Protected by Copyscape Web Copyright Protection

Powered By Blogger

Saturday, March 06, 2010

SATURDAY SHOPPING TRIP

I know I spent the last two days telling anyone who would listen that Don and I were heading out today on a big shopping trip.  The weather was supposed to be perfect (it was), the sun shining brightly (it was), and the sky that bright blue that almost blinds you with its prismatic effect (it was).

We live in a small city, or a large town, but our shopping choices are extremely limited.  We are located about an hour from a larger city with a mall.  While we have no mall, we still have a Walmart store and the same traffic problems a place three times the size of ours is encumbered with.

But like I said, the weather was perfect and we needed to fly the coop for a little while.  We have both had cabin fever and sitting here counting the days until spring was getting very old.

I have made it a point of telling everyone Don wants to go to Harvard Salvage Freight.  I call it The Tool Store, but they have almost everything you can imagine there.  I have made it a point of telling everyone Don said he might be too tired to go to the mall and I told him, "No mall, no tool store."


So, here is what happened today.  Don had to drag me out of The Tool Store.  We did go by the mall for some lotion and lunch.  We were going to the Olive Garden on Tracy's dime, but we could not even find a place to park within a hundred yards, and there was a line, and Don is not a big fan of having to wait in line for his food.  

I really wanted to spend a little more time at Harvard Salvage Freight, but Don was getting tired since he worked today.  We made a quick swing past Toys R Us, of course, spent 30 minutes in the mall, and then satisfied and sated on Chinese cuisine, I drove home.  


Here is a photo of my purchases:
 
A Bubble Bellies tiger bubble blower.
A bottle of sensual Sandalwood and Fig body lotion (I did go to the mall).
The tennis racket thing is an electronic bug swatter.
3 pairs of woman's gardening gloves.
A blind spot stick-on mirror.
A compass.
A new set of screwdrivers (never have one when I need it).
A giant box of sidewalk chalk.
And an elementary school letters and numbers book.
Oh, and a pair of hard knee-cap protecting knee pads (for gardening).
And I left out my new 7-function multimeter (just never know).

 



 

NOW THEY TELL ME!

As far as I know now, as of this writing, no monkeys were ever hurt in the making of my impressionable little life.  Now they tell me!

And as far as I was concerned when I was between the ages of zero and fifty-three, my mother was a bitchy old monkey killer!  Okay, I figured it out long before the age of fifty-three, of course, but it makes the cadence of the story a little nicer.  

Yesterday I was eating dinner with Don and I somehow managed to bite my inner upper lip.  I "pulled the punch", though, and so the result is this big blood blister that this morning is swollen up and covers my upper teeth.  Surgery is in order, and the tools are laid out because that blood has to drain...I'm going shopping today, and this is embarrassing!

Anyway, as my teeth found that soft skin, I said, "Shoot a monkey!"  Now, I can't tell you how long it has been since I heard that phrase, but saying it caused a flood of emotions and memories to wash over me, so much so that I barely felt the injury happen at all.  I was sitting there holding my burger, smiling, staring out the window, not hearing anything else around me.  Don eventually began waving his hand in front of my face and asked what I was smiling at.  I said, "Oh, nothing, just a memory."  I just was not ready to share it with anyone right then.  

According to the Winthrop Slang Dictionary, saying, "Shoot a monkey," is equivalent to saying "g--damn it."  

So, now I know that never once did my mother just go frickin' nuts for a moment, maybe being controlled by alien voices in her head, like some people think the TV is sending them messages, grab her gun, and fly out of the house to murder some innocent monkey!  She was just cussing at a situation.  You just don't know how much better that makes me feel!  

Isn't it amazing how we store things in the deep recesses of our minds when we are younger so we can pull them out and use them when we're middle-aged and need something to totally embarrass our kids and grandkids with?  

I am so looking forward to the first time I can't find something in Walmart and have a pack of grade school-aged children with me, and about the time we run into the most popular kid in school I stop and yell out, "Shoot a monkey!!"  Oh, what fun I'm going to have then!

Here is a photo of an attractive-looking guy who is just happy to have survived my mother's lifetime and now sees the new matriarch of the family coming for him! 

            http://www.freemonkeypictures.com/wallpaper  /cmu473_monkey_outline_linedrawing.gif.html

Friday, March 05, 2010

KIDS RUNNING THE AIR TRAFFIC CONTROL TOWER - OH MY!

So in February, a daddy took his twin children to work with him.  He is an air traffic controller, by far probably one of the most stressful jobs on this planet.  He is proud of his kids.  They are proud of their papa.  I think he did this as part of a "take your children to work" project or something, although I really am not sure about that, so don't quote me.  

The kids obviously could read and read well, so he saw no harm in putting the headset on them and letting them speak to a pilot of a JetBlue flight.  The little boy said something like, "You're cleared for takeoff," and then Papa said, "That is what you get when the kids are out of school."  The pilot even quipped back, "I wish I could bring my kids to work with me.  Awesome job!"  Then the father allowed the kids to talk to another pilot, say something like, "Cleared for takeoff," or something.

When the story broke yesterday morning, I thought the father was going to be applauded for actually bringing his kids to work with him.  I thought, "Wow, lucky kids."  

Then I realized this was turning into a media brouhaha with reporters talking about how ridiculous it was to let the children anywhere NEAR the control tower.  I kept thinking that, by the FAA's own admission, we would absolutely go insane if we realized how many near misses there are everyday over our heads and on our runways, and the people controlling THOSE planes are adults.

I just do not see any harm in these kids saying a few words to the pilot under the watchful eye of their daddy, and I say LET IT GO MEDIA!  There are real problems to focus on in this world without making sure some other poor sap loses his job!  

