Those Memory Keys

This morning I was comfortably ensconced on my sofa reading a book, with the TV set to a Christmas music station for background ambiance. My attention was primarily on my book, but I suddenly had a mental snapshot from 1945.

White Christmas was playing, and it was one of those memory keys for me. You know what a memory key is--it could be a sound, a piece of music, a smell, a phrase in a book, a bit of scenery, or a photo. Whatever it is, it immediately keys into a memory and pops it into your mind.

That's what happened to me with White Christmas. Even though I was scarcely paying attention to the background music, a scene from the Christmas season of 1945 popped into my head.


Now for most of you 1945 is practically the Dark Ages. For me it was the year I turned four years old, WWII was winding down at last, our father was in the Army and overseas in the Philippines, and our mother had taken a teaching job in a little one-room country school (which I have previously written about). My sister Terry was in the 3rd grade, my sister Grace was in the 2nd grade, and, having nothing else to do with me during school hours, Mother was teaching me first grade. There were three other students in the school that year, whose regular homes were in the country.

Of course, this is not exactly the model we had,
but it is similar.

For people of this electronic age, it may be difficult to understand our excitement over a mail-order piece of equipment Mother got from Montgomery Ward shortly before Christmas. It was a wind-up portable phonograph (record player)! With it, she also got an album of records. Now records of that time were large disks with one song on each side. An album was a collection of several such disks, which fit into paper sleeves, bound between hard covers book-style. To play a song you wound up the record player, placed the chosen record on the turntable, turned it on, and carefully placed the needle on the outer rim of the record. I do not remember how many records could be played before it was necessary to rewind the phonograph, but I do remember how the sound slooooowed down, making the voices and music change comically, as the turntable moved slower and slower.

It was a magical thing for a four-year-old.

The scene that popped into my head this morning was in that one-room schoolhouse, with that little record player playing Bing Crosby singing "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas."



Rose McLaughlin with her daughters, Terry, Michelle, and Grace, outside Teckla School

My Own Gold Mine

My deck is awash in gold.

This big old cottonwood tree is the kindly donor of all that gold.

Fall has its own beauty, but it always makes me a little sad. I love the light and colors of summer.

Sky Watching

I find cloudscapes beautiful and fascinating.

I am not a great photographer and I don't have any super equipment, but now and then I grab my camera and try to capture cloud or weather photos. Of course, the photos rarely live up to the reality, but I like these that I took the last week of July.



July 27, 2016--the big thunderheads moving in

No more blue sky.

Uh oh--that summer scourge, hail.

At least the hail was only pea-size.

Hail over, it went back to a lovely rain, which shows up as streaks in the photo.

July 29, 2016

Celebrating Grace's Birthday

My sister Grace's birthday fell on a weekday (July 14). On the weekend--the 16th--her daughter Sue, granddaughter Maria, and two great-granddaughters, Cordelia and Elise, came from out-of-town to visit and celebrate her birthday. Joining this group were her daughter Tina, grandson Steven, my granddaughter Megan, and I.

Tina and her son Steven (who is soon to be a Marine)



Sue

Elise seems to be telling Grandma Sue something very important.

After visiting at Grace's apartment, we lunched at Ruby Tuesdays. It was my first time at this restaurant. In fact, I did not even realize that it existed in our town! It is fairly new, but still. . . .Anyway, the lunch was very good and really enjoyed, although the noise in the restaurant was quite intense.



Tina, Sue, Elise, Cordelia, Maria, Grace, and Charlie Dog

It is always a treat to spend time with extended family!

Seventy-Five

When I was a child, I thought anyone over 60 was really ancient.

And 75? Couldn't even imagine that number as ever applying to myself. It was too incredibly distant in the future.

When I grew a little older, my perspective did change a bit. My grandmother was a lively and active person well into her eighties. My mother and aunts in their 50s and 60s were quite young in looks and actions.

And the years just kept adding on. Turning 60 was a bit of a shock to my system, but it seemed I barely blinked and I'd crossed over into yet another decade.

And now I am 75, holding a gift decoration to be added to my deck.

On July 4, 2016, I hit the three-quarters of a century mark. I really am an old lady. Can't deny it. But it is not quite the way I thought it would be when I was young. Yes, my body lets me know I am not young. But my brain just feels like Me. On the outside, age is part of my identity. On the inside, I am just myself. Life changes. Circumstances change. Time rolls on.

