daeja's view

Lost Spring

Posted on July 11, 2026 by daeja's view

I had my left hip replaced a few months ago. The necessity arose in a rather sudden way and the surgery took place almost immediately. This is not my first dance with a hip. Twelve years ago the right one was replaced due to a previous New Year’s Eve accident involving a lobster and stupid shoes. No doubt I will get to that tale at another time.

The repair had been successful and recovery fairly easy, so naturally the same expectations held for this time around, especially since there have been surgical improvements over the last number of years. Post surgery you are expected to get up and walk as soon as the anesthesia wears off. If you don’t go home the same day you will probably be discharged on the following one. Even if you are an Old Person, that seems to be the protocol. So it has been rather sobering to find myself in a rather longish and ongoing saga of setbacks, sharp pain, swelling, bruising and immobility which has not abated, and the frustration of dealing with a medical machine geared more about business and less about people.

In the very shortest of explanations, everything that was wrong prior to this surgery (which was not caused by an accident but apparently bone on bone parts wearing out due to arthritis) was successfully repaired, but post op I awoke to a whole new set of problems I did not have before the surgery.

Perhaps expectations were a bit unrealistic, anticipating the same level of total mobility in the span of a few of weeks. In my mind I was already hiking and dancing. Months later I am not able to get around beyond the shortest of distances, with each step hurting much more than it seems it should be. They keep telling me it is “normal” healing but I know what “normal” is and this is not it. It’s been upsetting, scary and exhausting. Months out I am still lurching around like a cross between Frankenstein and a zombie, often accompanied by a string of frustrated expletives.

In the meantime, I lost an entire spring and am on my way to losing the summer too, up until very recently mostly sequestered in the house sleeping, watching videos or parked on The Urban Porch with icepacks. It’s difficult not to feel cranky about it, waffling between complacency and not, depending on where the pain level is on any given day. I’ve dropped the ball; discovering unopened emails days after they had been sent, texts that I wrote but must have not hit “send” to the recipient, forgotten to return phone calls, missed updates on social media. I’ve just not been up on correspondence with my usual zeal and have taken on an “I almost don’t care” attitude about a lot. That also goes for keeping up with this blog. I’m not sure if it has been the heat, a tad of depression or the combinations of medications they have prescribed which are not working but fog the mind, and which I have been loathe to take.

It has been difficult to maintain a mood. One minute I am on the phone chatting with friends or hoping someone will invite me on a brief adventure so I can get out of this house, and in the next moment I just want to be left alone, curled up on my bed under a cozy blanket while watching videos. Today it was of the haka; an emotionally powerful Maori ceremonial dance which is performed at some sporting events – like rugby – as an intimidating challenge, at funerals to signify mourning, to show respect, acknowledgment or a welcome, or to celebrate weddings and graduations. Some of them are so intense and moving that they make me cry. This morning I watched a few different haka videos at sports events and during mourning. While watching, it occurred to me they felt like a visual reflection of my own inner rages and griefs bubbling to the surface. I got it all out. It was very cathartic. Next time I go down that rabbit hole I’ll look up some of the more celebratory ones.

Due to being mostly immobile this spring I was unable to forage for morel mushrooms. Of course it happened to be one of the more bountiful years for morels in our area. Of course! The only positive about that is not getting overly exposed to ticks while out in the woods, which also happen to be prolific this season.

Visits to botanical gardens were out. Going to craft fairs and art shows were out. Gardening in my backyard and around The Urban Porch was impossible and reduced to a few potted plants on the porch. While not a big fan of weeding, it has been frustrating to not be able to get down and pull out a few of the most pesky and invasive intruders.

That goes for mowing the little postage stamp of lawn in front of the porch too. It has always been my “job,” mostly because if I don’t do it, it ends up not getting done for way too long. Despite being told there were “no restrictions,” the first post op attempt to push my small electric mower around that tiny plot of grass was a very big mistake. Forget about dragging around a vacuum. Or standing at the kitchen counter making meals. I’m just starting to get back into some cooking now.

I spent an entire weekend with my kids and grandkids swirling around me while lying on the couch – medicated – with three small dogs and an elevated leg draped in ice packs.

Next was the need to get out and do some shopping, getting out of the car with the cane until I could grab a shopping cart to use as a walker. Don’t get me started on how many times I’ve seen the handicapped spaces taken by people without tags or handicapped plates. Last week while it was raining I saw a young couple in an expensive vehicle take the handicapped space closest to the store, leap out of their car and run inside the supermarket together. While you never know what someone’s story is, they did not have any tags on it indicating they needed the space – it appears they just didn’t want to get wet, at someone else’s expense.

It’s been an interesting observation that all of a sudden I am noticing so many people getting around with canes and walkers. Has it always been that way or has my awareness just shifted towards it? This past week an elderly man with a cane fell right in front of me and landed hard on the sidewalk in front of the supermarket doors (luckily others quickly swooped in to pick him up – it would have been a real balancing act if I had attempted to). A few minutes afterwards, a very hunched over older man with a rollator exited the store and shuffled his way slowly further down the parking lot to his car, while the space nearest the door was occupied by a Mercedes with no handicapped tags. The woman in the car finished her phone call and then hopped out of the car with great agility, dashing into the supermarket. The sense of entitlement has me shaking my head. Where are the handicap police when you need them?

Up until now it has been a number of my other friends who have had trouble ambulating – three of them, actually; one with a knee in need of replacement, one a bad ankle, the other with serious balance issues. Now it’s me. I’m frustrated and honestly, kind of angry in both targeted and vague ways. It isn’t supposed to be like this. How can this be? We were young just yesterday, and now we are our grandparents, complaining and comparing our boring, depressing aches and pains.

As spring moved forward and the solstice has marked summertime, I have depended on the small observations from The Urban Porch to keep me going. While the porch itself continues to disintegrate, there have been some decorative changes. The old shredded rug, faded out pillows and broken chairs were replaced, giving the place a bit of a faux facelift and feeling a tad more upbeat. The mosquitos have yet to arrive in full force. Since I’ve been essentially planted here, I will share my (hopefully temporary) smallish world.

I hobbled out to look at the milkweed, which has invited a parade of different life.

At first I was excited to find these festive little polka dot bugs on the leaves.

Until discovering (the horror!) that they are Spotted Lanternfly nymphs. Interesting that something so attractive can be so destructive. My neighbors have a Tree of Heaven (Ailanthus altissima – also an invasive species and the preferred food of the invasive Lanternfly) growing on the other side of our fence which is crawling with nymphs. I plan to cut it down when I can get it together to do so – hopefully this weekend.

Within a few days the nymphs were at least gone from the milkweed (they must have found the Ailanthus) and the milkweed leaves were taken over by ants. Suspecting the ants might have been eating the nymphs, I looked that up and it appears that does happen.

For a while the leaves were host to a number of tiny golden flies.

At least one butterfly pupa

and some lady bug larva that mimic miniature monsters.

A brave and friendly catbird occupied the yard for about a week. I’m guessing it was an older fledgling, very inquisitive and seemingly without fear as it visited the porch daily.

I was sorry when it left to seek other horizons. My suspicions are that the bully House Sparrows discouraged it from hanging around. For some reason the House Sparrows prefer to drink the run-off water from the saucer beneath the potted geranium more than actually using the bird bath. The bird bath is lovely so I just don’t get it.

During the hottest of days a squirrel was splooting to cool off under a stack of old chairs out back. Rudi discovered it lying there with eyes closed, but it soon noticed us and quickly vacated.

Whoever it is continues to leave black walnut shells up on the front porch. They must enjoy dining there in the safety and shade, along with digging up some of the potted plants to hide peanuts they will never remember.

Small rituals geared towards nourishment have included making green drinks with spinach, kale, any available fruits, berries and oat milk.

Or refreshing cucumber/lime juice over ice. Am I healthy yet?

There was an egg larger than all the rest in the weekly dozen that turned out to be twins.

Clouds of summer build with billowing beauty and never disappoint.

Catalysts for daydreams.

When I have managed to get off the porch and out into the world – which has become more frequent over the last week or two – it has been necessary to be somewhat medicated in order to take the edge off and ambulate easier. Given that, I am not sure if some of the amusing things I’ve encountered while out are really that funny, or is it just me?

My neighbor asked me to check on something in her apartment that she forgot. When I went inside, her dog was staring at me (without moving a muscle as I walked in and then let myself out) while perched like a princess on top of a pillow left on the coffee table. For some reason I found this rather entertaining. This is the same naughty dog that stole and ate a holiday panettone off a table last December (and got very sick).

At a 50th wedding anniversary party for friends last week this was the cake. I don’t think there is any significance to the design, beyond saying “50” on the top, but it’s definitely art and I would have found it weirdly cool even if I had not been medicated at the moment. In an odd way I relate, drowning in chocolate.

While helping a friend look for lighting, this monkey lamp called to me from the back of a thrift shop, which I urged him to purchase for his new apartment. It even has a little monkey-head finial at the top.

It was a welcome break to take a short road trip to a yarn store with my knitter sister-in-law and spend a few moments immersed in the joy of wooly eye-candy,

which mimicked the jewel-toned semi-precious stones in the bracelets I happened to be wearing that same day, eliciting about the same level of admiration.

A number of volunteer sunflowers replanted themselves in the front yard on either edge of sidewalk, creating a towering portal to pass through. Here is the first one to open. This morning a woman walking two small dogs stopped to photograph it.

Raindrops glisten atop the warm glow of a daylily below the porch railing.

Off my daughter’s porch, soul-soothing, gentle spotted fawns rest beneath the dappled shade of hydrangeas

and clouds reflect across the lake behind the upstate family home of my son-in-law. These healing scenes elicit sighs, drinking in all the beauty and a practice in being still.

While navigating this lost spring and the beginning of what I hope will not continue to be a lost summer, ice cream with Dutch chocolate sprinkles has proven to be a necessary form of sedation. I had this variety stashed in the freezer poised and ready for post-op indulgence.

Back to the clouds; the opportunity was seized to be out and about with a my friend H yesterday for a local art exhibit and a Thai lunch. On the way home the building formations of July’s clouds echoed how one might imagine heaven. We were talking about Maine, which got me to sharing a memory of driving to Maine with my friend K a number of years ago and seeing cloud iridescence above the highway, a phenomenon where clouds appear to have rainbow-colored edges. I recall that the camera was unable to adequately capture the images.

Upon arriving home I grabbed my cane and took little Rudi out for a walk – which ended up being less walking and more about me standing there looking up at the sky, probably with my mouth open in admiration, while he sniffed around on the ground. How strange (or not) that I should be telling someone about it after all these years and suddenly there was a rainbow-edged cloud! Just as last time, the camera did not quite capture how lovely it was. You will have to just believe me.

So I’m working it. Physical Therapy is being religiously performed with much gusto. The idea is to get past this and stroll along the beach with my family in a few weeks. I’m stubborn and annoyed enough that hopefully those feelings will propel me forward. A fancy new cane (to add to the old one from twelve years ago) has been purchased with a determined plan to put the lost spring behind me and walk into summer.

~*~

Posted in Aging, Are you kidding me?, Coping, disability, disability accommodations, Friends, Gardening, nature, Perspective, Photography, Rant, Seasons, senior musings, Spring, summer, The Urban Porch, The Urban Porch ™, Uncategorized, Vent, Views From he Urban Porch ™, Wildlife | Tagged beautiful clouds, catharsis, cloud iridescence, clouds, everything seems funny, getting out of the house, green drinks, haka catharsis, handicap parking spaces, hip pain, hip pain after surgery, immobile, invasive species in the garden, life, lost spring, lost summer, my post op rage, porch facelift, post op complications, recovering from hip replacement, setbacks in recovery, sky, spotted lanternflies, THR, total hip replacement, trouble walking after hip replacement | Leave a comment

I Give You Flowers

Posted on June 2, 2026 by daeja's view

This year there has not been and will continue not be any new gardening happening around The Urban Porch. Maybe a few pots of plants on the actual porch, but nothing going on in the yard. There is no weeding going on either. Whatever is established, those perennials are going to be doing their own thing without aid or enhancement. I am letting it go and going with it. Honestly, lately I’ve been a little bit fried not only physically, but in the decision-making department.

Because of some waffling spring weather and a late frost, some of the usuals have not been as abundant, but most have made a return and still provide pleasurable contemplation. After the previous post I’ve needed to catch my breath, rise up from the deep and go on sort of an appreciation autopilot – just falling into the detail and beauty of blooms here and there, feeling it but not thinking about it. So for this post it’s mostly photos – I invite whoever to come along and get lost into them, either mindfully or mindlessly – flowers, up close and personal.

This salmon Dogwood is finished now. Every time I have walked past it I can’t help but stop to inspect it up close. The petals are always a little bit ragged, part of the appeal – kind of a boho chic dogwood.

The creamy delight of the Peony! Yes, that’s singular – so far only one Peony – but what a Peony it is, with accompanying ant! There may be two more if they don’t get wiped out by any future rain. Extremely fragrant, even for one. Isn’t it beautiful?

The Siberian Irises are almost finished. I am so drawn to them, enjoying royal purple superimposed against the weathered fence.

They make a strong presence growing along my neighbor’s white picket fence too. Throughout the seasons it is always a joy to stroll the sidewalk past their house.

This year the Milkweed has made significant spread. I gave away many Milkweed seed pods last year to provide for the Monarch butterflies. They are just starting to bud now.

It is a poor showing for the Baptisia this June. Choked by weeds and not as high as usual, I am still able to admire the beauty of a raceme.

There is only one yellow Iris! Celebrate the one!

And here’s a white Iris, which seems to have been relocated to another part of the garden bed, most likely courtesy of the squirrels.

The lilacs were missed this year because I could not get down the street where they grow to enjoy them – why that happened is perhaps for another post. But I managed to catch the very last pieces of blooms hanging on just north of here, right before they finished – still good for a few heavenly inhales. Even in their decay they were lovely.

There are candy-pops of Spirea filled with bees. The odd spring did not seem to affect its growth at all.

The sunny Primroses have become rather invasive. As a matter of fact they have choked out my stash of mint and crowded the Baptisia and Comfrey. Maybe next year they will be pulled out, but for this season they are free to be.

There were a lot less Poppies than usual, yet still a treat that lured passers-by.

Following their completion, leggy tangles of Spiderwort have taken over the poppy patch. They will probably get mowed down when I get around to it. But for now their tiny fuchsia colors are eye-catching.

Salvia creates spikes of texture which attracts the bumble bees.

Lamb’s Ear is poking up next to the Salvia. They tend to show up in different areas of the yard every year and make purplish-mauve spikes.

Another that has spread around the porch is Eastern Bluestar. If I was more driven I would dig some up to give away. As mentioned, no ambition, just drifting.

In the shade behind the house, attractive textures. I’ll wrap up this post by sharing some foliage residing in the cooler shadows. We are overrun with Ferns.

The surfaces and structure in these Hostas leaves always draw me. It is the natural waxy coating on the leaves that gives them those ocean blue-green hues.

And finally, Solomon’s Seal, which has also spread around the borders. The droplets of flowers are finished but the striped leaves glow in the shade.

Sometimes it is nice to float around and not have to think too much, to find yourself immersed in the depths of petals, stamens and stems. That’s all I’ve got for today. From my messy, rampant garden, I give you flowers.

~*~

Posted in Aging, Daeja's Garden, Gardening, nature, Perspective, Photography, Seasons, senior musings, Spring, summer, The Urban Porch, The Urban Porch ™, treasures, Uncategorized, Views From he Urban Porch ™ | Tagged flower gazing, Flowers, garden, garden gone to weeds, Gardening, getting lost in flowers, in the depths of flowers, just flowers, nature, perennials doing their thing., plants, Texture, too tired to garden, unkempt perennials, untended garden, weedy garden | 2 Comments

Petey Bucca

Posted on May 28, 2026 by daeja's view

The release of over fifteen hundred beagles – with more to come – from a biomedical research and testing lab has been flooding the news lately. As they are removed from their hellish existence and dispersed throughout the country by various rescue groups, one video after another has been showing these gentle souls tentatively making their way out of a cage to feel the grass beneath their paws for the first time in their lives, to sniff fresh air and to finally feel compassionate touch. It has been deeply moving.

Seeing these videos has aggravated an old wound that has never quite healed. For a long time I have wanted to write about it but have never known where to begin. Seeing the rescue beagles has opened this cage for me.

During one of those random conversations I used to have with my dad long ago, he once shared /joked that after having a couple of daughters in a row, if the next child was yet another girl he was going to go out and buy a male beagle. However, the next child happened to be a boy after all, negating the necessity; thus our household remained sans beagle. Luckily our brother Pete was a good kid, although a bonus beagle would have been nice too.

My mother’s dog story was not as happy. Over the years she would occasionally mention a dog named “Frenchy” she briefly had as a little girl. One day when she came home from school she found Frenchy was gone – her mother had given Frenchy away. No doubt there was a good cause – probably allergies, perhaps expense, possibly the inconvenience of keeping a dog in a very small fifth floor walk-up tenement apartment. Whatever the reason was, her beloved dog was unexpectedly given to some unknown person or place. Over her lifetime, as a child, as a mother, as a grandmother – whenever a conversation would lead to discussing dogs, my mother would well up with tears for the painful loss of Frenchy.

In a strange way, these dog references from my parents present as a convoluted intersection in my own dog story.

To begin, I have always very much been Team Dog, so working with and caring for dogs in my late teens and early twenties was a logical direction. It was during my employment at a veterinary hospital where I met a coworker whose dog had a litter of five puppies that would soon be needing homes. Sometimes there is a point where you suddenly feel the need to have a dog in your life – I know it is that way for me. I had reached that threshold and let him know I was interested in taking one of the puppies once they were ready to be weaned (and maybe I was a little bit interested in him too. But that is another story).

When they were old enough to leave their mother, he gave one to a good friend and another to that good friend’s aunt. He traded the third one for an entire car trunk-load of clay pipes with monkey faces on them, which he gave out to almost everybody he knew. The puppy I really wanted was a beautiful gray female he had called “Lady.” Needless to say, I was beyond upset to discover he actually traded that dog away to some guy for an undisclosed amount of windowpane LSD. Finally there was one left, which I was sure would be my puppy, only to find out he gave him away to a former girlfriend.

On many levels I was (way more than) annoyed, but decided the hell with him, I didn’t need one of his puppies and was clearly was not meant to have one, which sent me on a mission to the local humane society to find the dog destined to be in my life. There was no need to look around, as the very first cage I saw held the one I instantly knew was mine – a young male beagle. I can’t imagine why he was surrendered. He even came with papers which said he was born in Osceola, Missouri on April 30th – probably from a puppy mill. This poor little guy was then shipped off to a pet store and onward to someone’s home. For some reason the new owners decided they couldn’t keep him and brought him to the shelter. It was my lucky day.

Now he was mine. It cost only twenty dollars to adopt him back then. It seemed we were meant to be. I named him “Petey” partially because of my father’s story, but also I was a fan of the dog named Petey in a childhood TV show called The Little Rascals. Although they are nothing alike, here is Petey from The Little Rascals, just for reference.

Here is the first picture I have of Petey. None of the photos of him are very clear, as this was back in the 1970’s, taken with my poor excuse for a camera. Also in most of these photos other identifying details have been cropped out, as there is no need for that here. Petey was pretty young – his ears were still black and he had a mouth full of puppy teeth.

My Petey had shorter legs than other beagles I was accustomed to seeing. His paws were very round and compact and smelled like popcorn. I loved the black patches on either side of his face in front of his ears. When his ears eventually changed from black to brown, the dark patches remained. He also had a narrow finger of white on the back of his neck that looked a little bit like a tiny bolt of lightening. No matter what you fed him, he would generate incredibly smelly farts. Among my small circle of friends he became famous for his intensely bad smelling gas.

The period right before and throughout the time Petey was in my life was one of many painful transitions, upheavals, abandonments and deep losses. My immediate family was living three thousand miles away and were going through some complicated changes and dynamics. I had moved five times, ended a relationship that was sadly going nowhere and started one that was tumultuous and probably (definitely) a little dangerous and unwise. Petey was my constant through some very lonely, rocky and evolutionary segments of growth and discovery. At times it felt like that little dog was the only thing keeping me together at all.

For a while it was just the two of us living up a dirt road in a little red cottage on a hilltop, overlooking a body of water, surrounded by the woods and a small field filled with clover and fireflies.

He was such a good-natured boy and never had an issue with other animals – playing with dogs of all sizes, running as fast as he could after long-legged dogs on his short little legs, all the time letting out throaty beagle-barks.

He easily accepted any visitors or houseguests. He did not chase cats, although he would go off looking for rabbits, as was true to his beagle nature.

Petey was a greeter – first to say hello with a friendly, wagging tale. The same way cats will purr when they are happy, when he was deeply content he would make a percolating noise that sounded like “bucka-bucka-bucka”. Because of that I began calling him “Petey Bucca” (which I spelled with two C’s, I don’t know why). Petey Bucca. My Bucca-boy.

For a short while I also had a couple of kittens in the house. He especially got along with the one called Bogart.

In front of the cottage was a small open field where Petey loved to run. His favorite game was to grab a deflated football and hold on so tightly that you could swing him around, lifting him right off the ground, and he would not let go. As he ran around the property, his full baying hound-voice would carry on the wind.

When I called him he would run at me full force and leap up into my arms. He was a shiny, healthy, compact twenty-five pounds of muscle when full grown.

We spent so many days just hanging out on the property, enjoying each other’s company, Petey Bucca and I. Here he is, basking in the early spring sun, making his “bucca bucca bucca” sounds.

He slept by my side

and always kept close by. During the hardest of times I felt more brave and less alone because he was there with me. I would say without a doubt that he was my closest friend.

Petey actually had the opportunity to meet his namesake, my little brother, when he came to visit one year. They got along so well.

He never growled at anyone, was well trained, always came when he was called and knew a number of tricks. His signature trick was standing on his hind legs and twirling around for a treat or attention if you said “Petey-go-round!” Friends who came to visit would always ask Petey to “go round“, which he enthusiastically obliged.

Basically everybody loved Petey. When I took him out to visit my mother in Los Angeles she even let him up on her living room couch. If you knew my mom, you would appreciate what a big deal that was. He traveled well, whether it was across the country on a plane or just accompanying me to work every day at the animal hospital. There was a big fenced in yard behind the runs where he would hang out with the other employee’s dogs, a pack of friends. When the day was done he would ride home with me, lying across my lap as we headed north, keeping his head low to avoid the Volkswagen steering wheel. As we got in view of the distant mountains he would somehow suddenly sense we were close – his head popping up, then leaping into the passenger seat with excitement so he could look out the window.

What I am trying to impart is that this little dog was my heart.

With the advent of a new relationship, Petey and I eventually moved from the cottage into a house further north, which sat in front of two hundred and fifty rural acres. There were fields in back and views of the dairy farm across the main road. It was a busy place, with at least six people living there and a social scene that often had many others coming and going. Petey got along with every person, while keeping a healthy, respectful distance from a couple of cats there that ruled the house.

All were in agreement about how sweet and gentle he was, despite his reputation for letting off some wicked gas (sometimes enough to instigate a mass clearing of the area) while sitting on a lap or hanging out in the midst of wherever people were gathering. He joined us on hikes through the back property, taking off for a little while as beagles are wont to do. You could hear him baying in the fields as he chased whatever scent he found, and then always returned, bounding through the grasses towards us with joy. He still accompanied me to work every single day – the routine was that I would take Petey out for a brief walk first thing in the morning and then he would wait inside the house while I made my lunch and got my things together, until it was time for us to jump into the car for the ride to the animal hospital.

Because of this, it was immediately apparent that something was terribly wrong when I got ready to leave for work one morning and Petey Bucca was not waiting in the living room by the front door. Where was he? There was a sudden, inexplicable and instant feeling of knowing dread.

One of the guys who lived there told me he had let Petey out the door. “WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT? You KNOW he comes with me to work every morning!” With kind of a clueless look on his face he said “He wanted to go out so I let him out.” And that was it.

The thing was, Petey ALWAYS came when he was called. Yet there was no response. It had not been that long since he was let out the door. I called and yelled for him until I was hoarse, with a growing sense of panic; walked up and down the property, out to the road, into the neighbors yard. Other people in the house also joined in. Then I had to leave for work, but people were still home and assured me they would call me when he returned, after most likely having caught a scent of a deer or rabbit and would surely be back.

But he didn’t come back. I searched. We searched. I put up posters, called the local dog pound, called the highway department and veterinary offices to see if he had been hit by a car or found on the road. He had a collar and ID. I walked along the road and looked in ditches. I put ads in the local paper, which was not much of a paper. This was in the 1970’s. There was no internet, no cell phones, no social media to help. He had vanished without a trace.

Had he been stolen? Had he been shot, or trapped, or hit by a car? Could someone have sold him to a research lab? Was anyone hurting him? I was heartsick, anguished, my mind spiraling in terrible directions and possibilities. And furious, almost hateful towards this oblivious, unthinking idiot who….why, why, WHY??? for the first time ever, had let my dog out the door in the morning.

When I replay it all in my head, I torture myself. Did I do enough? Could I have done more? What else could have been done to find him? Any time a beagle was seen loose somewhere I went to see if it was him, but it never was. One night a few friends called me to say a beagle had shown up at their house miles away. I immediately drove out there to discover them all standing around in the dark chanting “Petey-go-round” to see if this strange dog would go round, indicating it was him. This dog did not go round. It wasn’t Petey Bucca and I knew before I even got there that it wouldn’t be.

What happened to my beautiful boy? I was devastated, and as you can see, I have never gotten over losing him.

It is impossible for me to articulate the level of grief, how broken I was. While it is not a human being, it is still a being. Those who have lost their beloved animals and are in pain over it often understand it is not “just a pet” but “family.” Not knowing what happened to him made it so much worse. He was trusting and so filled with unconditional love.

Was he alive somewhere? Was he hurt? Did somebody hurt him? I wondered if my housemates actually knew what had happened to him and just weren’t telling me, perhaps trying to spare me from some awful truth. I wanted and needed the truth. Years later, actually days before one of those old friends unexpectedly passed away, I asked him if he really had known about what happened to Petey. He told me he honestly never did, although he always surmised the dog might have been flushing out deer and subsequently been shot by one of our redneck neighbors. Recently I saw another old friend and former housemate from our time back then and asked him if he knew what really happened. He also assured me that he didn’t, but shared that he always thought the dog had been stolen because he was so friendly and so incredibly cute. He also made mention that Petey had the worst farts ever. A defining trait he would ever be renowned for.

Time moved on. I got used to it but never got over it. After twenty-five years had passed and there was absolutely no chance that dog could have been alive anymore, I was still searching for him in every beagle I saw. I deeply understand why the memory of Frenchy could still bring tears to my mother’s eyes.

It has been over fifty years now since Petey Bucca disappeared. Fifty years. Half a century. Although I’ve never brought it up, I’ve also never been able to forgive the guy who let him out the door. Repeatedly, for years I would have dreams about looking for Petey, endless searching, always hoping to find him, always failing. Over and over I would find my way back to the cottage we had shared, beneath a gray sky heavy with fog, the cottage abandoned and cold – the door unlatched and partially open, entering the dusty rooms filled with cobwebs……and he would not be there. Then I would wake up with tears on my face. This went on for decades, this recurrent dream with slight variations, accompanied by a feeling of loss and a deep ache tangled up in so many other things I could never begin to explain.

Then one night, the same dream as usual; searching, up the hill, back to the cottage. And suddenly there he was, my boy.

Weeping with happiness to find him at last, he was wriggling with excitement to see me again, his eyes shining as he leaped into my arms. Bucca bucca bucca. It had finally happened, we found each other, we were together again. If only a dream, it was as real as real could be. Closure. After our reunion, I have not had those dreams since.

I am crying as I write this.

Petey’s picture graces the desktop of my computer. His photos are in my phone, in my computer files, pasted into old photo albums and framed on a table in the living room along with some of my other beloved dogs. There used to be a faded, battered snapshot in my wallet. I even have a couple of his puppy teeth and an old ID tag (calling him P.D. Bucca – I thought I was being cute) from our prior residence.

The truth is that the time period Petey was with me was not very long. He is one of a handful of treasured dogs I have shared life with, most of them for many years longer than Petey Bucca, but our time together had tremendous impact. Every one of my dogs has been a unique companion with a distinctive personality. Each dog has walked a life path by my side, fraught with challenges and wild emotional terrain, as well as moments of pure happiness, adventure and wonder. Every single one has been special. One and all have been and still are greatly loved. I could not choose between them any more than a mother could choose between her children.

This is a very long post and clearly it is written for me more than anyone else. Perhaps it borders on the maudlin, but this is how it was, and is. Petey deserved to be remembered. It was long overdue, but until now I just couldn’t.

Many times I have seen the quote “Heaven is a place where all the dogs you’ve ever loved come to greet you.” I so much want to believe that. If this were true, what bliss it would be to find Petey Bucca waiting for me among them.

As the rescued laboratory beagles have been dispersed among different organizations, shelters and fosters in this country before going to the Forever Homes they deserve, I recently read that a few of them have ended up in the very same SPCA shelter where Petey was adopted from all those years ago. I admit I have had fantasies of going there with the intention of bringing one of them into my home and life. In this fantasy, it is a male beagle with dark patches in front of his ears and a little white snippet of a lightening bolt on the back of his neck. I know I am not in a position or adequately situated at this time in my life to take on the challenges of what one of these precious souls need in order to help to move into a new, safe, pain-free future. Also, I have Rudi the chihuahua/papillon, a little old man of about thirteen years now, who would definitely be upset about having his life upended by a larger, younger and needier dog. But I can’t help but get a lump in my throat every time I see another video of these rescued beagles, or the ones still waiting to be saved. Or any beagle, actually.

Finally, while digging out all this Petey memorabilia and after I had finished typing all of the above, I found something I had written in a journal a few months after he had disappeared. It is pretty much redundant, as it mirrors what I have already shared, but also interesting (to me) that similar phrases were used back then that remain in my mind about him now. It’s not particularly well written, but I’m adding it in order to keep all my “Petey stuff” together. This is how it was fifty years ago as a young woman living alone in the woods and then navigating a loss, and here I am now, an old woman, navigating again. Just as finally finding him in the dream provided some closure, perhaps writing this here is the last part that needed to happen.

“Gray and moist air, forest heavy and dripping, wooded smokey clean-scented. I stand outside my barnwood womb, bare feet on muddied steps. I hear joyous hound-cries echo above and around me. He chases his dreams, a rabbit, a deer, a mystery scent, the sounds of freedom bursting from his lungs. And then I call and wait. Crackling brush and wet moss fur, bounding, spinning, propeller tail says hello and he slips inside our red hideout and fills his belly. And curls up next to me so small to make a warm spot as I sew or read or dream. Little one, I tried to keep things right, you came to me, I loved you so, eyes and coat glowing, well muscled and mannered, I planned this way forever us, the woods, the freedom, and they took you away. Someone stole you from me. And I loved you Petey Bucca, my hound, my boy, my friend.“

~*~

*For Petey Bucca and all the beagles – or anyone who has ever loved a dog.*

Posted in Aging, Animal Stories, Coping, Dogs, Flashback, grief, Memories, Perspective, Regrets, senior musings, Uncategorized | Tagged beagle, beagle rescue, beloved dog, brother dog, closure, coming of age, companion dog, dog farts, dogs, dogs in heaven, dreaming of my dog, grief, life, loss, lost dog, love, love of a beagle, missing dog, my best friend, never got over it, of love and loss, Petey, stolen dog, the sweetest dog, trauma | Leave a comment

What I Was Going To Share

Posted on May 5, 2026 by daeja's view

What I was going to share before I got waylaid was the early buds of the cherry tree that I admire from The Urban Porch.

I was going to share in the annual thrill of cotton candy glory. It was brief – a frost turned them to brown almost immediately.

I never even got to spend time amidst the magnolias. I wanted to share the clump of violets by my front path.

and Muscari running rampant beneath the maple tree.

The usual rando tulip.

But they are faded and gone now.

The days had been gorgeous. Sitting out on the porch with Little Rudi provided entertainment and wonder. I don’t know why Turkey Vultures keep popping up into my view, but after seeing a migrating flock of them a few weeks ago, they have returned. There was one high above, slowly wheeling around in the sky. I observed in sort of a lazy meditative zone-out as it went around….around….

A second suddenly dropped in from overhead and the two began to circle each other in dance. I’m sorry they are out of focus.

Then another, also dropping in from atop, created a swirling threesome.

And then they were all there, rotating like witches stirring brew, until they moved off on a thermal, out of view.

A day later I found a battered primary wing feather on my front lawn.

And the following day yet another on the porch steps. I wonder if they know you are watching them the same way the crows do.

After that I kept seeing Turkey Vultures everywhere, even when nowhere near home. They were either sailing high in the sky above the highway or standing on the side of the road in macabre silhouette, waiting for cars to pass so they could retrieve some roadkill. I guess this is The Season of the Turkey Vulture (Cathartes aura, aka buzzard or carrion crow). I looked up some spiritual meanings, which point to Transformation. Well in a weird way there is some of that going on, but right now what is happening (as usual) is the beginning of an earworm:

All along the mountains of the moon
Hi ho the carrion crow, fol de rol de de riddle
Hi ho the carrion crow, bow and bend to me

There was a daytime crescent moon above when all this was happening.

Since then the moon has already moved past full, a full Flower Moon. I usually stand out in the dark and attempt to take a photo of the full moon every month – a futile attempt as my camera never does it justice and I end up with blurry blobs. But this month I was indisposed.

Moving into the “now,” a squirrel has left remnants of its meal on the porch stairs

with more left balanced on the railing.

We are in full spring swing, despite some unpredictable weather. This year my extended family is not keeping bees but instead raising a small flock of Pekin ducks, which have been quite entertaining – and messy. I get the duck report daily.

Without even leaving the porch, the gorgeous Dogwood flowers can be admired from the new faux wicker chair upon which I am planted. Being planted in this chair might be most of the planting that will occur here this spring.

A cheery pop of Ground Phlox spreads along the front steps in welcome.

The Lily of the Valley has opened, emitting wafts of perfume.

I was going to share how just a week ago I was lazily basking in the afternoon light on The Urban Porch, admiring the way the sun lit up the different stones in my bracelets, noticing how those colors reflected the embroidery in my shirt – small details which felt so pleasing and peaceful.

But I never got around to sitting down to write it. Here we are (dog and I) in the early morning chill yesterday, out on the porch waiting to receive a couple of dozen eggs from the local women I usually buy eggs from. With a walker, in case you missed that.

I have some things to say about this event, but would like to let the dust settle and put a little distance out from it. In the meantime, Rudi and I are hanging out on the bed upstairs, window wide open in the late afternoon, a delicious and somewhat sweet breeze drifting across us. Newly opened Japanese Maple leaves display various crimson shades beneath the dappled sunlight, swaying lazily back and forth in the wind.

Maybe in a day or two (or more) I will be back to share further thoughts and adventures.

~*~

*Mountains of the Moon – by Robert Hunter & Jerry Garcia/Grateful Dead, Aoxomoxoa 1969

Posted in Aging, Birds, Coping, Daeja's Garden, Earworm of the day, nature, Perspective, Seasons, senior musings, Spring, The Urban Porch, The Urban Porch ™, treasures, Uncategorized, Views From he Urban Porch ™, Wildlife | Tagged Birds, change of plans, dogwood, dropped feathers, Earworm of the day, flowers of april, messy squirrel, mountains of the moon, nature, Pekin ducks, spring breezes, Turkey Vultures, walkers and rollators | Leave a comment

Return to The Urban Porch

Posted on April 14, 2026 by daeja's view

It’s been a couple of weeks since my last post and I’m filled with all sorts of random observations that I feel compelled to put down, so I’ll be jumping around a bit here and adding an eclectic mish-mash of photos and thoughts occurring over those days.

Today is my first serious return to The Urban Porch. After a rough winter, the flaking paint and rotting spindles reflect a pathetic state of further decay – a stark contrast to the new porch chair upon which I currently sit on this breezy April morning. The old wicker chairs, somewhat mimicking the porch structure in their deterioration, were seriously disintegrating.

Yesterday those chairs were replaced with some weather-resistant “mock-wicker,” which hopefully will hold up well under exposure to the westerly winds and rain, and the relentlessly strong afternoon sun. While placing new chairs on a rotting porch might be much like putting lipstick on a pig, it’s definitely an improvement. I put the old, crumbling chairs out on the curb, where they lasted about five minutes before a woman came running over and asked if she could take them. I pointed out that they were in pretty bad shape, but sure, please use them if you can. She said they were in better shape than what they have now. So my old wicker chairs moved almost directly across the street onto a different porch, where I can actually see them from where I sit. How funny that from a distance they actually look pretty good. I can’t help but smile about the contrast – their fresh and lovely porch which has been recently restored containing crappy furniture on it and my crappy porch with new chairs….

Backtracking a little now – March spit some snow here and there. This white tailed doe in the yard stood catching what will hopefully be the last of the snowflakes for a while. She will be losing her winter coat soon.

March mostly went out like the proverbial lamb. To illustrate that, the neighbors with the Fence Dinosaur (for those who follow) took off its lion costume and added a fleecy lamb’s hat.

Hungry bears have come out of hibernation. This one strolled up the walkway and practically to my daughter’s front door, then cruised closely past their front room windows before ambling off into the woods.

In the flora department, crocuses that arrived first are mostly finished already.

One tiny clump of Snowdrops out back came and went.

The ever-early Hellebore made an appearance

and the scilla began peeping through the leaf mulch all over the yard.

