Before Breakfast

BEFORE BREAKFAST

On my scooter

Along the path behind the building.

A congress of crow debates the morning issues from the trees

A trash truck flies by at forty. Does the driver think the trash is going to get away if he doesn’t hurry?

The sun is low and shadows are long. Here is mine on my scooter, holding the camera to my eye to snap my image.

Another way to leave an image. Drive through a puddle and see if you can make a design with your tire tracks.

The “old” bus gave us many enjoyable outings and memories. Now, like most of us, it is retired, and sits in the back parking lot, and rests.

Frappe and Mousse

Two confections.  A frappe and a mousse.

The frappe is a mocha Frappachino from Starbucks, and sits by the computer as I write.

The mousse is a computer mouse and you cannot eat it. 

Dancing in Her Underwear

Watching a Knitted Dress Unravel

Once upon a time a debutante came onto the ballroom floor in a knitted dress. She was natty and neat. She got compliments on that knitted dress.

But that very evening one stitch broke. The knit material sagged a bit as each loop that had been held by the broken loop fell free. And each of the loops in that chain stitch loosed another, and then the dress sagged a lot.

With each new dance step a bit more of the knit material unraveled. The diners at the ringside tables watched in fascination and wondered when the dress would give way. Each minute a tiny bit more of the dress gave way and each loop of yarn that held another let go.

The diners could see the dancer’s lacy undergarments through the unraveling dress.

I am watching an old folks home unravel. It is fascinating and horrible to watch.

When I moved in there were no apartments left vacant. Then the administration changed. There had been a natural attrition, but now fewer people moved in than moved out.

Since there were fewer residents and fewer people paying rent, to save the cost of one salary, the new administration combined the jobs of maintenance man and bus driver .

Therefore there were fewer trips and so fewer people found this an attractive place to live.

With even fewer renters, the laundress was let go and the housekeepers washed the sheets and pillow cases and towels as well as cleaned the rooms. With more duties, the housekeepers gave each room a little less time.

With more casual housekeeping fewer people moved in.

Each stitch of the knitted garment that held another stitch let go.

By now the residence was half full. The chef quit and his job was taken over by the second assistant to the maintenance man. A cook with less experience prepared less tasty food.

Some of the people at my table complained so bitterly about the cold food, the unattractive portions, the unorganized service that the waitress refused to serve our table.

Another stitch let loose.

I am watching a once comfortable residence unravel like a snagged knit dress.

It is fascinating to see stitch after stitch give way and wonder when the debutante will be dancing in her underwear.

PS  Resonse to some of the comments below:

  I'm not as depressed as I sound.  Writing the above analogy helped me put things in perspective.  If you can keep smiling when all about you are depressed, the old joke says, you must not have a clear view of the situation..

   In fact, people, including the landlord, have reminded me that if I don't like the way things are, I can move.  To which I reply, "Oh, no.  This place has potential.  It was once a nice, friendly, homey, comfortable place to live.  It may be again someday."

   Meanwhile, I have lots of support.  See the comments below:

Yum Yum -- Well, Maybe

                           SUPPER TRAY

   Monday's Photo Shoot assignment was "something that makes you hungry". 

   This was the start of a series that was just the opposite.  It was going to be part of a series to present to the Senior Services Ombundsman that showed how the management was serving us meager, unattractive meals. This entree was called "Mexican Salad".  It was sour cream on slices of tomato and leaves of lettuce with an olive or two stuck on top.  It came with a cup of soup, coffee, grapes, and for dessert, one cookie.  Well, it was meagre.

   But the series was never finished and was never presented to the ombundman.  Why?  Because it looked too good.

   It looked too good to be bad.  Meals are a bit better now, but are still a souce of complaints to the ombundsman.  But I don't botther to make a photo record of them anymore.

   If this doesn't make you hungry, it didn't make us hungry either, but never made the hit parade of Starvation Diets.

Pondering

I just spent an hour on the bed with a book, and now I am pondering my existence. The book did that to me I guess.

