Wednesday, November 2, 2011

THE NADS INVADE TEMECULA. GO NADS!

WE HAD A GREAT TIME IN TEMECULA THIS PAST WEEKEND WITH GOOD FRIENDS, OLD AND NEW. WE GOLFED, ATE A LOT, WENT WINE TASTING, AND OF COURSE LAUGHED AND LAUGHED. SOMEONE ALSO FORCED EVERYONE TO WATCH A COUPLE OF VIDEOS ON THEIR IPAD. NEW HOBBY...MAKING VIDEOS ON IMOVIES. (GET YOUR MINDS OUT OF THE GUTTER).

HERE WE ARE ON OUR WINE TASTING EXPEDITION WITH "KING TOUR WHERE WE TREAT YOU LIKE ROYALTY". SOME OF US CHOSE TO TASTE OLIVE OIL AND BALSAMIC VINEGAR INSTEAD OF WINE. HANGOVERS SEEM WORSE THE OLDER YOU GET.

IT WAS A FUN WEEKEND AT THE TEMECULA CREEK INN.

GO NADS!

Monday, September 19, 2011

WE'RE NOT DEAD...OOPS, OLD YET!



I'm back home after five days in Palm Desert with Hubby and three days in La Quinta with friends. I had a lot of time to relax and reflect, and one of the things I reflected on was this "getting old" thing. I used to chuckle to myself when I'd hear "old" people say, "I don't want to live in one of those senior places with all those old people". Now I understand completely. I'm still 40. Well, not really, but in my mind I'm 40 and 40 I shall stay. Actually, 50 was okay, too, so if I have to age I'll get to 50 and then stop.

Awhile back I changed my status from "working part-time" to "semi-retired". Right about the same time I joined a swimming aerobics class that consisted of primarily "really retired" seniors. I also started taking courses at the local university in their "gerontology" program for seniors. I dropped out of both and have taken up art classes in a private studio and spent the summer there with children and younger women. I'm soon going to start a "low impact" aerobics class with my former trainer who told me I can't call it the "old people" class. I'm also going back to "working part-time" status. Why? I'm not old, that's why.

This weekend in the desert was a "blast" to quote my nearest and dearest. Our friends, Rich and Teri, invited us along with Tom and Darlene and Tom and Amy, to stay in their lovely home in La Quinta. We ate, drank a little wine, laughed, bobbed in the pool, talked for hours on end about anything and everything, and played lots of cards. I think we solved all of the world's problems this weekend, if they would only listen to us. Yes, we talked about social security and medicare, and a few aches and pains, but it really wasn't much different than when we were all young and talking about things that went along with earlier ages. All of our conversations were spirited and lively. It was great fun. And the weekend proved that we're not old yet. 

Sunday, September 4, 2011

Labor Day Boomer Weekend



No, I didn't go to Yellowstone this weekend and I didn't take this picture, but isn't it gorgoeous? I just might have to paint it.

Okay, big weekend in boomertown OC. Friday night we went to "the club" and had dinner with Tom and Amy in celebration of their 39th wedding anniversary. We sat out on the patio, listened to music, and visited with various other friends, then we went in to have a lovely dinner. On the way to "the club", hubby and I had a little discussion about, "Did you every think we would be Country Club People?" Actually, I never did. I didn't even give it a thought. I grew up in a working class family and we lived from paycheck to paycheck. Funny thing is, when we talk with others at the country club, we all grew up the same way. Boomers kind of fit into that era where we were able to work hard, make lots of money, and live the life our parents weren't able to. Interesting.

Last night we went to dinner at a lovely couple's home in Laguna Niguel, where two other couples joined us. They were high school connections of my "hubby". Wonderful people. We sat on the balcony of their home, drank our cocktails and watched the ocean sunset, then went in to one of the best dinners I've had in a long time. I did tell "hubby" he'd better start saving some money because we're due for a major remodel in Fullerton. Especially after seeing this house. OMG!

Tonight I cooked dinner for two former colleagues of my "hubby" and their wives. We had a great time eating, drinking, laughing...we seem to do that a lot in the OC.

Tomorrow the familia is coming over for dinner. We're BBQ'ing tri-tips. One for Andy and one for the rest of us. Hey, that's the way it is when there's a teenage football player in the family.

Lovin' life in the OC. 

Monday, August 29, 2011

BLUE BOOMER




                I had a nice week and weekend with the golf group. The guys played in a three day tournament and the girls were invited to join them for dinner two evenings. It's a great group of people and we talked, laughed, ate, drank, and whiled away the hours sitting on the balcony of the country club. Since we're boomers, the guys sat at one table smoking their cigars and telling golf war stories, and the girls at another talking about our lives as empty nesters and retirees or semi-retirees.

