Summer Solstice Hiatus

I'm not certain what happened but I fell out of the habit of my early morning blogging habit over the weekend. I'll blame the longest day.

The day was so long, when I woke up and saw the time 9:35 and full-on daylight outside, I was rattled. I not only slept through the night but I slept through the morning too!! What the heck?

P.S. the dusty night table and dirty clock have been tended.

It took a few minutes to realize it was 9:35 p.m. I had fallen into a deep REM sleep and awoke to utter confusion. The longest day snuck up on me.

When morning finally did arrive, it was a dreary, cloudy, rain warnings galore kind of day. Ahhh. A perfect snuggle up on the couch and waste the day away kind of day. I had few deep thoughts utter than deep appreciation for my new windows:

 

They work! They really work!! I gazed out my new, rain-proof windows and appreciated the secure, dry feeling while the lawn got a good watering. Ahhh. A dreary day is the perfect excuse to let the day slip through my fingers.

I finally awoke to this morning. The birds and furry critters of the neighborhood popped into my back yard to play.

This little squirrel frolicked by the trees, climbed the tree, played in the branches for a while, came back down to the ground and up again before he scampered off behind the garage.

He was joined by grackles (of course), a mourning dove or two and my friendly neighborhood robins. Ahhh. I love when Mother Nature's little wonders grab my attention. I lost yet another morning.

After some relatively productive days off, I lost a weekend. I made the mistake of tuning into the news yesterday afternoon and this morning. World events are sobering and I find it hard to make light of my safe, insulated little life this morning.

I am grateful for this specific moment in time. I dearly hope I can remain focused on my Disney Wonderland of furry and feathered critters outside my patio doors. The best television on earth. Just watching Mother Nature at play.

Barettes in the Candy Aisle

As I waited my turn at the grocery check out yesterday, I scanned the chocolate bars and candy at the till. Back in the day, there were bins that had sale prices of 2 for $1.00 (or am I imagining that??). 

Prices have skyrocketed so I am no longer tempted by current day sale prices. I am almost immune to even looking. But I check it out regardless.

And what to my wondering eyes should appear??

Barettes!! 

I don't have a barette in the house and my hair is driving me crazy when I'm working outside or cooking. In the house, at least my hands are clean and I have access to elastic bands to concoct some way of keeping hair out of my eyes and food. When I'm outside, the wind takes hold and whips my hair into my face, my hands are usually filthy so I turn my head into the wind, like a dog sticking its head out of the window of a moving car to clear my vision.

Every time this happens, I think to myself, "Get some barettes!". This involves getting cleaned up and stepping out of the house again. Once I'm in the house, I'm IN for good. If it's hot outside, the last thing I am going to do is walk to the store in the heat and work up a fresh coat of sweat in order to buy some barettes. The next day, all is forgotten. Until the next time I'm outside and I think to myself,  "Get some barettes!!"

I ran to the grocery store after work last night and the last thing on my mind was picking up barettes. I was out of milk, strawberries were on sale and I was craving Fresca. Priorities!! My hair would be blowing in my face on my walk home but that was the last thing on my mind.

I was perusing the chocolate bar and candy selection at the till, when I spotted the barettes. Bonanza!! I didn't know the price and didn't care. They were exactly what I would have chosen, if I was in an aisle containing a barette selection.

You know the world is looking out for you when you find barettes in the candy aisle. If, of course, you have been in the market for barettes for a while...

Rabbit Holes

I love the ability to check out my shopping options all from the comfort of home.

I have fallen down a rabbit hole this morning, as I have decided I definitely want a small TV for my "Daybed Room". I think I have it narrowed down after checking availability, reviews and best value for my needs.

Then comes my ongoing saga with chemical sprayers. It can't be every sprayer I touch. But it is. I must consider the common denominator. Me. What am I doing wrong? I will try, try again with my existing sprayers before investing in one more ...

Customer reviews are my best friend. When a quarter of the reviews are one star and fifty percent are five star, what does one glean from this perspective? I'm trying to educate myself on ensuring I have the right sprayer for the job and I'm operating/cleaning it properly. I am considering the option of embracing the idea of a weed filled yard.

