Yay, Friday

This morning I am so sad.  I just learned that two of my friends (they are Sisters-in-laws, but not mine) lost their nephew and grandson, collectively, to the disease of alcoholism.  I don't know the circumstances nor do I need to know, but I am crushed for them both.  For anyone who doesn't know alcoholism is a disease, it is.  It's not some moral or behavioral failing--it's a DISEASE--and people who have it can, and will, die of it if they don't get into recovery.  Enough said.  Most of us have a trail of it in our backgrounds--I sure as heck do-- and it's a heart breaker of a disease.  My prayers and thoughts go out to both of my pals.

On a happier note, Fred reported the other night that at least one of Mary's bunnies is still hanging around over at her house, as it ran past in her yard, when he was letting old Sis out before bed.  Good to know since I saw one flattened bunny up against the curb on NW Highway the other afternoon.  Guess that one gambled and lost, trying to cross all six lanes of traffic.  Ick. Dead bunny.  Not good.

Now on to the Fourth.  Whatcha got planned?  Are you cooking out, making ice cream, or just hanging inside in the cool, and picking up food?  Me?  I haven't decided.  Fred usually makes his killer Mexican Chocolate ice cream but since we are trying to be good, maybe it's a better idea to blow it gently, and just go get some frozen yogurt, eat it, and be done with it.  If you have a big thing of homemade ice cream in the freezer, it's gonna call to you, and then you are going to have to either eat it, or try to fight the feeling, and I'd rather just have a little yogurt, and call it good.  Nothing in the freezer trying to get me to do something I'll regret.  Freezers are like that.....they turn on you after awhile. 

Happy Weekend to all!!

First Nora, now Ann

Well, no wonder I woke up tired after not sleeping well.  I watched the Olympic trials last night--specifically the swimming--and I think I swam every race.  With all those marvelous underwater cameras, I could keep my eye on all the competition, and I swam my heart out--or at least that's how I feel this morning.  Honestly, I finally had to turn it off because it was just too nerve racking. Watching Michael Phelps and Brian Lochte was a nail biter.  I can only imagine how I'll be when the Olympics actually start.  I may need sedatives to watch by then.

If yesterday's news wasn't bad enough losing Nora Ephron, Today's much anticipated stepping down of Ann Curry makes me even sadder.  While she may be soft voiced, she is a lady, a crack journalist, and I'm sick to see them cast her aside, even though she's been given some consolation prize post.  I get it.  Bid'ness is bid'ness and ratings are ratings, but I will sure miss her.  Change.  I don't like this one.

At least now Ann can sleep late, like Sis.  I can't blast that old girl out of bed this morning.  She's in her bed under her fluffies, snoozing away, despite my going back and forth for coffee.  Only the tip of her black nose is poking out, but if she hears me start fixing something for breakfast, she'll come on out.  Otherwise, she's probably under there until lunchtime.  What a life.  She can't get fired no matter what she does.

Mental White Out

I heard this tidbit of sheer genius awhile back, and thought I'd share it, as it's just too smart to keep under my own hat.  I'd love to claim I thought this up, but alas, I did not.  The person who did reads this blog occasionally, and she'll know why I'm not stating her name.  (I can hear her laughing right now.)

  Here's how it goes: You're going to have to be in a situation you want to avoid, but can't.  You know the kind I'm talking about.  So, instead of trying to amp yourself up to gut through it, you decide instead to simply "white out" the people/person you'd prefer not to deal with, so they instantly do. not. exist.  Genius, no?

 Before you go, whip out your  mental pen and have a go at 'um.  Then leave, and take your little mental white out pen with you, in the event any additional "whiting out", should be necessary.  (Sometimes an additional coat is fun and very entertaining.)  Since your pen is all in your head, you don't even need a purse or a pocket.  That makes it really easy to take to a meeting. 
                                                               
The best part is, if someone isn't there, they can't bother you, right?  White Out and a prayer or two, and you'll be astonished at who all you'll never see.  Try it.  It works.

                                             

Curtsying...

If you missed it last night on the news, Queen Elizabeth has underlined (probably in red) the Royal order of curtsying and who curtsies to whom, and under what circumstances, and sent it out to all family members.  Everybody curtsies to the Queen, period.  Having heard the whole thing I just have to ask, what the hell....??  It sounds to me like a royal pain to try to keep it all straight.  It's all based on who has Royal blood, and who outranks whom, and even who you are with and/or married to.

Example: if Kate runs into Camilla, she must curtsy because Camilla out ranks her, since Camilla is married to the Prince of Wales--whether or not Charles is present.  If Kate runs into Fergie's daughter's, ditto--they are blood princesses--but NOT if she's with William, since he outranks them as heir, to the heir, of the throne.  Got all that?

The bottom line is, there's likely to be a lot of bobbing going on, and other than appealing to Royal egos, how important is it?  Something must have flown up somebody's royal tailpipe to get all this going.  As long as the Queen is curtsied to, I say get over it.  And I'd love to know who in the world brought this up to the Queen in the first place, other than some royal whose ego wasn't being stroked enough.  Sounds awwwwfully petty to me.  Blimey.

Would you want to curtsy to these two??  I'm afraid I'd laugh.  Yeah...for sure I would.

Spiritual Pam

Since we all know it's just going to get hotter as the weeks continue, here's my plan to stay sane.  Lots of iced tea, minimal crowds, and several breaks during the day to re-apply my spiritual non-stick spray.  Think of the non stick cooking spray you use for a fried egg.  Works pretty good, doesn't it?  As long as you remember to spray your pan, that egg slides right off, doesn't it?

