They Called Her Mrs B

So Mrs Clinton doesn’t make it.

All trumped up.  (A photo-shopped Donald?)

          Hilary Clinton (Pants Suit Lady)                    

A woman in the White House – ah when, oh, when?

American dreams of woman shattering glass ceiling are … shattered.  

 

 

 

 

 

Glass ceiling on international stage is shattered in 1960 when simple housewife steps into defunct husband’s shoes, becomes world’s first woman premier –

Old enough to remember?

Sirimavo Bandaranaike,  Madam Prime Minister of Ceylon (now Sri Lanka), island home of world’s best tea  …

They called her Mrs B.

                         Sirimavo Bandaranaike with Soviet Union Prime Minister Alexei Kosygin

Way to go,  little Boy Scout! (Husband receives award from Mrs B at school prize giving)

Perplexing time in history of the  US of A. 

Glad to be Canadian … 

Begins with you and me … little drops of water, little grains of sand.

The new reality.  Must it be this way?

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House renovations are finally done.  Just in time for house guests –

My snoozing spots are gone, Mama! 

   Relieved Puppy.  Hip hip hurrah!

“If you love me, let me be … ” (Puppy and weekend Guest-let)

Three hearty cheers. No place like home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Arduous weeks prior –

Never again …

Scrubber, that’s me!  Couldn’t wait to get mop and pail out … 

Scary without railings, Mama!

Much better, but slippery now. Carry me up, please …

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Next job: Duct cleaning –

Quick phone call 

 Connected up

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stuff comes rumbling through vents into humongous tube.

Me to Duct Guy:  “Unearthed anything interesting over the years?”

Duct Guy:  “A Penthouse magazine once, dead ferret,  mouldy submarine sandwich.” 

Macabre Me: “Never any human body parts?”

Duct Guy (chuckling): “No!”

Boring …

Unseen toxic stuff all gone.   Household breathes so much easier.  

Literally …

Almost as wide as me. Gigantic tubing.

Feels like a parable –

Just because I can’t see what’s inside, doesn’t mean it’s not there and affecting who I am, how I function … 

Sobering food for thought

 Do I need emotional housecleaning? Any residual gunk and uglies clogging me up?

Hmm …  

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Supermoon last week.  Crazy camera lady checks out rise/set times,  goes moon chasing.  Runs, walks.  Chilly, hungry, determined. 

Won’t to go home without pictures.  Thankful for unseasonably mild weather …

 Sun sets.  Ginormous blood-red orange slips into view above trees.  Bright as sun. 

Gasp!

Ipad and phone won’t do justice to immensity, colour and breathtaking grandeur. 

Pictures don’t record as eye sees. So disappointed.

Reddish setting moon.  (In the park just before dawn)

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 Summer-like weather most of last week.   Snap pictures of burning, brilliant gardens.

Ankle-deep 

Neighbours’ leaves all raked, ready for pick up –

Mostly naked trees –

Some still stubbornly clothed –

Squirrel-y busy-ness –

In Wai Ling’s front yard

Half chewed apples all over Garden, stalwart summer blooms clinging on for dear life –

Delighted to find last, late (scrawny) strawberry –

                                                    “Goodbye, my darling.  See you next spring!”

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Seen him a couple of times –

View from rear.  Glazed eyes.  Unshaven, unwashed.

Looks scruffy and lost. 

Homeless man?                   

Wish I could pluck up courage to say hello. 

Fear of rejection …

On my to do list: Talk to him.

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Found this on fly leaf of an old book of Mum’s  –

Mum’s handwriting.  Miss her gentle wisdom.

Material things were never a big deal with her –

She said this a lot

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This week’s assignment –

Deal with useless emotional junk.

May take some work …

Open the doors.  Let it go.

Mum once told me, “To have hurt feelings is pride.”

 

… just a willing heart

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Weather’s changed dramatically.

Trying ignore perpetually chilly toes.

At least I have toes  …

Thankful for toes!

Until next time,

PS:  The photos in this post are moments captured on my Ipad and phone.  

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