Raise Your Right Hand, Ms

I knew it was going to happen.

I just didn't think it would be so soon that I would give in to the lack of excitement and cut my hair.  It's still wet, so no photo.

However, it has made me take up thinking.  Again, sooner than I expected.  I have had enough sort-of success cutting my own hair in the past so I felt pretty much that a sort-of success would be OK.

It made me think of two haircut experiences, not on my own hair, that I've obviously pushed way to the bottom of my brain.

One included my sister Mary who is 17 years younger than I am and who allowed me to give her a cut that I'd seen in a magazine.  We sat her on a kitchen stool and pulled her hair up to high on the top-of-her-head elasticized position, then cut off all the hair above the elastic.  You can imagine......actually, I hope I'm still only imagining.  Given that I love my sister sincerely, it's hard to believe I actually did it.

The other focusses on my youngest daughter, Emily. I always cut her hair from the time her platinum blonde first became real to us.  Because it was very thin hair at the time, I thought I could make it sort of pixie-like, and shaggy, and had been doing it for a year or two when one of my gay friends begged me to show some respect for her.  He cried the next time he saw her, 6 months later.

I now and officially beg forgiveness from the two of them.

Lorna Vs Nature

I have never felt I had much interest in nature, and today, I got a chance to see that Nature knew that and intended to reminder me who is boss.

I really felt I should go out for a walk, and remembering that since yesterday, we had had sunshine, rain, more sunshine and snow, I dressed warmly, put on my boots that have little spikes when I need them and headed out from our patio, so I wouldn't have to worry about using the same door that all our other residents will be using, if they go out.

I took about 5 steps, arrived at the place where the lawn leans down to the still-snowy sidewalk, and with my next step, I landed on my back, bumping my head, and slid down about 5 feet to the sidewalk.  For some reason, I thought this was hilarious and I lay there laughing for a minute, then got up, uselessly tried to get the snow off my clothes and headed for the War Museum, which is part of my short walks.  There were a lot of geese there, but no people, so it was pleasant, but getting cold.

By  the way, anyone who knew me before the last 10 years or so, would have been gobsmacked to see that I was wearing warm clothes, not pretty ones, including mittens that would be just the right size for a wrestler.

I had my walk, never saw a person, and headed for home.  By then,  more snow had landed, so I decided to be more careful and got off the sidewalk at the part of the building that was easily reached from the sidewalk....a step or two.  Two steps that left me lying down, this time with my face and knees in the new snow, and there I was again laughing hilariously, but this time, just pissed off a bit. 

I got back in the house with no further excitement, expecting that Dave might baby me a bit, but he just reminded me to be sure to hang my wet stuff .

Not even two dark chocolates and a handful of cashews have brought me back to the sentiments I was hoping for.  And I have a headache. Nature 1, Lorna 0.

How time flies!

So, here I am, on a Sunday morning, and I've put on spring clothes for the first time this year, and I've brushed my hair, and in an hour or so, I'll be watching my daughter Emily leaving a song or two on Facebook.

It's not easy to remember how different things are when you're in your own apartment, able to have conversations with people who are farther away than a condo balcony and yet dealing with the fact that you can't just zoom out and buy a chocolate bar at the neighbourhood chocolate bar place. Ah, I shouldn't make that nice neighbourhood store sound like there's nothing but chocolate there, although I actually can't confirm it or deny it, as chocolate is all I've ever bought there.

Earlier, I had a strange discussion with myself about whether or not to add mascara to my strangely-inefficient-recently-smoothed-on-my-face make-up.  In the end, I went for it, telling myself that I'm a mascara person and have been so since I was 16 and some virus isn't going to make me give that fun up. Almost right away, other-me jumped up to remind me that really, I do that for myself, so I can't expect Dave to notice improved eyelashes. (Dave, you know that I sometimes write what I think is amusing rather than what is real)

Today, our daughter Emily is going to post a musical something she and her partner will perform on Facebook, and it's reminded me of how much she and I sang together one spring, sitting together in the car, getting her ready to prove she should be in the music class the next year.  As it turned out, she took dance, but that seemed like a possibly great decision, and it would have been if she hadn't left school to become a Starbucks person.  All to say that she still loves music and I love to hear her make it, and instead of Starbucks, she works for the Canadian Museum of History. "Too much babbling!!!" Emily is thinking, I imagine.  And it wouldn't be

the first time.....

Hey, she's not in my face!!.

