Architecture and Shape: Arches

St. Louis is filled with a variety of architectural styles and shapes. I never fail to be amazed by the many glimpses of beauty I am treated to throughout downtown alone on a regular basis.

Downtown, of course, is home to the granddaddy of all arches, the symbol that, to many people, the city is synonymous with: the Arch. Well, yes. There is that.
After all, 630 feet of gleaming stainless (in both height and width) is a little hard to miss. But long before THE Arch and even long before its designer, Eero Saarinen, were thought of, St. Louis was awash in arches.

Let me show you what I mean.

First stop: Eads Bridge. Predates the Arch by almost a century. Have to think Saarinen found some inspiration here ...

At the corner of Sixth of Washington, is 555 Washington. This is one of the oldest extant buildings downtown (c.1870-ish). And, it is also full of arches.

Likewise a block away at the Missouri Athletic Club where the marquee and first-floor windows make my point.From there, just look across the street to the Roberts Vista. (The J. Kennard Carpet Co. building.) There's more of those arches!

In fact, the arches cover this building from top to bottom. This building is an early illustration of how the detail of an arch can break up an otherwise towering building of squares and rectangles.


Go a few blocks back down Fourth Street, toward the heart of downtown, and head up Pine until you hit Broadway. There you will find the two-towered Marquette Building.


Built in 1913, it was already a half-century old when they started building the Arch! More proof that the shape has dominated St. Louis architecture for more than a century.


If you have a certain view like some people do (oh, like maybe ME!) you can see that it, too, is topped off with arches.

Go down any block in downtown, any of them.

I defy you to make it all the way down a single street without being able to spot at least one arch. And, I'd even be willing to bet that you could spot a whole lot more than just one.

Even though downtown's modern architecture bent has been more focused on triangles and cubes, I guarantee that you will still find arches neatly tucked away somewhere.


The ultra-modern 600 Washington, which takes up a good chunk of Sixth Street, and is a study in cubist construction can't help but get in on the act.


So the next time you're surrounded by skyscrapers, (especially if you're in St. Louis) look up and look around. See any arches?


I'll bet you do.

Desiderata

“And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.” – Max Ehrmann, Desiderata

I am, by both propensity and profession, a writer.

D*mn, it felt good to type that … and for that, I owe thanks to Morgan Freeman. (Yes, the actor.) I thank him for reminding me that bad, good or indifferent, that is what I am. I should neither profane it nor profess it begrudgingly.

Freeman was on Oprah’s “Master Class” last night, one of her new shows on her OWN network. I have always liked Freeman. I remember him from The Electric Company. Rather humble beginnings for such an incredible performer … but there you have it. Unlike so many who hit it big, he remembers it, too.

I knew I would enjoy this interview; I just didn’t know how much. As a writer, I am, by nature, a storyteller. I love hearing other people’s stories and, for much of my life, have relished the opportunities I’ve had to share them with others in my own personalized way.

At one point, I could have sworn that Freeman was speaking directly to me. The introductory subtitles on some of his lessons, struck me that much.
· Nurture your natural gifts.
· Keep your principles.
· Follow your muse.
· Listen to others.

And I’m sure there were one or two others I found just as relevant but that are escaping me in my sleep-deprived state. But those were pretty awe-inspiring for me as they were each paired with some of his personal experiences. One of my favorite anecdotes from the interview was when he lost a job as a clerk/typist and, by virtue of being on unemployment, was obligated to go out and look for new work as a clerk/typist. During one of his meetings with an unemployment counselor, he explained that he just couldn’t justify continuing to seek work as a clerk typist. “I am an actor,” he boldly pronounced to Mrs. Lipton. (He even remembered her name.) She approved his extension with: “You’ve got six months. Go be an actor.”

And he did.

For everything in his life, every decision, opportunity or setback, Freeman attributes it to providence. He referred to a poem, Desiderata, -- Latin for “desired things” -- that I had never heard of, but that I now know I will never forget. (You really should go and read it. Trust me – it will be worth it.)

