Beautiful old broads get Christmas Wishes.

Dear Ones,

“Once upon a time—of all the good days in the year on Christmas Eve—Old Scrooge sat busy in his counting house.” 

And so it begins…this ever popular and uplifting Dickens story that is my favorite Christmas book.  I stack “The Christmas Carol” beside my bed early in December and before the 25^th I have it finished…again.  I never tire of reading about the magical metamorphosis of  the tight-fisted, squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching old sinner into a man who “it was always said of him that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge.”

About 10 years ago, I stumbled on a copy of this Dickens story at a used book sale.  The book is small (4x7 inches) and worn and stained.  It contains three of his other works and some whimsical pen and ink sketches.  Published by Books, Inc. New York, Boston, it states on the inside cover that it is bound in the United States of America by The Colonial Press Inc., Clinton, Mass.  I realize the book has no monetary value due to the deplorable shape it is in, but no matter,  I cherish all the marks and as I turn the pages,  I think of all the readers before me who were caught up in the magic of Dicken’s prose.  

I save the ending to read on Christmas Eve for it lifts my heart.  You  know that familiar scene when Scrooge opens his window on Christmas morning and calls down to the a boy dressed in Sunday clothes.  “What’s today?”  Upon realizing that he hadn’t missed Christmas, Scrooge whooped and hollered and was filled with merriment and joy as he ordered a big fat bird for the Cratchit family.

To all you dear gentle friends who read my blog-- at this special time of year I send you warm wishes for the merriest of holidays.  Like dear old Scrooge, may you open your window Christmas morning on a sunny world filled with hope and joy and love.

                                    MERRY   CHRISTMAS TO ALL

Beautiful old broads search for shooting stars

Dear Ones,

50 billion planets in the Milky Way.  300 billion stars.  Reason enough to lift your eyes to the night skies, right?  Here is another compelling reason.  This week the Geminid meteor shower will peak on Saturday, Dec. 13^th  and Sunday, Dec. 14^th. 

This is the official start of Christmas for me.  Never mind the Advent wreaths or the liturgical calendar or the retail stores hurling their wares 24 hours a day.  One white hot silent steak of light thrills me down to my toes.

The first year we moved to Austin from Michigan years ago,  our whole family missed snow and ice skating on the creek beside our house and sledding on the hill.  No one had the Christmas spirit.  So I decided we’d watch the Geminid star show.  Trust me, no one was excited about it but we packed them all in the Jeep and went over Spicewood Springs Road to the edge of town and parked.  I got out the cocoa and we sat on the tailgate.  It was about 9 p.m.  Then the fireworks started…only there wasn’t any boom.  Just silent glowing threads plunging  across the northwest horizon.  The kids were speechless (really) with wonder.  It was the most awesome meteor show I ever witnessed.  Just a perfect mild clear Texas night filled with shooting stars.  Of course I secretly thought God put that show on for us.

Ever since that night, I wait for the Geminids.  Of course some years it’s cloudy and lately, the light pollution has increased.  Nevertheless, I’m hopeful.  I’ll set my chair out by the garage door (anytime after 9 ish will work).  The last quarter moon rises about 11:00 and will lighten the sky somewhat.  While I’m waiting, I’ll admire Orion striding across the southeast sky or notice the bright star high in the north.  That’s Cassiopeia.  Settle in and lift your face to the grandeur of a dark December night.  Notice the silence wrap around you.  Be patient.  In the cool stillness you may capture that magical sense of awe and wonder that comes unbidden with  noticing the wonders of nature.

“What draws one to astronomy is the longing of the soul to know its place in the universe.”     Chet Raymo

Beautiful old broads Christmas shop

Dear Ones,

December is here and like all beautiful old broads, you’re no doubt thinking about gifts and shopping. And checks…that’s what we mostly give,  but a book is an added treat.  So with that in mind, I’ve collected some books that may fit your gift needs.  While writing my column for the paper, I did a book list each December and folks liked it.  Hope you do too.

Usually WW II books aren’t upbeat and happy but here are a couple that are just that.  You’ll never look at a paperback the same after reading “When Books Went to War:  The Stories That Helped Us Win World War II” by Molly Guptill Manning  (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt).  The book tells the story of how publishers and government worked together to send reading material to soldiers.  Really!!! They worked together. 

“Countrymen”  by Bo Lidegaaard (Alfred A. Knopf), is another stirring saga of decency and the bravery of the Danes who helped Denmark’s Jews escape the Nazis when Hitler occupied Denmark.  A slice of little known history to cheer your heart.

Look no further than Jan Karon’s newest book if you’re in the mood for light and easy and want something to go with cocoa and cookies before bed. In  “Somewhere Safe With Somebody Good” (Putnam)…isn’t that a zinger title…Father Tim and his wife Cynthia return to the fictional Mitford.   Pass the cookies, please.

Searching for a book for someone who likes page turners and plot churnings. “The Accident” by Chris Pavone (Crown Publishers) is set in the world of book publishing. Zooming from Zurich to New York faster than SST’s, the characters race to find the author of a murderous expose.  Who knew the publishing world was so fraught with peril?  Crisp writing. Clever plot.

