December Book List

Twelve books read in the twelfth month, for a total of 123 for the year of 2018.

Closed Circle by Robert Goddard is one on this British author's older novels. I picked it up from the rehab room while in the hospital and enjoyed it very much. (And now I know where I can donate some of my books when I've finished them.)

Blindsighted, Kisscut and A Faint Cold Fear by Karin Slaughter are the first three books of her Grant County series.

Gone So Long by Andre Dubus III was rated a 'zero' by a previous reader at our library because it was 'so sad'. Yes, it is sad, but it is a beautifully written book about a father estranged from his daughter for the worst of reasons. Decades later, before he dies, he tries to get in touch with her in order to seek absolution.

Holy Ghost - Finally it was my turn to read John Sandford's (#11) latest Virgil Flowers novel! It didn't disappoint and I 'almost' had the culprit figured out. ☺

Desolation Mountain is #17 of William Kent Krueger's Cork O'Connor series. This is one of my favorite series, set in the Northern Minnesota wilderness of the Native American Ojibwe's.

Faithless and Beyond Reach are #'s 5 and 6 of Karin Slaughter's Grant County series. (Unfortunately our library doesn't have # 4.)

Night of Miracles by Elizabeth Berg is a continuation of some of the characters from her previous The Story of Arthur Truluv. Berg is one of my 'adopted authors', so I was the first reader of this one. It is a quick, 'feel good' read.

Where The Crawdads Sing* is Delia Owens first novel. She is the author of three internationally best selling nonfiction books about her life as a wildlife scientist in Africa. This is a part 'coming of age', part love story, part mystery novel - but mostly it is a story of the importance and beauty of North Carolina's marshes - as well as a reminder of how we are shaped by the children we once were. This was my favorite read this month.

Jodi Picoult does not shy from the controversial issues of the day as evidenced in her latest novel, a spark of light, which deals with a distraught gunman shooting several people in the last women's reproductive health services clinic in Mississippi still providing abortions. This was not only a riveting read, it was also thought provoking - whether the reader is pro-choice or pro-life.

*There are a number of poems in this book, all attributed to the author Amanda Hamilton. I liked them so much I made a note to look her up. Then at the end of the book, we find out AH was the nom de plume of the main character. In other words, the poems are those of Ms. Owens. Here is one of 'Amanda Hamilton's' poems I liked:

"Sunsets are never simple.
Twilight is refracted and reflected
But never true.
Eventide is a disguise
Covering tracks,
Covering lies.

We don't care
That dusk deceives.
We see brilliant colors,
And never learn
The sun has dropped
Beneath the earth
By the time we see the burn.

Sunsets are in disguise,
Covering truths, covering lies."

And another:

"Fading moon, follow 
My footsteps
Through light unbroken
By land shadows,
And share my senses
That feel the cool
Shoulders of silence.

Only you know
How one side of a moment
Is stretched by loneliness
For miles
To the other edge, 
And how much sky
Is in one breath

When time slides backward
From the sand."

Here's to another year of good reading in 2019. 💖

Deep In December

"Deep in December it's nice to remember
Although you know the snow will follow.
Deep in December it's nice to remember
Without a hurt the heart will hollow."

You can't get much deeper into December than these final days. Some photos from the past three:

Friday, a close up of the pop up New Year's greeting card from my daughter and her husband. It is from Lovepop cards, "A beautiful keepsake that unfolds like a miniature surprise." And what a nice surprise it was. A blank card slides out for a personalized message.

And on Facebook Friday, this picture of my youngest great-granddaughter, Brynley, and her Christmas puppy, Shadow. Her mom had the photo tagged, "And they called it puppy love...." Those faces.....💕💖💞

After a very nice day Thursday, Friday saw a drop in temps, wind from the North-northwest and snow.

Saturday, the 29th, was even colder. I only took one photo, this one, through the window, trying to show the sunset already moving a little back to the North a week after the Solstice.

Today it has been nice again. I've been entertained by the Red-breasted Nuthatch on the left and the Downey Woodpecker on the right taking turns at the suet feeder.

"Deep in December 
it's nice to remember
The fire of September that made you mellow.
Deep in December our hearts should remember
and follow...follow..."