Daffodils are leaving small pops of sun around the front of the house, but there are very few, despite having planted more bulbs last fall (an ode to my mother). Over the years I must have planted hundreds. Perhaps the tough winter had something to do with the sparse showing.

The Crow Tree is in sad shape, having lost its pinnacles. The hawks, starlings and crows have not yet returned there, although I expect some might. Despite the deterioration and damage, it will most likely leaf out again as it does every year – if it doesn’t fall. How many years have I been writing that this tree is due to fall any day? Or not.

A kettle of Turkey Vultures whirl and rotate against the early evening sky. There are about twenty I caught in this photo but there were many more than that. At first I thought they might have found a significant edible cache, but they were merely migrating as they rode the thermals above and across the neighborhood, over the house and out of sight.

Although I tend to elude social gatherings that are larger than one or two people (hearing in a crowd is beyond difficult), human contact happened in March despite my penchant for avoidance. I attended an Alice in Wonderland Tea Party bridal shower that was filled with so many small and lovely touches,

with cookies and sweets galore.

We dressed up in theme – some of us more than others.

There was also a No Kings rally happening around the corner, one of many nationwide (and worldwide) gatherings and marches in response to the insanity in our current government. It was a calm and respectful event.

So many concerned neighbors from in and beyond the community were there; some I expected to see and others were a surprise.

And that’s about all I could handle before my social battery ran down. I’m really best with one-on-one interactions.

In more quiet pursuits, the painstakingly slow purge of stuff from this house continues. I gave away all the different editions of Candy Land games that had amassed over the years to a teacher at an elementary school. Someone came for my Ouija board (my kids did not want it….I still can’t believe it!) All this STUFF. So much STUFF!!! Some things that went out the door recently, just to give you an idea: An office chair. A box of Tempera paints. Four pairs of jeans I hoped to someday fit in again (ha!). China plates with a rose design on them. Some jewelry that I made long ago. Throw pillows. Sewing and stencil patterns. Rain boots. Fabric softener. Metal holiday gift tins. Books. A music stand. Plant cuttings. Coloring books. An assortment of cool hippie-type clothes with a myriad of memories attached to them (that was a little difficult). Styrofoam heads for holding hats or wigs (a theater company took them). The most amazing part is that it has only made the tiniest dent into it, but it is fascinating and strange to see a it go out the door in small pieces instead of all at once, like watching your life roll out in slow motion rather than flash before your eyes. Well, I keep chipping away.

One of the biggest ongoing challenges is to keep from acquiring more cool stuff while getting rid of things. I have a neighbor who loves to browse through antique and thrift stores and has a skillful knack for finding wonderful things. Every time we go out together it’s both fun and a struggle.

A few weeks ago while dropping off some clothing at a second hand store I spied a number of beautiful painted plates from Russia depicting the story of The Firebird.

My first reaction was “I have to have these”. I actually picked a few of them up and walked around the aisles with them, only to put them down while saying (aloud, to myself!) “What are you doing???” Then picking them up and walking around with them again, before finally replacing them on the shelf and wrenching myself out of the store. I don’t need anything and certainly don’t need any more decorative plates – but I so love beautiful and unique things. Had these pictures been painted on a lacquer box I probably would have caved and bought them (although I don’t need any more boxes either).

And no, I do not need that great leather jacket I found with stars all over the back. I put it on. I took it off. I put it on again and took it off. I already own a great leather jacket with fringe. But stars! But I don’t go anywhere to even wear this. But stars! But NO! If I was maybe thirty years old I might have bought that jacket and worn it a lot. But not now. These days it would just live in my closet and probably never see the light of day. I am proud of myself for walking out of there without it. Progress.

The star jacket was not in the thrift store (another reason it didn’t come home with me) but in a boutique in northern California, having returned for my annual “coming home even though it’s not exactly home” trip. As for travel (here comes the senior thing) it’s just getting a bit more difficult (as in “discomfort”) every year. I did meet a nice woman while waiting at the airport gate during one of my connections. We chatted about hip replacements (me) vs. knee replacements (her). More senior moments. I dream of First Class. I’ll even take Business Class. Maybe in another life.

For the annual return the weather was perfect.

We headed north.

Sisters reunited for just a little while.

Of course the annual bi-coastal barrage of flowers (and other delights) need to be shared because they always leave me a little gaga. Once again I was able to enjoy an earlier spring with some different flora on one coast before returning to the other.

Succulents gone wild:

Jasmine so ecstatically fragrant that I crushed a few blossoms and carried them around to intermittently inhale.

Bird of Paradise growing in people’s front yards.

Ice plants and sea fig (Carpobrotus edulis and chilensis) blanketing the bluffs of Bodega Head along the coast.

Pride of Madiera, a personal favorite, also grows nearby. They lean from dusky purples to deeper blues.

Small fruits were just starting out on the potted lime tree on my family’s back porch.

A visit to a lovely botanical garden (Filoli) had beds filled with the warm glow of Ranunculus

and Azaleas, tucked among the trees, bordering shadowed walls.

Camellias, lots of Camellias

framing archways and garden paths filled with

glowing albino tulips.

A Buckeye butterfly briefly alights near a perennial border. Mule deer grazed in the fields beyond.

Vineyards span the hills and valleys. There are so many that I wondered how they all manage to survive.

A peaceful walk was taken along a Bothe-Napa Valley State Park trail.

In a brief span of time many good things occurred. All sorts of delicious food and a great birthday meal for a little sister. Some fun bargain shopping. Binge watching a television mini-series together. Having Swiss fondue, a family tradition.

Auras of my mother and her influence swirled around the periphery, which felt rather grounding.

There were echos of my father there too.

And then in a blink I was Back East. Perhaps to keep the momentum going, upon return I bought an interesting sounding pint of ice cream to celebrate nothing in particular and threw some chocoadehagel puur (Dutch dark chocolate sprinkles) on top for a little extra.

In the mere few days while I was away the Forsythia bloomed. There is only the tiniest twig of it in the back yard – I have no idea where it came from.

The single Trillium that never quite opens all the way has emerged for yet another spring. I planted that Trillium (along with one or two others that didn’t last very long) fourteen years ago. Each year the hope is that it will surprise me and open all the way. I suppose the surprise is that it even comes up at all.

There is also a sparse clump of ramps along the back fence. I should try and remember to add them to some scrambled eggs this week.

Digressing again for a second, just to comment that in a reflection of nature, the pattern on my cappuccino mimics the new growth of the season.

Back to The Urban Porch now, sitting on the old cushions placed on the new chairs – the first carpenter bee has arrived and hovered in front of my face with its usual false bravado before darting away. The Black-capped chickadee is singing a cheery two note call. And get this – I mowed the lawn this morning! Mid-April and parts of the lawn were already getting overgrown. A goal this year will be to try and keep the amount of plants both on the porch and in the yard to a more manageable amount – if I can control myself from the high I get at the garden center….

~*~

Posted in Daeja's Garden, Gardening, nature, Perspective, Photography, Seasons, senior musings, Shopping, Spring, The Urban Porch, The Urban Porch ™, Travel, treasures, Uncategorized, Weather, Wildlife | Tagged alice in wonderland theme bridal shower, black bear, Bodega Head, Bothe-Napa Valley State Park, crow tree, Deer, Family, family fondue, family time, Filoli, Firebird plates, giving stuff away, nature, no kings rally, porch chairs, porch dino, purging, sisters visit, spring flowers of the East, spring flowers of the west, stop buying stuff, trying not to buy things, turkey vultures migrating | Leave a comment

At A Glance

Posted on March 27, 2026 by daeja's view

“Why would you hold on to a stack of planners for all those years?” I am expecting a text from those one or two people who will probably be saying as much. So here’s how that happened and what it turned into…..

Throwback: Before we were all walking around with smart phones and mobile calendars in our hands and on our computers, those of us in the workplace – and even outside of the workplace – often used days-of-the-week notebook planners/calendars in order to keep track of our appointments. I absolutely depended on mine for both personal and work-related obligations.

When each year was finished I would copy all the addresses, phone numbers and other pertinent items I might need and transfer them into the new planner for the upcoming year. Then the old one would be stashed in the bottom drawer of a file cabinet in my office for reference, as sometimes information would be needed from prior years. They had occasionally been consulted by Human Resources surrounding the timing of agency issues and they had once been temporarily confiscated regarding a legal investigation. Since they were not taking up important space, they accumulated without much notice and kept accumulating, until eventually everything went digital and I stopped using them.

These books were filled with a whole lot of private information that went beyond just personal and professional phone numbers, so when I left my job I grabbed them all with the intention of going through them to copy down anything important before destroying them. Of course I never got around to it. They ended up in the attic, that black hole of random accumulation, stacked on top of an old computer monitor and a stainless steel food mill, collecting a whole lot of dust…. for years.

For those who follow…. I have been doing a slow purge in the attic, sort of a Swedish Death Cleaning (which seems to be trending lately). By slow I mean really, really slow. The other day I went up there to retrieve a pair of camouflage colored pool floats to pass on to someone who actually has a pool (I used them only once to go tubing down a local river years ago). Before locating the floats I was distracted by the stack of planners and brought them downstairs too, figuring they would be an easy toss.

Every once in a while there is a “shredding event” where you can bring all the papers holding personal information to be destroyed securely at once instead of putting them into the garbage. That was the plan. Unfortunately, there are not any local shredding events coming up on the horizon, meaning I was going to have to shred them myself. My shredder handles a maximum of twelve sheets at a time. There were eleven books, eleven years worth of a life in “At-A-Glance” planners. I don’t know why other years are missing, but for some reason these were the ones up there in the dust.

Without starting in any particular order, I picked up a random year and began tearing out pages to feed through the machine. Before destroying them I looked at each page, maybe more than just “at a glance”, scanning for any useful information. This was a Big Mistake. That year happened to be what I would call a Very Heavy Year. Incredibly heavy. When I saw some of the things that had been scheduled or highlighted in that book, I began to breathe the way you breathe when you are in such pain that the only way to handle it is to breathe though it – sort of an emotional Lamaze.

Of course there were the usual work related things – hirings, firings, meetings with contractors, engineers, managers, staff, outside agencies, regulatory offices, HR issues, holiday potlucks and lunch dates. And then there were all the other things outside of work. School functions, trips, meetings with guidance counselors. Closings. Court. Vacation schedules. Realtors. Travel plans and airport runs. Dance recitals. Dinners with friends. All sorts of family events. Application due dates. Missed child support payments. Medical appointments. Hospitalizations. Old friends. New friends. Legal issues. Funeral arrangements. The death of a relationship. The start of a relationship. Births. Birthdays. A life at a glance. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

By the time I emptied the pages of that one book I was in tears, with the realization that this was opening up old trauma and was not such a good idea. Thus the next books were tackled with greater speed. I still glanced but I did not linger, instead rapidly skimming through each like cartoon flip books of a life. While doing this, a sense of physical weirdness kept washing over me, like cold water running against my skin.

Every single page of every single book for all of those eleven documented years were FILLED with obligations and reminders. There was barely a break between time slots. Twelve page increments of eleven years, stopping on occasion to let the machine cool down, took an entire afternoon. The container repeatedly became packed to the brim and required emptying a number of times. When I was finished there were four ten-gallon trash bags stuffed tightly with the shredded memories of some significant years of a life. It left me emotionally drained, with the added insult of a backache.

As I began up top, everything is on a computer or phone calendar now, and while I don’t have planner books anymore, I do keep a calendar on my wall. I like the pictured artwork of the month, in addition to having a written backup to all the electronics. Glancing at the wall right now, I can see that the boxes on the page for this month are just about filled with writing. Perhaps it is not because life is so busy at this point, but just that age brings on forgetfulness and it helps to put those reminders in front of you. Once upon a time I used to save all the pretty calendars too, not so much for the information in them, which is rather benign (“Rudi heartworm pill due”, “O’s birthday”, etc.) but for the beautiful photos that they contained, with a plan to do something artistic with them. It never happened.

The planners coughed up a lot of revelations. Memory was jogged, self discoveries were made. Between all the disclosures and reminders, one of the biggest takeaways was this: Clearly the person who owned these planners had carried plenty of responsibility on her shoulders. She was juggling a a whole lot of stuff. If I did not know her and had to make assessments as to who she was during this eleven year block of a life, I would say this person had diverse interests and some strange (yet interesting) experiences and creative ideas. This was a person who experienced some painful and terrible things happening to her and around her during those years, yet you could tell that even during the struggling parts, this was a person who could be counted on, who cared about other people, was a good friend, and loved her family. Someone who did a Very Good Job at work and was a also a Very Devoted Mother. Someone who was resilient. In an odd way, it was helpful to read these from decades beyond, insight gained from the outside looking back in with the opportunity to reassess some critical self-images.

Despite the temporary emotional price, it was freeing to put them through the shredder. All of these entries of a few words, inscribed in little blue-lined slots of time, lined up in vertical segments of days, spread across two pages containing a week, in a book holding fifty-two weeks of a year – a testament to years of a life at a glance, leaving nothing behind but eleven empty covers.

~*~

Posted in Aging, Are you kidding me?, Coping, Flashback, grief, Memories, Perspective, senior musings, Spring, Uncategorized, Weird | Tagged appointment books, attic purge, calendar, days at a glance, days of the week, eleven years of a life, getting rid of stuff, getting rid of the past, letting go, office planners, old appointment books, old calendars, planner, planner books, planner entries, purging stuff, self-realization, self-reassessment, shredding the past, the weight of memories, tossing old days of the week planners | Leave a comment

Tease

Posted on March 11, 2026 by daeja's view

What a delicious tease it has been these last two or three days, respite from a long and difficult Northeast winter. The towering snowbanks have receded into tiny white arctic islands amidst a sea of grass and mud. Hopeful spears of daffodils are poking through the earth.

Today a royal purple flush of early crocuses bloomed in a warm spot at the edge of the yard. I admit it was a major thrill to discover.

Little old Rudi finally has been freed from his winter wear to bask in the warm afternoon rays on The Urban Porch.

Down the street the neighbor’s dressed up Fence Dinosaur dons a lion hat for its March attire (March comes in like a lion?)

A new friend brought over her bubble machine, sending joyful streams of orbs across the road and out into Crayola blue heavens.

The iridescent colors on the bubbles didn’t reflect well against the sky in pictures, so I photographed one against her black shirt to give you an idea.

In keeping with the seasonal celebratory theme, after many months of procrastination I finally got together with an old friend to catch up, eat brownies and have afternoon tea using her grandmother’s English bone china teacups.

On a whim I decided to stop at the carwash, having been driving around all season in what began to look like a giant salted-encrusted pumpkin seed on wheels. If you follow this blog, you might know how much I enjoy the rare but momentarily exciting cheap thrill of the car wash. Everybody was out there in the sunshine cleaning the winter off their vehicles. It was my first time driving through this particular one and definitely a different experience. I’ll take you on my brief journey.

We begin as the mighty, salted ship streaks through the atmosphere in a trail of rainbow light,

coming in for a landing on a planet simmering with molten pink lava.

Neon splashdown!

Swirling magenta gasses envelope the Subaru spacecraft, dissolving salt and debris.

At warp speed we then enter into a mouth of darkness,

culminating within pulsing heart chambers of the universe.

And that was it, roundtrip to The Magenta Planet and return to planet Earth. I guess you can tell I’ve been inside a bit too long this winter. But seriously, such art!

Back on The Urban Porch, the first wasp of the season alights on weather-beaten chair.

A Downy Woodpecker hammers relentlessly on the side of the house. While driving on the thruway yesterday, a chevron of geese heading north passed overhead. The House Sparrows have begun their orgies amidst the bushes in earnest.

We are close, but this could just be a Big Tease, merely part of the Spring of Deception, with a few more surprises yet to come.

But soon….so soon….!

~*~

Posted in Aging, Birds, Dogs, nature, Perspective, Seasons, senior musings, Spring, The Urban Porch, The Urban Porch ™, Uncategorized, Views From he Urban Porch ™, Weather, Winter | Tagged almost spring, blue sky, bubbles, carwash, carwash art, crocus, daffodils soon, english tea, Fence Dinosaur, first wasp, northeast winter, Papi-Chi, papillon, s;, spring of deception, teasing of spring, The Magenta Planet | Leave a comment

Spring Lightening in the Attic

Posted on March 3, 2026 by daeja's view

It’s March and it’s snowing (again) but we are definitely on the edge of things. Previously melted ice has left a jungle of leaf-like patterns on the bluestone, mimicking the growth and abundance of summer.

A frantic frenzy of squirrel tracks across the driveway has created a telling trail of amorous flirtations.

There is a full Worm Moon (indicating the softening of the ground when the earthworms appear), or Sap Moon (when the sap rises in the Maple trees), or Crow Moon (crows cawing as they seek mates in spring). Whatever name you call it, this month also provides a copper-colored total lunar eclipse (Blood Moon) in some locations.

The first Robin has arrived in the yard, always a welcome sight. Supposedly by next week it should be warm enough that a surprising crocus or two might emerge.

While still mostly sequestered indoors, I decided to kick off an attempt at spring cleaning (or more like “lightening the load”) by making a few treks up into the attic in an (ongoing) attempt to diminish some of the massive accumulation. A Spring Lightening. This week centered on things that mostly had belonged to my children, which raised the question of “What and who am I saving all of this stuff for?” In some foggy area in the back of my mind which projected upon The Future, I somehow thought that someday their own children might be interested in the games, dolls and various collections of Rather Cool (and sometimes Unique) items that have been stashed away in anticipation of their future arrival. I had fantasies that on their many visits to Mema’s house they would discover and enjoy all these wonderous things. That has not happened – neither the “many visits” or their interest in most of these items. My little fantasy bubble has burst.

In the past all of their childhood books (beautifully illustrated books) were brought to them. Hopefully their own children were able to appreciate some of those wonderful stories. This weekend’s haul from the attic included a large collection of beautiful teddy bears, a box full of Beanie Babies, a small tub of small dolls from around the world (including a pair of vintage Greek folk dolls my father brought be back from Greece when I was a child, which I’m certain my kids have no interest in) a metal music stand from when they were playing instruments in school, embroidery floss and instructions on how to make a “friendship bracelet,” a loom for weaving potholders, a collection of Barbies and a stack of old board games.

Child #1 offered to take the Scrutineyes game that was up there – her kids would probably enjoy that – but that was it. She really had no interest in much of anything else. I think most of what had been hers had been already delivered to her door by me (Oh no, here comes Mom with another bag of stuff) years ago. Well, you know it was their stuff.

Most of the rest will be shipped off to Child #2, who can go down her own rabbit hole of reminiscence and decide what to do with it all. If they are not going to be used and appreciated now, when will that be? One thing that has stood out is how well my children took care of their things – played with, certainly used, but not destroyed. A second thought was the acknowledgement of how fortunate they were growing up, to have had so many nice gifts. I admit looking at all of these things has left me with a wee bit of melancholy.

The games – some of the old standbys continue to be enjoyed over the generations, although the graphics have been updated over the years. Their vintage speaks to my seniorhood. I pulled out a few versions of Candy Land. I will say the Candy Land of my childhood had a much cooler, slightly spookier peanut brittle house illustration than subsequent versions.

I thought the 1984 cartoonish version my kids had featuring Queen Frostine was cheesy and sacrilege (my daughter’s retort – “Hey, don’t hate on Queen Frostine!”) I can’t even remember which version my grandkids have, but I’m sure it changed again, possibly a few times in their already short lifetime. They all provide an early childhood lesson though: Just when you think you’re almost at Home Sweet Home. you pull the Candy Hearts card and are bounced right back at the beginning. Never Assume! In any case, they are not interested in taking the Candy Land games, no matter what vintage.

I also pulled out two different versions of Clue. I love the old time strangeness of the illustrations in the original Clue game. Miss Scarlet in the Library with the Rope! Professor Plum in the Conservatory with the Candlestick! (Yes, a metal candlestick…. possibly lead and toxic? Who knows?)

And Cootie! The old style Cootie had a significant aura of buggy creepiness to it. Subsequent versions turned the bugs into a cartoon. One problem with it was that no matter which Cootie game you had, the legs never stay on. You build your Cootie and pick it up and half the legs fall off – rather frustrating.

I loved the freakier grasshopper-like Cootie with it’s blank, staring eyes and curling proboscis.

I found a Ouija Board up there (“You’re moving it!” “No, YOU’RE moving it!” “Did you move it?” “Yikes, it’s moving!!!!”) Yes! No! Good-Bye!

While slipping down the backwaters of board game memory, there were a few from childhood that were not up there in storage (chess and checker games) or others that did not really stand the test of time but which I still recall playing while sitting on a cold floor of red linoleum tiles in the basement “playroom” with my siblings and friends. There was one called “Camp Grenada”, based on a then-popular song by Allen Sherman called “Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah (A Letter From Camp).” It had all sorts of rubber bugs, spiders and other designated “icky animals” and a plastic bus that players had to try and race home in without it breaking down. When we got tired of playing with the game, we played with the rubber insects.

Another one we enjoyed was called “Green Ghost.” Green Ghost had a board that glowed in the dark, little green ghost playing pieces, bats, cats, bones and other spooky accoutrements, and a big ghost spinner. I cannot recall exactly how it was played, but we had fun with it and the novelty of turning off the lights to make it glow, which added an element of eeriness.

And then there was Mystery Date, where you opened the door to reveal your secret admirer, which could be The Skier, The Beachcomber, The Formal Dance/Prom date, the Go on a Picnic date, the Bowler, or “The Dud.” The Dud was the undesirable date. If you opened the door and got The Dud you lost all your cards.

Here I will reveal the first of two admissions in this post, which is that I always kind of liked The Dud. As ridiculous as he was in his 1960’s sloppy, sort of bummy Dud clothes, he always struck me as a bit of a bad boy (for the times) which had a certain appeal (for me), even though you would lose all your cards. Perhaps that was a signpost of some kind – subsequently, in real life I have found myself involved with a few Duds (and have lost a few metaphorical cards in the process).

This game went through a few different depictions, but it appears enough people must have had fond memories of the game, as there is a Nostalgia Edition.

I have vague memories of playing Parcheesi often and enjoying it, although when I look at a Parcheesi board now I cannot for the life of me recall how to play it.

Having a number of younger siblings, Chutes and Ladders was also one that was played many times over the years. This is another one of those Life Lessons I guess “they” are preparing you for……you climb up, only to slide all the way down and have to climb back up again. But if you keep at it, eventually/hopefully you will make it to the Blue Ribbon.

Which brings me to Monopoly, a game which was not up in the attic but must have vanished to the ages. It was a staple of late elementary and middle school. It seems almost everybody back then had Monopoly. The game could go on (and on, and on) for a very long time – sometimes an agonizingly long time. It might go on long enough that you put it aside to eat lunch or dinner and came back to continue afterwards. When I think back, I don’t even know that I liked it all that much, although some of the names were fun (Marvin Gardens!) and I loved the little metal tokens, especially the Dog.

So, okay……my second admission in this post is that at age eleven I lost a friendship over a Monopoly game, which was all my fault. I was playing with my good friend Michelle, sitting on that cold red linoleum floor in the basement. She was absolutely slaughtering me at Monopoly, and worse, gloating about it. I think the smug, triumphant smile highlighted by a slight glistening of saliva on the rubber bands of her braces must have put me over the edge, because I got so frustrated that I actually cheated! This was a really big deal on many levels, as it was the first and only time I have ever cheated at a game (never, ever have since), but in that instance I couldn’t stand it (or her) and I did. In retrospect, there was a lot more going on at that time in my life (which had nothing to do with Michelle or Monopoly), which no doubt caused some of the overblown reaction, but at the time I was too young to process those reasons. I don’t even recall exactly what I did to “cheat”, but I remember the instant feeling of guilt and regret involved. Whatever I did, it must have been pretty obvious because she immediately called me out on it.

“You cheated”. “No I didn’t”. “Yes you did!” And that was the end of the game. Girl tears, stomping off; I should have owned it but I didn’t cop to it or apologize. From age eleven on we were never really good friends again, which was a shame, because many wonderful times had been spent in her company. It was my loss. Only a few short years later in high school (braces off!) she became an attractive woman who stood up for rights, protested wrongs and I think was pretty cool. But by then our time had passed. I don’t know where that long road leading away from childhood took Michelle, but in my fantasies, if I ever was to cross paths with her again, I would surely let her know I was very sorry.

One more comment on games and Monopoly specifically – the grandkids were home and snowed in for an entire week due to The Blizzard. When they weren’t outside shoveling and playing in it, they were inside eating through the food like the little locusts that growing kids can become….and playing games. I was more than surprised and very pleased to hear that they were often off their devices and playing a marathon game of Monopoly together that lasted an entire day.

I’m glad to know that kids and families are still engaging in sit-down interactive play together. Quality family time. “Uno”. “Apples to Apples,” “Taco Cat Goat Cheese Pizza” and even a little bit of “OuiSi” have been some of the games we have played as a multi-generational family.

This week I will try to go back up and tackle the next wave of items, these physical mile-markers of a life. It is wistful, emotional work. In the meantime, the robins are arriving, the squirrels are mating, the snow will be melting – transitions.

~*~

Posted in Aging, Coping, Flashback, kids, Memories, Perspective, Regrets, Seasons, senior musings, Spring, The Urban Porch, The Urban Porch ™, treasures, treasures, Uncategorized, Views From he Urban Porch ™, Weather, Weird, Winter | Tagged attic finds, barbies, beanie babies, bear collection, board games, camp granada, candyland, cheating at games, Childhood, childhood games, childhood toys, chutes and ladders, cleaning out the attic, clue, collections, cootie, emotional memories, Family, first robin, full moon, full worm moon, games, grandparenting, green ghost, life, losing a friend, monopoly, my children don't want my stuff, mystery date, ouija, parcheesi, quality family time, seniorhood, squirrel season, The Dud | Leave a comment

Anticipations and Acceptances

Posted on February 18, 2026 by daeja's view

A slight change has been made to this site. I finally bit the bullet and upgraded in order to have a “no ads” option on this blog, so hopefully those who were feeling annoyed by advertisements popping up in between paragraphs will no longer have to deal with that visual insult.

So we are now past the halfway point to Spring and have moved mostly out of the single digits and into the 30-40°F range by late afternoons, which has felt almost balmy by comparison to what has been, and yet I still feel cold. There was one day that almost reached 50°F, but now it is wet and clammy out there. I’ve just finished off a rather large bar of dark chocolate with almonds and sea salt on the heels of an avocado with lemon and jalepeno salt, which unfortunately has left me feeling a bit nauseous. I just never seem to learn….

As a harbinger of “Getting Closer To Spring”, there seems to be a wave of fruit flies (or some other minute winged thing) invading the house. At first I thought all these little black spots in front of my eyes were just a new crop of floaters, yet another indicator of “You sure are getting old,” but they are actually tiny flying insects. I got rid of the softening persimmon in the fruit bowl but it made no difference. There are no rando bananas hanging about. Part of me suspects something is going on in the soil of one of the house plants, some internal timer awakening these teeny winging dots. I suppose that is better than more floaters….maybe….

To follow up on the last post, I did make the Rosemary Oat Bannock recipe for Imbolc (which has usually not been celebrated, but hey why not?) They came out a little chewy and pretty good, with a hint of orange zest, a whisper of rosemary and a liberal sprinkling of sugar on top. Actually I liked them a lot. After sending some off with a neighbor I ate most of them myself, although it always comes back to the same thing; that I don’t enjoy baking all that much. Still, I printed off the recipe and added it to my collection for another cookbook compilation which probably will never be put together. But perhaps these can be added to the quasi-holiday baking rotation for next year.

Staying with the food theme, for the last two Sundays in a row the weekly Dutch Baby has been Apple-Ginger. I’ve added some allspice to the batter, chopped apples and pieces of crystalized ginger, vanilla, with a dusting of cinnamon and vanilla sugar on top. I think I could even do this breakfast three weeks in a row and be happy.

A few weeks ago I was visiting an old friend who made us some Shake and Bake Tofu for lunch, which I hadn’t had in a long time. She used to live on The Farm during the 1970’s, which back then was a commune in Tennessee (look up Steven Gaskin/The Farm if you are interested in the history). They ate a lot of tofu. She makes it with nutritional yeast, which is a little different than what was in The Farm Cookbook. I totally love the taste of nutritional yeast and was so glad to revisit this, having made it already twice since I’ve seen her. Just writing about it I feel like I want to make it again this week.

I’m noticing there are a lot of yellow-ish colored foods featured in this post. Maybe it is an enticement to help bring on the sun.

Another pre-Spring endeavor has been The Annual Haircut. Because the weather has been so cold and dry, my usually out of control hair had been behaving pretty well, but I knew as soon as a hint of humidity set in that it would expand outwards to about four or five times in volume and be way beyond manageable. When stretched out it was falling below my ribcage. This is something that is only truly understandable to those that have very curly/frizzy hair and perhaps were raised during a certain generation. There is a great deal of childhood angst attached to this, growing up in an era where hair like mine was not considered very attractive, with the motive to get it as straight and contained as much as possible.

My mother could never deal with it. While other girls I knew were wearing ponytails and ribbons, or braids, or straight, shiny bangs, or growing their hair long, I was being taken to a barber (crying, wailing) to have it shorn off into a very short style my mother called a “muffin,” leaving my head more like a miniature version somewhere between Don King and Albert Einstein.

Times, style and what is in fashion have changed, but my damage is still inside. When I finally got to a point to own my curls, my hair began to turn white. Then I had to deal with owning that too. Because it is so white in addition to being so…boing-y…..people (strangers) are constantly noticing and commenting on it, which my mind cannot totally wrap itself around – always have trouble accepting or digesting when it is a compliment. My automatic response is usually “Thank-you. I grew up totally hating it.” Then I indicate their cute, straight hairdo and say “I always wished for hair like yours!” Which is true. Then we smile at each other, acknowledge that we always wish for what we don’t have, and go on our way.

For some reason this often happens in the supermarket, and there is another even odder facet to these encounters. Sometimes I will be approached by a woman with the same hair as me who will compliment my hair. Then I will say “Thank you! You have the same hair as I do!” At which point they will insist that they don’t, even though they do. It is fascinating that we don’t see ourselves as others see us. It’s like hearing your own voice on a recording and saying “That’s not me.“

Even though there is no longer stigma involved and the hair pendulum has swung (at least temporarily) to a variety of traits concerning hair, it is still very difficult to truly ever see myself for what or who I am – I guess I have a type of Hair Dysmorphia (in addition to Body Dysmorphia) if that makes any sense. I suspect many women experience some of this to different degrees.

Back to the present…..there are limits to what can be done with it, so I asked people for length suggestions, the consensus being to take it down just at or slightly below the shoulders. So about eight inches came off the ends and even more with layers.

It will take about two weeks or so until I feel totally comfortable with it, although I have to say it is a pleasure having much less to deal with in the shower. It is still kind of messy and berserk, but it feels so much lighter. This will last about a year, because it grows outward before it grows down.

As a summation of all this, I was at the gas station the other day filling up my car when someone started yelling. A few people standing at the next pump were staring at me. Because of my hearing loss it was difficult to discern the direction the yelling was coming from or what it was about, so I kept twirling around looking for the source, until a woman pulled up her car right next to me, rolled down her window. leaned out of her car and shouted, “I love your hair!!! I LOVE your hair!!!! I LOVE YOUR HAIR!!!” I was kind of embarrassed but I smiled and thanked her.

This year I am really going to try to accept and appreciate whatever good things and compliments people send my way; to transcend the damages instead of allowing the little girl inside to shrink away – to be more empowered by it. I am lucky to even have hair, let alone hair that some people actually like. I really need to own it and shut up. Also, as we lament the changes in our bodies as we age (and everybody I know does), it is at least important to acknowledge that we will never be as young again as we are today, at this very moment – and to appreciate that. A little bit more of Be Here Now.

Moving into other changes in this new year, there is the ongoing (and ongoing and ongoing) difficulty of getting rid of things. The older I get, the more panicky I feel about my lifelong accumulation of objects, especially things that are beautiful or artistic, or have meaning. I’ve read all the books on Swedish death cleaning and decluttering, sparking joy and getting rid of stuff your kids don’t want, etc. etc. It has been slow going, but at least it is going/crawling along. Today I fell down a rabbit hole of old family photos, which is always a slippery slope and a place all the books tell you not to begin at in your decluttering journey. It is so easy to get lost there, and sometimes hard not to cry.

This past week I decided to delve into the medication stash. Yes, I have a medication stash. For many years I have saved pretty much every leftover or unused prescription I’ve ever had. I have often joked that I am keeping these meds “in case the revolution comes” – in the event we are unable to access whatever medications we may need should the world as we know take a turn for even worse. While that used to pretty much be sort of a running joke, these days I am not so totally sure it is a mistake to hold on to your meds. Although they are all expired, I imagine expired medication is better than no medication in an emergency? In any case, I’ve been throwing these partially unfinished or unopened vials into a large tubby in the closet for years without looking at them or realizing how they had accumulated. It was a surprise to find so much of it and definitely time to clear this stuff out, keeping only the most recent ones. I pulled out twenty bottles worth of expired meds – and some really weird stuff, like anti-malaria pills! Some of these bottles were dated over twenty-five years old! That’s pretty crazy! So what do you do with all of it? The pharmacy takes and discards expired prescription and over-the-counter meds, so I brought them there. Although it had been out of sight and I had forgotten much of it was even there, mentally it already feels a bit freeing.

On to other subjects, I was babysitting one of my grandkids last week. Before tucking her into bed, she turned on this machine that projected a galaxy onto the ceiling. This is a step beyond those little glow-in-the-dark stars I once stuck on her mother’s and aunt’s bedroom ceiling. She told me there are different ones you can choose. So we read a story and then stared up into the universe. It felt a little bit awesome.

Back here on Earth, since we’ve had a few days above freezing, the snowbanks are slowly starting to shrink down. During the dog walk I spied this little blue valentine made of sky, peeking through a wedge of snow in the fork of a tree trunk.

A doe has been returning repeatedly to lie in a bare patch of ground where the snow has melted. Or perhaps it is her body heat which has created this area. It’s hard to believe in not too many months there will be dancing fawns again.

Little Rudi stares out the upstairs window, waiting, nose twitching, perhaps in anticipation of verdant aromas emerging, when it all will begin again…. hopefully soon……

~*~

Posted in Aging, baking, Cooking, Dogs, Flashback, Memories, nature, Perspective, Seasons, senior musings, The Urban Porch, The Urban Porch ™, Uncategorized, Views From he Urban Porch ™, Weather, Wildlife, Winter | Tagged annual haircut, be here now, Childhood, curly hair, decluttering, Dutch Baby, fruit flies, hair dysmorphia, hair trauma, i love your hair, medication stash, not yet spring, Oat Bannock, Papi-Chi, papillon, past halfway to spring, shake and bake tofu, The Farm, tiny flying bugs | Leave a comment

One Way or Another

Posted on February 1, 2026 by daeja's view

Only one month into the year and January has taken some of the best of us. Those who made us laugh (and we sure could use more of that these days), those who expanded our horizons with music and mindset, those that have been around making their mark on our lives for many years. Bob Weir (Grateful Dead), comedy actress Catherine O’Hara, Grady Demond Wilson (“Sanford and Son”) – just to name a few. Adding to that, I just received news that yet another old friend has passed on. Lately I am feeling so mortal, the acute awareness of being very much in The Zone. Everything suddenly feels so uncertain, so difficult.

Obviously, the winter blues have set in. Thinking I pretty much had it together earlier, clearly the grip is slipping now – sitting back, mentally frozen and mostly speechless about the state of the world at the moment, as a lot of us are. There has been little motivation to attend to all but the most necessary chores and obligations, or to dabble in any creative endeavors, instead drifting off to mindless movies and series that are not too emotionally challenging. Being armed with a package of Dubai style chocolates in order to prompt an incentive to write some thoughts down will hopefully kickstart this stagnancy.

When Bob Weir of the Grateful Dead passed away at the end of January I didn’t expect to be pulled into such a funk about it, yet here I am, trying to analyze why. The internet and social media feeds have been bombarded with stories, videos, photos, soundtracks, discussions and memories about him, dating back to my own teenage years to the present, causing an immersion into Bobby-Land over the last week or so. Closer to home, a friend of mine who knew him shared a few interesting anecdotes and amusing discussions they had – I guess that is my one degree of separation. But mostly the whole impact (for me) was that it was just one more reflection parallel and personal to my (and clearly to others) youth – touching on scenes, situations and experiences both musically and culturally that affected philosophy and choices which tilted the trajectory through early adulthood into this old(er) age. And now that piece is gone. It’s been a bit of a slap-in-the-face reality, time-stamps and expiration dates on a life.

This is a hard winter so far. The northeast (from where I sit) has been slammed with plenty of snow. An additional two feet of it was rapidly dumped on us last weekend. About every two hours I would go out to shovel what accumulated on the steps and walkway off The Urban Porch in order to give the dog a place to relieve himself. I did that six times – each time you would never know it had been shoveled at all. People who were out briefly walking their dogs would take them into the street after the plows made a pass since it was too deep to walk through. Our own truck and plow got stuck at the end of the driveway. Eventually there was no place left to put all that snow. Flashbacks of my highway department snow removal days were giving me mild PTSD vibes.

The sidewalks currently look like bobsled runs. It was fun to see people flying down the middle of the empty street on cross-country skiis. Neighbors were outside trying to keep up with the accumulation, commenting to each other things like “Can you believe this?” “I can’t deal with this!” “Climate change!” Yet on reflection, we were getting significant snowfall and blizzards back when we were kids. I have fond recollections of the pine trees with bows so laden with heavy snow and drifts that they touched the ground, creating igloo-like magical forts beneath them. The perspective of youth vs. adult responsibilities.

