I like lists. They give me purpose, direction, focus and a reward when I cross off an item. But, I've begun to notice, they no longer drive me in retirement as they did before. There was a time when they meant much to me, and when I forgot, I'd create a list after I'd spent the day tasking, just for the satisfaction of drawing a line through each entry. Currently, we have The List magnetically attached to the fridge door. It's been there--waiting, nagging, since last spring--with only two items marked off. One done this week. Oof!
What's happened? I don't get it. We have a routine with regular outings and tasks. There doesn't seem to be a problem in the routine area. Maybe it's the extra stuff--the things that aren't as easy to get excited about. To be honest, clean floors and clean sheets are a tad exciting to me, because accomplishments can bring joy. And now as I reread that last sentence, I'm rolling my eyes, but for me it's true.
With all the pondering time available, I'll be sure to let you know when the epiphany hits. Because it will. Eventually.
Saturday, February 15, 2020
Thursday, February 13, 2020
Rediscovering One Percent
After the stomach issues caused my weight loss, and I was able to enjoy food again, my doctor cautioned about losing anymore weight. "Your bmi is just right", said Dov. Losing weight without effort seems like a good problem, until you've watched your posterior disappear. I mean . . . a person needs some cushioning!
And so, I was having some trouble with keeping the existing weight on. I was talking to oldest offspring and they suggested I try whole milk or cream in my tea and oatmeal in the morning. Which sounded good, as the fat has a soothing effect on my stomach.
I've been following their advice for over a month now and good advice it was. Until, my taste buds began to balk over the whole milk flavor. Oi! I sat down to ponder the situation and how I've learned that our brains need a certain amount of fat for functioning. Then it hit me: both of us could benefit if I changed to one percent. Maybe that fat really does help the brain!
And so, I was having some trouble with keeping the existing weight on. I was talking to oldest offspring and they suggested I try whole milk or cream in my tea and oatmeal in the morning. Which sounded good, as the fat has a soothing effect on my stomach.
I've been following their advice for over a month now and good advice it was. Until, my taste buds began to balk over the whole milk flavor. Oi! I sat down to ponder the situation and how I've learned that our brains need a certain amount of fat for functioning. Then it hit me: both of us could benefit if I changed to one percent. Maybe that fat really does help the brain!
Saturday, February 8, 2020
February Musings
Oof! That February afternoon sun is fierce today . . . oh wait, it's stopped. Whew! And now it's raining! Whew!
Hmmm, maybe that's why the NW coast tugs at me now--intermittent sun. There were times, when we would camp with family at Sugar Loaf CG at Cascade Reservoir, when the sun would make me feel sad and headachy. One afternoon, N found me sweaty and sobbing in our sweltering tent. Not the sanest thing I've ever done, but there was nowhere else to find private relief.
And I'd almost forgotten the summer we went to Indianapolis to visit daughter. The best part was spending time with oldest daughter and seeing the sites, but the worst part was the constant summer haze. It seemed to defuse the sunlight into a constant glare pointed at my eyes and then drilled through my brain.
I feel most happy and settled when I'm amongst the trees and green. When we lived in the south end of the state, I can remember driving northward, away from the bare, rolling hills, and feeling the relief wash over me, as the trees grew taller and crowded together on the hillsides, awash in soothing shades of green.
The Trees
by Philip Larkin
The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.
Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too,
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.
Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.
Hmmm, maybe that's why the NW coast tugs at me now--intermittent sun. There were times, when we would camp with family at Sugar Loaf CG at Cascade Reservoir, when the sun would make me feel sad and headachy. One afternoon, N found me sweaty and sobbing in our sweltering tent. Not the sanest thing I've ever done, but there was nowhere else to find private relief.
And I'd almost forgotten the summer we went to Indianapolis to visit daughter. The best part was spending time with oldest daughter and seeing the sites, but the worst part was the constant summer haze. It seemed to defuse the sunlight into a constant glare pointed at my eyes and then drilled through my brain.
I feel most happy and settled when I'm amongst the trees and green. When we lived in the south end of the state, I can remember driving northward, away from the bare, rolling hills, and feeling the relief wash over me, as the trees grew taller and crowded together on the hillsides, awash in soothing shades of green.
The Trees
by Philip Larkin
The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.
Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too,
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.
Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.
