It’s “Hey Rene J” Today!

It’s the new term for my morning wakefulness – “Marine Fog.” Just a little hazy, but burning off by around 10 am and shining brightly after that.

My mother used to call upstairs on school mornings, “Up, up, up, up!” I assumed the four nods were to the four of us kids, and I assumed her cheerfulness was meant to give us some spark. I was always a slow-waker. Coffee must have been discovered solely for the purpose of jolting some of us into the day.

So, no, I am not in the saltwater spa with the champagne or the coffee. I am at the kitchen table, with that insidious “to-do” list creeping into my thoughts. It might have to wait one more day as my brain begins to jostle to wakefulness and the horizon becomes a little more focused.

“Are you in the saltwater spa with the champagne now?”

Who doesn’t want that question? Well, we apparently paid for the saltwater spa with the champagne and didn’t know until we called the front desk to request a sangria beverage. Oops. They wanted to know if we were in the saltwater spa with the champagne. How lovely to have such an interesting surprise! I love that question. I think I’ll save it for another day! Little things.

So, after our deep breathing yesterday, we should be grateful for the minute things. Like a sunset. Daily surprise.

It’s always good to have a new view, whether you are just taking a deep breath and seeing things in a fresh light, or hopping on a plane and heading to the Coast. There is a perverse pleasure in leaving home on a rainy, snowy day and arriving with this view in your backyard and the ocean in the front.

Breathe deeply, wherever you are.

My brother traveled 30 minutes to my parents’ home yesterday. He was doing his trustee business, stopped by our house, and on a “whim” operated the sprinkler system. You might know where this is going, but follow me anyway.

Everything went well until the end of the trial zones. Fountain of water. Major repair. My brother is in his business attire, as he was doing bank and Village duties on the house. He has no tools. He has no supplies. He calls the CO-OP. They have no parts. They ask if he knows “Alvie.” My brother turns to the neighbor who has come over to assist – and by the way – has always come over to assist. “Do you know Alvie?”

Well, everyone knows Alvie, and basically my brother called Alvie, who was over one hundred miles away and couldn’t assist, but did have the parts. He directed my brother to his land, his shed, his parts, and his tools. Just told him to go and use them all. This was a faster solution than my brother going to his home and returning, so my sibling did just that.

When all was repaired and finished, my brother returned the tools and approached Alvie’s wife to offer her cash for the parts. She refused. He insisted. She said no. She and her husband loved our mother and were happy to assist. “And besides, your sister always helped out with the choir.”

Well, yes, I did help with the choir when I was there. I’ve played the piano and organ and just “showed up” when I visited Mom on a weekend. My daughter and son would also play for Christmas Masses when we were there. Just a thing we did. I loved providing musical assistance at my baptismal parish. The piano I played was the one my grandfather donated. I just thought the whole “circle of life” thing was holy.

Anyway, it was a heart-warming story my brother relayed to my sister and I yesterday. It made me miss that kind of family you experience in a small town. But what I wonder is, “Who is Alvie?”

Some days are just meant for silliness. I love this kind of stuff, so I’m sharing “not my thoughts” yet again. Besides, it’s just another day of me and the cleaning lady. She’s a lazy thing, not wanting to do her job when the sun is shining brightly with the promise of a lovely day. So, I’m going to ignore her, spend time with the gardener, and promote fun today. Thanks for this bit of inanity, APB.

In our unceasing attempts to find something worthy of watching on television, we stumbled upon this gem-of-a-documentary. “The Pistol Shrimps” was an entertaining, fun and uplifting surprise.

The film follows a women’s recreational basketball team. It reminded me of my brief stint in the realm of college basketball. This was NOT the rec team, but the real team! I was recruited for pre-season assistance my senior year, as some members of the squad couldn’t practice due to the overlap in sporting seasons. It was an interesting arrangement, as I had never played basketball, but I was a warm body on the court. We didn’t have women’s basketball until I was a junior or senior in high school, and by then, I wasn’t interested in learning a sport which held no interest for me other than the promise of a new cheerleading uniform. And I was short.

Suffice it to say, I did an okay job on defense as I made “stealing the ball” my goal. I had no interest in scoring. Theft was my game. And they did ask me to stay on for some strange reason. I probably brought some levity to the court as I couldn’t have been taking that practice season seriously. Who knows? Maybe I missed another opportunity for a career, along with sushi chef?

You’ll like “The Pistol Shrimps.”

This cracked me up. Thanks, Sis. We always knew Mom’s security code! “Princess” never made it to that revered status, and neither has “Frosty.”

We made sushi last night! My husband and I sat at the kitchen island while our son directed us in the fine art of sushi rolling. It was entertaining, and of course, satisfying to sample the wonderful rolls we made. They were delicious in spite of the fact that I couldn’t get mine rolled “quite right.” (We can rule out sushi chef as a potential career.)

A learning experience. I didn’t know you rolled the Nori on a mat. I didn’t know that said seaweed was “scored” lightly to help you cut the rolls. I didn’t realize you needed special rice, and that the rice vinegar was just exactly that – vinegar to season the rice! Silly me. I’ve been appreciating sushi without understanding its production, or knowing that our son is so accomplished in that realm.

The next new trick? Maybe I’ll learn to use my broiler pan properly. Or the angel food cake mold. Or the silicon cake pan mold. Or the 50 tips that came with my cake decorating kit. Opportunities abound.

I was right! Wild turkeys in my front meadow. And yet, I doubted my vision, because there are NO wild turkeys around here, only along the interstate crossing the plains or in my dad‘s backyard. And yet, voila!

My sighting was confirmed when I invited my neighbors for a renewed cantina. I learned via “Pann” that I was accurate, as her big-game-hunter husband confirmed my suspicion. Wild turkeys were roaming the ‘hood.

With the hawk-and-magpie show (it must have been the fledgling that went down as the magpie has deserted the nest) the herd of deer and the nasty taunting squirrel, Nat Geo scored this week. Some nice diversions in between the dreary snow showers.

Yesterday I mused that my mother always watered her plants on Thursdays. I stared at mine for a bit, (and her adopted plants) noticing they weren’t drooping too badly. Besides, most of the green army fighting for survival happens to fall into the range of succulents. I’ve convinced myself they do better with stress, so just watering them makes them a little too reliant on me. The other plants just have to learn to accommodate the happy-go-lucky moisture schedule. This could explain the deplorable state of my mother’s fern. Well, I still haven’t lost any plants other than the ones I intentionally dispatch, so it shouldn’t give up hope.

That got me to thinking about habits and good practices and why-in-the-world did I save two months of cleaning for one day yesterday, instead of just watering plants? I was righteously exhausted last night, which in layman’s terms means, “You still won’t sleep well.”

So, I’ve got habits, just not scheduled ones. Other than the paper, puzzles and coffee, that is. Those are on a daily regimen called, “Let’s wake up.”