WORLD SHARING – IT’S A BIG WEEK HERE AT KACHINGEROSA! – Marilyn Armstrong

After a lifetime of being hard of hearing, then much more hard of hearing and eventually, downright deaf, Garry goes into the hospital this coming Friday for cochlear implant surgery. It is supposed to be a “day surgery.” The actual operation, including preparation and setting up anesthesia and whatever tests they might run means it will most likely take around three hours.

About an hour after waking from sleep, Garry should be ready to come home.

Not surprisingly, he’s anxious about the surgery and worried about the changes he will need to make. We will both be making a lot of changes. All of this isn’t going to happen all at once.

There will be a month just waiting for the bandages to come off and another two weeks before the new “equipment” is installed. Then, over a period of months, as Garry should regain real hearing for the first time in his life.

Life will, I fondly believe, get better. But it’s also going to take some getting used to!


Share Our World

Since we are approaching the hottest part of our summer in the northern hemisphere, what’s your favorite ice-cream, frozen yogurt or sorbet flavor?  (Those of you who live down under I’m sure you remember what it is like in the hot summer months).

Definitely yogurt. And our personal favorite is black raspberry swirl!

How often do you people watch?

Here in Uxbridge, hardly at all. There aren’t a lot of people around to watch, especially not in this part of the neighborhood. But when we are in a mall or the grocery store — someplace where you can see people — then we watch.

When we are taking pictures, Garry is the one who usually shoots people. I think it’s a remnant of television shooting.

If you had a choice which would be your preference saltwater beaches, freshwater lakes, ocean cruise, hot tub, ski resort or desert?

I love saltwater for swimming. It’s “bouncier” than fresh water. But I don’t like having to get the salt out of every tiny part of me. So I guess you can say I like both, for different reasons.

Swimming on a cruise ship gives you saltwater to swim in without the sand. I guess I should pick that. Except we are nowhere near going cruising.

What did you appreciate or what made you smile this past week? 

I found my inability to know what day of the week it was hilarious. I’ve also been enjoying our very retro retreat into favorite old Westerns. The news has been so appalling and it seems to get worse each day. We need to get our heads back on straight and remember other days and other times.

It’s not easy to do this time around. We have to work at it. So it has become a daring combination of as much baseball as we can push into one day, followed by at least one good western. Now that we’ve signed up with “FilmStruck,” Garry has easy access to all those old movies he loves. Mind you, we already OWN half of them.

Maybe more than half. More like 75%. But he really likes not having to fiddle with the DVD. Having all these movies “on call” is an improvement. Also, many of them have been very nicely cleaned up for both sound and picture.

HAPPY NATIONAL ASSHOLE AWARENESS DAY!

There has never been a dearth of assholes in our world, but I think recent years has raised them to a level of importance they never previously enjoyed.

The assholes are everywhere! Obviously, we know who the biggest asshole of them all is, but please don’t forget the rest of the crowd.


No need to name America’s biggest asshole. We all know him.

I have to thank my husband and his friends for bringing this important holiday to my attention. I had long felt that the morons, jerks, and assholes in our lives were not getting the recognition they deserve.

Often ignored and disrespected, this is a special day, dedicated to them all. The assholes we love, the ones we meet on the street. The ones we worked with and for. And most especially, for those we elected to run the nations of our world. If you voted for the asshole, please feel free to add yourself to the list.


To all assholes everywhere, this is for you.

Obviously, we have one overwhelming asshole, but he has gotten more than enough recognition. I think we should try to remember our local and less-international assholes. Not world leaders, yet somehow, they manage to get under your skin. They are the people you really don’t want to invite to your next party, but sometimes, you just don’t have a choice.

We worked for them and with them. We’ve lived with them. We are related to them.

This is your day, assholes. Enjoy!

CURSORY WITH CARTOON – Marilyn Armstrong

#FOWC – A cursory world

Rumors to the contrary notwithstanding, cursory isn’t a short curse that nails the bastard to the wall. Nor is it writing in cursive, albeit briefly.

Have a good weekend!

It’s a short summary or pithy commentary. Too short to give details, but long enough for you to put it in a meme on Facebook.

