tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47295596646769717372024-03-18T12:12:08.441-04:00Years That AnswerWhile growing older in the U.S.A.Colettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13929646037752189809noreply@blogger.comBlogger533125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4729559664676971737.post-19500150526466748902024-03-15T10:16:00.002-04:002024-03-15T14:06:44.166-04:00Choosing fun.<p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I took my daughter and two grandchildren to see Kung Fu Panda 4. Grandpa Tom and MV (our son-in-law) opted not to come. <br /><br />The story was predictable. However, this movie was beautifully drawn and colored. I like cartoon drawings, but so often the artists spend more time on the characters than the surrounding view. The rendered views in this movie were gorgeous. I concentrated on the art, as I used to when I attended mass as a child. Life presents many opportunities for entertainment.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">The daughter and grandkids were laughing out loud, clearly enjoying every minute of it. That was the best part of the movie for me, being with them. I was still holding this experience close to my heart when I fell asleep last night, which made for good dreams.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">After the movie, we went for ice cream at the creamery across the way. This has now become part of the movie viewing tradition for the four of us. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I had burnt butter bourbon flavored ice cream. It was amazing. </span> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA2Yc-aYWzS5NGg8y-F2bM6WVyvEtLNgZC6jvYrgxYMIvZvUr_VbPkuXhXZ0uyGR6O-W1SQ6L53lb-OekZvzmZhaNL8Jn7-87NEy_r1-dnSMC9eQUj0Pcw02coBKLhYiYUhNM4FpZT3Mll14x_OSUZ9OMXsuE64z0z26D9NoUwH-xvI7Zz66z0t2gKmsI/s1280/2024%20late%20Feb%20flowering%20vine.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1280" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA2Yc-aYWzS5NGg8y-F2bM6WVyvEtLNgZC6jvYrgxYMIvZvUr_VbPkuXhXZ0uyGR6O-W1SQ6L53lb-OekZvzmZhaNL8Jn7-87NEy_r1-dnSMC9eQUj0Pcw02coBKLhYiYUhNM4FpZT3Mll14x_OSUZ9OMXsuE64z0z26D9NoUwH-xvI7Zz66z0t2gKmsI/w400-h400/2024%20late%20Feb%20flowering%20vine.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Take your time, enjoy the views</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p>Colettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13929646037752189809noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4729559664676971737.post-36910195021545405952024-03-02T10:57:00.000-05:002024-03-02T10:57:04.055-05:00Ignorance is bliss<p><span style="font-size: medium;">We don't really know what we are doing when it comes to vegetable gardening in general, and particularly in Central Florida. However, each February the veggie muse demands we try. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">When we lived up north, all our energies went into maintaining perennial beds for flowers we simply cannot grow here. We thought we were successful gardeners, wise and gifted. Then we moved to Central Florida, which boxed our ears and scolded us harshly for our northern conceit. Quickly we learned we knew nothing. We surrendered to the heat and humidity, and figured out what flowers would or wouldn't grow. Veggies are definitely beyond us, though. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Having said that, we try tomatoes each year. We live in hope. Occasionally we get a tomato or two, and we had good luck with cherry tomatoes one year. Last fall, Tom stuck a tomato plant in the ground. I knew it was too late to plant, but I said nothing. If he's happy, I'm happy. It grew, thrived even. Best of all, it overwintered and didn't die. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Today I noticed one of the tomatoes is starting to turn red. Joy and rapture. Notice how unhealthy the bottom leaves look. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBQJiGPmxyZY94GuhsQrEPjVp1-ixA13bur0aUEmhyphenhyphenJd1FDH7DbUQzgqvKX4SOT1MQyQiGhFH4cD9EKPv-kWD25HwV0L_U5BOZH5uojPmQzTEni_l9Dz89R3h2qmlNnqiePYKyptwsZ9v5Iraknuhdaz4Q_1k8R7RHzPREVxOdj1-C1rPGGeXjzy7LZwQ/s1280/IMG_1995.heic" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBQJiGPmxyZY94GuhsQrEPjVp1-ixA13bur0aUEmhyphenhyphenJd1FDH7DbUQzgqvKX4SOT1MQyQiGhFH4cD9EKPv-kWD25HwV0L_U5BOZH5uojPmQzTEni_l9Dz89R3h2qmlNnqiePYKyptwsZ9v5Iraknuhdaz4Q_1k8R7RHzPREVxOdj1-C1rPGGeXjzy7LZwQ/w300-h400/IMG_1995.heic" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Colettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13929646037752189809noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4729559664676971737.post-12741963540927629542024-02-21T11:06:00.001-05:002024-02-21T11:06:06.925-05:00Back in the day<p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">My mother would have disapproved of Trump, Putin and the mean spirited hijinks of the current GOP. She had no respect for bullies, narcissists, and ruthless billionaires. She knew them for what they were, selfish monsters. </span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">My mother-in-law was the same. She <u>really</u> hated liars and people who bragged about themselves all the time. She could spot a liar a mile away, and then she'd laugh and mimic them, thinking them ridiculous. </span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">And they would NEVER have trusted a man who cheated on his wife. </span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p><br /></p>Colettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13929646037752189809noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4729559664676971737.post-75449466469772288232024-02-15T10:34:00.000-05:002024-02-15T10:34:24.435-05:00Company coming! <div><span style="font-size: medium;">I'm a terrible housekeeper, so there's a lot of advance cleaning when visitors come to stay. That's not a bad thing. This house needs attention and the anticipation of visitors is an excellent incentive. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">The days of the white tornado speed cleaning three rooms at once ended when I busted my kneecap. That's actually HOW I busted it. My days of getting down on my hands and knees to scrub are also over. There exist long, adjustable brushes to make these things easier for the kneecap challenged. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Planning meals for the duration of the visit is a must. In doing so we have to find out if the guests have any allergies, preferences, aversions. We can't be surprised one of them has gluten issues after they've arrived and our freezer is full of wheat based treats. We need to know what they drink, if they prefer red or white, beer, or spirits. If we are aware they are cutting back on salt and/or sugar, we can adjust. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Dinners are important, as are breakfasts. We are often out and about for lunch, or skip it because of a late breakfast. Interestingly, there's only so much one can eat in a day. Who knew?</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">We try to limit visits to 3 nights/4 days. After that, I start hallucinating. It has occurred to me there will come a time when having visitors stay with us will be nearly impossible to manage. I hope that's a long way off. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div>Colettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13929646037752189809noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4729559664676971737.post-19864007953496098852024-02-12T10:16:00.000-05:002024-02-12T10:16:33.993-05:00Outside looking in<p><span style="font-size: medium;">I don't watch sports, and I usually don't know who is playing at the Super Bowl. In fact, I only know there is a Super Bowl because it is the sale and promotion theme at the grocery store. You know, cakes disguised as footballs, chicken wings, trays of sliders, two for one chips. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">This year, like so many others, I was aware because I like Taylor Swift. I don't believe I've ever heard any of her music, but I like her style. I think she's a wonderful role-model or hero for the younger generations. The whole reissuing her own music thing is epic. It makes me smile. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">One of my nieces gave me a tip on a Taylor Swift album to start out with, but I've misplaced the text. Truthfully, I am reluctant to listen because I don't want to dislike her music. I'm happy liking her from afar, simply because she's a positive cultural icon. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I especially like that the MAGA morons don't like her. It's fun to imagine what buttons she pushes that drive them wild. <br /><br /><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZQNainaM9TUyT6T23jJaI_tKfqAPE6jIaW1gQvFSibrgcw_iH7qn3K4dnaN4d4_m5YNvrR7LkB-xgKBjVx95-IBTPcx-_6esYCdGYKIs4gSXoZzNhJ3cOupQvpuIODVQ85OQq1bxSyaGHW0mX0GOWHixqRigFLltREK9qK5GMnoNFY6sn7w-eSLwQ0mI/s528/426607009_779284287573240_4332967179760688941_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="528" data-original-width="526" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZQNainaM9TUyT6T23jJaI_tKfqAPE6jIaW1gQvFSibrgcw_iH7qn3K4dnaN4d4_m5YNvrR7LkB-xgKBjVx95-IBTPcx-_6esYCdGYKIs4gSXoZzNhJ3cOupQvpuIODVQ85OQq1bxSyaGHW0mX0GOWHixqRigFLltREK9qK5GMnoNFY6sn7w-eSLwQ0mI/s320/426607009_779284287573240_4332967179760688941_n.jpg" width="319" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Colettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13929646037752189809noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4729559664676971737.post-91595116347430024092024-01-25T09:58:00.004-05:002024-01-25T09:59:01.882-05:00Winter is going<span style="font-size: medium;">It is supposed to get to 82 degrees F (27.8 C) today. I'm a little sad. The weather since Christmas has been cold for Central Florida. I'm a northern transplant, so I fully realize how absurd it is to say that daytime temperatures in the 50s and 60s are cold. I do. Still, it meant nights in the high 30s and 40s some nights. That's blanket weather, my friends. I wore slippers and socks instead of flip flops. I even bought new slippers this year. What a joy it was to wear them. <br /><br />I need to get outside and start cleaning up the garden beds. That will make me happy for warmer weather. <br /></span><div><div><div><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWjSZ8kbIN62CS-6UhVcdd1HjzuP0yBtbOI5W4WKZ7RUWU9IPoRQyyVfH-u9VIpTZumiJq6pUfruYcqCg3CACJ4KOVOWPSSAB-ZFr-22_qM1otQnoXTR79SHWh3HYYloZmsFnAkEp6N9eCrIUXcYmwQRMpTjSOdqW324Ni_EavYsuuAYjfBE_Pn700s0g/s1200/2024%20Jan%20%20-%207.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWjSZ8kbIN62CS-6UhVcdd1HjzuP0yBtbOI5W4WKZ7RUWU9IPoRQyyVfH-u9VIpTZumiJq6pUfruYcqCg3CACJ4KOVOWPSSAB-ZFr-22_qM1otQnoXTR79SHWh3HYYloZmsFnAkEp6N9eCrIUXcYmwQRMpTjSOdqW324Ni_EavYsuuAYjfBE_Pn700s0g/w400-h400/2024%20Jan%20%20-%207.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">More January pictures:</div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6QO-UgJSehI7CNtuj-HF7Tr7IzCxMXnLO8r13zK0lPJ93-MEjpazG7Gp5-nJi6ysTenjnzrH-PP3K7NuzTvgL2PEKPYoOfR6MPOyXD0nFLMdB01klHSdMW9Oc3JcAP0ZeMX5P9s8LrYyfBja1Av3JlBeTAXtyEXreZo6_XMZGnh7QdUo-QGFdoiRPOj0/s1280/2024%20Jan%20%20-%206.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="854" data-original-width="1280" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6QO-UgJSehI7CNtuj-HF7Tr7IzCxMXnLO8r13zK0lPJ93-MEjpazG7Gp5-nJi6ysTenjnzrH-PP3K7NuzTvgL2PEKPYoOfR6MPOyXD0nFLMdB01klHSdMW9Oc3JcAP0ZeMX5P9s8LrYyfBja1Av3JlBeTAXtyEXreZo6_XMZGnh7QdUo-QGFdoiRPOj0/w400-h268/2024%20Jan%20%20-%206.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtsyeszqZe1oFE-K-s4ZLQRMpJJPUiNJIFS9Snv2SV3bYt9b7MpAnu9_p-ctGhjvHPrQfKPzx59cukJaPmjikyL6KdrhR97L0ayMLiJRZ7BTYTk4d6U7dh_klRbd3YAIirHIC_ehdfs3uzZB3a9G1lZlQav_BaoB-ZbMEa4QhFN8zM-_V0YFA0Itr6dlM/s1280/2024%20Jan%20%20-%204.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtsyeszqZe1oFE-K-s4ZLQRMpJJPUiNJIFS9Snv2SV3bYt9b7MpAnu9_p-ctGhjvHPrQfKPzx59cukJaPmjikyL6KdrhR97L0ayMLiJRZ7BTYTk4d6U7dh_klRbd3YAIirHIC_ehdfs3uzZB3a9G1lZlQav_BaoB-ZbMEa4QhFN8zM-_V0YFA0Itr6dlM/w286-h400/2024%20Jan%20%20-%204.jpeg" width="286" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Turtle on cypress roots</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDPWLeXRxFVKvk5sxz2GAzVWLYIFcP06dQdwpGA0kmNG8vQJrgxJEMX-aFkLUJ6sNS6O7mBtHubJB_wd2uEV8CWBaZSZsI-dpMwicv5in8WsIiuJnIoEkcOLyHZr7VOMnt8kk3cFDA93e20KL0MUO3Grl9lT6gIRCoHkovtshmvwdUShiJP89otdkiZLY/s1280/2024%20Jan%20%20-%202.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="854" data-original-width="1280" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDPWLeXRxFVKvk5sxz2GAzVWLYIFcP06dQdwpGA0kmNG8vQJrgxJEMX-aFkLUJ6sNS6O7mBtHubJB_wd2uEV8CWBaZSZsI-dpMwicv5in8WsIiuJnIoEkcOLyHZr7VOMnt8kk3cFDA93e20KL0MUO3Grl9lT6gIRCoHkovtshmvwdUShiJP89otdkiZLY/w400-h268/2024%20Jan%20%20-%202.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I wish I had a super duper zoom lens!<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjflWbRJhs5fdD4br0gE87UbMuE5sdlMmMy_KUnxdrwuwxBeoPeZO4-yVYOC-p_heUrzpWItepUHOI-yrIOiYUejYd4m0koa5RDUIWy_7RD-qQKyew6sN6owWuUppobHxonm8VRGnYAHo0GXXySh7-27SY9FbAaOefGq9p4hHAkgVtcS9dytIIPdP5DnGk/s1280/2024%20Jan%20%20-%201.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="854" data-original-width="1280" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjflWbRJhs5fdD4br0gE87UbMuE5sdlMmMy_KUnxdrwuwxBeoPeZO4-yVYOC-p_heUrzpWItepUHOI-yrIOiYUejYd4m0koa5RDUIWy_7RD-qQKyew6sN6owWuUppobHxonm8VRGnYAHo0GXXySh7-27SY9FbAaOefGq9p4hHAkgVtcS9dytIIPdP5DnGk/w400-h268/2024%20Jan%20%20-%201.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't know what he has in his mouth.<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaCO6OmhV6LQDQEzLw1mrGhUjQ5P_NaIXAVTJrOE_jSXTJmixt0k7URKds6yVqbhyphenhyphengHWzyfNDBhsOZHliVG-hEzupppW_2IQIBhQJ5CBuCbkWa4ZE-rL-C5EHgVd2T5g4yw70NxAR2F-sCH1FX4PN1zlZ7mF4O9mQE-BEI1XSahDcTcgFWPy9ZGP3zhd0/s1280/2024%20Jan%20%20%20-%203.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="854" data-original-width="1280" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaCO6OmhV6LQDQEzLw1mrGhUjQ5P_NaIXAVTJrOE_jSXTJmixt0k7URKds6yVqbhyphenhyphengHWzyfNDBhsOZHliVG-hEzupppW_2IQIBhQJ5CBuCbkWa4ZE-rL-C5EHgVd2T5g4yw70NxAR2F-sCH1FX4PN1zlZ7mF4O9mQE-BEI1XSahDcTcgFWPy9ZGP3zhd0/w400-h268/2024%20Jan%20%20%20-%203.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cypress knees<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS3WeLm-mpzrQapRwPedx_OfvFfH6fH1tY6tBq7SY7Ns7MbZ444rIZBnc_8XTB6Zpv0C3ZuNpcM34azE242JIO8IvYKm-xgUrpQVP-iZ-uTdZt_fh7QXAcDrCjB2hyphenhyphen_iB-g3FNNN-14_P-JEwVWeyD-y8iBqcRWk7YcjfbMjve3Iey_Cip7krTUe2phmE/s1280/2024%20Jan%20%20%20-%202.