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The day of the trumpets …

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Sunday. For some of us, the week begins. And for some of us the New Year begins at sundown with Rosh Hashanah, also known as Yom Truah. The Day of Trumpets. Some day in the future, one special shofar will sound. May this Yom Truah be that day.

On grieving and being a lout.

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I was wondering what to say about my mother on her upcoming birthday. But then, grief is not something that I share with others. No one really knows whether I grieve or not, nor really cares for that matter. And honestly, they shouldn’t. Grief is an intensely personal thing and should be respected as such. I personally loath the public displays of some traditions that wail, throw themselves on the ground, and inflict their grief on everyone else.

Yeah. I know. I am an insensitive lout. So, sue me.

I do accept some traditions that wear black arm bands or cover themselves in black veils. You do have to go out amongst them. Life is that way. Stand on any street corner and watch the people pass. I don’t know what the statistics are, but I wouldn’t be surprised if one out of every ten that passed you would be carrying that awful burden of loss with them. Who likes thoughtlessly telling someone who lost a close family or friend to have a great day?

I am ever at a loss to respond to the loss of others. Grief sucks. Really sucks. There is no consolation. If you know I am grieving, kindly say you are saddened too, and leave it there. Politeness and kindness is OK. But keep it brief.

And yeah. I miss my mom and regret that I sucked as a son. And I did.

 

 

Demetia and other horrors

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Dawn came in at a chilly 74°F this morning and is expected to climb to 9101914_1729_Somedays1.jpg5° by late afternoon. But a warm cup of coffee and a couple large M&M cookies wards off the chill as I compose this morning’s missive.

Snooks gave me a scare yesterday when she stuck her head in the door and how I stored the sausage I received from the store. I always buy five pounds in one-pound tubes, and she puts three in the freezer and two in the fridge.

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 I told her that she always does that, but she looked at me a little weird, and said “I don’t know about that …”. But she went back to putting the groceries away.

I began to worry … I am not ready for dementia in either one of us. It probably is my biggest fear as an aging human.  A bit later at brunch, she mentioned that as she was putting things away, she realized that I wasn’t talking about the prepared frozen sausage links I buy for a quick breakfast, but the freshly ground turkey sausage that comes in tubes.  So she broke up the frozen ones and dutifully put some in the fridge and some in the freezer. I was so relieved that is was a failure in communications and not the first signs of dementia.  Aging brings to mind the realization that it all ends someday, and maybe sooner than we are prepared for.

Image result for stupid journalistDropping the morbid thoughts this morning it is on to the social feeds. Not much there today … a bad pun from my brother, and a comment from me. Updates from many friends, and I like those even though they are fashionably passé to some elitist out there who pan the medium. I like hearing of one friend and her walk out to the nursing home fountain each morning, and another friend and her morning walks with her dogs, updates on bad news/good news from family near and far.  I live my life by facebook one liners, and I am just fine with it.

News? It seems that the “journalists” as the partisan hacks like to refer themselves, are reduced to inane speculations on Trumps electability … like they would actually know. So this day the feeds are mercifully thin and I can safely avoid commenting on them.

And so the day unfolds here in retirement utopia, with dogs roughhousing in the living room, Snook gathering up shed clothing for the laundry, cats, her birds and dogs all fed … later it is probably a trip to town for groceries for her. Life has its rhythms that mark the passage of time.

Good morning!

 

Click shopping and dry weather

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Sunday
Waffle Morning
Day seven of my commitment to write and post each day.

“Thou shalt write of it each and every day. The profound, the banal, thou shalt write of it.”

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Morning forecast. 94°, partly cloudy and NO chance of rain.

Grocery clicking day, otherwise known as Sunday.  I sure do like ordering groceries online. What a development! No shrieking children, no bitter gummers on mobility scooters, no millennial meditating in the aisle on which brand of tomato paste to buy. No circling the lot for a good parking place.

A brisket of corned beef.  They make great cookies in their bakery, so enough of them to fill the cookie jar. Hot turkey sausage. A tomato. An orange. Some chocolates for Snook. Clickity click click and the nice lady will deliver the groceries to my front stoop right after brunch … decadent!

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Mercifully, no big new Trump ‘revealations’ on the newfeeds, nor page six retractions the day afterwards. Some people mysteriously die in Pittsburg wearing orange paper wristbands. That should keep the speculators busy today.