                So why am I feeling so down in the dumps today? I hate to even admit that I am down. I have so many things to be grateful for, but once in awhile I just can't help it. I've done a lot of thinking and I've decided I'm not so alone in feeling this way. I kind of got the feeling from some of the other girls that they feel a bit the same way.

                I miss a lot. For some reason I'm really missing my dad today. And I miss my kids. They're all grown up and living their lives and I miss having them around. I miss taking them to their ball games and practices. I miss the noise in the house and the chaos. It's just too quiet around here. Even my dog is a senior and he sleeps most of the day.  I miss the big family celebrations we used to have. Everyone crowded in together all talking at the same time.

                I've thought about how it was to be a child without responsibilities and a senior without responsibilities. As a child, I didn't remember wanting anything more than to just be able to play with my friends, read my books, run around outside, and go to school when I had to. If I had free time, the more the better. I didn't long for anything else. As a senior, I have the freedom to play with my friends, read my books, walk around outside, and go to school at the senior center when I want to. But now I find all of this freedom sad at times. I suppose I should be enjoying it more, but at one time I was needed...a lot. Not so much anymore. But now that I know what it was like to be needed, I really miss it a lot.

Friday, August 19, 2011

HOMELESS IN THE OC




                I was walking to my car in the Costco parking lot, cart loaded up as it always is when I shop there, when a young man approached me.  I thought, Aha, maybe this is my first homeless person interview coming right up! I forgot all about the frozen salmon and the tri-tips that could get a head start on cooking in the bright sunlight.

                The man looked Eurasian. Around 5' 9 " tall and about 150 lbs. He was very clean and well groomed, and in fact looked like he'd just stepped out of the shower. His hair was long, dark with a few gray strands, had  bit of curl and was freshly shampooed. He wore a spotless white tee shirt with advertising on it, wore clean denims and shoes with very little wear on them. I looked at his arms and drew on my nurse experience and I didn't see any drug track marks. He was calm and didn't appear to be under the influence of any drugs or alcohol.  Needless to say, he didn't look very homeless to me, but I figured I'd ask him a bunch of questions anyway, once he'd asked me for money. He wouldn't look me in the eye at first, rather shifted side to side. As I showed interest in him and his problems, he faced me square on and looked directly into my eyes. My conclusions at the end of the interview was he'd told me a number of lies, some untruths, but there was a lot of truth in his story as well. While he was talking, there were times when the words flowed out of him from the depths of his being and I could tell those parts were true. Other times not so much. Here goes:

                "Excuse me, ma'am. I wonder if I might ask you a favor. You see, we belong to the church around the corner, and we're homeless. The pastor of the church told me he'd get us into a room if I could raise $200. I'm short $55. That's all." He looked down at the ground.

                "Where are you living now?" I asked. "And who's we? Are you married?"

                "Yeah, it's me and my wife and two kids. They're 5 and 6. We live in Pearson Park right down the street. We have a little spot behind a flower planter that we've sort of carved out as ours. No one knows we're there."

                "Do your kids go to school?" I asked.

                His head shot up at that and he looked me straight in the eye. He had a bit of fear on his face. "No, why? Is that against the law?"

                "I don't know about that. I'm just curious. I'm a writer and I'm interested in people, that's all." I smiled at him.

                He smiled back. "You're a writer? Maybe you can write a book about me and then I'll get rich."

                "Why are you homeless? Did you ever work?" I asked.

                "Oh, yeah. I had a good job in IT at Boeing and I got laid off. They laid off 1500 people. I used to make $48 an hour. I had everything I needed. I can't find a job anywhere now. I've applied at every single store in this area and I can't get a job. I even applied at Chuck E Cheese. I'll do fast food, anything to get back on my feet. My mom lives in Texas and I have a sister in Washington but we can't go there. They have their own financial problems and they don't want us. I tried to talk my mom into it, but she says no."

                "How old are you?"

                "46. Pretty sad, huh? Here I am a 46 year old man out asking people for money. I'd rather work any day than live like this," he said, looking me straight in the eye.

                I noticed again how clean he was and knew it was time to ask. "So, I noticed you're very well groomed and your clothes are spotless. How are you able to do that when you're homeless?"

                He didn't have a good answer for that question and didn't look me in the eye. "Well, uh, sometimes the church people let us in to take showers and wash clothes..."