Seventy-Five

When I was a child, I thought anyone over 60 was really ancient.

And 75? Couldn't even imagine that number as ever applying to myself. It was too incredibly distant in the future.

When I grew a little older, my perspective did change a bit. My grandmother was a lively and active person well into her eighties. My mother and aunts in their 50s and 60s were quite young in looks and actions.

And the years just kept adding on. Turning 60 was a bit of a shock to my system, but it seemed I barely blinked and I'd crossed over into yet another decade.

And now I am 75, holding a gift decoration to be added to my deck.

On July 4, 2016, I hit the three-quarters of a century mark. I really am an old lady. Can't deny it. But it is not quite the way I thought it would be when I was young. Yes, my body lets me know I am not young. But my brain just feels like Me. On the outside, age is part of my identity. On the inside, I am just myself. Life changes. Circumstances change. Time rolls on.

An Adventure We Could Have Done Without

I had an appointment in Rapid City with my glaucoma doctor last Wednesday. This usually means a 300-mile roundtrip for 15 minutes with the doctor, lunch, and maybe a little shopping. It is usually just my daughter and I, but this time my granddaughter was with us.

The report was fine from the doctor--just keep doing what I am doing.

Lunch was good.

None of us felt like shopping, so we just started the westward trip home.

A few miles west of Spearfish, it happened.

The Interstate is undergoing a lot of upkeep, and we were in a 45-mile-per-hour cone zone. The right lane of the westbound side was blocked off, leaving only one traffic lane. Slightly ahead of us was a cone-marked entry ramp for side-road traffic to merge onto the Interstate.

A red car was approaching through the merge lane. Since there was only one lane available, westbound traffic could not pull into another lane to admit incoming cars. This car slowed down and appeared to come almost to a stop. Suddenly, just as we were nearly at the merge spot, the car sped up again. We could not possibly stop in time. Anne Marie stomped on the gas, leaned on the horn, and tried to get away, but we were in the only open lane and there was no place else to go.

The red car drove right into us. There was a loud crash and a big jolt as our car was shoved to the left. Anne Marie kept a tight hold on the steering wheel and managed to get control on the side of the road. The impact point was the passenger side rear door. It all happened faster than the time it takes to tell.

We were shaken but uninjured.

When we got out of the car, we saw that the other driver was an elderly woman. While Anne Marie called Chad and Megan called 911, I went over to see if she was all right. She struggled out of her car and it became evident that she was suffering from physical difficulties. She had spinal problems that kept her bent over; she needed two poles to help her stand and walk (rather in the manner of ski poles); she had glasses, and seemed to be a little hard of hearing. She told me she had "paused" but didn't see anything coming before she pulled onto the highway.

I looked at her car to see what damage it had sustained. The driver's side parking light was completely gone--and she told me that it was not the result of this crash. It had happened another time.

We all felt terrible for this driver. She is 82 years old and lives alone on a ranch. She said something about going for groceries. We are still concerned about her.

BUT SHE SHOULD NOT BE DRIVING!

She could have killed us and herself. Thank goodness the traffic was slowed through that section. Actually, we did thank God sincerely that only the "skin" of the car was hurt. We were okay, she was okay, the car still worked and we could continue on our way home after the South Dakota Highway Patrol officers finished their investigation. (I learned that the Highway Patrol does not use the term "accident." It is "crash.")

And that, folks, is why I gave up driving when I developed eyesight and other health problems. Yes, it was very difficult to lose that independence. But I would rather accept some dependence than kill someone. I am blessed with a daughter who takes me where I need to go, and I know that not everyone has that. But, whatever it takes to accommodate your new lifestyle need, Please Stop Driving When It Becomes Apparent You Are Not Up To It.

Face the facts.

Stop.

An Adventure We Could Have Done Without

I had an appointment in Rapid City with my glaucoma doctor last Wednesday. This usually means a 300-mile roundtrip for 15 minutes with the doctor, lunch, and maybe a little shopping. It is usually just my daughter and I, but this time my granddaughter was with us.

The report was fine from the doctor--just keep doing what I am doing.

Lunch was good.

None of us felt like shopping, so we just started the westward trip home.

A few miles west of Spearfish, it happened.

The Interstate is undergoing a lot of upkeep, and we were in a 45-mile-per-hour cone zone. The right lane of the westbound side was blocked off, leaving only one traffic lane. Slightly ahead of us was a cone-marked entry ramp for side-road traffic to merge onto the Interstate.

