Treasure Trove

September 30, 2013

Though soggy and chilled, I adore the Seattle area, my old stomping grounds in Port Townsend.  So much work to do and many friends to connect with. I squeal with excitement in organizing plans in between my projects. Getting organized for a Downsizing Sale, pricing, sorting, shuffling book laden boxes around from one spot to another. The sorting and emotional journey does not get easier for the owner of the moldy items in cardboard and plastic bins. Documents, photos, lotion, chatchkeys, records, cassette tapes, collections that do not serve the new décor. Mother and father’s things from when they died and left it behind to regenerate the memories of their past have to be handled and passed along to someone who sees the treasure in the junk.

PNW Notions

September 29, 2013

I arrive, open to presenting myself as I am today versus who I was when I left the PNW (Pacific Northwest) two years ago. I aim to discover who my friends are instead of who they were in October of 2011. I feel different, a bit more squashed than before, like flat Paula who made a tour to Minnesota via Canada to Brasil that created an entire new branch to my life and experiences. Many ask me about my experiences and I project the memory like a scene played over and over again on the big screen. I can emulate my sensation of being isolated and vulnerable, alone and more sensitive to the people around me.

Grand times in Port Townsend, driving past familiar places, the buffalo en route, coffee shops, new fire station, restaurant haunts that have gone by the wayside and new territory to explore.

Wine, squash soup, Elevated ice cream and fabulous conversation with old and new friends over wine and healthy juiced vegetable concoction. Late night interrupted by an alarm jingling until my friend reminds me it must be my phone. Finally drift off only to be awakened by a client calling for an appointment upon my return to the Twin Cities. She is calling early their time, an ungodly hour on the West Coast. Remind me to silence my ringer for tomorrow morning.  

Rain (Wo)man

September 29, 2013

Ravaging my favorite thrift stores. Found a fleece Navajo blanket and lime green dish for the cat, fuzzy socks for my chilly feet, a substitute for a rain slick, since the faux suede coat was the cutest thing in the $1.49 per pound bin. NO luck on finding a pair of slippers. It just means I have to scavenge Fancy Feathers when I get to Port Townsend this week. Darn.

The air is heavy with moisture and everything feels wet, even my jewelry is damp. I failed to bring rain gear but everyone has a special closet for that. It is big enough to lie down in and doubles as a guest room. A night light shines 24 hours a day, a plate of cookies and glass of milk sit next to the door on a bench to comfort you as you peruse the available galoshes, slickers, elastic waistband pants, brimmed hats with a chin band, lined jackets and such. There are 100 words for raincoat in the state of Washington.

Tales of Grimm

July 16, 2013

She could have been Gretel in the Grimm’s Fairy Tales. Blond braids pulled back to reveal her diamond-shaped face, sweet pink lips, staggering blue eyes and demure demeanor to boot. Until Michael called her over and requested she be an observer during my physical therapy, claiming she was interested in becoming a PT herself, introducing her as Maggie, Peggy, Beth, anything but believable Gretel, she had loitering in the corner. She is from Madison so we had a lot to talk about. Actually, when I think about it, she was cunningly keeping me from noticing Hansel who must have been hiding from Grandma.

A round-faced interpreter bobbed and weaved in his starched white shirt and baggy pants. The patient, a man with a colorful patterned scarf around his head had visible difficulty sitting, then rising from the padded benches. I was surprised to note that the PT working with the elder did not bend to assist. Neither did the interpreter, not to mention the son who must have been chauffeuring his ailing father. The boy/man sat, digging for gold in each nostril, not seeming to realize it is not socially acceptable for anyone over the age of four, to pick his nose in the middle of a busy gym. Caused me to ask the physical therapist how many languages he speaks, believing it must be a pre-requisite to working in a growing populous of international patients in the Twin Cities. Just one, he smirked. He never studied another idiom in High School and didn’t take the time in college to pursue languages. Shocking.