                "You know, it's kind of a coincidence but I had a man ask me for money the other day over in Henry's parking lot. He also told me he just needed a few more dollars and he'd have enough for a room? Your stories a similar. Why do you think that is?"

                "I don't know, but those other guys only want money for drugs. They'll tell you anything."

                I remembered my food and started loading my car.

                "So, do you think you can help me out with a little money?" he said, hesitantly.

                I reached into my wallet and pulled out some bills. "Here you go. This is for talking to me so I'll have something to write about. Good luck to you and your family. I hope you find work soon."

                "Thank you and God Bless You. I hope I do, too. Only $45.00 to go and we'll have a room."

                Somewhere in between these lines lies the truth.

               

Monday, August 15, 2011

Writers on the Loose in the OC, on Mission Viejo Lake


I just returned home from a Monday night writer's group meeting. Tonight we met on Mission Viejo Lake, thanks to KAS, who lives in the area and rented a boat for us. We all met at KAS's home. That's where things went a bit wrong. We were to meet at 4:30 PM. Diane didn't arrive. We were to get on the boat at 5 so we decided to leave without her (and her dessert). We'd gotten on the boat and set out to cruise the lake and a young man from the dock called to say Diane had arrived. We turned around, picked her up, and set out again. It was quiet, relaxing, inspirational. Well, not all that. That was the original goal but with this group things tend to go awry. We discussed the last book we read, CUTTING FOR STONE, decided on the next book through a long process of elimination, VISIT FROM THE GOOD SQUAD, then tried to agree on a date for our "writer's retreat". No luck. Also no luck on a decision regarding our group writing project. Oh well, next week.

Terrill volunteered to drive the boat. That's where things really went wrong. She ran over a buoy, killed the boat, and we drifted into a private boat dock where we then called the lifeguards for help and passed the wait time by eating our dinner. We argued a bit with each other, disagreed a lot, swore a bit, called each other names. Great fun!

I love this group of dynamic women. We are as individual and different as different can be. We get together and there is so much creative energy anything can happen. It's so energizing and such fun.

Actually, the boat got easily fixed and there wasn't any permanent damage to anything. Hope KAS will plan this again some time!

PS...that isn't me sitting in the driver's seat. It's Terrill, the boat killer.

Friday, August 12, 2011

Who killed George and Lynda Taylor?

On March 18, 1999, my husband and I, along with our youngest son, David, had gone to the premier of a movie "short" a family friend was in in Hollywood. We drove together, and after the movie was shown, our friend's son invited David to go to a post premier party. My husband and I left David in Hollywood and went home to bed.

In the wee hours of the morning, the telephone rang. Every parent's nightmare. I awoke and answered the phone to hear a stern detective ask to speak with my husband, who was the presiding Judge in the Norwalk courthouse at the time. My mother's fears kicked into gear and I questioned the detective, "Where are you calling from? What is this about?" The detective was calling from San Bernardino, which made no sense to me since we'd been in Hollywood. My heart was beating faster than it had ever beaten, and I of course was concerned that this somehow was related to our leaving David in Hollywood. Finally, when the detective refused to talk to me anymore, I handed the phone over to my husband.

My husband quickly learned that George had returned to his home in Rancho Cucamonga following an evening law event, and as he drove into the garage, he was shot to death by someone lying in wait. Lynda was inside the house, sewing dresses for their daughter's coming wedding, and as she ran into the garage to investigate the noise, she was also shot to death.

The shock and dismay overwhelmed us. My husband began calling the court staff in George's courtroom to inform them of the murder and to warn them to increase their own safety.

Here we are, 12 years later. The case hasn't been solved. Actually, it's a cold case and is all but forgotten. But not to me. I remember George and Lynda Taylor. We weren't close friends, but my husband and George were colleagues and we met at social events. They were very nice people. Just like I'm a nice person. And they were struck down in the dead of night. It's been 12 years.

Today my husband and I finished his home office. I hung pictures. George Taylor is in those pictures. Tomorrow we are attending a wedding of another Judge's daughter. Then we are going to the annual Norwalk Judge's BBQ. It's a huge reminder that someone killed George and his wife Lynda. That someone most likely had to do with a case he was presiding over. And that someone is still at large.

Something about this whole case just doesn't seem right. It makes me wonder, if my husband and I were murdered would it matter?

