to begin this, while waiting for Internet Explorer to load so I can wait for the modem to dial so I can wait for my journal to load so I can wait for my comments to upload .... I virtuously choose Notepad over Minesweeper (well. on the second try, anyway ;-)

the better these programs get, the bigger they get, and the slower they run on Granma's poor old computer.
Unless it's ailing with some sort of virus. Hope not.

I wonder if there's a little store somewhere (it surely wouldn't be online, would it?) that specializes in outdated programs so you can put together a fully-functional, say, Mac II SI (just to name an older computer that I happen to be familiar with), and give it all and only the programs it was designed to handle: vintage word-processing, vintage games, maybe a vintage analytical program. Run it at its own pace. And let the rest of the busy world go on its merry way.

But no, it's great to be able to show Granma the baby pictures from Teresa's Mira, and Marisa's Megan and Kyle, even if it does sometimes make me wish my name ended in 'eesa too.

So what I was going to write about...

Does it really matter? I suspect that months of silence give me license to start pretty much anywhere.

Business has been busy -- I'm working in the City Repair offce 15 hours per week, almost as many hours on the grant-funded Vision PDX project, and about the same (officially) for Granma. The past week has been the Village Building Convergence VBC,
the culmination of months of organizing.

Aside from the last week, which was full to the brim with work, enjoying the magic, and family time... I usually manage to sneak in a couple of aikido practices a week, and hang out with other volunteers, and get grungy in Granma's gardens.
I'm finding that I want to spend a lot more time with Granma, and the gardens, and a lot less time at work.

I also keep reminding myself that I want to write. Eventually, I'd like to be able to write marvelously evocative fiction, which means I need to seriously get back in practice and stay in shape, and work toward that ability. It's like my visual art projects: drawing "fire" and "water" rigorously from life so many times that I start to get a feel for their fluidity, and can more-or-less fake them at will. Laughing into the storm as I try to draw a blizzard at night.

Granma's anecdotes are good material -- I like the way she sees things, and even the eccentricities of age sometimes reveal wonderfully human subcurrents.

I tell these stories to friends and new acquaintences, which must be almost as boring as baby pictures to the unrelated. Then again, it's part of my "process," both for writing and for .. how did Kathleen put it? .. "integrating the experience." so I hereby refuse to feel guilty about it.
Strangers are a good audience to practice my storytelling chops on -- when they start writing punk lyrics about one of grandma's anecdotes, I know I've crossed the generation gap. ("Concreet Dahlll! ThrewHimDownThe Staaairs! Bunky Beeeean, my . . concrete doll!")

I suppose there's not a lot of over-exposure to elder-stories these days. Most people have a co-worker who's nuts about their kids, and we get the young-adult sagas from home to Hollywood... but I don't remember hearing much about caretaking for the elders until I started doing it, and talking about it. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised at the number of folks who've had experience caring for aging parents or grandparents, so did I tune it out before? or did they not mention it?
I think it's a painful subject for some people, yet it's reassuring to talk to those who've put in some time at it. Such people recognize the ups and downs, have tips on compassionate elder-care lawyers, edible treats and staples, and talking together we begin to recognize which memories are generational and which personal.
So I suppose, until the world gets oversaturated with elder stories, I'm not doing anyone a disservice by telling stories on my Granma.

Sometimes it's just a little moment. This one takes more time to explain... well, it was a moment. Of course it takes more time to explain than it did to happen.

One of the ongoing themes in my taking care of Granma is that gardening is my outlet for creative, life-affirming recreation. When I'm feeling overwhelmed, but don't want to drive anywhere, a good couple of hours spent chopping up sticks or weeding our "woods" can help me feel alive again.
I've also been experimenting with getting things to root indoors -- I have some Meyer lemon seeds that just recently have produced up to an inch of jewel-green stem, and hopefully will turn out to be actual lemons or at least some edible variety of citrus. (I think Meyer lemons are a cross between lemon and tangerine, so as I understand genetics, I might get either, or neither. Assuming I can find a warmish place for them to mature for a decade or so.)

I'm growing an avocado pit -- learning to trust my instincts, the first one I did this year, I just had a feeling that I'd cut across the wrong part of it pulling it out with the knife, and sure enough, it just sat there. Eventually, I let it go, and started a new pit from a gift avocado. This new one now has about three inches of root, and is starting to put out a leafing stem, yay! There's something lovely and fecund about an avocado seed splitting itself open and shooting new growth in both directions.

I've also been wanting to plant some rhubarb for Granma, but haven't managed to visit a garden store yet that has it in stock. (I've just been checking the garden centers at ordinary groceries, and they're limited to the more common and easy-to-grow vegetable starts.)
So when I brought some rhubarb stalks home from the produce section today, I decided to try putting the most likely-looking one in water just in case it has some miraculous rooting ability.

I don't have any rooting hormone, and I think this rhubarb stalk revival is a real long shot. So, for some reason, I decided to put it in with the avocado seed. Maybe, if one thing is rooting, it produces rooting hormones that could activate the other thing? That was my line of thinking, anyway.
Avocados are easy enough to start, so it seemed worth the risk of the rhubarb rotting and ruining its ... darn, I can't find a word for the avocado that begins with R.

So I sort of snuck the rhubarb in between the toothpicks holding the split avocado pit suspended in the glass jar.... it just fit.
I chopped up the rest of the rhubarb for hot rhubarb sundaes.
Grandma had about three bites of the various snacks I'd brought, and declared herself "stuffed."
We puttered around together, and put the rest of the groceries away. Eventually, with the counters clear, Grandma noticed my new experiment.

"The Avocado has a Boyfriend!" she said.

I burst out laughing. "That's a marvelous way to put it!"

She said, "Well, they're crammed in there together, and both wanting to produce.... what else would you call it?"

I added, "And the rhubarb is tall and straight, and the avocado round... It's perfect."

So we'll see whether the avocado's boyfriend is the ne'er-do-well type that ruins a girl for life, or a healthy companion.