If I am not reading or writing, I am not doing anything. If I am not working on a relationship, I am not doing anything. Relationships are with family, people I live with, and with on-line friends. Also some relationships are with people who are yet to come, my descendants and others who may be interested, my students, my disciples, my followers. They may learn from me or by studying me. I gave some of me in my genes, and I gave some of me in my teaching.

Not doing anything is wasting time, keeping me from what it is that I am supposed to accomplish. Being eighty, with lots of ailments and physical limitations, I have less time to waste.

Before I die, I have something to do. What is it? Am I doing it? Am I doing it well?

Wow, I can’t put this in my journal, it is too egocentric, too egotistical. Yet, it is what I am pondering right now.

My Fifteen Minutes of Fame -- er, minute and a half

Several people have congratulated me on being one of the "Editors Picks."

Hey, I thought, I'd like to see that. 

But I can't find it.  Not under keyword, not under search, not googled.  Ah, well, everyone will be famous for fifteen minutes.  It's just that my fame is a bit more provincal. Someone has hidden my light under a bushel. 

Well, I am honored and proud, but I will temper my exhultation.  My "hit counter" jumped by thirty, and that's good.  Be assured, I will not let this go to my head.  I will remember you little folks as I move on to the higher plane.  You made me what I am today.

Before I knew I was a "pick", I was re-reading my June entries and I was proud of myself.  The enrties were mostly positive.  I found mostly a month of bitch-free commentaries. At eighty, with an octogenians' aches and pains, just wearing a smile is worthy of an Editors' Pick I presume.

Thanks, all.

Poll Takers Achieve Their Goal

The promoters of the "Greatest American" poll have certainly achieved, what I believe, must have been their goal. Here at the old folks home we have for weeks been talking about America, its purposes, its aims, its worth.

The poll started with a call for names of any American who has made a contribution to society. At the dinner table we had lots. We had to evaluate whether to include contributors to industry as well as contributors to the well-being of the greatest number of people. Should it be a politician, an athlete, a musician, an entertainer? Should Lance Armstrong, athlete who overcame personal hardships, be named or should it be Neil Armstrong, who was first person to walk on the moon. Was the space race as thrilling as the Tour de France? Did the "greatest" mean the more thrilling or the more beneficial?

Then the list of the top one hundred was named and we were asked to rank them. And that produced more introspection, more discussion of values. What should a great American be? Moral? Creative? Popular? Rich?

When the list of twenty five finalists was named we really became introspective. Said Wilma (Republican): What is Clinton doing on that list? And said I (Democrat): Who put Reagan among the top twenty five? And said Anita: Where's Susan B. Anthony?

Each of us had our single favorite, and we weren’t about to budge. But we were given three votes, and it brought about some surprising results when the second and third choices were added in. For example, Bob Hope had more votes than George Washington. The Wright brothers had more votes than Abraham Lincoln.

Last week the final five choices were announced. That really turned on the discussion. To my amazement, Clinton was gone but Reagan stayed on. At our dinner table we discussed the debate we had seen on TV. Should Washington be eliminated because he once owned slaves? He freed them, true, but only after his death. He freed them in his will. Who gave the most of himself to be an American? It was a lively time. It made us think.

Next week the two finalists will be announced. It will spur more discussions about America and what it means to us.

We may come to blows.

Quiet Moment == Well, Quieter

   I pause in my old man's ritual: bed to bathroom to bed.  It is dark and quiet.  In the next room a tiny voice from my talking watch says quietly, "It's five o'clock, M."  (A programming glitch omits the A in AM.  That's okay.  If you don't know the difference between AM and PM you need more than a watch to keep your time straight.)

   I live in the city.  It is a small city, but like cities everywhere, it is never totally quiet.  A city "hums", always hums. Through the open window comes the sound of tires on pavement, trash trucks making early morning pick up, a train.  But at five 'M'. they sound soft and far away. I listen for familiar night sounds, crickets, frogs, dogs barking. Nope, none of that. 

   The moon is nearly full, it shines upon the Starbuck's parking lot.  It is mainly lost there in the parking lot lamps.  A predawn glow lightens the sky to the east.  Morning in the city.  A gentle reminder of other mornings in my life.  It is nice to pause and enjoy.

