“Oh look, Lucy,” I said to my adorable little puppy, my 10-pound Shiba-Chi (Shiba Inu Chihuahua) rescue, who is actually about 11 years old but will always be a puppy to me.

“It’s a crow. We haven’t seen many of those lately.”

Well, Lucy wasn’t a bit interested. After all, it wasn’t a bunny or one of those many cute little lizards we have around here, or her very favorite, squirrels. Darn those squirrels. If you have a dog, you know exactly what I mean.

Poor crows. They’re kind of ugly, at least in my eyes. Maybe that’s because I was fortunate enough to live in the suburbs of Canberra, Australia, in the 1980s, and there were absolutely beautiful birds flying free like our crows.

There were galahs (rose-breasted and gray cockatoos), lorikeets, parrots and very colorful wrens. It was kind of like living in an aviary. I loved my walks because of these beautiful birds.

One day, when I was out walking, I felt something hit my head. Teenagers, I thought. Probably throwing their trash (wadded up paper or a paper cup or such) from a passing car at the poor, unsuspecting and completely oblivious pedestrian. Yikes, it happened again. Hey! There can’t be two cars with rogue teenagers in them!

It was then that I looked up and noticed a sign that cautioned all to “Beware of magpies” or something like that. And then I noticed a black and white bird zeroing in on my head, like a kamikaze pilot.

But unlike kamikaze pilots, those magpies were not suicidal. They were anything but, because they were about to have babies. They had a lot to look forward to in life. This was their nesting time, and they didn’t want us big old humans anywhere near them.

So anyhoo, there I was running down the street trying to get into parked cars with magpies in pursuit. I was quite unsuccessful because the cars were all locked.

What the heck! Haven’t all those Aussies been telling me how safe it was to live there? That it wasn’t like the Wild West of America?

Well, I probably wasn’t running that far because those magpies wouldn’t leave their nests unguarded for too long – or too far – but it sure seemed like it. Sort of reminiscent of Hitchcock’s “The Birds.”

Oh no … the birds … Tippi Hedren … poor Tippi Hedren … Run! Run! Run! … They’re coming for you.

Diane Duray is a Laguna Woods Village resident. Contact her at dduray47@gmail.com.

My hearing aids will probably cost just a shade under $3,000 — and that’s just my cost. Thank God I have insurance.

I’m getting tired of hearing just bits and pieces of conversations, if I hear them at all. On Sunday, our vicar at St. George’s said that I did a beautiful reading, and I did a knee-jerk type of reply — “And you did a wonderful sermon.” And I’m sure it was because the Rev. Pat’s sermons are always very good.

I’m trying to fake that I’m hearing what other people are saying to me by nodding occasionally and smiling a lot. But I live in fear that someday someone will be saying, “And it was such a tragic loss because the whole house burnt down.” Or “And the death was so tragic.” And there I’ll be smiling like I love fires or doom and gloom.

I was at a Publishing Club meeting recently talking with Nancy Brown, the club’s president, when she reminded me to get my nametag. So I walked out to the sign-in table, and the only words that came out clearly to me were “strip search.” Again, a knee-jerk reply, “Oh, me, me … I volunteer. I’ll do it.” Everyone at the table laughed, so I think you can see that they’re a fun bunch of people. I heartily recommend that you check out the club sometime.

Lucy has finally figured it all out. If she needs to go out, she starts by wagging her tail, and I get the drift. But if I’m not looking, she starts barking extremely loudly. She turns up the volume a lot. So now it’s “bark, bark, bark … dang it, woman … let me out!”

About the only good thing about not having my hearing aids is that life is very peaceful, because I hear only about 20% of it. Hopefully, it’s the important bits.

“What’s that you say? You’re going to retire? I thought you were already retired.”

“Oh, oh, my house is on fire. That makes a lot more sense.”

Oops, guess I’d better go and do something about that.

Diane Duray is a Laguna Woods Village resident. Contact her at dduray47@gmail.com.

It all started during my September 2019 appointment when I had been bitten by the Aedes mosquitoes (aka Ankle Biters) during the infestation in Orange County.

I had been bitten 19 times and had to get 19 shots of low-dose steroids, one in each of the sites where I had been bitten. 19 shots! Yes, 19! You see, these nasty little bloodsuckers love Type O blood. It’s their blood of choice, sort of like drinking Champagne.

So, one mosquito bites me and … “Yummm,” says the discriminating little bug, “Type O blood. Hey guys, party over here.” And soon they’re having the time of their lives, a party to rival the most elaborate and exciting post-Oscars bash.

So my dermatologist says I have to stay covered up by wearing long pants or a long skirt and a long-sleeved blouse. Just when did I become Amish?

