The good news

The crocus are starting to show.

One war is just about over.

There's more talk going on with other nations.

Gas is less than half what it was.

The sun came up again this morning.

91.9 percent of the people in America who want jobs have them.

The guy in charge is stimulating the economy by proposing new projects and making more jobs, not by the hair-brained idea of sending everybody $600 and hoping they'd spend it.

Snow is pretty even if it's cold.



Health issues are being handled ever more deftly as people live longer, hear better and feel better thanks to medical research and care.

Family.

Beauty.

Nature.

Love.

Peace.

Literature.

Safety.

Knowing people still come to America because it is the land of opportunity.

Faith.

Collecting

Nobody else over 15 raised their hands when asked about collections.

I looked around the room at my family, gathered for a reunion and warming up with a get-acquainted game, and was surprised to be the only one admitting to something other than a key-chain collection.

I said I collected lighthouse figurines, which is only partially true. I also collect creches, salt and pepper shakers, photo books and pottery. Mostly as souvenirs from memorable places, also as gifts from those who've thought of me when they've been in memorable places.

Those who write the how-to-avoid-clutter articles in the January start-the-new-year-right magazines would not approve of my office. Here I have collected a life's worth of souvenirs from memorable events -- pictures from beautiful places, shells from beaches all over, books from college, letters from friends, rocks from trails, heirlooms from grandparents. There's a sheep-skin rug from New Zealand friends over 30 years ago, a decorated duck egg from a sweet door-to-door sales woman that I just couldn't bear to say no to 20 years ago, a sand castle from an impulse purchase 15 years ago, a China doll from an uncle 40 years ago.




My life and loves and memories in one space.


This is not clutter however. This is celebration.


Celebration of the experiences of the past. Of the people I've met, the places I've been, the things I've felt and seen and learned.


I love going into others' homes. Seeing what they hang on their walls and what they set on their mantles tells me so much about them, their interests, their lives, their loves.

Everybody has collections. Maybe not of spoons or bottles or salt and pepper shakers, but of life's important moments and memories. And while I have to admit I can't take the ones on the shelf with me, hopefully they're representative of the intangible ones I can.

Convention

OK, I'm as big a fan of Jane Austen novels as the next guy -- ahem, I mean, -- gal, but I've gotta admit there were times during my most recent reading of Persuasion when I wanted to slap somebody.

You'll remember the plot: After eight years, the protagonist crosses paths with the man she was once engaged to and THEY DON'T SAY ANYTHING TO EACH OTHER.

Wouldn't you just, kind of, look for an opportunity to be in a quiet corner out of earshot of others and say, as if to an old friend or something: So, how've ya been these last EIGHT YEARS?

But no. It takes 200-some pages, depending on the edition, for any kind of a conversation.

So that makes for the excitement -- the page-turning -- the suspense: When will they TALK? When will they admit to their feelings for each other? When will the other people get out of the way so they can take it from where it once was to where it should be?

It also makes for the frustration.

Those Brits in that era were downright... what's the word... stiff!!

And then I calm down and think of a few relationships in my life. Really close relationships in fact, where I wish I could just sit down and ask questions and get answers and go from there.

Is it convention, is it trust, is it nerve?

Or are we just as stiff as the next guy -- or do I mean... gal?

Petite perfection

She won't remember the day that grandpa first held her.

Many new sights and sounds will fill her life before he does again.

She won't remember the snuggles she got from grandma during their first days together.

Many new experiences will enhance her perceptions before there is another chance for that.

But grandma and grandpa will remember every detail.

The petite perfection.

The funny faces, the sweet cries for needs, the curious gazes, the squirmy discomfort, the peaceful snuggles during sleep.

Babies are miracles.

Nice

The nice thing about being away from responsibilities and requirements and reality...

...is having time to reflect.

Making noise

I believe that a tree falling in a forest would make a big, big noise.

And that that would be true even if no one was there to hear it.

A falling tree is just plain noisy. And that wouldn't change by whether or not there happened to be a pair of ears nearby to take note of it or whether or not some philosophical philosopher thought otherwise.

Sometimes I feel like a tree falling.

Even if nobody hears my noise, I'm making it.

Who knew?

All of the sudden I can't get answers to my questions. I can't check out hotels in places I want to visit. I can't order prints of my photogrpahs. I can't find out what the stock market's doing as it's doing it. I can't diagnose the latest health problem of this over-50 body. I can't communicate with associates at their leisure and mine.

What is my handicap?

My home computer can't get Internet access.

Who'd have thought it possible to become so dependant on something so new so soon?

For weeks now I've been borrowing my son's laptop, but he had the nerve to take it back to school with him. Now I'm a library rat when I need to check who's communicating and about what. It's not quite the same.

No pictures on the blog, no time in my allotted 30 minutes to check on others' blogs.

I'll survive. But not much longer.....