Sometimes one man can make a whole lot of difference...

Today a great man died. He wasn't a great man as the world reveres men. He wasn't wealthy or famous or powerful (as in corporate or dictator/president of a country). He wasn't handsome or suave or debonair. He was small and humble and loving and kind, and he worried about each and every human being on the planet. He was concerned for their safety--physical and emotional, but mostly he was concerned about their spiritual safety and well-being. He was the prophet to the world, a seer, a revelator, an example of Christ-like living, someone who preached, but who practiced what he preached. He was articulate in exhorting us to do our best, to recognize our potential as spiritual beings, to serve and love others, to forgive and forget the trespasses of others and ourselves, to do what is right and to encourage others to do the same. He blessed the lives of many with his tireless efforts. He was inspiring in his words and acts. He wanted everyone to find peace and joy and happiness in their lives through righteous living. He was a son, a brother, a husband, a father, a grandfather and great-grandfather. He found purpose in life, and now he has found eternal peace. He is reunited with his family, especially his beloved wife, Marjorie. He is Gordon B. Hinckley and we were blessed to have known him and to have felt his influence for good. So, yes, sometimes one man can make a whole lot of difference in the world. President Hinckley did, and, through his example and legacy, he will continue to do so. Today the world is a lesser place, but the Celestial World rejoices...

I am thankful for cows...

because they give milk and I love ice-cold milk! It's my favorite drink. It is great with dinner or lunch or breakfast. It is yummy with anything sweet. It is satisfying all by itself. So, this is my homage to the bovine beverage.

I can empathize with the characters in the "Got Milk?" ads who can't get to or don't have any milk to drink with their chocolate chip cookies or who spend an inordinate amount of time putting straws together to try to reach the elusive glass of milk only to find themselves at the other end of a PMS-laden female's sensitivity breakdown. I am grateful that these ads do not depict real life. Hey, maybe that's a good premise for a new reality show. Each week we could watch a batch of contestants that have no lives and perfectly coiffed hair battle their way through obstacles to get to that glass of milk. Even before the writers' strike, we were being subjected to a lot of lame plots and gimmicks instead of being able to watch something well-crafted and interesting. Hey! I'd be cheering for the contestants as I live vicariously through their efforts to win those glasses of milk. And, the producers could offer the winners an extra incentive of cookies, a blankie and nap-time just to keep it interesting and at the level where most TV fare resides...

My porch light is flickering...

I mean my real porch light, not my mental porch light. Actually my mental porch light has been a dim bulb for a very long time, but no one seems to notice or they are trying to be kind. I'm good with kindness. It works. Meanwhile, I'll have to replace my real porch light --not an easy feat. First I have to get my self worked up mentally to perch on a step stool. Then I have to ignore all the smart alecs driving by honking their horns as I step up on to it--the little people are so easily amused. Next I have to take four tiny screws out of the top of the light housing, remove the top carefully, try not to lose any of those itty-bitty screws, take out the old bulb, put in the new one, test the new one BEFORE replacing the top and screwing it in place so I don't have to repeat steps two through four and give the drive-by honkers more opportunity to honk, shout and laugh their way past an old, three-haired person standing all wobbly-legged on a step stool. Finally, if the bulb lights, replace the top, step off the step stool, take a bow and think rude thoughts about all the young whipper-snapper drivers-by, exit the front porch and go back inside the house with what little dignity I might still have intact.

Speaking of things intact. The other day I had to borrow a friend's son to retrieve something for me from the loft in my garage. I watched him scurry up the ladder, grab the two items I needed. Race down the ladder with both boxes in hand, put the ladder away and, with a smile on his face, ask if there was anything elese I needed. Time elapsed: 3.5 minutes. I thanked him and said I had everything I needed. He left. Well I lied. What I didn't mention was that I didn't have any dignity left and needed some of that, but I knew he couldn't help me there. What happened to my legs, my agility, my balance? There was a time when I could have gone up and down the ladder like an energetic young pup too. When that kind of exertion wouldn't have brought on wheezing and heavy-breathing (the kind you can get arrested for) or fear of broken limbs or sloth-like movements and 10 minutes just to work up the courage to step onto the first rung of the ladder. I guess I'll just have to be content with my flickering porch light efforts on the step stool and being the entertainment for the neighborhood...GE--we bring good things to life.

I was out in the yard...

for the first time in a couple of weeks. This yard avoidance was partly due to an horrendous storm that blew through Northern California last week, dumping volumes of rain, flotsam and jetsam from everywhere, knocking out power to almost every house and business, and otherwise making a nuisance of itself. The remainder of my excuse for ignoring yard duty (sounds like I work at the Big House and I'm in charge of the inmates) is that I injured my back and it has been very unfriendly for the past two weeks.