Sunday, July 31, 2011

WALK? OR RIDE? WAYS TO ENTERTAIN YOUR DOG


This is Willie Dog Pratt. He's my 12 year old golden retriever with a summer haircut. He's a very young 12, you wouldn't know he was that old except for his white face. I got him from a rescue organization in 2007. He's been a great dog. Willie and I go for a walk every morning. Sometimes it's just up and down the cul de sacs in our neighborhood for 30 minutes, other times we walk on the nature trail, and some days we go to the park with a lake and ducks. There are a lot of distractions there though, so I don't head that way often. We stay healthy by walking, walking, walking.

The neighbors directly behind us have two golden retrievers and a bernese mountain dog. For those of you unfamilier with that breed, they're a gorgeous dog and can weigh up to 120 pounds. I never see these dogs being taken out for a walk. Instead, the neighbor lady loads the three up into the car, opens the windows (each dog gets a window) and slowly drives them around the neighborhood and out onto the main street. I think she drives around a large block making only right turns, and isn't gone long.

I laugh every time I see her big gray car going slowly through the neighborhood, each dog's head hanging out a window. I do feel badly for the dogs. They're big, working dogs and should be out getting exercise. One day I walked by with Willie and the neighbors grandchildren were in the front yard. They asked to pet Willie so I stopped. Son the neighbors came out and we talked about our dogs. They were surprised Willie was as old as he is, and I told them I attributed it to his regular exercise. They said one of their goldens was terribly arthritic and it was hard for him to walk. I saw them one time after that, walking one of their goldens. That was the only time.

I think my choice is the better way to go.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

HOMELESS IN THE OC

Each day, I drive by numerous homeless, or supposedly homeless folks on my way to and from work or play. Fullerton, California is a good place to be homeless. On the coldest nights, it isn't very cold. There's a park nearby in Anaheim that has become a home base for many homeless folks. They stand on the major street corners, near the freeway on and off ramps, with their cardboard signs claiming they are homeless, out of work, disabled vets, trying to feed children, needing just a few dollars to carry them over, hungry, etc........ Yes, I'm one of those people that hand my money out the window of the car. I always have and I always will. A little voice in my head says, "There but for the grace of God goes I." I think that voice is my Grandma Grace's. She always helped those that were down and out.

I'm not naive. I know some of those folks are scammers, and some others could get a job if they really tried. I also know there are mentally ill folks out there, too. But it isn't up to me to sort them out.

I want to know their stories. I would love to sit down and talk to them, one at a time, and really find out why they're there, living in the park on La Palma in Anaheim, and "working" at the 91 Fwy. and Lemon and Harbor Blvds. I'm considering taking a notebook, and a few $10.00 bills and striking up conversations.

The truth is, people love to talk if they know someone is truly interested in them and willing to listen. I'm truly interested and willing to listen. I'm a good listener. I've been told that a lot. I listen, keep secrets, and I don't judge. I just listen. Maybe I'll do it.

Monday, July 25, 2011

Personal thank you to my Doctor



It was all in a day's work

To her

Snipping the diseased part

Of my body



Little did she know

The change

Her day's work would make

On my life



I'd become imprisoned

Caged

Unable to live life as I'd

Known it



Chained to my home

The bathroom

Unable to do what

I wanted



She assured me she could do it

She'd done many on her own

She had no doubts

Neither did I



Here I am fifteen years later

Able to live

To  do

To create

To enjoy

To travel the world

To help others in need



I hope she stops every now and then

And knows

The impact she's had

On me.

Sunday, July 24, 2011

Boomers and Jerry Springer: The Opera

I bought tickets to the Chance Theater at a silent auction for the last three plays in the 2011 season. The first one was JERRY SPRINGER: THE OPERA. I enlisted the hubby to go, and asked Tom and Amy if they would like to go, too. Amy said yes so I got two more ticket to the Sunday matinee. We planned to meet Scott and Georgia, our friends and honorary producers of the play for dinner following.

I, having watched a Jerry Springer show or two in my lifetime, kind of knew what to expect...or thought I knew. Amy and I sat next to each other, and the guys sat next to each other. It's sort of a boomer thing. Don't ask. Anyway, the show started out in typical Jerry Springer fashion. The air was blue with foul language. Dysfunctional folks were on stage. The first skits were the "I have a secret" type. There was the usual "I want to be a pole dancer", "I'm having an affair with your best friend AND with a transexual at the same time, but I still love you and want us to be together", but the final skit was a little over the top. A handsome young man and a pretty young woman, very obviously in love, come out and the handsome young man reveals his secret. It seems he wants to be the "BABY" in the relationship...literally. He wants to suck on a pacifier, wear diapers, poop his pants, and have them changed by his fiance. EWWWW! Up until now, Amy and I are yucking it up, finding the whole thing pretty funny. It was then I noticed "hubby" and Tom weren't laughing very much. Intermission came and I found out just how much they were offended.

