In search of the perfect sofa

Today Sweeet Hubby and I continued our search for a new sofa.  This would have been rather tedious to do on own, since I'm not much of a shopper, but to have SH's company made the afternoon downright jolly.  We went to a consignment store with several levels of furniture to try out.  We didn't find the one that was just right, but the search gave us a chance to become even clearer on what we're looking for: the right size to fit in our little living room, 3 cushions not 2 so that I can sit next to SH without sitting on a crack, soft arms, high enough back, fabric not leather.

I love sharing these domestic errands.  Although I relish the affection and sex and security that coupleness provides, it's really the small moments, the shared ordinariness, the companionship which are the happiest parts of marriage.  I wouldn't have believed that when I was younger and juicy hormones were more important, but in the long run, Mom and Dad were right: marry someone whose company you delight in.

The Something New was going to a pizza café we'd never been to and trying a different kind of pizza, Chicken Tikka Masala.  Sad to say, it was yucky, but the salad was good.  I continue to learn that not everything new is fun and wonderful, but still, worth a try and now I know there's a reason Tikka Masala pizza doesn't show up on most menus.

Funnest day

Today ended up being about the funnest day ever.  First, as I was driving to meet some of my theater friends for a play reading, I listened to one of the new CDs I'd gotten recently.  (SN #1)  I thought the artist, David Wilcox, was new to me, but it turned out I'd heard and enjoyed several of his songs years ago on a mixed cassette tape (maybe more than several years ago) my brother and his wife made for me.  I really like this singer.  His music is simple and folksy and very personal.  I especially like his song about the woman in his life spilling blue paint on the kitchen floor and turning the spill into an artwork by letting it dry and painting a frame around it.

Then there was the play reading, spending a few hours with beloved colleagues reading aloud a Caryl Churchill play and then talking about what thoughts and feelings the play evoked, which became a wide ranging discussion about our lives and the country and climate change, etc.  Conversations like this are a true pig wallow for me, so stimulating, even if the subjects broached are sometimes disturbing.

This evening Sweet Hubby and I took the train down to Seattle's oldest neighborhood for a dinner theater performance.  (SN #2)  I know two of the actor/singers, which is what prompted me to go to this place, which I've heard about for years.  The theater part of the evening was sort of goofy and unwieldy and messy, a very very very loose adaptation of the Alice in Wonderland story.  Not really my cup of tea; I'm stodgy enough that I like my theater scripted and with a clear story.  But I enjoyed seeing my friends perform, and the dinner was, for the most part, pretty spectacular, each of the four courses served in an imaginative way.

SN #3 was taking a trolley from this neighborhood to another, then taking the train back from there.  I'd seen the trolley many times but was never exactly sure where it went and where it stopped, so it was delightful and informative to ride it from one terminus to the other.

All in all, such a good day, and I got to spend most of it with SH, which makes everything sweeter.

Nosing around town with Sweeet Hubby

Today ended up being so delightful, with several Something News.  The first was listening to yet another CD of someone I'd not heard of, a South African singer/composer/musician named Hugh Masekela.  Sadly, the music was too jazzy, too trumpet-y for my taste.  I'd been hoping for something more native sounding, African folk music, tribal music, ritual music.  So this one was worth a try but a bit of a bust.

However, later in the day, Sweeet Hubby and I drove to a small town north of us to go to a specific travel shop to look for a new suitcase for me.  I'm always so happy when SH joins me on a jaunt out of the house, and for this one he seemed genuinely interested.  It turned out that terrific travel shop had closed, but being in the main part of this cute town inspired us to look around, gazing into shop windows, noticing public and private art and a lot of bushes with fantastic, multi-colored leaves (kinds of coleuses perhaps?).

We even spent some time trying out sofas, since ours is old and doesn't give much support any more.  I love our old sofa, which is denim blue and long enough to sleep on.  It was the first piece of big furniture I bought new for myself, soon after I first moved to Seattle, so it holds a lot of memories for me.  It's faded now, and stained, and the kitties did some shredding business on it.  But still, I love it and will be ever so slightly sad to see it go.  I'm looking forward to SH and I together finding a new one we both can love and invest with new memories.

As we left the sofa store, SH spotted a pub, sort of run-down and folksy looking, the kind of place tourists might pass by but locals love.  Our waiter was just wonderful, the food and beer was good, and it was all in all a great and spontaneous find.  We followed that with some chocolate and espresso gelato.  What a nice evening at the end of a good day.

Nickleback

Today I listened to a Nickelback CD.  I'd heard of them, but had no idea what sort of music they make.  I'm still not sure how to categorize it.  The sound is hard-driving, certainly not as much as Megadeath, but forceful and powerful.  The lyrics, though, at least to the first three songs (all I've listened to so far), are full of yearning and regret, even nostalgia.  I gave up on Megadeath pretty quickly; it's really not my kind of music, and I am obviously not the intended audience.  But I'm going to continue to listen to Nickelback, go through the entire CD at least once, maybe twice, then decide if it's a keeper or not.

Okay, I've looked them up on Wiki.  They are a Canadian band, known for post-grunge, hard rock, pop rock, alternative rock, alternative metal.  That's quite a list of categories, which may explain why I had a difficult time figuring out what kind of music I was listening to.  Like Megadeath, they've been around for a long time and have at times been soundly successful.  

It's a bit strange to think of all the bands, singers, and composers who have been working during my lifetime, been very successful, and yet I've never come in contact with them.  I guess I have tended to stay with those soloists or groups I already know or ones I've heard and quickly recognized them as doing "my kind of music".  I'm really glad I've taken on this stretching exercise.  It's exciting to think of the discoveries ahead (8 CDs to go), some of which I may fall in love with, some of which will quickly go into the "nice try but no thanks" pile.  

