Went To A Garden Party

For me, music and beer, thoughts of Mom's retirement party from long ago, and then, meeting new people. The Dad originally from Ovid, now Romulus, and the son with a Detroit Lions shirt on - which is what got me talking to them - not a player but in a position with the team in marketing and tickets. Lots of people and places the dad and I both knew and good talk of football with the son. 

Taughannock Farms, Grateful Dead, my youth, and football and new acquaintances all mixed in together. 

A Great Garden Party

Just Tired

Just. Too many men use just to tell women what they should do .... as in this morning, even as I was doing that exact thing they were suggesting. Geez! (And yes, reading a reddit site today trying to see if others feel the same as I do about the word, a few tried to say it wasn't necessarily tied to gender - wrong, at least to this woman's experience.)* 

Tired of Just

* On a side note, past the gender thread was this guy confusing 'spreading and 'splaining. Why do I think this guy probably mansplains?

Reading

This is me, often. I try to follow the trail of denials, stays, and all the other law terms, while also the threads of negative or positive on negatives, and sometimes make it through, but like this one, I give up. 

Reading, I can do. Comprehension?

Has Never Been So Hard

America

July 4th, 2026, a day of celebration for some; 

                             a day of mourning for others. 

250 years. 

              

What will the next 50 years bring?

What Are You?

I Say "You Bet!"

Even though my go-to color is now black, I love a bit of color. My sneakers, my RED clogs, they make me feel young and happy. I don't need an article to tell me that, but hey, it hit me when it mentioned mugs, yes, mugs. What I have my coffee in in the morning matters to me, as does the plate I eat dinner on (we have a variety of Corelle dinner plates.) I have my favorites. Why shouldn't I enjoy the color and artwork I want?

The little things in life make meaning in my life, and I like joy wherever I can find it!

Splash It Up!

Summertime

 

The first draft.

Homework

Natural Chimneys Park, VA: The Creek

The old swimmin' hole: where festival goers go to cool off. 

Not this year.

Dry. 

The People We Meet

Another festival, another wonderful chance to connect: Jeremy, PJ (So much discussed in a 3 minute ride!), Michael (Wife of Jeremy), Margo, Phylis, and Joyce; all shuttle drivers willing to chat.

Neighbors: Daryl and Karen; easygoing, open and friendly, in short perfect!

But the best? A woman who sat down next to me at the tent and started talking. I wanted a break but Karen was a talker. An incredible woman who was here alone, happy, knowledgable, and inquisitive. Better than the quiet I thought I wanted was the luck of meeting a wonderful woman who reminds many who meet her, I bet, that our lives are what we focus on, not what we don't have but all we have and can do. 

Karen, a person who reminds us to love life. 

Red Wing Roots, '26

Just Saying

I've lived it. Not the word of the day, but the idea that we women have always, and continue, to take care of men and put them first...often without even realizing it, or realizing it and then thinking, "Well, I'm just being kind and caring." 

Or, better put, I have lived the word, trying to not just go on autopilot but to think why I do what I do and should I be doing it differently. Sometimes I adjust and sometimes I slide.

With each generation (I can hope) this gets better. Not through Tiktok but through understanding how much men's needs and care are paramount in our culture, yes, still today. I know I've improved from my parents' aged people, and so too the people younger are continuing to break this bias. But it's still there.

Women need to be taking care of themselves and other peers too, not just the man. Respect of who needs what is the key. This ingrained drivel is wrong. Gender care should be changed to human care. It's so hard to break, I know, but with knowledge, it will be done. 

I'm Working At It

Channeling (Poorly)*

There is that step 

where Biggie sprawls.

It's neither up

it's neither down.

But halfway down

or halfway up,

he owns them all.

AA Milne

*A book my sister had 

when I was growing up, 

a book of poems 

by AA Milne. 

Pink it was.

And this is the only poem

that stayed.

Funny what lasts

 with us.

What Do You See?

On the floor yesterday doing my exercises, I saw I wasn't alone. Staring back at me was a gibbon. 

Once Seen, Hard to Lose.  

Math.True

 

Terribly True 

Message In a Bottle?

No, but still, a step out of my life into someone else's. 

At Aldi's parking lot I'd gotten a call from a loved one. Couldn't miss it but didn't want to sit in the car or go in the store. Instead I went walking the perimeter hoping for some treasure. No money did I find, but a neat, concise grocery list. Pippi, I think, would have been pleased.

Dinner? Special one? Usual one? A date? A solitary meal? Who knows but I took a minute to enjoy wondering.