Then there are the comfy looking capris that popped up on one of my feeds somewhere. I would like to see that modeled by an over 60 year old, filled out, saggy, bulky female model please. I fell prey to an online clothing store that featured moderately plus-sized clothes modeled on a young, taut and fit body. Fool me twice? Shame on me.

Then there are the mattress toppers, offering relief to achy body parts. The initial price looks expensive enough, but exchange that twin-sized pricing for queen and ooo-la-la! Sobering thought. Advil is a cheaper option.

After falling down all-of-the-above rabbit holes over the course of the past 2-1/2 hours, I think I've landed on a TV I want and will trouble shoot my existing weed sprayers before investing in another.

Now ... do I make a special trip into the city for my favored television set or wait until I'm going anyway? That is the million dollar (actually $168 + tax) question.

I may not fall victim to scrolling social media, but this darn internet window shopping certain grabs a lot of my time. On the other hand, in the end, I think I make wiser choices.

Who knows? It's free to look and I love the ability to wander through a variety of different stores without leaving my kitchen table.

A Work in Progress

I just finished watching the series Private Practice. I remember thoroughly enjoying the writing, characters and story lines when the series aired on TV. I enjoyed it just as much the second time around. They wound up the series in a manner which makes me want to watch it all over again. 

There is a line in the final season that hit home with me:

"The book that is your life is a work in progress. So you, Violet Turner, you're unfinished." ~ Sam Bennett to Violet Turner

I have felt "finished" with life in ebbs and flows since Mom died. It comes, it goes. It mostly goes. But when I sit in the quiet of this life I have written, I think "I am out of story lines". 

When I think of a work in progress, I think of my home. I don't think of myself or my life. Perhaps I should ...

I'm Not Losing It (I'm just finding it later)

I have been somewhat frustrated at myself lately. I have a clear memory of where I put something, yet when I go to retrieve it? It's not there.

Case #1 - The Missing Umbrella

I remember where the umbrella was all last summer. It was in an out in the open space on the shoe rack. I remember winter's onset required a changing-of-the-footwear transition. I put the umbrella in a basket on the top shelf of the closet. That's the last thing I remember.

Baskets on the top shelf in the closet
(Can anyone else envision a black cat's eyes peeking out of the handle on the far left basket?)

Rain was in the forecast a few weeks ago. I thought I should be prepared and take my umbrella to work.

I looked in the baskets on the top shelf of the closet. Nothing. I checked any and all places I would put the umbrella in the car. Nothing. I checked behind the baskets and in the baskets. Again. I checked the basement shelves, in and around where I would have placed summer footwear. Not there either. I checked my desk drawer at work. Maybe I had left it at work. I re-checked the car. I looked in, under and around the shoe shelf. Nothing. I tried another day. Dumped the contents of the baskets, thinking the umbrella could be disguised in a "black-on-black" kind of way. 

My very wise co-worker told me, "It's exactly where you left it." Correct.

Life went on until:

Case #2 - The Missing Body Lotion Butter

I ordered it with my grocery order. Again - a few weeks ago. I could visually see myself put it away under something. I remember lifting something up and putting it underneath. I can feel the muscle memory in my bones. I remember.

What did I lift up? And where did I put it? I looked in all the logical places. Once. Twice. Once again, just in case I was seeing it but not registering it.

My brain is doing funny things lately. I ran into a neighbor who asked what we were working on in the yard. I confidently and assuredly said, "A deck." She was wise enough to question what my mouth said, when my brain undoubtedly said "Shed". My mouth betrayed me and said, "Deck". 

What?? It's no wonder I'm losing things. My brain is malfunctioning. I think I've got a few loose connections.

This morning, I thought I would look for the umbrella. One final time. And I found it. IN a basket - yes. But in a basket on a shelf in the basement. Not in a basket on the top shelf in the closet. I'll forgive myself for that.

Baskets on a shelf in the basement

Yes, I did look in the gray basket once but didn't see the umbrella.

Encouraged by this success, I thought I'd try my hand at finding my missing body lotion butter. I looked in all the logical places again. Then the illogical places. Finally I decided to look at the grocery receipt for additional clues. I must have put it with something else I was putting away. That was the only logical explanation left.