Megadeath and me

Today was the last day of a book sale at our local library branch.  Today, instead of buying books individually, patrons were allowed to purchase a paper bag for $5 and then take as many books as the bag would hold.  I went for a lot of the classic literature I've been wanting to read.

And then I found the CD's.

I decided that today's Something New would be listening to music by artists I've either never heard of or never heard.  That's how we keep growing, right?  By exposing ourselves to what is unfamiliar.  So this evening, I listened to most of a Megadeath CD.

I don't like Megadeath.

I did my best to concentrate on the lyrics, and I understood some of them.  But most of the numbers ended up sounding like a lot of rhythmic, crashing, amplified noise that left my ears buzzing.

Oh lord, I sound like my parents did about the beloved music of my adolescent years.  "It's too loud and you can't understand the lyrics."  They were talking, of course, about Cream and Led Zeppelin and the like, and even the early Beatles.  They had no problem with the Joni Mitchells and James Taylors and  Carole Kings.

I guess the Megadeath members are accomplished musicians.  After all, Wikipedia has this to say about them: "Known for their technically complex guitar work and musicianship, Megadeth is one of the "big four" of American thrash metal along with Metallica, Anthrax, and Slayer,^[2] responsible for the genre's development and popularization. Their music features complex arrangements and fast rhythm sections, dual lead guitars, and lyrical themes of death, war, politics, personal relationships, and religion."  So they aren't just noise-makers; they are a popular band that has been around for 39 years, gotten platinum certificates for 6 albums and been nominated for 12 Grammys.

They just aren't to my taste.  I did try.  Truly I did.

Tell Me Without Telling Me

This evening Sweet Hubby and I played a game given to him by a friend for his birthday.  The name of this game, as you have probably figured out, is Tell Me Without Telling Me.  It is a hoot.  One person rolls a die, which dictates that clues are to be given either by acting out without words, or using one syllable words only, or using any words as long as they are not on the card.  That player then draws a succession of cards which show a person, place, thing, or trait, and tries to get his team (in this case, me) to guess as many of the cards as possible, using whatever means the die indicated.  This game will be a lot more fun with more than the two of us, but even with just us two, it was quite jolly.  

I grew up in a game playing family.  When I still lived at home, we regularly played Yahtzee or poker or Tripoli or Mexican Train or Trivial Pursuit.  When the family traveled, we played road games, such as spotting license plates from different states.  I introduced my family to a game called Encore, in which a word or theme it suggested and then everyone takes a turn singing a song that fits the theme or contains that word in the lyrics.  We once drove all the way from Las Vegas to Barstow coming up just with songs about the weather.   After we kids had left the nest, a game would come out as soon as any number of us got together again.  During my years in Los Angeles, a group of gay friends and I regularly played poker or Oh Hell.  Mom loved a two-person card game called Spite and Malice, and brought out the cards immediately when my sister or I came to visit. 

During the Covid years, a group of friends and I, scattered all over the country, started playing games online every Saturday, and my family now has the custom of getting together every other Sunday for games.  Thank goodness for Zoom, which makes this possible.  Playing games, for me, is the most wonderful way to socialize while also giving the ol' bean a workout.  Win or lose, I just love to play.  

An early Autumn day

It was a beautiful, sunny day, not too warm, and since the days are going to continue to get colder and shorter, I figured I'd better get myself out into the fresh air for a little play and exercise.  I looked up Seattle Parks and Recreation to find a new park to explore.  There were 105 parks starting with A to D alone.  Everything from little pocket parks, triangle parks, even some boat ramps designated parks, all the way up to our biggest park, a space full of meadows and forests.  I had no idea there were so many parks in this glorious city.  

Sweet Hubby joined me as we went looking for the park I had chosen, which turned out to be the securely fenced grounds of a country club.  I knew of another nearby open to the public so we walked through a neighborhood that was new to us, found the park and explored that bit, then went to a neighborhood store for a lunch of assorted salads.

Nice to know there is a lot more ground to cover next time a day is clear and bright and there's time to go to the park.  What a sweet, sweet day, made all the sweeter because it started with an online writing workshop during which I let my Inner Poet come out to play. 

We the People

Today, I read the Constitution of the United States of America.  It's a bit of a slog, what with archaic syntax and odd capitalizations.  I haven't read the Amendments yet, but am definitely going to tomorrow.  This document is fascinating.  What brilliant minds it was that came up with this vision of how to put together a government, and a country, from scratch.

They made their mistakes, of course.  Not limiting the tenure of Supreme Court judges, for one.  And they couldn't have foreseen how large and unwieldy this country would become, nor modern technology and the ease of international travel and communication and trade.  But they made one provision which, all by itself, shows uncanny foresight.  They provided for the Constitution to be amended.  

I'm quite certain that Donald Trump has never read the Constitution.  Just imagine, a President who has no idea on what principles his country was founded.  I remember him at one point in his term saying over and over, in interview after interview, "I have an Article Two that says I can do anything I want."  For one thing, of course, it doesn't say that at all.  But if it did, that would mean that every President, including Obama and Clinton, could also do anything they wanted to.  You didn't think about that, did you, Donnie?  I never heard anyone correct him or call him on his false interpretation of this article.  What an ass.

But anyway - I find the Constitution inspiring and grand,  I believe it's going to be worth rereading now and then, just to be reminded of what intelligent, committed, visionary people can create when they come together in shared purpose.  I have no desire to become a Constitutional scholar, but it does seem to me that it's important to know what it says and what it means, if for no other reason than so as not to take for granted the rights and privileges it bestows.

The not-junk drawer

I'm not up to much today.  I don't have a sore throat or bad cough, but my nose has been running non-stop for a couple of days and my energy is low.  I've had two negative COVID tests. so this is either just a mild cold or a reaction to the heavy smoke in the air the past few days.  But whatever it is, I'm feeling a little punk, and tomorrow might not be too much better, since Sweet Hubby and I got our third booster shots today.