I don't know about me. I suppose I should have been more offended than I was. It seems as I get older, I'm less offended than when I was younger. I thought it was a hoot. Oh well. What do I know.

Scott and Georgia met us for dinner, having already seen the play twice. They greeted us with, "Are you guys still speaking to us?"

Friday, July 22, 2011

I FORGOT WHAT I WAS GOING TO POST!

Oh yeah, now I remember. A big problem with us boomers is that we can't remember from moment to moment. I've been out of town for a week. My husband was gone for four days. We missed our friends, so today I called Amy to see if she and Tom wanted to meet at the Harbor Mexican Cafe for dinner. She said "sure, we'll meet you there at 6:30". Later I received a message from Amy saying that SHE'D FORGOTTEN that she'd made arrangements with her girlfriends for dinner tonight and she'd have to cancel our dinner. Even later, my husband (he who must remain anonymous), talked with Tom who was surprised we'd even thought about having dinner at the Harbor Mexican Cafe. He thought the Harbor Mexican Cafe had closed two weeks ago. Funny thing...it had...then it reopened...then it closed again...now it's open again for real! I had sent Tom emails providing him with updates during the crisis, but HE FORGOT. Anyway, my husband and I had dinner. I had meant to call the Tom and Darlene to see if they were available, but I FORGOT! Just as well. My husband ate, almost fell asleep during dinner, and now he's snoozing in the recliner chair while I'm typing
away. However, I forgot why I was posting. I think it had something to do with my new hobby, painting. But maybe it had something to do with my 99 cent books on Amazon.

Also, I sent a picture to post, but I FORGOT HOW TO DO IT!

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

TEHAMA GRACE: HOME AGAIN, BOOMER STYLE


My son, Bill and I just returned from a week visiting Tehama Grace country. My mother, brothers, nephew, niece, her husband, and her children live in the area around where Tehama Grace was set. Bill and I had a great little vacation. Along with seeing all the family, we visited Sutter Buttes, the ranch country around Elk Creek, the Sundial Bridge in Redding, Mount Lassen Park (thank you brother Larry for arranging the road to open through the park the day before we all took our tour). We also made a few trips to Chico, California, one of my favorite places. We ate at Madison Bear Gardens, bought fruits and vegetables at the Thursday night street fair, and Bill visited the Sierra Nevada brewery several times!

Driving home, it occurred to me that going to Orland, Chico, Vina, Elk Creek, reminded me of my childhood in Iowa. I love the peace and quiet, the farmland, animals in pastures, birds singing, and sitting on the front porch in the evening petting the front porch kitty. It soothes my soul.

Interesting boomer aside...I purchased my cemetery plot while there. I know, I know, kind of creepy, but the cemetery is almost sold out. It's on a small hill, outside of Orland, California, and overlooks pastureland filled with cattle. Stony Creek bubbles slowly by. As a girl, I visited my Uncle Tom and Aunt Grace when they lived in Orland, before my parents moved there. I rode horses over that land, swam in Stony Creek, and dreamed of my future. My Dad is already buried in Graves' Cemetery. So is Uncle Tom and Aunt Grace.

On a lighter note...TEHAMA GRACE is now available as a 99 cent ebook from Amazon.com. I hope you enjoy it. This book is appropriate for all ages. Remember, you can download the Amazon Kindle application onto your computer, smart phone, ipad, and multiple other devices FOR FREE. And my books are all just 99 cents! Such a deal! (Except for Let Them Eat Cake, which is still under contract with the original publisher. It's worth the money, though. Good book if I do say so myself!)

Sunday, June 12, 2011

OC BOOMER IN PALM SPRINGS

We went to Palm Desert this last week and stayed in our timeshare. What a relaxing week. We did all the boomer things. Napped, read, sunned, ate, drank wine, tried new restaurants, golfed, visited with our boomer friends. The first weekend, Dick and Jane went out with us. Some years ago we'd gone on a trip to India and met another couple who got married while they were in India, then invited the four of us to their wedding for friends and relatives when they returned home. We hadn't seen them since, but we called them this trip and the six of us got together to eat, drink and reminisce. After Dick and Jane went home, we played a bit of golf, I cooked dinner for cousins that live in Palm Springs, and a family friend who lives in the area, too. We did a lot of comparing of physical ailments while downing our wine. That's another boomer thing. Did I say we napped? Every day. I painted a bit-my new hobby-but didn't get any writing done. This is boring, even to me, so I'm going to go take another nap. I think my brain is still on vacation.

