Notice: Jan is NOT a wogger, even a slow slow wogger, she is a wadker, a waddler/walker. Hummm, she might even be a sitler, a sitter/waddler. Or maybe a slotter, a slow sitter. Don't want to do anything too fast now, do I?
Life isn't always wrinkle free pants.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Notice
Notice: Jean has her eye cut on tomorrow, everyone wish her well.
Notice: Jane retired just in time to become a full time nurse to her family, everyone wish her health.
Notice: Mark Harris is going to sit around on his butt for the next three months, everyone wish him to take up blogging again. A fine butt sitting activity.
Notice: I have had one response to my mother comment request, only thirty or forty people to go. Thank you Jean.
Notice: Kathy Noland has turned fifty and claims she is getting old, everyone throw noodles at her.
Notice: Jan is taking up the sport of Wogger (walker/jogger) so everyone get out of the way. Thank you Sandy for the best word in the known universe. Woggering is always pleasant even if you are a slow wogger, a very slow wogger.
NO WOGGERING FOR MARK!
Life isn't always a Mickey Mouse pencil.
Notice: Jane retired just in time to become a full time nurse to her family, everyone wish her health.
Notice: Mark Harris is going to sit around on his butt for the next three months, everyone wish him to take up blogging again. A fine butt sitting activity.
Notice: I have had one response to my mother comment request, only thirty or forty people to go. Thank you Jean.
Notice: Kathy Noland has turned fifty and claims she is getting old, everyone throw noodles at her.
Notice: Jan is taking up the sport of Wogger (walker/jogger) so everyone get out of the way. Thank you Sandy for the best word in the known universe. Woggering is always pleasant even if you are a slow wogger, a very slow wogger.
NO WOGGERING FOR MARK!
Life isn't always a Mickey Mouse pencil.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Pearls Grow, Stones Die
There was a particularly severe rainstorm and all of a sudden the ground was covered with thousands, millions of little bud thingys, some kind of hanging seed pod, some kind of plant matter. I'm hoping, I'm praying that the thingys are what was causing my allergies and that they are gone, drying up to dust, becoming green fertilizer for the next crop. That they are dead and gone.
Everything dies, doesn't it, buds, me, mountains, suns? Even books, Roman roads and helicopters die.
The luck of death row: Ian killed a spider in his bedroom. In mine they are allowed to live. I shoo them away or escort them outside. I don't love spiders mind you, I just don't hate them. I don't think they all need to die. I don't know a lot about spiders except they have eight legs instead of six, they spin webs, eat insects and are very very quiet. Insects die. Green thingys die. Tires die.
Death is seldom looked at directly, it's usually more in our peripheral vision, either denied or viewed through the lens of religion. I vote for death being a gateway to the next dimension, the next grand adventure, be it Biblical or Star Trekkie.
The thing about death is it makes you want to live, and living makes you want to love. So I'm going to love things, experiences, places, books, movies, food, and most of all people.
Today I loved the ferry ride, the drive to Port Angeles, the breakfast at The Chestnut Cottage, the views of the mountains, The Strait of Juan De Fuca, and the ride with Lynn.
Love you.
Everything dies, doesn't it, buds, me, mountains, suns? Even books, Roman roads and helicopters die.
The luck of death row: Ian killed a spider in his bedroom. In mine they are allowed to live. I shoo them away or escort them outside. I don't love spiders mind you, I just don't hate them. I don't think they all need to die. I don't know a lot about spiders except they have eight legs instead of six, they spin webs, eat insects and are very very quiet. Insects die. Green thingys die. Tires die.
Death is seldom looked at directly, it's usually more in our peripheral vision, either denied or viewed through the lens of religion. I vote for death being a gateway to the next dimension, the next grand adventure, be it Biblical or Star Trekkie.
The thing about death is it makes you want to live, and living makes you want to love. So I'm going to love things, experiences, places, books, movies, food, and most of all people.
Today I loved the ferry ride, the drive to Port Angeles, the breakfast at The Chestnut Cottage, the views of the mountains, The Strait of Juan De Fuca, and the ride with Lynn.
