Blogging Wisdom and Movie Moments

I believe the wisdom of aging allows for indulging some personal needs and whims. That attitude has informed a change in my approach to blogging for the past month or so. Sitting at my desk top hasn't been particularly pleasurable, so I've chosen to spend little time exerting much effort at my keyboard daily. I've been focusing on some personal medical health needs, now mostly resolved, other matters, and placed even my part-time work on hold. I have, however, pondered thoughts and some memories of my favorite season, autumn, including Indian Summer, becoming the subject of several short posts. So it is that I have been catering to myself to the exclusion of some blogging activities. I find I like this current approach and will likely do more of the same in the future.

Movie DVDs have recently provided a pleasurable respite to an unexpected degree. I selected the films with little knowledge of their content. I had seen no trailers, or been exposed to other promotional materials about these movies. I was not influenced by movies based on a specific book, having long ago learned that any resemblance between a book I had enjoyed reading and a movie by the same title was all too often purely coincidental. In fact, using that criteria for a film's selection could be disappointing.

Generally, I attend to the directors, actors and select movie collections i.e. Criterion when I consider movies for viewing, especially if they are known to be selective about the projects with which they associate themselves. Often, films nominated for various film festival awards can also be potential candidates attracting my consideration.

One such movie I selected from The Criterion Collection is titled "Dead Ringers" starring actors, Jeremy Irons and Genevieve Bujold whose talents I appreciate. Irons plays both rolls of identical twin gynecologists known for their innovative treatments who operate an exclusive clinic. This psychological medical drama thriller is purported in the New York Times review by Janet Maslin to be a "loosely fact-based tale...the film's most disturbing moments coming mostly through suggestion."

I find "suggestion" a much more powerful stimulate for my feelings than most literal special effects film creations. Director David Cronenberg's movie certainly impacted me beyond expectation in that regard. I think I was likely overly-sensitive for at least two reasons. One had to do with the movie's medical anatomical focus and visual effects. The other reason was due to a real life experience I had as a pre-teen. In the latter instance, I and others, independent of each other, were subjected to dental treatment from a dentist later determined to have been descending into psychological madness for which he was eventually institutionalized.

This movie is an intriguing idea likely appealing to many of stronger fortitude than I. The shower scene in "Psycho" haunted me for many years, partly due to the scene's music. Selected visual scenes in "Dead Ringers" could readily surpass my reaction to that shower scene -- but I looked away.

I'll recap a few other movies later that I find to be much more pleasing visually, psychologically satisfying, and emotionally gratifying. They portray more frequent realistic life experiences with which we can all identify or, at least, recognize.

Indian Summer Suspense

Autumn season holds suspense for me each year as I look forward to the possibiity an Indian Summer might just materialize. I don't know if some lucky area will experience this unique seasonal event this year, or not. Those years when weather condidtions are such this special period of days occurs where I happen to be living, I find myself entranced for that brief time, almost as though my world has been encapsulated in a special dimension where summer seems to suddenly re-emerge when least expected.

Indian Summer is unpredictable yearly, but most likely to occur after a first frost's sudden sharp cold snap, as temperatures begin to dip toward the freezing weather colder climates experience. Just as I anticipate the onset of increasingly colder days and nights, I am suddenly offered this reprieve and reminder of these unexpected warmer days.

This unique time of year referred to as Indian Summer has been the focus of music and memories for many through the years. Those who appreciate the vocal abilities of harmonizing groups value the talent of those who independently blended their voices in the days before technology did it all for them. The Four Freshmen is one of several such favorite groups of mine. I had the good fortune to see them in performance and meet them at the peak of their popularity. You may listen to their rendition of "Indian Summer" HERE
(scroll down to the third featured album.)

"Summer, you old Indian Summer...."

Fall Season

Today begins the Fall 2007 season, one of my favorite times of the year. A song that often comes to mind is "September Song," one many musical artists have performed, but as he aged, I think the rendition sung by Frank Sinatra became especially poignant including lyrics:

"Oh, it's a long, long while from May to December
But the days grow short when you reach September
When the autumn weather turns the leaves to flame
One hasn't got time for the waiting game"


I've always been fascinated with the bright vivid changing colors of the leaves I recall from my youthful years in the midwest. I remember raking fall leaves, making a huge pile in the back yard, then running and jumping in them. We could even build a bonfire with them in a large old circular oil drum once our playing finished and thoughts of food prevailed. Those days preceeded the awareness of environmental issues so prevalent and of concern today. We whittled small stick branches to a sharp point on one end, on which we impaled hot dogs and marshmallows to create our desired treat and satisfy our hunger.

Years later as as a young adult I fondly recall a fall traveling in the northeastern states well known for the most spectacular of all seasonal colors. The U. S. Department of Agriculture Forest Service provides some reference dates for viewing fall colors in various parts of our country for all who might seek such pleasure.

Pleasure Fulfilled

There is a never-ending unwritten list in the back of my mind of small pleasures I look forward to experiencing. One such item on my list is highlighted below. I expect many of you have your own uniquely appealing list.

BOOM ! ! !

The cannon roared unexpectedly drawing our eyes skyward. A gigantic frothy grayish smoke ring slowly moved higher in the night’s moon lit sky toward cloud layers in the atmosphere before fading from view. The amphitheatre crowd cheered. The one hundred person Pacific Symphony Orchestra continued bombarding us with the increasing tempo and volume of Tchaikovsky's "1812 Overture." Mesmerizing sound punctuated violent musical crescendos as though the sky was quickly embracing this offering to the gods and goddesses of sensual pleasure. Then there was a sky splitting crackling sound simultaneous with the explosions of sparkling colors including red, silver, gold fireworks shooting upward like rockets, then spreading across the sky in a long sequence of firings. The residual flaming sparks gradually dimmed, faded from sight, then suddenly a second cannon BOOM followed by the appearance of another smoke ring, soon drifting off in search of its predecessor. Another long-desired pleasure fulfilled for this witness to the end of summer’s amphitheatre concerts.

Pleasure Triumps Over Tribulation

I'll likely be spending another weekend out of town with friends soon. We usually have a rollicking good time laughing at the most ridiculous events. For example, one weekend we had a bit of a ticket crisis for a concert we were to attend that night. The tickets were not where my friend expected them to be in her incoming mail basket. She had looked for them earlier, but couldn't find them. After I arrived, while we were chatting, she resumed her ticket search. She unsuccessfully leafed through the contents of that basket a second time, reporting, "Here's the envelope -- but there are no tickets inside." She wondered, "Do you suppose they never sent the tickets?" I volunteered I thought I recalled her telling me in a phone conversation she had received them.

She carefully looked through opened letters just one more time, "Ah!" she held up tickets, "Here they are! Oh, wait a minute, these are tickets for plays we're going to this fall." She paused, "Do you suppose when these tickets came, I mistakenly thought they were the concert tickets?" She hastiliy added, "Oh, I don't think I would have done that -- on the other hand..." Having found an envelope in which she thought the tickets had come, my friend was confident she would readily find them just mixed in with some other letters and papers she could look through later, so we relaxed to talk some more.

Her husband shortly joined us, having earlier turned on the grill in preparation for the casual relaxed unhurried dinner we planned before we left. My friend made another quick, but unsuccessful check for the tickets, as she reported, "I'm sure I remember seeing them when they arrived in the mail weeks ago." She was quite exasperated by now, and decided to elicit her husband's magical ticket locating powers. He took on this challenging task with the self-assurance of someone who knew one of his primary reasons for being in life was to solve problems -- especially his wife's. He confidently initiated the ticket search as the grill continued heating while he looked through the in-basket's contents.

Shortly, he said, "What time is it now?" When he was told, he became even more concentrated on his searching efforts. He began sifting through the same papers, looking in those envelopes again, in a slightly more frantic mode, accompanied by an escalating rapid sequence of hand movements and sorting, sprinkled with, "Should we keep this?," or "Why are we keeping this?" and later, "Can't we throw this away?" Then, "No, we better keep this." Across the room his wife said, "I'll check this junk drawer, just in case, though I'm sure I wouldn't have put them here." But no tickets there. "Well, there is one other drawer that's a possibility, though I really don't think they're there." And, they weren't!

One of them suggested the tickets had probably slipped down behind the cabinet where the in-basket resided. After all, they both agreed, the basket was pretty full and they really did need to take care of all those papers. The basket didn't look that full to me, and didn't even seem to be spilling out over the top, but it was fairly deep. In order to access the area behind the cabinet, he removed a couple wine bottles from a shelf and set them on the table. We laughingly discussed that perhaps we should just open the wine and forget about the tickets, when examination revealed no tickets or even any papers had fallen out of the in-basket to slip down behind the cabinet.

Voices began to assume a slightly tense anxious quality when another time check revealed we should have started eating dinner earlier and were now behind schedule. A rush to the grill; soon salmon, hastily prepared salad, corn on the cob, and other food ultimately made it to the table. The previously intended lengthy relaxed dinner hour became one of "eat as fast as you can so we can get out of here." I proved to be the slowest of all at this task and the next thing I knew my plate was removed from in front of me the split second my fork raised the last bite a fraction of an inch off the plate's surface.

