A MOTHER' DIARY by Dede Ranahan NOVEMBER 3, 2013 - NOVEMBER 16, 2013

November 2, 2017 Dede Ranahan

High Tech low Tech * Spending Plan * Equanimity * Insignificant or Not? * Family Mental Illness Support Group * Missing Teeth and Too Much Hair * That's Italian * Snap it Up * There's the Rub * Perfect Day * Batkid

To read A Mother's Diary from the beginning, click on the June 2017 archives in the right hand column and read "Before: Scenes from the Trenches."

NOVEMBER 3, 2013: HIGH TECH LOW TECH

Another day at the computer paying bills online. Online sites are supposed to be safe and protected by firewalls and other technology I don't understand.

There's a two-page article in today's Sacramento Bee about the National Security Agency (NSA) and some of the questions raised since Edward Snowden began releasing the agency's documents in June. According to the article, a former NSA official says, "Without new leadership, new laws, and top to bottom reform, the agency will represent a threat of 'turnkey totalitarianism,' and the capability to turn its awesome power, now directed mainly against other countries, on the US public."

This is a scary thought. It sounds too incredible, but is it? Why do I feel apprehensive for my grandchildren? No wonder I'm writing in this journal. The simple, tactile act of putting words on a page is comforting. Old school. Low tech. Connected to that primitive man who drew on rock walls. But wait. What do I know about that caveman? When he wasn't marking his cave, he was probably clubbing his wife. I wouldn't have trusted him anymore than I trust the NSA.

Here's crossing fingers that our collective wills and wisdom prevail, and we'll figure out a way to keep technology and humanity in sync. Here's hoping the NSA isn't tracking my online bill pay, and this is my imagination, stoked by newspaper accounts, needing a time out.

NOVEMBER 4, 2013: SPENDING PLAN

Financial guru, Sure Orman, would be proud. I'm reviewing my budget spreadsheet for 2013. Heading into the home stretch, I'm coming in $7,000 under budget. I've been cautious all year because I wasn't sure how much financial support I was going to need to give to Pat.

So I cut back. I didn't take a vacation — only a weekend visit to Marisa in Seattle. I didn't make any major purchases. I budgeted $1,000 for medical expenses and used $150 of that amount. I budgeted for home maintenance and yard maintenance and came in as budgeted. I budgeted for car expenses and came in $500 under budget. With no major catastrophes, I'll end the year in the plus column.

I have no debt, I own my home. I have solid medical coverage. I pay cash or I don't buy it. Where I'm not doing as well as I'd like is in putting what money I have to work. I'm not in the stock market. Own no bonds. I'm still benefitting from CDs earning 3.5%. Once they mature I don't know where I'll turn.

I know the drill. Asset diversification. Asset allocation and reallocation. Percentages in cash, stocks, and bonds. I also know that no one cares as much about my money as I do. I've been screwed by financial advisers in the past.

Meanwhile, I sit on the side lines of the great stock market run since its last down turn. Nevertheless, like the tortoise and the hare, my net worth keeps increasing because I draw less from my saving than it's earning in interest. I'm not rich but, with diligence and luck, I'll take care of myself and not become a burden to anyone. I intend to spend my last dime on the day of my departure.

Next year, I want to include a trip in my budget plan. A trip to somewhere I've never been before. Actually, I prefer the term "spending plan." Sounds less onerous than "budget plan." A trip might be someplace not that far away. There's a whole world, right in my back yard, waiting to be explored.

I'm sending this travel thought out to the universe, waiting to see what exciting proposition it presents for my consideration — within my 2014 spending plan parameters, of course. And the universe knows what they are.

NOVEMBER 5, 2013: EQUANIMITY

Okay. I've changed my mind. I can't be sanguine about my demise. Not on days like today.

The news from NASA, and their Kepler space telescope, is that billions of earth-size planets exist in our galaxy. A planet for every person on earth. These planets don't necessarily have the same biochemical conditions that led to life on earth. The earth has features that are amenable to life — a circular orbit, a good-sized moon, and tectonic activity that recycles the planet's carbon. With zillions of planets out there, however, the chances are good that some form of life exists elsewhere in the universe. SETI, the search for extraterrestrial intelligence, thinks we'll find earth-like worlds soon. What is their definition of "soon?" Soon as in my lifetime? NASA and SETI better get to work. I'm not leaving until we find out if somebody else is out there.

On the other hand, it may not make any difference. We must consider the distances between us and habitable planets. A light-year equal 5.8 trillion miles. Twelve light-years to the nearest possible ocean planet would compute to about 70 trillion miles. The velocity of the New Horizons probe is 35,800 mph. That speed, times 24 hours per day, times 365 days per year means (by my calculation) it would take around 225,000 years to get to the neighbors next door. By then they may not be home. They may be on vacation. They may have moved to another planet.

Then what?

A girl can change her mind. I'm changing my mind. Again. Becoming stardust myself may be the most efficient way to uncover the mysteries of life in the universe and to circumvent barriers of time and space. My equanimity is being restored.

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: I want to open a pizza place called Failure Pizza. We would have specials like the Power Failure, the Personal Failure, the Marriage Failure, the Nuclear Failure, etc. Employees would answer the phone, "Failure Pizza. Describe your failure."

NOVEMBER 6, 2013: INSIGNIFICANT OR NOT?

"Whatever you do may seem insignificant to you,
but it is most important that you do it." Ghandi

That's where I am, today, in this writing endeavor. Doubting. What difference does it make?

Meanwhile, my Kansas City cousin keeps sending me family photos and documents. I'm looking at a copy of my great-great-great-grandfather's will written in 1840.

"I, Christian Shelly, of Washington Township, Franklin County and State of Pennsylvania, being weak in body but of sound mind and memory do make this as my last will and testament to wit:

First, I allow that all just debts be paid by my executor as soon as can be done after my decease.

Item; I devise to my wife, Magdalena, the use of my plantation wherein I reside and also the part which lies opposite Adam Sesher's building and the improvements which are on both tracts all during her natural life;

And also one horse creature and all the cows and all my household and kitchen furniture, bedstead and bedding, stove and vessels of every description and all other articles which may be in that part of the house which I occupy — all of which my said wife is to have during her natural life."

I'm fascinated by this peek into nineteenth century life. Not because it's family history, but because it's common detail from another time and place. I try reading between the lines. I hear a man, who I'm guessing never cooked a meal or washed a dish in his life, saying, "I'm not sure why we need all these pots and pans." I hear a man saying, "While I'm alive these are my possessions." Not "our" possessions.

I've never heard of Christian Shelly before. The copy of his will arrives because my cousin saved it, packaged it, and mailed it. But when I open the package, it feels like this document time-travelled to get to me. Is Christian Shelly's spirit hovering nearby as I examine his will? Is Magdalena's spirit hovering nearby as I read her name on a 173-year-old document? Are Christian and Magdalena urging me to keep writing?

Will my record of ordinary life, early in the twenty-first century, be interesting to someone in the future? Will a great-great-great-grandchild read it and say, "I wish I'd known my great-great-great-grandmother?" Or will he or she say, "What a crazy old lady?"