Here's how my spiritual one works: early every morning you set aside 5-10 minutes to drink your coffee, quietly, and talk/listen to God.  No email, no phone, nuttin'.  When you are finished, spray yourself in your mind with your spiritual non-stick spray, and go on about your day.  Grumpy drivers, long lines, and rude people will slide right off, IF you keep your spray on.

 At lunchtime, take a spray break.  Close your office door, rest for 5-10 minutes, and mentally re-apply your spiritual spray.  Don't even try to BS me about how you're too busy because I've done exactly what I'm telling you-- only sometimes I had to do it during a bathroom break.  Be advised it works perfectly there, too.  Just talk/listen to God and reapply your spray, while you do the other.

Before you leave for the day to head home, do it one more time.  Between staying cool enough, drinking enough liquids, limiting your access to a throng of crazy people (crowds), and resting, you will s-l-i-d-e right through the heat.  I even laughed once when a guy shot me the bird.  It works.

You can even put a can of cooking spray on your desk as a reminder.  If someone asks, you can tell them you're going to fry an egg on the pavement when it gets hot enough.

                                                   

Kids--whatcha goan dooooo?

This is what I woke up to this morning via a text from Nicole.  This is Avery in church mode, all dressed, and ready to rumble.  What would we do without little kids??  They are just freaking hilarious.  Cue the music..."Everybody was Kung Foo Fighting".....

Poor Sis...back to dog jail

This afternoon after lunch we drove by the offices of Heritage Auctions where they are having the free appraisals this weekend.  Sort of a local version of Antiques Roadshow.  People were literally sporching out the front door of the building, since the entire Lobby area was already full.  That meant the first floor Auction room where the appraisers are, was already packed.   I had thought I might take a thing or two of mine to ask a few questions, but when I saw that crowd, I asked Fred to hit the gas.  I wouldn't stand outside waiting to get in there with a deer rifle at my back.  You could just go right ahead and shoot me.

I'm sad to report the ducks seem to have hit the trail to some where cooler and more hospitable.  I know they survived the hail, so they may not be too far away.  But, I do miss seeing them.  The bunnies at Mary's are gone, too, so we seem to be without much local color. 

And speaking of color, in anticipation of a call from our roofer next week, we loaded the program from their website, and have been trying on shingle colors.  As usually happens, we each narrowed it down to two colors and both of us chose the same two.  Then, we both agreed on the final one.  We are weird like that.  We never even tell the other one-- and usually pick the exact same things.

  Since Mary is using the same roofer if her adjuster agrees she needs a new one, we've loaded a picture of her house, so she can pick hers.  For her to try to load and navigate it herself on her computer would not be feasible.  We'll offer to walk Fred's laptop over if she wants, and let her play, but we've secretly picked one we like for her, if she wants our opinion.  She may want her son to come pick one but knowing him, he'll say "Go with whatever the Harris's tell you, Mom", since he's a busy guy with three kids, and doesn't much care what goes on her roof as long as it's not hot pink.  Again, we both picked the same one and it's the same one we chose for ours.  If Mary likes something else, heaven knows she can have what ever floats her boat.  Ten bucks says she'll say "Show me", and then will say "Fine". 

Little does she know, but tonight it's going to be Tough Love for the Sister girl.  It seems she has become a roamer, a whiner, and a bed beggar, and just a total nighttime pest, because someone ruined the good thing we had going.  That certain someone allowed her up with him, and under the covers, and after that, the cow was out of the barn.  There's no way to shove that cow back in, so a certain girl is being exiled back to her bed in the den, for just being herself.  Frankly, the person who should be sleeping in the den, for ever letting her up with him, knows who he is.  I may have mentioned it to him one or twice today.... 

"I Won"

As of this morning, we are a slam dunk for a new roof.  No pun intended.  I guess that means we'll be playing again with that neat computer program where you download a current picture of your house, and then you get to try on roof shingle colors.  Sort of like playing dress up with your house.  It sure beats the old way of trying to eyeball it yourself and then finding out the shingle you thought was a certain color, wasn't when it was on your roof.  Beeeeeen there.

Not sure when all this fun starts but I sure would hate to be a roofer in this heat.  Too bad this didn't happen earlier when it was breezy and cooler.  Unfortunately for them, our huge front trees shade more of the yard than the house or they'd be lots cooler, that's for sure.

After lunch, I made a run over to see the three little pigs.  Hadley saw me and opened the door.  Avery was right behind her in a pink fairy costume with a tulle skirt and silver wings, and a loaded diaper, if you get my drift.  Oh, Lordy.....  What  mixed message that was.  A pretty fairy and a poop diaper.

  Hadley took off immediately to go put on her Snow White costume, while Hudson gave me a kiss and a hug, and then asked his mom if he could go skinny dip.  Clothes on, clothes off.  Then the girls wanted to skinny dip, too, so off went their costumes, and in they went.  Luckily for everyone, I kept my clothes on.  They frisked, they splashed, they put the hose in the pool, they used a green raft as a slide.  Avery yelled "Watch me" and we did, and then yelled "I Won", throwing her arms straight up like victory was hers, and it was.  We never questioned what it was she "won".  She knew, and we didn't need to. 

All in all, a lovely afternoon, and now I'm headed over shortly for coffee and gab, with two pals.  And did I mention it's Friday??  Yippeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Pick your battles

I just ran by to see mom knowing full well it was her nap time. Sometimes that's just the best I can do.  Between the current parking construction that has reduced staff and visitors to even less spaces, for the short haul, while they create more, I just have to go when I can go--and, can find a parking place.  If mom's eyes are open, great.  If not, it's not like she's going to remember if I've just been there or not.

Because my sister and I are trying to snap more photos of her, I got a great one of her snoozing away under a blue blanket, not a care in the world, with her TV blaring.  I did turn it down a little and pushed her thermostat a tad warmer, since it was a mite chilly, and she hates to be cold.  Fine when you are sleeping; rough when you wake up, and have to have some " personal adjustments" made, and it's cold. 