   I remember one particular morning in Hesperia, on the California high desert, at a moment like this.  I paused near an open window and heard the familiar night sounds, including the crickets and frogs and owls and barking dogs.   The moon shone clearly and the sounds came from distant ranches.  A car passed and you could clearly follow its passing until it was a full two miles away.

   There have been far too few moonlight walks on the beach, moonlight walks in the snow in my eighty years.  Too little boating to watch the moon set and the sun rise over the water.  Oh, how I relish these memories. 

   Just think, I might have slept through this wonderful moment. 

 

Movie Review -- The Movie Rental Service

   This movie review is a review of the service that rents the movies.  Netflix.  I have been a member for six months and have rented 55 movies.  I have paid $120 for the service.  Let's see.  That is $2.20 per movie.  I don't know what Blockbuster charges. 

   They come in the mail, on DVD.  The service is prompt.  You can rent three at a time.  When you send one back you get the next, and the delay is very short.  If you watched one a day, theoretically you could have an endless supply, but there are down days with no mail and sometimes it takes a day or two longer.  I got 55 in six months, or about two per week.

   They have a huge supply to order from.  Two of the fifty-five had problems.  One worked after I washed it in soap and water, but another could not be played.  I have heard that it happens with Blockbuster DVD, too. Your order queue is kept available for your review online so you can check.  Also they have a rating system.  You rate the ones you've seen and you can see the average ratings made by other viewers.

   The DVDs, most of them, have special features that are nice.  Special features include such things as scenes deleted from the theater version, directors or actors comments about the story or the roles, explanation of the special effects.  They are nice.

   I quit the service because of my own personal viewing habits.  I don't find most films worth the $2.20.  I don't read enough reviews to know how to order appealing movies.  All reviews praise the films, and unless you read the fine print, you will, as I did, order several foreign language films, esoteric documentaries, and just plain dogs.  Further, I don't like the pressure of having to watch a film just because I ordered it, and have paid for it.  Nor do I like watching movies when they happen to be here, not when I feel like watching them. 

   During my six months, I did discover some little gems that I would have missed otherwise.  The Station Agent wasone.

   I think my next excursion into the movie world will be the One Dollar DVD bin at Target. 

Dreams

Had a long dream this morning.  I was about a complicated adventure.  Lost at a carnival, and then had to take an ice cream cake to a nephew, but all transportation was stalled.  Had to rent a locomotive to deliver it.  Many complication with obtaining the locomotive.  Took all night to make the arrangements, and many arguments, much trudging back and forth between round house and terminal. 

Was well exhausted when I woke up, and was glad to realize it was a dream.  The nine hour or more adventure had been dreamed in less than forty five minutes. 

Left me confused about time.

Morning Thoughts

Found this in an old file, and now I foist if off on you without apology.

Morning thoughts 5/19/2003

Spent an hour in bed thinking…thinking. About everything under the sun… and beyond. Time, Money, Society, Mankind, creation, and more.

Started with money. They are talking about eliminating the penny, the hundredth part of a dollar. Which is fine, but doesn’t go far enough. Eliminate the nickel, the quarter too. Maybe the half, for who sees a half dollar anymore. Prices would be stated with one decimal place, not two. “That book costs $ 21.9.”(Not $ 21.99) For that matter, change the custom of reducing prices by one cent to make the dollar amount seem lower. Make it “That book costs $ 22.” That is only one penny different, but is 100% easier to type and remember.

Include the sales tax in the cost. That is the way the merchant pays it anyway… on his total sales, not on the pennies he collects from each person.

And, as long we are revolutionizing, revolutionize the way we keep time, too. Who can add and subtract time in days, hours, minutes, and seconds. My suggestion is a Ten hour day, with 100 minutes per hour and one hundred seconds per minute. Much easier. The time is 9.97. No am or pm.

And ONE time zone, world wide. And the prime meridian is New York, not London. London was once the center of the business world.. But no longer. New York is. AND start the new day at dawn, not in the middle of the night. Dawn: 0. Go to work at .30. Work till 3.