We marveled at this newly created genteel social custom of table clearing, and my host laughingly wondered if he had jeopardized how I would now view their warm hospitality. Of course, I hastened to assure him "It won't have an adverse effect at all, other than I won't be visiting you any more, or if I do come, I certainly won't be eating with you." Then, I observed, "Or is that what you were angling for all along?" I didn't even give him time to respond and quickly retracted my declaration. They weren't going to get rid of me that easily. We were all laughing so hard at this turn of events, it's a wonder I didn't choke on that last bite of food and need the Heimlich Maneuver.

Earlier there had been some discussion about whether or not we should even bother driving into the amphitheatre traffic congestion, since we were behind schedule, and probably wouldn't be able to attend the concert anyway. My friend said, "We can't phone the amphitheatre 'cause the tickets all come from somewhere else and that office isn't open now. I don't think they're equipped to replace tickets at the theatre, either." She paused, then said, "Well, if we go and try to explain at the amphitheatre ticket office, they probably won't believe our story, much less let us in." As an after thought she laughingly commented, "Maybe we should just not even bother to go." We all agreed those unopened bottles of wine that hadn't been put back on their shelf were starting to look more and more attractive in preference to the traffic jam we anticipated, and the likelihood we might not even be able to enter the amphitheatre anyway.

Still it was not in the nature of any of us to give in too easily on this venture. Surely we could believably plead our cause and succeed where others with lesser drive might give up much too readily. The driving force within us dictated that we must at least try, despite the hardship we might endure. We must risk learning the outcome by going there. Besides, those wine bottles would be awaiting us, if we had to return home in abject defeat.

We continued laughing incredulously at our situation, as someone said, "Oh, what the heck, we can park in the lot and maybe hear the concert from the car." The Problem Solver said, "Look, once we get through that bottleneck heavy traffic to get into the parking lot, you drive me up close to the entrance, and I'll get out. I'll walk up to the ticket office and see what I can do about getting us in. Maybe I can buy some more tickets if I have to, and they're not sold out." He then directed her, "You quickly find the closest parking spot you can, stay in the car, then watch for me. I'll come back and signal you with a wave if we have tickets. If I don't wave, come and pick me up as that will mean, 'no tickets' and we can't get seats."

During this conversation, we were hurriedly darting about, as some of us were busy making a last minute pit stop, then gathering our jackets for needed warmth from the cooling ocean breezes that would flow in later in the evening, if we were lucky enough to get into the amphitheatre. We were well past our designated departure time by now. I'm feeling quite non-plussed by all this hoopla, and share that "I'm really not stressed out by this turn of events at all. My attitude is, this is just another little blip in life and we'll either hear the concert or we won't." So, we left on our mission, encountered traffic even worse than we had imagined. When we turned into the amphitheatre, we were forced to play auto chicken with all the other latecomers being funnelled from four or five driving lanes into two.

The stars must have been aligned in our favor though, as we were admitted to the concert with little or no difficulty. The remainder of the evening was delightfully enjoyable listening to the marvelous performance of the Pacific Symphony Orchestra. conducted by Carl St. Clair. The Shelly Berg Trio was featured; jazz samples can be heard on the link. I so enjoyed the music that I probably should write about the experience. But, the concert did come to an end and off we walked to our car. We did have to play auto chicken again driving out of the parking lot, then funnelling into too few lanes.

Several days later, my friend phoned me that her ticket source was going to send her replacement tickets for future concerts we planned to attend together. Furthermore, she said, after talking with that office, indications now are that she never received the tickets in the first place. I don't know what the implications of that turn of events are for my friend, so I assured her not to worry about it, as probably all it means is that she's losing her mind -- again. She's been pulling bizarre acts like that since I first knew her some thirty years ago. Of course, I've exhibited my share of them, too, but no point in mentioning that now. I'm sure I'll give her reason to once again question my sanity, any day.

I must say, the next concert experience for which I joined my friends seemed deadly calm by comparison to that previous one. We left really early, missed a lot of traffic, took along quite tasty prepared sandwiches we ate there, shared fruit. All but the designated driver sipped champagne. We even had a good parking spot, and avoided much of the exit traffic jam. Personally, I felt a little nostalgia for the excitement, uncertainty and chaos of that previous experience.

I can't help wondering if the fact I had a "whatever happens, happens" attitude of acceptance toward our ticket dilemma that first time, is a reflection of how I don't allow life's unexpected events to be quite as hand-wringingly distressing as they might have been in my younger days. Perhaps with aging, though I pursue all avenues to resolve any problems, I realize that if I'm unable, there are other pleasurable choices on which I can focus my attention. I wonder if others find that to be true for themselves, too?

Health Care Patient Rights

I remember only too well some years ago, when a friend phoned me in the wee hours of the morning, from her relatively new southeastern home across this continent from my Los Angeles area residence. She shared in great detail how one night earlier she couldn't sleep, that concern about breast cancer was on her mind, though she faithfully had regular mammograms and even had one quite recently. Still, she was uneasy, since ever-present fibroids made new lump detection difficult, plus there was a history of breast cancer in her family.

She related how she engaged in breast self-examination that night; described the uncertain but anxious feeling she experienced when she thought she had discovered a new lump. Finally, she woke her husband, whose examination of her breast was cautiously confirming that the lump did seem new. Subsequent medical consultations, examinations, tests, biopsies and all that entails, revealed she did, indeed, have a new lump; one her recent mammogram, and earlier ones, had failed to detect. Periodic phone calls from her kept me apprised of medical results, and then late one night, there was the dreaded call informing me of the unwanted malignancy diagnosis.

When we concluded that conversation, I thought of how we first met. We happened to move into neighborhood homes across the street from each other at about the same time. She came to my door to welcome me to the community, but as she soon confided, she was seeking someone she thought she could trust, with whom she could talk in confidence. She was having fibroid pain which raised breast cancer concerns in her mind.

During the years she lived in our town, another of her family members did develop breast cancer, which only served to heighten her self concerns. Twenty some years later, after having moved from our community, I received that late night phone call from her home in the southeast. I heard her pronouncement about herself, using a word I hoped I would never hear her speak, "malignant."

Ultimately, her breast had to be surgically removed and she went home with her husband to their relatively new residence. They did not have family in the state, but were gradually making friends in their new community. Their adult children resided on the opposite northwest coast from where my friends had moved.

We talked numerous times as she chose, using the three hour time difference for late calls west to me, to her advantage. Then, she phoned me again late one night, well into her battle against this ravaging disease. She described how she had to come home from the hospital with draining tubes protruding from her body, for which her husband was having to provide the care. She described feelings of distress, concern for his physical welfare due to the challenge of caring for her, despite some medical issues of his own.

I thought, for optimal gains during this time, she really needed to be thinking only about her own recovery, but not easy for her to do under the circumstances. I recall the sense of surprise and concern I felt that she had been sent home from a hospital setting still requiring all the care she described, not to mention the risks associated with possible infection.

Health care today, all too often, has workers other than the doctor and patient making medical care decisions. The insurer third party decision makers can be influenced more by financial considerations than what may be best for the patient. One medical problem that has aroused concern over just this issue is that of women who undergo breast removal surgery like my friend did.

My appreciation and thanks to DiAne Gillespie artist/musician who brought to my attention an important "Lifetime TV" article on the matter. A nurse's reality-based free verse emotional account of her thoughts and feelings associated with care of mastectomy patients is also printed there.

Reading the article, I am encouraged efforts are being made to address quality of care issues for women who have mastectomies, but our help is needed. We have an opportunity to sign a petition declaring a desire for bipartisan political support in passing Congressional legislation to benefit women who have mastectomies. The "Lifetime TV" article reports:

"In January 2007, Senators Olympia Snowe (R-ME) and Mary Landrieu (D-LA) and Representative Rosa L. DeLauro (D-CT) reintroduced the Breast Cancer Patient Protection Act of 2007 (S. 459/H.R.758). The bill would allow a woman and her doctor to decide whether she should recuperate for at least 48 hours in the hospital or whether she has enough support to get quality care at home following this emotionally and physically difficult surgery."

Last year Grammy-nominated singer-songwriter Jewel was joined by "Lifetime TV" in delivering 12 million petition signatures to Congress supporting the bill. Now they have 5,000 more signatures. Additional signatures are requested from any of us who share the desire to let our Congress persons know we want this bill passed and signed by the President.

Women and the men who care for them can sign the petition
at this "Lifetime TV" link urging Congress to pass the Breast Cancer Patient Protection Act of 2007 (Senate Bill 459/House of Representatives Bill 758) "...to ensure no more women are forced to experience a 'drive-through' mastectomy."

There are many worthy causes deserving of support. I won't always attempt to write about all of them, but this particular issue is of special significance to me.

As for my friend of strong character and courage, she participated in a medical research study at a highly respected hospital in her area. She entered the study with the expectation she would be one of the small minority, despite her high level stage of disease, to overcome her renegade cancer cells. In spite of chemo treatments, a bone marrow transplant, the strength she derived from her religious faith, her husband's, family and friends' support, supplemented by a local support team comprised of medical staff and others, she was unable to overcome the head start her cancer had in her lymph nodes before its detection.

She is another friend who has continued to be missed these years, just as far too many of us experience in our lifetimes and at any age.

