Wrong Color to See Blue Man Group

Old Computers and Older Women

 

I finally understand why some men choose to replace their old models and move up to a trophy wife. Too much upkeep.

You see, a 60 year old woman is a lot like a ten-year-old computer.  If the hard drive and motherboard do not go out entirely the computer is still so much trouble to update and keep working.  Sometimes it is just easier to get the newer model.

I did not have to face that tough a choice recently.  My pc’s motherboard and the processor had died.  So I sprung for a new pc.  Now I am pretty happy.  Mostly because the computer works with my old software for the most part, the old monitor and also my old ergonomic keyboard.

I also was pleased to find my old printer works just fine. It’s refusal to print was not the result of its temperamental nature in how paper was loaded.  I cannot tell you how many times I loaded and re-loaded paper thinking that was the problem.  Little did I know: the printer is hooked directly to the mother board or the processor. I forget which.

In any event, the old printer now prints faster than a pair of lovey-dove rabbits turn out baby bunnies. Though it is too old for its scanner and what-not to mesh with my new pc.  But who cares? Scanning was a rare chore on which I had to consult the manual.  Easier to send it some other way, even if that meant snail mail. On the other hand, I do wonder if I should get a new printer, one that does everything or plug along with what is workable but sometimes temperamental.

Sort of like the upkeep choices an older woman faces.  There are the essentials: Healthful diet.  Exercise.  Halfway fashionable clothes that are still comfortable on a body taken to sagging at unexpected places. And what about clothes that are clearly cute and trendy. But not designed for the woman in her 60’s.  As they say, just because you can fit into it doesn’t mean you should wear it.

Then there are the more difficult maintenance issues. The graying hair. Whether to color or just condition and let it go natural.  I frankly can’t tell when the colorist at the salon has finished what it is she has done. Even she admits the grays blend in with the blond so there are no “roots.”  On the one hand, the grays are wiry and uncontrollable without a little color treatment.

If you can count, you can tell I have run out of hands.  But I am still left with the question: is it worth sitting in a salon for forty-five minutes and spending more than what you would pay for an iPhone just to get rid of the unrulies? And yes, I have tried so many hair care products to get rid of the unrulies I could have bought an iPad.

Another option is to treat the gray unrulies with a home color product or glaze, or some-such, myself. After reading all the directions, applying the mess to my hair, setting my ancient (by technology standards) iPhone’s timer, and sitting around at home with goop on my head, then realizing my nails need doing too, but there isn’t enough time on the timer to do them at the same time, I wonder if any of it is worth the effort. After all, I still have to fool with my new pc and see if I can re-set the screen resolution so I can read what I am typing. That is, unless I buy a pair of glasses especially for the computer.

Next up on my list: I have purchased a home gel nail care kit.  The new stuff that leaves your nails good to go for at least two weeks. Even if you use your computer, do a little gardening, cooking and stack or wash dishes. Again, not sure if frugality and time justify the end result. But can a mature (I hate that word but is “old” any better?) woman go out in public with nails that look like she works at the zoo?  This project will probably be as good an idea as it would be for me to attempt to repair the motherboard. 

Now that my computer is working, my husband had his laptop repaired. Turns out there was a dust ball inside his laptop.  No big deal right?  Well, when he got it home, not only is the screen resolution not right but the sound no longer plays. And he uses his laptop primarily for reading news and listening to music. So you can guess how happy he is.

I just hope my husband doesn’t decide his wife is as much trouble to maintain as his laptop.  

The Redbud Trail

I know the drive from Louisville to St. Louis well.  Due west on highway 64, about 280 miles, depending on exact departure and arrival spots. With current speed limits and few stops you can make it in four and a half to five hours.

Born and raised in St. Louis and living in Louisville for over twenty years I've had many occasions to make the trip over the years. Trips to spend holidays with family.  Trips for a wedding, short visit or other occasion. In my parents' later years, many trips were to check on them during illnesses, go to doctors' appointments, or visit them in hospitals. 

I never will forget Sunday, May 8, 2005.  My Mother called to tell me my Father had died. I was soon on the road, driving to St. Louis. 

The drive is boring.  Flat, smooth interstate the whole way. with Evansville, IN about half way. Mount Vernon, IL about an hour before you get into downtown St. Louis. The iconic Arch standing out in the St. Louis skyline.  My Father had an interest in photography and he took photos of the Arch in all stages of its construction. 

On May 8, 2005, I saw the sun set behind the Arch in a spectacular sunset. In all the years of driving to St. Louis I had never before been on I-64 heading into St. Louis just at sunset. Before that time I had always planned the trips to arrive before rush hour and thus before sunset.

I drove I-64 again yesterday. My brother had been in a bike accident and I had gotten a call from the emergency room in St. Louis. In his concussed state, my name and number was the only contact that had come to him. 

