I love to see the jet streams high over my home. Sometimes I can count 6 or 7 at once. I don't think about the people inside or where they're going or why. I just enjoy the beauty of the white streams against the sky blue and the glinting silver of the plane in the sunshine.

When I was thirteen, our family reunion was held near an airstrip and dad's cousin had a small plane. I flew for the first time. So exciting; I loved it, though slightly motion sick. (my lifelong problem)

1970 was my first commercial flight; Pittsburgh to Key West. I've taken many flights since. Pennsylvania to California, California to Pennsylvania, Ohio to New Mexico; Alaska; Florida many times; Hawaii; Aruba; Tennessee; New York City. I so enjoy the destinations, but not the flight. Always vaguely sick, slightly nervous, cramped, uncomfortable and happy to land! It's the means to an end, necessary evil, time saver.

So, I fly when I need to see beautiful beaches, majestic mountains, desert landscapes, tropical islands, snowscapes, 'other worlds'.

Guess I'll keep looking up, admiring the sight, and be grateful for the ride.

It's sunny and warmer today after, what seems to me, an unseasonably cool spell. I'm energized to water plants and pull a few dead ones. Fall has begun and I see a few brilliant red leaves on my maple. The sky is light to dark blue and nearly cloudless. I saw a sliver of moon yesterday-not today. Don't know why I love day-moon so much.

I've been watching large, soaring birds lately. I know they are vultures or buzzards looking for carrion. Why should that make them less beautiful to us? Our national bird eats dead animals, as well, and we think it majestic and noble.
 
Milton and I discovered a newly dead groundhog across the street and we were very grateful to have it cleaned up quickly and thoroughly. We saw a partial skeleton a few days later but no stench, maggots or flies.

Anyway, they are so graceful and stately, lazily floating on the invisible wind currents high above.

I love seeing them and knowing they are a vital part of nature and make our world a better place.

I just got off the phone from wishing my son (David Lee Rotten) a happy birthday-and many mooooooooore. We talked about the "day you were born". I've always done that with all three of my children.

I loved being pregnant. Of course there were aches and pains and morning (afternoon and night) sickness to contend with. But the specialness of knowing that growing, living being was inside made the problems a minor inconvenience. The first butterfly kick I thought I could detect that would become karate strength that anyone could feel! I remember lying on my back in bed with their dad, watching them roll around and make peaks and valleys on the terrain of my belly.

I have often felt sorry for men's lack of ability to experience the beauty of carrying and even of bearing their children.

Dave was my third child following 2 lovely daughters. Of course, that was before we had the choice of knowing what color clothing to buy and before we knew color didn't matter anyway! We'd been waiting ten days past the projected birthday to meet this baby; girl or boy. I went to the doctor that morning for a routine checkup and he "helped things along" a bit. Yay! Labor started a couple hours later. Since it was my third, I'd better meet dad at the base ASAP. (Last birth only took 4 hours start to finish) I had good Navy neighbors who kept the girls and transported me to the hospital. Disappointment! They told us to go back home-not progressed enough to be admitted. It was over 40 minutes each way, so we began to walk in Balboa Park. Beautiful, that park. I loved being there-watching the frisbee players, squirrels, joggers, picnickers, children playing, colorful flora, couples holding hands; so much peace and life going on. We walked and walked and finally decided to go back home. At the edge of the park, I had to sit down on a bench-contractions so strong, I couldn't move. Hell no-we won't go! We'll huff and we'll puff (lamaze breathing) and we'll break those doors down!

Finally got admitted and had David Lee Rotten (aka Davy at the time) on the stretcher! Will never forget the feel of his newborn cheek against my face. Almost sodden with moisture and so, so soft. He stopped crying immediately and the nurse said, "He likes you." I liked him, too. Always have, always will.    

I love my home.
I love my privacy and my freedom. To clean and rearrange all day or to do nothing all day.
To listen to CDs , radio, or be silent.
To watch what I want or not watch at all.
To play games on the computer.
To eat what I want and when I want and where.
Alex, Pat, Vanna and I have shared many a meal together.

I occasionally get restless but never lonely. Never wish for constant companionship. Never wish for live-in love. I can't imagine that kind of existence again. I'm glad I turned down that offer! Even though it was a deal-breaker and I miss him, seems like I would've been miserable. Better some heartache and tears than an untenable living situation in my own home.