For some reason, today, keeping this journal "seems insignificant" to me. Does Ghandi's imperative — "it is most important that you do it," — then apply?

NOVEMBER 8, 2013: FAMILY MENTAL ILLNESS SUPPORT GROUP

Random comments at today's meeting:

"My son's having a difficult month. My brother died. Our dog died. A staff member at a health food store recommended that my son take a certain medication and it can be deadly if taken with the wrong combination of other drugs. My son's new psychiatrist told him he shouldn't take that medication and he's listening to him."

"Our daughter's really ill. She can be violent and dangerous. We don't know what to do and we're hoping someone in this group will have a suggestion."

"I'm here because my thirty-three-year-old grandson, who has bipolar disorder, is stressing everyone in the family, especially his mother."

"This has been a really bad month. I don't know if I can talk about it without crying. My son's in Southern California and I'm glad because I'm afraid of him. He has drug and alcohol problems and I'm sure he has underlying mental illness. He's living on the street. I don't know how to help him. I can't stop thinking about it."

"I don't know if I belong here. I'm dealing with depression myself and trying to find help before it gets out of control."

NOVEMBER 9, 2013: MISSING TEETH AND TOO MUCH HAIR

Regan calls on FaceTime to show me her missing front tooth.

"Regan, where is your tooth?"
"The tooth fairy has it, Mim."
"What did the tooth fairy leave you for your tooth?"
"Four dollars and ninety-five cents."
"Wow. That's a generous tooth fairy. What are you going to buy with the money?"
"I don't know."
"Do you have a bank for your tooth fairy money?"
"No. I don't know if the money's any good."
"Why?"
"It's got gold sprinkles all over it."
"Tooth fairy gold dust?"
"Yes."
"That's very special money. Does Ayla have any loose teeth?"
"She has one that's kind of loose. She fell and knocked it loose and chipped it."
"Do you have any more loose teeth, Regan?"
"Yes, see? The front tooth next to my lost tooth is wiggling. Mommy says not to wiggle it. She's afraid I won't be able to eat anything if both of my front teeth are missing."
"You'd have to drink chocolate milkshakes all day."
"I know."
"Can I talk to Ayla for a second?"
"Okay. She's drawing with my art set."
"Hi, Ayla, What are you drawing?"
"I'm drawing a picture of you, Mim."
"A picture of me?"
"Yes, you're holding my hand. See?"
"Ayla, Mim doesn't have long hair. She has short hair. You drew her with long hair."
"I know. I don't care."
"I like your picture, Ayla. I like that we're holding hands. Remind me, Regan, to pay you the money I owe you for your school marathon."
"I walked ten laps."
"Then I owe you ten dollars. A dollar for each lap."

Oops. We're disconnected. This conversation is over. I love my iPhone and FaceTime. They're perfect for viewing missing teeth and original artwork. And for getting on-the-spot reporting from people in the know.

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: Went to a wonderful concert last night chock full of classic jazz standards from Porter, Gershwin, Cohen, Kern, and others. That incredible and beautiful vocalist, Ann Roach, at the helm backed by master percussionist, Michael Bayard, keyboards, Doug Matson, and stand up bass, by Rob Lemas. The tunes are all echoing through my mind today with the highlights for me being "Dance Me to the End of Love," "Let's Do it," "Luck be a Lady Tonight," "If I Only Had a Brain," and "Somewhere Over the Rainbow." "Fever" was scorching hot and an amazing encore of "What a Wonderful World." Can't believe I get to work with such incredible talent, awesome.

NOVEMBER 11, 2013: THAT'S ITALIAN

Home again. I visited my friends, Jan and Jim, in San Carlos. We went to Yoshi's on Jack London Square. We ate dinner and attended the evening show - Pasquale Esposito Rendering Italian Jazz. He gave an energetic performance, engaged with the audience and revealed a flair for comedy.

I think, in a past life, I lived in Italy. I once walked into a 400-year-old farmhouse in Montecatini and got goosebumps. It's the only time I've ever thought to myself, I've been here before. I remember this room.

In my next life, I want to live in Italy, again, and have a mad, passionate affair with an Italian singer. Not a marriage. I'm not sure Italian singers would be good at marriage. Too many luscious ladies to distract them. But a fling with one would be fine. Then I'll call Jan and tell her all about it. She's alway looking for a guy for me. Remind me to share my Match.com and It's Just Lunch stories sometime. They're not pretty.

If a good guy comes along, that will be great. If that doesn't come to pass, that's okay, too. I'm leaving it up to fate. Che sara, sara. That's archaic Italian for Que sera, sera. What will be will be. And this week I'm in one of my Italian phases. Thanks to Jan and Jim and Pasquale Esposito.

NOVEMBER 12, 2013: SNAP IT UP

I'm at Snap it Up working the cash register. Lots of customers this morning. One lady spends $196.00. "I have five children," she says. She doesn't want her receipt. "I like kitties."

Another woman, her friend, says, "She spends money like this everywhere she goes." They live out of town but I encourage them to come back. "Come back often. Come back soon."

A young woman buys three pairs of jeans for $15.00. Another considers ten etched wine glasses for $10.00. "I'm not going to buy these," she says. "I'm not. I'm not. I'm not. Please ring them up."

A ten-foot artificial houseplant goes for $10.00. Prices are low. The intent is to move merchandise. The strategy is working. Word is getting around that this is a nifty thrift store. I'm not usually a thrift store person. Thrift stores are often crowded and packed with so much stuff I can't see anything. They smell dusty, musty, old. Not this store. Merchandise is displayed with care. Clothes are steamed if wrinkled. Duplicate items are kept in the back until the first item sells. Adoptable kittens and cats swat at strings and balls in an adoption area. People see that their money is being used for a good cause.

I'm not immune. I'm buying a Christmas ornament for $2.00, a Christmas music box with dancing elves for the Grandma drawer for $4.00, and a brand new Westinghouse iron for $5.00. I'm working for free and paying for the privilege. I'm being a very good volunteer.

NOVEMBER 13, 2013: THERE'S THE RUB

An email from AARP is asking for donations to help the victims of Typhoon Haiyan in the Philippines. I click on the "Donate Today" button. I change the designated donation from $50 to $25. That's as far as I get. Will this donation provide food and water to someone who needs it? Or will it be swallowed up by bureaucratic ineptitude? Or worse, will some middle man simply fold my dollar bills and slip them into his own pocket? I'm leery.

On the other hand, I can't mail $25 to someone in the Philippines. There's no means of delivering mail. I can't ship food and water. My donation of a few cans of beans would be eaten up by shipping costs. It would end up where?

It's a conundrum.

Should I simply make the donation to AARP, close my eyes and trust that it will get to someone in need? The message says, "One hundred percent of all funds raised will go to organizations helping the victims of the typhoon."

Ah. There's the rub. The synapse where money changes hands. I'll never know how my donation is used, of course. The other option is to do nothing. The classic approach-avoidance scenario.