That's when I discovered I hadn't even bought it in the first place. What the heck? What in the world did I put away under something else (supposedly) in the cupboard under the bathroom sink? The only thing I can decipher is I bought body lotion and it was exactly where I "remembered" putting the body butter.

Body butter verses body lotion

A vast difference, despite the similar name

I have a small house. I endeavor to keep the excess to a minimum and mindful of where everything resides. 

Obviously, I need either a smaller house or less belongings. Or perhaps a bit of brain rewiring. It's shorting out on me just a little too often.

On a more positive note, I'm not losing it. I'm just finding it later.

Numbers

I can tell I have recovered from the tax season when my own personal budgeting and financial spreadsheets pique my interest again.

I have spent a lot of money this month. I have earned just as much. I was delighted when I realized the payment received for doing the bookkeeping job that has felt oh-so-hard-to-do covered most of my extravagances. 

I can't wait to sit down and let the hours disappear when I play around with different financial scenarios. Could I afford to work three days a week? How much does small town living really cost? How much should I be saving?

The more my head is intrigued by numbers, the less interesting the words that fall off my fingertips become. I am in spreadsheet mentality this morning. The words aren't coming.

Numbers and playing around with different ideas of where I really want to invest time, effort and money. Do I invest more into this two-story little house with a forest of pine trees surrounding the immense amount of yard and driveway I adore? Or do I consider the idea of searching for a more suitable bungalow with less outside maintenance?

The best part about playing around with numbers, mapping out different scenarios, creating a hopes and dreams list is it doesn't cost a penny. Until one makes a decision.

I love to dream. I may sit here in my little home surrounded by big pine trees (a handful of which have died and need to go), look out my windows as I look towards my tomorrows. 

Investing in my non-existent grandchildren (see yesterday's post) isn't an option. So I'll have to come up with other ideas.

Chirps in the Middle of the Night

Battery power is certainly a theme in my life at the moment. After my long winded post about charging system malfunctions yesterday morning, I was awakened by the regular chirp of a smoke alarm battery that had gone dead at 1:30 this morning.

My first conscious thought was, "I thought the alarm was powered by electricity. It can't be the alarm". The second thought I thought was, "I'll tend to it in the morning". No amount of ignoring the chirp worked. It was relentless.

This is when it is pretty handy to have a second adult with good hearing in the house. The past few middle-of-the-night-dead-battery alerts happened while I was still living with my daughter. She is taller than me and deals with the technical issues required to dismount, dismantle, open battery compartments, re-mantle and re-mount the offending alarms with ease.

I was on my own. I armored up and prepared for the challenge. 

I found a new battery, pulled a chair under the alarm and waited for the chirp to confirm I was where I needed to be. I wasn't.

The chirp was in the distance. So I stood at the top of the basement stairs and waited for the next chirp. I was colder than I was before. What is it about the acoustics of a chirping fire alarm that makes the task of hunting it down so hard? I went back upstairs to discover I have a battery operated fire alarm right outside my bedroom door. No part of my conscious memory was aware of its presence.

Thankfully, removing it from the ceiling was as simple as it should be. Looking up and trying to figure out how to dismount the electrical alarm on the main floor was incredibly hard on my neck. I was grateful for the lower ceiling height and ease of removal. My neck barely noticed the brief upward glance.

Then came replacing the battery. There were instructions. Very small instructions. Embossed writing of the same color as the plastic. In the middle of the night. Thankfully, the words "Battery Compartment" stood out and I was thrilled to discover I didn't have to dismantle the alarm.

One quick fingernail-under-the-compartment-door and I was in. Battery was simple to remove. It wasn't one of those snap-on 9 volt battery connections. I simply had to align positive with positive and I was ready to proceed. 

I barely installed the new battery when, "Chirp!". What?!? Hmmm. I couldn't close the compartment door due to a small movable plastic piece sticking straight up preventing closure and ensuring the user didn't make the mistake of ignoring it.

Battery out; plastic swivel part pushed down; battery back in (keeping small plastic piece down); the compartment door closed. Voila!

