Martin Luther

After making forty tomato halves ready for their two to three hour stint in the oven, I sat down to wait for the paper. Since it is snowy outside the paper was later than usual. It is promised for seven but usually comes earlier. It is now 6:56 am and my cat and I are anxious about the well fare of our friendly paper person who works on the paper all day and delivers papers at this horrible hour. My book, which I had taken yesterday to read with my breakfast 'THE PAINTED VEIL BY Somerset Maugham' was still in my purse and when you get to my age, getting up and down from your chair, is not something you do willy nilly. So I sat there thinking of Thanksgiving times of the past. 

In Sweden that is an unknown holiday. We had a holiday around the same time of year with equal big stir in the kitchen. It was Martin Luther's birthday. The lutheran religion is the state supported religion. People are free to join any church but then they must help support that that body. What caused the big stir in the kitchen? Everyone must cook a goose. I never had a goose dinner when I was growing up. Nor did I ever have a turkey dinner. Kalkon Must have been the size of our oven in our wood heated stove. It was difficult to keep a steady heat for that many hours. It was a school holiday, it was the beginning of the voting for the Stockholm Lucia, and it was the beginning of all the secrets connected with Christmas. And now I hear the paper being attached to the door handle. Happy Thanksgiving to one and all.

Tragedy and Beauty

What is so tragic? I have to live till April without baseball. Last week there was news in our little daily newspaper about the Mariner's Star Pitcher getting an award. It reminded me of better times. I know the season will begin again in the spring. But will I be here to enjoy it.

We are having our first snow. I can't call it a snowstorm for it is so calm and peaceful. And so beautiful. I think every time I go outside my blood pressure goes down to the normal degrees. If I had high blood pressure it would be theraputic to just sit outside and enjoy.

I had the weekend with FAKE IT IN FABRICS class. It was successful but the time was too short.I enjoyed the give and take between all the participants and there were successful endeavors to be finished after class. I hope all are being worked on. It is so easy to say 'later'. I would love to hear about the progress people are having.

Anna and Steve are coming on Wednesday to have Thanksgiving with me in what is now Gilbert''s house. I am sharing some of the cooking for the meal. I have to go to the store for supplies and more snow and heavy winds are predicted for this afternoon. But there is tomorrow and if the roads are too difficult, I can ask Anna or Steve to get what I need. Wish me luck.

And happy Thanksgiving to all. And if there is anyone who can, please send one dollar to 

PORT ANGELES FOOD BANK

402 S Valley St

Port Angeles  WA 98362

Ancestors, continued

You may wonder why so many Swedes went to America. Late 1800 Sweden was a very poor country. The kings of that time,and previously were constantly at war, mostly with Russia. Inheritance laws were unfair. The eldest child would inherit all. Since my grandfather was a teacher with an unbelievably low salary, there would be nothing to inherit. It was a law really concerned with a farmer's estate. My Grandfather owned nothing. He was given a home until he was retired, and then he rented houses until he died. He retired around the turn of the century. He had enough of a retirement pay to rent some very large houses in Viken. I heard him say once, bitterly, I have now earned more money in retirement pay than I earned my whole working life.

I know I have mentioned the aunt who went to America and who never came back. Every time her name was mentioned, people would quickly change the subject. Yesterday I began searching old blogs to see if I could find her name. I have searched all sorts of places in my brain, and I can not find it. I have thought about her more than all the others. Could she have gone astray over a man or over many men? Could it be a sexual disease that killed her? Could it have been drugs or drink that killed her. She was a beautiful woman when she left Sweden. I often thought that maybe I could find her history somehow, but now I can't even remember her name. If her name pops up in a dream I will write it down before it disappears again.

Aunt Ida was the apple of her father's eye. She met and fell in love with a young man in Viken. He proposed to her and after they were engaged he told her he would like to go to America to try to find gold either in California or in Alaska. He would come back to get her as soon as he was ready to get married. This made my grandfather happy because he could keep his favorite daughter at home a little longer. My grandmother died either 1908 or 1910, and Ida was the hostess in her father's house until Martin finally was ready to settle down. The young couple were now in their early fifties. Too old to have children. What a tragedy. They settled in Colorado. I finally got to see Aunt Ida, when she was a widow, and just a few years before she also died.