The AARP Foundation will match, dollar for dollar, contributions up to $500,000. I guess I'll click again on the "Donate Today" button and then click the "Submit" button to complete the transaction. Why do I have such angst over $25? Because I want the donation to help, and because it's the principle of the thing.

NOVEMBER 14, 2013: PERFECT DAY

I wake up at 8:00 a.m., make coffee, and read the paper. I water houseplants, launder a couple loads of clothes, and vacuum the house. I shower and dress, pleased with my shrinking waistline. I can tuck my top into my jeans. I can wear a belt.

I visit the new Dollar Store near the market. A neighbor's there. We chat and catch up. Her husband died earlier this year. She's doing okay. We give each other hugs.

At the grocery store, I check out tomatoes for a recipe to try for dinner. "What kind of tomatoes are best?" I ask the produce guy. His name is Scotty.

"Sometimes," he says, "tomatoes look good but then they don't have any flavor. The heirlooms are best. I promise. I don't get a commission."

At the checkout counter, I joke with Scotty, who's now working the register. "You said these tomatoes are free. Right?"

He doesn't blink. "That's what I said. They're free today."

"Really?"

"Yep. I didn't ring them up."

On my way out of the store, I scan my receipt. No tomatoes listed. What a simple little gesture that makes my day. Thanks, Scotty.

At home I make corn, zucchini, and tomato pie. The pie and the tomatoes are flavorful with the help of parmesan cheese, garlic, and salt and pepper. Soon, I'll climb into bed and read more of The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks. I'm learning about HeLa cells and ethical dilemmas in scientific research.

Nothing happened today. Yet, on many levels, it was perfect. A perfect sort of day.

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: 10 things you didn't know about me and were afraid to ask:

I've written two books — a book of poetry and a memoir.
I was second in line for the starring role in the movie "Lucas" about a kid who plays football.
I became close friends with Nobel Prize winning poet, Joseph Brodsky, when I was in college.
I, too, have been to over 20 Grateful Dead concerts, Tanya Rosa.
Once met Bob Weir at a house party after an Oakland show.
I did a solo motorcycle trip through 29 states when I was 24.
I am a survivor of heart surgery and brain surgery.
I once lived on the island of Guam.
I got to sit with Bill King on the radio broadcast bench at a Warriors' game when I was a kid.
Used to be a teen model for Macy's, JC Penney, & Sears.

NOVEMBER 16, 2013: BATKID

The City of Gotham, a.k.a. San Francisco, is saved today by Batman and Batkid, a.k.a. Miles Scott. Miles is a five-year-old cancer patient whose wish to the Make-A-Wish Foundation was to help Batman.

At 10 a.m., a plea was broadcast on San Francisco public television. The San Francisco police chief asked for Batkid's help in apprehending the Riddler. During the course of the day, Batkid did the following:

Rode in a black Lamborghini Bat-mobile.
Locked up the Riddler.
Saved a damsel tied to cable car tracks.
Rescued the San Francisco Giant's mascot, Lou Seal, from the clutches of the Penguin.
Ran the bases in AT&T Park.
Read a message from President Obama.
Claimed a key to the city from the mayor of San Francisco.

Twelve thousand people turned out to role play and root for Batkid in his pursuit of justice and the American way. The San Francisco Chronicle published 1,000 copies of The Gotham Chronicle.

What an amazing display of communal whimsy. Long live Batkid. Long live the Make-A-Wish Foundation. Long live thousands of people, at the ready, to cheer our hero on — with heart.

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: Gradual Facebook withdrawal: I'm going to go get something to eat and I'm not telling you where and I'm not going to post a picture of my food.

Please share my blog/book with "other wayfarers who might catch a resonating echo while wandering in my woods." Thanks.

COMING UP THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 16, 2017: NOVEMBER 18, 2013 - DECEMBER 1, 2013
Walkin' the Cat * It's Criminal * Follow the Leader * November 22, 1963 * Happy Birthday, Marisa Elizabeth * Little Things * God Bless Us Everyone * Thanksgiving * Which End's Up? *Topsy-Turvy

To subscribe and receive email notices of new book posts every other week, enter your email address in the box on the right at the top of the page, and hit the Sign Up button. If you have any trouble subscribing, send me an email and I'll sign you up from my end :-)

dede@soonerthantomorrow.com

HAPPY PIC

October 27, 2017 Dede Ranahan

So excited. My pregnancy test is "positive."

Hope you have a good weekend everybody!

MORE FEEDBACK FOR A MOTHER'S DIARY by Dede Ranahan

October 26, 2017 Dede Ranahan

So happy for the readers who will discover you. Liz

I loved your diary entries today and laughed out loud several times. I also am reminded that you're a very talented writer! I guess you acquired your large vocabulary from reading. JM

Dede, I very much enjoyed the recent posts from your diary. Glad you are sharing these writings with others. Nancy

Please share my blog/book with "other wayfarers who might catch a resonating echo while wandering in my woods." Thanks.

COMING UP THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 2, 2017:
NOVEMBER 3, 2013 - NOVEMBER 16 , 2013: High Tech low Tech * Spending Plan * Equanimity * Insignificant or Not? * Family Mental Illness Support Group * Missing Teeth and Too Much Hair * That's Italian * Snap it Up * There's the Rub * Perfect Day * Batkid

dede@soonerthantomorrow.com

HAPPY PIC

October 20, 2017 Dede Ranahan

Almost finished...

Hope you have a good weekend everybody!

A MOTHER'S DIARY by Dede Ranahan - OCTOBER 19, 2013 - NOVEMBER 2, 2013

October 19, 2017 Dede Ranahan

One Day * Stories Inside Stories * Fashion Shows * Distractions * Damsel Braids and Inchworms * Ode to Cleaning * Busy Day * Gravity * Animal Sanctuary * Elder Ride * Halloween * Obsession * A Calling to Write

To read A Mother's Diary from the beginning, click on the June 2017 archives in the right hand column and read "Before: Scenes from the Trenches."

OCTOBER 19, 2013: ONE DAY

Kerry and Marisa are walking a ten-mile Nike marathon for breast cancer in San Francisco.

Megan's hiking with her family in Utah's Kolob Canyon.

Pat's working the sound system at Unity Church in Roseville.

GG's attending a tea party in her assisted living facility in Roseville.

I'm playing duplicate bridge in Lincoln.

Four kids.

One mom.

And me.

One day.

OCTOBER 20, 2013: STORIES INSIDE STORIES

I'm taking my Prius in for its 60,000-mile service. The dealership shuttle drops me off at the Galleria Mall while I wait for my car. The shuttle driver tells me to call her when I'm ready to be picked up. Sounds like a plan. The mall doesn't open until 11:00 a.m. and it's 10:30. I find an open entrance next to Pottery Barn. A woman is letting someone inside the store.

"Are you open?"

"No, but we're giving a decorating class and you're welcome to attend."