Still, I didn't want to let my Something New project go, so I contented myself with going through a drawer in the kitchen that holds a hodge-podge of stuff.  You know the one I mean.  I don't like to call it a junk drawer because nothing in there is junk.  Certain of the oddments we use regularly, such as the scissors, bottle stoppers, chip clips, pizza wheel, cherry pitter.  But the rest of it is kind of a mess, and in all the years we've lived in this house, I've never once actually taken the time to see what else is there.

It's now a bit more organized, and I've pulled out some items: flat wooden spoons, butter spreaders (we already have plenty of those in another drawer), and some object I can't for the life of me identify.  Perhaps SH knows what it is.  It's got a hard black handle and a corrugated but not very sharp blade of some kind.  A weapon maybe?  Beats me.

Goa - good but not great

This evening I met a friend for dinner at an Indian restaurant.  Since the day had sort of gotten away from me, I decided I would order something I had never tried before as my Something New.  I love Indian food but tend to go for the same dishes, so this time I ordered the goa curry.  The description sounded so delicious, and a little bit different from other curries.

Well, it was delicious, but there was nothing particularly exceptional nor different about it.  Ah well, not every adventure is adventurous, not everything new is different.  I did enjoy the meal, though, and had a lovely time with my friend.

Oh, and I did not order garlic naan.  That, too, was Something New for me.  I loooooooooove naan! 

xkcd guy

This evening Sweet Hubby and I attended a talk and book signing with Randall Munroe.  From his bio: "He is a former NASA roboticist who left that job to draw comics for the internet."  His daily comic is xkcd.  Don't bother trying to pronounce it.  You may not know its name, but if you've seen its stick figure characters, you know which one it is.  Smart, witty, and clever.

This talk was in conjunction with the release of a new book, this one titled what if? 2.  In it, he takes on actual absurd questions, such as "What would happen if the solar system was filled with soup out to Jupiter?" from a 5-year-old girl.  And he sincerely tries to figure out the answer, which sometimes comes just from common sense and sometimes from very complex mathematical calculations.  Everyone in the completely full audience got a signed copy of the book.  (I know it was an actual signature because it was different from the one in the young man's book next to me.  We checked.)  I've looked through the first pages and it looks as though it's going to be a hoot, but not without substance.  The questions his fans, who are from very young to not so very young, are so imaginative, both when they are absurd and when they are born of true curiosity.

I loved being in the presence of someone so smart and so unpretentious.  He seems young, maybe late 30's, and spoke as though he was truly thinking about what he was saying.  I hope the questions he gets asked by his hosts on this book tour end up being varied enough to keep him stimulated.  It must be hard to have the same public conversation over and over, to be asked the same questions.  That may be why he took some questions from cards filled out by audience members before the show.  I guess that's what's going to keep these sessions fresh.

I loved seeing so many people of so many ages come out to practically worship at the feet of this intelligent, fun, good-looking man.  I love it when the eggheads become the heroes.  (Neil deGrasse Tyson is a supreme example.)  And I love it when kids take an interest in books and science and cartooning and social commentary and question answering.  It makes the future seem less dark.

The people-ness of waiters

As midday drew nearer today, I suggested to Sweet Hubby that we go out for lunch - to someplace new!  He knows what I'm up to and was very agreeable, especially as the place I chose is on the way to an errand he wanted to run.  (Full disclosure: Both of us had a very vague memory of having eaten at this place once before long ago, but the memory was so fuzzy, I'm calling this Something New.)

The restaurant had a faint, not terribly pleasant smell when we first walked in, but we inured quickly and it wasn't a problem.  Our waiter was a thin, pleasant man named Malik (I almost always ask a waiter for his name), who made direct eye contact when asking how our day was going.  So I asked him how his day was going and if people were being nice to him today, which apparently they were.

I have made it a practice to talk with my servers, unless they seem terribly busy or stressed.  I like them to know that I see them as people and take a genuine interest in who they are and how they feel about their work.  Same with cashiers and movie ticket sellers, etc.  The conversations very seldom have a chance to go very deep, so never get to what differences there might be between us, and instead allow us to address what we have in common: how our days are going, what kind of weather we're having, how energetic we are feeling, how tired we might be, what foods we like.  

I especially like engaging with someone who seems to be feeling sour or cranky or fed up.  I make it my secret agenda to see if I can turn her day around just a bit, give him a bit of a lift.  I can almost always find something to compliment sincerely (if it's not sincere, a compliment has no value), and sometimes just looking her in the face and asking "How you doin' today?", not as a toss-off but as a true question, can help someone feel seen.  And isn't that what most of us want?  To be seen as the full humans we are, as individuals with lives and pain and joy and fears and obstacles and histories.

I consider these interactions to be a kind of activism.  I don't have a lot to offer the world in a concrete way, so I see my being, how I move through life, as the way I will leave my mark and make a little bit of a difference.  It's not much, but my motto is that eventually, with enough drops, the bucket does fill.

Dear T

When I lived in Los Angeles, one of my core friendships was with two women I'll call T and C.  We had originally been part of a women's group, in which superficials were mostly dispensed with and all of us shared deeply, going to those levels of our selves where fear and vision are housed, looking to find and heal those places where we felt broken..  That group eventually dispersed, but T and C and I remained close.  

Our homes were far apart, so getting together took planning, and were almost always around occasions and celebrations.  Although we were often silly and full of fun together, our conversations always went deep, and there were always tears to complement the laughter.  The good kind of tears, the kind that keep the heart soft and vulnerable.  When I moved from L.A., it was hard on all of us.  Our sweet, intimate triangle was no more. We stayed in touch, of course.  A year later, after an intense love affair broke up in an ugly way, T and C immediately came to me to be my shoulders to cry on, my arms to fall into.  They were still cherished friends, but I was starting a new life, and they were getting on with theirs.

