RANDOM UNFOCUSED PART 3

An observation of life through the eyes of a senior citizen who may or may not be in the early stages of Alzheimer’s, but definitely has issues with memory, focus and crossing the thin line between reality and fiction. Said senior is also learning to speak her mind, no longer trying to please everyone, realizing her opinion counts too.

RANDOM UNFOCUSED PART 3

A Random Observation of Life

I’M NOT A FASHIONISTA, BUT…

I’m watching a TV show set in the 50s and realize I really miss the fashions.

Now, I never was what my old boss called a clotheshorse. I grew up wearing homemade dresses for church, shifts (a simple, sleeveless, one piece, A-line dress,) jumpers (a shift over a blouse) or school uniforms (Catholic girl plaid skirt, white blouse and saddle shoes.) Today my entire wardrobe consists of jeans, T-shirts, and hoodies or a heavy jacket for winter and cut off jeans and tank tops for summer.

Oh but in the fifties, women wore cotton house dresses daily to keep house. Going out meant fitted dresses with matching cape-like jackets, or fitted jackets and skirts. Hats and gloves were required almost any time you left the house. Nylons, real hosiery not the nasty, sweat making panty hose, but individual stockings you pulled up to the thigh and attached to your girdle were everyday wear.

Jewelry, makeup was donned and hair was styled before leaving the bedroom in the morning.

Men wore undershirts and ties routinely and added suit jackets for work. Five o’clock shadow was considered unkempt, not a fashion statement. T shirts were undergarments and not worn in public without a decent shirt over them. And man buns, well those just didn’t exist.

I miss the times when life didn’t look like laundry day.

Honestly, I know I would tire of dressing like this everyday and the cost….still a little glamour sometimes is a good thing.

***

WOOD STOVE ROMANCE

I love a roaring fire in the fireplace on a cold winter’s day. It’s so romantic, and not just in a I’m-in-love kind of romance. As a child I dreamed of a cottage in the woods, sitting by the fire and writing my stories.

Twenty six years in the desert, there was no need for a fire. Air conditioning was my dream at that time.

For the last nine years though, I have lived in a house with a woodburning stove. People thought I was crazy when the furnace went out 4 years ago and I didn’t bother to have it fixed. Instead, I put a portable heater in each bedroom and lots of blankets and quilts.

Each morning I would get up and light a fire in the wood stove, make breakfast, and send the kids and grandkids off to work and school. Then I would spend the day tending the fire in between my other chores.

At night, we would turn on the heaters to warm the bedrooms before bedtime, then sleep under the quilts. It was all cozy and comfortable.

But my secret vice, when they were all asleep, I would stoke up the fire and sit at my computer writing my stories by firelight.

They say be careful what you wish for. When dreams come true, they aren’t always a dream come true.

A romantic fire is a lot of work. You have to add wood regularly or it goes out. Add too much wood and you’ll find yourself opening doors to the 30 degree night to cool your house down. Used unseasoned wood and you get steam and hissing. And the fire won’t stay lit.

Wood is not cheap, we burn about 3 cords a winter, at $400 a cord delivered. Delivered is just that, they back the truck into your driveway, dump the load and drive away. You want them to stack it? That’s another $100 - 150. You want to stack it yourself? Being old and out of shape, it took me 3 days to stack it. Three days the driveway was inaccessible. Three days delivery people sat on the street and honked. Three days the kids and grandkids maneuvered around the huge pile of wood to park on the lawn.

They say a cord of firewood heats you six times: first when you cut it, then when you move to your home, the third time is when you stack it and again when you move and restack it during the seasoning process. When you carry it into your house is number five and finally, number six is when you get to sit and enjoy the flames.

And after you burn a fire, you have to clean and dispose of the ashes. Since my stove has glass paneled doors, I have to let it cool down before I can clean them. Then there is the cost of hiring a chimney sweep, if you can find one. There is only one in our community so getting on his schedule is quite a feat.

But for all the trouble, I am looking forward to winter and the romance of a fire while I write my stories in the dead of night, while the house is quiet and everyone else slumbers.

***

PRINCESS PUPPY

The breeze blew the lacy curtains over my sleeping doggy and made her look like a princess. She is the last survivor of three pups from the same litter we got almost 14 years ago. Practically blind, mostly deaf, with some bald spots starting, yet every moment with her is precious and we treat her like royalty.

FEEL THE WARM

The dramatic change in the weather continues. I have been cold the last few days but since I had planned to be gone by now, I didn’t order any firewood for this year. Two weeks ago I had the heater repairman out to check the furnace, he found the problem and ordered a new part. Keeping in mind that contractors are backed up months and parts are scarce, I considered myself lucky to get a return date scheduled for today.

I heard a lot of mumbling, groaning, even a “what a stupid way to do that,” so I was prepared to be told there was more damage, more parts would be needed, delays would happen. I was half expecting to be told I would just need to replace the whole thing. Instead, he called me into the room and said, “All done.”

So here I sit, getting ready to turn the heater on for the first time this year. Ready to be warm again. And it occurs to me I have never had to use the furnace this early in the year. It’s still August but the forecast is for cloudy skies and a low of 49 degrees tonight.