Some reasons why I've not been in your face lately:

• First, and worst, I'm having trouble remembering words, real trouble, both when I'm talking and when I'm writing, although it's somewhat easier while writing because I can ask for help or use Google and anyone reading assumes it's just like me talking
• Also, I have difficulty accepting this. And because no one else is part of the trouble, I only have myself to be pissed off with
• I am a person, when faced with difficulty, to choose to either give something up or to take a deep breath and do my best---nothing in between
• I've been doing the second of those things, but not succeeding as much as I'd expected

Some reasons why I'm going to make an effort to be in your face, but of course, in the rather "Gosh, nothing's changed" way, which means I have to be subtle:

• First, and worst, I've already told you that I'm having trouble so I can't choose to pretend nothing is going on
• Also, I've stepped back from seeing people as much as I used to, and even though I've always loved to be with people, I don't have the confidence I once felt. I'd like to change that
• Dave has been so understanding and so thoughtful that I'm starting to believe I owe him so much more than I'll ever be able to make things even again

I don't have a "program" to follow, at least not yet, but I'm feeling that just writing this has been a step forward.  

Keep an eye out for me.

Why Purdy's is necessary

You may have noticed that I complain a lot about my relationships with anything techy.  For example, the lovely-looking Chromebook, which when we were considering to buy it was complimented by everyone with whom we discussed it, has actually taken over the process in which it will work.  And that has no connection to the way it lets Dave use it or any one else.  As I type, it decides I'm on the wrong page and leaves the one I'm on, without my request, and opens up Facebook or something I've never seen before in the 20 or so years I've been online.

I respond in several different ways, most of them falling in the "emotional" kind of thing which ranges from deep breath to nasty not-for-kids yelling while I walk away to another part of the condo.  (I just had to move words that I'd typed in a

reasonable way which the laptop decided to do this with it) and then it just laughed at me and moved those words 3 blank lines away from where I typed them. I moved them back.  So there!

I need to be able to be online, so I'll continue to work this out



But seriously...I did nothing to get from "out" to this place.  The Chromebook did it.

Actually, I intended to talk about the ways I am trying to just accept what happens between me and laptops and phones and Kindle.  I'm a retired person and if it takes me 3 times more as anyone else to write a post, I'll live with that, rather than act like a whiny kid.  However, after I got part way through the last sentence, Chromebook sent me to my Inbox.

All this to say that I have the box of Purdy Chocolates that my son sent for Christmas within arm's reach, and that I added a small fountain to my desk, and the sound is lovely and serene, which is what I'd like to attain for myself. Techy be damned.

Yikes!!, for which I usually blame myself

I have a thing about pockets.  When I'm shopping, it's the first thing I check out and it is often the decision point. 

Strangely, although I want pockets, I hardly use them and find myself carrying, in bags, things that would just beautifully fill in the pockets of my jacket.  And I've noticed the un-use of pockets happens more in my jeans and pants than in my shirts and coats. All this has, up to now, been not much of a problem of any kind.

Yesterday though, putting my favourite lipstick in my jeans pocket led to a very distressing outcome...just the very thing no one wants to see happen. Getting the wash started, I forgot I had anything in my hardly-ever used pockets and tossed our dark clothes in the washer.  

They all came out shining with more or less pinkish-red shapes, shapes that had not been there before the wash, and that was my first clue that something had gone awry. As I yanked everything out of the washer, the top part of the lipstick case landed on the floor. (the rest is probably going to show up next time I do a white wash)

Dave, and probably some of our neighbours, heard my rather loud and definitely unacceptable response to the pinkness.  It had nothing to do with possibly ruined clothes and all to do with my self-respect.  "How could I have done something so stupid?"  is how I started.......

 When Dave just brushed it all off saying something about how it could happen to anyone and how easily it could be dealt with, I actually started laughing, which is not at all like me in similar semi-disastrous events.  

Most of the clothes released the stains when I used a super-cleaner so it's no problem for them. The lipstick had been my favourite one and now I can't remember its name, so I don't come out of this totally OK but I did get a lesson in what's forgivable  and what might just happen to people who are in the last half of 70.

Fixes everything!!

I Didn't Wake Up This Grumpy

This morning I have been reading a book I know I would have loved ten years ago, "Bruno, Chief of Police" by Martin Walker.  Bruno is a charming man, but dammit, I can't keep both the people and the mystery in my brain at the same time.

I would like to see an Old Folk section at Chapters that would provide us with books of no more than 4 important characters, no pets, (especially those with names like Gigi and Bobby so you keep thinking mistakenly that they are more people in the story), and no more than 3 possible killers of the important characters.  Also it would be a  lovely addition to have a built-in movable ribbon that   tells you where you left off the story.

And while I'm at it, Chapters, please put more chocolate bars at the pay desk.  It only makes sense that I need to focus on books where the books are and chocolate where it brings additional joy to my visit to Chapters.  Thank you.