Taking Census

Today is my youngest grandson's 21st birthday. That's Devin in front. The photo was taken eight years ago at my brother's 70th birthday party.

Here's a more recent one so you can see how handsomely he has grown up.

I'm very proud of him. I'm proud of all nine of my grandchildren.




I woke up this morning thinking about taking census. I suppose because of the combination of my youngest grandchild officially becoming an adult and the Christmas story.

How do you count your progeny? Only the ones related by blood? Or do you include the steps - children, grands and great grands? And in-laws?

For me to keep track of all the great-grands, I have to write down their names and birthdates as soon as they are born. I'll never have as many as my grandmother Delphia did when she died. We both started out with three children, but she had 16 grandchildren where I had nine. At the time of her death, she had 49 great-grandchildren and 20 great-great grands.

If I had to return to the town of my birth for census taking, as Joseph did, I would not have to travel far. Even though I grew up near Corning and consider it my home town, I retired to Creston where I was born. (No hospital in Corning at the time.)

So, here is my personal census: Three children, Douglas, Kari and Preston and one stepson, Mark and their partners, Shelly, Ken, Shalea and Juliet. Nine grandchildren, Brock, Zachary, Katrina, Alyssa, Ki, Kathryn, Deise, Dominique and Devin. Brock, Katrina and Alyssa partners, Jennifer, Brad and Evan and Kathryn's fiance, Travis. Two step-great-grands, Michael and Nicholas and nine, so far, great-grands, Brock's Ridge, Sawyer and Jack, Katrina's Rodney and Brynley, Alyssa's Lily and Maverick and Ki's Ayden and Greyson.

Why do I always feel like I am forgetting someone? Think my grandma Delphia might have felt the same? As far as I know, I am not expecting any new great-grands in 2019, but that can always change!

Children range in age from 56 down to 44. Grands from 37 down to 21. Great-grands from nine down to eleven months. Two step-great-grands are 17 and 14.

I've said it many times - "I am so glad I had my children when I was young so I have been able to play with my grandchildren and hold my great-grandchildren."

Spoiling Christmas

It was probably sixty-six years ago today that my sister Betty and I received our coveted doll house. We had been asking for one for weeks, but would Santa answer our wish?

Not only was I old enough to know the truth about Santa, I knew where Mom hid our Christmas presents in her closet. And she was out of the house to do chores often enough that I had no problem snooping.

I remember opening the closet door and finding a big present. Aha! A couple knuckle raps on the top confirmed that it was something made out of metal. It had to be a doll house.

Christmas morning arrived as did our doll house. My faded memories are of it looking like the top on the outside and similar to this on the inside. Funny thing was, it wasn't nearly as much fun playing with as I thought it would be. Did I spoil the fun by snooping and finding the gift ahead of time?

Did I also spoil my little sister's Christmas by telling her I knew we were getting our doll house? She was two years younger than I was and might have still believed in Santa Claus.

Since moving our family Christmas celebrating to July, Christmas Day has become very low key. Decorating for Christmas, baking cookies and making candy, playing Christmas songs, none of these are things I enjoy, so today is just another day.

Yesterday we spent a few hours at my younger son's home. Only he, his wife and one of their five children and his two sons were there along with my daughter-in-law's father and nephew.

With the exception of playing too much with the little ones and being tired out, it was a fairly low-key day. Bud caught Ayden and me in a quiet pose. The rest of the time the two little ones were in constant motion.

Highlight of the day for Greyson and Ayden were their bikes from Great-grandpa Pete.

When we left they were taking the bikes outside to ride - just not enough room in the house.

At least these two did not know ahead of time about their bikes. No spoiled Christmas for them. 😇

A Glimpse Into The Past

It was a rare treat and a glimpse into my husband's past when someone shared a photo on Facebook yesterday.

The picture was one of her Dad's birthday party on August 7, 1954. It only took me a second to indentify that cute kid on the left - even though I didn't know him for many years later.
The birthday boy is the one with the holster and gun, fourth from the left. I wonder if the toy firearm was his birthday present? Bud and Larry were not only neighbors, friends and playmates living in the little burg of Brooks, they were also cousins.
I could identify Bud, next to him, Renny, skip one, then Larry, skip one and the boy on the end, Danny, a high school classmate of mine. Bud thought #'s 3 and 5 might have been two brothers, Bobby and Duane, who moved to the west coast.