Vision & Hearing Needs

Resources -- Comment Responses

I recently received hearing impaired and vision request inquiries in comments on my post about the Gnomedex Conference 2007. (see "Gnomedex Proud Elder" 8/11/07.) That was the Seattle conference where Ronni Bennett of "Time Goes By" presented on the topic of Elderblogging. (See “An Elderblogger At Gnomedex”) She discussed with these technology professionals some of the special computer features that would benefit some of all ages, but especially many elders (50 yrs and older) and those with special needs.

She continues to champion special features integration into computer design for elder ease of use and simplicity. She also proposes an inexpensive computer be produced to expand the Internet world to all elders including those with limited financial resources.

CBS-TV “60 Minutes” recently followed up an earlier Lesley Stahl story about the $100 computer created by MIT’S Nicholas Negroponte which could well have application to elder needs as Ronni has suggested.

Meanwhile, I promised in my blog post that I would explore and post here further information on the hearing and vision comments made on what I wrote.

1. Darlene said here and at TGB:
"I am severely hearing impaired and I wish someone would convince the computer geeks at YouTube that we need closed captioning below the videos. I miss out on so many things like clips of the Daily Show{with Jon Stewart} and Bill Moyers Journal."

Darlene, I tried many approaches but was unable to find a way to forward your request to any of the YouTube Team. Perhaps others more technological knowledgeable than I will read this and be able to find an email address. I think it's quite likely Ronni Bennett will make note of your same comment made on TGB. She will likely be more successful in presenting your view to those who need to be aware.

2. Ruthe said:
"I have trouble reading your blog, which shows up as gray on white. Be kind to vision impaired elders like me and make the typeface larger and bolder."

Ruthe, as I mentioned in an earlier comment response to you, my technical skills and time to devote to learning how to make alterations from the norm on my blog through Blogger are limited presently. Perhaps the best option for you and others with similar low vision issues would be to use a screen magnifier that would enlarge ALL print on your computer screens, as most blogs seem to be written in normal typeface size. I know only too well from my mother’s visual needs and that of others with whom I’ve interacted, that often thick or heavier black lines contrasted against a white background are needed to facilitate visual perception for many individuals.

Following are some links I was able to obtain through Google search that provide information and/or products of interest to individuals with visual limitations. I have not personally used any of these links and products, nor have I had direct contact with anyone who has used them. They do appear to be worth a potential users investigation.

I am aware there has been increased vision emphasis in recent years with some Occupational Therapists (O.T.) providing low vision therapy. You might want to consider checking with your local hospital or rehabilitation hospital to see if such service is available in your community. Be certain to establish any vision therapists you engage have obtained special or continuing education and training for providing such visual deficit interventions.

In Southern California, Los Angeles County, where I live, whenever I receive inquiries about special vision needs and products, I provide referrals to their ophthalmologist and a local hospital whose O.T.’s do provide a low vision program. A primary referral source I provide is to the Braille Institute whose website states: "Braille Institute is a private non-profit organization whose mission is to eliminate blindness and severe sight loss as a barrier to a fulfilling life."

They have a large mobile van that regularly visits Southern California communities, often senior citizen meeting places, where individuals can seek the most current information about all vision issues. I suggest you check with your local ophthalmologists, senior groups, phone directory and Internet listings to see what is available in your area.

One Braille Institute service with which I am most familiar is Talking Books -- available throughout the United States, free to those legally blind or blind. I do have personal experience with this organization as my mother, legally blind, received the benefits of some of their services; was a user of audio Talking Books, first when they were records, then tapes. Today the books are on CDs. Certainly they are much more readily available from public libraries, for purchase, with Internet sources, too. Talking Books were a lifeline to the world for my mother for many years.

Following is a computer screen magnifier product I have read favorable comments about from some individuals who reportedly are satisfied users that you might want to consider: BigShot Magnifier"This low-cost, easy-to-use magnification program allows you to fine tune the screen for more comfortable viewing. With 20 levels of magnification from 100 to 200 percent, BigShot allows you to focus on your work without straining to see the screen. Price $99."

Other links I located included:A listing of numerous links to U.S. Internet Resources - Low Vision; UAB Lister Hill Library of the Health Sciences; Association of Vision Science Librarians

"The Low Vision Gateway to the Internet is your starting point to the world's resources to vision loss, vision impairment, blindness, low vision aids and low vision rehabilitation services."

Vision Aware - Self Help for Vision Loss

The Low Vision Store.com
Vision Related Websites:
"Untangling The Web" WVU

”Resources on Visual Disability
“Resources in this category are primarily targeted to software and devices to assist people with visual disabilities to operate computers.”

Access Dome
"For People Working to Make the Web Accessible"
"We are a Global Community dedicated to individuals seeking or offering products, services, information, and participation in ensuring that the Web is accessible to people with disabilities, including people who are vision impaired or have hearing disabilities, physical disabilities, cognitive, and neurological disabilities.”

American Foundation for the Blind (AFB)is a significant information source reporting: "Low vision can result from specific eye conditions, such as cataracts, macular degeneration, glaucoma, and diabetic retinopathy, or from a stroke." This AFB site also clearly describes the differences between cataracts, macular degeneration and glaucoma.

There are many more resources on the Internet for those who wish to conduct further research. No doubt others may be able to provide additional information on these topics.

King's History

(Sputter, sputter...I lost this post last night when my server connection ceased. Am having DSL or server problems almost every day, so appreciate readers' patience waiting for new posts.)

(oldoldlady, Naomi, at "Here In The Hills" asked why I had to give up my dog, King, as I described in my previous story, “Betrayal and Heartbreak,” so I am responding here.

BTW Naomi has been posting some fascinating color photos of multiple hummingbirds and bees in flight taking nourishment from some rare and unusual blooming cacti at her uniquely landscaped Hollywood Hills home. There are many interesting posts and photos at her blog. She’s a bit pre-occupied right now watching DVDs as she completes her voting for the Emmy Awards. She’s providing her readers with an opportunity to express their opinions on some nominees for later comparison with her own .)

KING'S HISTORY

I decided to elaborate on my dog story about King, since it was an unusual year in my young life. Our family then was composed of my folks and me. A couple of years earlier we had moved to the country which proved to be an isolating new experience for this city girl.

I had never lived in the country year 'round before, though I had always enjoyed visiting my grandmother at her rustic farm home for a week during several consecutive summers. My uncle lived across the road from grandma. He sometimes recruited me to assist with his dairy farming activities, often despite my grandmother's admonitions that he not ask me to do so, but that’s another story.

Talk of our moving began after only a couple of years residence in this country home. Pop was having an increasing number of medical problems including exacerbating breathing difficulties, all of which worsened in the cold climate where we lived. Doctors in those days often recommended to many patients with respiratory problems that they should move from the colder climes where we lived, to a sunnier drier climate. Pop's breathing and other medical problems continued worsening, so we joined those who moved to the desert. This was the impetus for my having to give up this young stock collie given to me as a pup to be "my dog."

Our house and acreage was sold to the real estate agent friend from whom we had purchased the place, and who had given me the puppy I named King. King was the son of this man's dog that had been trained for livestock herding. His dog was not utilized to work as much as the dog needed to do, so he was kept chained on the agent's big, generally unoccupied, farm. With the dog's herding activity limited, so was his human contact which was mostly with workers who regularly fed and watered him.

He broke his chain one day and got into a pen of young pigs weighing 150 to 250 pounds. For some strange reason he actually bit several of them, tearing huge chunks of flesh from their haunches. The owner and workers concluded he did this simply because he was bored. I wondered if he may have tried to herd the pigs in their small pen just to feel useful. Perhaps with no humans present to control the situation, the pigs could have fearfully attacked the aggressive dog, so he fought back. He showed no other signs of being dangerous afterward, continued to be able to herd various animals safely when needed. When he was chained, however, if any chickens escaped their contained area and wandered within the length of his chain, he lay in wait and snuffed out their lives.

I had always petted and played with him whenever I visited the farm. After the pig incident, I was cautioned that I should be wary and probably should avoid him entirely. I had never met a dog, however unfriendly and vicious they were purported to be, that would not make friends with me. So in the confident fearless nature of youth, remembering my prior relationship with this dog, I always sought him out. I knew he was lonely, and so was I some of that time. I did, however, stay at the outer edge of his fully extended chain whenever I petted him, and I rough-housed with him much less. He never exhibited any aggressive behavior toward me. The dog was sometimes used for breeding purposes, so when his owner was offered a pup from a litter he had fathered, the owner then gave the pup to our family for me.

Pop had a snooty little part Toy Pomeranian that he had spoiled rotten for years and was the focus of his affection. This spayed female was a snotty, snippy little prima donna who returned his allegiance. She barely tolerated the rest of us. Before we moved to the country we had acquired a German Pomeranian as a pup to whom I had given my beloved teddy bear to be a companion when the puppy cried at night for his mother after he first came to live with us. He soon transferred his attention to my Mom who housebroke him, met his daily needs of food, water and caring. He did play with me and was affectionate, but despite Mom's efforts to redirect his primary emotional attachment to me, he clearly preferred her.

The folks made the decision we would take the two smaller dogs on our move west, Pop's pooch and the young dog we'd had since a pup before King. I was told the latter dog, now 2 or 3 years old, would be mine despite his having bonded to my Mom. Since we were selling everything, and would live in a small trailer we pulled behind the car, there was no room for the larger dog my King would soon become. He was not made to live in such confined quarters anyway. Presumably he was to be trained to herd livestock as had his father who I had befriended earlier.

