St. Petersburg, Russia, and Cruising

I grew up in a generation that feared the Russians. In the early 90s I was in the Thousand Oaks, California audience for the performance of the Red Star Army Chorus when they brought the audience to its feet, and most of us to tears by singing God Bless America. Even then, I never expected to walk the streets of a Russian city, tasting its beauty and photographing the extravagance of its culture.

As always, sharing the adventure with family made it so much more special. The cruise ship's second stop was St. Petersburg, Russia. Ben and I were both in pain, and everything we wanted to see seemed miles away, but we walked for hours, and the weather held off from its expected downpour until we returned to the ship. People in costume posed with tourists like us for a small sum, and we thought it was worth it a couple of times.

There are many photos that show John looking back, and that was because I continually limped along behind the group. I guess he figured they'd eventually lose me, but they never did. 

The buildings were amazing, a blend of spectacular and military grey. There was enough gold on some of them to fund a third world country. It will never be scraped off the buildings, of course, since it is their country's heritage in many ways, but it still astounded me to see the glitter next to the somber darkness of some of the older buildings. It is a country of contrasts, if St. Petersburg is anything to go by. Here's your Slideshow.


After wearing ourselves out trying to see everything possible in the city, we made our way back to the cruise ship, and I enjoyed my "daily spa treatment." I should explain that. The first night on board ship, Ben let us know he was going to the ship's spa for a drawing. Hardly anyone knows about this sort of thing, as they're off drinking and exploring. Ben always checks things out, and had learned that there was a "have to be there to win" drawing for products and services in the ship's spa. I invited myself along and got in on the draw. Ben and I sat there and listened to name after name being called, with the people not being present. It ended up with Ben and me each winning $250 in spa services. He used his for a couples massage with Ruth, but I split mine up for the daily massage specials, which meant I got a massage and facial every day we were on the ship, except for the day we disembarked. Sweet. Thanks, Ben. I've never used a ship's spa before. I'd never had a facial before—good things, both.




I spent the next day either with the kids or on deck photographing the Baltic as we went through the passage. It was beautiful, and sunset that night was incredible. I love being on the ocean, and a day at sea is a pleasure for me. 


The next morning, as we made our way through the small inhabited islands of the Baltic approaching Sweden once again, I enjoyed the early morning fog and mist that rose from homes and churches dotting what I believe was Finland for a time. It was remote and beautiful, and it appeared that people came and went by boat. 

There were few people out as early as I was, but I didn't miss having them in my photos. Some of the islands were tiny, and some were fairly large. You'll see a larger sampling on the Cruise Slideshow. 

We pulled into Stockholm at the end of the trip and were among the first to return to land. I have already shared photos of Sweden before and after the cruise, but there's one little side trip I failed to include. We went to a mall for ice cream, and I have to admit it was one of the most interesting presentations I've ever had. They split open an absolutely delicious cupcake or muffin, at the choice of the one ordering, and filled the split with an ice cream or frozen yogurt of your choice. It was way too much, I thought, for one person to eat alone, and the girls had cones instead, which they loved, but Ruth showed us the truth of the old verse: Where there's a will, there's a way.

Tallinn, Estonia—First Cruise Stop

Each of the three years we've gone to visit the kids in Amsterdam, we've gone on an adventure together. This year our adventure was a trip to Sweden, followed by a cruise to Tallinn, Estonia and St. Petersburg, Russia, then a day cruising in the Baltic Sea, returning to Stockholm.

I've been working on a slide show for the Tallinn, Estonia portion of our trip this morning, while I'm "fresh." Physical Therapy yesterday took a lot out of me, but gave me hope that there's light at the end of the tunnel. There's just no replacement for a great physical therapist. I'm not sure how many years of training they have to go through, but the good ones, and I know I have one of the best, have magic hands and an incredible font of knowledge.

Estonia, at least the corner we visited, wore its age well. I would have loved to see it without all the tourists, but since we were part of the horde, I shouldn't complain. Everything in America seems fresh and young by comparison to cities and countries in Europe. They treasure their history, at least in the places we've visited. You'll see a modern building, something from the last fifty years or later, next to a building hundreds of years old that's been preserved and is still in use. They exist side by side and add character to the city.

As always, seeing these places with family make them more special, and going through the photos brought the memories back to life. I remember Kate having a melt down and wanting to be held, and how Ben picked her up and walked with her, even though his back was beyond painful. Ruth was so upset that he wasn't taking care of himself, I thought she'd grab the child away from him, but she allowed him to do what he felt he must. Their respect for each other, as always, melted something inside me—and Kate calmed down instantly.


