Return of Old Friends

Early cold snap over, the warm (60 degrees) weather has come back, for the brief tease of heat before the chill of winter. The plants are hitting a short second growth spurt, and I was surprised by the return of our old friends the Ladybugs. These Ladybugs show up in the window of our master bathroom every spring. There are usually 12-15 of them, they crawl around the window sill, up and down the window, and occasionally fly around the room as I stay quietly seated.

These beautiful little beings have never shown themselves in this false spring before, so I was pleasantly surprised to see the three mixed up Ladybugs. Somehow their inner clock has also steered them wrong, tricking them into showing their pretty backs.

The Ladybugs only hang out in this one window; and I'm sure there is a nest of them, or hive, or whatever it is that their home is called, inside our southern facing wall. No harm, I hope, so I'm not about to find out, I enjoy my old friends, however brief their visit.

Waiting for the Storm

Waiting for the Storm, not to pass, but to arrive. I love storms, and I am lucky enough to be at the Oregon coast  for a few days. Hubby is attending a work/play weekend, and I am writing.

So far, after only a few hours, I have composed two poems, and tightened up a short story for submission. So far so good.
So far, I'm having a great time.

So far, no storm. The weather men said we would be getting the tail end of a monsoon - heavy rain, and up to 50 mile an hour winds. My kind of day.

I love storms, there is something soothing in the wildness, the reminder that not everything is under my control, that there are still things that can impress me. The thrashing and violence of a good storm gives me a pleasure of unleashed energy, awakens the latent feral me.

Growing up in the Phoenix area of Arizona, I experienced nature at her wildest. Haboobs, mile high walls of dust rolling  toward town like an errant ocean wave, lightening so bright we almost needed sunglasses. The monsoon season began right around the Fourth of July and brought rain. Rain so dense you were blinded. Rain so fast and furious you would be standing in a four inch deep puddle in just one minute. Rain, pelting  bare arms, stinging bare thighs as we played in the street during these brief but awesome downpours.

As kids, we never ran for cover, never ran inside to get out of the rain. We reveled in nature at its finest, reveled in the unleashed madness of Mother Nature.

I now live in the State of Washington, a very wet place, it rains a lot where we are. However, most of the time it is a gentle rain, lasting all day and still not reaching the four inch mark. I miss the startling flashes of lightning, the heart felt, window shaking claps of thunder.

Rain is not just rain, a storm in the Pacific Northwest is so different from the Arizona storms that can invoke thoughts of an anguished Mother Nature, of someone toying with us; mere humans, thinking we have control.

Money, Money Everywhere

Ok, so you have a bunch of money - $20,000, $42,000. What do you do with it? Put it in a brown paper bag? Stow it in your backpack?

It seems so. Lately there have been many findings of  miss-managed money. Thankfully, the finders have been honest, and turned the money over to authorities, who, hopefully find the owners. My question to the owners -             

                        WHAT WERE YOU THINKING????????????????????

Not only are you dumb enough to put your money in a backpack, or paper bag, but you forget it! Please explain to me just how that happens.

Enough of dumb people doing stupid things, maybe life is much easier if you don't have too much money.

Cracking the Code

Scientists have cracked the code (or so they say) of dolphin speak.

There are some things that should remain a mystery, what dolphins say, what dogs think, and why women are the way we are.

With all the really important things scientists need to figure out, why are they spending probably billions of dollars on trying to figure out what dolphins squeaks and noises mean? What do we then do with that information? Why is it relevant?

I'd much rather see this money spent on medical research, unless the scientists figure the dolphins can tell us how to cure cancer!

Let's leave dolphin speak alone, keep at least one mystery alive.

Modesty Out the Window

"I'm just going to move the jacket off your shoulder."

The mammogram tech says as she's smashing my breast in an evil looking vice - it is supposed to be a thing of good, but no way is something that painful a good thing!

So, am I supposed to be embarrassed by my naked shoulder and not my bare boob? Any modesty is left in the car when getting a mammogram, "Scoot to your left, closer, hand here, relax." Hahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Relax? Sure. I wonder if the tech gets the same instructions when she is on my side of the machine?

Mammograms really aren't as painful as they once were; and I don't have to hold my breath as long either, and I've finally figured out how to not have to hold my breath on an exhale. I've counted the clicks emitting from the machine, and breathe accordingly.

Once a year, I do my due diligence and have my boobies smooshed, photographed, and examined. One would think they'd at least buy me a drink.

Sad and Alone

Clem, the peachick from last year, is sad and alone.

George, the peacock with a magnificent tail, was trapped, and eaten, probably by a coyote. Gertrude, Clem's mother, is, we hope, sitting on a nest of eggs. She showed up for food every day, late in the afternoon, would then disappear until the next meal time.

Clem, not used to being alone runs around the yard, back and forth between the Christmas trees searching for Mother. After a week of Gertrude coming for an evening meal, she stopped showing up for dinner. That means she is sitting on eggs, and should only be gone for about 2 weeks. One week has passed, and poor, poor Clem, is still anxiously running around, cawing when he goes to bed, and is making everyone here at home miserable with his miserableness.

This week can not go quickly enough, and I look forward to seeing Gertrude with some chicks soon. Clem, I'm sure will be even happier than I will be, and by this time next week, I hope to have some good news.

I Hate Step Children

No, it is not what you think!

I don't hate step children, I hate the use of the words. Either they are your kids or not. They can be your children, grandchildren, etc. without being yours by blood.

So many times I hear "That's my step-grandchild", "That's my son's stepdaughter" "He is my daughter's stepson".

It doesn't matter!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Does the speaker love the child any less because they are not blood? If not, then why say it? Why single out a child, make them feel different because they were not born into your family. They should feel special because they were chosen.

I already had a child when I married my husband. He never used the word "step", and eagerly legally adopted my son. We are family, no matter what our blood says. We love each other, fight, makeup, and will always be family.

Every year Websters Dictionary adds words to their book. Let's get them to delete stepchild, stepson, stepdaughter, step-mom, step-dad, etc. Wouldn't that be wonderful?