But a red light continued to flash. Oh no!! I found a back-up battery to replace what must have been a dead new battery. Before proceeding, I read the microscopic instructions. "Red light will flash every 10 seconds if alarm is not functioning"; "Red light will flash every 40 seconds when functioning properly".

I was 40 seconds away from confirmed success. I listened to the ticking clock in the background of the scene for 40 seconds. Flash!

Mission accomplished.

In the short span of an hour, all was right in the world again and silence prevailed.

My question is: WHY do fire alarm batteries go dead in the middle of the night? Always the middle of the night. 

My answer is: BECAUSE you didn't change the battery on a regularly scheduled date. I'll bet somewhere in the small instructions I didn't read in full, it probably states "Change batteries every six months". I just looked that up. I would have guessed every year.

The punishment for my crime was a middle of the night wake-up call.

As I toiled through this task, the episode of  the show "This is Us", where the camera pans to their open smoke alarm door, with batteries on their list, was prevalent in my mind. They forgot to buy batteries. The ramifications of this was waking up in the middle of the night to a house fire that was out of control.

I'm grateful it was simply a chirping battery that disrupted my sleep. 

The Hot Spot Has Cooled Off (at last)

It is my habit to make my bed as soon as I wake up. I will make the bed around a sleeping cat but I make it all the same. It is a very rare day when I veer off the norm and our cats were quick to take advantage of the fact I'd (momentarily) left an unmade bed this morning.

I awoke and was out of bed around 6 a.m. and something took me outside my room. When I returned to make the bed, Jet had hopped into my spot that wouldn't have had a chance to cool down.

Jet finally appeared in the kitchen a few hours later so I knew my opportunity to make the bed had arrived. 

I assumed Jet had resumed his position but it was Ray (our second black cat) who had taken advantage of the vacancy. So I put off making my bed once again.

I finally headed outside and took a book with me. When I reentered the house, both cats were pacing by the back door, eager to find their next new hot spot. Outside with me.

My bed is vacant at last. A smart person would take advantage of the moment and wash their sheets. I have never burdened myself with the label of being smart. So I shall vacuum the cat hair and make my bed. Washing sheets this late in the day is a recipe for disaster. The chances of remembering I'd started the chore long enough to dry the sheets AND make the bed? Slim to none.

We'll try this again tomorrow.

By the time I typed these words and returned to make my bed, Ray was settled back in.

I may need to wash these cat hairy sheets after all ....

Still Charging

If humans came equipped with a power bar status on their foreheads life could be simpler. 

One look at your own power level and you would see you were only at 11% and you could grant yourself a little grace. Taking the time to recharge a little more before tackling the day could make all the difference in the world. Noting someone else's power level would help manage expectations.

Just think ... what if you were only allowed into work if you were 80% charged or more. Breaks were automatically assigned when your power dipped below 60%. If you were consistently running below a certain level, holidays were mandatory. 

Recharging stations may need to be varied depending on the circumstance. Coffee would be a short term solution. A balanced meal or healthy snack would be a longer lasting charge. Sleep and rest would replenish the charge slowly and surely. Televisions would turn off automatically once a sufficient level of recharging was reached. We could actually see how much scrolling social media sites deplete us. 

That said, a bar indicator showing how many bars of reception we have could be helpful when trying to communicate. You could read whether or not the other party was receptive to your means of communicating. One could adjust and tweek as necessary. If one party shut down, it would be as clear as the bars on their forehead. 

I must be careful what I wish for. Artificial intelligence is a concept I only understand from old cartoons but what I am dreaming of is not something I want to see come true.

In the meantime, I find myself checking on the status of my charging phone before I expect too much of myself. 

I'm only 80% - I want to start the day at 100% ...

I honestly feel about 80% today. The weekend is doing its job but I'm still replenishing my charge. I'll see you at 100%!

Morning Musing

I heard a little scuffle behind the bathtub curtain this morning and this is what I found:

Dripping faucet = cat fountain

Cats in the tub = the need to vacuum the bathtub before bathing.

Little things that make me go hmmm.

