Treasured.

Treasured Times.

 

Goofing around with the telephoto on my little Coolpix.

It's going on eleven years that I've been taking my Mom to Disneyland.  I insisted that she and my Dad get annual passes in 2005( the 50th, otherwise known as the Happiest Homecoming), and I took them several times a year.  It didn't take long to get our routine down.  Leave early, sometimes before dawn.  Get into the Park and then have breakfast at the Carnation Cafe.  Enjoy the Disneyland Band performance (with the Mad Hatter) at the front gate, then...  well, it depended.  Some times we would go across to DCA to ride Soarin' Over California, which we all loved.  We'd be back in the Park in time for the noon Disneyland Band Town Square Concert.  Over to New Orleans Square for the Side Street Strutters (Dad declared tubist John Noreyko the best musician in the park).  After restroom stops, we'd roll Mom over to the Coke Corner and tuck her in for a morning ragtime piano set while Dad and I took in Star Tours.  Next we'd all head to the Golden Horseshoe for a set with Billy Hill and the Hillbillies.  Somewhere in there Mom and I would leave Dad on a bench to people watch (or kid watch, as it were, as he loved little kids) while we checked out the newest Mickey clutter at the Emporium.

By then we'd be hungry and wiped.  Dad was 80 and did all of that on foot.  I was 112 pounds overweight and pushing Mom in her wheelchair (someone reminded me that the workout was with resistance) for up to 6 miles over about six hours.  We'd get lunch and then be tucked in at the Coke Corner by 2:30 pm to spend the afternoon and into the evening listening to a favorite piano player.  Within the year he had retired and was replaced by another favorite piano player.

At Christmas time we would hike back to Small World after dark to see it light up, then go through the ordeal of boarding.  Mom had it rough, but for me it was worth it so that we three could enjoy SW in its Christmas dress.  Dad loved it then, and was especially taken with the clever holiday music arrangement.

Most evenings, though, we just sat together (sometimes with some Candy Palace goodie) at the piano.

The Disneyland Band - at least the one we loved - is gone.  The favorite piano players are gone.  The Side Street Strutters and Billy Hill and the Hillbillies are gone.  

Dad is gone.

But Mom and I still make our way there about once a month, searching to make old memories new again.

And yesterday we hit the jackpot.

A day where nothing went wrong, everything went right.  All.  Day.  Long.

75 mph the whole way and we were there in less than an hour.  Parking place just a short walk to the elevator, where there was nobody waiting.  Had a bit of a wait in the wheelchair line for the tram, but it stopped close to the World of Disney store so I could pick up something I was hoping to buy this trip.  Security went well and there was nobody using the wheelchair entrance for a change.  I had made reservations for 9:40 at the Carnation Cafe - we were over an hour early - but the crowd in the Park was so small that they were able to seat us early.

After breakfast I decided to go check out the new Star Wars Launch Pad.  It's been there for a while, but a crowded Tomorrowland is really hard to maneuver with Mom's wheelchair so I've avoided it on all the trips since it was opened.

Luke's Red V helmet, Star Wars.

WOW!  I fell in love with Star Wars the first year it was released so browsing the displays was like cruising the celebrities on Rodeo Drive for me.

 

I also loved the latest installment, Star Wars - The Force Awakens, especially new heroine, Rey.

I've seen the movies a bizillion times.  I even liked the prequels.  I even liked Jar Jar Binks.

But TFA was the first SW movie where I actually realized that the Millenium Falcon is a character, not just a transport.  She even has her own theme music.  I didn't realize it until she appeared for the first time in this newest movie.

Yeah, I'm a "Han shot first!" girl.

This day took a sharp turn into the running for BEST DISNEYLAND DAY EVER when we stood in a short queue and then turned the corner, through the arch into 

THE MIGHTY CHEWBACCA.

OK, yeah I know.  It's a guy in a fake fur suit.  A very tall guy, but a guy.  In a fake fur suit.

I cried.  Could hardly hold it to watery eyes.  I introduced these movies to my babies, who embraced them as I did.  Miniature Jedi, with PVC pipe light sabers, jumping all over my family room furniture as they acted out the adventure.  All the emotions of those little kids growing up through these movies overwhelmed me.

And then the Walking Carpet did this.

 Mom's not a Star Wars Geek.  I'm pretty sure she's never seen any but the first movie, and that probably only once.  But she clearly felt the magic of the Chewbacca hug.  I got mine, too (great interpretation, by the way, even has the language), then we posed.

I can't even.  I love this picture, and am so grateful to the castmembers who helped us capture this meeting so well.



After our adventure in a galaxy far, far away, we took a quick stop at the Little Green Men Store Command pin shop.  Wonder of wonders!  They had Tomorrowland pins.  FINALLY!  I've trekked out there every trip since the movie opened almost a year ago, and the story is always the same.  "We got some in at the beginning of the week, but they sold out in the first day."  Duh, Disney.  Underestimated that movie a little, didn't you?