This is a photo Bud had never seen. I'm sure it brought back many memories for him, taken three months before he turned 10. Memories of a carefree summer with a gang of friends, free to roam, explore, and act out their fantasy games and share one another's birthday parties.

I love this photo of the cute kid who grew up to be my handsome husband. I love the nostalgic feel of a simpler time and a glimpse into the past.

Special Winter Solstice

Winter begins today with the solstice at 4:23p.m. CST, just 24 minutes before sunset. The Winter Solstice 2018 coincides with the Ursid meteor showers as well as December's Full Cold Moon.

A blogger I follow entitled his post today: Solstice: Tis a reason for the season....
For those of us who can relate to SAD, this day is especially welcome as it signals the turn toward light - longer days after the longest night. Though, to be honest, the days, weeks, months, seasons, years, pass so quickly anymore, I barely have time to recognize my seasonal affective disorder.

But I still celebrate the solstice, this year with a passage from Wallace Stegner's book A Shooting Star:

"He stood looking, and some tick of Time went past - a moment or a thousand years - and he squeezed his tired eyes shut and looked again, and the night hung silent around him, the invisible silver was still falling, the moon was already lower."

I've shared this passage before, but on this special day/night, it seems appropriate to share again.

Blessed Solstice Greetings.

Family Connections

We have a radio station in SW Iowa which covers not only a wide swath of our area, but also SE Nebraska and NW Missouri. It's website is one I check every morning and again in the late afternoon or evening for local news but mainly for the obits. A week or so ago I saw the name of a Corning woman which sounded familiar but I couldn't place. Her age was the same as my sister would have been. There was no picture with the original posting but a couple days later, when the obituary was available, it included her photo.

I didn't even have to read her maiden name, the family resemblance said it all. The eyes, the mouth, the chin, her lovliness even at age 73.




This photo reminded me of my mother at that age. I went in search of a picture of Mom for comparison, but didn't find one without her glasses. This one may be close in looks and age.

Victoria has the square Means chin more than Mom did, but the eyes, nose, mouth are very similar. Vicky's grandmother Merle and my grandmother Delphia were first cousins. If I had a photo of Merle to place along side of one of Grandma Delphia you would really notice their similar looks.

Vicky's obituary mentioned her love of cooking and baking which sounded like our Mother. It also spoke of her love of reading, watching (and playing along with) Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune, solving crossword puzzles and playing cribbage which sounds like me.

But the one thing I got a chuckle from was this: "Gram was a great cook, no matter what she made, she always served it and said: Well, it may not be fit to eat. If you don't like it, don't eat it." That really sounded like something my grandma would have said - although she might have said, "eat it, anyway".

You may remember this photo of Merle's sons and Dephia's daughters taken in the mid 1930's. Victoria's father, Carroll, is between Aunt Lois and my mom, Ruth.

Another bit of family connection - Vicky's brother is the step-father of our son Mark's best friend Jason. Too far down the line for you? Well then how about this:
In Tuesday's DM Register obits there was one that mentioned the deceased woman's maiden name - Schulte - and that she was originally from Carroll. Dollars to doughnuts she is a distant relative of my son and daughter whose father's maternal grandmother was a Schulte.
I haven't attempted following that line back, but I do love making these family connections.

If The Ring Fits...

Thirty-three years ago, when, after four years of back and forths, up and downs and break ups followed by make ups, Bud and I decided we could make it work and decided to get married, we got around to talking about rings - engagement and wedding. I never cared for diamonds - too pedestrian for me. I was a devotee of 'a simple little band of gold' and that is what Bud placed on my finger.

When my Grandma Lynam died in 1987, we found the ruby ring she had always worn with her wedding band among her sewing supplies - but the ruby was missing. That was when we decided to have a topaz (my birthstone) set in the ring and call it my engagement ring.

Grandma's finger was about the same size as mine, so until I started gaining weight, all was well. When it no longer fit, it went into the jewelry box.

