Traffic Stop

This story has been brewing in my mind, and I feel enough time has passed now, that the cop that stopped me may have forgotten all about it.

The day started out with breakfast at IHOP in Palm Springs. We had our usual, sharing a vegetarian omelet, and fruit instead of pancakes. Always watching the waistline, you know. We read the paper, Doug did the Jumble, and I, part of the crossword.

Coming out to the car, everything seemed fine, until we got in. It REEKED of skunk.....not the animal, but the scent that we've been smelling more and more around here since marijuana has been legalized in  California. We looked at each other, shocked. Our Prius' windows were all rolled up, and the car had been locked. Could someone have left a burning joint under our car? We immediately opened all the windows, turned the air conditioner on full blast, and drove along Hi-way 111 trying to air it out.
We were on our way anyway, to Trader Joe's in Cathedral City, and thought that would do the trick. Almost there, we noticed that the light on the dashboard that tells you it's time to get gas, was blinking. It actually started blinking yesterday. It's pretty embarrassing to think of running out of gas in a plug-in Prius, so we drove a little past Trader Joe's, and I pulled into an Arco station. After Doug finished pumping, washing the windows, and paying, I pulled over to a driveway to exit the gas station.

Hi-way 111 is a pretty busy street, and folks drive along at quite a clip, so after waiting awhile to turn left to go shopping, I gave up and turned right, so I could make a u-turn at the next corner. I scooted across the 3 lanes, and got into the left turn lane. When I looked up, I noticed a "No U-Turn" sign. While sitting waiting for the light to change, I noticed that there was a 7/11 on the corner. Thinking fast, as I turned, I decided to do something, that some of you may have done before..... Doug may have been surprised, as I turned left in to the 7/11 parking lot, since it wasn't in the plan. As I turned in, I said out loud, "Oh, let's go to 7/11", but I was about to then say, kind of laughing, "Oh never mind! We don't need anything here", and then I was going to go out the other end of the parking lot, thus performing a U-turn.

But actually, as I made the left turn in to the 7/11 parking lot, I saw lights on a patrol car following right behind me! I thought, what I consider now, to be quickly, and skidded in to a parking spot, bumping into the cement berm in front, making quite a loud noise. I then, conspiratorially looked at Doug, and said, "You really need a Coke Zero now, right?"
I saw the officer get out of his cruiser, and as I casually got out of my Prius and closed the door, I looked back toward the officer. He was walking toward me saying, "Are you feeling alright Ma'am?"
"Yes, I am officer," I said, "What's going on?"
"Well, I think you were driving rather erratically."
"You do?"
"Yes, well, you made an illegal turn in to this driveway."
I looked past him, over his shoulder to see what was so illegal about my turn. "Hmm, well, there's a double line out there, not a double-double line, right? I think it's okay to turn in to a driveway if it's only a double yellow line", I explained, looking straight into his eyes.
"Well not at this intersection, Ma'am, it's very busy".
"Well, that shouldn't make a difference though, should it?", I asked.
"Um, uh, I had to check to make sure you were okay, as I said before."
"I'm fine, sir. Thanks."
"Okay then", he said. "Drive carefully."
He turned to get back in his police car, and to turn off the red lights that were still flashing. I walked in to the 7/11 to get the planned can of Coke Zero.
As I entered the store, I noticed that the checker's back was facing a big window and I could see our car right outside. The people in her line were all chatting together and then smiled over at me as I walked toward the soda fridge. When it was my turn at the register, I commented to the girl, "I guess everyone saw me outside with the police officer. You must not get much business coming from Hi-way 111, if people can't turn left into your driveway."
She looked at me quizzically, and said, "Oh, no. They turn in that way all the time."
"Hmm", I thought.
When I went back out to the car, Doug said, "Do you know how lucky you are?"
"That did turn out pretty well, didn't it?", I said, proud of the way I had talked to the officer.
"No", he explained, "You were lucky you got out of the car, and didn't just roll down your window! Can you imagine what would have happened if he had leaned his head down and smelled this skunk?"
Eyes wide and feeling my face turn red, I very carefully backed out of the parking space, the low front bumper on the Prius, scraping once more on the berm, reminding me to "drive safely".

Irene Good Night

My husband just played the old song "Irene Good Night" on his keyboard, and it brought back a flood of memories.
I probably first heard it on the Lawrence Welk Show, or maybe my Grandma Cuneo or my Mom played it on the piano. My kids and I learned the first few lines when we had our cherry-headed Conure, Polly. We covered her cage with a king-sized pillowcase and wanted her to go to sleep, thinking there was a chance that she might get past her repertoire of "Hello" if we sang her a song. We made it a habit of singing "Irene Good Night" to her. She never did one "peep" of the song.

While working at the eye clinic at Kaiser Richmond, there was a favorite patient of mine who came in with her daughter every couple of months. Irene, with her metal cane clicking away, was pretty spry for about 92 years. She had a twinkle in her Irish eyes, and was probably pretty spunky back in her day, but now she was a little forgetful, and her mind wandered from her tasks, like reading the eye chart in the hall. Of course, she couldn't see it very well, so she probably got bored trying.

Since my mind connects words and phrases often to songs in my memory, when I first met Irene, I thought of that song. After finishing with the eye chart, she kept stopping on our walk to the exam room, to say something, or just to wonder what we were doing. When I said, "You know, Irene, your name reminds me of a song. Do you know which one?"
She said "Maybe".
"Well", I said winking, "sing it with me if you know it, and we can continue walking down the hall".
"Okay", she said.
I started in singing "Irene Good Night", as she smiled up at me. I shifted her chart into my left hand, offered her my right elbow, and we shuffled along together, arm-in-arm, without stopping, singing to each other,

 "Irene, good night. Irene, good night.
 Good night Irene, good night Irene,
 I'll see you in my dreams".

That was all of the song I ever knew, and Irene didn't seem to mind. She stepped up onto the blue exam chair and was ready to see her corneal specialist. He came in smiling, knowing this patient, and her attitude would give him joy, as usual.
Over the years, it was the habit of Irene's and mine, to happily sing our song down the aisle to her eye appointment.

Too soon, Irene's daughter came asking to see me in the eye clinic. She had tears in her eyes, and told me of her mom's passing. She wanted to ask me if I would consider coming to Irene's memorial service, which would be at her home.
I had never communicated with patients outside of the clinic, but told her I'd be happy to.

