Out of Touch

 

It’s been a crazy busy week surrounded by family, and this coming weekend will be more of the “same kind of wonderful” with people still here - in from Indiana and from nearby (actually across the pasture from me), and more family coming in from Virginia. It’s a mini gathering of part of the clan (11 people). The larder is in a constant state of rapid dwindling and refilling, Wranglers have been taken apart like big Lego toys, a supply of kindling and wood laid in for patio fires is being put to good use, and… the party continues – every day, all day. Good food. Excellent company. Doing stuff for good olde Mom (and believe me I do not mind that.)

So - anyway – am taking just a few minutes to tell you what I have been thinking about within all the fun chaos - the energy level so high that it vibrates inside my head and makes it difficult at times to follow everything that is going on at once and or…  to piece together a coherent sentence. The interactions and conversations sometimes blur at bit and being one who never wants to miss anything (FOMO) --– it’s hard to keep up sometimes. It sure is fun trying though.  This whole thing is like turning on a bright light and upping the volume on an otherwise quiet, calm life. That is nice once in a while. Then again, my stomach hurts from laughing.  Oh – I learned how to play a new yard game too – Kubb.  It’s fun to watch! It’s fun to play.

Flash back to the mid-eighties.  Remember Daryl Hall and John Oates?  The song running through my head is “Out of Touch”.  Now with a slight twist of the lyrics which I have always found difficult to decipher, I am concentrating on the part where the singer is feeling out of touch with the world – or --maybe it was a girl. For my purposes here, let’s just pretend it was the world. Perhaps I feel “out of touch” at times because I don’t always follow the conversation. Actually, don’t care that I am unable to do so -- most of the time. And if I do care, I ask and it is patiently explained to me – sometimes with a bit of an eye roll. Duh. Then again maybe it is just because….

To get to the point -- the result of this being “Out of Touch” is the following list of things that I simply cannot understand and, in most cases, don’t even want to understand.

• ·       Cryptocurrency including Bitcoin mining (If you can’t see it, touch it or spend it, or eat it -- what good is it?)

• ·         Fashion trends including the increasing popularity of tattoos (I can’t help it, but “skin art” reminds me of Popeye or calls back to mind scary guys with slicked back hair and leather jackets. Do these trends speak for themselves? Not sure. Perhaps… I am just not sure what they are all saying.)

• ·         Puppy pee pads (Really? The first time I saw one, I thought it was a place to put my wet boots. The hostess quickly corrected me.  I was never invited back.)

• ·         Lastly are Apple Wallet and metal credit cards. (I simply have no comment on this one. I feel a bit unnerved by the whole process. This one, above all, underlines to me how “Out of Touch” I am. Don’t care… 🙄😁)

 So…  there it is.  My thought list of the moment. These are the concerns that popped up in the middle of all the fun chaos. I am sure there will be a few more before this gathering of the clan is over. Hmmm…. 

Anyway -- Feel free to add to the list. Perhaps you share this type of experience? I would love to know what is going on in your head for sure. Always do.

Some things never change.

 

Recently I met several cousins for lunch.  It is always fun to get together with them.  I love them.  We had gotten into the pleasant habit of getting together about once a month, but haven’t been able to do that for at least the past year.  We all know why that is.  Anyway –

Isn’t it lovely to hang out with people who know you?  It’s like that with old friends too – not just family, but family/friends are the best. You have shared a lifetime or important parts of one. It is just plain wonderful to be with people who get you and who can take whatever you say without a whole lot of judgement – even if they don’t agree with you. It’s important, too, that such acceptance works both ways – i.e. - even if you don’t agree with them. But – there is also something else that is wonderful about such get-togethers….

People of a like age understand each other on a unique level.  I mean – we have Dick Tracy, Captain Kangaroo, and I Love Lucy in common. We share blips of the past and can make jokes and references that everyone at the table understands. We know how to read maps.  Not only that – we can laugh together about the whole “getting older” thing.  One cousin mentioned that he had reached the age where staff in a doctor’s office call him “Honey”.  Okay – you can find that humorous or not, but I think it is hysterical… not that young whipper snappers call him Honey, but that he sees the humor in this.  Yep – we have become and are the older generation.  It is sometimes a painful process. It isn’t, for example, always fun to realize that people are not taking you as seriously as they did at one time.

Recently I was reading comments in a chat room somewhere (not sure why) and some annoyingly energetic young thing mentioned with great hilarity and a flurry of smiley emojis that she was out-paced in the swimming pool by a senior citizen.  Wish it had been me. 