First World Problem

I feel like I've been using this space as a whining board. Yes, I've shown up and written regularly for one month. Yes, I've accomplished what I set out to do. But when I reread my recent posts I don't find anything terribly inspiring, amusing or of any real value. They are words forcefully transferred from my brain to my fingertips in an effort to rekindle the connection that was once there.

I know how fortunate I am. 

I wake up every morning and I'm able to get out of bed without pain, anxiety or fear of what the day holds in store. I am in good health. I am sheltered, warm, have clean water, appliances that cook our food and keep it cold; appliances that wash and dry our clothes and dishes. We have ample food plus the ability to replenish our supplies. I live in a safe community and country. I have a car to make it simple to get where I want to go. I have a steady income stream and work for people who value me. I have strong and solid relationships within my safe little community. I am blessed. I am grateful. I am content within my predictable little world. Thank you.

But can I end the month with one final rant? 

Am I the only person who has to vacuum the bathtub before they have a bath? Honestly! The cat hair is everywhere!!

Trust me. The picture does not fully portray the amount of hair in the tub.

I think it's time to fix the dripping faucet ... 

Foiled Again *Updated*

Our determined black cat has found another way to gain entry under my bedding ...

My bed was fully tucked in. A top sheet, turned sideways so I could tuck in both sides of the bed so Jet couldn't sneak under the quilt.

So he entered from the top.

There is an almost invisible little lump that I only investigated because the top of the bed looked askew.

Today? I have tucked in the top and both sides of the sheet atop my bed. With Jet's renewed interest and fast learning curve, I highly suspect he will be entering from the bottom of the sheet now. At least he can only sleep on top of my quilt via that route. 

I've moved the vacuum cleaner into my bedroom. Maybe I should park it right on top of my bed.

*6 hours (or less) later ...*

He's baaaack!

Who Knew?

I succumbed to my cravings and bought a bountiful supply of fresh fruit and vegetables a week ago.

A small sampling of salad the week prior tempted my taste buds and I could hear myself utter the words, "This salad is sooo good!" in the same way honesty sometimes oozes out my fingertips before my brain has a chance to censor myself.

My knees weakened at the very idea of adding some fresh and healthy foods to my online grocery cart. I was disheartened to find much of what I had ordered was out of stock. The desire was strong so I actually braved entering a store-with-a-door. 

Donning my COVID face mask and slathering myself with hand sanitizer, I socially distanced myself from the produce and any shoppers in my midst. I came home with a small tray of mixed fruit, a few bags of salad, a cucumber and five tomatoes. 

I had salad for lunch every day. I made a sandwich full of veggies with a minimal amount of ham for supper. Instead of grabbing a cookie (or three) for dessert, I had a small bowl of fruit.

Then the most amazing thing happened.

After eating a balanced meal and feeding my sugar craving with fruit, I didn't have room for cookies. Who knew eating well could result in eating less??

Our body is pretty smart. It tells us what we need the most if we don't buffer its voice with sugar, chips and pop. 

If I keep this up, there is a slim chance I may fit into my pants by winter. But in addition to eating healthier, I may have to start going to bed by 7:30 to curb my evening snack. That snack is my reward for getting through another day. 

I need a new reward. Perhaps I should take up drinking.

To Infinity and Beyond

I know the definition of infinite. I look at our cats and I know there is a finite amount of hair on them. But when it comes to vacuuming said hair? There is no end.

I vacuumed for three hours today. Then I sat down at the computer table in the kitchen and there are black cat hairs violating the space I just vacuumed. 

This all started because I washed my sheets this morning. My morning ritual of using the lint brush to rid the bedding of excess cat hair was topped up with vacuuming the quilt, then throwing it in the dryer to "fluff" and collect any cat hair that remained. There was lots.

I proceeded to vacuum every most of the nooks and crannies in my room. At one point I was standing still and a tuft of black hair wafted right into my line of sight. I vacuumed the air around me.

I vacuumed and vacuumed and vacuumed some more. I vacuumed the baseboards, some walls that had stray cat hair on them, doors, tops of the door frames, the foot pads on the chairs, end tables, couches, the stove (yes, the stove top too) and so much more. 

Cat hair was everywhere.