We had a public auction and sold all of our personal belongings, other than those that would fit in that Trotwood Trailer 
 (Our trailer looked like this video only brand new so neat and trim -- no mattress in the back as that was a sofa that opened into a bed).

We had to part with some possessions in earlier moves and now again with even more. Pop had the Trotwood sawed in half and added some footage to make it a bit longer. The sofa at the back of the trailer made into a bed which would be used by my folks. The front end of the trailer had a breakfast nook that
could be collapsed and became a bed where I slept. The interior was compact with some closets, drawers and shelf space, a sink, a small refrigerator, a stove on which to cook, a furnace, but no other facilities.

I was sad and excited, with a range of emotions in between, at the prospect of this move. In my adult years, as I have reflected on events, such as this, I've often thought about how experiences beginning in childhood serve to influence my perspective and attitudes toward life. I chose to look upon those geographic moves as great adventures and they were for me. I continue, as then, to learn about accommodation and adjustment. Perhaps these were early learning experiences for me in adaptation, coping with loss, preparation for my future. My memories of those years linger on.

Betrayal and Heartbreak

I remember when we first met. He was of quite small physical stature standing next to me, but I cared little about that difference in height between us. I looked into his eyes and saw his admiration for me so apparent. His gaze followed me wherever I went. I began to feel an unbidden affection toward him developing within me. When his brown eyes focused on my own, I was overcome with a sense of commitment to him.

We had considerable time together learning so much about one another through the ensuing months. We delighted in pleasing each other in a manner that required little effort. Neither of us had to sacrifice our own sense of individualism in that process to achieve the respect and retain the affection we both wanted.

We looked forward to moments when we engaged in playful teasing games. When we chased one another he usually could catch me, as he was much quicker and more adept at darting and dodging. I generally couldn’t catch him unless he wanted me to do so. In the winter we had fun making tracks in the snow. During the warm seasons, the two of us took long walks together along narrow dirt paths that I imagined to be hidden trails into some unknown world. On either side of the trails, tall growing grasses swayed in the quickening breezes. On an opposite hillside unseen fantasized figures emerged disguised as wild flowers scattered randomly in the field.

Then came the day when I was unexpectedly informed my beloved friend and I must part.
He was going to be fully engaged elsewhere in working activities he would enjoy.
We would no longer be able to spend time with each other. I was certain this was not his choice. I knew I could not prevent this separation. The only hope I had was to make our parting as painless as possible. I knew his departure would bring me such intense pain, that I believed I could not be present to witness his leaving. I was familiar with loss experiences from an early age, so was sensitive to the prospect of having even one more.

Also, I did not want him to think I had wanted this parting, nor did I want to mislead him into believing I endorsed his entering the situation to which he was going. The fact was, I did not fully know specifically what sort of situation in which he would find himself. All I knew was, at some unknown time in the future, he and I would be allowed to meet again, if I so wanted. Any such meeting was to provide me with reassurance as to his welfare.

The day came for his departure, and I hid in my bedroom. I heard loud talking, shouting, increasingly angry sounding voices outside. I was lured with great reluctance to my window to see exactly what was happening. What I saw was greatly distressing to me. My friend did not want to go. He was resisting all commands from everyone, refusing even to walk. Those involved with taking him away were resorting to force, dragging him, to get him into the cab of their large shiny new pickup truck.

He gave the appearance of being undisciplined, uncooperative, generally disobedient. I did not want him viewed from this perspective. I so wanted those with whom he would soon spend all his time to fully appreciate his fine qualities. He deserved to be treated with respect, would respond in kind when trust was established. I knew he was proud, truly regal as the name I had given him implied, he was "King."

So, I rushed from my bedroom to his side. He immediately calmed and walked with me to the pickup truck, entered the cab at my direction. He trusted me implicitly. My point of view was, I was betraying him to I knew not what. The cab door was closed and they drove away. I returned to my room, fell on my bed, sobbed into my pillow to muffle the anguished cries that tore outward from deep inside my body.

Many months later to reassure me as to his welfare, I was offered the opportunity to exercise my option of visiting him. I quickly accepted the offer, but with mixed feelings at the thought of enduring the pain of separation when we would have to part once again.

When we arrived where he was now living, before we even left the car, the man with
whom he had departed in that pickup truck came out to caution us that my friend had developed a rather unpleasant and dangerous habit. He approached people from behind, not just nipping but biting them in a totally unfriendly manner. I was shocked to hear this, as I knew this was not my friend's nature.

I exited the car with only slight trepidation. There was silence for some time, then I heard a scuffling noise coming from the dirt driveway somewhat in the distance behind me. I never turned around. Instead I stood stark still with my arms stretched out at my sides, the palms of my hands open with fingers extended. The noise drew closer and closer, evolving into a scurrying sound more directly behind where I stood.

Soon I heard cautious sniffs for scent, alternating with short slight bursts of air at my feet. I felt the breaths against my bare legs. My body posture remained rigid as though I was frozen in place. I heard increasingly rapid sniffs, the sound increasing in loudness with movement upward on my body. I then felt the airbursts against the palm of my right hand, finally followed by the touch of cold moist skin against my own.

The sniffing figure began jumping up and down, circling around to face me. He quickly raised up on his hind legs, placed his front paws on my shoulders as in an embrace, so I hugged him close to me. This was, indeed, my friend, who could hardly contain his enthusiasm at finally seeing me again. During our separation he had grown to become a full size handsome black colored stock collie trimmed in a golden brown with touches of white at his neck. We only had a short time together before I had to leave.

Somehow I think he hoped I had come to rescue him. Had it been within my power, I would have taken him with me that day. There was little doubt in my mind that my friend had been subjected to what I would have termed abuse, but which his new owner probably thought was appropriate discipline to train him properly. My heart figuratively broke that day as I experienced such feelings of anguish and sadness when we drove away. My tears were suppressed with even greater effort than I had to exert from the heartbreak I felt when we first parted.

During the years since that reunion, I have sometimes dreamed of him, fantasized about the life we might have had together. I wonder on the occasions when he lay sleeping, maybe rapidly moving his paws and legs as though running, perhaps even uttering a slight whimper, as dogs sometimes do, if he, too, would have been dreaming of me? I have remembered him always with such bittersweet memories though I never saw him again.

Happy Birthday -- Saturday, August 18, 2007

M I L L I E

G A R F I E L D

... and many more !!!

"See you" over at your place: "My Mom's Blog".

Keep writing those funny stories, fascinating memories, and philosophical facts.

Oh, yeah! Keep us entertained with those hilarious videos of you opening aggravating and downright difficult to get into packages.

You constantly surprise me with new features on your blog, including your most recent cooking adventure with "Spices of Life."

ABC News, Retirement Living TV appearances, AARP, newspapers around the country -- up and down the East Coast from Palm Beach to Boston -- a multitude of Internet web sites and blogs sing your praises. My voice and words join that number.

Gnomedex Proud Elder

(See photos of Ronni at Gnomedex at "Blogging In Paris" in a 8/13/07 link.)

Ronni Bennett's appearance in Seattle at the Gnomedex Convention
made this elder feel proud of how well she presented and represented my views and interests. I just can't think of a better spokesperson with such a complete grasp of aging issues that are of concern and interest to me.

For anyone who isn't familiar with Ronni Bennett, she blogs at "Times Goes By." writing about "What It's Really Like To Get Older." I don't think I am overstating the reality when I say she is a guiding light mentor for many Elderbloggers. She certainly is a primary source for important information about all aspects of aging.

She adopted use of "Elderblogger" to designate anyone 50 years of age and older after Elisa Camahort of BlogHer coined the term. Elder, of course, refers to the multi-cultural centuries old term usage which denotes respect and wisdom for community selected old er members.

Chris Pirillo, tech guru running this second annual Gnomedex Convention asked Ronni to provide a presentation about elderblogging. She did just that yesterday, Friday, August 10, 2007 with live streaming audio and video to our computers. I was able to adjust my schdule to enjoy the experience and want to write some my observations here while they are fresh in my mind. Perhaps they'll be of interest to anyone who may have missed this event.

Ronni engaged the audience with a brief recap of just how many elders there are in this country today and how rapidly our numbers are increasing. This was food for thought since many of the young people in the audience likely can't imagine they will ever be elders, but we all know better. They should hope they become elders, since there is only one other alternative.

I was reminded at the beginning of this streaming video event of the early days of television's live programming. In those days, little glitches (sometimes big ones) occurred, to an audience's delight, and all could see real people coping with unexpected problems resulting in a less than perfect production -- just like the real lives we all live. So it was with this production, there were a few little snafus getting the technical quirks corrected.

As with life sometimes, some good came of the glitches, as lucky Ronni was introduced by Chris to the latest, but, not inexpensive tech gadget from Steve Jobs' called the IPhone. She was promised some hands on time with it.

The streaming audio and video was a bit frustrating to follow at times with brief spurts of content loss more often than I would have liked, but think that's the nature of fine tuning some of these new technologies, just like the issues we each face with our own computers. I'm comforted all these bright intelligent young geek technologists are having such a great time trying to correct all these issues to provide us with more and better system operations.