But now that I have lost weight (currently down to 138 lb's), the ring now fits again. I would say the mounting is flower shaped with delicate scroll designs on either side. I like being able to wear it again until it is time for it to go to my granddaughter, Dominique. (She and her sister, Deise, both have November birthdays, so will share my topaz jewelry.)

This is the poem I wrote about Grandma's ring the year after she died:

Grandma's Ring

Ruby flashing in the sun
Woman's work is never done
Worn on hand used to toil
Tending babies, turning soil

Years go by, duties do shrink
Fewer dishes in the old sink
Ruby ring still shiny bright
Grandpa a memory in the night

Visits to the nursing home
Grandma wizened like a gnome
Shriveled hand, ring is lost
Value sentimental, not in cost

Grandma's gone, sorting her things
Ruby's gone, but here's her ring
Treasured topaz now I wear
Think of Grandma, how I care

A clearer view of her ring as well as her Grandma Aggie's ring on my little finger. So much sentimental value in these rings - at least for me. 💞

November Book List

Twelve books read this month.

Dark Tide Rising is the 24th book in Anne Perry's William Monk series. I continue to enjoy this series.

The Bookshop of Yesterdays by Amy Meyerson is a new author for me. A book about a bookstore is always fun.

The Witch Elm by Tana French. French is one of my new 'must read' authors.

A Forgotten Place by Charles Todd is the 10th book in the Bess Crawford series. This mother-son writing pair is one of my favorites. Love the series set during and after WWI.

Varina is Charles Frazier's latest novel. Frazier is one of my all-time favorite authors. Loved his Cold Mountain and Thirteen Moons. Varina is about the wife of CSA President Jefferson Davis. It is an informative novel of what it was like to be on the South's side during the Civil War. My favorite read this month.

A Distant View of Everything by Alexander McCall Smith is #11 in his Isabel Dalhousie philosphy series. Of all his characters, Isabel Dalhousie is my favorite.

The Dead Ringer by M. C. Beaton is the 29th of the Agatha Raisin detective series. Obviously, I still enjoy reading about Agatha's misadventures.

Four Funerals and Maybe a Wedding by Rhys Bowen is the 12th in Her Royal Spyness series. I really like Rhys Bowen's other series, but was not too crazy about the Lady Georgiana character (Queen Victoria's granddaughter and way down the line [34th] for the throne) when I first started reading the series. She is beginning to grow on me.

The Hanged Man's Song by John Sandford  is one of two Kidd series books at our library. Kidd is a computer expert who makes an appearance in some of Sandford's other series.

Skeletons by Kate Wilhelm a book I had read before but did not recognize it at first. Even then I really didn't remember much about the book but since it is set in Oregon and is a well-written thriller, I went ahead and read it again.

Private Life by Jane Smiley is one of my book sale buys. Smiley's books always seem to me to take a little time to get into, this one was no exception, but they are always worth reading.

The Devil's Code is the other Kidd series book by John Sandford that our library has. This one is heavy duty on the computer hacking capabilities of Kidd and his accomplices. Interesting, but way over my level of understanding. Still, it is Sandford and he does know how to write 'can't put down' thrillers.

I've identified my favorite read this month, but cannot name a least favorite. Seems like it was a month to read continuing series.

Lunch Brings Childhood Memories

Today was a 'sandwich day'. Every other day I fix a 'big' lunch - meat, potatoes, vegies, salad - followed the next day by a 'small' lunch - sandwich, soup, chips, etc.

The sandwich choices seem to rotate around four or five of the same old things. Today, trying to think of something different, I hit upon an old childhood standby - hard fried eggs.

Bud had his with pepper jack cheese and I had mine with mustard. We both agreed they tasted pretty darn good. They also reminded us of our childhoods when we would find fried egg sandwiches in our school lunch sacks.

Eggs were plentiful on our farm, but I don't remember them being a constant school lunch staple. Our sandwiches were usually lunch meat or peanut butter and jelly. The egg sandwiches must have been a fall back for when we were out of the usual fare. In those days, I imagine catsup was the condiment of choice, now I wouldn't dream of anything but mustard!

So, I grew up on a farm and Bud grew up in the small town of Brooks. Both our families were like so many others of that time - poor. Which may explain why some of our childhood memories are so similar.

Our taste in school clothes was even similar.