By the way, I’d like to give a big shout-out to the young gals of the ’80s. They’re the ones who made it popular to wear pajamas in public.

They were the ones you’d see out and about wearing PJs and Ugg boots. And I believe that is why the ever-so-comfortable pants were designed. Yoga pants, I believe they’re called.

They were launched by some very observant designers. “Hmmm … I think we have a market here. The young are going for comfort, and I think it’s catching on with a somewhat older crowd.”  So they started the trend toward wearing yoga pants or whatever they’re called.

I bought mine in Kohl’s Juniors Department. And they were there right when I needed them – when my dermatologist said I had to stay covered to prevent getting all bitten up. I had bought seven pairs of them and had the week covered. More than a week if I decided to mix things up with the long skirts I bought.

Anyhoo, I just love that my friend Monica said that she is a bug magnet. Yup, that about covers it, as does my Amish wardrobe. Because I too am a bug magnet.

And by the way, my apologies to any Amish folks who might be visiting friends in the Village. I have the utmost respect for your culture.

Diane Duray is a Laguna Woods Village resident. Contact her at dduray47@gmail.com.

So, because I’m an odd – and sometimes funny – person, I spend time musing upon odd and funny names.

I don’t know anything about Bad Bunny except that he’s in the music world, and I’m guessing it’s not the classical music world. I haven’t done any research on him because that would spoil the fun for me. I don’t know if he’s married, if he’s straight or gay, if he has children, etc. And I don’t really want to know because I just want to have fun.

In some of my musings, Bad Bunny is married to a woman and they have children and are called to their school, maybe because the kids are in some type of trouble. Would the teacher address them as Mr. and Mrs. Bad Bunny? And would Mr. Bunny say, “Oh, please, please, just call me Bad.”

And about the kids – should they exist – what are they named? If they have a boy, they might as well call him Bugs because you know that’s what his classmates will call him anyway, at least when they’re dunking his head in the toilet. And if they have a girl, they might name her Easter or Angora.

And speaking of Angora Bunny, I actually once had just that – an angora bunny. She was adorable, and I named her Daphne. I loved Daphne and would walk her on a leash just like a puppy. My then-fiance wouldn’t let me get a puppy, but I caught him in a weak moment regarding a bunny. We were living in Australia, and I didn’t have a work visa or car, and I was home a lot. My plea went something like this: “Oh please, oh please, can’t I at least have a bunny? You’re at work so much and I’m all alone.”

After much pleading, I got Daphne. My fiance fashioned a cage for her out of chicken wire. I swear that the open squares on the wire were only about 2 or so inches square.

And yet there I am reading my newspaper when I look up and see Daphne. Daphne! Yikes! How in the heck did that happen? I put her back in the cage and pulled my paper up so I could just peer over the top of it. And then I saw it. I saw Daphne squeeze her bunny-body through one of the squares. It almost made me sick to watch, but there it was.

Time went by and somehow we didn’t get around to getting a cage for her. Unfortunately, Daphne developed an annoying habit of chewing through the cords of our fax machine and computer. And so, perhaps, Daphne would truly deserve the name Bad Bunny. In fact she deserved Bad, Bad, Bad Bunny.

Diane Duray is a Laguna Woods Village resident. Contact her at dduray47@gmail.com.

Anyway, my friend Linda gives me her old People magazines. I also pick up issues of magazines that aren’t quite up to par with People. You know the ones – lesser quality, printed on very cheap paper.

Even though at my age I don’t know half the celebrities featured in these magazines, I enjoy looking at the dresses. A lot of them look like wardrobe malfunctions — sort of like the designer hadn’t quite finished the dress. Or maybe the designers are onto something. Just think how much money they save using so little fabric with their very revealing designs.

I like to think that some of the dresses are by a designer named Mr. Why-Even-Bother because there is so little fabric and a whole lot of skin.

I had a wardrobe malfunction of my own recently. I used to volunteer at the Laguna Playhouse but had to quit since having health issues as of late. So every once in a while, I treat myself to a play there. Recently, I saw “Murder on the Links,” which was just fantastic.

I still like to wear dresses and skirts, but now into my mid-70s I find I have to be a bit of a contortionist to put on pantyhose. I was at Target recently and saw those hose that are thigh-high nylons and thought, “Oh … these would be so easy to put on.” And they were.

So, feeling I had stumbled onto something, I went off to the play.

All was well until I got up to leave. The right stocking was just fine, but as I stood up, the left one decided to roll down. Plop! I immediately sat back down and waited for everyone else to exit. Then I made my way to the ladies’ room holding my cane against my left leg in an effort to keep the stocking up. What a nightmare!

Yup, Janet — I feel for you after having a wardrobe malfunction of my own. I just thank God it wasn’t on national TV.