Love you.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Monday, April 19, 2010
Mother's Day Notice
With Mother's Day fast approaching I would like a collection of Mother thoughts on the blog. Since it is named after our mother, Maxine, I thought it would be appropriate to honor any and all mothers. Our mother wouldn't mind sharing the lime light. So, if you would email me a thought, remembrance, story, tidbit, or joke about a mother, our mother, your mother, somebodies mother I'll post them. Motherhood, hardest job on the planet.
I'm also going to email everyone... Remember a Mother's Day thought.
I'm also going to email everyone... Remember a Mother's Day thought.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Allergy Season
My body has got to the point where is either drips, hurts, aches, blurs, limps, itches, twinges, spasms, cramps, cricks, throbs, creaks, smarts, chafes, twitches, stumbles, sags, lurches, grows in where it shouldn't (toenails) or out where it shouldn't (whiskers), and that's not to mention all the unmentionables. Flatulence any one?
My friend Carol said she quit smoking 114 pounds ago.
I quit smoking 6 pounds ago.
I talked to Jean and Janice, they both seem dandy.
How goes it with Mr Mark Harris? Does he hurt, ache, twitch, limp, creak, or smart?
We have a Son's diner Sunday. Roger and Stephanie are grilling chicken and tri-tip, I'm making Paula Dean's Grandma Hier's Carrot Cake/fantastic, squash stir fry, and potato salad.
Speaking of potatoes:
I love potatoes. I especially have loved potatoes ever since the doctor told me to cut potatoes out of my diet. I have, sort of, so it's been a while since I've cooked any, but I was boiling potatoes to make potato salad for Son's Dinner and I got to thinking about the little spuds.
Growing up it was one of the nastiness garden jobs; They needed to be cut up so each little piece had a growing nub, an eye. It was a dirty job. Dad always plowed the furrows but we kids had to plant them and those furrows had to have been ten miles long. It was a dirty job. After what seemed like years of weeding and watering they needed dug up out of the ground and all the wet clumpy dirt clots had to be shook or rubbed off. Another dirty job. Then they were stored somewhere cool and dry so they would be preserved, and before eating they had to be culled and scrubbed. I hated all the "stuff" of growing potatoes. The "cool and dry" part of storing never seemed quiet "cool and dry" enough because the potatoes would be stinky, mushy, moldy or rotting and we would have to dig though them until we garnered enough for dinner for all of us, all ten of us, every night, night after night. You could wash potatoes for two hours and there would still be a little garden grit. There was always worms.
No golden glow of nostalgia growing the nasty things, but man they were good eating then and they are good eating now. Why we don't hate them unequivocally is one of the mysteries of the universe. Who would ever think such a dirty little, grubby little, plain little, homely little, miserable little vegetable could cause so much gastronomic joy.
With the allergy season of age upon me, potatoes somehow eases all the aches, pains, limps, creaks and groans. The ultimate Taylor comfort food. Whether you are recovering from a broken leg, a broken heart, a malfunctioning lung, a re-designed eye, or a drippy nose potatoes can make it better.
Life isn't always a french fried potato.
My friend Carol said she quit smoking 114 pounds ago.
I quit smoking 6 pounds ago.
I talked to Jean and Janice, they both seem dandy.
How goes it with Mr Mark Harris? Does he hurt, ache, twitch, limp, creak, or smart?
We have a Son's diner Sunday. Roger and Stephanie are grilling chicken and tri-tip, I'm making Paula Dean's Grandma Hier's Carrot Cake/fantastic, squash stir fry, and potato salad.
Speaking of potatoes:
I love potatoes. I especially have loved potatoes ever since the doctor told me to cut potatoes out of my diet. I have, sort of, so it's been a while since I've cooked any, but I was boiling potatoes to make potato salad for Son's Dinner and I got to thinking about the little spuds.