The thing is, T and I were closer to C than to each other.  C and I have remained very close, talk on the phone, have taken a vacation together, and I often stay at her house when I go back to L.A.  Our conversations, whether by phone or email, are still deep and personal.  

T now has cancer and has moved to another state, where she lives in chaos and disarray with members of her family, who seem to take no particular care of her at all.

I have reached out several times to T, including suggesting that C and I come to visit her in her new home.  She is not doing well and we're both concerned about her and very much want to see her, especially as her health is so tenuous.  T has stayed in contact with C, but all of my reaching out has been, not rebuffed, but not reciprocated.  There have been times I've thought "This isn't a friendship at all, it's not balanced, not mutual", and have wanted to simply close the book on her.

Still, she was an important part of an important part of my life, and I still love her and wish her well.  So today, as my Something New, I wrote her a letter, not with any agenda, not to ask anything from her, but simply to let her know that I still hold as precious the times we've spent together and that she is often in my thoughts and always in my heart

Nearly Dan

Today's Something New (it's past midnight, so technically yesterday's) was going to a rock concert with Sweet Hubby and friends to hear Nearly Dan, a Steely Dan tribute band.  And they were fantastic.  They didn't sound exactly like Steely Dan, but the musicianship and vocals were great, and the songs were, of course, just right.

I must admit that I didn't understand a lot of the lyrics.  I haven't when I've heard them sung by Steely Dan either.  But that didn't matter because the music was so rockin' and rollin'.  The best moment of the evening was "Reelin' in the Years".  At the first guitar chord, the whole venue caught on fire (figuratively), and I felt as though I could just about bounce out of my seat.  That song is one of the greats.  I do love the music of my youth.

I'd guess the average age of the audience to be in the late 60's.  This was not a concert for the young uns.  But a lot of the oldsters danced through the entire concert on a area just below the stage.  We were sitting in primo seats, the front row of the balcony with an unimpeded view of the stage.  SH surprised me by inviting me to go down to the main floor to dance with him.  I'd really wanted to join the dancing, but for some reason I was shy about going by myself, and I was so happy that he asked.  I was wearing clothes that were completely wrong for dancing: long, flowy black pants that came to the floor and shoes that were too sticky-soled to turn on.  But I didn't care, and fortunately I also didn't trip on my pant legs and fall, which would have been majorly embarrassing.  We danced with abandon and joy, loving being together, loving being among contemporaries who were also being joyful and full of energy.

I have never particularly been a Steely Dan fan, but from now on, any time I hear one of their songs, I know that happy memories of this evening will come back to me.

Bella Italiana

It is as challenging as I thought it might be to 1) think of something new to do every day and 2) find/make the time to do it.  Today I went with one of my fallbacks, learning a new language (the other two being exploring a new neighborhood or park, and trying a new restaurant).

Today, after my usual Spanish lesson on Duolingo, I took a class in Italian.  This being the first it was, naturally, incredibly simple.  boy girl man woman I you bread water.  I really enjoyed it.  It's not quite as much like Spanish as I had expected.  I love the sound of Italian, that wonderful rhythmic way of pronouncing words and sentences.  And so far it doesn't look as though this language uses accented letters, which can be a pain in Spanish lessons.  I think I may stay with it for a while, even though today will be the only time I can claim it as Something New.  I think I'd like to learn this beautiful, musical language, although I'm also sticking with Spanish, which is probably going to be more useful in the long run.

I wonder if my aging brain will be able to learn two different but similar languages at the same time.  If I think of this as staving off the possibility of dementia, then the lessons will take on a sort of virtuous glow.  I will need to be careful of my time, though, to be sure I'm putting it where it's most needed, which is, in the big picture, writing, taking care of my marriage and home, taking care of my friendships, and working out.  And reading should be on that list.  And cooking.  And submitting plays to theaters.  And responding to emails.  And blogging, of course.  Gotta stay on my toes and keep doing these Something News, after all, whether anyone else is interested or not.

A new neighborhood

I didn't post yesterday because it was Sweet Hubby's birthday, and on that day I turn myself over to him for whatever his heart desires.  It was a lovely day, including tunnel flying with a good friend, lunch at a swell seafood restaurant, and a cozy evening at home.

Today: I was invited to join a group of friends to celebrate a birthday (so many September birthdays!), and since we were gathering in a neighborhood I seldom visit, I decided to arrive early and walk around, not with any agenda but just to enjoy new houses and gardens, new streets, a new park.

One of the aspects of Seattle I most enjoy is that every neighborhood has a distinct character and flavor.  This neighborhood, Magnolia, is quite hilly, seems to be monied, at least on the streets I explored, and has a cute little 'downtown'.  Because of the hilliness (some people get trapped in their homes when the roads are really icy) and the fact that Magnolia is sort of isolated and not that easy to get to, Sweet Hubby and I didn't consider it as a place to live, but it's lovely to visit, and those hills do make for good, vigorous walking. 

A new delish + a different day's post

I have always like carbonated drinks, which used to mean that I drank a lot of soda pop.  Well, weight, age, doctor's recommendation, all that stuff, so I've switched to drinking mostly plain water, but treat myself every day to a mix of a La Croix, for the bubbles and aroma, mixed with pomegranate juice, for the flavor.  I've tried a lot of different La Croixes and usually stick to a few favorites.  Sadly, many of those are hard to find these days, probably mostly due to some COVID-based shortage or another.

Today, thanks a tip from friends, I went to a grocery store I'd never been to before, and found a La Croix I'd never tried before.  Looky there - two new things in one day?  Both of them silly and small and not important to anyone but me, but still, new and fun. 

I realized today that I had written my Something New post for the 11th on my Granny Owl blog, and since I know that everyone of you has been horrified at the thought that I had missed a day doing Something New, here is that day's adventure:

Today I made it my mission to be aware of those actions I take habitually and to run interference, to see how different it would feel, for example to carry my water glass in my left hand instead of my right.