Appropriate for the season, “The Zealot” by Reza Aslan is a solidly researched history of Jesus of Nazareth.  The author is pretty even-handed as he explores the Jewishness of Jesus and slots him into the larger historical picture of Roman occupation.

 

Last on my list is an older book still available on Amazon and other sources.  For anyone who has ever planted a tree or tended a garden or marveled at a seed sprouting.  “Defiant Gardens” by Kenneth L. Helphand (Trinity Press) is the riveting saga of soldiers and civilians who defy all opposition to plant gardens.  Meet these astonishing resilient  POW’s and ghetto inhabitants.  I promise once you dig into this book, you’ll be rooted to the story.  This is one beautiful moving piece of literature. 

Yes, I know we have Kindles and Nooks but isn’t there something comforting and reassuring about having a big fat shiny new book under the tree at Christmas?

“Books were my pass to personal freedom.  I learned to read at age three and soon discovered there was a whole world to conquer.”  Oprah Winfrey

Beautiful old broads give thanks

Dear Ones,

Tis the time of year for giving thanks.

I give thanks for all of you readers who check out my post every week or so.    I know you have a ton of demands on your time and many choices when it comes to reading, therefore I'm honored that you choose to spend some of your precious minutes looking at my blog.

And I treasure your comments and hope you will send more feedback to me.  You can always email me at   paross@ktc.com   too.  

We are having delightful weather in the hill country and wherever you are, I  send you thanks and pray you're having a  Happy Thanksgiving holiday.

Abundant blessings to each of you.

Patti 

Beautiful old broads and loss

Hello Dear Ones,

First I said it out loud.  Then I wrote it down in rounded firm letters.  Accept Loss.  Two words but oh so powerful.  They convey so much.  I rolled them about in my mind contemplating the idea.  We humans like our stuff, like our routines, like our life ordered the way we expect.  Then something or someone comes along and poof…we are forced to accept change, accept loss.

As I think on accepting loss, it’s obvious we are constantly losing things.  Painful yet part of the journey through life.  Small things are easy to accept.  Losing a key or a package.  Not life changing.  But when you lose a mother or father, when you lose a sibling or the person you love, that’s the loss that’s wrenching.  That is a forever loss.

Growing old, the losses pile up like leaves blowing though our lives.  We notice our sight is not so keen and perhaps we’ve slowed our gait.  And I’m always saying “pardon me”, for my hearing is declining.  Not to mention our teeth and our knees and our backs.  No use in railing about it or going on over it.  Life chugs along doing what it has done for billions of years. Moving on.

The thing is…what has come into our lives like love and joy and kindness can’t be taken away from us.  Nope.  Time may get my knees and my teeth but love and friendship can’t be erased.

So we inch along the path and try to stay upbeat and positive and all those things but I still can’t abide that cheery person who tells me that everything happens for a purpose and look on the bright side.  Okay so we beautiful old broads have to accept loss but we’re entitled to a pity party now and then aren’t we?

“We are capable of fear and courage, generosity and selfishness, vulnerability and strength.  These things do not cancel each other out but offer us a full range of power and response to life.”                         Rachel Naomi Remen, M.D.

Beautiful old broads write letters

Dear Ones,

I said I would post every Friday EXCEPT when life interfered.  Well, life has poked and prodded and definitely interfered these last couple of weeks.  One doesn’t know how beautiful normal is until things aren’t normal.

Reading is always my default button when life is chaotic and I’ve been reading an older book, a Pulitzer Prize winner called “Gilead”

An epistolary novel, it follows a Reverend as he writes at length about his life and his family relationships.  These letters are his legacy that he plans to leave for his son. 

Made me think about what I would write if I decided to leave a letter for loved ones.  Of course there are many books out there that do exactly that but I never really thought about doing it myself.  Have you?  What would you say?  What exactly would you want to leave behind for the next generation?

Would you give advice?  Hah!  No one wants my advice.  How about recollections, memories, stories from the past?  Well, that’s more a memoir.  No, I’m talking about what you would want them to know about life that you discovered along the path.  I am sure I would say look up…look up…into the skies.  I wish I had started doing that when I was younger.  And pay attention.  So many magical things happen along the way and we’re too busy looking at our email or fussing about what to wear.  Take butterflies or sunsets or pansies blooming on a cold day.  Life happens while we are out to lunch sometimes. Don’t know precisely what else I’d say. 

For beautiful old broads like us, this is probably a challenging but rewarding project to consider.  Whatcha think?  When I have some time--not in the next few weeks but later, I’m going to attempt it.  Will it be sappy or humorous or deep?  One thing I do know for sure…keep it brief.  The attention span of the younger generation is about as short as those mini skirts they wear.

I asked my husband what he would write and after a short pause he said he knew exactly what he’d say.  He pulled out a worn tiny piece of paper from his wallet on which was written a quote from Abraham Lincoln. 