Something Freeman didn’t mention, and may not even know, though I bet he does, is that Max Ehrmann, the man who wrote that poem, seemed to have a hard time finding his own niche. “At age 40, Ehrmann left the business to write. At age 54, he wrote Desiderata, which achieved fame only after his death.” (Wikipedia)

It took about 45 years between the time the poem was written (1927) before it joined the mainstream. (1971-72). Makes me think all the harder that I need to decide what I want to be when I grow up … and go be it.

So far, so good

Crazy ... I haven't even blogged yet and this year is two weeks old!

It's been a busy time. Things have gotten off to a good start. In fact, here I am at my scrapbooking weekend. Needing to go and get coffee, but otherwise GREAT! Fun times, great folks and laughing, laughing, laughing. There can never be too much of that.

So, here's to a fabulous weekend. Excuse me while I get back to it ...

Out with the Old

It's too easy to take potshots at 2011. It is a year that, while not my worst, and while considerably good by the standards of the less fortunate, will go down as infinitely less than a stellar one.

The year saw fit to meddle with (in chronological order) my car, my dog, my job, my family. It affected almost everything I hold dear. Almost.

With the exceptions of my immediate family and closest friends, 2011 did its damnedest to slime my life.

Fate seemed to forget something though. I'm a stubborn sumb*tch. I can take a punch. In fact, I can take quite a pummeling. I may fall down. I may even stay down for a while. On the way back up, I may have to crawl a bit. I may stumble. And for a time, I may be less than steady on my feet.

But in the end, I will get up. I always have. I always will.

So, go ahead 2011. Trifle with me if you must, while you can. Your hours are numbered.

And yet, here I stand. Maybe a little unsure of my next step but vertical just the same. While my stance is uncertain, my resolve is not. It is as strong as it has ever been. With it, two words are poised on my lips, poised to greet the year that will soon make its appearance: "Bring it."

Take heed, 2012. Take heed.

The Winter Project

In one of my most recent posts, I alluded to a landscaping project ...

I had wanted to start this project toward the end of summer. But it seemed like something was always happening to postpone it. I couldn't have imagined that I'd be working on it in DECEMBER! But there I was.

After months on and off of collecting bricks, I was putting them into the ground in an attempt to rein in the quarries of white marble chip that surround three sides of the house and regularly end up all over the yard. I thought it might also add a little shot of color around the house.

I FINALLY started Thanksgiving weekend. And while it's straightforward work, certainly not rocket science, it was a very time-consuming task. And Mother Nature kept challenging me to get it done. Right after I started, we got hit with a string of days with highs in the 40s and winds almost that high. Then, we had a couple days with highs in or near the 60s, so I got my silly self moving at top speed.

It wasn't too hard, considering I was still working with a messed-up left hand. But, it did require some elbow grease, a few adjustments to allow for my injury and LOTS of patience. The biggest challenge was dealing with all the decades of rock I was hitting as I attempted to dig up weed-filled dirt, create a small trench, line it with plastic and then put down each brick.

Finally, last weekend, I got it finished. Well, all but the back yard. I got the sides and front done. Now we just need to add some rock, straighten out the brick bases in the rock and get the trees out.

Even though it's not completely done, I think it looks pretty good. Here's a look.

Merry Birthday!

Here's hoping that everyone had a great holiday yesterday and that today (Dec. 26), the MonkeyGirl had a fabulous birthday.

It's been a very lazy day for me. Other than braving Wal-Mart, a grocery store and Michael's this afternoon, I haven't done a whole lot. (Believe me when I say that was quite enough!) I made it home ahead of some sleet and it's done nothing but rain ever since. Really wishing it would stop as it has saturated my poor bones, including my still-healing hand, making all of them ache.