Ben always researches thoroughly whatever places we'll visit and finds the most interesting things. Tallinn happens to have an out of the way romantic spot... a kissing statue that's said to be good luck for couples who stand and kiss next to it. They couldn't resist. We were coerced. Let's say we couldn't resist them. The photos of that are proof enough, and are in the slide show.

After walking back to the cruise ship and making arrangements to meet for dinner, I took something for pain and headed for the ship's spa and a massage. I was counting my blessings with every step. Enjoy the slide show. They represent precious memories to me.

Paris for Two

Just the two of us? But we don't speak French... I really wasn't in favor of this trip at the beginning. I could picture getting lost and people laughing at us as we tried to communicate in sign language. I don't know sign language.

But Benjamin told me that Paris was the number one tourist destination in Europe for a reason, and this would probably be our last opportunity to see it. We should go. Alone. The two of us together. An early 35th anniversary trip.

I was excited, yet I was moderately terrified. I thought of the Louvre. I thought about walking along the Seine and seeing the Arc de Triomphe. Going up in the Eiffel Tower sounded like something I could force myself to do. Maybe. I found out it wasn't scary at all.

Most of all, I wanted to go to mass at Notre Dame. We did that, and although I didn't get much out of the sermon, not speaking any French besides ferme la buche (probably spelled wrong, but means shut your mouth) which I don't think the priest had call to use, it was beautiful. And the organ music was enough to make angels weep. Before leaving I was able to light a candle for my mom and Papa John in front of the rose window.

A little warning...if you ever want to go to church there, make sure to arrive at least an hour before service starts so you can actually get a seat.

John and I went on a wonderful cruise of the river Seine, ate crepes along the way (chocolate) and took photos. The bridges are amazing. We saw a bride and groom walking along, him fussing with her dress, and it seemed a sweet moment in time to me. There was also a boat accident that confused us, since nobody else on our boat seemed at all concerned about it, even though divers were going under the water and an ambulance was racing along the shore toward the craft. We never found out what had happened.

I'm not sure what kind of ceremony was going on at the Arc de Triomphe the day we were there, but they rather quickly closed it off from regular tourists and a bunch of military types swarmed in with flowers and such. It would have been so nice if I hadn't run my battery out of juice just at that moment.

We loved our time in Paris, and it amazed me how easy it was to get around on their rapid transit lines. Their metro is slick and well organized. I imagine anyone who can read any language using the same alphabet could very quickly learn their way around the city. Each stop has bullet points that show which connections can be made from there, so if you know what line you need to get to, it's easy to see where you need to transfer. They've made it simple.

I loved their train terminal. After having gotten lost and making it to our train by only three minutes in Amsterdam, where you absolutely must ask someone where your train is, since there's no sign telling you, this was pure pleasure. Everything was big, bright and very obvious. Yes, my slideshow is somewhat long, but maybe you can tell me later what I could have cut out. I couldn't decide.

We Give Up — Temporarily

John recorded me singing at church yesterday. It was a memorial for Jeremiah True, and we can see it in the video camera. There's a little problem, though. We can't get it to transfer to the computer. He pushed a wrong button which switched the camera to a different mode. All the video clips which were currently in the camera became invisible on the camera's monitor screen, but are visible when you try to download on the camera. (I'll admit, though, that when you push the download button, all you get is a beep.)

The recording of me singing for Jeremiah is clearly visible and playable on the camera's monitor. However, when you attach it to the computer to download, it disappears. No amount of fussing and button pushing will make it appear for download. We've read the manual. We've tried the Mac and the PC. John sat up trying "just one more thing" until two a.m., even though we're leaving for California this morning and he's pulling a trailer. He's that kind of man. He was the one making the recording, so he blames himself.

I know it's my fault. I thought the camera was so easy I didn't think he needed to practice. Push one button, point and shoot. But there are a lot of buttons, and he doesn't hold the camera the same way I do, so "the one by your right thumb" isn't a very clear instruction. We should have practiced. What he did was turn on the long playing feature, which apparently stores the clip somewhere else or some way else. It also, unfortunately, makes the clip a very low resolution.

My feeling is that we should just wait until we're in California and have the beautiful little church we used to attend available and go down there to St. Matthews and set the camera up and let me play it again. He can record it again. It will be the same song, with the same feelings—how could I ever sing it and not feel what I do for Jeremiah?

Still, I think we'll end up at one of those photo transfer places where they might be able to help us. John thinks that's the way to go, and he's so very often right. Meanwhile, if you're waiting for this... sorry. I haven't been thinking too clearly lately.

Making Pottery Gifts with Elisha

Elisha's first day of maternity leave was yesterday, and we enjoyed it together while Jeremy was at work and John made his way through his "Daddy Do" list.