It feels weird.

I gave myself a few passes.  When I went out to run an errand, I didn't fool around with my driving habits.  It felt safer to drive as I always do, not to get clever with it.  I didn't try to write or eat with my left hand, because the idea isn't to become ambidextrous, but simply to wake up in those place where I have learned to sleepwalk.

I wore my Fitbit on my right wrist instead of my left, which felt weird.  When I poured my daily La Croix and pomegranate drink, I held the can in my left hand and the juice bottle in my right, which felt weird.  When I noticed I was reaching for something with my right (dominant) hand, which was most of the time, I would stop and reach with my left.  One of the surprises was that when I stepped into my jeans with my left leg first, I felt terribly awkward and tippy.  I always always always and for no particular reason put my right leg into pants first.  And it was also amusing to learn that my left hand doesn't know how to untwist a bottle cap without considerable thought.

All though the day I've had numerous chances to see how often I make the same moves in the same way: drying off after a shower, opening a door, approaching a chair, opening my wallet, on and on.  All of it done without thinking.  Not that that's a bad thing.  I just wanted to shake myself up a little.  I don't know if this exercise is going to have any lasting impact on how I get through the coming days, but it has been stimulating, and I have felt awake and conscious.  An ordinary day made interesting by itsy little changes.  Maybe there's something to that.

Hard games

For a long time now, I have subscribed to Games Magazine.  Whenever it arrives, Sweet Hubby knows that I will become unavailable for a while as I work my way through the number games, crosswords, crypto puzzles, variations on Sudoku, etc.  There are games in this magazine for pretty much every level of player, all sorts of games, from easy to deadly hard.

I tend to go right for the word games, such as The World's Most Ornery Crossword, Rows Garden, Some Assembly Required, Solitary Hangman.  There are a few puzzles I skip because they're boring, such as Word Search.  And a few I skip, mostly logic and strategic puzzles, because they simply elude me.

So today, I decided I would try to solve one of the logic puzzles.  This one was about Goldilocks and the three bears ordering sundaes and buying toys.  I'm sure that, just as with a Rubik's Cube, there is a way of looking/perceiving/understanding the puzzle which makes it almost transparent, a snap to solve.  "I'm smart," I thought.  "All I need to do is take my time and pay attention to the clues.  People do these all the time.  I can do this."

I sat for a full hour, with my face in my hands, going over and over the clues, making little X's in the provided chart to log what I learned, silently groaning with frustration and despair.  I just couldn't get it.  I tried, really I did.  I just could not fill in enough of the blanks to finally see the solution of who bought which sundae and which toy and in what order.

Now I have a headache.  Not every Something New is fun.  

A writer, like it or not

I have always had the urge to write.  When I was a child, I wrote with such freedom and glee: poems, short stories, short books, even a novel, my poodle's autobiography.  In grade school, one of my poems was disqualified from a district competition because the judges believed someone my age could not have written it.  I was inordinately proud of that rejection.  In fact, I guess I still am because I'm still talking about it.  Even into early adulthood, I would often stay up until early morning with my Dr. Seuss book Scrambled Eggs Super in my lap (that was my laptop), while a screenplay or story flowed out of me. 

Still, even with all that, I didn't want to be a writer.  I wanted to be an actress, fervently, desperately, achingly, fiercely.  Writing was just something I did.  Acting was something I longed for and chased.  I dropped out of college after two years in order to move to Hollywood and carve out my career.  I didn't want to study theater, I wanted to be part of it, and film, commercials, TV.  During my years in Hollywood, I always had just enough success to feel hopeful, but never enough to actually thrive.

In my earlier years, when my life was simpler, when less was asked of me, when I'd spread myself less thin, I had the luxury of writing whenever I felt like it.  I wrote purely for the joy of it.  So I never created a practice, a routine, a habit of writing.  As I became more immersed in pursuing my acting career, writing moved more into the background, and for a long time I didn't write at all.

At some point, I started writing monologues for myself for acting classes and very quickly discovered that I'm not really a writer at all; I'm exclusively a playwright.  It's the only form in which I am truly comfortable and masterful.  Eventually I began to take myself seriously as a playwright and to devote myself to it.  One of the best aspects of writing is that I don't have to wait for someone to give me a job, as an actress does.  I can write anywhere any time.  All I need is a pencil and paper.  (Since I started writing pre-computer, I still write in longhand.)

However, since I never did cultivate any particular discipline in my writing habits, I have continued to write when I feel like it, and that feeling is inconsistent.  In fact, sometimes I avoid writing for days at a time, when I'm working on a play that is giving me trouble, I don't know what to do with it, I know it's broken but don't know how to fix it.  I'm quite sure this is why I have enjoyed a fair amount of success but am not and may never be a member of the pantheon of  Writers Whose Names People Know.

All of that is background for today's Something New.  Today, I did what I have never done before.  I had a writing session first thing in the day.  Okay, full disclosure, I fixed and ate breakfast first.  But then I got to work on my current project.  I didn't put it off until after everything else on my To Do list was done, which is what I usually do, which often means I don't get to the writing at all, or have to squeeze it into a short box of time.  I put writing first.  If I keep doing that, maybe this play will take me months rather than years to finish.  Maybe.  But I make no promises.   

Art in the afternoon

After a lovely breakfast, Sweet Hubby and I went to a small museum we had passed many times but never actually stepped into.  It is a perfect size for taking our time to see everything on display.  A lot (all?) of the art centered on the Pacific Northwest and PNW artists.

We discovered one artist, Howard Duell, who worked in an impressive number of different media.  From his obituary: He worked with paint, metal, wood, stone, and clay and was an early innovator using found objects in art.   I didn't necessarily love everything he created, but greatly admire his versatility.  Among  his many other pieces, there were two wire sculptures exhibited side by side and looking at them allowed me to see something about my relationship to art.  One was untitled, the other titled "Buffalo".  Both seemed equally abstract to me, but when I saw that one was called "Buffalo", I thought "Sure, I'll see a buffalo in there, if that's what you want, and thanks for the hint."