After we got back to the Hub we watched the new Disneyland Band (insert derogatory remark here) perform in front of the castle, then made our way to the Coke Corner for something to drink and a bit of a rest.

And found the best surprise of the day!

THIS is Andrew.

Andrew doesn't have a name sign.  Yet.  Yesterday he was subbing for one of our least favorite piano players.  But what a job he did!  He had a sweet touch on the piano and a wonderful musicality.  It has been years since we've sat at the Coke Corner for multiple sets, but we sure did enjoy that first set with Andrew.  So much that after we headed to the Golden Horseshoe for one of the Laughing Stock shows (I miss Sallie Mae), we headed right back to Coke Corner.

Mom said, "I think we may have found a new best friend."

She misses the gone-now-piano player we used to follow here so it was a delightful touch of the old days to sit here for a couple more sets with Andrew.

 

The Dapper Dans showed up for their set, but their sound was malfunctioning so they rolled up their sign and moved on.  Which was fine with us, because we are happier with the piano than the singers.

And then...

...they were there.  Our favorite Mad Hatter with our favorite Alice for MUUUUU-SICAL CHAIRS!

Mom adores this Hatter, and I adore him because of how he treats her.  For all his madness, he is affectionately kind with her.

These castmembers interact with thousands - maybe even millions - of guests every year.  But believe it or not, when you are there often, they come to recognize you and, for the most part, interact with you a little differently.  I don't remember if we had discovered the Disneyland Band set at the gate while Dad was still alive, but I took Mom to that performance for years.  Hatter was always there, organizing the Daddy Dancers (or was it the Daddy Chorus Line?) and the Stroller Drill Team.  And after a while, he had a special greeting for Mom.

"Hello, Old Lady!"

Well, he only called her that once, but she loved it.  As he performed around her he would say things like, "You're in my way!" and make her feel special.

It's been several months since the Park disbanded the Traditional Band (sniff) and there is no gate concert.  We haven't seen Hatter (any Hatter, but we would only miss this one) in all those months.  So yesterday, there we were all tucked in when he showed up for the game.

As he stood on the stage and teased Andrew (who held his own beautifully), Hatter happened to look up and spy my Mom.  It was a wonderful moment and I admit to - again - getting a little teary when he waved vigorously and shouted,

"HELLO, LADY!"

She so loved being remembered.  He went about his business and then, when the game was over, for the first time we got into the photo line.  When we reached the front,  Hatter came forward to meet her halfway, took her hand and said, "It's SO GOOD to see you!  How have you been?"  They had a dear little conversation and when it was time to take our picture, Hatter got low so that they would be closer in the picture.  Look at their hands.
 

After our last trip there, Mom and I talked about our previous visit's experience.  It had been a difficult day. One thing after another had gone wrong, to the point that I could only laugh.  On the way home we talked about this place that had always been so special to us.  It was constantly changing, but always a constant.  But we had lost so much that we had loved in such a short time, that we were beginning to wonder if we would ever actually feel that connection again.

We decided we would just have to find new memories to add to the old.

Very grateful to some very special cast for helping us to make that happen.

Sara

Could she POSSIBLY get any more adorable?


http://v.playbill.com/services/player/bcpid82993908001?bctid=4824122218001&bckey=AQ~~,AAAAEX25ttk~,qVVep19cvaUd_MvoBnuGVanJsQIaFNkH


I don't think so.

Bird.

Turns out Bernie Sanders' bird was a finch.

"When finches come into our awareness it is a sure sign of prosperous and joyous times ahead. Finches are an omen of high energy and bright days on the horizon. Natives held the finch as a symbol of upcoming celebration. Finches are song birds, and their music heralds the bounty of spring. When the finch sings to our awareness it is a beckoning to unleash our own song. If we’ve been concealing our brilliance from the world – the finch is a sign to start making our value more audible and available to others. Its bird meaning deals with sociability too, and if the finch comes into your life it may be a signal to get more involved with social activities."

Even better than the sparrow.



In 2010 I took a writing class with the amazing Jack Grapes.  It was terrifying.  I learned - thankfully  after the experience - that Jack is known as "The Writing Teacher to the Stars."  There were some in the class, but they were nice folk, not intimidating at all.

Until they started to read.  Until EVERYone started to read.

Oh, gawd.  My poor little autistic shysoul almost didn't make it.  But damn, I learned a lot in those weeks.  And made a few special friends who helped me through a rough spot or two.  Or ten.