Actually, John did amazingly well, installing security lights, extra door locks, changing furnace filters and light bulbs on really high ceilings. Then he managed to change a vehicle light bulb that the service stations were going to charge the kids an hour of labor to "figure out," because their car is a Prius, and nobody knows how to work on them. They opened the compartment to change the bulb during an oil change and said the bulbs couldn't be reached. Oh, yeah. The mighty John figured it out and had it done in ten minutes.

Elisha took me to her favorite gift-making place. It's called Arts on Fire, and is a pottery shop here in Shreveport, where you paint the unfired pottery and then they fire it for you. Of course, it looks very dull and bland before it's fired, so it's hard to tell what color you're really painting, but she said that you get used to that. I think I still prefer plaster craft, which is basically the same thing, but it's done on pre-fired pottery where what you see is what you get.

Still, we had a great day. Elisha picked a gift for my mom's 90th birthday next month, and I painted a piggy bank for their baby. I wish I had thought to take more photos of the pig once I had finished painting it, but I forgot. It looks pretty boring the way it is now, but I added some little animal stencils and JTH, the baby's initials. He'll be the third JTH, by the way, following John Thomas and Jeremy Thomas. I love the name Jeremiah True.

I actually tried to talk John into Jeremiah when Jeremy was born, but John preferred the name Jeremy, and now I'm glad he did, since my first grandson will get the name I've always loved so much.

It was a wonderful day, full of painting and laughing. The owner is an interesting woman named Quincy. She gives just the right amount of help—whatever you need without telling you how she thinks it should be done. She's warm and friendly and handled the table full of pre-teen giggling girls having their first-time painting experience with only one mom to watch them with such ease I thought she'd been doing it for years.

Elisha filled me in. Quincy had never painted before, when the shop owner decided to sell out. One of her twin daughters loved to paint there, so she and her husband decided to buy the place. And that's how history is written, I guess. Our children introduce us to the some of the best paths in our lives.

Shreveport is having a Blues and Jazz Festival today, and we're going to try to get to that, as long as Elisha is feeling up to it. She's still sleeping right now, since with only 3-4 days left until the baby's delivery date, she's up and down all night visiting the euphemism down the hall. As all good babies know, it's important to find mama's bladder and rest there as soon as she gets to sleep. (Thanks for that, Jeremiah True... You're getting her prepared for the ups and downs of nighttime feedings.)

Venice, Part One, Before the Cruise

I wasn't really prepared for Venice. I had some pre-conceived notions about the bridges and waterways, but it was very different from what I'd pictured. It's hard, I think, for an American to really grasp the age of these buildings and streets. In fact, the streets are little more than cobbled alleys, and most of them could hardly be called streets here. Ben chose a hotel for us really close to the Piazza San Marco, which is pictured above, the heart of the city in many ways. A city of this size, over 270,000 people, with no cars is also inconceivable to us, even when we're expecting it. You walk for a couple of hours, and then realize that you have to get back the same way. We do spoil ourselves, driving everywhere.

So I'll start with a little advice. If you're beyond your prime (as it's rumored that John and I are) and not in the best shape of your life, and you want to see as much as possible, don't go with a senior citizen group. Go with someone young and healthy who loves you and wants you to have fun and really see the sights. Someone who cares enough to be patient when your body starts to hurt and you lag behind, or when you get so excited about what you're seeing that you simply stop and stare and they're blocks ahead, but still remember to stop and look behind for you, and then wait for you to catch up. You'll end up exhausted, but very happy. John and I certainly did.

It was almost like being children in a sense. Ben made all the plans and arrangements. We didn't have many decisions to make. We were certainly given choices, and we made those as necessary, but otherwise we just had to follow Ben and Ruth, who carried the girls in packs where they could talk to them. The girls were up high where they could see what was going on and ask questions about what they were seeing, or relate what they wanted. It was a different story from the multitude of children I saw plugged in to "rubber mothers," what I've always called pacifiers. They were being pushed around in strollers, totally separate from the parents who pretty much ignored the crying much of the time—at least it seemed that way to me. Our granddaughters did seem to be the happiest kids around.

One of the things I most wanted to do in Venice, and didn't expect to accomplish, was getting to Murano Island, since it's quite a distance. The private water taxis are very expensive, and I knew that it would take a big chunk of our time and money for all of us to go that distance on the public boat. The lines are outrageous. The first morning in Venice we were stopped by a gentleman who spoke beautiful English. He explained that he worked for the city department on the Island of Murano and they were sending people there that morning in private water taxis if we'd be interested in having a tour of the Glass Masters' Factory. (Dreams come true.) He promised they'd return us the same way. We all said yes, and he walked us to the dock, paid for the taxi and off we went. It was just the six of us in the most beautiful little cabin cruiser. I'd love to get John a boat like that. Wow.