Once upon a time there would be kids and teenagers with shovels slung over their shoulders, walking the streets on the heels of a storm, knocking on doors, eager to make some money by shoveling or digging someone out. Does that happen anywhere now? Over the last number of years (decades?) I haven’t seen even one. The same goes for mowing lawns in the summer. Absence of work ethic, or what’s going on? It seems the people who are out there doing the hard jobs that nobody wants to do are the very same hard-working people that our current government is (cruelly, brutally) trying to eliminate. Okay, I’m not going to go further down that road here, but it’s adding to the pall of depression and despair hanging over this country right now.

At least the accumulation has been beautiful, a lightweight, crystal-like texture. I made sure to have a bowl of maple syrup snow to celebrate the initial wonder of the freshly fallen.

It’s the frigid temperatures that have been killer hard. Moving south will never be in my future, but there is an acknowledgement of the appeal for many. The bitter cold has been brutal. Touching almost anything in the house creates a static shock. I swear my hair has never been straighter than it is right now, and if you know my hair, that’s saying a lot. Songbirds flocked to shelter in my neighbor’s henhouse during the storm. Another friend with hens mentioned that the eggs she came out to collect a bit too late the other morning had frozen.

Walking the dog in the morning at sub-zero degrees can only last for a few brief minutes before his little paws freeze, in addition to the rock salt burning. He will not tolerate booties. He barely tolerates his sweater. When I put any outerwear on him, you would think he was being tortured, emitting sharp, yelping, guinea-pig noises in protest that sound like “WHEET! WHEEET!” It’s like trying to wrestle a toddler into a snowsuit. Thus his current nickname (one of many) is “Wheet.”

As always, when everything starts to feel like a slow slide into the abyss, it helps to look to the outside. From an upstairs window, a pair of squirrels are working in tandem on the feeder below, one perched on top swaying it back and forth while the other cleans up the spillage.

Antennas of icicles drape from the trees

while the bathroom window continues to generate visions. I call this one “Trajectory of a Sneeze.”

Loud croaks from above direct focus to a pair of massive Ravens in the trees behind the house.

An attempt to record their rasping barks was thwarted as they took off towards the sky.

While eating quiche and soup with a friend, I’ve enjoyed the spectacle of enormous, copper-colored turkeys grazing beneath the birdfeeders.

At certain angles, the sunlight reflecting off their feathers reveals a unexpected display of rainbow hues.

Down the street, Fence Dino has weathered the storm.

Cobalt blue orbs left over from a neighbor’s holiday decor glow beneath pointed white caps.

Little Rudi gazes at the stillness beyond the glass, hoping for a glimpse of some canine activity he can bark at.

The full Snow Moon rises, a glowing eye-beacon observing the landscape beyond a tangle of branches.

Today is also Imbolc, a traditional Gaelic festival that celebrates the coming of spring – which feels so very far away at the moment. It is the midpoint between the winter solstice and the spring equinox which falls on or about February 1st. While Imbolc has not been anything I have made a point of observing, I came across a recipe for Rosemary Oat Bannock that looked so appealing that I might go out tomorrow to gather a few ingredients and attempt to make it, which might generate some inertia and could also suffice for the celebration of something, a looking (reaching, grasping) towards the light.

Earworm of the day from Workingman’s Dead – somehow appropriate:

One way or another
One way or another
One way or another
This darkness got to give

~*~

* “New Speedway Boogie” – by Robert Hunter & Jerry Garcia – Workingman’s Dead 1970

Posted in Aging, Are you kidding me?, Birds, Coping, Dogs, Earworm of the day, nature, Perspective, Photography, Seasons, senior musings, The Urban Porch, The Urban Porch ™, Uncategorized, Views From he Urban Porch ™, Weather, Winter | Tagged bathroom ice pictures, big snow, bitter cold, bob weir, celebrities passing, dying, Earworm of the day, Fence Dino, full snow moon, hard winter, ice, imbolc, in the Zone, kids don't shovel anymore, lack of inertia, Life from The Urban Porch, maple syrup snow, Papi-Chi, papillon, ravens, small dog, Squirrels, turkeys, winter blues, winter stagnation | Leave a comment

12 °

Posted on January 20, 2026 by daeja's view

The dog has not wanted to step outside for more than a few minutes and I can’t blame him. Between the heavily salted sidewalks which hurt his paw pads (he will not tolerate wearing booties), snow drifts in areas is as deep as he is tall and the frigid temps, he’s only good for a couple of minutes before deciding “Nope!” and bolting back towards the house.

It looks like it’s going to be single digits during the upcoming week. Daytime with the sun shining brightly now hovers at twelve degrees. The Frost King has arrived and holds his icy grip on us.

That’s OK with me though – I’m staying inside as much as possible. I had been dealing with some kind of sore throat-headache-sinus thing that finally morphed into a month-long relentless cough, the residuals of one of the many viruses that has been circulating this winter. My guess is I picked something up from one of the grandkids, those little petri dishes carrying their colds and viruses home from school. But it could have been from anywhere. At one of the kid’s basketball games. In the supermarket. In a waiting room. I had been priding myself all year for being pretty healthy – just a lesson that pride is a slippery slope.

For the first three weeks of this exhausting plague, all the natural remedies were tried: Hot teas of echinacea, mullein, coltsfoot, fenugreek, etc. Elderberry syrup. Fire cider. Herbal tinctures. Steam inhalations. Essential oils. I figured it might run its course, but nothing even remotely helped – instead things progressed for the worse. I’ve heard from others it could last for months but after one month of this I started to get a little scared.

Finally I broke down and went to Urgent Care, where they supplied a nebulizer treatment (which didn’t help) and prescribed three medications, one of which sounded so scary on the package insert that I decided not to take that one. It didn’t matter, because none of it made any changes to the cough at all. Five days later I was finally able to see my regular doctor, who thought the lingering cough had been caused by RSV, prescribed yet another medication and an x-ray. A week following that and finished with all those meds, things are finally starting to settle down long enough to sit at the computer. Still coughing, but not up all night and as wiped out from it. While grateful for the science, at the same time I feel polluted by the multiple pharmaceuticals lingering in my system and look forward to them clearing out of my body. So here I sit at twelve degrees, mostly observing the world from behind the window of The Urban Porch.

There is a cat that has begun arriving most nights, setting off the motion camera usually between the hours of 1:30am and 4:00am. It will jump up onto the same section of railing and stare at where the ivy is growing up the side of the house.

During the daytime the House Sparrows are in and out of the vines and leaves, so I imagine that is where they are sheltering at night, since they do not migrate. The cat never appears to make a leap but will sit there at rapt attention, leaning forward in anticipation. Then it leaves, only to arrive and repeat the same pattern the next night.

It looks well-fed so I imagine it might belong to someone. My neighbor also has a bird feeder in the area where our yards touch and sometimes it will shift its attention to that spot. Perhaps mice are under the feeder scavenging for spilled seed, but the cat never makes any further moves. While it is interesting to observe the nocturnal behaviors of the local fauna, I seriously dislike bird-killers and am not a fan of outdoor cats, which (at least around here) are an invasive species. Throughout the year there are a number of neighborhood cats that arrive at night to traverse or hang out on the porch, both feral and not. I wish there was a gentle, yet effective way to discourage their visits.

We have had ongoing snow over the past few days – first six inches, moving into the next day adding five more inches, followed by two more inches a few hours later. The view from my bedroom window presents as white on black

and black on white.

Ever lengthening icicles have formed off the soffits, stalactites generating a steady drip-drip which I cannot hear but provide a visual meditation.

The bathroom window has created a whole new volume of ice pictures over the last two days, which I may share in a later post. I have a few names for this one – “Hibernation” or “Isolation”….. or maybe “Leave Me Alone.” What do you think?

Before we got slammed with snow, while out walking the dog I did notice the neighbor’s Fence Dino had been changed into a winter sweater. It is enjoyable to catch random pops of color amidst the winter landscape.

And while out for groceries last week this beautiful display of chestnut mushrooms (Pholiota adiposa) was so eye-catching that I couldn’t resist taking a photo.

Over the last month, most social engagements had to be canceled due to “the cough.” Alas, a box of chocolates I had purchased to contribute to one of the gatherings must not be wasted! I think I better remedy that now…

So…. twelve degrees. A day of changing sheets, doing laundry, paying a few bills, planning what to make for dinner, catching up on some correspondence, reading and a few television series I’ve missed. Sounds like the life of a retired person…which I guess I am. All that, and finally sitting down to write a couple of lines here, while I eat some of that ungifted chocolate. Rudi is cozy in his blanket, and not long after the sun sets, that’s my plan too.

~*~

Posted in Animal Stories, Coping, Dogs, nature, Perspective, Photography, Seasons, senior musings, The Urban Porch, The Urban Porch ™, Uncategorized, Views From he Urban Porch ™, Weather, Winter | Tagged bathroom window ice, big snow, binging on chocolate, black on white, cat, chestnut mushrooms, coughing, Fence Dinosaur, herbal remedies didn't work, ice pictures, icicles, lingering cough, long-haired chihuahua, outdoor cat, Papi-Chi, papillon, RSV cough, so many meds, stalking cat, staying inside, too cold for the dog, twelve degrees, white on black, winter illness, winter weather, winterscapes | Leave a comment

Summing Up Twenty-Five

Posted on December 29, 2025 by daeja's view

It was a chilly 6°F with a significant covering of snow this morning when I very briefly took the dog out. Now propped up in bed, wearing an old tie-dye sweatshirt from a local store that no longer exists, with a cold I just can’t seem to shake, it seems as good a time as any to open the laptop and sum up 2025.

This past year-in-blog began with significant snow covering and an ice storm that created a glass-encrusted fairyland.

I had shared a glimpse of books-to-be-read stacked up on my nightstand. Comparing what is on the nightstand now, it appears I’ve only finished two of those books and three of them are partially completed.

They have been swapped out for a few new intentional reads, which are also sitting there waiting for me. I hadn’t noticed but they all, save one, happened to focus on women. Women of the Catskills. When Women Were Birds. The Life and Times of Janis Joplin. That doesn’t mean I haven’t been reading books (many recommended by friends) borrowed from the library on my Kindle – those have been devoured as soon as my number on the library waitlists have come up. Since those have a borrowing time limit, my own stack has mostly remained stagnant.

One just became available last night so it will be the last book of the year. I know nothing about it at the moment but am hoping for a satisfying read.

Over 2025 there were very few rants, perhaps the most benign concerning the price of eggs and some drivers flipping the bird. But my one big one was arduous – a major tirade towards the network CNN and their lack of accurate closed-captioning of pre-recorded shows, which they refused to remedy despite having to respond to the FCC about it. The post probably went on waaaay too long and would be more of interest to people who don’t hear well and deal with this kind of discrimination. But it was also a statement concerning the disregard of adequate accommodations for people with disabilities. It was frustrating and rather futile – like fighting windmills. In my disgust I have stopped watching CNN altogether. So have many people I know, but for different reasons.

I also posted somebody’s essay that touched on the struggle and grief of hearing loss pretty well. I wish hearing people who hang out with those who struggle to hear would read it and get a glimpse toward really understanding.

Speaking of ears, there were a few posts that featured the Earworm of the Day this past year. Maybe four times? I can’t help it, sometimes when thinking of something, a song pops in and it becomes kind of a theme. Sometimes the theme can last for days. And days. And days. I have one going on now….

Birds! We had birds! A few appearances of a beautiful Barred Owl was probably the most exciting.

We heralded the cheery spring appearance of the Robins, laughed about a couple of Turkeys investigating a decoy, enjoyed the chatter of Chickadees, the calls of the Northern Cardinals, Tufted Titmice, and Woodpeckers, noted that very few Crows returned to The Crow Tree this year. The Crow Tree lost some of its uppermost perches.

A House Finch slipped inside the door, creating a little chaos until it was safely cornered and set free.

Also noted was the roving gang of House Sparrows that take over the neighborhood, porches and bird feeders year round. There was a nest of Barn Swallow fledglings with their clown-like faces, crowding each other for room and just waiting to take off, a flock of Mourning Doves uncharacteristically huddled together in the driveway, and the song of the Carolina Wren in the morning. Then the Juncos arrived, officially announcing winter.

Some funny observances, situations and random thoughts were shared this year. Walking around with red pollen that looked like dead tadpoles stuck all over my hair and not knowing it. Bad hair days in general.

Or this pickup truck parked next to me that had the image of the Queen of England in the back seat, which made me laugh.

There were a few rambling discussions touching on some esoteric subjects, weird events, and even moments of introspection. Chickens that eat chicken. The meaning of 11:11- is it woo-woo or something else? Thoughts and observations on Rain. An internet purchase gone rogue. Life as a mosquito magnet and my useless bug zapper. Ending the tradition of having a Christmas tree.

A couple of useful “how-to” suggestions were imparted. How to make ant bait. How to stop the buckles of your overalls from banging around in the dryer. They both worked.

Once again there was some Unexpected Random Art. The brief carnival thrill of Carwash Creations

and the beautiful, ever-changing Bathroom Window Ice Designs.

Being of a Certain Age, some recollections came up in the guise of youthful folly flashbacks circa 1970’s. A memorable character called Uncle Moustache

and My Worst Grateful Dead Show with the accompanying trip that went a little bit sideways.

The heavens provided three full super moons in a row, northern lights (if you were lucky enough to catch them) and two total lunar eclipses, one of which was easily viewed from this location. Some of the sunsets were spectacular. I love intense weather and crazy skies. Weather is never a boring subject for me. Hurricanes, tornados and wildfires all came under discussion here this year.

Wildlife! A splooting, pregnant squirrel. A squirrel with a sandwich! A Poplar Sphinx Moth and a toad with its secret hiding place, both found by a grandchild, and all the wonder attached to that. A persistent, territorial Cicada Wasp. Yet another bat flying around the house. Monarchs alighting on the Milkweed and Mating Milkweed Beetles. The encroachment of Spotted Lantern Flies. Jellyfish, sand crabs, and a connective encounter with an octopus.

Throughout the year I shared our neighbor’s green Brontosaurus fashionista that is draped over their front fence. I refer to it as the Fence Dinosaur, although I would not be surprised if they had an actual name for it. It is pretty much just some childish whimsy noticed while walking past their yard daily with the dog. They update its clothing about every month, with a theme to the season. I admit that along with the kids in the vicinity, I began to look forward to what outfit they will come up with next. I’ve noticed that Dino is looking a lot worse for wear lately, so this event might not be lasting much longer.

As always, food has been an ongoing theme. I’ve mentioned the multiple and varied kinds of Dutch Baby (German pancakes) that are made about every Sunday morning. Strawberry/Pear/Vanilla. Peach/Blueberry. Raspberry/Walnut/cinnamon. Apple/blackberry/hazelnut. The options are varied and plentiful. I’m having a lot of fun experimenting with them. After receiving a gift box of assorted condiments meant just for this purpose, my plan is to elevate the Dutch Baby to new heights and explore new horizons. I’m thinking perhaps mandarin/pistachio/cardamom for next week, although I’m not sure how orange might work – but it’s worth trying it out. Also I’m thinking of playing around with crystallized ginger/apple at some point.

Some of the mentioned meals and indulgences for 2025: Caprese salad, cold spicy peanut Asian noodles, Beer Battered Fried Sage Leaves , watermelon feta mint salad, Spicy Peanut Pumpkin Soup, Pear-Cranberry Relish, Purple Yam Mille Crepes Cake, homemade Pesto, purple potatoes with butter and Habanero salt, Brown-Butter Orzo with Butternut Squash, and Curry Shrimp and Sweet Potato, Polenta con Fungi e Fiche. lots of iced and hot matcha tea, and a significant run of licorice spice tea. Probably not mentioned in the blog would be Scampi, different kinds of quinoa salads, a tomatoe/garlic/farro dish and a few more that regularly enter the rotation. Also an easy recipe for Amaretti cookies suitable for those who don’t bake much (like me).

As we wind down here it is necessary to mention the abundance and beauty of the flowers on, off, and surrounding The Urban Porch and neighborhood. Due to Weird Weather there was not much expectation, and yet the parade of flowers did follow through, if not by their usual timetable. There was a gorgeous show of purples that warranted their own post.

Standing beneath a majestic Wisteria felt like being in a magic castle.

Late spring brought forth hovering white petals.

Late summer supplied the golds.

The Urban Porch was a messy mass of exploding growth until it tipped into the unmanageable.

If you like flowers, taking a stroll back into this year of 2025 posts will provide some treats. There is a plethora of flora from both the U.S. east and west coasts to enjoy. My plan for the upcoming year is to cut back on a lot of the gardening. It has been happening little by little. I just don’t have the energy to keep it going.

As always, The Urban Porch has provided theater seating to a stage of ever-changing blooms, wildlife, weather and a flow of humanity stopping or passing by. And even a homecoming parade.

Last week’s post touched on the annual holiday “passing of the panettone.” As nobody else would eat it, my sister ended up once again purchasing a small one for herself, partially out of loyalty, or guilt, or perhaps an ode to the tradition regarding memories of our mother (who always made a fuss about the panettone and could not understand why we didn’t want one). She confessed to me that it was okay but she didn’t especially love panettone. I am guessing if she didn’t get one each year she might feel like something was missing.

Where we left off last post was when my neighbor was gifted a beautiful and no doubt expensive one, but as she was not a fan she asked if I would like it. After I politely declined she then decided to bring it to the holiday dinner at her daughter’s home. However, it never made it that far, because while she was away at work her very naughty dog Ramona climbed up onto the table and took the still wrapped panettone. She did not manage to eat all of it, but enough. At that point it was no longer gift-worthy. According to my friend, it turns out that particular panettone ironically ended up being moist and tastier than other panettones she has encountered. When she told me this, for some reason I couldn’t stop laughing. When I told my sisters, they also started laughing. I think there is something about the word and image of “panettone” that sets me off every time. It has got to be a family thing, I can’t explain it. Here is the guilty party:

To sum up on the ongoing Dot Game habit/streak – as of this post it is up to 761 consecutive days. I have no goals, although there is now a barely perceptible pressure to remember to do it. We will see if I forget to complete it .and blow the whole thing.

The last post of 2025 birds to to share – this rather seasonal picture of my friend’s Muscovy ducks, who were gathered by the side of the pond, white on white with their bright red faces and yellow feet in contrast.

Things I might have alluded to but probably have not written over the past year – a mostly marked absence of politics. I have very strong feelings which greatly differ from a few relatives and friends, people who I love but strongly disagree with. It’s difficult enough trying to keep it to myself when among them. I’ve decided this place on a public blog is not where I want to drop those opinions. There is enough of it out there already. There were a lot of scary things and some ugliness rearing its head in this country and in the world this year. I did not delve into anything too heavy here but instead looked for the light in the crevices, because that is what keeps me sane. I did not write much about my family or relationships this year either. They hear most of it before it ever shows up on a page.

As we age we might relax about some issues. I would say there is definitely an “I don’t give a crap” attitude that seems to have awakened roughly back upon turning fifty. But radical transformation in ourselves is usually not the norm and expecting it in others is a waste of time. Essentially people don’t change all that much and although we can mellow out about some points, the older we get, the core of who we are becomes even more so. I am what I am, you are what you are….

It is hard to believe it is the fifteen years mark of writing this blog. That’s like a job. Or a relationship! Over time there has been a surge of interest and disinterest here and there, with a marked falling away as the years have moved on. With media platforms like Substack, it seems sitting here with my little blog on WordPress – one that does not have all the whistles and bells (mostly because I do not pay for those options) – has become somewhat limited. Since I write for myself it really doesn’t matter that much, but the occasional feedback has been enough of a prompt to keep it up when I wander away from it.

Fifteen years ago you might say I was still teetering on what could be (with a slight stretch) considered middle age, but at this point there is no denying a firm entrenchment into seniorhood. Although I feel young in my head, it is still writing from a senior’s point of view. Boomer memories. Conversations with friends that always include a mention of everyone’s aches and pains and surgeries. Deaths of people you know or once knew. I think that might slant the demographics of readership a bit. It seems lately so many of the hits I get on this site are from a wide variety of foreign countries, which is puzzling. I’m not sure if they are actually reading my content or looking at the pictures. Or perhaps someone is stealing them – who knows?

Sometimes I am surprised I am still here, just a little lost voice generating bytes of random flotsam into the winds of cyberspace. At times I think maybe it is time to stop and just concede it has been a good run. And then some weird thought runs through my head, some indignity pisses me off, or I might come across an incredibly vibrant, vermillion flower that I want to share. I might be overtaken by a massive swarm of dragonflies while sitting on a beach. Or just when I am feeling crushed and overwhelmed by life, my little dog Rudi sits next to me, looks directly into my eyes and touches his paw to my heart. It is moments like these which compel me to jot down the “wow” of it all.

So here we are on this turning wheel. Wishing everyone the discovery of small wonders and joys hidden in unexpected places. Onward. Forward! I’ll leave the year end Earworm of the Day here:

The wheel is turning and you can’t slow down,
You can’t let go and you can’t hold on,
You can’t go back and you can’t stand still,
If the thunder don’t get you then the lightning will.

~*~

*”The Wheel” – written by Jerry Garcia and Robert Hunter, first recorded on Garcia (1972)

Posted in Aging, Animal Stories, Autumn, Birds, Cooking, Daeja's Garden, Deafness, disability accommodations, Dogs, Earworm of the day, Flashback, Food, Friends, Gardening, Hearing Impaired, Memories, nature, Perspective, Seasons, senior musings, Spring, summer, The Urban Porch, The Urban Porch ™, treasures, Uncategorized, Views From he Urban Porch ™, Wildlife, Winter, Wow! | Tagged 1970's flashbacks, 2025, a blog year, a year of flowers, annual summation, bad hair, barred owl, birding, Birds, CNN Sucks, Earworm of the day, esoteric subjects, Fence Dino, fighting windmills, flora and fauna, glut of panettone, Grateful Dead, hearing loss grief, ice, Muscovy ducks, nature, naughty dog, no politics, papillon, photography, strange skies, sunday dutch baby, unexpected random art, unread books, we don't change that much, Wildlife, worst concert | Leave a comment

Into the Light

Posted on December 22, 2025 by daeja's view

I have been looking forward to this longest night of the year, as the Winter Solstice marks the beginning of gaining minutes of light every day, moving towards spring. Aside from my annual year-end summation (hopefully I will get to it in the upcoming days), this will be my last post of the year, which is just a reflection on seasonal observations.

A couple of years ago I spied a squirrel sitting on the back fence post enjoying a large baguette (Out of Focus 3/31/23). I’m wondering if it is the same squirrel perched on the same fence, scarfing down what appears to be some kind of sandwich in a paper wrapping. Where did it find this? Why did it bring it here? Mere coincidence? When it saw me it scurried away with its prize.

The month has brought some beautiful evening skies

And a Full Cold Super Moon ringed with rainbow light.

Around the Urban Porch, the last little marigold finally succumbed to the snow.

The Fence Dinosaur down the street (for those who follow) took a bit of a hit with the weather. It was completely covered in snow when we walked by, so I brushed some off to discover it was dressed in Reindeer apparel.

Little Rudi left tiny tracks

Each year the holiday season has become a little bit “less.” The kids grew up and wanted their own children to experience waking up in their own homes on Christmas morning. What that meant was they were no longer coming “Home” (wherever my home happened to be – once upon a time my kids told me “Home is wherever you are Mom”, but I don’t think that is still the case). Now I am the one doing the travelling.

After a while, buying a Christmas tree that nobody else would see or care about but me felt like too much work. Getting the tree onto the roof of the car. Dragging it into the house. Getting it into the stand. Putting up the ornaments by myself and for myself, followed by taking them down and packing them away by myself (that’s the worst part I think), then dragging the tree out of the house.

Eventually I purchased a smaller “artificial” tree (read as “fake tree”), which at the time felt slightly sacrilegious but was way easier. Less ornaments to hang, but still requiring lights to string, later to disassemble and fit back in the box and hauled back into the attic when the holiday was over.

A few years of that went on, until transitioning to a small, artificial tabletop model that already had lights on it. With only enough room to hold some of the most favorite ornaments (ones which evoked the kind of memories that either make you smile or leave a lump in your throat), once decorated and lit it still managed to impart a bit of holiday magic.

Perhaps it was last year (or maybe the year before (I can’t even recall now) I passed all the ornaments on to the kids, split up between them. Without those adornments, why have a tree? I put the fake little tabletop tree on the local Buy Nothing group. It went to a grandmother who wanted it for her special needs grandchild who very much enjoyed and was attracted to trees and lights. She actually sent me a photo of him receiving the tree, which he will decorate himself. Definitely a feel-good moment.

On this shortest day of the year, the Dutch Baby for the weekend was apple/raspberry. I can say with some annoyance which borders on wrath that I seriously hate clamshell containers. I don’t know what it is about them that they (repeatedly) seem to practically hurl themselves out of the refrigerator and land open on the floor, especially the ones that contain berries. I can never close them properly in the first place, and to add insult, our recycling pickup doesn’t want them. I should probably just immediately transfer them to a different container. I wish they would figure out something else. Ban the clamshells! Does this happen to anyone else or is it just me?

The good part about this week’s Dutch Baby is there was a new twist. One of my kids insisted I open my gift from her early, which contained a carefully and lovingly chosen array of all things to enhance the Dutch Baby experience. Dark chocolate with a mini grater, powdered sugar and cinnamon with shaker containers for them, maple syrup and all sorts of luscious spreads!

Speaking of food, I was given a recipe for Amaretti (almond) cookies that is so easy, so quick and so good that even someone like me who has little patience for baking could throw this together.

The season is also once again bringing on the glut of Panettone, which suddenly have proliferated in the stores; massive Italian sponges popping up like mushrooms after a rain. Last year at this time I devoted an entire post to The Panettone Dilemma (see The Panettone 12/22/2024). I expect any day now I will get a phone call from one of my siblings asking if I am going to “have the panettone” and we will start laughing. This year, exactly to the day, my neighbor once again contacted me asking if I wanted the panettone she was just gifted but will not eat. Last year I reluctantly accepted that holiday hot potato, but this year I thanked her for the offer but politely declined. I continue to muse; do they really manage to sell all of these massive displays of panettone? And what do they do with the ones that do not sell?

As I sit at my computer, I will wrap this up and mention one more little gift from a friend because it’s right here in my face and makes me smile. Many years ago, more than I can recall (probably decades ago) my sister gave me a mousepad that looks like a Ouija board. I used it in my office and then it came home with me when I retired. It’s that old and very worn but I never had considered replacing it.

An old friend who was previously my supervisor at work gifted me a new one she had made with a recent photo of Little Rudi on it. Now I can look at his sweet face while I’m writing to you.

Time for new beginnings! Happy Solstice! Into the slowly growing light!

~*~

Posted in Aging, Dogs, Food, Holidays, Perspective, Seasons, senior musings, The Urban Porch, The Urban Porch ™, Uncategorized, Views From he Urban Porch ™ | Tagged Christmas, Christmas tree, cold moon, December, december full moon, Dutch Baby, Family, Fence Dinosaur, first snow, giving up the tree, glut of panettone, Holidays, New beginnings, new mouse pad, no tree this year, observations in December, papillon, shortest day of the year, squirrel, winter skies, Winter Solstice | Leave a comment

The Bathroom Window Does Not Disappoint

Posted on December 10, 2025 by daeja's view

They’re back! An annual perk of Winter – stumbling into the bathroom at dawn to be greeted by ice art on the window. It has only just begun and so far the daily frost landscapes painted by nature have not disappointed. I name them as I see them.

“My Beautiful Sweater is Itchy”

“Murmuration of the Ghost Starlings”

“Beneath the Ice the Pond Turtles Sleep”

“Eight of Wands”

“Christmas Tree Farm”

“Moths to a Flame”

“Cinderella’s Dress”

“Bee Tree”

“Chest Fever”

“Choir of Archangels”

If you would like to see more of these beauties from last winter they can be found here: Gifts From A Bathroom Window – 1/22/24 and here: The Dawn Abstracts Return – 12/14/24.

Simple, wonderous, fleeting gifts of nature.

~*~

Posted in Aging, nature, Perspective, Photography, Seasons, senior musings, The Urban Porch, The Urban Porch ™, treasures, Uncategorized, Views From he Urban Porch ™, Weather, Winter, Wow! | Tagged abstract ice, bathroom window, cold bathroom, cold mornings, cold weather art, crystal formations, dawn abstracts, from my window, ice, ice formations, my imagination, nature's art, view from my window, window art, winter art | Leave a comment

First Day of the Last Month

Posted on December 1, 2025 by daeja's view

It looks like we might have our first significant snow storm of the season tomorrow. Of course that prediction could easily change, but I rescheduled a long-distance appointment anyway. As always, over the last month or so the geese in flight have alerted us to the seasonal changes as they head south with intention.

The Northern Lights once again made an appearance, spectacles of awe, various in intensity, shared across the country. From where I sat on The Urban Porch there was not much happening – or I missed it. It seems whenever there is any sky show happening around here (meteor showers, borealis, etc.) inevitably we end up with cloud cover. On the left side of my photo there was a faint green/pink column of the aurora, but I think the best takeaway was the dazzling cluster of Pleiades – the Seven Sisters – sparkling in the open space above a wisp of cloud.

My Red Tree dropped its leaves in two major purges. For a while the entire back yard was a blanket of crimson and rose. Of course I’m a bit biased, but I think Little Rudi in his striped sweater could be the month of November feature in a dog calendar.

Frosty mornings and windy days have taken the glow and left a faded browning.

Despite the dying back of everything, there is still just one Marigold flower in the front yard that has remained standing against the encroaching winter.

The continued resilience of this little yellow bloom has left me smiling. This morning it has finally begun to wilt, yet is still hanging on – soon to be buried beneath the snow.

And despite freezing temperatures, a geranium left over from the summer continues to bloom on the porch next to the front door. I keep thinking I should bring it inside, but due to my history of planticide (see Planticide 11/30/2022 for the awful details) I probably won’t.

A few plants did manage to make the cut and return to the safety of the house to winter over. The Hibiscus, which for some inexplicable reason did not produce even one flower out on the porch this summer, suddenly rewarded with an unexpected bloom once it came inside.

The season of spectacular starling murmurations has begun, as they take to the sky in a mesmerizing, shifting mass of wonder.

As the chilly winds have been an invitation to more time spent indoors, I’ve done a little cooking, although not really propelled into the thick of it yet. This Spicy Peanut and Pumpkin soup was pretty good.

I tried a few other NYT recipes containing winter vegetables that were fairly successful, but you know how unprofessional food photos really don’t come out looking that great, and some can look pretty awful. Given that, just imagine their tasty beauty in your mind. Brown-Butter Orzo With Butternut Squash was one (pretty yummy), Curry Shrimp and Sweet Potato another.

The Dutch Baby of last week was Blackberry Pear. And then there was the Pear-Cranberry sauce at Thanksgiving, which looked just gorgeous in my mother’s blue and white Arabia bowl. Were she still here, she would have admired the palette, which was just the kind of vision that would have prompted her to reproduce it in oil, pastel or colored pencil. It’s that time of year – missing loved ones, seeing little pieces of them everywhere.

Speaking of Thanksgiving, with all the ever-evolving dietary preferences, this year played out in a similar manner, presenting some minor challenges.

On to more esoteric ramblings – the Medicine Card I pulled for the week was The Antelope. The Antelope provides a Do It Now, Get Moving, Take Action, Proceed With Purpose kind of message. Given that, I’ve been making Multiple Lists in an attempt to organize my head and propel myself into The Future with a focus on Things That Need To Be Done. All these key words with capital letters here are meant to impart a sense of Serious Intention (to myself, if not to you). Much like the migrating geese, the direction is Onward. We will see how that goes. It’s a start for this first day in December.

~*~

Posted in Aging, Autumn, Cooking, Dogs, Food, Holidays, House plants, nature, Perspective, Seasons, senior musings, The Urban Porch, The Urban Porch ™, Uncategorized, Views From he Urban Porch ™, Weather, Winter | Tagged December, End of November, fallen leaves, impending snow, intention, Japanese Maple, medicine card, missing loved ones, move with intention, murmurations, my red tree, northern lights, one flower standing, onward, Papi-Chi, papillon, The Antelope | 1 Comment

Between the Sounds

Posted on November 23, 2025 by daeja's view

This unexpectedly came across my social media feed yesterday. These simple words hold such personal impact that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it – especially the last number of lines. They encompass a different kind of loss and the social disconnections, struggles, exhaustion and grief that navigating this invisible disability entails. Reading some of the comments, apparently it touched the world of a number of people. In response to their comments, the author had given consent to share his words, so I will do that here, with credit.

Between the Sounds – by Barton Breen (2025)

Some days my world
talks through water,
voices bending round the edges
before they get to me.

A friend says morning,
but I hear more rain.
Someone says careful,
but it lands like air full,
and I’m left smiling politely
while my mind scrambles
to catch the thread I lost.

It’s tiring…
this guessing game,
this fill-in-the-blank living
where every syllable
comes with a tiny jolt
of “did I hear that right,
or did I botch it again?”

High voices break first,
light notes slipping out the back door
before I can grab them.
Soft words vanish in the turn of a head.
I nod anyway.
I hate asking twice.
Others hate me asking too,
So I stay quiet.

Truth is, I live between sounds,
in the hush where meaning hides,
where a simple yes
can become guess,
and a quiet love you
turns into lost you
for just a heartbeat
before I reel it back.

People think I’m slow,
or lost,
or not paying attention.
But really I’m working harder
than anyone sees,
stitching half words
into whole moments,
trying to stay close
to conversations
that keep slipping
through small cracks
in my ears.

And at the end of the day,
when I finally rest,
there’s a strange kind of peace
in letting the world go quiet,
no more chasing sounds
that never quite arrive,
just me,
and the soft truth
that I’ve been carrying more weight
than anyone ever knew.

~*~

Posted in advocacy, Aging, Coping, Deafness, disability, grief, Hearing Impaired, Perspective, senior musings, Uncategorized | Tagged a different kind of loss, Deafness, explaining hearing loss to others, filling in the blanks, grief, hard of hearing, hearing exhaustion, hearing loss, invisibly disability, left out, missed connections, missing sounds, navigating a hearing world, social disconnections, struggling to hear | Leave a comment

Streak

Posted on November 21, 2025 by daeja's view

If there isn’t anything too pressing going on that I need to get up for and if it is still early enough, I enjoy playing a few word games before getting out of bed in the morning. These are mostly from the New York Times line up. I don’t feel compelled to do them every day and I don’t keep any running scores or tallies or engage in any kind of competition. It’s just a sometimes relaxing thing, which I will do until I become bored with them, eventually moving onto something else. These games and puzzles are also useful to indulge in while waiting for an appointment. I’m not really sure if any of them are keeping my brain sharp or not, but I figure at this stage of life, any brain-sharpening couldn’t hurt.

The veterinary office where I take my dog sits in a weird little valley which does not have decent cell service and they don’t share their Wi-Fi connection. It was during an interminably long spell in their waiting room where I could not pull up any of my word games (or anything to read besides pamphlets for tartar control and kidney diets), so I opened up some of the installed games that did not require Wi-Fi access or cell connection. That is when I came across The Dots.

The name of the game is not actually “The Dots” – I’m not really even sure what it’s called, I would have to look on my phone. But it’s a series of mixed up dots on a grid and you try to connect them by making a maze-like pathway from one to the other. They are as simple as 5×5 dots and as complex as 15×15. In general I’ve not been interested in any of these types of graphic games, but I was stuck there, and it was free, so I turned off the sound settings (I hate sound settings on games) and did a few.

Aside from the gratification of being able to complete the more challenging ones, what I found most pleasing about them is that there are haptics involved, creating a satisfying, tactile “click” when you complete each connection of colored dots. I think that is what kept me going back to it – if not for the haptics I probably would not have continued to play. I looked up what it is about the touch sensation that was so appealing and got this AI synopsis:

Haptics are pleasing to the brain because they create a sense of immersion and control by leveraging our brain’s natural reliance on touch, which is a primal sense. This feedback enhances experiences by providing immediate confirmation for actions, simulating the feeling of interacting with a physical world, and activating regions of the brain associated with emotion, memory, and attention. Haptic technology tricks the brain into believing it’s touching something tangible and can even trigger positive physiological responses like the release of endorphins, leading to greater engagement and satisfaction.

Being all in favor of the release of endorphins, I added The Dots game to my regular word game lineup. They offer many options but I just focused on the daily game, which – depending on the size – often only takes seconds to a couple of minutes and is rather calming.

When babysitting my young grandchild overnight, she crawled into my bed the next morning while I was completing the daily dots and asked “Can I play The Dot Game on your phone?” She very much enjoyed it, finding it challenging enough that she requested more difficult levels. I’m guessing the haptics were probably tweaking her endorphins too.

Unaware of the regularity in which I was playing, it came as a Big Surprise when one morning upon completion, the little screen which popped up at the end said “Streak Extended!” It told you how many days in a row you had been playing. Disinterested in tallies, I had never really noticed. My “streak” was 302 days – almost a year – which I supposed could be considered A Habit.

While not horrified by this revelation, it still was bothersome on a few levels. First, I didn’t like the idea of having A Habit. It’s not as if I don’t have enough habits already; good, bad or otherwise. It amazed me that I was doing the same thing daily for close to a year without realizing it, apparently as natural and unthinking as brushing your teeth in the morning. But what was disturbing about discovering this “streak” was now that I had unknowingly devoted all this time to actually having a streak, I felt loathe to possibly breaking that streak. And so what had become a mindless little game suddenly became something in the back of my mind to have to remember to do. These days it’s already hard enough recalling almost anything that needs to be done.