            “Do not let discouragement prey upon you and in the end you will succeed”

                                                                                    A. Lincoln

Beautiful Old Broads love treats

Hello Dear Ones,

October brings a special treat to the Hill Country.  When the wind shifts to the north and the sun shines, we may be able to watch the migration of monarchs; some years are better than other of course.  It is a magical experience to observe this annual journey of the butterflies.  And I've written a poem about it.

                                                Silence is Golden

                                                                        By Patti Ross

They come by the dozens and dozens

Drifting down like falling snow

Coruscating the horizon, filling the sky

Gossamer amber wings flitting by

Snugging down on the south side

Of the house.

  

They know what they’re about; these fragile frittaries

Brushing by like angel’s breath

To glide into the oaks and sumacs on the hillside

Sheltered from the chill, they hang in prayer

Wings pressed thinner than leaves

Only the birds know they are there

  

The sun sets in a glowing hush of color

The monarchs soundlessly hang on the limbs

Waiting for dawn and sunshine

The miracle is that it all happens in silence

Golden silence

Beautiful Old Broads Take on Projects

Hello Dear Ones,

There’s a plastic sign nailed up over my desk  that reads:

 

                                                6 Phases Of A Project

            1.  Enthusiasm

            2.  Disillusionment                 

            3.  Panic

            4.  Search for the guilty party

            5.  Punishment of the innocent

            6.  Praise and honors for the non participants

This is all so true.  Take the time I made a maternity dress.

1.  Enthusiasm.

 I was excited and enthused as I picked out the 10 yards of material. Trust me-- maternity tents take a ton of material.

2.  Disillusionment.

Rolling all that material out over the dining room table was rather intimidating.  Where to start?  What does bias mean?

3.  Panic.

Oh my God.  The pattern has a million little pieces.  The tissue is floating everywhere. I think I’ve sewn the wrong sides together.  I need this dress for Friday.  I’m expanding like a balloon these days.

4.  Search for the guilty party.

I’m in tears. Whose idea was this anyway.  I think my husband said it would be a good project for me.  Ha!  What does he know.  Yes, it was definitely his idea.  I’m sure of it.

5.  Punishment of the innocent.

Campbell’s tomato soup for supper.  No way can I both cook and SEW.  I am not Martha Stewart.

6.  Praise and Honors for the Non Participants.

There’s the phone.  It’s my sister.  Wait till I tell her what a mess I’ve made of this sewing project.  She’s a life saver.  She has a black maternity dress I can borrow. 

Maybe I can use the material to recover the couch.  What do you think?  Well, never mind.  That’s another project for another day.

Haven’t we all been there.    

 

 “A woman is like a teabag; you never know how strong she is until she gets into hot water”                          Nancy Reagan

  

   

  

Beautiful Old Broads Savor Fall Days

                                                      FALL     FLOWERS                                                 

Dear Ones,

Finally fall is here .  Cooler temps, clear night skies, and pumpkin pies.  Heavenly.   Right from the beginning, I affirmed that this was not a cooking blog BUT that doesn’t mean I won’t slip in a recipe or some foodie talk, especially when fall brings so many yummy dishes to make.  Take that pumpkin pie.  Well, here’s my take on it.

I use the usual Libby pumpkin pie recipe on the side of can.  It’s stood the test of time.  However, I’d often find myself  without the can of evaporated milk called for so I improvised.  Always having yogurt around, I substituted a 6 oz. carton of vanilla yogurt.  Or 1 cup of buttermilk also works.  Makes a creamy pie. Try it.  I forego the cool whip too.  Worth the extra couple of minutes (and calories) to whip up the real thing.  Whipped cream.  I make enough whipped cream for two nights for the two of us.  

When I drive into San Antonio for food shopping, my favorite haunts are Trader Joes, Whole Foods, Central Market, and no trip to San Antonio goes by without a stop at Costco.  Trader Joes is a fairly recent addition to San Antonio and hands down my favorite place.  There’s  always something new to try.  This past week it was the spiced apple cider.  Other must haves are Jalapeño tartar sauce  (no it’s not spicy hot) and pepper jelly for lamb chops and rack of lamb.(In my opinion, Costco has scrumptious lamb)

Have I mentioned cocoa in past posts?  If I did, it bears repeating.  Had my first cup of the fall season last night and it is sublime.  Really.  Called Sipping Chocolate, the dark rich taste floods the hot milk with  flavor.  Trader Joes only carries this in cold weather so stock up.   Golly, I sound like a Trader Joes add!

Gotta leave my computer and head back to the kitchen.  Anxious to try a recipe for spinach, mushroom feta cheese quiche I came across on allrecipes.com.  Will let you know how it turns out. 

            “Cooking is like love.  It should be entered into with abandon or not at all”

                                                                                              H. Van Horne

    

Beautiful Old Broads make decisions

Hello Dear Ones,

This past week in the WSJ, there was a piece about making decisions.  The author divided folks into two groups and posed this question.  Are you a Maximizer meaning you demand the very best and will go to extremes to get it or are you a Satisficer; that’s a person who just wants good enough.  A person who settles. 