When Ida left, my mother was the only one to help out with her father. There was Olof, who never left Sweden. He had a little more education than his siblings, and became a banker. We were sort of afraid of him because of his high standing in the community. Actually he was only a teller. He married one of the Cato girls. They lived in the city.

There is a lot more to tell of this family. Next time

Ancestors

I used to own my grandfather's logbook. In it he had written what a kilo, or what a ton of coal cost. Also, what it cost to have a cow betackt (the a with an umlaut). It meant a calf would be born soon. But their first baby would be born before the calf was born.

The job he got made it possible for him to get married. His fiancee had lived with her family in the city named Helsingborg. Here she was pampered, and lead a comfortable life with indoor plumbing. Her father was a successful merchant. The store was called Tengwall's and was still in the same place when I was growing up and owned by a woman who was my mother's age.  She had inherited the store. I remember going there with my mother to give Hildur her Christmas present, which yearly was the same potted tulip, which had been forced to bloom in time for this Holiday.

The job grandfather was given came with living quarters. Half the building was the schoolroom.  The other half was the Olsson's living quarters. The water pump was outside the kitchen and the Outhouse was as far from the dwelling as possible. This had to be shared with all the students in the school. Poor Botilda, it must have been a rude awakening for her. Grandfathers pay was miniscule and as far as I know, they never had a pair of store bought socks or stockings. In every photo of my grandmother, she was seen with the five sock needles, working on a new pair of socks for her eight children. Or maybe there were seven children.

Soon after marrying, Ivar was born. And then the others followed. Either my mother was the youngest, or morbror Olof was. My mother was born in 1886. Many of her siblings had already emigrated to America. Next in turn came Alma, who worked in NYC as a baby nurse. I forgot to tell about Ivar first. He had a good friend from school who left first to go to America. He ended up in Walla Walla Wasington, working for a grocery store. He convinced Ivar that the streets were paved with money and to hurry up and follow him. I wish I had seen his diary to read about his trip across the Atlantic. I know he landed in New York. But how did he get to Walla Walla. What adventures did he have on the way. He did not last long in the West. He returned to NY and became a teamster. How he got money to buy a team of horses I don't know. He worked for the Swedish American Line and delivered luggage and other ware. He married Henrietta and they ended up in Upper New York state as Maple sugar farmers. They had one daughter named Louise.

The next time I will tell you about Alma and Ida, both interesting cases. And then following will be the stories about one whose name escapes me at the moment. I know nothing about her so what you will read will be my own phantasy about her. Everytime her name was mentioned, the conversation changed and looks told one there was more about her that would not be fitting for small ears to hear. So do not believe what you hear, for chances are that I made it up.

FAKE continued

It is now a week since our successful week at the local quilt store. Everyone who participated was a star.


 Jan and her mother Joanne who came from California to experience something new. They were very talented and I am eager to see their finished work. 

Joanne had a more detailed time doing Matisse's Sunflowers. How she executes the two flowers will be important and if the first attempt fails I hope her second one will be perfect. We have a preconceived idea of what the flowers should look like, but how did Matisse see them? That's the secret of being a good FAKER.

Jan, her daughter, worked on the painting of a neighbors that is so rich in especially the colors. She finished the basic part of the fruit, but had all details to work on at home. She is a busy lady and I hope she does not wait too long. There are fewer details, both in the background and in the foreground. So the red persimmon has to star in perfection.

And then there was Ann from Bainbridge Island. She came knowing what to do with the photo she had invented. Fascinating watching her work.  It was a landscape from Kansas with mysterious things happening in the distance. It is going to be revealed to us when the work is finished.

I held the class because a friend from Bainbridge asked me to help her make Matisse's Red Room. In the last minute she had to go with her husband to a convention. I will offer to give her a private class here in my home, some Saturday of her choice. It will be easier to have the lesson here. 

Next blog will be a continuation of my Grandparents lives. 

The FAKE IT IN FABRICS success

Saturday was finally the day for the class. I don't know how many sleepless nights I had before the event. How would I get all my materials from my place to the place where we were to meet? And then back home again. Baby sitting for Gilbert's dog, solved one of my problems. When I arrived at the house I would enter through the garage. In the corner I would pass a very meaningful wheeled object. If I could borrow that, I felt I could manage one trip from my place to the street where I would park my car. Sewing machine, coffee maker, and all the boxes of material would probably fit on the thing. And if it were as manageable as it looked, the hill up to the car would be no trouble. And the short length from the car to the classroom would be a snap. I tried to hire some young person with muscles but could find no-one. And then Betsy, a friend,  who had already taken one of my classes and was doing it again said 'I'll help you'. And she helped load the car, she said I'll bring my coffeepot, she was an absolute gem. And in the classroom she was an inspiration.

