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The Ninth Month

JT Twissel 13 Comments

The flowering plant featured this month on the Wasabi calendar is the Akebia Quinata or the Chocolate Vine, a native of Japan, China and Korea whose fruit is harvested in late August and September.

Akebia grows on hedges, slopes and hills and is similar to the Dragonfruit. The rind of the fruit is used in vegetable and meat dishes and the pulp is considered a sweet delicacy but don’t eat the seeds. They are bitter and nasty. As its name implies, it has a chocolatey aroma.

However some plant guides warn that Akebia is an invasive species.

In September there are two national holidays in Japan: September 15th, Respect for the Aged and September 23 Autumnal Equinox Day. Being in the “aged” category myself, I think we deserve more than one day a year to be respected, don’t you? Thus saying, I would probably hide in my house on a Respect for the Aged day rather than be pointed out to young children:

“Look! There’s an Aged who can still walk!
Smile for the Aged, children!
Clap for the Aged!
Let’s take the Aged’s wrinkly old hand and walk the Aged through town for everyone to see!”

Yikes!

Autumnal Equinox Day marks the first official day of fall and is yet another time set aside for the Japanese to honor their ancestors. However, visiting a graveyard in late September could be deadly (no pun intended). The bulbs of the Red Spider Lily are planted in graveyards because they contain an alkaloid toxic to animals and so the graves beneath them are not disturbed. Even humans are wise to avoid the touch of the Red Spider Lily, aka Flower of Death.

And guess when these death plants blossom?

Happy September everyone! Beware the Red Spider Lily!

The Fourth Quarter

JT Twissel 25 Comments

It’s hard to believe we are teetering on final quarter of the year. For me, it’s time for reassessments. Am I going to accomplish what I set out to do in January? Generally the answer is “no” which leads to the question: What can I accomplish before the end of the year without turning into a basket case? I’ve been told that’s one of the pitfalls of being an eldest sister. Eldest sisters, particularly those with working mothers are overly responsible, goal-oriented and guilt-ridden when failing to meet their goals. But you know what? I think I’m on the mend. Perhaps it’s age.

Note the little devils I had to put up with! Forget those impish smiles. “You’re not my mother!” was the only thing they could say.

For example, this year I vowed to:

  • Collect my stories and edit, edit, edit the crap out of them
  • Get more involved with the community
  • Hire a gardener; a handyman; and an electrician
  • Bronze a few of my sculptures with money my mother left me for such a purpose
  • Republish my second book.

Of all those lofty goals, I accomplished just one. The last one.

One of the dozens of sketches for the book. I learnt this year that I am not a skilled cover designer!

I must admit, it felt good to release the story to the world. Really good, considering that I began writing about the wacky world of mein Oncle Boob over thirty years ago.

As for my other goals, well the world will not end if I don’t finish them. It might end … considering how everything is going … but it won’t be because I did not hire an electrician.

Tomorrow I flip the page to a new month on the Wasabi calendar. Any guesses as to which flowering. plant is featured? Here’s a clue: it’s native to Japan where it is considered a great delicacy.

Word Play Dismay

JT Twissel 14 Comments

The other day, when asked during an interview what sort of person annoyed me I said a nosy person which was a hypocritical thing for me to say considering that I am a writer. And what do writers do? They stick their noses into everything!

Sunrise over my neighbor’s driveway

Which begs the question: Where is the line between nosiness and curiosity or is there one? Here is an example of the what I mean:

Two women have been living next door to each other for a dozen years. They are friendly but not necessarily friends. We’ll call them Mrs Green and Mrs. Yellow. One day a strange car shows up in Mrs. Yellow’s driveway and stays for three whole days. Mrs. Green is curious. She imagines all sorts of scenarios.

Finally one night Mrs. Green bumps into Mrs. Yellow at their mailboxes and says: “I noticed there’s a blue car sitting in your driveway. Is everything okay? Did you get a new car”

To which Mrs. Yellow responds: “My nephew is staying with me for a while.”

