Sharing My World 44



As a child, who was your favorite relative?

Eleven aunts, ten uncles, twenty-three cousins…..and that’s not even getting started on my maternal grandmothers hoard of living relations who were ‘greats’ of all sorts…’s impossible to name a favourite.  Impossible.  I could probably name two or three I wasn’t too fond of if you want, but why speak ill of the dead?  Actually I’ve always wondered why you’re NOT supposed to do that, so I looked it up.  It is distasteful, disrespectful and even cowardly.  And rude.  Too much like dancing on someone’s grave.  Plus the person you are disrespecting might come back to haunt you.  Do your ill speaking while they’re still alive and can defend themselves I guess.

Really, as a child I was blessed with more relatives than I could keep track of, but of course now I wish I had paid better attention to who they were and where they came from and where they went.  We had company all the time on our farm when I was growing up.  I’ve known a lot of amazing people and it makes me happy knowing I’m related to them.

If you could be a tree or plant, what would you be?

A great big red maple, changing with the seasons.  I would be tall and beautiful, with at least one sturdy strong horizontal branch perfect for a child’s swing.  At the age of one hundred someone can chop me down and make me in to furniture.

What would be your preference, awake before dawn or awake before noon?

There’s a lot of fuss made about sunsets, but have you ever watched the sun rise?  I don’t mean getting out of bed in the dark and rushing around doing stuff and then eventually noticing that it’s light out.  I’ve done a lot of that.  I’ve also been awake before dawn, sitting in a deck chair with a coffee warming my hands, watching the sun come up.  That’s a wonderful way to start your day.  Then you can go back to bed and sleep until noon, but remember to leave that part out when you’re boasting about your incredible pre-dawn experience.

Would you like to sleep in a human size nest in a tree or be snuggled in a burrowed spot underground?

This is such a weird question, I can honestly say I’ve never thought about doing either one of these things.  But no to being underground, thanks.  And I would like the tree nest to be the size of a queen mattress please, because I’ll be taking one of those up there with me.

Bonus question: What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?

I am grateful for my nice warm house and my comfy bed and for not once in my life ever having to sleep in a tree.  We’re getting some cold January weather now and I don’t even want to go out for a walk.  So I’m grateful to have that perfect excuse.

I don’t know what’s going on next week so let’s just say I am grateful to be living in suspense.  What will be will be.


Just Another Scintilating Sunday

Asiatic Lily Bouquet, forced to listen to Satelite Radio and blooming madly anyway.

Asiatic Lily Bouquet, forced to listen to Satellite Radio and blooming madly anyway.

This morning as I was overloading my blender with mad cancer fighting ingredients (I say mad because if they’re fighting they ought to be mad) I wondered if it isn’t about time for me to make my peace with the satellite radio.  Normally I don’t appreciate it’s noise, and there are some days when I hate it.  Those are the days when I want everyone in the world to just shut up.  So if you are dropping over for coffee on one of those days, God help you.  But no worries, today I’m feeling pleasant and chatty.  And I am blogging this without wearing any make up. I feel like what I have to say is more important than how my face looks.  Although if you were actually here drinking coffee with me you might beg to differ.  Anyway, I know there are people out there who blog naked, so this is hardly big news, but it’s as close to blogging naked as I’m likely to get.

Okay, back to the sat radio.  W has it on all the time.  When I come home he is smart enough to turn it down.  If he doesn’t and I get to it first, it gets turned right off.  He also tries to find channels with the highest percentage chance of me being able to tolerate them.  I do try to be tolerant.  Especially of people who dearly love background noise.  And this morning I was thinking that because there’s a lot of channels, there should be at least one or two that not only won’t make my head ache but that I might also actually enjoy. Yeah, well, it’s Sunday, the weather is nice, I’m in a good mood.  Pigs could fly.  Let’s try some music from the 1940’s.  I’m not kidding.  They had weird music back then and I don’t mind listening to that.  I picked up the remote, pressed select, and tried to remember what combination of zeros and fours would get me there.