A sales associate carries a water canister filled with ice, water, and lemon slices out to the desk by the cash register. This is an item I've been thinking about for a while and here it is, right in front of me. And because I'm attending the decorating class, I get a coupon for 10% off anything I buy today. I ask the salesperson to put a water canister and its white porcelain base aside for me while I look around. I love browsing in this store. I enjoy the displays of pillows, candles, artificial flowers, and baskets. As if every home in America looks like this. It's a Norman Rockwell marketing strategy.

I scoot over to Crate and Barrel, which is right next door, to check out their water servers. They have more expensive models but they're not as nice as the one I have on hold at Pottery Barn. This is a shopper's dream. I've found a better buy and I get 10% off. The devil's leading me on. Before going back to pay for the water server, I see white dishes. I'm not looking for white dishes. I don't really need white dishes. But dishes and serving ware are two of my guilty pleasures. These dinner plates are labeled a "Best Buy." They're $5.95 each or eight for $41.95. They're oven, microwave, and dishwasher proof. They'd look perfect on my table at Christmas. To be an equal opportunity consumer, I buy the plates at Crate and Barrel and head back to Pottery Barn to purchase the water canister. This is turning into a successful shopping trip.

The dealership calls to say my car is ready. They've found some suspicious looking bubbling around the water pump seal. It should be watched.

"How much is the water pump replacement?"

"Four hundred fifty-seven dollars."

"No way."

They're not telling me I can't drive my car off the lot without repair. And a water pump isn't nearly as much fun as a water server and white dinner plates. I call the shuttle driver to tell her I'm ready to be picked up. I get a recording that says, "The shuttle will get to you in the order of your call."

I head over to Nordstrom's and sit down on a bench in the entry way between the parking lot and the store. This Nordstrom entrance is where the shuttle driver said she'd pick me up. Half an hour goes by. I call the shuttle service again and get the same recording. I leave another message. I'm in my people-watching mode. A lanky man and a lumpy woman walk through the door.

"I won't wear something like that," she says, "I'm too chunky."

I make up a back story. They're dating. They haven't slept together yet. She's trying to prepare her guy.

Three teenage girls run out the door. One shouts, "There he is. Hey, dude!"

They sprint and scramble into a car. Back Story: The "dude" is the girl's older brother who just got his driver's license. In return for getting to drive the family car, he has to drive his little sister and her friends to the mall.

A Russian family of five charge through the entry way. The mother barks something at the father. Sounds like "$%#!(***." Back story: The husband and wife are fighting over how to spend their money at the mall. She wants to buy a pressure cooker. He wants to buy boots.

A bald man and a long-haired woman enter from the outside door. She races ahead and opens the inside door to the store. "People don't have to open the door for me," she says, "I do it myself."

Back story: The woman asked the man to take out the trash this morning and he said, "Do it yourself." She's pissed.

It's two-and-a-half hours since I called the shuttle service. Something's amiss. I call the service tech. I get his cell phone and a recording. I leave a message. I'm tired of people-watching and I'm losing my sense of humor. I call an office number. A perky girl answers.

"Can I help you?"

"I hope so."

I tell her my back story. She puts me on hold. Several minutes later, she comes on the line again. "We're very sorry. The shuttle driver never got your message. She'll be right there."

The shuttle arrives. The driver's apologetic. "It's my third day on the job. I'm so sorry." She apologizes all the way back to the dealership. Inside, the service technician apologizes.

All's well that ends well. I drive back to the mall to pick up my packages. At home, the water server and the white dishes look even better than they did in the stores. I usually hate shopping, but today felt spontaneous and in-the-zone. Next time I go shopping, I'll probably end up buying a new water pump.

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: I spent a week in my car yesterday. Accepted a ride-share gig to drive a guy to Oregon to bring his daughter to her mother as part of his custody agreement. The ride up, starting at 6 a.m., was narrated all the way by a three year old demanding food, water, hand-holding, song-singing, and frequent bathroom stops.

The way back was narrated by a guy (who had a gleam of danger in his eyes) who could not stop talking and would become emotionally agitated every time we saw a policer officer on the road. He pontificated endlessly on how much he hated cops, government, "anything related to social control."

I still hear him babbling. Didn't get home till after 9 p.m. What horrors I have to subject myself to in order to put a few bucks in my pocket. Beware of babblers who can't tolerate silence and who begin almost every thought with, "You know, a lot of people don't know this, but..."

If nothing else, the creative material is piling up. I feel a book of short stories coming on.

OCTOBER 22, 2013: FASHION SHOWS

It's been 30 years since I've been to a fashion show and, today, I'm at a fashion show put on by community volunteers. Three stores are providing the outfits. The models wear lots of palazzo pants that make everyone look shapeless. Baubles, bangles, and beads remind me of the sixties. Very Bohemian.

Ten women are sitting with me at a round table. Four are in long-term marriages. Four are long-term singles. One, who is 70-something, is newly wed. One, who is 70-something, is newly widowed. The circle of life on display in a circle of women.

The woman next to me says, "I hope the show ends soon."

Me, too. I'd like to see a few ensembles put together from the clothing at Snap it Up. At intermission, I ask the woman in charge if they've ever used outfits from a thrift store.

"We don't do that here," she says.

Another 20 minutes and this fashion show will be over and, then, I'm good for another 30 years.

OCTOBER 23, 2013: DISTRACTIONS

This morning I woke up to the sound of someone walking on my roof, the gutter cleaner guy. Talked to a plumber about the faulty garbage disposal in the house GG rents to Pat, and told him to replace it. Now I'm getting ready for the carpet cleaner. I'm moving floor lamps and small tables into the kitchen.

With all this home maintenance, my focus is on materials. I'm feeling out of touch with my spiritual side. I take deep breaths and think about how to make cleaning and repairing a meditative exercise. Especially, when it's costing me money I'd rather spend on other things.

OCTOBER 24, 2013: DAMSEL BRAIDS AND INCHWORMS

Kerry and Regan are attending a Brownie meeting to pack Thanksgiving baskets for people in need so I'm babysitting Ayla. I pull into Kerry's driveway.

"Boo!"

A pouf of red hair pops out of the shadows.

"Look at the ghosts Mommy hung in our tree. Look at the scary pictures in our window. Want to come in and see our skeleton?"

Inside, Ayla's house isn't as scary as outside. Inside, we're reading books — a Bad Kitty book and a book about a chameleon. While we read, we wear damsel crowns and braids made of corn-yellow yarn and entwined with artificial flowers.

Ayla says, "We must wear them together, Mim."

She looks much prettier in her damsel braid than I do. "It will puff your hair up, Mim, but your hair is shorter than mine so it won't puff it up too much."

We're in the backyard, in our damsel braids, looking for bugs. Right away Ayla spies a tiny inchworm. "I love bugs, Mim. When I grow up, I'm going to work with bugs."

Ayla picks up the inchworm and cradles it in her palm. "This is Bumpy. He's the same worm I found last week."

"The same one?"

"Yes, but this is the real Bumpy."

We pick leaves and grass for Bumpy and throw a couple of pieces of bark into his plastic bowl. Ayla notices a pink flower on a small bush. It looks like a miniature camellia. "Isn't it beautiful, Mim?"