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="749" data-original-width="1280" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS3WeLm-mpzrQapRwPedx_OfvFfH6fH1tY6tBq7SY7Ns7MbZ444rIZBnc_8XTB6Zpv0C3ZuNpcM34azE242JIO8IvYKm-xgUrpQVP-iZ-uTdZt_fh7QXAcDrCjB2hyphenhyphen_iB-g3FNNN-14_P-JEwVWeyD-y8iBqcRWk7YcjfbMjve3Iey_Cip7krTUe2phmE/w400-h234/2024%20Jan%20%20%20-%202.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>The base of a very old live oak<br /></td></tr></tbody></table>Colettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13929646037752189809noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4729559664676971737.post-28646059720747958252024-01-11T12:48:00.005-05:002024-01-11T12:48:44.614-05:00Sick of being sick<p>We've been sick since Christmas Eve in my house. We seem to have contracted that unnamed respiratory virus that is making it's way across the country. The one that last for weeks and involves a ridiculous amount of coughing. We are finally on the mend. </p>Colettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13929646037752189809noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4729559664676971737.post-14558826081443994712023-12-22T16:46:00.000-05:002023-12-22T16:46:55.590-05:00Eating our way towards tolerance.<p><span style="font-size: medium;">I'm baking, but not cookies. Nope, NOT making cookies. I made a couple loaves of braided cheese and onion bread, and I just finished rolling up some Hungarian kolache. I am waiting for it to proof. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Kolache shouldn't be confused with Polish kolacky, those are cookies. A kolache is a sweet bread filled with sweetened ground walnuts (or poppyseeds). It is rolled like a Swiss roll, but a Swiss roll is made out of sponge cake. Kolache has an odd yeasted dough almost like an enriched pie crust with milk, sugar and egg yolks added. A number of Eastern European countries seem to have a version of it with a different name. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I am also marinading beef for Sauerbraten, which Tom and I will eat Christmas evening with spaetzle and red cabbage on the side. Our dinner is long after our daughter's family goes home on Christmas day. They come at noon for a good old Southern brunch with eggs, bacon, biscuits and sausage gravy. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Last night we ate at our favorite Mexican restaurant. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">This is America. The great melting pot starts in the kitchen.</span></p><p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx29UYaqtozz5iqq2jH5AFfUffuGjuHKQqsaeesXwO2vhn5Bdn2s4Ebc9Z0nq3M85LYchsmCB1tOVSePDMQhb5TuGX389jg0_rePt41Y5c5JtIh-AP6NgydrI1Df3KJ0XO60_IG02_Xuc6XMeolYQShCrv7jBwGp1Orea_7ORa-KefDsT6k_RYyyXOw1k/s1146/kolach.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1146" data-original-width="1146" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx29UYaqtozz5iqq2jH5AFfUffuGjuHKQqsaeesXwO2vhn5Bdn2s4Ebc9Z0nq3M85LYchsmCB1tOVSePDMQhb5TuGX389jg0_rePt41Y5c5JtIh-AP6NgydrI1Df3KJ0XO60_IG02_Xuc6XMeolYQShCrv7jBwGp1Orea_7ORa-KefDsT6k_RYyyXOw1k/w400-h400/kolach.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>Colettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13929646037752189809noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4729559664676971737.post-13491994912766180972023-12-13T08:53:00.000-05:002023-12-13T08:53:39.869-05:00Love Gifts<p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">When I was a young wife and mother, my grandmother was poor as a church mouse, but she once slipped me $20 so my cranky grandpa couldn't see. She whispered that it was a love gift. Times were hard. I needed that $20 as much as I needed her love. That loving sacrifice made an impression.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Independent of being a mother and a grandmother, I am a doting aunt and great-aunt, and by the grace of a random universe, we are also great-grandparents. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Last year I mailed 6 packages to our young great-grand children, great-nieces and nephews. I actually used a hand truck dolly to carry them all in to the post office. This year I only have three to mail, because I ordered some presents to be delivered directly to a few young children in our lives. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><span>None of our presents are expensive. Young children don't judge presents based on money spent. They get excited to get a package in the mail. </span><span>I simply want these children to grow up knowing they have two old farts living in Florida who love them. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5qbXtbUMBitirEEqBZjvAOfDu8WlqAFy8UdWd9TsNFnG8voU34zRMJGM4OzTfIQvRiNtwy-5zhqoKOBxLOxc0SdkrdTF6IwuIot4aqJ31UHPbDUK13jEyGqY0RmUGvRespgdeup5p7HZ8YijyMk9NqYNH_elvrT0QFSzwMdrnGBpoVpmLTAhGTihBqm0/s1280/2023%20Christmas%20gifts.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5qbXtbUMBitirEEqBZjvAOfDu8WlqAFy8UdWd9TsNFnG8voU34zRMJGM4OzTfIQvRiNtwy-5zhqoKOBxLOxc0SdkrdTF6IwuIot4aqJ31UHPbDUK13jEyGqY0RmUGvRespgdeup5p7HZ8YijyMk9NqYNH_elvrT0QFSzwMdrnGBpoVpmLTAhGTihBqm0/w480-h640/2023%20Christmas%20gifts.jpeg" width="480" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /><span><br /></span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><span><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p>Colettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13929646037752189809noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4729559664676971737.post-89291264769040845412023-12-06T12:30:00.003-05:002023-12-06T12:46:40.792-05:00A St. Nicholas Day dream.<p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Last night I dreamt I was going someplace with a friend. I stood outside by the car waiting for her to come out of the house. She walked out and I heard her say, “Go away!” to something I couldn't see. Then, from around the back of the house, a decorated bull with large horns came rushing towards me. It hit me in the chest, and everything went black. I woke up. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">But get this, it was decorated like a Hindu sacred cow. The only thing it had in mind was to slam into my chest. Why? If it was real I would say it is simply a bull's nature. However, it was a dream, and I'm of the opinion dreams are our unconscious mind trying to tell us something super freaking obscure.<br /><br />Today is December 6th, St. Nicholas Day. As a child, I put my shoes by the front door the night before, and lo and behold they were filled with candy, nuts, and fruit the next morning. St. Nicholas had visited our house while we slept!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">My mother's grandparents were from Lorraine, France. This is a tradition that has been maintained in my family. St. Nicholas is the patron saint of Lorraine, and popular in Germany and Austria. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Krampus is part of that medieval tradition, too. He is a companion of St. Nicholas. They represent a duality, good and evil. Good behavior is rewarded, and bad behavior is punished. Very effective message.