Anyway, my most popular piece was one I called "Bird Dance."  In it we were supposed to make our story take an unexpected turn.  I'm most proud of it because when I finished reading, there was a long moment of silence before one of the other students said, "I wasn't expecting that at all."  Then Jack exclaimed - rather jubilantly , I thought - that that was how it was supposed to work!  (Oh, and I apologize, Jack.  Too many adverbs).

Anyway, Bernie's little finch reminded me of Bird.  So here is "Bird Dance," a very short story.  (BTW, it really happened).

 

Bird is in the kitchen again.

She's the plainest little brown bird Nature makes with a shrill one-note chirp as birdsong.

I hear her splashing in the birdbath most mornings.  I believe she appreciates my efforts to fill her little day-spa with tiny roses and Labrador violets.

Today, though, she's come for lunch.  She visits the kitchen on those days when I want the outdoors inside with me.  I know her routine.  First on the fence, checking to see if the welcome mat is out.  Then a silent flutter to the top of the freezer.  From there it's just a quick hop to the island to see if anyone left toast crumbs today.

She scored big time when we got Dodger.  I've never had another animal who made such a mess eating.

Bird loves him.

Today she brought someone with her.  Junior makes me laugh out loud.  All big feet and scruffy feathers without an ounce of grace, he is not as adept at perching on the fence as his mother.  She calls from the top of the freezer.  He sasses back, but she's probably getting tired of feeding a kid who's bigger than she is, so she insists he come in.  He lurches into the kitchen in an uncoordinated flurry of disjointed wings that reminds me more of those revolving-wing garden ornaments than bird flight.  He tries to land on the table but can't get his footing, sliding almost into Dodger, who is dancing in excitement, tripping over his own size sixteen Lab feet.

A quick twist and Junior whirls out of harms way to end up plastered to the family room window screen.  It's clear he won't be going anywhere for a while.  I stop laughing and turn to see how Mom's doing.  I swear she's shaking her little birdy head in the same, "I give up" manner used by moms throughout time.

I will grieve for Bird when she doesn't visit anymore.  It can't be much longer;  she must be getting up there in bird years.

It's odd.  I lost my dad to cancer this summer, and a friend to misperception, fear and temper just this week.  Grief feels the same, whatever the cause.  It's a wound to the soul that festers in the gut until it claws its way to lodge in the throat.

I'm grateful to Nature, who sends plain brown birds and their break-dancing adolescents to comfort me.

Happy to say the story didn't end there.

Summer of 2014,  I had another towhee visitor.  It may have been Bird, I suppose, as there is one on record having lived almost thirteen years.  She came into the kitchen, this time picking up some crumbs off the floor, then headed all the way back to the opposite end of the house to check out my newly redecorated studio.

I still get the towhees in the birdbath, and come summer, I'll continue to leave the kitchen door open to the side yard when I'm here.

She - and her family - is welcome here any time.

Symbolism?

Ya think?

Every New Ager in the world has goosebumps.  And happy tears.

The Sparrow has landed.

Single...

...is expensive.

Yeah, I just had my taxes done.

Cripes.  I was expecting them to go up, but not that much.  Totally unprepared, especially since I'd had such a financial mess to clean up last year.

The austerity re-commences.

I know how to do this.  I don't like it, but I know how.  I sure liked being able to drive up the coast or go on a whale watch or pick up craft supplies when I wanted.  Dog food and toilet paper?  No problem.

Now I'm back on the tight budget, at least until that pretty lot in Utah sells.

My pile of rocks in the front.  I'm glad I lifted a bunch into my car last summer.  Looks like I'm not going to make it up there this summer after all.

Fortunately, I have pretty cheap tastes.  Never was into clothes and shoes.  My food budget is minimal since I went back on Weight Watchers.   And I have stacks and stacks of craft supplies.  And lots of weeds to pull.  Books to read.  And I already spend most of my leisure time on facebook and pinterest.  Cheap entertainment.  (I wonder if I have enough change in my Mickey Mouse mug to see the new Jungle Book?  I really do want to see it on a big screen at least once.)

So, I guess that's a plus to being married.  Something I don't ever plan to do again.  Not even for a tax break.  But it's going to take me a while to get on top of this.

I might be visiting here more often.

I'm spoiled.  I have a job.  And assets.

And after I came home and crunched the scary numbers for a while, I walked past the front door and noticed the air was pink.  I grabbed my camera and Dodger and I went out to a breathing pink sunset.

Spoiled.

I will be fine.  It will take me a few months to get on top of this, but I will get there in a few months.

Actually feeling pretty lucky, all in all.

Celebrating.

I was more worried than I would admit, even to myself.

Blue Flow wallpaper by Tactician

 Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi coined the term "flow" to describe the state of being " fully immersed in a feeling of energized focus, full involvement, and enjoyment in the process of the activity."   "In flow, the emotions are positive, energized, and aligned with the task at hand...with a feeling of spontaneous joy, even rapture, while performing a task."   [Wikipedia, which I usually won't reference but this pretty much explains it for me.]

