12 Oakdale

I’m ahead of where I normally am at this stage of the game when I’m organizing for a party. There are still 3 days to go, and the food is ordered, the desserts, except an orange cake, are made. The yard is in great shape thanks to CC and my working like dogs. She did get overzealous in one area and began clearing out the Spanish needles (Bidens alba) , a native weed that normally I rip out continuously. I got her stopped with enough left for all the little wildflower arrangements I want to make for the party. We’ll get the rest pulled up the next time she comes. Grant and I’ve made the list for the crudités, broccoli salad, beans, and rice he’s making. He will shop today. Steph is making decorations and labels for the little honey bear party favors. The porch is cleaned, and we’ve picked up the tables. We’ll borrow 8 chairs from our neighbor’s daughter tomorrow. Today, I want to get the rest of the house neatened and find the photos of Spaulding as a baby. Since he swears we have none ...

Saturday, we drove to Fort Lauderdale to see our friend Diane in  Crazy in Love , the musical production her adult theater student class put on. While she had a non-speaking part, the lead was played by Sam, a young man we knew at our old congregation. He loves to dance, sing and act, and has hopes of a career. Tough life plan. Orlando is full of those hopes, but I guess a few pan out. As a confirmed audience member, I enjoy our local theater groups having a large pool of talent to draw from. I get plenty of stage time through my EarlyBird Toastmasters group, with my (self-induced) commitment to speak and to tell a joke once a month. Frankly, telling a joke is harder for me than speaking.  But we’re there to learn and practice. The other weeks I’m happy to take whatever role is needed.  September 16th, the club is celebrating its 60th anniversary. We are invited to come as we were in 1963. Way too early for hippies: the Summer of Love wasn’t until 1967. I found an origina...

I may have gone a little too short. During the lock down, Grant and I cut each other’s hair, for better or worse. When we were finally able to buy professional-quality electric clippers, our styles improved somewhat.  Finally, last March, a year after I’d had my last salon hair cut, I braved a local shop and told my stylist OJ to cut it short. She cut much away, and I liked the result, but it wasn’t as short as I really wanted. Two more appointments, she still was timid, but she trimmed a little more each time.  Friday, she struck. Perhaps, just a little shorter than I envisioned, but I was the one to tell her to go as boldly as she dared. I didn’t think she had it in her.  Good man that he is, Grant said he likes it. The rest of my family hasn’t acknowledged my new look. I saw Patten and Molly at Stephanie and Clara’s summer party yesterday, and not a peep from anyone about my hair. I find this especially amusing since Stephanie is in a neon-colored hair phase. Perhaps t...