Monday, May 30, 2011

DECORATION DAY


When I was a child growing up in Iowa, Memorial Day was called Decoration Day. Decoration Day started after the Civil War to honor those that died during that war. Somewhere along the way it became Memorial Day. On that special day, the females in the family rose at dawn to pick flowers from gardens, arrange them in jars and tin cans that had been covered with fabric, and load them into the car for the trip to the cemeteries. Then they would pack a big picnic basket of food to take with us. Everyone climbed into the car and off we'd go to every cemetery within driving distance where our ancestors were buried. And there were lots of them, on both sides of my family. At each stop, Mom or Grandma-when she was alive-would choose the appropriate flower bouquets and we'd tend each grave. Tending meant pulling any stray weeds away, tossing old dried up flowers or plants, arranging the fresh ones, then reminiscing about the people buried there. This is how I've learned most of my family history. Traveling from grave to grave, hearing stories of pioneers traveling from the east coast to Iowa to make their homes. I also heard stories about the military service of my ancestors, even back to the American Revolution. I can close my eyes right now and see myself standing amongst those graves. To me it was beautiful, and an event I looked forward to all year.

Now, Decoration Day is Memorial Day, and more than remembering and honoring those that have gone before us, it's a day to gather friends together to barbeque, drink, and celebrate the unofficial beginning of summer. I've talked with other boomers who used to visit cemeteries, but our children have little interest in doing so. Too bad we've lost that tradition.

Thank you to all those service members who have honored us all by serving in our military. 

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Boomers: Choices

I drive five hundred miles alone

With the music I love feeding my soul

And I find myself again

Tucked away in a corner of my heart

For safekeeping

There I am

Curled into a ball of disappointment

Wrapped in the shell of someone I don't really know

Waiting

Choices I've made

Roads I've taken

It's too late now

But I wish I'd known

How far they were taking me from the girl I once was

Once upon a time

I was fearless

I didn't bow to anyone

Even as a tiny child

I said I'll do it myself

When did I allow someone else to take over

How do I get my life back before it's too late

I wonder

How did I come to the point

Where safe was the way to go

I vowed

I'd never be one of those

No, not me

I wouldn't give up on myself

I was far too strong

I knew it wasn't the right thing to do

And yet, here I am

Having done exactly the thing I said I wouldn't

Where do I go from here

How do I gather the strength to say

Enough, I've had enough

I'm taking my power back

If that means I'm alone, then so be it

And so, a small fire starts to burn inside

A flicker of hope

Maybe it's not too late

I may still have time

To become the person I want to be.

Friday, May 20, 2011

Mom and Me, Going to the OC

This was taken at the Buddhist Temple in La Habra Heights a year or so ago when Mom came for a visit. Tomorrow we're heading for the OC again. Mom doesn't live in the OC, but visits often. This past Wednesday, I drove 500 miles in my rented Impala. I love the drive every now and then. This time I took lots of CD's I hadn't listened to in months, maybe years, and I listened to music all the way. I stopped every 2 hours to stretch my legs, refill the coffee mug, and fill the car gas tank. I left rain in the OC and it was gone by the time I reached Harris Ranch. Blue skys, beautiful mountain views, and acres of crops all around. Gorgeous. I arrive on Wednesday in time to visit with my nephew and brothers. Thursday Mom and I drove to Chico and did a little shopping, lunch, and went to the cemetary outside of Orland to visit Dad's grave. Yes, we boomers do some grave visiting every now and then. Friday we went back to Chico to visit cousin Jennifer, then visited the Glenn Fair. Fun. I visited the animal barns until I'd had enough of cow poop, the we came home to get ready for the trip tomorrow.

It seems so peaceful and quiet here, the birds sing all day long, and I can sit on the porch and pet the stray cats that have taken up residence here. Yet, brother Larry had to go out on a call last night to report on a murder in Hamilton City, just 10 miles away. Not so different from home.

Back to the OC tomorrow. We boomers burn up the highways.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

PILES AND LISTS


Yes, piles. But not the kind you immediately thought of. I know there are "those" piles that boomers can relate to, but the kind I'm talking about are the kind in the picture.