Ronni brought two convention attendees onstage to demonstrate some of what the aging experience is like for individuals with vision, touch and other sensory problems. The realilty is many people of all ages experience some of these problems and more, but we don't always hear too much about them except from those involved in providing special education and selected therapies.

Among the numerous points she made were some we know from our own experiences. For many people, larger size keyboard letters/symbols are needed. Print sizes, color contrasts are important i.e. black print on white is preferable. I know much of this from my own mother's needs.

Ronni continues to make the case for an inexpensive, less than complex functional computer incorporating other desired features appealing to elders. She offered much more pertinent information than reported here.

One unexpected interesting feature to me on this live streaming vdeo was another real time feature called T Flash Commenters. A viewer could sign up and make comments that would appear just under the video in an ongoing dialogue. I immediately tried to sign up, but my security system wouldn't allow me to do so, and I didn't have time to try to adjust it since I wanted to concentrate on the videocast that was starting.

I could really sense that as Ronni's presentation progressed, her live audience was becoming increasingly interested and responsive to what she was saying. Just to give you a flavor of how I arrived at that perception, I'm going to repeat just a few of the T Flash Comments that I copied from my screen from reactions when she first began to speak until the closing of her presentation. I didn't attempt to write down the names of the commenters, since all was happening so fast. Here are some of the comments:

"Who is she?"

This was followed by a few ageist comments about "old people" and then, "Who cares!" in response to some points she made in the beginning. (I thought, "You better care, because you'll be one of us before you know it.")

Gradually, as some wrote about their parents, grandparents the climate warmed and the naysayers cooled.

"My grandma is 71." ... "Mine 102."

Commenters setting a more postive tone toward elders seemed to mello the earlier negative ones, perhaps making them stop and think. I believe this is why ageism dialogue is so important, and why we should speak up instead of just letting ageist language slide on by.

Chris became involved on stage with Ronni at one point and suggested that maybe what was needed was an Elder Browser. Sounded like an interesting idea to me. I'm just enthusiastic that thoughts and ideas about elders are being stimulated.

More written comments on the T Flash Dialogue about Ronni followed:

"She is making good points."
"Old people need a computer they talk to."
"She is cool."

Ronni mentioned typing as a forerunner of keyboarding and her typing speed of 120 WPM, to which the commenters wrote:

"120 words per minute! Can any of you ignorants out there do that?"

Then ensued a brief written dialogue about typewriters, whether or not anyone had ever used one. ("I have! I have!" I said laughingly to myself, "...and I could type 120 WPM, too.")

Ronni continued with even more intelligent information, to which a commenter wrote:

"This woman is actually making good points."

Later, Ronni turned to the audience for questions and comments. I was pleased when some of the audience responded by expressing interest in devising technical equipment for elders needs. I just hope they met with her afterward, or will have contact later to actually take some action. A man then shared a story about his father's early computer involvement "scanning old slides." These T Flash written comments about Ronni followed:

"I wish my parents knew half of what she does."

"Interests transcend ages."

"She's not a dog!" (My thought to that was, "Is this what some of these younger people think of older people?")


I watched a presenter, Vanessa, (sorry, I didn't get her full name or blog) who followed Ronni, discussing an interesting topic about how much to disclose about oneself on a blog and other privacy issues. Ronni asked her some really pertinent questions and offered some comments that really enhanced Vanessa's presentation. Here's what some of the T Flash Dialogue was about Ronni then:

"Is that the old lady talking?"

"Good for her!"

I wish I could remember what Ronni's comment was that prompted this, but I had a big laugh when I read it:

"Please, lady, your generation is the one that kicked out polite society."

I'm going to have to attend one of these blogger conventions somewhere sometime. I think they need to see and hear from more elders.

Thanks, Ronni!

Violation

The front door wasn't pulled closed as tightly as usual which is what created my daughter's feeling of apprehension when she arrived home that afternoon. Noting also neither of our family's cars parked in the driveway, she went to the neighbors to express her discomfort with the fact our house’s door was ajar. Our neighbor came with her to the house, and cautiously pushed open our front door. They could see nothing out of place in the living room, so stepped into the entryway.

They were greeted by only absolute silence, so concluded that no one in our family was present. Their increasing unease with the situation resulted in their decision to phone the police. In retrospect, we all realized they should never have entered the house at all. They should have instead phoned the authorities in the very beginning lest someone was hidden in the house.

The local police arrived almost immediately. They must have been close by. The officers conducted some preliminary exterior investigation before entering the house. They established there had been intruders, but they were no longer present. Entry by our family members was now safe. About that time my husband arrived home from work and learned of the break-in.

When I came home a short time later, the officers had just left, so family members greeted me with the account our house had been burgled. My first feeling was of heightened alarm at the thought my children might have been home and the danger to which they might have been exposed. That concern was alleviated as I learned the sequence of events from the time of the break-in discovery until I returned home.

The officers' concluded that burglars had entered through a small window in another room, after breaking a glass panel, rifled through our belongings, then exited by the front door. I was told the manner of the robbery was unsophisticated and unprofessional. Coupled with that information was the fact the point of entry was such a small area, detectives had deduced there was a high probability that the culprits were young kids.

But now, my sense of anxiety mounted as I looked around the house. I quickly headed toward my bedroom, since my family members initial investigations indicated most of the ransacking appeared to have occurred there. Walking down the hallway, I felt the muscles in my neck and shoulders tense, my stomach tighten to ward off unpleasant feelings that could precipitate tears should I find unwelcome sights or missing emotionally valued possessions. Thoughts of items that might have been taken centered mostly on those of sentimental value such as my recently deceased mother's wedding rings.

My husband had discovered earlier the items he was missing were from the top of his chest of drawers. Most significantly absent, was the wedding ring he had no longer been able to wear due to swelling in his hands and fingers as a consequence of medical problems. I experienced a sickening feeling with the information his ring was gone. Pictures flashed through my mind like one of his colored slide shows of 35 mm photos. I could see our visits to the jewelry store, making our final ring selection, arranging to our tastes the slight change in ring stone design, then visualizing the engraving we had done on the inside of each ring that made them ever so personal. The re-lived show climaxed with the moments when we presented our rings to each other.

I noted soon after entering our bedroom that a few pieces of my jewelry were missing. Curiously, in the earring category only one of each of several matching pairs was taken with the mate left behind, lending credence to the likelihood of the youthful nature of our criminals. I also discovered my underwear drawer had been rifled. The drawer contents certainly called for laundering now, though there was no outward sign of soiling.

Stashed at the front of the drawer, but now missing, had been a couple of souvenir
miniature bottles of vodka from some much earlier event. We were rather glad they had located those bottles as we think that finding deterred them from further felonious activity. With this bottled spirits discovery, I think the crooks headed straight for the kitchen.

The partially filled orange juice carton had been removed from the refrigerator, the vodka possibly added, then clearly shaken with the lid opened. The orange liquid contents had splashed on the soft yellow ceiling, slopped on the geometrically patterned floor, smeared on papers lying on the oval-shaped maple table and sprinkled in small now-sticky puddles across the table top with a few drippy splatters on the wall. Quite possibly the mess-makers left the house soon after, perhaps having concluded they didn't dare stay any longer. All I could think was, how much worse the aftermath might have been from these marauders.

Nothing appeared missing in my daughter's room, but they had invaded my son's bedroom. A damaged metal cash box indicated they had expended some time prying this locked box open. How excited they must have been imagining paper money or some other valuables from the slight rattle that came only from the empty drawer inside, but they didn't know that, so disappointingly they found nothing for all their effort.

Later searches throughout the house revealed additional items of consequence were missing, along with some items that had little significance except to me. They took my Sony Walkman that was one of only two prizes I had ever won in a drawing in my entire life. (The first was a boy's bicycle won many years ago when I was single, but I had sold that for the obvious reason -- I wasn't a boy.)

These thieves did take my first ever just started personal journal from a bedside night table drawer. This book, a gift from a friend, would have had no value whatsoever to them. I've often wondered did they just glance and see writing on the first page, then conclude there might be more of interest to read? Or, did they just want a souvenir?

The reality was, the only entry I had made was on the first page. That entry had been ever so carefully worded with abstract questions, a generalized quote, non-specific wordings with intentional vagueness as to obfuscate any literal meaning to anyone except me. The fact these hooligans took my journal served only to reinforce my long held apprehension about the wisdom of ever writing my inner most thoughts in a journal in the first place.

I had always felt strongly I didn't want other eyes to read my thoughts, believing that some meditations are better left inside the mind, which I do occasionally forget, only to sometimes regret later having done so. These common crooks had graphically demonstrated to me that a written journal would always be at risk for such a personal violation. Could I reconcile myself to taking this risk again by starting a new journal, or would I even want to bother?

Most people with whom I've spoken, or read others written accounts about their home having been broken into, share a common view. Even those of us subjected to the experience more than once are left with intense feelings of anger, vulnerability, as though our whole being had been violated in some obscene way. I can only wish the same experience on those who commit these acts, but then that would likely just reinforce in their minds justification for inflicting a retaliatory response toward other unsuspecting souls which may be what prompted their act in the first place.

