Cats and rabbits...who knew??

I think I could apply for the job of Air Traffic Controller--not that I'd want it.  After orchestrating all of mom's appointments with the drivers at The Plaza, and the communication involved, and the computering required to keep it all straight, etc., I honestly think keeping jet liners from crashing into each other would be about the same, give or take.  OK....maybe that's a tad extreme but that's sure how it feels keeping mom's, Fred's, (for right now) and my world, all straight.  I feel like a juggler with not enough arms.  Life sure can get complicated, can't it?

If I sound whiny it's because I am.  I think I'm just worn out (again) so I'm throwing my own little pity party until I get sick of  hearing myself, which should be in about two seconds.  I personally think a little whining is good for ya as long as you don't stay there too long.  If I don't want to hear myself boo hoo, nobody else does either.  Man....that was deep, no?

Now, I don't know why I'm thinking about this but then that's scary to even try to figure out.  Have you ever noticed that cats and rabbits look a whole lot alike in their bodies?  And not just in their legs and feet...even their trunks look similar. I was looking at Muff's legs the other day as I was brushing him (I actually think he's more hair than cat) and he looked just like a rabbit.  No wonder cats can jump like black basketball players--they are part rabbit.

Tiger... what a nimrod

I can't resist....I MUST comment on this. Bruce told me last night that Tiger had taken a date to one of his children's birthday party's. OMG.....is this guy just a male IED? Does he have a brain at all? A date?.....really. And to one of his kids party....why? Out to dinner (privately) or on his own--not a great idea since he's still technically married, but a lot less stupid. Just another indicator that Tiger still doesn't get it. And probably never will. And that's just how I see it.

Good Morning!

Sort of knocked your eyeballs right out of your head didn't it? I've been playing around so I thought I'd see how long I could stand this one. Blog design, the ones I'd really want, are mostly for either people who are actually selling something (design) or other artistic services. As a result, they hire talented people to design their blog and pay them a nice chunk of change. Me? Well...uh, no. I am just entertaining myself so unless I get lucky and EVER have more than seven followers, I'm going the bargain route, so beware. I warned ya.

Update on Fred: He's sitting in here with me now and is coming along--he's down to one nap a day and no Hydrocodone, though the throat still continues to feel like a welder left his torch on overnight, shoved down Fred's throat. Sis continues to give him her own brand of Nursing care, if you can call it that. She's never had him home this long, all to herself, so heaven only knows what hell I'll face when he goes back to work. She thinks he's here all day to play with her. The other afternoon I heard her doing her high pitched yip which means something is up. Sure enough, it was. Fred had her up on the bed and was "playing" with her by holding two of her feet together--nothing more--just grabbing them and holding them, and it made... her... nuts. When she doesn't like something or gets frustrated, she goes 100% girly and yips--like someone is killing her. Read: she's frustrated so her voice goes up three octaves. Those two are just a match made in heaven. She continues to give me the disappointed dog look in the mornings when I get up to feed her instead of her dad. She's still nice about it but you can just tell I'm not all that, to her, and HE is.

This just in: Sister and Golf umbrellas. FYI they DO NOT go together. Since it was still raining, when I let both pups out, I knew it would be a short and sweet trip. Dachshunds don't do water. So since I was getting the paper anyway, I decided to invite Sis to walk under my huge umbrella. Let's just say the only way I might have gotten her to even try it would have been if I'd been carrying a large cooked T-bone or sliced cheese. I guess to her, getting wet was worth it. They both got toweled dry and then had a brief game of "crack the whip" with the towel, only Wigman can't really play anymore--not enough teeth.

All five senses-enjoy them

Since my patient now requires a slightly lower level of care, I decided that gave me license to fire up my Egg again and play with my toy. The mesquite chips are soaking in a bowl in the sink, the chicken legs and thighs are seasoned and resting, prior to their descent into mesquite smoke hell, and in a few I'll head out to light up that old gal. I don't know yet if Fred will be able to eat the chicken but I know Brian definitely can--we'll see how Fred does with it. It still may be too early for him.
Since it takes virtually no time to heat her up to a paltry 300 degrees, I can lounge around a bit longer. It's mostly shady right now in our back yard, so combining watering and smoking seemed like a good use of my water wand and my time. My wand is purple iridescent and makes for the gentlest shower of water ever. And I love the sound it makes....a soft woosh-zush....almost makes me sleepy when I hear it. I love that thing....there are just some toys that are worth the price and especially if they are a multi sensory purchase.

I don't know what it is that now makes me take such delight in smelling things, feeling stuff with fingers (or emotions-- unless it's pain) , hearing sounds that are soothing, seeing colors that thrill & delight me, and the taste part needs no explanation. It's almost like I'm a toddler again but one with wisdom. Maybe it's because life has s-l-o-w-e-d- d-o-w-n for me.....I now have time to just diddle, laugh, piddle, enjoy. I don't care what the reason is. I wouldn't trade this phase of my life to be young, thin, and hot, for anything.
I just checked my Egg, my fire is almost there...I think I'll grab my iced tea and head back outside and just enjoy being out there.

Life--lived forward-understood by looking backward

I went to visit my friend yesterday morning, for a java break, whose husband committed suicide several months ago. We'd been planning it for a few weeks but she had a few things that got in the way so yesterday, it finally happened. I said my prayers before I went that I might be of service to her--whatever that might look like. Two and a half hours later, coked up on caffeine, I headed all two blocks home. And we could have talked on--for days. I guess women are just like that. You name it--we covered it--even the painful parts about her husband. The more she told me, the more I understood and puzzle pieces fell into place-- for both of us. I told her how much I missed him--that every time I pass one of his houses (he was a builder) , I think of him and even look for his car, where I used to see it parked all the time. Boy, howdy...I miss him.

She cried, she laughed, she got mad at someone else's gross stupidity and the potential fall out, and out poured raw honesty the likes of which I have never experienced with her. She let it out and good for her. Grief is just...grief. I assured her that whatever we discussed stayed right there in her den--that whatever she told me went to the Ziploc, with me. (I want to cremated and put in one.) And it wasn't all one sided--she told me some things about my dad, and what he had done for her, that I had never known. She went on to reveal to me, a side of my dad that I had never known, never experienced. I had known she respected my dad but had not known the impact he had had on her life. Up rushed memories from our childhoods and we told each other what each other's parents had meant to us--her mom inspired my love of cooking, and I use her recipes to this day. Her parent had provided a type of "old school" structure for me that was important and nurturing.

My dad had guided her through her college years and had gotten her into the MBA program at SMU, ( she claims the program was already closed) because he'd advised her this was something she really needed to do, before Law School. She says he was absolutely on target, for her and her goals, and she has never regretted getting her MBA, though she now has her JD.