I did take a vacation day on Tuesday (thank God!) so that means I don't wake to a pre-dawn alarm. Yippee!! While tomorrow won't be as lazy as today, I'm hoping it WILL still be a slow one. We were pretty busy around here from Thursday through yesterday so the quiet, easy pace will certainly be a welcome one.

Back to Monday

It was a busy and productive weekend.

Saturday was sunny and created the deception of warmth. While the temp supposedly reached 45, with the associated wind, the wind chill factor made it feel like 39!
If you’re me, that’s at least 15 degrees below “passable” work outside temps!

Yesterday was infinitely better. While there wasn’t much sun, the wind was mostly quiet until just before sunset and it hit the upper 50s. YAY! Much more conducive to working outside for a solid EIGHT HOURS. I am sore and tired today but I got some nice landscaping nearly done AND I got the yard mowed and a lot of leaves picked up. (I’d share a photo so you could see my latest project, but it’s raining.) We also needed to get some rock down and some trees out but that just didn’t happen. We’ll have to see if Mother Nature gives us another decent day to wrap things up out there.

Meanwhile, things are progressing inside, too, though much more slowly. The mother has been doing the “deep” cleaning of everything in addition to unboxing kitchen stuff. It’s beginning to resemble a house again! Don’t think I can ask for too much more for Christmas than that. (Except maybe a decent-paying, centrally-located, full-time job. Maybe even one that I could be passionate and truly feel good about. Or else just win MegaMillions tomorrow night. That would work, too … )

Albert, Androids and Apple

It's been an interesting few days. First, after early-morning rumblings to the contrary, we learned that Albert Pujols was leaving the Cardinals.

It sucks, but it is what it is. The Cardinals will be fine. Really.

Then, I started getting emails about stuff I downloaded from Apple iTunes. Wait. WHAT?! (I hadn't purchased anything since September!) Some asshat decided it would be fun to hack and raid my account. They got my store credit (somewhere around $12) and another $70 or so from PayPal. PayPal was awesome. They were on it and reaching out to Apple post-haste. Apple? Not so much. Apparently, you can't talk to anyone to fix your woes with them.

I was relieved to find out that my iTunes account was shutdown temporarily. But, what if I need/want to use it? I'm in the resolution process now but told it could take "several days." We'll see how that goes.

And then, there's the Android. Yep, I am the proud owner of a tablet. (Not an iPad.) I bought an IdeaPad. Thanks to a new addition as of this very afternoon (a compatible portable keyboard which WILL fit in the bag with it) I am LOVING this thing. I think it's going to do just what I need it to. Just as soon as I can figure out how to copy and paste ...

A Month of Mourning

It's hard to turn down a "command" performance. So, OK, Karen Anne, I'm speaking!

And the first thing I want to say is thank you again. As I told a group of my "realtime" nearest and dearest yesterday, the last few months have not been exactly stellar ones for me. It started on July 21, in the hours before my birthday, and just went to hell from there.

I'm grateful for the glimmers of good fortune and goodwill that have managed to shine through despite it all, especially the kindness of those on the blog. Some of those glimmers have kept me pretty busy. That's a good thing as they have allowed me to replace, at least temporarily, almost all of my lost income. While one of those opportunities will likely go away soon, I'm hoping to quickly replace it with another. Wish me luck. In the meantime, I still have another ongoing opportunity that has allowed me to revisit my journalism career. (Between you and me, I rather like it!)

A special shout-out to the MonkeyGirl is in order, and to Mr. Monkeygirl, too. See, she "kidnapped" me a few weekends ago for a scrapbooking event. Got me away from the house and away from what seems to be a constant cycle of work (I'm not complaining, really!) for about 36 hours. It was a fabulous respite and a nice prelude to our annual scrapbooking pilgrimage which is now less than six weeks away! (And while MG had been traveling quite a bit in the weeks leading up to our recent adventure, I'm grateful to Mr. MG for sparing his best girl during her brief time back home.)