I must also admit, and I mentioned this at the cousin gathering, that sometimes I am not amused by people speaking to me as if I were hard of hearing. I may be, but it is still a bit insulting for them to assume. Perhaps they may be so inspired by the white hair “thing” or by all the well-earned wrinkles.  I mean – young folk should not make generalizations (neither should the more seasoned).  It is narrow minded of anyone to do this. I don’t assume that they are all incompetent fools – aka nincompoops .... I at least wait for further evidence to see if they are.  Plus -- there are many, many, remarkably competent young people in the world.  I know this. I raised some of them. I have seen them all over the place. I have taught them. I have worked with them. It would behoove those who discount the older generation to acknowledge that there are a lot of competent older people as well. They might also find it wise not to underestimate them.

Making things even more difficult in the generation gap issue is rapid change. Some have a hard time keeping up with these changes.  Some of us don’t want to try.   Ah change….  Case in point -- one of my cousins was telling me just two mornings ago about her two youngest precious grandkids who were playing “Grub Hub” -- one would prepare the food and the other would deliver it.  My Granddaughter and I often pretend that my house is an Airbnb and we do everything from taking reservations to interviewing potential staff.  (She takes on the role of each interviewee and uses different accents and hairdos for each person.  It becomes a laugh fest every time.)  Back to the main subject though….  These games are amazing to me and seriously their invention makes a statement that is representative of how our worlds differ.  What games did we play as children? I know you can remember them. I can’t think of one at the moment that had a name, but… you know what I mean. Just think – we didn’t even have fast food or the concept of an Airbnb when we were growing up. Did we even have them 5 years ago?   We didn’t have a lot of things - four/six/eight+ lane highways or microwaves or air fryers or….  My how the world changes. 🤔😬  Hey – when we were little, we didn’t even have television or A/C in cars let alone in houses. I remember party lines and when direct distance dialing was first introduced on what we now “remember” as land lines.  My -- how I do ramble. I see that often these days, but figure you will understand.

A lot of my reading audience are of the older generation and they are viewing it from all over the world.  I love that. (Last week I had viewers in Lithuania and the week before that the first viewers from Indonesia.) This blog is actually geared toward Boomers (the American older generation) and “older” generation in general – although I do love that many of the younger readers tell me sometimes that I make them laugh. I don’t ask them what it is that they find humorous.  Not sure I want to know. Anyway -- I am a Boomer and proud of it.  I say “Stand tall”. Not everything we do or say makes us worthy of the condescending eye roll.  Right?  I mean, for one thing – who is it who has maintained all the family traditions?

Take heart, Boomers…  – those who find us “trying” or “amusing” will be our age at some point in time – if they are lucky… and then they will know.  My heart goes out to them. It’s a journey. I say – to all generations – cherish your family and friends, laugh with those you love, look forward, and remember your past. All are of value. I would also say, "Be patient".  Remember that the older women who is taking a bit too long for your patience level could be your mom or grandma. Perhaps also keep in mind that “Growing old isn’t for cowards”.  Ralph Waldo Emerson told us that.  Some things never change.

Gatherer of Small Treasures

 

Not unlike those poignant moments in time that I wrote about a couple of weeks ago are the little treasures I have gathered over time. They, too, would not be important to others, but for me – they are meaningful because of the memories they bring back and in doing that, they capture moments in time – bits and pieces.  I know, for a fact, that I am not the only gatherer of treasures in this world. I see them in other’s homes as well. Perhaps they are what make a house a home. Perhaps they are an important part of living.

I can stand in one spot in my kitchen and see many of these cherished valuables – like half of a black walnut shell that looks like a monkey’s face. I figure it brings me good luck.  Don’t know why. Then there is the branch that would make a fine support for a macramé wall hanging (if I ever get to that). More significant are the cracked crock that holds small sticks and twigs collected by my grandson when he was a toddler --  and -- the invaluable rocks on my window sill that were painted painstakingly by my granddaughter when she was 7 or 8. The list goes on and on.

These treasures span generations of family.  Always on display somewhere is the mini totem painted by one of my kids years ago.  The other day I ran across an evening bag that had belonged to my Aunt Doris – back in the day when people carried evening bags.  I think people used to go to fancy gatherings more back then.  I cannot think of one single place that I would need a beaded evening bag these days.  Or maybe it is just that I wouldn’t want to go to them – it could be that.  I am just not a dress-up and wear uncomfortable shoes person. 