Cursory. News and information for the ADD crowd.

RDP #43: SUPERSTITION? TIME FOR BASEBALL! – Marilyn Armstrong

RDP #43: SUPERSTITION

I have never been superstitious. No worries about broken mirrors or walking under ladders. No throwing the salt. None of that. I like black cats — and for that matter, black dogs and brown people.

The Superstition Mountains

Except since I got involved in baseball, I have gotten wrapped in Garry’s personal superstitions.

The Red Sox special 2018 Aloha shirt by Reyn-Spooner.

It turns out that people who are “into” sports are very superstitious about them. If they are on a winning streak, they won’t change to different shoes until the streak runs out. Or they will only be called by a particular nick-name during a drought versus during a streak.

Garry and Harvey Leonard, famed meteorologist sharing old Dodger baseball memories

For Garry, the fear is that when the Red Sox are doing well, if you talk about it, it will end. I grant you that this superstition grows out of the Red Sox 87 years without a World Series win, but still. We are doing well this year, but we can’t talk about it. When the announcers start to talk about it on television, Garry changes the channel.

It’s part of a long tradition which goes with the most dangerous line in our language: “What could possibly go wrong?”

It really is the most dangerous line in the English language. Something can always go wrong. No matter how well you’ve planned it, scanned it, laid it out in columns. Backed it up with a dozen alternate plans, if you say those words, something bad will happen. Always.

Especially in baseball.

RDP #41 – VINTAGE STUFF – Marilyn Armstrong

RDP #41 – VINTAGE

Each time I get one of these “Vintage” things, I think I should post pictures of Garry and I. We are definitely vintage, though today has been a yeoman’s effort at house cleaning — or at least cleaning the kitchen, living room, stairs, and foyer.

Photo: Garry Armstrong – circa 1928

It would have been less strenuous if Gibbs has not thought this was a great time to go swimming in the water bowl. Each time I cleaned up the gallon or two of water all over the floor, I’d turn around and there was another gallon there. And of course, the water bowl was all full of mud and the VERY clean kitchen floor had his muddy footprints on them. So you could say we have a thrice cleaned kitchen and hallway floor.

Qing dynasty rice bowl, typically used by field workers. The blue chicken is a cultural thing. The bowl is almost 200 years old — and it isn’t even close to my oldest piece of pottery.

This was the day I moved cabinets to get behind them (ew!) and under the feet (double ew!). Next time I have the courage of my convictions, I’ll move the piece in the middle where I store the pots and pans, as well as the dog, treats et al. It doesn’t get moved because it’s heavy. There’s a lot unloading of other things before we even think about moving it. Not an easy job for a couple younger than we and a huge job for us.

Ana McGuffey – 1946 – Mme. Alexander – Doll’s faces are intended to embody the “adorable” factor of real toddlers.

There are an awful lot of vintage things around this place, even discounting Garry and me as the primary vintage couple.

See the pictures for other vintage items and wave to us as the vintage couple who seem to collect stuff even older than we are. Old, older oldest?

THE BELLS, BELLS, BELLS, BELLS, BELLS by Edgar Allen Poe – Marilyn Armstrong

THE TINTINNABULATION OF THE BELLS … Edgar Allen Poe

When I first saw this poem, it was in a book of parody in the section marked “self-parody.” Where a poet or writer went so far over the top, that the writing was a literal parody of his own typical writing.

And thus I present to you Edgar Allen Poe’s “Bells.

The Bells, Edgar Allan Poe1809 – 1849

I.

        Hear the sledges with the bells—
                 Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
        How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
           In the icy air of night!
        While the stars that oversprinkle
        All the heavens, seem to twinkle
           With a crystalline delight;
         Keeping time, time, time,
         In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinabulation that so musically wells
       From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
               Bells, bells, bells—
  From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

II.

        Hear the mellow wedding bells,
                 Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
        Through the balmy air of night
        How they ring out their delight!
           From the molten-golden notes,
               And all in tune,
           What a liquid ditty floats
    To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
               On the moon!
         Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
               How it swells!
               How it dwells
           On the Future! how it tells
           Of the rapture that impels
         To the swinging and the ringing
           Of the bells, bells, bells,
         Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
               Bells, bells, bells—
  To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!