The next Saturday, I drove up to the address in the Bay Area hills, and made my way to what was Irene's house. Family was gathered there, and I was introduced over and over again to sons, daughters, cousins......not many aunts or uncles, since Irene was the oldest of all of them. She had been sitting in what is called, "the front row" for some time.
We all partook of the array of spare ribs, chicken, potato salad, baked beans, desserts..... whatever is included in a potluck to honor the dead. Heartfelt toasts, with beer and wine, were made to her in her kitchen, in her dining room, and living room by all her family and friends.
But, when it came to the actual memorial service, I'm not sure what happened. We were all in the living room, which looked out at the San Francisco Bay. As many of us that could, fit in there, and I happened to be among them.
There were a few relatives that stood to speak some words of memories of their auntie, or sister, or friend, but it seemed that the remembrances were falling short.
Someone stood up and started to say, "Thank you all for coming.", but I couldn't help myself, and thought maybe I should speak up.
I raised my hand, asking for attention, and stood. I told of my relationship with Irene in the Eye Clinic, and how we had sung our song. "So, do you think? Maybe? Before we end up this special memorial for her, that we could sing the song together that I sang with her?"
Everyone nodded, or said yes.

"So", I said, "Let's sing....."

And we all sang.......  "Irene, good night. Irene, good night.
                                     Good night, Irene, good night Irene,
                                     I'll see you in my dreams."

There wasn't a dry eye in Irene's house.

Another Different Kind of Christmas, Palm Springs Style

We've adapted pretty well to living in a smaller space, going from a 5 bedroom, 3 bath home in the San Francisco Bay Area with plenty of room for a 7 foot Christmas tree, to a trailer in a mobile home park in Palm Springs, California. Well, as I like to say, ours isn't your average trailer, and just get the thought out of your mind about "trailer trash".

Ours may have been one of the first trailers to be installed here. We think so, because we have our own mailbox. Nobody else does. Our lot butts up to the city street, and we propose that it was one of the first "mobiles" to be installed in the park. It's a 1955 Columbia, and the first owners cleverly added on a big room with a vaulted ceiling and wood-framed windows that make it look more like a beach cottage. One friend enthused that it reminded him of cabins in Maine. Another room was added on to the other side of the trailer probably years later, and now folks have a hard time even realizing that there's a mobile home smack dab in the middle of it.
Still, our first Christmas here, I knew, wouldn't be a big Douglas Fir tree in the living room.

It worried me.
I would have to be creative.

Then came an inspiration. Actually it was in a dream. I figure out a lot of things in my dreams. There's a nice, tall wall in one of the added-on rooms, where we had installed a sconce light on the wall. I decided to use that as the top of a Wall Tree (my new invention).  I made the outline of a simple Christmas tree with strands of holiday lights.

So, I don't suppose we will be doing the traditional Danish singing and dancing in a circle around This tree. After all, someone might bump in to the wall....  I knew it was a good idea, when someone mentioned to us that he had walked by our place one night and saw our tree through the window and he thought, "How did they get that Huge tree into their place?"

The coolest thing about this tree is that we've figured out how to use solar lights to illuminate it! The tiny solar panel sits outside the door. We waited like "Johnny at the rat hole"*  to see when they came on in the evening. At first it was at 4:46pm, and then gradually got a couple of minutes later each night as the days got longer. If you blink or turn away, you miss it. So frustrating!

Along with the cherished ornaments, I brought down the, what I call "antique" snowflake ornaments that we used to hang on our ivy covered wall back in the Bay Area.

Our Ficus hedge was just the place for it here in Palm Springs, so there it twinkles proudly after sundown.

I regretted not bringing down more of the historical ornaments, since my idea of decorating a tree involves not having any uncovered spaces. Never fear though. The entire Coachella Valley is known for wonderful thrift shops, chock full of Christmas cheer for me to pick through.

We have a theory about why there are so many. Palm Springs has been a mecca for retirees for years, and you know, ahem, when they finally go to their final reward, their collection of ornaments are liable to end up in a thrift shop, for all of us to pour over. I have a friend who returns most of her decorations every year and starts from scratch. I would never do that.

I'm too sentimental....but this little guy was chosen to come home with us, and he seems happy hanging on our front door.


So, family traveled down from the Bay Area for our first Christmas here. While I was going through stuff in our Richmond garage I ran across some marionettes my family had made in what seems like another lifetime.

 After a trip to a craft store for some missing parts, I had enough supplies to make 8 puppets and, once again delighted a new generation with our "Boogie Birds", a toy that had been manufactured back in the 70's and 80's......long before any of the grandkids were born.

As dinner time approached, everyone helped out in our tiny trailer kitchen, taking turns with the mixer and the cutting boards and the oven, happily bumping in to each other. The assorted tables were being set out on the patio, but then it was realized we were short by 7 forks!

"How about some plastic ones?", someone suggested?

"Nooo!", said I, since I've been campaigning against plastic for years. I stood there, sweat forming on my forehead both from the oven and the outside temp of 82 degrees. And then it dawned on me.  "Oh gosh", I said, "I remember when Doug and I got together, I bought some new silverware to accommodate his big family, AND, I thought ahead and bought another set of forks" (as, I thought, most assuredly this family would be growing.)

"Now, what did I DO with them?!" We had moved and sorted through all of our possessions so much. Where were they??
Then I automatically started asking .... "St. Anthony, Please come around, the forks are missing, and can't be found."

My mother-in-law, Helen, used to swear by this, and now Doug and I find amazing parking places with St. Anthony's help. Catholics are just that way.

Well, what do you know? I marched right in to the little bedroom of the actual trailer and found a box that we hadn't yet unpacked, and there they were, all still wrapped in their original packaging!!

So....a good feast was had by all, and no one had to share a fork. This will hereafter be called "The Miracle of the Christmas Forks."

Hope everyone had a wonder filled Christmas. Here's to a new and improved 2019.

* What does "Johnny at the rat hole" mean? I believe it refers to an animal, such as a dog, waiting at the edge of a gopher hole, anticipating the emergence of the gopher. ....or someone who anticipates your needs.

My Gardening Obsession: Seasonal Gardening at South Lake Tahoe

Some of you may have read a previous post about what I call my "stealth gardening" at our condo at South Lake Tahoe, California. When we first moved here for the summers in 2014, the landscape was pretty bare, but the watering system was regularly sprinkling the dirt at least twice a day......and this was during one of the worst droughts we've had!
I couldn't stand it, since I consider myself the Water Police when we're in Palm Springs, Even though the HOA (Homeowners Association) handbook said "Thou shall not change the landscaping", I decided I would disobey, and plant a few things in front of our place wherever I saw water being wasted. Our yard started looking pretty nice, so I expanded to the area around the pool.

After 3 years, I finally confessed to the board of the HOA, that it was I who have been beautifying the neighborhood, and they proclaimed that they thought it was great and proclaimed me "The Beautification Committee". They also gave me the dubious honor of being in charge of the sprinkler system, and told the residents to come to me if they wanted to add a little feeder to the existing water hose in their yard. I even got a special tool to attach them..... Little did they all know that I am learning as I go, and have only had success at gardening the last few years.