One of my most favorite treasures is a small, clear florist’s vase that holds many of the oil painting brushes that my Mom used.  In the bottom of the vase are the tiny tacks she would use when stretching canvas onto a frame.  I love these brushes, etc. Her little tack hammer is my favorite Mom memento. I saw her using that little hammer off and on throughout my entire life.  I miss her. I actually put two of these mini "art" collections together so that my sister could have one too.  She also was a gatherer of treasures. Big Time. I miss her too – every single day. Thinking of her brings to mind a lot of other important treasure pieces -- priceless – like the small bracelet she took off her arm and gave to me one time, a long time ago, when I admired it. I also keep a small note that she wrote to me several years ago on my desk where I can see it every day. It reads "Just because... 😁".

Perhaps the most impressive display for a visitor though is a full printer’s box repurposed to hold a tiny treasure in each little box.  This hangs on one wall in my kitchen and holds everything from hand painted thimbles to old Star Wars figures, a PEZ dispenser or two, and wooden Play Mobile people that I used to dread stepping on. (They are almost as pain inducing as Lego blocks.) Each item brings back memories of my kids’ childhoods or of special moments of some sort. On another wall across the room are some of my Dad’s sleigh bells that I found in his barn. They should not be in the barn gathering bat dust; that’s for sure.

Add a lifetime of photos, letters, school papers, children’s drawings and it is an amazing collection.  I am blessed.  Put everything together, in any order at all, and they tell the stories of my life. I have surrounded myself with amazing treasures.  They may not be as protective as a rabbit’s foot or other type of talisman, but these assorted finds are important each in its own way.  I don’t think I have a favorite, but the envelopes I have of my children’s hair from their first haircuts, each lock carefully wrapped in tissue paper that has yellowed over the years, are serious contenders for sure.

I think such “valuables” are a part of the human condition.  It doesn’t matter where in the world you live, what language you speak or what color skin you have. I like to think that we all are gatherings of the treasures of our lives – just some of the details are different.  I hope so anyway…. Similarities... parallels... both make connections.  Maybe the world needs to keep this bond in mind.  It might help alleviate some of the pressure of these times. Ultimately, we are all in this together. Right?

 

 

Cringe worthy moments indeed...

 

Warning…. I watched news this week…

 

Cringe worthy moments are a part of it all.  Let’s face it – we all have had them.  Some are so bad that they still make you sick to your stomach 45 years later… like the time you realize that you have offended your own wonderful mother and your sweet, kind mother-in-law by naming your two new Boxer puppies after them.  Huge mistake for sure!  I have more of these moments than I like to think about. In fact -- the episode of the naming of the Boxer puppies is autobiographical – as I am sure you guessed.  Oh my … 

The thing is that I am always thankful that my cringe worthy moments have not been caught on camera.  Wouldn’t it be awful to be famous – in the public eye all the time?  I would hate it for sure.  Anyway – when I think of this type of cringe worthy event, I can’t help but think of President Trump dancing to the music at his rallies – by himself.  It is like watching your parents dance for the first time – in public – where your friends can see them.  The thing is –The Donald and I are about the same age. (Well … I am a bit younger…).  He, perhaps, should know better – or maybe I am just a stick in the mud. Actually, in retrospect, The Donald is prone to cringe worthy moments of a variety of sorts… in my humble opinion.  Then again…

I have to tell you though – this bumbling, apologetic manner and the stage whispering that our current president is doing of late is more than just a cringe worthy embarrassment. I find it sort of frightening as well as unsettling and creepy. But there is more.  When he whispers into a microphone and then leans in even further to whisper to someone standing off camera to his right, “Was that Okay?”, well -- it is more than embarrassing or creepy.  It is unnerving. It becomes the ultimate cringe worthy situation. Why are there not more reporters who will focus, if only for one moment, on this type of behavior of the supposed leader of the free world?  Who is this person standing off camera to his right? I think we are entitled to know. It matters. Since when does a President of the United States have to ask permission to do anything – to ask whether it is okay to answer a question of a reporter or if he did okay? Then to add to the concerns – along with the stage whisper -- is his tendency to say that he doesn’t want “his people” to get mad at him. He has repeatedly made reference to what he is supposed to do or say … or even to question what he is about to put his signature on. Wait. What?  Remember him wondering out loud what he was signing while on camera in the Oval Office at the beginning of his Presidency?  Remember that large stack of Executive Orders? You know – the ones that affect all of us?  Who are his “people”? Who put the stack of orders on his desk? (Are they handlers? You know – handler in the sense of a person in charge of or training another…. You find handlers in zoos, for instance.) Cringe worthy for sure.  What is going on here?