And as a result, she said she has told all of her kids and their friends, to look around at their friends parents, and see who you really admire. ASK them about their careers, what they'd recommend for you, things they'd try today, potholes they'd avoid, etc. They are a treasure trove of knowledge and experience, right there for the asking, free of charge. Make these people your mentors or at least ask them if they'd mind guiding you and then listen to what they tell you. And if it resonates, do what they suggest. You never know...it might just work out. Great advice, no??

TMI--Too Much Information

Well.....my stars and garters. This is just about THE LAST thing I wanted to deal with but here it is and I have. For those of you with elderly parents, buckle up, because if you aren't to this stage yet, you will be. It seems my mother has decided she just hates wearing a bra. Yep...you read that right. A BRA. So she just doesn't. And let's just say it shows. I'm talking hound dog ears, here.... and high beams that nobody else really wants to see, thank you very much. She's forgotten she lives in a "community" now--with visitors. The other Plaza residents probably couldn't care less and don't even notice-- but the staff does-- and understandably, we must keep up appearances, after all. Plus....she just looks like a bag lady without one. Sorry.... but that's just the facts.

To make life easier and LOTS more comfortable, I headed out to get her some Spanks/Assets camisoles that nicely keep the "girls" in place and take care of the high beam situation. Genius, no? (Guys: hint here--Think built in bra with some cling, in a sleeveless t-shirt). Comfy, easy, and I think I sold her on the idea 'cause man, I tried. A lot.

When I called my sister to give her the "good news", she almost had a stroke laughing. She's teaching summer school so "she couldn't possibly take care of this" and enjoyed the absolute hell out me having to do it. Yeah, well...the next little "mom" drama that comes up has my sister's name on it.

She was this close....

Sister is so sad she's almost inconsolable. You see, today is "Take Your Dog to Work Day", and she was all over it. We'd discussed it and she'd been planning to go with Fred, for weeks. She packed up her little dog back pack with her lunch, a few toys, and a blanket for snoozing. She was even up early, tail wagging and whining, hoping her Dad was up and getting ready. Uh, no. He was still in the bed asleep-- and she got me instead. Can I tell ya what a downer it is, first thing in the morning, to be second choice? Man....that will let the air out of your tires for sure. Pretty insulting. And a real downer, from a dog. At least Wigman was thrilled to see me. Back at ya, Sis.

Now, Wiggles had never planned to visit--he just wanted a day off from Sis-- to sleep and not be pestered. He was planning to hang here with me, eat whenever he wanted, since with Sis gone, his food could stay down. (If she sees his, she eats his and then hers.) He could have the big green water bowl all to himself and even sleep in Sis's bed-- just to let her know he had. Smoke on that, Sis.

Since Muff had an asthma attack in the middle of the night, I need to try to catch him and take him in for his check up, and pick up his shot. Yep, I give him his meds, too. This Nursing thing just goes on and on.

I have identified yet another job I never want--and that would be yardman. I mowed yesterday for Fred since the yard needed it and I needed the aerobic workout. The total body hot yoga sweat like you are on fire, cause YOU ARE, type purge. Now, yes, I could have hired one of the yard guys to do it--that's what I did last week when I was beat. But oh, no....this week I was gonna do it myself. Is it just me or can you hear the "toddler" in that? And then I watered all the pots, all the hanging baskets and the new gardenia bushes so they'll make an easy transition. We have sprinks so I let them do the rest. And let me just say this: Hell will freeze before I do that again, even at 8:30 AM, in this heat. Yardman?? Off my list.

It says whaaat???

I think I've found something worse than swim suit shopping. Bathroom scale shopping. Oh, Lordy. They should be required to have a self serve smelling salts dispenser in that area. A few days ago I went looking and my first stop was Bed Bath and Beyond. I found them, grabbed one and hopped on. Whoa. No big shock but I knew it couldn't possibly be correct so I grabbed another one. Not realizing I had grabbed the " Sista Gurl Tell It All On Yo' Bad Self" scale, again I hopped right on. Lord love me, I nearly PASSED OUT. All of the sudden up came BMI numbers, actual weight, water content, and something else I am trying desperately to block from my consciousness--probably bone density or something equally as off-putting. I must have shrieked because another lady started laughing. That scale flew back on the shelf in a nano second. Listen here.....just knowing the actual weight number is bad enough. Who could possibly want all that extra stuff other than maybe an anorexic? So, on I went. By the time I finished, not one scale in the bunch had weighed me the same amount, and the swing was 7-8 pounds different. And while I briefly considered buying the one that weighed me the least, and believe me I got on many times, I decided to push on to Target.

Unfortunately, Target was the same experience only less scales to choose from, so I decided to drop back and punt, and to Amazon I went. Case closed. My scale should arrive next Thursday which is fine by me. I am in no hurry to jump on that evil liar. I would almost have paid them to ship it by way of China.

Bruce gives birth

Bruce gave birth, nasally, this afternoon to two stents and is resting/sleeping, post delivery. And a delivery it was. Those babies were the length of your little finger and about as big around and were stabilized in place with a suture that you couldn't see, inside his nose. I had asked him earlier if he wanted me to wait for him in the waiting room but he said "You can come back"--translation "Come back so they won't kill me back here" and he knows I love gross stuff like this anyway. Hey....if you're a nurse, it's a requirement, and the grosser the better. He wanted to snap a picture (with his phone) of his stents lying on gauze in an emesis basin after removal, but I told him that was a tad grosser than even he'd want to see, once he's off his pain meds. They were pretty gnarly looking and since removal stimulated the nerves at the back of his throat, his throat is really hurting. He didn't even eat dinner--just a little gelato, thank you, AB,-- and an ice water gargle. Owww. He's counting down until he can have his pain meds again. The good news? He can really breathe through his nose and that charming nasal whistle and click are gone. Woo hoo!

Peaches, Ooooo la la

After a brief vacay, I am back and sassier than ever. I hiked up to the Garden last night and it was ugggg-leeeee. I managed to harvest all but one tomato if you don't count the gorgeous, juicy red one the squirrels left as their calling card. And those furry little turds left it right in plain sight, beside the plant they snatched it off of, with several big bites out of it. Good thing my garden is shutting down or it would be all out WAR.
My sister dropped off some Fredericksburg peaches yesterday for Mr. Puny and since they are a little too acidic for his throat (burn baby, burn), I think I'm going to try freezing them instead. In today's paper, there is a big article on the peach crop and from the smell of these alone, I could gain five pounds. They are small but mighty. My Sis will be going down to Freddy's burg in a week or so to stay with friends, so I'm going to have her bring us back a bushel . OK, and no, I have no clue how much a bushel is but I'll find out. I'm thinking a fresh peach cobbler and some fresh peach ice cream might be right what the invalid needs, once his throat gets better.