I ran into a friend as I was leaving.  She was headed into her Service Conference for her mom.  That's the thing that they have quarterly for you to bring to their attention things that are good or not so good.  I went to the first two with mom a year or so ago, and after that, decided not to waste the 30 allotted minutes of their time when I could do mine in less time with the nurse manager, and they could go on to somebody else.  Today, though, I did get a good laugh.  My friend had brought pieces of her mom's laundry that they had ....well...tortured.  Her mom and my mom are on different floors, but I'm not thinking the laundry is any different, and I will say the one white thing she had brought to show them--I don't even know what it started out as--was cheweddddd uppppp.

My friend wanted to know about mom's care and her laundry, and I had to laugh.  I told her I pick my battles.  As long as mom's care is good, I don't really care what her clothes look like since I figure the people doing the laundry probably:  1) do not read the clothes care labels  2) may not read all that well to start with  3) probably have had to deal with far worse things in people's clothes, than she or I, will ever see  4) how important is it--who sees them anyway?   When they get terrible looking, pitch 'um and head for Target or JCP.

I showed up last time to find mom in some other lady's lovely light blue slacks and cashmere sweater.  I know they weren't her clothes because I've packed her up through three moves now, and I've yet to ever lay eyes on this particular ensemble, lovely though it was.  I found a man's boxers in her closet once, too, so I just don't sweat it anymore.  Yes, they have name tags in them but to be effective, the tags must be read.  For the most part, they do one heck of a job--all of it-- and it's one you could not pay me enough to do, so I am grateful.  And giggling.  Mom looked really nice in that other lady's clothes.  I can't wait to see what she's wearing next time.

You did NOT say that

I've come to realize that beneath this laid back exterior of mine (sigh) beats the heart of a first class nit-picker.  I honestly think I'm turning into my dad.  When people (specifically his mother) mispronounced words, it drove him n-u-t-s, and now it's starting to make my teeth itch, too.  (It's all his fault since I have half his genes.)

Words like guacamole..... this is not a hard word to pronounce.  It's NOT gwak-a-mo-lee--it's wak-a-mo-lay.  If you are going say it, don't say it like you are clearing your damn throat.  The G is silent, people.  This is Spanish--not Texican.  And how about Hawaii?  It's pronounced Ha-wa-eee--- NOT-- Ha-whyy-yu.  Jeeze...do I really need to tell you that??  Now, see.....I'm getting myself all worked up over this.

And this one makes my blood boil...Or-ree-gone.  No, you tool bag, it's Or-ree-gun.  I think Fred says that sometimes simply because 1) he's rural  and  2) because he likes to watch me twist off.

 Now, I'm not going to mention any names here but try this one on for size: Par--meeee-zeeee-un  (Parmesan) or Croy-sunt  (croissant).  And last but certainly not least:  Salllllll-mun (salmon).  The L is silent, remember?  I'm not telling who said these, but I will say, they aren't from my gene pool.
      

                

Do I smell smoke?

Yesterday I had a hankering to fire up my Egg friend so I did.  I'd thawed a previously mixed bag of chicken pieces, since the men around here like dark meat and I'm mostly a white meat gal.  Then I decided as long as I was doing it, why not throw on a pork roast, too, so out that came to thaw as well.  By about 4pm as I listened to Scarletta on the radio in Clinton, Mo., I stoked up my Big Green Egg, lit that old girl, and moved on to seasoning chicken, pork, and soaking my wood chips.  With the wind from yesterday afternoon, I never had to do a single thing to get my fire ready.  No leaf blower--nuthin.

Once it was all ready, on went all that seasoned meat, down went the lid, and I set the timer for 25 minutes.  No fuss, no muss.  Then I played.  Even as much as I've used my Egg, I still cannot fathom how it stays at the same temperature once you get where you want to be--it just does.  I made a big pot of iced tea, and between the radio broadcast and puffing smoke, I was in heaven, and so was my four legged assistant.  (Here's my end result.)

After 25 or so minutes, I turned and rearranged a few pieces of the meat, shut the lid, reset the timer, and then the worst thing happened.  I could not figure out how to shut off the radio program, once Scarletta's interview was over.  No matter what I did, all I got was more KDKD.  Finally, I called Benji to find out what to punch on my phone, as he laughed his behind off.  No help.  We no longer have the same phone--I have that cool, fancy-schmancy Samsung tablet phone--the one I don't know how to work-- so he couldn't help.   Finally I just powered the whole thing off.  What's a girl to do?

Since earlier in the afternoon, I had washed all of Sis's bed fluffies and hung them out in the sun over at Mary's on her clothesline--yeah, she still has one--to air dry in the breeze, I had to go gather them up, while the smoker chuffed away.  OOO, la la.  Nothing smells as good as wind dried fluffies--except maybe smoker smoke.  To say that old bad Sister slept on her fluffies like a log last night, is a complete understatement. 

I have come to realize the only down side to smoking anything on my BGE is that whiff of apple, mesquite, hickory wood, etc. that hangs in your hair afterwards.  Sort of eau de Wood, if you will.    If you can live with that, the rest is just pure deee fun. 

Chee...chee..chee

Yabba Dabba Dooo.  Sis and I are thrilled to report the baby birds are out of our chimney.  Though they were not fliers (flyers?) yet, they were gently removed a few minutes ago, and peace has been restored to Gotham City.  Honestly, I tried to count them as the Chimney Sweep guy put them in his bucket, and it looked like maybe there were three.  I'm still wondering how three little birds could possibly make that much chee-chee-cheeing noise.  Ahhhh.....  I'm sooo glad they are gone.