The Quilt store whose class room we used, was a big part of the success. They were so helpful and so kind to the students. Everyone got a ticket when they arrived and then could dash into the store to buy the item they needed and then could pay when the class ended. I had to be very demanding when someone left to go to the store. It is so exciting to wander through the stacks and stacks of fabrics. Someone buying a needle could spend an hour looking at yardage for a future project. So each time someone would go to the store I would give them a short time for the errand. "You have four and a half minute' or something equally ridiculous. We had only one day to work together. And when the day was over they could spend all the time they wanted. 

Betsy was the star of the moment. She arrived knowing what she wanted to do and never stopped working. Her project was fabulous. And her independence and personal touch was exciting to watch. The others all did well and had a great FAKE to take home to finish. How well all worked together was an inspiration. If they didn't live so far from each other I think real friendships were born that day.

pregnancy

I wish I could remember what the Swedes called the bed that held more than one stranger. During snowstorms people would never turn out a person who needed a safe port. Often beds were in short supply, and the bed would be made from both ends. And people would sleep with their heads next to the stranger's feet. I those days with no indoor plumbing, I can imagine the odors that issued forth from the feet of the stranger, and vice versa. People were lucky who could manage a bath a week. But what has this to do with pregnancy.

Grandfather had met the love of his life somewhere. Probably in the school he was attending in order to get his teaching certificate. He lived in on a farm North of Helsingborg in exchange for work (milking the cows in the morning and in the evening). School started at eight o'clock, and the walk to the school took 45 minutes. Weekends he was free and he would walk to Helsingborg to see Botilda. Her father was a businessman and they lived in a great house, probably with in-door plumbing) There were times when the weather was so atrocious that Botilda's parents could not send the swain out in the night. And then they would fix the bed 'skafottes'. And they would put the couple in the bed with what they thought, the security of the sheet between them. And that was the way Botilda got pregnant.

Correction

Last blog was misleading. I told about feeling more insecure than ever about my punctuation. Actually, that was not caused by the book, THE ELEGANCE OF THE HEDGEHOG. There was a short mention about the comma in a certain sentence. But that little sentence caused a big uproar among the ladies present at the club meeting. The person leading the conversation, a good friend of mine from long ago, has her doctorate in education, and before her retirement was a principal in one of our elementary schools. She mentioned that little sentence about the 'comma' and with that there was as huge discussion about all sorts of grammar. I did not enter into all that for I was afraid of revealing my ignorance. But it certainly was enough for me not to rush into another blog. After much scolding from my PLOT daughter, I agree that I should let the faults drop where they may.

My maternal grandfather, whose picture I have on my desk, was born in Sweden in 1838. His mother died when he was born and his father either died soon after, or could not take care of him and he became a foster child in a neighbor's house. When he reached a certain age, I think eight, he was indentured into a farmers house and his term was until he was sixteen or eighteen. I don't know if the farmer was supposed to let him go to school during this time. It sounds as though his father had sold him into slavery. I remember his telling us children that when he was sick, the farmer's wife would give him nothing to eat. How he got his education or how he became a school teacher I don't know. I wish I could remember what he told us when we were little, for he loved to talk.

He graduated from the teacher's college, got a job, married his pregnant girlfriend within one week. They had seven children who lived. (I never heard about others) I will tell you about the ones I got to know. I will begin my next blog with how the pregnancy happened.,

One day

Yesterday, first Wednesday of the month, I had to go to the book club. The meeting was being held in a house not far from where I live, a house with an extraordinary view of the waterfront. I have been there once before and once, long ago, the first time I attempted to go there, I searched and searched and after a while I got in my car and went home again. (I think I told you that I rejoined the club after years of having been a non-member) Well, I had the address secure in my mind and I ventured forth.