Further -- was the current President of the United States joking about using nuclear weapons against his own people? (Why would anyone joke about that?) Are there not at least three dozen members of his own political party who recommended "on the record" that his unlimited powers over the “red button” be limited? As I recall the Speaker of the House was trying to legislate that before he was even in office and she specified more than once on camera that it was to be an after the 2020 election consideration. Currently the President has total power over the use of nuclear weapons.  There is nothing anywhere that says he cannot make this decision totally on his own. Is he alone? Or – once again - who are the people who seem to have a hold over him, the people he looks to for approval or permission? 

An even more unnerving thought -- is this the ultimate case of elder abuse of an enfeebled old man? (Even the word enfeebled is painful.) Is he the victim of some sort of “Pandemic Power Play”? Is an entire nation being subjected to the consequences of such elder abuse? Is our President merely a puppet to further the personal gain of unnamed, unidentified power-hungry elitists? Again -- who is standing off camera to the right? Sometimes an open microphone even catches their voices seemingly herding him to leave the room. Why do we see so little of him? Scary.  “You can bet your (sweet) bippy” that such control seeking people would not be the ones to suffer in the long run.  Oh – this is beyond cringe worthy.  This is beyond wrong.  The thing is – we all get to watch and to wonder. That watching and waiting is, perhaps, the worst of it all. I am sensing that there will be more to come before this presidential term comes to an end. It is all very sad … tragic really when you can stand to even think about it. Cringe worthy moments indeed. They do tend to make you sick to your stomach… and in your heart.

 

This type of ugly is why I go into news blackouts from time to time.  It’s a matter of self-preservation. Then again – there is really no escape. Denial does have an end… in my experience anyway.

Moments in Time ...

 

Once again, I find myself “social distancing” from all the negativity of the so-called “news” programs – all of them. It is like I am caught in a loop. I watch for a while, drive myself nuts, and then pivot away to other things.  I already told you about the black and white movie compulsion.  Well – now I am focusing on brief adventures to moments of the past… sometimes bittersweet really -- poignant in the sense of touching and meaningful with a pinch, maybe, of sadness as they are, after all, moments that cannot be repeated – moments that only exist in memory. They are brief moments in time that pop into my head – unexpected thoughts and glimpses of memories even as far back 60+ years ago. They are not glimpses of milestones or of anything big – they are glimpses of small bits and pieces – moments that others might find to be totally inconsequential.  But … the little things/times are important as well – maybe more than we know. I have no idea why they appear unexpectedly, but it is nice somehow. I am thinking that everyone has these little gifts from time to time.  Hope so.

A few days ago, I was thinking about my Dad, and there it was.  I was about to turn 11.  Our family was in Idaho visiting with one of my Dad’s old Marine Corps buddies and his family, and we were all outside of their cabin in Ketchum – near Sun Valley.  We were walking though a mountainous area and it was hot, hot, hot.  My Dad stopped by a creek, knelt down and filled his cupped hands with cool mountain water and offered it to me to drink.  It was “dad-hands” water and never had water tasted better. It was a “Dad Kindness”.  It is a lovely memory.

Then I was reading a book a few days later about people being frightened on a small airplane and another glimpse appeared.  I was flying from Boston’s Logan Airport into a tiny airport in Vermont near the New Hampshire border. The airport in Vermont had no radar or way to help planes land other than lighted runways. You know – back in the day. (Not sure that was true, but that was a commonly held belief.) I was probably 19 or 20. It was a six-passenger plane – the kind with the propeller on the nose -- and men were holding it down on the tarmac when we boarded - I guess so that it didn’t blow away in the winter storm. I was one of two idiots on the plane + a pilot.  I guess the young man across the aisle could sense my fear as we bumped and dropped our way toward Moose Mountain, near Hanover, NH. Suddenly the young man reached across that aisle and offered his hand.  And so it was –no words, just two total strangers holding hands – thinking that at any moment buffeted and battered by the storm, we were going to plummet into a mountain and come to a fiery end together.  It was a “Stranger Kindness”.  I wish I had asked him his name. I wonder if he ever thinks of that moment.

