Moving On

I'm not going to continue this blog. I'll probably start another at some point; most likely one with a topic.

Yay for That

I'm at the lowest weight I've been in eight years. This is not to be confused with thin- just thinner.  I no longer have to (hushed whisper) go upstairs for clothes at Macy's.


I've lost 35 pounds since my heaviest years, which were around 2009- 2012. I don't have ridiculous notions that a woman of my age and build should be 120 pounds. I'll be happy when I lose another 20 pounds, maybe 25. That will put me somewhere between a size 10 and 12 and I'm fine with that.

Squash Sandwich

People have strange ideas as to what constitutes a suitable main course for a vegetarian. This is not an issue close to my heart. If I want a burger...I'll probably choose a Gardenburger. But anyway. I once heard of someone serving a vegetarian friend minted peas and carrots as an entrée. That was it. Minted peas and carrots. If someone served me mint-flavored peas and carrots, even as a side dish, I would like that person a little bit less. I might even hate them.

 I went to a party in my early 20s where the host though a platter of macaroni salad, potato salad and coleslaw was suitable fare for any possible vegetarians. Actually, throw in some bread and that sounds pretty good right now.

I recently chose a vegetarian boxed lunch over turkey. For some reason turkey tastes like dead bird to me lately.My vegetarian lunch featured a slice of grilled zucchini and a slice of grilled yellow squash on a croissant with some sort of mayonaissey condiment. It was weirdly good, but still...

Tribute to My Father

Read a little of this or read a lot. Just know that Albert J Gilson MD was awesome.

About seventeen years ago, my father and I were driving in a snowstorm from Colorado Springs to Denver. Traffic was inching along, so we had a lot of time to talk. The most memorable thing he said to me that night was “Don’t feel sorry for me when I die, because I’ve done everything I ever wanted to do.” I want him to be remembered that way: A great man who lived his life fully and completely.

 The very last thing my father ever said to me was “I don’t want you to worry…” That was typical of him- to be more concerned about his family than himself. I babbled that of course I was worried because I love him and blah blah blah blah. He handed the phone back to my mother, grumbling. That was kind of typical too.

 

Some things my father loved include history, weather, politics, sailing and navigation, horseback riding, flying, skiing, pastrami sandwiches and cream soda, Julia Child, Prince Harry, and the campfire scene in Blazing Saddles. When my father was in a good mood on car trips, he would sing “The flowers that bloom in the Spring, tra la” in the voice that got him excused from 7^th grade glee club. My father loved world travel, life-long learning, and that song from the 70’s Coke commercial I’d Like to Teach the World to Sing.

 

It was important to my father to show my sister and me the world. When I was 12, he took us with him to a medical convention in Israel. He extended the trip to Rome and Athens so we could learn about the great ancient civilizations. We once spent a day at the New York Museum of Science, and he happy discussed with me my many questions and observations.

 

We spent many wonderful weekends and vacations at Ocean Reef resort in Key Largo, Florida. One starry night, he drove us in a golf cart to the resort’s airstrip. He taught my sister and me all the constellations. He told me about light years, and that some of the stars I was looking at no longer existed. That remains, to this day, my most wondrous learning experience.

 

Even at 84 (84 and three quarters! As he said a few weeks ago), my dad had encyclopedic knowledge. I could ask him anything about history or science and he could answer in amazing detail.

 

My father was brilliant, deeply compassionate, and beyond that, a man of action. I recall several instances of him helping strangers in need. When it came to his own family, my father’s instincts were lightning fast. In 1971, my sister was in a guitar recital, playing Where Have all the flowers gone with two other earnest and untalented young girls.  Something caught fire on the stage. While the audience gasped and waited for someone else to take care of the problem, my father was up and running; putting out the fire within seconds.

 My father used humor to deflect how protective he was. To a friend’s young son: ”Don’t fall. You might hurt my floor.” When my sister and I went swimming off our boat at Elliott Key, he tied ropes around our waists so he could reel us in if we drifted out too far. He later joked that he was using us as bait.

