Friends

I had a very, shall we say, "protected" childhood. I was born and raised in the same town, in the same house, with the same neighbors and friends until I left for college. I always knew who was who in the social structure around me.

So when I went to college with my best friend, I was flummoxed by people who didn't act or react like all the people that I had ever known. I didn't adapt well to new stuff. Somewhere in my brain it was suppose to stay the same no matter where I was.

And when I tried to get people to act like I thought they should act (in my little world) I was stunned that they didn't. 

Self-centered? Yeah.

Naive? You betcha!

Frightening? Oh, yeah.

But I learned, eventually, that I was not the center of the earth (I am still a little off-center) and that all those other people had stories to tell and places that had molded them.

And through it all, I had a friend.

Someone who was always there when I needed a voice or a shoulder or a "talking to ".

She still calls me "Gizzy" and she still laughs with me.

She remembers how I acted that horrible first year in college because she was there and was the bright and shining light that kept me attached to the ground.

Today, I called her. Just to say "hi" and to tell her what my latest blood tests had revealed. Nothing serious but a call to lose the weight and get my big keester off the chair.

I have never laughed so hard about dieting.

If there is one thing that marks our relationship, it is laughter. My mother (and hers) would always have to tell us to knock it off and go to sleep when we stayed at each other's house.

My husband will tell you that if I am on the phone and giggling I am talking to Vicki.

So today, as usual, she was there for me and, well, I just wanted to thank her.

Vicki, I love you!

Goodbye, again

Mohawk and LadyBug with Danny at Pismo Beach

One year ago today, I came home from work and Melvin and I had to make a decision. LadyBug could no longer lift her head, even to greet me. And Mohawk had lost the use of his back limbs.

I called the vet in Arroyo Grande and their whole crew stayed until we could get there.

And we said goodbye.

I miss them. And Zelda misses them, too.

When they were little, we would take them to a local school yard and throw a tennis ball for them. They would race to get it and bring it back. We would throw that dirty, smelly thing until they just lay down and quit.

We had learned not to take them to dog parks. The danger of ill trained dogs and untrained owners was more than we would let them face.

We had them trained at the All American Dog Kennel. The first command they learned was "Wait". They never forgot that word. Or the word "Food". They NEVER jumped on anyone.

If they got out of the backyard, we would go after them only to find them resting on the front door step. Waiting for food, of course.

They sat in my chair with me at night. They slept on our bed. They terrorized the cats.

They were never apart after we let them claim our life.

They were our kids, our pets, our friends.

They have been gone for one year.

I hope doggie heaven is full of tennis balls and they are never tired.

WITH THE GIRLS

When I was quite young, I was introduced to card playing.

I mean quite young.   Less than 8 years old.

I wasn't introduce to this serious form of gamesmanship by any of my male relatives or friends.

Oh, No. Not in my family.

That would have been---treasonous??

No. My brothers and I were introduced by our great-grandmother, Barbara Roth Flynn. We called her "Cese". (The C is pronounced as an S)

She was a tower of a woman. One of the last of the Victorians.


She stood at least 6 feet tall. And she had the will and stamina of a Percheron stallion.

She outlived her husband by several decades. And in her widowhood she enjoyed many female friends. And one night a week, four of them  would meet.

To play cards.

A nice "friendly" game of Canasta.

Mind you, the youngest of the girls (in chronological age) was in her mid 80's!

Occasionally I would be visiting her with my brothers (who drove us there) when one of "the girls" was absent or unable to complete the game.

This was not an excuse to end the game prematurely. Oh, NO!

One of the great-grand kids was enlisted to fill the empty seat. And we were expected to play well. VERY well. Until the game was done. One, two in the morning.


So we learned Canasta.

And, we learned to play Cribbage. Against Cese. (As a result of that I can add to 15 faster than anyone I know. I can't get to 8 or 10 or 16, but I got 15 down!)

I was reminded of all of this yesterday.

I was invited to a brunch in Morro Bay by my childhood piano teacher. Her name is Virginia Hanigan.

It was a brunch to celebrate the 30th anniversary of the founding of the Morro Bay Chapter of PEO. Virginia had help to found the group.

PEO is an organization of WOMEN dedicated to the EDUCATION of women. A powerful idea and group.

And so about thirty women ate together and reminisced about their chapter. Some were in their 80's and some just out of college. A fabulous mix. And the whole thing was great fun.

And at the end of the meeting Virginia walked over to the piano, sat down and played a piece for me.
 And  this is what she said:

"That's one of the pieces I had your grandmother learn"

Cese's daughter had taken lesson from Virginia, too! Something I never knew.

There is something about women. The life histories that are intertwined and remain with us forever.

So, yeah. There are times when I just like being WITH THE GIRLS.

Hello, Fall!

Around here there are as close to four seasons as you can get in Southern California. (I consider this south as it is south of Monterey--It really is Central Coast but that is a little too narrow for the thought to work...)

In any case, the temperatures have not been out of the eighties in a couple of weeks and the nights are in the forties. We had a morning temp of thirty-five a few days ago.

The leaves on the fruit trees are turning and falling. The squirrels are fighting for food. The rabbits, hares and deer are turning brown and black. The air smells like fall.

But my rose bush doesn't know it. It decided to provide the appropriate color for this month:

Please donate to whatever charity you like that supports breast cancer research.

My rose made a special effort to ask you.

I am Not as Dumb as I Look???

I have been on this earth for "several" years.

I learned to cook in my own home as a child.

I learned to clean a kitchen in my own home as a child.

I was there when my parents had a dishwasher installed.
I learned to use the dishwasher. Without incident.

I was there when my parents installed a garbage disposal.
I was there when Mother put the potato peels in the garbage disposal.
I was there when the plumber fixed the garbage disposal.

