Hopefully Another for Each Of Us

It's the last day of 2010. I like to take a minute to read the blog I posted last year at this time. Was I doing exactly the same thing in exactly this position? For future reference, say Dec.31, 2011, I'm perched on the end of the sofa, the one that needs recovering. It hasn't had it's face lift. I don't know who needs one more. Me or this sofa. I think the sofa needs refreshing while I need more then one area lifted if you get my drift.

Hauling myself back on topic here, I sometimes take a journey back through the year using my blog as a vehicle of transportation. If not for this daily, or almost daily posting, those memories would be wisps of foggy humid air in the catalog bin I call my brain.

I don't and never expected this blog to be anything but a list of my personal experiences jotted down and sprinkled with a few pictures for review occasionally by myself. Maybe some  day the daughter and grand children might find some entertainment or enlightenment by reading it.  

Friends and strangers stop by to visit and sometimes leave comments that let me know they have stopped in.

2010 will be the year remembered for reconnecting with many friends from past years via Facebook. Leaving my hometown some 40yrs ago and reconnecting with the connections there to find friends children grown and with children of their own is a bit staggering at times. Friends west of the Mississippi from my years spent living there have emerged with  profiles searched for mutual friends. I've enjoyed hooking up with everyone again.

Note to my readers and followers:

Sorry about the tea and cookies. I always forget to leave the plate out and I never know exactly when you will be arriving. The door is always unlocked and you're always welcome. Drop me a note.  I enjoy knowing you have been here!

This winter has been one of blizzards and bitter cold. Not for me. I life in southwest Louisiana. It's the blizzard of 2010 that the north easterners,  New Yorkers and New Jersey natives won't forget. Stranded motorists and 2 ft of snow that hurried down upon those states, I watch the news reports awed by what is happening. I'm a happy southerner in December. Come mid summer, I'm a sweltering sweaty mess and looking for an escape route to some mountain in the Rockies.

I'm ending this year with not one resolution for the coming year.  Why set myself up for disappointment? What will be will be. It is what it is or will be and hopefully I'll be around for it.

Happy New Year to family and friends and to my world wide web friends and acquaintances. May the coming year smile kindly on each and everyone of you.

P.S. I might have to turn the a/c on today to chase away the awful humidity. It's winter in the south.

You Want How Much??

The temperature topped out at 72 degrees. Sunshine, no rain as predicted and it was time to escape these four walls. I debated on my escape and settled on the roadster after watching the trees here swaying in the wind. A bike ride would have been considered but for the breeze. Riding against the wind on that bike is not what I will be doing today.

In a few minutes, I had dropped the top on the car, plugged in the GPS and dialed in an address. I eased out of the carport, swung a hard left on the street and was sailing along. As I crossed the city I noted all the other drivers in their open air vehicles. Traffic, as usual, was heavy but I wasn't in a hurry.

I wove my way to a little adjoining area called Scott and my trusty GPS found the shop that was my destination. It had been a year since I found this place and only after searching Google was I able to get to it this time.

I had talked with Mr. Romero at his  upholstery shop about doing a face lift on my sofa. I could order another exact duplicate of this sofa for around $3000.00  but the problem I had with the one  I have now would still exist. The metal bands across the base of this sofa gave out after about 5 yrs. at which time I had the carpenter do a repair. The fabric remains in great condition but the sofa cushions are a bit tired. I can't find another sofa that I want to live with. The seat area on this one is deep and perfect for a tall person. My solution is to have this one recovered. Mr. Romero has promised me that when he finishes with it, it will be more sturdy then when it was ordered from Thomasville. 

I remember when I bought my Chevelle. It was 1971 and one could order the 1972 models. This time out, I wasn't looking for a muscle car but one that was economical to operate. 

I ordered a 350 engine, basic package and an automatic transmission.  It cost $3500.00 and had an engine and 4 wheels. I haven't tried to drive this sofa anywhere though  I still think it should have a starter, engine and tires.  For $3500.00 you nor I won't be able to find anything with an engine and tires. Amazing what that much money won't buy you now.

I am beginning to sound like my parents and grandparents when I reflect back on how it was. I remember my parents mentioning a ridiculously low price on some of the things they purchased in their youth and I would think "gosh...are they old or what??"