Monday, February 3, 2020
Tritanopia
To be honest, I can't remember exactly when I learned about my issues with not seeing all of the colors--but most likely it was in my teens. Because that's my first memory of living with these eyes I inherited from my Mother.
My cousin, Clarissa, also ended up with Tritanopia. When we were teenagers, we would ask to be dropped off at the mall for the usual teen activity: shopping. Bold Clarissa would often turn to a close-by woman, hold up an item of clothing and ask, "can you tell me what color this is?". Some women would look at our young smiling faces and assume we were part of Candid Camera or another kind of joke. But most would happily or cautiously answer. I can't remember if anyone would ask a follow-up question. They probably just wanted to escape. I think I would, too.
Working in kindergarten, I could ask children for help. They rarely asked me why, probably because we're always asking them questions we already know the answer to. I can remember twice, during the years I worked, when I noticed a student with a color problem. I'd help them use the possible clues/strategies: crayons might still have their color word wrapper on or they could ask a table neighbor.
And people I meet, who find out, will usually have a list of questions. Which caused me to fine tune my explanation--though I have no clue if it's a good one or not. But, it's the best I've come up with. My answer is that I can see the colors in the crayola box of eight, but I can only guess at the shades/hues in between.
It's on my mind today, because the website where I learned the name of my color deficiency has put out an app with a new type of test. This morning's test, shows the severity of my Tritanopia is increasing. That's permission to dress however the hell I want . . . right? Don't worry, N, I'll still consult you (when I remember) when I buy something for the house. Hopefully.
My cousin, Clarissa, also ended up with Tritanopia. When we were teenagers, we would ask to be dropped off at the mall for the usual teen activity: shopping. Bold Clarissa would often turn to a close-by woman, hold up an item of clothing and ask, "can you tell me what color this is?". Some women would look at our young smiling faces and assume we were part of Candid Camera or another kind of joke. But most would happily or cautiously answer. I can't remember if anyone would ask a follow-up question. They probably just wanted to escape. I think I would, too.
Working in kindergarten, I could ask children for help. They rarely asked me why, probably because we're always asking them questions we already know the answer to. I can remember twice, during the years I worked, when I noticed a student with a color problem. I'd help them use the possible clues/strategies: crayons might still have their color word wrapper on or they could ask a table neighbor.
And people I meet, who find out, will usually have a list of questions. Which caused me to fine tune my explanation--though I have no clue if it's a good one or not. But, it's the best I've come up with. My answer is that I can see the colors in the crayola box of eight, but I can only guess at the shades/hues in between.
It's on my mind today, because the website where I learned the name of my color deficiency has put out an app with a new type of test. This morning's test, shows the severity of my Tritanopia is increasing. That's permission to dress however the hell I want . . . right? Don't worry, N, I'll still consult you (when I remember) when I buy something for the house. Hopefully.
Sunday, February 2, 2020
Meh Dinner Reinvented Into Tasty Breakfast: News at Eleven
Several days ago, I opened up the refrigerator to find some dinner inspiration. And there you were, Jimmy Dean, you sexy chub o' pork and fat . . . begging to be included. I'm not certain of all that was tossed into that slap and dash dinner, but I do remember diced potatoes, onion, a small amount of rice (who knows why), and possibly a can of tomatoes with green chilies.
Last night, as I lay in bed, telling my brain to calm the hell down, I began to ponder feeding that meh dinner to N as (wait for it . . . ) BREAKFAST! My brain also remarked, "Dude, that was hash you made", and then I went to sleep with thoughts of Jimmy Dean being mentally transformed.
How did a meal go from "meh" to "tasty", due to eating it at a different time of day? I can only surmise that those 'several days' in the fridge were what that globby mass needed. OR perhaps it had to do with those over easy eggs, dripping their golden gravy over the hash? Whichever--it was a success and I'll be craving it again, no doubt.
Last night, as I lay in bed, telling my brain to calm the hell down, I began to ponder feeding that meh dinner to N as (wait for it . . . ) BREAKFAST! My brain also remarked, "Dude, that was hash you made", and then I went to sleep with thoughts of Jimmy Dean being mentally transformed.
How did a meal go from "meh" to "tasty", due to eating it at a different time of day? I can only surmise that those 'several days' in the fridge were what that globby mass needed. OR perhaps it had to do with those over easy eggs, dripping their golden gravy over the hash? Whichever--it was a success and I'll be craving it again, no doubt.
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