I asked what he does with them--I was thinking he probably drove down the alley and tossed them in the nearest trash can, but he claims he drives them to Plano, to a bird Rehab.  Now, is it just me, or does that sound like a really PC answer, that isn't even remotely true?  I don't know.  I looked on the invoice and no where does it say he removed baby birds, so my money's on the dumpster.  Maybe not--but either way that's not my business.  That's on him if he throws them in the trash.  I didn't even ask him to remove them.  He said he was checking to see how old they were.  And then he just reached up there, shined his light on them, and put them in the bucket.   So, all you PETA people relax.  It's gonna be OK.

It's my house.  They were squatters.

No Way

It's only a matter of time so we might as well go on ahead and discuss it.  High School Reunions.  Gag.  The mere thought of it makes me seriously nauseous.  I'd rather have a televised colonoscopy,  than ever attend another reunion.  The last one I attended five years ago, was a total fat fest and it wasn't the girls, either--it was the guys.  Sweaty, fat, and practically bald, beer guts dunloping over their pants, the guys just did not hold up well at all. Guys you hadn't seen in years would grab you and hug you, and then drip sweat all over you.  Seriously...it was way gross and as such, I don't feel the need to ever repeat that again.  EVER.  I'd rather be dipped in pig snot.

And watching a bunch of fifty somethings dance like a bunch of Rhino's trying to recapture the good old days, is a sight I won't miss.  I think after a certain age, you should only be allowed to dance in your bedroom--like when you were a teenager, practicing your moves.  Otherwise, you serve prison time.  At our age, gaping buttons, muffin top, and sweaty pit rings, just does not make for a pretty sight.  And let's all agree, it doesn't look any better after several margaritas.  WE just THINK it does.

If you wanna go to yours, go on then...but don't say I didn't warn you.  See??

                                                   

Sneaky birds

I swanny...it's just always something around here.  The little birds we have in our den chimney??  They are none other than the real deal-- Chimney Swifts--protected by law, so I can't have them relocated.  I have to honor their lease for another month or so, until they head further north for the summer.  After that, you can bet your granny I'll be having my chimney cleaned and capped.  Watching them shoot down the chimney at dusk is fascinating, as long as it's not at your house.

Someone around here made a little DIY chimney cover a few years ago that he rigged out of wire, that blew off during a storm, unbeknownst to us.  Hence, out chimney guests.  If they weren't so loud I don't think it would bother me.  It will be all nice and quiet and when I walk into the kitchen and they hear me, up starts all that little bird cheeping.  Damn...they just started up and I can hear them in here. 

 This is how they hang on to the wall inside the chimney.  It looks exhausting to me, but their little feet have special little "grabbers" that help them stay attached.  Oh, goodie.

Happy Father's Day to all the dads out there.

Woods of Mission Timber, LTD., Sanger, Texas

Well, today I am the cows tail with my better late than never post, but it's been a busy day, and I had to squeeze a nap in there somewhere.  Fred, Sis, and I all made a day run up to the farm to do a few little things only to get a text mid-way up that the caretakers AC was off.  In this heat, that's no fun so while Fred drove, I texted the caretaker the AC man's number, and he was due up sometime after lunch.

While Sis and Fred rode around on the 4-wheeler--seriously, she does--I sat on the porch with a breeze, and read and rocked.  I opened up the doors to the house and though the AC wasn't on, since we only planned to be there a little while, the breeze blew through and the porch was lovely.  After lunch in town, we headed to my new most favorite place that we tried to find before and missed--Woods of Mission Timber, LTD.  When we went in, they were having lunch in the back--I know 'cause I could hear the plates and silverware clanking together-- so we piddled around, and then Jim, one of three wood men, came out.  Beneath that shaggy haired sweaty exterior was the smartest, funniest guy, and the more we ooohed and ahhhed, the more he showed us.  Stacks of gorgeous wood--mesquite, black walnut, bois d' arc (horse apple tree), cypress, mesquite, long leaf pine, and my personal favorite, pecky cypress. I was in heaven.

                                        

There was a piece of pecky cypress lying right near us and when I asked if that's what it was, Jim was a little surprised, and Fred looked at me like I was some kind of wood nerd--and I kind of am.  I had seen some p.cypress in a design magazine, as the wood paneling in a great room, and thought it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.  It's formed when cypress gets an internal fungus and it makes these cool little pockets in the wood that you can dig out, or I'm sure that come out, as the wood is milled.  The pockets make the wood have an incredibly beautiful or "pecky" texture, and is simply mind blowing.  It's a tad more expensive than regular cypress on a count of the fact that you have to pay for that damn fungus.  Made me want to spit.

Next, I sat my fanny in a mesquite rocking chair that blew my mind, and would have blown my credit card, too, if I'd bought it.  That little lovely was a mere $5,000 and the original one JFK and others have had, ran in the 100K vicinity.  If money were no object, I'd have bought it on the spot.  It was that comfortable and the wood was indescribable for it's grain, it's smoothness to the touch, and it's color.  This picture does not do it justice.  The shine coming off of that wood was blinding.

  We saw the kiln, sawmill, the bags of sawdust they sell for horses stalls, and were told they can sell all the sawdust, except the black walnut.  It will kill a horse if you put it down in their stall.  In fact, a black walnut tree will have a big wide ring underneath it, where nuthin' will grow, for that very reason.  It's wood is gorgeous-- but it's sort of a devil tree.  The good news/bad news is, they had a small table I really wanted but didn't see a price tag.  No price tag means I don't even want to know how much that baby is.  But I am going back.  And I may just ask.