I bet the old cowboys who populated our make-believe worlds liked fried egg sandwiches for lunch, too.

A Poem On My 75th Birthday

The Journey
  (By Mary Oliver)







One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice --
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world, 
determined to do
the only thing you could do --
determined to save
the only life you could save.

"So long as you haven't experienced this:
to die, and so to grow, 
you are only a troubled guest
on the dark earth."
      - Goethe

Longtime News Junkie

From the time I learned to read, I have always followed the news, in the local weekly newspaper and the daily "newspaper Iowa depends upon". (I learned words and read about things my parents probably would have preferred I not know at my tender age - some of which gave me information I did not know how to process.)
When I was ten years old, television came into our home, not replacing the newspapers, but adding another source to feed my inquisitiveness about the world. With the changing times, newspapers have gone by the wayside, even watching the news on TV has taken a back seat. Now, I get up in the morning, sign on to the internet and read all the news I want, world, national, local and via social media.
One change having news at my fingertips engendered in me was an expectation almost every morning, wondering as I signed on, "What new appalling news headline will show up today? Another mass shooting? Or terrorist attack somewhere in the world?"
So, two years ago today, I was not surprised to see the headline: "Two police officers ambushed and killed." "Now, where?" I wondered and was literally shocked to open the story and read it was right here in Iowa.
I tried to write a blog post about my feelings that day - something along the lines of 'not here, not in our Iowa nice, safe, state', but could not get my feelings of horror and sadness expressed the way I wanted to.

Picture credit KCCI TV, Des Moines

So today, on the second anniversary of the senseless slayings of Des Moines police Sgt. Anthony Beminio, a veteran of the department, and Urbandale rookie police Officer Justin Martin, I'm trying and failing again.

There have been too many, so many, mass casualties shootings, attacks, in the past two years it is impossible to even count them. What kind of world are we living in?

Six days later, still feeling the shock and sadness over Iowa's tragedy, I felt the world turn in another looming, more unbelievably direful, direction. Our country had chosen a new president - a misogynistic hate monger whose campaign tactics had already deepened the divide among citizens and opened the doors to even more openly hostile confrontations.

I don't want to say I've become inured to the everyday violences, but I have grown desensitized to them. They seem to be our new norm. Every generation has feared for the futures of its children and grandchildren. I am no different. I don't see how our country can come together for the good of all its people. I don't see how the world can continue much longer without another major war. I hope I'm wrong, just as the generations ahead of me were wrong. Perhaps some UFO's will land and show us the way to another liveable planet. Perhaps the promised messiah will appear to save not just the Jewish nation, but all of us. Perhaps the common man people will rise up and turn our world around in time.

One thing I am fairly certain of is that I won't be here to see what happens. And being the news junkie I am, that is something I'm gonna hate missing.

Old Crone, New Year

This is the image I used a couple years ago on Facebook to wish my friends a "Happy New Year! Samhain Blessings from this old crone." And by 'old crone' I meant me.
The Celtic New Year begins today and today begins my favorite month - birthdays and anniversaries galore. And even though I have been worried about the progress of rehabilitation with my new knee - and feel about as ancient as an old crone - things are progressing apace according to my P-T therapist.

As someone with a November birthday, I've long been aware that I am a Scorpio according to the usual zodiac signs.

It was my niece, Christine, who made me aware of the Irish Celtic Tree Astrology with a tree assigned to each of the 13 lunar months.

Tree lover that I am, I welcome these new, to me, Celtic Zodiac symbols. And while I do not think of a Reed as a tree, I find its explanation interesting.

Reed - The Inquisitor
October 28 - November 24

"Reed signs among the Celtic tree astrology signs are the secret keepers. You dig deep inside to the real meaning of things and discover the truth hidden beneath layers of distraction. When there is a need to get to the heart of the matter, most certainly the Reed sign will find the core. You love a good story and can easily be drawn into gossip, scandals, legend and lore. These tendencies also make you an excellent historian, journalist, detective or archaeologist. You love people because they represent a diversity of meanings for you to interpret. You are adept at coaxing people to talking to you, and sometimes you can be a bit manipulative. However, you have a strong sense of truth and honor so most of your scheming is harmless. Reed people join well with other Reeds, Ash or Oak signs."
Hm-m, might be interesting to compare the Reed explanation with one for Scorpio.