Clearly there is a lack of moral compass, an inability to discern right from wrong, a failure to respect others, poor judgment discerning acceptable behavior in a society, absent feelings of empathy with known or unknown people being robbed. Such actions are simply not bored kids wanting to have fun. There is never anything funny at any age about inflicting pain on another human being whether by actions or words. There is damage to the belief in the good will of one person toward another clearly violating trust.

Nude Humor

An earlier blog version was first posted as "Tick Epidemic" at "The Elder Storytelling Place."

Tick Epidemic

A lot of fun in teasing, joking and craziness that can include practical jokes occurs between friends through the years. Some exchanges happen in person, other interactions with more distant friends occur by letter, in recent years more easily by phone and for some via email today. One such area of humorous expression on the Internet involves distributing written information presented as accurate, that actually is false.

Some unknown third party foists on to others,in jest, their untrue written concoction of phony facts that generally reads as though it’s quite authentic. Then in a gesture of caring and concern well-intentioned individuals, believing the information to be true, forward these erroneous facts to their friends and family. Examples of such jest seem to materialize frequently disguised as diet and health warnings. Checking the authenticity of these story facts, referred to as "urban legends," is often wise.

A friend did once send me such a warning. Thinking she had probably checked the veracity of the facts, I didn't bother to verify the accuracy before forwarding the information to another friend. That friend, much more Internet savvy than I, immediately recognized the long known lack of legitimacy of this data, and set me straight. Naturally, I had great fun informing my other friend her story was bogus. She has not forgotten though considerable time has passed since then.

I recently received a message from her stating that she has now developed an intense dislike toward sending diet, health and other warning emails to friends. She told me that a recent experience was so serious, however, she was disregarding this aversion, just this once, to send me this warning. She said, "I had someone come to the door who told me there was a tick epidemic and to take off all my clothes." She continued, "If someone comes to your door and tells you the same thing, don't do it!" I'm so glad I have a friend that cares so much about me.

I am reminded of a factual story another friend told me that contrasts with the fictional stories described above. He sometimes provides training for people with short term memory problems. Such difficulties manifest themselves in many ways, sometimes involving the person forgetting to perform ordinary daily activities like brushing their teeth, or dressing, even how to do so. Some may, irritatingly to others, keep repeating words they've just said. What is actually forgotten is unique to each individual.

It seems my friend had an adult woman patient with serious short term memory problems. He went to her home for their regular scheduled morning training session, then knocked on her door as usual. When she opened the door, he was quite startled to observe that she was totally nude. He quickly recovered his composure, then said in a manner and tone to not alarm her, "Oh, Jean, I see you forgot to put on your clothes today." Glancing down, she noticed her unclothed body apparently for the first time that morning. She responded, quite unembarrassed, "Why yes, I see I did." She quickly excused herself to her bedroom to get dressed as she motioned him into the living room to wait for her.

When fully dressed, she re-joined him. They immediately focused their attention on continuing tasks to assist her in increasing her memory skills and to develop ways to cope with the challenges in the meantime.

I find humor in many sources with some originating in creative minds, others in the interpretation of real life events. Either way, interesting and humorous stories can evolve to evoke my chuckles. The laughs those tales generate are just enough to release the brain chemicals called endorphins that science has proven provide a beneficial healing effect in our bodies. I think I'll give more thought to some of the humorous stories of my life as well as seeking such tales from others.

If Only ...

... computer Internet connection glitches hadn't occurred, the following piece would have been posted sooner. As I am writing how encouraged I now feel with being able to consistently access the Internet, I see the lights on my modem fluttering, losing connection, then connecting again for a short time. Seems my posting and commenting future remains a mystery.

The recent July 12th post about "What if ... If only..." elicited a consensus of thoughts I found to be of interest. I realized that commenters and I have likely already lived over half of our lives. So, we do have some experiences over a lengthy period of time on which to reflect. Thanks to all for offering your thoughts on this topic.

There seems to be universal agreement among us that we all wonder from time to time, "what if?" other choices had been made, or different events had occurred during our lives than what we actually experienced.

There may have been isolated specific events over which we had no control, that we would have preferred never happened, but we have adapted, assumed a learning perspective.

Sometimes we’ve made choices not in our own best interest, but we’ve made an effort to not repeat those same mistakes – no matter how many times we’ve had to keep trying.

Also, what seems to be true is that we don't invest in excessive thoughts of regret over our past life experiences, which I think is healthy.

Generally, we concur that whatever our experiences, they have made us who we are.

No one seemed to conclude that their lives would automatically have been better had other choices or circumstances prevailed. That, too, seems to me like a pretty realistic way to view life.

Our truth is we'll never know "what might have been," but we aren't going to expend our time and energy, or make ourselves unhappy thinking about "what if ... or if only..."

I believe such a positive view is significant, since I would surmise that many our age and older have encountered difficult times, had personal or professional setbacks, or what seemed to be so at the time. We should all be quite proud that despite all we may have endured, we have survived. Just as I drew strength from the knowledge of how my elders had coped with life experiences, perhaps those younger than us may be equally affected by our stories that we share with them.

I am reminded of a Stephen Sondheim song, "I'm Still Here," written for a 1971 Broadway musical "Follies."

This "Follies" production, viewed retrospectively, has been described by New York Times writer Barry Singer as a hallmark of Broadway's musical theatres past glories. The 2001 article, stimulated by a restaged version of the show, notes "Follies" embodies the death of musicals as once known, while at the same time heralding the advent of musicals as we know them today.

He also writes "Yvonne De Carlo, who, in the supporting role of Carlotta Campion, stopped the show nightly by singing "I'm Still Here," a song Mr. Sondheim wrote for her." Here’s a YouTube link to Yvonne De Carlo singing that memorable song at The Hollywood Bowl.

Mr. Singer also writes, "Old age is old age and I'm not going to go in a corner and pout about it," Ms. De Carlo said" by telephone from her California home. "Back then, all I thought about was, `How long am I going to be able to go on like this?' Now, I've lived through a stroke. I can't tap dance anymore. But then again, I never really could. I am, however, definitely still here." She continued to be "still here" until January 8, 2007.

The "I'm Still Here" song lyrics have been reproduced by June Abernathy who has accompanied them with brief comments explaining the colorful names and memorable historical events mentioned in the song. Some of us will make the association immediately with lines such as "Five Dionne babies," "Major Bowes," and "Windsor and Wally's Affair" along with many more.

Shirley MacLaine sang a poignant rendition of “I’m Still Here” in the movie “Postcards From The Edge” (1990) also viewable on YouTube.Other artists’ interpretations may be seen at YouTube.

My favorite version is available on a CD sung on "Elaine Stritch At Liberty" from her one woman stage show.

This famous Broadway entertainer's comedic lead-in line to the song jokingly takes liberties with her age as she entered her sixth decade in show business with voice at full strength at this CDs recording time.

I should acknowledge to having an “If Only…” fantasy. I do wish I could have been in the house on many an opening night during the years some have referred to as The Golden Age of Broadway.

But then, there have been a number of musicals since that time I would have enjoyed as a first nighter also. Seems there is always something to look forward to in life. I hope I never lose that outlook.

Internet Connection Glitches

Recurrent tech problems and out of town. New post sooner or later.

Phyllis Diller -- Happy 90th Birthday !

The first solo female stand-up comedienne I ever saw perform was Phyllis Diller in the 1950s. She had a somewhat outrageous appearance, offered a humorous perspective on life, that resulted in almost automatic laughter from her audience. Her jokes were often accented by her own "deep throaty laughter." She is thought by many to be "...a pioneer of female stand-up comedy" as noted HERE where you can read more about her and see a most recent picture taken in February 2007.

You'll read of her many movies, television shows, other talents, including the fact "Phyllis Diller has appeared as a piano soloist with 100 symphony orchestras across the country..." She, also, often performed with one of her favorite comedians, Bob Hope, entertaining our military troops on USO tours around the world.

She elicited many laughs describing life, including family interactions, sometimes portraying a fictional version wife and mother. She created characters many thought to be actual people, such as her husband "Fang." She said, even her real eventual ex-husband wanted to be thought of as Fang.

Some of her one-liners can be read at BrainyQuote including these about being old:

"You know you're old if they have discontinued your blood type."

"You know you're old if your walker has an airbag."

I have continued to enjoy her humor through the years. I don't recall being aware of any solo female stand-up comics until she came on the scene. The fact that she came from my home state at the time, and a city not too far from where I was living, pleased me that "local gal makes good."

She was appearing at a rather exclusive local supper club, Danny Deeds' The Maramor, where celebrity stars generally performed when they made appearances in our city when I saw her. I was elated when she agreed to make a guest appearance on the local live TV show with which in earlier posts I have mentioned my association. Subsequent years she usually made a guest appearance whenever she was performing in town.

I was always impressed with her manner as she had achieved international star status by that time, but made no pretense at being other than her ordinary self. She always arrived promptly at our studios unaccompanied, unlike some entertainers who came with a large entourage. She had the taxicab driver wait for her, then left after her appearance, equally unobtrusively.

Our station did not provide the luxury of a special room in which guests could relax with beverages and treats prior to their appearances, unlike television networks' "Green Rooms," but she didn't protest. Instead she was ushered into our other smaller studio that wasn't in immediate use. Each time she appeared, off camera she was very genuine, unassuming, friendly, what is sometimes characterized as down to earth. She often engaged in entertaining banter, likely as warm-up for her appearance, with any of us present, along with some of our technical staff who managed to find some excuse to come into the studio where we were.

