'Automatic Make Life Easier' Susie Homemaker toys.

Now who woulda thought!
When micro-wave ovens first came out it was, "i'm never gonna get one of those!" 
Well, i have one. I've had one for about 21 years now and don't want to ever be without one again. The first one was the Old Guy's, a big, heavy, high-powered thing that you coulda cooked a cow in in a short time. We used that one for a few years and decided it was time for something newer and smaller, so that one went to Blue, who passed it on to Leslie, who passed it back to Blue, who then passed it on to A. No idea where it is now, and since none of us has the need, or desire to cook a whole cow in a short time, i guess it really doesn't matter.
Anyway, since the first old one, we have had two more, and now i'm wanting a new one. This one is square and black, i want rounded and white. Not picky or anything you know.
    I also used to say, "i'll never have a dishwasher, been washing dishes by hand all my life and i actually like doing it! the hot water feels good." Yeah, right. Well, that was true at one time, but not anymore. I have never had a dishwasher until we moved into this house, and glory be there was one sitting right there built in to the counter. I looked at it off and on for a few days, never used it. In fact, i forgot i had it! until our first Sunday breakfast here, when suddenly, as the kids were about done washing the second sinkful of dishes i remembered, DUH! theres a dishwasher right there! So, needless to say, the next Sunday breakfast dishes were put in the dishwasher.
You know, there is actually a certain way to load one of those things! You don't just start shoving stuff in there and hope for clean dishes, oh no, you put plates here in this direction, bowls there, glasses up there, etc... hell! i didn't know that! i'de never had one of the dang things. So, that first load didn't impress me much, figuring the thing wasn't very good and didn't do it's job. Until one of my sweet girls let me know different, and now the dishes come out nice and clean.
There is also a garbage disposal in the sink. One of those "if you put your hand in there while it's running it's gonna chop it up!" things. Lisa does that, well, she pushes stuff down while it's running and makes me crazy...argh! 46 years old and puts her hand in a running disposal....or she did and i gave her heck. I mean, after all, there are little girls learning everything we do, right? Oh, thats a scary thought isn't it. Lets see, hmmmmmmm, just what would they learn from this house? To go from one room to another, mumbling to yourself about what you thought you were doing but got sidetracked. How to chop up your hands in the disposal. How to hang yourself with oxy hoses. How to trip yourself on oxy hoses. How to shut your oxy hose in the fridge door and stop on a dime. How to laugh so hard your belly hurts and you pee your pants. How to talk to plants so they grow nice. How to eat canned tamales on lettuce with golden hominy on the side. How it feels to sit next to your nana with your head on her shoulder and fall asleep. Or play computer games with aunt Lisa till her eyes cross. How to put up with a papa who teases and harrases you with so much love it shines. And how to answere questions like...
how did i go from talking about micro-waves to teaching kids?

Tenderizing A

Linking up with......................


I love playing with my photos, and one of the things i love the most, is extracting.
Grandson, Anthony (known as 'A'), is afraid of the praying mantis, so i decided to give him a bad time and make a photo of him being 'prepared' by two of the creature's.

BlueRaine

This is for.....................

BlueRaine.
My youngest. She is 32 this year.
She's not 'blue' but she is 'Blue'.

Bugs Bugs Bugs

Linking up to.........................

Mosaic Monday

Bugs. Who doesn't love bugs!?
Well, me for one.
Yech. I do not like bugs.
But, i have to admit, they are very interesting creatures. A bit on the.....uh.....'alien' side, but interesting.
I find that i watch every show about bugs, i just can't help myself. And that includes stupid sci-fi movies starring a bug of some kind.You know the ones, with giant bugs that crash into cars and houses and drag the people out by their heads...which come off at the neck. Or big giant bugs that spit acid or some nerve paralyzing goop, so that they can either tenderize the meat, or drop it in it's tracks to it's easy to munch.
You know. THOSE movies.
Anyway, back to my mosaic.....
There are a lot of bugs. Different shapes, sizes, colors and persuasions.
These photos show just some of the ones that live in and around my yard.

Idgie...a very good dog.

Linking up to........






In the cold winter of 1993, daughter Leslie called me up one day and says, "mom, i just found a stray dog on the street. She's cold and hungry and her feet are iced up. She needs a home."

