It’s “Hey Rene J” Today!

Amy, the grandmother who swam almost 30 miles in shark-infested waters through San Francisco Bay, is my hero. The biggest challenge I faced today was the struggle to replace those little felt pads on the bottom of the kitchen chairs. I nearly impaled my hand on the screwdriver.

Just a normal day of danger for this old lady! Amy did make me want to jump in the ocean again…maybe next vacation?

We did not have central air conditioning in our home when we were growing up. We might have had a window unit somewhere? (Help me, sibs?) If we did have any “conditioned air,” I was unaware of it. I recall propping my window open and placing my head on the sill to catch a breeze. Having survived a possible decapitation made me think of turning on the air today for our heat wave.

It’s the time to hunker down and store the memory of this warmth for an icy day in December. And to this I offer a poor poem for our consideration. (Author unknown. Or unwilling to own.)

In July ‘tis the rule
One must try to remain cool.
Go ahead and hit the pool.
Do not be a silly fool.
Do not veg out on a stool.
Do not run out of fuel.
Use a fan as a tool
To continue being cool.

(Written while not in school.)

Reading my favorite Dr. Seuss book, “There’s a Wocket in My Pocket,” always gives me pause on the “vug” page. I get the feeling that I should be vacuuming something, looking for that vug under the rug.

One of these days I’ll put my own stories to print. My hold-up has been the illustration process. I can copy, but I can’t draw anything worthy on my own. Perhaps I shall employ a personal AI assistant? (Thank you, Son, for that encouragement!)

Time to create my masterpiece. If I can only find where I filed the story? Another cup of coffee should aid in this. Stay tuned.

”The Naked and the Dead,” is the novel I have been plowing through. Norman Mailer. How coincidental there is a documentary on him in theaters now?

Actually, I began “plowing” through and have come to the “can’t wait to finish” status. The writing depicts the men of a platoon during WWII. Rough language, rough characters, and in-depth studies of the men who braved their way in a culture of war. I like to think I can tough out bad situations, but after his descriptions of intimate moments with death, sickness, anti-Semitism, constant weather challenges and personality clashes, I would have folded early on. I’m glad I stuck with this tome. It has been enlightening. I have felt the moods and quirks of these men, smelled the odors they lived with, languished in the despair they endured. Now I have to see who survives!

And…it’s one of those rich books where I’m hanging on each and every word written so masterfully. I’ll be heading to a theater soon!

Past Independence Day celebrations included yard work, tree removal, and various home projects waiting their turn. I use The Fourth as the marker for trimming shrubs in the front yard. I’m pretty sure this “yard” business started years ago in my youth.

We kids waited patiently for Dad to come home from work – what was being harvested in July? I assume winter wheat? Anyway, to bide the time we probably mowed the lawn and helped Mom get ready for the big fireworks show! Our father enjoyed lighting some displays – and usually he brought them home that evening. I know it’s where my love for igniting fireworks began, as well as my enjoyment of yard work. The two are connected.

Tonight from our porch we will see Denver and its many displays in the distance – and my neighbor, a decent guy, will most likely set off a huge show in the sky. We will applaud. I only hope he quits the celebration by midnight. My bedroom window faces his property!

Enjoy your independence and remember those who set the path for it.

Genes run strong in my family!

Yesterday I went to a funeral for a cousin’s wife, a lovely woman. My cousin has six brothers and two sisters. The sisters are easy to distinguish. The brothers? I don’t see them often enough to pinpoint them, though I know they are one of six names.

Through subterfuge I was able to ascertain all of the individuals by name. One cousin is the spitting image of my 93-year old uncle. I just stared and was taken back to my youth – viewing my uncle when I was a younger me. And my uncle and father looked very similar. So then I’m thinking about my father, too. Suddenly, I’m thinking I should organize a family reunion to try and hold on to these people! Of course I could do this! Long distance organization! Easy peasy!

And then I came home and vacuumed. Maybe another day?

It’s the name of the game where you keep the balloon from touching the ground under any circumstances. We play it religiously whenever the eldest grand graces our home. Yesterday, the balloon met its ultimate fate – a pair of scissors to hasten its demise.

It’s actually a great game for hand-eye coordination and neck strengthening, as well as encouragement for breath support when you have to acquire a new balloon. I have found this simple game rather useful in my exercise regime, even though it gets a little tedious. It is often followed by another functional breathing technique – blowing bubbles. This entertaining exertion can last nearly as long as a game of Keepy Uppy. (Rumored to have been played for 20 minutes at a time.)

A flimsy excuse for not hitting the gym at all last week, and yet, not entirely without results! Now I shall attempt my “sit and be fit” moment with a cup of caffeine and make it a memorable Monday.

My hair stylist has been doing my hair for over 20 years. I have followed her many moves and know of her family and her travels. Thus, it always amazes me when she asks me as she revs up the scissors, “Which side do you part your hair on?” I have given her the identical answer for years. “Same as yours.”

We marked a milestone this week. She didn’t ask, and she actually found the correct side! I’m not sure what changed and if this landmark recognition will hold, but I had a chuckle over it.

The next time she asks – I may throw her off course and see what happens? Oh, the little things we do for entertainment.

The only difference in my closet is that the spit-up clothes are hanging up on the side hooks of the closet, not neatly filed on a hanger.

Oh, things are definitely less-spit-up-upon now. Yet there are the days when the baby food remnants from a sneeze after an orange purée of something, the dribbles from a snotty nose, and the loose-fitting bottle lid drips adorn whatever chosen garment protects me.

Small price to pay for the cuteness of those little gems, and I wouldn’t change a thing!

The seven continents have been attained – and it wasn’t even a goal for me. (Playing the guitar was and I have totally given up on that. Silly me! I have a much-less portable instrument. Piano.)

Europe was easy as I made myself a chaperone on a college music trip. (Why would my previous music department go on tour without me? I could easily be a chaperone!) Australia was always a desire, deep in my soul, so I knew that I was going to get there at some point. Back in fifth grade with my Australian pen pal – I remember her name vividly but shan’t reveal it – I knew I would be a traveler. She never wrote back, but I wrote her! What is she doing now? Maybe that should be my adventure? Her initials are CMW.

South America – well, that was also within reach. We are neighbors. Africa – blessed to go a couple of times thanks to business ventures and rewards. Asia? Total fluke. I missed the boat, but I did step foot on Asian soil. Refer to a previous missive.

Antarctica was a dream with “Pindy,” my sister, and we were doing it! Oops! I did get there with Pindy, just a different one! (I love how God works in such mysterious and wonderful ways!)

So when people would ask me, “Where is your favorite place out of all your travels?” My first and only answer was always, “home.” And if I only have one trip left in me, take me home.