I have arrived. I cringe at the thought of the cost of this sofa until I looked at a Henredon for $6000.00 and and the sweet young sales girl looked at me and actually smiled as she said "ONLY $6000.00! It's on sale today."

I coughed a bit after inhaling too quickly, thanked her and left her store.

I'm too old to shop at today's prices. I still think I should have received a key and been able to fill the tank when I received this sofa.

I'm done.   

Still Intact

As I lay here in the dark  watching television, a siren screams and the television flips automatically to the weather channel. Lighting flashes through the leaded glass of the front door streaking across the rug and over the glass topped coffee table. A ticker tape like crawl of typed information moves across the screen of the T.V. announcing tornado warnings.

I've never been able to remember which one is the more serious. A warning or a watch. As I sit here and mentally debate on this, had a tornado been close I would have been swept away while still thinking about it. The announcer blasts forth with all the parishes involved. Take cover and be alert for the next 30 minutes. As soon as that one expires, again comes the blast of a siren and another warning for the next 30 minutes.

Finally after three of these warnings, I decided to take my night time medications. I swallowed an Ambien. 

I hear the thunder rumbling as it rolls around up there. At times it sounds as though it is rolling away only to reverse it's direction sounding as though it were directly overhead and vigorously clapping it's hand in appreciation of some entertainment viewed. The rain falls harshly and the wind frets with something metallic. A crash of noise and I'm up and moving to the door. When I grasped the door knob and attempted to open the door, the suction  against it warned of the storm that was visiting. 

The rain was blowing in sheets across the driveway, hazy globes of yellow street lights barely visible through the down pour while water buried the street beneath this onslaught. I looked skyward thinking I might be able to see if the clouds were swirling. Socked in. As the weatherman would say, visibility poor.
I crept back to the sofa and lowered the volume on the television, leaving it tuned to the weather channel. I'll stay here and keep an eye on the warnings.
I slept. Maybe I shouldn't have swallowed that Ambien.

A Day, A Bath and A Book

I knew it was going to be a lazy day. When I opt for a bath instead of a shower, the remainder of my day reflects that choice. If standing up beneath a spray of hot water is too much activity early in the morning then it stands to reason the remainder of the day isn't going to be charged with activity.

I filled the tub with hot water and bubbles and slipped into the water with a book and my cell phone close by. The pace of my day never gained any more momentum. Thankfully my hair didn't need shampooed as it would have never been dried or styled. My goal was to finish the book I was reading. 

Void of makeup and dressed in a night gown, I moved from the tub to the sofa and opened my book again.

 Occasionally I would lay the book aside and pick up my laptop to make sure there was no earth shattering updates on Facebook.

The book I was reading is a biography of the surgeon that practiced in my hometown for close to 40yrs. I say "the surgeon" as this was the only surgeon for many years for this community of 3500 people. He was practicing there for a few years prior to my moving away. He has since retired but remains a part of the community even though his homeland is Iran.

I finished the book about an hour ago and not wanting to change the pace of my day I didn't make a move. It's time to really relax now. Beneath a soft warm lap blanket, T.V. remote control in hand, I'm not moving from this corner of the sofa. The rain that had been promised has now arrived. Tomorrow I'll start with a shower.

Meeting Florence

It is 61 degrees here today. The sun is blindingly bright. I should be on my bike but I had to go shopping.

No, really. It was a have to case of shopping. I'm beginning to look a wee bit ridiculous going out in jeans, sweater and jacket while wearing a pair of flip flops on my feet.

I'm not uncomfortable. My feet aren't cold but I've noticed the looks I receive when everyone around me is wearing boots and I'm sporting flip flops. There's a reason for my madness. Simply, my feet hurt and more specifically it's my left foot. I might be growing a bone spur in the bottom of my heel. Two surgeries back to back and I'm refusing to even consider another surgery and facing that recoup time.

I went on the hunt for a pair of walking shoes with a air bubble on the heel bottom. The flip flops I wear are thick and cushion the heel. I'm pain free and it explains the reason I continue wearing them when the temperatures are less then summer warm.

She strolled around the corner of the shoe display. She looked at me and said "If I didn't need them, there would be 4 store clerks following me around!" I nodded and smiled and continuing looking at all the colorful boxes stacked from floor to ceiling.

