My sick friend

My ailing friend SK called last evening for a ride to the Urgent Care Clinic. She has "walking pneumonia" and it had progressed to where she couldn't breathe. After a trip to the clinic, she was referred to the ER at Regions Hospital for a lung xray and respiratory therapy.

The ER is not a jolly place to hang out during cold and flu season. It was full of sick people. They were coughing and hawking and barfing... I buried myself in a National Geographic article about Neanderthals. (I learned that it's now thought they had red hair and hazel eyes, and that one reason they died out is because they required twice as many calories as modern humans.)

They gave SK more antibiotics and more medications to sustain her. Thankfully, she was feeling much better by the time we left at 9:30. By then, we were both starving and went back to my place for matzo ball soup which really hit the spot.

As I was driving her home, she said a real nice thing to me, "Thanks so much for taking me in and I hope I never have to return the favor."

Hear-Hear!

Chicken soup for the putz's soul

I started out to write a post about everybody being sick. It was titled "Tis the season for chicken soup". Then I decided to cleverly illustrate it with a bowl of chicken soup. So I went into Yahoo Images to check out some pictures and I got sidetracked into all the Chicken Soup for the (whatever) Soul books that have been published.

There are well over 100 of them--for everyone from Canadians to Hawaiians, and NASCAR fans to cancer survivors. But, I couldn't find even one book for the sick person.

Anyway, I forgot to save my original post and the text was lost and I had to start over. Now, why isn't there a Chicken Soup book for putzes?

A big GET WELL SOON wish to all my sick friends and relatives.

Here's that bowl of chicken soup.

Sparrow seeks warm home for cold cat

I've mentioned before that I've been feeding a feral cat for several months. It first appeared when I was putting out food for the opossums back in November. It wouldn't come close enough that I could even tell what it looked like.

As the temperatures fell--sometimes to more than 20 below--the kitty found it could always count on me for a hot meal. Gradually, the small, long-haired black and brown cat with big golden eyes would come and sit just outside the patio door in the cold to watch as I hurried to fix a dish of food.

The kitty has become increasingly friendly recently. This may be because the temperatures have gone up above freezing. Last night, after eating its food, it hung around. I opened the door and put my hand out to pet it. As I did, I could feel all the cockle burrs imbedded in its fur. The tail is almost naked from all the cockle burrs being pulled out. I reached down to feel its tiny paws and I discovered the kitty is declawed! I also got the impression that she's a female, not a tomcat as I assumed.

Since she is declawed, she is almost certainly spayed. From the way she reveled in being petted, she is most certainly socialized and not feral. This little girl needs to come in out of the cold and find a home!

My three cats have made it quite clear that they will not allow this stranger into their domain. So, I have to find a kind way to get the kitty from my patio to a safe place where it can be groomed and checked out by a vet. After the hellish winter she has survived so far, she deserves to have a good home and be pampered for the rest of her life.

I'm talking to several neighbors about taking her. One way or another, she's going to get out of the cold as soon as possible.

Summer 1950

I often wonder how so many women accomplish so much. They hold fulltime jobs, read copiously and blog thoughtfully, all the while running a household and raising children.

My mom never had a job when I was growing up in the 40's and 50's. But then, just doing the family laundry was a job-and-a-half! Listen to this, all you sweet young things (under 59).

We lived on an old farmplace with no plumbing. There was a hand pump at the kitchen sink with a "slop bucket" underneath. We would pump hard water into a big, crusty old Everware steam kettle to heat water for doing dishes, cooking or washing up and dump the water down the drain. If we were inattentive, the bucket hidden under the sink would run over and create an emergency-not funny when you're getting ready for church on Sunday morning!

Anyway, on Monday the first thing was to bring in the soft water for washing clothes. There was an open cistern holding rain water beside the back porch. It was the designated job of us four kids to take the cover off the cistern and lower a bucket on a rope down into the depths and pull up the water. Sometimes we'd bring up frogs which was fun. The water was carried into the kitchen where Mom had positioned a huge oval galvanized tub over two stove burners to heat the water.

Mom would then pull the wringer washing machine into the kitchen from the back porch and line it up with the double washer tubs on wheels. We'd have to bring in more buckets of water to fill the rinse tubs. Next we'd gather all the dirty clothes and bring them to the kitchen to be sorted into piles all over the floor.