A red car was approaching through the merge lane. Since there was only one lane available, westbound traffic could not pull into another lane to admit incoming cars. This car slowed down and appeared to come almost to a stop. Suddenly, just as we were nearly at the merge spot, the car sped up again. We could not possibly stop in time. Anne Marie stomped on the gas, leaned on the horn, and tried to get away, but we were in the only open lane and there was no place else to go.

The red car drove right into us. There was a loud crash and a big jolt as our car was shoved to the left. Anne Marie kept a tight hold on the steering wheel and managed to get control on the side of the road. The impact point was the passenger side rear door. I all happened faster than the time it takes to tell.

We were shaken but uninjured.

When we got out of the car, we saw that the other driver was an elderly woman. While Anne Marie called Chad and Megan called 911, I went over to see if she was all right. She struggled out of her car and it became evident that she was suffering from physical difficulties. She had spinal problems that kept her bent over; she needed two poles to help her stand and walk (rather in the manner of ski poles); she had glasses, and seemed to be a little hard of hearing. She told me she had "paused" but didn't see anything coming before she pulled onto the highway.

I looked at her car to see what damage it had sustained. The driver's side parking light was completely gone--and she told me that it was not the result of this crash. It had happened another time.

We all felt terrible for this driver. She is 82 years old and lives alone on a ranch. She said something about going for groceries. We are still concerned about her.

BUT SHE SHOULD NOT BE DRIVING!

She could have killed us and herself. Thank goodness the traffic was slowed through that section. Actually, we did thank God sincerely that only the "skin" of the car was hurt. We were okay, she was okay, the car still worked and we could continue on our way home after the South Dakota Highway Patrol officers finished their investigation. (I learned that the Highway Patrol does not use the term "accident." It is "crash.")

And that, folks, is why I gave up driving when I developed eyesight and other health problems. Yes, it was very difficult to lose that independence. But I would rather accept some dependence than kill someone. I am blessed with a daughter who takes me where I need to go, and I know that not everyone has that. But, whatever it takes to accommodate your new lifestyle need, Please Stop Driving When It Becomes Apparent You Are Not Up To It.

Face the facts.

Stop.

Two Visits

This week I very much enjoyed a visit at my sister Grace's home, with her visiting son Mike, his wife Pat, and Grace's daughter Tina. Mike and Pat live in Florida and it had been two years since I had seen them. Tina lives in the same apartment complex that Grace moved into recently, which is great for them both.

Grace has downsized a lot in order to move from her house with the lovely big yard she created to a 600 sq. foot apartment. She does have a ground-floor unit with a small patio. Her unit is located at the end of the section of patio units and has a lovely private courtyard with lawn feel to it. I am so glad she has some outdoor space. She is surrounding her patio with planters and soon will have her own flower garden. Wherever she lives, Grace has the talent to make it her own distinctive place.


Grace, Mike, and Tina. I took a photo of Mike and Pat sitting on the sofa, but it did not turn out very well. I can't see the results on my camera screen very well--I thought I had  good one, but I'm pretty sure they would not thank me if I posted it!



The second visit was our annual visit to the cemetery to decorate family graves for Memorial Day. We have been doing this for many years. Some years there has been quite a large family group that gathered for this. Little kids have grown up, my mother and my husband are now among those whose graves we put flowers on, and no out of town family were here to join us this year. So my daughter Anne Marie, dear son-in-law Chad, my sister Grace, and I did the honors. Our cemetery is well kept and lovely, The sun was shining. It was a time, not of sorrow, but of memory.



Grace, at our parents' grave.

I am standing by Jerry's grave.

Anne Marie fussed at me about taking her picture. So, though she is a lovely woman, I'm not including the photo I snapped from a distance of her and Chad. (I don't promise to keep leaving you out though, Anne Marie!)

Later in the day we had a lovely rain. Wyoming always needs water to give us a green spring!

Springtime in Wyoming!

It is springtime in Wyoming. Yes, really. A few days ago it was in the 70s with bright sunshine, tulips and daffodils blooming in the yard, and green grass. The lilac buds were developing at an amazing pace, and I was eager for the bushes under my kitchen window to burst into full, glorious bloom.

This is what the world looked like out my back door this morning.

We have now had several days of snow. It warms up a bit in the daytime and melts some off. More falls.

I well remember the huge blizzard of May Day 1967 when the whole town was shut down. All the streets were blocked. First we lost power, then, when the back-up batteries were drained, the phones were dead, and, finally, no more water.