Once she was on camera her quick repartee' followed by her loud laughter had our cast, studio audience and staff joining along with her. Our at home audience likely was infected with that same raucous laughing reaction as we were.

You can hear her laughter and comments by listening to an NPR "Weekend Edition" audio interview with Scott Simon, see several video excerpts from a documentary, "Goodnight, I Love You," and learn about her book Like A Lampshade In A Whorehouse.


One feature in her comic routines often made reference to her eccentric looking appearance. Her hair standing straight out from her head, looked as though it was electrified. She often humorously belittled her own facial features, especially her nose, not unlike the attitude of many women toward their bodies. Truth be known, some women probably responded with laughter to this self-deprecating humor as did I. Even then the worship of youth, facial and body perfection features was, and has continued to be promoted as the appearance to be emanated for all women at whatever the cost.

How refreshing it had been to see a woman overcome that idea by becoming a star, a celebrity, loved by many men and women world-wide. She went out of her way to not adopt the desired perfect appearance, or even try to approximate it. On some level, I always thought that was part of her attraction, certainly a focus of her humor.

I must admit to thinking she just might have let down all those women when some years ago I read that she had undergone plastic surgery to "correct" those "flaws" about which she had for so long humorously lamented. I suppose there are several ways in which to view her actions. For some women I expect they shared the same disappointment I felt that the face with which she had achieved stardom, at a level beyond that which many of near-perfect sculpture never acquire, had been rejected.

On the other hand, she was at least characteristically honest and forthright as she well should have been. Her appearance was altered, so to deny she had surgery as so many do, would have been unbelievable. She did receive recognition for her public revelation as noted in this biographical quote with picture HERE:
"She was recently honored by the American Academy of Cosmetic Surgery for having the courage to publicly bring plastic surgery "out of the closet." A 2007 photo of her is HERE.

One other view on the pros and cons of cosmetic surgery is that her body is her own, she earned the money her surgery cost, therefore she is fully entitled to do as she pleases. That's certainly a philosophy I support, that a woman's body is her own, as is the right to make decisions about the welfare of that body.

Still, I think there are wider implications impacting health care, cosmetic surgery and all who are aging as we all are. Some thoughts well worth considering have to do with the effects of perpetuating the youth-look as the ideal over a natural aging appearance. Regrettably artificially acquired youth-seeking looks may magnify adverse attitudes in our society toward aging. I have expressed my personal view on that topic in archive post (11/16/06) "Redhead Aging Naturally".

I respect Phyllis Diller's right to make the choice she did for her own cosmetic surgery. I continue to laugh at most of her jokes. I think she was a ground-breaking entertainer whose feat should make all women proud. I speak of her in the past tense as an entertainer, only because she is retired though she is obviously alive and well. I envy those lucky friends and family around her that I'll bet she continues to regale with her special humor.

Happy 90th birthday, Phyllis Diller ... and many more !

Here's a news item link I just located HERE. Seems we need to send a "Get Well" wish to Phyllis Diller, too, because she injured her back.

What If ... and If Only...

Occasionally through the years, in moments of contemplation, I've thought about how an individual’s life might be different from the one they have, based on circumstantial changes in their activities, events, residences, other variables, earlier in their life. What if, at various times, anywhere along the way, the twists and turns of choices and changes affecting them were made in directions other than the ones they did experience, thus leading to different outcomes or destinations?

I don't think about this for myself, generally, from a sense of regret. I think about it more from a standpoint of curiosity. I wonder how others view that question? I've thought, wouldn't life be interesting if we could just put on hold whatever our existence was at a given time. Then, we could go off on an alternate route, full well knowing we could come back to the place we were before, then resume life where we left off.

As for myself, I experienced events at five or six years of age I would like to have avoided on both a personal and family level. One that comes to mind is having the spokes of a moving bicycle wheel, over which I was sitting behind the rider’s seat, become entangled with my foot. The wheel spokes penetrated my ankle, though thankfully left me with only a large scar present yet today. What if... I hadn’t tried to find a foot rest for my dangling little legs, but instead caught my foot in those bicycle spokes?

What if, some other changes, experiences, relocations, in my life hadn't occurred? For example, what if... I had grown up in my birth city? What if... my birth family had remained intact? What if... my mother had not had some of the medical problems she developed? What if... I had been able to continue my music, dancing classes, attend the private university to which I aspired? What if... I had never lived for a few years in the country with my primary companion, nature? What if... I hadn't had to give away my dog when we moved?

What if... I had been allowed to accept the offer to ride a horse in an annual special western parade in a new state to which we had just moved? What if... a generous family member hadn’t offered to loan me the money to attend college in a day when scholarships were limited, student loans unavailable? What if... I hadn't made what seemed like foolish mistakes on occasion? What if... I hadn't had those instances in speaking when I "put my foot in my mouth"? What if... I hadn’t met some of the people I’ve met, or I had met some others I didn’t meet? What if... so many more "what ifs" that I could mention.

There is one interesting observation I've made over the years whenever I’ve heard most people engage in "What if...?" speculation. Invariably, whatever the past event or previous experience about which they are speculating, their assumption is, the result would have turned out better for them, "If only ...?"

Would my life have been better “if only…”? I wonder, do others ever consider the possibility the consequences just might have been worse when they envision their “What if…” and "If only..."scenario?

Our Nation At Risk

Two Hundred and Thirty-One Years

Our nation's birthday, our 231st, July 4, 2007, is past. Our citizens have celebrated this year, each in our own way, across this country. Many small communities from coast to coast sponsor patriotic parades, generally composed of local residents. This has been true wherever I've lived, in the east and now here in the west. In addition to the parade of the military representatives from all branches of the service, and those still living from the various wars fought for our freedoms, we generally see city officials riding by, the local high school bands marching proudly, antique autos being driven by their owners accompanied by festively dressed family and friends.

Often there are red, white and blue streamers colorfully decorating bicycles ridden by young people of the community wheeling down the parade route. Some older bikers may be pulling equally colorful wagons filled with smaller children. Special novelty groups often band together and march, such as the precision team brief case brigade, business and professional men and women with their brief cases in hand engaging in various maneuvers. Residents of all ages line the streets, conversing and laughing with loved ones, often waving miniature American flags, applauding or calling to those recognized marchers. Each community probably creates and gives some unique quality to their parade.

Some 4th of July celebrations this year may even be postponed by a few citizens until this coming weekend, since this day fell on a Wednesday, exactly in the middle of the week. Actually, I'm having such a delayed celebration myself, with dear friends whose family will be coming from far and wide as is their annual tradition. I have considered our family, and now that there's just myself, quite fortunate over these years to have been so generously included in some of their annual celebration of various holidays.

For most in our country our Independence Day celebration occurs on the fourth, however. Often when the parade has passed, some watchers adjourn to nearby parks or recreation areas for picnics featuring the special fare each individual group prefers. Others may return home for outdoor barbecues with invited groups of friends and family. Those with access to a swimming pool will cool themselves in those waters. The children and young adults will engage in seemingly exhausting pool play consisting of games, diving, just generally splashing around in the water. Some adults may soon tire of water game participation, retiring to sun themselves or recline in available shade. Young lovers may separate from the group seeking privacy.

Later in the afternoon certain groups may travel to nearby designated stadium areas where special entertainment has been planned. Musical groups may appear, then as the skies darken, the entertainers show concludes, the real show that everyone came to see begins. Fireworks slowly explode into grander and more spectacular displays in that golden moon and star sprinkled sky that mesmerizes those watching.

The times have changed from the days of my childhood, even from those of my children when we often had some small select firecrackers we could light ourselves. I recall especially the sparklers, and snakes. Fireworks can no longer be purchased or set off for private individual use in our community, or that of surrounding cities. This is especially critical this year due to the dryness so early in the season that has our area a high fire risk. I can't help thinking that fire is not the only risk, that not just our community faces, but our whole country.

As our nation begins another year, the very foundation of our belief system, that was the basis for the founding of this country, is under duress. The strong values and moral beliefs the founders of our country endorsed, wrote into our Constitution and described in our Declaration of Independence have been under assault from within. We have seen this in many ways during the governance of our current administration including, but not limited to, their stating deliberate blatant falsehoods, disregarding human rights, engaging in practices above the law.

If you were busy celebrating our nation's Independence Day, as many were, maybe you missed at least two special blog posts, there are others. I would highly recommend you read these July 4th posts now. They pertain to our Declaration of Independence, why our founders sought independence in the first place, and the significance of those issues for each of us today.

You may click on these links to access these July 4th posts at:

"Time Goes By" - "The Fourth of July 2007" by Ronni Bennett

"Nobody Asked" - "Whither Liberty" by Winston Rand

Sunday Afternoon with ZZAJ

…ZZAJ Music Infusion …

Our community has the good fortune to experience free concerts weekly that various musical groups are hired to present as mentioned in my previous post, "Music and Memories." On a recent Sunday afternoon one such group, known as ZZAJ, provided an enjoyable music infusion to the soul and spirit of those of us fortunate enough to be present. They didn't play just any music, but being extraordinarily talented musicians they performed some very special jazz including traditional, current and original songs.

