The Madsen Girls

It was decided, for publicity purposes I imagine, to promote the designer, me.
And to do that some of the gowns I had created were gathered and some of the girls I had created them for too, and a photographic session was set up. And we even made it to the front page of the week-end section of the local newspaper. I used to have a framed version of the page with the photo, but that has disappeared on one of my many moves.
Recently I found this polaroid that was used by the photographer to check light and composition etc.
The Madsen Girls.
And such lovely girls they were, nice and talented.
Wonder where they all are now.
Such sweet memories.

Those Blue Eyes

A long time ago, when Chuck and I first started living in Mexico, we went shopping for paint with our dear Mexican friend Carlitos.
In the paint store we all noticed this little old lady moving back and forth, surrounded by the usual crowd of grand daughters and assorted kids.
The little old lady finally got the courage to approach Carlitos, who was obviously Mexican, and said to him
please make them look at me. I have never seen such blue eyes before in my life.
This was mostly due to Chuck, who did indeed have the bluest, most sparkling of eyes.
I remember the shock of seeing them on stage the first time, like blue beacons.
So we looked at her and smiled, and she went away happy.
And to the last minute, at the hospital, with his brother James on one side of the bed and his sister-in-law Kathy on the other and me at the end, he still had those incredible, sparkling blue eyes.
Boy, how I miss those blue eyes.

The Nest.

Well Now, I said to myself.
I am in the garage and I might as well check the oil in the car.
Checking the oil is one of the few things I know how to do. I even know how to add oil and many times I have been in tears, trying to get a recalcitrant cap back on.
So I strode confidently over to the car, pulled the latch and lifted the hood and.......
some animal had made a neat and wonderful nest on top of the air filter.
And decorated with dried leaves of the Heliconias that grow next to the garage.
And another mystery solved. All the torn up tissues inside the car were done so some could be used for lining of the nest.
I felt beastly when I chucked the nest. All that work for naught.
But it is still my car and my kind feelings for animals go only so far.
So maybe I should use the car little more.

When first in New York, I worked at night as a dresser for NYCB and got my introduction to ballet that way.
I found this sketch in an old book of mine. I remember doing it of one of the corps girls waiting for her entrance in Nutcracker.
Over the years my love for ballet that I got in those days may have diminished a little, but it will never go away.
I look at the sketch and I can still recall the thrill of standing, when I had a chance, in the wings and see some wonderful dance.

The Saga of No Sound

Is my face red.
When Friday night I discovered that my TV had no sound, and determined it was no fault of my equipment I mailed a note to my contact in Canada for matters regarding the satellite service. And heard nothing.
Thankfully Flemming and Alexis had lent me scads and scads of DVDs, so I had plenty to entertain me these rainy nights.
Monday came and still no word from my contact, so I decided to mail directly to the provider using the customer space on their web site and, because I am a nice person, I wrote yet another mail to my contact to let him know what I had done.
That somehow got a response. He claimed not having received the original mail.
Many mails later and lots of back and forth'ing, my contact suggested to unplug the whole megilla because, he said, static can build up in equipment.
I unplugged.
And started again.
And had sound.
And felt utterly foolish, particularly since I had written a not so nice note to the provider practically accusing them of sabotage.
I had to eat crow and mail a note back apologizing for my outburst
but it was a small prize to pay for getting the sound back.
Long live us Luddites.

A Luddite's Lament

I am a Luddite. A functioning Luddite, but a Luddite none the less.
Electronics and mechanics and I have a tenuous relationship.
I almost cried when the woman at Telmex handed me a cardboard box with the equipment to set up my new internet service.
Me.
By myself.
And I thought I was smart when I asked, specifically, the girl who was selling me the new cell phone, if the instructions at least were in English. ( They weren't, even if she swore they would be ).
And so I sit here, at this moment with a CD player that has hissy fits like a three year old baby, spitting my CDs out and refusing to play, but only intermittently.
A teevee that has no sound, mostly I suspect, due to some idiotic notion at the server ( Canadian ).
A new cell phone that kept telling me that the keys were locked and that I had to unlock them. But not how I was to unlock them.
An MP3 player that doesn't have instructions because it is obsolete. ( apparently that happens fast in the world of electronics )
All this to show that, although a Ludddite, I still crave the things in life that seem to be so easy for people so much younger than I to handle and understand.
I spend a lot of time fretting and reading instructions written by computerized translators into barely recognizable English, and at times I make things work.
And the joy when that happens.
Well worth the agony.
Now about typing....

Who Cares !

Great Galloping, Gaseous Godzilla, I thought.
Look at me.
My shorts are made from the leftovers of three different plaid seersucker slacks I had made into shorts for Sally.
My wife beater t-shirt has developed holes and runs and
my shirt is a gauzy flower print shirt Erik had left behind because, he claimed, it had mysteriously shrunk.
It isn't that my stuff is second hand that is bothersome . I like second hand clothes; they have a different feel of having been used and loved. No, what bothers me is the haphazard way I had put it all together.
When did that happen ?
When did I stop thinking about what might go with some particular shorts or shirt ?
Probably when I stopped going to town all that often, because it obviously hasn't been a problem for me, and the Worthless Ones care only about me as the source of food and biscuits.
Besides, it is claimed that dogs are color blind.
Now should I change the shorts......?
NAH. Who really cares.

Doggie Biscuits

Doggie biscuits are hard to find here in PV.
Sure you can find the "designer " versions at the vets, but I am talking about the everyday, supermarket variety, the kind you buy when you shop for groceries.
My supermarket has one kind, and I have learned to stock up when they are available, which is all too infrequent.
Yesterday as i was shopping for food, I checked the aisle for biscuits and there were ( again ) none.
Never mind, thought I. I have an unopened bag at home.
And so when I got home I went to transfer the biscuits from the bag to the container I keep for easy access and.....the bag was almost empty.
The resident rodent had stealthily eaten a hole in the bag and one by one, emptied the bag of biscuits.
There were five left.
Little buggers.
The biscuits are so hard to come by that I don't feel charitable enough to feed them to the rodent population; they can eat crumbs and what-nots but leave the biscuits alone.

Beautiful, Brave and Blue

They are jays, the blue birds that make the woods around me their home.
And they are smart and brave.
Twice I have seen them drive an unwanted visitor from what they obviously think of as their territory.
Yesterday was the second time I was aware of a ruckus, a fluttering of many, many wings and a loud and persistent cackle,all around my mango tree.
And I saw the cause.
A snake was resting on a branch.
But the jays did not give up, and community effort and constant badgering made the misguided serpent slide down the tree and go away.
Then, and only then, did the jays relax and stop the chattering.
I feel a lot better with this warning signal.
My brave and beautiful blue jays.

Plain Speech

Many times I am stopped from doing things on the computer because I do not speak computerese, so I get flustered and confused.
But I decided to take a chance and try to install the new version of Firefox.
And after the obligatory many " click here" and " next " I suddenly saw a a little window with this message :
A moment
a little housekeeping.
And I thought
YES
Any program that refers to cleaning out files as housekeeping gets my vote and my business.
Now about typing........