If I break this unintentional streak that I am now feeling somewhat committed to, it might be slightly disappointing (“awwww!”) but it will not be the end of the world. Thankfully, I don’t have any other streaks going concerning any other games. It has occurred to me that had I devoted as much thought into maintaining other types of daily streaks (studying a new subject, getting rid of the excess of “stuff” I have accumulated, writing, exercising) it might be a bit more productive.

Time has been spinning out and streaking by. This morning before getting out of bed and completing the daily dot puzzle, I checked the little “Streak Extended!” pop up, which let me know that next week it will be two years straight of playing this game.

Habit? Addiction? Mindless Time Waster? Tool for Relaxation? Will I care when this streak is inevitably broken?

~*~

Posted in Aging, Are you kidding me?, Coping, Humor, Perspective, senior musings, Uncategorized, Weird | Tagged connect the dots, dot game, flow free, game apps, game streaks, habits, haptics, phone games, puzzle apps, scores | 3 Comments

Not Fade Away

Posted on November 8, 2025 by daeja's view

I have often used the word “exposure” regarding my initial connection to the Grateful Dead. Having been in a series of relationships starting back in high school with fanatical Deadheads, tapers and jam band musicians, it was just natural to be accompanying them to many shows. I always felt the “exposure” part was a bit like absorbing radon. You don’t know it exists but it seeps into your living space (or in this case, head space). Or okay, maybe more like a suntan. You don’t realize it’s getting into your skin and then suddenly you are looking at a different color. Okay, I’ll stop with the metaphors…..

We were seeing/hearing so much music back in the day. Tickets were cheap, amazing music was aplenty. Not being overly impressed with the Dead at the time, I just went along for the party and the ride. I could take them or leave them. I didn’t get what all the fuss was about. I also couldn’t understand why I kept attracting the same type of relationship – serious Deadheads.

If you have read any of this blog before, you might know that I’m considered a Senior (at least outwardly. Age is so different inside your mind, though, right?). Given that, I was attending shows back when Pigpen was with the band. I was around for Owsley acid. I remember the vibration of Phil Lesh’s bass rattling my ribcage as I stood in front of The Wall of Sound. I’m that old.

Even though I had been seeing them (or being brought along to see them) before, it was actually a moment a couple of years later in 1973 (while experiencing what was a potentially unpleasant downturn of an LSD trip) when somebody suddenly put on a new album that had just come out – Live at the Keystone with Merle Saunders and Jerry Garcia. Rather remarkably, it calmed me right down. This recording seemed to open a different path to hearing where Garcia meandered. Suddenly everything turned around and became alright. Suddenly I was hearing through different ears. It changed my relationship with Garcia’s playing and the Dead’s music from “Eh…..” to “Aha!”

And from that point on, when I saw the Dead I was really listening – to the subtle nuances, to the musical conversations and interplay between them, to the inside jokes within the music, what it was doing to my head, what journey it was taking me on, and that it was different every time. That was the point when I suddenly realized I Get It. In addition, it wasn’t necessary (for me) to be in an altered state in order to pay attention to all those things, although it didn’t hurt. Once I saw it, I could see it.

Now what started me down (what will soon become) this circuitous road of reminiscence is the recent passing of Donna Jean Godchaux, the only woman to be part of the Grateful Dead. Yes, her husband was the keyboard player, but she had a significant history of being a studio recording artist with some pretty impressive musical cred independent of her relationship.

I briefly mentioned above that once upon a time I was connected to guys in a jam band. They played a lot of Dead songs in addition to originals, and then launched into their own jam space off those songs. More specifically, at a fairly young age I married one of those musicians. The band was actually really good. In addition to a circle of friends fanning out in concentric circles from their core bond, they had a small following of local fans. Some of us shared a house together. The band practiced constantly, had gigs, tripped together, enjoyed listening to music together, went to concerts together, and were heavily, heavily into the Dead. They would listen to tapes of different shows and dissect them. It was an interesting hive scene and a reflection of the times. Initially I started to write a whole piece on the dynamics of living and being a part of that tribe and some of the high points, pitfalls and parallels, but I’ve decided to back out of that road.

When we were at a Dead show, there was no lingering outside in the parking Lot scene, it was about finding the sweet spot inside the venue, discovering where the music would sound the best. The guys I hung out with did not like Donna in the band and made no secret about it. Okay, her pitch was off for some of those shows (as were all of the others in the Dead – they never could sing all that well – and as an ironic aside, my homey guys in the jam band didn’t have the greatest voices). But she seemed to catch so much more complaining than necessary from so many male fans. Although none of them would admit it, I truly believe there was often a misogynistic element to it, as if a lot of these men fans saw her presence as an invasion into some kind of Boy’s Club, no women allowed. I don’t think it would have mattered who the woman was.

Of note, this attitude was not coming from the Dead themselves. As I understand it, her bandmates loved, respected and welcomed her.

I looked at Donna’s seasons with the Dead as an asset in their history. I liked seeing her beautiful self up there performing with them in all their unpredictability and imperfectness and complexity. Sometimes she really did hit it. In an odd way, I sort of related to her and envied her from afar. I’m betting a lot of women fans did during that time. And not for nothing, I would have killed for her hair……

Okay – as usual, I am going to veer off track now for a few paragraphs. As is the way with the internet, once I clicked on an article about Donna Godchaux, my feed and social media became bombarded with all sorts of Grateful Dead/DJG backstories and historical facts. One of the ones that jumped out at me was someone who posted “Autzen Stadium 1978 – I was there!” and how much they liked it. As always with Dead shows, you could never be sure what you were going to get.

I was at that show.

Imagining I might be met with some disagreement, I stand by saying with certainty that it was the worst Grateful Dead show I’ve even been at – and it had nothing to do with Donna Jean Godchaux. She was fine.

So yes, I am going to go off on a bit of a tangent here and share how some mind-altering substances thrown into the mix might have helped to place different colored glasses on the event, although not entirely. It’s my blog, I can do that here. Stay if you want to.

In addition to the Dead, the people in my immediate sphere were all big-time into Santana, so this was going to be a double treat. Our neighbor, Iowa Boy, had never seen the Dead before and was looking forward to finding out what the big deal was about. We got our ten dollar tickets (ten dollars!!!) and it was me, Red, Howie, Emrose, Fonebone, and Iowa Boy heading off in Red’s huge, white International Harvester with a giant skull and lightening bolt painted on the back. She didn’t want to drive her truck (she actually hadn’t had her driver’s license for very long) so Emrose took the wheel. We got to Eugene the night before and all camped out in a field not far from the venue.

Once inside the stadium the following day, a few of the guys headed off into the crowd to score some psychedelics, or “craze” as Emrose liked to call it. A gray cloud cover blanketed the overhead sky, which lent striking juxtaposition to the huge painted rainbow mural arching over the stage. They returned with the goods, we all dropped and waited for the fun to begin.

In no time at all, Howie, Fonebone, Emrose and Iowa Boy got off on their “craze” and seemed to be enjoying themselves. But for some reason, Red and I did not get off at all. We sat there in our sober disappointment, wondering how we two women managed to end up with duds. After some discussion and a significant wait, we decided to take a second hit.

You might guess that not five minutes after ingesting our second dose, we suddenly got off on the first one. We both looked at each other and just said “Uh-Oh”.

Eddie Money came on first. Then The Outlaws. I recall Howie saying all of them were playing Gibson guitars and were a “Les Paul Army”. I don’t know if that was so or why that comment stuck with me. Then Santana was up. Carlos Santana was wearing an electric blue velvet suit and his playing smoked. They were AMAZING…it was so freakin’ good that we were totally psyched for what was to come next. Following that (I think they came after Santana) some of the Merry Pranksters got on stage and were rapping to the crowd.

Somewhere in all of this, Howie decided to get up and get something to drink, and while waiting on a vendor line, the guy in front of him suddenly fell to the ground in what appeared to be a seizure. Howie snapped into professional mode trying to tend to him, while a circle of people formed around them. Luckily, the guy snapped out of it and went on his way. Howie returned to the bleachers white-faced and kind of freaked. He was trying to light a joint and asked if anyone had matches, which was met with weird reactions from people, who repeated the word while looking as if he had asked for something outrageously and bizarrely unattainable. “Matches? Matches? Matches?”

And then the Dead came on.

From where we sat, something was very off from the get-go and I don’t think it was just us. Garcia appeared to be having an issue, maybe with the tuning or the guitar, and then there was something going on between Garcia and Weir. There was discussion and hesitation happening that read as friction from where we sat. Once they got going, it was disjointed and nothing seemed to really gel. It had nothing to do with any singing, it was more like a lapse in connection and absence of the usual magic. We all individually felt it. We kept waiting for it to get off the ground, but it never seemed to. After such a hopeful buildup, the disappointment was huge.

Afterward, joining the line of people filing out of the stadium, everyone seemed silent. Not just our group but everybody. Nobody was talking. It was a speechless, exiting crowd. Howie said “This feels like a funeral procession.” Iowa Boy just shook his head and asked “Is this what you people get all excited about?” Clearly he was not going to be on the bus as far as a fan in the future.

The guys began to get hungry as they started to slowly come down from their trip, so we got back into the truck and stopped at an International House of Pancakes.

As you recall, both Red and I had taken a second hit of acid, so things had not leveled off for us yet. Timing is everything and unfortunately, we peaked in the IHOP. This was not a good place to have that happen. Red watched in horror as the face of the woman in the next booth began to melt. I watched my pancakes breathe in and out for a while before suddenly declaring “I can’t do this.” We looked at each other – “Let’s get out of here” – and went to wait out in the parking lot while the guys ate their breakfast.

They finished their meal while Red and I tried to pull it together outside. Then we all packed back into the International with Emrose, still under the influence himself, resuming control at the wheel.

Of course we got lost. Somehow we ended up going up a mountainside, traversing a number of precarious switchbacks. “Is this the way?” ” Do you think this is REALLY the way?” “Are you SURE this is the way?” At some point the road turned to dirt, getting narrower and narrower until it was not much more than a cow path, barely the width of the truck. The left side of the truck was practically touching a wall of rock. The right wheels skirted the precarious edge of a sheer drop off. We could have easily plunged off the side of the mountain. Clearly this was not a road. Emrose stopped driving for a moment while we readjusted our heads to what was happening. There was no way to turn around, there was no way to back up. Channeling his best Neal Cassady, he resumed driving. We kept moving forward, Further.

Eventually the path opened up again and emptied out onto a paved road which then dumped out into a highway; relief washing over all of us, we headed home.

This was just one of many adventures during that time and probably not even one of the wildest. Normally I wouldn’t even touch on this subject at all, just another youthful story born of Poor Decisions. I’m certain we all have them. But I ended up going down my own mental cow path while thinking about Donna Jean Godchaux and her time with the Dead. So here we are.

Years later we did actually listen to a tape of that concert. In the scheme of Dead shows, it wasn’t great but it wasn’t all that bad either. Perception is an interesting thing. That we all had the same impression is even more intriguing.

Eventually I stopped going to see the Dead for compound reasons. I got tired of people like “Bandana Man” – you know, one of those guys in a long blonde ponytail and bandana, wearing overalls with no shirt – recklessly crashing into you, crushing your foot or other bodily part. I think I have encountered some variation of Bandana Man at almost every single show. Then there is the crowd thing in general. Don’t do crowds much anymore if I can help it. This old body no longer wanted to be down on the floor but prefers settling my butt into a comfortable seat. Or a bed. Or my own bed! Maybe I burned out a bit on the futile cries of that one guy who just can’t stop yelling “St. Stephen” over and over again throughout. For years! The price of tickets became too rich for my pockets. And Jerry was gone. Yeah, there was that, too.

Life took a different direction. Kids and a job with responsibilities, and no longer having any desire to imbibe in “craze” or any other recreational substance anymore. I’m grateful I’ve survived some Stupid Mistakes and Bad Choices. Over the years I’ve become very straight, but my eyes are wide open all the time now.

I still listen to GD on occasion though. Sometimes a song will creep into my head like an earworm and stay with me for days on end. Other times one of their tunes suddenly fits a situation or works well on a long drive. More than half a century has passed (omg!!!) since that earliest “exposure”, but strangely, the connection has not faded away.

As a small aside, any association or contact I have had with any people peripheral to the Dead family in times past has been the briefest of interactions, otherwise it’s pretty much at least a degree of separation. It is interesting though – over the years my old friend Red became acquainted with a few members of the Dead, including Donna Godchaux, and still maintains friendships with some of the extended crew. Yesterday I checked in with her to compare notes and see if what she recalled was the same. She confirms that’s pretty much exactly how it happened.

She tells me Donna Jean was a sweetheart with a beautiful voice. And so I circle back to that here.

May the four winds blow you safely home.

~*~

Posted in Aging, Are you kidding me?, Flashback, Friends, Humor, Memories, Perspective, senior musings, Uncategorized, Weird | Tagged a woman in the band, Autzen stadium 1978, craze, donna jean godchaux, Early dead shows, eugene, Grateful Dead, jam band, jerry-garcia, LSD, misogynist fans, music, my hippie days, still a deadhead, the Dead, tripping, weird trip, worst dead show ever | 2 Comments

Arrival of the Junco

Posted on November 3, 2025 by daeja's view

A friend of mine stated that when the Dark-eyed Juncos show up at the bird feeder, Winter is surely on the way. They have arrived in all their rotund fluffiness, an announcement that Autumn is trucking right along.

Although it has been a less vibrant Fall, the young maple planted in the front yard has ended up putting on a nice show despite my reservations about getting any significant color. I mentioned to the S.O. that some day when it gets larger that tree will probably be one of the most attractive in the neighborhood during Autumn, to which he replied (in his usual cynical manner) that we will be dead long before we ever get to see that. I conceded he was most likely correct….

Halloween has come and gone. The Fence Dinosaur down the street (for those who follow) is in costume. I think there are little dots that light up in the bat wings but I’m not sure.

I donned my wolf hat and sat out on the porch in the chilly wind next to the skelly, with his glowing red eyes and skull switched on for good measure.

Little Rudi wore his pirate sweater all day to celebrate the occasion. Yo-Ho!

We got maybe fifteen trick-or-treaters – if that – in rather unoriginal costumes. There was a Halloween event going on uptown and also I think most of the kids gravitated to the ultra decorated houses. Friends from around the corner mentioned about one-hundred kids came to their door. Their place was done up rather spectacularly. By seven o’clock I had eaten a significant amount of the candy all by myself. Cold and tired, I gave it up, switched off the lights and came inside.

In the next town from here there is an annual parade that is always filled with some really creative costumes and characters. My neighbor V. was there and snapped a photo of the Halloween night sky. She calls this her $20 photo because it ended up costing her that much, as a twenty dollar bill fell out of her pocket and was lost when she pulled out her phone to take the picture. It’s a great photo. What do you think, worth it?

My sister sent me some west coat autumnal shots from where she was standing, so I am including one of my favorite ones in order to encompass a broader geographic view of the week.

This afternoon I took Rudi for a walk around the block and snapped a few photos of November’s fleeting palette.

The Crimsons

and The Golds.

Dusty, antique rose hues

and patterned foliage of an Oakleaf Hydrangea.

Pops of Nippon Daisies glow among their slowly rusting leaves.

Over the last number of weeks the air has been punctuated with the clarion call of Canada geese migrating in V-shaped silhouettes across chilly skies. Their announcements, along with the arrival of the Junco and the red-golds of November, are natures reminders to start preparing for winter.

~*~

Posted in Aging, Autumn, Gardening, Holidays, nature, Perspective, Photography, Seasons, senior musings, The Urban Porch, The Urban Porch ™, treasures, Uncategorized, Views From he Urban Porch ™ | Tagged Arrival of the Junco, Autumn, Dark-eyed Junco, fading foliage, Fall, Fence Dinosaur, geese migration, Halloween, last colors of autumn, papillon, winter is not far off | Leave a comment

Slow Rollout

Posted on October 19, 2025 by daeja's view

So here we are, mid-October, and it’s rolling out in slo-mo. While other areas are getting color, this little corner of the world (at least my world) has been in a bit of a stall. The maple tree in front of the house that replaced my beloved linden has a few tinges of gold, but remains mostly still green. The Crow Tree on the corner which is usually in spectacular flamboyancy appears to be slowly browning, without much fanfare. It’s happening, but nothing like in years past.

Here is one of the trees from the neighborhood in a photo taken five years ago, just to give you an idea of the possibilities.

Here is the same tree on the exact same day this year. You never know what you are going to get….

To go hand-in-hand, I’ve had the most lackluster approach regarding fall cleanup. Honestly, I barely care about it. A small burst of energy here, another burst of trimming back there. Then I just want to go inside and take a nap.

What I thought were many tall sunflower stalks (having planted multiple varieties of sunflowers this past spring) ended up mostly being Jerusalem Artichokes (aka sunchokes). A friend had shared some bulbs with me years ago. I thought it would be fun to grow and eat them. They took off instantly and became a bit prolific (read Invasive). That would not really have been much of a problem, except given the layers of lead-based paint remaining on these old houses (this one is about 125 years old) that very well could be leaching into the soil, it didn’t seem like such a good idea to be ingesting them. I thought I had removed them all, but apparently little pieces of tubers left behind created new plants.

Initially thinking they must have been the sunflowers I planted, I let them go until it became all too obvious what they were. Their towering, hairy stalks reached towards the sky, finally flowering when Autumn was well underway (pretty much the last thing to bloom, aside from the ongoing Zinnias), producing tiny yellow blooms that looked like miniature heads stuck on giant bodies. They overshadowed and took over the entire area in front of The Urban Porch.

Luckily, they pull out very easily. I gathered some tubers to share with some local people who might have room to let them run.

The actual sunflowers are finished and died off. I’ve left most of them standing for now, letting the birds continue to feast on them. Their blackened eyes, empty husks and jagged, wilted leaves provide a tinge of spookiness to the season.

In their usual oddball weirdness, the squirrels (or one squirrel) repeatedly brings its lunch (entire sunflower heads) up onto the porch, possibly in order to dine in peace, leaving a mess behind. I’m wondering if this is the same one that insists on depositing peanut shells in front of the door.

The oak tree in the median by the next door neighbor’s house has been infested with Spotted Lanternflies. The tree appears damaged but I’m not sure if the insects are the cause. It is peculiar that only that one tree (as far as can be determined) has been affected, even though there are others close by. Perhaps someone had parked on the street beneath it and deposited a hitchhiker at some point earlier in the year. I don’t want them on my trees and have been rather vigilant in annihilating them whenever I seen them.

At first I thought my new tennis racquet bug zapper would do the job (see “Seriously???”, 9/6/25 for more on that), but it seemed to be useless against them and useless in general, although I did zap a really annoying fly in the house the other day. This item has pretty much been a fail since the beginning. So I grabbed the ever-trusty, good old-fashioned basic fly swatter from the closet. It’s been very effective. I’ve read that for each lanternfly you kill (before they lay eggs) it will prevent 60 to 100 more from hatching. If that is the case, I’ve rescued the street from thousands of invaders. The neighbors might very well be laughing when they see “that crazy lady with the hot pink fly swatter” out there smashing bugs on a tree multiple times a day, but they might appreciate it if it prevents them from showing up on their property. It might be a useless effort, but at least I’m trying. The yellow jackets feast on their carcasses. I thought I spied a woodpecker picking a dead one off the trunk the other day.

While the leaves have not been the most dramatic, color continues to come into focus in other areas. These eggs are gorgeous –

The single flower that my indoor Fuscia plant produced only last week opened slowly,

glowing beautifully in the front window, petals reaching out in a ballet dance.

The mini-Oxalis has been doing so well that I was able to root multiple cuttings and give them away.

Down the street, the Fence Dinosaur (for those who follow) finally got a new outfit for October. I think they may have skipped the month of September. Right now he’s wearing sort of a wind/rain parka, which will probably be useful this week. They are doing up their house in grand Halloween style this year, so I’m hoping they will give him a costume.

The farmer’s market never fails to present with vibrant bounty.

I was particularly taken with the stalks of brussels sprouts.

A view of the evening sky from The Urban Porch the other evening was fiery and rich, settling into moodiness as the sun dipped below the horizon.

More color zing! It’s time for paw-paws and pomegranates!

The annual local high school homecoming parade marched past The Urban Porch a couple of days ago. The band with those horns, drums, feathered helmets and cheering kids always brings on a smile and a tear at the same time – I’m not sure why. Perhaps because amidst a world full of chaos it is something that feels cohesive, joyful and healthy……..

The following day there was a massive No Kings protest march in town. There were thousands participating. It was loud, creative, colorful, peaceful, and also quite moving to see people standing together in solidarity and concern for the future of our democracy.

Back on the block during the evening walk with Rudi, we noticed a number of houses – the usual ones who really get into it – doing it up in style for Halloween again this year. My biggest effort was dragging the skelly out of the attic, putting it in a porch chair and arming it with a weapon. If you are a Spotted Lanternfly for Halloween and come up on this porch, you’ might be in trouble. Unless there is a sudden rush of last minute motivation, that’s going to be the extent of the decor.

A few perks of Autumn – the mosquitos are finally gone. It’s also been cool enough to break out my collection of way too many cowboy boots. I’ve been slowly off-loading a number of them throughout this year, but there are still quite a few in the closet.

It gets dark so early now! Little old Rudi and I have been soaking in as many sunny days as we can; just a couple of seniors enjoying the Autumn sun as the season slowly rolls out.

~*~

Posted in Aging, Animal Stories, Autumn, Dogs, Gardening, House plants, nature, Perspective, Photography, Seasons, senior musings, The Urban Porch, The Urban Porch ™, treasures, Uncategorized, Views From he Urban Porch ™, Weather | Tagged Autumn, autumn color, Color, colors of autumn, dull fall, dying garden, farmers market, fly swatter, Gardening, Halloween, halloween decorations, homecoming parade, houseplants, jerusalem artichokes, my cowboy boots, no kings, Papi-Chi, papillon, paw-paw season, porch skelly, senior dog, spotted lanternflies, sunchokes, sunsets, writing | Leave a comment

There Is No Choice Except Beige

Posted on October 3, 2025 by daeja's view

I’ve got an old friend who has a penchant for ordering things that look like “such a deal” from the ads on her internet and social media pages, and then receiving not quite what was pictured. No doubt there are plenty of us who probably have had similar experiences, especially in more recent times where both Quality Assurance and Customer Service are becoming less of an expectation and more of an archaic concept in so many areas.

These situations show up as frustratingly laughable stories and memes, as in “What I Ordered Versus What I Got”. For example, this “3 Ft Tall Chrome Doberman Statue as pictured that someone ordered, and what they actually received.

Or this Barney costume someone purchased and what arrived:

Along those lines, a while back my friend had ordered a lounge chair with sunshade and carry bag that looked like an incredible bargain, but received only the bag, and a bag not even big enough to hold what would have been the chair. She never bothered to follow up on her loss. Another time she ordered what she described as a “cute cat vase” that appeared about ten inches high in the photo, but received a teeny, tiny vase of a couple of inches, the diameter of the hole on top only large enough to fit a straw.

Going forward, you might think those experiences might have been enough to deter her from that great lure of internet advertisements lurking on the sidebar of the screen, but clearly sometimes they are just too good to resist.

Having undergone spinal surgery and ongoing recovery, she was in search of a lightweight, nylon cross-body purse that would not pull down on her neck and shoulders; something which would allow her to navigate hands-free so she could hold a cane and do whatever else. Being the night owl that she is, about 2 a.m. she was scrolling the internet and came across just the thing in one of those ads; shoulder strap, interior sections and zippered inside pocket, affordable, and in an array of colors. Looked pretty good.

The Red bag is the one that appealed to her most. She clicked on the Red option and put it in her “cart”, filled out the order form with all the information and moved on to the payment screen. Once there, she discovered that her choice of RED had all of a sudden been changed to BEIGE. Not wanting Beige, she backed out of the screen before hitting “pay” and tried making the order again.

This situation repeated itself a number of times. She would put the Red purse in her cart, move on to the payment screen, add her billing information and just before she was about to hit the payment button she would see her Red purse had once again been changed to BEIGE. Backing out, she tried a few times without resolution.

Now determined and very much wanting this shoulder bag, she decided to try another company, discovering what appeared to be the identical purse being sold by different vendors, with prices that were similar, maybe a dollar or so different than her initial choice. What was interesting is that all these separate companies happened to have the exact same photo of these shoulder bags in their advertisements.

Once on the website of company #2, she repeated the same process, only to once again discover at the last minute her choice was automatically changed to BEIGE! Despite the offer of a display of colors, in the final screen it always came down to no choice except Beige.

And here it gets a little bit cloudy, because she is not sure how many different companies selling the identical items she may have tried – possibly two but she thinks it might have been three (“Well, you know it was two o’clock in the morning and things get fuzzy”), but eventually her choice of a Red purse actually did appear to remain RED at checkout.

Her confirmation email arrived.

And then another one. And another one. And yet another one! Altogether she received sixteen (yes, 16) confirmation emails verifying she had submitted sixteen individual orders for sixteen individual purses. Next, all these charges immediately showed up on her credit card statement.

How was this possible? She had never hit “pay” at the end, but had backed out of each screen, only confirming the final purchase she had decided to keep. None of these companies provided any contact information on their site – some were written in Chinese. She is not fluent in Chinese.

So she called her credit card company, which was linked to her PayPal account (the method of payment) to explain the situation and cancel all the orders but one. The customer service person was amused, yet stated (perhaps with a sigh) that they would have to go in and cancel sixteen individual orders…. but assured her all would be taken care of.

Within a few days, a largish package arrived at her door. Opening it, she found it contained not one, but three Beige (or what appeared to be Beige) purses inside. Upon inspection, she discovered the interiors did not contain the zippered inner pocket as featured, that the strap was a bit more ribbon-like than expected, and that the lining of at least one of them was unfinished and not especially well made. She put them back in the wrapping and set the package aside.

Almost every day or so thereafter, another delivery was left at her door. She just left them all sitting on her table unopened. When she told me this I could not stop laughing. Showing my age here, I was flashing back to that old I Love Lucy episode where Lucy and Ethel had a job on a conveyor belt at a chocolate factory and the candies kept coming faster and faster.

I was also baffled. “Why aren’t you opening them? Aren’t you curious? Maybe a Red one is inside one of those packages!” Her response was sort of a lackluster “Meh”. Oddly, she seemed to have no immediate interest and said I was more thrilled about it than she was. It would have driven me nuts having all those parcels arriving and not knowing what they contained.

Eventually she had a pile of plastic-wrapped mailers just sitting there. When I saw the photo, the first thing I thought of was that it looked like a shipment of seized contraband. I guess you could call late-night obsessive retail therapy sort of a drug, if you will….

In the meantime and to her relief, her credit card company had reversed all the charges, which was her immediate concern. She asked PayPal (the intermediary payment method between her bank and the companies she purchased from) what she should do with all these wayward shipments. They told her she could either send them all back at her own expense (to China, no less), or she could just keep them. She figured she could probably donate them to a good cause somewhere, or (she joked – or maybe not a joke)“Guess what everyone is getting for Christmas?“

Yesterday I spoke with her and started bugging her a little bit. “So when are you going to open those packages?” She still didn’t seem to have any interest, but I persisted. I suggested we go on FaceTime and virtually open them together. So it began.

First – and most obvious – is that although there were three different companies, they are in fact all the same company. The source of the purses is the same, all are imported. They have the identical shape, colors, straps, little braided zipper pulls. Regardless of which vendor, they all arrived with the identical “Thank You” card inside.

She began by revisiting the first package containing three which she had initially opened. We discovered all three purses inside were actually more of a Gray color, not Beige. After that there was one purse in each package. Beige! Beige! Gray! Gray! Gray! As she opened each one and called out the colors, we found ourselves sinking into what soon became hysterical laughter. It got even better when it turned out one of the packages was an order of underwear she had been waiting for and wondered what had happened to it. She had thrown it aside, thinking it was another purse. Beige! Gray! Gray! Gray! UNDERWEAR! At that point I was laughing so hard that my eyes were streaming. When was the last time you laughed so hard that you cried? It was just too good! We were both almost howling and could not stop.

I kept a little scorecard during the reveal. The first twelve were all Gray or Beige. Wonder of wonders, purse #13 was a Red one. We cheered! RED! You finally got your Red purse! Well, it wasn’t exactly Red, rather more like a Maroon, but still……

Purse #14 also was Red! Purse #15 – another Red!

Finally it was down to the very last purse, #16. Drumroll…….. it was BLACK!

The final score: 8 Gray, 4 Beige, 3 Red and 1 Black. After all of that, she has decided she actually likes the Gray ones best.

I believe she put them all back in their packages and I’m guessing all those packages are still just sitting on the table. Knowing her, they will probably remain there for a while.

At last mention of this debacle, she shared that her credit card company had just billed her again for a few of the purses. I am not sure how that will play out, but the entertaining part of the fiasco has concluded for me with the big reveal. Honestly, it felt so good to just laugh.

I guess there might be a few takeaways from this. Avoiding the potential for misrepresentation can be challenging when engaging in the enticement of online shopping, even when you think you are being careful. I recently dodged one of those situations myself. Beware of those advertisements popping up in your social media pages. Maybe not shop in the middle of the night, especially if you are feeling a little bit “fuzzy”. And it never hurts to check the reviews and scores of the vendor to see if they are legit.

In the meantime, it seems as if (hopefully) one of these purses will provide what she was looking for regarding weight and accessibility. As compensation for the agita, I think she should keep a Gray, Beige, Red and Black for herself – one for every season!

~*~

Posted in Aging, Are you kidding me?, Fashion, Humor, senior musings, Shopping, Uncategorized, Weird | Tagged beige, customer service, internet advertisements, not what i ordered, online shopping, ordering glitches, ordering insanity, quality assurance, retail therapy, shopping, shoulder bags, the red purse, trying to order | Leave a comment

Redirection

Posted on September 24, 2025 by daeja's view

This week I will share a few things that have provided a bit of joy, appreciation, awe, or curiosity during September. For the most part they are pretty simple things which have created a necessary and probably healthy bit of diversion.

I’ll start with a few autumn scenes from The Urban Porch and move on from there. Following an intense and sudden deluge, the gutters overflowed in a loud, dramatic, and rather exciting way.

The sunflowers have been a success this year, drawing comments of appreciation from the foot traffic going by, in addition to attracting the birds.

A praying mantis stopped for a few moments and then vanished into a tangle of weeds below. The first one I’ve seen this year, I’m guessing when the garden is put to bed a few of those foamy, empty egg cases might be discovered.

In my last post I mentioned the acquisition of a tennis racquet bug zapper to deter the onslaught of mosquitos and yellow jackets. Up until this point I have to say it’s been mostly a failure. My friend has an identical one that appears to have a bit more power to it. She’s excellent at wielding that thing too. I did manage to swat away a pesky hornet. It landed on her deck, only stunned, and probably would have gotten up again but for an interesting thing occurring.

An ant appeared and decided to haul the hornet away. A battle ensued! Disoriented from the zap, the hornet was at a disadvantage, but it resisted, twisting around in an attempt to sting the ant, while the ant doggedly avoided the stinger and tried to drag it off by its head. It was all very National Geographic. This went on for quite a while. We wondered if any other ants would come by to help out, but the struggle remained one-on-one. I’m assuming the ant won, as it finally disappeared with its prize down a space between the planks.

While walking Little Rudi up the street, we came upon this black cat lounging on the sidewalk. She is one of the Queens of the Neighborhood, patrolling her fiefdom with an air of ownership, often positioning herself under birdfeeders. She is in our yard almost every night. Large, about the same size as the dog, she is a formidable presence. As we got closer, it was clear she had absolutely no intention of moving. While she has never (yet) attempted to go after him, Rudi always gives her a very wide berth. We walked into the street in order to avoid any kind of confrontation. I enjoy her sassiness.

One of the last remaining floral scents of the season has been the Sweet Autumn Clematis (Clematis terniflora). It has a heavy, intoxicating, Jasmine-like scent to it.

While carefully sticking my face into the blossoms for a hit of perfume (avoiding the bees), I discovered a young Tree of Heaven had sprouted up within the Clematis, and upon the leaves was a Spotted Lanternfly. The lanternflies have finally made it to The Urban Porch. So far there have only been a few, but even a few are too many. They are quite beautiful. The patterns and colors on their open wings remind me a few articles of clothing I have! Lanternfly couture! It’s too bad they are both invasive and destructive.

Their food of preference is the Tree of Heaven (Hell), another invasive species from China, which grows quickly and spreads easily. I pull them out and cut them down whenever I see them, but some of the neighbors are not so diligent about it.

This one was observed busily chowing down on a small ailanthus that the next-door neighbor’s landlord had let grow. “Wait, let me go back to my house and grab my bug zapper tennis racquet!” So I did that, and I got the thing (you have to approach them from the front – their sensors appear to be on the back and they can quickly hop/fly/leap/boinnng away). It was oddly satisfying, but it was just the one, and it took a few attempts with the barely effective bug racquet. Maybe it needs fresh batteries. I flipped the defeated bug off the porch, where a group of house sparrows were hanging out. Hopefully one of them took it and will acquire a taste for more.

Onto the birds, yesterday in the driveway there was a flock of Mourning Doves in the spot where I park. Usually there is only a pair and they take off as soon as they see the car. This time there were five or six of them together, with no indication they were leaving.

So I sat in the car and watched them for a while. Perhaps some seeds had blown off a plant onto the blacktop were attracting them? Or maybe it was the impending rain storm that grounded all of them? On closer inspection, it appeared a few of the birds were molting.

Finally I needed to get out of the car, at which point the whole group rose up into the Japanese Maple tree with a noisy flutter of wings.

In other random areas, I opened up a bar of soap bought at a local craft fair last winter. Seeing that happy rainbow soap on the edge of the tub every morning has provided a small ping of enjoyment. It smells like lemon verbena and feels pretty nice too.

Okay, now we move on to the food portion (don’t I often gravitate there?) At a Tea House with a daughter ,we enjoyed a beautiful glass of iced Rose Milk Green Tea with foam, an iced caramel latte,

and a delicate slice of Purple Yam Mille Crepes Cake. Isn’t this gorgeous?

It was impossible to decide between that and the slice of Mixed Fruit Mille Crepes Cake, so…..both! They were so incredibly, light, fresh and not overly sweet.

In my own kitchen this month there has been a focus on figs, mostly because a large container of them was available at a reasonable price. My own lush-leafed fig tree continues to dominate The Urban Porch, but it has not produced even one fig this year. Not a one!!!! Last weekend the Sunday Dutch Baby was a combination of fig and peach, with a hint of vanilla.

On a more creative front, I messed around with ingredients I had on hand and ended up making a really good dinner the other night – Polenta con Fungi e Fiche. You have to say it in Italian because, well, the polenta. Polenta – a childhood comfort food – was baked and then smothered with a reduction of dried and fresh mushrooms (portobello, lions mane, porchini and some powdered morel). Added sliced figs, simmered all in Marsala wine, a little black pepper, a pinch of salt, and topped it off with a handful of pine nuts (pignoli). It was sooooo good. The photo does not do it justice, but just thinking about it now has awakened the taste buds. On the side was asparagus sautéed in olive oil with chopped Moroccan preserved lemons. I will say the asparagus was a little bit woody. But over all it was a killer meal, especially for a weeknight in front of the TV. French macrons for dessert…..

Having not done much with the sage plant that has been growing on the porch all summer, tonight I made Beer Battered Fried Sage Leaves as a little appetizer. They were crispy and interesting. I’m thinking basil leaves might also be good.

There were some big enjoyments this month too, surrounding seeing the kids and all of the grandkids. Just observing them going about their daily lives, watching the subtle nuances of their personalities and interactions actually brought secret tears to my eyes. Brothers on the couch next to each other, reading books. A hand draped over a dog curled up by a little girl’s side. Boys making dunk shots with their laundry. Feelings of appreciation, love, wonder, gratefulness, and some worry; more of a focus rather than a distraction or redirection. Probably a better subject for different post, but all so beautiful.

The Japanese Maple (aka “My Red Tree”) in the back yard is deepening into rose and amber hues, glowing beyond the back window. The days are darkening much earlier now – golden light of late afternoon washes across the room. Redirected gaze and focus to the small pleasures and beauty is a recommended sanity and soul saver.

~*~

Posted in Aging, Autumn, Birds, Cooking, Daeja's Garden, Food, Gardening, Mushrooms, nature, Perspective, Seasons, senior musings, The Urban Porch, The Urban Porch ™, treasures, Uncategorized, Views From he Urban Porch ™, Weather | Tagged ant vs. hornet, autumn light, Birds, bugs, Figs, flock of mourning doves, grandparenting, insects, polenta con fungi, rainbow soap, recipe, sage chips, sanity saver, scented clematis, September, september scenes, Spotted Lantern Fly, tea house | Leave a comment

Seriously???

Posted on September 6, 2025 by daeja's view

I’m delicious. I can attest to that, as these freakin’ mosquitos confirm it. Doesn’t matter what foods I eat or avoid, if I am sweating or cool and dry, whether I am freshly out of the shower and scrubbed squeaky clean or not, am alcohol-free, not breathing out extra carbon dioxide from any physical exertion, using fragrance free products or am slathered with supposedly repellant essential oils and sprays. Even the commercial products don’t totally do the job. My enticing type-O blood and otherwise undetectable yummy aroma screams out to them and lures them in like a siren.

My sister gave me a repellant wrist band to try that she felt was helpful. I had been saving it for an occasion when I was out gardening or sitting on The Urban Porch.