I was there when Mother put the carrot peels down the garbage disposal.
I was there when the plumber fixed the garbage disposal.

I learned a great deal during those times of tragedy.
Do NOT talk to Mother.
Do NOT talk to Father.
Get outside as quickly as possible without them seeing you.
Never mention the plumber.
EVER!

I learned, also, not to put peelings of any kind (vegetable,  mineral or animal) in the garbage disposal.
Doing so brings the plumber and communication will cease in the household.

So, as I cleaned the kitchen this morning.....Well, wait. You need the whole story.

Last night Melvin asked me to make some rice. We have a rice cooker which I have used maybe once or twice. So I ask Melvin for the ratio of rice to water for proper use of the cooker. I know that in a pot it is 1 to 2. But a cooker is a bit different.

Melvin says, "2 cups of rice and 2 cups of water." I thought that was a bit strange so I reaffirmed his statement.

I then followed his instructions.

The rice was a TAD on the dry side. He ate some. I didn't.

We had a discussion regarding the TWO cups of rice. It turns out that the rice cooker came with its own cup. It measures 1/2 cup. So, when Melvin said two cups of rice he meant THAT cup. When he said two cups of water he meant the regular measuring cup of exactly one cup. He assumed that I understood the difference between the cups.

I am old and blonde. I did not get the subtlety there.

Meanwhile, I was cooking some fish that I had purchased the day before. It was Dover Sole. Or so they said. It turned out like the rice.

I had a bagel and cream cheese for dinner. (Much better than fish, if you ask me)

So, as I cleaned the kitchen this morning, I took the bowl from the rice cooker and dumped its dry, disgusting, hard contents....

wait for it.....

into the sink with the garbage disposal.

I turned on the said disposal.

Shortly thereafter the garbage disposal began spitting at me. The water rose. The water rose in the adjoining sink. It had little bits of dry, disgusting, hard things.

I remembered my lessons.

I informed Melvin and then ceased to communicate. I took the dog to the vet. (She needed another blood test)

I called our friend the erstwhile contractor/handyman for two lawyers.

Then Melvin called.

He had done the unthinkable. He had torn the pipes apart. He had found the rice cement. He had removed it. He had put the pipes back together. (In proper order) And then he cleaned the kitchen.

My punishment?

I shall NEVER cook rice again. (Thinking about the same for the fish)

I am a lawyer for a very, very good reason.

(CORRECTION) IF I MUST

Melodie got married today. And it was the most un-traditional, wacky, fun wedding I have ever attended. And I was sober!

It was on the outdoor patio of a restaurant in Cambria. The temperature was suppose to be a bit nippy at 65 degrees. The forecast forgot to mention one small item-----

Rain.

Outdoor wedding. Hmmmm.

But we got lucky. Ninety-five percent of the patio was covered.

So at 10 am we began our work.

My friend Kathy cut ribbon. By the way, Kathy hates to have her picture taken so I had to take this one and post it because....well, because.....

Note the material on the back of the chairs. They turned into this.

What is it? Green (or cream) tea towels with white, green and gold ribbons and a stem of budded eucalyptus!

And on the tables? You might ask.... Well, a great idea.....

An assortment of tin cans with various cut flowers and CHOCOLATE CHEWS!

I really don't know which one I liked best. But each table was different and stunning.

And the whole thing turned out like this:

And then the fun started..

JR in his kilt

People started showing up. The bar opened. The appetizers appeared. And everyone boggled at the men's attire.

There is a story there. You see, Melodie wanted her dear friend Patrick as her witness. That made him the Maid of Honor. Since, according to tradition, the maid of honor must wear a dress, the entire male portion of the wedding party decided to wear the next best thing--kilts! 

Justin, JR. Keliki, and Patrick

Now Melodie's friend Keliki performed the ceremony after filling out the right forms with the County of San Luis Obispo. She had never done this before so she had a bit of studying to do.

Concentration aided by wine

But the best part was when dear JR, in response to the "do you" question, answered (almost with a straight face) "IF I HAVE TO MUST".

The entire place erupted in laughter and my Melvin was heard by all when he (rather loudly) labeled the answer  "Rookie Mistake!!"

They finally got married.

And the people stuck around. Eating, drinking, talking, laughing. But the best part for me was that all of Melodie's family was there.

Manuel (her Dad), Michelle (step-mom) JR, Melodie, me, and Melvin.

Her Uncle Ernie was there. Her nephew Ethan was there. Her cousin Ryan was there.

Oh, and, as you can see, the rain stopped.

Cuz, well, IT HAD TO MUST!

Slipping the Trolley Tracks

To say that we love our place in the middle of nowhere is an understatement.

There is wildlife everywhere.

We had a mother and four pups of the California Gray Fox variety in our backyard for two evenings.

Melvin regularly makes friends with the birds.

Zelda plays hide and seek with the gophers.

Flowers bloom in profusion.

But best of all, is the solitude and quiet.

You see we are on a small offshoot of a dirt road. The road goes on but to get to us you have to veer off. No one even sees the little offshoot. And, I must add that you have to go about a mile on the dirt road to get to our little offshoot. No one comes here.

It is a 20 minute drive to a town with a decent grocery. Our mail box is a mile away.

At night there is little, if any, ambient light and the stars are....well, they make you feel very, very small in the grand scheme of things.

So we tend to ponder things. The Spouse works in the yard.

Watering here and there. Checking the bird feeders and the bird baths.

I have to go to work and deal with insane people.

He stays here and ponders.

But I am beginning to worry about that.

After all, too much time to yourself can lead you to, well, live where you are pondering.

I think he has slipped the trolley tracks.......

===sigh===