TAKING FOR GRANTED, GIVING THANKS

        It’s amazing what we all take for granted. Just now, I took my chenille bathrobe out of the dryer. I hadn’t finished the laundry yesterday. I was cold wearing just my nightie. My bathrobe was wonderfully warm. I put my arms in the sleeves and wrapped it around myself. It felt so very good. I was no longer cold, but enfolded in warmth. My dryer provided this pleasurable sensation.

          It made me think about all the things I take for granted and have for much of my life. All the modern conveniences that make my life easier and better. They are just there and I use them without thinking day after day after day after day.

          My grandmother had to make her own soap. She used ashes from her fires and fat from the hogs slaughtered each year. It certainly wasn’t Tide or Dove or available on the shelf of the local country store. Grandma washed clothes in a much different way than my mother eventually did and I do now. She boiled a vat of water, put the dirty clothes in, sloshed them around for a bit with a stick, pulled them out one at a time and scrubbed them on a scrub board. That was a wavy piece of metal set between wood edges. Clean, the garment was then submerged into water again to remove the soap and finally hung to dry on a clothes line.

          I can certainly see why people back then only bathed and changed their clothes once a week. If I had to go through that today, you can be certain I wouldn’t be putting today’s clothes into the hamper to be washed and dried at a later time.

          My mother’s life was a bit easier, but I can remember her using a washboard when we lived in Idaho. After we moved to Seattle, she got a wringer washer, and once a week, she pulled it from its corner in the kitchen and did laundry. In the summer, she hung the clothes and linens outside in the sun. In the rainy winter, they were hung in a shed adjacent the house. Still not easy-peasy. I don’t remember that changing until my parents left that house. It was then she got the washer and dryer that I had immediately available when I moved into my apartment. No washboard for me and I have taken for granted my wonderful washer and dryer ever since.

          I was just telling my granddaughter last week that I’d never had a garbage disposal or a refrigerator that dispensed ice and running water. I also told her I hadn’t and didn’t miss ever having them. The dishwasher is a different story. I didn’t use it much until after John passed away. He liked to do dishes and used Ivory bar soap as his cleanser. He said it kept his hands soft…he did have very nice hands even though he worked with them all the time. I didn’t like using Ivory bar soap. It really didn’t cut the grease very well. When I did the dishes without using the dishwasher, I used Dawn on my scrubber.

          Once John died and I had to do the dishes, I turned to the dishwasher. It has a half load cycle which is almost perfect. Just last week, my walking partner told me about an express button…we have the same dishwasher. That’s even better than the half load and only takes 30 minutes instead of an hour and 45 minutes. The dishes came out just as clean. And, yes, I could do all my dishes by hand each and every day because there aren’t many and I always wear rubber gloves.

          Now, those rubber gloves are something else I’ve always taken for granted. Can you imagine how harsh grandma’s lye soap was on her hands and those of my mother when she became old enough to help. They never ever wore rubber gloves no matter what they were doing. I have worn them all my life…to do the dishes, to clean the house, to clean the bathroom, to rinse out poopy diapers. I cannot imagine doing any of that without my trusty gloves. My dad was a baker and told me there were some things you just had to mush about with your bare hands. I have much thinner gloves for times like that. About the only time I didn’t and don’t wear rubber gloves of any sort was to wash myself or my children.

          The warmth of my bathrobe has dissipated, but I’m still not cold because of the central heat. I was born on the floor in front of a fireplace because that was the only warm place in the house. I remember the stoves in the two houses we lived in in Idaho. They didn’t provide heat throughout the house and had metal pipes that carried the smoke to the outside world. Those pipes got really hot and I have a scar somewhere on the back of my left arm from scooting behind the stove and not making myself small enough.

          Once in Seattle, we had a furnace, but the heat wasn’t piped to every single room. Instead, the furnace was beneath the house and the heat came up through a couple of floor registers. Want to get really warm…stand over that register in a long flannel nightie and let the hot air blow up around your body. Of course, I got all the heat at that point and it didn’t go anyplace else. I don’t really remember being cold in that house, but I do remember ice forming on the inside of the single-paned windows.

          My house came equipped with a furnace and ductwork to each and every room. The only times I’ve been cold here is when the power went out. The longest period was five days and it became sooooooooo cold inside. I think the covers on my bed weighed more than I did. We used the fireplace, but you were only warm in front of it and had to turn yourself as if on a spit to warm both sides.