Recently we went on a boomer retreat, otherwise known as a golf tournament weekend. While the boomer guys (known either as Dicks or Tims) were slaying dragons on the golf course, the boomer girls (Janes and Sallys) were having a tea party while watching the royal wedding (champagne and mimosas were also included--we are boomers), going to the movies to see the one about the old guy that ran away to join the circus, and then we lunched. During our lunch, we got on the subject of piles and lists. It seems in every boomer family there's a pile maker and a list maker. You can see by the picture that I have a pile maker in my household. The pile rule is the piles must stay in certain places. The office being the main one, then a corner of the kitchen table, and perhaps part of the kitchen counter. When the piles start growing and expanding, the non-pile maker in the household must lay down the law. I know, I know, pile and list makers are very organized. One of the Jane pile makers did admit to just moving her piles around and rearranging them but never throwing anything away.

My favorite story from that enlightening lunch was one Jane told. Dick and Jane had married when they were older after both having lost their spouses. One day, Jane had to go in for a minor surgery. Dick drove her to the surgery center, dropped her off, and promised to come back for her when she was ready to go home. Though he's quite forgetful, Dick did return as promised, and when Jane got into the car she noticed a yellow post it note on the steering column. It read simply, "Pick up wife." Her name wasn't even on it. Just "wife". Jane will never let Dick forget it.

Monday, May 16, 2011

Boomers in the OC. Well, maybe this was actually Egypt. But I'm an OC Boomer!


Here I am in Egypt. The pyramids at Giza to be exact. My husband fixed me up with these two handsome fellows, but they couldn't come up with enough camels to buy me, so I got to come back to the OC.

This is one of the many things we OC boomers do. We love to travel all over the world and come back to the OC to share our tales and pictures with those that don't go with us. Usually we do so in one of the many fantastic restaurants here in the OC, and drink a bottle or two or three of wine while we're regaling all with our stories. Like when we were in Egypt, there was a church bombing in Alexandria shortly after we left, and there was a terrible bus accident involving Americans while we were there, too. We ate strange fish, and were forced to drink only Egyptian wine-when we could find that. Wine is hard to come by in a Muslim country. A revolution broke out shortly after we'd returned home. I hope we had nothing to do with it, but it seems there were protests and revolutionary activity when we were in Kenya, too. Hmmmm.

I hope you all enjoy my boomer blog. Look out boomer friends. I'm on the lookout for funny stories. None of you will escape. I may change the names to protect the innocent.

As an aside. I really like the newest Viagra commercial with the cowboy who gets his truck stuck in the mud and unloads his horses from the trailer to pull the truck out. Makes so much more sense to me than the Cialis commercial where he's in one bathtub and she's in another. I'll never get that one.

Sunday, May 15, 2011

FREE BOOK: CORNFLOWER BLUE


Chapter 1

     Alone on the platform, Misty Dawn James watched the Amtrak train she’d just disembarked pull away from California’s Fullerton Station and disappear into the night. This was supposed to be the beginning of her new life, and she’d never felt so alone. 

     The train station parking lot was crowded with cars circling for spaces, and Misty found it difficult to maneuver while carrying her bags.

     “You look a bit lost. Would you like some help?”

     Misty jumped, startled. She hadn’t heard anyone approach. “I...I’m looking for a pay phone.”

     “Where are you going?”

     Misty was unable to answer for a moment. The strikingly handsome, tall young man standing in front of her caught her off guard. He had black hair, dark brown eyes, and a sparkling white smile.

     She pointed in the direction of The Old Spaghetti Factory. “The ticket clerk in the train station said there was a phone in the restaurant.”

     “You don’t want to carry those bags over there. Use my cell phone.”

     He handed her his phone, and waited patiently.

     “Are you sure? I’ll pay you.”

     The young man laughed. “You don’t need to pay me. I have no social life since I’m always either at school or work, so I have lots of minutes I never use.”

     Misty took a piece of paper from her pocket and dialed the number written on it. She listened to it ring several times and was about to give up when it was finally answered.

     “Aunt Marigold? I’m here. Can you come get me?” Misty asked.

     “Where the hell are you? Your parents are going crazy with worry.”

     “In California. I’m at the train station in Fullerton.”

     “The train? Why didn’t you fly?”

     Misty turned away so the young man wouldn’t hear her and whispered into the phone. “I wanted to see the countryside, that’s why. I’ve never been out of Iowa.”

     “Why didn’t you tell your parents where you were going? And why didn’t you give me some warning?” Marigold didn’t wait for an answer. “Never mind. I’ll be right there and you can tell me the whole story when we get you home.”

     Misty handed the cell phone back to the handsome man. “Thanks a lot. My aunt is coming to pick me up.”

     “You’re welcome. Wait over there under the light so you’ll be safe. I would wait with you but I have to go start my shift.”

     Misty felt a shiver of apprehension flood over her. “Should I be worried about being out here alone?”