The street is a narrow path. On one side of the street are the back yards of people living on an ordinary street. With all the stuff that people have have behind their houses. And the other side of the street are mostly fenced in properties, with houses built on the edge of Port Angeles. (Let's hope we never have an earthquake)

And so I came to the correct number. Parked my car on the nearest side street. Got my cane and wobbled over to the front door of the house, wondered at the lack of goings on and used the door knocker. A friendly Brittany came by to see what I wanted. A beautiful Brittany. No one came to the door. The thought entered my mind that I would probably go home again if no one showed up. All of a sudden, there stood an attractive man with gardening gloves on his hands. Before he could ask what the heck I was doing there, I asked him if this was the place for the book club meeting. He then informed me that I could find the same numbered house at the other end of the street. When I got there, there were about twenty cars parked on the side streets and one car pulled up and parked on a little place that had a basketball pole. There was a tiny bit more space so I inched in there and saved myself a long walk.

The meeting was fabulous. Everyone liked the book and everyone had found so many hidden messages. I think I told you last time that the book was THE ELEGANCE OF THE HEDGEHOG. I know what the book did to me. I am twice as insecure about my punctuation.

It has been decided

Thank you all for voting on my blog. The result of the vote was stunning. Not a single NO vote. And so many YES votes. A humbling experience. I have chosen my new carpet. I have the blessings of the director of our home office. Now I have to set a date with the carpet people.

I am teaching a class on Oct 16. I am so nervous about being able to do it. Two people are coming from Southern California, one from Bainbridge Island and the rest from Port Angeles and Sequim.  The subject of the class is FAKE IT IN FABRIC. I have to tell you how the name came about. I may have told you sometime in the past. A good friend was visiting in Washington D.C. She and her husband went to an art show and saw among other things a painting by Matisse called ' Lady with flowers. She bought a postcard depicting that Matisse. When I received it I remember what a horrible feeling filled me. 'No matter what happens between now and my final days, I will never be able to own a painting like that'. It was something like greed and avarice that filled me. I remember I was in the middle af a daily chore when my husband handed me the card. And I was ashamed of the way I felt. And then I told myself 'I'LL MAKE ONE'.

I went into my sewing room, looked for suitable fabrics and began my new art form. Trial and error and beginning over and over again I finally finished the work. And for some reason I was as happy as if I really had a Matisse in my possession. It proved that it was not the hundred or so millions I was craving, it was the beautiful scene of lovely colors and perfect composition that appealed to me. I have made many others but none has filled me with happiness the way that first one did.

A short, short visit

Anna and her friend Dana came from Bainbridge Island yesterday morning. We met at a breakfast place, finished early, and they went to the house on the beach to pick up a piece of furniture that Dana had bought during my garage sale. I drove as fast as was legal for an appointment with my dermatologist. I walked in and was seen at ten sharp and at ten-o-five was told not to worry, I did not have the bad kind of cancer on my arm. (We have been told so many times that when a spot on the skin changes and gets an irregular edge, go to the doctor.) Good news.

I now have another question that is worrying me. In a totally different area. Where I live, a wonderful beautiful place, management made a huge mistake when they readied my cottage for a new inhabitant. They ordered new carpeting throughout the place. The cheapest stuff on the market. It is awful. Every footprint shows and it is always soiled looking. My friend down the lane and I have compared notes, and she has now replaced everything in her cottage. When I saw the change, I was astounded. The comfort of the better kind of carpeting is huge.

But there is a distinct difference between us. She is in her early or middle seventies and could now be living there for twenty more years. I am ninety, or nearly ninety one, and I may have a much much shorter time. Should I spend that much money on a new carpet? There ore lots of people with nothing but mud under foot. I will ask my financial advisor if he thinks I can afford it, but he cannot advice me on my sense of right or wrong. I could ask my four children to vote on what I should do. 

Writing this blog has changed my mind. I will let you, my readers vote on yes or no. I know I can take it out of my saved up living expenses. Please all of you comment on this problem.

Some ups and some downs

My life is getting too hectic. I rejoined a Book Club I used to belong to many years ago. The reason I left the club was that so often I had not read the book by the time we met to discuss it. The reason was that my mother had told me, often, that 'we don't read in the daytime'. When I went to bed I always began reading whatever was current, and as soon as I opened the book, I fell asleep. Now I can read as much as I want in the daytime. 