This year, I decided that I would open my mouth and ask if some of the residents would perhaps give me small gift certificates to the local garden center, since Doug and I had been purchasing all the plants and soil ourselves for the last three years. But our maintenance man, who appreciates the free help I give him, piped up and said, "How about we give Pat $250.00 this season from the budget, and we can address it again next year?" There was some discussion, and then to our surprise, after the maintenance guy pointed out that "She doesn't charge for  labor", they okay'd it. The only thing was, they said, "We'd like you to beautify the WHOLE complex." My jaw kind of dropped, since there are 72 units, but I'm figuring out that I can also plant some wildflower and poppy seeds and then more bulbs at the end of the season. Feeling kind of flush, I got a good deal on a couple of lilac trees...$20. each, since I've seen them making a splashy impression around town. Many of the perennials have come back from the years before, having hidden under the snow in the winter.

The GOOD news is, that the rodents, the "Name that shall not be said.", except in a whisper, "the voles AKA the Little Bastards", haven't shown their fuzzy little heads yet. (Shh!) They caused me such heartache last year, and I was glad to see them gone......I think they are.
I have great fun feeding the squirrels and chipmunks every morning, even though I know they are rodents too.

A squirrel, though, may dig a little hole next to a newly sown plant or bulb, probably thinking there's a new squirrel in town that has buried a nice nut that he wants to abscond with. But no, it was only me beautifying the place. At least he doesn't tunnel under it and eat it's roots.

The birds have great fun eating the nuts and seeds with the chipmunks and squirrels and drinking out of my blue glass bowl of water I provide for them. They've come to expect me to come out the front door in the morning to pick up the morning paper, and shaking my jar of seeds. Blue Jays fly to the tree above me and on the fence and squawk to the rest of their friends, announcing that it's feeding time. I'm discovering that one of them likes to collect the peanuts and set them on top of the fence post of the pool for a later snack.  A pair of Mourning Doves make noises with their wings as they soar to a different branch, but actually one of those doves has "attitude" and chases after the Stellar Jays, who squawk back at him. Quite the drama to behold as we sit on the porch or I peer from our front window.

Chipmunks sit near the steps or hide under a Lupine bush, venturing a little closer if I sit to watch, then run to the rock to get a drink out of the bowl, holding on to the edge of it with their little hands.

When we first arrived in May, there was a pesky bunny that chewed off the tops of most of the plants that I planted. He especially likes the Shasta daisies that I want to plant. He ate them even though I faithfully sprinkled hot pepper flakes on the dirt around the plants, and now, in July, he's been gone for so long, that I stopped doing even that. Guess he burned his tongue. One of the best native plants to plant around Tahoe is Lamb's Ear. I imagine the bunnies don't care for it because it's fuzzy grey leaves probably feel icky on their tongues.

When I finished spending my stipend for plants for the year early, I asked one of the board members if I could get a little extra so I could buy more plants while the season was still young. I was so hot to plant my vision of a bunch of hollyhocks and daffodils and Clarkias, and I was on a roll. He said that the board was trying to stay in a budget, so no. The next day however, his wife came over with a nice donation of quite a bit of cash and 3 plants!

Yellow Clarkias and Magenta Hollyhocks 

We immediately went down to this other  nursery and found plants that I hadn't seen lately, but were a bit more expensive....  hollyhocks that were two in a pot for $12 and close to blooming, and stargazer lilies which everyone had been missing by the pool, since the voles (shh!) ate up their roots last year.
Then, when our friends upstairs, who are becoming my co-gardeners, took us down to Costco in Carson City, we bought $100. worth of daffodils, tulips, and freesias. They went back the next week and bought 5 More bags. All four of us had the best time running around digging holes for a few days, and depositing an "uneven amount" (maybe a wives tale to guarantee success) of bulbs in each hole all over the complex. The effect should be glorious in the spring!

I saw a T-shirt advertised that I should probably have bought,(but I don't like T-shirts). It had a nice, colorful painting of several birds, and on top of that said "Easily distracted by birds". I really have been lately. It's become another obsession. Sometimes I'll be talking to someone, and notice a bird, and interrupt my own sentence, or theirs, to point it out. Well, the birds DO seem to like me.....

Recently I was planting a couple of yarrow plants over near this huge pine tree that looks like the most beautiful, perfect, 30-foot Christmas tree. I've always noticed that a flock of Chickadees likes to hang out in it. The whole time I was digging, they were nearby, making their cute little sounds that I liken to a squeak toy. I was, of course, squeaking back, as I do. I sometimes feel at one with St Francis and his love for animals as I am with the birds, digging holes, planting plants. I took my little watering can to pour some water in the hole, and one of the little birds flew down to get a drink as it came out of the spout! It fluttered mid-air as I kept pouring. Delighted, I poured a little more, and another one came flying to me! I ran to the house to get some birdseed to give them a little gift, and place some on a wooden post that they frequent. When I peeked later, they were busy eating the seeds.  Now, is it just me, or isn't that the cutest thing?

So now, as I finish writing this, at the beginning of October 2018, we've only got one more bag of freesias to plant, and it's scheduled to snow in about a week and a half in Tahoe. Just before then, the watering system will be shut off and my plants will be on their own. The bunny was spotted again the other day, and cute as he is, he was caught munching on a Hollyhock leaf. Humpf! We'll be leaving in about 2 weeks for Palm Springs, so I won't have too many days of watching my growing garden succumb to the cold weather. The good thing is, the bulbs will greet us when we come back in May, and it'll be exciting to see all the perennials popping their little heads out of the ground to have another go at it.
As my Grandma Diddo used to say...."Ain't Life Grand?"

This Artist's Yard Is His Gallery

In the Bijou area of South Lake Tahoe, California, you don't have to travel far to find original art.

Every person who has come to visit us in the past few years, we have treated to a tour that includes a drive past a certain house on Bobby Grey Circle. It's hard to miss the place. The house, garage, and entire property are covered in designs made of barbed wire, branches and old rusty tools.

This artist, Gilberto Ramos, is not new to South Lake Tahoe. Born is Jalisco, Mexico, he's lived with his wife, Lilliana (a dealer at Harvey's Tahoe), in South Lake Tahoe for 30 years and has been working at Cafe Fiore for 27 years.....25 of those as the head chef. The restaurant is just off of Ski Run Blvd, and is known for being a romantic place to go for a special occasion and to taste the delicious Italian cuisine, but it also is another

venue to appreciate Gilberto's rustic art.