Tall and slim she was, snow white hair and a face deeply tanned and heavily lined, she moved to the small bench to sit down. From the shoe box she carried, she removed a pair of shoes. The frown told the story. This was not the pair of shoes she would buy. I continued browsing the wall of shoes in front of me.

Soon a sales staff walked by and Florence snagged her. We'll get to the how of me learning her name in just a few more sentences.

In less then 5 minutes, the sales clerk had answered Florence's questions and the correct pair of shoes were found causing Florence to sigh in relief.
I was curious so I questioned her about the kind of shoe she was selecting. 30 minutes later I walked out with my selection and almost a complete history on Florence. 
She was off to the library where she would be tutoring a woman from South America on the finer points of learning the English language. "After all" she said, "you can't clean pools in this weather."
 She was bilingual, having grown up in South America while living with parents. Her father worked for a major oil company and transferred around the world with his job.

 During the summer she cleaned pools explaining her deeply tanned face. Her husband was from Pittsburgh, many years past and after a recent trip back, she declared she was a "flat lander" and was happy to be back in Louisiana. During that 30 minute conversation, I marveled at the stamina and bright outlook this woman projected. Did I mention Florence must have been mid 70's at least? Spry and athletic, she rocked heel to toe when she walked. Quick and firm steps belied her age. 

Her search for shoes today resulted from a recent trip to the French Quarters where she had drank just a wee bit too much while strolling around with her friends. She fell. "Oh", she was quick to explain, "it was in the hotel not on the street." A sore heel, deeply bruised, she was particular about the kind of shoe she needed. 
Karma. I was meant to be at that shoe store. I was meant to meet Florence. When you walk away from Florence, you leave with possibilities. 

Polished and Packed

I want to announce first and foremost, I'm not  complaining   but it's cold here. 27 degrees recorded as the low  last night and this morning I peeked outside to see if there was snow on the ground. Heavy frost. With any moisture, there would have been snow. There wasn't so that just left us being cold.

Records are being broken and I'm staying inside watching. What better time then to clean up this place and the first thing was taking down the Christmas tree. I left footprints in the frost. I had to get to the little house to get the totes. Another trip to pick up the air compressor. So much for staying indoors.

I became a little side tracked during my packing of Christmas stuff. The air compressor I used to clean the coils beneath the fridge. That started by doing the dishes and moving to the fridge to organize that a bit then of course that led to wiping down the exterior which led to that vent thing at the bottom. I removed the cover to wash it and peeked behind where it went. It was beyond dust bunnies. The air compressor works great. I blew greasy dust stuff all over the place which led to vacuuming the floors then mopping and there went the whole day.

Thankfully Christmas only happens once a year. I'm good for another 12 months.

Without You Tube

I have an obsession or maybe it's an addiction. It's You Tube. How did I ever survive without You Tube at the touch of a key here on the world wide web.

Today I wanted to cook a prime rib roast. I looked up the cooking time for the lbs of meat I had purchased. Time and temperature. I have it. Maybe I should investigate this further.  I don't cook a prime rib roast every day nor even every month. It's a Christmas treat. A feast of Christmas that surpasses a ham or a pork roast, though I'm fond of both.

I dialed in You Tube and did a search which offered me a number of videos to view.

From cooking to surgery to watching music videos, I can search randomly for random items and watch for hours. Try typing into their search column whatever pops into your brain. Carrie and Ted love typing in "funny animals" and watching cats sailing though the air and smacking into walls or windows, stuck in trees and falling off of furniture.

I can hear a tune on the radio and catch some of the lyrics and can't remember the song or the artist. I quickly type in a few words of the lyrics and a music video is offered along with other songs by the same artist. I can waste more hours listening and watching. 

Before I had the achilles tendon/spur surgery, I searched You Tube. I watched as the surgeon made his first cut and to the end where he sutured that cut back together. I like to be informed.

Today I was reminded of another web site that is entertaining. http://www.topix.com/

You can search your locality for topics the local people are discussing or extend your view of topics miles away.

Maybe I spend too much time on the web. I won't even get into traveling with Google Earth.

I love me some You Tube.

Eve of and Christmas Day

The eve of Christmas:

I sit here slouched in the big comfy chair, laptop opened, I could crawl into bed. Instead we are trying to decide where to have dinner.