We met the owner, a former Delta pilot, and his dog, who likes to ride around in the golf cart with him. He told us wonderful, wild stories about one of the Hicks-Muse guys (not Hicks or Muse) who has bought a ton of wood from them for his lake house, and how he sent his personal assistant to commission a desk.  The first one was too low, never mind they made it to his measurements.  The second one was "too red", and the owner told him "I'm not sure we can please you".  The third one was a keeper.  When the order was placed for all the lake house wood, the owner of the Woods of Mission Timber did a little checking, to make sure this guy was good for the tab.  His digging revealed "you could add several more zeros to his tab and he'd still be good for the check."   We howled.

For a little bitty old town, Sanger sure is fun.

Guineas??

Yesterday afternoon I had a date to meet the new man in my life.  Never mind we hadn't met yet--I already knew he was going to become my next new man crush-- and he delivered.  He was definitely crush worthy. His name is Sawyer, and at only 5 weeks, he's a total babe.  I just could not get enough of him--the velvety skin, the perfect ears, those little chicken legs.  Ahhhh...and did I mention he's a snuggler?  Honey, he is, and he even rooted for the groceries, if you get my drift. 

His momma, Liza, is the best, most laid back mother, and knows him like a book.  And his grandmother, Addie Beth, is as head over heels about him as I am.  Together we were swooning.  Lawsie, the power of a small baby chile dun made us go crazy. 

Sawyer has two dogs, Izzy, a golden retriever, and Kona, who is a sumpthin' sumpthin' Rat Terrier--I can't remember exactly what.  Both are hilarious and perfect companions for a growing baby boy.  That's the backyard.  Here's what greeted me in the front yard--a gaggle or a flock--of Guinea.  I kid you not.  I thought they were female turkeys, since they sort of looked like a turkey minus the fan tail.  Liza said her husband bought them and turned them loose in the neighborhood, but didn't tell the neighbors.  When the neighbors asked about them, Liza said she just played dumb.  I luvvvvv that.

  Since they live in a group, they just roam from yard to yard eating insects, and what ever else a guinea eats.  They mate for life, with the occasional case of tolerated bigamy.  And here I thought the ducks were a bit of a novelty.  We're going to have to do much better than plain old ducks, that's for sure.

                                                                   
When I googled Guineas, there was a brief history about them and then it cut immediately to cooking and eating them.  It showed one all ready for the oven and I have to admit, going from my front yard sighting, to the oven that quick, gave me the willies. 

Now for the weekend:  what does everyone have planned??  Our plans change minute to minute simply because, well, they just do.  Instead of spending the night tonight at the Farm, as we had planned, we are now zipping up tomorrow for a look-see, and then heading back home.  We've been up there so much, we have neglected out own stuff here, and since it's going to be blazing hot either place, we might as well be here. Wuch yall' gone do?? 

Lastly,  Sis wants everyone to know she spent the night in her dog bed at the foot of our bed last night, all night.  No roaming, no whining, no attempts to get in our bed--just some scratching and collar jingling.  Sis usually sleeps in her den dog bed with her dog gates closed, to keep her from "traveling" and roaming and, of course, pestering.  Lord knows she loves to pester.  It's a longer walk for her to her doggie door, from our room, but I guess it's worth it, to her to sleep with her pack.  Tonight if she snores, she's outta there.

Happy Friday to all!

Taking a Blog-a-day--see you tomorrow

Food glorious food!

I have a random assortment of things to discuss this morning beginning with Trader Joe's.  I like Ft. Worth as much as the next person but why do they get their T-J's before we do?  And why is their Plano store next, when they certainly should know that's not convenient for me?  Frankly, the Preston Royal store should be first, and after that, I don't care who opens next.  I just need a new foodie emporium to investigate and play around in-- but it looks like I might as well get comfortable, because my store isn't opening until 2014.

Now, on to tamales.  Did you see that huge article on making tamales in today's paper?  The real step by step guide, complete with recipes??  I was drinking coffee as I read it, and was still salivating.  What I would give for some of Senora Maria's tamales right now.  Her cornmeal masa mix is almost as good as her fillings, which is really dangerous.  She always asks what kind I want and I just don't care--they are all melt in your mouth good.  I have yet to try her dessert tamales but she says they are wonderful.  Shoot...I had no clue there was such a thing.

And while we are talking about food, I've got a wild hair to make a cheese souffle' for din-din tonight and serve it with a small salad.  Tres' french and my only consideration is how hot it gets today.  If it's blazing outside, maybe a hot souffle' isn't the best idea, no matter how fun it might be. Last night was Copper River salmon with a citrus sauce, done on the grill, that not only melted in your mouth but there's no clean up.  You cook it skin side down on foil--you make a little foil boat to hold the sauce--and once you're cooked in 10 minutes, you serve the salmon and throw away the foil.  Done deal.  If you cook a tad extra, you can serve the leftover fillet on a bed of tossed and dressed salad greens the next day for lunch.  Deeeelish.

Lastly, Mr. and Mrs. Duck were recently joined by another Mallard (male) but he seems to have gone back where ever he came from, though they are still hanging around.  They are both standing on the curb across the street, simultaneously scratching.  No more bunny sightings recently--they may have outgrown Mary's backyard, and moved on to the garden across the street at the church, for the buffet.  Not many gardeners are left up there, but the ones that are, are the ones who really know what they are doing.  Definitely a plus for any hungry critters.

Happy Overcast Wednesday, and since Sis is snoring in her bed underneath the table, maybe it's time to get this posted, and get on with my day.

E. coli anyone?

Yesterday, the high light of my day came late which was a good thing.  Considering I'd just gotten back from a lovely, but steamy, graveside funeral,  I rrrrrreally needed a good laugh.  Gross out Alert: stop reading now if you are a wimp.  Otherwise read on.