Growing up it was one of the nastiness garden jobs; They needed to be cut up so each little piece had a growing nub, an eye. It was a dirty job. Dad always plowed the furrows but we kids had to plant them and those furrows had to have been ten miles long. It was a dirty job. After what seemed like years of weeding and watering they needed dug up out of the ground and all the wet clumpy dirt clots had to be shook or rubbed off. Another dirty job. Then they were stored somewhere cool and dry so they would be preserved, and before eating they had to be culled and scrubbed. I hated all the "stuff" of growing potatoes. The "cool and dry" part of storing never seemed quiet "cool and dry" enough because the potatoes would be stinky, mushy, moldy or rotting and we would have to dig though them until we garnered enough for dinner for all of us, all ten of us, every night, night after night. You could wash potatoes for two hours and there would still be a little garden grit. There was always worms.
No golden glow of nostalgia growing the nasty things, but man they were good eating then and they are good eating now. Why we don't hate them unequivocally is one of the mysteries of the universe. Who would ever think such a dirty little, grubby little, plain little, homely little, miserable little vegetable could cause so much gastronomic joy.
With the allergy season of age upon me, potatoes somehow eases all the aches, pains, limps, creaks and groans. The ultimate Taylor comfort food. Whether you are recovering from a broken leg, a broken heart, a malfunctioning lung, a re-designed eye, or a drippy nose potatoes can make it better.
Life isn't always a french fried potato.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Listing and Legendary
Jean will be listing to the side for a bit after her cataract surgery. I tried both her phone numbers this morning and missed her on all counts. I guess I didn't get up early enough.
I'd try to call Jean and receive no response, then I'd type on my computer to try to blog a bit and get no response -- All I wanted to do was wish Jean well.
I hope the result of her surgery is she has eyes like a damn blue jay, no like an eagle, they are more majestic.
I hope the doctors are amazed at how well it goes. I hope they exclaim they had never had a more perfect experience. I hope it doesn't hurt a bit. Seems like I remember it is a pain free surgery. Anyway, get well Jean.
Mark will be listing to the side for a bit after his broken leg surgery. Ditto what I wrote for Jean, well, except for the phone calls, and the eyes like an eagle, and the pain free. Pain free means the leg is gone and we don't wish that. So may you have minimal pain, and I do hope the doctors exclaim they had never had a more perfect surgery. I hope the doctors are amazed at how well it goes. And you, you "steely-eyed missile man" I hope you get well lickity split. That's Southern talk for quick. All our love to you, and no more tumbles in the tub.
The legendary? Out of the ether -- out of the cosmos -- out of the infinite infinity of cyberspace space -- I received an email from Andrew Bowman -- Me and no other made contact! I can prove it, I have a copy of the original email:
This is your nephew Andrew. Hey, what are you up to and how are you doing? OK bye.
Now, did you get one of those? No, I didn't think so. After the initial contact Andrew replied to my reply. He is reading -- lots -- enough to rival you Jerry, and doing well. Now that I have heard from Andrew, I believe anything is possible. I believe in miracles: I'll quit smoking, there will be peace in the middle east, Jeff will get married, Ian will go to Harvard, Jerry will lose weight, and I don't know something else miraculous will happen, Connor will run the Boston Marathon at four and win.
Thank you Andrew for my new found belief in miracles.
Other than that life is pretty ordinary.
Onlineshoes will have it's last warehouse sale April 23, 24, and 25.
Adjusting to my new trifocals.
Lunch with Claire.
Christian will maintain my car.
Cooking some veggies to keep on the "kinda healthy" track.
Playdate with Connor.
I was talking to Jerry the other day and Jane was reading Seattle's weather forecast. Eight days of rain. She was right, eight long days of rain and today a glimpse of sunshine. See, it's a miracle.
Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. I was going to my friend Carol's for Easter dinner and I took a ferry to the wrong island. I had to get an a different ferry and go to the right island. I was a bit late for dinner. I'm hoping it's because I'm getting old and not because I'm losing my mind.
Life isn't always snow-capped Olympics.
Wish you were here.
I'd try to call Jean and receive no response, then I'd type on my computer to try to blog a bit and get no response -- All I wanted to do was wish Jean well.
