P.J. Colando's Blog

My husband and I recently returned from two weddings in Indiana. Both were delightful and brimming with joy. Days not to be missed, despite mile-high airfares and the distance we had to traverse, with less-than-optimally healthy bodies. But Advil, Tylenol, and Voltaren can achieve wonders to help one through the vagaries of age, which for neither my husband nor me are vague. When the reason is compelling, you cope.

In 2027, we have two more weddings to attend – both are on the same day. In different places and states. My husband and I are in an impossible situation, one that requires Solomon-like wisdom and finesse.

2027 will have 365 days, like every other year except the designated leap years.

Though the first engaged gal set her date and I informed the second young niece (on the other side of our family tree)… she chose the date already encumbered on our calendar. It’s not my fault. Yet, according to my sister, I’m to blame because her daughter forgot. Another cog in the wheel, for which our relationship is despoiled. Again. So far, we’ve gone through more lives than a cat. Since I’m near 80, the next time we get together may be at my funeral. I’m more than sad. In the fifty-year-old family photo below, half of the members are gone, causing me to treasure family time together ever more.

I wish I could convince my sis of that – I love both my nieces to pieces, but can do more than I can do.

Within my family’s paradigm, it’s never right and never enough. Do you experience that conundrum as well?

Here’s the trailer for a long-ago movie I borrowed the title for this blog. As you watch Hugh Grant fumble and bumble his way through interaction with others, consider that this how I feel: http://four weddings and a funeral

I’m in mourning. My printer died. It was an HP Envy 7645. Capable of printing photos and prose pages, it pumped out thousands of each since I purchased it at the recommendation of my IT guy. Heroic and true blue, it lasted nearly two dozen years with only a few heinous paper jams – and even those were quite easily cleared.

It was magical… until it wasn’t.

I cherished the convenience of printed photos at home, providing lasting mementos of our trips. I treasured the immediacy of placing the photos in albums within days of our return. Our monthly calendars sport pictorial evidence of good times we’ve had, our good life displayed to banish thoughts of bad or sad. Those events are neither photographed nor printed, so out of sight, out of mind.

But the model has been discontinued. Should I trust the one sold on eBay?

But wait. After my personal attempts at troubleshooting failed, I called my brother, my IT guy. He reminded me that 8 1/2 X 11 paper still fed through and ink was applied. I’d still be able to print pages for my writing critique group and write letters to family members and friends (yes, I still subscribe to these old-fashioned means of communication). With an app, I could upload my photos to my local pharmacy, which housed a small print shop in addition to selling potions and lotions and pills. While the price of gas was sky-high and wasn’t likely to come down in the coming months, I could combine the purchase of those items with a pickup of photos I wanted printed via the pharmacy’s high-quality – and self-service – machines.

QED (quite easily done)

Here’s a recent favorite. Isn’t it great to preserve joyful moments like that! I’ll bet just seeing the photo within my blog post evoked a smile on your face… QED.

 

 

I start this morning the same way I’ve started every morning for a few weeks now. I rise, toss a robe over my nightgown, punch on the coffee maker, and step out my patio door. No dog, no husband, no phone to text, just me. I don’t go anywhere. I just take a bath in the morning air and breathe.

I take my cue, step back, and begin to absorb the rest of what the morning has to offer. Above me, a three-quarter moon shines as though it doesn’t realize the night is over. The sun has not yet crested the hill behind me, delayed by the dark mandate of bi-yearly time change, a remnant of our agrarian society that we can’t shake.

I still grapple with the reflex to do everything too quickly. This is one of the things that has led me to these early morning sessions with the coffeemaker burbles, the silent, over-tall trees of the house below ours, and a marine layer that sits out on the horizon like the distant mountain range.

My knee replacement rehab is now complete. As I’ve gotten better, I’ve done less reading, more writing, more exercise in the past month. My body, which turns out to be both task master and teacher, lets me know when I must stop.  When the writing is going well, which it is right now, I feel as though I’m racing to get where I want to go in my story before my new knees resent their long-bent posture and ache.