This time the most remarkable part of the trip were the purple filigrees of Redbud trees decorating the interstate. Some of the Redbuds looked to have been recently planted, as they lined up in perfectly straight rows.  Others were interspersed amongst the taller trees, those wearing only the soft green of early spring. But throughout the drive, Redbuds were my constant companion, as if showing me the way from my present home to that of my childhood. 

My brother's injuries are of the kind that should heal well. Stitches in two rows at the eyebrow, scrapes across his face, hands, arms, and legs.  A dermabrasion, courtesy of the St. Louis streets.  We are hoping he has no long-term repercussions from the concussion, other than a firm commitment to never again get on his bike without a helmet.

Now that both of our parents have passed on, I don't make the trip nearly as often. Sometimes my brother comes to Louisville; sometimes we meet in other locations. But the Redbud blooms along I-64, just like a sunset over the Arch will always remind me of a particular drive along that route.

Breakfast with a Cardinal

Our yard is small.  But the view this time of year is beyond belief.  As if it were a giant bouquet, pink fluff envelops the weeping cherry tree just outside my kitchen window.   A short distance beyond the cherry tree the fence is a riot of golden forsythia.  Springtime parades in the Ohio River Valley with flowers, shrubs and trees in dazzling colors and scents, some sweet, some stinky.  But all a welcome relief from the dreariness of winter. 

By the meteorological calendar it is not yet the beginning of spring.  But the term spring hardly does justice to what is happening.  That season also is denoted for the religious holidays, Holy Week or Passover to name two.  I like to think of it as the week  daffodils are in bloom and a few tulips brave the evening dips in temperature to begin their opening dance.   The pear, tulip and cherry trees are in serious bloom. The redbuds hinting at the purple splendor soon to come.

As I sit at my kitchen table eating my regular oatmeal and fruit breakfast unexpectedly I am joined by a Cardinal.  Not the kind wearing an ornate red hat and officiating at church ceremonies.  Or even the kind wearing a team jersey and carrying sports paraphernalia.  No, this is the bird from which all the others take their inspiration. 

The Cardinal perches atop the recently-trimmed junipers nestled beneath my bay windows.  As I eat I watch him snack leisurely at the shrub insects, stirred, no doubt, by the trimming.  He is bright red and smallish.  Certainly smaller than the robins who splash in the birdbath, but larger than the finches who delicately sip a drink.  The Cardinal is less than five feet from where I sit, separated from me by a window.  He occasionally hops forward on the bush, watching me as I eat.  I wonder what thoughts go through his head on this glorious morning. 

God, the Tornado Maker?

Being in the path of a tornado must be like looking into the fury of the devil. And, unfortunately, there have been a lot of tornadoes around in Kentucky and Indiana in the last few weeks.  So it’s not all that surprising that many tornado survivors praised God for sparing them.  Attributing their survival to God’s blessing or His hearing their prayers. 

People crushed in their homes; tossed around and thrown out like debris.  Some solidly-built brick homes, along with a lot of mobile homes, prefab homes, schools, roofs, trees, and pavement, were ripped up, tossed and later deposited as rubble at least a hundred miles away.  An EF4 tornado, or even a smaller one, must be an awesome, using the word literally, thing to behold.

After the storm one toddler, named Angel, was scooped up by rescue workers from the field near her mobile home.  The rest of her family had died in the tornado.  Angel died a couple of days later from the massive head injuries she had sustained.

If we believe God saved some people does that mean God chose to destroy Angel’s family, leaving her to suffer for a few days, and then die?  Or is the rational explanation that Angel and her family lived in a mobile home, were without a shelter from the storm, and were in the path of a powerful tornado? 

Do we want to ignore reason and facts, instead believing, as the ancient Greeks and Romans, that humans are the play things of a higher being?  God chooses whom to wound, and whom to protect?  The Greeks believed when ships were lost at sea the gods had not protected the sailors.  Or the god of the sea had been angered.  As did the Romans and many other ancient peoples.  When the crops failed or storms came, another god had been displeased.

Today we know storms are caused by cold and warm air masses colliding.  A natural event in this part of the country.  However, in 2012 Kentucky already has experienced 22 tornadoes in the first three months of the year.  When seven is the average for the entire year.  Perhaps we should consider whether we have done something to anger the gods.

On the other hand, we could consider that virtually all repeatable scientists agree human activities are contributing to climate change.  Resulting in more severe and unpredictable storms.

I don’t think it is fair to blame God for making us want to drive gas-burning vehicles.  Or eat out-of-season fruit shipped from South America.  Nor can He really be held accountable for the many other human activities contributing to a warming planet. 

No more can God be blamed for the destruction of natural or human-caused events than God can be credited with the survival of some.  In most cases, the survivors’ prayers could substitute the word “basement” or “storm shelter” for “God.”  As in, “If not for God (or the basement/ storm shelter) I’d be dead.” 