You're greeted at the door by a 9-foot tall weathered wood and rusty metal guitar. "Nothing is thrown away," he says, as proven by the rusty nails for tuning pegs and the old wrench as the guitar's nut.














Diners are treated to smaller items by their table while they're sipping their wine. The owner, Nick, lets me fill up the empty spaces on the wall. If someone likes them...." he gestures toward a heart, made out of wine corks and sticks, displaying a blue Lake Tahoe shape, "....they can buy them."

Back home on Bobby Grey Circle, we walk under this mare and her colt, as we come through the gate.

"I don't work so much with barbed wire much any more. It's too hard on my hands", he says.










Still, he has a a huge display of wire-made items, including what I call "Woman Walking", which shows off his talent for design.

Ramos has never been trained as an artist. He says, as he raises up his hands to the sky, "I just receive inspiration from God."










Something that he says he'll never sell is a replica of Roberto, a

small donkey that he grew up with in Jalisco. the baby donkey's mother died when he was one day old, so Gilberto's mama raised him indoors like a family pet. When he grew big enough he was put outside, but Roberto knew how to get into the house, which was made from adobe and sticks.
He commonly entered the kitchen on his own to pilfer some fresh tortillas and then ran back outside.
The donkey lived till he was 25, finally succumbing to a rattlesnake bite. Ramos' model of him is a loving tribute.



When asked which piece was the artist's favorite, he thought for a moment and his eyes landed on the big wooden bird that stands in his yard. It's also the favorite of a woodpecker that has bored a very round hole high up on its neck for a nest.
The majestic bird resembles a Sandhill crane, and it is sturdily attached to the ground by rebar and made to hold fast against the wind by a hardly noticeable wire. The legs are made from branches that have tufts of moss on them, and the body is formed from only a few big pieces of weathered wood.

Finding the right piece of wood for the bird's head is the deciding point of beginning your basic bird. It's a gift that Ramos has, it appears.

There are a couple more of Ramos' big birds hanging out at the pool at the Alder Inn on Ski Run Blvd. The owners, Mike and Laura, are big fans of Ramos' work, and have even included some of his smaller items in their room decors.



Probably the most surprising piece is yet another guitar. Ramos loves it when folks do a double-take and are shocked by his work. That's his goal.

This guitar is made of mostly branches, and is still a work in progress, but the decision has been made to leave the branches sticking out in the back. Now that makes it a "Wow!" piece! It's as if the guitar just blew into town, or it emerged right out of a tree. This piece should have Hard Rock Hotel and Casino's name on it. 







His personal collection of cowbells, spurs and cow horns, reminds Ramos of his past, growing up in Jalisco with horses and cows.

 He once had a booth at the cowboy Fest in

Genoa, Nevada, where he appropriately displayed some of his baskets made from lariats. People told him "you've moved so far away from everybody else.... your work is so different." Those words are ones he loves to hear. 

In his gallery of a backyard, nature has an effect on his work. The stream that runs right now at the edge of his  overflowed so much after the big snow in 2016-17, it crept up almost 2 feet on the "outhouse" he built to keep some of his supplies.

"It was kind of scary," he says, his wife Lilliana nodding in agreement. "We could see the water coming closer and closer to our deck!"     
Just imagine his big bird wading around in the marshy yard.

You'll just have to make a trip to see Gilberto's work for yourself. There is so much more to see, like the big wooden swordfish swimming on the side of his house. The tail was made from one piece and stripped of bark until he came down to the core.
There's the other, metal fish jumping, it seems in mid-air, to be caught on the hook of a giant fishing pole.

Then, there's the life-sized teepee made from barbed wire, rusted knife blades and railroad spikes.

"Everything is recycled," he says.

This guy is prolific! And there's going to be more-

- a beautifully made little wagon is stocked with more branches. "It'll all be used", he says. "God always inspires me."

Many of his items can be found locally at Wildwood Makers Market on Tallac Avenue, in South Lake Tahoe, and more of his art is on display at Fire and Rain Gallery in Folsom, CA.

Not everyone wants to buy the big things, so I make some small things for them."

________This article was printed in the Tahoe Daily Tribune on July 7, 2018, but only with 3 pictures, so I thought I'd do Gilberto justice by putting it on my blog. Pat Reilly Harbo     

                                                               

Seasonal Gardening in Tahoe and Palm Springs

I've always had a garden....or at least tried to have a garden in the San Francisco Bay Area in California. I've never had a great one. We always had high hopes of a beautiful vegetable garden, with huge Beefsteak tomatoes and abundant zucchinis, but I guess since we were working, watering sometimes didn't get done, the soil was hard clay, probably didn't get amended enough, and nothing really ever flourished. I also blamed the foggy weather that headed right for our house on a hill across from the Golden Gate Bridge. Then the drought happened and we resorted to planting native plants and grasses that we got at Annie's Annuals, a magical nursery in Richmond, right near the train tracks. It's a good thing we did, because those plants are still thriving! Now that the house is rented, I don't have much control over that garden, but the perennials that I planted are still holding on.

Our lifestyle has changed, and this year the change has really kicked in. This is the first year that our retirement dream of spending winter in Palm Springs and summer in Tahoe has seemed to fall into place.

This picture of the Palm Springs garden was taken in late December! We have access to a little garden next door to our place, that we share with our neighbor, who has a Kelly-green thumb. The really crazy thing is, that in this climate, we were stunned that we could plant tomatoes in November! The kale and chard that we planted thrived and we felt so healthy. We planted collard greens too, and enjoyed eating them, when suddenly the plant sprouted a lovely cauliflower! I had wondered if it was okay to eat the abundant leaves on cauliflower, and now I can tell you they are NOT poisonous, and they are delicious, steamed with some kale and chard, and served with butter and salt and pepper, and maybe a little vinegar if you're so inclined.

Makes your mouth water, eh?

We'll have to start again from scratch when we come back in mid-October though. The temps that go up to over 125 degrees during the summer don't allow many things to keep growing. We pay a neighbor to try to keep the orange and lime trees that we planted alive while we're gone. And then there's the hibiscus tree that went in this year. Others have installed automatic watering systems, so maybe that's a project for next year.

a giant Lupine near the pool

In the summer, when in Tahoe, I've been doing what I call "stealth gardening", since I saw in the condo rules that we shouldn't be changing the landscaping. Well, the sprinkler system kept going on regularly, and I just couldn't stand it! I figured if I put some native plants in next to the sprinklers in front of our place and near the pool, who could complain? But here I was watching to see if anyone was looking from their porch just waiting to report me. In the next three years, I didn't get reported, but I did gradually get thanked for beautifying the place. Folks came by and talked to me and told me how much they appreciated my taking it upon myself to spruce up the place. In fact this year, at the meeting of the HOA, (home owners association), I confessed to what I had been doing, and was given a title. I AM the Beautification Committee.
That made me bold enough to go out and buy a little gardening seat, and an "old lady" grocery cart to put my soil and supplies in. No money was offered for my services, just praise, but my husband Doug says he's supporting the arts and my hobby since I enjoy it so much. I've loved going over to the local Nel's Garden and Hardware to buy my plants at such good prices.
Sometimes I go to their "clearance rack" to try to save a little on the damaged plants.