Late in the afternoon, my sister called me for a recipe and told me she had three small nudists, swimming in her pool, shrieking and having a ball.  The next thing she knew, her daughter blasted in through the back door saying one small nudist--the youngest of the skinny dippers--had left a floatie in the pool.  Think a floating Baby Ruth and you've got it.  Anywho, as her daughter was yelling "What do I do?",  my sister calmly walked outside, scooped up the stogie and flung it into the bushes, and told her daughter "Clearly this is your first Pool Rodeo.  That's watcha do".

                                                         
Her daughter stared at her completely aghast.  Sometimes being a certain age is just the best.  Nuthin' much ruffles your feathers anymore.  Even a little E. coli.

Prayers for Robin

If you missed it this morning, one of my favorite people is facing yet another health crisis and doing it with grace and courage.  Robin Roberts of GMA has been diagnosed with MDS--a pre-leukemic condition where her body does no produce enough healthy blood cells.  Her previous treatment for breast cancer is most likely responsible for this current affliction and damn, that makes me mad.  We cure one disease only to cause another one.

She's known about this for a few months and has proceeded on with her job as the true professional she is.  Her older sister will be her bone marrow donor, and according to her doctors, is a near perfect match.  Well, thank heaven for that.  Take a moment if you are so inclined and send prayers Robin's way.  A bone marrow transplant is just no fun at all but if it saves your life, well, there ya go.

I'm thinking we all need to bank some healthy bone marrow for the future.  IMO, stem cells are going to be the Big Cure for the future for everything, despite the fact that some people are afraid of stem cell research.  Some of our parents were afraid of the polio vaccine, too, but look what it did.  I think most people are afraid of what 1) they don't know or understand 2) don't want to change their beliefs 3) so they claim something is "religiously wrong".  Me??  I don't think God would give us the brains to find cures if he didn't want us to use them.  Especially if the cure was already right there in our very own body.  C'mon...that's just a no brainer. 

Camp--Day 2

Apparently my camp post made lots of people remember their days at camp, so in that spirit, let's have day two of camps.

                        
My first year at camp was spent in a land cabin which was nothing more than a concrete floored, screened in cabin, with a row of top bunks and lower ones, all around the cabin.  No air, no electricity, and no bathrooms.  You walked to the nearest bathroom.  Hot?? Well, yes, but during Quiet Time, we turned on the yard twirly sprinkler we'd put on top of the cabin, and as it twirled water, any breeze was immediately cooler.  The next year I was on a floating cabin which was loads more fun and a tad bit cooler, and the night time raids on other girl cabins, raiders in the buff, was a total hoot.  Nothing like a little skinny dipping to cool you down.  We squirted toothpaste off the sides of the cabin to feed the fish, and free swim meant you just dove off your cabin into that luxuriously cool lake water. 

                          
The food at camp was either fabulous or I was always just so damn hungry by mealtime, I just thought it was wonderful.  I do remember we had Pie Day once a week, and the chocolate pie always went first.  We had an all camp picnic with hamburgers and hot dogs, watermelon, and the whole shebang down at Swim Bay every year.  Friday's meant fish, since the owners were Catholic, and the lady who ran the kitchen and her staff were brought out several times a term, for applause and thank you's.  Manners were a big deal, too.

Special overnight's to a floating cabin down near the Dam were the best, being pulled in innner tubes tied by rope behind a flat, floating, wooden square, powered by an outboard motor underneath.  This thing was called the Riff Raff, and though it was not known for speed, being pulled along behind it was sheer bliss.  When counselors threw marshmallows at you while being pulled through the lake, back to camp, catching and eating them was hilarious.  If you missed one, it floated.  Or, the fish got it.

The owners dogs were allowed to roam throughout camp, and were loved on by many a homesick kiddo.  They swam in the lake, launched themselves off docks, and were just generally goodwill ambassadors.  There was even a fawn, Star, who grew up at camp after her mother was killed.  She also roamed all through camp, visiting, and munching on grass.  Star would allow campers to gently love on her, as long as they didn't startle her.  I vividly remember seeing Star swim in the lake, right around dusk one evening, and being compelled to sit down and just watch.  That's just not something kids see everyday and it was breathtaking.

Friends.  I made jillions, and when I ended up at the University of Texas, almost everyone I met knew someone I knew from camp.  It wasn't six degrees of separation--it was more like one or two.  In a school that huge, it was a short cut to get to know other people in a hurry.  I still run in to a camp friend every now and then, and when I do, it's like time has stood still.  We pick up right where we left off as kids, and speak a shorthand few others understand.  They are sort of instant family. 

Those were the days

I'm just back from a steamy walk and the cicadas were in full voice which immediately took me back to my summers of childhood and teens, and a camp on Inks lake that I adored.  To be honest, I would have adored any camp--this just happened to be the one I went to for over ten years.  Camper, counselor--who cared--as long as I could go.

There was just something about the freedom of being away at camp and all of the activities that rocked my world.  There was always something fun going on, or about to happen, and it sure beat the heat and humidity of boring Dallas, Texas.  I would have stayed all summer if my parents or the camp had let me.  Swim Bay, the Sailing docks, and Ski Dock were my homes away from home.  Nothing was more fun than learning to sail and ski, and on days that were windless, we'd shove our sailboats off the dock, swim them out a ways, flip them over, and while the music wailed over the sound system, we'd have an Inks Lake Dance Party on the upside down boats.  There was usually more swimming than actual dancing because the underside of those boats was slippery as hell, but we didn't care.  As long as we were wet, everything was perfect.

                                      
My face, and specifically my nose, peeled so many times it's miracle I have any skin on it today.  And my hair??  After being a counselor on the waterfront driving ski boats all day, all summer long, my hair was almost snow white blonde, and one year as a camper, on the last day when all the parents came, my mother asked one of my counselors how I'd gotten a hold of hair dye. When my counselor (Mo Thompson) pulled me aside and told me, I wanted to go drown myself in the lake.  Yeah, mom...I bought some hair dye at the Merit Store.  See why I loved camp so much???