I’m thinking a lot these days about how constraints can feed creativity. How the ability to notice what is before me can slow time, give me time to breathe a little deeper, and find ways to live a little larger in the space that has been given to me.

In short, I’m more apt to go with the flow.

I’m grateful to be writing again. Lights, action, camera! Nouns put things on the stage. Adjectives control the lighting, moisture, odor, silhouette, and state of consciousness. Verbs are the director; adverbs shape his/her pace.

I embrace this slow pace of life, limitations and all. I’m still me, with replacement parts. I’m still a writer.

Apple products are known for their reliability and for holding their value over time. Each year’s release of the latest Apple product draws huge interest and causes its stock price to spike. Again. Apple products are coveted for their consistency.

My Apple Watch is a contrarian, belying the image and reputation of its parent company.

I rely on it to accurately count my steps, as I aim to increase the time I walk after knee replacement surgery. I rely on it to spur me on, to reward me for my exercise efforts.I rely on it to keep me on time for appointments and friendly meetups.

However, my capricious watch has me on a variable reinforcement schedule with its step tally.

 

It’s freaking in its inconsistencies. One day, when I walk our block, I’ve earned 5 minutes; the next, the same distance is credited as 1 minute. Sometimes it’s been tallied as 7.

It’s as if my watch is possessed by ODD (Oppositional Defiant Disorder).

The face I’ve selected is Mickey Mouse, echoing a watch I purchased while working at Disneyland one summer between my sophomore and junior years of college and purchased at the Park. It was a great conversation starter. I giggle as Mickie taps one of his feet to mark the seconds, looking as if he’s impatient.

Like me.

The number of steps from mark to mark is tallied unreliably as well. On Monday, my watch tallies 8 steps from my bed to the kitchen coffeemaker. On Tuesday, it might tally 27. Same distance, different number. It’s dizzying.

My Apple Watch can be set to mime Mickey’s high pitch with varied cheerful greetings.

I shut him up. Who wants to hear from an unreliable narrator of one’s day, night, and in-between…

That said, I’ll keep the watch:It reliably keeps the time.It’s a novelty watch, still drawing comments and starting conversations.Replacing it would be expensive.

 

Abeyance

1. A temporary state of inactivity, suspension, or disuse.

I have a longtime friend whom I haven’t seen in over two months. It’s sad for both of us, though the reason is necessary to another’s well-being. She’s taken on raising a granddaughter, a sixteen-year-old abandoned by her new-do-well dad.

Our friendship is on abeyance, another word for hiatus.

Abeyance comes from Old French and originally referred to a state of expectation. In medieval law, it described property or titles that temporarily lacked a rightful owner. Over time, the meaning broadened to include anything placed on hold. Today, abeyance is frequently used in legal, business, and governmental contexts. Unlike cancellation, abeyance implies that something may resume later. The word conveys temporary suspension rather than permanent termination.

We hope.

I told my friend, “This is your Magnus Opus,” a work. of worthy intentions – and great promise. True grit and hard work, a psychological tour de force.

I have another friend, one whom I also haven’t seen in months. She’s going through a divorce from a wealthy, shyster husband who, she’s recently learned, has been engaged in one affair after another throughout their marriage. I wish she weren’t distraught; he’s a waste of emotion. More likely, the source of her despair is her naivety, guilded by a sense of being used. She’s afraid that it’s all been wasted time…

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=evxkY964tqk&list=RDevxkY964tqk&start_radio=1

At last – at the end of this post – the good news! I’m seeing both of them this weekend:With one of my treasured friends, we’ve resumed our weekly walk. (my knee replacement recovery interplayed with the two month hiatus)With the other, the go-to-new-school battles have settled into a sociable routine. MM and I get to do lunch once again… like we last did this summer. She was the first to bring a meal and a book to read after my surgery.

 

H.L. Mencken said, “Genius is the ability to prolong one’s childhood.”

I’m no genius, but I’m still attempting to achieve forever young and emulate Peter Pan by at least retaining my natural goofy and silly streak. I thrive via a good imagination, relying on creativity. Neither my husband nor I wish to grow up, grow old, grow grumpy, addled, or aggrieved, so we strive to refresh our minds, bodies, and souls, always learning, so as not to be stagnant and stuck in the good old days, adamantly judging the current state of people, places, and things.