At this point Mrs Green, if she were merely curious, could say something like: “How nice. I hope you have a lovely time together.”

Mrs. Yellow is then free to share that her nephew is relocating or that her nephew is getting over a bad breakup or that her nephew is an escaped convict but she doesn’t. She merely smiles and says: “Thanks.”

However if Mrs. Green continues by asking: “How old is he? Is he a registered sex offender? Why is there a dent in the side of his car?” She is being nosy. Although perhaps there is a better word. What would you say?

I will use any excuse to post pictures of my neighbor’s beloved Gaston. He’s gone but certainly never forgotten. He could be very curious and even a bit nosy but I never minded a bit! Dogs can be a nosy as they want!

Of your unspoken word you are the master; of your spoken word the servant; and of your written word the slave – Quaker proverb

Writing is easy all you have to do is cross out the wrong words. – Mark Twain

Okay young whippersnappers …

JT Twissel 21 Comments

[Note: this is a political diatribe not aimed at my readers and so I will understand if you wish to skip this post]

Not all people over sixty were hippies. I know many older people who are actively protesting against the current attempt at tyranny who’ve never been on a commune in their lives. Who’ve never gone to Haight Ashbury and worn flowers in the hair; who’ve never rocked out to a Grateful Dead concert and dropped acid. The young whippersnappers who are dissing older protesters by calling them “Elderly White Hippies” are in for a big surprise. Don’t tell them though. They won’t believe you.

Image from BlueSky

Nor were all hippies white although I will concede that the majority of the self-described hippies I met way back when were the children of white or whitish upper middle class professionals. For some of them, being a hippie was just a phase (I fall into that category). And after a few vagabond years, they settled into what could be described as normal lives. But many “hippies” turned their experiences on communes into lives devoted to socially and environmentally aware living. Many did great things. For sure, we changed the world although not as much as we’d naively hoped.

And so, if you’re over a certain age, sing along with me. Even if you’re not, someday, if you’re lucky, you will be. Might as well get prepared for the dissing of the young and clueless whippersnappers.

THEY SAY WE’RE OLD AND WE DON’T VOTE

They say we’re old and we don’t vote
All we do is sleep and watch TV
They don’t know the risk they take
For dissing one’s elders never turns out great.

My granny after a few vodkas and after being dissed – watch out!

Although it’s true, we may smoke pot,
At least I’m sure of all the things we got
We’ve got the time, to organize.
We’ve got the patience, to see it through.
And if they think we’re scared, then they don’t know,
about the Four Dead in Ohio.

Let them say our hair’s too gray
We don’t care. What we’ve got, they cannot take away
So, put your wrinkled hand in mine
There ain’t no hill or mountain we can’t climb.

Apologies to Sonny and Cher

Walk with me

JT Twissel 15 Comments

We finally decided to take the old Prius in for the Necessary Oil Maintenance the dashboard monitor had been displaying for weeks. My husband translated that to oil change which is something he used to be able to handle in the privacy of our driveway for very little cost. But that was before. Prius’ are special … as are most cars started via buttons and not keys. Lord.

From the Orinda Vintage Car Show – a car using manual ignition

So I contacted the dealer we generally use to schedule an oil change. It should take about two hours max, right? I asked. Noooooo, was the snide reply I received. The car needed its 70,000 mile grand nincompoopery of “services.” A dizzying list of valve checks, fluid replacements, tire rotations, brake fluid checks, face lifts, tummy tucks, nose jobs and oh, if there’s rat damage, well you better take out that second mortgage. And … there’s always rat damage. (I’ve long suspected the local auto dealers and repair shops are importing rats from all over the world and releasing them in Contra Costa California with the hearty admonition to go forth and consume the wires, hoses, insulation and whatever else appeals to them in every vehicle … be those vehicles in a garage or in the street! )

For various reasons, I dread going to the Toyota dealer. And so when a coupon arrived from an auto shop within walking distance of my house, I decided to give them a try. They’re a small shop whose owners love vintage cars. Every year they hold a vintage car show that keeps attracting more and more people and so I was surprised they also service newer cars. And they were very friendly; no snide remarks.