I realized that I have very mixed feelings about abstract art.  Whenever I see an abstract painting or sculpture, I find myself thinking both "Come on, what am I supposed to see?  What is this about?  Give me a clue." as well as "Ah, so I'm given the freedom to interpret this in whatever way strikes me, to see whatever I see in these shapes and colors, streaks and lines."  But too often, I just don't really see anything.  I mean, I know Jackson Pollack is considered one of the premiere modern American artists whose paintings broke new ground, but when I look at a Pollack, all I see are squiggles.  " What does it mean?  How is this good?  What am I supposed to take away from this?"  I suppose this makes me a philistine, and although I'd love to float around with the elite who seem to understand such things, I simply can't pretend to understand his work.  If the point is to view the paintings though an emotional rather than critical lens, then my emotions, when confronted by a Pollack, are irritation and puzzlement.

But anyway, back to this museum.  One room is devoted to paintings and sculptures featuring people reading.  I especially liked this room because I love anything which promotes reading and learning.

One last thought.  There were poems by David Wagoner on display.  He was a prolific PNW poet who died last year.  I rarely take photos with my phone, but one of his poems so captivated me that I took a photo of it so that I might share it with people when the opportunity arises.  I share it with you now.

Lost by David Wagoner

Stand still.  The trees ahead and bushes beside you

Are not lost.  Wherever you are is called Here,

And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,

Must ask permission to know it and be known.

The forest breathes.  Listen.  It answers,

I have made this place around you.

If you leave it, you may come back again, saying Here.

No two trees are the same to Raven.

No two branches are the same to Wren.

If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,

You are surely lost.  Stand Still.  The forest knows

Where you are.  You must let it find you.

A day at the mall

I have never cared much for shopping, especially clothes shopping.  I find all that taking off and putting on of garments tiresome, and I'm oddly insecure about choosing well.  Gift shopping also makes me anxious.  I have a history of buying people presents they don't like.  The only shopping I'm comfortable with and good at is grocery shopping.

This dislike intensified when I moved away from Los Angeles after 26 years.  Because I wasn't sure at the time where I would land, I divested myself of pretty much everything I owned, except for computer, some clothes, and irreplaceables such as photo albums.  When I finally settled into an apartment in Seattle, I didn't have furniture, a pan to cook in, a plate to eat off of, a fork to eat with, or a bed to sleep on.  And I didn't mind it at all.  In fact, I enjoyed that spare living.  I found that stores made me feel itchy and oppressed.  All that stuff stuff stuff stuff stuff.  So much to choose from, so much that's unnecessary, so much that's all about looking fashionable and sexy, which, as anyone who knows me can confirm, is not what I aspire to.

So it really was new for me to decide to spend an entire day at a big shopping mall.  I didn't have plans to buy anything.  I didn't really have plans at all, although I knew at some point I'd have lunch and see a movie.  I figured I would just show up and walk around, even going into stores selling things I had no interest in (such as one store devoted to computer games), just to notice whatever I noticed and feel whatever I felt.

Because I went straight to the mall after a doctor appointment, I was too early for most stores to be open, so I finished reading the short stories of Ernest Hemingway.  Then began the exploration.

There was one store devoted entirely to small models, mostly of cars and trucks, some boats.  Not the kind of models one puts together as a hobby, but the tiny tinny ones, matchbook vehicles I guess they're called.  This is a fairly high end mall.  How can such a specialized store possibly stay in business?

There were quite a few stores clearly designed for, and probably owned by, Asian people, both Chinese and Japanese.  For example, a little café-type store offering things like red bean soup with taro balls, and two stores called Japanese Style.

I finally know what a Lululemon product is.

In Nordstrom's, a generic-looking pair of walking shoes/sneakers cost $238!!!  Who buys these shoes, when there's a Sketchers nearby, at which I bought two pairs of nice sturdy shoes for less than $150?  I should mention that I do feel confident buying shoes and underwear, the only garments I always get new.  Shoes at Sketchers, underwear at Penney's.

Observation: No guy looks tough while eating an ice cream cone.

The cool part is that, when I had my lunch (crispy chicken sandwich with cole slaw, excellent fries, and terribly bitter iced tea), I was also able to get some really good writing done on my current full length play-in-progress.

The movie I saw was "Bullet Train", which gets a rather poor critics' rating on Rotten Tomatoes but is quite fun, wonderful characters.  It goes off the rails at the end (pun intended), but the story is engagingly complex.

And that was it, my day at the mall.  It's not a kind of day I need to repeat, but hey, how do we grow if we don't do something new?

Sweet Hubbies

A friend and I get together once a week or so to have lunch and see a movie.  The Something New today is that, rather surprisingly, our Sweet Hubbies wanted to join us.  I'm not quite sure what inspired both men to ask to come along (for lunch, not the movie).  Maybe it was the fact that she and I had chosen a Mexican restaurant.  I truly don't know.  But it was fun and different to have a foursome at the table, and added a lot to the conversation.

She and I have married men who are quite a bit less social than we are.  I invite my own Sweet Hubby to most of the social and artistic events I attend, and he most often declines.  That made the afternoon all the sweeter, to share it with him and with her hub, a quiet, decent, kind man.  

No big revelations today, no philosophical musings nor deep questions.  Just a nice surprise as part of a nice day, a day which also included a 3 mile walk around a lake with two other friends.  Gosh but I love my life.

3 in a day

As I was taking a walk on a familiar paved urban path, I passed a concrete staircase I'd noticed before, and decided that today I'd go down it and see where it took me.  The path I was on skirts a small lake, the kind that isn't open to the public but is jealously guarded by the people who live on its edge.  The staircase took me down to a boardwalk with blackberry bushes on one side and condos under construction on the other.  The lake was just beyond the bushes, so I didn't get much of a look at it.  But it was good to finally go down those stairs just see where I ended up.