As they describe themselves:
"ZZAJ is a contemporary music group offering a blend of Jazz, R&B and Latin styles."

The ZZAJ group consists of:
Rich Sumner, guitar; Joel Paat, keyboard; Tom Barnett, bass; Roger Gillespie, drums
with DiAne Gillespie as vocalist.

Their impressive musical backgrounds and experience can be read about HERE.

We enjoyed the music that afternoon as we sat shaded from the hot direct sun at large umbrella covered tables. The comfortably warm weather embraced the slightly cooling breezes dancing around us, as though drawn by the music. We listened, swayed to the sounds that some accompanied with rapid head nodding, others tapped a foot or fingers to the beat, as these professional musicians performed well-known familiar tunes plus their own compositions.

I enjoy their instrumentals, but especially appreciate the singing quality of their vocalist, DiAne Gillespie. She is a unique performer in her own right that I first heard sing last year. I'm quite impressed, as I was then, when she sings "God Bless The Child," a classic jazz tune primarily associated with Billie Holiday, "Lady Day," an icon of jazz vocalists. DiAne's special vocal expression makes the tune her own.

The group performed a recent arrangement of a favorite song of mine, "Louisiana Sunday Afternoon," highlighting DiAne's vocal skills as she emotionally conveys the longing feelings imbedded in the excitement of anticipation in seeing a missed loved one again.

She shared the story of an unexpected pleasure the ZZAJ group recently experienced at a local resort performance. The well known singer, Jack Jones, unexpectedly joined them on stage to sing with DiAne another favorite song of mine, "Love Dance." He has a solo CD album recording of that tune.

This is not an easy song to sing requiring challenging vocal changes, but when I heard her solo rendition again, I could only wish I'd had the good fortune to hear her duet with Jack Jones. Her vocal nuances with this tune clearly and effortlessly evoke in her audience the feeling sensations that exist in that dance that engages lovers around the world.

DiAne is also an accomplished artist who creates the group's CD album covers. Her picture titled "Rehearsal" reminds me of ZZAJ and groups from my husband's music days. That picture and others can be seen HERE.

I'll be looking forward to ZZAJ's continued future appearances on certain Sunday afternoons that others, too, can enjoy.

I find myself wondering what music genre most appeals to this blog's readers; if similar pleasurable quality music is as readily available where you are? Music feeds the soul, I believe. As an afterthought, I wondered who else might say similar words and discovered Laura Niles, classical violinist, expressing a similar idea at “Violinist.com.”

She has an interesting article with a link to the “…2007 Lifetime Achievement GRAMMY Award recipient and soul great Booker T. Jones” where you can listen to this accomplished rock and jazz musician.
Music forms are all connected to each other and to us, whatever the genre’.

Music and Memories

Joined with Computer Woes and Blue Flowers

At a recent regularly occurring informal musical concert I attend, the name of singer, Jack Jones, was mentioned.

The name reminded me of many years ago when he appeared on the TV show with which I was associated then. His coming to our studio was no small effort by him, as it meant he had to arise early for this live hour and a half morning talk/variety show. He had been up into the wee hours the night before singing in his own local engagement limited performance.

As with many artists who appeared on our show, he was generous with his praise of our musicians and vocalist. In fact, performers often registered enthusiastic surprise with the talent of our musical quintet and would ask to sing or play with them. They often told us later they had intended to graciously decline performing using the excuse of the early morning hour. For the singers they could cite concern for their voice health that early in the day, but rarely, if ever, did they, after they heard our musicians.

The subject of Jack's famous father, Allan Jones became a show topic. You can also read about Allan HERE.
Many older viewers at home, we learned later, had fond memories from their parent's stories or from their own youth of his Dad's celebrity. Our live audience had similar thoughts brought to mind as did our popular vocalist, Jeanne Cummins, who provided her own recollections, stimulating interesting, sometimes humorous conversation with Allan's son, Jack Jones.

Jeanne surprised me in July of '06, not having known earlier I had returned to town for a short time, by coming to the airport as I was departing from the city where we first met. Fortunately, I had an hours wait for departure which allowed us special moments together to talk about so much in so little time. I might add that after all these years she appeared vivacious and attractive, much as I had remembered her. I have since phoned her across the miles as I have a heightened awareness of how important keeping in touch and renewing contact with old friends can be for all.

When she was "Jeanne Bennett", she sang with the Bernie Cummins Band, later married his vocalist brother, Walter. Scroll down on her name link for her reappearance in recent years in New York City. The orchestra had played all the famous NYC hotels along Park Ave., 5th Ave. for dinner and dancing. Here's a U Tube video link of the band's 1920's era performances before she joined them.

When they had toured the country, after starting in Akron, Ohio, one frequent performance location was at "Pappy's Showland" located between Dallas and Ft. Worth, Texas. Thanks to Cowtown Pattie at "Texas Trifles" who surprised me about a year ago having located some interesting photos associated with "Pappy's" HERE. Pattie has a fascinating treasure trove at her blog and access to more that I appreciate her having shared on occasion.

Music was evolving into a quite different style from the twenties music, while Jeanne was singing with the band. It wasn't until the late 1950's that I met her as the family was growing and the road tours stopping. I was young and single, delighted to visit their home for moonlight ice skating on a frozen pond, thanks to her daughter loaning me her skates. A nearby bonfire provided warmth when the winter's chill penetrated our woolen wear.

I had the good fortune to work with Jeanne when she created a weekly children's TV show. She selected for the shows theme a relatively unknown song, "Put On A Happy Face," from the Broadway musical titled "Bye Bye Birdie."

The lead character of this Bye Bye Birdie was patterned after that new gyrating white singer who made rhythm and blues music more acceptable to a young white audience in a place and during a time when segregation reigned supreme, but this post isn't about him, that music or social transition.

I wish there was a recording of Jeanne singing this song for me to enjoy, so I might provide a link. I could only wish that we'd had then the abundant inexpensive technology that is available today. I'd have her voice on a CD or a music video. So I have to just use my visual and auditory memory to recall the pleasure of hearing this song, with a sample by a male vocalist available HERE.

I've found myself thinking of these lyrics from time to time, as some of the little annoyances, much as we all experience, have complicated my life. In my case, issues associated with keeping my lawn and other greenery watered became a problem along with a few other matters. Then just as all seemed headed toward resolution, my computer became contrary. I would indulge in what seemed to indicate relatively normal operating as I was able to send occasional emails, make a comment on a blog. Then when I thought all was clear for blog posting, more commenting, other blogging activities, suddenly all went awry.

Night before last, several hours last night, now in the early hours today I have engaged in that tech dance during which I met seven new people with various levels of tech knowledge through my outsourced ISP. They were all quite nice, helpful, ready to acknowledge when they had reached the extent of their skills to solve my problem, thus referring me to another. I had the usual need for some verbal repeats from some of my "problem solvers," as might be expected when talking with some people using a second language.

I have learned a great deal. I like to learn. That is a good trait for anyone learning new skills and using a computer. Yesterday my problem was diagnosed as a line problem. Last night my problem was determined to be my modem. They said I might need a new modem within three to six months; that mine had aged to the point of being ready to "die," or whatever they do. But they had fixed everything for the time being while this "dying" process proceeds. Several hours later as I was contemplating my choices, what should occur again, but "the problem." I thought, dying so soon?

I called for help and am now told that once again I have a line problem they will address. Meanwhile, I'm on a dial-up connection that seems none too steady to me as I watch one or two of the green lights on my modem fluttering occasionally. Maybe someday I'll get back to my regular irregular activities in the blogosphere. Meanwhile, those activities will be more regularly irregular, or something like that. Wonder if it's my ISP and I should think about a change?

Meanwhile, "back at the ranch," (as used to be said in the days of movie westerns,) in honor of resolving my grounds watering issues, I purchased a plant I have wanted for years. It's not expensive. This plant first caught my eye many years ago upon entering the city where I now live. I planted my drought resistant plant that has touches of tiny white flowers at the upper edge of the blue flowers and it's thriving. The flowers look almost the same as the fresh ones when dried. I especially like blue flowers and these remind me of the ocean. Also, I'm taking better care of my dwarf citrus than I have the past year. They are now in bloom in their half whiskey barrels. Maybe everything, including me, is coming more to life again in 2007 in a more calmed less hyper manner.

Just to see me through as I await resolution of my computer problems, I'll keep these lyrics in reserve just in case I might need them on any given day. Read them below and HERE, while I re-live in my mind the sound of Jeanne Cummins' happy lilting voice delivering the promise of these words:

Gray skies are gonna clear up,
Put on a happy face;
Brush off the clouds and cheer up,
Put on a happy face.
Take off the gloomy mask of tragedy,
It's not your style;
You'll look so good that you'll be glad
Ya' decide to smile!
Pick out a pleasant outlook,
Stick out that noble chin;
Wipe off that "full of doubt" look,
Slap on a happy grin!
And spread sunshine all over the place,
Just put on a happy face!
Put on a happy face
Put on a happy face
And if you're feeling cross and bitterish
Don't sit and whine
Think of banana split and licorice
And you'll feel fine
I knew a girl so glooming
She'd never laugh or sing
She wouldn't listen to me
Now she's a mean old thing
So spread sunshine all over the place
Just put on a happy face
So, put on a happy face