Dare we try to maneuver these streets on Christmas Eve? Today will mark the end of sunshine and warmth for the next few days. From 65 degrees today to 48 degrees on Christmas day, there will be no biking for another week. It could be worse. It could be snow forecast!

Christmas Day:

Wrapping paper, boxes and bows litter the floor. Toys scattered around her, she sits among the debris of the celebration. She excitely shows me her Justin Beber doll. The one where you touch his tummy and he begins to bleat her favorite song. Her eyes drill into that dolls eyes and a smile slits her face from ear to ear. Ah, the crush of youth. I watch her and marvel at how much advertising and saturation of the media with Mr. Beber to cause a 5 yr old to be this enamored of him.

From the doll, she moves to her new bike. Though  she isn't allowed to ride it through the house, she does anyway. No one scolds too harshly her behavior. After all, it is Christmas.
Ted unwrapped his new XBox and hugging it to his chest, he headed for his bedroom. Soon he returns, with his old XBox packed in it's box and hands it to his sister. His gift to her, it's still warm from being plugged in and recently used by him.
She smiles hugely and is happy that he is passing along this as his gift to her. His old XBox is but a few months old. I'm happy that he was willing to gift it to his sister. This makes me grin hugely too.

The daughter is peeling shrimp for the grill, rolls are rising and a holiday feast will begin soon. Soon everyone will feast and then the afternoon will be spent at the theatre. This is tradition; I will have Carrie with me.
It's cold and windy, results of the rain that blew through here last night. The cold is welcome. It's Christmas Day after all and this temperature enhances this holiday.
Merry Christmas to all. I'm done.

Don't Make Me Hurt You!

Why do you think  you pick up that pay check every two weeks?

Yesterday I once again headed into the craziness of the stores. The husband mentioned something he would like to have for Christmas and since he rarely has a wish, I was relieved to hear him have a request. I was off to Office Depot.

It appears that Limewire has been closed down. Copyright infringements and downloading music from them is now something discussed in the category of "remember when". This is no admission of ever having used Limeware. It's just a statement of fact since using Limeware is and now in the past tense, was a highly illegal practice. We clear on that?  Moving on.

The collection of albums stacked flat and towering to chest height inhabits a corner of the coat closet. The husband is now looking at them as an alternative route to acquire music for his MP3 collection. The problem is, they are LP's and vinyl and would have to be converted. 

My reason for visiting Office Depot was to purchase a new item on the market that will convert the music on those LP's to MP3's for his IPod. I headed for the tech department. A large square box like sign hanging from the ceiling clearly designates the tech area and I was headed direct to that area. The first person I encountered wore a name badge with his position as "tech" noted right there clear as day and it's at that point that all clarity took a nose dive.

I requested a "Profile LP" and explained to him it's function. His reply "Oh, we don't have that." and just before he turned away and I fought the urge to snatch him up by his shirt collar, I said to him. "My husband says you have it and my husband knows what you have in this store". 

He actually sighs. I'm still maintaining some bit of restraint and control. I wanted to remind him that this was what he was paid to do; I wasn't asking him for a pedicure,  to babysit or clean my car. I followed him to the program section and he announced again "We don't have it."

I walked to where he stood and scanned the shelf. Eventually I spied a Roxio with a mention of LP to MP3 on it and this item was about the size of a cigar box. 

What? The husband plans on unpacking his old turntable and amp and setting it all back up to do this LP to MP3 conversion? I was imagining rearranging furniture to accommodate this new venture. 

I grabbed the Roxio thing and then decided to wander around the store looking at all the accessories that tempt. I rounded an aisle and looked at the end cap. Right there, stacked high was a box that was the size of a turntable with a turntable picture on it. I stopped. In large black print, it screamed "PROFILE LP". 

I looked at the cigar size box in my hand and realized that what I almost left the store with was not what I had asked the Tech to find for me. 

I took the time to find that tech and show him the difference and I did ask "You don't know what products are in your department?" He shrugged his shoulders and walked off. To my credit, once again, I didn't snatch him up by his collar and remind him  of the reason he collected a paycheck. The second time  required more self control on my part. It was time to get away. 

This is not the first encounter with sales staff with an attitude. 