          Mustn’t forget about the stove. I would have preferred a gas stove, but an electric one works just fine. I remember how my grandmother took care of the electric stove in her apartment. It sparkled every single day because I think it was a revelation to her. If she could see mine right now, she’d be appalled. The closest I’ve ever come to cooking without a real stove is using a camp stove. Still, that’s not like cooking over an open flame in order to feed ten or more people at one time. My grandma was one tough woman.

          What about the refrigerator and freezer? Back in Tennessee, I believe they put perishables in the closest running water. I even remember having a friend when I was very young who had an actual ice box for a fridge. John remembered having ice delivered to his house when he was young. Now, I just open a door and take out cold milk or vegetables I bought several days ago, or jars of mayonnaise and mustard. No need to make a batch each time I want a sandwich. John and I bought an upright freezer about 52 years ago. We’ve had it repaired just once in that time. I’m still using it, and, knock wood, it will continue to keep my meat and berries and other stuff frozen for some time to come.

          I don’t have central air conditioning, but if I do certain things early in the morning, the house remains pretty cool on a hot day. Otherwise, I do have a window air conditioner I can actually put in place myself. The heat doesn’t bother me as much as it did John…69 degrees and cloudy was his idea of perfection. For the last decade or so, we always had the window air conditioner in place in the living room for John’s comfort on the days it was 70 plus degrees.

          There are so many things I take for granted, I could probably go on discussing them for pages and pages, i.e., wanting to can fruit and vegetables rather than having to do so for survival, having the funds to purchase whatever I need from a store (or Amazon), being able to travel more than 50 miles in an hour or less, etc., etc., etc.

          Today is Sunday, a day on which I was raised to believe you gave thanks for all your blessings. And, I do, I do give thanks for every single thing in my life that makes it easier and better, more pleasurable and desirable, far more so than it was for the women who proceeded me.

CONFUSION

         It never fails to amaze me how a person can present one façade to you while actually doing something else.  I don’t understand how a person can actually treat you one way, or do things a certain way, and yet, do the exact opposite of what you expect. And, it’s not like you can call them out for what they are doing. It’s very confusing for me.

          I’ve always tried to be up front about everything in my life. I’ve always tried to be honest in my dealings with friends, family or even the odd person who just happens to show up in my life.  I simply don’t understand how a person can say one thing and then do the exact opposite. Maybe I’m simply too naïve and don’t get it.

          I cannot cite any particular persons or occasions here because I would undoubtedly be roasted over an open fire for saying such things or attributing it to a particular person. Thankfully, there haven’t been a huge number of people like this in my life. Also, once the situation became apparent, that person was no longer a part of my life except for exceptional circumstances. It would give me a huge feeling of satisfaction to identify those people, but I simply cannot, without creating an entirely new fiasco.

          And, to be perfectly honest, I do sincerely believe there are some people in my life who do not take me at my word, that choose to believe I have another scenario in mind when it comes top whatever it is I’m working on or discussing.  I don’t understand how their minds work or how they can find fault with me when I’m attempting to be honest and above-board.

          These are the same people who rave about another person or persons who do literally and absolutely nothing for them. I’m here, and I do whatever I can to assist or provide when it comes to needs or wants. I don’t expect huge accolades or effusive thanks, but some form of recognition would be nice. However, me, myself and I are in no way, shape or form, acknowledged by the individuals who go out of their way to thank and approve or provide some form of accolades for the person(s) who doesn’t provide anything in the way of support.

          Seriously, I don’t get it. Why am I not recognized for what I actually do or what I can actually do as opposed to those individuals who do absolutely nothing and yet receive recognition in a huge post or thank you on Facebook, or even a small thank you card.  I realize in some cases that the individual recognizing someone else for basically nothing is trying to get some sort of acknowledgement from the person doing the recognition. So far, from what I’ve seen, it usually doesn’t appear to work.

          Instead, I’m left feeling as though I’m some sort of idiot for trying to be whatever that person wants. I’m left feeling as though my efforts are not recognized or appreciated. It’s at that point I feel as though there’s no point in continuing to try to do whatever I can to assist the person/people in whatever their goals may be.

