Eschewing the electric can opener, wine bottle opener, and salt and pepper grinders, I also use a hand mixer for my fantastic baked concoctions. (Ahem.)

”You use it or lose it,” has been my motto for the kitchen. And believe me, those cans are getting harder to open. Some of them arrive bent and that is a challenge. Then we have to involve a kitchen knife to pry up the last quarter inch of tin! Danger at every turn.

Other than that, we use all of the conveniences afforded us in this little world, and yes, we are grateful, sending our prayers to those in Helene’s wake who must start over.

We have a roof over our heads!

I’d forgotten how incredibly noisy this replacement process is. I’m in awe of the men who are up there on the slant scraping, and slightly concerned about nails that may be finding hiding spots. What a mess! And all of this goes into the landfill. It’s hard to believe we can’t find better material for hail resistance.

Which reminds me, I need to water my plants. They have finally recovered from June’s storm. It only took a few months, and just in time to start winterizing around here.

First world problems.

We woke to the sound of the neighbor’s roof undergoing its transformation. Ours begins tomorrow. And then this song popped into my head – and I had to research. ‘Don’t let the rain come down.” That ultra-famous tune by the Serendipity Singers.

Turns out it was actually a Mother Goose rhyme they adapted for our musical delight. It’s the theme of the week around here as we listen to the rat-a-tat-tat above us. I’m not reprinting the lyrics as they are already driving me nuts in my addled brain.

“There was a crooked man,”

BY MOTHER GOOSE

There was a crooked man, and he walked a crooked mile,

He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile;

He bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse,

And they all lived together in a little crooked house.

Driving into the city of Denver reminded me of an earlier time.

The roads today were atrocious – slowing, stopping, you assumed there had to be an accident. No. Just too many people out driving on a major thoroughfare. And then I remembered. Oh yeah. My son drove this road with his learner’s permit because I thought it would be a great experience for him!

I don’t know if he remembers, but we were going to an event downtown and it was rush hour. What was I thinking? Obviously, I thought he was capable! He was, and still is, a great driver. Very conscientious of passengers. (I frequently reminded him to drive like his grandmother was in the car.) The look on the parking attendant’s face was priceless as he peered into the car with me passing the cash over. “Is he really old enough?”

I don’t think I’d let a 15-year old drive that road today. The speed limit is higher, the traffic more condensed, and I’m definitely more skittish. Yet, what a fun memory. (I also let my 15-year old daughter drive a rental car over the Golden Gate Bridge on our vacation. What?)

Perhaps “driving instructor” is not in my wheel well?

Even though it is the “year of the purse,” and I did purchase a super cool satchel with a pompon on it and large enough to hold two babies, I do prefer pockets in my garments.

The pandemic truly gave me a reason to wear my four-pocketed vests and not drag a bag around. I got down to the basics – car keys, phone, credit card and lipstick. It all fit in pockets. It still does, and I look for that feature in anything I might happen to be donning for the day.

The sun is shining and there is no wind today. Looks like we’ve got a glorious day in our pockets!

At first I was afraid, I was petrified! Thinking I could watch your kids without you by my side! And after spending nights reviewing where kids’ things belonged, I grew strong, and I learned how to get along…

And now you’re back, from another space. And I find you here, with that super-joyous look upon your face. You missed your angels, little wonders, That’s obvious to see. And if you leave again, it sure won’t bother me!

So I will go, walk out that door… I’d love to watch them again, though my arms are tired and sore. It really hurt me when I had to say goodbye, But did I crumble? Did I lay down and cry?

No, not I. I did survive. I love my granddaughters, they are what kept me alive! I’ve got all my life to live And to them all my love to give and I survived. I’m more alive!

…………and that’s the end of my creativity after a morning of solitude. Oh my. The raising of children is for the young, and I think I took at least a decade off my years playing with and chasing those little puppies for five days.

I truly missed a little angel standing by my bedside at 3:15 in the morning, staring at me longingly with her stuffed elephant. However, I was able to return to slumber and rest easily, knowing my husband and I kept them safe, happy and loved…and knowing their parents were now in charge of undoing whatever “new” habits we formed!

We did survive.

The quirky and mundane observations are stashed in the back of my brain. They come and go fleetingly as we stumble through the war zone, our house!

My spouse and I are on duty for the the weekend as our daughter and her husband take a vacation. Granted, the weekend is longer than two days, but we are happily watching three little peanuts and adjusting to their schedules. Toys are everywhere, books at the ready to quiet whoever needs quieting! I figure it’s pointless to pick up anything, as it just comes back out in the morning.

We are having fun. Hopefully the “kids” are, too.

1/16 of the zone pictured above.

Yes, I did get to watch the game with my husband last night. Viewing the advertisements during the game led me to realize we only have 72 hours!

I can get an emergency supply of food to last me 72 hours in the event of a catastrophe. (Same company promoting other catastrophic purchases.) I can also buy a whole body deodorant that lasts for 72 hours. Are these two companies in cahoots? Do they know something I don’t? Which would I choose should I only have 72 hours – food or smelling better?

If the end is imminent, I’ll need more than 72 hours of sustenance! Maybe the choice is easy?

Monday Night Football has always been a “friend” of sorts.

When my husband traveled weekly and left on those Mondays eons ago, I would put the kids to bed and catch the end of a game. I didn’t care who was playing, just that there was something I enjoyed watching and fairly predictable, comfortable. Of course, we didn’t have the myriad choices we do now for evening entertainment.

Many times when we’ve been separated my spouse and I will put the game on in our different time zones and watch it together, commenting on who is seeing the great play first. “Don’t tell me!” Watching a game and critiquing strategies kept me grounded and helped me to sleep during long stretches of being away.

This is only relevant in that I’m awaiting a call from my two-hour-time-difference-this-evening husband. He might need me to give expert commentary as he attempts to drift off to sleep!

…and so the day began.

Actually, the old Firebird had a fuel leak and my husband was trying to strategize the problem and solution. Additionally, he requested I stand in front of the automobile holding a board as he put it up on the ramps. He’s a good driver, yet, early danger in the day before I’ve had breakfast is probably not wise. So I stood with my extinguisher ready for action as he turned the ignition.

The whole process was rather uneventful and I was able to eat and begin cleaning windows and bathrooms, sometimes dangerous duty in itself. We do know how to have fun.