Two days later spring was back.

Not every year is like this, of course.

We would certainly rather be getting our water in the form of rain, but, when one lives in a semi-arid region, water in any form is good for the land.

DNA

A few weeks ago I sent in the saliva sample to Ancestry.com's DNA project.

The results are now in. Not much in the way of surprises. Yes, that Irish/Scots/Great Britain evidence in the family tree also includes those Vikings. That Scandinavian DNA was expected because, among other things like height and coloring, my father's paternal line is named McLaughlin. "Loughlin" is a Scandinavian name found in various forms in Ireland. The "Mc" prefix means "son of." The name McLaughlin, according to Internet sources, means "Son of a Norseman." The Norsemen not only raided along Ireland's coasts, they built trading posts that became towns and cities and they mixed with the local population.

The biggest surprise was a 1% European Jewish portion. Ancestry puts a qualifier on that. Such a small percentage cannot be a certainty. If it truly is Jewish DNA it would have come from a lot of generations back.

As a person who grew up on the Bible--and all those great stories are Jewish stories--I like the idea that a little bit of me came from Abraham. God promised him descendants like the stars of the sky. I like thinking I am one of those stars! Such a small portion of my DNA is not enough to have much influence on my makeup. But the reality is that if even one ancestor is pulled from the line of descent I no longer exist, no matter how far back in the chain that ancestor lived.

It is a little bit overwhelming to think about all those unknown people who went into the making of each of us!

In a Mood

For a few weeks now I have been in a mood.

Not really a bad mood.

Not really a good mood.

Not really a depressed mood.

I don't really know how to describe it. Perhaps it's an introvert's utter avoidance and quiet time mood.

Usually a news junkie, I have barely checked the headlines. Some days I don't turn on the TV at all.

When I watch TV, it is mostly to catch up on things I set the DVR to record, and lately it has mostly been house shows. My favorites are Tiny House shows that have fascinated me, but I also watch house hunting shows, and I really enjoy the remodel and/or fix up and flip house shows. I have discovered that I like the people looking for tiny houses much better than those hunting for their huge dream houses. The big house people are so demanding--Oooh that beautiful Mexican tile must go, because only hardwood is acceptable; ugh! that (insert anything here) is so dated I could not possibly live with it; unless it is an open floor plan it is simply awful; if it is an open floor plan it is simply awful; only a huge, spa-like master bathroom is acceptable; a kitchen without granite countertops is simply primitive and must be gutted; only white cabinets are acceptable; only dark cabinets are acceptable; stainless steel appliances are the only type that aren't outdated; stainless steel appliances are simply too commercial; likewise, closets must be enormous and special shoe closets must be available for the hundreds of pairs of shoes; and so forth. Are those houses lovely? Yes, they are. It is all about attitude.

 And, I must admit, that sometimes I am looking at houses through the lens of my current age and life situation. What I would, in the past, have seen as a wonderful home, I now see as a house that would be a terrible burden to clean and keep up! (And the tiny houses just look like fun!)

Of course, there are days and days of reading or listening to books on my Kindle. Though I have always loved the look, feel, and even the smell of "real" books, my vision these days makes e-books much easier to read. And it is so easy to obtain a new book--look it up on Amazon or Audible, purchase, download, and there I go!



While listening to books, I need a focal point that keeps my eyes and hands busy and uses a different part of my brain than that used for absorbing the book. So...I have been working in various adult coloring books, using a variety of media--colored pencils, crayons, or markers (haven't used paint pens for a while).


So that is what I have been doing.

What I have not been doing:

• Cleaning house
• Organizing and discarding unneeded items
• Blogging
• Keeping up with Facebook or even going on the Internet at all some days.

Okay, I do keep up the laundry, run the dishwasher from time to time, make my bed, and swab out the bathrooms when necessary. I don't live in absolute squalor. But I have not felt like doing the deeper cleaning and, if there is a little clutter here or there, there is no one to see it but me.

One of these days, I know from past experience, my mood will change, I'll get my house in order, the sun will shine, it will become actual spring, I'll be thinking about flowers and planting my deck pots, and, hopefully, get myself in gear and go for walks.

But, in the meantime, there are more books to read/listen to, more interesting houses to look at via TV, and more quiet days (always soothing to my introvert's heart.)



Currently working in this book about
Ancient Egypt.

