love people, use things

My elderly across-the-street neighbor recently moved to her daughter’s house. She had gotten to where she could not manage stairs and did not trust herself to drive. I hope I will be so wise to concede to this if I get there.

I did not know this lady well since I have only lived here for three years, but she would call now and then to chat and I enjoyed her calls.

As she prepared for her move she called one afternoon to let me know there would be several trucks coming to her house to pick up various pieces of furniture. She sounded sad and I waited silently as she gathered her thoughts.

“You know, they are just things, but no one in my family wants them.” I could hear her hurt as she spoke and I could sympathize.

I have my mother’s dining room furniture. Neither my son nor my brother wants it. Well, my brother wants the fiddle-back chairs. Our mom had the seats upholstered with needlepointed patterns she had done years ago. But no one wants the side boards, the Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner china and casseroles or the silver. No one wants the very old china plates that my mother waited years for Dad to make plate rails for, and he never did. (You can buy them already made I learned)

So I could understand how my neighbor felt. I know these are things but they hold such memories. And they are beautiful pieces of furniture. And the silver no one makes like this anymore. But they are things. Everytime I get to the point where I think I will donate the lot someone (usually my brother) insists I keep it all, as though it is sacrilege to not want it. I am a practical-oriented person. If I don’t use something in, say over 15 years, it’s time to let it go.

I still have the memories. My mother is not a chair. My father is not in a table. Having the things we used when they were still living and we were a family together is not the same as having the people. And things, for me, do not extend to the person. I am grateful to have had such lovely things but, as with the piano that found a better home, wouldn’t it be preferable for a new family to enjoy them?

If I used these things it would make more sense to keep them. I do not entertain. My son especially since this virus, does not visit me and even when he did we never ate a formal meal.

If I were to leave this planet I cannot take these things with me. They will remain behind for someone to deal with. Everytime I move I occupy a small portion of a house that is mostly used to shelter the furniture I never enjoy. Just seems wasteful.

I have asked rescue dogs Lily and Lulu who have made it clear that they are only interested in being in whatever room I am in. If I am eating they are at my feet, wherever I am. They have their dog beds in every room, so they can rest on a comfy cushion wherever.

This should not be so difficult. I have books and clipped articles with tips on helping people declutter, downsize or minimize. Even one that I no longer have that was purported to be most authoritative, “The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning”. Since (so far as I know) I am not on the brink of death this was a little too final. Even if my sister-in-law is Swedish.

hot spots

Back in the ‘70s this would be a place my parents wouldn’t have allowed me to go to. Not under any circumstances. Swinging, happening, mod… none of that was part of my experience. No, we were not Amish, Mennonite, Mormon or even Catholic. My parents were cautious and protective of my brother and me. Based on how some of our neighborhood pals turned out I am glad they were that careful.



Go forward a couple decades. Hot spots are specific designated WiFi accessible places like airports, hotels, campuses. With smart phones it’s not that important now but they are still around.

Not that kind, either.

A couple of weeks after I came back from Texas I noticed something on husky-mix rescue dog Lily’s fur. It looked like I spilled water on her but didn’t seem to bother her. I found her grooming brush to get it out and a large clump of hair came with it. Lily turned her head toward me and I leaned closer to figure out what this was.

Hot spot.

She had not had one of these in a couple of years. It’s an allergic reaction, sometimes from a flea bite or allergy or other skin irritation and generally bothered even more by extreme heat and humidity. If they chew or scratch it becomes worse. I’ll spare further graphic description but her vet confirmed that’s what it was.

So we came back home loaded with antibiotic, allergy pills and an anti-itch antiseptic spray. They shaved a large area on her back around it so it could heal.


Well, it has healed and as you see here Lily and terrier-mix rescue dog Lulu are eagerly searching for a small lizard living in this plant. Not bothered anymore in the least. She still has that bare spot that draws curious looks when we are on our walkies but probably also provides welcome cooling to her double-thick husky fur coat.

Crisis resolved.

glitz blitz ramblings

No, this isn’t about bling glitz, or celebrity or awards. The shimmer of a raindrop on a petal kind of glitz. The reflection of a mountain in a dew drop. Maybe with all the imposed shut-in days I have noticed more. I gave up waiting for normal to come back and made my own normal.

I have bracelets, rings, jewelry I never wear. Some I bought for myself, some others gave me. It’s pretty. I just don’t wear it. Somehow it pales in its beauty when it’s worn. I see others loaded down with bracelets, necklaces, earrings. I tend to still see the person, just a heavier version with all that hardware. I guess there’s a difference between tasteful and too much.