I bought a few gifts, and Ben bought Ruth a stunning bracelet for Mother's Day and managed to keep it a secret from her with my help. The whole experience was amazing. In fact, when we got out of the taxi, there were huge lines from the public ferries waiting to go in. A gentleman met us at the water taxi, took us in by a private door, and gave us a private tour. He took us through everything. We were even able to ask questions and take photos. On our way out we saw the room where we'd had our private tour crowded with about 50 people, all jammed together watching the masters work. It was different from the treatment we had received. I'm just not sure why. Then the tour guide took us to the dock, paid the taxi driver to return us to Venice, and off we went. All together, I guess we were gone about three or four hours.

We climbed steps, toured cathedrals and bell towers, looked down over the city and just enjoyed each other for two days. We even had a wonderful gondola ride through the side canals. I had no idea they were so easy to tip over. (No, we didn't quite manage that, but I sure thought we were going to!) We ate pizza and pasta until it was coming out of our ears, and the last night we hiked half way across Venice to find the only MacDonalds in Venice. Ben was "pizza'd out." Then we packed up on May 1st and went to the cruise ship for the next stage of our adventure. In fact, just getting to the ship was an experience. I found out how far Ben can throw a duffel bag.

The best part of being on this trip was doing it with people we loved. Being with Ben and Ruth, Ashley and Kate was amazing. I see the kind of parents they are, and I feel so fortunate that our grandchildren are getting the love and attention they do. They're smart kids, and good kids, but like all children—well, if you let them, they could take over the world. Their corner of it, anyway. Any child can turn into a tyrant if you let them. Ben & Ruth are so united in love that the kids can't play them against each other. I could go on, and someday I might do a blog on what I saw that impressed me so much.

I asked Ruth one day, which seemed especially long, if she ever felt like screaming. She's so patient. There's no question of her saying, "Because I said so" just to end a discussion with a 3-year old. She looked at me and said, "Sure." But she doesn't. She's probably the most gracious woman of any age I've ever met. (Good job, Ben.)

So I'll close Venice by saying thank you to both of them for being so welcoming to us, and so patient with our less agile bodies (especially mine). We know you could have covered more ground without us. Here's my slide show, if the photos weren't enough for you...

On Crowns and Kings

This hasn't been our best week, and it just started. Actually, you could say it started last week. On Thursday John broke a crown. It happens to be on one of his "anchor" teeth, which holds his dentures in place. Since we leave for Europe in just over two weeks, we need to rush through the necessary dental procedures to get him fixed up so he can eat and smile. He's not smiling now, I can tell you.

Turns out he needs to have at least one root canal, possibly two. They're sending him to an endodontist, which is a root canal specialist. We've been to three appointments so far, and tomorrow at 6:30 p.m. (yes, that's p.m.) we finally see the endodontist, about an hour from home, and hopefully he'll get right on it and not say, "Well, I'll examine you tonight and we can do it next week." If he does that, I'm not sure how much eating John will be doing on the trip. (Got a blender, Ruth?)

Meanwhile, I developed severe plantar fasciitis in my right foot and moderate (same diagnosis) in the left, so I've been going to physical therapy twice a week. I have an eye appointment Wednesday for the glaucoma testing, which must be done every three months because of the anti-seizure medication I have to take. It's a known risk. I'm not quite half done with the baby blanket I'm working on, and haven't done the hat or booties yet. I really wanted to get that in the mail before we leave.

I still haven't found my camera's download cable. We've got either a doctor's appointment or dental appointment every single day this week, and then we're getting hair cuts as well on Friday. I feel like that old commercial, product unknown, where the guy is sitting at his desk talking on the telephone.

"I can do that," you hear him say. "I can do that. I can do that. I can do that." Then he hangs up and looks at the phone and says, "How am I going to do that?"

It's The Little Things: Mr. Coffee Café Frappe

There are few special treats my husband appreciates more than a good blended mocha. In one of the after-Christmas sales I had ordered him a Mr. Coffee Café Frappe machine to make icy blended coffee drinks at home. Since I've not been feeling well, between the broken rib and the chest cold, I just stuck the box out of sight until I mended a bit.

Tonight was the big night. I made a cheeseburger pie, and once that was in the oven, used our phone's intercom feature to warn John to stay in his HAM room until dinner was ready so he wouldn't ruin "a surprise." Then I dragged out the box and set up the machine. Once I had everything cleaned, set up and figured out, I was nearly able to grind a drink without the machine, I got so angry.