I started dreaming of owning hairless cats then admonished myself for being so racist when it comes to cats. I like cats with fur. I have a tendency to prefer black cats. I like short haired cats. Male cats. If the cat kingdom knew my thoughts, our front yard would be littered with cats protesting "ALL cats matter".

Racist or not, I like my cats with hair. To infinity and beyond!

Multitasking

Multitasking - the art of successfully accomplishing multiple tasks at the same time. At one point, I considered myself an efficient multi-tasker. 

I hit my stride during my daycare days. I could serve lunch to a table full of pre-schoolers, feed the babies two at a time, refill plates of the toddlers, catch something before it hit the floor, watch over table manners and behaviour, while eating my lunch at the same time. 

I ran a well oiled machine here in those days. There was much to be done and only one person to do it. No choice. No problem. 

I didn't have time to think. I simply had time to act. I did what had to be done. 

Fast forward to the present. I now have a very difficult time asking a question and listening to the response in the appropriate time it takes a person to have a conversation. My attention span is that of a gnat. I have much to do and nothing seems to be getting done. 

This morning I turned on the news to watch a recap of Trudeau's COVID-19 update. I haven't watched the news for several weeks so I was amazed with the changes since I last tuned in. Not only do they have one person in the corner communicating in sign language, they have a second person in the other corner signing different hand gestures, while a third narrator is translating French to English.

What?!

Is there one sign language for French and another for English? I guess I assumed sign language was universal. I must be wrong. How in the world do they listen and translate simultaneously? I have tried listening to two people talk at the same time and hear neither. These people are listening, speaking, signing and are able to keep up with what is being said while translating what they just heard.

Color me impressed.

They suggest learning to dance, playing a musical instrument, taking different routes to your destination and doing crosswords as exercises to keep your brain functioning at its best. I'll bet these translators could do all three of the above at the same time and beat me to my destination. I'd love to see the neurotransmitters firing as they manage to listen, interpret, communicate and continue to listen at the same time. Their brains must be on fire.

I am grateful when someone doesn't ask me to repeat something I just heard. I don't gossip because I don't remember enough to retell a story. I don't change where I put something, nor do I do I hide something of value because I'm afraid I will never find it again.

Whatever you do, don't ask me what Trudeau may or may not have said in yesterday's news. I was too busy marveling at the efficiency of each of the translators. Meanwhile, I was thinking of Mom's comment when Trudeau was up for election. She said (something to the effect of) that he would get her vote because of the way he looked. Of all the things to be grateful for during this global pandemic, isn't it nice to have a rather good looking prime minister to look at while you tune into the morning news? 

Now what was I just writing about??

Someone's Watching Over You

I find myself standing in front of the living room window simply gazing into the street. I have a feeling my neighbors who remember the TV show "Bewitched" may be starting to call me Gladys Kravitz (see below):



First thing in the morning, I write my morning pages, sip my coffee at the small table I've moved in front of the window for the sole purpose of rabbit-watching.

On days I'm home, I open the blinds fully and find myself gravitating towards the window. I often just stand there and scan the street, hoping to spot a rabbit. Other times, I perch myself upon the love seat which offers the best sitting view and simply hope to spot the movement of a rabbit.

After dark, the blinds are closed so I will peek out between the slats of the blinds hoping to catch a rabbit nibbling on the food I've left out. If I wake up in the middle of the night, I will do a quick rabbit-check.

I wonder if the neighbors have noticed and feel like I'm spying on them ...

I would like to broadcast to those who feel their privacy is being violated: "I'm not snooping. I'm just watching for rabbits!"

Despite my vigilance scanning our street, the number of times I actually spot a rabbit in our yard is rare. Yet there is plenty of evidence of their presence. Their food dish needs to be refilled regularly and the rabbit tracks in and out of our yard are plentiful. Perhaps, just perhaps ... they are watching over me too.

Which Way is Up?

You know life is getting too complicated when you find something as simple as sheets should come with an instruction manual.

I wore out my bottom sheet a while ago so I invested in some new sheets. I'm more into the economical side of sheet-buying rather than thread count. I found a set of sheets for $39.97 and came home and "installed" them.