"May you have - Walls for the wind and a roof for the rain and drinks beside the fire. Laughter to cheer you and those you love near you, and all that your heart may desire." (Traditional Celtic Blessing)

Best wishes for a Happy New Year. ♏🌳

October Book List

Ten books read in October.

The Sense Of An Ending by Julian Barnes I think I put Barnes on my list after reading a review about his book The Only Story. That one wasn't available at the library, but his Man Booker Prize winner was. It took me a couple tries to get into the story - one that makes you contemplate one's own life.

A Thousand Mornings by Mary Oliver  I have come to appreciate Oliver's poetry. This is the only volume our library presently has.

Plum Tree Crazy is the 19th in Laura Childs' Tea Shop Mystery series.

Finding Colin Firth by Mia March is a fun and heart-warming little story about three fans all hoping to meet Colin Firth when he comes to a small seaside town in Maine to film some scenes for a movie. (Hint: It is more about the three womens' lives than his.)

The Jury Master by Robert Dugoni Another new to me author and I don't remember where I saw his name. The story was okay once I got past the author's need to use as many metaphors as possible - 99% of which were bad and unnecessary. I almost gave up reading the book because of them.

Golden Prey and Twisted Prey by John Sandford are #'s 27 and 28 in his Lucas Davenport series. I am now caught up until his next one is published. By the way, Sandford knows how and when to use metaphors.

The last three of the ten read this month are ones I bought at the book sale so I didn't have to worry about getting books back to the library during my knee surgery and recuperation.

Jack Maggs by Peter Carey I got because I really want to read his book Oscar and Lucinda. Failing to find a copy of it, I decided to try the only book of his that I found. It took some getting into - a strange tale.

Sweet Thunder was one of Ivan Doig's final books. Doig has long been a favorite author of mine and while I enjoyed his earlier books more than the later ones, they have all provided some fine reading. Sweet Thunder is set in Butte, Montana in 1920 during the time when the great Anaconda Copper Mining Company ruled the town, the miners and most of the state.

A Shooting Star is one of Wallace Stegner's older novels, but one I hadn't read before. Stegner is another long time favorite author. I could not identify with the main character, a woman who has had everything her whole life, but is dissatisfied because her life has no purpose, no meaning. I kept thinking, "With all your money, influence, looks, etc. etc., you can surely find some way of helping those less fortunate." But her whole thing seemed to be about ruining the life she had and crying, 'poor me'.
Still, Stegner's fine writing and beautiful prose kept me reading even if I did think his protaganist was a self-obsessed neurotic.

An example of one of his passages: "He stood looking, and some tick of time went past - a moment or a thousand years - and he squeezed his tired eyes shut and looked again, and the night hung silent around him, the invisible silver was still falling, the moon was already lower."

Happy Halloween

The One World We All Belong To

Poem of the One World 
by Jane Oliver (From her book,
A Thousand Mornings)

this morning
the beautiful white heron
was floating along above the water

and then into the sky of this
the one world
we all belong to

where everything
sooner or later
is a part of everything else

which thought made me feel
for a little while
quite beautiful myself.

Even though it wasn't 'floating along above the water', I was lucky enough to see and photograph this white heron when it visited briefly two weeks ago.

Would that we all could feel, for a little while, quite beautiful.

Would that in our one world, we all could feel a part of everything else.

Three Weeks Post-Op

No blog posts for three weeks because three weeks ago today, about right now, we were leaving for the hospital surgical center. After two years of procrastinating, it was finally time to just do it - get that new left knee.
Unlike before my shoulder replacement surgery seven and a half years ago, I didn't feel the need to update my will, add all the bequests of personal property, etc. etc. I felt more like, "Well, this will be a new adventure - no way to know what it is going to be like until I go through it." But I did feel positive about the surgery itself, and the outcome.

A little pre-op chat and pose with my surgeon. Love those paper gowns they use now.