I never understood the campers who wanted to horseback ride in that heat.  That's my version of hell on horseback, with that Hill Country sun pounding down on you, as you sweat like a herd of pigs.   As much as I adore horses,  give me the lake, and a breeze, until it cools off.  Like maybe in the dead of winter.

Camp was a huge part of my life and if you can send your kids to camp, do it.  It's good for you, great for them, and something I wish every child could experience.  Ours went to one in Colorado and they learned terrific skills.  Benji was like me and went forever-- both as a camper and then as a counselor-- and Brian went for several years as a camper.

Camp....I'd go back right now. 

                                                       

John Legend...

It's been two whole weeks and I thought I could get over this but I just can't.  I have a crush on John Legend.  There it is--I said it.  And you would, too, if you've watched Duets.  He is fine to put it mildly, even though I'm seriously kinda hatin' the show.  But now I have to watch, to get my John Legend fix. His face is just the sweetest thing ever--a little boy/ MAN face-- and he's got total bedroom eyes. When they do a close up of him, you can see his eyes twinkling.  What's not to love?

He's got looks, style, the whole enchilada--and did I mention he can sing?   Or that he's smart as a whip??  And girlfriend, he can move, too.  Uh, huh. Yeah...that, too.  He is just the package or at least that how he seems.  If he's a total creepoid, don't tell me.  Just let me have my crush and blunder on in ignorance. 

                                                   
Robin Thicke, however, is so awful and arrogant, he triggers my gag reflex, but that's OK.  He thinks he's fabulous.  Get a load of his pompadour...what's holding that thing up?  Scaffolding??  When they do a close up of him, his hair is just all you can look at.  You just can't help it.

I know, I know...if you can't say something nice... blah, blah blah.....:)  Just the keep the camera on John, please.  He's plenty cool enough for two.

The Piglets

After blogging about Avery yesterday, today I received an updated picture from her mom.  It seems being a fashionista is something that starts verrry early in little girls or at least in this one.  Get a load of her shoes.  Her mom said they are 10 times to big for her--probably because they may be her older sister Hadley's--but she beggggged to wear them anyway.  Little girls are such a crack up.

          
And speaking of Hadley, that's her back, above, so here's her front, with Hudson in the long sleeves.  I'm not sure who the hose squirter is, but it sure looks like they are having fun!  Man, they grow so F-A-S-T.

                                              

A Fairy Princess Party

Little kids and weddings...there's just always going to be something hilarious that happens when the two are stirred together.  I spoke with my sister yesterday and this is the latest on one of her grand girls.  Last weekend my niece Suzanne and her mom were headed to Fredericksburg to work on plans for Suzanne's upcoming wedding in November.  Suzanne--better known as Aunt SuSu--has asked Hudson, Hadley, and Avery to be in the wedding and was trying to talk to Avery about why she was heading out of town.

Aunt SuSu told Avery "I'm going with GoGo out of town to work on wedding plans".  Avery: "Whyyyy?"  Aunt SuSu :  "So it will all be ready in November".  Avery: "Whyyyyy?"  Aunt SuSu:  "I'll be back Sunday."  Avery: "Whyyyy?"   Sooo, you get the drift.  At two, Avery just has no real clue what a wedding is, so Aunt SuSu decided to go another direction.  She told Avery she was going out of town to plan a "Fairy Princess Party" and Avery was going to come to the party and wear a special Fairy Princess dress.  Ding..ding...ding!!  We have a winner.  Avery lit up and was all about that idea.  A Fairy Princess Party???  Oh, hell, yeah.  Brilliant, Aunt SuSu.

I remember years ago when the boys were really little, Mary's daughter, (our next door neighbor) Katherine, got married, and Mary and her husband, Parks, wanted the boys to come, so we took them.  Both boys were great during the wedding--we promised them cake if they were good.  So, cut to the Reception.  Here we are with Brian maybe 5 and Benji maybe close to 2.  They are dressed in the matching little outfits that Fred's parents had gotten them on a trip to Germany.  They looked so adorable I could have eaten both of them but whatever.

 So, we take the boys over to see Katherine in her big white dress and veil.  All is good until Katherine drops down to talk to the boys.  Brian's eyes got huge, he slams it in reverse, and Benji starts wailing and climbing me like a baby monkey climbing a tree.  And then Katherine tries to comfort them.  Oh, Lord.....the screaming went up another octave.  I guess they thought Katherine was the Evil Queen or something and everyone laughed.  At this point, we couldn't even sell them on the idea of cake.  They just wanted out of there so we said our hasty goodbyes.  Mary and I still laugh about it to this day.  And I think I  still have those little suits packed away, too.  Nothing like a good wedding trauma.  :)

Scarletta

Well, damn.  Try as I might, I cannot stream Scarletta this morning on a radio station in Huntington, TN, and for that I am wondering what in the heck is wrong.  Both my phone and my computer say the station is offline or can't stream.  Surrrre they are.  And I'm the Easter Bunny.  Maybe our Wifi is down???  I dunno but rats, rats, rats.  I'm give up, and I sure did want to listen in.

Last night I scared myself silly.  I either dreamed-- or actually was awake and thought I heard the phone ringing around 2 AM.  Now, why I told myself it was about mom, I don't know but I think that's pretty normal.  And let me just say the phone did not ring.  I just thought it did.  But holy Batman, I scared myself silly.  In my head, I told myself this was "it" and you know how fast thoughts can shoot through your head.  In two seconds I had myself back sane again, but it's amazing to me how fast our brains can interpret data and arrive at a conclusion.
Brains are such cool things, even when they scare the crap out of you.