So this bee is an ornament. The flower is embellished. It’s also pollinated and will proliferate this maypop vine. These vines have taken over the back fence already but can be managed. They attract specific butterflies the same way monarchs are attracted to Asclepius tuberosa  (butterfly weed), more different butterflies attracted by it in Florida but here we get Gulf frittilaries. They’ve been all over these vines but today we’ve had a lot of rain. Still don’t know where butterflies go when it rains but it doesn’t affect the bees.


Angel trumpet in a happy place will take it over. Every part of the plant is toxic and since I have dogs I don’t generally have poisonous plants. I tore out all the oleander. But rescue dogs Lily and Lulu pretty much ignore this plant and all the plants.


I don’t understand electrical stuff. If I flip a wall light switch I expect the light to go on. I have ceiling lights in two hallways controlled by three different switches in different places. One switch, when I turned the light on it flickered, then went out. Would not go on, not on its own, but if I used one of the other switches it worked. So I figured the switch was bad. I installed a new switch. None worked. So I called a handyman. He could not get them to work independently as they had before, he replaced two switches. But they work if one specific switch is on. He said it always had been like that, I just never noticed. Maybe I should call an actual electrician, or just accept this as another house quirk.


And now there are six storm systems in the Atlantic. Well, one is crossing south Florida to the gulf, heading (they think) for Louisiana. They do not need another storm. It does give a focus other than this stupid virus. Funny how life doesn’t stop. So I had almost gotten through my stockpile of water from last hurricane season. If any of these get any closer I have to stock up again.


One thing about flowers. They are what they are.

A very insightful blogger I follow has posted this for anyone who prefers the ‘classic’ WP editor. Thank you Margaret of soulfood101!— How to make a post without the new block editor. — The Word

I have been seeing that other Bloggers do not like using the new WP Block Editor any more than I do. This is the way I have been getting around it. It is very basic as you will see from the picture but it is very easy to use. When you are on your “My […]

How to make a post without the new block editor. — The Word

glory days

My father was a complex man. He loved his home, Colorado yet held his own in corporate life. He negotiated on national and international levels but did not forget who he was.

One high school summer we drove from our transferred home in New Jersey to see Dad’s boyhood home in Colorado Springs. This was a typical family drive, broken into 3-4 days with the usual insanity caused by boredom and being in close proximity. But we survived and arrived in one piece and with no bloodshed

We drove from Colorado Springs to Aspen, over Independence Pass where I learned my iron-clad, fearless Mom was acrophobic. Hairpin curves, well over 10,000 foot altitude.

Being summer the mountain meadows were dotted with brilliant yellows and reds of Indian paintbrush, cool blues of columbine. We stayed at a small lodge and over the few days there the owners invited me to work there the following summer. Never having been on my own up to that point, I was thrilled.

My brother and some good friends also planned to be there to work at opening an abandoned silver mine on the Pass and we’d see each other on the weekends.

Minimum wage then was barely a dollar an hour. I worked as a maid at this lodge and as a novice employee was not entitled to tips, the other maid was unless it was her day off. Her efforts at training were hopeless. Everything was new to me. She was a party girl, I was not, so I pulled her weight many mornings she dragged in late, once not showing at all. That particular day we had almost 100% checkouts for the day. AAA rating was the highest possible, until that day. Hotel inspections are never announced and that day was the day.

The lodge failed inspection. Not lower. Flat-out failed.

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In all fairness the owners were angry at senior housekeeper. She had no way of knowing the inspection was the day of her massive hangover, but still. I knew how to clean a bathroom, change bed linens. I could not figure out what I’d missed.

As the days crept morbidly on my brother came to town a couple of times. I was given accommodations across the street at a different lodge with housekeepers for that lodge. We ate scant meals to scrimp and save but I really wanted to offer a feast for my brother and his friends so I proudly put select vegetables, potatoes and a sirloin roast in my cart. First time ever buying groceries. 17 years old. No idea the price on the roast was per pound, not $1.70 for the whole roast. My entire paycheck was gone! I was saving not enough to get home.

It so happened brother and friends were also running out of money and decided to fold up their tents and drive home. I went to my employer and explained this looked like my only possible means of getting home so I would be leaving. In the middle of the summer season.

Did I realize I would lose every chance at an opportunity to come back and work there again?

Oh, yes, I did.

Did I understand how inconvenient this was?

Oh yes, I was very sorry but could see no other option.

So I was dismissed.

We did have a bit of fun, the Aspen Music Festival where all the events were, then, free. We had a couple of parties, one of which I frankly do not remember. At all. And that elaborate dinner.

Memories of glory days.

— to my kind readers: I am struggling with this new WP editor. I can’t find where to insert tags! So I hope against hope this is not my last post since I have been writing on this blog for over seven years. But it might be. If it is I want to thank you deeply for your thoughtful comments and for sharing a corner of my life. You have become my friends. Edith

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