Yes, yes, they had a test you could take to discover which category you fell into.  And no, I didn’t take it because I know where I stand…sorta of.  It seems to me that people don’t necessarily fit neatly into some of these categories that researchers dream up.  I can be absolutely picky, demanding, and fussy about certain issues.  Other times,  ho hum…whatever is fine with me.  Depends on what we are deciding on.  For instance let’s take cars.  As long as I can drive safely and comfortably and get where I’m going, I’m happy.  Therefore within reason my husband makes car decisions.  On the other hand take kitchens.  Don’t move a pot.  I know exactly what I want and where I want it put in my kitchen.  So on one issue I’m a satisficer. On another I’m the direct opposite.  I feel there are many of us cross-overs like that. 

Another thing the article said was the older you are, the less likely you are to be a maximizer and that’s why people get happier as they age.  Really?   From my little perch I feel I am more demanding about many things now.  Medicine for one thing.  Years ago I simply accepted what the doctor said as gospel.   Now I research and double check and watch my health records and yes I demand the best.

 Most of you beautiful old broads have made many decisions over the years.   So what do you think?  Do you demand the best or do you settle for just well enough?      

                                    “Not to decide is to decide”

                         

Beautiful old broads look inner and outer.

Hello Dear Ones,

Do you remember as a child examining your belly button?  Is it an inner or an outer?   Gosh…I need to check mine right now. (short  pause)   Onward, what I really want to talk about are introverts and extroverts.  And all those humans in between which is the bulk of us, though such emphasis is placed on being extroverted and outgoing in our society today that there’s a stigma about being described as an introvert.  Ever noticed, when someone commits a crime, the media often describe the person as a “loner”?  Heaven forbid that we be classified as that type!  No sir, we all aim to be considered jolly, well adjusted, outgoing souls.  But the fact is many of us are introverts.  And what is wrong with that, I ask? Just because someone talks a lot and holds forth on center stage; that doesn’t  mean he or she is smarter or better informed.  It just means they are pushier and like being in the spotlight.  Look around.  Our society adores mega personalities. Yet many of them make absolutely no solid contribution to mankind.  Nada! The fields of art and music and medicine are filled with introverts.   

Most of us though straddle some middle ground on the personality curve. And I think by the time you are a beautiful old broad, you are pretty sure where you hang out on the curve. Still, everyone likes to take quizzes especially about ourselves.  If asked to describe yourself right now what would you say?  Are you introverted or extroverted?   Here are a few questions to help you decide.

Do you look forward to hanging out by yourself for a day?

Do big parties with lots of people give you hives?

Do you like working in teams?

Do you send emails rather than call or talk in person?

Do you like to celebrate special birthdays etc. with a few close friends rather than a big crowd?

Do you thrive when you are in the spotlight?

Are you uncomfortable with small talk and chatter?

Of course you can see the more yes answers, the more introverted you are.  Me.  I know I lean towards introvert.   

                        Love many…trust few…and paddle your own canoe

            

  

Beautiful Old Broads get depressed

Hello Dear Ones,

I planned on posting every Friday...if life didn't interfere...well it did last Friday.

Doctor...trip to emergency ward in pouring rain.   A long wait.  all left me weary...and worried too.  

However back to normal (sorta of) and will post something more substantial this week.  Normal is 

such a comforting word isn't it?   

I do want to recommend a book.  so very engrossing, it carried me through long hours sitting on a

hard back chair in waiting room while husband was in emergency.

"The Kingdom of Ice" by Hampton Sides is a non fiction account of the "Jeannette", a ship that 

sailed up into the Bering Straits and beyond hunting for a route to the North Pole.  I promise once

you start the journey with these astonishing men, you be captured by the drama and the astonishing

courage of this crew.   

Beautiful Old Broads read haikus

Hello Dear Ones,

I thought I'd try a haiku on you this week .    



                                         Twenty drops of rain

                                         Dark clouds tease the sky

                                          Do flowers hope?

                                                                       by patti ross



  

Dear Ones,

Oh the places I’ve seen these last couple of weeks!  Creeping along through scattered ice chunks, we edged within ¼ mile of the Hubbard Glacier.  Watching from the bow of the ship, I thought of Dr. Seuss’s book, “Oh the Places I Will See.”  Here I am looking at an enormous (7 miles wide) glacier and I’m awed.  I never thought I’d see such a sight no matter what Dr. Seuss said.  I hear the ice cracking and chunks slip into the water sending crackling sounds like thunder across the bay. Unforgettable.

Later we sailed into the port of Juneau and on a breezy cool afternoon we explored Alaska’s state capital.  On one of the back streets in the downtown area we came across a billboard about 6 feet high and 30 feet long.  Across the top it read in large letters:  BEFORE I DIE I WANT TO.  Empty slots below were to be filled in with the markers provided.  Not sure how long the sign’s been up, probably all summer for there was not a blank spot on the board.  Every line was filled with hopes and wishes and dreams; some attainable, some just dreams.  And the goals ranged from lofty--.world peace, conquer poverty, to the  playful--skinny dip in Hawaii, go skydiving.  There were also more serious ones asking to live to see grand children or mend family quarrels or find true love

I read them all and pondered standing in the afternoon sunshine in the midst of a lovely trip, how lucky I was.  How many things I’ve been blessed with. Finally my husband nudged me, “Are you going to stand there all day?”  And we moved on but later that night I thought about each person writing on that board.  Who wrote about seeing a grandchild born?  Perhaps a woman in frail health?  What spurs a person to write down their hopes? The written word is powerful and just forming the letters fulfills something inside of us.  It gives shape and substance to our desires.   Probably why we humans are such list makers.