I texted Benji and he just told me the smaller radio stations don't stream their shows but that it went really well.  It's a small relief to know I'm not a total washout when it comes to technology. That's a lie.  I totally am.

Not much of a Jubilee

All right, all right....I'm just going to go ahead and say what I think most of you may be thinking.  The Jubilee I had so looked forward to is well, rather a flash in ye old pan.  I don't know what I thought it would be but a barge ride down a famous river, a horse race, yada yada yada, just wasn't what I had in mind.  I was thinking maybe more coverage of the younger Royals with the Queen and absolutely none with Her Royal Horseface, Camilla.  Or Anne.  Charles, maybe a tad, but after that, let's see life around Balmoral, Windsor, and even Buckingham Palace, behind the scenes and unfiltered.

I want to see the Queen's private quarters 'cause I'm snoopy, and admit it...so do you.  You know you do.

And then I want to see her closets..... and where she keeps all her jewels--and which ones are her most favorite ones.  Her go-to's, if you will.  And I want the Keeper of the Jewels to tell me all about them--how many carats, etc.  Does she decide what jewels she wants to wear or does someone else decide?  And what about her meals--does she have a menu or do they just whip her up something they know she likes?  Does someone really draw her bath and put toothpaste on her toothbrush??  See...now this is the stuff I want to know.....the Queen up close and personal and it's never going to happen.  She's way too private.

  I know she and Price Philip sleep in separate bedrooms and have for years, which I think is kind of cool.  Judging by the size of his snoot, I bet he can wail up a snore that can be heard all over B-Palace, and let's face it, a Queen does need her rest.  Plus, who wants to fight for covers in that drafty old place and I bet he's a wiggler, too.  Now that's he's got a bladder infection, and is in the hospital, that's a good place for him until he's feeling right'o.  Sorry...I just had to sneak that in.  This is my favorite picture of her so far.  She looks like a naughty little girl having a great laugh.

And speaking of Queens, I just ran by to see mom, and got the low down on her from another perspective.  I think I had shared before that mom "performs" for us when we come by, but apparently she can be a real piece of work when we're not around, which doesn't surprise me in the slightest.  They don't get her up from her nap until 4pm and then they let her stay in her room and watch TV, because apparently she acts like a crabby toddler when she first awakens.   If there's singing or someone there to entertain the group down in the TV room, mom yells SHUT UP at the top of her lungs because it bugs her, and she can't hear the TV.  I was doubled over laughing when I found this out.  Duh...have you met her??  They learned real quick to bring her down about 4:45pm to watch TV with the others, until dinner at 5pm.  I had a feeling there was more to little Miss Nice than we were seeing.  Yep, she's still my mom.  She used to be The Shusher.  Now she can be Ms. Shut Upppppp.

Well, alllllllllmost

 Fred nearly got caught just now, hunting "the enemy" in the front yard with Sis, by none other than the Dallas Po Po's.  One drove right up at our across the street neighbor lady's house--the mean old one--and one of Dallas finest hopped out right.  I nearly fell out of my chair, laughing.
 Fred was seconds from walking out, armed and dangerous.  Sis was already out front, yapping like a maniac, waiting for him to come nail her arch enemy.  Sitting here being my law abiding self, I was watching and wondering if I was going to have to go bail him out of the slammer or if he'd pull a John Edwards, and just get a "warning".  Turns out, it was neither.  A false alarm on both counts.  Rats.  This was just about to get exciting. There's just nothing like a near miss to get your blood pumping.

Yesterday I decided I'd surprise you know who and do his chores for him.  I mowed and then trimmed a few bushes on the driveway side that were bugging me.  I even acted like him, too.  I left all the trimmings right where they dropped, because I was too tired and sweaty to clean 'um all up.  And, I didn't want to.  So there. Now I'm going to go sweep them up--won't take but a second--and then I'm going to rinse everything down with the hose.  Maybe even me.  OOO, ahhhh.

And then have some of this.....oh, yeah.

                                              

Ohhh, Mr. Keurig

Today I'm going to admit I have a new love interest, though it's not really new.  I've had it since Christmas and it's just the smartest idea ever and I wish I'd thought of it.  It's a Keurig coffee maker and I love it!!  I use it everyday and sometimes several times a day when I just need a little java jolt.  It was a gift from Brian and though someone around here didn't think he wanted one, even he's come around.  What's not to love??

We used to use a big Cuisinart 12 cup coffee maker every day-- and still use on the weekends-- when we are both having coffee.  Otherwise, we'd go through umpteen little K cup coffee things and a big pot is just easier with two people.  If you don't have one of these, get one.  Especially if you are single.  No fuss, no muss.  Just a great cup o' Joe.

You can get one that attaches to a water line so you don't ever need to refill it but I like being able to move mine around the kitchen, if I need the space where ours lives.  Filling the reservoir just isn't a big deal and I like having "options".

Mary called me Wednesday morning at 8:15 AM because "she hadn't seen me sashaying around and was worried".  I assured her I was 100% in sashay mode so not to worry.  I must have been coming and going when she wasn't looking out.  Ever since mom was put on Hospice, Mary has become my fill in mom and it's a job she takes really seriously, and I am grateful for that.  She is a treasure to me and I'm going to have to make her some cookies this weekend and go over and have a good yak.

 If I am sad about mom, I can talk to Mary and even though she cries sometimes when we talk, we always end up laughing.  When she cries, I know she's thinking about her own mortality and her own kids, but she never will avoid the topic--she'll ask me, and if I try to avoid telling her if I'm sad, she'll call me on  it.  I'm not allowed to protect her, which is why we always end up laughing.  She's totally got my number.

Time for my last cup o' the morning so I'll close here.  Enjoy your weekend and don't forget the sunscreen.  Skin cancer is not a stylish accessory.