You might notice, too, that some new advertisements have popped up. I'm equally grateful for those. (More on that in a separate post.)

So, it hasn't been all bad. Not by a longshot. Just incredibly hard. Things have been further complicated by an injury to my left hand (1 broken finger, 1 bruised finger and some joint and ligament damage in my hand). Sometimes I just get really sick of the struggle. Can't ANYTHING be easy? Ever? And then come reminders of just how bad I don't have it. This year, that reminder has come in the forms of about nearly 50 people, the people our charity program at work will be helping after "adopting" them for the holidays.

These are people whose entire lives, in most cases, have been a string of tragedy, hardship and pain. Mine hasn't been all rosy but it's surely been a cakewalk by comparison. I'm grateful then to not only have been thusly spared but to be given the chance to have an impact on their lives, albeit a very brief and small one.

I allowed myself to wallow a bit last month and provided myself with a bit of a pity party. No more. (Well, outside the occasional overwhelming sense of loss of Ozzie. I miss him terribly!)

I've been thinking a lot lately (drives and train rides tend to give you that opportunity) about what's next. Where do I go from here? I wish I knew just what that answer was. It's a huge uncertainty. I like to think though that also means there are myriad possibilities. Surely something good has to come from that. Right?

New Year's Eve will be particularly meaningful this year as I can't wait to kick this year to the curb and get to the blank canvas that is 2012.

General Weirdness

It's been two weeks. Two weeks.

I've been silent but I haven't really had much to say. Ozzie's absence has been felt acutely. Each day I seem to find myself expecting to see him turn the corner between rooms. Sometimes, I swear I hear him as I enter the house. It's going to take a lot of getting used to, this post-Ozzie world.

A lot.

The one thing I do have to say is a huge THANK YOU for all of the support during this phase of general weirdness. It has helped immensely and means so much.

Thievery!

It’s a sad state of affairs when you can’t leave something in your front yard without someone having the gonads to come onto your property and take it. But, that’s what happened last Saturday.

You may recall that I recently sealed the driveway again (watch for some product reviews to come). When I finished, I took my two sawhorses (metal, with legs that fold up into the base) out and put one at each of the driveway. I was a little concerned about the one at the edge of the alley. We have junkmen who drive up and down the alleys all the time and then there are mischievous kids who like to occasionally destroy property out back.

I had them up all last week and I had both cars parked in the yard. On Friday, I had Pearl washed so I wasn’t pulling a dirty car onto my nice, freshly painted driveway. When I got home mid-afternoon, there was no traffic coming, so I was able to stay on the four-lane roadway long enough to jump out and put the sawhorse into the front yard before bringing Pearl through.
I left the one in place out back and didn’t think any more about either one on Friday, planning to deal with it over the weekend.

When I came out of the house shortly before noon Saturday, the sawhorse at the alley was still in place. As I backed out of the driveway to run some errands, I discovered that that the sawhorse I’d put in the front yard less than 24 hours earlier – and which had still been there as recently as 12 hours before – was gone. Seriously?

It had to be scrappers. And why they took the one OUT OF MY YARD and left the one that was at the edge of the alley is beyond me. They physically had to walk at least 3 feet onto my property to do this.

It's not that it's a major loss, as frankly, I've been planning to replace them anyway. It is, however, sad commentary on just how brazen people are today.

Saying Goodbye to the Moose

During the past few months, I’ve become accustomed to being awakened by a breathing alarm clock, emitting either a solid series of barks or a shrill, urgent yipe.

This morning, neither these sounds nor the digital alarm clock stirred me. I awakened to silence, five minutes ahead of the alarm.

As I’ve also become accustomed to doing, I padded the short distance to the kitchen where Ozzie has been camping for the night because the medication makes him both hungry and in need of constant potty breaks. The mother has the 2:30 a.m. (or so) feeding covered; potty pads take care of the rest.