To compliment the wrist band, a friend recommended a super inexpensive, battery operated swatter shaped like a tennis racquet. She told me she sits outside by her swimming pool and waves it around her, where it emits multiple (and rather satisfying) “zap zap zap” sounds as it clears the air of mosquitos and even yellow jackets that are harassing her. I just discovered my son-in-law carries one when he goes on his evening walks and finds it very effective for bothersome horseflies. How come I never heard of this thing? So I got one.

That afternoon I sat outside on The Urban Porch and awaited the usual onslaught of biting bloodsuckers. I waved it around my head and body as my friend described, anticipating the gratification of flying pest annihilation and mellow airspace.

But no action was occurring. It was as if they suspected something was afoot, even before the thing was on. Perhaps the mere presence of said device entered their tiny consciousnesses, prompting them to back off? I continued to sit there on the porch, waving it around my head like a hallucinating tennis-playing weirdo. While I was doing this, a large mosquito zipped right past the racquet, landed on my leg and began drilling into me. It felt like a personal affront! A few attempts have now been made to test this contraption out. So far there has been no success.

This afternoon I decided to do some weeding and yard cleanup before the predicted thunderstorms began. It seemed like a good opportunity to test out the pink mosquito-repelling wrist band, especially since it was hot and muggy and I was going to be sleeveless. It has a very strong odor, like citronella and probably a blend of other oils too. Not having total confidence in its effectiveness, I also added a layer of commercial repellent to my bare arms for an extra barrier.

And yet, they eventually drove me back inside. Notice the wrist band and the proximity of a mosquito bite just beginning to welt up. This is in addition to using the commercial spray.

And here is the front side of my opposite shoulder. There are more bites on the back side. This is before they really blew up to about the size of a quarter.

There’s also one on my face and probably a few more elsewhere. As I type this, all of the bites are continuing to expand even more than in these photos and getting increasingly itchy.

A guy I knew years ago once put forth his theory that they were not targeting any one person – that we were all being bit by the mosquitos but only some of us were having more extreme reactions to them. He pointed out that they were landing on him too, but he was not reactive. In a way that idea almost makes sense as sometimes the welts get huge – it is the body’s immune response. Even after they fade, they often seem to flare up again days later.

The most effective thing I have found besides covering up head to toe is DEET, and even that has not been totally fool proof. I hate the way it feels on my skin, although I have used it at a few outdoor evening gatherings and religiously when in areas of countries where malaria and dengue fever is a threat. As always, you have to pick your battles. It is also toxic to dogs, which is a big NO around here.

The greatest anticipation towards colder weather is that this flying army from hell will finally be dead…at least until next year.

~*~

Posted in Are you kidding me?, Autumn, Coping, Gardening, nature, Rant, Seasons, senior musings, summer, The Urban Porch, The Urban Porch ™, Uncategorized, Vent, Views From he Urban Porch ™, Wildlife | Tagged commercial repellent fail, electronic fly swatter, flying army from hell, huge mosquito bites, immune response, moquito wrist bands, mosquito army, mosquito bites, mosquitos, tennis racquet insect swatter, type O, waiting for mosquito death, waiting for winter, weeding with mosquitos | 3 Comments

The Dulling

Posted on September 2, 2025 by daeja's view

Summer is closing out and the action surrounding The Urban Porch has very much slowed down. There is a tinge of color on the edges of some leaves. A slight shift in the quality of the light. Cooler nights, great for sleeping with the window open.

The Hostas have completed their blossoming, the leaves dying back to wilted, brown rags. I began mowing them down in small segments, a little each week. My mower is small and will keep stalling out if I try to do it all at once. After flushing out a small rabbit from beneath them (it scampered away to safety), I first make sure there are no creatures lurking beneath.

The black bears have been pretty active and seem to be everywhere lately. So many adolescent bears sightings happening around here – leaving their mother, starting to learn about the world on their own and trying to fatten up before it’s time to hibernate. Pretty much every day one is crossing the road, sauntering across a yard, or getting into someone’s garbage. While I was watching my granddaughter last weekend, my daughter texted me to say “Don’t let the dogs out, there’s a bear in the backyard.” It’s not a very clear photo off the back of the house camera, but you get the idea. It was still a good size, and no, I didn’t let the dogs out.

Speaking of dogs, there are three of them, including mine, and one that was just newly adopted (my new grand-dog). A quick diversion here to share about the acquisition of this one. I volunteered to drive out of state to pick up this little guy who was being delivered (along with so many others) off a transport. He was one of sixty-five small dogs coming from a hoarding situation in Kentucky. I don’t understand what is wrong with people that this kind of thing occurs and allowed to get to that kind of critical situation. Luckily, new homes were found for all of them.

I was expecting something like a box truck to be delivering these dogs, so you can imagine my surprise when a huge tractor trailer pulled into the parking lot. Inside, the cages were stacked three high and ran the entire length of the trailer. While they were stressed from their long travel, the dogs that came off at our stop appeared to be in good condition, and the driver transporting them was kind. This was one of multiple drop off points through multiple states.

Here he is when he first came off the truck and into my arms. He was trembling and so small.

And smelly. He needed a bath. He was good about it.

Afterward he immediately snuggled up close to me and fell into an exhausted sleep, as did I. When I woke up, the dog was tucked up against my collarbone, right under my chin. Sweetness overload!

The next day he went on to my daughter’s family and his forever home. He’s a great little pup and fit right in almost immediately. Lucky boy! ♥

So back to the bear; I was not going to take any of them out while a bear might be on the other side of the porch. There is always a lot of animal action in that yard. Fox often, racoon families, skunks and Barred Owls in the trees. This one was in front of the house. What a beauty!

Circling back now to The Urban Porch – as summer wanes, Zinnias and sunflowers are providing most of the showy hues, although the leaves on many of the Zinnias have developed a powdery mildew. It didn’t happen to the Zinnias growing next door at the neighbor’s place, so I don’t know what that is about.

Milkweed saw an abundant, successful summer – the seeds tossed around last fall apparently took. Monarch butterflies did eventually find them.

Once they emerged, they danced among the Zinnias.

The Milkweed pods are drying out and beginning to burst open, getting ready to send the next generation of seeds out on silky parachutes. I am gathering them to share with anyone who wants to encourage the Monarchs next year.

Masses of orange coneflowers throughout the neighborhood have contributed to some eye-popping admiration.

Speaking of “the neighborhood”, the Fence Dinosaur down the street (for those who follow updates on our local stuffed ‘saurus fashionista) was decked out in shades and a sombrero for August.

Inexplicably, a number of disappointments have occurred during this summer’s growing cycle. For the second year in a row, my fig tree did not produce any figs. I surmise it might be due to having been cut back the year before last, and even a tiny bit of a trim last year? Plenty of healthy leaves, not one fig.

Also the Hibiscus that had bloomed a few times inside the house over winter did not produce any flowers at all when out on the porch all summer. That’s a first. But weirdest has been the Heavenly Blue Morning Glory Fail. Tendrils snaked and vine-wrapped up and around the railings of The Urban Porch, in addition to climbing the lamp pole in the front yard. The soil in the porch pots was not even the same soil as in the yard, yet despite the differences, there was not even one blossom on any of them! I have no answers for that.

Elsewhere, scarlet seeds of summer’s end adorn the Dogwood tree in the front,

while English Yew is putting forth their cool-looking berries. If you have ever seen what an MRI image of an eyeball looks like, it’s kind of like these berries. Eyeball berries….

While these bits of late summer hues and pigments make an appearance, The Dulling of the trees has begun. The Dulling – that in-between time when the vibrancy of summer greens ceases any further action in the chlorophyll department and takes on a flat, appearance – the early commencement of dying, a dull pause until the vividness of autumnal glow truly begins.

A number of people I have spoken to lately have expressed their own pauses, lack of inertia, a suspended animation, a slowing down – in effect an emotional dullng running parallel to the seasonal changes. Everything is connected.

The Crow Tree across the road is experiencing a few radical changes. The two jutting pinnacles which have provided perches for crows, ravens and hawks appears to have finally broken off. I still can’t believe this tree has not fallen. The view from my chair on the porch indicates that The Dulling there has begun, with a hint of September gold beginning around the edges.

One by one the plants on The Urban Porch are experiencing their own version of The Dulling. The ones that will not be coming back inside are fading out and will be tossed. Tomatoes are finished and all eaten. Basil has been picked, the pesto has been made.

There was not as much basil planted and frozen this year, meaning less to revive August’s verdancy during winter’s dark. On the subject of food, The Dutch Baby of the weekend contained the late fruits and berries of the season – peaches, blackberries and raspberries.

I’ve still been making a few more watermelon/feta/mint salads, but the mint has flowered and bolted, leaving not much left to gather. It’s time to think about squashes and roasted vegetables for dinner in the coming days. Well, maybe not yet, but soon.

And then there are the night insects, the crickets and katydids; an ongoing chorus of jingling bells, interspersed with some chirping and what sounds like someone running their thumb along the teeth of a comb, over and over again. Last week there was an insistent, raspy man-voice rising above all the others calling “knee-deep, knee-deep.” This went on for days, but tonight Knee Deep is silent, perhaps having left the scene. By some time in October they will all be gone.

While The Dulling is occurring, in contrast there have been some stunning sunsets, vibrating blue skies and spectacular cloud formations, along with rumors of possible aurora borealis sightings in the near future.

I’m looking forward to a foliage riot.

~*~

Posted in Aging, Animal Stories, Autumn, Cooking, Daeja's Garden, Dogs, Food, Gardening, nature, Perspective, Seasons, senior musings, summer, The Urban Porch, The Urban Porch ™, Uncategorized, Views From he Urban Porch ™, Weather, Wildlife | Tagged barred owl, black bears, crow tree, dog adoption, dog rescue, dogs, dull foliage, emotional dullness, Fence Dinosaur, katydid, milkweed, milkweed pods, milkweed seeds, monarch, night sounds, no blooms on morning glories, no figs on my fig tree, weird yew berries, zinnias | Leave a comment

Weather Roulette

Posted on August 24, 2025 by daeja's view

As usual, where I start with these posts is not always where it ends up.

One of my kids sent me photos of outrageously massive, crashing and cresting waves on the ocean near where she resides, an effect produced by Hurricane Erin, which has been alternating between kissing and pummeling numerous states along the east coast this past week.

Simultaneously, one of my sisters let me know they were making preparations to evacuate their home if it became necessary – depending on which direction the wildfire ended up taking – as billows of smoke and glowing skies from a hungry blaze moved across the outskirts of their California town.

Throughout the last few decades, the whole climate change situation has slowly gained momentum from a dire warning to stark reality. Only now, over the most recent of years, has it become startling enough that any climate change denier would have to be pretty dense (or corporately greedy) not to acknowledge that something potentially disastrous is afoot.

It was in the 1970’s when I first experienced earth tremors in the northeast. Up until that time, tremors were something I only knew from the west coast. Were they always happening? Was it natural fault lines? Fracking? Undersea weapons testing? Subsequently, there is never any heavy decor or shelving hanging directly over my bed.

In 1989 I encountered the first (of a few) northeast tornados. Before then (at least for me) they were just stories shared by our midwestern relatives. The dog became restless as the sky turned pea soup green. Lawn chairs, kid’s toys, branches, leaves and and debris began to fly sideways past the house. I recalled my aunt telling me to open the windows (so the house would not pressurize and blow them out) and get down to the lowest or most interior spot inside. I did that, then grabbed the baby and the dog and crouched on the dirt basement floor. Mere seconds later it had passed through, uprooting trees as it skipped its way across a few counties and into the next state, leaving some areas totally unscathed beneath sparkling, sunny skies, while elsewhere lay a path of destruction and, tragically, a few deaths in its wake. And that was just an EF-1, debatably “only” a microburst. After that incident our local schools began installing NOAA weather radios and weather alert warning systems.

While (at this point) these experiences above have pretty much fallen way below the full wrath of nature, the degrees of separation are not that far off: A friend whose family lost their house in rapidly rising floodwaters from the Susquehanna river, another in Katrina, another stuck in her car as it began to submerge in a flash flood, at least two whose property and part of their houses were ripped up by a tornado, friends of friends and family who have lost their homes to racing wildfires…. an email from my cousin saying “I’m writing this from the basement because the tornado sirens are going off.” Were these things always happening, and happening as frequently? Or is it just a heightened awareness of such, an awareness made due to instant live media of these events?

So while these photos of waves and smoke were being shared and popping up on my phone in real time, it got me flashing back to memories of a few weather incidents from the past; memories like hanging on to the door handle of my car while the wind sucked my breath from my lungs, a basketball backboard, hoop, and a picnic table blowing by, trees bowed and bent till their tops grazed the ground, a huge tree lifted up and thrown through a (newly renovated) kitchen. Seeing the eerily surreal, pointing finger of a funnel expanding and contracting from a threateningly dark cloud on the horizon, as I raced to pick up one of my children from her friend’s house. Water rushing down the hillside, flooding the basement and rising to the level of the first floor, the oil burner, water heater and clothes dryer submerged, the washing machine actually floating. A physical earth tremor that was so loud we thought the furnace had exploded. Blizzards, with no power for days. Yet by comparison to other possibilities, these incidents are considered mild.

These geological and meteorological echoes from the past spun through my mind like a weather roulette wheel, until it landed on Hurricanes of Childhood. In my recollection there was always a hurricane, or the outer reaches and remnants of a hurricane, pretty much every year – sometimes more than one. There were so many that as a kid I used to hope one might eventually carry my name (that didn’t happen).

The pointer on the spinning wheel slows further and stops here: In first grade my mother sent me off walking alone to school in a hurricane – Hurricane Donna, to be exact.

The elementary school was normally only a ten minute walk from our house, which sat in a suburban neighborhood on the edge of still undeveloped land containing swamps, streams, fields and woods. I was six years old during the 1960’s era, a time when children of all ages walked and played everywhere and anywhere, unaccompanied. You went out into the neighborhood and beyond (sometimes far beyond) and didn’t come home until dinner time.

My mom used to stand outside on the front steps and ring a bell summoning us to return. When you heard the bell, you came home. This was so useful that eventually other mothers on the street started ringing bells to call in their children too. There was a deep-sounding ship bell on the east side of the street and a higher pitched school bell at the top of the hill. Ours was a distinctive Swiss cow bell with a tone that carried far.

Back then there were no mothers in cars waiting in school drop-off and pick-up lines. There were no “phone calling trees” of parents passing on information to the next one, or automated calling systems from the school district. You had to listen to a local radio station and wait for your school to be mentioned in the endlessly long list of school closings. And we walked, unless the school was too far, in which case you were bussed. My mother didn’t even drive at the time, had a couple of younger kids at home, and was pregnant with another. I’m guessing in her distraction and urgency to get me off to school that she didn’t even notice the dark skies, intense rain and billowing winds happening outside as she handed me an umbrella and shooed me out the door.

Immediately and disturbingly evident – there were no other kids walking up the street to school except me. I had only gone past a few houses before my umbrella was blown inside out, but I kept going, becoming ever more soaked as I trudged against gusting winds blowing water into my face and galoshes (yes, we called our rubber rain boots “galoshes” or “rubbers”), wind which left me gasping and almost knocked me over.

I just looked it up now to see how far the walk actually was to get to that school from home. As endless as it felt, it was just about the length of five football fields, which in the scheme of things is not very far (everything seemed so much bigger then). But given the conditions and the size of a skinny little six year old, it was formidable.

I did finally make it to school, water streaming down the back of my slicker….only to find upon arrival that the building was deserted. The door was was locked; banging on it elicited no response. I thought maybe they did not hear me knocking? Was I going to get in trouble? The school was not open. Turning around, the daunting trek alone was made back towards home.

I don’t recall my mother being especially upset at my return. It was just a fact; the school was closed, presumably due to the weather. I don’t think she even realized what I had just gone through. When this incident circulates through my cyclone of childhood recollections, I’m able to laugh about it (now), while having to wonder/marvel where my mother’s head was at during that time.

I’m assuming the school closing was announced on the radio back then, since nobody else showed up. Perhaps she didn’t realize the extent of the storm, therefore hadn’t turned on the radio. Maybe she was experiencing morning sickness that day, or she was busy changing the little one’s diaper. It’s highly likely (definitely likely!) she could not wait to get me out of the house and off to school that morning in order to have one less kid at home. She was a good, loving, caring mother in so many ways, and while born of a generation where kids were expected to do things independently like go off to play all day in the neighborhood or walk to school in the rain or snow, I still don’t think she would have sent me if she knew it was into a category 2 hurricane with wind gusts of up to 100mph. Can you imagine? During these current times, sending your six year old to walk off to school in a hurricane would no doubt be construed as neglect.

Delving further into this cache of recollections, I have to wonder what parenting faux pas my own children are going to dig up on me…..

~*~

Posted in Aging, Are you kidding me?, Autumn, Coping, Flashback, kids, Memories, nature, Perspective, Seasons, senior musings, Uncategorized, Weather | Tagged 1960's parenting, big waves, childhood memories, climate change, dinner bell, earthquakes, first grade, flooding, geological, hurricanes, meteorological, microbursts, parental mistakes, parenting faux pas, running through the neighborhood, six years old, storms, tornados, walking to school, Weather, what was she thinking?, wildfire smoke | Leave a comment

Home Invasion

Posted on August 8, 2025 by daeja's view

It was a little over a week ago, time approximately 3:30 am, when I was awakened by the sounds of crashing and muffled yelling coming from somewhere downstairs. Actually, in my ever-increasing deafness, I felt, more than heard, what appeared to be (in a suddenly-jerked-from-sleep-hyper-alert state) the movements and thumps of a struggle. The dog was standing at the top of the stairs barking like crazy, as my hand fumbled around the nightstand in search of my hearing aids and the light.

Leaping out of bed, I peered over the bannister to discover all the downstairs lights were turned on and the front door was wide open into the night. I called out for the S.O. (Significant Other) and only heard what sounded like more unintelligible grunting and yelling. My brain was not able to comprehend exactly what was occurring and the only thought going through my head was “Well, it’s actually happened,” in respect to an actual home invasion, while I rapidly scanned the bedroom for something that could be used as a weapon. I remembered there was a baseball bat in the house, but it was downstairs. The only thing within reach happened to be the large, neon green stainless steel water bottle by my bed. It still was half full, which seemed to give it some heft, and it had a good handle at the top that might be useful for swinging at someone’s head, if it came to that.

Whatever was happening was taking place in the dining room. It had not yet crossed my mind that it might be prudent to grab my phone and call 911. I also didn’t remember that I had access to a large, sharp pair of sewing scissors in the next room. I just stood there inert at the top of the stairs, the water bottle dangling (uselessly) from my hand, little Rudi barking frantically, his head pressed against the spindles of the staircase, as we caught glimpses of shadows and movement happening in the dining room below. I saw a leg. An arm. I saw what looked like a broomstick being used as a weapon. I called downstairs, “Are you okay? Are you OKAY? ARE YOU OKAY???“ No response. Deaf as I am, I could clearly hear my heartbeat in my ears.

Finally, an answer. “There is a giant bat flying around the house!!!”

Aha…..and Nope. After taking a quick visual scan around the room to make sure it had not decided to join me upstairs, I took the dog, the water bottle and myself into the bedroom, quickly shut the door and shoved a couple of sweatshirts firmly under the space at the bottom. Then I went as far under the covers as I could and pulled them up over my head. Eventually I went back to sleep (not very soundly) with my hearing aids still left in my ears for the rest of the night.

Don’t get me wrong – I actually like bats, Outside Bats. I just have never done bats in the house very well (see Little Brown Bat -January 20, 2011 for a little history).

I left the S.O. to deal with that drama. He said he had been awakened by it flying through the upstairs rooms, swooping around the hallway and then making sweeping circles around the downstairs. He said it was HUGE. He also has no idea if the bat ever actually vacated the house, because he never saw if it made an exit through the open door.

This leaves me feeling rather uncomfortable. It has been over a week now, and I’m still not totally relaxed about the possibilities.

There are so many crevices, window shades, corners, and spaces where a bat could easily hide. Plus, where did it come in from? The house has been pretty much closed up with the air conditioning on during these sweltering hot days. The chimney to the fireplace (aka The Portal to Hell – May 5, 2012) is blocked off. All I can think is that perhaps when I briefly went into the attic to return a suitcase up there, a lurking bat might have taken the opportunity to slip downstairs? Or maybe it came in the front door when I returned from the last dog walk of the evening? The truth is, it might have come in from anywhere. Who knows, there could be a whole colony of bats living up there!

Did you know that bats can slip through a crevice the size of a dime? That’s 3/8ths of an inch!!! They can come in through a vent, or under a soffit, a space beneath a windowsill or door, or where a pipe or wire enters the building. This house is 125 years old – there must be dime-size openings everywhere! They are so flexible, they just fold up their wings and squeeze that body right on through. That’s an unnerving image.

The only consolations of the whole event:

1. it was only a bat and not an unwelcome human, and

2. I did not call 911. Could you imagine calling the police at 3:30-4am for a break-in and having a few squad cars full of officers arrive, guns drawn, to a bat flying around the house? I imagine they would not have been amused. Or maybe they would have been.

As an odd, rather synchronistic glitch in time……. exactly three years ago to the day there was a bat flying around inside this house (see Things That Land In Your Hair – July 30, 2022). July must be the month of the bat.

In retrospect, it might be prudent to consider some actual form of protection within easy reach, should anything of a more serious consequence than a bat happen to occur in the future. I’ll have to think about what exactly that might possibly be. I’m thinking a water bottle is probably not it. When I reflect on the ridiculous image of me potentially wielding around a neon green water bottle like a badass, I have to laugh. Of note, the rather ineffective broom seems to have made its way to the upstairs hallway and is leaning by the attic door – I guess in anticipation of further surprises.

~*~

Posted in Aging, Animal Stories, Are you kidding me?, Coping, Dogs, Hearing Impaired, nature, Perspective, senior musings, summer, Uncategorized, Wildlife | Tagged Bats, bats in the house, Deafness, feeling unsafe, Hearing Impaired, middle of the night, papillon alert, safety, safety preparedness, safety weapon, unwanted visitors, useless broom, weapon | 4 Comments

Drifting

Posted on July 26, 2025 by daeja's view

This morning I decided to tackle some of the worst of the weeds in front of The Urban Porch. Although I’m not all that worried about neighborhood appearances (when you live across the street from a hoarder, everything looks better by comparison), there has been an explosion of somewhat unwelcome growth choking out everything I had worked hard to cultivate. So I was out there in the rapidly rising morning temps until reaching pre-heatstroke velocity, face a fiery tomato beacon, drippy with salty sweat. Finally heading into the coolness of the house, it was me into the shower, clothes into the wash.

I spaced out emptying my pockets and, while moving everything into the dryer, discovered my now very clean keys at the bottom of the washing machine. Luckily they were not the car keys.

Having cleaned up and currently relaxing with a glass of iced licorice-spice tea, the crimson blaze of exertion slowly fading from my face, I sit here unable to escape the incessant clang of overall buckles banging around in the dryer. I’ll take a minute to pause here, mid-typing, to do a Google search on how to remedy this. Suggestions:

Add towels to the dryer. This has been done (along with the rest of the laundry) and it made no difference.
Fasten the buckles to the button closures on the hips of the overalls. I just did that now. Ever so slightly better, but the noise continues………….hold on, I’m stopping here and moving on to another method.
Put them into a laundry bag. This is a vast improvement. I have also shut the door to the laundry area (which is in the bathroom). It remains to be seen if the overalls thoroughly dry while in a laundry bag. I suppose they could just be hung up to dry, but they are softer coming out of the dryer. I’ll report later if this was successful.

Lately it seems as if I am drifting through the days (and life) without purpose, idly floating through a sea, sans focus. While spending time with extended family last week, we took the grandkids to an aquarium. The jellies (one of my favorite things) are mesmerizing. I stood there for a while, transfixed and somewhat unmoored, gazing at those hypnotic blobs of gelatinous lace and gossamer.

Getting lost in jelly-land for an extended amount of time, I lost track of everyone else, drifting on to see the octopus. Right here I need to say I am a Great Fan of the octopus. They are intelligent, sentient beings. Seeing one in captivity, even in a large enclosure, feels uncomfortable. However, I don’t know the background of this one. There were a number of protected, recovering and rescued animals living there, as the focus has very much shifted to conservation, so I don’t want to jump to conclusions.

In any case, the octopus was not coming out of its hiding place, which resulted in a cluster of disappointed visitors moving on. So I stood there alone for a moment and decided to send some telepathic good wishes to the octopus. I silently commiserated with its situation (just in case it should it feel unhappy there) and thanked it for its understanding and patience, let it know how much people enjoyed seeing it, admired it for its exquisite grace. Slowly she (or he) came out and drifted over to check me out.

Most likely it was going to come out anyway, but it very much felt as if we were having a moment. And then it reached out an arm. Hello Beautiful!

Perhaps it’s just a case of anthropomorphism on my part, but it felt connective, the brief encounter leaving a curiously emotional glow. I finally pulled myself away, as it seemed prudent to locate the rest of the family which I had lost. The spacey grandmother gets separated from everyone else in the aquarium while talking to an octopus! Have to laugh at that one.

Further on during the week saw soaring gulls juxtaposed against billowing cloud formations, providing an ongoing distraction. As July closes out, the towering, dramatic, imagination-inducing cumulus clouds known to August are looked to with anticipation.

Leaving the ocean themes now, there’s just one more thing; a tiny sand crab exoskeleton. Childhood flashback – my older cousin using sand crabs for bait to catch what he called “sand sharks.” In retrospect, they were probably “dogfish sharks” – small, smooth and impressively shark-shaped. I would marvel at them and then he would throw them back into the waves.

Drifting off that and onward to just a few seasonal flora; Waterlilies afloat,

an eye-catching Hydrangea of spectacular hues,

a pop of Common Sneezeweed for texture,

and a Rose of Sharon by the Urban Porch that bloomed purple.

Days later, sitting high on a rock above a serene lake with my sister, we watched the clouds drift by while sharing sibling memories unique to us.

Below, two swimmers steadily approached from opposite directions…..when they cross paths, will they stop and drift long enough to greet each other? I fantasize they meet, become friends, become lovers. But they continue on by without pausing, no discernable acknowledgment, only concentric circles left in their wake.

Drifting back to weeding tales in the sweltering front yard this morning; while cutting back the spent floral spikes on the Hostas, I was thwarted by a hovering Cicada Wasp – just one (so far). Intense looking and tenacious, it lingered along the left side of the walkway, repeatedly circling, landing, bobbing about the wilting leaves. Perhaps it was looking for a place to nest – or actually on the hunt for cicadas? For some reason that one spot held dogged interest.

While supposedly non-aggressive (as long as you don’t mess with them), I gave it wide berth anyway, leaving the rest of the task at hand unfinished and allowing it do its thing as it drifted back and forth along the leaves. Having had some success in the past discouraging wasps by using a burst of water from the garden hose, I was able (from a distance) to chase it away with a steady stream – but it was persistent and kept returning. As of late afternoon it appears to have given up, but tomorrow may be another story.

An update: The clothes dryer cycle is completed, rendering the overalls mostly dry – only slightly damp inside the pockets. This experiment was a bit of a success then. To sum up – if you want to tumble dry your overalls without the buckles banging around, try fastening the buckles to the buttons on the hips and put them in a laundry bag to dry along with your other clothes.

It’s getting late so I’m going to drift off now….. see you in August, if not sooner….

~*~

Posted in Aging, Daeja's Garden, Gardening, Memories, nature, Perspective, Photography, Seasons, senior musings, summer, The Urban Porch, The Urban Porch ™, treasures, Uncategorized, Views From he Urban Porch ™, Weather, Wildlife | Tagged aquarium, beach, Childhood, cicada killer, cloud formations, clouds, communing with the octopus, drifting through life, Family, Flowers, how to dry overalls, July flowers, lake, late summer blooms, mesmerizing jellyfish, noisy overall buckles, ocean, octopus, overalls in the dryer, spacey | Leave a comment

Just Looking Around

Posted on July 12, 2025 by daeja's view

It’s mid-summer, up to now quite thick with a sultry humidity, filled with iced tea and slow-moving. I’m too hot and lazy to delve into any subject too deeply. I just want to take a bit of a mental sabbatical and not think too intensely about anything for a little while. Don’t you?

Earworm of the Day – Edie Brickell & New Bohemians:

I’m not aware of too many things
I know what I know, if you know what I mean

Both the dog and I have mostly been lolling around and napping. I’m just going to share small observations that have sent tiny pops of amusement or pleasure – buoyant balloons of fleeting, in-the-moment delight.

Shove me in the shallow water
Before I get too deep

These Barn Swallows were just about to fledge. The mother was dive-bombing us as I took a few pictures so I didn’t hang out too long.

I love the little one waiting at the end of the line. Their wide, clown-like, juvenile beaks bring to mind mimes in white makeup.

Here and there throughout the neighborhood I’ve encountered pockets of air laden with the sweet perfume of Privet blossoms. How powerful olfactory recollections can be! While walking the dog the other day, I caught a whiff of Privet and was unexpectedly transformed way, way back to a childhood memory long forgotten; watching my neighbor’s pretty teenage cousin who was visiting up north from Oklahoma, as she sat on the cool, grassy lawn abutting our back yard.

She encompassed everything I thought a high school girl was supposed to be, with her tanned arms, hair swept back in a headband, capri pants and a pair of white Keds sneakers. The cute teenage drummer in a band who lived a few blocks away and wore pointy Beatle boots was lying across her lap, smiling up at her as she flirtatiously dropped pieces of clover onto his hair. “She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah”…. I wondered how it would be when I someday became a teenager. Back then I wanted to be like that girl of summer.

Present flirtations – a male Red Milkweed Beetle (Tetraopes tetrophthalmus) finds his awaiting mate on a leaf.

The flowers have dropped, leaving milkweed pods burgeoning with seeds tethered to silken strands.

Drumstick Allium (Round-headed garlic) pops across a friend’s garden

Art mimics nature as holiday fireworks send Allium explosions into the sky

My granddaughter came running up to me, eager to share a found toad gently cradled in her hands. Both the toad and her enthusiasm put a smile on my heart.

After providing adequate admiration, she led me to “where it lives” and tucked it safely back into its grassy hide-away.

Philosophy is the talk on a cereal box
Religion is the smile on a dog

Echinacea and Butterfly weed create a pleasant duet.

A bee alternates back and forth between colorful varieties of the cone flower.

My close observation seemed to slightly agitate it, so I left the bee to its business.

“Mema! Look what we found!” A poplar sphinx moth – aka modest sphinx moth (Pachysphinx Modesta). This one was as large as the palm of my hand.

Philosophy is a walk on the slippery rocks
Religion is a light in the fog

Last weekend was spent not far from the Canadian border visiting a family member’s home. The Lupines in the yard there had finished blooming, leaving furry seed pods behind. For some reason I’ve always had limited success growing them. However, we gathered enough to bring back and attempt it again next year. They had not really aged enough to harvest, but I’m going to try letting them dry out and hope they will be viable. There are enough that (with some luck) at least a few may germinate.

I love Lupines. There is a wonderful story called “Miss Rumphius” that I used to read to my children about a woman in Maine and her legacy of Lupines. At some point, after growing past the age of hoping to be like that teenage summer neighbor from long ago, I decided I wanted to be Miss Rumphius. I think I still want to be Miss Rumphius!

Silhouettes of pine create images of daytime fireworks.

Pine needles of light fill the night sky with celebration.

Splashes of Goldfinch sunshine catch the eye.

A massive explosion of blooms consumes The Urban Porch. It is reaching critical mass….

In addition to too many plants (can you ever have too many plants?) there has been a steady supply of salad tomatoes.

I’m just looking around and soaking it all in as the sultry heat draws out the colors of summer, shimmering shards of beauty and things I love, catching the eye from every direction.

What I am is what I am
Are you what you are or what?

~*~

*“What I Am” by Edie Brickell & New Bohemians – Shooting Rubberbands At The Stars, 1988

Posted in Aging, Animal Stories, Birds, Daeja's Garden, Earworm of the day, Gardening, Holidays, Memories, nature, Perspective, Photography, Seasons, senior musings, summer, The Urban Porch, The Urban Porch ™, treasures, Uncategorized | Tagged 1960's summer love, art in nature, barn swallows, drumstick allium, echinacea, fireworks, fledglings, flower duets, goldfinch, Lupines, milkweed, Miss Rumphius, nuances of summer, pine, poplar sphynx moth, porch tomatoes, privet, Red milkweed beetle, sultry heat, summer flowers, teenage summer romance, toad, What I Am | Leave a comment

Muggy and Buggy

Posted on June 25, 2025 by daeja's view

Those of us who can are spending as much time hiding in air conditioned spaces, parked in front of a fan, submerged in the water, or escaping the area altogether for cooler climes. Hitting 100°F with humidity is a condition that demands limited outdoor exertion. Schools which are still in session have been releasing the kids with half-days due to the temperatures, while by mid-morning the sidewalks have already become too hot for Rudi’s little paws.

Walking out into this morning’s air felt like getting hit in the face with a wet towel. The Urban Porch has become an afternoon blast furnace, the withering hanging plants requiring watering twice a day to revive them from wilted exhaustion. As I stand there quenching their thirst with a garden hose, the mosquitos relentlessly attack. These are the days of Muggy and Buggy.

This moisture-laden heatwave has produced a string of frustratingly Bad Hair Days, causing an unmanageable, hot, wooly mess that will not cooperate.

Since the grass was already getting high and we may (or may not) be in for another three or four days of rain upcoming, I decided to head out early today to mow the small area in front of the porch before the grass and weeds got too high and pushing the mower through it too difficult. It was only 85°F at 7:30am, but the air was already thick as I slathered on some rather ineffective homemade insect repellant and headed out.

I can’t help but think about people who have been working outdoors during this stretch of high temps alternated with rainstorms. The ones doing landscaping, construction, delivering mail and packages, farming – or really anything outside that requires movement and exertion. I am not taking for granted the privilege of relaxing in my retirement within a cooled house. Upon completion of the mowing and flourishing a bright, dripping wet “Tomato Face,” I made a beeline for the shower.

At this point, weeding and gardening around The Urban Porch has ceased and likely will not resume. Unless this weather seriously breaks, whatever grows will grow and whatever doesn’t make it is just how it’s going to be.

Overall I’m just not feeling it as far as any real cooking. Cooling summer foods this week have included cold spicy peanut Asian noodles, gazpacho, watermelon/feta/mint salad, tuna sandwiches, Caprese salad, guacamole and salty chips, accompanied by iced matcha tea most mornings and refreshing licorice spice tea (sun tea steeped on the blazing porch) poured over ice in the afternoon. And water. Lots of water.

Veering off track for just a second here to share a word on Japanese green matcha tea, which I was turned on to decades ago after partaking in conversation and a bowl of matcha with the percussionist Layne Redmond (1952-2013, frame drummer, recording artist, educator and author of When the Drummers Were Women). She shared her sources and recommended I buy it in bulk – back then it was actually affordable. It has become one of my go-to beverages and I often can’t help but think of her with gratitude while whisking the beautiful green powder. Over the years I have continued to purchase matcha a pound at a time. Stored in sealed containers in a dark cabinet, it tends to keep well without losing any of its taste or vibrancy.

My stash has neared depletion though, and it was finally time to replenish. Yikes, was I hit with some sticker shock (like that wet towel in the face) upon discovering the cost had more than tripled! The seller shared with me that the rising popularity of matcha – like all good things that have become trendy – has driven the demand (and thus the price) way up. On a smaller scale it feels similar to large numbers of people finding out where the secret swimming hole is, or the unique thrift shops, or moving to what were once idyllic and pristine rural and exurban localities. The word gets out, people start coming in throngs, overpopulating special places, depleting the resources and driving up the prices. At that point, like so many good things that often become popular, it becomes saturated, out of reach, even ruined. Muggy and buggy.

Despite the current furnace-like conditions, walking Rudi after dark has been rather comfortable. While the air has remained close and enveloping, after sunset the atmosphere has taken on the feel of a pleasant, sultry bath. The bluestone sidewalks have released the blistering heat of day. Last night hailed the June arrival of fireflies, fairy-dancing and flashing throughout the grass and perennial beds off The Urban Porch. My camera was unable to adequately capture this annual apparition, so I will share a similar photo I found, as we stood there, even amidst the most uncomfortable of days, enjoying the gift of twinkling lightning bug magic.

~*~

Posted in Aging, Are you kidding me?, Cooking, Daeja's Garden, Food, Gardening, nature, Perspective, Seasons, senior musings, summer, The Urban Porch, The Urban Porch ™, Uncategorized, Views From he Urban Porch ™, Weather | Tagged bad hair days, buggy, cold summer meals, days of watermelon, firefly season, gazpacho weather, heatwave, hot weather dinners, humidity, matcha, mosquito hell, muggy, overpopulating, overpopulation, summer heat, tomato face, too hot for little paws, too hot to move, too hot to weed | Leave a comment

Sometimes I Feel Like Margot

Posted on June 18, 2025 by daeja's view

The story takes place on Venus, where it rains all the time, the sun only appearing every seven years and lasting for one precious hour before the endless rain begins once again. Just one child in a classroom of nine year old students had ever experienced seeing the sun, as she previously lived on Earth. With longing and wonder she spoke of the beauty of sun to her classmates, as she eagerly awaited its upcoming return. “All Summer in a Day” is a short story that was written by science fiction author Ray Bradbury in 1954. Impactful when read so many years ago, it still causes a bit of heartache to think of it even now. If you are not familiar with it, I recommend this short but powerful read. During times where there have been interminable stretches of rain (as we have had recently in the northeast), I cannot help but reflect on this story while yearning for sunlight.