If we’ve had such a curmudgeon in our sphere, we’ve tried to steer clear. I’ll bet you do, too.

After all, when you’re able to forge a career path you love and marry the man you adore, you are obliged to put cynicism aside and adopt an attitude of gratitude instead.

Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote, “Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air. Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year. Own the day. Do your best. Cultivate gratitude, give thanks continuously. Finish the day and be done with it.”

Isn’t that splendid advice? Hidden within the statement is have no regrets.

The regrets that occasionally float across my mind often focus on reparations unmade à la a 12-step program. However, I find that the people are minor characters in my life, ones that I’ve never seen or heard from again. I’ve been able to address major characters in my life to our mutual satisfaction – even via deathbed profession once.

Mencken said, “The older I get, the more I admire competence.” That goes for me too. Thus, I always try to be my best, ever and always and forever.

I’ll bet you do, too.

 

My husband and I are happy-go-lucky retirees. The daily news no longer enthralls us; whether on TV, online, or in the daily newspaper, disaster after disaster unfolds, provoking anxiety and crushing our emotions. The current fad endlessly recycles shameful claims and dishonesty designed to cast aspersions and ruin the reputations of those on the opposite side of the divide. It’s all deplorable.

But we haven’t disengaged from life. At this age and stage, we’ve reached equanimity. We have well-honed filters that help us ignore the acrimony and noise.

We seek knowledge elsewhere, about eclectic and interesting things.

For both of us, reading is a longtime skill, a hobby, a habit that refreshes and renews our minds. It broadens our knowledge, sometimes rearranging our points of view. We learn from characters’ struggles, troubles, and triumphs. We gain empathy and grow.

We neither live our lives with our heads underground – like an ostrich – nor with our heads in books.

We don’t book swap because we like different genres. He’s a power-and-politics guy, with David Baldacci as a favorite author. My taste is more eclectic – and, I think, interesting – with the mystery genre as a favorite because of the puzzle component. Further, the bad guy always gets his/her due. I tend to follow authors I’ve met at their signings and book talks. The warmth of a personal relationship hooks me.

My husband and I aren’t book snobs, believing that only cover-to-cover knowledge enriches.  We enjoy several long-established TV shows for their eclectic and interesting content. Shows like 60 Minutes, GPS by Fareed Zaharia, and Sunday Morning. While we miss Stephen Colbert – the man who helped us through the protracted home stay during the pandemic – we stay tuned to the satire of The Daily Show and Saturday Night Live. Many favorite TV programs are on our local PBS station, and we make donations accordingly.

My husband will be forever enthralled by college football, where the game and its outcome are always eclectic and interesting, unlike the pros. I don’t mind his Saturday preoccupation. Sometimes I watch and cheerlead; sometimes I read; and sometimes I write.

While we are both avowed extroverts, addicted to social gatherings, these private and home-based interests underpin our eclectic and interesting lives.

What about you?

 

 

I like clothes, favoring the color blue. I’ve gone through retail loyalty phases over my adult years, the first being Nordstrom with its twice-yearly sales. A personal shopper hired by the store provided free wardrobe selection services, collecting clothes from sale racks throughout the department store to place in a large dressing room for my try-ons. No hunting and picking for me. That phase lasted through the ’80s, when I had to dress professionally. Mine was a balancing act: playful appeal for my toddler-aged clients in my speech-language pathology private practice, yet knowledgeable and in-command for their parents.