One Hundred Years

My mother was born 100 years ago today. She narrowly escaped being a Leap Year's Baby of 1916. Her mother named her Rosa May Mackey, but the doctor entered "Rose May Mackey" on her birth certificate.

The Mackey family in 1916: Back Row--Will, Rhoda holding baby
Rose; Front Row--Vera and William Boyce.

Mother died in December of 2010, so she did not quite make it to the century mark. Her almost 95 years left a big mark on her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, as well as so many others whose lives she touched. I've lost count of her descendants, but she is widely known as Grandma Rose.

When she died, her body was afflicted with many age-related problems, but her mind was always her own. I like to think of her with her strength and energy restored in Paradise. Happy Heavenly Birthday, Mother!

Tiny House Obsession

I have recently developed a bit of an obsession with the Tiny House Movement.

There are at least three television shows that deal with people finding, buying, or building tiny houses to live in--Tiny House World, Tiny House Hunting, and Tiny House Nation. They have been on the air for a few years, but I hadn't noticed until recently. Then I became fascinated. I have seen living spaces ranging from 700 square feet to a mere 98 square feet. Most seem to be in the 200-300 square foot range.

I think the thing that most fascinates me about these tiny living spaces is the ingenuity involved in design and development. Can you have kitchen, living, dining, sleeping, and bathroom spaces in such a small area? The answer is "yes" and I have seen some amazingly creative designs to make that possible.

This was the country school teacherage in 1945.

It measured about 7 or 8 x 10 or 12 feet and four of us

lived in it. No running water, no indoor plumbing,

heated by a small wood/coal burning stove.

It is also interesting to see how much stuff people have to give up and get rid of in order to live in these tiny houses. And even more interesting, perhaps, is the fact that after the difficulty of the purging, the new tiny house dwellers feel so free.

Now, I do like stuff. I have stuff that I don't want to give up. I also have stuff that I could live without quite contentedly, but I don't know what to do with it. I am working on that. I don't want to get rid of everything, but I definitely want to lighten the load and I think I can lighten it quite a lot. I have made a start; there is a long way yet to go. I'm just doing a little bit at a time, whenever the mood hits me.

I have actually lived in tiny houses in the past. I have blogged about "The Rabbit Hutch" house our mother and her first three children--of which I am one--lived in when she taught country school while our dad was away in the army during WWII.

This is me in the corner of our first little house, ready

to go to a banquet in May 1967, about a month before our

marriage (I moved in when we found the house, to hold it).

I am in the corner of the living room. The curtain is the

 bedroom "door." The heater in the corner of the photo is

in another corner of the living room. I wish I had a photo of

the outside of this little house, but, I do not. (Gotta love my

 glasses. Oh, my, styles do change.)

When Jerry and I married we lived in a little house that sat on the back of the lot behind a bigger house. It was not cramped for two people. I don't know what the square footage was, but it had a small living room, small bedroom, small but pleasant dining room. and a little kitchen. There was even a bonus area equal in size to the kitchen area, that we had no use for! (We did not have much stuff at that time.) My guess is that it was probably about 500 square feet. I have very fond memories of that little house.

My current home falls into the small house category, though it does not really feel small to me at 1,000 square feet. It is a downsize from the house I sold and moved from after Jerry's death. That, while not a huge house, was, at 1500 (and a little) square feet, very roomy for us. Before that we had lived in a 1,000 square foot mobile home quite comfortably.

July 4, 1968. Here I am in our first little house dining

room. The width of the room ran from the left edge of

the photo to the other side of the kitchen door, the left side

of which is visible on the right side of the photo. 

Would I really want to go smaller? I know I could, and be comfortable. One problem is that I do like to have space for visitors. If I went as tiny as many of the houses I've been so fascinated by, I guess the solution would be putting out-of-town guests up in a motel--after all I don't have that many visitors. But I would miss their presence in my home.

And, for me, a tiny house would have to be connected to a sewer system. I know that composting toilets (the solution for many of the moveable tiny houses) are considered wonderfully "green," but I practically gag at the thought of actually living with one. I've lived with outhouse toilets. As unpleasant as they are, at least they are not in the house. I know composting toilets are not supposed to be smelly, but I find the very idea positively revolting.

Tiny house living could be a money-saver, could bring on a sense of freedom from tending to "things," and would mean certain sacrifices and adjustments. Many people find that very much worth doing.

I'm glad I am not actually thinking about moving right now! I like where I am. I just need to get rid of some excess baggage and make it even better.