Ayla drops Bumpy on the flower. He's taking a nap.

Still wearing our damsel braids, we're back in the house and using Kerry's iPad. Ayla knows the password. She finds a screen of Halloween games. She's facile. Playing games on iPads is easy — like reading books and finding bugs.

"Show me how to play the games, Ayla."

"It's simple, Mim. Watch me."

I am watching you, Ayla. Watching you is pure joy.

OCTOBER 25, 2013: ODE TO CLEANING

The whole house is torn apart
The furniture's piled high
The ceiling fans whirr overhead
The carpets have to dry.

The cat can't find her litter box
The sofas are still wet
The more I try to clean my house
The messier I get.

OCTOBER 27, 2013: BUSY DAY

My busy day:

1. I refilled two bird feeders. They've been empty for weeks. The word in the trees is, "Don't bother with that house on Periwinkle Lane. Food's good when you can get it but the management's unreliable."

2. I put the house back together from the carpet cleaning.

3. I took my evening walk early since it's getting dark sooner. I was happy to note that most of the pumpkins are still where I placed them.

4. And finally, I bought it. Something I've been thinking of buying for a long time. I'll only use this item when it's pitch black outside. I have to work up my nerve and listen to my give-a-shit self and then maybe, maybe I'll say what I've done. Stay tuned...

OCTOBER 28, 2013: GRAVITY

Went with my friend, Kaye, to see Gravity. My favorite line in the film is when Sandra Bullock's character says, "I hate space." She's having a really bad day in the universe.

I'm sore and out of shape. Kaye is older than I am and looks great. She gives me the phone number of her personal trainer, Deanne. She can show me what gym equipment to use and how to use it. Paying for a personal trainer isn't in my budget. But being out of shape isn't in my budget, either. This is preventative care.

I know I won't stick with a workout routine unless someone expects me to show up. Deanne will expect me to show up. The time's come. I'm out of excuses and gravity makes things fall. Improving my strength and flexibility is important.

OCTOBER 29, 2013: ANIMAL SANCTUARY

My friend, Grace, and I are at the Folsom Zoo Sanctuary. The emphasis is on sanctuary. The animals, about 90 of them, are rescued. They're not forced to appear if they don't feel like it. An attendant says, "They can't choose their food or where they sleep, so we let them choose where they want to be within their space."

It's overcast today and some cages seem empty. Time to stay inside perhaps?

A declawed mountain lion, rescued from a family keeping it as a pet, strides back and forth.

A raven sits alone. The attendant explains. "The other ravens were picking on her so we had to isolate her for her own protection. She's very sweet. We talk to her and spoil her."

A tiger is sleeping A sign on the cage says, "There are more tigers in captivity in the US than remain in the wild."

Peacocks and chickens roam about the grounds with us. A feral cat cage houses four residents. The information says,"An estimated 40 million feral cats live in the US. Their average life span is two years. An indoor cat can live 14 years or longer."

A bear is rooting on the ground for insects. He ignores the fruits and vegetables mounded nearby.

Two condors, a male and female, share an "apartment." Both were found injured and are retired to this compound. The male rebounded from his injuries but suffers from arthritis.

A restless coyote, Maggie, paces in circles. She's anxious. An attendant says, "She's too tame to survive in the wild. She's too wild to be in a cage."

A macaw monkey drinks from a pond. He sometimes has seizures and is on medication. The sign says, "Please alert an attendant if the monkey appears to be in distress."

I'm grateful to this sanctuary for its care of these animals. At the same time, I'm sorry many of them seem to have human-like afflictions and/or afflictions caused by humans. Our relationship with animals is such a mixed bag.

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: I just got home from a terrible Mexican dinner. I ordered the two- cheese enchilada plate and realized a couple bites into my first enchilada that the cheese wasn't even melted. I sent it back asked the kitchen to heat it up for me. They brought it back with a fresh, hot melted enchilada which was good but they returned the original second enchilada with unmelted clumps of cheese. I know, I know, first-world problems, but hell of an aggravation when you spend as much time as I did justifying spending money on dinner the first place.

OCTOBER 30, 2013: ELDER RIDE

Irene calls to thank me for the book on MS. "I received the package last night," she says. "I can't talk long. We have a meeting this morning with the hospice staff."

Hospice? When did Ed's brain tumor move from treatment to hospice?

"He's getting worse. We looked into a hospice facility near our daughter, but it's expensive and we've decided to use hospice assistance in our own home."

As usual, Irene sounds calm and resilient. She'll call me and give me an update when they have more hospice information. Another friend whose husband is dying. My new normal?

My cousin, Annette, calls. She's bubbly about the packages she's sending. "They'll drive Monday by UPS. Will you be home?"

"Yes, I'll be here."

Annette, my 75-year-old cousin, is putting lots of effort into gathering, organizing, and forwarding family history and heirlooms. I ask her how she is. "I was really sick in July and August with asthma but I'm better. My daughter-in-law has to have hip surgery and my son's asked me to come help."

My friends, Jan and Jim, have invited me to their home in the Bay Area in November. Jan goes to physical therapy for back and hip issues. Nevertheless, she's making plans to go to Yoshi's, a favorite jazz club in Oakland, on a Sunday night. She wants me to join her and Jim and a few of their friends.

I hate the drive from here to there but I have to go. This elder ride seems to be getting more unpredictable for everyone and we all need to stick together.

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: What a morning! Met up with some regulars from the dog park and we drove up to Auburn to take the dogs to the river as a treat. My dog, Lexi, who hasn't had lot of experience off leash in the woods, took off in a mad sprint the moment I unleashed her and disappeared into the forest. Three hours of wandering around the woods calling her name, whistling, searching to no avail. Drove around the perimeter of the forest but couldn't find her. I had resigned myself to the fact that she was indeed lost and was dreading the long drive home without her when two guys showed up on the trail with Lexi on a leash. Thanks for the scare you damn dog!

OCTOBER 31, 2013: HALLOWEEN

I'm among that spooky percentage of people who don't like Halloween. I never have. Oh, sure, when I was a kid I went trick-or-treating. I hid my stash from little brother. But somehow, I never got into celebrating ghosts and goblins.

As a mother of four children, Halloween loomed like a gotcha test. Other mothers were creating clever outfits for their children. I didn't sew. I wasn't crafty. I hated the pressure I put on myself. "You must come up with original, complicated, over-the-top costumes for your kids. You can't use costumes from last year. You can't cut holes in sheets for eyes and drape them over small bodies. A black mask does't count as a costume. A witch's hat doesn't count as a costume. A pair of surgical scrubs? Absolutely not!"

As an adult, I don't enjoy costume parties. Don't ask me why. I don't know why. It's one of life's little mysteries. My best year, I made ladybug costumes for me and my husband. My worst year, I went to a costume party without any Halloween attire at all — not even an effing pumpkin necklace.