I had been wanting to get another dog, it  had been since 1987 that i had been without a four legged friend.
So, off i went, to meet this stray that needed a home. As soon as i walked in the door she was in my heart. She was dirty and thin, shivering with fear and ready to be loved. She came right to me and laid her head on my knee, heaved a big sigh and closed her eyes. I guess she had found her home, her safe place.
She was just over a year old, had just been fixed, her incision was healed but a bit red. I took her in to the vet, he looked her over and told me she was in good shape except for being too thin and needing to be cleaned up. She had been abused and treated badly by whoever had had her, and she was quite timid.

She never did learn to trust many men...it took her about 3 weeks to let my Old Guy get close and pet her. She followed me everywhere, even to the bathroom. At first, i let her go in with me, she was so clingy and afraid of me being out of her sight, but eventually she got better and would lay outside the bathroom door and wait for me.

She was smart and beautiful and my good friend. In 2007 she was un-able to get to her feet anymore, and her eyes begged me for help.... so i took her in and held her as she went to sleep for the last time.
She was my sweet Idgie and i miss her.

W is for Windchime

I am linking this to....... Alphabe-Thursday


I like wind chimes. But i like wind chimes that are not so.... normal. I have wind chimes outside, and i also have them hanging in my sewing room. Just in case it gets windy you know.
As luck would have it, the most musical one is hanging where the furnace air hits it when it comes on. Way cool.
But, thats not the one i'm showing you here.
The photo is of the one wind chime that glows in the morning sun. It doesn't really have that nice of a sound. More of a clink clank than a tinkle or a bong, but it glows. And i really really love that. We need all the glowing beauty we can get, don't you agree?

The Ringing of the Morning Bells

Linking up with...............

I love playing with my photos. I totally enjoy manipulating, extracting and moving things around. I love fantasy.  I have a few hundred 'pages' i have done since i started doing this in 08'.
Here is one of Ashlyn, i call it The Ringing of the Morning Bells.
What do you think?

Words from long ago.

 I just discovered......



 

A few years ago, my best friend, Velma, wrote in a letter to me....." nothing seems worthwhile enough that i care enough to be healed of it."

This is what i wrote back to her.......
'That was a strong statement, and one i could understand as clear as anything i have ever read.
Is it just us? or do the majority of women feel this way? Sometimes i wonder. I'm sure there are more of us out there. Is that a comfort we are allowed? to know we aren't alone in this life of sorrow and feelings of loss?
How sad. How did it come about that we should suffer so? We didn't do anything to feel this...did we?
I used to feel guilty for my life, just for the fact of being alive. But i realized, if God could forgive my sins, who am i not to?
But, the throwing off of guilt didn't cure my ills, only part of them, so now, what is it? That thing inside that never had a chance to grow and come to life, that wonderful part of me that is supposed to shine in the darkness and light my way. What happened to it?
In all the hours and days and years of mind search, and deep thinking, i have come to the conclusion that though we are the weaker sex physically, as far as emotionally and spiritually, we far outshine the male. For how else could we get by day after day with what we carry inside of us? We women, far beyond men, have the light of the world in our hearts, and in their fight to keep us under their thumbs they have caused us to dampen it's glow, and we feel it deeply. '

That was years ago. I've grown since then, and seen more of the good in life. I started to write down those things that had been done or said that wounded me to the core. Then i would take it to a peaceful, quiet place, set it afire and let the smoke carry it away. A simple ritual that eased my soul, which was the purpose of the whole thing.
What we need, more than any other thing in this life, is to make peace with ourselves for the things we have done, or thought we had done, that caused pain or sorrow to others. Those things we keep hidden away  from the light of day, so they can go on living in the dark.
It is the light of ourselves that finishes them off, and sets them free. Guilt is a parasite, slowly eating away at the heart of it's host. Shame is the beast that rots the soul, living off it's own waste, producing more shame as it grows. On and on. Over and over.

I learned a long time ago that expectations only bring dissapointment. No one, or no thing, is ever who or what we expect them to be. It is impossible. Our expectations come from our own being, formed from who and what we are, and so, no one can ever match them, as we are each unique and a being unto ourselves.  And so, we are hurt and dissapointed when our expectations aren't met. Which comes down to a hard truth...our dissapointments in others, are our own creation.