Just wondering what you think?  

New York (CNN) -- "Unauthorized and unprofessional" is how an internal memo describes the conduct of an air traffic controller, who allegedly allowed his two young children to speak with pilots on an air traffic control frequency, and his supervisor, who allegedly allowed it to happen.
The memo, dated February 25, was written after the facilities manager for the air traffic control tower at New York's John F. Kennedy Airport learned about the incident, a source familiar with the investigation told CNN.
"The display of professionalism in the past by the control personnel at this facility has been exemplary," the memo said. "However, a lapse in judgment for what may seem a minor transgression diminishes our credibility and slights the high standards of professionalism."
It was not immediately clear what prompted the manager to write the memo or how he found out about the incident, the source said.
The incidents occurred on succeeding days last month at JFK, the Federal Aviation Administration said this week, and the controller and the supervisor have been placed on paid administrative leave.
"We have an incredible team of professionals who safely control our nation's skies every single day. This kind of behavior does not reflect the true caliber of our workforce," FAA Administrator Randy Babbitt said in the statement Wednesday.
Babbitt was referring to the February 16 incident involving the controller's young son, who is heard in a recording -- posted on liveatc.net -- clearing a JetBlue flight for takeoff and later speaking to an apparent Aeromexico flight.
Later, an FAA official, who asked not to be identified because of the ongoing investigation, said the controller brought his daughter into the same tower the following day, and the child was allowed to talk with pilots of two planes.
A separate source said the supervisor "should be making sure that things like this don't happen."
Yet another source familiar with the investigation said the two children are twins.
The controller who brought the children to work later reported that he had done so, the source said. The controller and supervisor involved are veteran employees, the official said.
Dave Pascoe owner of the Web site where the recording of the air traffic communications is posted, told CNN he thinks the attention the incident has drawn is "ridiculous" and it has been "blown out of proportion."
In the recording, a child says, "JetBlue 171, cleared for takeoff."
A man then tells the plane, "Here's what you get, guys, when the kids are out of school."
The pilot chuckles and says, "Wish I could bring my kid to work." The same pilot later tells the child, "Awesome job."
During the recording, which is dated February 17, the child also speaks to an apparent Aeromexico flight. A recording from the following day, when the daughter was reportedly in the tower, also was posted on the Web site.
FAA spokeswoman Laura Brown later said the incident took place about 7:30 p.m. February 16.
Pascoe said most people "in the aviation community felt like this was (not) anything more than a noble thing, that a father would take his kid to work."
"It was one incident where a kid was up in the control tower," he said. "If you know anything about aviation, you know that the air traffic control towers are highly supervised. ... A father was taking a child to work and let the kid clear planes for takeoff and now the world thinks it's an unsafe place."
The FAA has suspended all unofficial visits to air traffic control operational areas during its investigation into the incident. Babbitt has directed a team to review air traffic control policies and procedures related to facility visitors.
The National Air Traffic Controllers Association, the union representing controllers, issued a statement, saying its members "do not condone this type of behavior in any way."
CNN's Susan Candiotti contributed to this report.

COULD IT BE? YES, IT'S FRIDAY!


Give a man a fish and he has food for a day; teach him how to fish and you can get rid of him for the entire weekend.  ~Zenna Scha


Actually, give a WOMAN a fish...etc.  Last Spring I bought myself a new rod and reel and spent countless weekend hours  packing up on Saturday mornings and heading to some pond or river to cast and reel cast and reel cast and reel.  One day this happened:
I had to recruit my boyfriend to hold this baby up!  And I have a bridge to sell you that spans the Atlantic Ocean.  However, I can dream, right?  About the fish AND the guy?  


There are Spring Birds singing outside, even though it is staying pretty cold.  I wonder if they realize yet they came back too early?  But because of their songs that I have missed so much this winter, I had the rod and reel out getting it ready yesterday for my first fishing trip of the season.  That first Saturday when I look at the weather forecast and see 70 degrees or above, and sunshine, I will be hanging up the GONE FISHIN' sign, digging up a few night crawlers from my worm bed out back, throwing the sunscreen and insect repellent, my Kindle, and my iPod into a tote bag, and spending a day in the sun!  


For now, though, I have to drag myself out of The King and wade through the workday.  HAPPY FRIDAY, HAPPY WEEKEND YA'ALL!









         









http://www.imgfave.com/

Thursday, March 04, 2010

GREEN GREEN GREEN GREEN GREEN GREEN GREEN GREEN GREEN

 
 Many years ago, when I was a child, I would spend long, lazy, hot days at my Gramma's and Grampa's house in the country.  They made life for a stressed out, nervous little girl as close to perfect as they could.  

My favorite thing to do was to lay on a blanket propped up on pillows, lacing my fingers through the blades of grass absentmindedly, gazing at the robin egg blue sky through squinted eyes, through the lush green leaves of the trees in the woods surrounding the property.  Squinting until my vision blurred, the leaves took on the quality of green silk fabric draped over the branches, satin sheets tucking the big trees in for a cool afternoon nap.

I can still taste the bottomless frosted glasses of cold lemonade that would appear beside the blanket while I was deep into my daydream world.  People visit earth, then people leave to go to heaven, and if we are lucky, they come back to earth again to be our angels and help us remember the times of our lives when crickets sang us to sleep, the trees sighed with us, and the earth yawned with comfort. 

 

Wednesday, March 03, 2010

A MATCH MADE IN HEAVEN

First you have to know I am extremely electronically and technologically challenged.  Some days are worse than others.  Sometimes I can blunder my way through some setup or actually program the DVR to record shows on time.  Computers baffle me for the most part.  But this story is about a friend of mine who continues to have faith in my ability to solve all of her computer snafus, even after it took just ten minutes the two of us to manage to wipe out her entire system one Saturday afternoon.  