          Perhaps I’m just at a low point right now and focusing more on the “don’t have” column as opposed to the “have” column. In any case, when it comes to the thankless folks in my life, there aren’t all that many…could probably count on the fingers of one hand. So, it’s best I look at and appreciate all the wonderful people who do inhabit my life and assist me in feeling good the majority of the time.

TODAY...

I have absolutely nothing to say.

POKE AND THE BEACH

          Today, Thursday, I did something I haven’t done in a long while, actually more likely years. First, my walking partner, Kathy, and I ordered food from Ono Poke. This restaurant is owned by a former Hawaiian who opened the restaurant because he couldn’t find good poke here…it’s absolutely delicious. After we picked it up, we went to the Edmonds beach, sat at a picknick table and ate our lunches. It wasn’t sunny, but it wasn’t cold and the breeze wasn’t too bad.

          Once we’d eaten our lunches, we decided that rather than walking the path, we’d go down to the beach and walk that instead. This is the part I hadn’t done in a very long time.  We may not have walked the thousands of steps we usually do, but we spent way more time walking. And of course, we did not have the proper footwear for an extremely low tide. Still, we persevered and walked a long way south down the beach. It was probably one of those tides where we could have walked from Edmonds to Richmond Beach. We didn’t do that.

          Kathy had spent a lot of time on the beach as her children went through elementary school. She’d learned a lot. My only time on a beach with elementary aged children was when my son was in fifth grade or thereabouts. My son’s teacher’s parents had a place on Hood Canal. Every spring, she took her class to the canal.  I was one of the chaperones and drivers. For some reason, when I did that sort of thing, perhaps because I had male children, I was given the more troublesome kids.

          There are only two things I remember from that trip aside from my group being a bit more challenging. One is finding a perfect moon snail shell which I still have. The other is illustrating to my kids how not to hold a crab. Somehow, I managed to pick up the crab in such a way that it grabbed one of my fingers with one of its claws. As I was trying to educate my group, the crab‘s other claw managed to grab another finger.  All I wanted to do at this point was to shake my hand and utter obscenities at the top of my lungs…it was so painful. Somehow, I managed to not do that and was able to rescue my fingers from the crab claws. “And, children, that is how you DO NOT WANT to pick up a crab.” My fingers were extremely sore and ended up quite bruised for almost a week.

          Yesterday, Kathy was much more knowledgeable about what we were seeing than I. If I had her knowledge at some point, I’ve since lost it. I did find another moon snail yesterday and it was alive. Kathy carefully took it and placed it into a more wet environment. When we were on our return walk, we found it again. It had a pile of sand around what would have been its foot or face(?), so it had burrowed into the sand. Since we’d seen a seagull feasting on another moon snail, I carefully covered this one up with seaweed. Hopefully, since the tide was now coming in, it survived.

          Kathy also pointed out a number of sea anemones. I wouldn’t have spotted them otherwise. I loved touching them and watching as they pulled themselves closed.  Kathy even touched one that sent up a spout of liquid…I told her it was trying to pee on her.  We also picked up a number of interesting rocks, some of which went into our pockets and some of which we left on the beach.  I even brought home a piece of what I think is redwood. It’s very colorful and has some holes in it. I’m wondering if there’s anything living in those holes. For now, it’s on my deck. Once it dries out completely, I’d like to include it in the mobile for which I’ve been saving driftwood for years.

          A few days ago, the Shoreline Journal had an article about a very low tide. I was sorry I hadn’t known about it. When I got home yesterday, I looked up the tide charts for the next month.  It appears there will be low tides the next few days with a few more the middle of June. I sent the information to Kathy in an email.  Hopefully, we will return to the beach on one of those days, clad in the appropriate footwear and wearing a backpack so we can carry home far more treasures than we did today.

          Maybe we can even order more poke…it was delicious!!!

MY OPINION/EXPERIENCES

       Earlier this week I tried writing a post about the deaths of the three black people, George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery and Breonna Taylor and the protests that are occurring across the country. I came to the conclusion that I don’t really know very much about any of that. Overnight, I decided the only thing I could post about was my own experiences.

          My mother was born in Tennessee and the only story I ever heard that involved black people was about a beating she received because she had gone off to a black church because she liked the music. When I was growing up, my mother worked downtown at Kress’ dime store. Some of her coworkers were black. She always treated them with respect and expected the same from me when I was introduced.

