My 3 Season Bar

This little nook is where my three season bar resides. I have a shaker and an ice bucket. I include a couple of bottles of my high end liquor, some interesting glasses, and bar tools. It's so Mad Men.

Underneath is the wine selection, that is during the three seasons. Upon the fourth season, which I will deem the season of hell called Summer, this area is transformed into a nice spot for the fern, my amazing Jester. All the wine is moved to the summertime cellar saved from the inside temps of 85 degrees or so.

I guess that fern does have a jester-like splay of fronds (see the jester example below). Also notice the baby fern jester in front and to the left. He is still attached to the mama jester. Awww.

By the way, Si never wore this hat. That is the cardboard cat the hat came with. Si has green eyes anyway. Si has never wore a collar either. He's an au natural kitty. Plus try to put anything on him makes him into a ball of pointy nails and teeth. Guess who wins that battle?

Anyway The Three Season Bar has a goose neck wine bottle opener. Well. It works. But. It is so much easier to hand him the bottle and say, "Here. Open this." Because he will and immediately, knowing the just reward for doing so.

Notice on the goose neck opener there is a butterfly. That was my father's. It has a sensor in it that makes the wings move ever so slowly like a butterfly resting on a branch. The sensor, I am told, is the same sensor used in artificial fingers to stimulate touch and movement. And because it moves so gently and quietly, the butterfly can be on for hours, sometimes days before I remember I turned it on. 

Thank you for visiting my little bar. When I fill it back up with wine and booze, I'll take another picture.

Happy Veterans Day

My father was a Navy man. He served in the Submarine Service during WWII as a radio specialist, where he built radars. His radar on the USS Hackleback found the Yamato.

After he left the service, he went to MIT and studied engineering, and basically spent his whole life building radars with JPL/NASA. He was a pioneer in space exploration, and his radars were used in the mapping of the Moon and Venus.

However one of the biggest surprises was using his radar to find the ancient Mayan canals in Guatemala. He told me that not a week would go by without a call or two from someone who was interested in this research - even 20 years later!

My father was a very patriotic man. He flew a flag 24 hours a day, illuminated at night. He even planted his front lawn red, white, and blue! He replanted the delphiniums this spring. He would sit by that big front window and look out to his flower garden.

He put in a gas lamp in front of his house.

Dad passed away in July. He was 87 years old. 

One of my favorites pictures. Circa 1985

He was always the most happy working.

That Time of Year

        School's out! I'm free! Remember that feeling? All those wonderful possibilities await you. What should we do first? Go to the pool. Go to the river. Go to the beach.

        The last day of school was right up there with Christmas and your very own birthday. Nothing could replace that feeling of freedom, even today. Ah, the tragedy of being an adult. Say it out loud, "An Adult." Sounds like something to be avoided at all costs. Sounds like it costs. too.

        As a kid, my summer vacation wasn't always a free for all. For at least part of it, I had to work and go to summer school, which I thought was fun until the reality set in.

        But hours and hours of sunlight and good friends in the neighborhood made for many happy memories.

        And then there were expeditions. When my family went to the beach, a one-hour drive, you would think we were going for six days, not six hours.

        The station wagon would be full with every possible beach accoutrements, plus four kids and an anxious dog.

        My father would insist on leaving at 7 a.m. to beat the traffic, so when we got to the beach, we would be the only ones there.

        It was like "pick a spot, any spot." We got the whole darn foggy beach to ourselves. And the next five hours, the people would start to pour in. By noon, it was wall-to-wall blankets and umbrellas.

        An hour or so after noon, we would pack and leave. It was the best time of the day, and we would be headed out "to beat the traffic."

        Well, it didn't matter a whole lot to me. I'd spend the whole time in the ocean getting thrown around in the waves.

        A regular fish, my Dad would say.

        One time the waves were huge and I had accumulated several thousand grains of sand in my swimsuit, so I dragged myself back to the beach towel.

        That night the evening news said the waves were a record size, and many people had to be rescued from the dangerous conditions. Thank goodness I hit the towel when I did, but I learned the power of water at an early age.

        I had a near drowning experience when I was around 5 years old.

        Mom's friend had a pool, so every once in a while during summer vacation we would get invited to swim for an afternoon. Back in those days little kids who didn't know how to swim wore Styrofoam bubbles on their backs to keep them afloat.

        Well, I was sunning myself and got a little hot, so I jumped into the pool forgetting to put on the bubble and sank like a stone.

        I still remember looking up at the surface of water. It was so beautiful and so far away. Then I realized how badly I needed air. I pushed off the bottom of the pool with my feet and lunged for the steps.

        Boy, when I crawled out of that pool, my heart was racing.

        I took swimming lessons at the Y shortly thereafter and graduated by swimming 50 continuous yards.

        Not too shabby for a regular fish, my Dad would say.

{story first published in The Tribune on June 19, 2003}
{I think I was seven in the photo. Oak Creek, Cottonwood, Arizona}

Happy Mother's Day!

This picture was taken by a camera salesman in a place called Fedco (which was like a precursor to Costco but for federal employees). He was trying to sell my Dad a brand new Polaroid camera.