Photographers are famous for catching these poignant moments. Some of the photographs have become famous -- immortalizing significant moments in history – like the New York Post published photo of the sailor kissing the nurse in Times Square on VJ Day.  But I think all people have these significant moments – probably too many to count – most are not caught on camera. Most are in our minds - not on the front page of newspapers or these days - caught in a short video on someone’s phone.  They are special moments in time throughout one’s life and ...  they come out to play once in a while.  Personally, I think they are wonderful. I hope all people have them and take the time to relish them. I think they are gifts -- sort of a mindfulness of the past.  These days we try so hard to be mindful of the world around us in every moment and of every single thing and every one in it, but the past has its draw as well. I guess what I am wondering is – is this type of flashback more prevalent in Boomers – you know -- age related…? Or – is it that we just have more time to focus on the bits and pieces that really count in a lifetime?

After effects...

 

A question for you. Do we all have concerns that we have placed on a mental shelf… somewhere safe where the concerns sit on the edge of consciousness swinging their feet just waiting to jump back into the light?  I think we do.  We put these concerns there thinking that we will think about them later… and we do… maybe just not when we want to think about them though. They leap down off the shelf at inopportune times.

Second question for you.  Remember when we thought that our parents or “experts” in general had it all figured out – concerns were sorted into their proper places?  We thought all questions had answers, that all problems had solutions.  We thought these older folks and experts for sure knew what they were doing. They had the answers and the solutions. We could count on them. They certainly acted like they knew things.  Well… “Not all the actors are in Hollywood.”  Everyone knows that. Now that we have become the older generation, we know the truth.  Scary, isn’t it?  I call this dilemma the “After Effects of Experience”.  That is kinder somehow than saying that sometimes old(er) people have learned some things along the way. Listen to them – even though they may not have a clue in a particular situation.  Unlike loving parents though, experts should never pretend that they know things that they really have no way of knowing. It’s misleading. Better to be above board and admit the truth.  Everything, in some ways, is an experiment – it is always survival of the fittest – like the plants I put in my garden – like the Science of recent days.

Now that the damncovid appears to be winding down (at least for now) and political upheaval has become a series of hums with just an occasional annoying off-key blat from trombones, maybe it is time to take a few things off that mental shelf. Maybe it is time to examine some of those After Effects of living through a pandemic. With that in mind, here are some After Effect questions I have heard and asked recently:

How long will we continue to hold our breath when someone hugs us?

How long will we avoid cramped spaces?

How long will we mentally look for a disinfectant wipe when someone shakes our hand? (This is what I call the Monk effect.)

How long will we think that maybe we should just stay home?

How long will it be before we learn the truth – the real truth - about this pandemic and… will we know it to be true when we hear it?

It’s funny, but it’s not. And it goes further.  I have talked to more than one person in recent days (several actually) who have decided to willingly agree to be a guinea pig – to receive a shot of one of the experimental drugs not as yet thoroughly tested or approved by the FDA - drugs that are touted as vaccines. It is in the back of their minds – perhaps on one of those shelves - that they are participating in a grand experiment – perhaps out of fear, but definitely with the hope that they are helping to end the spread of a deadly virus. They have willingly made a grand gesture. Yet – in the back of their minds is always the question of another whole kind of After Effect – the as yet to be discovered -- the ominous -- Side Effect(s).  There is an aura of uncertainty surrounding the whole process. For those participating, it’s a done deal – they now just wait to see what happens. The silent concern is the question of what that might be.  Perhaps this is why there is such a pressure to make every one in sight take the same risks. The push is on. It is comfort in numbers. Ohio even offers the incentive of a lottery.  It is fascinating to watch the incentives roll out… pressure upon pressure.

The entire world has shared this pandemic. We have been in this together for sure. No one likes to feel alone.  I understand that. There is, however the danger that this desire for everyone to join the team could evolve into a groupthink situation in which the desire for conformity results in the irrational. It makes me think of the double-masked individual wearing a laminated vaccine card hung around his/her neck or dividing seating areas into vaccinated or nonvaccinated. This “push” has a certain ugliness potential – its own unique After Effect. I just wish that people would not be so in your face about things... so divisive. Then again there always have been and are those among us who just like to yell at others. It makes them feel better. Perhaps the yelling quiets fears. Maybe we should take a closer look at that as well. 

Not everyone shares the same path of trying to journey on and through this pandemic tunnel – or life, for that matter.  Individual choice counts for something as well.  So does the right to make those choices.  Sometimes people have enough of their own After Effects to deal with; they don’t need the added burden of sharing the weight of others’ choices… or of others’ fears. “Covid fearful” is a real thing. It is all around us. It seeps into all the cracks. Here’s hoping that the loss of respect for others is not the ultimate After Effect. Wish I knew at least some of the answers to all these questions.  I don’t. I don’t even pretend that I do. The After Effects live on…. They often make me take a slow deep breath… then exhale even more slowly. A slow deep breath is calming.