Now that I’m back home I think I’ll create a  BEFORE I DIE I WANT TO  list of my own.  Have any of you made a so called bucket list?  As we age, our aspirations narrow.   It’s a fact. I’m never going to walk across Ireland or roller blade along the Newport Beach bikeway like I used to do cause instead of a hip skater, I’m afraid of breaking a hip.  Yep, life changes but I still have dreams.  Don’t we all.  So what do you want to do before you die?   Think on it.

            “For me, writing something down is the only road out.”   Anne Tyler 

Beautiful Old Broads

Dear Ones,

Am taking a break.  Will not be posting on my blog for a couple of weeks.  

Namaste,     Patti  

Beautiful Old Broads are made of stardust

Dear Ones,

Did some of you venture out into the darkness to view the meteor show this past week?  If so, hoping you had better luck than me.  From our hill top, it wasn’t a stellar show to say the least.  Between the bright moonlight and the light pollution, I only saw two meteors.  Perhaps we’ll have better luck in December.  However, it’s spellbinding to sit out on a warm summer evening and just lift your eyes and look at the heavens and contemplate that we are all made of stardust.

My lack of meteor sightings makes me think of a poem from my recent book “Stalks Of Talk”.  Hope you enjoy it.

                                                Night Owl

            Does the owl from his hollow tree count the shooting stars?

            One hundred thousand one, one hundred thousand two

            Last night I saw four.

            Does he search the skies for swift streaks of light?

            Watching coronas and comets and fireballs in flight

            Last night I saw four.

            Sliding into sleep, I hear the owl telling me the count.

            His sibilant sounds melting on the edges of my pillow.

            One hundred thousand one, one hundred thousand two

            Last night I saw four.

Beautiful Old Broads are star gazers

Hello Dear Ones,

 The poet  Mary Oliver reminds us  that in the rush of life what we are meant to do is “pay attention, this is our endless and proper work.”   As that prayer I posted a few weeks back proclaims…It’s a beautiful world. We tend I think to look around, look down, look ahead but this coming week we need to look up into that immense darkness above us and pay attention.  Be a star traveler.

A  treat awaits those willing to pay attention to the gifts of grace that do come to us unbidden.  The Perseid Meteor Shower will peak on Tuesday evening August 12^th.  Sorry, it won’t be a spectacular show due to the big old moon but perhaps you’ll see one swift streak of white hot plasma  hurl across the sky that will cause you to catch your breath and be awed. 

The best viewing time this year is late evening before the moon shines bright, but  I like to go out about 4 a.m. and I’ll  sit facing the Northwest where it’s darkest and that’s where the Perseus galaxy resides though you may spot a meteor anywhere across the heavens. Along with meteors look for Vega high in the east, the brightest star in the summer sky and the planets Venus and Jupiter will appear before dawn.

From my perch on this hilltop, I observe the increasing light pollution that interferes with star gazing. There are numerous blinking towers in our hill country that were not there when we first moved here.  And lights from the new bridge and the school and the gas stations litter the atmosphere as real as the plastic bags that clog our rivers. Such is progress.

Back to my meteor watching.  There is something mystical about sitting out in the stillness of night, a softness surrounds us, a feeling of infinity.  The darkness of our night sky reveals so much.  And whether you see a meteor or not, the experience of looking up into the vast heavens on a warm summer night is an act of soul searching wonder.  Know you are just a blink in the scheme of things but remember you are a blink of stardust.

There are more stars in the sky than there are grains of sand in every beach and desert on this Earth so look up and pay attention. It is what we are meant to do.

Beautiful Old Broads Go Out For Lunch

Ladies Who Lunch

This past week, I’ve been lucky enough to go lunchin twice.  Once out of town with old neighbors and later in week here at home.  Both times were pleasant and peaceful afternoons leading me to think about we ladies who lunch.  At the restaurant out of town I met with some old Austin friends.  The talk was lively covering everything from politics to pets.  Not surprising as there was a retired aide to a State Senator, a retired school teacher and a retired mom.

Later in the week, I met two close friends for lunch.  Again the talk ranged far and wide ending up with a discussion of the old testament (one woman was a staunch believer) the new testament (one woman declared her belief) and no testament (one woman didn’t believe in either).  Despite the differences, there were no raised voices, no rolling of eyes, (okay maybe a couple of times) and no hollering.  We all listened to each others views.  In short, we were courteous.  And at the end of lunch we hugged and agreed to lunch again soon.

