by jphilo | Aug 16, 2013 | Current Events
Yesterday was one of those days when this old gray mare knew her memory ain’t what it used it be. The epic memory failure began when I discovered I’d purchased the wrong kind of puff pastry for the new dish on the supper menu.
What to do?
Thanks to improvisation techniques honed by many years of practice, the meal was saved. Hiram liked the new dish so much, he said it deserved to be photographed and put on the blog, improvisations and all. But the camera was missing.
Nowhere to be found.
Eventually, I realized I must have forgotten it at last week’s family reunion. So, no picture of last night’s yummy meal. And the evening was spent sending a series of emails to cousins trying to locate the camera. (Janet, if you read this, check your email and reply asap!)
This morning I remembered the iPad.
Why hadn’t it come to mind last night? But no worries! I could use it to photograph the left overs. Except by then, the leftovers were gone. Hiram had taken them to work.
Rats!
That’s when I knew my memory ain’t what it uses to be. So I was very pleased to discover the article 10 Ways We Get Smarter As We Age at the Time website. Those of you who share my age bracket will appreciate them, I’m sure.
- Your hemispheres sync up. That sounds awfully high tech, doesn’t it?
- Your brain never stops growing. So, should we worry about exploding heads?
- Your reasoning and problem-solving skills get sharper. Sharper than what?
- You can focus on the upside. That’s why this list is showcased today.
- Your people skills are constantly improving. Compared to what?
- Your priorities become clearer. What’s for dinner and where’s the bathroom?
- You’re always adding to your knowledge and abilities. Though you’ll constantly forget where you put them.
- You can see the big picture. In that case, new glasses may be in order.
- You gain control of your emotions. Then why did a cardinal singing make me cry the other day?
- You become an instant expert, even in new situations. Since we’re instant experts, this expert recommendation is that you copy the list, tie it around your neck so you don’t forget where it is, and read it daily as a reminder of how smart you are.
Just sayin’.
Photo credit: www.freedigitalphotos.net
by jphilo | Nov 1, 2010 | Walking Down the Gravel Road
Brrr. The mornings are getting colder, but not cold enough to discourage the wild life roaming around the park. Maybe they’re like me, determined to enjoy the great outdoors until the winter’s snow puts an end to easy treks through the park.
Whatever the reason, the varmints were thick as thieves along the edge of the woods today. As the sunrise turned the inky black sky to indigo, I spied a fox lounging on the walking trail. Once it spied me, the crafty critter sat up straight, ears pricked up. But it stood it’s ground until I was 15, maybe 20 feet away. Then it rose and melted into the grass beside the ravine. Even if you’d brought your camera today, it’s too dark for pictures, I told myself and walked on without the slightest sense of regret.
A few minutes later, as the dawn turned the sky a watery blue, a pair of deer emerged from the woods to the east and trotted across the path. They crossed the road and stopped, shoulder to shoulder with the tall headstones at the very edge of the cemetery.
This time, I cursed the absence of my camera – and the sore back which has kept me from strapping on its heavy stomach pack for the past few days. When’s the next time the deer will pose in such an unusual setting? I thought. Maybe never.
With great effort, I shook off the should haves, could haves and would haves. Then I turned to the deer, only a few feet away from the path, and smiled. “You’re beautiful,” I said in a low, calm voice. “Thank you.”
They stood still and trembling.
I walked on, shivering with delight.
by jphilo | May 19, 2009 | Walking Down the Gravel Road
This morning, I nearly did it again. I almost talked myself out of walking early when the breeze is cool and the birds are busy. “I’ll walk into town this afternoon for my meeting instead,” I told myself. “The walk will be longer. That would be good for me.”
But on this second day back from Colorado, a still, small voice urged me to resume my morning routine. Two steps down the road, and I was glad I’d obeyed that voice. The perfume of lilacs wafted my way. The blue sky peeked from behind green leaves of trees whose limbs were almost bare when I left home last week. Pink blossoms clustered on every branch of the honeysuckles. Columbines bloomed, and my neighbor’s tulips were a riot of color.
A small bird flitted across the road in front of me and perched on a low limb of a fading redbud tree. The neighbors had seen the bluebirds weeks ago, but this was my first glimpse of them. I fumbled for my camera, but before I could focus, the bird flew away.
I shrugged. Ah, well. The photo I took in Colorado of the small, blue bird with the black mask would do instead. Maybe I could photograph an Iowa bluebird some other morning. Before I finished consoling myself, four orioles swooped into the cedar trees. Just who was chasing whom, I’m not sure, but their turf wars were highly entertaining and more than compensated for missing today’s picture.
I finished my walk, warm and sweating by the end of it, my eyes and ears full of this Iowa spring morning. The rest of the day will be busy, so busy that it may become frustrating, confusing, disappointing. But whatever the day brings, I have seen a bluebird, lovely in the shadows of the fading redbud tree. I have smelled the lilacs and laughed at the orioles.
This sweet spring morning, I am truly blessed.
by jphilo | Mar 16, 2009 | Walking Down the Gravel Road
This morning, I checked the forecast: sunny and highs in the sixties. Bright and early, not wanting to miss a minute of such optimistic weather, I strapped on my camera and lugged the tripod on my walk, determined to photograph the cardinals I’d seen and heard everywhere the day before.
The dawn was grey at first, the sun not even visible. Twenty minutes later, when the sun finally woke up and showed itself, the tripod had worn out it’s welcome, and the camera was a lead weight. Apparently the cardinals are still adjusting to Daylight Savings Time, because it was another twenty minutes before they woke up.
By then I’d wrestled with the tripod and camera twice – once to photograph a red-headed woodpecker on a telephone pole, and again to capture some wrens setting up housekeeping in a bluebird house up the road a ways. Finally, outside my kitchen door at the end of my walk, a cardinal began singing from the top of our neighbor’s giant spruce.
The tripod, now an experienced traveler, waited patiently while I mounted the camera and started snapping.
One bright red bird, small but able to fill the enormous blue sky with song, reminded me of the tasks on my to do lists this week. I am too small to complete them. They are too elusive for me to capture. But they are the song I’ve been given by the Creator of birds and sky.
In His hand, I can sing.
by jphilo | Aug 28, 2008 | Daily Life
I’m a bit bleary-eyed this morning. We had an hour long, rootin-tootin midwestern thunderstorm in the middle of the night. The rain was welcome and pretty much guarantees filled ears of sweet corn until the first frost. A short night is a small price to pay for a longer sweet corn season.
Even though I was bleary-eyed, I remembered to take my camera on my walk. I strapped it on and opened the door and there it was! The asparagus fern in the hanging basket outside the kitchen door was sparkling with water droplets. Was I ever glad to have the camera ready! If I’d had to walk clear to the living room for it, the hanging basket might have run away before I could seize the day.
Man, was I pumped when I downloaded the photos – at least until I saw they were technical failures. The colors in the flash shot were too bright and the one without flash was as gloomy and gray as Count Dracula’s castle. But a quick session with the “saturation” slide on my photo software brought the picture to life, so enjoy.
Another technical failure stands in the way for those of you planning to seize the day and make blog comments. Yesterday afternoon, I was unable to reply to your comments using either Firefox and Safari as my browser. I can see your comments when I use my iWeb software to post, but not when I use the internet. Last night there was technical gobble-de-gook at the bottom of each blog page. Today that ‘s gone, but I still can’t get to or add comments.
Email me if you’re having the same problem. I suspect it has something to do with the switch from .mac to MobileMe so it may resolve itself in a few days. If not, I’ll phone Apple after Labor Day. So hang in there, and send me your comments. If you want, I can post them as a blog entry:)