"I do not know what I am doing!" I keep exclaiming to her.

"You know a lot more than I know!" she yells back at me over the phone lines connecting my house and hers.  

She continues to call me a computer wizard even though I had to call HER to figure out why my printer would not print one afternoon.  When I did that, and she told me what was wrong, (make sure you have it plugged in) I said, "SEE?  DON'T EVER TRUST ME WITH THE COMPUTER!"

Good friends, though, do not allow their friends to crash their computers alone.  

Sunday she called in a panic.  Something was wrong.  She thought maybe her monitor was going out.  I told her it did not really sound like a monitor problem and just happened to say, "I had a Trojan horse virus last night and..."

"Trojan horse?" she asked.  Those words came up on my screen just before this started...is that bad?"

I replied, while I was popping jelly beans in my mouth and praying she did not ask me how to fix it, "What did you do when that came up?"

She said, "I just clicked the X and got rid of it, I didn't want to look at it."

Laugh all you want, but I did walk her through getting a virus scan going and inoculating against the nasty bug.  She was so relieved!  I felt like a hero.  

Today my friend, absolutely a matched friendship made in Heaven because the two of us are so much alike, e-mailed and said she wanted to get rid of her Hot Bar.  "What do I do?" she asked in the e-mail.

First of all, I did not tell her I had no idea what a Hot Bar was.  I immediately got back with her and said, "Well, first of all you need to go to My Computer and take it off that way.  Don't just..."

And as I was telling her what not to do, a new e-mail popped into my box and said, "Never mind, I just told it to go away and clicked on some stuff and it's not there now...problem solved!"

I sighed.  Then I called her and asked her why the insurance company was not paying my claim, and she answered, "Did you plug it in?"  

This is why Donna is one of my closest friends.  We work together, cry together, and sometimes we show up at each others house with food, strong alcoholic beverages, and broken computers that we have probably thrown out the window, but we never make each other feel bad.  We say, "Come on in...oh, what a pretty computer you have!"  even though the thing looks charred, sort of like this:

"Just set it right over there so we can look at its beauty.  Shot of tequila?"

And we know everything is going to be okay!



(I found these computer images at http://images.google.com/images?q=photos+of+computers&oe=utf-8&client=firefox-a&rlz=1R1GGGL_enUS355US335&um=1&ie=UTF-8&ei=082OS-n1HITINfj50KAN&sa=X&oi=image_result_group&ct=title&resnum=1&ved=0CBUQsAQwAA)

Tuesday, March 02, 2010

I should have been braver.  Should have stood up to my mom when she demanded I wear ridiculous outfits to school.  I mean, seriously, nobody could have pulled this off without getting teased to death or the crap beaten out of her.  On the other hand, her outrageous choices that were extremely fashionable for a flapper in the forties did not work for a fourth grade student who was gangly and not the easiest person to get along with on a GOOD day.  

But I will say this.  Looking back out of adulthood, I am thrilled my mom made such choices for me and forced them on me.  I grew up with a sense of pride in myself because I had to defend not only myself but my family.  And I did so...fiercely.   There were days I did not like it, days when I voiced my displeasure by even coming down with a sudden bellyache to keep myself home from school, but fighting for your family bleeds over into fighting for your friends, bleeds over into fighting for yourself, into fighting for your children, for their rights.  You learn to handle bullies when your mom dresses you for school.  Everything I am I attribute to a headband just like the one pictured here, cat's-eye glasses, and braces.  


Cheers to mothers and daughters!  May the tradition of humiliation surface once again.  It seemed to work to build our characters.  Clink!


(Thanks to  http://weheartit.com/ for the photo)

Monday, March 01, 2010

I AM SUCH A DRIP!

What happens when you give a grown woman, a grandmother, yet, a package of tubes of various colors of food coloring, a bowl of water, a measuring cup, a camera, and too much time on her hands? 

What happens is she starts pouring different colors of water from a measuring cup into the bowl of water on the table, takes about fifty shots of that while her boyfriend looks on in wonder, probably jealous that he did not think of it himself, ha, and then spends many minutes changing colors, depth, sharpness, contrast, highlights, and shadows in her very first drip experiment.

Amazingly, it is an all-consuming project that she is looking forward to carrying out in many, many different settings and with many, many different colors.  Amazingly, it is exactly what it sounds like, now an obsession. 

Drip experiment Color

 

 

 

 

 

Drip experiment BW

There you have it!  Be sure to look for these masterpieces the next time you are in a high-end gallery, please.  Buy them, put them on your kitchen wall, or in your bathroom! 

Happy Monday, all you drips!

Sunday, February 28, 2010

SENSATIONAL SUNDAY

"Sunday is the golden clasp that binds together the volume of the week."
(Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)


Today, Sunday, I find myself caught up in the peacefulness of the day.  February 28, 2010, not a leap year, just a regular year in which Sunday is like a soft-serve vanilla ice cream cone.  Decadent, delicious, satisfying, quiet, and pleasing to the senses. 

I don't know if I am getting lazy, or if I am just beginning to enjoy the slowed pace of middle age.  There is no urgency in the day today.  I get done what I have to get done, then I reward myself by curling back up on my big king-sized bed with my latest book, the restlessness of "prior to age fifty-three" trickling away, almost like water running down my back. 


Now is the time for walking instead of running, loving instead of condemning, learning instead of knowing it all.  Now is the time to write, to sing, to dance, to laugh in a way that releases all the tensions.  Now is the time to call friends, have an extra cup of coffee, talk to neighbors, and listen more carefully to nature.  

Sunday.  What a story.  