These machines cost $79 retail. Once you open it up, you finally realize that you need to go buy a small size package of coffee filters before you can use it. You'd think they'd at least give you a few to start with. So there I was, with a meat pie ten minutes from the table, and my surprise a very unpleasant, "Well, you can look at how nice it fits on the counter, but I can't make you a drink until we go buy filters."

Really, Sunbeam Products (DBA Jarden Consumer Solutions), don't you think that an eighty dollar product should include everything the customer needs to have a good 'out of the box experience'? Especially if it's just a few filters that you could have packed in there for maybe three pennies? I noticed that at Amazon I could get 12 packages of filters, 200 filters per package, for $18.28 with no shipping and handling. That would mean I could have sent ten to each customer for seven cents. I'll bet a big corporation could get an even better price ratio.

Customers like to feel that they've been treated well. I will probably end up loving this machine and using it pretty close to daily, especially in the Summer. I won't, however, forget that the company didn't care if I had a hassle getting to use it when I first opened it. When it eventually breaks, I'll look for another brand.

What did John say? The cheeseburger pie was really good...

Ashley and Her Grandpa in Amsterdam

We came back to Ben and Ruth's home, tired and wet after a day of sightseeing in Amsterdam in the rain, and John collapsed on the couch, saying he'd go up for a shower in a minute. Then Ashley started bringing him her babies, and I picked up the video camera. I've cut twenty minutes down to three and a half so you can get a taste of how special their bond is. She is such a great kid.

Living in Amstelveen (Temporarily)

After lazing for a day with Ruth and the grandchildren, which was more fun than anyone who is not a grandparent can imagine, John and I took off on the bus to find Amsterdam. The first day we tried it, we got hopelessly lost. We got the man who was probably the only mean bus driver in the city. All he would say to us when we asked for help was "On or off, on or off!"

Like idiots, we got on, but didn't stay on long enough, then decided to try walking home, since we thought the amount shown on our bus passes was the amount spent, not the amount left. We didn't think we could afford to get back on the bus to go home. We walked for hours. Luckily Ben called to check on us, got on his bicycle and rode from work to find us and got us on a bus home.

While we were lost, we found some buildings we didn't recognize...

And even one that had a big name on it, making it easy to recognize as The American Hotel. And wow! It had a bathroom they nicely let John use free.

And I loved the tower.

In case you're not aware, and I may not have mentioned this before, it's very difficult to find a restroom in Europe, and when you finally do, you must be prepared to shell out some cash to use it. There's nothing quite so amazing to the American mindset as to pay for a meal and then go to the restaurant's bathroom and be met with a 50 euro-cent charge to get in. I wasn't going to use that much paper!

By the next day, Ben and Ruth had written instructions for which bus to get on, which stop to get on, how to find our way to where we wanted to go, and a plan of action. I really don't think we would have braved it without them pushing us back out of the nest, and I'm so very grateful. We saw so much. We walked so far and had so much fun together. As we gained confidence, we started leaving the main paths that we had planned. John was much better at finding his way around than I was, but I depended on him and it was probably good for his ego.

We went to the Rijksmuseum, which I wrote about extensively at the time of our actual visit. I was so impressed.

It will probably be an annual event, although I've been told I need to see Van Gogh and others, as well. Also, I missed the M. C. Escher museum, which was top of my list for this trip. I just about got there, but a wrong-way street and a GPS giving us bad directions to a parking garage that didn't exist had John so mad we left Utrecht without seeing anything. I do mean anything.

Going back to the day we were lost and walking though, I want to show a couple of photos that show how much fun you can have while you're lost. I don't want you to get a mental image of a couple of sixty-something retired people trudging down the street wailing and moaning. Far from it. John posed with a little "Smart Car" that someone must love.

And then I finally took a photo of a bicycle grown into a fence. We saw many of these, and never figured out why they would get overgrown like this. Ben told us (with a straight face) that it happens in about three hours. Thanks, Ben.

Now, the following day, when we had directions to get places, we went and bought more time on our bus passes. That took us to Central Station, the Amsterdam train, bus, and metro station that is built on ramps and pontoons, I believe. It's pretty interesting. I was sure I wrote about it, but I can't find it anywhere.

Homes in The Netherlands, and I'll admit I'm most familiar with Amsterdam, are tall and thin. The stairs are narrow, and you don't want to be trying to get furniture up the steps. Nope. Can't be done. Here's a typical (gorgeous) row of homes.