Which brings me nicely to Hydrocodone. Fred told me he was up at 2:30 AM with his throat in flames, as he prayed it was time for pain meds. Luckily, it was but it's what he said next that gassed me. He told me "ahhhh....it feels soooo good when the pain meds kick in" and I had to laugh. Well, yeah, Fred...that's why people LIKE pain meds...and get addicted. And they do make him really goofy. I catch him staring out in space sometimes wondering where in the hell his brain is. He's just off in his own little narcotic world.
It's interesting , too, how exhausting this is for him. Prior to surgery, he worked out a lot so he's in good physical shape--it's not like he went in all "Biggest Loser". But he is just limp by mid-morning. Ditto after lunch. He has to lie down and snooze for awhile--usually a couple of hours or he gets really crabby. Welcome to post op.
But my favorite part is, he can make his nose "whistle and click" and shoot out air, when he drinks something. And he whistles out his nose when he sleeps, with his mouth open, since he can't breathe through his nose.
That is just raw talent.

Can't wait to get those "things" out this afternoon!

Takin' a load off

Since my tail feathers are draggin', as my mother would say, I'm going to take a few days off from posting unless something really earth shaking occurs, and I'm not holding my breath on that one. The most exciting thing I can anticipate is Harris getting those "things" out of his nose on Wednesday so he'll quit gritchin' about them. I'm sure they are miserable--just please tell somebody else about them, as I have just gone unexpectedly deaf. Off to lie down--this old broad is tired. I bet you can relate.

Father's Day

After making my water run up to the garden, I've decided we're bout done. I have nine tomatoes on the vine, eight of which should be ready in a day or two. That last green one may pick up some speed once the others are gone but after it's ripe, the two sad looking blighted tomato plants will be hitting the dumpster. They have no more blooms and have essentially waved me the white flag. In fact, if I get a big head of early morning steam up, it's ALL gonna hit the dumpster. The three tiny little carrots can stay and if they think they can hang on, fine by me but I'm not going up there to water three itsy little carrot plants. Nooooo. I'll still take Sis up there every nite to run around (and Pigglesworth if he wants to go) but no more gardening until Fall or until I can find something to grow that blight can't kill. Like maybe plastic.

This has been a lovely Father's Day--cool and quiet--with both boys calling to check on their dad and Brian is here now, with a gift for his dad. He was laughing as he gave it to his dad saying "you may want to hold off on this for awhile...". It was a gift card to Chipotle. Ouch!

Happy Father's Day to all the Dad's out there! You guys do a great job!

Owww!!!

Tonsillectomy at 56?? Owwww!! Now that all the post op drugs have worn off, and we are down to just Hydrocodone, his throat is SORE. And RAW. And it makes his voice sound funny. Add to that the nasal splints he has up his nose and he can't smell or taste much. Luckily, those come out Wednesday because he is totally over them. Soooooo over them, in fact, that I may need to hide all the tweezers so he can't take matters into his own hands. I just heard him up, taking pain meds so I better go make my rounds.

Thank you to all who have called to check on him. He's really doing great--or as good as can be expected. He's supposed to stay quiet, inside, and just rest, so that's what were going to do. Since it hurts to talk, he's not real conversational though he tries. He had visitors yesterday and it really threw him under the bus. They stayed and stayed and stayed and even he admitted it was way too much. I was trying to let him be his own guide--that won't happen again. At least not for several more days. Nurse Ratchet is back.

Dull? Never!

There just never seems to be a dull moment over here. Benji is on a tour bus with a C&W singer Brittany Black headed for Green Bay, Wisconsin, to play some gig tonite, Brian is moving the rest of his stuff into his own apartment today, and with any luck, he'll come get his washer and dryer out of the garage and I'll have that space back. Yea. Our power went off all down our block for about 45 minutes last night. Luckily it was after dark so it never even really got hot--just dark.

Later I'll be heading to Tom Thumb to return the gross fruit I got yesterday. The watermelon was all soft and mealy (and that was before I dropped it), the cantaloupe was just yuk, and the bananas while perfect yesterday, morphed into something mushy and dark, overnight. Produce...can't live with it, can't live with out it. Don't even get me started.

I think I'm liking Martha Stewart's magazine a little too much. I found a spot on a shirt the other day and after having just put down her mag, I found myself thinking, WWMD??? OK.....that's just wrong. I am being brain washed by Martha Stewart.

Above is a shot of my fat little friend, snoring (her), beside her dad. Yep....she's back in there.

Patrol Girl

Wow...Bruce continues to eat whatever I put in front of him and as I figured, the no dairy idea just hit the wall. I fixed him some Fettuccine Alfredo and sliced up Honey baked ham and stirred the small ham bites into the hot noodles, and then let it cool somewhat. Snarf. It's gone. He wanted some cooked carrots so I fixed those. Wolfed. He has fruit Sorbet for dessert so I figure Mexican Flan cannot be far behind. It's easy, tastes so good, and slides down so well.

We've had a minor issue a couple of times: someone on drugs wants to tell me what to do and how to do it. He even checks my pain meds dosage. Please. IF I wanted to OD him, it would have happened by now. Then this morning, he told me "they said I could clean my nose with a tooth pick and some hydrogen peroxide".....a tooth pick.....really. I returned with the Q-tips and the peroxide and tried not to laugh.

Then this afternoon, it got way too quiet so I went to check to see if he was sleeping. Well.....not exactly. Sister was in the bed with him, on her back like a big fat seal, snoozing, as he loved on her. I must admit, she did smell luscious...and she knew it. Snooze Director on the Love Boat. I finally made her go back in the den so he could really sleep--and she's been trying to get back ever since. Big surprise.

Yesterday/Today update

I am so tired I am slap happy but I knew I had to get some of this down before my brain went offline, as it does fairly often these days. Today's funnies have included the guy at the hospital who camped out at the WiFi area and made it his own personal office. He proceeded to stroll around the entire waiting area orating into his cell with an earpiece microphone (not Blue Tooth) discussing "deals". What a windbag. I ended up privy to way more than I wanted to know about his wife's surgery, while he pontificated ad nauseum. People watching is just hilarious!

Once I got Bruce home, Sister went into a frenzy. She knew something was up and once I got him in the bed, she stationed herself in the hall, right near his door, and whined--continuously. I finally just picked up her bad self and let her see him, smell him, and see that her squirrel hunting man was OK. She has been on patrol ever since. Up and down the hall, to the kitchen to snag any low lying food, back to patrol. Right now she's across from me in one of the big white chairs, licking her feet, with her whole body turned so she can hear, feel, see him. Wonder if I could talk her in to taking the 11-7 shift tonight?? And Muff...Muff, Muff, Muff. He barfed as a welcome home greeting. Please. Somehow I just did not have cat barf on the list for today.