 So, I've just kept on planting next to the already spouting sprinklers. The day I "came clean", I told the board of the HOA that I had visions of planting a mass of hollyhocks near the pool fence to fill in when the existing lilies had passed. Running off to the garden center, I bought 2 six-packs of promising looking hollyhocks and planted them. The next morning, I discovered they had all been devoured by voles, their young lives cut short by ravenous critters that are related to field mice and moles! Heartbroken, I  went to the internet to study up on these destructive rodents, or "little bastards", the name I've coined for them.

The garden ravaged by vole holes and trails.

Turns out, they had made themselves a home in a system of tunnels under the juniper bushes near where I had planted my doomed hollyhocks. It was suggested online that putting granulated garlic, crushed dried chili peppers, or cayenne pepper in the hole when planting would deter them. I made a concoction of all 3, and then also left a dose on top around the plant. There was also an idea, about scaring them away with a predator. I saw a neighbor brushing masses of fur off his German Shepherd, and asked him, rather awkwardly if I could have his dog's fur to put down the vole holes. He started leaving little gifts of balls of fur on our patio table, until he moved and I lost my supplier. Going to Petco's grooming department didn't do much good, since all they had was hair from poodles that day, and it didn't seem to work as well.
Hearing that voles don't like plants with yellow flowers, my neighbor and I invested in dozens of daffodil bulbs, which had thrived the year before. I was also told they didn't like mint, but our voles have different tastes, I suppose, because they thought it was delicious!
Another idea presented to me was JuicyFruit gum, which they are supposed to choke on, but they ignored it. Fire crackers down their holes was a notion that we rejected, along with poison. But no, we're trying to stick to non-violent methods. Besides, we don't want to have the death of a family dog or cat on our hands.

The rest of the garden was thriving when we left in the fall, so it will be interesting to see what revives after a snowy winter. I look forward to walking along the path to our place, head down, watching for any new growth.
So after so many years of being a frustrated gardener, I can't say that now....except for my nemeses, the voles. The little bastards.

A baby squirrel taking advantage of my water bowl.

Glorious foxgloves.

Prius Confusion

We decided to beat the heat in Palm Springs and head for Idyllwild, in the San Jacinto Mountains. Eighty-two degrees sounded much better to us than one hundred and three. One night turned into two, and we had to go to a market to get a few supplies.
Doug drove there, and I opted to wait in the car in the passenger seat with the air conditioning on, checking my phone for e-mails. I was pretty involved with what I was doing, when the driver's side door flew open, and a skinny old lady jumped into the seat and pressed the Power button! (Luckily this turned off the car.)
I thought, "Wow, she really thinks I'm wasting energy by leaving the motor running, and wants to take it into her own hands!" But then, I realized that she thought that this was her car. I nudged her, and said, "Ma'am! You're in the wrong car!" and tried to shove her again. She didn't even look at me or acknowledge that I was there. I repeated myself louder, as she pressed the Power button on again, with her foot on the brake pedal, and closed the driver's door.
I said, "No! You have to get out! This ISN'T your car!" Trying to shove her to no avail, since the door was shut. I pressed the button to OFF again, and she calmly said, "Don't worry, he's not coming yet." Her long, stringy hair covered the side of her face, and she still didn't look my way. She pushed the button ON again.
Just then, a young man came running out of the store with his groceries and saw me struggling with her. He opened her door and said, "Lillian! This isn't your car!", and to me, "She has dementia. I'm so sorry." She didn't believe him and resisted his pulling her out of our car. After our car door was closed, she kept holding on to the door handle, as he tried to cajole her away.
Finally, he led her to their silver Prius, parked next to mine, and got her to get in the passenger side. I'm thinking, "Ooh! So that's why....she really thought it was her car." But by the time he reached the driver's side, she had scrambled over the console and was trying to start up that car. (I was impressed. She's pretty spry, getting over that console. I would have a hard time doing that as gracefully as she did!) So he pried her out of the front seat and got her to sit in the back, where she complained and fussed with stuff that was on the seat, including a yellow fishing pole, which she jammed up into the ceiling. He got out and removed the fishing pole, etc., to the trunk area, but she was so agitated, that he tried to appease her with some pasta salad that he had bought.
Doug had come out around then, and the man told him, "I'm sorry", but he wasn't sure why. When he got in the car, he wondered why it smelled so bad, like pee, and then our phone rang with an important call, and I couldn't explain my experience till later.
As we drove away, she had convinced him to let her sit in front with him with her salad. I worried about the lady, but especially the man, a relative or caregiver. I can't imagine what he goes through every day. I wanted to tell him though, it's not unusual for a Prius owner to mistake another car for their own. When the door doesn't open for them, they just take a better look inside and realize their mistake. We've actually done it a few times ourselves....
Thoughts keep coming into my head too. What would have happened if he didn't come out of the store? Would she have backed on out and taken me for a wild ride? I try to imagine, how I could stop her. She evidently knew how to drive a Prius, since she automatically put her foot on the brake while pushing the Power button, so that Prius had been hers before she lost control of her life. I had the key in my purse, and I wonder if I would have thought to throw my purse or the keys out the window, and then turn off the car. Any ideas?

Living in an Aviary

When my family was young, we always had quite a menagerie. My daughter was usually the culprit when it came to adding on to our collection of critters. We prefer furry ones....dogs, cats and bunnies....or feathered ones, shying away from reptiles, especially snakes. At one point we considered having an aviary in our home, since we really didn't like the idea of keeping our birds cramped in cages. We fantasized about a room-sized aviary that we could walk into just off the dining room. It was only a dream and never came to be, and now that I think about it, it would be one huge place to keep up, it could be smelly...... and the birds would still actually be in a cage.

The last few years, since I love to watch birds in the wild so much, I've been feeding them in my yard wherever I'm living. There's never been much interest shown at my bird feeders, though, until this year. There's a huge, fat palm tree in our patio in Palm Springs, sometimes referred to as "the elephant in the room", and this year I took a notion to hang a cage that holds a brick of birdseed on it's stubby, toothy, chopped off frond. I added a sort of suet block as well, only it's made from peanuts and it doesn't melt all over the ground like the beef suet does in the desert heat. Soon after, I had quite an audience. Mostly the crowd consisted of red and orange house finches and white-crowned sparrows, with mourning doves foraging on the ground and hummingbirds sucking on their own feeder. 