The boardwalk took me to one of Seattle's busiest and, in parts, yuckiest streets.  On this street, especially the stretch I was on, one can see hookers pretty much any time of the day or night.  Oh those awful, painful-looking shoes.  Not surprisingly, no one stopped his car to ask me for sex, probably because I was wearing sensible flat walking shoes, jeans, and a baggy t-shirt.  And I'm 70.  So I was able to walk a new way back to my car completely unmolested.

I'm noticing that this commitment to something new every day is getting me to do at last some of  those things I've been saying "Someday...." about.  Someday I'll take those stairs.  Someday I'll clean out my closet.  Someday I'll go a day without eating.  It's a thrill-and-a-half to cross those items off my Someday list and put them on my I Did It list.

I had thought that the stairs would be my Something New for today, but when I got home, Sweet Hubby suggested we go to a bookshop café recently bought by a neighbor of ours.  So we did, and it was lovely, eating burgers on a patio surrounded by vines and families.  And then, as I was getting ready to drive us home via the route I was familiar with, SH suggested we try a different street to see whatever we might see, to look at peoples houses and gardens and such, commenting on what we saw.  (Really?  You painted your house bright yellow and blue?  On purpose?)  It was a nice drive, until we got to a steep hill that was narrow and curvy and the sun was shining so brightly in my eyes that I quite literally couldn't see anything.  I inched up that street with my hand in front of my face, squinting and straining and hoping not to kill anyone.

I didn't kill anyone, and I got some really deep writing done this afternoon.  It was a very good day. 

Food, glorious food

There have been days when I didn't eat, but always because of illness, never by choice.  So today, I chose.  I fasted.  I wanted to see what it felt like.  Even more than that, I wanted to know if I could do it.

I have - I won't say an addiction; let's say I have an attraction to food.  Going without food today has allowed me to recognize how often I think about eating.  "When is lunch?  What should I fix for dinner?  Do I need to go to the grocery store?  I wonder if there's any watermelon left.  I feel like a snack, maybe just a few Fritos."  Food, the buying, cooking, and eating of, it absorbs an awful lot of my time and attention.  

I've had the chance to see how often I eat when I'm not really hungry, but just because it's a certain time of day, or I know there's something in the fridge that needs to be eaten, or the leftovers from last night sure were good.  Today I didn't actually feel true hunger until well past noon, and even then, it wasn't a gnawing hollowness, but rather a mild and new sensation, not really bothersome at all.

I've realized, too, that the AA regimen of giving up drinking one day at a time is brilliant.  My integrity isn't always the sturdiest when I've made a sweeping promise to change some behavior ("I'll never eat candy for the rest of my life!").  I find it very difficult to keep a promise like that.  But I can be rock solid in my commitment to fasting for one day.  Of course, it helps to know that I can eat tomorrow.  But still, I think I would do well to continue to make promises/commitments for one day at a time.

I had talked to Sweet Hubby about this day, and requested that he eat whenever and whatever he felt like.  He didn't need to hide nor apologize for his food.  And seeing/hearing him eat didn't seem to make my hunger more acute.  (Except when I smelled Fritos on his breath.  Right then, I felt a powerful urge to eat.  I can still remember smelling the Fritos in a schoolmate's lunch when I was in third grade, and coveting those chips with all my heart and soul.  I guess we didn't have them our in house when I was a kid, but SH and I always make sure to have them in this one.)

I wasn't sure what to expect physically, besides a gurgly stomach.  (It's raising quite a ruckus right this second.)  I'd thought I might feel weak, but I was able to do a 45 minute workout and go for a walk with SH.  In fact, I got my full 10K steps in today with no trouble.  I did feel light-headed for a few minutes this evening, but I had been breathing pretty hard just then, so I figure it was that on top of the fasting.  It passed.  I'm feeling all right.  And boy oh boy, am I going to enjoy breakfast tomorrow.

A new neighborhood

One of the women in the local contradance community opens her house a few times year for what she calls a Naked Lady party.  Anyone (F) who wants to attend may bring whatever items, mostly clothes, she is ready to let go of.  Skirts and dresses go in one room, pants in another, tops and sweaters in another, and houseware, books, etc. go downstairs.  Then we all run around in whatever state of undress each is comfortable with, and try on clothes and talk and laugh, taking a break now and then to visit the kitchen, where there is a vegetarian potluck feast laid out. 

As I cleaned out my closet yesterday, I put aside the cute swirly skirts and dresses I used to contradance in.  I don't contra any more, so I wanted to donate these items to an upcoming NL party.  Sweet Hubby and I drove to the hostess's neighborhood and I put the bag of clothes on her porch.  My idea had been then to walk around the neighborhood, one I'm not much familiar with.  That's one of my favorite things to do: go to a new neighborhood and just walk around, looking at houses and gardens, wondering about who lives in each how and why they chose that color or those flowers.  This will probably be my Something New choice more than once.

SH noticed that there were a couple of electric bikes close by, so instead of walking, we rode through the neighborhood, covering more ground than I would have been able to on foot.  We passed a house with a pond inhabited by a hippo (at least the top bit of the hippos head could be seen above the waterline); a tower with a beautiful large eye painted on it; a cemetery; a nice big park with lots of families playing and picnicking.  That always makes me especially happy, to see children playing outdoors.  Probably like a lot of people of my generation (Boomer), I am concerned that today's children are too addicted to their screens and don't use their lungs, their noses, their muscles, their imaginations as healthily as they should.  Few things give me as much delight as a well-used park.

So that was today's adventure.  Not particularly daring nor thrilling, but the air was fresh (no triple digits here!) and I got to share the time with SH.   Aren't I lucky in so many, many ways?

I did it!