                                    Image courtesy of http://www.imgfave.com/

Saturday, February 27, 2010

ME ON ICE

It just seems like winter is never going to end this year.  As a kid, I would anticipate the ponds icing over so I could get out on them and slip and slide.  And they did.  Back then, the ponds and lakes and rivers in my world would freeze so far through that the water could not move again until April, and if the frozen water was shaded, it would be May before all the ice would melt.

The above photo, which I borrowed from http://imgfave.com/view/492830 looks like a polar bear enjoying the snow and ice.  It's not.  That is me trying to walk out on my front porch in my white fuzzy coat.  The ice and snow just never go away this winter.  Remember how much fun it was to get a good running start and hit the ice, landing on your butt, sliding over rock-hard imperfections until you were bruised?  Well, that just is not fun anymore.  It hurts worse.  And the bruises do not go away for months.

I know you all are curious about where I found that awesome coat, right?  Especially since it seems to have a hood that looks like a polar bear face?  I am not telling.  Just be aware that no animals were injured in the making of that coat.  Unlike THIS animal who was injured sliding across a concrete porch on her rear end.

ONE OF MY FAVE BLOGS

I love Phoenix, my heart is there all the time, even though my actually earthbound and landlocked self resides in Indiana.  In Indiana we are no stranger to buffaloes.  Ours do not roam, either, but we don't find a buffalo worthy of a photo.  But at a blog I love to visit, Phoenix residents Tracy and Nancy have such a knack for finding very interesting situations and clicking away and posting them. I get a kick out of their pictures!  These two are talented with the camera!  So I thought I would share their great photo blog.  I think ya'all will love it whether you live in Phoenix, Arizona, or Newport, Rhode Island, or anywhere in between!  Enjoy!

http://networkedblogs.com/EBv5 

Thursday, February 25, 2010

REST IN PEACE DAWN BRANCHEAU - AN EDITORIAL ABOUT A WHALE

You hear it all the time:  "I can't believe this happened.  He was always a quiet family man who kept to himself." after a rampage that leaves people dead or dying.  But this time, the killer was Tilikum, a huge 30-year-old killer whale at Orlando's Sea World.  A park spokesman commented:  "He was a well-balanced animal."  

I heard a reporter say that nobody was allowed in the water with Tilikum because he has a violent past, having killed two others over the years.  I heard an expert on killer whales say that whales are smart and that no doubt Tilikum, the well-balanced whale, had killed the first time as a practice run, the second time to get better at it, and the third time because he was tired of being paraded out in front of millions of people like a whale whore (my words, not the expert's).  

I can almost hear the whale thinking, "I don't care if I frickin' DIE because of this, I am taking that woman down today, then they'll either put me out of misery or let me go home."  

Personally, I think they should take him out into the middle of the ocean and let him go.  Do they think putting him to death will deter whale criminality?  I don't think that has worked for humans.  By the time a person, or a whale, gets to the point that the only way out to them is to kill, they are going to kill, then what?  We KILL them to let them know it is wrong to kill?  The lack of any logic there makes me tired.  My religion tells me thou shall not kill.  I think that probably means thou shall not kill any creature we have had trapped in a little pool, having kidnapped it from its home, the ocean, for crying out loud, no matter what crime it committed.  Set him free.  

I am sure that the PETA people will jump in with their two cents, screaming that turning him loose in the wide, wide ocean will cause him to die!  You know what?  He might just thrive out there and actually become a well-balanced, well-adjusted whale, or he might be shunned and go to whale heaven.  It sure seems like dying out there happy and free would be more acceptable than a lethal injection by a human in a tiny pool in Florida. Let his own kind be his judge and jury, I say!  I cannot help but wonder how it would feel to have a jury of twelve whales deciding my fate.  

What do you think? 

(Image by http://www.imgfave.com/)


Wednesday, February 24, 2010

IMPORTANT LESSONS

 

Of all the lessons I have learned, I wish it had not taken until I was fifty-three years old to learn this one.  How many times have I refused to look at my image in the mirror because I was afraid to see what I really looked like?  Now, however, with all the soft, pretty wrinkles taking up residence around my eyes, my skin glows with the health of middle age.  My heart is bigger, more compassionate, and that softens my mouth, relaxes my forehead, smooths out the worry lines. But it is not about looks anymore.  I have learned to love myself because on this journey I have learned that you cannot truly love others until your self is getting plenty of attention from you.  

Learn to love your self.  Treat your self right.  Fix your self something decadent to eat now and then.  Buy your self a new outfit or a new pair of shoes.  Take your self to the Mall and try on all the samples of new lotions at Bath and Body Works and allow your self to fill up a bag of your favorite lotions to take home.  

Order your self some wonderful-smelling bubble bath and crawl into a tub of bubbly water in the middle of the day and soak away the worries and stresses.  Buy your self plenty of good books and make time to read in the shade of a big tree while popping jelly beans in your mouth until the whole bag is gone!

Just be sure if you learn one thing in this life, you learn to love yourself.  That will be very helpful knowledge if you return here someday!
(Image from http://www.imgfave.com/) 

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

THE SLOW READERS BOOK CLUB

Hello, everybody.  My name is Kathy, and I am a book addict.  I decided to seek help through Books Addicts Anonymous (BAA), when I realized instead of doing dishes, exercising, or sleeping I was devouring books to the tune of about one every day-and-a-half.  