But today, the clack of claws and low, rolling grunt of a greeting are not there. Instead, there is only an empty bed laying against the bank of cabinets. And that’s when the reality of all hits me like a freight train.

My boy is gone.

Yesterday was the day that I have long dreaded and yet known was coming since July. We had to let Ozzie go. The lymphoma had taken over. And while he was a super trooper, with new tumors appearing externally on a daily basis, I couldn’t relinquish him. He was still mobile and able to eat and anxious to be a part of everything around him.

Hell, two weeks ago, he dropped a squeaky toy at my feet!!! Unless you knew – or touched his tumor-riddled back or throat – you would never believe this dog was sick. In just the past week, it had become more visually obvious: tumors began to cover the top of his head.

On Monday, that tide started to turn. The mother, who has long been an opponent of euthanasia, began to soften to the notion. That was my first sign. There was also a noticeable shift in Ozzie’s behavior. A look in his eyes that went beyond tired, or even exhausted. It was more of a resignation. We decided that I should call and make an appointment yesterday. I did so with a great deal of reluctance, hanging up at least three times before finally waiting long enough for someone to answer. When he didn't eat yesterday morning (this dog NEVER missed a meal), that was confirmation enough for me.

It was ironic. Here I was trying so hard to hang onto a dog that initially, I had not even wanted.

We were less than a week past the loss of our first Yorkie in 1997. That occasion had marked the first time I’d ever had to put down an animal, despite having lost scores of them through the years. I had decided that day in the vet’s office that I never wanted another dog. So, it was not surprising when, by the end of that week, I balked when the mother wanted to “go look” at puppies. That Saturday morning though, I was in for a huge surprise.

When the alleged breeder (who was licensed, but horrible) first asked me, “Do you want to hold him?” all I could think was how that spastic little puppy, then 11 weeks old, was going to be a wiggle worm. Yet the second she handed him to me, he stopped moving. Before I could hold him at arm’s length (to avoid all of this puppy nonsense), he had nestled in the crook of my arm and gently flopped his head against my shoulder. “Are you lovey?” I asked this little 3-pound furball – and he promptly reached up and licked my cheek.

I was toast. There was no way I could leave him there. It was as if he knew that I was the one he had to win over. And he did. And while all of the animals I’ve ever had (with the possible exception of my childhood cat) have loved me, but always gravitated to the mother – her being something of a Dr. Doolittle – Ozzie was indelibly mine.

For much of the last 14 years, his was the first face I would see in the morning and the last I would see at night.
His face, pressed against the full-view storm door, would greet me most nights, a chaotic barking fit and happy dance to follow. He had a continual flow of energy and was my constant, ever curious, companion no matter what I was doing. Hey … whatcha got? Show me! Can I eat? Can I play with it? Where you goin?! Come back here! Nevermind. I'll come with ya.

One of many nicknames – though the most consistently used – was Moosie. (I had dubbed him “the moose” because he had grown so much in his first year, I was convinced we would have the world’s first 40-pound Yorkie. He actually got up to more than 16 pounds. I used to tell him that he was TWO standard Yorkies!) I never had children but I always joke that I have three "babies:" My boys (Oz and Toby the Cat) have fur; my girl (Pearl) has wheels.

But now, the Moo-Man is gone from my life. That is a fact. Yet, with an equal degree of certainty, I know that he will never leave my heart.

The Driveway Debacle

During many afternoons in the past few weeks, I diligently repaired the driveway in preparation for sealing. Hard to believe, but it has already been THREE YEARS since the last time!

Rain and/or temperature drops and/or abbreviated daylight hours impeded my progress. I finally finished early last week. Or so I thought. (But more on that later … plus product reviews!)
Anyway, the driveway is now done except for a bit of touch-up work.