At the moment, everything is wet. It has taken on a bit of a dance, packing those brief, dry spaces in-between with being outdoors. A few days of rain, then it stops; cram in as much gardening as possible, mow before the next week of precipitation, take advantage of umbrella-free walks, drive to places on roads you might not want to drive on when it’s pouring due to flooding, poor visibility, big trucks.

Then it is inside again for stretches of time, resignedly doing chores put off. Vacuuming. Laundry. Washing the floors. Paying bills. Eating an entire bag of chocolate chip sea salt shorbread cookies. With that also comes the urge to Order Things on line – a slippery slope…..like a pound of Japanese matcha tea, or another pair of sandals I don’t need at all (especially in the rain). So here I sit with yet another To-Do from the list; finally trying to catch up with this page, which has been sadly neglected for a few weeks. The gray days have been somewhat stagnating, making it too easy to doom-scroll social media or get lost in a movie or series instead of spending it productively.

All this water has modified the direction of growth in the garden beds around The Urban Porch. Dog Vomit Slime Mold (Fuligo septica) bloomed where I had planted Zinnia seeds. This commonly shows up on mulch. The yellow scrambled eggs appearance was rather impressive, vanishing after one brief sunny day, and has not returned (so far). I get a kick out of the nickname.

Although the leaves on my peonies flourished, there was only one small, fragrant flower. I kept going back to it in order to partake of the lovely scent while it lasted. It was quickly soaked and bowed over in one of the deluges and was finished.

There was only one yellow iris too. The other buds stalled and wilted on the stems.

And only one small flower on the Wild Indigo (Baptisia). This was a major disappointment, as it usually is prolific and impressive.

During a break in the weather I attempted some serious weeding, actually filling wheelbarrows full of weeds.

Little Rudi followed me around the yard and along the length of the driveway as I worked, stopping frequently to plop down in the shade. He looks about as exhausted as I feel.

The standing water gathering everywhere has launched an abundance of mosquitos, leaving arms, ankles, and even my face repeatedly bitten. After the maddening itch, the bites seem to settle down, only to suddenly flair up again.

Whenever a clear day breaks through there is an urge to seize the moment. Over the last few weeks there have been a few road trips to appreciate art. Roz Chast is one of my favorite cartoonists, whose work has been highlighted in The New Yorker magazine for years.

There was a show of her work at a gallery a little over an hour from here, which included some of her cartoons rendered in embroidery. After much stalling, I finally got out there to see it before it closed.

When it comes to Roz Chast, I feel seen.

Despite all the water, at least some of the things growing around The Urban Porch are gaining enjoyment from the deluge. Milkweed is rising all over the place. Hopefully some Monarch butterflies will arrive and take advantage of their chosen food.

Primrose and Rose Campion are providing a happy chroma duet.

Spirea has been lush and filled with bumble bees. They appear to dodge the raindrops.

The Lemon Balm (Melissa officinalis) also flourished. I was able to dig enough up to share with a number of people in the community. That always feels nice.

Back to another long stretch of rain and another show of art – this time a private collection of wonderful illustrations. Here is one from Aesop’s fables, The Wolf and the Crane, by Caldecott Medal recipient Jerry Pinkney.

And a page from Charlotte’s Web, illustrated by Garth Williams! Why is it that seeing the original artwork is a different experiential vibe as opposed to looking at reproductions? I did some quick research on this; as I understand it, there is a region of the brain called the precuneus, which processes self-related mental imagery and stimulates self-reflection, triggering an emotional response to seeing the fine details and vibration of an original work.

I was drawn to this Illuminated Monkey by Trisha McBain – the detail is lovely. A pretty recent piece, I haven’t yet found any background information about it or the artist.

Back out on the porch, the tomatoes seem to be doing very well, perhaps because I have some control over the amount of water they are getting.

For now there seems to be a steady supply for salads and sandwiches.

It is time for mulberries and all I can say about that is “Boo”. When I walked down the street to gather some, it was apparent the window for doing this had been missed. Taken down by gusts of wind and rain, it was mostly a water-logged mess on the ground. A few rather sad looking, bland, uninspiring ones were collected just because. I guess they could be added to a smoothie, but I will probably toss them. *Sigh*. Perhaps next year….

The towering Tulip Tree (Liriodendron) down the street had also dropped many of its gorgeous, prehistoric looking flowers before I was able to enjoy it, leaving crumpled, soggy brown blooms on the sidewalk below. There were still flowers intact high above though, peaking from within cat-faced leaves. As something to look forward to every year, it was good to catch their finale.

Aren’t these blooms fascinating in an alien sort of way?

The weather has not kept the fauna in their dens and nests. Bunnies in the garden abound.

Some time was spent lounging around on my daughter’s screened-in porch (safe from the mosquitos), listening to the intermittent rainfall and watching the birds come back to swoop around the feeder as the sky cleared. This Red-Bellied Woodpecker was so shy that if you so much as moved a muscle it would take off.

By far the most impressive animal sighting this past week took place in my friend’s backyard, where she managed to get a snapshot of it. What a beauty!

It has been many years since I have had the treat of seeing a Bobcat up close and in person. The last time was decades ago, when my friend Emrose and I spied one in his yard, peering at us from the weeds, unmoving, as we stood just inside his front door. “Wow, do you think that’s a Lynx?” “I don’t think we have Lynx around here, it must be a Bobcat! ” “A Bobcat!!! Wow…just wow!!!“

Actually, sitting out on The Urban Porch in the rain is rather pleasant as long as a west wind isn’t pummeling it into your face. I made some purple potatoes with butter and habanero salt and sat outside eating them, until the mosquitos drove me back inside.

Circling back now to the story “All Summer in a Day” – the girl waiting and aching to see the sun again was named Margot. There have been times where I have felt like Margot, or found myself in a sadly parallel position. On reading the story back then, I cried for Margot, and for myself, and for anyone who might have found themselves even momentarily forgotten. At times perhaps we have all been a little bit like Margot, waiting for the rain to stop.

Projecting the story a step beyond and out of context, every once in a while I struggle between the tendency of wanting to avoid social situations and being isolated, while up against a bit of FOMO (Fear of Missing Out). Of course sometimes it turns out you weren’t missing out on much anyway, but on occasion the FOMO can be a catalyst to overcoming the hesitation and having experiences that otherwise would not have occurred. While not all those experiences might end up being so great, they do often tend to be noteworthy.

Finalizing this rather long catch-up on the mundane doings of a life in a wet summer and being the Anti-Socialite that I am, it is so easy and comfortable to cocoon and just stay home, using the rain as an easy excuse. Thus, having a great aversion to crowds and there being a heavy gray sky, there was no intention of going to the most recent protest march (“No Kings”)

However, the rain had stopped, and seeing as it was happening mere blocks from my house, it seemed there was no harm in walking down there to check out (at a distance) what was happening….. only to find myself swept up into the vibrant – yet respectful – energy and running into so many people I knew from so many different segments of my life. One minute I was out of it and the next minute I was part of it, and it was good. Having been propelled into a collective situation and now out of my shell, I ended up afterward going to a party celebrating Gemini birthdays, which I had previously and firmly decided not to attend. And that turned out to be pretty okay too.

Out walking Little Rudi in a light drizzle, I encountered a neighbor rarely seen, mowing his small patch of lawn with a manual reel push mower. We stood there chatting for a while, despite the accumulating mist seeping into our clothing, when from over his shoulder the colors appeared. “Turn around and look” I said, “before you miss it.“

~*~

Posted in Aging, Are you kidding me?, Coping, Daeja's Garden, Gardening, nature, Perspective, Seasons, senior musings, summer, The Urban Porch, The Urban Porch ™, treasures, Uncategorized, Views From he Urban Porch ™, Weather, Wildlife | Tagged antisocial, art exhibits, dog vomit slime mold, FOMO, FOMO as a catalyst, garden, Gardening, isolation, life, Little Rudi, look for the rainbow, mosquitos, only one bloom, original illustrations, papillon, Rain, Ray Bradbury, roz chast, si, so much rain, summer garden, summer wildlife, tulip tree, Weather, weeding, wet summer | Leave a comment

Purple

Posted on May 31, 2025 by daeja's view

Right on schedule, it’s Purple Time on and around the Urban Porch again. It’s been raining, raining, raining, adorning the petals in watery gems.

Stopping by a friend’s house over the long holiday weekend past, I was met with the stunning sight of an impressive Clematis plant taking over her front steps. She seemed unimpressed with my gaga-ness over the massive blooms. I took a piece home and will attempt to root it.

Bearded Irises to the left of the porch wear tiger-print undies beneath their frilly lilac petticoats.

Lobelia hanging in a basket gets blown around by west winds.

Salvia planted haphazardly in the median fights the encroaching hostas and dayflowers for light.

If the mesmerizing scent of Wisteria hadn’t lured me toward the back fence, I might have forgotten it was hidden behind the parked truck and missed its show.

Even the Ground Ivy has little orchid faces peeking out from beneath it leaves.

Delicate, fragrant spikes of lavender rise from pots on the porch.

A search about the meaning of purple reveals a variety of choices as to what this color may represent. Depending on the culture, shades of purple can be an expression of spirituality, denote royalty, a symbol of luxury and wealth, of wisdom or intuition. Purple feels mature, antique, somewhat moody, at times a tad witchy. It can also be a reflection of sadness. The darkest of purples has been both attractive and yet leaves me with what can best be described as a bruised heart. A little bit melancholy, ever so slightly aching for something on the periphery, unnamed.

Green enhances the vibrations of purple, a colorway which tends to stimulate the senses (at least it does mine). Before this month closes out, I just wanted to share these beautiful Purples of May.

~*~

Posted in Daeja's Garden, Gardening, nature, Perspective, Photography, Seasons, senior musings, Spring, The Urban Porch, The Urban Porch ™, treasures, Uncategorized, Views From he Urban Porch ™, Weather, Wow! | Tagged Bearded Iris, clematis, colorways, End of May, Flowers, garden, Gardening, Ground Ivy, Lavender, Lobelia, May, may flowers, may garden, meaning of purple, nature, northeast in May, purple moods, purples of May, Salvia, Siberian Iris, so many purples, Spring, spring flowers, Wisteria | Leave a comment

Ants

Posted on May 28, 2025 by daeja's view

Over the years I’ve been increasingly tolerant of some insects in my environment – or sharing our environment, to be exact. An attempt will always be made to relocate a spider, a beetle or a bee from the house. Outdoors, I enjoy the Blue-winged Wasps bouncing around the hostas and the carpenter bees hovering too close with their phony bravado that makes me smile.

However, there are a few I will not abide and have no guilt about eliminating. Mosquitos, nope! Horseflies inside the window – if they don’t leave immediately when I open the screen, their time is numbered. Yellow Jackets are aggressive assholes and will always be discouraged. If they don’t get the message that it is time to go, they will be sprayed. Scutigera (those freaky, super-fast house centipedes) also are a no, partially because they are impossible to catch intact to move out of the room. If a Scutigera decides to leave the basement and come up onto any other floor, it’s dust. I’m just not going to share my spaces with them. We’ve never had a roach here, but if there was I think I would seriously consider moving out.

Then there are the ants, which always create a bit of moral dilemma for me. The social structure of the ant colony and their collective intelligence is fascinating. It is the females who go out foraging for food for the rest of the colony, arriving each spring to my kitchen – usually a few here and there, never having been much of a problem. They are such fastidious, hard workers! So when the first few (the large black variety) showed up a few weeks ago – one was found in the teapot, another couple on the countertop – I wasn’t too worried about it. As a matter of fact – this might seem kind of crazy to some – I attempted to scoop them onto a piece of paper and usher them out the back door. Having done this a few times, suddenly with greater and greater frequency, I will share that ants definitely do not enjoy being relocated. You upset their purpose when trying to pick them up, causing them to frantically wave their legs and antennae around, zig-zag and actually leap into the air. They pretty much flip out. I supposed it was some misguided benevolence on my part to try relocating them. As their numbers increased I conceded this was folly….as a matter of fact I even said aloud to myself, “Seriously??? What are you doing?”

Because soon they were everywhere. On my car, on the back porch. On the countertops, across the floors, in the cabinets, wedging their bodies into the crevice of the cap on a jar of honey, looking for crumbs of cereal. (As an aside, I want to mention they did not touch my stash of chocolate at all, which is both confusing and a relief. A little research revealed that despite the sugar content, some ant species just do not like chocolate, and also that the caffeine it contains can be harmful to them. These must be the anti-chocolate variety). I started putting anything sweet or crumbly into plastic bags and jars. But that was not enough, as their scouts began checking out the upstairs bathroom and marching across the hallway floor.

This invasion happened rather quickly; we had so much rain this past month that I’m guessing they had decided to find higher ground along with the free food source. The S.O. just started stepping on them and leaving them there on the floor. I assume he thought the dog might eat them (the dog did not) or that I would clean them up (I did), or I don’t know what he thought (most likely he did not think). It was rather disgusting (and disrespectful, really) but that’s another story.

For any natural save-the-ant types out there, I can tell you what I tried first and what doesn’t work. There was no kumbaya with the ants happening here. They remained unfazed by spraying deterrents like peppermint oil or vinegar around the perimeters of the room, the countertops, or along their ant trails. I finally broke down and bought some commercial ant traps, which did nothing – perhaps it was not the type of bait which attracts this specific ant variety. So finally I made my own.

THE RECIPE

4 parts Sugar

1 part Borax powder

Mix it up in a little bit of water to make a syrupy goop

Then I spread it on cotton balls and little squares of paper towel and placed them on the kitchen countertop, a windowsill, and by the back door along the base of the house where I had seen an ant trail. They were very attracted to it – sometimes there was a pile of them feasting on each of my little bait stations. It took a couple of days, but between day two and three, all the ants were gone. The Feelings: Quite Impressed, A Little Bit Elated, and Somewhat Guilty.

After another few days of rain, I spotted only one foolish scout who looked a bit confused as it waved its arms around. So far we have success.

Some blessed breaks in the weather afforded the opportunity to do some gardening. While elbows deep into the weeds, ants would occasionally run across my arms, but we didn’t really bother each other. However, yesterday as I was pulling weeds out from between the cracks in the bluestone by the front steps, the clumps of roots must have been the cover for a massive nest. Soon thousands (yes, thousands) of disturbed ants began pouring out of the spaces vacated by the vegetation. These were a different variety, as they were the little tiny ones.

This was not an ant-bait and wait situation, so I flushed out the nest with water. I have to say I felt both horrible and mesmerized watching those tiny ants doing an emergency evacuation, as they carried out and tried to save white pupae as large as themselves.

After the flood, the walkway was littered with specks of dead ants and pupae, scattered about like the remnants of a miniature tsunami. If you are of the theory that Everything is Connected, which to some degree I am, you can imagine this caused another pang of momentary guilt for me. But then something else happened.

The House Sparrows descended on the path, taking dust baths where the sandy soil had been disturbed from pulling the weeds.

Next they began to check out the open spaces in the walkway.

And then began to pick up and eat the dead ants. Suddenly I felt a whole lot better about it.

Yeah, that was kind of cool.

~*~

Posted in Animal Stories, Are you kidding me?, Birds, Daeja's Garden, Gardening, nature, Perspective, Seasons, senior musings, Spring, The Urban Porch, The Urban Porch ™, Uncategorized, Views From he Urban Porch ™, Wildlife, Wow! | Tagged ant bait, ant nest, ants, big ants and little ants, circle of life, entomology, getting rid of ants, guilt, home made ant traps, insect consciousness, moral dilemma of killing insects?, myrmecology | 1 Comment

My Regression

Posted on May 14, 2025 by daeja's view

The backstory is that the only place to park my car behind the house is underneath a rather large Japanese Maple tree.

Over the last number of weeks it has been dropping clumps of red seeds, pollen and other combinations of organic detritus all over the backyard, into the driveway and on top of the car, which needs to be scooped off the door handles and windshield before driving off.

I was out shopping the other day, and upon pulling into the driveway saw my next door neighbor standing outside. We stopped to chat, when she suddenly paused, gave me that funny look I have gotten to know so well, said “You have some stuff….,” and with a little smile pulled a couple of tiny twigs off my head. Well, that part was not unusual (see Things That Land In Your Hair 7/30/22).

But when I walked into the house and checked the mirror to see if there were any more there, I discovered it was not just a couple of seeds stuck to my hair – my entire head was covered in tree droppings. I had been out in public sporting a head filled with tiny tadpoles of red pollen. Hopefully anyone who may have noticed (how could you not?) maybe thought it was some sort of fashion statement, as opposed to concluding this lady is an eccentric. Once upon a time I might have been mildly mortified. Now this ridiculous scenario just made me laugh.

Due to long stretches of rainy days occurring here, the continuing shower of tree debris (there is soooo much of it)) has become wet clumps packed into every crease, curve and vent of the car. The expectation was that the ongoing rain would eventually wash some of it off, but it hasn’t.

I had snapped a photo of an ant that had caught my attention as it aimlessly and inexplicably walked around on the surface of the trunk (okay, maybe that’s nerdy), but you can notice as an aside how this litter has gotten into every crevice.

Despite pulling handfuls of gunk off the the car each time I leave to go somewhere, it had become so densely packed on that a trip to the carwash was deemed necessary; the next sunny day I drove down there. Now I will preface the rest of this by mentioning that the carwash is kind of a Cheap Thrill for me (see Windshield Galactica 5/28/24). It doesn’t happen that often – the last time was maybe about a year ago. I will admit that when I am in the carwash, a bit of childlike regression occurs.

Bam! This happened first, like having a bottle of black ink thrown at you! It was so sudden I actually said “Whoa!” and then realized I was exclaiming aloud and nobody else was in the car with me. Well, okay…

Next came the “Car Wash Borealis.”

“Whap!!” Those persistent little seeds were fighting the waves, hanging on despite the deluge.

By the time we got to this point I was laughing loudly and exclaiming “Whoo-hooo!”…..all by myself. It was easy to imagine how cool it would have been to have one of my grandkids with me (or even one of my kids, although they might have started to worry about Mom’s sanity)….. or actually anybody who might have appreciated and enjoyed the wild, abstract nature of it…… fun, if only for a couple of minutes.

“Here comes The Edge of Night!”

Things swiftly moved toward the finale, a cloudy ceiling of rising birds. You can see some of those little tree buggers are still stubbornly holding on…

It ended with a giant blue tumbleweed swiftly coming into view. “Ha! It’s Cookie Monster!” (yeah, I really needed a kid with me), then a brief tunnel of fiercely blowing wind – and it was over.

Why bother? It rained for almost an entire week afterward, and despite it all, the car still has tree droppings stuck on it. I’m probably going to need to clean it by hand to remove all this stuff. Eventually.

Afterward I mused to myself…. and wondered. Yikes, am I crazy? Could this be what happens when you are spending a lot of time by yourself? Maybe it is a sign of some child-like regression. If so, is that so bad? Finding joy in the little things. Or maybe it’s a bit of “I Don’t Care What Anyone Thinks.”

Raucous laughter all alone in the carwash and hair covered with red pollen in the supermarket. Should I worry yet? Is it just me, or is this just a common stage of aging?

~*~

Posted in Aging, Are you kidding me?, Humor, nature, Perspective, Seasons, senior musings, Spring, Uncategorized, Views From he Urban Porch ™, Wow! | Tagged carwash, carwash as art, cheap thrills, child-like, eccentric or just fun?, entertaining myself, Japanese Maple, laughing alone, pollen, spending time alone, tree gunk, tree junk, weeks of rain | Leave a comment

A Celebration of Fertility

Posted on May 1, 2025 by daeja's view

There was a dead ant floating inside the teapot yesterday morning, the arrival of such yet another sure-fire harbinger of Spring. This particular teapot has a very narrow spout, which makes it rather nice if you make pour-over coffee. It also ensures that something like a mouse will not be squeezing inside of it, which may sound rather far-fetched to some, but believe me, it is weirdly, unpleasantly possible (see Would You Like Some Mice With That? 5/18/2011). Apparently ants have no problem traveling down the long stem of a teapot. I can safely say that always looking inside your tea or coffee pot before refilling is sound advice.

There have been so many thoughts and musings provoked by recent events swirling around my brain that I have been wanting to put down to words, yet I am distracted by the blossoming, the scents and sounds of the season. While not intending to turn this into a gardening/blossom/insect photo dump, I can’t help but want to share the things that keep turning my head.

The Daffodils have completed their show, leaving little deflated sun-balloons behind.

Today is May Day, also known as Beltane; a celebration of fertility, as we have passed the spring equinox and move steadily towards the summer solstice. I have gravitated out to The Urban Porch, enjoying what has been a string of shimmering, gorgeous weather. The windows are open – fresh air circulates throughout the house, chasing away the last of winter’s thickness with sweet breezes. It is so good for mental health to be outside. Things are popping and then leafing out in such rapid succession that it is almost impossible to keep up with it all.

All this vibrancy is in sharp juxtaposition to the decaying condition of The Urban Porch, which has been steadily rotting away for years. I have no control over this situation – while this is my “home,” it is technically not my “house.” Wishful, magical thinking has not changed the circumstances, and I imagine it probably will remain the status quo – unless the porch collapses. Adorning the porch with seasonal flora and looking to the beauty beyond it is a way of emotionally coping with the sorry and somewhat depressing deterioration.

But oh, that view of the cherry tree!!! The majestic cherry across the street is hands down the nicest one in the neighborhood. Its size is so generous that it obscures the entire front of the cat-lady’s house. Large bubble-gum pom-poms dangle heavily above. Just about everyone walking by slows down to admire, brush their fingers along the the blooms, take a photo. It has reached the point today where the emerging leaves are competing with the blossoms. Petals should be falling soon, once again leaving a soft mauve blanket on the street (see West Wind 5/13/2015).

Ferns have unfurled around the Japanese Maple

Dicentra wears a string of hearts on its sleeve.

In celebration of the day, the dogwood to the left of The Urban Porch has fully flowered. As dusk falls, the glowing florets almost appear to hover untethered in the air.

The dogwood two doors down on the right dances in ballet pink.

Sauntering along the sidewalk with little Rudi on our walk today provided a blast of dreamy lilac perfume from over a neighbor’s fence.

They also have planted a swath of linen-white tulips in front of their house – so crisp and visually pleasing!

Redbud trees are flowering throughout the neighborhood, candy floss threads embroidered across the sky.

Over the last two days there has been a glorious scent wafting around the porch. Lily-of-the-Valley sends its sweet attar throughout the air, providing olfactory triggers prompting memories of times long ago.

For a few days I left food out for the pregnant/or nursing squirrel who had been “splooting.” I have not seen her lately – perhaps she is busy with young in her nest. The House Sparrows are back at it in their usual spot in the soffit above the corner post, darting back and forth with bits of fluff and gossamer. Songs from the Carolina Wren open the morning, the call and response of Northern Cardinals close the day.

While sitting on The Urban Porch typing this over the last hour or so, more than one pregnant young woman has walked by. Babies! Such a fertile time of year!

The carpenter bees arrived right on time, doing their dive-bombing mating dance and making an aggressive show by hovering (harmlessly) in your face. As I sit there observing them, it is of note that they are taking particular interest in the disintegrating porch railing. Perhaps they will hurry the demise along! Oh, and the first Yellow Jacket of the season made a few zippy passes by my chair. I chased it off with a spritz of peppermint oil and water from a spray bottle, which will remain at arm’s reach from now on.

As the afternoon winds down and the sun heats up the west-facing porch, Rudi begins to pace and pant, searching for a shady spot behind a flower pot, and so we have moved inside. An ant walks across the hallway floor carrying something larger than itself – perhaps dinner. Small observations. I will continue to share them with you.

Happy May Day, Happy Beltane!

~*~

Posted in Aging, Animal Stories, Birds, Daeja's Garden, Dogs, Gardening, Holidays, nature, Perspective, Photography, Seasons, senior musings, Spring, The Urban Porch, The Urban Porch ™, treasures, Uncategorized, Views From he Urban Porch ™, Weather, Wildlife, Wow! | Tagged ants, bees, Beltane, Birds, cycles of flowers, flora, Flowers, Gardening, look in your teapot, May Day, my papillon, nature, new blooms, olfactory bliss, open the windows, photography, Spring, the rotting porch, The Urban Porch, turn turn turn | Leave a comment

Sploot

Posted on April 23, 2025 by daeja's view

There appeared to be a dead squirrel on the back deck yesterday afternoon. It was sprawled flat out, looking rather like a small, worn out old rug; on closer observation it resembled a flying superhero, sans cape. Upon approaching further to investigate, it was a relief to see the squirrel get up and headed toward the Japanese Maple tree, although it wasn’t in any great hurry. I was just climbing out of my car at the moment and didn’t think to grab a photo of it, but it looked pretty much like this:

The pose reminded me of something dogs sometimes do – splooting – which I looked up regarding squirrels, and indeed this one was engaged in exactly that. Apparently they lie down and spread out in order to cool off their body. It was one of the warmest of spring days (so far), and it’s been rather dry too. Once it saw me, “Splooty Squirrel” made its way up the tree, where it stopped again to rest, draping itself along a limb. This time I took a few photos and discovered she is either expecting or nursing.

With sympathy I recall those long-ago hell-hot dog days of summer when I was hugely pregnant and later nursing myself. I probably would have loved to sploot, had I been able! Eventually she took off to wherever she is nesting. Today I left water and some peanuts for her – she did return and took what was offered. I will leave more treats tomorrow. Ah, fecund Spring!

I’m back from my west coast Spring #1 and fallen into a delightful Spring #2 just in time to discover the lone Trillium that pops up every year and never quite opens all the way is back.

Japanese Quince adorns a weathered fence.

A clump of Creeping Phlox at the bottom of the Urban Porch stairs has also made its return.

Grape Hyacinth is spreading all over the yard.

Many years ago I had planted Hellebore along the back fence. They used to be some of the earliest blooms, along with the Crocus, often making an appreciated appearance in March. Without any obvious explanation, they all died a number of years back. So that was that. But yesterday I discovered a small Hellebore had come up in a different area of the garden, nowhere near where the original ones were. Happy surprise! Go figure!

The Scilla continues to hold on.

Scilla fights for space with the Pachysandra, which has also flowered. A friend gave me a few cuttings many, many seasons ago and they have become invasive, although they are great for shaded ground cover. I have mixed feelings about them. When I was a kid my father planted them in our shady front yard and then expected a couple of us older ones to weed between them, which was a boring and unpleasant chore. Periodically they need to be thinned out. I may pull some up and give them away to someone else who needs to fill a bare patch under a tree.

Violets are everywhere, sweet, tiny bouquets waiting to grace a salad or two.

A different Annual Rando Tulip has emerged, this time from the depths of the Pachysandra, most likely planted by a squirrel – perhaps our splooting mama. I’ve never planted Tulips here and never know where they will turn up.

Poppy foliage is really beginning to lush out, hopefully to be providing another spectacular year of glowing, persimmon-hued joy for passers-by.

It was such a sunny, temperate day that I dragged the pillows for the wicker chairs down from the attic and began preparing The Urban Porch for another season of hanging out, observation and appreciation of the local world passing by.

On the topic of The Neighborhood, I am a little behind on updating The Fence Dinosaur attire. Last week it was rocking a bunny suit.

This morning it was sporting rainbow flower regalia.

While walking little Rudi last night, I happened to encounter the owner of the Fence Dino, who shared the actual story attached to it. At one point, somebody had taken it off the fence, ripped it apart and thrown it out into the street. I can’t imagine who or why a person would want to do something like that. The kids in the neighborhood (and grown-ups too) really enjoy the little bit of whimsy the Fence Dino provides. What possesses people to be so mean? She rescued it, patched it up and returned it to the fence. Fence Dino now is alarmed and under camera surveillance. What a world this has become….

Well, I’ll end with a few excerpts from Earworm of the Day, because how can I not?

Sugar Magnolia blossoms blooming

Head’s all empty and I don’t care

Sweet blossom come on under the willow

Sunshine daydream
Walkin’ in the tall trees
Goin’ where the wind goes

It’s been a gorgeous day, but also a long day, as I was at the audiologist this afternoon trying out a device that can sync to my hearing aids and help me decipher speech better one-on-one in noisy situations. All of this technology has a learning curve, is imperfect, and can often be finicky, unpredictable and frustrating. On top of all that, teaching your brain to learn/relearn how to hear and to parse out relevant conversation is often utterly exhausting. I’ve unexpectedly fallen into a nap three times this week.

I think I may need to go “sploot” for a while!

~*~

*”Sugar Magnolia” by the Grateful Dead, American Beauty 1970 (Robert Hunter & Bob Weir)

Posted in Animal Stories, Daeja's Garden, disability accommodations, Earworm of the day, Gardening, Hearing Impaired, nature, Perspective, Photography, Seasons, senior musings, Spring, The Urban Porch, The Urban Porch ™, treasures, Uncategorized, Views From he Urban Porch ™, Weather, Wildlife, Wow! | Tagged April, Earworm of the day, eastern flowers, eastern flowers of april, Fence Dino, Fence Dinosaur, garden, Gardening, magnolias, rando tulips, second spring, splooting, splooting squirrel, spring flowers of the East, springtime naps, Squirrels, sugar magnolia, the neighborhood | Leave a comment

Another Year of Two Springs

Posted on April 18, 2025 by daeja's view

I’ve been away from this page, having had the good fortune once again to dwell amidst spring blooms in the west first, which will be followed a few weeks later with newly emerging blossoms of the east. This post will mostly just be a photo dump from images I took with my phone camera. Probably a little over-stimulated with it all, I’m gushing over the colors, scents and patterns. Bear with me…..

The Wisteria!!! Love love love that crazy sort of invasive vine that drapes a fence or trellis in splendor and at the same time can get its tentacles into your foundation. Once upon a time (many decades ago) I had transplanted a small cutting from someone’s yard and started it on the side of a cottage I rented. It took off and grew all the way up the side of that brick facade (both the wisteria and that cottage no longer exist – the plant was ripped out, the house torn down). Ah, history….

There is something magical about standing beneath fragrant cascading racemes in shifting shades of purple. They smell like Necco candy wafers to me (you might have to be old enough to remember that candy). I could not get my face away from them.

The twists and turns of the trunks and branches create a fairy-land shelter.

How can you not fall into the abyss of delicate, candy pink roses?

and wowza! Clivia Miniata about three feet high, growing profusely in a park!

Gorgeous Calla Lilies that evoke Georgia O’Keeffe

and Diego Rivera vibes

I’ll just leave these pops of color here. Glowing centers alive with energy.

Delightful mixed palettes

Lupine of a deep Gentian blue

with leaves creating gorgeous patterns, reaching up like “jazz hands”

Lacy Phacelia (Phacelia tanacetifolia) calling to the bees…

beautiful Borage

Arctotis (African Daisy)….

and more daisies!

Mediterranean spurge, a type of Euphorbia. Having had a few run-ins with various Euphorbia (I Can Make Poison Arrows Now – 7/29/2011) I try to not be a fan, but their structure really is so interesting.

Have you had enough yet? I’ll throw just a few more patterns at you then….Azalea

the prehistoric shadows of a Norfolk Pine

and some grasses, just because..

Rolling hills spring back with verdant life where wildfires had taken a toll. A lone charred oak in a fertile field stands testament.

Life

California Poppies, little drops of happiness, a blanket of Vitamin C.

Grapevines are beginning to bud.

Row upon row stretch across the valley

as if with arms outstretched, embracing the sunlight

carefully tended

while newly planted vines dot the hills like markers in a veteran cemetery.

Jasmine is in bloom. How unfortunate a photo cannot translate the insanely intoxicating scent of the Jasmine. Walking by hedges of them along a sidewalk was enough to stop you in your tracks. My sister and I sat at a table eating tacos while Jasmine petals loosened by a gentle wind floated down upon us. Can the aroma of flowers drive a person mad? Passion!

It’s so good to be out appreciating nature. Our souls need it badly. Now I get to do it again. More good things to come! Happiest Spring to you all!

~*~

Posted in Daeja's Garden, Gardening, nature, Perspective, Photography, Seasons, senior musings, Spring, Travel, treasures, Uncategorized, Wow! | Tagged April, California blooms, Color, falling into spring, flower crazy, Flowers, garden, Gardening, Gardens, Napa, nature, NorCal, patterns, photography, scent of flowers, Sonoma, springtime, west coast, wine country | Leave a comment

Hey April!

Posted on April 2, 2025 by daeja's view

Made it to April! Depending where you reside, so many experienced what felt like an endless stretch of cold and darkness. Around here you can almost hear sighs of relief echoing from all directions (regarding the weather, anyway).

I’m going to start here with a quick mention regarding a couple of unusual bird-related events. The first actually occurred a couple of weeks ago but I’m just getting to it now.

Spring brings along courtship rituals; the House Finches darting around my daughter’s home were in full swing. They kept flying in the garage while we were trying to pull the car out and leave to run some errands. Finally we were able to shoo them out and get on our way. But when we returned and walked into her house, there was one which had managed to get all the way inside the house and was frantically flapping around the hallway. I’m not sure how it actually managed to slip by us.

Her front hallway is the type which has a really high ceiling and a way up high window that is level with the second floor. It’s the kind of window where you wonder how anyone would normally get up to it to clean it (and also has the kind of light fixture in the ceiling that would be a challenge to change a lightbulb). That is how unreachable it is and where the lone House Finch was hanging out.

The poor thing kept fluttering and smashing itself against the glass. It was pretty upset and was impossible to get to. Despite opening the door wide to accommodate an exit, instead it would swoop away into the dining room into the window behind some houseplants, but it didn’t alight long enough to be caught before heading back to that high up window again.

From where I stood below I kept waving a towel to create some wind disturbance, which finally sent the bird off flapping into an upstairs bedroom. From there we were able to go into that room and close the door behind us, which had the bird a little bit more confined. In a stroke of luck, it then flew into the small bathroom off the bedroom, where I was able to shut myself into a tighter space with it, closing in. It finally alighted in the window, which I quickly opened and pushed out the bottom of the screen, allowing it to zoom away to freedom. Success!

Feeling a bit accomplished, I announced “The bird is gone!” and walked out of the room, only to find my young granddaughter standing there with an absolutely stricken look on her face. “Did you flush it?” she worriedly asked. Flush it??? I had to laugh. I didn’t ask her what her point of reference was to think that, but absolutely assured her that the bird safely flew out the window and back to its nest – and of course was not flushed down the toilet.

In other springtime related bird things, my brother happens to have a turkey decoy in his backyard that was inherited from his father-in-law. He doesn’t hunt for turkey himself, but they decided to stick it in the ground out back with all the other things they have out and about on their property. The other day he looked out the window to see a couple of turkeys curiously checking out the decoy. Unfortunately, the photo is a still taken from a video and not as clear as it could be. They were really funny.

Back home around the Urban Porch, the Chickadees have been singing (“Sweee-teeee”), the Northern Cardinals have been calling back and forth (“Wheet wheet wheet, pew pew pew“) and the Tufted Titmice have been “beeping”. (A friend once described the call of the Tufted Titmouse as being similar to the sound of a backup alarm on a truck, and now that is pretty much how I hear it…. “Peedeep, peedeep, peedeep”). Robins (the Official Ambassador of Spring, in my opinion) have been hanging out on the lawn, picking up whatever leftover seed the squirrels have spilled from our neighbor’s feeder.

The cycle has begun again, old friends returning to the yard. The fancy crocus in its stripey clown suit…..

the sunny daffodils……

and tulip with leaves like a pinstripe suit which comes up every year but never blooms.

The beginnings of the re-seeded hollyhocks are emerging. They will make stalks dotted with rows of washed out yellow flowers, which I’ve found to be underwhelming….. but I leave them to do their thing and grow every year.

Some of the sedum against the house has started, which actually will not bloom until the end of the summer. These will have small stalks of pale pink.

And one of my favorites, the Scilla. Because Blue!!!!

Each arrival is a series of tiny reunions. Some of these flowers are attached to old memories, creating an annual re-living, in a way.

While walking the dog down the street, it is exciting to see the variety of growth emerging in front of the neighbor’s homes. The people who have the Fence Dinosaur have clumps of pretty Hellebore coming up. All the Hellebore I planted years ago died; I think the invasive Trumpet Vine contributed to their demise.

Another home has installed one of those little library boxes, but this one is not just for books. People have been leaving toys and other items (some unusual) in there and also outside the box for anyone to have. The kids walking past seem to love it. I have left a few things in there before, but last week was the first time I ever partook of an item from the box. It was an ant farm. I was a bit excited to find this!

Years ago in this blog I had mentioned one of the more “different ” gifts I had historically received (see The Eye of the Beholder 12/13/2011). It was something which has always held a nerdy kind of appeal to me. This one will not be for me (mine had turned out to be a failure) but I figured one of the grandkids might really enjoy trying to get it going. Gifts of Spring!

I’ll wind down this First Days of April post by mentioning that the Dutch Baby of the week was Strawberry Vanilla.

And I’ve been cooking more asparagus, as it has been available, tender, and not very expensive at the moment. I’m ready for a few new seasonal recipes to try this year and add to the meal rotation.

Showers have been quenching the warming earth this afternoon. The greening is coming. April, please don’t fool us! It won’t be long before Little Rudi and I are back out on The Urban Porch again, sharing this small corner of the world with you……

~*~

Posted in Aging, Birds, Cooking, Daeja's Garden, Food, Gardening, nature, Perspective, Seasons, senior musings, Spring, The Urban Porch, The Urban Porch ™, treasures, Uncategorized, Views From he Urban Porch ™ | Tagged ant farm, bird in the house, curious turkeys, Dutch Baby, fancy crocus, harbingers of spring, house wrens, it begins again, robin, scilla arrives, seasonal reunions, sunny daffodils, turn turn turn | Leave a comment

Oh Say Can You See?