Some people enjoy dressing up and going out to party or meet people for dinner in the evenings, I prefer to slip into a warm pair of jeans, a big bulky sweatshirt, warm thick socks, curl up in the corner of the sofa, cover up with a warm quilt, and reach for my Kindle.  Time passes, tears are shed if the book is particularly sad or particularly happy, and I have been known to laugh wildly when the author writes something funny.  Books are my drugs.  And I love them.  
Here is where I hang out when I'm trying to find a new read:  http://www.ourcitylights.org/2010/01/slow-readers-book-club.html


If you would like to join the fun at The Slow Readers Book Club, click the above link and join up.  We're reading (or have read) Half Broke Horses by Jeannette Walls.  I love finding out what others are reading, and this book club has a lot of people picking books, forcing me to read something I might not have chosen, and their philosophy over there is that people should slow down and read...the name of the club would maybe indicate that they are looking for people who read slowly, but as they say, they do not judge how quickly you read, and if you read fast you're welcome, too.  :0)  I feel at home over there.  
What are you guys all reading right now?  I am big into celebrity autobiographies right now and am almost done with Tommy James' book, "Me, The Mob, and the Music."  Fantastic read! 

Okay, excuse me, I am going to leave the BAA meeting now and go finish my book before going to work. Sorry I interruped.  Sorry, excuse me, see ya, have a good meeting.  Could you please hand me that sweatshirt? 

Sunday, February 21, 2010

SUNDAY DINNER

It used to be that on an occasional Sunday my brother, my boyfriend, all three of our grown kids, and the entire passel of grandkids would make the hundred-mile trip to visit my folks in my hometown, a rural community in southern Illinois that was, as I have discovered just lately, extremely charming.  And each and every time we went there, my mom pulled out all the stops. 

It seemed effortless.  She made it seem effortless, this preparation, for feeding ten people instead of two.  I cannot remember ever having a meal where every dish was not perfectly delicious, and the desserts constantly decadent!  We would get about fifteen miles from there and my stomach would begin to growl and my mouth water in anticipation of Sunday dinner.

By the time we arrived, the food was already being put on the table.  My mom would be stirring and tasting as she prepared the bowls of steaming green beans, the plates of sliced homegrown tomatoes, and the meat, usually chicken or roast beef.  Dad would be taking directions from her without complaint, stirring and seasoning the potatoes he was mashing with the old white Mixmaster that had been in use as long as I could remember.

Mom never complained about cooking those dinners, and as a matter of fact, about a month before she passed away from cancer, she had one last big meal on a Sunday that only my brother and I went to, and used that opportunity to clue us in that she was not feeling well. 

We were alarmed as we had never heard her complain, and we convinced her to seek medical attention the next day, which she did.  The next weekend, she asked me to come down and take her to the hospital the following day for a colonoscopy, and when I told her to please let me just get some sandwiches at a local deli for our Sunday meal, she did not argue.  I knew then that things were probably not good. 

But the whole reason for this little narrative is not to mourn, it is to celebrate Mom’s life and her talent and her dedication to her family, and to thank her for teaching me to take over as matriarch even though I never felt particularly ready for that role. 

Today I am preparing a large meal for my own family, carrying on the tradition of the weekend family dinners, and I can tell you it is not effortless.  Why was it that my mom would use two cans of green beans and feed several of us and when I make two cans of green beans, they are gone before everyone gets a serving?  Why is it I cook a huge-looking roast and then find my kids fighting over the last piece when Mom’s roast seemed to feed a dozen people?  And why is it that I am starved for some rich, decadent dessert and can only manage to throw a package of Oreo cookies on a platter?  I wonder if they seem more exotic when I twist them apart and smear Nutella on the wafer-only side and slap them back together and serve them in a bowl of ice cream? 

The family will be the harshest critics, and we’ll see how it goes.  I only hope that my kids and grandkids will post a blog someday and talk about the weekend family get-togethers at Gramma’s house with even half the admiration I feel as I am posting about my mom’s and dad’s Sunday dinners. 

Saturday, February 20, 2010

PEANUT BUTTER & CO.

The power of suggestion is very strong.  Just mention peanut butter mixed with dark chocolate and the cell phone rings in the afternoon.  It is your cousin calling from a grocery store 2000 miles away asking, "What is the name of that stuff again?"

Probably even more amazing is that I knew exactly what she was talking about with no further conversation and wandered into my kitchen and took it out of the cabinet to make sure I had the name right.  

Then, after a few seconds of perusing the shelves in the peanut butter section of the store, a dejected, "Rats."  

Never fear, though, dahlink!  CLICK HERE





 

I would like to introduce you to my cousin, Tracy.  She used to be a regular woman with a regular job doing regular things like cooking dinner, shopping, taking walks. Then one day she followed an imp up into a tree.  She was drawn to the imp with a jar of that delicious peanut butter mixed with dark chocolate, lured up there.  She never even heard me as I tried to break the spell! When Tracy, who we now call Bird Woman, was out on that branch, there was a flurry of impy activity, spinning, little wands and wings waving, and when they flew away...well,  you have to understand how emotional it is for me living in her beautiful warm-weather Arizona home and swim in her pool.  Everyday, though, I take a walk through the neighborhood and spend a few minutes under the tree, reading to her.  I leave some bread and birdseed there, but I don't think she ever eats.  I swear I saw her blink a metal washer eye.  I hope the spell wears off and I catch a photo of her, as her human self, perched on that branch one morning.  I'll keep everyone posted.
(Photo by Tracy) 

Monday, February 15, 2010

SWEET HOME ALABAMA

This morning, for the first time in like forever, since flying home was totally out of the question because of a snowstorm, I decided to put off taking my shower and washing my hair until tonight.  I called the airline and arranged the same flight for tomorrow morning, slipped into an old pair of jeans (what did I tell you?  I am already back in my old comfortable worn-out jeans) and a sweatshirt and settled in to work for awhile.

Ginny and I did venture out to Walmart, and when we returned home, I sat back down to work for a bit, and she said, "I'm going to go downstairs and start some laundry." 