Message in the Grass

Here and Now

Live a balanced life. 

Learn some and think some, 

draw and paint and sing and dance

play and work every day some.

                            ~ Robert Fulghum

Four days  

with the senior classes 

I was subbing in. 

A bit of work

a bit of relaxing.

Beautiful weather. 

Nice students. 

But now.

Summer Vacation

Humor

I've been on the receiving end of many eye rolls, and they sure could set me up for buying into them and then getting angry at the perceived slight. 

I think I like this poster found at the high school because it turns it around and makes it funny. 

A Good Defense

Personal and Historical

Coming back from a visit to family, the hotel in Erie, PA, was next door to the Maritime Museum. Before leaving for home, it was a short walk to boats, memories and the War of 1812.

In the first room, three memories. The first being the fun our friend group has had with one who believes in Big Foot. The legend of Erie lake, though, was of a dragon. Having been saved from ruin, the figurehead, of a boat that the owner had commissioned, was on display. I laughed, thinking of my friend. 

That same friend was the builder and owner of a 42 foot trimaran that began in an Owego farm field, moved to Cayuga lake to our dock, until it took its final trip, at least with us, to land the boat in its new home, Chicago. Four of us went, traveling the canals to get to the lakes. Seeing maps reminded me of our travels and the fun we had. It took three weeks of no winds, flies, and lots of motoring to dock it and leave it, while, of course, taking our memories and stories with us.  

Turning, I ran into another time in my life. Having bought a lake house, a friend and I decided we needed, not a sailboat, but a fishing boat, one for me to row and he to fish from. Putting an ad on Craig's List, we were called and went to look. The wife, trying to sell the boat, came out and said that there was another buyer on the line....we looked at the husband and he at us. How could there be another buyer? We laugh still at that morning. While this boat at the museum looks so much better than ours, we sure enjoyed it until a flood took it away. 

In one of the final rooms I went it, there was the history of the War of 1812. Interestingly enough, we'd learned a bit about that war on our trip back in '90. Stopping at Put In Bay, a tower was there built for the war, the third tallest structure in the United States in its time. Here at the museum, it was more on the ships that fought and the people who commanded them. Two notable quotes took on their context for me. For one, there was a replica of a banner made during the war, of a famous quote, "Don't Give Up the Ship," but also in reading about the war, there was another, "We have seen the enemy and they are ours." 

My partner at the museum is a sailor so while he took in so much more, I was content to go down memory lane while once again learning bits about a war that is all but forgotten, while its words are not. 

Reminiscing at the Museum 

Ps. I would be remiss not to mention how much fun I had visiting family: gardening, basketball, dinners out and speed finishing a puzzle, it was a relaxing, wonderful time. Driving, we also had fun finding places we like to visit. The museum, but taverns too. 

Finding one right on the water, we enjoyed sitting at the bar and talking with the bartenders. Behind me, I found this sign. And, while it is certainly more true than not, it made me recall a funny story of a colleague's time out at a bar that did start with a salad. 

My friend, being pretty drunk that night, came into a bar before that year's Super Bowl was to start. Seeing a man eating, yes, a salad, she walked over and well, told him that one just shouldn't do that on Super Bowl Sunday; chicken wings and fries yes, but salads? No. 

I wasn't there but I still laugh when I think of the assuredness and exuberance that was used on the poor guy being assaulted... for eating a salad. 

In Youth, In Age

Reading a New Yorker article about the history of patriotism was both sad and enlightening. Sad for where we've been and where we are again, but enlightening with the history line of the definition of the idea of patriotism in the world and in America. 

The first paragraph connected with its description of the author's youth, which mirrored mine. Coming from a small town and only five years younger than the author, I could relate. One Black family lived in our town, with two kids younger than me, and the only immigrant, Herman, being from Norway and coming to us in second grade, was able to integrate easily, especially with his ability to teach us swear words in a new language. 

By high school, I was a bit more knowledgeable about the world but nothing like today's youth. Debating mixed marriages (for) and writing about Vietnam (against) made me think I was worldly. Believing Blacks were all decent people who had been wronged, I went to college believing I knew what was what. It was only when I started working at the snack bar there and seeing the Black players on the basketball team, budging in line that I came to a more nuanced thought, duh - there were entitled humans of all colors. 

When I started teaching, I wanted a wider view of the world for my students, so the poetry unit had Emerson (white and elitist), Dickinson (white woman), Langston Hughes (Black man) and Carl Sandburg (white and of the people, from the bread basket land of America). I know. Not much, but me, coming from a small town, and not really having thought of myself as an English major, yet now a teacher of English, I was doing my best.