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Because I have both a ridiculous sense of humor and a wild imagination, I think I was visited by Krampus last night. Darn!<br /></span><br /><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/XphY-L9nTuA" width="320" youtube-src-id="XphY-L9nTuA"></iframe></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p>Colettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13929646037752189809noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4729559664676971737.post-60640943261615181762023-11-27T09:55:00.002-05:002023-11-27T09:55:21.698-05:00My new favorite Christmas meme<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhhPlJB0tZZ0pZMwpQG0yN-k92wVs5Vn16UBzCpuA-sTEZUM1cg7WYEPqXQ-TpV4qEHJHSV4IN-LY27dTXmbiN3lR6ni2TWLGXk6AObrsNV5mJt-ivQ4Kh0bJpcurHLkiGNU1tR4SULjgWD2xs6h8R6u9aPZrdfn0rV9SFfw1BJzagXGnl5xM3idQymNQ/s828/IMG_1534.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="815" data-original-width="828" height="394" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhhPlJB0tZZ0pZMwpQG0yN-k92wVs5Vn16UBzCpuA-sTEZUM1cg7WYEPqXQ-TpV4qEHJHSV4IN-LY27dTXmbiN3lR6ni2TWLGXk6AObrsNV5mJt-ivQ4Kh0bJpcurHLkiGNU1tR4SULjgWD2xs6h8R6u9aPZrdfn0rV9SFfw1BJzagXGnl5xM3idQymNQ/w400-h394/IMG_1534.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Now go decorate any way you want, or not at all.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </p>Colettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13929646037752189809noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4729559664676971737.post-6794703783618333252023-11-22T10:41:00.002-05:002023-11-22T10:41:57.247-05:00Thanksgiving 2023<p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I'm trying to get into the right frame of mind for Thanksgiving, you know, the state where I want to clean and cook. It's getting late, so it better happen soon. Thankfully my husband cleans, and he's always game to make the turkey and mashed potatoes. I don't think I have ever made a turkey. I'm spoiled rotten. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I would like to experiment with wild side dishes, but our daughter and her family have food issues. Our daughter has gluten issues that will make her sick in bed if I use wheat flour. Grandson N has a milk protein allergy and will spend his evening in the bathroom if I'm not careful. He's also extremely picky because so many foods have made him sick in the past. Granddaughter E is the foodie, but even she doesn't like onions. Neither does her father. I want ALL of us to be happy on Thanksgiving. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I make two stuffings, one gluten free. I sauté onions and celery blended to high heaven with turkey broth before I bake this GF one. The other is made with cornbread and includes apples, pecans, onions, celery and mushrooms. Guess which one I eat? Gravy is made with gluten free flour, and it turns out just fine. I use cold water instead of milk. Tom and I are the only ones who will eat the cranberry sauce or the sweet potatoes. Everyone likes green beans. Butter doesn't have milk protein in it, so there's plenty of butter in or on everything. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Grandson N will eat chicken nuggets and separately roasted potatoes. Don't judge me, he's my grandson and I'll make him whatever he wants. You be you. I'll be me.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Make me say it: I make fresh green beans for some, green bean casserole (with gluten free cream of mushroom soup and crispy onions) for others. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Our daughter is in charge of dessert. She's a good baker, and sees it as her lot in life to adapt wheat based recipes to gluten free.Whatever she makes will be super damn yummy. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">In my mind, Thanksgiving is the best meal of the year. For all who celebrate, enjoy!</span></p><p><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiedhGX7FExmqV2luiYEQKbpxJJ0zmPZLqKv0vCjiqu_Uc1m_4TxBnR0_OklOb_hFRWRdW-N0GRqx-o-7uk037X2NJt-Xv6JsLjKbpRHSztHbkjBxMbeEiSElfEVtHK4yZW3slrnW-FUudoasyZppdwwRbNefOM014uxGZ4KJYOPwLjJyGeKbo8Xy_mpk/s4032/dinner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiedhGX7FExmqV2luiYEQKbpxJJ0zmPZLqKv0vCjiqu_Uc1m_4TxBnR0_OklOb_hFRWRdW-N0GRqx-o-7uk037X2NJt-Xv6JsLjKbpRHSztHbkjBxMbeEiSElfEVtHK4yZW3slrnW-FUudoasyZppdwwRbNefOM014uxGZ4KJYOPwLjJyGeKbo8Xy_mpk/w400-h300/dinner.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last year's meal. Oh gee, I need to run to the store for <br />red beets, and apples to make applesauce. Aaaack. <br />Granddaughter E LOVES red beets.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p>Colettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13929646037752189809noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4729559664676971737.post-58189874912575915332023-11-15T09:27:00.000-05:002023-11-15T09:27:29.327-05:00Metaphysical woo woo<p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I often think of my paternal Grandma. I love her beyond words. Well, maybe I'm being dramatic. I could probably describe how much I love her in any number of ways. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I could write a litany to describe her. I like litanies, especially the <a href="https://www.nashvilledominican.org/prayer/litanies/litany-of-the-blessed-virgin-mary/" target="_blank">Litany of the Blessed Virgin Mary</a>. A litany drills you right down to the core of an archetype. Words of power and images of faith. After an invocation was read by the priest, the congregation would reply in unison the following supplication: "Pray for us!" If you could pay attention long enough, it was magical. Not much different than a <a href="https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Babylonian_Penitential_Psalms/II" target="_blank">Babylonian prayer to Ishtar</a>.<br /><br />Those old fathers of the church really knew what they were doing on a deep psychological level. In addition, the BVM litany gave you an indulgence of 7 years off your time in Limbo! But I digress. Grandma. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">She was Protestant to my Catholic. Raised Southern Baptist, she became Pentecostal in middle-age. She could talk in the language of the angels if the spirit moved her. I was scared of her church and only went with her once. You may think pre-Vatican II Catholicism was metaphysical woo woo, but that's only because you never went to Grandma's church. Still, she believed. Her life wasn't easy and it got her through a lot. <br /><br />I never told her I lost my faith. How could I?<br /><br />The nuns said non-Catholics wouldn't go to heaven. They told us lots of crazy stuff, trying to make sure we'd never think for ourselves. That's how I knew religious dogma was purposely manipulative, because my Grandma was the holiest person I ever met. If Grandma couldn't go to heaven, then there must not be a heaven. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">To be fair, Pentecostals believe Catholics are a cult and will burn in hell. With 7 Catholic grandchildren, I wonder what Grandma thought about that? </span><br /><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5AV7GfGvJpDr3DzHeQjKXjaGZAVUjYLHR1_KSCjEOXNMO_YDx7jGXBQzJjyDNKBOTp5geisePc7LDZOK2PHglB9iuB3BEiA5sOsC-r12B9P9BQtx3b5ixuk9XL20fb7B0BtsiCLaH1gGDWYdiIPpACZl7chvau_oPXTTxkr2TCqQ-W5FfjvP2_WlyvvI/s480/grandma%20Erma%20in%20kitchen%201bt%201938.