Posted on March 20, 2025 by daeja's view

Yesterday my six-year old grandchild was out shopping with her mother and spotted this car with a decorative tire cover on the back.

This morning she mentioned to her father, “I saw America’s butthole!”

~*~

Posted in Are you kidding me?, Humor, kids, Perspective, senior musings, Uncategorized | Tagged america's butthole, grandkids, how they see it, Kids, perception is everything, stars spangled, stars spangled butthole, what IS that? | 1 Comment

A Few Days From Now

Posted on March 18, 2025 by daeja's view

A few days from now we will hit the official Spring Equinox. On and around The Urban Porch, things are happening. Rain has been softening the earth to quench and coax emerging growth. Sun-warmed, once again the crocus and the tiniest first daffodils have popped up in vibrant Easter basket colors.

The first bee and first ant also made their spring debut together in the yard today.

The fig tree that was cut back and brought inside to winter over has begun to sprout leaves. It is still parked in a corner of the dining room. How does it know when to begin?

To mark St. Patrick’s Day, the fence dinosaur down the street has been dressed for the occasion.

Wrapped in a long coat and standing out on the porch between 2:00 – 3:00 am afforded the gift of watching a total lunar eclipse. Mesmerizing as always, it continually leaves one with a sense of wonder. My phone camera was unable to do the vision justice, yet I still attempted to capture it in the moment.

In tandem with the slow greening of March, this week I came across and admired a beautiful piece of malachite that reminded me of clouds building on a horizon, or the shape of a Buddhist cloud in art, or perhaps a Turkey Tail mushroom. Nature mimics art mimics nature.

Faced with a wall of different types of artisan chocolates (if chocolate happens to be your thing) was something difficult to resist…..

The Dutch Baby of the week was Pear/Blueberry/Cinnamon, drizzled with maple syrup once plated.

Little Rudi’s assortment of winter sweaters and tee shirts can soon be packed away. He takes pleasure basking in the warmth of porch sunlight.

I sit out there with him, enjoying how the late afternoon rays reflect off the stripes in my 1960’s Janis Joplin-style velvet pants, making them sparkle (cheap thrills!)

The faded earth/bird flag above the door waves on the breeze beneath a Crayola sky. Such a beautiful, hopeful day.

Tonight on our dog walk I was surprised to see a few moths fluttering beneath the street lights, even though the air began to cool down by evening. Moths! I guess it has really begun.

Tomorrow I am going for the annual haircut, a spring ritual. Not that it ever really is in control, but right now this hair is very much out of control. The thing about very curly hair is that when it is wet, or if you “un-boing” and stretch out a strand, you can see it becomes many inches longer than it appears, growing out instead of down. Suddenly there is a lot more than you thought there was – reaching a tipping point where it doesn’t behave. I would say that is one of the Banes of Having Curly Hair, the misbehaving.

My parents used to call me “la strega” when I was a kid, partially (just partially!) because of the wild, uncontrollable hair. It was already enough back then. But when People My Age have very long crazy hair it can sometimes appear a bit “Agggghhhhh”! As always, I’m a little anxious about the once or twice a year cut. I’ve mentioned this often in the past – how disconcerting it is after all the snip-snipping is finished – when you glance down at the clippings by your feet and it looks like an opossum is playing dead on the floor.

Also, the last couple of times I had my hair cut I ended up with kind of a Cleopatra hair thing happening, except frizzy, and in gray. Every time I mention “Please don’t give me Cleopatra hair,” I still come out with that same blunt cut anyway. Then it takes a few painful, self-conscious weeks until it normalizes. After that it will look okay for a while, with even a few Good Hair Days (weather permitting), until it reaches critical mass again.

In any case, removing an excess of winter growth and starting anew with the spring should feel good.

Soon I will be making my way west to visit my family and partake of two springs again (see Two Springs, 5/02/24 from last year for a glimpse). Very much looking forward to it, but not thrilled about flying these days.

Renewed hope as we head into the Spring Equinox. We all could use a bit of hope right now.

~*~

Posted in Aging, Cooking, Dogs, Fashion, Food, Gardening, nature, Perspective, Seasons, senior musings, Spring, The Urban Porch, The Urban Porch ™, Uncategorized, Views From he Urban Porch ™, Weather | Tagged banes of curly hair, basking in the sun, Cleopatra haircut, crocus, curly hair, curly haircut, Dutch Baby of the week, Fence Dino, first bee, full worm moon eclipse, gray curly hair, janis joplin pants, long curly hair, lunar eclipse, malachite clouds, nature mimics nature, papillon chihuahua, sparkly pants, Spring, tiny daffodils, two springs, wall of chocolate, warm sunny days | Leave a comment

Chicken

Posted on March 8, 2025 by daeja's view

OK, well this is going to be another one of those brain-salad riff type posts where I am all over the place, but if you follow or if your brain works like mine, you might find the connections somehow. Or not. It starts out one direction and then ends up in another.

To begin with generally safe topics like the weather, we are in that fake-out kind of almost-spring situation at the moment. There was snow, then there wasn’t. It warmed up to fifty for a little bit, so we all got some Spring in our step. The earth began to give off a few teaser whiffs of fertility to come. A few days of that had you looking out the window to see these sunny, intensely blue skies, walking outside in only a light sweatshirt with the expectation that would be more than adequate – only to be pierced by icicle cold mega-gusting winds that turned your hair into Albert Einstein-head and whipped the scarf right off your neck. A week of warmth is predicted – we are probably entering into that “Spring of Deception” phase, although the truth is that you never know what might occur. We could skip spring almost altogether and slip right into summer. It has happened before.

Since I last posted, the dinosaur draped on the fence down the street was changed out of its winter wear and had been dolled up for February. Like the other kids in the neighborhood, I wonder how they will be dressing it for March.

Speaking of kids, I just have to share a bit of a grandparent-y thing. No, it’s not photos of their cute faces in my phone (formerly in my wallet – showing my age here), but it’s just the stuff of moments that give you a tiny taste of Happy, and we sure could all use some Happy these days wherever we can grab it. So here is my slice of it; a little clay cat by a granddaughter. And one of the boys gifted his brothers Lego images of themselves. Sometimes it’s just those tiniest of fragments that can make you smile. File this one in the Senior Musings category.

Moving on into the house, a couple of my indoor plants decided to bloom after not doing much of anything and mostly being neglected, which has lent to anticipation of outdoor blooming to come.

Meanwhile, around the Urban Porch there have been little pokes of hopefulness emerging.

The birds have become more vocal. The regular gang of House Sparrows are gearing up for their annual spring orgy. A few crows have returned to the area and are busy setting up housekeeping somewhere in the tall pines back beyond the yard. One or two have been visiting the Crow Tree again, which is nice to see. The other day there was one perched on the pinnacle while a flock of starlings adorned the branches below, as if subjects to crow royalty.

I continue making the weekly Sunday Dutch Baby. Last weekend it was Blackberry-Black Walnut, and it was extra delicious. I used black walnut extract instead of vanilla for a different experience, along with chopped walnuts and some super juicy blackberries. Light or golden whole wheat flour was substituted for white flour. Milk, butter, fresh local eggs, and I don’t add any sugar to it, as you can put whatever sweetener you want on it afterwards. Since I’ve never mastered the art of photographing food, all I can say is the photo doesn’t do it justice.

Since we are on the topic of food for the moment (this must be the Foodie section), my neighbor turned me on to this rye bread that is extremely addicting. It contains locally grown organic stone ground whole rye, organic sunflower seeds and flax seeds, maple syrup and sea salt. It’s the kind of thing where you keep going back for another small slice until you suddenly notice much of the loaf has disappeared. Great both toasted or not.

Speaking of eggs…….right now the price of eggs in this country has been a topic of dissatisfaction and dismay. So far I have been fortunate enough to have some connections to friends and neighbors to buy eggs from (or even have been gifted) for a while. Especially since there is rarely any meat in my diet, we have been blasting through eggs in this house. I think it is important to support local people. Even though the prices have gone up, they still have been selling them at a more reasonable cost than what is in the store right now, and I’ve been grateful for that.

There is a young mother I purchase from who loves her birds. In addition to raising her small flock for eggs, she makes all sorts of organic products and home remedies to sell. In a small way she reminds me a bit of what I used to be like in my late twenties and early thirties – a time of not being very economically advantaged but certainly more ambitious – growing a vegetable garden, canning, tapping maple trees for syrup, sewing, quilting, and making my children’s clothing – although I didn’t raise chickens. She is often interested in some of the odd things I give away through our local Buy Nothing group, and I tend to choose her name more often because I like her. Recently that included a number of socks from my famous Socks of the Day collection (see Socks of the Day 1/18/23). I am slowly starting to release some of my Socks of the Day, as they have become overwhelming. But that’s another story.

In a good way, there is a flow of goods circling about. She has asked me to clean and save the shells from the eggs so she can grind them up and use them as calcium to add back to the chicken feed, so I have been doing that for her.

Now here is where I swerve off the track for a little bit. The other day I was rinsing out some shells for her and suddenly had this very, very old, sort of weird memory pop into my head.

Back in the 1970’s, my Then-Boyfriend and I had been dropping in to visit people we knew as we made our way back and forth across the country and ended up spending a night in Palo Alto in a house that a friend of ours shared with a group of people. I remember one of them was a published author, the others I’m not sure what they did, but I recall they were a friendly and welcoming bunch. They kept chickens in a shed abutting the house that opened out to a small suburban backyard. There was one feisty, slightly aggressive rooster. They fed us dinner, which included some kind of chicken dish. After the meal they fed all their table scraps to the chickens, including the leftover chicken.

I could not get over the thought of chickens eating chicken. Did they know what they were eating? (Well, apparently not, or if they did, they clearly did not have the capacity to have any moral thoughts about it). There just seemed to be something rather disturbing about it (to me, anyway) and I had to do my nerd research on it. While I have friends and neighbors who keep hens and ducks that they feed grain, leftover vegetables, compost and meal worms, I have never actually asked them if they feed them meat scraps. Chickens are omnivores, so I suppose it is possible. Chickens will eat a dead bird and under stressful conditions will cannibalize another chicken. Somehow I don’t think that my homesteading young egg-selling friend is feeding her girls leftover chicken, but when I get more eggs next week, out of curiosity I am going to ask.

As far as asking the old friend whose house we stayed at what her memories were, she sadly passed away years ago – way too young and in a tragic way. Thus, I’m thinking about eggs, and chickens, and time passing and people you know passing on – the “why” of it all – and how all those experiential pieces accumulate and add up to how we perceive life (this I guess would qualify as a Senior Memories part of the post.)

On another totally unrelated note, multiple times this month (including just now) I have picked up my phone showing the time at exactly 11:11. I am not one of those people who has any investment in 11:11, although apparently that is A Thing. I knew a woman years ago who was a little (OK, actually a lot) paranoid crazy about the significance of 11:11. I think she might have written a chapter in a book about it, along with some other meanings of signs and a few conspiracy theories thrown in. One of my sisters, who has psychic tendencies and generally gives free reign to the universe for guidance, is also into 11:11. It has always seemed a little bit “woo-woo” to me, but for whatever reason, I keep catching the time at 11:11. When I see it I think “Oh, there it is again,” but I haven’t accorded any real thought into what is happening at that moment.

Perhaps I am a bit like the dog that knows it is exactly 5:00 pm and time for his dinner. It doesn’t matter if he ate something as late in the day as 4:00pm, at 5:00pm his internal clock goes off to let him know it’s meal time and he’s in your face. Back to chickens for a moment, they can become accustomed to being fed at the same time of day, and if you don’t appear at that time they will make a fuss. Seems like my internal clock right now is set to 11:11.

Okay, so I just paused writing for a few minutes here and looked up some information about 11:11, since I’m talking about it. Apparently 11:11 is supposed to signify enlightenment, insight and intuition. Or that the Universe is reading your thoughts, which it is about to manifest into reality; that it is time to align our thoughts with our intentions. New beginnings. Or that angels are near. I’m not feeling it that way, at least not at the moment.( I’m not sure if The Universe would necessarily want to be manifesting some of the thoughts I’ve had lately into reality). Maybe something will happen or is going to happen (although something is always happening or always going to happen). I’m all in for more insight and enlightenment, and an angel or two could not hurt right now either. I’ll have to pay more attention.

Daylight Savings Time starts tomorrow (we spring ahead). I wonder if the time change will affect the egg production these upcoming weeks. This will definitely throw the dog off his schedule – as it always does – taking days until he regulates into the new shift. I wonder if it will throw off my 11:11 clock experiences too, altering it to 12:11?

~*~

Posted in Aging, Animal Stories, Are you kidding me?, baking, Birds, Cooking, Food, House plants, nature, Perspective, Seasons, senior musings, Spring, The Urban Porch, The Urban Porch ™, Uncategorized, Views From he Urban Porch ™, Weather, Weird, Winter | Tagged 11:11, brain salad, chicken, chicken for chicken, crow royalty, Dutch Baby, Foodie, Memories, neglected clivia, organic eggs, senior memories, senior musings, spring of deception | Leave a comment

Radiant

Posted on February 22, 2025 by daeja's view

There is a bit of magic in waking up to trees glazed in icy wonder.

As the sun dodged in and out from wolf-gray clouds, I kept stepping outdoors into the frigid air for brief moments to admire the prisms of rime, the sky a ceiling of diamond-laden branches. Both the cold and the beauty took my breath away.

Finally I threw on an extra sweater and a pair of clogs and stepped back out into the wind and snow in order to appreciate a giant pine tree up close in all its frost-queen regalia.

Each fascicle was a delight of whorls and patterns in a crystalized, frozen world.

The wind was bitter cold, sending icy jabs sharper than the needles on the tree into my face and through my inadequate clothing, an invitation to run back inside. But mesmerized, I kept returning, as the sun would emerge for brief moments, creating radiant sparkles everywhere.

Such beautiful clusters, dewy droplets stopped mid-motion, suspended in time. Verglas.

Each a tiny gem reflecting the world.

The gutter above The Urban Porch has created its own unique ice-scape, sending cascading rivers and unicorn horns down the side of the house.

Stalactites form, effecting dark caves by the lattice at the base of the porch.

The Rose of Sharon wears a glacial crown,

waving sleeves of saber teeth,

and a gown of linen glass.

Slanting sun of late afternoon casts long shadows onto the glaze-covered snow in my neighbor’s yard. The dog and I gingerly shuffle our way down a salted but still slippery sidewalk. While he stops to sniff, I idly imagine it is the silhouette of the Eiffel Tower.

This week we will have a warming spell; with it will come the soot and mud. Most likely it will be a temporary situation, a February thaw, as March is known to bring another storm or two. While most of us are probably more than ready for winter to play itself out, these sparkling gems of seasonal beauty provide a break in the longing for spring.

~*~

Posted in nature, Perspective, Photography, Seasons, senior musings, The Urban Porch, The Urban Porch ™, treasures, Uncategorized, Views From he Urban Porch ™, Weather, Winter | Tagged diamonds, frozen, frozen world, glazed trees, ice, photography, pine needles, prisms, radiant sparkles, rime, shadows, silhouettes, sparkles, stalactites, unicorn icicles, winter gifts | Leave a comment

Veering Off That Track

Posted on February 14, 2025 by daeja's view

Well, it was good to get that last one off my chest! The previous post was a Major Rant of frustrated feelings and opinions on a situation that had been brewing for a few years. After finally writing it down and dumping it here, I’ve been able to let it go and move on. My apologies to anyone who actually read the entire thing, didn’t relate and perhaps felt they suffered through it….. it was a long one. If you do sympathize, feel free to boycott the network along with me. Anyway…..

With the intention of veering off into another direction, I’ve taken a few steps to accommodate that. The first has been not watching the news on television at all. It has helped tremendously.

The next step was to just appreciate the small routine things. Here is the Dutch Baby (German pancake) from this past Sunday. I tend to make them on Sunday mornings and add whatever I have available. This one was pear and blueberry. When it came out of the oven it was all puffed up, fragrant and yummy.

I came across an entire bin of burn morel mushrooms in a grocery store last week. They have been shipped here from the west and are crazy expensive, but it was nice to see them and get a tiny zing of anticipation for the morel season arriving in the northeast in a few months. Hopefully it will be a good one. I had fantasies of filling up an entire shopping bag with these and running away!

The other day I picked up my keys off the table and suddenly began admiring the old enamel Moroccan hamsa on my keyring, gifted years ago from a friend who recently passed away.

The previous attachment to my keyring was a brass swivel spring snap that was given to me by a very dear friend-more-like-family about fifty years ago. My wonderful friend Everitt had picked it up in one of those old hardware stores that used to have lots of bins and sawdust on the floor. He is no longer earthside either, which has made it all the more precious. Holding it in my hands or seeing it daily as I opened the door or started my car has always provided a level of comfort, a talisman of the heart. I didn’t realize how much until recently removing it from the keyring, as the key fob for my latest car added a bit too much bulky weight. But I may just put it back on anyway, because something feels off not having it there.

On the subject of gifts, an interesting and generous assortment of medicinal mushroom powders and teas was sent to me. I’m slowly working my way through them, experimenting with their uses and best benefits. They should last a while. I am hoping to suddenly look and feel full of glowing vibrancy and energy. We shall see…..

The most exciting thing has been the Barred Owl that dwells in the woods behind my daughter’s house. She thinks there are a pair of them. It was just hanging out in the pine trees.

I am not sure if this was the same owl that swooped down and whooshed closely past me while taking out the dog in front of her house one night. It was pretty startling (I am always afraid Little Rudi will be picked up by a hawk or snatched by a coyote…..small dog worries). Here is this beauty from her yard the other day, sitting in the trees, then diving in to check something out, then zooming away.

There is something magical, mysterious and wonderful about seeing an owl…

Making the focus on small, random, sweet observances in life has been a mood elevator. However, I had to pause and wonder about something I saw today.

Glancing up at my rear view mirror while driving home this afternoon, a neon green light caught my attention. At first it appeared be perhaps a weird little indicator light for something in my own car that I had not known about before. But once stopped at a traffic light I was able to see that it was actually something in the windshield of the car behind me.

The car behind had “The Finger” lit up in neon LED lights in his windshield.

As I oft exclaim to myself and did again at that moment – “Seriously?” I admit to being a little confused. Since I didn’t do anything to this person, was driving the same speed along with traffic and hadn’t cut anyone off, it wasn’t really clear if “The Finger” was specifically meant for me or if it was just something he felt the need to proudly display all the time to the world. Questions ran though my mind while waiting for the stoplight to change; Is this person perennially pissed off? Might this be a visual alternative to acting out some road rage? Is this meant to be funny and I’m just missing the joke? Is this actually not a neon “flipping of the bird” but perhaps has some other urban cultural reference that I am not hip to?

Then there is the question that begs – who or what kind of person would want to drive around with that in their windshield? It was difficult to discern if it was someone younger, although road ragers come all varieties. What might have happened if I had suddenly stuck my finger up and given it back to him? Would that have incited some real road rage? Driving further down the road, I lost him at the next traffic light. The finger light continued to glow in the distance as I pulled away, so perhaps it had nothing to do with me.

Later on at home, I googled those lights and found some of them can also be adjusted to different gestures. I guess this was just not a very friendly person. The part I pulled out of this which could be considered slightly amusing is how totally bizarre a world it is that we live in.

Veering onto other tracks has taken a bit of mindfulness, but I’ve been practicing. The other day I had shown up for an appointment for the second time, only to find – once again – it had been cancelled (and I had not been informed). An exercise in office ineptness, but that’s another story. I was determined to continue veering away from that track as I headed back towards the parking lot, only shaking my head but not allowing annoyance to take over. A pickup truck had parked next to my car, with the likeness of Queen Elizabeth looking out the window from the back seat.

I’m not sure what that’s about either. Why The Queen of England? (on the other hand, why not)? But really, how can you not be amused by this? Trying to find the humor wherever I can. We all could use some of that.

~*~

Posted in Aging, Are you kidding me?, Coping, Humor, Mushrooms, nature, Perspective, senior musings, Uncategorized, Weird, Wildlife, Winter | Tagged avoiding a rant, barred owl, burn morels, Dutch Baby, finding humor, joy in the details, looking for lightness, looking for the humor, mushroom powders, neon finger, no rants!, owls, talismans of the heart, The Queen, turn off the news | Leave a comment

Fighting Windmills

Posted on February 4, 2025 by daeja's view

Early on I had a gut feeling where this would be heading and how it would most likely end up, but decided to hold out in the (futile?) hope that there might be some righteousness in all of it.

Once upon a time I was a fan of CNN. Aside from their news, the network had been putting out some interesting and quality special programming for a number of years. Tom Hanks and Gary Goetzman were presenting a documentary mini-series (The Sixties, The Seventies, The Eighties, The Nineties, etc.) that I was eager to see. But each time I sat down to watch with everyone else, I discovered I could not follow along due to the inadequate closed captions, which were not lining up with the dialog and scenes on the screen. It was starting to feel more than annoying, being unable to share with many others who were enjoying and commenting. Not only that, we were paying for this cable access. Since there seemed to be not much to be done about it in the moment, I had to let it go and turn my attention to other things, at least for a while.

I am sort of a foodie with a lust for faraway places. So it was sometime during 2022 when I attempted to try watching a program that supplied some of that fix (Anthony Bourdain:Parts Unknown on CNN) and found myself giving up in frustration because – as usual – the captions were so out of sync that by the time the words caught up, the visuals had moved on anywhere from one to three scenes past. It was impossible to watch.

If anyone is just coming on to this blog and doesn’t know it, I have a significant hearing loss and am totally dependent on captioning in order to watch television and movies. I have also spent a couple of decades in my former career serving people with disabilities, so you can imagine this situation touched a nerve or two on a few levels.

The disappointments with CNN continued. Friends would ask “Did you watch that special on Linda Ronstadt (Linda Ronstadt: The Sound of My Voice)?” No, I could not, because the captioning was so off. With hope, I kept thinking it was just a glitch, that if I turned off the TV and then turned it on again, rebooted the cable box, waited for another day, it would change. I repeated that scenario over and over again.

It didn’t change.

Despite recommendations from my sister-in-law, I could not watch Stanley Tucci: Searching for Italy. I could not watch the documentary on RBG. My disappointment began to turn to indignation. We were paying for this service in order to watch programming on CNN, which included the news of course, but not just the news. Live news is almost always out of sync, it is the nature of live transcription (although one can hope with the advent of AI that this will become more perfected). Pre-recorded shows should not have this issue.

I thought for sure there must be something wrong with our local television provider, which at the time was Spectrum (formerly Time Warner). I contacted them to ask what was going on and they informed me the issue was not with them but directly with CNN. Just to make sure, I reached out to family, friends, and friends of friends across the entire country who used different cable providers (Spectrum, Frontier, Verizon Fios, Dish, Direct TV, RCN/Astounding, Xfinity, etc). From California, Texas, Florida, North Dakota, Georgia, Colorado, Arizona, Connecticut, Illinois, Ohio, Missouri, Massachusetts, Oregon and New York – you can see I was pretty thorough in my inquiries – they all tuned in to the CNN documentaries and found the same thing. There was no doubt that CNN was the problem. Their responses ranged from “That’s horrible!” to “How can anybody manage to watch anything like that?” to “That’s discrimination.”

While I understand that live broadcasts like the news are always on a bit of a lag, these were pre-recorded shows that were either aired (usually on a Sunday evening) or could be brought up On Demand. There seemed to be no good reason why CNN could not provide adequate, on point captioning for those who depended on it, especially with all the technological advancements happening with AI. Every other major network seemed to be able to do this with their pre-recorded material.

Towards the end of 2022 I reached out to the CNN contact that dealt with captioning issues (at the time it was IPClosedCaptioning@Turner, based in Atlanta) via phone and email, addressed directly to the person listed in charge. I received no response at all. It was beyond comprehension why the CNN desk actually responsible for captioning could not be bothered to answer my inquiries.

Not knowing where to turn, the next step was to contact a Hearing Health Advocate, who suggested I should bring my complaint to the FCC Disability Rights Office. Not really wanting to go down that rabbit hole if it wasn’t necessary, I attempted to contact CNN once again by email. No response. Given that brush-off, at the end of December 2022 I filed an informal complaint with the FCC, providing both explanations and videos of the issue. In January 2023 the FCC opened a ticket addressing the situation.

Much to my surprise, a few short weeks later I received an actual phone call from the FCC following up on my complaint. I was pretty impressed with their personal – and what appeared to be concerned – response to this dilemma. They let me know they were working on it.

It is interesting that while CNN could not be bothered to respond to me after a number of attempts, once contacted by the FCC they managed a pretty quick response to both of us. Essentially what they did was throw around references to Section-this and Section-that of the commissions rules, full of numbers, letters and sub-clauses, which supported their argument that since they are a network which “airs a high proportion of live or topical time-sensitive programming” this therefore allowed them the flexibility to continue to use the 24/7 real-time captioning like you see on live news (which of course would be out of sync) – just in case some “breaking news” happens….. and that their delay of 3-5 seconds falls within the parameters of what are acceptable lags per all those sections and sub-clauses. The letter was from CNN/Warner/Discovery. Apparently there have been some acquisitions and changes going on there along the way.

Despite this response, their pre-recorded programs air at specific times, they are repeated, and they are also available to be pulled up “on demand” well after the fact. Why any “news break” could not be inserted if necessary, just like on any other network, without it affecting pre-existing accurate captions appears to be just an excuse. As a friend who is a documentary maker said to me after I shared the situation, “Of course they can accommodate it. That’s bullshit.”

For all the hearing people out there who might not get it – try turning the sound off or extremely low on your TV, turn on the CC, and attempt to follow a show through its entirety with a 3-5 second (or more) delay. Then see how long it takes before finding it so much work (and sometimes even brain-frying) that you give up watching, since the dialog does not match the video. Not only that, some of the captioning lags on CNN pre-recorded programs have ranged anywhere from 5-14 seconds. (Yes, one of the Stanley Tucci segments swung erratically and wildly back and forth with the captions, the extreme clocked with as much as a fourteen second lag). Count out fourteen seconds (or ten, or five, or even three) while watching a program and notice how often the scene, picture and dialog changes. In captioning time that is an eternity. By as little as five seconds or less, you can already be on to an entirely different subject.

In their closing comments, with respect to their collection of Originals series, CNN said the network “hopes to continue to minimize any attendant latency issues”. They “hope” to. Not “will.”

They didn’t.

Actually, in the year following this letter sometimes it was even worse than before.

It came to a point where it all began to feel rather quixotic – fighting windmills, foolishly pursuing an idea that is not going to come to fruition. I was aware this was discrimination. It is discriminating against people who cannot hear well, but also age discrimination, as many who are older depend on captioning. Every time a show was broadcast on CNN that I wanted to partake in and couldn’t, I felt what eventually became anger rising all over again. So I soldiered on.

Next, I wondered who might be sponsoring this. Approaching some sponsors of CNN to let them know about the issue was met without response. Clearly they don’t give a damn either. I won’t even bother to list them here; you can look them up if you are interested. I will say a number of car insurance companies are among them. Running through the list, there are sponsors of CNN that I will never, ever give my business to, given they are subsidizing a company that discriminates against people with disabilities (which they now know about because I told them so, if they didn’t already know before). Concerning a few of the sponsors, it is almost impossible to untangle from them, as their big business tentacles are in everything. No point in making a segue into that whole subject here. I think we all pretty much know how this runs.

Onward with the saga; the FCC continued to be in touch a few more times, which I thought was rather earnest. While they didn’t want to push too much by stepping on CNN toes and irritating them (while they were standing behind all those sections and clauses), there was an expectation that the network was eventually going to remedy the problem as they had indicated. “When?” I asked. Within the next few months there should probably be some movement on this, I was assured. I waited. Every once in a while I would check in again. “When?”

No change.

We moved on through 2023 and with it, more new documentaries, series and special programs from CNN were aired. Guliani: What Happened to America’s Mayor? – out of sync.

The Whole Story with Anderson Cooper – unwatchable and unsynchronized. Periodically I would follow up again with the FCC to find out where things were at. WHEN????? When exactly will they be fixing this?

Eventually, in the spring of 2024, the concerned and engaging person I had been in contact with from the FCC stopped responding to me about an issue that clearly is not going to be resolved. In the meantime, CNN began to wind down on their docu-series anyway.

In these few years of frustration and periodic rage at this media giant that used to tout themselves as “The Most Trusted Name in News,” I had fantasies of contacting the hosts of those presentations, who would surely speak out, since they are all righteous guys, right? How do you all feel about people who don’t hear well not being able to watch your shows? Where are you Tom Hanks? Will you help me, Stanley Tucci? Will you stand up for us, Anderson Cooper? Of course I didn’t really try contacting any of them, but it rolled around in my mind for a while. Realistically, the way things were playing out, they probably would not have responded either.

Still unwilling to throw in the towel just yet, in 2024 I tried watching The United States of Scandal with Jake Tepper. The CC was insanely impossible to follow.

Given my dismay and outrage at CNN and their lack of care, as a matter of principle I pretty much stopped watching CNN; not just their special programs but their news too. However, a few months into 2024 I was curious to see the four part series The Many Lives of Martha Stewart (Why can’t I just give this up?). Of course it was a wild fantasy, but perhaps (just maybe?) CNN might have actually stepped up and ended up doing the right thing after all? I tuned in a bit early; one of Anderson Cooper:The Whole Story segments was on, which was pre-recorded and airing again. Of course the captions were thoroughly useless. I was just about to turn the channel off in disgust when it ended and the Martha Stewart story came on.

Unbelievably, Martha’s captions were lined up. Totally, beautifully synchronized, throughout the entire four segments. Of course Martha Stewart was perfect. I have no idea how that happened, why or who managed to pull that feat off, but there it was, clearly possible. Oddly and unfortunately, it was just on her story and no place else. Eagerly I brought up other CNN specials again, only to find all the other captioned shows were unsynchronized trash. Only Martha Stewart had it right. I actually had to laugh, albeit wryly.

Eventually some of the documentary series mentioned above found their way to streaming services like YouTube, Max, Prime and Hulu. I was finally able to watch Anthony Bourdain elsewhere, which is what had set this whole thing in motion to begin with. Once off of CNN, all were exactly the way there are supposed to be, just like all the other shows on those venues. It just meant having to watch them in a different place instead of enjoying them with everyone else at the original time of airing. Left behind and after the fact.

Concurrently, in 2023 and early 2024 I was connected to a member of the Division of Human Rights Disability Advisory Council for my state, who was very much onboard with continuing to address this whole issue. I posed the idea to him that maybe someone at The New York Times might be interested in pursuing a story on the subject. He told me flat out that they wouldn’t give a crap about something like this, and I think he’s probably correct. On further discovery it seems – quite ironically – that the former chief executive of The New York Times was hired by CNN in 2023 as their new CEO. So I guess that’s not happening. The member of the advisory council said he was willing to refer the CNN issue to a few attorneys that might possibly be interested in taking us on as plaintiffs.

And this is where I stopped.

Perhaps if I was younger and up for a good fight, I might have taken him up on the idea. But I am not younger. I’m exhausted from the effort and energy expended, disheartened from the dismissive we-really-don’t-give-a-shit-about-you stance. Sadly, it’s not just CNN. It’s an attitude that has permeated just about every aspect of our daily lives these days, coming from all directions. You don’t matter to them. They try and wear you down until you finally give up and just go away.

During my unpleasant foray into CNN and their out-of-sync hell, there were a few other unexpected revelations. Of the people I questioned who were getting their news and watching these specials and documentaries on CNN via cable, most of them were older. The younger people tended to stream their information, many telling me they did not (and would not) even watch CNN. It appears it’s not “The Trusted Name in News” for many. On the technical side, I also found there were many (mostly older people) who did not even know how to access the closed captioning on their television, finding it confusing or convoluted, too much effort to turn them on and off, with too many steps. There were complaints that the typed words of the captions covered up things they wanted to see and could not be moved out of the way – blocking things like baseball scores or faces. A whole other subject, but worth mentioning.

As I write this in 2025, I have not bothered to go back to check and see if CNN finally did something about their captioning, but given their lack of action over the last number of years, I highly doubt it. Even if they did, at this point it doesn’t matter anymore. They lost me.

There are a few things I would like to say to the FCC, who appears to have decided not to pursue this corporate behemoth further and eventually dropped the ball. Such high hopes ending in such a disappointment. How about updating the Commission’s Rules and Captioning Requirements and tightening those loopholes in order to truly address this discriminatory problem?

What I would like to say in response to those who could have remedied this at CNN, and to the SVP/Head of Global Ethics & Compliance at Warner Bros. Discovery, Inc., who threw the sections, clauses, quotes, parenthesis and italics back at us instead of taking responsibility and actually fixing the problem. Does that make you feel great? Are you proud of yourself?

Perhaps some day it will be your child, your mother, your spouse, your loved one who finds themselves in a situation where they are not accommodated and essentially iced out because nobody cared enough to do the right thing. Maybe someone you care about will be sitting in a classroom, a lecture hall, a play, concert, or movie theater and find they cannot enjoy or participate like everybody else because a loop system or caption was not provided. Maybe they will have actually paid for that service or show and are presented with the insult of having no way to access it. Perhaps they will be sitting in your very own living room, ready to enjoy a television program together with their family, friends, or with you, and find themselves isolated and essentially socially removed from participating – all because they were not deemed important enough by someone up the corporate ladder willing to make the effort.

Perhaps someday that person being discriminated against and left out might very well be you.

~*~

Posted in advocacy, Aging, Are you kidding me?, Coping, Deafness, disability, disability accommodations, grief, Hearing Impaired, Perspective, Rant, Regrets, senior musings, Uncategorized, Vent | Tagged Anthony Bourdain, bad closed captioning, business, CC out of sync, closed caption, closed captioning, CNN, CNN accessibility discrimination, CNN documentary series, CNN out of sync, CNN Sucks, corporate disrespect, deaf discrimination, discrimination, FCC Disability Rights Office, hard of hearing, hearing discrimination, hearing loss, Jake Tepper, left out, Linda Ronstadt, Martha Stewart, news, Stanley Tucci, The New York Times, Tom Hanks | Leave a comment

What’s On Your Nightstand?

Posted on January 23, 2025 by daeja's view

It has been too easy to hunker down, gazing at winter skies, finding excuses to ride out the coldest moments indoors (unless you are one of those winter outdoor types – me, not very much).

Despite a predisposition to remain in Cozy Mode during the most bitter of days, I will admit to very much enjoying the magic of a late night dog walk down the street during a snowfall (in seriously insulation, bundled up from head to toe) when nobody else is about.

Flakes falling gently, creating halos around the street lights, sparkles everywhere, leaving tracks coming and going. The hush.

It has been a good time for roasting colorful vegetables to add to a quinoa bowl, making salads with greens, pomegranate, mandarin oranges, goat cheese and pistachios in a honey vinaigrette, or having cups of hot horchata while curled up in a blanket on the couch.

January continues to bring transitions. Aside from a number of influential musicians, artists and activists who have left earthside for another realm, this month has brought sad news with the loss of a worldly, intelligent and generous friend.

For the past week I’ve been wearing the amber beads she unexpectedly handed me one afternoon, “Take these! You need to take these!” They feel like a little piece of sun, imbued with the memory of that day.

Given that, and the state of the world in general, it has been too easy to want to spend a lot of time in the comfort of bed.

It has probably been more unhealthy than not to habitually slip into the sinkhole of the internet, or to get lost in endless streaming of movies and series. I tell myself that’s OK…. it’s winter. In the spring it will change. I will consciously make that change. No sense beating yourself up now. Winter is the time we are meant to lay low and recharge. Right?

On the night table resides a small tower of books in various stages of immersion or reference, somewhat diverse and nothing particularly heavy. I begin one, then start something else, often having a few going simultaneously, only to put them down, distracted, to return to it later. The pile keeps growing. The internet gets in the way. The movies get in the way.

I’m on a waitlist for a few reads from the library. Often there is a very long wait, so when they become available, the ones borrowed supersede the others in order to complete and return within the allotted time limit. In a way this is good because it throws me back in reading mode. This one was just finished and given back today:

In addition, on my Kindle reader there are probably more books stored than I might ever get to. While there is something positive about holding a physical book in your hands when reading, with the physical books you have to stay propped up with a good reading light. The thing I like about the e-reader might be that it is a throwback to childhood; turning out the lights, pulling the blankets up over your head and creating a cozy cave, secretly reading under the covers with a flashlight when it was past bedtime and you were supposed to be asleep.

Boomer Bonus Throwback: Who used to do that with a transistor radio and an earplug too, so as not to be caught listening when you were supposed to be asleep on a school nigh – the amazing music being aired on a few particular stations, in early youth on AM, later on FM? I’m betting many of us did the same thing. And thus, my Earworm of the Day:

“The flutter of wings, the shadow across the moon, the sounds of the night, as the Nightbird spreads her wings and soars, above the earth, into another level of comprehension, where we only exist to feel. Come, fly with me, Alison Steele, the Nightbird, at WNEW-FM, until dawn.”

A winter goal over the next few weeks will be to consciously whittle down the existing nightstand pile.

How are you balancing the season? What is going on in your winter head? What’s on your nightstand?

~*~

Posted in Aging, Earworm of the day, Flashback, Food, Friends, grief, nature, Perspective, Seasons, senior musings, Uncategorized, Weather, Winter | Tagged a lot of books, books, books on my night table, cozy, distractions, e-readers, friends passing, papillon, reading, reading more than one book at the same time, snowy days, the nightbird, too cold, unfinished, unfinished books, winter | Leave a comment

The Road to Uncle Moustache

Posted on January 14, 2025 by daeja's view

It is beyond explanation why I often awake in the dead of the night with odd memories or curious questions about random subjects, some which can send me scrolling through the internet for verification and answers before being able to settle back to sleep. A few weeks ago, at that surreal point between three and four A.M., my mind started spinning out flashbacks, finally landing on a visual image of Uncle Moustache.