III.

         Hear the loud alarum bells—
                 Brazen bells!
What tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
       In the startled ear of night
       How they scream out their affright!
         Too much horrified to speak,
         They can only shriek, shriek,
                  Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
            Leaping higher, higher, higher,
            With a desperate desire,
         And a resolute endeavor
         Now—now to sit or never,
       By the side of the pale-faced moon.
            Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
            What a tale their terror tells
                  Of Despair!
       How they clang, and clash, and roar!
       What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
       Yet the ear it fully knows,
            By the twanging,
            And the clanging,
         How the danger ebbs and flows;
       Yet the ear distinctly tells,
            In the jangling,
            And the wrangling.
       How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells—
             Of the bells—
     Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
            Bells, bells, bells—
 In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!

IV.

          Hear the tolling of the bells—
                 Iron bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
        In the silence of the night,
        How we shiver with affright
  At the melancholy menace of their tone!
        For every sound that floats
        From the rust within their throats
                 Is a groan.
        And the people—ah, the people—
        They that dwell up in the steeple,
                 All alone,
        And who tolling, tolling, tolling,
          In that muffled monotone,
         Feel a glory in so rolling
          On the human heart a stone—
     They are neither man nor woman—
     They are neither brute nor human—
              They are Ghouls:
        And their king it is who tolls;
        And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
                    Rolls
             A pæan from the bells!
          And his merry bosom swells
             With the pæan of the bells!
          And he dances, and he yells;
          Keeping time, time, time,
          In a sort of Runic rhyme,
             To the pæan of the bells—
               Of the bells:
          Keeping time, time, time,
          In a sort of Runic rhyme,
            To the throbbing of the bells—
          Of the bells, bells, bells—
            To the sobbing of the bells;
          Keeping time, time, time,
            As he knells, knells, knells,
          In a happy Runic rhyme,
            To the rolling of the bells—
          Of the bells, bells, bells—
            To the tolling of the bells,
      Of the bells, bells, bells, bells—
              Bells, bells, bells—
  To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.

MY EARLIEST HOURS FOR HOSPITALITY BEGIN AT 11:30 AM – Marilyn Armstrong

RDP #36: HOSPITABLE TOO EARLY – LATER IS BETTER 

It was 11 in the morning when my granddaughter, daughter in law, and this month’s boyfriend of granddaughter showed up. I wandered out into the living room in my nightgown and barefoot, stepped in a pool of water by the dog’s dish (they like to paddle — don’t ask) and said “Hi,” while trying to wipe the sleep from my eyes.

Pass the half-and-half.

I wasn’t actually asleep, but I also wasn’t awake. I had been plugging in all the rechargeable devices near my bed. The Kindle. The iPad mini. The Bluetooth speaker. The MacBook Air. I hadn’t arrived at the “getting dressed” part of my morning. I generally don’t get hospitable before I find my underwear and socks.

And coffee. And toast. And jam.

“Oh, I was sure you’d be up,” she said. I wonder what made her think that? I go to bed late and I read even later. And I’m retired. No matter. I am definitely up at this point.

“I was up, I said, trying to find my hospitality where I was sure it belonged. “I was unwinding wires. Trying to figure out where each wire went.”

I am always willing to be hospitable but I have to admit, I feel better about it when I have my socks and underwear on. Meanwhile, thunder was roaring, the dogs were barking, and I seriously needed coffee. Garry was asleep or, if he was smart, he was pretending to be asleep.

Recharging everything!

I cannot be truly hospitable without coffee. And an English muffin. These are the fundamental underpinnings to basic friendly openness. It’s not personal. It’s just caffeine.

Now it is quiet. The pouring rain has backed off. I’ve mopped up the water thrown around by the dogs. I’m dressed in clothing including socks AND underwear. I’ve written two articles and responded to comments and I’m pretty sure I need a nap.

I don’t know if that is hospitable, but a nap sounds good right now. Anyone want to join me? As a note, with all the telephones around? Consider calling on your way over. You know. Give me a brief shining moment to put some clothes on. I could just as easily have been in the shower or on the toilet. Just a thought.