Dogs happily roughhousing in the living room … Snook must be putting on shoes and socks in preparation for the morning ball throwing.

It’s waffle brunch day today. And maybe I’ll make my Mexican green chili cheeseburger pie for dinner at the same time. Still have some frozen french-fries to go with it.

And so it goes! Good morning!

~r

Dawn, musings and breakfast

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Friday
Shabbat Morning
Day five of my commitment to write and post each day.

“Thou shalt write of it each and every day. The profound, the banal, thou shalt write of it.”

Shabbat dawns, and I pull the blankets up over my head just in case a happy dog is 101914_1729_Somedays1.jpgwaiting for my eyelids to flutter. It is Shabbat and I want to sleep in. But once again, I am betrayed by Mr. Bladder and stumble out of bed and hobble to the loo to quiet him down, flipping off the small A/C on the way. I run it at nights to cool the bedroom down to arctic lows without having to cool the entire house.  It is also nice to have a warm bathroom and kitchen to walk into if you sleep in an igloo.

Snooks, as usual, is putting the dishes away from the dishwasher, measuring out food bowls for kittens, birds and dogs, and just generally puttering around as I fill my coffee cup and head down to the studio. I have three feral cats peering in the widow this morning, but they have no interest in me unless it would be to remind the breakfast lady that they are on the porch waiting for their food.

Click on the newsfeeds. They are mercifully quiet this morning. A bunch of freedom lovers shut down a speech from a cabinet official … in the name of free speech. A teacher is reminded that cursing a political candidate in the classroom is a no-no. A politician reminds his loyal followers that he is out of cash and will need to give up his ambition to be their leader if they don’t cough up some cash soon.

Image result for shabbat morningA friend in Asia posts some photos of religious praise in Singapore. Another in the deep south updates us on her recovery. A poet posts a poem

And so, this Shabbat morning opens.  Soon I will post this and go fix breakfast.  Think it will be the standby eggs, turkey sausage and hash-browns. Maybe some canned fruit. Then the rest of the day is mine to play, to ponder, to read and to nap.

Good morning!

 

Life is not all beer and skittles

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Friday
Preparation Day
Day four of my commitment to write and post each day.
101914_1729_Somedays1.jpgWoke in a great deal of pain this morning.  Evidently, I raised my adjustable bed’s head and knee cranks too high last night and found myself curled up into a ball in the trough between them. It was a painful slumped shuffle to the studio this morning, with my knuckles almost brushing the carpet. I keep a percussion type massager by the computer to “thump” my chest and back to clear the lungs, but this morning it was set high to massage a sore back and neck.
One feral cat was perched on the lintel, looking into the room to see if Snookums was moving about. They usually gather on the deck about an hour before breakfast time. The dogs are getting used to it so other than a growl occasionally, they ignore them. That is a blessing.
Image result for alzheimerMy niece wrote a heartbreaking piece this morning about her dad, my brother-in-law. He has Alzheimer’s now, and doesn’t recognize my sister who has been married to him for 56 years. They live in a village in the Colorado Rockies near the Great Divide. She appealed to her community to watch out for him, because while they try to watch him, he needs less sleep than the family does, and will go out into the streets. Sometimes he just collapses because of weakness and won’t ask for help.  Aging is not for sissies …
Image result for challah breadAnd today is Friday. Preparation day if you follow a my tradition. The day evolved from the time of Moses and the story of the great exodus from Egypt. Food rained down from heaving during the night, and they gathered the food each day. But it didn’t keep overnight, and so it had to be gathered daily. However, since they were not permitted to gather on Shabbat, they could gather twice as much the day before, and it wouldn’t spoil.  The idea is that you work six days, and you rest one day. But these days, every day is a Shabbat for me, and I can only differentiate between the days by the days activities.  On this day, Snookums bakes the challah bread. I just observe the day by … well … observing.
The newsfeeds today are mercifully banal.  On the political side, one political maven lamented the bullying tactics of the other side kept his candidate from winning.  I don’t know why it is so hard for the opposition to just admit they ran a bad candidate and had a bad strategy. It really isn’t more complicated than that. Want to win? Get a good candidate and run a good campaign. It really is that simple.
Sad morning … the cookie jar is empty. The bird is molting. My body is still aching. My coffee cup is empty. Time for a refill …
Good morning!
~r