in other people's yards don't need to be announced. And I hope that no malevolent stranger who approaches figures out that if he comes too close to the barking, growling, big curly dog, he's likely to have a wet tennis ball thrust into his hand.

What I'm Reading Today: Nightwoods

I love the way Charles Frazier uses the English language. I read his Cold Mountain when it first came out in paperback, then Thirteen Moons shortly after I got home from vacation recently. Sure was glad to find this new one:

(Click on the image 

for more information on this book.)

My tall, thin shadow

Yesterday morning I stepped away from my computer desk and into the sunlight streaming through a nearby window. When I turned around and saw my shadow, I was struck by the symbolism of it and had to grab my camera to capture and preserve that image.

My flesh-and-bone legs are not that long and slender, so the shadow doesn't represent how I look. The shadow is a sun-painted portrait of how I feel.

In the summer of 2010 I was fat, tired all the time, in constant pain from arthritis, and convinced that those conditions would only get worse over time. Knee pain kept me from sleeping well and severely restricted where I could go and what I could do. If I sat in a car for more than half an hour, I was so stiff I could hardly move when I got out of it. Sitting still in a movie was excruciating, and climbing the stairs in a theater with stadium seating was even worse. A trip to the grocery store put me off my feet for hours, and one round at Walmart would cost me the next day, too.

"Eat healthy and live longer"? Pffft! I guess not. Who wants to add on extra years of pain and confinement?

I'd gained weight, lost it, and regained it so many times through the years that I couldn't imagine doing it again. For the past five years my (over)weight had remained constant, so I had apparently reached the point where the calories contained in the foods (and quantities of them) I wanted to eat amounted to exactly the number of calories required to maintain my weight.

Then my daughter made me mad. Spittin' mad. She had recently started a low-carb diet and was giving me the hard-sell to try it with her. For half an evening she pushed and pushed and pushed until I agreed to try it just to shut her up. I agreed to try it for a month. That was in August of 2010, and I started the diet a couple weeks later at the beginning of September.

A year later, the end of August and beginning of September 2011, I rode in my sister's car for day-long stretches from Louisiana to the Smoky Mountains. I walked through museums and hiked up hills. Was I tired afterward? Oh, yes. But I was able to do it, and if there was any achiness afterwards, it wasn't enough to keep me from sleeping soundly in a strange bed.

I can squat to refill the dogs' water dish, though I can't yet stay long in a squatting position. I still don't like to get down on the floor, but if I have to do it, I can get up more easily than I could before. I can walk through the Super Walmart much more quickly these days, and if I forget something and have to walk back across the store when I remember it, that's no longer a problem.

I still have arthritis. That doesn't go away, but the pain from it has diminished enough that I can control it with over-the-counter meds instead of expensive prescription NSAIDs. I still take medicine for hypertension--about a third of what I took before. My cholesterol count dropped enough that the doctor said we could see how I do without it, so I haven't had to take that for the last few months. I was taking two Prilosec tablets a day; now I take half of one. No need to tell you what this has done for my pocketbook.

I've lost just over 70 pounds, and I need to lose 20 or 30 more. It's coming off slowly now, and I won't know when I've lost enough until I see it. I can eat a piece of cake that's thrust into my hand at a baby shower, and if the restaurant dish I've ordered surprises me by containing rice, I can eat it, enjoy it, and not feel guilty about it. Most of the time, though, I don't eat those things. They don't tempt me anymore. I've learned through trial and error that a lot of the illness I was feeling a year ago was related to spikes and drops in blood sugar levels, and I simply don't want to feel like that again. I'm no longer on a diet; I've just changed the way I plan to eat for the rest of my life.

Now that it isn't so painful to move my limbs, I need to begin an exercise program. So, yes, I still have some work to do. It'll get done eventually, and "eventually" seems soon enough now that the idea of living longer has a renewed appeal.

I'll be 69 next month. And that tall, thin girl in the shadow? She's alive again.

Trinkets and Treasures - No. 7

This chess set was a gift from my daughters many, many years ago, and I've treasured it from the moment I saw it. I love the carved wood, the colorful tiles, and, especially, the feel of the soapstone pieces. The king lies heavy in my hand and stands slightly taller than the length of my palm.

It's been quite a while since I've had a chess partner, so this beautiful set has been folded up and stored on a shelf among other games and puzzles that don't have nearly as much  sentimental value. It really deserves its own place of honor.

In the last games that really stand out in my mind, my worthy partner was my then eight-year-old grandson (who recently turned 22). At the end of one game, as we were setting up the board for the next, he paused, holding a chess piece in his hand, a seriously thoughtful  expression on his face. "Grammy," he asked, "when you die, can I have this chess set?"

I loved that moment. There was no sense of urgency in his request, and I was delighted to know that he was enjoying himself enough to ask such a question.

I'm going on record here that when that time comes, the chess set goes to Koby.

What I'm Reading Today: A Walk Across America

I used to have a book review blog but ended it when I figured out that writing reviews ate a big chunk out of my reading time. Then I added a book list to the sidebar. That came down when I got hopelessly behind on adding to the list. Still, I love reading, and I like sharing what I'm reading with you, so I'm now going to try a third way of doing that.

I'll just post an image of the book I'm reading and link the image to a site where you can read other people's reviews. Easy-peasy, right?

So, here's what I'm reading today:

I like it a lot.

Finding "pretty" where you least expect it

The weather was gorgeous yesterday, sunny and breezy and perfect for finding a beautiful place to take photos. Unfortunately, October always kicks my allergies into high gear, so I couldn't even sit outside on my own patio.

Instead, I ran errands, but I took the camera with me, just in case.

I liked the shadows and the pronounced woodgrain on this fence behind the Shell station where I stopped for gas:

And a couple miles down the road I noticed for the first time that there are pretty little trees in the Walmart parking lot:

That's all I got in the way of photographs, but by adding gasoline and groceries to the mix,  I was satisfied.

Autumn Leaves - Haiku

Autumn blows a kiss

to South Louisiana,

leaves us wanting more.

Sometimes it's just a good song

Some of the songs I've chosen as "Saturday song selections" have special meaning to me, usually because they evoke memories of persons, places, events or time periods in my life. I knew that I was already living in Louisiana when today's selection came out, and I knew it was sometime in the '80s, though I couldn't have told you what year. I looked it up on Wikipedia just now and learned that the year was 1988.

These are the things I remember about 1988:
1) A long-term relationship fizzled;
2) In the spring I moved to an apartment complex where I'd lived once before;
3) I was working at a job I'd started in 1980 and would keep until 1997;
4) Women's clothes had big shoulder pads;
5) Big hair was popular among women and rock stars;
6) George H.W. Bush was elected president that November;
7) My grandmother passed away at the age of 92 that December.

Not a single thing on that list has anything to do with why today's song is one I never tire of hearing. I just really, really like the song.

"Baby Can I Hold You" by Tracy Chapman:

Also, just for the record? If I'd been born a black person, I would definitely wear my hair in dreadlocks. 

Bring your own lunch

A few months ago I wrote that I've developed a habit of eating breakfast outside every morning. Sometime during the summer that habit expanded to include lunch. Most days I'm out there for about twenty minutes with my lunch, a book, and Levi, with his dreaded tennis ball. (Butch usually naps indoors at lunchtime.)

Yesterday an unexpected guest joined me at the table. Since I hadn't planned to share, I was glad to see she had brought her own lunch.

I hope she enjoyed her meal as much as I enjoyed my whole wheat crackers and pepper jack cheese.