On the colored brick wall, next to the Ficus hedge, I set a little ceramic bird feeder that I made years ago and a little flat dish which I keep loaded with already shelled sunflower seeds. It seemed logical that the birds would have an easier time without having to deal with shells, and there would be less mess for us to clean up. 

It's been delightful to watch the little finches work their way down through the bushes to the wall to poke their heads into the holes of the feeder to get the seeds. We must be on some sort of flyway, or at least the word has got out about our bird buffet. If I sit quietly and write, the birds ignore me and go about their business of feeding their families.

Sometimes as I'm writing out on the patio, I have to pause to witness an argument, or bird fight over exactly who's feeders these are. Mostly I just look up to appreciate how up close and personal I am to these beautiful creatures.

Most of them gather in our overgrown bougainvillea on our patio. There is always a cacophony of chirping and chortling and tweeting. There may even be a nest in there, but it's so dense that I can't tell. They joyfully whistle and chirp and call and then they suddenly stop as one. It's as if a grand maestro has raised his arms and said "Stop". There's a startling silence, it's quiet for awhile, until a soloist starts warbling once more.

Those warblers are so amazing! Their songs are so loud and carry such a long way, that I thought they must be pretty big birds. One day though, a bird the size of a hummingbird came down to check out a Lantana plant, and warbled while he was there. I looked him up on Merlin Bird ID on my phone, and found he was a Warbling Vireo. I played his powerful song from the phone and it matched the one that serenades me in the yard!                                       

Speaking of hummingbirds though, they are very curious little guys. I have my potter's wheel out on the patio, and sometimes I'll hear the thrum of their rapidly moving wings close by and look up to see one hovering in front of me and checking me out. One also darted under the awning when we were sitting out there having our first drink since arriving in Palm Springs. "Well Hello", I said, "Yes we are back, and I'll get right on filling your feeder!"

Just a little bit of trivia.... Did you know how hummingbirds hover? They move their wings in a figure 8 about 100 times a second!
Once this season I went to a nursery to buy plants, and one of the workers there asked if I had ever seen a baby hummingbird. She led me over to a lemon tree (that was for sale), and showed me the tiny nest that had four little brown things inside. I thought they looked like little brown capsules with a fuzzy mohawk all around the edge. Their tiny heads must have been tucked under and I just saw the body, since they have to eat somehow! I couldn't get close enough to see.

Anyway, here I am sitting in the most wonderful aviary one could ever want. Sometimes I'm reminded of Cinderella, and all her little bird friends. The Mourning Doves are coo-cooing, the Mockingbird is perched high on a treetop recounting everything that happened to him last night, with many choruses, the hummers are sipping at their nectar, and the finches are climbing through the bush. Even an occasional Verdin hops through with it's bright yellow head, scavenging some of the seeds others have dropped. It's a little bit of heaven for me.....and for them too. No cages are involved.

The 5-day Intensive Spanish Class

My husband has always wanted to have more command of the Spanish language. He goes on bouts of studying on his own, pouring over text books, dictionaries, and listening to CD's on headphones while he mutters his responses to himself.  He used to communicate with people working in his store, and now his main reason is to be able to speak fluently to our son-in-law, who is from Honduras. When he found out about Lake Tahoe Community College's Intensive Spanish Summer Institute, (ISSI), I knew he was going to sign up for it. What I didn't expect was that I would join him. I envisioned myself gardening or writing, or maybe even painting, which I never seem to get around to, keeping myself busy at home. He went in to chat in Spanish with the program's director, Susan O'Connor to help her decide what level he should sign up for. She boosted him right in to Intermediate level ll. I hadn't realized there were so many levels, and wasn't really planning on signing up, but the more she talked about it, it sounded like fun, although time-consuming, and besides, we usually do things together. I boasted to her about the Spanish I had learned in the "clinica de los ojos" at Kaiser. I knew all the letters on the eye chart in Spanish, and could communicate pretty well with the patients till the interpreter arrived for their appointment. The most beginning class was called "Low Beginning", and I thought that I could skip that with all my "knowledge" that I had acquired in the school of life. We both enrolled and became college students again! We walked out to our car making up a silly fight song for the school's team, the Coyotes.

Within a month till the class started, my decision of skipping the basic course started to worry me, since I realized that, having studied French in high school, there would no doubt be verbs and tenses to memorize. Doug was madly studying night and day, and I had an aversion to even trying. Finally, I realized that I must change my class to Low Beginning, which had sounded to me as if I had never ever communicated with a Spanish speaking person, which is pretty hard to get away with in California. After I changed my class, I felt better. No pressure. Yet another reason not to study before class.

We had signed up for an extra class, called, "The Difficult Trip", and were each sent a packet of fake documents: ID's, customs forms, play pesos, and traveler's checks. Poring over each piece of information, we filled everything out in advance for the 4th night of class, when the entire lobby of the school would be transformed into a Mexican airport, complete with customs, car rental and baggage check.

Yet another packet came telling us where our homeroom for language and grammar instruction would be, a map of the campus, and all the optional mini courses or breakout sessions that were offered each day. This award-winning course is in it's 23rd year, is always in the first week of August, and folks (especially Spanish speakers) from the community of South Lake Tahoe and beyond come to share their knowledge in classes in everything from Don Juan, to the Incas, and even Salsa dancing. We chose carefully to take a few of the extra classes together, so that we could see each other at some point during the day.

On the first day, we showed up for school at 7:30 like good little boys and girls, and were happy to see snacks and coffee provided and lots of folks with badges there to point us in the right direction. Much of the college itself is arranged in a sort of cloverleaf, with many of the buildings attached by hallways presumably to make it easier to navigate to class when it's snowing outside. They're working on heated pathways to the outer buildings for the winter too.

When we went to the introductory assembly, outside, we were surprised to see how many grey heads there were in the audience. Many of these "life-time learners" had come each of the 23 years and were already speaking Spanish with each other. There was no shortage of younger people too, some wanting to get a jump on their Spanish in their first year of college, and lots of educators, wanting to be able to communicate better with their ESL students. Yes, we were in a group of folks who were excited about life, and wanted to keep on learning new things....and at least for the older ones, they say that learning something new is good for the brain.

So there we were, students on our first day of school, and yes with a little bit of anxiety of the unknown. We each went our separate ways, to our grammar and vocabulary classes. My teacher, Profesora Carol, had a nice smile and was happy to be there. The other students were friendly as we introduced ourselves to each other, already using our new language. "Como se llama usted?" "Me llamo Patricia", I answered, rolling my R.