 My father adored animals. When our German Shepard, Betsy, got too old to climb the stairs to where she slept at night, my father carried her. He had great respect for all animals, especially dogs, wolves, eagles and dolphins.

 

For many years I’ve been told, frequently by my father himself, that I’m very much like him. It is comforting to look at my eyes, my face, and the shape of my hands, and see him. It is an honor to be like him in many ways, and I want to live the rest of my life more completely, more fully, in tribute to him. I am so very proud and grateful that he was, and will always be, my father.

 

 

 

It was a hoot

I was standing on the patio last night, looking at the basketball-sized full moon over the water when an owl flew over my head. It was creepy in a good way.

Wildlife Encounter

I love living by water, trees, and woods but someone needs to remove the damn wildlife and take it to a zoo. I just heard an encounter I could describe with a series of protracted vowels ("aaaaaawk!") but I'll let it suffice to say it sounded like a giant frog vs. a duck. Or a coyote strangling something, probably a poodle named Fifi- if anyone names poodles that anymore.

Life Events

I now live in Blaine, WA. I can see White Rock, British Columbia from my bedroom window, much better than Sarah Palin can see Russia from hers.

My father died May 30th. That's part of why I'm in Blaine- to be with my mom.

Everyone

Everyone is writing a book, has written a book, is thinking of writing a book, or thinks they would write a better book than those who are writing or have written.

Everyone thinks they have ADD or ADHD. It's in style.

The few who don't identify as ADD or ADHD think they have OCD.

Everyone over 40 thinks they look ten years younger than their age (except  me. But I just found a Groupon for half-off Radiesse...).

Everyone thinks women over 40 should lighten their hair.

Everyone believes a happy, long-lasting monogamous marriage is a right, not a freak occurrence.

Everyone who reads this will think I'm overgeneralizing.



Lament:

I am sad that pantyhose are now against fashion law. "I can still wear them!" I said to myself in defiance recently (though I haven't- I've worn a skirt once in six months, with black tights, which are still ok), then I saw a woman in a floral dress, pantyhose and square-heeled pumps and realized how dated and old she looked. I have a stylish friend, older than me, who wears leggings under skirts in the summer. She always looks great. I don't know if I could get away with the look, but at least my inner thighs wouldn't chafe to combustion.

Into the Clouds

The Bright Side

THERE IS NOTHING CLEVER ABOUT BACON

You are not special, whimsical, delightfully irreverant, or dashingly rogue because you love bacon. Bacon jelly beans, National Bacon Day, and bacon shaving cream do not in any way increase your likeability.

Sorry to be the one to have to tell you.

Laser Shows

In the 80s and 90s I went to a lot of laser shows. Laser Dark Side of The Moon, Laser Stones, Laser Rush, to name a very few. I haven't thought much about them in recent years. Tonight I did, and the longing I felt almost brought me to tears (Yes, really. What do you think you're reading here, a political blog?)Those shows were wonderful in an all-encompasing, completely enveloping way.

The earliest laser shows I went to were at the Miami Planetarium. I lived and worked close by, so I felt no remorse in going to Laser Rush not just a second time, but a third. This was in 1984. I wasn't a Rush fan at the time. I didn't get Geddy Lee's voice then. But as the loud music filled my ears and beautiful patterns danced across the domed 'sky' I was more settled, more content than I'd ever been.

The shows started with the room going dark and then pitch black, revealing a perfect night sky of twinkling stars. In that moment I felt home. No, that's too trite. All I can say is it was a soul-satisfying experience.

Laser shows were 90 minutes of pure heaven- except for one Laser Zeppelin show when a near riot erupted over warring factions of "STAIRWAY!!!" and "SHUT THE F UP!!", but never mind.

In the world I'd like to live in, there would be laseriums with movie theater hours. One could choose from a variety of laser shows any day of the week.

I don't remember if I ever saw Laser Moody Blues, but that would be awesome. Laser Quadrophenia would be great too. And of course Laser Rush would be a must.

