Garth’s photos…

Garth Findahl at my 80th Birthday celebration

SPANISH BANKS, photo by Garth

Meet Garth, a dear friend. We met years ago at my favourite coffee haunt and have shared many a morning chatting over breakfast and coffee. Garth, and his buddy, Greg often saved my favourite table for me if they arrived ahead of me. They are both warm, friendly and interesting, and I’m blessed to have them in my life. They also give good hugs.

When the pandemic began and the coffee shop closed, Garth regularly mailed me his beautiful photos on note cards with uplifting handwritten notes inside. On the envelopes he’d attach seasonal stickers which made me smile. Receiving each one gave me much pleasure. Interestingly, since Garth doesn’t toot his own horn, I previously had no idea what a talented photographer he was. He’d never mentioned it.

SPRING, photo by Garth

BLAINE HARBOUR, photo by Garth

I’d send little notes back and then look forward to yet another beautiful card from him with a handwritten saying or greeting. These cards helped me through this time more than he will ever know.

When I received the clever image Garth had created to go with his comment on my last post, ‘My old purple jacket…’ I decided to share it with you because it gave me a chuckle and is too funny to keep to myself. I also enjoyed his idea of how the story should end. (See previous post.)

Garth’s terrific vision of the end of the story about my old purple jacket

Here is Garth’s idea for the ending to the story about ‘My old purple jacket…:

“Muriel: The Matriarch of the Overwets ProVolleyball Team…

“If you happen to go to Sunset Beach on a sunny afternoon by the beach volleyball court, you will see a new celebrity. Muriel is ever present to provide support to the Overwets Volleyball Team. Since Muriel has arrived they are winning all their games. They never imagined a vintage jacket could bring such power to their team.”

Thank you Garth!!! Hugs to you when they become legal.

My old purple jacket…

When my kids were little, we had books in which you could choose your own ending. I enjoyed them as much as they did. You, dear reader, now have the opportunity to end the following story however you wish from the options below.

Do I play volleyball???

This IS true: I was walking along, minding my business when a young stranger opened a door for me. Moved by his kindness, I politely thanked him. As he walked along slightly behind me, he asked: ‘Do you play volleyball?’
I use a walker. That was a strange question: ‘I did in high school.’ (True.)

Where did you get your jacket?

‘Where did you get your jacket?’ (What did that have to do with anything?)
’In L.A. in about 1980.’ (True too, yet I’d never given thought to what my jacket said. Never!)

‘Goodness, how old ARE you?’
I answered truthfully, adding: ‘If I’d known how long I’d live, I’d have taken better care of my body while I was young.’
‘That’s interesting, no one ever told me that before. Uh, would you sell me your jacket? I’ll buy it right now.’
‘It’s very old…’
‘I don’t care — I play pro volleyball and will pay you for it.’
All of this is true.

Would you believe? It IS a Volleyball jacket.

NOW YOU END THE STORY:

A wad of bills…

Choice #1: He pulled out a wad of bills. How could I resist? I said yes, accepted his offer and as I removed my purple jacket, told him I was chilly, so I’d better run. Off I ran as fast as my little legs could carry me away, a stack of bills tightly grasped in my fist. I didn’t tell him I’d shortened the sleeves and there was no way he could wear the old jacket being as tall as he was.

We had a chat about volleyball…

Choice #2: ‘It isn’t worth anything,’ I told him. ‘If I had another jacket to wear in this weather, I’d just give it to you. Because of the pandemic, I’m not shopping now so I’d better hold on to it.’
I gave him a phone number, suggested he call me later, and promised I’d surely give it to him.
He was so pleased, he invited me out to lunch right there and then. What did I have to lose. Even if he was a serial killer, what could he do to me in a restaurant on 4th Avenue? What followed was an interesting chat about volleyball over a good meal at Jam’s.

Choice #3: He asked if I’d take off the jacket so he could look at it more closely for a moment. I’m a good kid. I took it off and handed it to him. He ran off with it as fast as his long legs could carry him away. Can you believe??? Drat! Not nice at all! That nasty guy stole my old jacket! HE STOLE IT!!!!!

Well, how would YOU end this story?

Special thank you to my grandson Andrew Mead who took these photos of me in my old purple jacket.

Playing with words…

I’m excited. The windows in my office may be completed Friday and if so, I’ll be able to have things back to normal in this, my favourite room. Meanwhile, I’ll share this old poem about words with you. Enjoy!

Words, words, fabulous words
Bothersome, frolicsome, rollick-some words
Words that cry or soar up and fly
Try to snatch, hard to catch, troublesome words.

Where are you words? Beautiful words
Terrible, treacherous, lecherous word
Deriding and chiding, come out from hiding
Tongue-in-cheek, hide and seek, wretched old words.

These are MY words, plentiful words
Lovable, sayable, playable words
Words full of thunder, words filled with wonder
Tossed about, shouted out, full of clout words!

Kamikaze gnats up my nose…

I wasn’t included

I’m a kindly sort.

There was a top-secret executive meeting at my place and I wasn’t invited. The decision was made to select methods with which to best plague the lady of the house — me. If I’d known about this sadistic plot, I would have/could have purchased whatever deadly weaponry it would have taken to eliminate the deadly enemy right off. (Let it be known, these do exist.) But, I had no idea what was in the air and — I’m a kindly sort.

Naively, I thought I could just live with these bothersome intruders until my balcony was replaced and then move them outdoors where they belong. But they would not have it. They obviously like it here.

If you read my posts, you know I’ve been invaded by an army of gnats. They’ve emerged from the soil in the plants I moved into my dining area while the balcony is being replaced. (I had no idea it would take this long.)

I told you I have an army of gnats.

Angry gnat

Divisions of dive-bomber gnats are now attacking me. Their spies slyly wait until I’m relaxed in front of my computer or TV, and like kamikaze pilots, faster than you can say ‘gnats’, fly up into my nose. In formation, they dive and then fly up — my right nostril. Never the left nostril. Honest! Only the right. And they do this often. Weird, no?

Kamikaze dive-bomber gnat

Another knat

Why this preference? Darned if I know? Do you?

Well, I’m gonna fight back. Next time I’m out, I’m going to the hardware store and get some of that there yellow sticky paper the gnats apparently love and see if I can catch some of their top pilots when they dive-bomb onto what they (may?) think is a landing strip. Then we’ll see WHO means business around here.

And, if that doesn’t work, I’m gonna get my infamous Famiglia after them. Deze guys is real scary.

My infamous Famiglia. Dese guys is real scary…