I hope the result of her surgery is she has eyes like a damn blue jay, no like an eagle, they are more majestic.
I hope the doctors are amazed at how well it goes. I hope they exclaim they had never had a more perfect experience. I hope it doesn't hurt a bit. Seems like I remember it is a pain free surgery. Anyway, get well Jean.
Mark will be listing to the side for a bit after his broken leg surgery. Ditto what I wrote for Jean, well, except for the phone calls, and the eyes like an eagle, and the pain free. Pain free means the leg is gone and we don't wish that. So may you have minimal pain, and I do hope the doctors exclaim they had never had a more perfect surgery. I hope the doctors are amazed at how well it goes. And you, you "steely-eyed missile man" I hope you get well lickity split. That's Southern talk for quick. All our love to you, and no more tumbles in the tub.
The legendary? Out of the ether -- out of the cosmos -- out of the infinite infinity of cyberspace space -- I received an email from Andrew Bowman -- Me and no other made contact! I can prove it, I have a copy of the original email:
This is your nephew Andrew. Hey, what are you up to and how are you doing? OK bye.
Now, did you get one of those? No, I didn't think so. After the initial contact Andrew replied to my reply. He is reading -- lots -- enough to rival you Jerry, and doing well. Now that I have heard from Andrew, I believe anything is possible. I believe in miracles: I'll quit smoking, there will be peace in the middle east, Jeff will get married, Ian will go to Harvard, Jerry will lose weight, and I don't know something else miraculous will happen, Connor will run the Boston Marathon at four and win.
Thank you Andrew for my new found belief in miracles.
Other than that life is pretty ordinary.
Onlineshoes will have it's last warehouse sale April 23, 24, and 25.
Adjusting to my new trifocals.
Lunch with Claire.
Christian will maintain my car.
Cooking some veggies to keep on the "kinda healthy" track.
Playdate with Connor.
I was talking to Jerry the other day and Jane was reading Seattle's weather forecast. Eight days of rain. She was right, eight long days of rain and today a glimpse of sunshine. See, it's a miracle.
Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. I was going to my friend Carol's for Easter dinner and I took a ferry to the wrong island. I had to get an a different ferry and go to the right island. I was a bit late for dinner. I'm hoping it's because I'm getting old and not because I'm losing my mind.
Life isn't always snow-capped Olympics.
Wish you were here.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Times They Are A Changing
Eat something sweet to sweeten yourself and then BITE ME. I know my pay grade and I don't rise above it. If Stephanie said no sweets, it's no sweets. I'm gonna mind.
And you should see Connor eat all his green stuff, with gusto. He pushes rolls out of the way to get at his limabeans. On his birthday he cried for his spinach stuffed rolls. This is the toddler world before sugar, when food was good. You will just have to buck up and get on the "I'm a gettin healthy" bandwagon. No one said it would be easy or with out servere shocks to your sugar organisum, but after the first shock the rest is easier. You will survive.
My money is on Stephanie if you try to follow Connor around with a five pound bag of candy. Times they are a changing.
As far as camping on Saturday before kayaking, didn't you hear me say the ENTIRE San Juan Island campground was reserved by a graduation class for the 12th. That's why I didn't reserve.
I have never been on Lopez Island, but Roger says it's a great biking island, more flat and biker friendly. Are you bringing your bike? You could work off some sugar.
I'll polish up a nice tender spot for you to bite when you get here.
And you should see Connor eat all his green stuff, with gusto. He pushes rolls out of the way to get at his limabeans. On his birthday he cried for his spinach stuffed rolls. This is the toddler world before sugar, when food was good. You will just have to buck up and get on the "I'm a gettin healthy" bandwagon. No one said it would be easy or with out servere shocks to your sugar organisum, but after the first shock the rest is easier. You will survive.
My money is on Stephanie if you try to follow Connor around with a five pound bag of candy. Times they are a changing.
As far as camping on Saturday before kayaking, didn't you hear me say the ENTIRE San Juan Island campground was reserved by a graduation class for the 12th. That's why I didn't reserve.