Then I asked myself: why do we old folks get together three times a week to listen to someone call out random numbers? I am referring to Bingo. Is it for the prizes: nickel candy? No, we could all afford more candy than we could eat. One lady turns her prize candy back in at the end of the evening to be won again the next time. It is the socializing. And yet, there is little conversation or chatter.

We just like to gather We gather to eat, at meals we don’t enjoy. Likewise, we gather to listen to random numbers called. How curious. Isn’t there something more interesting we could do while we are gathered?

Some of us used to gather to play cards. But that is a form of random number sorting, too. We shuffle the cards to randomize them, and then deal them out, and then resort them in different fashions, according to the name of the game.

On the computer I have a card sorting game called Racko. Each person is trying to sort his cards faster than his opponents. Each draws a card in turn and tries to place it in numerical order. Sounds exceedingly dull when described in this manner, but it is an interesting game, requiring some numeric skill and logic. I play it by the hour.

But Bingo?

Then my mind wandered to the nature of life. What is it? And how is it different than mere existence. How is a rock or tree different than a person.

And then my mind wandered to sexes. Why two? Flowers have two sexes, but require a third element to procreate: the bee. So, flowers have a third sex. Why not four, or even more steps. Some gastropods have one sex. They procreate without partners. Amoebas and viruses just split. Why not people.

My mind raced on and on this morning.

Father, Godfather, Step-father -- Weekend Assignment #64

A tribute to three Fathers

My father who drowned when I was eleven months old, my mother, and me.

My Godfather, 1920's movie actor Richard Arlen

My Step-father, Bart, with a colt he raised, Nipper

Monday Photo Shoot -- Belated

Topic: Something Red

Subject: Me watching Son-in-Law, Roddy Jackson, in concert

Who I was watching.  Photo by Kate

A Matter of Perspective

   I went for a morning cruise on my scooter.  Our old folks home is low, built among trees, set back from the busy street that fronts it. As I approached I realized how attractive it is, how peaceful.  It has nevr looked better.
   "I'd like to live there," crossed my mind, but, of course, I already do.  

 

Strange Morning

Nothing hurts.

As Opposed to What?

Sign on front of Merced, CA, bus:

HUMAN SERVICES

I guess it was, there were no animals on board.

Amusement Parks -- Weekend Assignment --very late

   I missed the weekly assignment about amusement park rides. I didn’t have any tales about Amusement parks. I forgot, there were amusement rides BEFORE there even was a Disneyland.

   In Los Angeles in the 1920s and 1930s there were Venice Pier, Ocean Park Pier, and Long Beach Pier. The carnival rides, the tattoo parlors, the cotton candy vendors gathered there. And each had a roller coaster, and each coaster had its unique thrills. All three were the rickety wooden variety, standing tall against the skyline, and all of them over the ocean. Lord help you if you went off the track or fell out, you’d have to swim for it. Hold on tight unless you were idiot enough to hold your hands over your head. Some fools did.

   Ocean Park coaser was famous, and made familiar by Cinerama, a pioneer wide screen movie with stereo sound that gave the feeling of riding the coaster. Venice was a bit wilder, and you had to be bolder to tackle it. And Long Beach had a unique thrill. You started fast…you took off down hill into a dark tunnel, and then made the long, clanking ascent to heights that took your breath away.

   They would all seem tame compared with today’s steel monsters with loops and spirals that take you UPSIDE DOWN. But we were unsophisticated in those days.

   We were unsophisticated enough to enjoy the merry go round. Adults on a carrousel? Yes, and if you rode the outside horse, and could lean out far enough, you could grab a ring as you flew by the semaphore. Then half-way round you threw the ring at a grinning devil’s face. But not if you caught a BRASS ring. Hold on to that. That was good for a free ride.

   Because my name is Ferris, everyone expected that I would love the Ferris Wheel. But I hated it. Going up was not so bad, but coming over the top was scary, and descending with everything behind you and no visible means of support was more frightening than I could take. I learned to avoid it.

   My friends here in Central California had their amusement park in Santa Cruz, “The Coney Island” of the west coast. And, you, you folks in the East had the real Coney Island, with its coasters, its Hot Dogs, the Boardwalk, and its Parachute Drop.

   That was living.