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="406" data-original-width="480" height="339" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5AV7GfGvJpDr3DzHeQjKXjaGZAVUjYLHR1_KSCjEOXNMO_YDx7jGXBQzJjyDNKBOTp5geisePc7LDZOK2PHglB9iuB3BEiA5sOsC-r12B9P9BQtx3b5ixuk9XL20fb7B0BtsiCLaH1gGDWYdiIPpACZl7chvau_oPXTTxkr2TCqQ-W5FfjvP2_WlyvvI/w400-h339/grandma%20Erma%20in%20kitchen%201bt%201938.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Mother Goddess if I ever saw one!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p>Colettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13929646037752189809noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4729559664676971737.post-66928375922918124582023-11-08T15:11:00.001-05:002023-11-08T17:05:16.098-05:00Awash but not completely submerged<p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I was awash with feelings this past week, having spent a few days with a three people I love very much. They are three people I don't often spend time with. When I say "awash" I mean I was covered in emotional goo. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">My husband and I live a quiet life. Being with more than one person over the course of a few days is kind of overwhelming for me. I find myself practically dissociating at times. When I have used up every ounce of my energy reserves, I need to rest. Fully overwhelmed I might hallucinate, talk in tongues, overeat, and drive badly. Stone sober, I might accidentally drive the wrong way on a one way street. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">That didn't happen this time. Well, okay, I did drive the wrong way down a divided entrance/exit to an apartment complex. But it was dark and I was in unfamiliar territory. It was a short entranceway. That could have happened to anyone. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">After a few days of intense social interactions, I am running on empty. Sometimes rest is not an option and I must keep going. Then I trust that if I just go through the motions, one movement will lead me to another. It works. </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgmfDJAhhrfChf_8TqtUtCXcFeBohtMBAjn6s0bau_662qVcgSvVBfHm_Z6LdF_RAZunxrOWHwWPS7m98SMQ_-j3f7J00Fzoi_-ID-_3_SjSOTiJgTumZBbVFOwXd5Hq5fUJ081_eT5tY7OFGmu3C3gq0N_2klHXtx-A-w7S11LooiYFhOPArOkAaTO94Q" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgmfDJAhhrfChf_8TqtUtCXcFeBohtMBAjn6s0bau_662qVcgSvVBfHm_Z6LdF_RAZunxrOWHwWPS7m98SMQ_-j3f7J00Fzoi_-ID-_3_SjSOTiJgTumZBbVFOwXd5Hq5fUJ081_eT5tY7OFGmu3C3gq0N_2klHXtx-A-w7S11LooiYFhOPArOkAaTO94Q=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>Colettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13929646037752189809noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4729559664676971737.post-69264025290188372942023-10-30T11:27:00.002-04:002023-10-30T11:42:35.996-04:00Sea of Joy<p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">My favorite blogger has done it again. <a href="https://ldptonedeaf.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Tone Deaf</a> inspired me to write a post. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I started commenting on his blog a few years ago. Okay, I don't really know how long ago it was. Does it matter?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Robbie may be as old as Methuselah, you know, 969 years old. He is scary honest, and starkly opinionated. There is no one else like him. Consequently, I had to force myself to overcome my trepidation when I first commented on his blog. I expected to be ridiculed and outed as a hack. Sometimes that happens, but mostly I learn a lot. Most of his comments on my or other blogs make me laugh out loud. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">He writes about many things, just about anything really. Sometimes he writes about aging without apology or fear. When the spirit moves him, he doesn't hold back. He probably wouldn't anthropomorphize the creative spirit. But I will.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">He wrote today about the various restrictions aging has imposed over time. That was interesting, but then he included imagination in that lot, which gave me pause. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Now this post becomes about me, because that pause turned me inward. I'm hoping the creative imagination is the last to leave. Coy as she is, withholding, and then bam! A Muse holds us close to her heart and the words flow. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I think creativity is an act of faith. Surrender. Blind Faith. Sea of Joy.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/FZQXvUeHmjQ" width="320" youtube-src-id="FZQXvUeHmjQ"></iframe></div><p style="text-align: center;">Just following my Muse where she takes me. </p>Colettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13929646037752189809noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4729559664676971737.post-18429954622733259642023-10-25T14:09:00.002-04:002023-10-25T14:09:30.512-04:00Halloween approaching<p>I bought a pumpkin, but I can't put it outside or the Florida heat will make it rot. So it is sitting in my dining room until Halloween. Sometimes I buy two so that both Tom and I get a chance to carve one. I don't think I will this year. I'm not all that interested. </p><p>Our granddaughter was home from college last weekend, so I got two small pumpkins for her and her brother. I thought they might like to paint them, but they insisted on carving. They turned out pretty cute.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrsI7flS-WsWPNwpzcIyTT7MroUywBeQc_6lBUHJUfKJrIfOnpOtCA3b8mrM2LfoCxIwpjAvc7jnID3lRCPI20rVDcr1n_QqyTSFW9R6R3yzg6ATn0uwBtpniaGsiNuXAR-_sxJwwAS-Yvu84soSzoLC700UlROMeivIfaFzSRjjCA93tmIFcfn-EwkR0/s370/IMG_1397.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="370" data-original-width="370" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrsI7flS-WsWPNwpzcIyTT7MroUywBeQc_6lBUHJUfKJrIfOnpOtCA3b8mrM2LfoCxIwpjAvc7jnID3lRCPI20rVDcr1n_QqyTSFW9R6R3yzg6ATn0uwBtpniaGsiNuXAR-_sxJwwAS-Yvu84soSzoLC700UlROMeivIfaFzSRjjCA93tmIFcfn-EwkR0/w400-h400/IMG_1397.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Colettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13929646037752189809noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4729559664676971737.post-52203525965128296472023-10-11T14:05:00.000-04:002023-10-11T14:05:00.968-04:00Making a change<p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I am taking a break from wine. I don't know if it is permanent. Probably not. I just know I haven't had anything wine all week. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">A friend of mine went to an Ayahuasca ceremony a few months ago. She came back reporting she had a good trip, but the message she got was that alcohol is poison. I'm not going to go that far, but I heard what she said and I know what she meant. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I will order a drink or a beer if I go out to dinner, or I am with friends. But at home, I'm not drinking. What I find is that my anxiety levels have been reduced to almost nothing. I wake up happy, and have energy to do things throughout the day. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Let's see how long this lasts.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 20px;"><br /></span></p>Colettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13929646037752189809noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4729559664676971737.post-43330341078072932542023-10-01T14:03:00.001-04:002023-10-01T15:46:06.558-04:00Afterwards<p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Well, that was rough, going to a funeral for a 32 year old man. Death is always hard, but when a young person with so much to live for dies, the loss delivers a particularly potent punch. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Birth, death, and all the living happening in between. It's all so very odd, isn't it? We all come from nothingness and eventually turn back into the same. Is dying simply one's "time?" Or is it just random cruelty? I surely don't know.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Then, almost immediately after a significant loss, there becomes a new normal. A normal without them. It isn't fair, it always sucks, and it is never okay. </span></p><p><br /></p>Colettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13929646037752189809noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4729559664676971737.post-49677554557891779622023-09-23T09:45:00.002-04:002023-09-23T09:50:22.884-04:00I can't think of a title for this<p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I've been sick with a sinus infection all week. I called the doctor on Monday, but couldn't get an appointment so they set me up with a nurse practitioner for a video appointment. She said as soon as she got off she'd call in a prescription for me to my local pharmacy. Instead, she called it in to my mail order provider. It's Saturday, and it still hasn't arrived from the mail order place. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I called on Tuesday to let the nurse practitioner know the pharmacy hadn't received her order. She fessed up to her mistake and said she'd call it in to the local place. Yesterday (Friday), the local pharmacy finally texted me that it was ready. I picked them up. Today the mail order pills will arrive. When it rains it pours.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I'm very low energy and feel like crap. Tomorrow Tom and I fly to Indiana for a family funeral. A really freaking sad one, by the way, for a 32 year old husband and father of 2 young children. He was my niece's husband. It makes my sinuses ache just to think about what's ahead. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I'll see family members I haven't seen in years over the course of two days. I will run the gamut of emotions. Actually, it will seem more like running the gauntlet. Families are tough!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">There may be a hurricane off the East Coast right now, but there is no wind propelling my sails. I'm just going through the motions for the people I love. For my niece and her little ones. For all the nieces and nephews and in-laws of her generation who are dealing with peer loss for the first time. For my siblings and in-laws who are triggered by the memories of similar losses, and extreme familial love. For the kind of love that wrestles you to the ground. My heart is broken. </span></p><p><br /></p>Colettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13929646037752189809noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4729559664676971737.post-47981392007440224212023-09-13T10:18:00.000-04:002023-09-13T10:18:37.307-04:00Card tricks and magnets<p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Our grandson N is in middle school now. He's rarely silly anymore, darn it. A couple months ago he stopped hugging me hello or goodbye. I knew it would happen eventually, but I didn't see it coming so soon. Darn! I never had a boy child, so male growing pains are new to me. It's quite interesting. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">He came over alone the other day to make cookies. He swaggered in and took over the kitchen. He likes to cook, and has created his own special cookie recipe. The cookies are good, too. He started right in, not needing my advice or help in any way, shape, or form. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">When the cookies were done, he played with magnets for a while, and then wanted to go home. We couldn't take him right then. I needed to find something to entertain him with for one more hour, so I brought out a deck of cards.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">At first he entertained me with card tricks. Then he built card structures. I was afraid it wouldn't go well and he'd be annoyed, but no! He successfully build a small structure and he was both surprised and pleased. Finally, we settled down to a game of War. Grandpa even joined in. It was like turning back the clock, back to those old days when the three of us were the best of friends. We laughed, slapped the cards down, and teased each other. Honestly, it was the best time I'd had in weeks.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHE3JWQllnXiaTsPYrcG_fWcPsKUtxYCj0SZ_sR7VTDbLjRSUYQSjNNNtKVWJtJ4lQy1BFfGGypB5K9pTnYDlh2Z9Qwlt24oaJj5beCdkph7uxQRFlfm7J52LfpaO4aQg5S53e_gukR0qfkmkXv9aP3tj91WMso0X4eAbXl0ugeaSZHftlSvOFD-Fzj-I/s1171/375454359_18288335044130552_329173010005262356_n-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1171" data-original-width="1171" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHE3JWQllnXiaTsPYrcG_fWcPsKUtxYCj0SZ_sR7VTDbLjRSUYQSjNNNtKVWJtJ4lQy1BFfGGypB5K9pTnYDlh2Z9Qwlt24oaJj5beCdkph7uxQRFlfm7J52LfpaO4aQg5S53e_gukR0qfkmkXv9aP3tj91WMso0X4eAbXl0ugeaSZHftlSvOFD-Fzj-I/w400-h400/375454359_18288335044130552_329173010005262356_n-1.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p>Colettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13929646037752189809noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4729559664676971737.post-68493932080392181002023-09-02T09:50:00.002-04:002023-09-02T09:50:47.772-04:00Update on Car<p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">We took the car to another mechanic for that second opinion and I'm so glad we did. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">The second opinion guy has his own shop. He is a big, burly biker with a red beard halfway down his chest. His head is shaved, and he has tattoos. When we lived in NYS we knew lots of interesting people simply because we lived there so long. Retired in Central Florida, not so much. I was thrilled. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">He checked the car out and replaced the back brake pads, telling us the front pads still seem okay and probably would last for another 10,000 miles. He joked that might take two years since our 2015 Subaru currently only has 38,000 miles on it. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">He said the only other thing they found was that the struts are starting to wear out. Although that's a $1400 expense, he said it wasn't life threatening and we could wait on it. So with the inspection, break pads and an oil change it came to a little over $400.