I wasn’t going to seal the driveway this year – only patch it. But, an unfortunate coincidence found me with all the supplies, a gorgeous fall day and an ill mother. Between her condition – and Ozzie’s continually deteriorating one – I couldn’t leave them, even though I was supposed to be going (with a nod to my good friend, KayO, on “supposed to”) to Croptoberfest a week ago Saturday and scrapbooking with my friends all day. I was bummed. I didn’t want to work at my online job. I couldn’t sleep. But wanting the two of them to rest, I needed to be quiet. Driveway sealing was a “quiet” job and it would accomplish something.

It was a nice day. I was able to start pretty quickly. About an hour into my work, two squirrels ran through the area I’d just finished. If it had been a few minutes longer, I doubt they’d have had an impact. But since I had just coated that area, there were their little pawprints popping through as the drying process began. D*MN! So, I rolled over the area again and went on about my work.

An hour or two later, a couple with a stroller – and a HUGE dog on a leash, in tow – walked by. The dog had a lot of leeway and as they walked by the drive, the dog bounded from our yard and into the driveway. While it scattered leaves and other debris, it didn’t do anything else. WHEW!!!
The true scare of the day came as I was approaching the halfway mark and the afternoon was winding down. It came in the form of a huge flatbed truck, hauling a completely-assembled, cottage-style storage shed. The truck roared up onto the sidewalk and all but pulled into the driveway, stopping short by a few mere inches. I dropped my roller and wildly waved my arms, all the while yelling, “NOOOOOOOO!” as I ran toward the truck.

The driver looked at me sheepishly and came to a halt on the sidewalk. My neighbors, mortified, were now standing at the edge of their driveway. “Any other day, guys. Any other day!” I yelled across to them. I would have gladly let the truck pull in so it could back into their yard – just not on my freshly-sealed driveway!

Another potential disaster averted! But then … the rain came and brought plummeting temps along. And it rained. And rained. And rained. And it barely got above 50.

I can already see a few patches where standing water took a bit of a toll. (After closer inspection over the weekend, doesn’t look too bad at all. I hadn’t yet done my touch-up! I have to that this afternoon so it has another day or – in 70-degree temps, thankyouverymuch – to get good and dry.

Feeling Disorganized?

I know I am!

Lately, life has been one spiraling ball of confusion, though, not all of it has been bad. But while I generally thrive within chaos, it's been exhausting -- even I’m ready to wave a white flag.

Apparently, it was Get Organized Week earlier this month. Who knew?!

Well, Emma did. She wrote to let me know that she had put up 50 blog links in honor of getting organized – and that This D*mn House was among them. We were included in a list of 10 DIY-related blogs. Thanks for the honor.

So, if you’re feeling disorganized, go check out the list. You might find something to help. I know I’ve found some good sites already.

Tuesday ToolTalk: EasyCanvasPrints.com

Technically, a canvas print isn’t a tool. It is, however, a great way to turn one of your original photos into a piece of art. (Never let it be said that at This D*mn House, we don’t talk about a multitude of ways to decorate your walls.)

I love photos. I love art work. I love Ozzie. So being asked try a free canvas print for a chance to combine all of these loves in a single product was a classic “Godfather” offer – one I couldn’t refuse. Thanks to Brendan at EasyCanvasPrints.com for extending this offer. (You can go to the website OR click on the image icon in the right-hand margin.)

This easy, five-step process moves quickly and offers coaching from beginning to end. The only thing they don’t help you with – and what ended up being the most difficult step for me – was choosing the photo to use. Otherwise, I was done within minutes.

I think it is fabulous – and a wonderful way to immortalize a happy and healthy Ozzie! (This is an 8x10; eerily, it's not that much smaller than real life. The fancy hanging hook is not included, though the print came with a picture hanger mounted to the back.)

The mother was thrilled, too, and is mulling photo options to have one done of Toby eventually.In a nutshell, here’s the process:
Pick your size. (There's a great variety, starting at 8x8, and including 8x10, 11x14 and additional standard and custom sizes.) Then,

• Load your photo.