Starbucks -- Continued

New behavior for me.  I took my scooter - before breakfast - to Starbucks for a MORNING coffee: a mocha latte.

I put the large container, appears to be about a pint and half, in the basket on the scooter.  The cup has a lid with a small sipping hole in it.  The scooter has solid, not pneumatic, tires.  The ride is rough.

The rough ride jiggled the latte and it spurted out the hole like the famous blow hole on Kauaii. I left a trail of mocha from Starbucks to the old folks home.  There is still plenty left to sip as I write this.  There will be some left to take to breakfast, and even enough to share a sip with my tablemate.  However, she likes her coffee black... not sweetened nor laced with milk and chocolate. No matter, I will enjoy it.

A note on something completely different: AOL says that the average user checks his email about five times a day. That sounds about right.  I may be a bit above average.  (Write me.)

Meet the Press

Even after years and years and YEARS, Meet the Press, CBS news, on Sundays is still the most prestigious news interview show it seems to me.

I used to listen l-o-n-g ago to find out what the "real story" was in politics, and today I happened upon it.  It is still current and important.  Today: Should U.S. have a political prison in Guantanimo Bay? Is Hillery really going to run for President?  (The answer to both seems to be YES.)

They keep us current, and perhaps they keep us straight.  Every politician knows he may have to answer for his deeds on Sunday, on Meet the Press.

Starbucks

It was Sonya, or Sara, or Karen who said, "I'm sipping a Frappachino right now."  So I had to try one too.  A mint-mocha-chip Frappachino from Starbucks. 

I scootered over, right up to the counter, paid my $4.25, and scootered home with it.  It is sitting by my computer as I write.  I sip it slowly so I don't get a brain-freeze, that shooting pain that you get from super cold drinks in the summer time.

It is delicious.

Movie review -- Lost in Translation

   Bill Murray and Scarlett Johanssen are two bored folks idling in Tokyo, and as such "find" one another.  They have a May-December, very chaste affair.  They end up in bed, naturally, but only to sleep, lightly touching hands.
   They eventually must part, and that is touching, too, but there is little excitement.  For a moment you think they will act like typical movie characters and rush back to one another's arms, but cooler heads prevail.
   I think this is Murray's dullest film since The Razor's Edge in which he wanders around India with the vitality and emotion of a cigar store Indian.
   Some astute press agentry got this nominated for an Oscar, but cooler heads prevailed there too and the award went to some Hobbits. 
   If you want to see a more amusing Bill Murray rent Groundhog Day or Tootsie.  He was better in both.
   On Chucks scale from Ho-Hum to Charming this film: So-so

Here it is Wednesday

   It is one day later than second entry below regarding the frustration of constant staff changes, and this evening we were called together to hear that the new administrator, appointed last week, has been moved to another facility.  No word when the new, new administrator will be named. 

   See, I told you...

   aaarrrrgggghh !

Alternate Endings

   In my recent movie review of 50 First Dates and Something's Gotta Give I was critical of the endings of those movies.  Monponsett made a comment about alternative endings.

    "They did the same thing with Casablanca. Although few people are aware of it, in the Past The Ending part of that film, Humphrey- really a Nazi collaborator- whips out a heretofore yet uninvented Stinger shoulder held anti-aircraft missile and brings down the getaway plane into a fiery Mediterranean crash.

In another classic, Old Yeller also returns to the house, sheds the bullet-proof faux fur jacket he had been wearing, and bites the hand that shot him.
Comment from monponsett - 6/7/05 11:56 AM "

I responded with an alternative of my own.

"Right about Casablanca and Old Yeller.  And I much prefer the alternate ending to Bambi, in which Bambi's mother, when shot, is rushed to the animal hospital.  Dr. Doolittle asks her where she hurts and when Bambi's mother says, "I was shot in the ass, but it only hurts when I laugh,"  Dr. Doolittle, Rex Harrison not Eddie Murphy, removes the bullet and saves her life." 

Perhaps you can think of some alternative endings you'd like to see added to certain movies.  Let us hear about them.

Here is its Tuesday

And I am still depressed. 

Living in the old folks home is, by itself, depressing.  There are a jillion petty things to annoy one.  They are, each inself, too petty to mention, but they accumulate for eight years and you want to tear your hair out.