Diane Duray is a Laguna Woods Village resident. Contact her at dduray47@gmail.com.

Seems like we’re in for a heck of a time. The article said that because of all the rain we got in Southern California, our mosquito season could be worse than usual.

During the initial onslaught of these little buggers in 2019, Kathy and I were both bitten up quite a bit. Kathy, being a nurse, knew how to take care of her bites. I, on the other hand, did not, and ended up going to a dermatologist, who gave me a shot of low-dose steroids in each of the sites where I was bitten – 19 of them.

Turns out that the Aedes mosquitoes, aka the ankle-biting mosquitoes, had a preference for Type O blood. Type O was sort of like Champagne for them, and Type A or B or AB was probably like having a light beer.

When I first heard of the Aedes mosquitoes on the radio, I thought they were saying “’80s mosquitoes.” So, thoughts of mosquitoes dressed in little Madonna-style bustiers and fishnet stockings and lace fingerless gloves flashed through my brain … which might have been more understandable if I had been drinking tequila instead of ginger ale. (I still adamantly insist that the ’80s was Madonna’s best era.)

Anyhoo, I was miserable. I even called the Orange County Mosquito and Vector Control District for information that might help me. The gal I spoke with was really nice and understanding. She even agreed that the ’80s was Madonna’s best era. And we both liked Madonna’s movie “Desperately Seeking Susan.”

But I digress. So anyway, back at the ranch as they say, in 2019 …

I was reading the Letters to the Editor in our wonderful Globe when, lo and behold, I spotted a letter from Phil Silverman. After reading about his experience with these vicious little mosquitoes, I realized that Phil and I were compadres in misery.

Recently, I reminisced with Phil and his wife about our battle against these vicious little buggers. And Phil told me that he had 35 bites to my paltry little 19 back then.

Phil said this is like a sequel to a “Die Hard” movie. Except this is the “Revenge of the Ankle-biters” and “Revenge of the Ankle-biters 2.” But sadly, very sadly, this is no movie.

Diane Duray is a Laguna Woods Village resident. Contact her at dduray47@gmail.com.

The first thing that pops into everyone’s mind at the very mention of lung cancer is, “Did they smoke?”

Betty then asked me, “Did you smoke?” I replied, “No. I tried but wasn’t very successful.” “Successful?” she asked, looking at me rather oddly.

“Yes. Once I tried in my 20s at a party. The combination of alcohol and cigarettes resulted in my spending valuable party time in the bathroom, worshiping the white porcelain god (if you get my drift).”

Another time in my 20s, when I worked at a rock radio station in Fargo, my friend Medrean and I would go over to the savings and loan building where there was a cafeteria on the top floor. The employees of the savings and loan were mostly conservative, so they found us pretty wild. (Medrean was originally from New York, so they were half right. I was a naive farm girl from North Dakota.)

I had discovered a cigarette called Erik’s, which was a slim brown cigarette. You could smoke in restaurants in those days, so I decided to light up while we were busy chatting.

I had seen the dramatic flair some actresses in old movies used to light their matches, so I thought I would give it a try.

With the cigarette in my mouth, I struck a match and carried it across half the table with great flair. I was quite pleased with myself until I came precariously close to the paper napkins scattered on our table and started a small fire.

Without a word, Medrean and I took our glasses of water and doused the fire.

What amazes me to this day is that everyone was so busy chatting, they didn’t even look over at us – with the exception of one lone guy in the corner who was chuckling, or I should say chortling, at the sight. Even when Medrean went over to the ladies who worked at the cafeteria to ask for some rags to clean up the mess, telling them “We’ve had a small fire on our table,” their only reaction was, “Sure, here.”

So, successful at smoking? No. And thank God for that.

Diane Duray is a Laguna Woods resident. Contact her at dduray47@gmail.com.

A lot of people leave some very good clothes that they don’t want on a counter in the laundry room. Joyce really appreciates them, too. And I’m sure the Salvation Army appreciates whatever isn’t appropriate for the homeless, like party dresses.

My friend and neighbor Stephanie collects magazines and books to give to her friend who volunteers at MemorialCare Saddleback Hospital so that she can put them on the reading cart she takes around to the patient rooms.

I love paper — especially very colorful paper, neons and bright orange and yellow and blue. The folks at the box office at the Performing Arts Center in Clubhouse 3 would let me take the old event flyers. I was ecstatic with all the colorful paper they were printed on.

That is, until I came across a bright orange one in my living room one day when I was adding events to my calendar. The flyer was for an ‘80s party, and I am so there! (Silly me. I thought this was a current event and not one to recycle.)