And if you look really carefully, at the top of each home, or at least most of them, you will find a hook. (In my house, growing up, we'd refer to it as a sky hook.) They throw a cable or rope over the hook and winch up whatever needs to be hauled up a floor or three, taking it in through the windows. If it's going up there, that's the only way it's going to happen.

The sky hook doesn't look bad at all. We never got to see one in use, though.

I went to four different free online translation programs to figure out what this sign says. I just knew it would be profound. I think it probably is, and I have a fairly accurate translation, but maybe somebody can clean it up for me a bit? It seems to say something to the effect of, "Those who give in to tyranny will lose not only their life and property, but their light as well."

It took several days, but we finally did find the I amsterdam sign. I got John to pose at each end. There were people climbing all over it, and many of them were making rude gestures, so I used a little judicious cutting. If you only knew how hard it could be to get John to pose for a photo. You'll notice he isn't smiling in any of them, I don't think. He looks pleasant, but he's not thrilled. Just tolerant.

What a guy. What a city. What a trip!

Happy Birthday, America

I always offer one piece of advice before the 4th of July. I realize that most of my friends don't really need to hear this, and will just take it for the humor value. However, it is an important message:

Don't go out on the fourth with a fifth, or you might not be around to go forth on the fifth.

Someone sent me this little video, asking that I share it for the 4th of July, and I thought this would be the best way to do that. I loved it. Thanks, Sherman.

We're still deciding what to do on the Fourth of July. Since that's tomorrow, we don't have a lot of time left to decide. Let me explain how these decisions are made in our house. I explain to John about a week or so early what I want. He thinks about it for a week or so and then, at the last minute, tells me what we're actually going to do.

The last two years we have climbed the hill behind us, up the ridge behind our neighbor Doug's house. From there we can watch the tiny firework displays spring up in about eight or ten tiny little towns spread out on the plains and valleys beneath the foothills where we live. It's pretty cool. You can't hear them, and they're very far away, but there's no traffic. When they're done, you just climb down the hill and you're home. I understand John's appreciation of the ease of it. He's also not an overly social person, so I know he's more comfortable without the crowds of strangers.

However—and to me this is a big however—it's been about seven years since he's taken me to see them in person anywhere. In fact, it's been longer than that since he's done it. I went with someone some of the kids about six or seven years ago. I like to sit close enough to feel the booms and smell the sulphur. I want to hear the crowd go "ooh" and "aah" around me. I've learned that I don't have to have this every year, but I guess I need it occasionally. This year I've been pretty upset about the political situation, and maybe that's why I need it.

So tomorrow I'll stand around and ask, looking hopeful. I do have a trump card. I can always offer to drive myself. He hates that.

No, He Doesn't Need His Hearing Aids

"Are you going to bed, honey?"

"No, dear, I'm going to bed."

Did that make sense, I wondered? 

"Do you want some ice cream first?"

"That's probably a good idea," he called in to me. "Just don't make it too hot."

I looked toward the door, where I could see him pulling off his shirt. I wondered if I'd ever made his ice cream too hot. Then I wondered what he thought I had said. I went in to find out. I went to the door and watched him for a minute.

"Was it too hot last time?"

"Yeah. Just put some extra water in it this time. And give me the nighttime kind. Do we have the berry flavor?"

Now I figured it out. He's been coughing.

"Theraflu nighttime?"

"Yeah. That's it."

"Okay. Coming right up."

So it's not ice cream. It doesn't sound much like ice cream. He doesn't want to admit that he can't hear without his hearing aids. I don't hear as clearly as I used to anymore either, but I don't own hearing aids. I just say "huh?" a lot. Maybe I'll steal his and have them re-calibrated for myself. Then I suppose he'll want them back. After all, they're his. Meanwhile, he'll get what he thinks I said instead of dessert. 

Excuse me. I'm going to have some ice cream.

Inconsistencies

I've always had a strange sense of humor. Here's what I ended up laughing about today, and I'm requesting similar stories from the lives of my friends and readers. I know we all have to have things like this in our lives. 

My husband will not put a new roll of toilet paper on the holder. If there are four squares left, he'll use three of them and leave one for me. I'm used to that. It doesn't even make me mad anymore. I just think it's strange, since you don't actually need to move to change the roll. It's right there in a nice little dispenser. It takes five seconds. 

In the kitchen, however, is a paper towel dispenser. When it runs out, the new paper towel rolls are stored all the way out in the garage on a high shelf. John rarely uses the paper towels. I do. When I run out of paper towels, I'm usually busy. If I don't run out to the garage immediately, John does it. In fact, if he sees that there are just a couple of towels left on the roll, he'll run out and replace it, carefully folding the towels from the old empty roll and putting them on the counter. Is that all logical? 

So what strange and inconsistent funny stories are you willing to share?