• Make sure all of the image you want to capture fits into the designated box.



• Choose a border – or not.



• Put in your payment/shipping info.

Done. Just like that, you’ve created a masterpiece! What a wonderful, personalized piece of art for your home or to use as a gift. (The holidays are coming.)

Here are a few things to consider and/or do before you go to place your order.

• Think about how you want to display the finished product. Let that location guide your size choice.



• Easy Canvas Prints accepts PNG, JPG, EPS, BMP and TIF files up to 20MB. Choose the highest resolution version of your image possible. (During the process, the system will analyze your uploaded photo and will let you know whether its quality is good enough to replicate.)



• If you don’t have an image of your own but could use something new for your walls, they have a gallery of images that you can pick from, too.

So, visit EasyCanvasprints.com. And while you're there, sign up to get great offers by email.

(Full Disclosure: Earlier this year, I accepted an offer from EasyCanvasPrints.com to try a free 8x10 or smaller canvas print or deduct the equivalent value from a larger size. As a result, I received the product described above for evaluation for free. I did not receive any additional compensation for participating in this program.)

Awaking from the Silence

Hi. Remember me?

Just because the blog's been quiet, doesn't mean that things have been quiet at This D*mn House at all. In fact, that's the largest hunk of the reason why the blog has gone so dark lately. I've been trying to eke out every second of the good weather we've been having because I know it's destined to end all too soon. Today, in fact. *sigh*

That said, I'll be back this week with lots of news, photos and PRODUCT REVIEWS.

Hope you'll stay tuned.

Homeless in St. Louis

I frequently write about the beauty of downtown, the skyscrapers lined with incredible architectural features. Unfortunately, at ground level, some of the sights are not so exhilirating.

The pre-dawn hours in downtown St. Louis are when you are most likely to smell them. The odor of urine permeates the air outside the parking garages where many go to relieve themselves. Occasionally, this odor is masked by bleach that some poor worker was tasked with applying.

In the pre-dawn hours, you are most likely to see them -- in their entirety. They are sprawled on street corners, laying beneath overhangs, tucked into doorways, lining several feet of sidewalk. They are the homeless. They are innumerable.

Most of them have luggage now, not something I remember seeing in my youth. I frequently see them as they pack up for the day, stuffing blankets or sleeping bags into plastic bags, lashing the contents to a rolling suitcase or duffel. For the early commuters like me, this is regular morning sight.

But, every once in a while, something takes me aback. That happened this morning, when, from across the street, I spied this scene.


I couldn't help myself; I pulled out the camera. It had to be captured and I had to share it.

Of course, not 50 yards away from this scene, people were in a queue to buy $5 coffees. As I snapped a few photos, I watched a handful of people walk by without really taking in this scene. To me, it's a sad commentary on what this country has become ... and what it will continue to devolve to if we allow it.

If more people took the "There but for the grace of God" approach to the economy, I can't help but think how much greater a place we'd all call home. I've been feeling a little sorry for myself this week.

Now, I'm just ashamed.

A Day Away

I know I've been away a lot longer than a day ... but yesterday was my "escape it all" afternoon.

I should have been at home, plugging away at a freelance project I'm wrapping up and at my other part-time job I managed to secure last month. But I wasn't. The mother and I went to exercise a little retail therapy.

Instead, we spent a few hours away from windows, caulk, paint and bricks and online employment, and mostly ... the inevitability of death. (Which, BTW, THANK YOU to everyone for the kind words and prayers and thoughts. They really do mean a lot.)

I did buy a few things. Nothing out of line. (It was a celebration of sorts, having collected my first significant money as a freelancer. An almost as big payment should be coming soon, too!)

But just browsing the aisles of a scrapbooking store (making mental notes of things to check online for that I'm sure I could score a few bucks cheaper) felt fabulous. And using coupons to get dollars off and finding a few "clearance" items on the shelves was great, too. And splurging a couple of dollars on things I didn't expect to find (single sheets of Graphic 45 vintage papers) was like slugging down a Margarita.

