I am sitting here holding this little 3 x 4.5 inch book and hold on. In just a minute, I will know how Starbucks Via, described as a “revolutionary instant coffee” can change my life.
Oh, my. I can add it to bottled water. If I am taking the red-eye and there’s no Starbucks, I can shake some in hot water. Who knew? And if Aunt Harriet is boring me with her stories of hydrangeas, I can drink just a cup and not wade through an entire pot.
But what’s this? Aunt Harriet looks suspiciously my age. And I like hydrangeas. And what are those words coming out of Aunt Harriet’s mouth? Looks like “Blah, blah, blah.”
So do I like Via? Not so much. Not so much as hydrangeas, even. On a scale of 1-10, a little better than Sanka, I’d say.

We could all use a little levity in this economy. A good start is doing what a bank teller told me last week that she does: turn off the evening news and watch M*A*S*H*. I like her idea. It’s fun and free. Curious what others might suggest. Let me her from you!

BTW, I know it’s not Sunday afternoon, the regular time for Dog Journal entries.  But hey.  When inspiration strikes, bloggers blog.  Another bit of free fun.

Coming up on the anniversary of my late mom’s birthday tomorrow, I feel compelled to play the CD we made of her piano playing. Reminds me of how, in her eighties, she took the treacherous trip down an open stairwell at a recording studio and played for nearly an hour by heart. Not satisfied with the results, she insisted we return a year later after she’d practiced some more.

The best mentoring, it seems to me, comes unintentionally, when lively people of spirit just do what they do. My mom was that kind of mentor.

Edging up on the one-year anniversary of my mom’s death, I had an uneasy feeling.  There’s something about autumn and grief: too closely aligned for a smooth sail through.  The first turning leaves and yesterday’s rain proved me right.  With every gust and falling leaf, I wanted to say, “Don’t go.  Too soon.” 

Leo Buscaglia makes me feel a little better about fall and grief.  In his children’s book for all ages, “The Fall of Freddie the Leaf,” he sees death through the eyes of Freddie, a leaf who sees his friends fall from the tree daily, and his wise friend Daniel, who assures him that the “season of death” is just as natural as Spring and Summer.

Still, I wish my mom had chosen a different time. Spring maybe when bulbs were just popping up or a sweltering summer day when kids were whooping and running through sprinklers.  Winter might have worked.  “Hang in,” she would have been saying. “Spring’s just around the corner.” 

Reluctantly, though, I get it.  A gardener, in tune with the seasons, she probably preferred fall. “Death is a part of life,” she used to say.  What better time to let go than with the leaves?