The test of being human. How do we deal with the shame and guilt in our lives? Do we allow them to live on and so infect our very existence? Or do we destroy them with the purity of truth? If there is a life beyond this one, how do we get there? Is it through love and caring? Truth? Faith? What is the password?  I believe?

I do get wordy at times.

The Turtle Invasion watched over by Friends of Mine.

 

I got on a turtle kick. I made 6, count em, 6 turtles in one day. They are CUTE! My girls all want to take them home.... no no no! I'll make more, but these 6 stay here, being herded by one lonely snail.

And, watching over this herd, making sure no one makes off with any of them, are Friends of Mine, sitting on a shelf.

These are things i do.

Leaving Blue Water

I am linking up for the first time with.......  

 

 

 

In 1985 i had gone through the loss of a love, the loss of my boat home. On the ferry ride from Sitka, Alaska, making my way back to Homer, Alaska, i felt lost and released, free and spinning.

I was in the middle of going nowhere, so glad to be going, and so sad to be leaving it all behind. My love had left, my boat had sprung a leak and suddenly it shone in front of me...blue water...freedom...wings to fly wherever i wanted. A fellow passenger snapped this photo of me standing in the window of the ferry, watching as the blue water washed past, thinking my thoughts. It's a poor photo, but it is real. It says all that need be said about that time. 

Growing Wild

Hooking up to the Little Red House for    

Mosaic Monday

Last year, when daughter Lisa discovered the 'macro' setting on my camera, she went a little nuts. She would take it with her when she went for walks... these photos are the results of her 'macro madness', things growing wild where we live.

Now, on to the Good....

that graces my life and gives me joy.
My last two postings were a bit on the down side, so i figure it's only fair to show the up side of my life and balance things out some.
There is a lot of good in my life. If i tried to put it all in here it would take me forever, so here are just a few of the wonderful parts of my days....those bits that make me smile and laugh and glad to be alive.

Velma.

In November of last year, my dear friend, Velma, died of lung cancer. She was miles away from me and so i wasn't able to be with her. In fact, we hadn't seen each other in almost a year. My heart was broken.
In the 63 years i  have been alive, Velma was the only friend i had who was loyal and true and real. She was my friend for 28 years.
The first 8 years of our friendship we saw each other almost every day, unless she was off on a trip somewhere. The next 7 years we lived in different towns, and so i only saw her a few times a year, usually at the airport as she was changing planes coming or going. The next 13 years i only saw her every 3 or 4 years as she was passing through on her way to somewhere, or on her way home.
But, there were letters. A lot of letters. We wrote long letters, some that i sent her were 12-13 pages long. We talked about everything, the state of the world, men, love, life, and we shared each other's dreams and nightmares.
There was one period, in 2006, when suddenly she stopped writing. Months went by without a letter or a call, then it was a year. I wrote and called, but received no answer. I was getting very worried, when she finally called. She had found out she had COPD and had had a breakdown of sorts. The head doctor she was seeing told her to not call or talk to any of her friends until she leveled out, that to do so would cause her more stress. So, she suffered this breakdown alone. Scared and lonely and sad. Alone. I wanted to murder that so called doctor.
Yesterday, i got this big manila envelope in the mail. It was from Velma's daughter. She had sent the letters i had written to her mother over the years. There is still another envelope coming.
Velma kept each and every one of my letters and cards. Thats a lot of letters full of a lot of words.
I had kept hers too, but it seems so amazing to me that she kept mine.
And she even made notes in some of the margins. She circled some of my words. And under-lined some of the things i said. She read them over and over.
My friend, Velma.
I miss her.

We had some good times being silly together.

Emily said.....