First thing I remembered coming out from under after surgery was that I had been 'dreaming' of being on Tahiti. Tahiti?
Second thing was I must have commented about the music in the OR because someone asked me what I would like to hear. I said, "Willie Nelson". She said, "Do we have any Willie Nelson?" Some kind of country western music started playing, but it sure wasn't Willie. I was told all they had was Willie's Roadhouse. What I wanted was Always On My Mind or On The Road Again.
Oh, well, it wasn't much longer before I was in recovery and Dr. Ralston was telling Bud and me how well everything had gone and what to expect the rest of the day. At that point I was feeling pretty good, no pain, cheerful, funny. Bud asked if there was some way to always keep me in that frame of mind and I said I now understood how people could get hooked on drugs.

First week post-op I was cooking meals, doing laundry, taking my showers in Bud's bathroom because it is the kind you just step into, and going to physical therapy twice a week.

Second week, I had my post-op appointment with the doctor on Tuesday. He was less than happy with how stiff my knee was and wanted me to get to 90° on the CPM machine by Friday. I came home and got to 90° that afternoon. By Friday, I could get to 100°.

Which gets me to today, three weeks post-op. I'm up to 105° on the CPM, still using the walker, but also a cane as well as walking through the house without cane or walker. Still taking the pain meds, but only four times a day. Taking my shower in my own bathroom where I have to lift my leg over the tub to get into the tub/shower.
I feel ready to try driving myself to PT and the grocery - maybe some day this week. All-in-all, I feel pretty good, and I was right - it has been an adventure.

If You're Young At Heart

For those former little boys in my life, but especially my sons:

Small Boy

He picked up a pebble
and threw it into the sea.

And another, and another.
He couldn't stop.

He wasn't trying to fill the sea.
He wasn't trying to empty the beach.

He was just throwing away,
nothing else but.

Like a kitten playing,
he was practising for the future

when there'll be so many things
he'll want to throw away

if only his fingers will unclench
and let them go.

(by Norman MacCaig)

(My children are thinking of me this morning as I head off for some elective surgery - and I am thinking of them.)

Announcing Your Place

          Wild Geese
                      By Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the small animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

A Cinquain For Canada Geese

Noble
Watchful, aware
Looking around the pond
Wondering what happened to
Their nest.

What? You don't care for my feeble attempt at poetry?

How about something from a real poet?

To Make A Prairie
  (By Emily Dickinson)

To make a prairie, it takes a clover and one bee,
One clover and a bee.
And revery.
The revery alone will do,
If bees are few.

Croissants and Cafe Au Lait

I usually check the day old, discounted, bakery items when I'm at Walmart. I can easily by-pass the sweet stuff, but not breads and rolls and definitely not croissants, which are rarely on the racks. This week there was one package of four left, which flew into my cart. I didn't even have to think about it. I love croissants, but rarely buy them because of the calories. I can resist when they are full price, but not when they are marked down.
The first one I ate that evening, sliced in half, spread with Brummel and Brown, topped with swiss cheese slices and warmed/melted in the microwave. Mmm.
The second I had with my coffee yesterday morning in place of my usual maple and brown sugar frosted mini wheats. Afterwards, I thought, "I should have put some cream and sugar in that second cup of coffee."

So, this morning I did just that. First cup black, second cup with Sweet 'N Low and some half and half - not exactly café au lait, but close, anyway for me.

What my coffee with milk and sugar DID take me back to was when I first started drinking coffee. It was with my mother and just like I learned to drink hot tea, with milk and sugar. Except I drank hot tea that way when I was a child and did not start leaving out the milk/cream until I was an adult.

I was still drinking tea as my hot beverage of choice until the kids and I moved back home after Dad died. Even those three months we lived with Mom, I still had hot tea with breakfast while she had her coffee.

It wasn't until five years later when I was almost forty years old.....it was after Mom got her hand hurt and I started doing the milking for her.....

It was either when Mom got her hand caught in the wringer while washing clothes or when she got one of her fingers ripped open by the boar's tusk that I would get up at 5:00 a.m., drive the four miles to her place in order to get the milking done in time to go back home and get ready to go to work.
I would come to the house with the milk and she would say, "Don't you want a cup of coffee?" I think she felt it was the least she could offer for me doing the chores. Finally, one morning, I said yes. I had to load it up with sugar and the rich cow's milk in order to drink it, but after a few days, it began to taste good to me. The funny thing was I had always loved the smell of coffee and the taste of coffee flavored candy, ice cream, etc., just not the real thing.
Just like with tea, I would first cut out the milk, but still need sugar, eventually preferring my coffee black. (Though I still use sweetener in my hot tea and drink iced tea black.)