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Now we have a unique and colorful local mechanic we like and trust. He laughs at our jokes. It doesn't get much better than that. </span></p>Colettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13929646037752189809noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4729559664676971737.post-36948766968748696322023-09-01T08:55:00.001-04:002023-09-01T08:55:55.921-04:00The end of August 2023<p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> I took these pictures when it was still August.</span> </span> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYmPrTAHEaTAGB-Y3S0JCXFWy0Hec8MRUwY-dZhin7Zb9Ps_s4f8SfJvt2D3dwsDvyr0MZsojhJCKTHzPU4Un9d8wgGV2UqYm8h1p-cNxBvOf0tUpqvqhsUnYANpAHZChOSUR9144y55FlD5nq_kq5pdVGmETlPrpaJ8CAX4saHkjyK0vF7rZKxWjj0K4/s1280/31Aug2023%20red%20canna%203.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYmPrTAHEaTAGB-Y3S0JCXFWy0Hec8MRUwY-dZhin7Zb9Ps_s4f8SfJvt2D3dwsDvyr0MZsojhJCKTHzPU4Un9d8wgGV2UqYm8h1p-cNxBvOf0tUpqvqhsUnYANpAHZChOSUR9144y55FlD5nq_kq5pdVGmETlPrpaJ8CAX4saHkjyK0vF7rZKxWjj0K4/w286-h400/31Aug2023%20red%20canna%203.jpeg" width="286" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">Red Canna Lily</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /><br /></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFaye__S6lVwLXwUPUlSMh908WMpg3bjRLeSab3iV6SKdxdbiCFQ_DUbkIMLgZtbldqmzE5j_6jHebs2HcehL0F6URfQqg-IwZZUhV10_C9nj1cX76HVF83oXVvMbsoe_EIrIZli188wzkhhjYYgpm7gEXxoZR2K5vVB4YNF6ekxyUaCRs4eZZTs2-HLI/s1280/31Aug2023%20%20-%202.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFaye__S6lVwLXwUPUlSMh908WMpg3bjRLeSab3iV6SKdxdbiCFQ_DUbkIMLgZtbldqmzE5j_6jHebs2HcehL0F6URfQqg-IwZZUhV10_C9nj1cX76HVF83oXVvMbsoe_EIrIZli188wzkhhjYYgpm7gEXxoZR2K5vVB4YNF6ekxyUaCRs4eZZTs2-HLI/w286-h400/31Aug2023%20%20-%202.jpeg" width="286" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">Brown eyed Susan</div><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwUfv54h-Uk8lYu2SEy2Spc41j4K6tpqzi0Pw15iv9AB1bpNrQKcvDjR8yIXi6UXUDCUTl6va4UA7YR7DFGkljyxTw45OyZbsttWYUQquIbBs29FKvoAuB_u2Uyg9xmOwRwnX_d41VfET5_6GVefwnXTYfbSgJILETzad_kk9erjhiUmiA8Lo-sHpqtPM/s1280/31Aug2023%20back%20crape%20myrtle.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwUfv54h-Uk8lYu2SEy2Spc41j4K6tpqzi0Pw15iv9AB1bpNrQKcvDjR8yIXi6UXUDCUTl6va4UA7YR7DFGkljyxTw45OyZbsttWYUQquIbBs29FKvoAuB_u2Uyg9xmOwRwnX_d41VfET5_6GVefwnXTYfbSgJILETzad_kk9erjhiUmiA8Lo-sHpqtPM/w286-h400/31Aug2023%20back%20crape%20myrtle.jpeg" width="286" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">Crape Myrtle</div><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Pd4ngJP_d9nwQM4HNABaq3depqzgF8eOXlta_Skly6jVVKM93d2IBZEdHAxUYro8_wI89DOX0PsUZug7jkxDXq129lTreIbBbn0WMRc4k_jQoCPsNBq_TJAiRtNSmiZNpdvrWMbSdJm7Cu7XdUTPKdPMnKQqLLKOa2INa9cNsEoTsM490-yHnO4yBkU/s1280/31Aug2023%20plumbago.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="955" data-original-width="1280" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Pd4ngJP_d9nwQM4HNABaq3depqzgF8eOXlta_Skly6jVVKM93d2IBZEdHAxUYro8_wI89DOX0PsUZug7jkxDXq129lTreIbBbn0WMRc4k_jQoCPsNBq_TJAiRtNSmiZNpdvrWMbSdJm7Cu7XdUTPKdPMnKQqLLKOa2INa9cNsEoTsM490-yHnO4yBkU/w400-h299/31Aug2023%20plumbago.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">Plumbago</div><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt_XkN8dsKcQhSYBHe1dY2DTrp4n7w_vsYk41vYvQkyodj9XMX4h58tuak6Zfo4zvj5SaAUSTO8gE1XVQRfRBiOhJ1sTgAPqH22YdP5ZRIuY1yTmS08NBQzAOaZziRauHo5kwjEV97NcbT02VSDo9nqpN0FmHH9erM6MwHU1WuWR9WdubfROizOOepAFY/s1280/31Aug2023%20red%20canna%201.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt_XkN8dsKcQhSYBHe1dY2DTrp4n7w_vsYk41vYvQkyodj9XMX4h58tuak6Zfo4zvj5SaAUSTO8gE1XVQRfRBiOhJ1sTgAPqH22YdP5ZRIuY1yTmS08NBQzAOaZziRauHo5kwjEV97NcbT02VSDo9nqpN0FmHH9erM6MwHU1WuWR9WdubfROizOOepAFY/w286-h400/31Aug2023%20red%20canna%201.jpeg" width="286" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">Canna with banana leaf</div><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV5ieKXgylz8lO5i4MuADhFsgMb29rEmRBa6WmMGbckIwL7ckfkPgSZeNA_sWtkIcZxPjTFJi8mNpTW7GXNKEA4wzL5xt9Wc6KGKIt6tNt5ypUMn9cvQ-au1n97rGpPgCvC6qxGFbWRCKsL8r3-Q4HSpxj4IBxK9rBIz0TmtFFRcUZ-TjUGjsXw432Of0/s1280/31Aug2023%20succulents%202.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="854" data-original-width="1280" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV5ieKXgylz8lO5i4MuADhFsgMb29rEmRBa6WmMGbckIwL7ckfkPgSZeNA_sWtkIcZxPjTFJi8mNpTW7GXNKEA4wzL5xt9Wc6KGKIt6tNt5ypUMn9cvQ-au1n97rGpPgCvC6qxGFbWRCKsL8r3-Q4HSpxj4IBxK9rBIz0TmtFFRcUZ-TjUGjsXw432Of0/w400-h268/31Aug2023%20succulents%202.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">Succulents</div><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL8v-O4IrLkCuilekdXMHC4JawiUEoaJeALUmLoiQRhkAGDJWtYkJU4p9Egbe2yGbbZiwZwSLHBeLzHdcHysjU90vZlXHAOXjFek2icB8mkAN8EcnDxsuz2HnMaBEIsSEbpIc2DinSqFxMc-qhGo0t-PxBC5Z40_yL-b7tyXC-IX_72dY298oFxfXP1Lc/s1280/31Aug2023%20white%20BOP.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="854" data-original-width="1280" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL8v-O4IrLkCuilekdXMHC4JawiUEoaJeALUmLoiQRhkAGDJWtYkJU4p9Egbe2yGbbZiwZwSLHBeLzHdcHysjU90vZlXHAOXjFek2icB8mkAN8EcnDxsuz2HnMaBEIsSEbpIc2DinSqFxMc-qhGo0t-PxBC5Z40_yL-b7tyXC-IX_72dY298oFxfXP1Lc/w400-h268/31Aug2023%20white%20BOP.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">White Bird of Paradise<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnZkWjmNDfNB8aWLgLKkQ-Z9PAztQd50hUcgkK9xkxpRczBczXSP8wKMaZ_F6PUjRuDFs9NHr8eHowVPlSGs04mgX9ZVXJyiWLF0-hSu1Pjrpk9Y1GTuCZv9YQW1bd7QNqLZDnvI-c8LbqkopLq5RLPWezyynVTgT6stKygOV-GE_vCEIzxxhOOxejszU/s1280/31Aug2023%20bird%20of%20paradise%201.jpeg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnZkWjmNDfNB8aWLgLKkQ-Z9PAztQd50hUcgkK9xkxpRczBczXSP8wKMaZ_F6PUjRuDFs9NHr8eHowVPlSGs04mgX9ZVXJyiWLF0-hSu1Pjrpk9Y1GTuCZv9YQW1bd7QNqLZDnvI-c8LbqkopLq5RLPWezyynVTgT6stKygOV-GE_vCEIzxxhOOxejszU/w400-h268/31Aug2023%20bird%20of%20paradise%201.jpeg" /></a><br />Bird of Paradise<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV17OTGVx4RRGLKS8YQT1ir01VTjzkRNpT9TvGCnbSr93jrrIABmEfso4FVoZUkeBMZUlHVbF1oZffvGJUMUfZ4pH46WVDVJvfY2yLKfy7GijgptTf9rSiZ7GX6-GCM1W5TucbeLKduutOyRIaxQ_wEE4usb44hoPdUzqmHl9aicZPilqz94SItEuet38/s1280/31Aug2023%20bromeliad%202.jpeg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV17OTGVx4RRGLKS8YQT1ir01VTjzkRNpT9TvGCnbSr93jrrIABmEfso4FVoZUkeBMZUlHVbF1oZffvGJUMUfZ4pH46WVDVJvfY2yLKfy7GijgptTf9rSiZ7GX6-GCM1W5TucbeLKduutOyRIaxQ_wEE4usb44hoPdUzqmHl9aicZPilqz94SItEuet38/w268-h400/31Aug2023%20bromeliad%202.jpeg" /></a><br />Bromeliad<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipj_uXrx9e45o0HuZEFZMWbl97teGX5Y43sis9Yh98KDyYeE8Hf6o1xsEmu7fAFrHbsp_pu6QkTNcVj3A2XLpXDHtlGtfMCnjxiFPSVHlKcClsC4rwQvM4k9rpyZKsx8Mfavn8dmI2arAo444R7-OQhUvgtGK53P18RIu9BvGMztzUHnYvnX_luQKipU0/s1280/31Aug2023%20dwarf%20poinciana%202.jpeg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipj_uXrx9e45o0HuZEFZMWbl97teGX5Y43sis9Yh98KDyYeE8Hf6o1xsEmu7fAFrHbsp_pu6QkTNcVj3A2XLpXDHtlGtfMCnjxiFPSVHlKcClsC4rwQvM4k9rpyZKsx8Mfavn8dmI2arAo444R7-OQhUvgtGK53P18RIu9BvGMztzUHnYvnX_luQKipU0/w268-h400/31Aug2023%20dwarf%20poinciana%202.jpeg" /></a><br />Dwarf Poinciana<div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc8165WGnOvr7i2FFvPvklnPuT3zmH2x9vj_WzOy_A8IJAcotXI9JMUqdakk-XuSRKgxLjxxiY1OewdmL5pGZ0VJ8-ppNWNgAGN3lWPiqvu9nH8aN3Q2Z49k3ElCNgfdiIn2Xe0qoBluWl06i28WQpIxGq5w7FeT_79Lv_HbuOjspRMPVaa_h0TDPdP5A/s1280/Blue%20Moon%2030Aug2023%20%20-%202.jpeg"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc8165WGnOvr7i2FFvPvklnPuT3zmH2x9vj_WzOy_A8IJAcotXI9JMUqdakk-XuSRKgxLjxxiY1OewdmL5pGZ0VJ8-ppNWNgAGN3lWPiqvu9nH8aN3Q2Z49k3ElCNgfdiIn2Xe0qoBluWl06i28WQpIxGq5w7FeT_79Lv_HbuOjspRMPVaa_h0TDPdP5A/w400-h268/Blue%20Moon%2030Aug2023%20%20-%202.jpeg" width="400" /></a><br />The Super Blue Moon 30Aug2023<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p></div>Colettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13929646037752189809noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4729559664676971737.post-12819350868046786502023-08-27T09:18:00.000-04:002023-08-27T09:18:20.401-04:00Repair Estimate Limbo<p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Aaack! I'm a bit traumatized by taking my car in for a look see. They ran a diagnostic and came up with 12 things they wanted to do for a total of $2,928.96. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">The interaction with service people is automated. I received a boiler plate text from"Service Advisor" Blaine, telling me to click on a link to get the estimate. I did. Holy cow! As my eyes were rolling towards the back of my head, I was supposed to click on what I wanted done. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">My husband said to check the two cheapest things, replacing a couple of filters, because If I paid more that $89 for repairs they wouldn't charged me the $89 for the diagnostic. Fast thinking, Tom! We could then get a second opinion on the rest. </span></p><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Still, I wanted to talk to Blaine to determine how critical he thought the expensive things were. I immediately called and had to leave a message for him to return my call. He never did. The next day I sent him 2 texts and tried to call but no one answered. The third day I sent an email, and then tried calling again. Another service person answered and said "Blaine" was busy with a customer. I urged him to get Blaine anyway, as I wanted my car back. The service person returned and told me Blaine said I could come and get the car.</span></div><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">When we went there, I was finally able to speak to Blaine. He was super nice, smarmy almost, and obviously feeling guilty. He admitted nothing on that list was critical. What the heck? </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">We are taking the car in elsewhere (with no advance information about the first estimate) on Friday. Stay tuned.</span></p><p><br /></p>Colettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13929646037752189809noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4729559664676971737.post-23367934581134610492023-08-22T12:33:00.001-04:002023-08-22T12:33:44.743-04:00Salesmen, sheesh!<p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">We've been having issues with our old sliding glass door, to the point where we haven't been able to open it. We thought maybe it was time to replace it? Tom arranged for two companies to come and give us quotes. I try to avoid salespeople if I can. In fact, I make Tom answer the door because 9 times out of 10 it IS a salesperson. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">The first salesman talked non-stop for an hour. I couldn't believe it! I was on my computer in another room while he yammered on and on to Tom. Finally, I couldn't take it any longer. I went in, sat down across from him and looked deep into his eyes. He stopped talking. Good thing because I'm adept at interrupting motor mouthed men. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I was going to use my best old lady smile and say all friendly like "Darn, you sure talk a lot!" But my superpower was not needed because he clearly didn't want to talk to me. He got busy "figuring" and gave us a quote of $6,700. After Tom told him it was too much, he then came down to $5,500. As if!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">The second salesman was more straight forward. He was here less than 15 minutes and gave us a quote of $3,800. Better, maybe even almost fair - it included a $675 permit required. The first salesman's quote did not. Still, a mind-blowing amount for retired folks on a fixed income. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Next, Tom called a repairman. The guy was here for less than an hour replacing this and that. Our angel-with-a-truck fixed that door as good as new for $200. You should have seen Tom's happy face when he came in to get the checkbook from me. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Tomorrow we are taking our car in to get fixed. Can we get lucky two days in a row? Probably not, but for today I'm a happy old lady with a very real, big smile.</span></p><p><br /></p>Colettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13929646037752189809noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4729559664676971737.post-34657026067238365412023-08-18T07:29:00.003-04:002023-08-18T07:29:31.302-04:00Hoboes<p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Living conditions were not hard for my mother's family during the Great Depression. The family was large, but Grandpa's job as a railroad inspector was steady. Their lifestyle was comfortable, though simple by modern standards. Their house was close the railroad tracks, so depression-era hoboes (jobless and homeless men who rode the rails) would often stop by their house looking for a handout. Some would ask for food, others would ask if they could chop wood or wash windows in exchange for food. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">In those days, the hoboes had their own written sign language that they used to leave messages for others who were "riding the rails". They would mark or draw the signs on telephone polls and light posts. One particular mark was used to signify if a house was a good place to get a bite to eat. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Once my grandparents went out and left the children in the care of an older sibling. They heard a knock at the door, and when they looked out the window, they saw what my mother described as "a large, hairy man", a hobo with long hair and a long scraggly beard. When he realized the children were home alone he laughed out loud and attempted to come in through the door. My mother ran into the kitchen and grabbed the first thing she could find, an iron skillet. She ran back to the front room, brandishing the skillet in her upraised arm and chased the intruder back out the door and off the porch.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /><br /><br /></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjin2t98-HXPeCGkjfw9NStrFUD72Mf-CjqpMZf2IwRJZc2HydxEiA_yBfCMPMSBxecoWvgHWAh-ffxOu2-FLddM5oNng_bCbcqFDH28fypMBkfHAXexVhXd-hUBRiLxvWxubohpz5_krHVZrx6GwVpahaeWreoSrZWhrWKGm76aitxwMj99IeThKz7xUo/s1280/grimmer%20house%20late%201920s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="889" data-original-width="1280" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjin2t98-HXPeCGkjfw9NStrFUD72Mf-CjqpMZf2IwRJZc2HydxEiA_yBfCMPMSBxecoWvgHWAh-ffxOu2-FLddM5oNng_bCbcqFDH28fypMBkfHAXexVhXd-hUBRiLxvWxubohpz5_krHVZrx6GwVpahaeWreoSrZWhrWKGm76aitxwMj99IeThKz7xUo/w400-h278/grimmer%20house%20late%201920s.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></span><p></p>Colettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13929646037752189809noreply@blogger.com9