          The only example of racism I can remember in my family came from my father. A bunch of my friends had come home from school with me. We were all playing outside, probably tag or some game that involved touching each other. One of my friends was Pilipino and later, my father told me I was never ever to let that black kid touch me. I was shocked and amazed by his order because I didn’t see the skin color, I just saw a friend.

          In high school there were only Caucasian kids until my senior year. Then, two black girls and one black boy came to the school. They weren’t in any of my classes and appeared to pretty much stick together. I didn’t give it much thought at the time and now wish I had made more of an effort to be welcoming.

          It wasn’t until I was 26 years old that I had my first black friend. He was employed by the adjoining department at the University of Washington, but some of his professor’s research happened in the lab on my floor. My friend had to walk by my office entering and leaving the lab. We got to talking and it became a habit for him to stop, sit down and we’d talk. From there, we began having coffee in the cafeteria whenever it was convenient for us both. I also gave him a ride home now and then.

          I had never really given it much thought, but in our conversations it became very apparent to me that he and his family were just like me and my family. They had the same dreams, desires, and kind of lives that my family and all the other white families I knew did. It was a revelation to me.

          At one point, my friend stopped coming around. I had told him to let me know if I ever said or did anything that was offensive because I’d never had a black friend. I asked one of his friends what was going on. He didn’t know, or said he didn’t know. I asked him to tell our friend I missed him and wished he’d resume our friendship. So, my friend came back and it wasn’t anything I said or did that made him stop having coffee or visiting with me. His professor and some of his white co-workers had made very offensive (to him) remarks about me and our friendship.

This was a time where white-black friendships were rare and white males took exception to interracial couples. Now, my friend and I were not a couple, but apparently it appeared that way just because we spent time together. I told my friend his boss and coworkers could think and say whatever they liked about me. For that matter, people who came into the cafeteria and saw us together could also think what they liked. I told him, “You are my friend. I value our friendship and want it to continue. If it makes you uncomfortable, I certainly understand.”

My friend and I went back to the way things were, but my opinion of his professor and coworkers took a huge hit. I’d never seen them as bigoted racists before, but I certainly did from that point on. When I left my position at the UW, I lost track of my friend, but found him again decades later on Facebook. We don’t chat much, but I’m always pleased when I see his name on my computer screen.

Later on, I went to work for the Seattle Department of Parks and Recreation. I met many more black people there and always treated them with respect and consideration. There were some I genuinely liked and got to know fairly well. In one case, a woman with whom I worked was diagnosed with cancer. I deeply mourned her passing.

There was one young woman in the department who did make me very angry. I can’t remember if it was during the Watts riots or what had happened. She would go on for an entire coffee break about how awful everything was. If I’d made all the same comments she did, replacing the word “white” with the word “black,” she most likely would have reported me to human resources or physically attacked me. I knew she was very angry and kept my mouth shut. This was the first time I became personally aware of black anger and the need for some kind of change.

A couple of decades ago, a mixed-race couple moved into the house next door. Over the years I’ve gotten to know them. The husband may be black and the wife white, but they are just like any other married couple I know. I’ve welcomed their two children and watched the father interact with them through my front window. He is, without any doubt on my part, the best father I’ve ever witnessed.

We’ve never discussed race or whether or not they’ve had to talk to their children about how to act if they are stopped by the police. I’ve never asked if they’ve had any difficulties in our community. I believe I’ve never brought any of this up in our discussions because I don’t see the color…I see a set of wonderful parents who are also great neighbors.

Finally, I have family in Tennessee. I’ve only made three, maybe four, visits there, but not once have I encountered any racist comments or seen any family members act in such a way as to be offensive to anyone because of skin color. I very much like and appreciate that.

Instances of black people, or people of any color, being treated and killed as the three in my opening paragraph were saddens me. The fact the peaceful protests are highjacked by human beings and turned into events that are the exact opposite of the overall goal also saddens me. I feel as though there’s nothing I can actually do to make any improvements aside from what I’ve always done. Treat every single person that enters or is part of my life with respect and consideration for each individual rather than that person’s color.