How Sweet It Is

Having been told to call the Apple Store at eleven o'clock today to see if any of the Mac Pro notebooks had come in, I was fairly proud of myself for holding off until ten thirty. Within five minutes I was racing down the stairs. Mom would have been amazed that I didn't kill myself, I was going so fast. I knocked on John's office door, yelling, "They're in, honey. They're putting our name on one of the boxes!" He swiveled his chair around and gazed at me blankly. "Huh?"

So I guess he wasn't quite as single-minded in watching the clock and thinking about his decision to buy me that computer as I was. Once he figured out what I was talking about, however, he was really great about getting his radios and computer shut down and heading out to the car for the hour plus drive to the Apple Store in Broomfield. 

Getting a new computer was always exciting, but it was also a chore, since it took a couple of days to get everything ported over and all the settings fixed the way you want. Then software would have to be reinstalled, passwords reentered. Drivers downloaded and set up. So much to do. When Apple introduced the Time Machine, though, things changed. I never think about backups, but always have one now. I just have a drive that sits quietly on the desk, and every once in awhile, the time machine feature automatically sends all my changes to the drive. If I've done a lot of work, I'll just go into my menu bar and select the "Backup Now" option. If anything ever goes wrong on your computer, it really comes in handy. That's the purpose. 

Even better, though, is when you get a new computer and find out that you can get it all set up, just the way you like it, software and settings, passwords and drivers and everything, in about fifteen minutes, just by selecting "Migrate from Time Machine" when it first turns on. So cool. I spent that fifteen minutes peeling potatoes and carrots for dinner. That, of course, made John happy. It also gave some company to the corned beef and cabbage in the pot.

Writing my blog entry is my first real task on the new computer. It's sure easier to be able to see, since I can get closer to the screen. Thank you, John. There will be chicken tacos for you tomorrow night.

Television Incompatibility

How many television stations do we really need? If you ask John, he'd tell you that he can't live without the NASA channel, the Military channel, or the Western channel. I could. It's alright, though. I have an iPod with really good headphones. He also would have trouble living without whatever stations carry Numbers, Bones, and House. We also depend on Fox News and the Weather Channel.

Me? When I'm working on knitting, I like to have the Game Show Network running in the background. I can ignore it during difficult stitch counting or pattern-following areas without missing anything, but enjoy answering the questions when I'm just doing straight work. If I'm wanting to be entertained, I tend to gravitate toward the Food Network or Discovery channels. I also enjoy the singing and dancing shows, where I can argue with the choices made by the judges. Yes, I watch American Idol and Dancing with the Stars. I even vote, although that's difficult. 

Why is it difficult for me to vote? We have Voice Over IP. That means our phone isn't a typical land line. It goes through the computer's internet router. Since we had our California phone number for over 30 years, we kept that and added a Colorado number to it. Both numbers ring at the same typical telephone. You can't tell the difference if you're in the house. It acts like a normal phone. When we call out, however, it always looks like we're calling from California, since AT&T refuse to let us reverse the order of our numbers, making the Colorado number primary. None of their competitors will let us have two numbers yet—we checked—so we're stuck with this. So if I vote, I have to wait for California's show to end. They start two hours later than we do, since we get Central Time TV programming, even though we're really in the Mountain Time Zone. 

Here's why it all works for us. John and I both get up between five and six in the morning. That's where the similarity to our sleeping pattern ends. He goes to bed about seven at night. I follow him about four or five hours later. If I lie down more than six hours at a time, my back tends to go into spasm. It can hurt for a long time. I'm not fond of pain medication—or pain, for that matter. I've worked a system where I sleep about five or six hours at night, and take a couple of hours to nap in the afternoon, usually between one and four o'clock somewhere. I lie down and listen to an audiobook until I fall asleep. Sometimes it takes awhile, but not usually. Then I'm ready for the night.

John spends the mornings in his radio room,  has the afternoon for his shoot 'em ups, and after dinner he heads off to bed pretty quickly. That's when I can indulge myself in reality TV if I want to. I thought Top Chef ended nicely. 

He Makes My Life Easier

Too many accidents have led to arthritis and constant back pain. Some of the everyday tasks in the kitchen tend to aggravate the muscles of the back, and can have consequences that last hours, if not days. One of the most annoying of these is sautéing ground beef. There's something in the motion that feels like it's ripping me apart by the time I'm done.

For most of our married life, I did anything I could to avoid cooking anything that used cooked ground beef. We didn't have spaghetti as often as my family would have liked, even though it was one of my better recipes. If you think about it, if you cut out the cooked ground meat, there go your tacos, burritos, taco salads, chili, and more than a score of other tasty and inexpensive meals.

