My grandparents were born at the turn of the century and lived long lives—I used to marvel at the degree of change they experienced in their lifetimes. They were born into homes without telephones or automobiles. I didn’t figure I’d ever see that amount of transformation in my life—everything we needed had already been invented.
But I grew up in a home without air-conditioning, as did most of my friends. I remember hot sweaty nights, lying on the top of the bed without covers, a fan pointed directly at me. My parents later had central air installed, but when I got my married it was back to the fans. On particularly hot summer nights we’d run the tub full of cold water and soak in it every few hours. After a few years, we got two noisy window air conditioners—a big one in the living room and a small one in our bedroom. The roar in your ears was a trade-off for the heat. My two oldest sons may remember a few years without an air-conditioned house, but the youngest has always had the luxury of central air....
I've heard it said, "Everybody wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to die." Ain't that the truth!
Dear Lord, I don't want to die! It really irks me that I'm getting older. It seems a giant waste, all this experience that has taken so long to accumulate. Youth is wasted on the young. No offense to the young, whoever you are, we've all been there. But I wouldn't go back to being eighteen again, UNLESS I could somehow compress all the life experiences I've had into six months, but then again, those six months would have killed me for sure. It really does take a lifetime to learn how to live. It seems to be a bad system, O Lord, no disrespect intended, spending our lives acquiring very valuable knowledge and skills, just to fade away in the end. The idea of some kind of "eternal rest" actually horrifies me--yeah, I like taking a day off now and then but resting forever sounds like torture. You know I like doing stuff!
Oh Lord, I've heard the talk about heaven, streets of gold and pearly gates and all, but I have to tell the truth, I really love this earth you created, and I've only had the chance to explore such a little bit of it....
I am taking a break from practicing the violin to write this blog. Yes, the violin. It’s been a lifelong desire, and I have just had my third lesson. And I can verify that the comments I have heard all my life about listening to a beginning violinist practice being a very annoying experience are indeed true. I once thought my opportunity to learn had passed me by. But I have changed my thinking. My new way of thinking has influenced me in many ways, and so at the ripe old age of....
Salman Rushdie, our pet raccoon, has returned--that is, has emerged from hiding, and is once again enjoying sharing meals with the three cats at the back door. The animals are very relaxed and cordial with one another--they seem to be unaware of any differences in species. It's good to see them interacting without prejudice and intolerance, much better than some people I know. A human guest at our house last night made some disparaging comments about Salman and even made threats involving firearms. We made it clear how we felt about that.
The big news is that Salman has apparently given BIRTH since she last visited. Therefore Salman has become Salmonella!
I feel a tad guilty saying this, but I do hope she doesn't start bringing the kids around. Enough is enough.
One night last week I walked through the kitchen and glanced through the sliding glass door where Brian was sitting reading on the deck. I noticed one of our three cats, Fyodor Dostoyevsky, eating from the bowl of food by the backdoor, just a few feet away from where Brian sat. But I looked again at the cat—his tail looked a little fuller and fatter, and I moved around to see his face. It wasn’t Fyo, the calico cat, it was a RACCOON! I rapped on the window to get Brian’s attention—he turned around and then yelled "Hey!" The critter looked at him calmly for a minute, and then stuck his face back in the bowl. "Hey, get out of here!" Brian yelled again, and got up to chase him off. The coon reluctantly ambled over to the steps and down. Leo, the big yellow tomcat, (that’s Leo Tolstoy) who had been sprawled out under the table got up when Brian yelled, and walked placidly down the steps with the coon....