We were a dubious threesome. Can you tell?

I remember the incident so well. We had come in from the rain, kind of raggedy, and the salesman just sprang it on us. My mom was upset with the way her hair looked. My dad was skeptical with this new technology, and I didn't want my picture taken. (My father is holding me there by my jacket. (btw, I loved that jacket!))

When I look at this photo now, I could kiss that salesman on the lips for capturing us all on film in that weird moment, especially my beautiful mother.

Calendar Shopping Snowride

We did our annual calendar shopping expedition to B&N today. Plus he needs something to read. I am bathing in unfinished books, so that was not my purpose (however, that never stops me from looking).

I, for some reason, need a calendar in every room. Including the loo. Interestingly or not, my father must have a clock in every room. Including the loo. So there you go. Genetics.

Sort of. (Fessing here: I have a clock in the loo too. One that Dad gave me.) Oh God. Oh Internet.

Back to the point Judy. B&N is a strange little world, is it not? It looks like the possibilities are endless, but actually the place is quite limited. Sure calendars abound.

I always get Ansel for my office, and Llewelyn for the hallway. (Plus more. A lot more.) Well this year I bought neither. After 20 years of B&W just over there, and horoscopes coming out of the shower listing bad days and good days (really!! enough already), I said "Fuck it Pawtucket" and went down a different road.

Still with calendars though.

Maybe I'll do a calendar round up later this month seeing how that sounds so "blog worthy."

My Great-Grandfather Was A Vampire

That's a pretty sharp eye, Amanda !!!

The story goes like this:

when I was a baby still in the crib,

visitors would come in and look at me.

"Oh come and look at the Baby!"

With the usual comparisons

Does she look more like her mother or her father?

Most people were kind.

"She's got her father's nose and her mother's eyes"

Or some derivation thereof.

Until one day

someone stated the obvious,

"Well now, doesn't she look JUST like her father."

To which I burst out in tears.

A Special Day

I received my made-to-order Scion tC from Japan back in January 2007. It had 11 miles on the ODO and was delivered on a flat-bed tow truck from a Toyota dealership in Bakersfield. I almost lost my job waiting for my Black Cherry Bomb to get to me. (I lived way out in the country and had no way to get to work, but that wasn't a good enough reason for my boss at the time (she's long gone now) to bring in a substitute.)

Car shopping was painful. Either I was ignored or told what I wanted. When I discovered what I wanted, I went online and got *exactly* what I wanted. The only price that wasn't listed was the time it took for it to get to me. When that truck came around 12 mile corner with my black cherry "soap" (that's what it looked like a mile away) on board, I started to cry, I started to scream, I started to dance. I stood at the gate and waited for my first ever (and probably last) "mine and mine only" car to arrived.

And that was 20,000 miles ago.

And here's the guy who made it all possible.................................

Happy 85th Birthday Dad !!!

Yin Yang Clouds

I talked with my Dad this evening. He lives in a place that is currently burning like crazy. Thankfully his home is far enough away, although he is getting lots of ash and all that. He said, "wherever you live, it's always something - Best to just be happy where you are." Sound advice.

SkyWatch is a place to watch the sky. Come visit.

I Heart Singer

Behold! The old Singer sewing machine! My parents were quite clever one Christmas (oh about 30 years ago but whose counting) when they wrapped up a small package that fit in the palm of my hand. Unwrapped I found it was an old time sewing machine pencil sharpener with a little note that said something like "Judy, if this is not what you wanted, go down the hall and get the real one." So clever! But I was totally confused. What? What? What hall? A real old sewing machine? What are they thinking?

But down the hall that they had to steer me to and on the bed at the end of hall there sat the box. No wrapping or ribbon but was clearly stated a Singer Sewing Machine (what was inside it is pictured below). Grant you, nothing fancy. A beginner's model really, but a sewing machine. I was one happy girl!

I love my first sewing machine!

Some years later (like yesterday) I decided I needed a new sewing machine to do bigger projects like a quilt I have planned. And lo and behold, I went to Target to see what kind of machines they had. I could have bought anything I suppose. But what I really I wanted is what I already have. 

To Be Honest. I love my Singer. And I could have kept using my old machine, but I don't like playing with ancient electronics. (Not that I'm ancient - well yeah, I guess I am.) So....

It's Judy's Birthday Week!

I bought myself a new machine. 

Now with Lime Green accents. 

May Have To Edit This One

I kind of like this one better than the one above in the banner. I was trying to go for the color pink, you know, it's that time of year. But this is my first exploration with this program "Capture," and what a clunk. Maybe I should read the instructions. 

  

Anyway Vday is on my brain. My Dad sent me a card. Isn't that sweet? When I was a young adult, he would always give me a small heart-shaped box of chocolates. Isn't that sweet? Well, after my Mom passed, I learned, well, it was my mom buying and sending the chocolates. Isn't that funny and sweet too? Mom knew how much Daddy's love meant to me. He was busy with work, so she stepped in. 

  

So here it is - so many years later. Some years he remembers, others, well it is near tax time after all. And Dad does everyone's taxes. He is 84 years old, and totally there. Everyone depends on him too. 