Just before John retired, I had so many "helpful" friends tell me I wouldn't like what I was going to get. They said I'd have half the money and twice the man, including whatever problems we had together. Well, the half the money would be true if we still lived in California, but since we paid off all our bills before moving to the more affordable State of Colorado, our money goes further than what we were getting while he was working. As for having twice as much of him, that's been a blessing. Yes, I'm gradually working my way back to the ground beef.

One of the ways he makes my life easier is to take that job away from me. We buy ground beef from our local Sams Club. I get about six pounds at a time, and he puts it in our biggest skillet. He sautés it so beautifully that every grain is separate and equal. It's almost democratic. It's perfectly seasoned with salt and a little onion powder. Once it's drained and cooled, I waltz in and use the vacuum sealer he bought me. I separate it into airtight single meal bags, labeled and dated, and stick them in the freezer. When I want to make something using ground beef, I just pull one out of the freezer.

If you asked John, I'll bet he'd say it was no big deal. He figures he's just making a contribution to my feeding him. Actually, though, I know that he never complains, no matter what I serve. He does it for me. And you know what? It's just one of many things he says and does to make me forever grateful that he's home with me, and not still having to head out to work every day. If you're facing retirement, don't fear the "half the money, twice the husband" scenario. It just might turn out to be full of blessings and surprises.

My Valentine

We've never really celebrated Valentine's Day. Don't get me wrong. I always buy a nice card for John, and a little gift of some kind, but that's as far as it ever goes. It doesn't really show up on our radar beyond that. It's never bothered me, because as a kid, Valentine's Day was the worst holiday on the books.

Being the new kid in class was traumatic if you arrived just before Valentine's Day. Back when I was young, it seems like every teacher would have the kids bring Valentines with names on them, and everyone would have a little bag on their desk. Kids would go around and put the cards in the bags. If they didn't know the new kid, usually me, then the new kid didn't get a card. It wasn't unusual for me to leave my class of 30 to 35 kids with only two to three Valentines in my bag. It was a mighty ugly feeling. Because of that, I got used to being a Valentine giver, not a receiver.

Last night I was sitting in my chair watching an old black and white movie, "Topper," on television while I worked on knitting the cabled sweater vest for my mom. John came in and stood there watching me. I paused the movie and the knitting needles. 

"What do you want to do for Valentines Day?" he asked. Obviously I was surprised. We never do anything. 

"Do?" I asked.

"Yes. Let's go out to lunch or something."

And that's what we did. We had a late lunch at the Cracker Barrel before going to church. It was really nice. I felt very special, and let him know how happy I am, living my life with him. These days, that man is just full of surprises.

When Your Husband Travels

My daughter in law's sister wrote a blog recently about how things go wrong whenever her husband leaves on a business trip. It seems that every time he takes off, her children get sick. Normally I detest anything that reeks of one-upmanship, but it reminded me of a story from my younger married days, and I couldn't resist. Marrianne, this one's for you.

Working in telemetry on the missile program for the Department of Defense, you could loosely call my husband a rocket scientist. He flew all over the place, leaving me at home with the three boys frequently. Since there were nearly four years between each of our sons, it was normally chaotic, with each of them needing something different from the only parent available. During their school years, they were usually at three separate schools, three separate ball fields. I used to joke that I needed to have either an out of body experience or an out of mind experience. 

The most devastating of John's business trips for me, emotionally, came on one of his flights to a missile base in Hawaii. John woke up early and took the bus to Los Angeles International Airport. From there he was to catch his flight to Hawaii. John is not a really talkative man. Back then he was downright silent. He'd be gone for a couple of weeks, and during that time, we'd never hear from him. This was before cell phones. 

As it happened, John arrived at LAX early and managed to catch an early flight.  He didn't bother to inform the base that he wasn't on his scheduled flight, nor did he let me know. He just saw an opportunity to leave early and took it. Upon landing, he took an inter-island flight to Kauai, where he rented a car and checked in at his hotel, pleased to discover he had enough time to take a couple hours nap before reporting for duty at the missile test site. Consequently, he wasn't aware that the plane he was scheduled to arrive on had crashed while landing and not everyone survived. People were looking for him.

I heard about the crash on television. Knowing it was his plane, I called the base. They couldn't tell me anything. His name was not on the list of survivors. We all sat by the phones for about three hours. I was hysterical, crying and praying. John finally woke up, shaved and got into his rental car. Upon arriving at the test site, he caused quite a stir. They had him call the base, and then me. What did I do? Well, I yelled at him, of course!

That was the last trip John ever took without calling to let me know he had arrived safely.