The fitted sheet doesn't fit as snugly as my previous one did. Fail. The top sheet was much larger as well, so I arranged the excessive sheet on the side of the bed by the wall. The pillowcases were a pleasant surprise, as they actually accommodate a queen sized pillow with ease.

It took longer than it should have, to make my bed the first time. The reward would come when I climbed into bed and nestled into my crisp new sheets for the first time. Another fail.

My feet snagged on the top sheet. So the next night before I went to bed, I sanded down my foot callouses and lotioned my feet until they were silky smooth before I went to bed. It was better but not perfect. The next night(s) after that, I tried sanding down the areas of my feet that were still snagging the sheets. Better. Still not perfect.

I was glad when it came time to launder my sheets so I could pull another set of reject-sheets from the closet and enjoy some snag-free sleep.

My old sheets are the kind where you get one corner of the fitted sheet in place and it pops out the moment you try to fit the second corner. It took much manoeuvring to wrangle all four corners into place at one time. I knew there was a reason these sheets got shelved. The pillowcases barely fit over the pillows. But the sheets were soft. Oh, so soft to sleep in. Heavenly!

I checked the labels. My old, ill fitting sheets are Egyptian cotton. Good to know. My new ones are microfibre. Duly noted.

When the time came to change my sheets again, I decided to give my new ones another try. It was a good excuse to tend to my calloused feet.

I crawled into bed that night and was conscious enough to realize my feet were only snagging the top sheet. The bottom sheet was just fine. The sheets have a shiny side and a cottony-smooth side. Hmmm ... did I install my top sheet wrong?

Last night, I remade my bed and flipped the top sheet "upside down". Embroidery face down, hems showing, shiny side up, to match the way the fitted sheet was made to fit the bed. I crawled into bed, ran my feet across the sheets. Perfection! No foot-snagging. It was awesome.

I grazed my feet across the perfectly smooth sheet surfaces every time I rolled over last night. Ahhh!!! So smooth! Heavenly!

Not only did I figure out why I most likely wore out my previous sheets (from all the friction created as I ran my feet over my sheets as I slept), but I felt a small bit peeved as I thought to myself, "Life is far too complicated if I cannot even install sheets without a set of instructions indicating which way is up!"

The moral of my little story is that thread count (in my estimation) does not matter as much as knowing which way is up when you buy new sheets.

Adulting is Hard

Do kids these days know how lucky they really are?!

"Nap time!!" I remember well, telling my daycare family how lucky they were to get to have an afternoon nap. Oh, how I wish someone would tell me I to be still, be quiet, rest and let sleep overtake me.

How I would love someone to ground me. "You are not to leave the house for a week, Young Lady!!" Music to my ears. Even if I wasn't called young.

"You must be home by 10:00!" No, no, no ... 10:00 is too late. "How about 8:00?" I can hear myself bargaining.

"I cooked you a good supper - the least you can do is try some!" Someone cooking for me?! Are you kidding me? The best part of childhood is completely overlooked until one must feed themselves.

"Turn off the TV and go read a book!" Why is it as an adult, you forget how good it feels to tune out the world, open a book and loose yourself in the world of a good story?

I would add "You are not allowed to go to that party!" to my list but my quiet little life is not party oriented. No work Christmas parties. Ever. This is the best part of life as I know it.

"Go to bed early!" Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!!

I think I may just do that. 

G'night!😴

Hello? Who is This?

Remember the good old days when the sound of a ringing phone brought surprise and anticipation as we didn't know who was going to be on the other end of the telephone line?

These days, phone calls are a rarity. When the phone does ring we have the convenience of knowing who is calling before we answer the call. While this is convenient to avoid telemarketers and the like, is there anyone out there who has not screened their calls with this knowledge?

More often than not, I will receive a text message asking if this is a good time to talk. While I fully understand the need for this modern etiquette due to the fact that many people no longer have a land line in their home ("Why pay for two phones?" is a valid argument), and one never knows where in the world a person may be when they call a cell phone.

It is handy to get a message to prepare for a call. One can grab a cup of coffee and tend to their personal needs when they know a long conversation is up and coming. I actually appreciate the advance warning.