Truth on a Tuesday.
I've been reading the 'un-wrapped' list of blog posts. Un-able to think of anything to write. Not one photo comes to mind to post and write about.
I keep going back to Emily's title, 'truth on a tuesday'. I guess thats my clue.
Well okay then. If that is what is going to stick in my mind, i guess i had better get something written on it and let it go. Right?
The truth is, i am tired. I drag this oxy hose around with me as i go through the house, wandering here and there, looking for something i can do to be useful. Like vacuum? nope. two, maybe three short passes with the cleaner and i'm dizzy and struggling to breathe. Mop? well, no, same result. Laundry? yeah, that i can do, as long as someone hauls the laundry basket into the laundry room for me. I can put it in the washer, and switch it to the dryer, then even fold it....but someone else has to take it back in.
I can cook. I have to take short breaks though, the cooking smells bother my lungs. But i'm still a damn fine cook. Sometimes i even put a drop or two of tears in the food. By accident mind you, but they do tend to get away at times.
I can wash dishes. Something i used to hate doing. But now, now it is one of the few things i can do and so it has become an enjoyable thing.
Friday evening two of my daughters and a friend left on a journey to the salmon blessing ceremony. A two day celebration of life and nature. As i watched them get in the car, laughing and excited and full of adventure, i felt a twinge of envy. longing. sorrow. pain. joy. happiness. oh i wanted to go. so much.
When they come home from going to the coast, smelling of salt air and sunshine, just after the happiness of seeing their happiness, comes sorrow. oh i wanted to go. i wanted to feel the sea air again. i wanted to hear the waves and the gulls and breathe that wonderful salt air into my sick lungs. just once more. sometimes i think, just maybe if i can once again breathe in that sea air it will magically heal my lungs and i will be well again and i won't have to fight so hard to breathe.
It has been 4 months since i have gone anywhere other than the back porch or front deck. My last time out was to the doctor for the usual check up to make sure i'm still alive. i guess i am.
4 months. i could go somewhere. i could. but i just don't want to go through the bother of getting everything ready that i need just to go for a ride in the car.
wow.
My finger has been hovering over the 'publish' button. do i? don't i? who wants to read about poor me? who wants to read this boo-hoo crap?
I don't know. Maybe no one. Maybe after this post no one will ever come back.
I would n't blame them.
But......it's the truth in my life on this day.

I am linking up with emily for   

Our Darlin' Daisy

This is going out to ... to the Little Red House for...  Mosaic Monday


Sweet Daisy. She has been with us almost 11 years now. She's beginning to show her age, especially around her eyes.
She is a long-hair chihuahua my daughter, Blue brought to me to take care of, and she never took her back.
Daisy has given me much more than i have given her. She gives me purpose when there seems to be none. She gives me reason, when reason seems to have flown away. She gives me quiet when my mind is screaming at me. She gives me softness when all around me seems hard and sharp and painful.
She is my little love.

Alaska

This will be linked to

I lived in Alaska for a while, 14 years to be almost exact. It was interesting. And cold. Way too much snow and ice for me, though i do have to say, there were some fine summer days, and you could grow mega vegi's during those long summer days.

It took me a while to get used to the "no night" thing during the summer. Laying in bed at midnight reading by daylight, just didn't seem quite right to me, so i took a black plastic garbage bags and hung it over the window of which ever bedroom i was sleeping in. That was a boring look, so i cut holes in the plastic, hung crystals from the rod so that they just dangled in front of the holes....TA DA! rainbows!

I lived in a total of 12 house's, apartments, buses,and cabins in the 6 years i lived in Homer, then i lived in a boat for 13 months in Sitka, then just 2 apartments the last 7 years in Anchorage. I had a nomadic heart.
I don't have pictures of most of the places, but i do have a few.
The first was a camper on a hillside....that was my first winter there, and when i would wake up in the morning i hair and blankets would be frozen to the window. A real shock the first time i went to get out of bed.
The second place was this cabin you see below. It was at the end of a 2 mile road that was only drivable during the dry days of summer, so for most of the year it was hiking in and out. There was no running water, i carried that in 5 gallon jugs. It had no electricity, i used propane, candles and wood. And needless to say, there was an outhouse.

The next place was also without electricity or running water, but it was only a couple miles from town and right off of the main road.

The next photo is place # 7. It sat on top of another hill, and it was windy up there. The house and outhouse both, were tied down with guy wires to keep them on the ground.

...... the matching outhouse....

I remember being trapped in that outhouse once, by a moose refusing to leave. She was munching on the branches of the young trees. I think she kept me there for at least an hour, finally, my cat, Doodle, came out looking for me and the moose beatfeet away.
Below is Doodle, my rescuer.

And that's it for Alaska memories right now.....

You might also like..... 

When in doubt , answere the door.

Once upon a time.....

 Voices in My Head

                                 

I almost cried.