Over the years I became more and more liberal. Always angry at the place of women in a man's world and over of the African-Americans's waves of violence against them, I also came to understand the white man's history we'd been taught was certainly not how the native Americans and Blacks saw white Americans. As for immigrants, I was taught that America was the melting pot of the world, and that, that I have hung on to. How that idea has been turned on its head, well, it has, so sadly. 

With Trump, unfortunately, I came to reject so much that was a part of my childhood, the pledge of Allegiance, the waving of the flag, the belief in government. (Too) often I hear myself blaming "old white men and the women who love them," going so far as saying they must die, oh, not by murder but by the dying out of a generation so their beliefs can die with them. 

I guess I could look at that idea as a positive thought, that the ills of our society could die out with the old, but will they, though? Again, sad to say, not now, not in the time of the Trump. He has brought out, and allowed to grow, the worst of what America has been and still is. 

I fly the Juneteenth flag, rejecting the flag that Trump has hugged and kissed, even while knowing it was that flag that my mother and father gave their youth to fighting and serving in WWII. I also made a sign at the beginning of Trump's second term and put it at the road begging us to be better, and I will keep both until we have righted ourselves. 

Do I love America? Not now, not while we allow the government to do so much damage here at home and abroad. Am I patriotic? In my own way, you bet. America was founded on ideals that we haven't met fully, but they're still there. 

I hope.

Looking Ahead

Almost finished with subbing for the year,

I saw this in a classroom yesterday. 

To Summer 

Wish Dish or Real Deal?

 

You Make the Call

Taken from The Week, Today's Best Cartoons, 5/29

Wow

To live content with small means; 

       to seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion; 

               to be worthy, not respectable, and wealthy, not rich; 

                       to listen to stars and birds, babes and sages, with open heart; 

                               to study hard; to think quietly, act frankly, talk gently, await occasions, hurry never; 

in a word, 

       to let the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious, grow up through the common 

   -- this is my symphony.            

                                  ~ William Henry Channing                                                                                                                                     

On my A.Word.A.Day this morning. Said so much better than I ever could, and parts perhaps beyond my capabilities - Refinement? Talk gently? Hurry never? Some would be hard put to put such words and thoughts to me. 

But isn't that life? I can work to be better.

I Can Strive

 

Put It Down

Visiting family, I'm up at my normal time, 5:30, usually in solitude,  but this morning sharing my space with another, one who gets up as early as I do while the rest of the house sleeps on. We've done it before, quietly reading, each to our own. 

Unfortunately for him, while wonderful for me, I've started a new book that has made me, first, smile, which next turned into a chuckle til finally I had to laugh aloud. With the morning ambiance, though, that almost seems wrong.

I've walked away, for now, having met the characters and been given the premise. First, a man who teaches geography to teenagers whose wife has left him and whose solution to his loneliness at his empty home is to take walks, weekend hikes, which turns his loneliness to solitude (love that: loneliness to solitude). Then there's a woman, a proofreader and editor of books who lives alone, seldom socializing, who has, over the years, lost her friends, while still making excuses to bow out of invites from her one remaining. Finally, Cleo, the deputy head of the school where Michael works and the lone friend of Marnie. She worries about both. The hike is her idea. Seven people in all will be going. 

They will be doing what I've dreamed of - taking a long hike in Europe, this one going across Northern England. And, just as I've wanted to do, stopping at places along the way to overnight. (No carting around all that equipment for me.) 

Can't wait to get started on their, and my, journey!

Pick It Up

 

The Book of Delights

I've been subbing in a high school English classroom for three days. Today is my last one, for a while. I'll be back the beginning of June for another 4 day gig, an easy gig, just time consuming, but not stressful. Being juniors and seniors, they know to look on subs as people to see, perhaps listen to for the five minutes it takes to do attendance and directions, and then go their merry way. They'll either work or not. Good by me. I'm a believer in letting high schoolers make their way. 

I've been working for this teacher since I began twelve years ago. He was first at one middle school, then the other, and finally here at the high school. His rapport with the students has always been excellent, his directions clear and his tips helpful. When I am subbing in the back of the room, for his push-in teacher, I walk away wanting to be a student in his class. The assignments pique, with multiple options I'd be happy doing, wanting to do them all. 

Art by Danae Pancini

The assignments for these days? First there was one highlighting a song from an album of their choice. That was due Friday. From the few handed in on paper (many done on the computer. He is good about giving choices that way, too), I asked and was granted permission to use the one here. 