So being 20 pounds lighter then and a youthful 63 years of age, I dressed the way Madonna did in the ‘80s, her best era — fishnet stockings, high heels, short sequined skirt, a purple bustier, and lots and lots of makeup.

I had recruited my friend Ann G. to meet me at Clubhouse 5. I didn’t see Ann when I got there, so I strutted my stuff up to the lobby, where a table was set up just outside the ballroom door.

Hmmm … wonder where Ann is. Hmmm, guess they’re not having a bar tonight. Boy, are these gals at the sign-in table dressed conservatively for the ‘80s world we’re in tonight. They looked at me kinda strangely and said, “May we help you?” Yikes! Turned out it was a church function, a very conservative church function. Yikes! My face turned the color of my bustier.

I don’t think Ann ever realized my blunder, because I never did ‘fess up. But thankfully, she’s moved out of the Village to a place in Seal Beach called Leisure World, so I’m sure she won’t read this.

Anyhoo, all these many years later, the ladies who were at the sign-in table that night are probably still praying for my lost and demented soul.

Diane Duray is a Laguna Woods Village resident. Contact her at dduray47@gmail.com.

Anyhow, the seminar presenter suggested that we use our cellphones to aid us with any memory issues we may be having. He also gave us tips for remembering names.

This was invaluable to me. Because my mother’s cause of death was listed on her death certificate as dementia/Alzheimer’s, I work crossword puzzles and try hard to remember the names of everyone I meet to keep my mind a little sharper.

The seminar presenter also suggested that a good way to remember the name of a person you are meeting for the first time is to use their name five times during the conversation. This kind of backfired on me when I did it the first time. I said, “Oh hi, Gladys, Gladys, Gladys, Gladys, Gladys …” and before I could go on to say that it was nice to meet her, she was dialing 911 because she thought I was having a stroke.

The next time I used this technique, I remembered that the name was to be peppered throughout the conversation. Whew! That worked a lot better.

Recently, I went to see the movie “Cyrano” at the Performing Arts Center. A very nice couple was sitting in the row directly behind me, so we struck up a conversation before the movie started. I introduced myself (was able to remember my name quite easily), and then they introduced themselves, Frank and Barbara.

We talked about associating names so that you could remember them. I said, “Frank. I can remember that name because I live in Unit F and always say, ‘That’s F like in Frank.’ And I can remember Barbara because I just met a really nice person named Barbara at our coffee hour after the service at St. George’s.”

I told them, “I’ll show you how this works after the movie is over.”

Movie over, I turned to them and said to the fella, “Let’s see, your name starts with an F. Oh yeah, Frick.” And then I turned to the gal and said, “Then you must be Frack.”

They rolled their eyes and left rather suddenly. I wonder why.

Diane Duray is a Laguna Woods Village resident. Contact her at dduray47@gmail.com.

Robert and I were headed for a divorce, so I suppose that was true.

“And your point is?” I replied. Not out loud, of course; I kept it in my little pea brain. But it was then that I realized that my Baby Beau, my little miniature schnauzer mix, was the love of my life.

Love comes in all shapes and sizes. And I realized after two divorces, 20 years apart, that I wasn’t really good at this relationship stuff. I was much better with animals. Perhaps this is because of my upbringing on a North Dakota farm where I was surrounded by them.

I lost Beau when he was 15. But I had 11 wonderful years with him, which is five more than I had with Robert.

I couldn’t replace Beau for many years until I finally found Lucy several years after I moved from San Diego to Laguna Woods Village. When asked if I have a significant other now, I always answer, “Yes, her name is Lucy.”

However, I do miss romance sometimes. Robert and I eloped to Las Vegas. We actually went to Ensenada, but when we got there, we found out it was a holiday in Mexico and so we had a wonderful meal at a restaurant we liked and then started the trip home.

At least, I thought we were going home, but eventually I asked, “Where are we going? This isn’t the way home.”

“We’re going to Las Vegas, Robert said. “If we don’t get married today, I think you’ll back out of it.”

So off to a cute little chapel we went. And no Elvis Presley there. Instead, we were married by a delightful man with a delightful French accent.

Five years later, when Robert’s mom and my sister and brother-in-law were visiting us, Robert decided we should get our vows renewed by this same man — in French — which was kind of ridiculous because none of us spoke French. However, it did end up being quite romantic.

About a year ago, I decided to have the VCR tape of our vows transferred to a CD. And eventually, I decided to play it for someone.

It started out just fine, but after about 15 minutes, suddenly a “Frasier” episode came on and replaced the rest of our vows. It was a good episode, but still.

I share this with you because it’s definitely a sign of how romance goes for me. Hope it goes better for all of you — and happy Valentine’s Day.

Diane Duray is a Laguna Woods Village resident. Contact her at dduray47@gmail.com.