Today was the first meeting of the season for the book club. After this there will be nine more meetings and then the summer is free. Today was spent picking the books we will read these nine months. Several I have already read and the rest of the list is fun to look forward to. I will tell all of you what the books are later.

The reason I mentioned the word hectic is that I am going to teach a class titled FAKE IT IN FABRICS. I wake up in the middle of the night asking myself 'how will I handle that problem'. And then I lie there trying to solve it all. Luckily the class will be small. Two people will arrive from California, Two from Bainbridge Island, and the rest of the group live here in the environs. The date is October 16 and I can't afford to loose all that sleep. I will try to copy Scarlet O'Hara and say to myself, 'I will worry about that tomorrow. 

First day of school

I remember the very first day of school, when I was seven years old. The year was 1927. I was surprised the other day, when I read a story comparing Education in various countries, when I saw that beginning School is still when you are seven in Sweden.

My first day was wonderful. First the smell in the class room. I have often wondered what it was that smelled so promising. Was it coming from the pencil sharpeners, or was from the black surface on the floors.

 Somewhere in a drawer I have a picture of our first class. Most of us looked scared but my face showed no fear. Froken Andersson, our teacher, looked happy to be there. She was old. Now that I am ninety, it seems wrong to say she was old. I know she was under 65 for that was when people were pensioned. And I know she taught many years after my one year stint in her class. So maybe she was in her fifties. 

We had a small class. I remember a girl whose name was Gerd. Her father was something like a coast guard. She was next to the youngest in her family of many children. It was before the birth of Kleenex and the poor girl had a nose that needed one, but she had learned how to keep whatever was happening to herself. She had to keep her mouth open so she could breathe. I think it held her back. There was one of the Petterson girls. Stina, Brita and Greta. I don't remember which one was in my class for all three of them became friends through the years. Their father was a carpenter. Their mother must have been a seamstress for they all had cute clothes. The school was located on the main street of Viken. Our entrance was from the back of the building, but the teachers living quarters had an entry from the main street. Next door to the south was a clock maker's store. His name was Holm and he was a very dapper gentleman. Next door to the clockmaker was the 'smidga' The horses went there to get re-shoed. 

I knew how to read before the first day of school. I think I must credit my sister Birgit with that.

Another bus drive

Today is tuesday. On our Calendar it says that 'Errands' will leave at 9.30 am. I left my cottage at 9 and walked, with my cane, up to my garage to get my shopping cart. Walked around to where we can get let out of the bus on our way home, parked my cart by a bush, and walked down to the place where the bus parks when picking us up. That little operation took exactly half an hour. I am practicing now so I will know how to behave when and if I loose my driver license. The whole event was amazing. And I now know why Park View Villas was voted the best retirement place in Clallam County.

The bus was nearly full. One person in a motorized Wheel Chair got on on the ramp on the back of the bus. Three of four took their walkers along on the bus, four or five used their canes and the rest of them walked on by their own balance and power. One woman who is either 94 or 95 walks as though she is about sixty. I checked her cart when our alotted hour  was nearly up and she had two candy bars in her cart. 

Before we got to Safeway the bus had dropped a couple off, to cash checks in various banks. And one man was dropped off at a dentist's office. One man was left in a Foot Clinic and a couple of women were left at other doctor's offices. Our driver, whom you have met before, is uncomplaining . It was raining and he opened the doors at these offices for everyone who left the bus. When we came to Safeway he handed each of us the carts that were going to hold us up while we were in the store.

The woman with the two candy bars remembered that she had promised a fellow inmate that she would apply a warm damp compound to an aching area of his, and when Keith heard her woe he gave her an early trip back to the home, and then turned around and collected the rest of his flock.

A small world

Today I was invited to play for someone in a Bridge Tournament. I think there were four or maybe five tables. The affair was held here at Park View Villas, my home address, and before we played, we had lunch in our dining room. It was interesting, for I do not eat there normally and my thinking lately has been, Why don't I eat there? I don't know how much it would cost to have two meals a day there, but I think maybe it would be less than I spend in the grocery store. After todays lunch I am glad I still have my independence. We had soup and a sandwich and grapes and for dessert a small container of ice cream. When I see my MD and he compels me to go on a diet, I may feel it would be a good way to lose weight to eat in the dining room.