Tomorrow morning I will eat the last croissant, possibly with another adulterated second cup of coffee. Oh! If I really want to be fancy, I could use the French press to make the coffee. 😉

Closing Out September

Faceback offered me a video of my September Moments to share this morning, I declined, but decided to offer a bit more of my September here.

Beginning with - I read yesterday that September 2018 was the third wettest recorded in Iowa. My total for the month, emptied and noted from the guage on the deck, was 11.15 inches - most of which came down the first week in September. Now it sounds like this first part of October is going to also be WET. Too bad it couldn't have been spread out over the summer when the crops/farmers needed it instead of now, when they are trying to get in to the fields to harvest.

I've shared photos and written about the lovely Rose of Sharon bush that was here when we bought the place and died four years ago. Also about the new plants coming up in the same area the last two years and how one of them has started blooming.

That's it on the left - the same pink as the original bush. The bloom on the right, which looks more white, to me, is on one of the other new starts I let grow. Now, I'm looking forward to the third plant blooming, hopefully, next year, and seeing what color its flowers are. And I am reminded of the large bush at the southeast corner of Grandma Ridnour's large flower bed, close to the gate to the farm yard, that was tri-colored - pink, white and blue.

One nice afternoon I was sitting, reading, on the patio and enjoying the soft breeze and the melodious sounds from the Carson wind chime.

And the equally pleasant, to me, clack, clacking of the bamboo chimes.
The Carson chimes brought thoughts of the daughter who gave them to me.
The bamboo, memories of a long ago September on Nantucket where I first fell in love with their strange, aching, resonance.

September's photo file is full of pictures I took thinking I might use them somehow in a blog post.

Like the sweet, teeny flowers of the sprengeri (asparagus fern). This has always been a favorite plant - one I've had many of over the years - and first discovered its flowers when I used to have them as house plants, hanging in the windows on Tuck Corner and The Little House.

Or the stem of withered oak leaves found on the deck with its tiny unformed acorn, cut down before it had a chance to grow.

And the alien form lying on the neighbor's deck. What was that? I had to take a zoom photo and then enlarge it even more in order to see that it, too, was a cluster of oak leaves.

September brought a visit from a dear friend which included her sharing of what she had done with all the tee shirts from all the golf events she and her late husband had attended.
The logos from them were saved and made into bell pulls for his children, her brother and her. This is her's. The melon colored one near the top is from the 1991 Ryder Cup on Kiawah Island South Carolina. (We watched some of this year's Ryder Cup on T.V. last weekend.) Such a thoughtful and inventive way to preserve memories.

This year, September's weather was perfect for Balloon Days. And while none came right over our pond, some were close enough to take pictures of from our patio.

Just as the photo file is full of pictures of sunsets, clouds, flowers, sunrises, etc. too myriad to share, my desk is littered with quotes, snippets of poems and thoughts, memories and ideas for blog posts.
"For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business." (T.S. Eliot) Who couldn't write a whole blog post about that?

"Reason has no foothold at four or five in the morning; at those hours, reason sleeps and the mind breeds monsters: monsters of fear, of paranoia. So you toss and turn." (From Peter Robinson's Cold Is The Grave) For me it is more like two, three or four in the morning, but yes, I could get more than one blog post about the ugly, disquieting thoughts of those hours I toss and turn trying to go back to sleep.

One of the last days of September - putting away the chairs and cushions, etc. My car was under the patio roof. Bud came in from his run and said if I didn't move my car soon the cardinal climber would take it over - that it was already reaching for one of the tires. Ha!

It really has done well this year, in all four locations, but especially where it gets the early morning sun.

♪ The leaves of brown came tumbling down
Remember in September in the rain 
The sun went out just like a dying ember
That September in the rain ♪

A final closing thought about September - on its last day, I reached 100 'friends' on Facebook since joining nine years ago. You could say, compared to many, I'm slow. Or you might just say I'm selective. 😼