     “Your eyes are as big as saucers. You look scared out of your wits.”

     Misty swallowed hard before speaking. “I’ve never been in a big city. I kind of grew up sheltered. Is it dangerous here?”

     “Not really. Fullerton is safe, but you kind of stand out.”

     “What do you mean by that?”

     “Actually, you look innocent and kinda vulnerable with all your suitcases and bags piled around.” He touched her shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. “Look, if your aunt doesn’t show or anything, come and get me. Just ask for Esteban. I’m sorry I have to go.”

     Misty watched him jog across the parking lot towards The Old Spaghetti Factory. When she couldn’t see him any longer, she lugged her bags back to the sidewalk under the light to wait for her aunt.

If you would like to read more, visit my website at www.kathypratt.org and send me your contact information. The first 25 people to respond will be sent a free copy of Cornflower Blue.


Wednesday, May 11, 2011

THE DASHING YOUNG MAN ON THE FLYING TRAPEZE

     One evening I arrived at work, walked onto the ward, and was greeted by the sight of Mr. Sims swinging himself by both arms while hanging from the trapeze bar over his bed. I looked towards the nurse's station and saw that the RN, Mrs. Brown, was on the phone. I hoped she was calling the doctor to help Mr. Sims.

     Mr. Sims was a tanned, wiry little man who lived in the Imperial Valley in California, close to the Mexican border. He was a farmer and grew alfalfa, barley and cotton on his acres. He'd been involved in an accident with farm equipment and lost both of his legs just above the knees. He was admitted to our unit to be fitted with artificial legs, rehabilitated, and ultimately sent back home to his farm. Mr. Sims was a humble man, quiet, and very polite. What we didn't know about him was he was also a closet alcoholic. He'd kept that little tidbit of information from us during his admission interview. Him swinging naked from the trapeze was our first clue he might be having DT's.

     Mrs. Brown called his family in Brawley and they confirmed that Mr. Sims was indeed a drinker and had been without alcohol since coming to our hospital three days earlier. Perfect timing for withdrawal. Mrs. Brown then called the doctor on call and received orders to give the patient Paraldehyde injections. Now there are much better medications, but in 1968, this was all we had. Paraldehyde was a thick, viscous solution, that smelled to high heaven of a strong chemical with a little vinegar mixed in. The odor is very distinctive and can be smelled on the breath of anyone who takes it. It had to be drawn out of the vial using large bore needles, and then injected slowly into a large muscle. Guess who got that job?

     I drew the medication dose up in two syringes, enlisted the help of several nurse aides, and went to Mr. Sims bedside. There was no reasoning with Mr. Sims, so we had to pry his hands free from the trapeze bar and get him back onto the mattress. This was no small feat. Mr. Sims was little, but he was powerful from all his years of farm work. We finally got him down and turned onto his stomach so I could inject each syringe fully into the large muscle on his backside. He screamed like a banshee throughout the whole procedure, but eventually settled down and went to sleep. Within a couple of days he was back to being his normal, polite and kind self. We couldn't resist teasing him a bit about his flying trapeze act, though. He did recover, get two new prosthetics for legs, and went back to Brawley to his farm. I hope he didn't start drinking again, but life experience tells me he most likely did.

Sunday, May 8, 2011

AMAZON KINDLE AND STUFF

I've just published Miss Dairy Queen on Amazon Kindle as an ebook. I've decided to become my own publishing company. Me and Amazon are doing this together. And I'm going to sell every book I write for 99 cents! 99 CENTS! Doesn't get any better than that. Miss Dairy Queen was formerly titled Cornflower Blue, so if you bought it, don't buy this one unless you really like the cool cover. I love those calves! I'm also selling Medicinal Remedies and Bless us Father for 99 CENTS. I'm working on a sequel to Miss Dairy Queen, California Gals, and it should be finished this summer.

Here's the scoop on Amazon Kindle books. In order to buy and read them on a device, you must be a registered Amazon user, register your reading device, and you must download the Kindle application onto your reading device. Following is a list of reading devices in addition to the KINDLE itself:
iPad
iPhone
iPod touch
PC
MAC
Blackberry
Android-based devices.

When I got my iPad I gave Mom my Kindle. My husband registered his iPad on my Amazon account, and I also registered my Verizon Droid on Amazon. We all share books that way. I buy one book and can download it onto all 4 devices.

And yes, I DO read books on my Droid. I always have it with me and have been stuck in waiting rooms many times and am grateful to have a book to read. Okay, I know I'm an addict. But hey, there are worse addictions.

Please, please, please buy and read my books!