I have never been on Lopez Island, but Roger says it's a great biking island, more flat and biker friendly. Are you bringing your bike? You could work off some sugar.
I'll polish up a nice tender spot for you to bite when you get here.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Shame
SHAME, SHAME, SHAME on you Neomia Jan Taylor Carrillo-Jones. From some people I would expect it, but not from you. I don't understand, I don't believe it, what happened? Is it time to look for you a home where you aren't a threat to yourself or society. I trusted you, I believed in you and now this. YOU always told me the way to a child's heart was to keep there pockets full of candy. Have you sold out and joined the health police. What do I tell our children, there dreams smashed, there belief in you shattered. They always used you as an example. It was always Aunt Jan said it was okay. What do I do now?
I'm okay now. Jane says I was only unconscious a little while. Probable a minor heart attack, but I'm better now. Taking deep breaths. Calmly, calmly, type slowly, breathe, breathe. Feeling better every minute.
On a lighter note.
Looking at the San Juan Island County park, there are no saturdays available. It does not show them as rented but you can't reserve them. I could get Thu, Fri, Sun and Mon but not saturday. There are sites on Lopez for saturday. Have you ever stayed there? We are still kicking around coming to your party.
Amber and her family are doing well. Amber got a promotion at work but I can't explain it. Blaine is in track. Hannah's birthday is coming up. 15 years old. Who would believe it. She will be driving at Greenleaf. We're getting together for Easter. Drove to Andover and had dinner yesterday with Marc and there boys. Jennifer and Jordan were at a Taylor Swift concert with most of the females in the neighborhood. Marc left for China this morning, 5 cities in 5 days and be home next friday. Clark is running track also. Jackson and Clark made blueberry muffins. Jackson gave 1 to me, 1 to Jane and ate the other 10. We should be honored. Clark came looking for a muffin and they were gone.
Greenleaf was delightful. We have reservations for next year's Spring Break. Spring is here. Tulips and daffodils blooming. Planted tomatoes yesterday. Tornados today.
Life is good.
Lov Ya
Jerry & Jane
PS
If we come to Seattle I am bringing a 5 lb sack of candy and I'm following Connor around and keep his pockets full.
Easter Happens
Connor gets a chocolate and candy free Easter, it will be toys and noise and lots of fun for the wee man, but no sweets.
Health seems to be on people's minds, at their fingertips, people just trying to get a bit healthier. Everything from cutting out smoking to cutting out sweets. No huge major life changes, except for the cigarettes maybe, and the eye surgery, but lots of little increments. Walking, breathing, pesky eye surgeries are all part of getting sorted, of having a healthier frame of mind, frame of reference.
Christian has an almost new girl friend. Oh, sorry I got a little distracted, not overly excited or anything, no visions of future weddings and grand babies, just curious. So, back to health.
I read an article by Michael Pollan about how he could have any treat he wanted as long as he made it himself; french fries, ice cream, chocolate eclairs are all legal under his personal rule. I like that rule.
So, here's to a Happy Easter, a healthy future, and all the treats you can make. Now, I wonder how to make chocolate marshmallow bunnies...
Life isn't always roses and bubbles.
Health seems to be on people's minds, at their fingertips, people just trying to get a bit healthier. Everything from cutting out smoking to cutting out sweets. No huge major life changes, except for the cigarettes maybe, and the eye surgery, but lots of little increments. Walking, breathing, pesky eye surgeries are all part of getting sorted, of having a healthier frame of mind, frame of reference.
Christian has an almost new girl friend. Oh, sorry I got a little distracted, not overly excited or anything, no visions of future weddings and grand babies, just curious. So, back to health.
I read an article by Michael Pollan about how he could have any treat he wanted as long as he made it himself; french fries, ice cream, chocolate eclairs are all legal under his personal rule. I like that rule.
So, here's to a Happy Easter, a healthy future, and all the treats you can make. Now, I wonder how to make chocolate marshmallow bunnies...
Life isn't always roses and bubbles.
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