The kids are finishing up painting the exterior of the house, as soon as they say I can shut the doors, I will flip that switch for some wonderful warmth.

RED, WHITE AND BLUE

It’s hard to be a conservative on an island of liberals. Have I said that before? Probably. I never really thought of myself as a political animal, never really identified as left or right, conservative or liberal, until I came here. I’ve always been middle of the road, stand on your own two feet but help your neighbors when they need it. But it’s hard to remain neutral when your neighbors are constantly shoving their fanatical views in your face, believing you agree with them, demanding you support them and ostracizing you if you don’t.

I miss the days before our country became so divided, when we agreed to disagree, when we tolerated each other’s differing opinions. Oh well. I am moving to an area where people think more like me, where I don’t have to self censor for fear my children’s businesses will be cancelled, where I can safely go into town and conduct my business, where I don’t have to plaster a fake smile on my face while people spew hatred at me. But I don’t want the people here to forget me. That is why, when the painter asked what color front door I wanted to go with the new paint job (blue walls, white trim) I picked red. God bless the USA and her flag.

A DOG’S LIFE

Do you ever wonder what dogs think about? I do. I watch my Sweet Pea as she is stretched out sleeping on the couch, the couch she does not belong on. She is not allowed on the furniture, she has four dog beds strategically placed around the house. But she will spend the day as she does every day, sleeping on the couch or the armchair, waking to get a bite to eat or drink, or wandering outside to do her business if the weather is nice. If not, she has no problem sneaking into the laundry room or squatting in front of the back door as if to say, “You didn’t take me out fast enough,” despite the fact the door is usually standing open.

She spends most of her time sleeping, unless of course she hears a clink of silverware on a plate, the rustle of a food wrapper being opened. She has excellent hearing for food related items given she is mostly deaf. Then she comes to attention at the side of whomever she thinks has food; she sits and waits patiently for at least 30 seconds. By that time, if food has not been shared she begins to whine. It’s a small, whimpering sound, a simple ‘you forgot about me’ warning. If that doesn’t garner her some treats, she scales up the noise. Each second that passes without food travelling her way causes the volume and pitch to escalate until she is howling, an odd rasping, screeching, barking sound.

She has never been a very vocal dog, not until both of her sisters passed in the last year. Now she has a comment for just about everything. Most annoying is at night, when I have settled down and am just drifting off to sleep, or when I have reached that state of actual restorative sleep, she will start with the whimpering. It is enough noise to invade my dreams, but not wake me. So it grows. Eventually, the odd rasping, screeching, barking sound is achieved and I am ripped from my sleep, groggy, unclear and shaken.

Sometimes I wake to see a small nose barely reaching over the edge of the mattress as she stands on her back feet and looks at me as if to say, “OK, just making sure you are still in your bed.” She suffers from separation anxiety and I am sure in her mind, if I’m not in eyesight, then I have left the house and forgotten her.

Other times, she simply sits in her bed and howls until I reach out and touch her, reassuring her I am still here. Then she jumps up and stands, waiting expectantly. Her demeanor says, ‘You know what I want,” while I have no clue. So we start the rounds: dry food at the ready, water bowls are filled, her pillow is still on her bed, her bed is moved right next to mine for the night, her sleeping area is neither too hot nor too cold.

She still stands, giving me an exasperated look, waiting for me to get a clue. I walk to the back door, grab the spotlight and check for wildlife in the yard. When all is clear, I open the door wide and step back. Rarely, she will go out and take care of business; more likely, I discover she has already returned to her bed where she is walking circles preparatory to settling down.

I don’t know what she is thinking, is she scared, bored, lonely? Or is it just some game she is playing?

ONE IS GOOD, TWO IS BETTER

Guinea pigs. Not really my idea of a pet, not something I was wanting. But I adopted two last month. My granddaughter had two but lost one last year. She has been looking in our social media groups for another girl to keep hers company.

I tagged her in a post for a pair of guineas, but she declined as they were both males so they would have to be kept in a different cage, so not much company for her little girl. About a month later, another ad for a pair of male guineas. My daughter checked into it and discovered it was the same pair, they had been rehomed and were up for adoption again.

We felt bad for them, but again, we were looking for a female.

Six weeks later, yet another ad, this time the poster said, “Got these for my son, disappointed he is not into them so they need to go ASAP.”

What is wrong with people? These are living beings. If you take them, you take on responsibility for their lives, their care, their well being. What lesson is that mother teaching her child, you take on a responsibility and when it is inconvenient you dump it?

I looked at my daughter, I knew what she was thinking, we’ve had this conversation many times.

“Go get them,” I said.

Of course, they had to be in quarantine for a month, a standard practice we follow whenever we bring in a new animal. It’s a lesson we learned the hard way. I’ll tell you about my turkeys another time.

And of course, they can never be in the same cage as the female, but at least they can be in the same room where they see and talk to each other.

Which is why, I am sitting at my computer, the walls of my dining room turned office are lined with guineas in cages. They talk, they make weird alien warbling sounds, they keep me and each other company.

If one guinea is good and two are better, then I guess three is best of all.

***

Watch for further ramblings of an unfocused mind; coming soon to this space.

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