It used to annoy me a little that people crowded into the lobby when we have music and wheel chairs cannot get through.  So I worked with staff and eventually that petty annoyance was resolved.  People moved inside and left the way clear.

...And then the staff all changed.  Now we have a new staff, and the lobby is cluttered again.  Ho hum.

   We used to have to wait interminably for dining room service, and we worked with dining room personnel on that problem.  Finally we got good service.  Then the staff all changed.  Now we have even longer waits for each meal.  Gad.  You see what I mean?

   First there was no suggestion box, and then there was, and now there isn't.  We waited years for closed circuit TV for announcements and entertainment, then we got it, and then we lost it.  First we had bus service, and then we had none, and then we had bus service, and then we had none, and then... well, you see. 

   Not one problem is big enough to make you move.  Not one problem is serious by world standards.  Not one problem would make you cry.  But cripes... day after day, time after time, and you want to scream ENOUGH.

   Think twice about getting old.  It is not for sissies.

Blue Monday OR The beginning of a new week?

You can decide.  Do you want to be depressed?  Or would you rather be happy and content? 

Would you rather complain about your situation, or would you rather do something about it?

Today, in both cases, for me, it is the former.  I let myself be depressed, I choose to complain.

I went to breakfast at 7:40.  My table mate was served two nice bran muffins.  I chose to have scrambled eggs with mine.  By 8:20, forty minutes later, I still had no breakfast.  My second cup of coffee was gone.

Some people complain about everything, I do a "silent burn". I decided that when my eggs DO come, IF they were cold, I would set my plate in the middle of the floor and roll out. 

My eggs came, and I secretly wished they would be cold so I could activate my plan of protest.  They were slightly warm.  I ate a little, left most, and rolled out, very grumpy. 

Grumpy I remain.  Alas, I will stay grumpy until I "get ahold of myself" and decide I'd rather be content. 

Writing in my journal helps a little: misery love company. 

Don't let me get YOU down. 

I will recover.  I will write a happy entry later... I have a plan for today, and something to "do", and that will help[.

Love, 

Grandfather Groundhog.

Saturday Six

The Saturday Six from Patrick’s Place. If you want to play click on the link and copy the questions and post them with your answers in your Journal. If you want to suggest a question. Click on the link and leave him an email. If you don’t have a journal, leave you answers in his comments section.

1. Who is the last performer you saw live in concert? James Whitmore as Will Rogers. Excellent, but very long ago. What is the last film you saw at a theater? National Treasure with Nicholas Cage. Was very good impossible history. Which was more worth the money you paid? Both were worth the money.

2. What do you do more of in a typical day: work zero , sleep six hours, eat three hours, exercise about fifteen minutes a week. watch TV two to three hours, surf the web five or six hours?

3. Your office brings in a new drink machine and it's your job to fill the eight selection slots. What drinks (non-alcholic, of course) do you select? Diet Pepsi (for me), Pepsi for others, Coke, Seven Up (for when we need a change of pace), Root Beer (for making floats), and distilled water (for taking pills)

4. Take the quiz: What is your expression number? Do you agree with the description it gives you? What do you disagree with most? I wouldn’t take the quiz because it required my full, correct name. I didn’t want to give that, even to a machine. The coorelation between the mathematical equivalent of your name and your personality is bogus anyway so I skipped the quiz. I took other quizzes though, and enjoyed the site.

5. Counting all light fixtures and lamps in your home, how many bulbs do you have in place, and how many of them are on right now?

Twelve bulbs and NONE are on… it is ten a.m.

6. READER'S CHOICE QUESTION #55 from Laura: What is your favorite movie line ever and why?

Go Ahead, make my day. I like it, it dares the bad guy to try to jump him. It puts the bad guy in his place. He has to put up or give up.

Love Thy Neighbor

One of the neighbors of this old folks home is Starbucks, the coffee house.  In fact their parking lot joins our parking lot. I have made several jokes about Starbucks, but I am glad they are there.