And last but not least, my Super Dooper Face Freezer for Bruce's sinuses and nose. They sent us home with this contraption that is supposed to velcro around his face and it does--that's not the problem. The problem is, when you put ice in it, it leaks. Oh, ....that. Another design flaw fiasco that could easily be fixed but isn't. Anywho, if you ever need a great ice pack, head to the freezer and whip out a sack frozen peas, blueberries, etc. They fit perfectly across the bridge of the nose (or other places) and with the head contraption, velcro right in place. Voila'...."look Ma, no hands." It's snooze city. In fact, it worked so well let's just say I had to throw some blankets on somebody to bring their core temp back up, after he fell asleep wearing his. It seems he got a wee bit nipply....oops.

Bruce has now had breakfast of every soft non-dairy thing I could think of, is medicated with his antibiotic, nose sprays, pain meds, and sporting a fresh Hitler patch gauze dressing under his nose. When Brian came by last night, it was the nose patch that threw him under the bus...that, and a totally stoned dad.
So far, so good, and bless modern chemistry for liquid Hyrocodone!!

Bair Paws??

It has definitely been an interesting day. The little boy they put in ahead of Bruce's surgery this morning was two, his dad was one of the surgery orderlies, and the dad looked just like Carson Kressley on Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. It seems the little boy had a rock in his ear and if you've ever had male children you know that's not even minor league weird. That's just boys. Since it had been there for awhile and was infected, Dr. Mock slipped him in for a speedy removal. Hence, our start for Bruce was even later than anticipated since they also slipped another person in ahead of him. They do that with short cases and pretend like they didn't, hoping they won't get caught. Busted.

Anywho, I am a little weary so will post more of the funnies that happened later tomorrow. I snapped some really lovely shots on my cellphone but in the interest of fair play, will not be posting them here. Only the boys and Bruce and I will scream over them, right down to the hospital issued, non slip purple "Bair Paws" socks he's still wearing. Yep.... it's quite a look, and, no,that's not a typo. That's really how they spell it on the socks....with the bear paws. Ahhhhhhh.....

Crunch!

The old gal came down as planned yesterday and it was fun to watch. I got there well into the demolition and only my room upstairs, the chimney, and a few other spots were left to bring down. I chronicled the last moments in 18 shots and sent them on to all family members. I was asked a couple of times if I needed anything, by the demo guys and the new builder--code for "what exactly are ya doing here?", despite the fact I was snapping pictures. When I told them this was my old family home, we were suddenly all fast friends and yucking it up. They wanted to know if there were lots of "memories & tales" hitting the dirt, and I assured them there were. Some I could tell, some not, and they all laughed.

I ran by this morning and they were still trying to carry off the old broad in hunks and chunks so maybe after dinner I'll swing by to see how it looks. I'm also thinking this makes a "busy" after dinner activity for someone who needs to keep his mind off surgery. They've now bumped Bruce's surgery an hour later since they had to put a little boy in ahead of him. He's probably getting tubes in his ears so that'll be quick. A quick flip of the OR and we're in the chute, up next.

One of Bruce's generous cousins, AB, has already bought Bruce some gelato (Tiramisu & Almond) for next week when he's stopped his anti-dairy campaign, after surgery. I think AB should come over and she and I should just eat it in front of him....and then tell him how deeeelish it is. And how wonderful it feels sliding down our throats...heh, heh, heh. We know he can dish it out but can he take it.....it's gonna be fun finding out. Nothing like having a Harris male, flat on their back, totally dependent...LET'S GET THAT PARTY STARTED!!!!!!!!!!!!

Meet the Girls!!

Well.....lookah heah what the Fed X man just brought me. Shooooweeee....Harris bought me a new set of cookware as an early thank you for taking care of him. Isn't that nice?? He just knew that's exactly what I'd need to keep me happy and busy, while he's convalescing. (Never mind he has no clue about it--I did it for him, to be thoughtful.) And I AM HAPPY! I just cleaned out all the old stuff and with a song in my heart, walked it straight out to the trash. I wouldn't even offer that old stuff to anybody. Buh, bye.

Now, lest you think he cheaped out on me, I assure you what I got is the Ultimate Tri-Ply Clad Cookware: it is Stainless Steel+Aluminium Core+ Magnetic Stainless Steel and is heavy as lead. This stuff should easily last me until that last batch of enchiladas. The final, end of the trail Tortilla soup. When I'm just too old to sling the old pots and pans anymore....they'll still be kickin'.

And I did my research, too. I studied, I watched the cookware comparisons on America's Test Kitchens where this was hailed-- they almost knelt when discussing it's virtues. And now for the best part: while any of you foodies are just 100% sure it's a set of $$$$$$$ ALL Clad--it isn't!!!!
I bought it on the Internet from WALMART and it's Tramontina--second place to ALL Clad-- and no other brand within reach. Now, be seated so I can tell you how much it was. $199-on roll back from $249, thank you, Mr. Roll Back "Derrell". Shipping was $0.97, and with tax, $216.00 for ten pieces!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ALL Clad would have come in around $1,200-1,700 and I don't know about you but that's just a whippin' where I'm from. And these are even shaped like ALL Clad. The only difference? They don't say ALL Clad. I can live with that. They have a set of eight pieces for $149 but I wanted the bigger skillets in the ten piece. Hey....Go big or go home.
I can't wait to get to know my new friends.

P.S. I will post on Belclaire's demise tomorrow, may she RIP.

Kaboom!

I got an email last night that our old house is coming down today. Right now, in fact. I thought it might have been pulled down yesterday, so last night, in my pj's, I drove by to check. Nope. There she was looking all old and frumpy. They'd taken off the front door and side windows on either side, and closed her up with three doors, running sideways, parallel to the ground. And if that wasn't weird enough, a couple of window panes were broken out, and the back, wrought iron driveway gate was gone--blocked off again by a door going sideways. Since there's a pool in the back, I guess legally they have to block it off as best they can until that big yellow dozer arrives. The word is, they will have several trucks lined up to drag the old gal off, once she's down. I don't know why this is so exciting to me but it just is. Maybe subconsciously I'm pretending I'm building a house there. There I go getting all headsy.....I'll post again later today when I have pic's to share.

Interestingly, Bruce's grandparents old home is on the market and all of the cousins have decided we need to set up a private viewing of it, before it gets sold. They were hoping to set it up this weekend but too many people were either out of town, or on their death bed after a tonsillectomy, to attend together. Already the stories have started pouring out about that old house--how dark it used to be inside, the can of toy guns that used to sit on the stairs, and how one of Bruce's cousin's used to be able to" fit inside the banister". ( Name with held to protect the skinny.) They are now trying for possibly weekend after this ---I can hardly wait to hear some more of their stories.