I only find out just how well Michael thinks my foot is doing because he has an audience. He assures me we could have another nine sessions, perhaps less, depending upon how well the next month goes. I fail to mention I have been running amok and taking my foot places he could never imagine. I simply keep the secrets safe and smirk like an evil jack-o-lantern. Can’t help myself around Gretel.

Kitimus Krazy

September 28, 2013

Kitimus has no teeth, a lightweight frame and wobbly walk. She is about seventeen years old, no spring kitty! I handle her, giving her a good once-over and trim her nails so they are not snagging on delicate clothes, the furniture and bedding. She is not quite accustomed to being picked up and cuddled but I am forcing myself on her since I miss Grill and Moose. She’ll get used to it. Either that, or so damned relieved when I leave the area. She has an inactive tyroid issue, kidney problems and obviously cannot tolerate solid food, though she does gum it up when we add the kibble to her mush. She survived the flea brigade and is fluffy and white where it is supposed to be white.

Drove the unfamiliar treacherous VW van in the rain to meet clients this morning. Had to toodle down the freeway, sweat it out at the lights and down steep hills (you are aware of Seattle’s famous up and down neighborhoods?) creeping along to Kent.  I took my time but got turned around (what a surprise, for those of you who know me well,) and had to ring my friends for assistance. I took yet another wrong turn and showed-up relatively disheveled but calm. My bangs were in an entirely different style by the time I pulled into the joint. At least they recognized me.

Dinner tonight at the local Mexican restaurant with a buddy, champion friend and so much in common it hurts. Tomorrow is a trip on the ferry, one of my all-time favorite things on the planet. I intend to hang out on the deck, wind whipping my ears like a Basset.

PNW or Bust

September 27, 2013

It’s only been six months since I have been on an airplane and I am psyched to join the masses in line, jostling for room in the overhead compartment. Several people had to park their luggage at the back of the plane (along with the survivors) and agree to separate from their stuff. I smiled from 7C, knowing I caught a great seat since I have been at the airport from the beginning of time. My niece flew out at 6 and my flight wasn’t until 7:50 so I had time to have a few cups of Dunn Brothers coffee, eat my bit soggy mozzarella and tomato sandwich while people watching over the top of my thick hardcover thriller  novel. I toss it on the seat next to me after scanning the last page, leaving it for someone to bond with. Am hoping no one takes it as a bomb or anthrax dusted. Hate to think the detectives tracking me down and arresting me at an inopportune moment.

The flight attendants roamed the aisles with some sort of notebook thingee for rent, served me up warm freeze-dried tasting coffee laced with powdered milk and white sugar…shudder. I passed-up the Cheeszits, other snacks I had never heard of and chatted with my neighbor about her grandkids, politely scoured their photos and murmured my approval. She is planning to convince her daughter to move back to the land of snow and ice from Seattle. Good luck with that, I thought.

Shivered with soaking in the array of people hugging hello at the Baggage Claim door, awaiting my chauffer. He barreled in and hauled my bags into the Chevy. Familiar roads blurred by the window as I talked of my life adventures from the last two years, since my escape from the PNW. It has been raining and under 60 degrees since I landed. Boots, a jacket and gloves found smashed in the corner of the pockets for good luck.

Off to enjoy Greek food, their specialty beverage which resembles turpentine, and visit with family.

Canned Goods

September 26, 2013

Opening someone else’s mail and reading it on their behalf is strange. I leave the investment envelopes intact since the family member in charge can handle that. A survey showed-up from the Home Health Care Agency which consisted of five pages of questions regarding the level of service and my client’s satisfaction.  She seemed a bit irritated by the time we got to question number 24 but we bulldozed thru the rest. I filled-in all of the appropriate ovals and licked the envelope and called it good. She sighed in relief after I told her I slid it in the outgoing mail slot downstairs on my way up from the laundry room.

Folding well-worn mumus, matching skidless socks, shuffling towels and washcloths, hanging house jackets over the rail, hoping they don’t sail over the balcony, seven floors down. I patrol the freezer for exotic meals to throw together for the next few days.  I am certainly not accustomed to fixing dinner from a can, box, carton or the freezer. Kinda like MRE’s or space food.