I wonder

..why these things are sitting here, not being used...


Because Grandbebe Two's quilt?


She is so done!

My head spins at the very idea!

Gratuitous shot of roses...

Technical (but not so much really) shot of embroidery (Dearest Sister's) and quilting (yours truly).

Best lobelia I have had in years. Also...the quilt...

I believe I will go to the farmer's market now...

The Flushed Phone

..lives again!

I have been using one of our old phones. And it worked perfectly fine.

And I knew how to use it. Which was a way big plus.

But it was hard to text on this ‘old fashioned’ phone. Isn’t that funny? Old-fashioned cell phone! (…why, back in the day, I remember when there were party lines, and different homes had different rings…and there were rotary dials…and manual typewriters were for ‘texting’…)

Wonderful Guy and I went phone shopping. Seems there is a ‘lost and stolen plan’ where one gets a discount, albeit a lesser one than the ‘new every two’ plan. So we went to see what there was to be had in a comparable style to what I really liked and enjoyed and had fun with, but unfortunately, appeared to have killed.

None of them were as nifty neat-o as the one I water-boarded.

Except the Blackberry Storm…oooh….now that is like chocolate chocolate chip ice cream….yummy and sweet!

Also. Very expensive. And I have been jonesing for a dSLR camera since the first of the year. I don’t want to have to spend some of THAT money on a new phone that I shouldn’t have to need.

So I went home and tried up my dead phone once more. And I thought to plug it into the charger, and lo! The display lights up.

Says ‘Battery charging’! Well. Saints alive!

15 seconds later? ‘Battery charged’ That can’t be right.

I unplug it and the display goes blank. And I am downcast again.

But then, I think…I should try to turn it on while it is plugged in! And , behold! it fires up, just like a normal, dry phone ought to! I can’t call, because service has been switched, but I take a photo, and it works…as long as it is plugged in.

Not plugged in, dead as a door nail.

Wonderful Guy tests the battery with a zapper charger battery checker thing he has in a magic bag of tricks he keeps in the garage, and it appears…appears….the battery is fried.

A new one was ordered for far less than…say, a Blackberry Storm….and winged its way to me even as I anxiously awaited all week.

It arrived today, and I could tell immediately there was life to be had! After a brief charging, a nice chat with the Verizon guy (I looked looked over my shoulder and didn't see the crowd that is in all the commercials...I was reduced to phoning!), I called/txted all the kids that were witnessing to the flushing fiasco.

Momma's a happy camper, and the wallet no less flatter for it!

O is for…

Oenothera macrocarpa, otherwise known variously as Missouri Sundrops/Moondrops, or Evening Primrose.

(I thought for a while my O post was going be about the arrival of Grandbebe Opal but she has delayed her arrival for unknown reasons…much to Bebe Momma’s chargrin. Maybe later this week…or maybe next!)

I brought several plants with me when I moved from Missouri to northern Colorado. Folly perhaps, but one I deemed worthy of effort. After all, the growing zones, not so much the same! But some took. (My stand of willow leaved sunflowers are probably looked upon as weeds by the current owners of my old house!) Some did not. (Alas for my poor blood root.)

Evening primrose took to the Colorado climate pretty well, and was one that I transplanted when I took over…I mean….when I started sharing Wonderful Guy’s yard.

Oenothera has several manifestions that grows all over the county. Tall ones, low to the ground…yellow that fade to coral, white that fade to pink…broad ones, 5 inches across, little ones, not quite a couple inches wide.

I am constantly fascinated, however, that what bloomed for me in Missouri in May/June…is blooming for me here…end of July.

Over ten years here, and my head is still in a zone 5b-6a, instead of zone 4b, where I really live.

Custom Gowns

...and a mom that has game.

(That can be taken several ways. There are several 'moms' involved')

Middle Daughter came to visit in May for my birthday and went to the computer to print off a pattern.

"Mmmmmooooommmm! Make this for me!!!!!"

"OK, honey....whatever you want....what is it?'

It was a pattern (from here) for a make-it-yourself (or myself, as the case may be) gown to wear in the hospital while she was birthin' the grandbebe three.