Today I finally tackled a task I have been both eager to get to and also avoiding like crazy.  Today I went through my closet and tried on every single garment, at least the ones I haven't worn in a while.  And I was brutal with myself.  If it didn't fit this moment, with this body at this weight, or if it fit but didn't make me feel pretty, out it went.

It was a terrific feeling to get to it at last, but also made me a little sad because a lot of these clothes were bought when I had a younger, firmer body with very little belly.  Now I've got a belly that precedes me into the room by a few inches, and the muscles to hold it in are pretty much gone.  But this is the body I'm wearing right now.  It's ridiculous to hold onto clothes that represent who I used to be or who I want to be.  If I lose weight, I'll get new clothes.  (Meaning new to me.  Almost all my clothes are second hand.)

I also let go of 4 pairs of sandals, which were in good condition and fit, but here in the Pacific Northwest, I don't wear sandals any more.  Out they go.  2 1/2 pairs of long johns - out.  If I go backpack camping again, I'll get new ones.

Sweet Hubby knows a woman in the neighborhood who collects clothes for shelters, so I'm really happy to be able to contribute 3 big bags of clean clothes in excellent condition.

I did make one exception.  When I was flying to Denver 17 years ago to marry SH, I wore a silly, puffy floral dress that looks sort of ridiculous and fun and goofy.  It doesn't fit any more and may never again, but it's as close to a wedding dress as I'll ever have. ( Twice married and not one wedding nor proper wedding dress.)  I'd say "Maybe next time", but there won't be a next time, not for marriage, not for me.  SH, first of all, has promised to outlive me (to help me with tech, of course), and second of all,  he's going to live forever.  I insist.

A beautiful day

Sweet Hubby and I joined friends in a visit to the mountains about an hour out of the city.  It was a perfect day, warm but not hot, the traffic wasn't heavy, and the surroundings were stunning.  The six of us (including two dogs) walked a fairly easy path about a mile to a waterfall which came gurgling and laughing and plummeting down into a pool of clear, cold water. 

I took off my shoes and jeans (yes, right down to my panties) and ventured into the water.  It was rough going.  The pool was all rocks on the bottom, and the rocks were jagged, tippy, and slippery.  I put my shoes back on, which took care of the jagged part.  The water felt so good, cold enough to be refreshing, but not so cold as to be numbing.  I did have one slip and fall, but was lucky I only bumped my shin and didn't faceplant.  Now I have a lovely big goose egg on my leg which in time will no doubt turn all sort of pretty colors.  I'm so glad my bones don't seem to be fragile, so no real harm done.

These friends have a house in Southern California but have bought a condo here in the Pacific Northwest to give them a place to get away from the terrible summer heat and mosquitoes of So Cal.  They have done a lot of exploring in the few months they've lived here, and this trail and the falls were their discovery.  I love finding new places to be in nature, to breath that fresh air, smell the earthy aromas of a forest, listen to the lively, alive sound of flowing water.  All in all, a not terribly productive but immensely enjoyable day. 

Simple but not easy

Today I decided to sit in our backyard for one hour.  So simple.  All it took was a low beach chair.  The idea was to see whatever I saw, hear whatever I heard, think and feel whatever I felt. 

What was not easy about it was that I seldom, more likely never, just sit quietly.  I have meditated at times in my life, but then usually only for fifteen or twenty minutes, and never consistently.  Restlessness always arises, thoughts of what I could/should/will be doing.  Not being productive, or at least busy (not the same thing at all), feels like a waste.

But still, I truly wanted to experience my backyard and whatever delights of Nature it might provide.  I wanted to experience stillness and calm.  I wanted to stimulate my senses.  I just wanted to know what it would be like to take an hour of the day and put it toward the everything of nothingness.

Sweet Hubby often sits on our deck in the mornings, and has reported seeing interesting birds, including a number of hummingbirds.  We have seen bunnies and raccoons in the yard from time to time, and there are pretty much always squirrels chasing one another up and down the trees and fences.  I wore my brightest shirt because I've seen hummingbirds approach brightly covered shirts.  I had a colored sweatshirt over my legs, because it was chilly today after yesterday's heat.  I realized early on that I had not been barefoot for a long time, so I took off my shoes and put my feet in the grass, which felt wonderful.

There was high cloud cover, so the sky was an unbroken pearl color.  For a long time, all I heard was the light swish of traffic going by on the street two houses away.  Every so often a bird would make a ditditditditdit sound, always the same note five times in a mezzo soprano range.  Later, there were other bird songs, but none I recognized.  I saw one bird, a crow, the entire time.  One.  Not a hummingbird anywhere to be seen (which doesn't mean they weren't there; only that I never saw them).  Sweet Hubby has the advantage of sitting amidst our flower boxes, so there are fragrances as well as colors to attract them.  Or maybe they show up for him because he's nicer than I.  Hmph.

I made myself as comfortable as possible so that I could be completely relaxed, but when I would scan my body, I always found that some group of muscles had tightened subtly.  Maybe it was because of the chill, or maybe it was that restlessness manifesting itself.  I would breathe deeply and relax again, only to find next time I checked that I'd once again tightened somewhere.

Toward the end of the hour, a squirrel showed up, hopping around in the grass looking for whatever it could eat.  It paid me no mind.  Once in a while I heard the sounds of neighbors in their yards, but didn't see anyone.  A child cried a few times, but wasn't particularly heartfelt about it.  Sometimes a jet would fly by, south to north.

And that was it, my big adventure in the backyard.  It wasn't as full of sensations as I'd hoped, but I've studied Buddhism just deeply enough to understand that every moment is completely full, even if it doesn't hold any of what one wishes or hopes for.  Even a seemingly half-full glass of water is completely full, because air is just as much something as water is.  So it was a good hour, and one I would do well to repeat now and then, just to rest and quiet my mind.

Still, a hummingbird would have been nice.