 

This week's assignment will be a series of short writings on a booklet of essays from The Book of Delights. Today's is to write on something you find delightful. Mine? Asking to use and then connecting to the student who made the poster. I shared my blog and explained why I wanted to use hers and she shared, once she knew I liked historical fiction, the book she is reading. I have added it to my list. 

I try daily, and usually find, delights daily. In nature, in my cats, in friends and family, in the books that I read and the articles that push me to think, I work to find the good. Sometimes, yes, like the last couple of days, I struggle. I ruminate on not the good but the stresses and strains of life. I have come to know myself well enough, though, that if I sit and think, I will come out of my funk, realigning and centering myself once again. 

Nothing has changed... but my focus, returning to the positive. 

Life Is Good

Another Day

The night before, dinner

  a sake glass as souvenir

  (still drinking after all these years) 

A kiss in the morning

      cats near  

            a New Yorker in hand 

and a box to open. 

I celebrate my 70th. 

Texts and cards 

        from friends and family 

                   near and far

Volleyball and dinner.

What is today      

       is tomorrow, 

            is every week 

Family and friends

    making memories

                  with talk,

                         laughter

                         fun.

A life lived worth living.

 

Just Another Wonderful Day

Surprise!

Bought it at Home Depot for $32 with tax. So much better than $260. He's moving in on Friday. Can't wait!

Who Is It?

What a Guy

Coming home from another great week of Skunkfest music, we stopped, had to stop, per our hosts, at a Buc-ees, one of a chain of gas stations that are HUGE. I'd been told that they've turned into destination stops. I've managed to miss them, but this time, needing gas and not too busy (What?!?! So many people everywhere!), we did. Me? I was worried I'd get lost - so big and overstimulating for me - that I followed my friend to the bathroom, all the while flipping out at the immensity of it.

But, what did I find? This! A donkey, a happy donkey that I'd love to wake to every morning. And, alas, while for sale, I didn't purchase it. Snapping a photo when leaving, and now looking at it this morning, maybe I should have. Such a joyful, inquisitive guy!

Missed My Opportunity

A Statue

 

A Banksy work set up in London this week, but really could be almost anywhere, right? Certainly here in the not-so-good ole USA. Up in a night, it is an honest look at politics. Blindly stepping off the edge, following blindly the leader of choice. Awful.

The World Today

Ping Pong

Once my sisters were gone, my father and I would, sometimes, after dinner, work on his schemes for picking horses (I would read him the pertinent information from past performances while he filled in his charts) or play Tip It or ping pong. We'd play in the basement. After a number of games we'd head back up to the living room to watch tv. I've always felt lucky to have had these times with him

I'd also play ping pong with the neighbors, guys, one my age and one a year older. We played a lot. Like our chess or card playing, we'd play all afternoon. A summer's day, the  basement (at either house) was a good place to be. They also had a pool table where I'd work at honing my skills in bank shots. 

They were good at ping pong; I was too. I remember it being fairly even games, although they did have more strength and power behind their hits. I learned, when those hits were coming, to put my paddle in its best spot for a rebound. Believe it or not, that worked as much as it didn't. Oh, I didn't win as much as they did, but they were competitive games.

At school I could play with some of the best. It was one of the only units where gym classes could be mixed more than not - not like today where all are (so jealous). Ping pong and badminton, I guess, were considered nonthreatening enough sports that girl, me especially could put myself against the guys and stay in the game. Of course, the bigger the guys, the tougher it got but I liked the competition. I might not have won, but I was a decent opponent.

Who knew that all those days of playing ping pong would/could spot me a leg up in aging? At least, that's what I read yesterday in the personal history writing I read in my morning New Yorker time. Sure, it was only one person's opinion with no science behind it, but I'll go with it, and I'll go with the incredible writing the quote was in. The article, remembrances of the author's life, one of a number he has written for New Yorker, was a treat. To write like this man! Wouldn't I wish.

Yesterday, and probably every time I read his work, I wish I hadn't. The novels Anne of Green Gables and To Kill a Mockingbird, to name a couple, and yesterday's article are so good, that to read them is to know I can never read them again for the first time, and that's sad. 

I despair not, though. Looking for how old John McPhee is (95), I was directed to his work in the magazine. Bookmarked, I have a list of writings I have read since starting the magazine in 2016 but also ones from before that I've never read. My days of firsts are still ahead of me!

Remembrances Revisited