I look around and see the table my mom bought for $2.00; round, oak, claw foot. The cupboard my dad made over 60 years ago. My step-mom's hutch, the books, pictures, yard-sale finds, tchotchkes collecting dust. The backsplash my whole family helped install. My little laundry nook under the stairs that my sisters and nephew painted blue. (lovely surprise of color)

All the trappings of my life.

I look around and I'm happy-always happy!

When nearing the end of my recent visit to New York, my grandson from Ohio flew to La Guardia to spend a few days and accompany me on the drive home. It was his first independent flight and he loved it! 

One of the things he particularly wanted to do was visit "Lady Liberty" and Ellis Island. With very detailed instructions and directions, he and I managed to get from Brooklyn to Battery Park where the boat boarded. Fortunately we decided to leave "at the crack of dawn" almost. The boats were full but not the huge crush I've experienced before. The trip over was uneventful except for my motion sickness. As soon as we reached land, it dissipated.

The Statue is wonderful and amazing! But Ellis Island inspires awe. Imagining the millions of immigrants who braved the long, arduous trip in the bowels of a ship, filthy conditions, perhaps people dying around you. The smells, the fear and anxiety mixed with excitement and trepidation at the thought of a new land and loss of the old. And the sea-sickness. Particularly heinous to one who has experienced this illness on every kind of transportation and recreational apparatus!

Coming to a new world. Maybe with a plan-indentured servant, family or friends awaiting your arrival, a profession or occupation to insure your survival in this strange land.You arrive-the huge figure of the lady in the distance, landing on Ellis Island. Hardly able to walk on your sea legs. So many "coming to America."

You're with child and happy and excited to welcome this first generation American into your family. As you cling to your husband to avoid separation, you are abruptly pulled through a gate. Your man starts to follow and is denied entrance. Panic, sheer terror. You plead with guards, cry and reach out for him. Finally, a harried man's face softens and says,"you must stay at the hospital until the child arrives." You gaze blankly at him-you don't speak English.

When I learned that pregnant women had to stay on the island until they gave birth, I couldn't stop thinking about it. On one site, they spoke of around 350 babies being born at the hospital. I was surprised there weren't more.

When I think of the settled lives most of us live, I can't even imagine the determination and bravery so many millions have demonstrated.

We didn't have time to see everything-I may have to do it again someday.

4:30 A.M.

I can't sleep. Played Fishdom til my poor mouse got too sleepy and I had to put it to rest (charging). Now my dog is lying on a rug in the kitchen looking at me hopefully. If I would only go to bed, he would happily join me. I don't know why he feels the need to get up when insomnia strikes. I guess he just wants to be near.

He's a rescue dog. We eventually pieced together part of his story. Milton, who is a fox terrier, and another dog I don't know, lived with an older lady whose daughter lived 2 hours away. One day when they came to visit, mom was very sick and the poor dogs hadn't been let out for some time. Their mom didn't survive, so they ended up at the dog shelter.

I'm sure she was a loving, caring friend, but perhaps couldn't say no to a loved one whose supreme pleasure and focus in life is food. When I met 'Porkchop', I could see that his name was appropriate. My first reaction (which I've refrained from telling Milton) was, "He's not very attractive, is he?" Over the almost 3 years we've lived together, he's lost 10 pounds. I hate to exhibit weight prejudice, but he is much more attractive now. Also, much healthier with his enlarged heart.

He's been the best dog I've ever had! (Sorry Susie, Topsy, Rhett, Yeller and Ralf.) So smart and potty-trained when I got him-I do love that. So much company and love and comfort. Never thought I'd have another dog, but I'm glad it's him.

Well, he's sitting by the bedroom door and softly woofing for me to come to bed. Guess it's time to try again, Milton.   

What a miracle!
What a time-saver, life-saver, time-waster, life-waster.
What a pain!
I understand just enough to read and send e-mails, play games and search a little.
Cutting, copying, pasting sounds like Charlie Brown adult speak.
I write down the instructions-forget where they are-find them.
Sometimes they work, sometimes they don't.
My stomach knots with frustration.
I text my daughters or my son.
Sometimes they help, sometimes they don't.

I grew up learning reading, writing, and arithmetic. (well, maybe a little algebra, geometry, French, etc.) But I did not grow up with computers and they are as foreign a language as my high school French!

I love them, but I don't like them; a blessing and a curse!