rambling rosemarie

It is starting to be one of those days. I decided I wanted some mango with breakfast. All four of the mangoes I purchased were beautiful on the outside and brown on the inside. Next I thought a mushroom and spinach omelet would be nice and it probably would be if I had remembered to purchase mushrooms or spinach. They were on the list that I left on the island in my kitchen when I went to the store.  I never used to need lists so it's no wonder I forgot it. I am having to teach myself to write them. We'll work on taking them with me next.  I do have an app for that and it works great if I remember to use it. Maybe I just need a good cup of coffee? I have a K-cup holder next to my Kreurig, it's pretty handy when you remember to fill it. I went to the pantry,  opened a new box of K-cups and promptly returned it to the cupboard only I'd really opened the fridge and stood there for a moment thinking, "What's wrong with this picture?" I did a fairly good job ...

I haven't written in quite some time and I have missed it. Writing is therapeutic for me. It's a chance to give voice to the random inner monologue that swirls around in my head. Writing is safe. Safer than sitting down with a live body and having a chat at any rate. There's generally instant feedback and vulnerability when in person communication occurs. Yuck.  I have anxiety at the very thought. Relationships that matter scare me silly.  I can hold my own in conversation but to actually share the oddities that make me the woman that I am seems far too risky. If you really knew what craziness resides in me, you'd run for the hills. Well, maybe not run but you'd likely wonder if I had a few kinks in my slinky. I am good-natured about some of my quirks, even though they have been exploited by friends and family as a source of amusement.  Take my inability to drink the entire contents of a glass.  I used to drive my mother crazy because I would have an inch of milk ...

I sat in front of my television horror struck by what I was seeing and hearing; someone had gone to a rural elementary school in Newtown, Connecticut and opened fire on children and staff. My heart sank. A total of 17 years in public safety and it's hard to imagine things I haven't seen or heard about.  I used to be pretty stoic when reports like this came in, but I am not anymore. Watching this  one play out left me feeling like I had been struck by lightning and then tossed into a black hole. My thoughts reeled.  I began to consider the correlation between how far our culture has tried to remove itself from God and how many of these unthinkable incidents occur. It seems they are on the increase.   Coincidence? I think not.  A reporter was interviewing a father who had received a reverse 911 call and had responded as directed in the text message he received. As much as we'd all like to avoid having to call 911, no one wants to receive a reve...

There is something that is completely satisfying for me to be in my home on a gray day with the rain coming down. I like the ebb and flow of the sounds; the rise and fall of rhythms syncopated by God. I like watching the rivulets of water flowing from the downspouts and dispersing on the lawn and hearing the gurgling noise of air and water working out their gravitational ballet. From my bedroom I can hear the wind occasionally lifting a loose piece of vinyl siding. I kid myself and think that one day I will go out and identify the offending piece and have it properly secured.  Truth is, I like it.  I had my landscaper trim the crepe myrtle bush outside my office because it was scraping against the window and threatening to lift the gutters off the west side of house with its unruly branches. I miss their song. It's like I removed the string section of the orchestra during the sonata or the sopranos from the cantata. I actually enjoy cleaning my house during a good rain. ...

I come to blog and the nice folks at Blogger have changed the look of everything. Don't they know I am getting older and don't cope with changes as well as I used to?  What's up with that? I will return to blogging, Lord willing, not that anyone is missing me. I miss having a chance to process things while writing. I think with my fingertips fumbling on a keyboard.  Speaking of thinking, I am thinking of changing things here.  Instead of a random ramblings I am thinking of a more focused blog, mostly because I have some specific things I need to work through.   Until then.....

I've spent a good deal of my life thinking that morning people were just a little daft. Why would anyone enjoy getting up early? Certainly sleep was more desirable than any sunrise or quiet moment in a still home. Now I would have to concede that with a little maturity and gray hair comes a different perspective. Mornings are where it all happens. We've had some unusual autumn-like weather here in the Blue Grass and I have thoroughly enjoyed it. Autumn is my favorite season for many reasons. One prominent enjoyment; cool, crisp air. Fall is when I open every door and window, even if doing so invites gale force winds to blow through my home. My dog hides under her sheepskin and the cat anchors herself inside the carpeted tunnel of her cat condo while I walk around barefoot and clothed for the beach. Last night temperatures dropped into the 50s. Ahh, bliss! I woke to the sound of baby birds singing and cool tranquility to greet me. It makes me happy. Instead of stumbling o...

This morning I learned that Scott McKenzie died. I had no idea who Scott McKenzie was until the news played a sound bite from the song, "San Francisco." Suddenly I was in mourning for someone I cared so little about I never knew his name but I knew the song. That song was the anthem of my childhood. I grew up listening to it. I grew up believing that being a part of the "Generation of Love" meant I could change the world. San Francisco was that time period's Mecca for all things weird. Every self-gratifying desire was pronounced good. Self-restraint and conventional morals were an "Establishment idea to keep you down, man." I longed for the freedom they promised but I was too young to run away and join them. I had brief moments of freedom in San Francisco. I remember being on a field trip in Golden Gate park and a group of us making a chain of flowers out of the chamomile growing there. We placed it around the neck of a horse being ridden by a off...