COMTEMPLATING

 

                           A week and a half ago, this is what part of my garden looked like. 

Some pruning needed but otherwise rather nice. Then the temperature changed, going up--up--up and now all the blue is gone and red has taken over---and the pruning situation is worse. But--this lovely lily--my husband's favorite-- is in bloom.

          Now I sit looking at the gardening waiting for Chapter 17 of my latest book to speak to me.

my cup runneth over

Today is our anniversary. My husband woke me up early whispering, "Come here quick." He was standing in the doorway of the family room looking at the suction cup bird feeder we put up last winter. Two grosbeaks were trying, unsuccessfully, to get at the seeds. Sadly, the birds were too big. The last time we had grosbeaks in the yard was the year Mt. St. Helen blew, and that spring we had a yard full. Grosbeaks might visit a yard if black oil sunflower seeds are available but, then again, they might not. The sunflower seeds sell in 20 pound bags here and if the birds don't come, what are you going to do with all those seeds? We are debating the pros and cons. My husband and I enjoy many little things such as what birds are in the feeder, and have learned many things from each other. He has taught me war history and how to appreciate country and bluegrass music and how to spot game tracks. I have taught him about Russian history and different kinds of flowers, and moss--a specialty of mine. Together we try to identify birds or find out where the ships in the harbor are from. We talk to people in restaurants or in line at the grocery store or even the homeless.We have learned the words for hello in Korean, Russian, Spanish and Laotian and the emigrants we encounter are so pleased that we care enough to have learned. Everyday is made up of many little things that fill us to overflowing. When people ask me, what's new, it's hard to explain how exciting it is to see animal tracks in the snow or bird tracks in the sand on Commencement Bay or about the elusive peacock who plays hide-and-seek in the neighborhood. These are the sorts of things I try to include in my writing.

I would sure love to know why I am getting emails from match.com telling me "matches" are out there waiting for me. Did someone see me on face book and hook me up or is it a scan. Sure not opening "40 year old from Norman, OK." Anyway, my husband frowns on my dating.

My last blog was August 26th when I wrote about an experience a friend and I had while having coffee at a local family-run restaurant. The next day the friend, Pat, went to the hospital throwing up and was diagnosed with terminal cancer. This has been a very hard year because in addition to Pat, I have been dealing with a mother with dementia and trying to figure out how the family can keep her home. To top it all off, my agent said my murder mystery isn't selling well and she doesn't want to represent me any more. Gee. Ain't life fun.

IF YOU LIKE DARK HUMOR . . . . A fellow writer and I regularly have coffee at a local mom-and-pop restaurant frequented by members of the sheriff's department, and we introduce our selves to the men (no women seen yet) and ask if they have any interesting stories they can share. This is one of my favorite true stories. It was a typical Washington State rainy, dark and stormy night and a hearse, with empty coffin, had been dispatched up Canyon Road in east Pierce County to pickup a deceased. A truck broadsided the hearse, killing the driver. The driver's body got wedged, somehow, so that the hearse began circling the truck. The truck driver had quite a shock when he came to and saw the circling hearse carrying an empty coffin.

Our deputies are great--friendly and willing to share what they can if someone just shows interest. I highly recommend making friends with law enforcement.

I've been seeing ads on TV for a dating service for seniors, it's called, "Our Time." In fact, today a link popped into my spam box. Also, I just picked up my CPAP to prevent snoring and sleep apnea. I dumped "Our Time" in trash, but am wondering if one of the questions asks it asks is if participants wear a CPAP in bed. Relationships can be so complicated.

I've been reading Mother Wore Tights, a book written about her parents by the daughter of one of vaudeville's floradora girls. (Betty Grable stared in the movie.) But here's the cool thing: over the years, as I've talked about Tacoma on my radio show, I always mention books where some mention of Tacoma unexpectedly pops up. In Mother Wore Tights, well-known, Tacoma actor Charlie Mack, who excelled in blackface, appears. The author was four when she met him back stage and fell in love. Every day she drew him a picture (generally of the same thing) and one day he tried to give her some money for it. Her parents wouldn't allow her to accept the money so Mack went out and bought her silver heart on a chain. How very kind when he could have just brushed her off as a pesty kid. In the books I've read, information about vaudeville generally comes at the beginning of a biography where the star started in vaudeville and made good in the movies, such as W.C. Fields or Burns and Allen. This is one of those out-of-print books that was a delight to discover.