My daughters send me cute pictures of my cute grandchildren in their cute Halloween costumes. Kerry and her crew gather at an RV campground every Halloween with their friends. The campground sponsors contests for the best decorated camper and best costumes. The children trick or treat among the campers in a safe, controlled environment. My grandchildren are being gifted much better Halloweens than I gave to my children. My daughters, their mothers, get mega Halloween brownie points.

In this over-55 community, I don't get trick-or-treaters at my door. I miss them. I enjoy seeing their colorful costumes and their expectant, painted faces. I adore their squeaky little voices saying, "Trick or treat." I like to be the good guy and hand out candy bars. I don't do fruit.

To my credit, perhaps, I have a living, breathing black cat. She sits in my kitchen window every day all year long. Maybe the Halloween committee will give me one or two Halloween brownie points for her.

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: The last five years I have had like zero trick or treaters. This year I moved into a new house in a nice neighborhood so I wasn't really prepared for the gangs of ghouls on my doorstep. I ran out of candy with the last bunch. Guess I'm not answering the door anymore tonight.

NOVEMBER 1, 2013: OBSESSION

I'm online reviewing recipes — some new ones sent to me by a friend and some sent in a daily email from allrecipes.com. I check my recipe box on that site. I've saved 1,599 recipes. That's 4.38 years of recipes if I were to make a different one every single day.

Not only have I saved 1,599 recipes, I've scanned at least that many more and not saved them. I've read thousands of reviews by other users. I've studied a gazillion photos that accompany the recipes. What is this? It must be some kind of addiction. Recipe insecurity? Recipe obsession?

I get dozens more recipes each week from Pinterest, more recipes than any one person could use in a lifetime. Sometimes GG says, "This recipe is very good. Will we ever get to eat it again?"

Good question. I'm always onto the next, yet-to-be discovered gem — the recipe to end all recipes.

This recipe thing, it has to be genetic. GG never cooks in her assisted living facility. She never shops, but she checks the grocery inserts in the Wednesday newspaper each week. She compares prices and looks for special offers. She doesn't pass the information on. She reads the ads and dumps them in the waste basket.

So what's that about?

I sent a recipe to my friend, Grace, a while ago. She keeps raving about it. She says, "Every time I serve it my guests love it."

I want to make it again but I can't find the bloomin' recipe anywhere — not in my online recipe box, not in my document file, not in my cookbooks. I have to ask Grace if she can send my recipe for zucchini ribbons back to me. When she does, I better print it and tape it to the inside of my pantry door. My pantry door is finite. When it can't accommodate one more recipe, that should be it. The pantry door collection will be my one and only recipe collection.

Maybe, then, GG will get something "very good" served to her more than once.

NOVEMBER 2, 2013: A CALLING TO WRITE

In her book, How the Light Gets In, Pat Schneider talks about writing as a calling. I think about Pat's words and sit here at my computer because, if I don't, I may miss something. Who knows, it could be something funny, sad or even brilliant. When I write, words appear on the page and show me things I wouldn't otherwise reflect upon.

To begin writing, Pat says to take whatever comes. Whatever image. Whatever words. Whatever first flashes into our minds. "It's a gift from the unconscious."

Each of us has a unique voice. There never was and never will be another voice like mine. Or yours. We need to find our voices and put them to work. I write so I might think and act with both mindfulness and exuberance, and to tell the stories that are mine to tell.

As I write, I recall Pat Schneider's "Blessing for a Writer," and sprinkle it on myself like holy water:

"...lost though you may be in the forest,
drop your own words on the path like pebbles
and write your way home."

Please share my blog/book with "other wayfarers who might catch a resonating echo while wandering in my woods." Thanks.

COMING UP THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 2, 2017:
NOVEMBER 3, 2013 -NOVEMBER 16 , 2013: High Tech low Tech * Spending Plan * Equanimity * Insignificant or Not? * Family Mental Illness Support Group * Missing Teeth and Too Much Hair * That's Italian * Snap it Up * There's the Rub * Perfect Day * Batkid

dede@soonerthantomorrow.com

HAPPY PIC

October 13, 2017 Dede Ranahan

"I'm listening. I hear you."

Hope you have a good weekend everybody!

MORE FEEDBACK FOR A MOTHER'S DIARY by Dede Ranahan

October 12, 2017 Dede Ranahan

Your story resonates strongly with me, Dede. Hugs for telling it. Anne

I read your latest post, and it's beautifully written. I don't say that lightly. Rita

I copied your breakfast muffin recipe — and saw myself quoted in your October 11 "Getting it." I keep a journal — and look back at it from time to time. It's amazing what we've been through. I feel like I'm in a pretty good place these days. You and I are roughly the same age. I'm determined to enjoy each day. CB

Please share my blog/book with "other wayfarers who might catch a resonating echo while wandering in my woods." Thanks.

COMING UP THURSDAY, OCTOBER 19, 2017:
OCTOBER 19, 2013 - NOVEMBER 2, 2013: One Day * Stories Inside Stories * Fashion Shows * Distractions * Damsel Braids and Inchworms * Ode to Cleaning * Busy Day * Gravity * Animal Sanctuary * Elder Ride * Halloween * Obsession * A Calling to Write

dede@soonerthantomorrow.com

UNHAPPY PIC

October 6, 2017 Dede Ranahan

IN MEMORY OF THOSE LOST IN LAS VEGAS

Photo Credit/ Paco-MUC/Flickr — Photo Credit/ Paco-MUC/Flickr

A MOTHER'S DIARY by Dede Ranahan - OCTOBER 2, 2013 - OCTOBER 18, 2013

October 5, 2017 Dede Ranahan

The Grandma Drawer * Naps * Courage * Paralysis * Good Enough for Guests * Age Calculator * In The Big Scheme of Things * Conversations * Getting It * Mission Accomplished * Always Something * Holy Moley * Under Control * Wild Women

To read A Mother's Diary from the beginning, click on the June 2017 archives in the right hand column and read "Before: Scenes from the Trenches."

OCTOBER 2, 2013: THE GRANDMA DRAWER

This morning I'm at the Snap it Up thrift shop which is opening October 9. I'm volunteering to work in the store once a week. Proceeds from the shop will benefit FieldHaven's kitty rescue organization. I'm in the back room pricing and tagging clothes. Some are ready to display and some need steaming. Stained and torn items go into a GoodWill bag.

Boxes of clothes and knickknacks are arriving faster than I can sort through them. I'll have nightmares about this. I have a recurring dream about stuff. I'm trying to get somewhere and clothes and toys, that I have to pack, fly at me from all directions and I can never finish. In this store, stuff is coming from every which way while I'm awake. I'll be glad when I'm working the cash register on the shop's out-the-door side.

Two leather purses, child-size from Mexico, catch my attention. They're $2 each. They're perfect for the Grandma drawer in my den. My grandchildren know this special drawer is for them. There they find games, crayons, coloring books, puzzles, hats, magnifying glasses, and stuffed animals. The Grandma drawer needs continual replenishing so it doesn't get boring. It may become one of Snap it Up's best customers.