Mom dipped hot water from the tub on the stove into the washing machine, added the clothes (always the whites in the first load) and Oxydol detergent. The gyrator was turned on and the lid lowered to help keep the water warm as long as possible.

When the timer rang, the wringer arm was swung into position and the whites were wrung through into the first rinse tub. The next load went into the washer and the first load was put through the second rinse, and then into the laundry basket. The wet clothes were taken out to the clothes line where they would hang until they dried. If it was a breezy day, they would dry fast enough that some could be taken down before the final load was done.

It was late afternoon before everything was done. Then we had to carry all the wash water and rinse water to dump outside, put the washer and tubs away, clean up the kitchen, bring in the dry laundry and get supper started. No wonder Mom was always tired!

We lived in that old farm house for only one summer. But it was a really old house, so some poor woman lived there and did laundry for many summers and winters. Bless her heart.

So all you sweet young things (under 59) go give your automatic washer a great big hug!

Viva la thrift stores!

There are blogs that I read regularly for their "newsiness", some for inspiration and others are day brighteners. So, I thought to myself, I should write a day brightener! Here goes:

According to various news sources, Thrift Stores and Second-hand Stores are now THE place to shop. While retail stores are suffering poor sales, the thrift stores are booming.

I love thrift stores. They combine all the charm of an antique shop with the savings of a dollar store or close-out sale. Fortunately, there are a number of thrift stores in my "home territory" and I do much of my shopping/browsing in them.

The thrill of finding the right item at a ridiculously low price is the ultimate joy of shopping. I once lucked upon a shoulder high, carpeted cat tower for $15, like new. I later discovered it sold for almost $200. It has been well-loved by many cats since then.

There's also the fun of spotting an old glass or cup that's just like one you had as a kid. Or, maybe an old-fashioned pitcher like your grandma had. Sometimes you find a piece like one you inherited and stored away; you check the price and feel good that it has value.

You may also find a replacement item. It's really rewarding to find a lid to a pot or tupperware bowl that has been long lost. There's a sense that some sort of balance has been restored to your personal universe.

So, get out and shop, folks. May it brighten your day!

I really do have a human face

I really wanted to have a picture to post on my profile by now. I got an inexpensive digital camera and printer a while back. I truly thought that I might, at long last, be able to take respectable pictures. You know, pictures that you can show people without apologizing for the odd angle or poor light, or the fuzzy ones you snapped a second too soon or too late.

But the camera hates me, just like every other camera I've ever known. I fumble with the buttons and the darn thing senses my insecurity. It sneers as it plays evil tricks on me and chuckles to itself inside its smug, compact little shell. Photosmart indeed!

My daughter majored in photography for a year and thus became the family photog, and wimp that I am, I was happy to relinquish that role. She always takes wonderful pictures and shares them with everyone to I shouldn't complain.

Its just that I have always had a yearning to be really good at something. Much as I love writing, I have come to realize that I'm merely OK at it. I'm an average singer, never could dance, I'm a great follower but not much of a leader. I'm not artistic or crafty or musical--that dang camera senses all of that; it snubs me.

And, that's why I still don't have a picture to post. (I will keep trying though.)

Another calendar page

I turned the page on my cat calendar today. A gray and white kitten is washing its face while sitting on a window sill. There is absolutely nothing more charming and lovable to me than a kitten.

I sometimes wonder what it is in each of us that finds certain things appealing to the exclusion of others. Some people are nuts about flowers, and while I find them attractive, they are more or less just wallpaper. I have known women who were crazy about jewelry or shoes, and I can't help but wonder why. I have very few items of either.

Calendars, however, are a passion of mine. I can never pass a display of calendars without checking them all out. I buy calendars for everyone I know at Christmas and several for myself.I save all my old calendars because I can't bear to throw them away. Calendar art is something to be preserved.

For instance, several of my past calendars have been the artwork of Bev Doolittle. When I was still working downtown, I used to go over to a nearby art gallery that sold her paintings and visit them. Bev's outdoorsy works are full of marvelous hidden things. I could never afford to buy a Bev Doolittle, but for the price of a calendar, I could enjoy her art all year long.