It's only fair...

I was looking at some paintings and prints at The Village Friends Thrift Shop recently. They have some very interesting things there – and not just the paintings. The place is full of treasures. I am surprised that I don’t buy something every time I stop in there. I have to keep reminding myself that I already have too much stuff. Sometimes that works. The other thing about going there is that the people there are super nice. I so love nice people. Village Friends, as you may know, is an organization of volunteers who help senior citizens with all kinds of things from changing high up light bulbs and flipping mattresses to providing outings and very cool get-togethers.  It’s a lovely thing. Anyway – to get to the point…. Looking at the artwork there got me to thinking that, quite frankly, I have never been sure how to “appreciate” a painting… how to understand it.  You know – really “get it”.  I feel that way about “arty” photographs as well.  It just seems to come down to an unknown something that “speaks” to me.  I like it or... not so much. 

Portraits are my favorite type of painting.  Eyes, to me, are the key. It’s in eyes from which facial expression takes direction.  I think that is true in real life as well.  (I find blue eyes to be especially fascinating -- maybe because I grew up in a family of really dark brown eyes. When she was sitting across from me one time - a long time ago now, I noticed that looking at my daughter holding her two little kids on her lap was like looking into a small dish of large black olives. Actually that is still true at any gathering of the family. Lots of black olive eyes.) To go further though -- I like to try to figure out what eyes are saying. It’s a bit of a mystery to me…in paintings and in real life too. I saw the Mona Lisa once when it was on tour - never could understand her eyes. Still do not.

I do wish that I could paint (or sing, or both).  No luck with either of those things though.  I can’t dance either.  Took a ballet class one time at The Community Center… was one of two adults in the class. I think the instructor was a bit surprised to see any adults show up. (She was a kind soul.)  I looked on with envy at all the seven- and eight-year-olds leaping about and landing without so much as a sound – let alone a thud.  They were graceful feathers floating easily here and there. They were sprites. I am still amazed all these years later when I think about them. I, on the other hand,  was more of a wet bag landing on unset concrete.  Even so, the class was amazingly fun actually.  The other adult had a wonderful sense of humor. Good thing. 

Again – I wish that I could paint. "A picture is worth a thousand words." Maybe part of the secret is really a mindfulness in the way you look at things – catching all the fine detail.  When I was in college I did a few realistic paintings – one still hangs  -- in my bathroom. (Does that location tell you anything?) It is an enormous painting that looks and feels like a brick wall.  The finishing touch was the window I drew on it with chalk.  I like it even today - so many years later.  To me it speaks on levels and holds a few memories. The other foray into painting was a self-portrait I also painted while in that “suffering artist” phase.  My Mom, who actually was a painter, took one look at my creation, said she hated it and declared it to be awful. She put it in the back of a storage closet. Now for those of you who knew my Mom, you know that such a vehement response was unlike her.  It took me by surprise.  I never painted anything again unless you count interior walls. She actually covered it, a few years later, with acrylic gesso (several layers) and reused the canvas when she painted a still life of flowers in colors that matched my couch. What can I say?  So – I accept that I am not a painter.  It’s okay.  I can do other stuff. I am, for example, a whiz at acrostic  and logic puzzles and am relatively skilled in a variety of crafts – just give me a pattern I like and I am able to knit, crochet, macramé, cross stich, embroider, etc. My lasagna is impressive. Yep… It all counts.  Oh -- my handwriting is relatively easy to read and I am quite good at organizing things.  Now that is a handy talent and one that is easy to understand. Am thinking now -- I still have most of the artwork that my own kids did when they were little. I have an enormous amount of creations by my grandkids as well.  It is organized.

So -- still not a painter, I do try to appreciate “art”.  I have several pieces in my home... everything from wood carved treasures to signed and numbered prints and several of my Mom's paintings. Some of the art - like my hand carved trees -  is just standing around. Some is hung at my eye level so I can really take a close look at it from time to time. Other pieces are actually hung sort of at my knee level.  I hung them low when my local grandkids were little and have come to like them like that over the years.  You can see them when you are sitting down. I have become accustomed to things that way.  I am not moving anything.  Maybe someday I will have other little ones here who also deserve to take a look at art at their eye level. I think it is only fair. Little kids are in a perpetual state of looking up. It must be exhausting.