I really only have two pastimes where I consistently experience flow.  Most often I find it in the garden.  I frequently plan to go out for an hour, and end up crawling back into the house dehydrated and inexplicably ravenous only to realize that I've been out there for five hours.   I completely lose track of time.  My favorite thing to do - and my most productive mediation task - is pulling spring grass.  Not the nasty Bermuda stuff, but the lovely, loose-rooted grass with the lovely fragrance of clean spring.  I can't get enough of the flowers and the butterflies and my hands in the dirt. 

Losing the sight in one eye made that task more difficult, but not impossible.

It did make my other flow pastime impossible.

I love all kinds of handwork, but counted cross stitch is my favorite and the only craft in which I experience flow.  How it has hurt to not be able to see well enough to stitch!

Even though I am thrilled with the broad success of my surgery Tuesday,  I've been very nervous about trying to stitch again.  The retinopathy in September 2014 left me with a wrinkle - scar tissue on the retina - that has created an Alice in Wonderland effect in my world at large.  Through my right eye I have no vertical or horizontal lines.  Not straight ones, anyway.  For my day-to-day life this isn't a serious issue.  My left eye works in concert with the right now, well enough that I can do most things (like drive) safely.  But I've been, frankly, terrified to see what a piece of cross stitch fabric looks like with this wavy line thing rocking my world.

"Meadow Dance"  Marjolein Bastin

I spent the day with my mom, and in the safe quiet of her family room I finally pulled out a piece.  Marjolein Bastin's "Meadow Dance."  I bought it years ago and completed only part of the center section before life interfered with my commitment to this beauty.  I grabbed it today because I knew it was on an Aida (the easiest fabric to work with) and in a smaller size (16 count) so that I could truly learn my limits.

Tucked into my Dad's recliner with the natural light coming over my shoulder through the patio door, I first pulled out a #28 tapestry needle (the smallest made for this needle art).  I pulled a double strand and straightened it, took a deep breath and attempted to thread the needle.

I nearly cried from relief when I was able to get the two threads through the eye on the second try.

The next test was to try to slide the thread under adjoining stitches next to the area where I wanted to work.  No problem.

Finally, and the most challenging task, I reached behind the fabric to work the needle up through the tiny hole between adjoining stitches.  And was successful.  Again and again and again and again!

Five stitches.  Five perfect little stitches.

See them?  See that little  green smudge just above the butterfly's head?

No glasses.  No magnifying lens.  I kept imagining they weren't correct, but each time I stated to pull one apart to fix it, I found that yes, it was a perfect little stitch.

I may not get to sleep tonight I'm so excited.  Such an important door opened.  I have dozens of projects I want to work on, a half dozen or more already started.  I'm feeling very grateful that spring break will be here soon and I can devote several days to getting my studio whipped back into shape.  Such a lovely space to be so abused by worry that I would not be able to enjoy the hobbies that I had planned to spend my time on in there.

Getting my life back together.

One stitch at a time.

Vision

It's  a wonderful thing.

Gift from my brother and sister-in-law to celebrate my successful surgery.  My favorite color of flower, especially roses.

I've had more surgery on my eye.  Last year the retina detached.  I noticed a shadow near my nose, three days before the death of my husband, and then watched as what appeared to be pond water started seeping in, a little more every day.  Three days after the Celebration of Life, I was in having emergency surgery to re-attach the retina.

I've had the same ophthalmologist in Santa Barbara for nearly thirty-five years and trust him completely.  He arranged for a retinal surgeon that he trusted and the surgeon managed to get the retina to completely re-attach.  (I helped by going above-and-beyond on the face-down orders for nine days, and wasn't it fun trying to get the finances understood and under control in that position.)

I have a family history that includes these things, but I've also read that sometimes an injury can cause a weak spot that will take years to finally give up the fight.  I remember 37 years ago I took a racquetball to that eye, so hard that even with protective goggles I could feel the ball collapse into the eye.  So maybe that finally made itself known.

A side effect of the trauma of inter-ocular surgery is that a cataract could bloom.  I'd had one developing in that eye for fifteen years and bloom it did.  I was to the point where I really couldn't use that eye for anything, and got the all clear from the retinal surgeon for the ophthalmologist to do a lens replacement.

That was yesterday.  I had my follow-up appointment this morning and the ophthalmologist announced the status as "lovely."

Yes, it is.  My world is crystal clear colors.  I still have healing to do, but the two eyes are already working better together, which hasn't been the case for about a year.

Simply thrilled and grateful.

Come to LA...

or Thousand Oaks.  Even better.

Well, yes...

...of course.

Disney Princess Medley

I want an album of the full length versions, please.

Maybe I'll see you ladies Saturday.