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: Thank you Brandi for my first official Rapbay Urbanlife delivery. Enjoying the tasty treats. Delicious! You're so kind.

OCTOBER 4, 2013: NAPS

It's windy today and my allergies are kicking in. Antihistamines aren't helping my stuffy nose and itchy eyes. The pills make me sleepy so I'm about to take a nap on the chaise in my bedroom.

It feels decadent to fall asleep in a chair in the middle of the day — like I'm cheating or something. My neighbor takes naps. Friends come late to dinner because, "We fell asleep." Some couples I know take naps together every day.

I never used to take naps. There was no time with little kids and jobs. A nap is a perk of being retired. Or perhaps, napping is simply an innate part of aging. Teenagers take naps. Toddlers take naps. Babies nap all the time. I'm growing backwards.

As I drift off, I note my backyard. I think about the birds, lizards, frogs, bees, trees, and shrubs that share my private patch of earth. I give thanks for the sunshine streaming in the window, for the freedom to sleep without fear, for the black kitty purring at my side, for the air I'm breathing in and out, for the chance to dream in the afternoon...

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: The love keeps pouring in. Thanks Lara for the generous and thoughtful surprise in the mail today.

OCTOBER 5, 2013: COURAGE

This week I've learned of four friends diagnosed with cancer — brain cancer, breast cancers, and lymphoma. Three of these friends are my age. One is in her early fifties. Their stalwart reactions move me — acceptance of the situation, determination to meet challenges head on, and energy focused on best possible outcomes. Another word for all this might be "courage."

My colleagues are showing their mettle. They're making preparations. They're reviewing medical procedures and options. They're being honest and humble. They intend to keep things as "normal" as possible. I'm sure they have their moments, in the middle of the night, when they feel overwhelmed and frightened. In the daylight, however, they're sending wishes for a beautiful fall season and for happy holidays ahead.

My friends are making me proud to be old, and showing the heights we can reach when danger looms large and nothing is certain.

OCTOBER 6, 2013: PARALYSIS

Back to square one. It looks like an annuity is out of the picture for my mother. At 95, we've decided we don't want to tie up her funds in a format she can't access right away if necessary. My brother asked his financial adviser for suggestions. He had no recommendations other than CDs or money market accounts.

Today's best money market rate is.90%. Today's best one-year CD rate is 1.05%. These rates are pitiful. Maybe this is a good time to stand still and not get caught in the middle of a Washington stalemate over funding the government or raising the debt ceiling.

Who knows how all this will fall out? It's beginning to feel like we're living in some kind of horror movie. No one can tell the good guys from the bad guys, or if any good guys are left. And no one knows how the movie will end. Maybe it's ending already. Maybe the ending is paralysis — like what I'm feeling right now.

OCTOBER 7, 2013: GOOD ENOUGH FOR GUESTS

It's fall. I'm thinking of my slow cooker and comfort food. Time for tomato basil soup, Father Greco stew, and garlic mashed potatoes. Time for the bouquet of cranberries simmering in brandy and allspice, and pumpkin bars just out of the oven.

Friends say they used to like to cook but, now, not so much. And they say, as a result, they're not eating nutritious meals. For myself, I'm collecting healthy recipes that require little fuss. This recipe meets that standard — good for breakfast, lunch or dinner.

One English muffin split and toasted
Mustard - favorite kind
Canadian bacon slices
Fuji or Envy apple slices
Swiss cheese slices

Place toasted muffin halves, cut side up, on an uncreased baking sheet. Spread with mustard. Layer with Canadian bacon, apple slices, and cheese.

Broil for six or seven minutes until the cheese is melted and bubbly. Serve with grape garnishes or orange wedges.

My preference is for simple recipes good enough for guests. And good enough for me when I'm the only guest at my table.

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: Richard Quest is one of the most annoying correspondents on CNN.

OCTOBER 8, 2013: AGE CALCULATOR

According to an online age calculator, today I'm 69 and 139 days old. I've lived 25,341 days, 3,260 weeks and one day, and 8.33.03 months. Maybe that's why, this evening, I can hardly move.

I worked for four hours at the FieldHaven thrift shop this morning. Standing the whole time, I sorted, priced, and placed items on hangers and shelves. My feet were screaming, "What are you doing?" When I got home, I took some aspirin and sat down.

Most days I tell myself I'm younger than I am. Might need to rethink this. Next Tuesday, when I'm at the thrift shop, I'll be working the cash register. I'll find a stool to sit on and then walk around, in between sales, to stretch. Don't want customers mistaking me for one of the antiques.

By next week, I'll be 69.40 years old. The age calculator doesn't stop. I must alternately rest and move my muscles.

OCTOBER 9, 2013: IN THE BIG SCHEME OF THINGS

There's a message on my answering machine from the window washing folks. It's a woman's voice.

"Hi. We have a problem with your appointment tomorrow. I usually come and work with my husband but I have another job and the person who was supposed to take my place has called in sick, so I can't help clean your windows. I hope we can reschedule. We have five children and, with this business and my other work, it gets a little hectic."

This husband and wife do a great job on windows, screens, tracks, and shower doors. They're running a special for $59 — about $40 less than what other's are charging. I call the woman back. We reschedule for a week from tomorrow. I hear children in the background. I hear fatigue in this mother's voice.

"Thank you for rescheduling," she says.

"No problem," I say.

"See you next week."

It seems moms and dads are stringing multiple jobs together to take care of their families. In the big scheme of things, my dirty windows are insignificant.

OCTOBER 10, 2013: CONVERSATIONS

I call my friend, Irene. Her MS is progressing. Eddie, her husband, is undergoing radiation treatments for a brain tumor. He also needs a kidney transplant. As usual, Irene is philosophical and upbeat.

"We're doing what the doctors tell us and trying to enjoy each day."

Pat calls. "I can't come over to do laundry because I don't have enough gas. Have you made a payment to the bankruptcy attorney for me this month?"

"No. I won't make another payment until the monthly bills I'm paying for you are under five hundred dollars. How's the job search?"

"Nothing."

"You made four hundred dollars a month last year dog-walking."

"I don't want to do that again."

"I have a couple coming out here next week to wash my windows. They have five children and need the income. They probably don't want to wash windows but they're doing what they have to do."

"I don't want to have this conversation." Click.

Some conversations go more smoothly than others.

OCTOBER 11, 2013: GETTING IT

Random comments at the Family Mental Illness Support Group Meeting:

"My son's an alcoholic but I think he has mental health issues, also. He won't see a doctor to get a diagnosis."

"My daughter was sentenced to eighty days of community service for a rear-ender. I wrote a letter to the public defender and the judge to explain that carrying out this sentence is beyond her capability. In court, the judge had my letter but said he couldn't use it because it hadn't come from the public defender. In the end, the prosecuting attorney and public defender agreed to sentence my daughter to ten days of house arrest. I can make sure she fulfills that sentence."

"My son's entering another cyclic period of his schizophrenia. He's less and less able to handle routine situations. We visit him for maybe thirty minutes and then he has to return to his residence. He won't eat with us. We go to the drive-through and get a hamburger and fries but he won't eat in the car and saves it for later."