  

Some healthcare worker upon learning the age of dad said, "Isn't that nice to know?" "What's that," I said. "Oh, that you have his longevity gene." She replied. 

  

Well, it would be a heck of a lot nicer to know that my mom had this "longevity gene" too. She didn't. And so far the lives of me and Mom are looking like carbon copies, which is really weird because I didn't know half of what happened in her life until after she died. 

A Visit To Dad's

My father is probably the most patriotic man that I know. Maybe it's because he fought in WWII (submarine service). Maybe it's the generation he's from. I don't know.

  

He flies a flag 24/7 with a light on it at night and his house is filled the red white and blue. So it did not come as any surprise to me that he wanted his front lawn to be a red white and blue garden. And it's really rather pretty. 

A Conversation With Dad

Ring-ring, the telephone woke me up.
Barely able to get out “hello,” I answered.
At the other end I heard my father’s voice. He was just checking in with me, as he likes to do these days.
“Did I wake you Honey?” He asked.
“That’s okay,” I said, “just sleeping a little late today.”
“So how was your day yesterday?” He asked.
Worthy of a few pictures, I told him, but unfortunately I left my camera at home.
I was up and out early for a morning meeting. The air was crisp as an apple, I told him, and the dawn was beautiful.
“Then,” I said, “I thought I saw a large deer cross the road, but it really didn’t look like at deer at all.”
In fact, the animal was too big and the wrong color, and I just knew it wasn’t a deer.
I stopped the car and watched the animal with fuzzy antlers cross the road.
“I think it was an elk,” I said.
“Wow!” Dad replied.
It went over the fence along with five girl elks, and they ran up the valley away from the dirt road stopping only once to look back me.
“As big as horses, Dad,” I said.
That’s amazing!” Dad said.
I continued my story. After the meeting I went to the car shop for an oil change. I thought I’d be in and out in a half-an-hour, but that wasn’t the case.
“They found a huge rat’s nest in my engine,” I told him.
You just wouldn’t believe how intricate it was. Made with all sorts of materials like burlap, lint, strips of paper, dried clippings from the rose bush, and sage weed.
I told Dad the service technician didn’t seem too thrilled to stick his hands in there and pull it all out.
“Who could blame him,” Dad said.
“I bet that rat couldn’t believe her good fortune,” I said, “finding such a warm dry place to nest for the winter.”
“Oh my,” Dad said. “What are you going to do to keep them out?”
“Don’t know,” I said. “Maybe lift the hood every few days.”
As it turned out, no wires or tubes were chewed through, and the car runs fine.
“Well, honey,” Dad said, “sounds like you had quite a day, but I’m glad it wasn’t the other way around.”
I paused.
“What do you mean, Dad?”
“Well,” he said, “you could have seen a herd of rats cross the road and an elk could have made a nest in your car.”
I paused.
“Oh Dad!”
We both laughed.

Dance Dance Dance

I’ve not embraced the saying “Dance as if no one is watching.”
I think it’s supposed to be a part of a recipe to happiness. I want to be happy but not a happy fool.
During my formative years when I was ten years old, my girlfriend and I would dance in the living room of my home. We would move the furniture out of the way and practice dance routines, usually to rock and roll songs.
I can remember quite specifically on one occasion when my father came in and started to “dance” too. He looked like he was surfing as he rocked back and forth.
My girlfriend thought it was the funniest thing she had ever seen.
I was mortified.
I decided right then and there, there will be no dancing when I get old, especially not to rock and roll.
So now I’m old and so is everybody else, but as the population ages, we carry our likes right along with us. That’s why commercials use rock to sell us just about everything.
I still like rock and roll and most every other kind of music, and I still like to dance.
But as far as dancing goes, I don’t want any witnesses.
I do it only in the privacy of my own living room.
Let’s face it; you get to be a certain age and rocking out looks pretty silly.
So when I saw that PBS was going to show a revival concert of the rock music group Cream, I just had to watch.
I didn’t think they would look silly. At least, I hoped not. I was always fascinated that the group was comprised of only three people: Jack Bruce, Ginger Baker, and Eric Clapton.
They didn’t make a lot of LPs, but all their songs were pretty good.
Remember long-playing albums? They had cover art and the liner notes, and a nice big format. I’m sorry, CDs just don’t compare.
The concert was held in England at a packed Albert Hall. They walked out on stage and started with the song "I’m So Glad." Basically that’s the song. “I’m so glad. I’m so glad. I’m glad. I’m glad. I’m glad.”
I wonder what it means?
As I watched them perform this song, I thought that the drummer, Ginger Baker, was going to have a heart attack.
Clapton didn’t look too bad, but Baker and Bruce had me worried.
I kept watching. The music kept getting better too.
Not all rock and roll music has held up to the test of time. Some of it sounds terribly dated, and often re-makes will add something more contemporary. That usually wreaks it.
Cream stayed with their original sound.
At one point they played “Rollin’ and Tumblin,’” and the audience started to gyrate.
It was a dance explosion, and I had to join in.
All of a sudden I found myself rocking back and forth on a make-believe surfboard.