As Belclaire comes down, I'm reminded of some of our stories--the time my brother got me to lie down on top of the elevator, ran it up with in two feet of the ceiling, and left me there. (The previous owner was crippled and installed it and we just kept it.) Man, did we get mileage out of that elevator. We played Department store and even rode downstairs with the light off to scare ourselves silly. Then there was the time Bobby Sillers jumped off our two story roof into our pool, which should have killed him, but luckily did not. And then did it again. The weird smell in the Tool Room.... the slippery (when wet) concrete floor in the Wash House....all of the pool toys, Big Wheels, and other gear stashed there for the grand kids. Smoking grapevine in the alley as kids and making "cookout fires"---- scattering when the HP police arrived, after following the trail of smoke. Hilarious memories....and those are just a few of the ones I can tell--in public.

BGE's forever

I fired up my BGE to cook beef tenders last night and she delivered--AGAIN. I watched my CD/DVD on BGE cooking and found Kevin Rathbun's rib eye cookery helpful. Basically, I just copy catted him. He said to fire that gal up to 600 degrees and I did. He said to put your steaks on for two minutes, shut the lid with all the vents open and wait two minutes. And I did. After two minutes, burp the top open so you don't smell like smoke for a week, and then flip the steaks. Wait two more minutes. Do it one more time and you should be right at medium rare/ medium, depending on thickness of your meat.

Meanwhile, Brian came out to see what his crazy BGE cooking mother was doing. My tenders didn't get quite the char I wanted on the first go round but by my last two minute flip, we were there. Oh, man, were we there.

Brian almost freaked when he saw the temperature gauge and how hot my fire was, looked at me like I might need my brain scanned, and then helped me pull the steaks off. (At 600 degrees, I needed some longer handled tools since my nails were almost melting.) He then proceeded to eat two steaks, salad, and rice, and took a third one home for dinner tonight. Doggie bags rock.

Then while I cleaned up, they waited for the brownies (oven) and ice cream for dessert--- and watched TV. Usually the Y chromosomes do it, but I let them off the hook since this was probably an early Father's Day, for Bruce. Next Sunday he'll probably want me to puree his dinner.

Wahhhh!

It is with a heavy heart that I type this. We have just returned from the garden and it looks like Death Valley. No joke. I'm hopeful to get the remaining tomatoes on the vine to ripen, before both plants totally hit the deck, and it's going to be a race against the clock. And not just for me, either. Everybody is in the same boat. Even the guy who replaced his soil last year-- so what ever this fungal blight stuff is, it takes no prisoners. My green beans are on life support. A squash has already bought it and the other one is not far behind. Wow. So much for my garden....cut down in the prime of life.
I will miss doodling around up there and watering. My carrots (all three of them) are still hanging in there but at a mere two inches tall, I'm not holding out a lot of hope. No wonder farmers go broke. Glad I didn't buy a tractor.

The good news....cause there's always good news somewhere--- is that pictured are my two new gardenia bushes, that Bruce nearly had a heat stroke planting. He mowed first (shuuudup...I offered) and then we went to lunch and got back right at the hottest part of the day-- to plant-- 'cause that's just how we roll. While I did the ice tea shuffle and transported bags of landscape mix via my little red wagon, Harris dug holes. And then I dropped the bomb....the holes needed to be wider ...I showed him the gardenia planting instructions. I won't say what happened next but just use your imagination, and the holes got w-i-d-e-n-e-d. Since these needed an eastern exposure, that's where we put them, for a change. We are learning to follow directions.

We also moved pots around--more on the front porch, and switched the bench with the pillows to the other side of the yard so you can see the hanging baskets. And, we added a pot on a wrought iron stand, right beside the bench. Very Cottage Living with a dash of House Beautiful (don't I wish.)

Sister is here with us, in the white chair, snoozing, because "Daddy Disneyland" let her run wild, outside with him, while he planted, except for AC and water breaks. She's so wasted, she's snoring-- on top of my good pillow. Wigman? He stayed inside in the cool, and slept all afternoon, in his freshly laundered bed. He may be old... but he ain't dumb.

Adios, Belclaire

Looks like the end is near.....for my old family home. I got word yesterday that the roof tiles are being removed for resale and that the salvage guys are waiting in the wings to haul off doors, sinks, and the like. Wow...who knew salvage was such a big business...but it sure is. My sister-in-law snapped these shots yesterday and unless something changes, Monday, the old gal is a comin' down. As old as it is, even though it's been remodeled many times, I'm thinking it won't take much to bring it down. I plan to drive by at some point on Monday to see if she's gone.

My friends that bought it reported that they had received a call from a man that claimed he had lived there as a child, and wanted to come by and remove a piece of wood that had all of his and his siblings height measurements on it, from childhood. His dad had measured each of them. My friend couldn't remember the man's name but out of the depths of my memory shot "J. Glenn Turner". Now, keep in mind, sometimes I can't remember what I had for lunch, but I could remember something as random as that. And as the memory surfaced, so did my memory of my dad measuring all three of us, right near the same area. On the wood, in pencil, with our name and age. I told my sister and she was stunned. Now she wants our piece of wood.

In my family, one of my jobs is/was, to be the keeper of memories --they tease me about having an elephant memory, but it's only because they can't remember sh**--and I can. Sometimes I can even tell them what they were wearing, in a particular memory. The standing joke in our family is that my sister will look at me when I tell something, and say, "Was I there?" and she's not kidding. I think she and my brother must have been in coma's as children. Either that, or I was hyper awake.

I'll be interested to see how I feel Monday or Tuesday. I have good memories and bad of that old house but my gut feeling is, I'm ready to let her go.

Construction continues

I plan to spend some time this weekend trying to get this site revamped. I have just finished working on it some more but it still sucky, unlike the cool professional ones. I plan to check with one of my pals and see how she did hers or better yet, who may have done it for her! I also have two big gardenia bushes to get planted before Fred takes to his bed of pain for the next month. I told him hole digging would get him in shape for surgery. Hey, now...I'm gonna mow for him while he digs...

I did receive his list this morning for his post surgical food requirements and thank God our maid was late because I would have made the guy from The Shining look sane if she'd seen me. Here's some of his list and I am still snorting and laughing as I type: ice water, iced green tea (ewww) , Ensure shakes (what???) , Gatorade (green only-why??) , non-dairy smoothies (made out of whaaaaat?) , Apple/Peach juice, and lasssssst but not leassssst...Slurpees from 7-11!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Awwwww, hellllll...if I drive up to 7-11, I'm stayin'. But, hang on....there's more.

Non-red jello, Popsicles (no red), soft foods like scrambled eggs, mashed potatoes, etc., but the best and my all time favorite was:

Pureed foods in blender

OMG. Baby food?? I don't think so.