"My son's coping. He's working again and his children are with him during the week. He says he's giving up alcohol. We've given him forty thousand dollars this year."

"My grandson and son both have schizophrenia and they're living together in an apartment. My son has a job and my grandson's taking classes but isn't working. He says he doesn't want to work. I don't know how long this arrangement will last."

"I've spent fifteen thousand dollars helping my daughter. I can't continue. I'm putting my finances in jeopardy."

"We know our ill children can be manipulative but it's hard to know when to help and when to say, 'No.' People who haven't lived with mental illness in their families, shouldn't make judgements about what I'm doing."

"I'm glad to have this group. I can talk here and know that the rest of you will understand and relate to the decisions I'm making."

OCTOBER 12, 2013: MISSION ACCOMPLISHED

Yesterday, after sundown and under cover of darkness, I delivered 20 miniature pumpkins — one each to the front door of every neighbor on my street. Today, seven are still where I left them. A few have disappeared. Eight or nine rest in more prominent positions in their yards.

I've done this before. In 1970 in Rochester, Minnesota, my family shared a back yard with eleven other families from all over the globe - Germany, Korea, Australia, France, Mexico, Massachusetts, and Texas. At 3 a.m., I crept from backdoor to backdoor and hung May Day baskets full of flowers, candy, and trinkets — jacks, balls, marbles and stickers — on each doorknob.

In the morning the backyard was buzzing.

"Who did this?"

"Do you know who did this?"

"Did you do this?"

That May Day caper still remains a who-dun-it. Now, the Great Pumpkin has struck on Periwinkle Lane. I hope the over-55 crowd isn't too old to enjoy this. I feel like Ayla and Regan. Sometimes, life is simply too much fun.

OCTOBER 13, 2013: ALWAYS SOMETHING

Pat leaves a phone message:

"Hi, Mom. A couple of house related things. It's time to put some foam insulation on the outside water pipes so they don't freeze this winter. I'll install it if we can buy it at Home Depot or Lowe's or something. The floor in the downstairs bathroom is bubbling up in spots and looks like water is leaking underneath it from the toilet. We should probably have someone take a look at it, but I don't think they'll be able to tell what it is without tearing up the floor. Would it be all right if I did laundry tomorrow? Thanks. Pat"

OCTOBER 14, 2013: HOLY MOLEY

I'm at the dentist. With my mouth pried open and packed with dental equipment, the dental hygienist pokes and scrapes and relays pertinent information.

"Your premolars have a nice leaf shape. Your molars have all their bumps. As we age, our teeth move forward, except for a few folks whose teeth move backward. Your teeth are becoming more crowded. They're impinging on your tongue's space and making imprints on it. Have you noticed the change in the shape of your tongue?"

I shake my head. It's hard to talk with a mouth full of metal.

"There's also bone loss around the back molar on the left which is a wisdom tooth and wisdom teeth behave differently than ordinary teeth. I see from your last visit that the dentist would like to fill about four of your teeth."

"Huh?" I mumble. "I don't remember her telling me I have cavities in four teeth."

"Well, they're not really cavities. They're teeth showing maintenance abrasion, in other words, too much hard pressure brushing. The procedure's to keep the abrasion from getting worse."

"How much is the procedure?"

"Twelve hundred dollars."

"Is it covered by insurance?"

"You'll have to check at the front desk. Also, it looks like you're snapping your dental floss. You need to slowly insert the floss between your teeth and move it up and down in a zig-zag fashion. Do you sleep with your mouth open?"

"I don't know."

"Well, that probably explains the apparent resistance of the bacteria in your mouth. Saliva pushes bacteria around so they can't do too much damage. But if you're breathing with your mouth open, your mouth is dry and the saliva can't do its job."

I'll try to remember, when I'm asleep, to keep my mouth shut.

"You know, we have an orthodontist here if you want to discuss your teeth moving forward to see if you need orthodontic treatment."

"You're kidding. Braces? At sixty-nine?"

"The consultation is free and she won't push you into anything you don't need."

"I'm not interested. Anything else?"

"Yes, I recommend you use an over the counter mouth wash without alcohol because alcohol is drying and we don't want to dry out your mouth more that it already is. And don't use one that will turn your teeth brown like prescription mouthwashes do. I can get the brown color off in your cleaning except in between the places where your teeth are too crowed because you know..."

"Yes, I know. My teeth are moving forward."

"See you in six months."

Maybe. I'm heading home. Sooner, rather than later, I'll probably put alcohol in my mouth. And I'm not talking about the alcohol in my mouthwash.

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: She sometimes shits on the carpet, pees on the floor and the couch, chews up and eats anything she can get her teeth on, jumps on me, scratches my face, wakes me up in the middle of the night after I've had three hours of sleep and absolutely has to go outside only to run around and sniff things and not do any business. And still I love her, my crazy dog, Lexi.

OCTOBER 16, 2013: UNDER CONTROL

The great government shutdown and debt-ceiling crisis of 2013 has been resolved. Sort of. Jack Ohman's political cartoon in the Sacramento Bee today captures the situation perfectly.

"We've reached an agreement to create a framework to establish a timetable to pass a bill that allows us to restart talks that will permit this to happen again in a few months..."

Couldn't have said it better myself.

Meanwhile, I'm trying to get my own house in order. Yesterday, I replaced cracked rollers in my garage door. Today, I had my windows washed inside and out. I'm looking for someone to clean my gutters. I'm getting estimates to refresh the bark in my front and back yards. Next week, the carpets and the sofa will be cleaned.

Not a fun way to spend money, but taking care of things, as a matter of routine, should limit bigger maintenance problems going forward. And my psyche rests better harboring the delusion that things are under control — which, or course, they never are.

OCTOBER 18, 2013: WILD WOMEN

Yesterday a 96-year-old woman, living here in Sun City with her daughter, locked herself in her bedroom. Her daughter called the police. When they arrived, the elderly woman fired a shot through the bedroom door, missing an officer by inches.

A SWAT team and helicopters were on the scene for thirty minutes. They were able to talk the woman out of the house. She appeared with one hand on her walker and one hand in the air. The 38-caliber handgun was recovered and the woman was taken to the hospital for observation.

Today, a neighbor approaches me for information about my mental illness support group. Her 33-year-old grandson is spiraling out of control and threatening suicide. He can't keep a job, uses drugs and alcohol, and isn't able to abide by the rules in his group home. His family is afraid of him and his mother is caught in the quagmire.

In my experience, mothers are often the one and only hope for their mentally ill children. They hang in with them when the rest of the world writes them off. I have no answers for my neighbor. Our mental health system sucks.

My friend's tragedy is a tragedy for her entire family. If you've not walked in the worn-out shoes of those who are impacted, and if you're judgmental, advise tough love or hint of enabling, you'll see another wild woman — me — go on the rampage.

Please share my blog/book with "other wayfarers who might catch a resonating echo while wandering in my woods." Thanks.

dede@soonerthantomorrow.com