But today, after a two-hour power nap (sleeping with a painful back generally means not-much-sleeping-going-on), I sallied forth with rake, gloves, cutting tools, a bin for yard waste, etc. I felt powerful. I was ready to conquer...and then I bent over to pick up the first errant twig, and I was no longer powerful. I felt old, decrepit and thought I needed more rest for my back, but my alter ego, a.k.a. stubborn self, prevailed and I continued my quest for picking up debris (at a snail's pace, I might add; matter-of-fact, I think I saw a snail, laughing, pointing at me with one of its antennae and rolling over onto the back of its shell), cutting back my roses, emptying my porch of the extremely sad-looking ponsettias that were way past pretty (Heavens, they were way past pathetic after the cold weather and storm), and taking down my Christmas wreath. Mr. Wreath decided he didn't want to leave the porch light where he was perched, so, after struggling with him for several minutes, I used my flower clippers to cut the wreath ring open and pull it off the light. I was on a roll and would not be defeated by a faux wreath or anything else that was clinging to sentimentality. I spent about an hour-and-a-half cleaning up the front and side yards, sweeping my porch and putting all the yard debris in the oversized yard dumpster our town provides. At one point (until recently), I had a yard service, and one evening as I moved the dumpster out to the curb for pick up the next day, I swear that there was a dead body in the bottom of that thing. It weighed a ton, and it hadn't rained, nor was my lawn growing by leaps and bounds at that time, so my only conclusion was that someone had dumped the "evidence" from their killing spree into my yard collection container, but I was too spooked to open the lid to check it out (unlike the people on TV who walk into dark, dank, spooky places, without flashlights and open doors and dumpsters and other creepy containers without much hesitation, only to find some alien or grisly murder victim--don't those people watch TV and know that there's nothing light and fluffy waiting for them?).

I felt very proud of my efforts to clean up and was surprised that my back felt better as I worked. But, I didn't want to push my luck or my recovering back, so I raked the back yard debris into one pile, where it will remain until Monday when I can finish the patio area. The dumpster is weighing in as a welter weight right now, but, by the time I get the remainder of the back yard leaves and limbs into the container, it will be a heavyweight! But at least I'll know that those limbs don't belong to someone who'll make the 11 o'clock news...

Who turned out the lights?

Yesterday morning I woke up to find my house eerily quiet and dark. It seems that Mother Nature held to her promise of a wind and rain storm to beat all former storms and YC was without electricity.

It was amusing at first--quiet and surreal, but then it struck me how tied I was to electrical thingys. Couldn't call on my land line, couldn't use my computer, couldn't watch TV, or a movie, or listen to my stereo, or turn on a light in a shadowy corner to do some task, and the weather was whipping off tree branches, pieces of roof, loose anything, etc., so going outside was not a good option unless I wanted to take a chance on re-enacting the guillotine scenes from Tale of Two Cities, which I did not.

I worked on a writing project--proofreading a printed copy I had on hand. I read magazines until there weren't any. I thought about cleaning the house, but then my sanity returned. I took a nap since I hadn't slept well the night before with the howling winds and rain sounds on my windows. I ate breakfast--remembering not to violate the breach of my refrigerator door more than once in order to preserve the temperature inside. I ate dinner--my stove is gas and doesn't need an electronic ignition to work. I washed dishes because my water heater is also gas fired with no ignition feature (I discovered this morning that washing dishes by candlelight may feel "romantic" in the doing, but it definitely leaves a lot to be desired in the hygiene department). I read for a few hours using my "Itty Bitty Booklight" until I thought I was sufficiently tired and could fall asleep. And I thought rude thoughts about our power company and how long it was taking them to restore the electrical service that I needed in order to be entertained. It took 24 hours to have my power back on, and I was definitely turning into a cranky person as I woke up frequently last night checking to see if my clock showed any signs of life. It didn't until about 6:30AM.

So today I'll be able to do all the things that I didn't do yesterday as soon as my back decides to stop spasming. I am currently doing an excellent imitation of Quasi Modo from The Hunchback of Notre Dame (what's with this French literature theme?) as I hobble through my house. Bending over brings the spasms on. Sitting down just plain hurts. Standing up, I do an imitation of a spaghetti noodle cooked to perfection. If I lie on my bed, it's less painful, but the getting out of part is both comical and excruciating. Maybe I'm just the embodiment of the drama mask--part funny and part tragic. Who knows why my back decided to declare its independence and be a pain in the you-know-what, but eventually, with enough Advil and heat, I should be normal again--whatever that is...

My fans demand it...

Some fans are begging, no, I mean absolutely fawningly begging me to do a video. I just love being a celeb!

Unfortunately, the Federal Government has threatened to put me in an orange (not my best color) jumpsuit (not the best style for my body shape) if I dare to create a video and put it on YouTube or any other "public" conveyance of videoness, so I guess the world will have to wait a little longer for my debut on the "Net"... Then again, maybe I'll live on the edge and take my chances, just as soon as I have a video cam and can figure out how to use it and plug it into my computer and upload the film. Oh, all this electronic technology talk (or the Chinese food with MSG I ate an hour ago) has given me a yippety doo dah kind of headache, so I have to lie down until my brain starts functioning again. (Hey, did one of my kids say..."Right. Whenever."?)