Mi Profesora, Carol, threw us in to the deep end (gently), in the afternoon, to have us conjugate present tense verbs ending in er, ar, and ir. To our surprise, we were  catching on, working from our workbook in pairs. Doug had a little bit of review in his class, but I'm sure he was way ahead of us newbies. When it came to choosing the "breakout sessions, Doug and I had different tastes. He preferred to push himself with lots of conversation classes, and I chose to learn about the art of Frida Kahlo,

Frida Kahlo class 

The perfect chile, stuffed and ready to cook.

...or how to make chiles rellenos, using the proper type of chiles, dark green poblanos and Mexican cheese, (and of course, she let us eat them).

Look at that Huge Paella pan!

I especially loved the class on how to make Spanish Paella, made outdoors as is the tradition. Our energetic chef gave us an animated demonstration, telling us as she cooked, that "you can make a paella from whatever you have on hand. If you only have chicken then that's okay. If you're on the coast, you would most likely add el pescadore (fish), or camarones (shrimp), also, many times chorizo is included." She showed us the special huge, flat paella pan she used, passed around the saffron for us to smell, and tantalized all of us with the wonderful aromas. The cooking classes were so well organized with young people from the college helping out with the prep work and serving us.

We did agree on the Sing the Songs of Cuba and Latin America class, where Marco Pereda sang and played his guitar while we sang along. "Cielito Lindo" was one of our favorites. Some day, I'll be able to insert a video of him singing.

I hope you will all want to find out more about this award winning course. Go to www.ltcc.edu/issi. You'll find out how to know about everything from Spanish Swear Words and Street Slang to an Environmental Series about Baja California.

Pero (but) you still have to hear about the evening that most students look forward to in this course. It's the Difficult Trip.
I must tell you, that I was nervous, being in the "lower beginning" class. We were offered to be guided to our first destination and I ran for that line. We were lead personally by Henry Wilds, who invented this crazy "trip". He first took us to El Banco, where we stood in line to change our fake Travelers Checks in to play Pesos. I learned from the people in front of me that I should say: "Puedo tener pesos para mis cheques de viajero, por favor?"
Then I was sent off to fend for myself. We all had to go to a list of places in the lobby/aeropuerto and have things checked off. I chose to go to customs first. The first thing I'm asked is my name. I can handle that. "Why are you traveling?" ....... How much money do you have? I'm nervous, can't find the papers he asks for and can't figure out how many pesos I've cashed my travelers checks in for.... after all I've just learned the word for a hundred, "cien" that morning. I start to perspire. My face is flushed.

There's a commotion behind me. I turn to find my husband, Doug, arguing with a (fake) policeman. He's saying something about not needing a passport, and would the cop take some dinero?
I'm thinking that perhaps he's having too much fun and I'm too worked up and serious.

Doug has moved on to my spot at customs and also tries to bribe the officer into letting him in without a passport. I'm moved over to baggage. As I'm finishing up my encounter, I see my husband telling the "baggage" person that she "should lift his bag very carefully because it has grenades and rifles in it. But don't worry. It's for my work."  The woman looks over at me and says, "Su esposo?" I say, "No, I've never seen him." She looks at a note that has been passed to her from customs about this man. She flips a coin to make a decision. He's a lucky guy. He doesn't have to go to (fake) jail.

I went to the Pharmacia to get pretend pills (Skittles) for a headache (Tengo un dolor de la cabeza). Doug told the pharmacist that his headache was from too much Tequila, and he needs opiates for it. He asked to have it without a prescription, and finally, the amused pharmacist gives it to him literally, "under the table". (More Skittles, of course.)

We met again at the makeshift restaurante, where we could gather our thoughts and buy a yummy tostada for $2.00 with real money. Then we were approached by a waiter and handed a menu that had everything on it as if it were a real Mexican restaurante. This was one of the places to be checked off our list. It turns out that you can order anything you want, but all you'll really get is a dish of chocolate or vanilla ice cream. Doug spoke to the waiter in his best Spanish and ordered half the menu. I just ordered chiles rellenos.  "Chocolate, por favor."

The evening was coming to an end, but we hadn't gone to the mercados upstairs. We each went our separate ways and I learned to negotiate and barter with the merchants. I'd say "cuanto cuesta?" when I was interested in say, a scarf. "Cincuenta pesos,", she'd say. We were all encouraged to bargain, so I said, "Puedo darle veinte." (I can give you 20) She came back with "treinte" (30), and we smiled and agreed. I gave her 30 of my play pesos, but I didn't actually get the scarf. She signed my card to say I had gone through this exercise.
After a couple of more transactions, my card was all signed, and I met Doug in the lobby. Proud of our accomplishment, finishing the Difficult Trip, we walked out to the parking lot. "I bought you a gift!", he said, as he dashingly pulled a fancy fan from his pocket and opened it.  Aww, I thought...but.... "How did you do that? Nothing was really for sale."
"I paid for it with the play money." he said.
"But nothing was really for sale! We were just learning to barter and then they would sign us off. You have to return it. It belongs to one of the real vendors."
Doug looked sad, but said he would do it in the morning.

We both must have thought our car was in a different spot, since I was going right and I saw Doug veering left. Then I saw something move behind him. "Bear!!", I called in a whisper. It was dusk, and a bear had gotten in to a dumpster. Doug moved quickly toward me and the car.
It was the first bear we had seen this season.

"We're in a Prius", he said, "It doesn't make much noise. Keep the lights off and go past him and we can see him up close!" I had second thoughts, but did it anyway. Thank God, the bear, rather large, darted away from his foraging long enough for us to pass, and then went back to his business.

The next day, the last day of classes, I had to tell my conversation teacher about Doug and his antics. She paid me a nice favor in reaching in to her briefcase and bringing out a lovely black fan to replace the one I had made him return. Thinking it was all funny, she had me repeat my story to my class.

Later that day, Doug and I met for lunch, and on our way we met "mi professora." I winked at her and presented "mi esposa". She said, "You! He causes me problems all the time!" It turns out that Professora Maria was Doug's "homeroom" teacher.

Well, the good ending to all this, is that we decided that we should make plans to go to Spain to try to really be immersed in the Spanish language. Our hope is to include part of the Camino Santiago de Compostela, the 500 mile pilgrimage that folks make that ends in North Western Spain, with the cathedral that houses the tomb of St. James, a disciple of Jesus. Our plan is to hop on and hop off, (no, not on a Red Bus, but from our rental car), taking in a few miles at a time, and ending, God willing, with a grand finale of a few miles at the end.

Folks might look at us strangely with our light packs, and going the opposite direction back to the car.....but from what I hear, this is called, "the Harbo way."