Grunting in her direction to show her I acknowledged she would be out of the room, it was about thirty seconds before I heard her say, "Oh, my God."  I yelled, "Ginny, what's wrong?"  "Oh, my God!"  

By this time concern was registering, and I rushed down the stairs to find my friend standing ankle deep in water and could hear the steady hisssssssss of something leaking.

It did not take long to figure out the water heater had gone belly up.  Phone calls were made, and no sooner did I realize we had no water, that I began to have to use the bathroom.  

We sat around the better part of the afternoon.  I kept my mind off the bathroom situation by working harder at my transcription job.  I was, though, secretly quite relieved to see the plumber's truck pull in the driveway.  There they were, to the rescue!  Already I was dreaming of my shower and getting to use the indoor facilities, as opposed to having to find a tree behind the house, in the dark, cold, dreary, probably snake-riddled nature center, a.k.a. woods. 

John sent us to Ace Hardware, where we met friendly folks like the Ace Hardware Man.  I also found a bathroom there.  When we pulled back in here, the plumber informed us that A) It was Ginny's fault, and B) There would be no hot water tonight.  Sigh.

So, as we speak, I am heating a pan of water, preparing to somehow wash my hair.  Nobody will want to sit by me in the close quarters of a 737-300 Series Southwest Airlines jet, even if the flight IS only an hour long, if I don't have a wash-up tonight.

It is not lost on me that almost every time I go somewhere, a plumbing disaster accompanies me, wildfires spring up in my path, or quakes rattle, rumble, and roll where I have strolled.  Maybe I should cancel all plans for any future trips...unless your love for my company negates the negativity you might feel toward me when your pipes burst or your fireplace leaks gas or your water heater bites the dust.   

Sunday, February 14, 2010

THE SPIRITS GATHERED

Last night, February 13, on a cold Alabama night, my friend Ginny, her husband, John, and I went from eating chili at their dining room table, to sitting in the front row directly in front of Sylvia Browne...THAT Sylvia Browne, psychic extraordinaire.  

Ginny and I had seats 5 and 6, Row AA, in other words, front row center, and Sylvia graced the stage, sitting on a leather sofa, a soft lamp on each side of her, talking to us about healing ourselves and healing others.  We meditated, we laughed, we listened, we "amened," and we loved her!  

The first four rows, and that included Ginny and me, were ushered to a microphone where we were allowed to ask one question.  Here I was with the greatest psychic of our times willing to answer a solitary question, and I nearly drove myself crazy coming up with it.  I realize that it could have gotten way out of control if there wasn't some sort of limit, because I alone could have shot off twenty questions without taking a breath. 

I said, "Are my mom and dad happy?  Are they with me?"  

She said, "Not only are they happy, turn around and say hi because they are right behind you."

That answer, of course, could have been the answer to anybody's question; however, I had mentioned several times to friends of mine that I wake up every morning at 3 a.m. That has been a pretty disturbing pattern for me for weeks now.  As I walked away from the microphone Ms. Browne said, "They visit you at 3 a.m. every morning, just so you know."

I backed up to the microphone and said, "Excuse me? What time?"

She repeated, "3 a.m."  

My heart sang.  My spirits rose, probably literally, because, well, after all, this was a woman who could speak to spirits, who could see things we sometimes don't see.  

That was part one of my sabbatical to Birmingham, Alabama.

Valentine's Day I awoke with renewed energy.  Apparently Mom and Dad chose to let me sleep all through the night for the first time in many weeks, thank you guys, and I was prepared for a Valentine's lunch at Jim N' Nick's with Ginny, her sweetheart, John, and their son Todd, who thought he would melt my heart by bringing along these two little angel children, Luke and Lily.  And they did.  What sweet little kids.  Luke is the most sensitive and artistic little kid I've ever met, and lovable.  Lily, at age 3, is just a little imp with a round face and short curls.  I was surprised that wings have not sprouted from those shoulder blades of hers and Luke's.

Here's what I ate:  Pulled pork bar-b-cue on a plate with this big mound of mashed potatoes and some baked beans.  Which was okay.  As far as I was concerned, the sweet biscuits they kept tossing on our table BEFORE the meal were the highlight.  Everyone knows how I feel about my Southern style sweet stuff!  

While there, I drew a fantastic picture for Luke.  Artistically, I am equivalent to a 2 year old.  My impressive stick figure and tree and sun with spikes sticking out of it that was floating mysteriously right on top of the tree was awesome, then Luke drew a stupid-looking portrait of me, which looked just like me, glasses, shoes, a tree and a sun with shimmering light coming off it.  (I hate to say it, but it wasn't nearly as good as MY drawing).  (Okay, yes it was.  It was way better - and I'm fifty-three, and he's 7).  

After our lunch, we had to go about the business of having a memorial service for Ginny's little dog who tragically died in an accident earlier in the week.  The kids came over, and Todd did the shoveling work while we said what we loved about little Billy.  There were tears all around, but it was a decent send-off for a little dog whose greatest happiness was when hunting down and chewing up someone's glasses, iPod, ninety-dollar head sets, or snatching a pink bra and running madly down the street with it with his cussing master in hot pursuit!  We will miss Billydog.  Enjoy your new wings little buddy.  And as Ginny said, "I'll be up there with you someday, as long as you don't eat God's glasses, you little scamp!"

So now, my little weekend with one of my best friends is drawing to a close.  Tomorrow, if the winter storm warning for my part of the world does not materialize, I will be back on a Southwest jet heading north and sleeping back in my bed which barely had time to get cold while I was away.

To Alabama!  Cheers!

Friday, February 12, 2010

LISTEN TO ME LEVI STRAUSS!