Here’s what I propose.  What if beautiful old broads from all around the world sat down to lunch together.  Picture it.  We’d have tea, iced or hot or sweet or green, whatever.  Then we’d get serious.  You know…we’d admire each other earrings, ask who cuts  your hair? And maybe discuss the best place in town for take-out.  From that we’d move on to more serious topics…a shoe sale at Nordstroms for instance.  Finally after settling like a clutch of cats, we’d slowly work our way into world peace and the financial markets and health care and my favorite—why here in the United States we don’t vote on Sunday…at the mall.  It would be so much easier.  Whatever the topic, we’d be courteous. We’d listen.  Would we solve any problems?  Maybe.

Just think if our governments around the world could have lunch together and listen to each other like beautiful old broads do.            Anyone for lunch?  

            “The mature person is one who is in that stage of life where she may not see eye                            to eye with another, but she can still walk are in arm.”         

Beautiful Old Broads Are Happy Girls

Hello Dear Ones,

Eons ago, there was a stand-up comedian who opened his act with the question, “Is everybody happy?”  Happiness—a fleeting feeling that humans  chase after in one form or another all their lives.  Call it joy, contentment, bliss, whatever label, we all yearn for it.  Press our noses against the pane of life and look for it.

One guy, Eric Weiner, wrote a book called “The Geography of Bliss”  He went on a hunt for the happiest place on earth and took the reader along for the ride.  It’s a fun trip and Weiner often leaves you giggling and laughing at his experiences.  In fact, while reading this, I venture to say you’ll be happy.  Of course happiness we all know is subjective.  I can only say I chuckled my way through the chapters. 

Weiner describes himself as an unhappy soul who’d like to find happiness.  Hence the book.  His conclusions; happiness is 100% relational and there are many paths to it.

It’s not what we believe that makes us happy but the act of believing in anything.  Envy is toxic.  So is excessive thinking.  Which gives weight to an observation by another Eric,  Eric Hoffer,  “The search for happiness is one of the chief sources of unhappiness.”

So what about money?  Can you buy happiness?  I admit financial security is a comforting thing to have, but how much is enough?  According to a study published

in 2011 in Time Magazine, the magic number is $75,000.  That’s the income at which happiness peaks.  Exactly what that means I’m not sure.  How can happiness peak?  Its not bread dough we’re talking about.  It’s an elusive state of mind.  In fact, are we capable of judging our state of happiness?  Sometimes we don’t even realize we’re happy…we take it for granted.  

                        Happiness is a trembling thing

                                    Like a hummingbird wing

                        You can’t hold it or tame it

                                    Or store it in a cloud

                        To retrieve on demand.

                                    So don’t hold out your hand.  

Beautiful Old Broads talk more about birthdays

Dear Ones,

Birthdays.  As we grow old, like ivy,  they are entwined in memories.  Turning 18, our 21^st.  That was a big deal.  And of course 40.  A landmark one.  And then before we can blink, we’re  65!  Life is  swift.  However, no one has written or celebrated being 78 as far as I know.  So having just turned that age, I thought I’d write a poem about it.  Hope it stirs your heart.  Isn’t that what poems are for?   

On being 78

                                                                                                By Patti Ross

            I’m deliciously free and chirpy and chipper

            And terrified and scared and wary and weak

            What will the future bring?  How will it unfold?

            I can’t google the answer to that now can I?

                                                                        I’m old.

            Times I feel such joie de vivre…such bliss

            Savor a stray kiss that lands on my cheek like a breeze

            Reminding me I’m loved.  Oh please.

            I petition the saints yet life won’t stand still though I  

            Genuflect twice.  No dice. 

            Maybe there’s a “Dummy’s Guide to being 78”?

            But wait, upon reflection I’m hearing joyful notes surround me.

            And a Sunday morning softness slips over my fears.

                                                                         I’m 78.

  

Beautiful Old Broads talk about cats

                                                                        SOCKS

Beautiful Old Broads celebrate the 4th

Dear Ones,

Hope you all have a bang-up 4th of July wherever you are.  Next Friday my post will be about CATS.  See you then.      Celebrate the day

"Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful committed citizens can change the world.  Indeed, it's the only thing that ever has."        Margaret Mead.  

Beautiful Old Broads celebrate birthdays

Dear Ones,

No post this week.   This is my birthday week and I'm eating birthday cake.  Chocolate of course!

Hope you're all eating cake too.

I've had so many wonderful responses to my blog...thank you all.

Patti

Beautiful Old Broads are children of the universe

Hello Dear Ones,

Do you believe in signs?  Me.  Of course I do.  I’m Irish aren’t I?  So when this worn copy of an old essay fell off my bulletin board while I was looking for something else, I knew it was meant for re-reading and sharing with you.  Perhaps you’ve heard it but it bears repeating.  I love the last part that reads be gentle with yourself.  You are a child of the universe.  Enjoy!

The following  found in Old Saint Paul’s Church in Baltimore and dated 1692 is as applicable to achieving happiness today as when it was written.

            Go placidly amid the noise and haste and remember what peace there may be in silence.  As far as possible without surrender, be on good terms with all persons.  Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others even the dull and ignorant; they too have their story.

            Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.  If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.  Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

            Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.  Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery.  But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals and everywhere life is full of heroism.