          I’m not exactly happy with this post. It‘s such an important topic and while I feel a need to write something, I don’t feel it’s particularly helpful. I just wish each and every single person in the entire world would take a step back and remember the “Golden Rule.” I’m sure if everyone treated everyone else exactly how they’d like to be treated, there wouldn’t be any George Floyds, Ahmaud Arberys and Breonna Taylors. It doesn’t seem like too terribly much to desire.

MOSTLY PHOTOS

           Yesterday, I began writing another zoo post, but was unable to finish because of other commitments…amazing, yes. One of those commitments was my dentist. Finally after gluing the temporary crown back on seven (7) times, I got to go in and have the permanent crown cemented into place. They even had to numb my mouth slightly because that tooth hadn’t had a root canal and had become more sensitive with each regluing process. I’m so grateful to have it done. Now, maybe I can actually begin chewing on the right side again…it’s only been nine (9) weeks I’ve been chewing on the left side. I wonder if the muscles on the left are a lot larger now. I’m going to have to stare into the mirror and evaluate. 
         So, rather than write more today about my adventures at the zoo, I thought I'd just add a few of my favorite photos. I did try to insert them in chronological order, but Blogger has its own idea ow how they should be presented and I don't have time to fight with it. Hope you enjoy.

When the real dinosaurs came to visit.

Right after I took his photo, he jumped at the bars and roared loudly. 

Scared me so bad I fell on my butt.

Brandi Carlile...one of her concerts...absolutely great

         

Baby Tiger 2003

Feeding the lemurs 2008

Chai & Hansa...3 months old maybe...possibly my favorite photo.

ZOO YEARS 1962; 1991-97

         When I went looking for the photo of me and Haley at elephants, I discovered the three-ring binder I’d put together after I retired. It contains a variety of things, all of which are refreshing my memory of my years at Woodland Park Zoo. I should have multiple happy posts in the days to come.

          To begin, I’m not sure just how many of you are aware of my link to the zoo. I grew up in the Fremont neighborhood and the zoo was not encircled by a fence at that time. The only things that cost money were food from the concession stand and the rides in the lower east corner of the zoo. Back then, if you had a quarter, you were rich enough for a couple of rides, or just a snack. Boy, how things have changed since then.

          In addition, back then there were no helicopter parents, nor were we driven every single place we wanted to go. We had two good feet and perhaps a bicycle. In my neighborhood, the kids often walked up Fremont Avenue to the zoo, through the zoo to West Green Lake beach. If we were feeling really ambitious, sometimes we’d hike to the East Green Lake beach. Even more fun was wading out to Duck Island. Why didn’t all that muck and slime bother me back then? Now, I’d require a wet suit over my entire body to venture toward Duck Island.

          I have many happy memories of those jaunts to the lake, swimming the day away and the jaunt back home…at least going home it was all downhill. It was such a relaxed time and summer seemed to last forever.

          In 1961, I turned 16. I was excited to get a job that wasn’t babysitting. My very first job was at the zoo selling hotdogs in the concession stand. I don’t know of there was a public health department then that looked after places like that. I don’t believe so. Whatever chili or hotdogs were left at the end of the day were placed in the fridge and pulled out the following morning to reheat. When the stock became low, you simply added more chili or hotdogs to the pans. You didn’t wash them up first. It was at this point I decided I would never ever buy a hotdog or chilidog that I had not either personally prepared or watched being prepared.

Bear Exhibit 1960

          I only worked the summer of 1962 because I graduated high school the spring of 1963 with my Secretarial Certificate, so that meant I could go out in the world and get a real 8-5 job for, as it turned out, two different insurance companies, one after the other. I didn’t give the zoo another thought and didn’t keep up with the various developments and changes, i.e., fence, admission charge, etc.

          In 1984, I took a permanent part-time job with the City of Seattle Department of Parks and Recreation. It was only at that point I realized the zoo belonged to the city. My job was to provided administrative assistance to the Parks Department Planning, Projects and Development department. My first big typing job was for what was to become the Asian Elephant Exhibit at the zoo, funded by the 1985 county-wide Zoo Bond. When I turned the finished copy into the planner, I said, “This sounds wonderful, let’s get it built.”

          From that position, I moved to the Word Processing Department. I loved working there and it was then I met the Director of the zoo, Dave Towne. He came in one day in a bit of a tizzy. He had a meeting with some honchos downtown and the legislation he had was incorrect. Did any of us in word processing know how to fix it. Well, I had prepared lots of legislation for that first departments Capital Improvement Program guy. I indicated I could take care of it.