It finally dawned on me today that I might possible be old...er.  Older.  Old is a state of mind, and it is also a body size.  It's time that someone out there, preferably Levi Strauss, come up with a Signature jean for 10-P and 10-P Old-er.  

What is the first thing a woman wants to minimize on her body as she hits the Size Old-er?  Her ass, right?  So what is with all the big bulky pockets and designs all over each butt cheek?  That is not flattering, girls.  From the side you look like you have big lumps sticking out back there, and from the back you look like someone is playing a really cruel joke.  Is it not bad enough that we already have enough padding back there to cushion every player in the NFL?  I have to admit, the jeans were really cute from the front, but since most people will not be seeing me from the front, I passed.


Then there is this.  We do not, as Size Old-er, want to see our tummy fat flopping over the top of the waistband. Anything that I have to jump up and down in while pulling the waist up the same level in the front and the back, is going to button in a very unflattering way, trust me.

Relaxed fit?  ROTFLMAO!  I mean really.  All that means is that after we eat a piece of celery we can keep the damned things snapped, but it looks like wearing a canvas tent in the bottom and thighs.  


Here is what I want:  I want a pair of Levi Strauss (because they just look so strong and durable and keep their shape) to make a pair of jeans for Size 10-P Old-er.  I want the waist to sit somewhere close to right underneath my boobs for a little support there, or maybe even just have them button somewhere NEAR my actual waist which is not below my crack in the back, be straight-legged to make my legs look longer, and not have any pockets in the back. 

I came home with 2 pairs of jeans, one that buttons under my belly fat and one that promises it will make me look slimmer.  I can just about lay odds that when I get to my girlfriend's house tomorrow I end up in my ratty old jeans with no pockets, that are actually frayed on the bottom but have formed to my particular rear end and are comfortable.  

I am never going shopping for jeans again, so these things better frickin' last, that's all I can say. 


 

Monday, February 08, 2010

MY FAVORITE SIMPLICITIES

Morning in the wintertime when the snow
blankets the earth outside my door, bumping
up the thermostat, covering my shoulders with
a baby blue shawl. 

My coffee iced even if the thermometer 
points below zero, drinking it, sipping,
enjoying the flavor while my feet warm up under
the electric blanket.

Fumbling for the remote control lost 
under the covers somewhere, point and shoot
at the TV bringing it to life, quickly lowering
the volume till I wake up myself.

Slipping into warm jeans, warm boots, a warm
coat and a knit stocking cap, grabbing the camera, 
feeling tears freeze on my cheeks,framing up, favorite
photo captured for remembering.

But my favorite simplicity - a good book 
read in the sunshine on the patio with blue sky
overhead, birds singing, bugs buzzing, dogs barking
in the distance. 

Simplicity.

http://chrisalba-enchantedoak.blogspot.com/2010/02/let-challenge-begin.html

Sunday, February 07, 2010

COACH DON

Coach Don excited

Coach Don excited about the touchdown!

 

 

 

 

Coach Don excited

Coach Don disappointed by the onside kick.

 

 

 

 

Coach Don excited

Coach Don worried.

 

 

 

 

Coach Don excited

Coach Don angry!

 

 

 

 

This is the photo autobiography of Coach Don helping to coach the 2010 Super Bowl! 

Come on Colts!  Get to work! 

SUPER BOWL SUNDAY

There is Labor Day.  There is the 4th of July.  There is Christmas. Then there is Super Bowl Sunday!  

Holidays are tiring.  There is just too much preparation involved.  But on Super Bowl Sunday, usually the coldest day of the year here in the Midwest, it seems, with ice and snow coating the ground and making travel difficult anyway, we get to stay in the house, by the fire, with a bowl of hot chili and a tray full of sliced and diced veggies with dip, and a bag of chips in front of the big HD TV, and cheer on our favorite team.  Even when my home team is not in the Super Bowl, the day, for me, is just sparkling with comfort and joy, as I watch helmets fly and arms and legs bend in totally unnatural ways.  When my team is playing in the big game, I find myself curled up in one corner of my sofa with my quilt half-covering my eyes, afraid to watch every agonizing moment of play, not eating because I might be sick from the nervous feeling in my stomach. Don't worry, though.  Once the game is over I eat everything in sight, either drowning my sorrow or celebrating our win.

You might think I am a little bit crazy, and of course, you probably would not be too wrong about that assessment, but there is one day of the year where I feel inclined to yell and cheer and let out all my aggression without having to actually hurt anyone.  

Super Bowl Sunday.  It's more than a sport...it's a legal way of letting out all that year-long pent-up anger!  And it isn't just for the guys anymore.  

GO COLTS!

Saturday, February 06, 2010

THE PULL OF THE MALL

Earlier this week I finally noticed that my jeans are looking pretty ratty.  Not only my jeans, but the only shirts I wear are blue sweatshirts.  Some of them are pretty blue sweatshirts, with zippers and buttons and other ornaments, and some of them are old baggy blue sweatshirts that lose their shape after you've washed them once, and these have been washed three-hundred times.  

When I noticed the frayed bottoms of my jeans and the condition of my shirts, I made a decision that this Saturday, today, I would venture out in my green Ford Focus, Myrtle, and make the sixty-mile drive to the nearest city with a mall and update my wardrobe.  I actually have gotten excited about it over the past few days.  The last time I did that was before Thanksgiving when my daughter and I drove down together and shopped the day away. I didn't realize then that my jeans needed replaced, though, choosing instead to buy essentials like ten bottles of lotion from Bath and Body and a half-dozen candles from a little expensive candle shop.

