A Questionable Start to 2024

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Okay, so this is getting weird. A couple weeks ago I blogged about how 2023 ended on a bad note but hoped 2024 would have a better start. Well, so much for hope. Now don’t get me wrong; 2024 isn’t a lost cause because we’re only 35 days into it but I have to say I’m not lovin’ the trend here. Why not, you ask? Partly because I’m a…

For instance, last week I lost a set of keys for my work vehicle. The keys included my one and only house key plus an unidentified key which I have no clue of its purpose. Still, I kept it on my key chain holder in case I happen to remember. (Yeah right, like THAT’S gonna happen.) The thing is, the battery died in that key fob so I locked the car by inserting the key into the door, thereby preventing me from locking it inside.

I was at Marin Humane, rushing to drive 20 cats 2 hours north for a spay/neuter clinic. Running just 50 feet from the SUV to the feral cat room, this nincompoop somehow managed to lose the keys. I’m telling you, they disappeared like a puff of smoke in the wind. My saving grace? Transporting the cats in Marin Humane’s huge van.

My guess is the keys will turn up eventually, even though I searched every square inch of those 50 feet. But in the meantime, I need to buy another key fob and have more house keys made. But good riddance to the unidentified key which no doubt one day I’ll regret losing. Oh dear keys…

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Listening to my Innards

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premonition

Do you believe in premonitions? I suppose some would call it intuition, instinct, or maybe simply a feeling. Whatever, I find it fascinating, mostly because it happens to me a lot. Sometimes I’ve ignored the message and it causes me grief of some sort, as if to say, I told you so! Why didn’t you listen?

So now that I’m older and dare I say wiser, I’m finally good at listening to my innards, so to speak. How about you?

listening

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This Too Shall Pass

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I don’t know about you, but I can’t say 2023 ended on a good note for me. In fact, I’d say it was a bad note. Totally off key. Actually, I should have known something was up toward the end of December when I had one of those days where everything that could go wrong, did. Maybe the moon was in the Seventh House and Jupiter aligned with Mars (to steal a line from The Fifth Dimension).

Basically, something was off. I knew it the minute I stepped in a pile of dog poop (I suspect Skip) on my way to the bathroom at 5:30 a.m. Why that early? Because my dog Taffy, who snoozes next to me, sneezed right in my face. I’d been asleep approximately 2 1/2 hours and knew that was all I’d be getting. And to be honest, it was diarrhea. I almost left that out so as not to repulse you but I changed my mind.

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Does Wisdom Really Come With Age?

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(I reprinted this post from 2013, which sadly is still relevant today.)

They say with age comes wisdom. I’m not so sure I believe that. You see, I’m not exactly a spring chicken so you’d think I’d be pretty smart by now, wouldn’t you? There’s no doubt I’ve learned stuff along the way that’s helped me navigate through life. But in some areas I’m still quite lacking. And for that I blame my poor memory. How can I acquire this wisdom if my memory is on strike?

For instance, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve misplaced my keys. When I walk into the house, I should have a routine where I put them, don’t you think? Sounds reasonable to me. If I had a routine it would go like this: place the keys in a bowl on the counter. How hard is that? Apparently very.

Where my keys should go

My mind is like a game of leap frog. It jumps from one thing to another. So by the time I exit the car, walk to the door, open it and walk in, I’m already on to another thought. I think I’ll make myself a grilled cheese sandwich then water the annuals. Oh, and I suppose I should fertilize while I’m at it. And so it goes…

Any conscious thought about keys became lost within the 20-foot span it took me to get into the house. Poof!

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Along for the Ride, in Spirit

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Susan in Mendocino

Today I was thinking about my late business partner, Susan, while I trapped feral cats on a 50 acre water buffalo farm where they produce mozzarella in rural Marin County. Talk about farm fresh. As you’ve probably guessed, it’s uniqueness is evident. I mean, seriously, it’s where the buffalo roam. (And, I’m guessing, where the deer and the antelope play.)

water buffalo3

water buffalo2

Anywhere rural is bound to have feral cats. Like being in one of those revolving doors at fancy hotels, they tend to come and go. But not before we ensure they stop having kittens. Still, that’s a tall order to fill when, if we miss 2 cats of the opposite sex, well, there ya go.

revolving door

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