While I don’t believe the tornadoes were sent or their destructive path personally dictated by any god, I don’t discount we saw a glimpse of divinity during and after the storms.  The mother, who took her young children into their basement, covered them with her own body, thus sacrificing both of her legs, as she reassured them during the storm that they all would survive.  The many volunteers who helped with the clean-up after the storms.  Those who donated food, money or their time and effort.

If there is a God He may expect us to engage in a little self help.  Perhaps mobile home parks and communities where most homes do not have basements need to get together and build storm shelters.  If you believe government serves a purpose for the collective good, you might even say that is something government could do: help with building storm shelters in areas prone to tornadoes.  And maybe we should insist our government do more to reverse the effects of climate change while that is still possible.  Surely that would please whatever god watches over this Earth.

I'm Back

Sorry, it's been more than a couple weeks since my last post.  Oops, this starts off like a confession: "Bless me, Father, it's been over forty years since my last confession."

But no, this is not a confession. Just a note to say I'm back on the mainland and ready to get back to blogging again regularly. It's been too long since my last post.

There are lots of tasks to get in the way of writing.  Paying bills, getting records together to pay taxes, the usual household chores.  Then there's fun stuff.  Re-connecting with friends, going to events, getting back to exercise class, trying some new exercise routines, enjoying the beautiful, prematurely spring-like weather.  And then there is the unexpected.  Destructive tornadoes, catching bronchitis, coping with jet lag, visiting friends who've lost loved ones. Well, those aren't really unexpected.  Just unpredictable and undesirable.  And some much worse than others.

The paragraph above starts to sound like a bunch of excuses.  But they're not.  They're musings that just haven't been written yet. And I promise to get back to posting those musings regularly again.  So please stay tuned.

Connections

We've been on Maui for several weeks. Unfortunately, we didn't make connections with the couple of friends we know on island from past trips. But we connected with a wide variety of other folks. Some connections were only momentary but still memorable.

At the upcountry lavender farm we meet Deborah who just started working there again. We discuss the art work they have on display, the plein art painters and art festivals on Maui. She writes the name and contact info for one of her friends in the plein air group. I call his studio and he returns my call the next day. To tell me he had tried to send me the schedule but somehow had been given my email address with a mistake in it. He invites me to paint with the group any time I want. Unfortunately, it's near the end of our trip and the dates don't work for me. He sends me an email and suggests I join them next time we are on island.

On Valentine's Day we stop to share shave ice in Kahului. A couple who also are eating shave ice readily agree to take our photo with my iPhone: one of the nicest photos of us on this trip. They come to Maui every year. It's where they were born.  They now live in Washington State. Another man, also enjoying a shave ice, tentatively strikes up a conversation with us. His manner is reticent: he doesn't want to intrude if we don't want to talk. But we are happy to chat. He shares that he's a firefighter who lives in Hana. Spending a couple of days on this side of the island for SCUBA training. He describes some of the variety of rescues firefighters are involved in on island. He waves at us to end our conversation as he answers his cell. We hear his happy greeting:"Happy Valentine's Day." He misses his Sweetie on this day. Later that day we hear of a daring, successful rescue in Haiku by firefighters from Hana and Kahului of a young man who has fallen 40 feet from a waterfall. We wonder if the firefighter we met is among the rescuers.

Then there's the couple who share some of the shade from their umbrella during the Whale Day festival. And the tall Hawaiian man whose shade I stand in while waiting to buy Italian ice. He notices my pale skin and graciously offers to let me go ahead of him if I'm worried about getting too much sun. I thank him and say I'm happy to stand in his shade. The Italian ice seller, who despite the line of customers, takes time to offer me a sample of flavors and assures me all are gluten free.  No one in line appears to mind the delay. I've bought  a couple of extra "script": the young couple with a baby  graciously thank me when I give them the unused food tickets.

A little connection with the guitarist / singer who performs with John Cruz on the evening of Whale Day. We go to  the evening concert at Stella Blues. After getting cleaned up, I wear my lei from Valentines Day. From the stage the accompanist asks me if it is my birthday since I'm wearing a lei. I suppose that is the traditional decoration to wear on your birthday. I deny it's my birthday, just reusing the lei from Valentine's Day I say. When he and Cruz finish their performance and leave the stage, he gently taps my shoulder and says, "Happy birthday, anyway."

This morning I help a woman who looks like she needs a steadying hand as she climbs down a few rocks to the beach. She invites me to join her in painting. Maybe next time--we are leaving tomorrow. She gives me her card, tells me she is on island every year about the same time we are. She and her husband live in San Jose. That's the same city where we stopped on our way to Maui to visit an old friend from college. We talk about San Jose and staying in touch with old friends. Strange how you find connections.