So, I got my break. Now, it's back into the mix of everything with both feet! I have all kinds of house things to write about. (That will have to wait until the freelance project is done.)

Thanks for hangin' with me as my world continues on in this weird loop-de-loop pattern ...

Ends … and Beginnings

I haven’t written in a while. Suffice it to say that I’ve had a lot on my mind and that I’ve got even more on my plate.

Things continue to deteriorate with Ozzie. He is in remarkably good shape considering that each and every day brings the discovery of a new tumor or of a new gland that has swelled. He continues to eat like a dog three times his size (and would eat more if we’d give it to him, but I’m afraid overloading his system would negate the ground that he has, so far at least, managed to hang onto.

So, watching that part of life has been incredibly hard. And I’ve had plenty of time to prepare myself for the idea that it is only going to get a lot harder.

Summer has had its unofficial end (Labor Day) and the official one is just around the corner. Mother Nature has reminded us of this by plunging us into the 40s. Brrrrrrr…

Today also brings a new end for me. One that I am much less prepared for, but making it work just the same. Today is the last day, for now at least, that I have a full-time job. I go part-time starting tomorrow. I’m not happy about it, but have made my peace with it. Let’s just leave it at that.

I’ve explored a variety of interim options, none of them ideal, but at least they’re options, right?

It’s been a humbling, and at times demeaning, experience to see just what some people are willing to offer for work – and what some are willing to accept. Writers really are a dime a dozen anymore. In fact, that may be overstating the price considering that one “offer” paid $1.50 for a 500-word article. If you calculate the time to do the research, to write, to edit for the “perfect grammar” this offer demanded, I made a lot more money as a 15-year-old earning 1980s-era minimum wage. I politely declined.

But, in some respects, I’ve been very lucky and snagged a few gigs that aren’t dehumanizing, that are, in fact, reasonable. Rest assured, I’ve welcomed them with both hands. It’s meant going both night and day most of the time but I’ve never been one to shy away from hard work or to ever back down from a worthwhile fight.

While it has been tough to do so (optimism has never been one of my strong suits), I’m keeping the faith that the next new beginning is out there, circling, just waiting to land. And, I’m not sitting at home, waiting for news of its arrival. Oh, no. As soon as it dips beneath the clouds and into my view, I’ll be waiting. With a lasso. Or maybe a ladder.

Or maybe standing on the tarmac, waving it in, ready to climb aboard …

A Hammer, a Ladder and a Coupla Nails

I hadn’t even set my stuff down yet when I heard the mother from the next room: “We need to go help R,” she said. (R is the husband in the couple who live next door. They are a few years older than the mother. R has been battling cancer for quite some time. He’s a shadow of the robust guy he once was and now relies heavily on a cane.

I was almost afraid to ask why, but I needn’t have worried; the mother quickly answered the question without my asking. “The fascia on the front of the house is hanging off and he is having a fit,” she said. “I told him you could probably fix it.”

"I’m not sure why I was the candidate to repair it, but I agreed to change clothes and go look at it.

On Monday night, I’d borrowed an 8-foot stepladder from my neighbor since the mother has such a hard time using my 17-foot multi-extension Werner. Since the borrowed ladder was handy, I carted it over first. Its height was just enough to get me to one corner of the A-frame where one nail was in danger of popping free and where just a few feet above, the aluminum strip had been whipped out of place because the lefthand piece of the peak at the A was hanging free of the house, flapping in the breeze.

The 8-foot ladder would not reach the peak, so I had to fetch the Werner. Freeing the strip so that it could be tucked, then tapped, back into place. Including the time it took to get tools, hardware and to fetch and put away both ladders, the job took about 30 minutes.

It wasn’t tough. My neighbor was grateful. And I was relieved that it was something I actually could fix.