Then

Click on the collage to enlarge it.

Some people are going to squint at the photos - the ones of me in my early twenties- and go "OMG! Is that you?!"

Please don't do that in front of me.

Thanks.

Old Friends Weekend

Last weekend I reunited with two friends; one I've known since 1977, the other since 1992.

Let's start with the first one. Look at that number again, the one with the sevens in it. To state the obvious, that was a long time ago. No personal computers. Eight dollar concert tickets. Seventeen year old me.

Seeing friends from decades ago activates a dredging process. Once in a while something upleasant is exhumed. Something stupid that you forgot for a reason.
And then there's the really random things you remember that you had forgotten for 30 years but can summon again in an instant. "Yes, I remember her! The one who used to smoke pot for her menstrual cramps, right?" There's a lot of remembering how much fun you used to have.

In a post from 2009 I briefly described how I met Mike, but the memory has come back more vividly so here it is: I met Mike in May of 1977, at Crandon Park beach in Miami. At night. The beach AT NIGHT. Going to the beach AT NIGHT, in all its primordial, mystical, moonlit, warm-sand wonderfulness was a frequent pastime back then. Wistful sigh. If I remember right, I was there with my friend David M. I was...well, er...uninhibited (there we go) and walked up to a picnic table four guys were sitting on.I wanted to see if they had anything good to, er, talk about. Yeah. Talk about.

In my heart I also wanted to have an inappropriate encounter with an inappropriate man (perhaps that renders the encounter appropriate, but whatever). I fancied myself a wild and crazy girl; one who was eager to swim uncharted waters.

A roadie for a rock band would have fit the bill nicely. A long-haired, tattooed, not-Jewish, blue-collar worker would have sufficed too. Anything could have happened that night as I approached that table of men on the dark, desolate beach.

One of the men looked me in the eye.

and...

that's how I met Mike. Nice, intelligent, sensible Jewish Mike, who was home from MIT for the summer.

I mean, really.

Flash forward Thirty five years. Mike is married and has a successful career as a research physicist. He's still nice, intelligent, and sensible. I'm much more sensible and responsible than I was back then. Life is not as much fun now. Just being honest. It's not. But it was fun to see Mike again. We'd last seen each other in Denver around 1992, so we weren't jumping across quite so many decades, but still. It had been a long time.

I'm sometimes feel that I have a tenuous hold on life; like I have a fluctuating inventory of family and friends (yeah I know, boo hoo). Being connected with old friends like Mike and Nanice makes me feel more grounded. Big bonus that the chemistry with both was unchanged from the old days.

I really, really want to go to the beach at night.

Back then it was pure joy. Now it's a need.

Ok, here's exactly what I want: I want to be on the coast of Iceland at night in winter, with a cold wind blowing and ice near the shore. I want an insane display of northern lights; swift-flying swirls of manic electric green.

Let's throw in a bonfire and a Scandinavian husband and I'll be all set.

Autumn on Mars

First Fall leaves and a serious hue layer.

Fave Pic from Puyallup Fair

Water Aerobics

Welcome to My Nightmare

I rarely remember my dreams. This means I may be missing out on some great stuff like these gems from last night:


Dream #1: I have painted my living room Pepto Bismol pink and accented it with large tropical fish decals from Target. I walk in the door and try to convince myself its cute.


Dream #2: I have a date with Alice Cooper. He walks in wearing a yellow shirt. I hug him. He tells me I have a small piece of gum on my lower lip. I don't question this. Instead, I go to sleep on the living room couch while someone cooks him a steak. When I wake up he's gone. Alice Cooper, why did you leave?


I think Alice Cooper's Welcome to My Nightmare album is phenomenal. I used that word a few weeks ago to describe a bag of yogurt pretzels I'd gotten from a vending machine. My use of the word phenomenal in both cases is deliberate and sincere.

Strike

Bird Watching

Ok, so I got a little carried away.