Suddenly there was a deep growling voice doing hip hop rap.  I don’t care if there isn’t any such thing, that’s clearly what it was.  He sounded like a mad muppet monster, only less intelligent.  So not exactly what I was expecting.  Eventually I found Count Bassie, a definite improvement.  I love jazz, swing, big band and piano blues.  Although in small doses rather than large.  Maybe I was born in the wrong era.  The radio is still playing but I’m in a different room and can’t really hear it.  But, hey, it’s still turned on.

Speaking of “hey”, I had a delightful conversation with a little boy at work yesterday.  He was about three, with ears that he hasn’t quite grown into.  He walked right up beside me in our lab.

Him:  HEY!

Me: Hey.

Him:  Hey!  What are you doing?

Me:  I’m cleaning a pair of glasses.

Him:  Hey!  What’s that white thing?

Me:  It’s an ultrasonic cleaner, sort of like a bath for glasses.

Him:  Hey!  That’s funny!  Haha!

Mom from the doorway:  Hey!  What are you doing?  Get out of there!

So hey, he had to leave.

Aren’t those Asiatic Lilies beautiful?  A gift from K and C last weekend.  I can’t believe how they’ve lasted.  My tiger lilies in the back yard are just starting to bloom too.  I’m surrounded by lilies and Woody Herman and Duke Ellington and the voice that says “…no destination…just 40’s and beyond!”

Sort of like this post, no real purpose, just some meandering coffee talk, keeping my typing fingers limber.  Well, I’m going to go get some more coffee, how about you? Really?  But I’ve got French Vanilla cream!  Hey, where are you going?  Come back!

Z is for Zygapophysis


I found my ancient old dictionary!  It was in a desk cabinet, of all places.  Not that I was searching for it or anything, but since I’ve come across it, I’m suddenly inspired to do some alphabet posts.  Try to contain your excitement, please.

It’s a beat up old red Webster’s New Collegiate Dictionary, copyright 1973.  It is older than my children.  And appears to have been mauled by them, since there are a few pages obscured by scribbling in pen, pencil, and lime green crayon.  There are several rips and tears (repaired with brittle yellowed tape) and many dog ears and a half missing spine.  I can’t remember the last time I used it.  Probably not since discovering an on-line dictionary with thesaurus and reference section and quotes and all kinds of information I had no idea ordinary people needed to fill their heads with.

It’s almost too easy, this new and improved way of looking things up.  Kind of takes away the thrill of the chase when you’re searching for the definition of a word but have no idea how to spell it.  Now there’s no need to flip through pages and run your finger down long columns of words until you find the right one.  The on-line dictionary looks at your ridiculous hodgepodge of letters and says “did you mean….” and then spews out fifty possibilites so that you can click on the right one and stop your brain from hurting.

I’ve decided that since I often do things left right and sideways, I will go backwards through the dictionary instead of forwards.  Besides, the Z section is only four pages long and therefore less intimidating than the A’s.  So, zooks and zounds, it’s time to get to the point. Z is not just for zip, zero and zilch, although all of those are truly awesome words.

Z is for Zoot Suits

Is that not a beautiful thing?  The Zoot Suit coat has wide lapels and wide padded shoulders.  The pants are high waisted, wide legged, and tight cuffed.  One completes the look with a felt hat with a feather, a crazy long watch chain, and pointy French style shoes.  Popular during the Jazz Age in Harlem in the 1940’s.  Reintroduced in banana yellow by Jim Carrey in “The Mask”.

Z is also for Zazous.

Zazous were a young French subculture during World War II expressing their individuality by all dressing the same (but differently from sane people.)  They stole (or perhaps just borrowed) the Zoot Suit look.  Jackets were big and garish, with stripes or checks.  Add some heavy shoes, crazy socks, sunglasses, long hair, and an umbrella – and don’t forget to dance.  Swing and bebop on the Champs Elysées.  Eat carrot salad and love decadent jazz.  The women wore their hair long and curly, had giant shoulder pads, short pleated skirts, net stockings, and clunky shoes with thick wooden soles.

I think I was born in the wrong era. I remember that outfit from highschool.  Ooo la la.  Ah well.  C’est la vie.

(Sorry about Zygapophysis – if you really want to know, it’s one of the articular processes of the neural arch of a vertebra of which there are usually two anterior and two posterior, and I only threw it up there to catch your attention and appear to be smart. I was having a zinfandel moment.)