I just spent my evening in the silliest way possible... writing notes to put on the face of a note card. I have decided that I really need to have note cards to write snail mail to my friends. They don't read my blog, I am not that into Facebook, and I get carried away on my emails, so I figured I would order some nice stiff notecards that I could use to write shorter notes. Anastasia (my Wednesday 'helper'... she 'shops' and belongs to CostCo.) got me some more 'forever' stamps also. I'm sticking with the 'purple theme' like my hair... and found one just like my cards, but I may use the one with the girl reclining on a purple sofa, behind a book. I'm taking them to poetry group to see which they think is best. Oh dear, I suppose I should write a poem.
Anastasia also brought me some dark chocolate Bliss, which Ms. Katt cannot have as it is bad for kitties, so I had to search for some 'Kitty Gourmet' which is what we call anything in the way of cat snacks. All I have to do is say 'Kitty Gourmet' and she lights up in anticipation and wolfs down the little morsels. The ones I gave her were very dry, so she want in and had a long drink of water, then came back and grabbed my arm and asked for more, as usual. She's not getting any more, however, so she's gone back to trying to get the insects who bounce against our window because of the light. Sylvia loves to eat flies and any other bugs that manage to get inside. I was surprised that she simply played with the teeny grey mouse that came in through the heater along the wall. She brought it over to show it to me, played with it for a while, then just let it go and the poor little thing raced back to the corner and disappeared into the heating unit. I guess it goes down to the basement. Everyone has been complaining that they have mice. I don't think I will have them ever again.
Christmas seems such a pagan festival to me... after all, that's where it came from. And all the other celebrations are silly, too. All made up, but I suppose the winter has to be broken up somehow. Good old Jack had bought himself some skis and is off skiing like all the LA people I knew... rush off to Tahoe ... Heavenly... somewhere in the mountains and ski down. Not me... you couldn't get me on skis, and I do not ever want to see snow again. My grandchildren are reveling in it at the moment and Mel has put pictures of them on Facebook, playing in the snow, bundled into their snow suits. I wonder if I ever liked snow. I do not remember. I do remember moving from Memphis (where the snow melted as it hit the ground) to St. Paul, where one walked through almost tunnels of snow to get to school, and I had all sorts of problems with the cold and snow and mean kids who teased me about my "Mimphis accent," which no one could understand. The nasty little northern kids poked me and said, "Talk, girl, listen to her talk funny!" and laughed at me. I really despised everyone for the couple of years it took me to learn 'to talk Northern.' It trained me well, though, for I now have a good ear for accents, and take on whatever one I am surrounded by now. When I was in England, I sounded just like them, and particularly when I was in the Netherlands I sounded rather 'posh English' as all of the deBrauws had gone to school in England and most of the time I was simply introduced as "Elsie's husband's cousin from England, Peggy Bentnick, the niece of the Duke of Portland. My 'cousin,' the present Duke of Portland is a very good looking actor and I have been tempted to write to him and tell him about his lost American cousin. Elsie, the oldest of the children in the family I lived with was married to Rolfe, Baron Bentnick van Schoonhaten, a very tall, good-looking man also, with a lovely deep voice who could easily have been an actor, but who worked in the family bank in Arnheim. I adapted so well in Holland that when we were getting together with a group of young people to go to a festival, one of the boys spoke to me in Dutch, and when I said I couldn't understand him, said, "Oh, you're the English cousin then, right?" So that's the part I played, except when Mrs. deBrauw wanted me to tell about my childhood in the South, one of her favorite things. I think she had read "Gone With the Wind."
As usual, this seems themeless and silly. It is... ah, well..... rather like the notecards.
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