Company in the Pool

Today I was a "golf widow", I suppose, since my husband went off to play a round and get some exercise. I decided that my exercise would be in the pool outside our condo in Tahoe. Not a soul was around, and I set myself up on a lounge chair with my supplies, a big hat, sunglasses, and my library book that I had 20 pages left to read. It was windy, about 61 degrees, but sunny, so I still felt warm enough. The idea was to lay in the sun for awhile before getting in the pool because the wind probably wouldn't let me afterward.

The book finished, I prolonged my lounge time by finishing a crossword puzzle I found in my pool bag. My mind tried to talk me out of even getting wet, but I pictured Doug coming home after walking the course and I'd feel bad if I hadn't done.... something. I spotted some flotsam floating around on the surface of the pool, so that gave me a sense of purpose. I could pump iron with my foam dumbbells AND clean the pool to make it nice for others.

As I climbed down the steps into the water, I spotted a pretty cream-colored maple leaf floating at the other end of the pool. As I made my toward it, I captured quite a few pine needles that had blown in, carefully rescued a bee that seemed grateful, since after I flicked him out he flew off in a second. I went backwards toward the maple leaf, kicking my way there, but when I reached the opposite end it was no where to be seen. Hmm. Oh well. It was time to move around a little, I used my Aquabells to do push-ups in the water, and then some shoot-throughs and some jumping jacks. I began to twirl around in the water, (my favorite), when I spotted the maple leaf floating right near my shoulder.

Rather than toss it out of the pool, I decided to look at it more closely. It was totally dry on top and it didn't have a stem. It also had a passenger.....a tiny reddish brown spider was holding completely still on the leaf. I was looking so closely that my breath hit it, and it moved a few steps in shock. "Don't go! Be my company", I pleaded, realizing that I was talking to a spider. He stayed, and happily rode along on his leaf, which  was collecting yellow pollen on its edges. I should take a picture of this, I thought, and planned to get out soon and dry myself off enough to handle my iPhone. I did a sort of bicycle move heading toward the other end, and I think because of the pumping up and down I did behind my back with the aquabells, I moved faster, and the leaf was propelled along side me. It actually passed me, so I tried to do the same movement in the opposite direction to make it follow me again. It didn't. It reached the wall, and turned left, the spider getting the ride of his life as it twirled along the edge. Finally it turned toward me, as I kept up my plunging movement. I thought I had better get out and get that picture while it was so close to the edge, since I was composing a story in my head, and what good is a story without a photo?  As I headed for the stairs to climb out, the creamy colored leaf kept moving in my direction, along the edge of the pool.

And then, to my surprise, SWOOSH! leaf and passenger were sucked in to the pool's drain on the side. It hadn't dawned on me. So no picture....but still a story.

Mrs Magoo, post-op

It was time for cataract surgery....I had been mistaking things for other objects, or my vision was so fuzzy I couldn't make them out. My husband accused me of being like Mr. Magoo, only a feminine version, we called "Mrs. Magoo", who saw life through such cloudy vision, it caused me to endanger my and others' situations.

Fireworks, as seen through a cataract

I had one more Magoo-ish incident before the surgery. When Doug was driving us down from Tahoe so I could have surgery the next day in Oakland Kaiser, my vision was worse than ever. I confessed to him that I couldn't see the big green highway signs until they came up in my passenger side window. "Another reason that I'm driving and you're having the surgery, right?", he said. So true.

When I had the measurements done on my eyes, it was said that I would benefit from going with a "Toric" lens in my eye, one that could be turned on an axis and cancel out the "steepness" of my cornea, which caused an astigmatism. I had to pay extra for this lens, but it still wasn't the most costly one. It was the one I needed, letting me see more crisply at distance and maybe for the computer. My rapidly progressing cataract was so bothersome to me because it had only been 8 or so months since I had seen clearly, so I went for it. The nurses in the OR praised me for paying extra for the "Gucci" lens.

Before the surgery, I was reading a book...."All the Things We Cannot See", by Anthony Doerr, which seems appropriate, right? I loved it so much that I read it with a magnifying glass, with good light, while tilting my head to see if I could go around my cloudy lens. Sometimes it seemed to work. The book was due before I finished it, so I returned it to the South Lake Tahoe library before we traveled to the Bay Area for the surgery. When I got back, my vision was so bright, that I could read the print without glasses or contacts....and I thought this surgery was mostly for distance vision! The Toric lens, (which isn't for everyone's eye), has me seeing the computer and not so fine print (as long as I hold it pretty far), without glasses!

The only downside, that is downright depressing, is that I can see more wrinkles. It seems as if I have aged 10 years over night....of course that's only my opinion, since everyone else has been looking at me like this all along! No wonder I had been receiving more comments, like "Well, if you were my mother, I would suggest that you make this decision....after all...at YOUR age...." Gosh. It's time to start testing wrinkle creams. My doctor laughed and told me that most people just discover that their homes aren't as tidy. They see dust bunnies that they didn't realize were there. Well there's that too.....

I've been testing my vision All The Time. In the shower, I can now tell the difference between the shampoo and conditioner bottles, which most folks have a hard time with after they turn about 42, which is normal, but annoying. Have you ever applied lotion to your hair in an hotel? Not easy to get out.

"Now I can read that sign over there!" "Look over there at the robin flying with it's straw for it's nest in it's mouth!"
But, when covering my "new eye", the cloudiness of the right eye is more pronounced; I was told that that might be the case.

As if on cue, I received a notice from the DMV to renew my driver's license. I worried and stewed about the vision test I'd have to perform. Testing my vision on each eye on street signs didn't give me much confidence. I decided to go for it and walked into the Department of Motor Vehicles for my test. I figured that if I failed, I could get an extension till I had surgery on the other eye.
I sat in the waiting area, which faced the eye charts, trying not to look like I was attempting to memorize the lines.
In an abnormally short amount of time, my number was called, and I smiled and purposefully didn't offer any information about my level of confidence of my vision.
First, the man pointed and said, "Now, with both eyes read the 3rd line on chart C". I aced that of course.  "Now cover your left eye and tell me the 2nd line on chart A". I took a breath and murmured, "Hmm, not quite as clear", ....as I tried to focus. I said, "CFDBE". "Good!", he said, to my surprise!
I breezed through the left eye, of course, and was delighted to be granted my driver's license renewal.
It turns out that I may have been testing my vision on smaller letters at the DMV by sitting farther away from the chart and I'm embarrassed to say that I wasted the minutes I tried to memorize the chart.

A few weeks later, I'm still testing the parameters of my vision. I can see the newspaper crossword as long as it's a little far away from my usual reading distance, and I'm so glad to see the swallows flying in the distance...and that's with my right eye still seeing a little cloudy. One day....another day, I'll sign up for a new adventure with cataract surgery on my right eye. No worries.

Lily Lake after surgery