Around the mid-1970’s I found myself temporarily living an unsettled existence with my then-boyfriend and three dogs, dwelling in a rather seedy hostel down a road outside Damascus Gate, which is on the north wall of the Old City of Jerusalem.

This setting hosted some subterraneous, occasionally scary and potentially dangerous goings-ons, which provided a spin-off for a number of bizarre situations, the finer details of which I will not be sharing here. Breaking glass and loud yelling in the middle of the night, someone giving or receiving a beating, a few police raids. Fingers of hashish furtively being sold outside in the street. At night you would lock your door and not come out until morning, not even to use the toilet down the hallway.

Although some of the particulars were written down in an old notebook where those wild experiences might be rediscovered someday, most likely those stories will be lost to the ages (like the time I opted not to sell my blood to the blood-buyer who popped out from an alley, and ended up getting paid to be an extra in a supernatural horror film instead).

But again, all that stuff is not for this post.

If you are interested in knowing a little bit about then-boyfriend (aka “Hikey the Lover”) and how ending up in this inconvenient situation makes sense given the parties involved, there is a vignette on “Hikey” that can be found here (Would You Like Some Mice With That? 5/18/2011). If you are interested in reading about one of the dogs (a sweet yellow desert-bred Saluki that was mine) there is more about her here (The Saluki in the Floor 1/30/2012).

This photo I found online was pretty much what the daily action looked like just outside the walls during that time.

Damascus Gate 1970’s – APO Documentaries

at Damascus Gate 1970’s – APO Documentaries

And here is a photo from 1912, just to appreciate this historical, awesome gate.

THE DAMASCUS GATE IN THE OLD CITY OF JERUSALEM. (COURTESY OF AMERICAN COLONY)

Since we did not have cooking facilities where we were during that period, it was necessary to subsist on street food. Breakfasts consisted of hummus bi tahini, pita sprinkled with za’atar or sumac, chai and nana (mint tea), muddy Turkish coffee, and hot glasses of sahleb/salep – a milky drink made of orchid tubers, which was carried on the backs of vendors in big brass teapots. On a chilly winter morning you could wrap your hands around the steaming glass for heat. The sahleb was warm, sweet, and good – inside and out.

Later on in the day, street meals might consist of falafel, shawarma (spicy sliced lamb) shashlik (kabobs) fresh bread or bagels, along with lemonade, tamarind or carob juice from a juice vendor. For a special treat there was always a piece of baklava.

Memories of these foods bring up olfactory, visual, and auditory images as well. Men sitting on low stools playing shesh besh (like backgammon). The music of Oum Kalthoum blaring out of staticky radios everywhere.

playing shesh besh 1970’s – APO Documentaries

Just inside Damascus Gate, on a road that goes into the residential part of the Muslim Quarter, was the shop of Joseph the baker. You had to go down two or three steps to get into the dark stone room where his oven was. There he baked bread for sale and for people who brought in their own prepared dough or food to cook in their own pots. You could sprinkle extra salt or cumin on the bread he made if you wanted to. It was also one of the only places open very late at night.

Women would arrive laden with large trays of unbaked pita, which would go into the oven and come out in fragrant, puffy pillows, then fall flat again. I could have watched this for hours; after all these years I still retain a beautiful mind-painting in my head of Palestinian women in black dresses, juxtaposed against his glowing oven in that warm, dark, stone room as they waited for their breads to bake. One time in the after-hours, we supplied Joseph with the ingredients to make a pizza, which he did – and then as it finished, he unexpectedly broke an egg on top of it with a final flourish.

I’m taking the long road here, but will be getting to the point shortly.

This rambling stroll through the memories of 1970’s old city street food continued on, heading maybe a five or six minute walk slightly east of Damascus Gate to Herod’s Gate (Bāb az-Zāhra). This neighborhood was a lot less commercial and more residential. This is pretty much what it looked like back then,

Herod’s Gate 1960’s-70’s – APO Documentaries

and here are some views to share that were taken more than half a century earlier, just because I love the timelessness.

Just a short way inside Herod’s Gate was (and still is at the time of this writing) a restaurant where the main meal of the day would be had – a meal which was both affordable and could really (and necessarily) fill you up. The shop was called “Uncle Moustache.” Inexplicably awakening to this odd memory is where my mind went down a labyrinth of rabbit holes, recalling Uncle Moustache (and then all the rest above). So there I sat, awake in bed in the dark during those surreal hours, time where I should have been deep in REM sleep; instead the light from my cell phone casting shadows across the room as I scrolled, looking for the past. I did manage to locate a few pictures and comments – thankful for others who also remembered that place frozen in time and shared on the internet – that, in addition to a wonderful archival collection of the Old City, some of which I cropped here for the sake of space and detail.

To greatly summarize, three brothers from the Badr family of Jerusalem (Yassin, Ahmed, and Mohammed) opened a falafel shop in the early 1960’s, which they named after Ahmed’s huge, unmistakable, impressive moustache.

Their shop became somewhat renowned by word of mouth in the 1960’s and 70’s as sort of a hippie gathering place among backpackers, people stopping en route to and from India, young travelers staying in hostels, or kibbutz volunteers on sojourns and holiday to Jerusalem. That – and I guess in this case – a couple of displaced souls with three dogs and very little money. The big draw to this shop was about many things; the delicious food, the affordable prices, the atmosphere, the scene – but also about the congeniality and kindness of Uncle Moustache himself.

Aside from the wonderful falafel and hummus, they used to serve ample, affordable and delicious full chicken dinners, which could really fill you up and become the main meal of the day. There were a few tables and chairs placed outside the door, where we could sit with the dogs and catch the social scene.

As I said, Uncle Moustache was friendly and generous, a distinctive character with a significant belly and a serious moustache – a convivial presence. If people didn’t have much money, he might add a little extra hummus to your plate, and had been known on occasion to accept a story or a song to cover the cost of the meal. He would save his leftover meat scraps for our dogs, which we could collect at the end of the day. This was a big deal, as buying dogfood was not an option at the time and they lived on Uncle Moustache’s “doggy bag” remnants. That, and a large, daily fresh bread which cost one lira on the street.

When I came across some of these photos, my immediate thought was to reach out to those who were there – “Hey, do remember that guy?” But Hikey the Lover, the dogs, and a few other people I knew from that time and place who would have recalled those days and said “Wow! Yeah!” have passed on long ago. One of the things about aging is eventually there are fewer and fewer people left who can bear witness to our experiences. It appears the place is still in existence, although they don’t serve those chicken dinners anymore. While not certain, I believe at this writing his nephew is running the falafel shop, which has gotten some enthusiastic reviews.

So concludes a small segment of the circuitous road which led to Uncle Moustache – or perhaps it was the brief memory of Uncle Moustache that sent me down some avenues of recollection – as I sat in the dark, in the middle of a cold winter night, reliving those strange and interesting times.

~*~

Posted in Aging, Are you kidding me?, Dogs, Flashback, Food, Perspective, senior musings, Travel, Uncategorized | Tagged 1970's jerusalem, 1970's old city, Damascus Gate, existing, falafel stand, Herod's Gate, life, Memories, my hippie youth, old city, strange days, street food, thoughts in the middle of the night, travel, why am i awake? | 7 Comments

Summing Up Twenty-Four

Posted on December 29, 2024 by daeja's view

Scrolling back over the past posts of 2024 puts it right in my face that there was plenty about nature, food, weather, and just mindless, ambling summations. That, and a couple of Rants here and there.

At the beginning of the year the WordPress platform was giving me trouble – subscribers were not getting alerted to posts, those that tried to comment found it difficult, frustrating and not worth it. Over the fourteen years of writing this blog (January 16, 2011 was the first post – somehow I can barely grasp that fact), it has been an up and down issue with feedback, readership, and some of the helpful tools that were once available on this platform no longer seem to exist. But I’m still here, along with a handful of loyal followers, a number of new ones, and some random people dropping in from throughout the entire world, which is kind of cool. So maybe it’s fixed. For now. And for those that continue to bear with me, I appreciate it.

Of the more mundane, the weather. Temps bouncing all over the place, perhaps our new normal, climate change, all that. And yet when I look back at old posts here and memories from social media, it appears even back then we were commenting about how weird the weather was behaving. It seems it is our tendency to forget.

We had great, fluffy snows, ice storms, and even teeny tiny snowballs everywhere. Any significant snow was an excuse to have a bowl of fresh snow drizzled with maple syrup, which gets mentioned just about every year. I wonder if anybody reading about it here has ever felt the urge to try it out…..?

Phenomena provided by the cold began immediately in 2024, with gorgeous art displays of bathroom window ice. The year also ended with a new collection framed on the same glass.

At times there were skies so blue that they looked like a square on a Pantone paint strip.

There were glimpses of rainbows peeking through trees and arching over houses, luring people out of their homes and into the streets to appreciate those fleeting treats. Sunrises and sunsets lent moments of hope and led one into silent contemplation.

I found myself often lost in billowing cumulous clouds, or great thunderheads building on the horizon. You could imagine angels behind beaming rays of heavenly light emanating from icy edges of afternoon formations. There were lenticular clouds that mimicked dolphins leaping through a sea made of sky, or flying saucers surveying the Earth. We had a few dark, moody, emotional gray ceilings, along with mackerel designs blanketing the above.

Clouds and clouds and more clouds.

Right here I could probably add an Earworm. Songs just kept popping up in my head all year while writing. As I type this, I’m hearing Judy Collin’s version of Joni Mitchell’s song, “Both Sides Now” in my mind.

Rows and floes of angel hair
And ice cream castles in the air
And feather canyons everywhere
I’ve looked at clouds that way

There were plenty of earworms shared this year, usually just a line or two. Sometimes they would not vacate and stuck around for days at a time.

2024 brought us a total eclipse of the sun that became a social event, bringing so many gathering together to share the experience.

Okay, so here we go again – “You’re So Vain” by Carly Simon. I bet I’m not the only one who had this earworm when it was happening, was I?

Well I hear you went up to Saratoga
And your horse naturally won
Then you flew your lear jet up to Nova Scotia
To see the total eclipse of the sun

In more celestial phenomena, we experienced four full Super moons during the year, and a showing of the Northern Lights a number of times, including once viewed right from the front porch.

As if spinning through a color wheel, every few weeks a fresh wave of blooms took stage – Roy G. Biv through the seasons! If flora is your thing, scrolling back you will find there are photographic bouquets of beauty scattered throughout this 2024 edition.

While “Views From the Urban Porch” provided outdoor observations, whimsical, mind-spinning examinations were shared from within the house and within my head – anything from thoughts and opinions on at what point the hole in your socks rendered them no longer Sock Worthy, to Object Attachment, horses I have known, crickets, human-animal connection, Hawkmoths, radiated bliss, the attack of the lily pollen, the odd abundance of houses that are painted black, feelings of restlessness, political fissures between family and friends, and the perceptible feeling of being on the edge of an abyss while waiting for Something to Happen. There were expressed urges both to flee and to hibernate. Childhood reminiscing. A year of No Figs. My first experience with an internet troll. The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms. A study in the abundant patterns and colors both man-made and in nature, which provided tremendous distraction from other things that needed to be completed – like taxes. Perhaps a reader or two found recognition in a few of these meanderings.

And oh boy, there were a few Rants; a recalled expression of frustration and rage during a transatlantic flight years ago, where simple disability accommodations were not considered. A diatribe about Respect (or disrespect), set off by the theft of a single poppy, and dog owners who allow their dogs to crap everywhere and don’t pick it up. Or the guy taking up four parking spaces…. because, seriously???

Crows made appearances on the Crow Tree. Turkeys and cardinals and blue jays graced back yards together. Blue-winged Wasps bounced around the front lawn while various larvae and beetles arrived, along with the invasive Spotted Lanternfly. We saw a ghost cat. A Suspicious Squirrel provided some laughs. Chickens were laying in abundance – neighbors shared their egg bounty. Birds nested, a doe admonished me for disturbing her repast, the annual spectacle of the fireflies made their appearance, and there was the excitement of being in the middle of an incoming dragonfly swarm.

I shared often about my little dog Rudi, who had a few concerning health issues over the year but is still by my side at what might be about age twelve. Here he is today, looking out the front room window with his little ears poking up from under a blanket my mother crocheted so many decades ago. The view of his ears from the back always reminds me of artichoke leaves.

As always, talk of food. Different variations of Dutch Baby – an oven-baked pancake (sort of) – were made almost weekly, filled with whatever fruit or berry was on hand. Significant amounts of chocolate were consumed. Many wild mushrooms were foraged (or purchased) and eaten while standing at the stove, never even making it onto a plate. Stir-fried Asian style Chicken of the Woods was a nice summer treat. Lots of Caprese salads over the warmer months. Shakshuka was made a couple of times, satisfying an inexplicable and unusual craving. Paw-paws, pomegranates and persimmons (I call them “the three P’s”) were greatly enjoyed. Baked pears with feta cheese, cranberries and walnuts….. I could go on and on. Mulberries, blueberries…. and the discovery that you can easily regrow a second batch of scallions.

It was nice to have the annual enchiladas on Christmas Eve, a tweaked recipe I used to make with my wonderful old friend, sidekick and former roommate Emrose for many years. Emrose is gone, but making them and eating them always brings back extremely wistful memories, and now my daughters have taken up the tradition. This year I was not with the entire family, where we historically have the family Swiss Fondue. That will have to happen in another month or two when we get together. One of my sisters has the original fondue pot from our childhood, and has continued to celebrate and preserve our custom on the other side of the country.

I shared a few Oddball thoughts, like the incident with the dashboard symbol, or space travel through the car wash. Lost keys. The angst of needing to get another car and the reluctance at embracing some newer technology. There was a bit of ruminating about senior-hood and the forgetfulness just about all of us in that phase of life are experiencing on some level. I reflected on the personalities of the women in my family as depicted in art. Wondered about Mercury in retrograde. And finally there was the Panettone Dilemma.

As the year wraps up, and most recently this very month, there have been a number of losses of people in my orbit. A distant friend, an old lover, a former coworker, a relative. They succumbed to ongoing diseases, sudden illnesses, the afflictions of age, and accident. As each has made their exit, the sudden holes they left have been flooded with an onrush of reflections and memories. While most of us have just been dealing with the natural nuisances of aging, a few of my friends have some pretty serious conditions going on at present. Of course this is to be expected, as we have reached the decades where we now dwell in “The Zone,” as one friend very much in The Zone has dubbed it. Being in The Zone has sent some thoughts spinning off in different directions.

One of those things is Getting Rid of Stuff so that my children will not have to deal with it. Kids don’t seem to want our stuff, they don’t want to be burdened down with our Stuff, they don’t share the same taste as us concerning our Stuff. I think someday they are going to wish they had some of our Stuff, especially if it was Quality Stuff, and might regret getting rid of it. Or maybe not. In any case, I worry about all the Stuff, but have only made the slightest dent in it. I keep thinking I should label photographs in order to avoid my kids asking each other the “Who is that person?” question that I have about many of my grandmother’s and mother’s unlabeled old photos. But then again, the kids just might not even care.

To add to all this mind-spinning, I started thinking about whether or not I have been a Good Person in life. I think sometimes yes, sometimes maybe not so much. If you could become a bird or a dragonfly discreetly hovering above while listening in to a eulogy for yourself (provided there even was such a thing happening), what nice things might be said about you? What not-so-nice things might be thought about you? What would I have changed or done differently if I could go back and change them or re-do them? What would I want to fix? What regrets do I have? And what part of the path am I satisfied or happy about? What were the successes? What have I accomplished in this life? How have I touched others?

Of course, this is mostly useless ruminating (which was happening in the shower, no less) and there is no going back, there is only The Now and The Going Forward. But I still think it is important to make amends in some cases, when possible – a cleansing, a repairing, and a settling.

Remarkably, I have a few friends who have told me they see me as even-keeled, steady, serene, possessing wisdom and kindness. Those are wonderful things to be told, but they surely must be in the eye of the beholder. When I hear those words attributed to me, it is difficult to suppress laughing and shaking my head, wondering what makes them assume that, as I feel like an imposter. Others in my sphere (the ones who admit it) consider me high-strung, sometimes difficult, scattered and kind of nutty. In my insecure self-image, this is closer to the truth. I guess at times it could encompass both, depending on the situation and what the relationship to the observer is.

Hopefully in older age there has been a “mellowing.” What I do know is that I waffle between periods of content and dysphoria regarding who I am. Probably many (or most?) of us exist on that spectrum. Which gets back to….

(while still in the shower) I suddenly started thinking about The Serenity Prayer. The original, lengthy version was actually written in the 1930’s by a Protestant theologian and shared in many publications, where part of it was discovered, adopted and later adapted in the 1940’s by Alcoholics Anonymous, where it has become synonymous with Twelve-step programs, although not exclusively. While I do not have any addictions that necessitate a program (unless there is one for the ongoing acquiring of too many cowboy boots and other collections), for many years I had these lines taped to my computer monitor at work. It was given to me on a little card by a coworker in regards to dealing with some of the more outrageous, problematic and stressful issues both on the job and in my personal life.

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can,
and Wisdom to know the difference

It is thoughtful and inspiring advice, except I have always found myself balking at the first line. it’s not about the “God” word. Even if you change the “God” to “Higher Power” or “The power within myself” (I like that), I know that I will not ever (necessarily) accept “all the things I cannot change.” In our government, in keeping silent at being disrespected or lied to, or treated poorly – some of this remains and will always remain unacceptable. You might accept part of it, but not always all of it. Okay, there is the issue of loss, like sickness or death. That is different. Maybe it needs another line, like “The courage to continue to speak your truth about the things that aren’t going to change, instead of stuffing it inside.”

So much for “letting it go”. Clearly there can be a number of personal interpretations. I’m guessing some people might think I am missing the point. I can’t change it, I don’t like it, and it’s probably never going to be okay with me! With this attitude, perhaps I’m not as serene as some of those people think I am. And to segue into a whole other subject – to hell with Toxic Spirituality! Funny I should wind this post down with what sound like a Rant, although it’s not really a rant; it’s just what was going through my mind during what was actually a very pleasant shower this morning.

There are a few things I am hoping to address in the upcoming year. One of them is a funny one – an attempt to try and refrain from the overuse of the word “snippets” in this blog. When I was going back over it to sum up, I could not help to notice the redundancy of “snippets.” And it’s not even one of my favorite words. I don’t think I even use it in speaking, so I have no idea what that is all about. Note to self – there will be a conscious effort to reduce “snippets”.

The other things is to try and “go with the flow” a little bit more, while managing to maintain personal integrity. Which, ironically, could possibly be associated with accepting (just a few!) of those unchangeable things.

To those who already think I’m a nice person, I’ll will continue being that, and for those who think I am not so nice, I’m going to make an effort to figure out why and address those reasons.

To end on an upward note; a couple of posts back I shared about giving away a Thunbergia plant that had been prolific during the summer, but had pathetically withered away due to my lack of attention over the last few months. I had put it up on our local community free site hoping a plant lover might want to give it a last chance before I tossed it. Today the person who took it sent me this photo of the little plant beginning to thrive under her care, hopefully to eventually bloom once again.

I hope some of you might go back and revisit the posts made throughout this last year in order to enjoy the views, photographic and otherwise.

Little Rudi began and has ended the year perched on the arm of the living room couch, attention turned towards an unclean window, barking at everybody that walks by. Some things remain consistent. The window also remains unwashed. Goals for ’25?

Here’s to repairing the damages, looking for the beauty, finding serenity, enjoying friendship, sharing love, the courage to change what you want to, seeing through fresh eyes, and Thriving in Twenty-five. Rudi and I hope to see you on The Urban Porch next year!

~*~

“Both Sides Now” by Joni Mitchell, 1966 – recorded by Judy Collins, 1967

“You’re So Vain” by Carly Simon, 1972

Posted in Aging, Animal Stories, Coping, Earworm of the day, Flashback, Food, Gardening, Holidays, House plants, nature, Perspective, Photography, Rant, Regrets, Seasons, senior musings, The Urban Porch, The Urban Porch ™, treasures, Uncategorized, Vent, Views From he Urban Porch ™, Weather, Wildlife, Winter | Tagged 2024 in retrospect, celestial phenomenon, clouds, colors, Cooking, earworms, impressions, little dog, mind-spinning, oddball thoughts, ROYGBIV, serenity, snow, Stuff, the Zone, Weather, whimsical observations | 1 Comment

The Panettone

Posted on December 22, 2024 by daeja's view

She’s been gone many years now, but every December I can still hear my mother’s voice in my head talking about the panettone. “Would you like this nice panettone?” “Here, take this lovely panettone home!” She would offer, urge, somewhat cajole, and practically push the overly large package of “nice panettone” into your hands. I’m not sure if this is an Italian thing or just a mother thing, the Hand-off of the Panettone, but it has become a bit of a family joke, one that causes us to smile inwardly, or sometimes laugh outwardly in remembrance.

For those who might not be familiar with panettone, it is cylindrical-shaped, dome-topped sweet Italian cake-like bread filled with raisins and candied citrus, that is traditionally enjoyed around the Christmas holidays. I have to say right up front that I do not like raisins in my cakes, cookies or breads and am also not fond of fruitcake. I feel panettone might fall ever so slightly under the umbrella of being a fruit-cake, of sorts.

Despite letting my mother know year after year that I seriously dislike panettone, a great big one would usually arrive in the mail anyway. If I saw her around the holidays, the push to take the panettone home was inevitable. On reflection, it was similar to her insistent (and in retrospect, deeply touching) offer of Aunt Rose’s “lovely boots” (see These Lovely Boots 1/24/2011 for reference.) I think she honestly could not believe, nor accept, that I did not like and would actually reject the panettone. The premise seemed almost impossible to her.

A few weeks ago while out shopping, I found myself face to face with an entire shelf of assorted panettone. There were not just the usual raisin ones, but some that were filled with flavored creams, and a few personal-sized panettone that had chocolate chips instead of raisins. Although none of them appealed to me – as a matter of fact I could feel a distaste that was slightly physical – I purchased one of the small ones anyway, in order to give it another chance. I guess on some level I still wanted to please my mom, even if she wasn’t around to know it. What I discovered, even sans-raisins, is that I remain Not a Fan. Even without raisins, all panettone tastes like a stale sponge to me.

The thing about being gifted a panettone when you don’t like panettone, is trying to get rid of it. It is the hot-potato of gifts. Aside from the fact that there are very few people I’ve known who admit to liking panettone, the packaging itself even before you open it is unwieldy. They come in these giant boxes that do not fit in a cabinet, so they are out there taking up counter space. If you have ever attempted to regift a panettone to someone else, you will discover is not an easy thing to do – nobody wants them. Which has me wondering…. who is actually buying all these holiday panettone displayed on the shelves?

A few days ago my brother teasingly asked me “Are you going to have the panettone?” and we both cracked up. Actually, the very word “panettone” has the capacity to send me into hysterical laughing under the right circumstances. Only one sister enjoys panettone, but she has to buy a small one meant only for one person, as her family will not eat it either (and they make fun of her). This sister has a theory that our mother appreciated the panettone almost like an art form – the festive printed box topped with a ribbon and the beautiful domed shape of the large pastry within as a symbol of the holiday. I’m thinking she is probably correct about that. I can’t help but remember our mother’s holiday efforts fondly. But still…..

It has been many years since I’ve had to deal with a gifted panettone…… until now.

A couple of days ago my neighbor received one. Perhaps it’s speculation, but I’m guessing the person who gave it to her might have also been the recipient of it as a gift as well. My neighbor is on a strict no-sugar diet, so she asked me if I would like to take the panettone. I groaned inwardly. I told her I really hate raisins in my baked goods. She said she didn’t think there were any raisins in it, and that maybe it would be good toasted. Perhaps I was the default person to ask about taking the panettone, as her family probably had no interest in it either. I could see my mother’s eager, loving face in my mind talking about the panettone. I reluctantly took it home.

The label on the bottom listing the ingredients had such small writing that I didn’t notice (or maybe I didn’t want to notice) that the second ingredient is indeed raisins. I suddenly feel weighted down by the panettone, in possession of this holiday albatross.

Christmas is only a few days away and the tremendous urge to hand it off to the next person presses upon me – not that panettone only can be eaten at Christmas, although the timing seems to go hand in hand. It seems wrong to throw it out. Perhaps it could be donated to a soup kitchen or community holiday meal – but would anybody there even like it? I texted my daughter and asked if she would like me to bring it. She replied with a quick “No thanks!” to my offer.

I have a few days to figure this out. Anybody want a panettone?

~*~

Posted in Are you kidding me?, baking, Food, Holidays, Humor, Perspective, Seasons, senior musings, Uncategorized, Weird | Tagged Christmas, holiday customs, i hate raisins, italian raisin cake, my italian mother, pannetone, regifting the pannetone, the gift pass on, who eats this stuff?, who likes pannetone | 5 Comments

The Dawn Abstracts Return

Posted on December 14, 2024 by daeja's view

Once again, the bathroom window has provided. The first ice pictures of this winter have arrived. It is a seasonal event, an arrangement of ice particles that develop on the (okay, not too clean) east-facing bathroom window on the coldest of mornings. They can be viewed best as the early sun is just rising off to the right of the horizon. After a few hours the images usually vanish, with a new configuration appearing the following day. Last winter bestowed a few imagination-provoking showings, a gallery of fleeting, natural offerings of gorgeousness, a group of which I had posted this past January ( Gifts From a Bathroom Window 1/22/24)

Over the years there have been some beautiful dawn formations, and I admit I look forward to discovering them. This is a slow start to to the bathroom window art season, but as the temps were briefly in the teens this morning, I expect we will continue to be experiencing similar conditions, which will produce more abstract daybreak displays to admire.

~*~

Posted in nature, Perspective, Photography, Seasons, senior musings, treasures, Uncategorized, Views From he Urban Porch ™, Winter | Tagged abstract ice, bathroom window, cold mornings, cold weather art, dawn abstracts, ice art, ice crystals, ice formations, ice pictures, my imagination, winter art, winter dawn | 3 Comments

Seasonal Snippets

Posted on December 10, 2024 by daeja's view

Earlier in the week it snowed these little tiny snowballs.

Not hail, but actual little snowballs.

I thought it was pretty cool. Of course as soon as I tried to scoop some up, they immediately began melting in my hands.

A few days later we had more significant snow.

Being distracted with other things, I forgot to have a bowl of maple-syrup drizzled snow, as I always do after the first noteworthy storm. By the time I realized it, the window of fresh snowfall was missed and what was left was kind of yucky. But a neighbor just informed me we are supposed to get some Big Snow this weekend, so there will be other opportunities. I’m poised and ready this time.

Speaking of syrup, over the past couple of weeks I made some Apple Cider Syrup and have been pouring it over the usual Sunday morning Dutch Baby breakfast. It came out pretty good and is about halfway gone now. Basically, take a half-gallon of apple cider in a large, low pan and simmer it down until it evaporates enough to become syrupy. I will say it is times like these where the old woodstove is wistfully missed, where you could just let it do its simmering thing while the house was being heated.

You can throw a little bundle of spices wrapped in cheesecloth in with the simmering cider, but I just added a cinnamon stick to it and felt that was sufficient. It boils down to a small jar, but it has a tang to it, and a little goes a long way. Apparently you can do this with regular apple juice or pear juice too. Perhaps other juices would also work, but I haven’t experimented. It came out pretty good – I think I might break with tradition and try pouring some over the next fresh snow and see how that goes over.

In other kitchen discoveries, I was going to make a recipe using some scallions that had been sitting in the refrigerator, but found they were past their prime. Somewhere in the back of my mind I recalled recently reading where you can snip off the tops down to the bulbs, put the root bulbs in a glass of water, and a new crop of scallions will grow. So I did that. Well, all I can say is “yowza!” Within the first day they were already making significant tops, and within three or four days I had a new bunch of scallions! It happened so fast it was almost freaky. I’m wondering if it is a one-time deal or if you can do this over and over again. Kind of reminds me of those little projects we used to do as kids, growing a carrot plant from a cut top. Except this is way better.

On the subject of things that grow (or not), The Urban Porch is adorned with pots of dead plants. I probably should remove them.

I had a Thunbergia plant that was gorgeous over the summer and was doing okay even after I brought it inside…for a while. Now its condition is pathetic. I don’t have the space, or the light, and am getting into my Planticide Mode (see Planticide 11/30/22 or Black Thumb 2/11/11 for more of this phenomenon). Before tossing it, I decided to put it on our local Buy Nothing group in hope that someone might want to perform a rescue. A kind plant-loving soul has actually offered to try and save it.

We continue to close in on the holiday season, and all the emotions, highs and lows that accompany it for so many of us. Indeed, sometimes it feels like we are all doing a balancing act through this life.

Rifts and reconciliations. Joys and sorrows. Gain and loss. Upholding or letting go of traditions. Changes from the usual plans. Hellos and goodbyes.

And a glimpse of good things to come….

Speaking of good things to come, a fantastic gift of chocolate arrived in the mail!

The neighbors have dressed their fence dinosaur in holiday garb.

Rudi is back in his best winter sweater that was knitted just for him.

I have a recipe sitting here for Cranberry Pistachio Shortbread Cookies. This particular version also contains chunks of white chocolate. It’s a ridiculous fact that I dislike baking (as opposed to cooking) and am especially frustrated and unskilled when it comes to making cookies, and yet I can’t resist saving these recipes and occasionally trying them, with mixed results. My cookie-making friends are not local, so I guess it’s up to me.

The holiday season is usually filled with all sorts of emotions and memories, some traumas and dramas, and also cheerful and wonderful traditions. Only into the second week of December, the earliest sunset has occurred, the Winter Solstice is soon to come, and the days will begin to get longer, which always feels hopeful. We are closing into the end of the year, the old passing, the new coming in. It seems the wheel keeps turning faster and faster.

I think tomorrow I might remove the dead plants from The Urban Porch, maybe hang something festive on the front door. And perhaps try my hand at those cookies.

~*~

Posted in Aging, Autumn, Cooking, Dogs, Food, Holidays, House plants, Perspective, Seasons, senior musings, The Urban Porch, The Urban Porch ™, treasures, Uncategorized, Views From he Urban Porch ™, Weather, Winter | Tagged almost winter, apple syrup, chocolate chocolate, comings and goings, dead plants, holiday, Holidays, Little Rudi, passages, regenerating scallions, regrowing scallions, scallions, scenes from the urban porch, snow, winter | Leave a comment

Diversions – A Few November Details and Images

Posted on December 1, 2024 by daeja's view

I’ve stopped watching and reading most of the news these days. Never one to hide my head in the sand, at this point I’m saturated and have had enough. All this angst in the media can’t be healthy. My gaze has turned to random details. November provided many.

Small observations, snippets of color, contrast, movement and taste have drawn attention over the last month. The full super moon of November – the Beaver Moon – lit up the eastern horizon, a beacon rising through the trees.

There is an image stuck in my head from an old black and white movie I saw as a young child one rainy Saturday at the house of some kids who lived down the street. “The Beast From 20,000 Fathoms” was the first of this genre, making its debut a year before Godzilla came out. A dinosaur they called the Rhedosaurus (there is actually no such thing as a Rhedosaurus), awakened by a nuclear blast, wreaks havoc as it makes its way from the Arctic to Manhattan. Sitting on Stephen and Betty-Anne’s living room floor, we ate pretzels and watched – enthralled and slightly terrified.

Was the scene showing the full moon hanging in the sky a portent of things to come, a visual metaphor for the eye of the monster? Or was it not the moon at all, but actually the dinosaur’s eye? Did I imagine that? Funny what can trigger a memory. As my family moved away, I don’t know what ever became of those neighborhood kids, but I still sometimes experience a quick flash of that cinematic image when the moon is full.

Most of the weather during this past November was warm, dry and sunny enough for some pleasant walks, or to sit outside and eat ice cream on those last days before the ice cream place closed for the winter.

The ice cream was actually a wee bit of consolation after tearing a tendon in my foot while going for a stroll through the woods and along the river. I wouldn’t even call it a hike, it was pretty much just an easy walk, so I don’t really understand how it happened. It seems everything is just a little bit more fragile and takes just a bit longer to heal lately. Senior-hood strikes again. So now I am supposed to be off my foot. This is easier said than done.

Right now I can’t get this foot into anything besides an old pair of rubber gardening clogs. This has prompted a reality check, which is driving the seriously practical consideration to downsize the significant collection of cowboy boots in my closet. I really love my cowboy boots, so this decision has encompassed both Maturity and Acceptance on my part. Before this happened, two pairs had already found new homes with a daughter and a neighbor anyway. Up next to go will be these beauties. Hopefully some cowboy boot lover will be interested in carrying the boot-a-holic torch forward.

This month I suddenly had the urge to make Shakshuka, a North African dish which is also popular in the Middle East. It is made of peppers and onions cooked into in a tomato sauce flavored with cumin, paprika, cayenne, or maybe some harissa, which then has eggs poached into it. I add feta cheese to my shakshuka and finish it off in the oven. The word shakshouka is a Maghrebi dialect Arabic word for “mixed up.” Just thinking about shakshuka has me considering the need to make it again this week.

Although I’m suppposed to be resting this foot, the dog still needs to be walked. A couple of days ago, Rudi suddenly stopped short and froze, glaring into the front yard next door, where a cat sat like a motionless apparition.

As we moved closer, it did not seem at all concerned that we were standing in front of it and staring at it. The cat was larger than Rudi, who insisted on pulling back to keep his distance. I haven’t seen this one around here before. Appearing fairly well-fed, most likely it is not feral. We continued to make our way (or limp, in my case) down the street slowly. By the time we headed back towards the house, Ghost Cat had vanished.

In these days of internet scrolling, emails and electronic advertisements, it was a rather lovely surprise to receive a seed catalog in the mail last week. So many long winters in the past had been enhanced by the pleasure of perusing Burpee, White Flower Farm, and other gorgeous seed catalogs; page upon page of fantastic fruit trees, bushels of vegetable goodness, a riot of floral jewels promising to burst forth with blooms to fill every nook, corner and border. A dream-book to carry you through until spring. This one is called Baker Creek Rare Seed Catalog. One can anticipate spending a cold, snowy afternoon curled up on the couch beneath a cozy throw, with a cup of hot tea, catalog in lap during the upcoming months.

A quick glance has revealed all sorts of great choices. And there are ten whole pages just of different tomato varieties!

Since the foot injury, I have accompanied other people on their errands and excursions. Whenever someone says “Want to take a ride? I need to do (whatever it is they have to do)”, I’ve said “Sure!” and gotten out of the house. I went with one friend who needed to get her shoes repaired and ended up having a delicious Indian lunch and scoring an almost new pair of muck boots exactly in my size from the shoe maker, for a fraction of the price (hopefully the foot will heal enough and fit in them come winter). Another friend needed to look at a piece of furniture for her bathroom that was in a building filled with gorgeous deities.

On the way home, it was pretty windy. A bank of lenticular clouds spread across the horizon above the mountains. I get very excited by clouds. These were so cool that I have to share a few shots here. Some looked like a pod of whales or dolphins.

This one in the center has a shark face.

As we headed further down the road, they became more like UFOs.

Since I was riding in a car, these photos were taken through a dirty windshield, so they are not as clear as they deserved to be. These gave an alien invasion kind of vibe.

This was the last glimpse of them before the direction we were headed veered away. What a treat!

The stuffed toy dinosaur has returned to its perch on the neighbor’s fence a few houses down. This year it looks like someone has knit a new hat for it, preparing for winter. In keeping with the theme, maybe I should start calling it The Rhedosaurus.

A sad situation mid-month occurred with the tragic and unexpected loss of a former coworker. She was only fifty-three. I had not seen her in ten years, but the news was upsetting and sobering. In attendance at the funeral, I could not hear much that was being said, so I tried to focus on the glow of the stained glass church windows and reflect on the fragility of life.

I recognized (and didn’t recognize) a few people in attendance who I used to work with. You don’t notice it happening during the day-to-day, but it is always a surprise to see what time passing looks like on any of us when apart for a period of time.

Almost anywhere and any time I have found myself in a place of worship – of any denomination – be it across the country or in other countries throughout the world, if the opportunity arises I have lit a candle or contributed a devotion in memory of my mother. Over the years as other family members have departed, I’ve added their names to my silent prayers. I wish there was a way to psychically send some kind of healing towards the family of my coworker as they approach these hard holidays.

On Thanksgiving Day, snow fell in large, lazy, mesmerizing flakes.

Rudi and I left a pattern of little paws and rubber clogs walking (and limping) across light snow.

I admired the shape and dusty lavender color of this left-handed guitar that was generously gifted to my son-in-law from his friends. So much surrounds us to catch the eye.

There is a settled type of comfort in having holiday meals on the same dinnerware that belonged to my mother.

The waning moon faded into the blue of an early morning sky before setting in the west. The dinosaur sleeps and the calendar turns to the next page, as we move on into December.

~*~

Posted in Aging, Autumn, Cooking, Coping, Food, Gardening, Holidays, nature, Perspective, Seasons, senior musings, treasures, Uncategorized, Weather, Weird | Tagged black and red cowboy boots, childhood memories, cloud dolphins, cloud whales, deities, ghost cat, halvah honeycomb icecream, lenticular clouds, light a candle, media anxiety, off-loading my cowboy boots, plantar fascia tear, prayers for my mother, radioactive dinosaur, seed catalogs, shakshuka, super moon, thanksgiving snow, the beast from 20000 fathoms | Leave a comment

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