            Be yourself.  Especially do not feign affection.  Neither be cynical about love, for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, it is perennial as the grass.

            Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.  Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune, but do not distress yourself with imaginings.  Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

            Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.  You are a child of the universe; no less than the trees and the stars, you have a right to be here.  And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

            Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be and whatever your labors and aspirations in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace with your soul for it is a beautiful world.    Strive to be happy   

Beautiful Old Broads find some summer reads

Hello Dear Ones,

As almost every paper and magazine has a column on beach books, I decided to add my suggestions to the many grains of sand out there and after writing a book review column for years for the Kerrville Times, I know readers like short reviews.  So here goes. 

First up, “Transatlantic”, by Colum McCann

Not a frothy chic flic by any means.  Anchored at both ends by the historic first non-stop flight across the Atlantic in 1919, this book is a sail through a century of Irish and American history.  Three different stories are braided together following four generations of women.  Complex, but once you get your sea legs, it’s a mesmerizing journey.

Next book is “The Crane Wife” by Patrick Ness.  I confess I haven’t read this novel (I’m on the wait list at the library) but it’s been recommended by a BOB (also a favorite niece) who is a discerning reader.  Based on a Japanese folk tale, the author has updated it to present day London where a crane lands in the main character’s garden to start the story.

One of my favorites, “The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry”, by Rachel Joyce, is a perfect read summer or winter.  When sadsack, meek, henpecked Harold pops out the door to mail a letter strange things unfold.  No one, especially his wife Maureen, anticipates a 627 mile journey across England to make a connection with his old dying friend, Queenie.  Surprises await at every mile.  Discovery, fulfillment, humor, love—what a journey.  You’ll be uplifted…and transported.  And how nice is it to have oldies for main characters?

Whew!  When I heard Elizabeth Gilbert had a new book out, I wasn’t interested.  Her last memoir, “Eat, Pray, Love” gave me indigestion.  Lucky I overcame my distaste and checked out “The Signature of All Things” or I would have missed one of the best books of the year.  Born in 1800, Alma Whittaker is the daughter of one of the richest men in the world.  She has a lonely childhood on a huge estate outside of Philadelphia and grows into a curious and bright young woman who is fascinated with growing things; mosses in particular.  Like the mosses Alma treasures, this story moves slowly and concentrates on the small events until Alma falls in love and discovers her emotions.  This is a glorious sweeping book that transposes you to another time and place.

Two more suggestions: “The Aviator’s Wife”, by Melanie Benjamin is a rich historical novel about the Lindbergh’s 40 year marriage.  An intimate picture of Anne and her struggle to fit in with her high flying husband. 

Last suggestion is “The Art of Fielding”, by Chad Harbach.  This is a baseball novel…sort of.  It does start and end with baseball but in between pages are packed with a love story, a campus story, and so much more.  I liked the setting on the shores of a Great Lake.

            “Writers keep staring at nothing until they write something.”

  

Beautiful Old Broads Ponder on OLD age

Hello Dear ones,

A favorite author of mine, Gail Caldwell has just published a new book that looks interesting.  It’s called “New Life,  No Instructions.”  The title prompted me to think about life and growing old and the challenges faced. We need a book titled  “Old Age, Instructions Included, Print Too Small.”

Darn.  That title won’t fly.  The publisher would shoot it down in a nanosecond for nobody is old today.  Old is an unfashionable word.   Things are gently used or pre-owned or vintage but they are definitely not old.

When you say you’re sixty, someone is sure to announce sixty is the new fifty and it follows that seventy is the new sixty and on and on.  So much for growing old.  Its plainly not au cou-rant.   The mid life crisis has been written about ad nauseam.  But Old.  No one wants to do OLD.

Picture a book on old being on the best sellers list.  As they say…you’re only as old as you feel.  Well, sorry but some days I feel old.  Some days are not “the best that’s yet to be”. Some days are filled with challenges.  Teeth decay, backs wear down, eyes dim.  Kids forget to call.  Email acts up….again.   And texting.  Well,  let’s not go there shall we?  Lets simply say that growing old is adapting constantly to this crazy ever changing world of ours.  Wish it would all slow down but that’s not going to happen.

So we get our teeth filled and new glasses and maybe do our hair one shade lighter and buy a snazzy red purse and move on.  Life doesn’t wait.  Beautiful old broads are a brave bunch of women.  After all haven’t we made it this far along life’s path?  Onward. 

That’s all well and good but I can’t get this new herbal liquid soap open.  I’ve twisted and yanked and pounded and pressed.  What…you say there are directions printed on the side of the bottle.   Oh I see them but the print is pixel sized.   Okay…okay…I’ll get my magnifying glass because the prints too small.  

Pondering on all this brings up one of my favorite and TRUE sayings

    THE LARGE PRINT GIVETH  and the small print taketh away

Beautiful Old Broads have patience

Beautiful Old Broads visit on Friday

Dear Ones,

This week I planned on posting a poem…however poems are like cats.  They don’t come when they’re called.  Yes, I have the nouns and the verbs and a few sizzling adjectives but somehow nothing is stringing together.  No poem. 