But what of the times when you are expecting a call and it doesn't come. Hmmm. Kind of like the old days, isn't it? Except in the olden days, when one didn't reserve a time slot for an anticipated call, one went on with their life in progress (perhaps not a teen age girl, who had just given her phone number to a cute boy back in the 1970's though).

I remember staring at the phone, wishing it would ring. I remember not wanting to leave the house because I wouldn't know if someone called in my absence. I remember seriously considering leaving a tape recorder running beside the phone so I would know if I missed a call. I wouldn't have known who it was from. I would have simply known the phone had rung. I remember even being excited to talk to a wrong number.

Long gone are those days. I now return home from a day of work and I am absolutely thrilled when I see no one has called in my absence. Or if someone did call and didn't leave a message, I am off the hook. No need to communicate has become the highlight of returning to a day away from home.

I am presently sitting here waiting for the phone to ring. A friend made a notation in her calendar to call me today. This may or may not happen. But in the meantime, I sit here in a state of readiness. I will need to hop in the shower at some point soon but I have the option of bringing the phone with me just in case it rings.

Remember the days when the phone was attached to a wall and your ability to roam was restricted by the length of your phone cord?

I sound so old-womanish as I sit here and reflect on the changing times. It is hard to imagine that these good old days were only a decade or so ago. Life is changing. Too much. Too fast. Our need for connection has disconnected us in the ways that count.

Mom saw the writing on the wall when she was disgusted with people attached to their cell phones when cell phones were new and a novelty item. "What is so important that a phone call can't wait until you are home?" She certainly appreciated the convenience in case of an emergency. But any other time? Can't we just talk when we are at home, preferably attached to a phone cord so the person on the other end of the conversation receives our undivided attention?

My attention is so divided I accomplish very little in this modern world. I have no one to blame but myself but I'd like to shift some of the blame to the expectations due to the technological advancements of our era. We now celebrate "disconnecting". Shouldn't that be the norm?

I miss some parts of the good old days. The anticipation of who was on the other end of a ringing phone brought no end of excitement to my quiet little existence.

Just my thoughts of the morning as I sit here hoping the phone will ring. Over and out...

The Traces We Leave Behind

There is little one can do without leaving traces of where you have been these days ...

Our updated home monitoring system notifies me when the system is armed/unarmed and also when doors are open; left open; and closed. I have proof of the minute I walk out of the house to when I re-enter.

Add to that, the ability to see exactly when and for how long I may have talked with someone on my cell phone; time stamps on store receipts and text messages and I can account for my actions for pretty much the grand total of yesterday.

I left the house at 8:07 a.m.; arrived to donate blood at 8:26 (I happened to remember the exact time because I was one minute late for my 8:25 appointment); my actual "bleed time" was 11 minutes; add two minutes wait time to that and I have accounted for most of my time there; I stopped at Staples and paid for my purchase at 9:22 a.m.; determined I had enough time to stop in at Winners and see if I could find anything. Thankfully I received a text message at 9:25 a.m. so I immediately finalized my shopping experience and paid for that at 9:26 a.m.; then called the person who texted me at 9:29 a.m.; talked for 21 minutes and 19 seconds; then arrived at my son's farm at exactly 10:31 (still running a minute late, as I was invited to arrive at 10:30 a.m.). I came straight home from my son's and (finally) arrived back home at 3:26 p.m.

I spoke to my younger son for a while then at 6:46 activated the hallway motion detector as I got ready to leave the house to meet a few friends for coffee at 7:15 p.m. I received a text from my friend warning me to bring my sweater because it could be cold in the coffee shop as I was driving up at 7:10 p.m.; and I didn't get back home until 10:28 p.m.; at which time I immediately set the alarm for the night and didn't rearm it until 7:02 this morning.

I could go on and on (and on) but you get the picture. Every where you are, you leave a trace of yourself behind. Evidence of where you have been, what you have done there and security cameras see more than I care to think about.

The traces we leave behind as we walk through our day is scary. If a person truly wanted to fall off the grid, it would take a lot of planning.

On the flip side, if I ever go missing it is a small comfort to know my whereabouts could be narrowed down so easily. I can't wait to fall off the grid when I stay at my son's farm. These connections are making my head spin.