Something very interesting happened at the table. The conversation around our area of the table turned to 'Have you read'? It was fun hearing what people were absorbed in, and I took a few notes. Suddenly I heard the woman across from me say, Have you read a book called The Daily Coyote? No one responded. So she went into great detail and took a lot of time describing the Vespa Story and the fabulous photographs. When she finished, I said, 'Who was the writer? She searched around in her head, and out came Sh, Shr Shreve Stockton. And then a light rose on her face, and she said 'Is that a relative of yours'. I brushed my nails on my vest, and said.... She is my Grand daughter.

Then I turned my attention to the person sitting next to me. She was talking about a book titled something about a house on a beach. The beach was located in Liberia. I asked, if the author mentioned, had dealt with how her parents or grandparents had settled in Liberia. She said Yes, and that she had gone into great detail about how freed slaves had been allowed to leave USA to go there. I said Commodore Robert Stockton had been instrumental in getting the people who wanted to emigrate from USA to Liberia the passage they needed for the trip. And then I told how Martha Alderson has written a book about that historical chapter. And who is Martha Alderson? Her middle name is Stockton and she is one of my favorite three daughters.

A couple of firsts

Yesterday I joined a TAI CHI class given here at our place. At 8.30 AM. I walked down the hill with my walker. It was sunny even then, so I had to wear my straw hat. (that hat always makes me feel jaunty) People think it is an affectation but my dermatologist insists. Tai Chi was a blast. I did everything wrong. The teacher asked before we began if I am dyslexic and I said I was when I was young and she looked 'Oh, not another one' But all my fellow searchers for balance told me not to give up too soon. For forty five minutes we strove for perfection. I was facing the teacher and when she said 'right arm' I moved my left arm. Next time I will try to sit next to her, so I can copy her better.

At ten I had an appointment to have my nails done. I walked back up the hill when the class was over, got my shopping cart where I had Jane's birthday present ready to mail, maneuvered up the seven steps to the level where my garage is, and realized that there was very little time to get half way to Sequim. So I broke a few speeding laws and made it with only a few minutes over due. And now my second first. At 12.05 I arrived at the Port Angeles post office. There was one human being besides me. The clerk. Never before have I encountered that kind of scene. By the time the clerk was through with me,  there were six people waiting to be served.

In the afternoon I had to call down to the office and ask if we had a nursing service available. There was so I said I would be down directly. Got my walker again and began walking down the hill. Our wonderful office director chased me down thinking I was in need of assistance. I just had an angry looking injury on the back of my arm. Before moving from the house on the beach I had thrown out a bowl full of small rocks that grand children had given me through the years. There were heart shaped ones and round ones and square ones. I needed those rocks for a project Jane had started us on earlier. I drove over, and there by the garage and near the Lilac bushes we had planted in 1983 was the whole bunch of my rocks. So I stole them. Reaching for the best one, way inside the lilac bush, a branch hurt my arm. I needed that very one and pushed harder. I checked for blood, but there was none. When I got home I checked again but only an ugly spot with something protruding. It did not hurt any more so I forgot it. Doing my hair in my sleeveless shirt I saw an even angrier spot with something looking like a part of the bush and a fairly large red area surrounding it. Since it was Friday and I had nothing that would kill germs I felt I needed some one to look at it. The nurse practitioner pulled out what was protruding and put germ killing stuff on it. And finally it began bleeding. Today is Saturday and I think I will live. Or in other words I think whatever kills me, it won't be a lilac bush.

My house is empty

The three girls left this morning and I miss them already. The only sign that they were here, the refrigerator is still full of wonderful food. This morning Martha made an egg omelet and used up a variety of food and it was delicious. But there are so many more remainders. We went out to eat several times but cooked dinner here except last night when there was a request for Blue Flame ribs. We ordered take out, and there are even two ribs that I can have with my Vodka and Tonic tonight. 

Remainders and reminders. My heart is filled with the warmth of their love. I have told you that we have two new families in our immediate neighborhood. Martha said,  'Let's invite people for a quick little coffee hour so they get to know who lives near them and all of a sudden there were ten or twelve people gathered in this little minute room. We had tiny sandwiches with cucumbers and thin, thin ham, and sugar cookies and chocolate covered almonds.  

I was encouraged by the girls to use my walker more. So I walked down to their car, using it, and I have to admit it is much easier to walk. And so another long fare-well. I don't want to rely on the walker too much, for walking with it makes me feel old. I am old, but do I want to feel it?