Hadley

Yesterday morning I had the delightful opportunity to attend none other than Miss Hadley's swim lesson. It lasts ten minutes because that's about how long a two year old can swim, especially around 10:30 AM in the morning. Her teacher is very calm and serene and that certainly helps. The teacher requires all of the diaper wearing clientele to wear a special diaper so her pool is protected, and the method she uses was developed by a doctor. It involves teaching the little people to float on their backs to breathe. Then they swim. Then they roll to their back to breathe. This is not meant to replace learning the strokes--this is to keep them alive if they fall into a pool or sneak into one.
This is week two of a four week class and she is already floating really well (see pic) and swimming to the steps. Part of the time she fusses and other times she comes up, smiles, and says "Good job, Hadley!". And sometimes she says it and even claps for herself. Clearly, no low self esteem issues here.

Older brother, Hudson, has already finished his month of lessons and at four, can swim all the way across the pool. The last day, the teacher has them come fully clothed, jump in, and swim across the pool. This again is part of the education process to give them the experience of what it would feel like to fall in to a pool fully clothed, and have to save yourself. I missed his lesson but hope to see him swim later.

I don't know what it is about these three children (Hud, Had and baby Avery) that just gets my motor running....after I'm around them it's like I've had shot of "love espresso". The rest of my day is just funnier, more fun, and loose. Kids are just THE BEST!

Construction Zone

I am bustin' it to redesign my blog. I have now been at this for over an hour and feel like a complete and total first grader. This is not the finished product--it's just all I can handle for now. Stay tuned.

T-minus one week and counting...

It appears Bruce is taking the same approach to his surgery that most people do for a business deal. The due diligence he's done is probably really smart and the way any of us should approach any surgery, but it's also scaring the wang dang doodle out of him. And wearing some people o-u-t. On the way to dinner last night, he was rattling off the list of possible complications that could occur. To which I said "Uh huh." And he went off like a A-bomb..."well, I DON'T WANT THAT TO HAPPEN". On and on he went until he finally came up for air and realized he just is having pre-surgical anxiety. Typical. Nothing new there. And I am howling. A surgery newbie....or at least none for 40+ years. And that really is a newbie--every thing's changed in 40+ years, thank heaven.

Since this is purely his deal, I asked him to let me know what he wants to try to eat post op and I'll put it on the grocery list. Oh, Lordy....he's been reading all the message boards so now he's thinking no dairy--fine by me. I'll do that. For how long??....Well....he's not sure. Have I seen his list yet? Uh, nooooo. He's still working on it.
And he and the insurance lady for his surgeon's office are well acquainted. Ditto his surgeon's nurse and his anesthesiologist's office. Numerous calls, numerous emails. I told him not to make too big of a pill of himself or his anesthesiologist might decide to put him to sleep-- and not wake him up. You should have seen his face.

Slippery people

How do you handle slippery people...you know the kind I'm talking about. The ones who look and act like they are pure as the driven snow but are just, well, Teflon coated. These are people that you almost trust, but that niggling little voice inside your head says "Honey, you can trust them if you want, but I wouldn't". When I'm around this type of person, or people, my radar is just ON and I watch them like a hawk. And then I further confuse myself by thinking "OK, nobody's perfect...even you, Miss Priss"....but then the radar thing starts again. Warning...Warning...Warning. And I am back to hawking, until I realize something's missing here.........Oh, yeah, boundaries. Somebody's outside their hula hoop and either in my business or someone else's--- and not respecting boundaries.

Today I'm learning to look back and gather evidence--if there is any. And examine it carefully. Is this a pattern or a one time fluke? And by the way, once is a fluke, twice is a coincidence, and three times is a PATTERN. Make no mistake about it. If I'm still unclear at this point, I discuss it with someone else whose judgement I respect, and who is not involved. I used to try to have everyone fall into two categories--ones I could trust (good boundaries) and ones I couldn't(no boundaries)--and today it's no longer that black and white for me. People are just people-- and there are some that cleanly fall into their respective category, and others....well, they are just gray and slippery-- and I better pay attention to what my gut is telling me. Look out. Beware. Proceed with caution. Cuidado.

Garden report

I just got back from a quick hike to the garden to water and while I have ten to eleven tomatoes collectively, on the vine, that may be all I'll get from my two plants. It seems the garden has some soil borne blight or something that slays tomato plants, right in their prime and some of the tomato plants are in pretty dire straights. It's worse on our side of the driveway between the two garden areas but is heading for the other side as well. It's not the kind of thing you can spray away either since it's in the soil. Probably the only recourse is to plant all new plants, and in this scorching heat, best of luck to you and the plants. Me? After mine bite the dust I'm gonna head down to Mrs. Lemley's and buy hers. Yeah, they may not be organic and they may have been sprayed with who knows what, but at least they are home grown in the US of A, and more specifically, locally grown. I have two tomatoes that are almost vine ripe and should be ready tomorrow, assuming a squirrel, bird, or rabbit does not find them first. There are lots of other peoples that are almost ready, too, so hopefully the animals will take pity on my meager selection and nibble on somebody elses.

I picked another load of green beans down to bare plants so they can start over, producing another round. I cooked what I had last night and they were outstanding. They were even good raw, dipped in a dip I made... but hell....a two by four would have been good dipped in that stuff.
When you start with sour cream, it's just hard to screw it up. Still waitin' on the squash....boy, mine are slow but that's what happens when you are a month late getting started. Never again will I do that. I almost had myself talked in to walking back up there for a few pic's-- but I just talked myself out of it.

Reality Sucks

Thank heavens feelings don't last forever because I've been dragging around for the last ten days feeling, sad, anxious, and downright afraid. And afraid of what, I'm not quite sure. Afraid I won't like what ultimately happens? Afraid I won't get what I want? Afraid of my feelings is probably more accurate. I think most of this is a reaction to mom's stuff being given out, and the rest sold. Consciously and subconsciously, it's like the end of era and like mom is already gone. But she's not.

Whether I like it or not, it's just change and a big one, at that. Mom is no longer mom, and visiting her is something I do probably more for myself, than for her. I say that simply because I can't tell if she really enjoys it or not, or if she'd just rather be watching TV. I'm not trying to be all "poor me" here...just factual--and my sister and my niece both agree-- not one of us gets the feeling mom is even here any more, other than in her body. If you call, she wants to get off the phone, if you visit, she's pretty "flat", and she never calls any of us any more (which is actually a good thing--no gripe there--just a total change.) Mom used to wield a pretty big stick. Now she's just like a deflated, down pillow--you can fluff it all you want but it's just not going to pouf like it used to. The pouf is just g-o-n-e.

I used to read occasional articles way back when on what it was like to have an aging parent. I thought I understood. I didn't. I do now.
I'm ready for these feelings to float back out to sea...this sucks.

Plastic Surgery

As I was closing out of Yahoo, after checking some mail, I saw a recent picture of Sylvester Stallone, with his two daughters. I swear to heaven, I thought it was a wax replica of him, with his daughters on either side. Nope. I'm sad to say it wasn't. He has had sooooo much plastic surgery he just looks like wax. I knew he had a paralyzed facial nerve from a rough delivery, but this is something else. He's scary looking--and not in a Rambo kind of way. Whoa. Which brings me to a list of men's worst plastic surgery results: Kenny Rogers, Bruce Jenner, Mickey Rourke, Jerry Jones, Wayne Newton, and various other older gay men who waited too long. And it's not like the men have first place all tied up--there are plenty of women out there who are just as scary, if not worse. Maybe I'm just used to seeing women with bad jobs so that when I see a man with one, it's doubly shocking.

Now, don't get the impression I'm all purist when it comes to having a little work done. Oh, no, Kemosabe....quite the contrary. I've had some myself. The key is not to wait until you look like you need work done, to do it. Nip, tuck. Nip, tuck. You don't want to wait until it's all slid down to your knees to try to haul it all back up. You do a little bit at a time and you do it early. And you have to know when to stop. The more you do, the more it shows. Exhibit A: Joan Rivers, Michael Jackson, ....you get the drift. And Botox? You can, but I wouldn't. I don't want people to have to guess how I feel. The blank look I see enough of over at The Plaza, thank you very much.
The moral of the story is, less is more and check out your surgeon! If you see someone who has obviously had work, see if you can find out who did them (sneakily and carefully), and write that name down. In the DON'T column. And hang on to it. Ditto the people who look good. Some will fess up--some won't. Remember, it's your face....you are going to have to live with it.

And, the BGE chicken rocked last night. Not bad for a first try though it needed a little more seasoning, to be up to Kay Barry's standards. Man, she set the bar up HIGH. I can only hope I can ever get near that.

Oh, YES, I did

I grabbed him right after I put out fresh food--mean but effective--and shagged into the Utility Room, closing the door behind me. He let loose with a minor league pee and Fred came running when he heard Muff wailing. Game on. His part was to hold Muff while I performed the "toothectomy". I grabbed the tooth with the pliers and it practically fell out. The pliers may have been over kill but I didn't have a hemostat and they sure did the trick. He's now hiding under the bed because Sis bit a hunk out of his fur when we opened the Utility Room door, and he shot out.

He's coming down the hall now, talking....he says we're friends. Animals are sooo much nicer than people.

Benji, Benji, Benji....

I called Benji yesterday to check in. Among other things, he reminded me about a trip he'll be making to Los Angeles in July. Since his dad is helping a little with the trip funding, I decided that gave me a tad of wiggle room to voice my concerns. Read: big rationalization on MY part. But I did ask him if I might discuss my concerns with him, and he agreed, so there ya go--I was honest and up front. This trip is supposed to be about celebrating an old high school pal's recent marriage. Fine. I get that. I adore the guy. He's probably my favorite of Benji's pals.

Now for the real scoop. It's also a great reason to go to LA AND party like a Rock Star. And yep, even that's none of my business, since I'm not funding it. But here's the real kicker: his friend is also in recovery. And has been for a few years. For drugs and alcohol. Are you thinking this guy really wants to be around a bunch of old friend's who are partying, and he's not? Pals he used to party with?? Puuuulease. Let's be honest here. That's probably THE LAST thing he'd enjoy, and I tried to get that across to Benji. Earth to Benji...Come in, Benji.

Let's get real....this so called party isn't for his friend--it's just an excuse for Benji and his pals to party. Hey, I was 25 once....I get it. Why not change the whole deal to something his friend REALLY WOULD enjoy? Wouldn't that be courteous? Wouldn't that be supportive of his friend's recovery, sensitive, and even thoughtful? I'm not saying the whole world should all stop drinking because some people can't. Benji tried that one on me, laughing, knowing I'd shoot it down. I'm just saying, if you are having a party for a diabetic, you don't shove a sugar laden cake in their face. So much for sensitivity training. Today I know, I can't teach what somebody else doesn't want to learn.

To pull or not to pull....

Uh, oh.....Muff must have read my blog because I can't find him. He was with me part of the night and now he's hiding somewhere--probably pissed off. That, or his tooth is hurting. I just checked all of his usual hiding places-- the ones I know about-- and no Muff. I also checked my bed to be sure he wasn't wrapped up enchilada style in the sheets, or covered up by my duvet. No Muff. Usually the minute I'm up, headed to make coffee, he's up, jabbering and wanting to eat. I didn't check under the bed, though, and that's probably where he is. Since "curiosity killed the cat", I had to go check and sure enough, there he was. And he spoke, so he's definitely not dead. Cat caper closed.

Since it's time for his yearly Vet appointment, I may try to see if I can catch him today and just take him. Anyone with a cat knows what this entails-- stealth, nonchalance, brooms, running, grabbing, clawing, possibly being peed on, and that's just Part 1. If you are unlucky enough to miss your target, you are done for the day and you start again the following day. And since he's psychic, he already knows what you are trying to do, especially if you blow it Day 1. Somethings up with him, so I might as well see if I can snag him. I just called and they can't see him until tomorrow anyway so that gives me plenty of time to hone my cat catching skills.

Well, lookey here........here's the old bad boy now. I had to call him several times (when he's sleepy he's not real fast on his feet) but he's totally fine--all except for the tooth. It's leaning all the way over. I'll try to get a picture of it....this you've gotta see. Hmmm....I've got a pair of needle nose pliers right here beside me and that tooth is just hanging....hmmmm..... maybe I can lure him into the Utility Room just in case it gets "crime scene" looking, post pull. Dare I attempt such a feat?? I think I'll need Fred's help--- and he'd totally love something like this. (Will she or won't she?) Stay tuned.

More Muff news

His only remaining lower "pointy" tooth is loose, and leaning over. And....he's trying to sneeze it out. OMG. He and Fred are MADE for each other.

Mission: Muff

I really hate to admit this in cyberspace but after reading some of my BGE cookbook, I am almost intimidated. Geeze, louise....I feel like I am getting my Master's in BGE cooking. I think I can fix that by just whipping off the vinyl cover and firing her up. If you're afraid of the horse, speak nicely to him, pat him, and get on anyway. AB wanted to know what I'm going to try and I think it's going to be Kay's smoked chicken or pizza--or maybe both. Shoot...if I'm firing it up, I might as well. Plus, they cook differently so I can test that out.

I wasn't sure if you all had ever seen Muff so I included a picture of him, roasting, in the sun of my bedroom window. While it's not a portrait, it's the best I could get since he does not like to be photographed. Which brings me nicely to the issues I've been having lately with him. He wants to sleep with me and I don't want him to. He's hot, he bed hogs, and he scratches and grooms right when I'm either almost asleep or asleep, waking me up. Could I throw him out and shut the door. Definitely. The problem? He will alley cat wail until I re-open the door. And he's stubborn. He can do it f-o-r-e-v-e-r. Fred suggested I get a spray bottle or squirt gun and "fritz" him. I swear...those were his exact words. Fritz him, huh?? Well, I suppose I could but then he will Navy Seal it back in the room as soon as I am asleep, and then I'll have a wet, hot cat in the bed with me. Not gooood.

So here's my plan: while Fred is home after his sinus and tonsillectomy surgery, I'm going to teach Muff to sleep with HIM, in the other room!! Genius, don't you think?? Since Fred's been re-assigned in there for snoring, he and Muff can just snooze it up, all day if necessary. Then at night, Muff will auto-cat-ically go in there to sleep. Oh, yeah, baby.....that's what I'm gonna do.

EGGstraspecial

Oh, Lordy....She's HERE!! She touched down on the driveway minutes ago and is rockin' my backyard, let me just tell ya. I called Fred to tell him "the eagle had landed" and he's all excited. I bet he is. All of the benefits, none of the payola. What's not to love? Not to mention he gets to eat all the stuff that gets cooked. Never mind he gets to pay for the food--that's a minor detail not actually worthy of mentioning.

I'm thinking of naming my EGG. Fred made some suggestions and let's just say none of them made the cut. Anyone with suggestions, let me know your ideas. It must be Eggceptional. Eggspecially for my EGG.

BCBS...what a racket

I started my day outside in the backyard with a cup of coffee, in my pj's, sitting quietly and just listening. My plan was to garden and snip until I got hot, and then head in for more coffee and cool air. Unfortunately, that's not what happened. I had a nagging Oh, sh** reminder that I had to call Blue Cross to work out (if possible) my anesthesia bill. Never mind my anesthesiologist was the best ever--I was getting socked with 100% of the bill since he doesn't take insurance--a fact I was never told. Not to mention the fact, I can pick my surgeon but I don't get to pick my anesthesiologist, and BCBS knows that. So, instead of the peaceful clipping and snipping I had planned, I have been hassling with BCBS for over an hour.

I have an ally in all this--the book keeper at the anesthesiologist office. Angela and I are now gal-pals and she is helping me force BCBS to do the right thing. I have no issue with paying my part--he was worth every penny--I'm just not gonna pay BCBS's part simply because he's out of network. I didn't pick him so smoke on that, BCBS.

I have learned over the years to gather information before firing any weapons and to make friends with office staff. They know everything and will usually help you if you are nice. Make the connection and you are as good as done. I have also learned never to take no for an answer--just nicely go up the chain, especially with someone else who knows all the ins and outs, helping you. There's always somebody up the chain who can do more than the other low life down streamers. Sorry to say it but we all know that's just the facts. So, tick, tick, tick....here I sit waiting to hear back if the Supervisor can now convince her Manager to reimburse at a higher level, so everybody is happy. As long as I don't have to pay the full charge, I'll consider that a win. For everybody.

Now for that snipping....

Ribs...uh, huh

It's late afternoon or almost and the ribs are snoozing in the oven, so I decided to take a quick blog break. I had hoped/planned to blog on an entirely different subject today but that didn't work out. Hopefully that topic will get covered later in the week or next week. I needed pictures and they are in process of being made.

My pal, Adre', just left and gifted me with the Big Green Egg Cookbook so now I am in a total frenzy for tomorrow's delivery. She couldn't understand why the ribs I'm cooking weren't waiting until tomorrow, for the Egg, and the reason is...because...well, I finally figured out what was wrong with the grill, so that green-lighted the ribs. That, and I just wanted to cook them. Even though the electric igniter on our grill just bought it, there was gas in the tank, so we're cookin'. One match and poof.....we are in bidness'.

My ribs do double duty--a spin on the grill to char 'em up a little and then into the oven. None of this sissy stuff of not getting a little sweaty outside and then hitting the AC. Do it right or don't do it. This IS ribs after all, God bless 'em. Once my Egg gets here tomorrow, I have a feeling old Mr. Gas grill is gonna hit the scrap heap or head to some worthy Salvation Army person. Fine....by...me. I'll even throw in the unused gas tank if it's not an explosive risk on their truck.
Fred's favorite thing to do is park unwanted items outside in front by the curb and then see how fast it disappears. The last thing he put out set a new Harris curb record--it was gone in a couple of hours and while our neighbors may not enjoy it, I personally see it as recycling. If ya need it, take it. He may try it with the grill. I never know what he's gonna do.

With this last part, I'll close. Brian came by last night for dinner since I'd texted him and said "come eat". As soon as he'd snarfed up a huge taco salad, I told him I'd finally bought an Egg. He's heard me wail about it for several months and gives me the business every time I mention wanting one. I was in the kitchen, and the next thing I heard was Bruce bragging about what a cool thing the Egg is, and how it cooks EVERYTHING. As I rounded the corner, he'd pulled up a picture of the Egg, on his computer, and was showing it, to... my... baby... boy. I liketa d-i-e-d. I stood in the doorway with a what??? look on my face, as Brian howled. I swear I think those two plan stuff like that.

Egg Karma

Well, I decided I have waited long enough and yesterday I went and bought myself.....wait for it....a BIG GREEN EGG. Fred was not on board for it (and is paying for that, let me just tell ya) and tried to talk me out of it. Not a smart move but some people just don't learn. I was not asking him to like it or to pay for it. I just told him I was buying one, and invited him along. Period. The End. Way to take the fun out of it, Fred. Anywho, since it weighs as much as some pro football players, they will deliver and assemble it Thursday between 1-3 PM. I begged for tomorrow but that was a no go, as was Wednesday. I may need Valium by Thursday.

As penance for his nay saying and general "unsupportive attitude", I'll soon be the recipient of two new gardenia bushes. OOOOO, la la.....I can hardly wait. We had researched one that is more hardy but you end up trading all that hardiness for flowers that don't really smell much. I want the kind you can pick, place, and then perfume my entire house, and if I have to go through buying a new one every few years, well, then that's what I'm gonna do. If I can't smell it when I come in the door, I don't want it.

We just returned from dinner at CPK. We like to sit at the counter so we can watch all of the workers cook. Another couple was already there and the lady asked me if I didn't want a pizza oven just like CPK's and wouldn't it be fun. I told her yes, and that I'd already seen one that was only 2-4 thousand (eye roll-me) , depending on size. Her response was and I swear this on a stack of Bibles, "well, we just got one of those green egg things and I've cooked one on that...those are just the neatest things!" I told I her had just bought one today, as I glanced over to watch the color DRAIN from Fred's face. He was soooo busted. I did not even know these people, nor did I bring up the Egg. I told them I'd wanted to be an Egghead for months. And then the husband jumped in and went on and on about how he loves it, has cooked for twenty some odd years on hardwood, and how the Egg is the greatest thing ever! He gave it to himself, this past Christmas. Fred...was... dying. Knowing it was coming, he prepared for the worst. I outed him, and they howled.

I told Fred on the way home that I was taking that little incident as a sign from God that my Egg purchase was right on time. (Eye roll-him.)