Desert Canyon Stories & Pictures

  This last day of 2023, I should perhaps reflect on the year that was, but I don't think I can. J ust thinking about the two large wars, the children and everyone else who suffer and die, makes it too difficult. I will leave the writing to those better qualified than me. On a personal level, I can say that this was the year when my brain got foggy and only recently recovered. Only forgetfulness lingers, but as long as I remember the things I need to remember and my phone can remind me of the rest, I'm not worried. A scary thought: about 10% of patients 65 and older develop cognitive decline after surgery.  Fortunately, this didn't happen to me, but I couldn't think as well, manage my money as well, remember things, do cross words and other puzzles, and so on for the year after my surgery.  I also lost a lot of energy and gained a lot of pain. I'm working to resolve both of those issues. This was also the year I got old. No recovery from that. But I'm happy, I l

   My grandparents made this Santa circa 1905, so he  is very old indeed.   He has lived with me for many years and I take good care of him.  A bowl of porridge and a couple of cookies on Christmas Eve and  he's a happy Santa.  Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!                                                              

Early in December, my friend Jane came upon this in her suburban neighborhood.  A bit later, Santa's sled arrived on the roof of the house.  And here's Santa again, on the ground. I think he's Donald Duck all dressed up, sharing his space with some plastic flamingos.  Thank you, Jane and I wish you and Vince a Happy Christmas.  

  Photo: Pascal Meier Both my parents smoked, they were of a generation where cigarettes and smoky rooms were very common.   I was about 10 when I took my first puff off a cigarette, after a boy in our elementary school dared me, as we walked home together. I thought it was horrible and never touched one again for many years.   But then, as a teenager, going to jazz clubs in the ancient cellars of Old Town, Stockholm, where everyone smoked, or so it seemed, I took up smoking too.   I was about 17 when my parents found out. I remember them both being upset.  Years went by, I smoked, then I didn't want to smoke any longer, but found myself unable to stop.  That's how I learned about addiction.  I was able to cut back. Somewhere in there, the university where I worked no longer allowed smoking indoors, so that helped a lot.  But I still couldn't completely stop. I kept trying and failing, trying and failing, to the extent that when I had no cigarettes at home, I could wake up

  Me:  So Faith, do you think our new blog is really working now? Faith: I don't know, I'm no blog expert. Me: Me neither. Faith mumbles: You can say that again. Me: I didn't hear that, what did you say? Faith: Nothing important. Me: If you look at me when you talk to me, maybe I could hear you better. Faith: Is this better? Me: Much better. Now, what do you think about the new blog, will it be a success? Faith: I don't know, you just have to keep at it, writing away, telling stories, posting pictures.  Me: OK, that's a plan. As long as I have your support, I think I can do anything. You are such a very, very good dog. Faith: I know. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Note: It's actually been more difficult than I thought to have to leave my old blog. I started it in 2009 and it has so many years of my life contained in it.  I go back to settings to try to get the comments section back, but the advice I get doesn't match anything available there. I continue