And then a friend began to sell CAbi clothes in home parties with drinks, snacks, and camaraderie galore. One didn’t have to rely on the possibly false flattery of a store clerk, because the girlfriends were straightforward and honest, as was the CAbi sales rep. The clothing was well-made and showed more funk and style than the mainline Nordstrom clothing. I learned the reason – Carol Anderson had been a Nordstrom designer and left to launch her own line. The woman had a flair. Sadly, that friend and her husband moved to the Midwest to be near her precious grandchildren and where they had childhood roots. So, I had to select a new favorite brand…

And I became a Chico’s girl, mixing in Karen Kane clothing because this clothing designer was based in LA and the clothing was 100% American-made, in the LA garment district. Here’s one of Karen’s dresses –

Nowadays, I most often shop online, which feels like a new type of brand loyalty. My reasons are simple and clear:

The floor of the last store dressing room was littered with the straight pins pulled when prior customers removed them to try on the clothes. This felt unsafe as well as unkempt.I don’t have to drive to a mall now that gas prices are prohibitive.I can key in a color and size – sort of like my personal shopper who used to screen the store’s clothing for me – so no hunt-and-peck is required.Sales on the clothing seem constant, with frequent emails to remind me to shop, shop, shop…No matter the brand, each item was most often a sale purchase, with blue the predominant hue. And, I’d like to think, I always looked chic.

If you are someone who likes to gloss over details sometimes, English gives you a wealth of ways to imply that there’s more to say: we have yadda yadda yadda, so on and so forth, and, for those who prefer to end their sentences with a little more gravitas and dignity, etcetera. Adopted into English straight from Latin, etcetera (also written as etc.) means “a number of unspecified additional persons or things”; it’s often used at the end of lists to imply there are more entries than those explicitly enumerated.

This useful word started out as two distinct words in Latin: et(meaning “and”) and cetera (meaning “the other”). The abbreviation of etc. is so common today that someone is likely to understand its usage even without knowing the full phrase, but there is an earlier abbreviation that has fallen out of use. Going back to the 15th century, there are writings that use the abbreviation &c. (The first symbol is the ampersand, which means “and.”) This particular usage was extended to formal letter writing, as it was common to use )&c.later in the letter to replace the title of the person to whom the letter was addressed. Though far less common today, there’s evidence of people writing &c. throughout the 20th century.

You may also come across the Latin abbreviation et al.), which is short for either et alii (masculine), et aliae (feminine), or et alia (neuter), but this isn’t a substitution for etcetera, even though this Latin phrase translates to “and others.” Despite similarities to etcetera, et al. is mainly used as a substitute for multiple names written in a bibliographical context. You’re likely to see et al. in written works with many citations.

The famous phrase “et cetera, et cetera, et cetera” is used by King Mongkut in the musical The King and I. The King uses this signature catchphrase as a running gag throughout the show when he wants to cut short a long explanation or dismiss details. Watch this clip to see the famous phrase performed: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sn-TdC5gctk&t=41s

 

Are you an innie or an outie, that is, an introvert or an extrovert? Does conversing with people come easily, naturally to you – or do you, like many, require alcohol to ease your way into conversation with others, either strangers or friends?

Even better as a social lubricant than beer, we’ve discovered that dog ownership is the ultimate conversation starter. With Spark as wingman, my husband, Larry, chats his way around our neighborhood during their evening walks. He has another circle of friendly folks among the others who walk their dog. He’s become an avid community gossip collector (though never a spreader), a boon for connection in our small neighborhood where people cling to their privacy like their houses cling to the hill. Aloofness has been a hallmark, similar to other neighborhoods’ guarded gates, because there are no front porches and we all live behind closed garage doors.

There’s incontrovertible evidence that all three members of our household have an ‘outie’ conversational style, including our goldendoodle, who is irrepressible.

Irresistible, even, for people want to pet him everywhere we go. “What a beautiful dog,” they say.

He’d be the ultimate chick magnet if my husband were single. He’s a friendly bridge with children and shy adults. It helps that our golden doodle is also an outie, an extrovert eager to meet people, paw them, seek treats, and/or lick their face.

He wasn’t that way when we rescued him from an awkward, sad living situation. He was a neglected, scared, and bewildered 8-month-old pup. Perhaps, with the love, training, and encouragement in the 3 1/2 years since we’ve owned him, he’s become more like us. In this early photo, snapped on our patio, I had to wrestle his head in place literally; skittish and camera-shy was he.

Now Spark is an outie, like us. In fact, he leads the interface with others.

P.S. Stymied for conversation starters? Unwilling to acquire a pet? Here’s an eclectic and interesting list of conversation starters: