Lookey heah!!!

Lookey, heah....gwon' an try and tell me that's not the cutest baby gurl all dressed and ready for her first day of school.  You know she is... and she picked out her clothes all by herself.  That is her favorite shirt and it has to be buttoned up all the way to the top-- not sure why-it just does, and the skirt is her latest "obsession", according to her mom.  She LOVES that skirt and wears it almost every day and her mom said they may have to hide it from her.  She was all excited and told brother Hudson "don't leave-a me" and he said "I won't".  OK...I am sooo loving that!  Always the sweet older brother taking care of his sidekick.  Can't wait to get more scoopage to see how the day went for Miss Had.  Hudson started back yesterday so he's an old hand by today and just having him there had to make things easier for Hadley.   Ohhhhh.....life would just not be near as fun without these little sweet people!

Pink Cadillac

As some of you already know, mom took another face plant at breakfast today--her story is she fell trying to hand a friend her napkin that she'd dropped.  I told her to stop being so damn nice and we both laughed.  As a result, I ran to Dougherty's after lunch and she is the proud new owner of a pearly pink walker, with a seat, basket, and brake locks.  I told her if she wanted a cup holder to let me know--or a flashlight or some other contraption they offer, that I can't remember.  Hers folds up easily to go into the car and I know because  I test drove all of it.  Really.  I did.  That's when another lady in the store saw it and wanted to buy the pink one, too, but I'd already bought it.  I figured I'd use that as a selling point to mom.  Exclusivity. 

When I got there to deliver it, every single woman who saw it, wanted it, and the Concierge loved it.  Much to my surprise, mom seemed pretty open to the idea.  She drove it around, I showed her how to work the brakes so she could sit down on the seat, or just stop without rolling, and how it folds up, though the driver will do that for her.  How much of this actually went in, and will stay in her memory, we'll just have to see but "practice makes perfect" and "repetition strengthens and confirms".  I sound like a nun.

When I left, she was standing by it and I just had a funny feeling she was going to "play" with it, once I left.  My sister almost lost it when I called her to tell her the store had a pink one.  I needed someone elses input as to whether pink would be fun-- or just embarrassing-- to mom.  I thought it was loads cooler than the navy blue, or the burgundy in the catalog, but then that's me.    The clencher, though, was when mom asked me to write her name on it.  I told her I would, but that she had the only pink caddy there.  I think she likes it.

Sis is on I-35

Sis owes me soooo big.  The delivery guys just called to say they'll be delivering the new refrigerator between 10-11 AM at the Farm, and I suggested to her dad that she could go with him, while I head for the grocery store.  Going to the Farm for any reason is Sis's most favorite thing, so I convinced her dad to throw her dog bed in the back of his car, like we always do, and let... her... go.  He was all set to blow her off because he didn't want to mess with it but when she ran to the door, he melted, and let her go.  Once she saw her dog bed go in the car, she was standing up on her hind legs trying to get in.
  Yes, Wigman has noticed that Sis got to go somewhere and he didn't, but with his recent bout of car sickness, I figured I could only sell a ticket for one dog, and his name was not on the list.  However, he does get to snooze, uninterrupted, and got to share my zucchini muffin (his favorite), after they left, so it's not terrible duty.  He'll probably get a bath and a bedding wash while they're gone, so it's not like he's going to really suffer.  Sis will still be stinky.

Farm progress update

Well, it took a little prodding but I got Bruce going today on the Farm Wish List.  I swear he is allergic to spending money, but after online searches and then an up close and personal visit to actually see the item in the flesh, he finally pulled the trigger.  Yee Haw.  Tomorrow they'll be meeting us at the Farm to deliver a new refrigerator--and not a moment too soon.  Now, for those of you who are thinking I pulled out all the stops and got the most expensive one they had, r-e-l-a-x.  I didn't.   He wanted the one that was more expensive than the one I liked.  Go figure.  But the freezer section on his sucked.  BAD.  So we went with a clean, fresh Whirlpool with an ice maker up top--not in the door--and just plain old, plain old-- the no frills package.  If the object here is to s-t-r-e-t-c-h every buck as far as we can, so we can do more, well, that's what we're gonna do. 

Bruce has done major research for a replacement part for the gate that was crashed, and should know more on Monday about getting it repaired. (This was actually brother John C. Harris's job, but you can't ever get him to do a lick of work unless he wants to, so we're just moving on without his help.)  He will howl if he knows I said this because he knows it's true.  Anyway, we drove up this afternoon to find the actual number on the gate part, and do some additional measuring and cyphering.  We ended up doing some minor stuff like AC filter changing (nasty) and making sure Rodney, the Farm caretaker, had done the list Bruce had given him earlier.   As we had figured, he'd done about one of the things on the list, which was fix the TV antenna.  Gee...that just leaves the rest of the list for us to ride herd on him about, and little does he know we're gonna be back up there tomorrow.  And there are two of us.  And one of him.  Poor guy.  And he's never seen us tag team, either.  Tomorrow's gonna be a l-o-n-g day, Rodney. 

Lunch at the Plaza

Yesterday I met my Sib's and mom for lunch at the Plaza at Edgemere.  What could have been sort of a sad thing (eating lunch at an old people's home) was actually delightful.  And to say that mom was excited, doesn't cover half of it.  She called me twice, in less than 24 hours, to remind me to come early, since the parking can be a challenge.  She had reserved a table for just the four of us, and while she wasn't very talkative, that was just fine.  You could tell it was just being with us that really mattered.  The food was great, my brother and I compared elderly dog notes since his dog, Elvis, is older than Wiggles, and all in all, it was just a lovely lunch.  My sister seemed a little quiet but that's not at all unusual.  She and I both have been in a lot of grief over mom for months.  Sometimes I have to remind myself that I'm making memories when I do stuff like this.  It won't be long before mom won't either be able to do this with us, or won't remember who in the heck we are.  Or, will be gone all together.

On the way out, my brother mentioned the walker thing, again, and I didn't even bite.  I told him I thought it was a good idea and that I had told that to my sister, as well.  My understanding was my sister was going to take care of getting one, if mom was willing to even have one.  I told him mom was no longer wearing her Plaza necklace with the panic button on it --the one she was wearing after her last fall.  And I asked him...."So...are you thinking a walker is going to get a lot of use?" and we both rolled our eyes and laughed.

I think it makes him a tad crazy that I don't try to force mom to do anything.  She and I laugh about it all the time.  I've told her repeatedly that it's her life, and she's given me the job of trying to keep her safe, while not infringing on her independence.  I'm just gonna let her do what she wants, as long as it's reasonably safe, and she wants to do it.  It's weird because this is NOT the relationship we have always enjoyed.  Mom used to be afraid that when she reached this age, I'd be some big straw boss who wouldn't let her do squat and, today, I'm the exact opposite.  If I can figure out a way for her to do what she wants, she does it.  And, honestly, in my heart of hearts, it thrills me no end, when it works out.

Show me the $$$

While I sat waiting for the cable guy to call me to meet me at Brian's apartment to get his cable set up, I  gave myself the one person job of  Research & Dev. for the Farm's need list.  Now, that said, I am only researching the stuff I want us to get--I'm not doing all that other stuff I don't give a flip about, like new wood for the dock.  Yes, it might be important, but since I don't stand on it, even to fish, I don't care.  Ditto gravel for the road or getting the two ends of the barn painted.  No thank ya.  I just want to shoooooop for the fuuuuuun stuffffff.  

Yesterday I test sat new chairs--we need two-- and lemme just tell ya I found some....Ho, yeah...and comfy as all get out.  And I got prices.  Since this is a farmhouse, it's very important that at least two chairs be snooze worthy, so we are talking recliners here.  Ick--I know--the King Kong of bad taste.  But they are comfy and since Architectural Digest is not likely to call us for a photo shoot, we're good.    Two nephews and their Daddy are all 6'3" or taller, so this can't be some old sissy chair, either.   It must swivel for TV viewing and, preferably, have room for at least one snoozing smallish hound.   It must wear like iron since lots of folks are going to want to sit in them.  See?  This is PhD. level shopping.
Then I moved on to sofas and I found those, too.  Nothing grand--just fresh and possibly slipped for easy cleaning.  Then I did a little bit of research on new TV's and I found those , too.   Let's just say I have a black belt in power shopping--especially when it's somebody else's money.  Yee Haw!  Now, I'm really itching to spend.

You know....it's hard to get a bunch of people (family or otherwise) on the same page when it comes to spending money.  Fred's made a list, since he is the current Farm Manager, and since most people have signed off on it, you'd think it would be a slam dunk from there.  Oh, not so fast, Super Shopper.   Other people have ideas on where and how to actually come by some of these "new" items.  And did I mention features, styles, and colors of items?  Before, all of the choosing was done mainly by one person (with input from another person) and it was a done deal.  Makes sense-- especially when you figure those two people were paying for what ever was purchased.  I'm all for committees and I think everyone needs to be heard, opinions noted, and taken into consideration.  Lots of great ideas have come out that I didn't think others would spring for or I never considered.  Duly noted.  Now....just hand me the checkbook and let me get started. 

P.S.  Would somebody at Fred's office go check on him?  He may have just had a stroke.

Dog decals??

I was just in here doing some work when I heard Wiggins "The Wigman" whining, again.  Since he wasn't singing his catchy little tune, Yip Yew, I figured he was probably OK, just hungry or lonely or bored or....fill in the blank.  No sooner had I decided that, than the Yip Yew began.  He was right by the gate to our kitchen so I figured I better go check.  Uh, oh....stuck again with his back legs east and west.  So, I decided to see if he could possibly get up by himself and nudged him ever so slightly in the rear.  OMG.....he went into instant "baby turtle" mode with his front legs flippering and his back legs slipping.  He never has trouble on the carpet--just on the slippery hardwoods--- which is exactly where he is due to occasional forgetting to go potty outside.  Once I popped him back up on his feet, he was all full of piss and vinegar.  Seriously.
  How do I leave town and him with a critter sitter who works all day, when he may turn into a baby turtle and be stuck on the floor all day??  And don't say take him to the Vet to board him because WE DON'T DO THAT.  NOOOOOOOO.  The only time he has spent the night at the Vet was when he was neutered, and he still talks about that.

I guess I could have her crate him just during the day--- and maybe let him out at lunch to potty?-- but that's just soooo insulting to an old man dog who is used to doing his thing.....That was the whole reason for the doggie door, too, but maybe that's just what has to happen....I don't know.  Maybe he just needs some non-slip tub decals on his pads.  Anyone with suggestions, let me know.  Honestly.  Just what I need.  More dog drama. 

A little of this...a little of that

Well, as usual I am having blog issues.  It seems people (OK...that might really only be 2 whole people) have commented to me they can't seem to leave comments on here anymore and I'm not sure why.  Just another one of those things to add to my ever growing list of stuff I just do not know.  And it's a big list.  I'll have to see what I can find out.
  This I do know :  Since Tiger and Elin are officially & legally kaput, I must say she certainly has set an example for women everywhere of what the high road looks like in a divorce.  Now, was it probably in her best interest financially to keep her lip zipped?  No doubt.  But the fact that she held her head high, did not run off at the mouth, did not play "victim", and made her children the top priority in a ghastly situation is just soooo adult.  Sooo grown up.  Unlike all the trash we see daily of who's done what to whom, Elin never got in any of that.  Heck...she didn't need to because all the tabloids did it for her, but that's another story.  And a big fat, money making one at that.  Shooowee.

I cannot even imagine how humiliated she must still feel and have felt, way back when all this hit the fan.  Ditto Sandra Bullock.  But what smart fabulous women they are and look who got left looking like the scumballs they are:  Tiger and Jesse.  Dumbasses.

I had coffee here yesterday morning with my pal whose husband died back in January.  It was great to sit back, java in hand, and just yak--and to just tell the truth.  The real truth.  She shared some really painful stuff and boo hooed and it was just fine.  The box of Kleenex was handy and other than Wiggles barking his monotone bark in the background, we were 2 Gals Uninterrupted.  Her dad is on hospice (or was for awhile) at 91, so she understood dog dementia immediately.
When she told me she'd finally had to remove the phone out of her dad's room at the group home where he lives, I could just feel a great story coming.  It seems he's so far gone, he'd started calling the Police telling them to come get him--that he was being held hostage.  This is the same man I told you all about way back that got thrown out of almost every old people facility in Dallas for propping the fire door open and leaving, for asking people on the elevator if they were circumcised, and for mistaking his hearing aid for a piece of candy, and eating it.  By the end of our java time, we were rolling, laughing our heads off.  Laughter is good medicine.

Fred goes plumber

Since admittedly I've been dissing on Fred lately it's time that I brag on him, briefly.  The handle on our fancy faucet set that I got several years back during our kitchen face lift, broke again, for the four thousandth time Friday, and that was just it for me.  Game over.  Back to the fancy schmancy place where I got the first set?  Not on your life.  To Home Depot I went, in the 103 degree heat.

Did I do the Fred required Internet search and due diligence for a good brand, pitfalls to avoid (I think I have those down), etc.?  Hellllll no.  I knew what brands to avoid--the one I'd previously purchased, thank you very much-- but I had looked online earlier to see styles.  Anywho, I got one--a Kohler stainless steel one with a sprayer designed perfectly for all those hard to reach puppy areas, and Fred found it the second he walked in Friday night.  Do I even need to describe the look on his face...he was thrilled. 

So Saturday, major surgery began in the kitchen to remove the old one, and put in the new one.  It looked like quintuple bypass surgery with stuff strung all over the floor--and this was just the stuff he'd taken out from under the sink.  Several cuss words were uttered and then I swung by as "circulating nurse", to see if anything was needed in the "OR".  Apparently Superman had tightened down one of the doo-dads on the old set up, and Fred was having trouble getting it undone.  More cussing.  He finally got it, we broke for lunch with Mary, and a brief Home Depot run for longer tubing(?), and voila', my new faucet is in place and sprayin' like a male cat.  I just love this new one and wish I'd done it sooner.  You go, Fred.

Hello in there...??

Spousal communication.  Got any?  I swear it's about THE HARDEST thing on the planet Earth.  Just the other night on the way to dinner, I was trying to tell Fred about a hilarious part in a book I'm reading.  It had to do with this really funny lady clipping (electric clippers) her oh, sooooo furry pony out in her barn, with The Stones blaring, and her sunglasses on.  The part in the book was a scream.  Now....I realize the written word is sometimes more clear but when I got to The Stones part, Fred just looks at me blankly and says "I don't get it...what do stones have to do with the pony...is that something you put on a pony"???  I nearly had a stroke.  Whaaaaaat??  Never mind that he only half listens to me anyway (if at all), but if he thinks I'm gonna tutor him, conversationally, he's nuts.  Finally, I just had to shut her down.....no fun.  Not gonna do it. 

I've decided it's on his DNA--not necessarily a Y chromosome factor-- but the jury is still out on that.  I've seen others in his family not be able to follow a conversational trail so it may be both--and I'm not saying who, here, to cover my backside.  But, seriously, does that make you crazy....when you see that someone is just 1) not following the conversation  2) spaced out on some planet not in this solar system  3) not listening to YOU because don't they understand how important every little thing you utter, is, to the World, to mankind, and to them??  After all, that pony clipping story was the best thing I had in my dinner repertoire...it was going to delight and cause loads of laughter.  Well...I guess not.

Lunch date

Today should be a hoot.  Bruce and I have a lunch date with our elderly neighbor, Mary.  As a thank you to us for taking care of stuff for her, she wants to take us to lunch.  When I told her it was not necessary, she assured me that " at 81, I don't do anything anymore that's unnecessary or something I don't want to do" so at 11:30 AM, off we'll go.  Mary has asked Bruce to drive us and that almost made me LOL.  Little does she know how crazy man Harris drives, but she's about to find out.  Luckily, we aren't going far, so we'll be fine.  Hopefully.
Mary's daughter was just here so it's now been determined Mary is going to be getting a sprinkler system vs the intricate hose, timer, manual whirly sprinkler system she's had since she moved into their house a hundred years ago.  Hallelujah !!  Apparently, daughter Katherine overheard a message I had left for Mary asking if it was OK for us to turn on her whirly sprinkler and move it to a spot that hadn't gotten watered in a while and was really dry.  Hello, sprinkler system. I think Mary is finally ready to admit "yard defeat", as I saw a guy this week over measuring off zones in her yard.  Go, Mary!  Her plan is to get several estimates and then have Katherine and her husband help her decide.  And then she'll ask Bruce.  She always does.

Frankly, it seems a tad late in the game to be putting one in now, given Mary's house will be yet another tear down on our block, ultimately, but I love the idea of her not trying to mess with the other system.  She's one tough old bird and is trying to hang on in a home she's lived in forever but I can see it's getting to be too much for her.  Gee....sounds familiar, doesn't it?

Thongs...why??

I just have to get this off my chest and, yep, I'm gonna go there.  Thongs.  And I don't mean flip flops either.  I'm talking underwear or more specifically body floss.  Who in the hell thought up thongs as underwear, and why?  And don't throw the no PL (pantie line) card either because you can have that, without wearing something designed to saw a woman in half.  And remember, anybody can buy thongs--even people who shouldn't.  People whose badonkadonk is too big for pants-- much less a thong.  And who wants to see two dimpled pigs leaping around in a pair of pants (rear view), and then see the top of their thong??  That's enough to cause Macular Degeneration on the spot.  If  we have to live in "thong world", how about not making them in a size larger than say, an eight--a ten is pushing it.  Bigger than that, and you ain't got no bidness trying to stuff all yo stuff, in a thong.  No sirree.

  And who in this world would want to walk around with a permanent wedgie?  I just don't get it.  And some gals have even had ...well.....how best to put this...injuries... from thongs, and believe me as an old OB/GYN nurse, that's not something you want to have to deal with.  Noooooooo.  (See comment above about being sawed in half and you'll get the idea.)

And the no underwear crowd?  Just keeeeeeep moving, on away from me.  That is just wrong, un-hygienic, gross, and w-a-y too much information for me.  And for my sake and everyone else out there, if you're gonna go commando, please DO NOT go clothes shopping.  If you wanna be Brittney Spears, do it at home.

Sad City

Whoa.  I have just returned from a trip to Sad City and man, oh, man...it hurts.  I made a date with mom to take her shoe shopping this morning and ready she was.  Never mind the fact that she thought the knee hi hose I'd exchanged for her were still the wrong color--nope--both her old ones and new ones are Travel Buff, as requested.  Watching her try to figure that out was just plain awful.
She wanted to go to Dillard's since "Nordstrom's was awful last time".  Soooo, to Dillard's we went, parked right by the entrance to the shoe department, and one of us started looking.  The other one just wanted another pair of the exact shoes she was wearing, never mind the shoes are a summer shoe, and probably not even made in the last two years.  Nope.  She just couldn't quite wrap her brain around that part--sorta like me and American Airlines but that's a whole other story.  Anyway, we were about to leave and something miraculous happened--a shoe I had previously shown her that she didn't like, somehow got cuter---think miracle here, folks, because it was one.

We finally determined that Mrs. 5.5 size is really now Mrs. 6 and she tried on the two colors they had in her size.  Oooooo la, la...she said they felt great.  Watching her try to figure out which shoe to put where, even with help, was pretty heart wrenching.  And I don't think for a second she may actually wear either pair of these new shoes because ....well....they're n-e-w and when dementia gobbles up your brain, new isn't all that fun anymore--you only want your "familiars".  That said, I am going to go on line after lunch and see if I can find a new pair of her old shoes somewhere, anywhere on the planet Earth and order them for her.  I don't care if it's 30 degrees outside--if she wants to wear those damn shoes and I can find them, she's going to get to-- because they're familiar.

P. S.  And a big fat old Welcome, Baby, to my nephew, Dallas, who is da' baby daddy of the three muchkins I'm always yammering about--Hudson, Hadley, and Avery.  Yay!  Now I have 8 whole followers.

Let's hear it for Southwest Airlines

OK....just when I was ready to let it go, American Airlines has come out with yet another charge--for a seat in one of the first three rows--of coach.  Their reason is 1) the bulkheads seats have more leg room 2) you get to board in the first bunch 3) and my personal favorite: because other airlines charge fees for certain seats.  I thought for sure at least one of their reasons would be because the people in the first three rows get wherever they are going, before the people behind them--on the same plane.  Seriously...how old are we...preschool age??  Oh, nanny nanny boo boo.

  OK...now let's think what could possibly be left for them to charge for: 1) air aboard the aircraft even though most people assume it would be included 2) use of the bathrooms on a per use basis (think pay toilet and you've got it) 3) flotation devices/shoots  4) oxygen masks 5) barf bags  6) seat belts 7) overhead bins 8) CPR if your heart stops 9) the Jetway 10) and possibly any assistance you might need from a flight attendant from a Coke to asking a question.  The harder the question, the more it will cost you.

And what about plane crashes--do you need to pay extra for that, prior to the flight, so they know to save you and not the fat guy behind you?  Or, are there rows of seats that you pay extra for that will be saved first, while the rest toast?   And in case of a crash, will they bill you for your share, since you were on the damn plane after all.  Oh, and I forgot about the charge for Air Marshalls.  That'll be a group charge.  Moral of the story?  This is insane.  And total BS.  Give me Southwest Airlines any day.

Oh, Contain me....

Yesterday I ran to the Container Store for one of those drawer organizers for make up.  I'd had one for a hundred years but it met with a sad fate yesterday so I had to replace it.  I put it in my chair as I unloaded it, thinking I would just clean it out.  I went to get my shoes and came back and ...well...I sat on it.  I totally forgot I'd left it in the chair and plopped right down on it.  It was not a total "death by cracking" but I just decided to hell with it and went to get a new one.  Which brings me to:

BACK TO SCHOOL AT THE CONTAINER STORE!!!!

I have never seen so many tired, miserable and about to be broke dad's, in my life.  There were entire families trying to outfit kids for SMU or where ever, buying car loads of stuff.  Dad's were pulling out wads of money peeling off bills as fast as their kids could load a shopping cart.  One dad looked like he was about to cry--- and he had three kids.  Hoooooooly cow.  Once they paid for all their gear, then came the fun part--watching them try to stuff it all into their cars-- in the Container Store loading zone right out front.  In front of everybody.  Hey...no pressure.  We're just waiting on you to hurry up so WE can load OUR stuff.  And did I mention it was hot???  Sweaty, dripping wet, HOT.  The kind of hot that only a shower, some ice tea, and total nudity can fix.  And the AC cranked down to 60.  And a turbo fan.  Oh high.

  So, as I sashayed up to the counter with my two little pieces, I said a silent prayer of thanksgiving that I am no longer moving kids into dorms, apartments, or houses, on my nickel and in the heat.  Made my two little plastic organizers look mighty good.

The bad news??

I read where Dr. Laura is going off the air once her contract is up later this year.  Well, duh....it's not like they were going to renew her after her latest flap with the N-word, so I guess it was a nice face saving exit for her.  I guess my question is this:  where's the bad news in that?  I've only listened to her a couple of times and admittedly, those were only clips, since I found her so strident & arrogant, judgemental and off the wall, listening to her made my teeth hurt-- probably from clenching them.  And the fact that she is a licensed therapist really scares the daylights out of me.  Just what this world needs: one more head case being paid, to treat other head cases.  And one with a very ill black and white perspective.  No gray for Dr. Laura.  Nooooo.  I realize gaffs like this do generate publicity.  Just the wrong kind.

Don't get me wrong here.  I am definitely not dissing therapist.  A good one is worth their weight in gold and the relief and perspective shift they can give can be life altering.  Let's face it...not many of our heads are a safe neighborhood so don't go there alone--you might mug yourself.  Life can dish out some confusing and painful stuff and having an independent third party help you clean out the trash is truly a gift. 

So, how do you know who is a good therapist?  First of all, you nut up and ask around.  Yep, you do.  You out yourself and listen to what people say.  Then you filter out the stuff that just doesn't resonate with you.  Then you pry open your mind and commit to trying six times with a therapist before deciding if this person is right for you.  Your knower will know, so trust it.  If after six times you have walked away feeling slimed after any session, keep moving.  Finding out some new information about yourself should not be traumatizing--it may not feel wonderful but it should not make you feel "like its all your fault".  And lastly, it's often a long term learning experience.  Some stuff takes a while to sort through, some stuff is quicker.  I think of it as personal maintenance.  Heck...you do it for your car.  Do it for yourself.

Stuff

As I sit here typing this I am laughing out loud.  Fred and I are trying to plan a get-away and it is being foiled at every turn.  A few years ago, that would have made me totally crazy......what do you mean American doesn't fly into Telluride or Gunnison in late September?  That's when I wanna go. 
So sorry.  They don't give a rats rear.  They fly when they want to fly.  So, it looks like we'll be going wherever in Colorado American will let us use our Advantage miles, has seats, and decides we are worthy of going.  Gone are the days when you got to choose where you wanted to go--especially if you are doing the last minute dance, as we are.  Nope...you're gonna go where the hell they tell ya and when it's convenient for them.  Never mind about you, the customer.  Service industry?  Horse puckey.  I say break out the pillows right now.  Oooops.  Wrong airline.

I don't know if I've shared a couple of Wigman's latest tricks.  I think I told you he hates the taste of his newer pain medicine so even wrapped in cheese, he chews only until he hits the bitter tasting part and then spits it out.  I've tried re-wrapping it a few times in more cheese, but once it's bitter, it must be pretty awful since now he won't even try the re-wrap.  Wanna guess who will eat it, spit backs and all?  Yep.  Old Fat girl.  Her tongue is just like a wet mop-- no sticky mess left behind.  And now, when I open the back door for Wigman to head outside on the driveway side--his destination of choice--he starts to pant before he gets outside.  I have named it the "Preemptive Pant".  And now he's "singing" in the kitchen....today's song is "Yip Yew, Yip Yew"...and the lyrics are very simple.  And repetive.  Throw in an ocassional howl / whine and you've got it.  I just went to check and it's a good thing I did--today's song was for real.  His back legs had gone out from under him, frog style, the wood floor was slippery and he couldn't get back up.  Yikes. 

Brilliant!

If you haven't seen the pillow fight on the Lufthansa flight on the Internet, it's worth seeing if only to show how some airlines and flight attendants actually have a sense of humor.  I don't know about you but flying just isn't as fun as it used to be....and I'm not talking about the wanding, the body scans, the $50 bags of gross snacks, or the general sense of fear we all have after 9/11.  It's just the general attitude of people these days--on both sides of the issue-- that's gone south.  Having worked in a "service" profession my entire life, let me say you get back what you put out there.  And even when people are awful, if you continue to be kind, often times they will come around.  And if not, that's their deal.

But on an airliner at 35,000 feet, whadaya gonna do?  I don't know what the circumstances were that precipitated this pillow fight but whatever it was, it worked.  And the fact that the flight attendant looked like one of my old bosses made it even funnier.  The fact is, it made LOTS of people laugh, and isn't that what life is really all about?  No one got hurt.  No one pulled the shoot.  And lots of weary travelers had fun, if only for a few seconds.  And the cheering and clapping at the end said it all.  We're all just people--some with better manners than others--but we're all just people.

Moving....not me

While my soon to be delivered casserole warms in the oven and my sourdough bread with melted butter, a few dashes of dill weed and some Parmesan cheese sprinkled all over gets a a good crusty crust on it's outside, I figured I had time to blog for a second.  My most favorite family in the world is moving again today for the 4th time in 13 months, while they finish building a new house.  I'm thinking after this, if anyone ever mentions building a house to them again, they may take off running.  And keep on going.  I know I would.

OK.  I am just back from delivering din-din and I must say I'd rather be dipped in pig snot than move again, myself, anytime soon.  We wouldn't be a big move, but then when you think about it, any move is a big move.  We did the equivalent several years ago when we repainted the entire inside of our house and gave the kitchen a much needed face lift.  We had to pack up everything in the house so they could paint and then go live at mom's for a week.  Fred and I did fine for a good while and then finally the fun just wore off.  The painters and carpenters were still here, and we were practically homicidal.  One day after they had all left for the day, I actually went the total girl route and cried.  I did.  Me.  And I'm not a crier.  But if you load me up with enough unrelenting frustration, you better step back because my water works are gonna go on.  That, or I'm going to start throwing things.  And after I cry, I then collapse into hysterical laughter...Oh, yeah...I go the total spectrum.  A to Izzard.  But once I'm done, I'm done, and a little food and a shower and I can cope once again.  And sleep.  Moving.....wow.... that's some tough duty.

Men-o-pause

Tell me it's not just me.  Puuuulease tell me you've felt the same way but I swear, I feel like I could bite the head off a small child.  I don't know if it's that age old "time in a woman's life" but whatever the hell it is, I'm tired of it.  I'm not used to feeling like this and I frankly don't want to get used to it.  I just want it g-o-n-e.  I want my joy back and especially my patience.  What happened to those?  I used to be able to blow stuff off and it's like my "screener" has blown a fuse.  I can get pissed over just about anything or make a negative comment about it.  Right now, I don't even want to be around me and it's not like I can leave ME behind, and go somewhere else.  Nope.  I'm stuck with me.  And, yes, I have increased my hormones so that part is handled. 

More than anything, I think I'm just bored and the cure for that is to get busy and in a few, I'll be in the kitchen, in my sanctuary, doing my thing.  The other thing that occurred to me is this :  Men-o-pause.  I think what that really means is women should take a break (pause) from all adult men, 2 or 4 legged, until such time as they desire their company, for what ever reason.  Wow....now that really makes me feel less gritchy.

War of the walker....

Oh, Lordy.....My brother is pushing my sister and I to get mom a walker, as has been the case for awhile.  I think I may have shared that in an earlier post.  I'm not against the idea at all--I am just 100% clear that we can get mom a walker; we just can't make her use it.  Mom has been clear she does not want one and even her doctor has said she's fine with that.  My brother seems to think, in his omniscience, that he is the Great and Powerful Oz and not only can he make it happen, but he that he* knows more than her doctor.  *  See earlier post "Whatever".  This should be hilarious and anyone who'd like to buy a ticket to this show, let me know.  (I plan to score my first million off of ticket sales.)  Mom may actually like one, though she'd never admit it since walkers are for old people and  people who fall down a lot.  And remember...she's neither of those.  My sister wanted to know what I thought and I told her I was fine with her buying mom one if for no other reason than to shut my brother up.  That'll be the best $$ she ever spends.  Oh, and my brother wants her to have the top of the line model so hers will look like all the others at the Plaza.  Gee....maybe we should put a Jaguar emblem on it.

Shoe update:  I took both pairs of mom's shoes back on Wednesday, as mom decided they were "awful"--she let that slip out and I had to laugh.  The good news is she's now decided she wants to go look at shoes, which for someone with dementia, is a big step.  And I'm gonna take her--or die trying.  We will probably go one morning next week, right when the stores open, while she's fresh from a decent night's sleep.  She'll probably only last an hour or so and I'm going to take her to Nordstrom's, since they have the biggest and best selection.  She only wears a size 5 1/2--she used to wear a 4 1/2 or a 5 until she had me--a fun fact she's shared many times and I just roll my eyes every time she feels the need to tell me, one more time.  Man...I was one powerful baby, wasn't I?  I made her feet grow.  :)

What was I thinking....

Please tell me I'm not alone here.  Have you ever bought a pair of pants (OK...really three) that in the dressing room you told yourself weren't all that bad, only to wear them a few times and realize they make you look like Shamu, the whale?  OMG.  I have a pair of them on right now and all I can say is what in the hell was I thinking?   Not only are they a little big, and need to be altered, but cargo pants on a 56 year old??  Probably not unless you are Susan Lucci and the size of a pipe cleaner.  With stilettos and all cougar looking.  Me??  I have on my tennis shoes-- so I can go walk later.  OK....that does it.  I've gotta go change.  Even I can't stand this.

I'm ready...

I am w-a-y-ready to get my Fall on and yesterday I visited a favorite store that is my default setting for mindless cruising.  And they were starting to deck out for Fall.  Fall decor, Fall pasta in the shapes of pumpkins and leaves, even their famous gingerbread cookies in Fall tins.  It may be 103 outside but they are getting ready-- and my brain is happy.  I am totally over summer though I do still love the slower pace.  I'm ready for dove season, my guys up at the Farm playing war games with small flying birds, instead of hanging around here bothering me.  Fall is just good. 

I also like the way the light changes in the Fall.  It's no longer that super bright summer wear shades or go blind kind of light.  It's softer and less intense like a filter's been put on it.  And it gets dark earlier.  For some reason, I like that, too.  Maybe it's just that snugly, home safe in your pj's feeling I like.  And don't even get me started on Fall TV or we'll be here for days.  New shows, new episodes of favorite shows, and Oprah's final season.  What in the hell is she gonna do to go out with a big bang, bigger than stuff she's already done?   I'm wondering if this year will even be that good.  Guess I'll have to watch a few and see.

 I'm ready to be able to grill out and then eat outside in the backyard again, too.  We gave that up in June when it just wasn't fun anymore but I'm ready to start again--now.  And my fire pit--I'm ready to load that baby up and getter flamin' on the driveway so we can act all white trash again.  I can do it in the back yard but it's just not near as tacky as doing it on the driveway, and that being tacky part is just my favorite---brings out all that small town in me.

Somebody turned the Big 5-0!!!

Happy 5Oth to Anna*  Wooo hoooo!!!

*  See followers

Ouch...

Feet.  Can we talk?  I never thought much about them until mine started to hurt.  I remember thinking all those old people whose feet hurt should just go buy a pair of Hush Puppies and shudddddup.  Bad news.  I am now one of those old people and I don't want a pair of Hush Puppies.  I want a pair of ankle booties with a heal lower than the Statue of Liberty, and that doesn't seem to be offered this year.  I know exactly what I want because a friend has them--from last year.  They are black suede, sassy as all get out, and..... no longer available.  Believe me....I know 'cause I've tried everything to come up with a pair.  Back to feet.

As a nurse, I wore comfy clogs or Merrell slip ons with a support liner everyday and was in foot heaven.  None of that stylin' nonsense for me--especially in the Newborn Nursery where you are highly likely to get some form of ick on any nice shoes you might be dumb enough to wear.  Nope.  It was comfort all the way, and for good reason.  You had to depend on those feet of yours and hurting just wasn't part of the deal.  And socks.  Oh, man.....those soft little friends that kept your feet cool in summer, with a spritz of baby powder down them, before you put them on.  And in winter, nothing beats a pair of rockin' knee socks under your scrubs.  Now, I did see a pair of boots last night at Neiman's, with the black knee socks built right in (on the outside) but as hard as I tried, I just could not picture me, in them.  And considering the look on the salesman's face, I'm thinking he couldn't either.

Laugh or go nuts

Well, I got another one of those dreaded phone calls last night--the ones from John over at the Plaza saying mom had fallen--again.  Luckily for mom, she is well padded so she hasn't broken anything yet.  She is now two for two in the last two weeks and I am praying this is not a trend, knowing full well it probably is.  I'm thinking this is sort of the Humpty Dumpty syndrome.
John and I are becoming quite chummy since we've been chatting weekly and I may just have to look him up next time I am there.  I'd like to have a face to put with my new phone friend's name.

I just returned from buying mom two pairs of new shoes and forgot that with dementia, new things are not all that thrilling.  At first mom was delighted and then I watched as her enthusiasm faded....at first she loved the shoes...and then wasn't sure.  She wanted to wear them to be sure.  That one caught me by surprise and made me laugh.  She couldn't quite remember that they don't want back shoes that have been worn.  Damn.  She is funny.  I asked her if she'd rather go up to the shoe store to look and she was emphatic that she didn't want to.  So, the shoes are going to live with her until Wednesday and that gives her a couple of days to decide.  If she wears them, I sure hope she likes them.

I called my sister to fill her in on the shoes and she told me about one of her work friends, whose mom lives at the Plaza, also.  The work friends mom had gotten a skin infection and had to be hospitalized, for staph.  The friend had told her mom she had to wear a fresh, clean pair of slacks daily, and her mom said she did.  She said "I wash this (same) pair every day" and when the daughter questioned her a bit further, since the staff does the Plaza residents laundry for them, found her mom had been washing her pants by throwing them at the bottom of her shower, while she showered at night, and then hung them up.  Or, this is what her mom claimed she did.  Oh, the joys of getting older and losing your marbles.  I can hardly wait.

Salmon? Give it up, already

Since this was my morning with the pups, I got a fairly early start on the day.  I was at the Farmer's Market by 10am checking out the offerings.  The tomatoes still are still good and since Mary wanted some also, I got us the medium sized basket.  Sad to say, the peaches are really on the way out.  The Freestone's are gone but I never buy those anyway and whatever you do, taste Wes Jones peaches before you buy them.  Or better yet, just don't buy 'um.  The one I tried was mealy and gross and I'd have spit it out if there'd been trash can nearby.  Only two place besides Wes's had them, and while Betty still has some, they just aren't near what they were a few weeks ago.  Duh.  It's August.
  The cantaloupes in Shed Number One, on the left hand side of the street, about two thirds of the way down, are spectacular.  The young lady who sells them will pick them for you, if you ask her to, according to how ripe you want them, and then bag and write on the bag how many days they need, if you want to space them out.  I came home again with three bowling balls-- and they have been just incredible.  I found some enormous blueberries last week and have put blueberries on sliced cantaloupe all week, and now I'm addicted. 

That accomplished, I headed for Tom Thumb to get that out of the way-- and get my ribs going for dinner.  And just when I thought I was finished crankin' on old men know- it- alls, I ran right smack into to one while rib hunting.  This man was determined that the 50% off Sock-eye salmon he saw last night at 11pm, was still there--"it had to be"--because no one could have possibly bought it by 11 AM this morning, as we stood there-- a full 12 hours later.  Really?  Shop much, mister?
That man liketa pecked that poor butcher to death. He wanted the butcher to go through the entire case and find it...never mind the butcher had already told him he put all the meat in the case this morning and never saw any salmon, where the guy was pointing.  You'd think that would do it, wouldn't ya??  Welllllllll, no.  The guy kept on and on, and then told the butcher why didn't he just sell him some fresh salmon at 50% off, because his salmon was gone?  At this point, I am standing down the case from the crazy man, making faces at the butcher and laughing, as the butcher tries not to lose it.  He was young and you could tell he was trying not to laugh, which always just eggs me on.   I love to do stuff like that....just sort of makes my day.  Anywho, I finally got bored with the crazy old man and went on about my business.  Two lanes over I realized I needed pepperoni and since it's over in the Deli area, near the meat, back I went.  Wanna guess who was still there?  Yep, and he was finally buying salmon but I don't think it was 50% off, since he still seemed a pretty pissy.  Whatever.

"Whatever"

Old men.  What makes them such arrogant know-it-alls?  Or, are men know-it-alls from birth and just get worse as they age?  Instead of improving with time, like a fine wine, they turn into... well....old men.  I think old men are sorta like old bulls.  They can't head butt the younger bulls anymore so instead they try to butt the cows.  My neighbor and I were having this very same conversation last night and she has a pat answer for every time her husband (bull) has to be right:  she just smiles and says "Whatever".  And I'm betting you can guess what that really translates to and she said it gives her no end of relief, to say it.  We laughed so hard both of our husbands wanted to know what we were talking about so, Fred, now ya know.  Whatever.

P. S.  Blogs are a great tool to prove you did do something, when you mention it on your blog, Mr. Smarty Pants.

Books....gotta love 'um

Book stores.  What's not to love?  They are cool inside, filled with all kinds of great things, and some even have comfy chairs you can sink into to "test drive" any potential take-homers.  And the people watching is spectacular.   There's food, coffee, and bathrooms--even music.  Come to think of it, I could almost live there--- except for the no bed part.  I was at Barnes and Noble earlier today and noticed that those previously mentioned comfy chairs have all but disappeared.  What's up with that??  I'm gonna call and find out so sit tight a minute.
  OK, I just hung up with Victor and he says since they have added all those new gadgets(?) that are revenue generating, the chairs got the hook.  Plus, he said the chairs had gotten dirty and tired looking, so that was another reason.  And lastly, my favorite area up on the mezzanine is now used almost daily for book signings and "other things", and they kept having to move the chairs almost daily, so that one was a no brainer.   It's clear they want your money-- just not your butt sitting in a chair.  They want you up browsing/spending or out the door.  They don't want you just sitting around since that doesn't make them any money.  I'm sure some people probably did spend a lot of time there hence my earlier idea--I wonder if people were sort of living there, all day?  

I read yesterday where Joan Rivers said everyone in her family was bookish.   She said she and her late husband, Edgar, used to go out to dinner every Saturday night and then hit a local book store.  The rule was, you could buy anything you wanted, and she said they both came home every week with bags full of books.  Cool, no??

Sharing....I don't wanna

It's official.  I have lost any and all control of anything that was formerly mine, to this rat pack of dogs I live with.  Sad, but, oh, so true.  As I type, I am now sharing my black office chair with Sis so she can see out the window for squirrels and yardmen.  I want you to know I am perched on the front edge of the chair so sheeeeeee can have the arm rest, to rest one of her paws on, and the seat for her, well.... ample-ness.  She has her ear flipped back, and was all relaxed, until I opened the shutters.  That, I have found, is the ultimate torture--she can see out but she can't get out-- to get whatever she sees.  If you're gonna hog my chair, there's gonna be payback in there somewhere.  She stood up trembling for a few seconds gazing out, but now has sat back down and her left side is smashed right up against my back.  After another position shift, she is now lying in the chair with me, nudging my arm, and Wigman is nudging my leg. And in the event you think I invited either of them back here, I didn't.  Sis beat me in here to my chair, while I got coffee.  Next thing you know I'll be bringing her coffee.

I am deeeeelighted to report that yesterday afternoon I did have a brief bunny sighting across the street, in his usual location.  He hopped around in the 3pm heat briefly, before he headed back down the driveway towards home.  It's clear he knows where he lives and though he may have been the smaller of the two rabbits, at least one of them is still kickin'--even in this heat--with a fur coat they can't take off.  Another good reason not to be a rabbit.

And lastly, Benji emailed me three different versions of an Aaron's rents commercials he is singing back up on and playing on, with Brittany Black, that should be on TV in the Fall.  There's a C&W version, a more "urban" one, but the most hilarious is the Spanish one.  These will be background and may have a flash of the band; he's not sure yet.  Ahhhhh.... high school Spanish finally comes in handy.

He's baaaaack....

Jeeze, I hate to admit this....but I will.  I am hiding from my own dog.  Yep.  Seriously, I am.  I am about to go shoot..... dirty... street.... heroin.... because he is driving me nuts.  I thought his doggie meds would knock off the whining but it hasn't.  And now he's right here at my feet.  Again.  With a wet nose.  For nudging.  And a whiner, for whining.  And now I'm whining.  A LOT.  I'm trying desperately to remember to be grateful for every single day I have him because some day I'm going to wake up without him.  And I'll be so sad.  Teary sad.  And I'll miss that wet cold nudging nose.  Oh, the hell I will.  And I won't miss the whining either.  But, I will miss him.  No doubt about it.

My neighbor down the block who works at the Zoo and is a notorious animal rescuer was able to validate how I feel.  She was walking shift one of three shifts of her dogs--she has so many she doesn't bring them all out at once since she's probably not supposed to have as many as she does.  Plus, some of them are old and have to creep at a slower pace, so she has them set up in  groups, three or four to a group.  Anyway, when I stopped her and asked if she still had cats, she rolled her eyes and said she yes, and did I want one.  I told her no, updated her on the Muff man's departure, and asked her if she wanted his left over bag of litter, litter box, and cat food.   When I told her he'd gotten really sick and we'd put him to sleep, she totally got how exhausting old animals can be and we had a great gabfest on just this topic.  She wasn't whining as much as just commiserating.  It was so great to have somebody else just acknowledge how I feel.

Which brings me full circle back to the Wigman, who is back at his command post (my feet), after I literally carried his bad self outside to poop.  OK....maybe that was more information that you wanted to know but remember now, I'm tellin' it like it is.  After considerable whining, I carried him...yep, I did....to the back door and opened it for him, despite it was the backyard side and he could have gone out his doggie door.  Door open and opportunity knocking...??  Sure was, but... he.... wasn't.... going.  Back in here he waddled.  More whining.  Repeat performance by me, only this time I took any possible choice of not going outside, out of the equation.  And off he waddled, to do his bid'nes.   Now, is it just me or does this sound a bit extreme??  I am now carrying him outside, to shut him up, and he's capable of going out his doggie door for the exact same purpose??  Now, I'm no Dog Whisperer but I think this old, German, man-dog has control issues.  And I know who is controlling whom.  And I am clearly not winning here.  Not by a long shot.

Uh, oh....

Oh, Lordy....somebody's in for a real box of sunshine today.  Someone is getting braces this morning--and thankfully, it's NOT me.  Boy, howdy, do I remember those days and how I wanted to unscrew my head and take it off when Dr. Roark tightened that wire that ran across the front and hooked into each bracket on each tooth.  Talk about medieval torture.....I remember when he'd reach for that special pair of pliers, I knew to grab a'hold of that chair and hang on.  And remember those little clumps of wax they'd give you to put on any place where the brackets were ripping that oh, sooooo delicate skin off the inside of you lip??  And then you invariably swallowed the wax when it came off after biting into a burger.  Oh, yeah....I remember it all tooooooo wellllll.  Grrrrrrross.

I have volunteered to fix old people food for the next few days so a certain someone won't have to chew much.  Too bad I asked him throw away all his good post op drugs once we were done.  I bet he'd love to have them now.  I know I would.

Then he has a re-check with his ENT surgeon this afternoon and I won't even tell you what he told me they did to him last time, or you'll be wiping the coffee off your monitor for the rest of the morning.  Let's just say it was super groady and he couldn't wait to come home and tell me.  Gee....thanks for sharing. 

I think he should spell something out across his top and bottom teeth with colored brackets.  I'm thinking BITE ME might be good.
Well, shucks...he just emailed me that they are now starting him with Invisiligns--the clear removable plastic braces that you take out, to eat.  Drama postponed.  Stay tuned.  And just when this was starting to get fun...

NOOOOOO!!!

Oh, man....my day can only get better from here.  I just ran to Half Price Books to search out a book Adre* recommended.  *See Followers.  Anyway, after chatting with the older African American man at customer service, who's a dead ringer for Morgan Freeman, with dreads, I headed to general fiction to see if they had the book.  OK....picture it....I'm cruising the books, reading dust jackets, and I hear this voice coming towards me and it's unusually quiet where I am.  I glance up and a couple is walking towards me.  A Goth couple--and she is a dwarf--the really scary kind with the big head and thick arms and legs.  And she's wearing a black dog collar.  And chains that are rattling.  And black, black eye make up--dressed totally in black, except for her jeans.  She scared me sooooo bad I almost yelled out.  Finally, they got past me while I buried myself in the book I was holding.  OMG....my horoscope for today mentioned nuthin' about dwarfs-- much less a Goth one.
After that, I was just a total wreck.  I could read, but no comprehension.  I kept thinking she was gonna pop back around the corner, and scare the daylights right out of me.  And rather than be scared, I just decided I did not have to have a book today. You should have seen me speed walk to the front door.  I must have looked like a shop lifter.

So, for the rest of the day, I'm gonna be on DWARF ALERT.  Level Red.  As some of you know, I have a freakish fear of dwarfs and with the Circus in town from now through the 8th, I may have to go on lock down.  And I sure as he** am not going to the circus.

Yum...

Man, oh, man.....there is an ugly game of Survivor going on up at the garden.  And since most gardeners have hung it up until it coools down a little, there's not been a lot of watering going on so droopy and crispy is a big theme among all the plots.  My zinnia's are stiff like a bunch of little dead soldiers so I tried to broadcast their seeds around hoping something might come up later.  Random plants we never planted came up in our plot so there's probably no telling if they will or not.  Right now, it looks like the okra and jalapenos are the final contenders.  Wait....that's not exactly true.  There is some other plant still going, but I don't have a clue what it is, and I wasn't gonna dig around to find out. In 103 degree heat, I don't much care. 

What I do care about are my tee tiny baby new potatoes that I got Saturday at the Farmers Market.  They are no bigger than your thumb and are going to make sensational roasted potatoes with olive oil, rosemary, and salt and pepper, for dinner.  Or, I may just boil some, drain them and add to them butter and dill and salt an pepper  Simple.  Yummy.  There are so many that I may save some for another use- like cold baby potato salad.  The big new potatoes are good but the little bitty ones are the best.  And did I mention freshly dug?  Oh, my.....

Dog Days of Summer

How do you know it's the dog days of summer other than the fact it's three hundred degrees outside?  I'll tell ya....you can't think of a single thing worth discussing.  Not Chelsea's dress, not Lindsay's jail exit for rehab, zero.  And you'd talk about anything to keep from having to go clean out your refrigerator.  And I do mean anything.  It's not the fridge itself that's bad...it's that vegetable drawer that really gets me.  You just never know what's grown fur, gotten squishy, or turned a color not intended in nature, since the last time you opened that drawer.  And, yes, I do open it fairly frequently it's just that bad things happen overnight, in the dark, in there.  Zucchini does some really weird morphing and lettuce??  Noooooo.  That's just wrong.

I think I'm going to wait until my best pal, Senora Maria, comes this afternoon so we can gab while she irons and I can do the dirty deed then.  Distraction is good when you have to do something icky.  And there's safety in numbers.  Yep....that's the plan.

Fresh tomato marinara again....nah...

Homemade marinara sauce with fresh tomatoes??  It kicks some serious butt however it is way more trouble than a great canned tomato can make, so suffice it to say, I'm totally over it.  Glad I got it out of my system and I'm going to cool it down and throw it in the freezer for Fall, for when/if it ever gets cool again.  The house smells like Campizi's, but all the water baths for easy tomato peeling, garlic roasting, and simmering, are just a bit much.  I can handle two out of the three but all three are just off my list.  I really am a lazy cook. 

I just saw Sister sprint past the window and she's naked.  Her dad must have bathed her outside in the hose and taken off her "jewelry".  Yep....'cause there she shot again...squirrel hunting.  Naked.  Being a dog must be so great sometimes.

Mary...

We made a Farmer's Market run yesterday morning, along with everyone else in Dallas, and my tomato haul was superb.  I told the lady at Betty's tomatoes that I wanted "seconds"--the not so beautiful ones since I was going to make sauce from them anyway.  She told the other lady who was in charge of doing the little tomato displays and holy, cow, I got a sack full of tomatoes for $6.  And they were lovely.  Not a creepy one in the bunch.  So, later this morning I'll be doing the X's on the bottom of each one and then into a boiling bath for 15 seconds, an ice bath plunge, and then the skins will slide right off.  After a quick de-seeding, and a rough chop, we're gonna be Marinara-ing in my new cookware, and I will be a happy gal clanging my pots and pans. 

I also scored three lovely cantaloupes in varying stages of ripening--one is already sliced and chillin', the second will get halved and sent to my neighbor along with a few tomatoes and some fresh peaches, while my marinara simmers.  The peaches are still good but starting to fade taste wise, so hurry if you want some.

  My neighbor really concerns me as I see her dragging her groceries in from her car and no, she won't let me help unless I just happen to catch her.  At over eighty, her big old house is just too much for her --a story I am all too familiar with.  Sometimes she forgets to close her garage door and since it opens up to a busy side street, she's had some things swiped, not surprisingly.  I am now her self appointed garage door monitor.
  Her kids will all be here this month and I plan to button hole her daughter and tell her what I'm seeing, though I'm fairly sure she knows.  I don't want Mary to move--I just want her to be safe and comfortable, as I know her kids do.  They are in just as big of a muddle over what to do, as we were earlier with my mom. Bruce has been helping out with her yard--her yardman "doesn't do windows"--and pretends like he doesn't speak English when she asks him to do stuff he doesn't want to do.  So, old Harris goes over when she's inside and does nice little stuff like trimming, weeding, etc.  It's funny how it's easier to do something like that for someone who is not your own mom.  We can help out and do for her with none of the angst or guilt you sometimes get from family.  Since my mom is basically taken care of, as his Bruce's,  we've sort of adopted Mary.  When Bruce took her some still warm chocolate chip cookies last weekend, she called me and said "Please, do not take me off the still warm cookie delivery service", and I assured her we wouldn't.  Plus, she's just hilarious and sooo appreciative.  She really is just a hoot.