I drove over this morning and, as directed, parked the filthy beast behind two mint condition vintage Thunderbirds. After checking in with their staff of amateur comedians (“How long will the service take?” “The rest of the year.”) I decided the weather was perfect for the long walk home. No need for a Lyft. Although the comedians had their doubts. “Try to remember exactly where you are in case you can’t make it and we have to come get you.” Gads. Do I look that old?

Well, I made it. Come with me on my walk, will you?

Above is the beginning of my walk – the sidewalk in front of the community center, library and park. It’s generally a very busy area but not at 8:30 in the morning.

I know I’ve posted pictures of the old Art Deco Theatre before but indulge me once again. The morning light gave it a special glow.

The theater has been putting on various events all summer. The next one involves this guy – seen a couple nights ago passing out fliers.

Can you guess what he was advertising?

The last hill to climb. It’s steeper than it looks but I love passing through the redwood grove. Those trees have been here since before the Pony Express rode through them. The houses are built around them.

It’s gotten hot so the old Prius will probably have to spend the night at the garage. No way I’m walking back over there in the 100 degree heat!

By the way, it was great fun interacting with those of you who checked out my interview on Yvette’s Priorhouse blog! As a result, I look forward to getting to know several new (to me) bloggers and to interviewing Yvette and her fellow writers once their book comes out in October. More on that as it gets closer!

It’s hot but there are signs of autumn all around.

If there are passwords in heaven, I’m checking out that other place

JT Twissel 17 Comments
Heaven by Connemoira

I can see the need for usernames and passwords at financial institutions, but the other day I called Pampered Pet Ranch where we occasionally board our cat and was told to:

  • Visit their website and agree to all their cookies, disclaimers, policies, guidelines, etc.
  • Create an account with username, password, backup email, backup phone #, etc.
  • Validate our human existence by solving a set of visual brainteasers designed for those people with an IQ of 200 or above. You had three chances before being declared a bot.
  • Provide vet’s name, address, email and last health report.
  • Complete their extensive questionnaire:
    • How many minutes a day does your pet require additional pampering (at $9.99 a minute)
    • Does your pet have a pet name?
    • How does your pet display anxiety?
  • Complete request for boarding
    • Day and time of drop off
    • Day and time of pick up
    • Food requirements
  • Check back hourly for confirmation

In other words, they were no longer taking reservations over the phone.

Do you suffer from anxiety Kitty? Are you kidding? I’m a cat!

This left me wondering, how many people actually called Pampered Pet Ranch and made reservations for other people’s pets? If the answer is thousands, hundreds, or even a dozen, this country is even sicker than I thought. More than likely they found that gathering necessary information this way was more reliable that depending on their young staff. Or the fickleness of their clientele. At least they know where to put the blame for flub ups!

They also required Kitty’s mug shot, I guess in case an imposter tried to take his place.

Pampered Pet Ranch is not the only website requiring one of the hundreds of username/ password combos that clutter my little black book. I have usernames and passwords for:

  • Hotel chains I have visited once
  • Saline nasal pods for a machine that hasn’t worked for years
  • The toilet paper people who became so busy during the pandemic that they were always out
  • Our medical provider, Kaiser Permanente which provides preventative care for seniors provided those seniors can figure out their complicated and constantly “updated” online system.
Sign seen while having a pelvic exam. Really? Having a lovely time with cold, metal instruments shoved up my vagina. @kaiser


I think it’s unfair to expect aging baby boomers to keep up with technology. After all, we were the first people to own personal computers back when knowledge of a computer language was necessary to run the damn things. You couldn’t just bark orders at a Compaq or wave a magic finger over the screen.