I am up early. I have to work awhile before taking this little hiatus.  I woke up, stretched, went to the kitchen and made my iced coffee, walked to the French doors to glance out, which is my ritual...WHAT'S THIS?  IT SNOWED?  NOOOOOOO! It didn't only snow, there is ice under there.  It's visible in the car tracks on my street.  For once this season, the weatherman hit the nail on the head.  I knew it was supposed to "snow."  But they are constantly predicting these huge snowstorms and when I get up the next day, you can still see the grass sticking up through the "blizzard."  

Can we do it?  Well, first I have to find a door that will open because apparently the wind has blown all night, too, sweeping that wet, heavy snow into every nook and cranny and piling it up against the nearest vertical surface, for example, my doors.  I. WILL. GET. OUT. TO. GO. TO. THE. MAAALLLLL!  

Stay tuned for updates.

Wednesday, February 03, 2010

DELUSIONAL ON ANTIDEPRESSANT

My life has been a little chaotic lately.  If I started writing down everything that has happened that might possibly have led to the bit of depression I have been experiencing, it would depress you, so I won't even say it.  But I will say that thanks to some watchful and loving family and friends, I finally consulted my doctor yesterday, who promptly put me on Celexa, an antidepressant medication that hopefully will bring me back to some realm of normalcy in my day-to-day life.  

Now, to tell you that after the first dose I had an immediate response to the medication might seem presumptuous and unbelievable, but I did.  This morning I already feel a change.  My outlook feels brighter, my focus is maintained, and the daily panic I have been experiencing has not happened yet today!  

A friend of mine called to check today, to see how I was doing, and I told her about this miracle medication that seems to have found my center and begun adjusting the chemicals in my brain that keep me from feeling like I am going to fragment into a million little pieces.  She was pleased with what she heard...until we discussed Valentine's Day, which is fast approaching.  And she said, with a little giggle, "What do you think you'll get this year?  A can opener?"  

I replied with, "I am going to write down 'Keurig coffeemaker, the one-hundred-thirty-nine dollar model,' and leave the note where my boyfriend can see it." 

Well, she laughed out loud and I asked her why she was laughing like an evil wicked clown, and she said, "Take that medicine back right now...it has made you an idiot!"  

Upon further discussion about the Keurig coffeemaker, which I really, really want, I had to come around to her point of view, though I must say that I got a very surprising, caring gift of a gold necklace from my boyfriend for Christmas, which kind of redeemed him from the time he gave me a weed eater for the big day; however, she reminded me that I received, for my birthday this year, a motion sensor light for my garage.  


I am not giving up hope, though.  I AM going to get that coffeemaker, even if I have to go online and in a moment of his weakness ask him for his credit card.  Then I will buy him a beautiful thank-you card!  


Valentine's Day CAN rock, but sometimes you have to just treat yourself in order to reap its rewards.

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

PEYTON MANNING, FUTURE SUPER BOWL CHAMPS, A NUTELLA ADDICTION, AND OTHER THINGS

Over the weekend this past weekend, the Playoffs were on TV, the last two games that would determine the two teams battling it out for the crown of Super Bowl champ-eens of 2010.  

I am way into football, but everyone needs a vice.  That is one of my few.  I cannot sit through an entire one-point-five-hour long movie, but plop me in front of the TV when my Indianapolis Colts are playing, give me a quilt and a cold beer, or two, maybe, three, and the next three hours cutsie Peyton Manning has my undivided attention.  

But there are ads during the game.  Ads for things that no human being should ever be exposed to...like Nutella.  I had never heard of it, had never noticed it on the shelf at Walmart in the peanut butter section, but during my love affair with PM, they flash an almost subliminal message for this hazelnut spread that is laced with cocoa and skim milk and sold in plastic jars, just like Jif. 

When I went to do my shopping last night, I honed in on the section where I usually pick up a jar of my same old low-fat blah Jif peanut butter, but instead of reaching for it, let my eyes wander the shelves, looking for Nutella.  I now have it associated forever in my mind with being carried off the football field after a perfect winning season by the Super Bowl champ quarterback, his eyes locked on mine...WAKE UP!!  Okay, no Nutella, until I looked up to the top shelf.

First of all, there is a reason they have to put this stuff on the top shelf.  If everyone could reach it, we would all be having to attend a twelve-steps program to break our addiction.  Children, especially, would be susceptible to being able to sneak it into the shopping cart when Mom was not paying attention, and how many times have you been behind a harried mom with a couple of kids and heard her say, "Where did this come from??" then watch her disgustedly throw it up on the conveyor belt to be checked out and taken home because she was too tired to cope with the situation?  

Once I found it and climbed up a shelf to get my grubby paws on it, I decided that since it was so high up there and was a pain to reach, I better have two jars.  When I got home and tasted this decadent drippy chocolate nutty gooey creamy stuff, I immediately went to Facebook to tell all my friends about it.

And guess what?  They've been holding out on me.  Yes, you heard right!  They all know about it and have been closet Nutella addicts for years!  Friends?  Right.  Of course, they were just kind of living with the adage, "Friends don't let friends discover Nutella."  They all knew the implications.  And none of them wanted to admit out loud they had a problem.  I understand that.  And once I had mentioned that I had put more than one jar in the cart, there were many, "Oh, no's!" that rang out.  My brother said he went to the website where there is a disclaimer that this product is not endorsed by any health professionals.  He said, "The stuff has GOT to be good!"  

So, I want you to all set the Nutella jars down on the cabinet and back away slowly...and...

I'M GOING TO STEAL THEM ALL!!  

Hi, my name is Kathy, and I'm a Nutella addict.  

Yes, my lawsuit against the NFL for allowing the ad is in the works.  Way to go, Peyton!  Will you be in court?  May I sit by you?  I'll share the Nutella with you and your dreamy-eyed self!