Who appreciates it when it's there

This morning, at the clinic, while waiting for the blood thinning technician, I was watching another victim. She was reading our local paper. It is so thin and so elongated that she was having to pick up her right leg, putting the heel of her foot on her left leg to prop it up. There she sat, comfortable as can be, occasionally letting her hand scratch the foot resting on her knee. She was wearing go-aheads. (fancy ones) I wanted to tell her to enjoy her youth. She wasn't so young. She was wearing black and probably on her way to her office job. It was a pose impossible for me.

Later in the day I was standing at the counter of our office supply store and when I got the change  after my purchase I dropped a coin on the floor. It looked like a nickel and I weighed the effort of picking it up or the waste of not picking it up. I decided for the latter. Then the customer standing next to me picked it up and it turned out to be a dime. I think I would have made the effort for a dime. But my goodness, it is tiring to go in and out of a couple of stores.

Heart warming

Thank you all for commenting on my blog after this long hiatus. I am touched. And I have missed all of you, also.

Here at the home, we have missed our bus driver, Keith. He has spent several weeks in Sweden and Norway. He should be back any day. He promised he would buy the third book by Steeg Larsson in Swedish. I will be able to tell you if the translator does a good job. I am in the middle of another 900+ book and it is riveting. Called the OUTLANDER. While my computer was down I read THE PILLARS OF THE EARTH. Another 900+ page book. I highly recommend both of these books. Early history of our life on this earth. 

Aging is a strange experience. When I was 89 plus 395 days, everyone I met said 'I can't believe you are that old'  You should see me now! I am struggling to walk with a cane. I have a walker but am hesitant about using it. My face is aging faster than my legs. And for the first time I have rhumatic kind of pains in joints most people don't know the names of. I don't want you to think I am complaining. I am so lucky to be able to do what I do. I love my cat. I love my children. I love living where I am. And I am lucky to be able to drive and be that independent. I am mentioning this only as a surprising thing I have discovered. 

Gilbert, my son, who is living in what was our house till he bought it years ago, is in southern California. I promised I would go down to keep his dog company. Rusty is the father of Cap. I go down around noon. On my way there I buy lunch to go, and eat it at our dining room table. Rusty knows a few crumbs will fall to his benefit and he is happy to see me arrive. Then we go out in the fenced yard and when he has done his duty we go back in and I sit in what was my chair to read whatever I am reading. Quite early I drop off for a nap and I am sure he enjoys my snoring. My naps rarely last longer than half an hour. A very nice neighbor takes Rusty for a walk in the morning and another in the evening.

Next week my three daughters are coming for a four day visit. We are going to celebrate Jane's birthday. I have a large bag of frozen raspberries in my freezer. Jane loves to can things and we are going to make jam and all share what evolves. A friend, Donna, picked the berries in her yard, froze them and gave them to me. What a friend. During the days they are here I have a feeling there will be no blogs.

my computer is working again

Fun things have happened since the last time I wrote. Chris, my daughter in law, and I went into Seattle on the Senior Center bus to shop at IKEA. I drove a mechanized shopping cart for the first time. Easiest thing. Wish I had tried much earlier. Didn't buy much, but so much fun looking at all that merchandize. The meatball lunch was great. On the way home we stopped at Trader Joe's  in Tacoma and there I bought their triple Ginger Snaps. Yum.

Here, back at the farm, things are developing. The place is more beautiful than ever. The gardens have been manicured and it would be difficult to find a weed anywhere, nor a blade of grass that is longer than it is ordered to be. All our windows have been cleaned on the outside. The flowers are sensational. We have a marine layer of what looks like fog, but isn't every morning. It lasts a few hours in and then you  could imagine you were elsewhere, for it gets warm in the afternoon. No one is complaining.

We have had two cottages unoccupied for a while, but now they are all rented. A couple from Minnesota are moving in to the one directly across from my place. May turn out they are relatives of mine. For all people from Minnesota are Swedes? So I have heard. Lots of relatives went to America around the end of the 1800s. A lot of them never wrote home after they left Sweden. So who knows.

To all the wonderful people who have blogged, wondering why there was so much silence coming from my blog, I appreciate your concern and your care. I have missed blogging, but now that my computer is healthy again, I will try to get in touch more often.