Her Lil' Sis wasn't so impressed then, but later got on board (as I remember it). I had a couple of lengths of fabric in the required quantity (thank you thank you, Wisest Sister), and on the occasion of the recent visit of Eldest Daughter, went to JoAnns and bought the necessary notions with all the good coupons, because...

Have you checked out the price of notions lately! Well. Don't. Unless you have couponage! Gak!

When Youngest Daughter went to the hospital this past weekend a couple weeks early, I had not made her gown. Seriously, it was on the schedule for that Saturday. Grandbebe Two, however, was not to show up, and I had my second chance.

Youngest Daughter's custom-made, bebe-birthin', hospital gown got done. I took it to her forthwith. Who knows when the for real and for keeps trip to the hospital is going to come? I packed up the gown, and the camera, and off I set.

Had her try it on, because, after all...internet pattern (see boppee story here)! And I needed a photo for the blog. Which I completely forgot while trying to elicit hugs from Grandbebe Girl with a poptart. It's all about priorities I say.

So. I called up Youngest Daughter and was all...

"Hhhhhhoooonnnnneeeeeeey! Do this for me!!!!!"

"OK, Mom....whatever you want....what is it?'

Because that's how we roll!

I have told Youngest that if the hospital 'has rules' and says ix-nay to the bringing of one's own attire, I will be holding off sewing on the other for Middle Daughter, and that we will be sending this one to her!

Ongoing challenges

While I have spoken in the past about reaching peace with where I am age-wise, in regard to all things mental and physical, it is an ongoing challenge for me.

Not so much in some, mind you, but maybe those areas are just easier to overlook.

Like the head of grey hair. A quick glance in the mirror from the front, and I can convince myself that white is blonde. Almost. And I am really glad to be done with the coloring. And the ginourmous calcium tablets to beat back the osteo-whatever-it-is? Why, those might be prenatal vitamins (only not.) (at all!). The nails are benefitting nicely, as a nice aside.

Lovely Step-Daughter shared a room with Wonderful Guy and I while in Breckenridge a couple weekends ago. She asked me one evening after I showered if I hadn’t washed my hair. I replied that was one of the benefits of aging…no longer needing to wash the mop every. single. day. She asked about other advantages of, you know, aging. Well…hmmm.

Let’s see. Dearest Sister might say less of a need to shave. I might add…well, I didn’t know what else. It was late and I was tired. I couldn’t then, or now, come up with what might be considered other ‘advantages’.

It takes longer to get my energy back, and my sleep is occasionally interrupted with night-sweats. I creak where I didn’t use to, and when I get up or stoop over, I don’t believe that I am lithe or graceful any longer. I am crinkly, I sag, and I no longer defy gravity.

I bear scars. And, of late, I am rather self conscious of some of them. They have lost the lustre of being 'badges of courage'...

I can no longer eat when, what, or how ever much I want, without a care of calorie.

There was a pride in knowing exactly the right word for the job at hand. Somtimes, I just cannot come up with what I mean. It seems to be in my mind what I want to express…but it is so much trouble to form the verbal aspect of my thoughts. I am just all whatever...you know what I mean...blah blah blah...

But not really. I am really thinking getting old sucks big time. I used to be able to express myself!

Maybe that’s not such a bad thing. I don’t always have to express my opinion on every little thing now. It gives me more time to spend listening, which takes way more effort. I have come to believe that a lot of us could put more effort into listening to others and hearing what they really are saying.

But the actual hearing part? Well. I am not going there.

And yet.

Sunday we attended a cook-out which was a pseudo-birthday get-together for a neighbor. Pseudo, because last year was his big fiftieth bash, so this year was just a ‘get-together’. Wonderful Guy asked Birthday Boy how he was enjoying the 50’s club. That always seems to get the attention of the forty-somethings. Birthday Boy remarked that is wasn’t so bad, and one of the near-by 40-somethings was intrigued enough to ask us 'silver backs' what wasn’t so bad about being in our fifties.

I had to say me…not being 40…or 30…or even 20. See. I just like me better at 50, even with the creaks and groans and scars and marks and ringing in the ears. I like to believe that most of the time, I am at peace with me, that the crazy-maker of my younger days has grown up into someone who can more times than not, accept life, others, and herself.

More times than not. It’s all about progress.