I almost cried when my mother died.
My sister, Judy, called me mid-morning and told me. My heart lurched, and my breath whooshed out, i bent over to keep myself standing when suddenly, the monster man i was married to at the time, punched me in the right temple. He told me he had no time for hysterics, and "besides, you probably won't cry when i die so you can't cry now".  I looked at him, and told him, " no, i won't cry, i'll spit in your dead eyes and dance with un-fettered joy on your fresh grave".
Well, that did'nt go over well, so he proceeded to pick up a kitchen chair and break it over my back.

I didn't cry when my father died.
I felt no sorrow. I had lost him years ago, long before his death. He started molesting me when i was 8. That was when my father died.

I didn't cry when my brother died.
I felt no sorrow. I had lost him years ago when he decided little sister should learn all about sex from her big brother. That was when my brother died.

I felt bad when my grandmother died.
I hadn't seen her for 30 years, but i remembered that her home was one of the few places i felt safe and cared for.

I shed a tear when my sister, Joan, died.
I didn't know her well. She moved out away from home when i was still quite young. She made her escape. And left me there. I had'nt seen her for 30 years or so either.

I cried when my friend, Jerry, died.
He was true and gentle and caring. He was my friend. His son murdered him with an axe.

I sobbed with abandon when my friend, Velma, died.
She was my friend and confidant for many years. We heard each other's stories and loved each other anyway. She died last year of lung cancer.

So, what does all this mean? Does it mean anything at all? Do i care?
I'm not a bad person. In fact, i think i'm a good person. I care about people, i love my family and my Old Guy. I love my little dog, Daisy. I love the earth. I am honest and true. I say it how it is. I feel sorrow and anger and joy. I have good days and i have bad days.
I don't go about using people, or lying to them or playing games with people's emotions.
I am a survivor.
I am who i am.
I could not, would not, change my being to fit anyone else's idea of what they wanted me to be. I tried. For my ex-husband, i tried. But it just didn't take and i fought back. I have scars from him. Burn scars, and cut scars, and inner scars. But he didn't win.
I am a survivor.
I had uterine cancer, but i beat it. I survived.
I have COPD, with emphysema, asthma and chronic bronchitis.
But i am still here.
I am a survivor.

Magical

This is linked up with chatting at the sky for    
                Come on over!



I had forgotten all about this being Tuesday.... again. So i am a bit late....again.
I am un-wrapping my favorite food. Enjoy.

Thanks for stopping by.

Just We Two

This linked up to Little Red House for           ....come on over.....



Here we are, my Old Guy and i......

Ivy's home.

This is linking to Together for Good for.........  



See you there!

A very long time ago, when i was little, my mom and i would go to visit her mother. My grandma Ivy. She lived somewhere around Winlock, Washington, way off up some little country road out in the woods. My mom called the house "a shack". And, i suppose it was, by a lot of people's standards, but to me it was the perfect place.
My mom's brother,Cleo, lived there with her off and on, and he had an old logging horse, Ned. Cleo was the favorite of all us kids, but Ned was who i wanted to spend my time with. He was the first horse i ever sat upon. He was big!
The house had a water well where Ivy got her water. She actually cranked it up in a bucket on a rope! She had a vegetable garden, and she cooked on a wood stove. I remember seeing her sit on her little vanity stool at night, brushing her hair to re-braid it for bed. Her hair fell to the floor. I thought it was beautiful.
She would take me by the hand and she, my mother and i would go into the woods to pick blackberries, huckleberries, salmon berries, thimble berries and wild raspberries. She had tin coffee cans with wire strung through holes in the cans, so we could hang the cans on our arms and have both hands for picking.
To this day the taste of a fresh blackberry makes me feel like a little girl again.
I was a little afraid of Ivy. She was very strict, and seemed not to like anybody, but i loved her home and how she lived, so i guess i loved her too. I know i loved going to visit her and Cleo.

                                                    This is what her place looked like in the late 80s, long after
                                                     she had died.

                                                           This is Ivy, Cleo and Ned.

Mystery flower

This will be posted over at Good, True and Beautiful........   

        

Does anyone know what this flower is? It just kind of moved in last spring, we have no idea where it came from. Could there be a "Johnny Purple Flowerseed" running around the country?
Whatever it is, it is very pleasing to the eye and has a mild sweet scent, so we decided to leave it and let it grow....just for the JOY of it.