          Now, you have to understand this gentleman, and he was/is one, was also a bit of a naughty guy. It was also a bit before everyone got so up tight about sexual innuendo and all that stuff. Mr. Towne asked what I’d charge and I told him I wanted peacock feathers. I had no idea what his job entailed and just assumed he could go out and about before the zoo opened and pick up stray peacock feathers. I fixed his legislation so it was correct, and every time I saw him after that, we’d joke about the peacock feathers and why I wanted them. He finally brought me one shortly before I actually ended up working at the zoo for his second in command.

Typical Cages, 1960

          You have no idea how unhappy I was when my boss told me in September that come the end of 1991, I wouldn’t have a job. As head of her department, she had moved the money that funded my position to another location. It was so another person could have the assistant he’d needed for a long time. It was approved by the Parks Finance Department, but when it got to the City’s Office of Management and Budget (OMB), they said, nope, haven’t funded that position before and we’re not funding it now. My boss tried to get the money back into the position I held, but OMB told her she must not need it since she’d given it up. That position was gone as would I be come the end of the year.

          The one nice thing working for a bureaucracy is some of the rules they have in place. Since I’d been written out of the budget, the City had to find me another comparable job. There was only one…at Woodland Park Zoo. It was also permanent part-time in support of the Citizen’s Advisory Committee for the 1985 Bond Issue. Fortunately for me, the man (Mike Waller) who interviewed and hired me did like me. It didn’t matter that working at the zoo shortened my commute by 15-20 minutes, that I had free parking and wouldn’t have to rush about moving my car before the meter person returned to give me a ticket, I DID NOT want to go there.

          Zoo staff were welcoming, the citizens on the Advisory Committee extremely nice and the work was rewarding and interesting. I soon became comfortable with working at the zoo and eventually extremely grateful I was given the opportunity and took it. Four days a week, I worked in one of the trailers at what was affectionately called Camp David. The fifth day, I spent at the exact opposite end of the zoo working for the Supervisor of Maintenance and Horticulture.

I still laugh about what staff in that location must have thought the first time I turned up down there. I was clad in winter white…slacks and sweater and wearing cute little flats. At that point in time, those departments hadn’t been renovated and everything was muddy and filthy. The people in this department were out on grounds eight hours a day making the zoo look great. Mud, dirt, Zoodoo, they tracked it all in and about. And, it didn’t matter if it was sunny and warm or raining and miserable, they were out there every single day. I didn’t make the mistake of looking so out-of-place again and managed to bring a certain amount of order to the place before I went to work for Mr. Towne full-time in 1997.

When the 1985 Zoo Bond Issue, the first county-wide bond issue ever approved by the voters, included was a Master Plan that included a number of bioclimatic zones. There was Tropical Asia, Tropical Rain Forest, African Savanna, Northern Trail, Temperate Forest with exciting changes included in the different zones, i.e., the Rain Forest Café, Family Farm. It was up to the Citizen’s Advisory Committee to look at and approve any changes to the Master Plan. In some cases, a particular exhibit would require more money and changes would be proposed, discussed and sent back for more work or approved. Some of these necessitated removing or changing parts of the Master Plan. The Desert and Steppe Exhibits never came to fruition.

The Zoo Bond Issue was pretty much completed by 1997. The voter-approved bond issue provided $32 million. The Zoo Society had to raise $10 million. In the end, donations, interest earned and funds raised beyond that totaled more than $20 million for a final budget of close to $55 million, if my memory serves. I was the primary planner for the county-wide celebration at its completion. I thought I had kept a copy of the brochure that was prepared citing all the accomplishments and changes, but apparently, I did not. So, again, if memory serves, we held the event in September 1998, immediately after the national zoo convention in Tulsa Oklahoma.

I’m really pleased I had the opportunity to work on the huge changes made possible by the Zoo Bond issue at a more than 100-year-old institution. I’m especially proud of the fact that at the time, it was the first bond issue to be completed on time and under budget. In fact, it took a couple of additional years to completely exhaust the funds in Zoo Bond Issue budget.

Hopefully, you are enjoying my trip down memory lane. And, hopefully, I’m not getting too many facts wrong. Stay tuned, there’s more to come.