WordStar screen borrowed from Wikipedia

I can still remember the secretaries in our office who vowed to never ever switch from their beloved typewriters to a computer! Never ever and indeed, it did take a while for many of them to change their minds.

The temp
The horrible machine that was going to make typewriters extinct!

I can also remember the day the internet captured my mother-in-law’s favorite granddaughter. It was my fault really. Bernita was staying with us when she heard from her other son that “darling Lena” had won a statewide award and that the ceremony had been broadcast over something called “the internet.” I found the site and showed her the ceremony on my computer screen. There was Lena, climbing the stairs to the stage and accepting her award. Huge smiles on her face. Applause all around.

Bernita turned to me in horror. “Oh my Lord. They’ve captured Lena! How horrible!” She began to quiver. “My darling Lena!”

Borrowed from Bing images

“No Bernita, She won the grand prize in the state science fair and they put the ceremony on the web. That’s what I’m showing you. She’s fine.”

“She’s caught in the web?” By this time she was in full panic. “Turn that thing off! Make it stop stealing children!” She bolted from my tiny office and vowed never to enter that unholy chamber again.

It’s a good thing she never had to do a video conference with her doctor!

Yup … if there are passwords in heaven, I’m checking out that other place!

BTW – because of some oddness between Word and WordPress, I had to use the old Ctrl V (copy) Ctrl P (paste) commands to create this post. Commands I learned over thirty years ago. So much for progress. We’re going backwards in more ways that we can count.

Requiem for a Tree

JT Twissel 20 Comments

Once the view from the ridge above my house. To the right is a group of pine trees, as of tonight – after six long days of chainsaws and limb grinding – gone. All gone. Sliced and diced and thrown into the wood chipper.

The granddaddy of the tree family was visible from my deck. When I heard the chainsaws and realized what was up, I ran out to get a shot before the sawing began. Unfortunately the rising sun made a good shot impossible.

I know logically that if a tree that size fell it could cause great damage and so it had to go. Slowly and carefully as there are houses nearby. Six days it took and for six days I listened. I could have gone elsewhere but I felt I must stay and mourn it’s passing.

When it comes to trees, I guess you could say I’m a wee bit fay, as the Irish would say.

The tree by early afternoon.

For thirty years I’d watched hawks perch on top of this tree, surveying the whole valley for prey or just taking in the view. They mounted no defense for fear of the chainsaws, the ropes, and the men shouting and whistling as they worked.

All in Spanish, such a lively language for a grim task. But I had to admire their bravery and skill.

Sawing and grinding until …

The final surrender; only the skeleton remained. Not a dignified ending, my friend, but you will be remembered.

The Eighth Month

JT Twissel 28 Comments

For Christmas I received a Washi Calendar from my son who is currently living in a remote village in the mountains of Japan. On the first day of every month I reveal a new page of the calendar with the sadness of not knowing when or if I’ll ever see my son again. The world has gotten that shaky.

Despite all the evil in the world, we’ve managed to reach the eighth month of 2025. In the US there are no official holidays during this month. In Japan there’s only one: The 11th or Mountain Day.

The symbol or kanji for the eighth month is said to resemble a mountain.

Apparently there are no official celebrations of Mountain Day, much the same as last month’s Marine Day , but everyone is encouraged to take the day off to celebrate their favorite or closest mountain. (Japan is 80% mountain so it’s not that hard!)

My memories of this last month of summer, before life gets back to the normal grind of work or school, are of uneasy transitions. I would barely get settled in to a new routine when all too suddenly came the holidays! Yippee! More expectations, more preparations, more stress!

From Bing images

But, in Japan the symbol for this month is the pink lotus, the flower that arises from murky water and thus represents enlightenment, purity and spiritual awakening. Perhaps … I’ve been thinking about this month all wrong! Perhaps … I should hightail it to the nearest mountain and seek some of that enlightenment.

Or perhaps I’m more like the grass.