When life becomes unbearably monotonous, Starbucks provides an escape.  Last night, after an hour of boring simplified rummy, I scooted to Starbucks and ordered a Mocha Latte Frappe.  Now, that is iced coffee at its sweetest and coldest.

One coffee cost $3.95 but it came in a 32  ounce cup with a clear plastic dome with a bright blue straw.  You have to  SIP it, not drink it, or the freezing cold will strike your chest, then your spine and then your brain... yowch. 

So I sat on my scooter at an outside table and sipped, for an hour.  Then I scooted home and continued sitting outside and sipping for another half hour.  In fact, I nursed that thing all evening.  I got my money's worth.

Years ago, when our Starbucks first was built, I used to wheel chair there with my Golden Retreiver, Griff, on a leash.  I would drop the loop of the leash over the arm of one of the outside chairs, and he would sit patiently waiting while I had my coffee inside.  Soon the Starbuck staff came to know Griff and admire his patience, and they soon provided a couple of doggie bowls for him, one with water and one with doggie biscuits.  No coffee for him though. 

That was nice.  The Icon of the Twenty-first century, Starbucks, providing comfort for a twentieth century dog. He became a familiar sight, waiting at the door for his master to return. I was proud to relax there.

Last evening I was "hanging" with the young people who loiter there.  They called me by my first name.  It is a young crowd.  The old codgers "hang" at Carl's Jr for breakfast. 

I may join them, too.

My Name is Goldielocks

I have two beds in my apartment.  One is too hard, and the other is too soft.

Neither one is "just right".

Two Movies that Went Past the Ending

What do you mean "They went past the ending?"

I mean,that when I thought the plot was complete, the story continued.  To me it was sort of like the sequel tacked onto the orignial.  It was okay, but sort of longer than it needed to be.

The movies were 50 First Dates with Adam Sandler and Drew Barrymore and Somethings Gotta Give with Jack Nicholson and Diane Keaton.

Both are cute movies and you have to love the story. But a funny thing happened when I was watching First Dates. I was so entranced that I forgot to go to dinner.  When Adam and Drew finally kissed I shut off the film and hurried to dinner.

Later I came back and noticed that there were a lot of scenes listed that I didn't remember.  I didn't remember them, because I hadn't seen them.  They were in a part of the film that followed the big kiss that I had seen.  I had missed their getting married, having kids, and moving to Alaska, duh.  Like half the movie.

So I watched that movie too, sort of a 50 First Dates II.

In Somethings Gotta Give Nicholson and Keaton realize they are in love.  Hooray, but the story doesn't end there.  Nicholson plays a numbskull who can't bring himself to say "I love you" outloud, and Keaton plays a numbskull who has to hear it outloud or she cannot stand it.So they part, she moves to Paris, gets engaged and he alley-cats around for a year without her.  In Something's Gotta Give II, Nicholson goes to Paris to find her, still can't say "I love you" out loud, but this time, at least, she accepts him without his saying it.  Fade out in the Paris snow beneath the Eiffel Tower.

Four cute movies masquerading as two with attached sequels.

Dawn

Good Morning.  I went to bed at 10:45 last night, I dunno why, so I am up at 5:45.  Arrrgh.  The wind is still blowing, as it has for two days, and the sky is gray. 

I just heard my Grandson's "superbuddy" audio trade-mark as he signed off the "buddy list".  I wonder if he is getting up early, or just going to bed.  I suspect the later, as he is a night owl.

It is so early that I haven't a darn thing to say.  So I will just look in the computer files and put in a picture, any picture, to amuse myself and hopefully you.

Picked at random, almost, from my photo collection.  Unripe grapes. Might call the photo PROMISE for the grapes will be splendid as soon as they ripen, you just have to give them time and water.

In last two days have received long questionaires in email with fifty two silly questions that are supposed reveal one's personality.  "If you were a crayon, what color would you be?"  That is a cutesy way of asking what your favorite color is. Does favorite color reveal personality?  Does anyone care what my favorite color is?  Do I have a favorite?  Would I rather all flowers were purple?  My favorite color ice cream is different from my favorite color car.  (Well, no, they aren't.  I like both in chocolate.)  What is even sillier:  I filled it out and send it back.

In other words: Good Morning.