Count on it.  Tonight as I drift off to sleep, it will all come together.  A nuanced nifty poem perfect for my blog.  Of course, I’ll forget it by morning.  I do have a notebook by my bed but most of the time, I lack the oomph to rise up and write so I tell myself I’ll remember.  I won’t.  I can barely remember where my car is parked.  Saturday in Dallas at a large mall, I was clueless.  Where had I parked?  Thank God for the clicker.  I held it up and way down the line of cars, a trunk opened.  Hurray, I found my car. 

Back to poems.  They say poems reside in the heart.  I like that.  I’m never sure where mine start.  Mostly they roll around in my head till birth.  And like a new baby they come when they are ready.  No sooner.   

I am getting some verbal feedback on this blog.  Heard from Carol and also Laurie who liked the post about the favorite time in your day.  She also has a back porch swing.  Would love to hear from more of you.

This is the first time I’ve aired my thoughts on the web and I admit it’s a strange feeling.  Who’s reading this, I ask myself?  Maybe no one.  Maybe I’m just singing in the shower and nobody is listening.  Then I meet someone out and about and they tell me they liked the post about weddings or my poem about marriage. Or my friend Peggy emails me with a supportive comment.   Oh I’m in high cotton then.

 My target audience is you…all you beautiful old broads that are coping with life and trying to make sense of it.  Me too.  So I’ll keep on blogging.   Every Friday.

            “If the odds are good—chances are the goods are odd”        

   

Beautiful Old broads celebrate Mother's Day

Beautiful Old Broads think on special times

Beautiful Old Broads think deep thoughts

Beautiful Old Broads listen to bells

Beautiful Old Broads Remember Weddings

                                                        Blooming Violas

Dear Ones,

I started to write one post today.  It was poetry.  However, my mind won’t let me get around the words because it is full of memories—like balloons popping in my head.  And so I finally succumbed to them and unleashed my thoughts.  No poetry today.  I don’t want to wallow in the past but sometimes…one can’t help it.  Tomorrow will be my anniversary. 

Fifty some years ago on Saturday, I married a most wonderful fella.  I picked a winner.  The night before my wedding was rainy and the forecast for Saturday was showers.  Not unusual for a Michigan spring day. However, my plan was to walk to church and now my plan was at risk.  Dad said we needed to have a car in the driveway ready to take me but lucky for me, Saturday morning brought a watery sun and the clouds parted to leave a clean blue sky.  Perfect.  I would walk.  After all, I always walked to church.  It was only two doors away.  I walked with my father for confession on Saturday afternoon.  I walked with my mom in the pitch dark March mornings to 6:30 a.m. mass during lent.  I walked to Midnight Mass with a boy friend.  So it seemed the right thing to do.  And walk I did on my father’s arm.  He said I looked like a little white duck with all her ducklings trailing behind. Yes, my bridemaids followed holding up my train and hem so I wouldn’t get the lace in the puddles. Neighbors watched and waved from their front porches.

The bridesmaids wore lavender chiffon dresses and carried nosegays of violets.  The florist disapproved of my choice…said violets would wilt quickly but I ordered them despite his objections.  The picture above of the violas in my flower planter reminds me of those long ago violets.  So fragile and yet so feisty.

The rest of my wedding day passed in a fog of rituals, but that memory of walking to church remains crystal clear in my head.  Memories gather in the corners of our minds and never leave.  Share some of yours with me.  I’d love to hear them.

                        “Love is the only sustaining thing.”   St. John       

      

Beautiful Old Broads watch movies

Beautiful Old Broads talk more about Friendship

Beautiful Old Broads Talk About Friends

Beautiful Old Broads Celebrate St Patrick's Day

Beautiful old broads read some poetry

Hello Dear Ones,

A flurry of comments about last Friday's post.  Like Janus many of us swiveled our heads back on our first apartment or home.  We share so many memories.  Sewing for one.  We were quite creative.  And another common (thread)...Gold...we all used harvest gold.  My friend Peg emailed that her husband's study is still a shade of gold.  Looking around at my writing nook--it's not gold but a buttery warm yellow--close enough.

In future posts I'll continue sharing clever quotes with you.  I've a clutch of quotes on file.
This week I thought I'd share a poem with you. 

                                                           Party People
                                                                         by Patti Ross

     On the way to the party last night we had a fight.
     He drove too fast.  I think that was the start of it
     And it grew like a grass fire in the wind
     I wouldn't let go of my anger so
     I pointed out he had sauce on his chin

     Then he accused me of nagging and punched down the pedal
     Making me clutch my seat and retreat in a sulk until
     We arrived and parked far down the crowded street

     Walking side by side through the dark
     I whispered I'm sorry.  Me too, he said
     And bent to kiss the top of my head.
     I lifted my hand and wiped the sauce from his chin

     And then we went in to the party last night.


Have a lovely week. 

Beautiful Old Broads Look Back

Beautiful Old Broads Go Walking

Beautiful old broads and books

Winter Sweater

Beautiful Old Broads buy new washers

Bedtime Cookies for Beautiful Old Broads