It's sad to say, but I am so old I remember when sales staff would smile and greet and offer to help. If I were looking for an overpriced car sold by hungry commissioned sales staff, or a sofa that is manufactured in a foreign land in cheap fabric and construction and sold at the old prices of USA manufactured, I would have had better service.

I drove through the drive through window of Burger King and requested a cup of coffee. "We're out" she said. Out? How are you out of coffee? Do you mean you don't want to brew a pot?

I drove on. The next stop was McDonalds and the drive  through window again. I paid for that coffee and when I arrived at the window, they requested I park and they would bring me the coffee. 10 minutes later, I'm sitting in the parking lot chatting on my cell with a friend to kill time when I realized somebody must have forgot me. At this point I was ready to not be a customer for anything or anybody today.

Once more, I circled the McDonalds, by passing the speaker, and the collection window and on to the pickup window.

At least they apologised. I collected my coffee, took what was left of my sanity, thanked the higher powers that be that I hadn't committed a violent crime against any sales staff and retreated to the safety of my home.

I have to go out again.  I've been weeping about this for hours. (I lie a little).

 I'll try to avoid any interaction with anyone wearing a name badge and affiliated with the store I'm visiting. I'm not the only one that notices this attitude.

It's Christmas. Soon the holidays will be past and we can all get back to some semblance of what to each one of us denotes normal. I'm waiting.

Back in The Saddle..sorta

Thursday:
If you thought it was warm yesterday, you should have been here today.

It has been almost two weeks since I have straddled that bicycle and went anywhere on it. It sat on the patio along with Carrie's little orange bike, leafs blown around it and into it's spokes. I visited once and sprayed some cleaner on the gears and chain and walked away waiting for better weather.

Riding in the wind is too much work for me. It's akin to cross country skiing compared to Alpine skiing. I demand my biking be something I enjoy and pedaling into gale force winds isn't much fun (I maybe exaggerating on the force of the wind). Today was perfect. I dreaded being back on that bike after all this time expecting this to be a painful experience.

My IPod strapped to my upper right arm and my cell phone in its holder on my upper left arm, I headed out. I'm in touch.

 It took a while for me and that Trek to become paired. I ride the street for a while then dart upon a driveway and then lean into a quick turn to ride the sidewalks for a while and then back to the street. When approaching a stop sign, a car at that intersection dictates which direction I take. I don't like to stop or slow down so I'll take a right turn to someone approaching the stop sign from my right. 

My IPod is on shuffle and I've recently found a pair of ear buds that stay IN my ears (see a previous post describing my wreck because of wayward ear buds).

 Sometimes I'm listening to mellow James Taylor that revolves right into some country, to some hard rock and back to blues. The music keeps me riding when I think I'm done. Another tune starts to play that I want to hear so I bypass my house and keep riding. 

I wanted to ride around midnight last night. Full moon riding which is great. Didn't happen. I had Carrie here with me so we read Little Red Riding Hood and called it a night.

That was yesterday.

Today I've been doing the hunter/gatherer thing. I'm telling ya, if I had to traipse through the woods and shoot something, bring it home and then clean and cook it, we would all be at McDonalds for dinner. How did those pioneers do it? And all without a laptop or a GPA! 

My "good ole days" involved Safeways and motorized vehicles. Driving across  west Texas in a car with air conditioning and I was complaining because of the lack of civilization. No covered wagons nor Native Americans who were looking for a scalp or two to break the monotony? I'll admit it. I'm terribly spoiled.

Today I have yet to climb aboard my bike but I think that is exactly what I'm going to do as soon as this is published.

I'm gone. That light you see is the red strobe on the back of my bike. 

Addiction

Let me get a cup of coffee and I'll be right back with you.

 I wandered down the hall, eyes barely open this morning to brew a pot of coffee. With a steaming cup of brew, I stepped outside to sit for a while at the small table on the front porch. I sat quietly in the early morning hours and listened for the sound of the joggers and the walkers. Sometimes they travel in pairs and in the early morning quietness, I can hear their conversation. I can't discern what they are talking about but just the sound of  their voices and soon they appear in my field of vision. I sip and watch and know that soon I will be caffeinated enough to dress in bike shorts, t-shirt and sneakers and reset the odometer on the Trek and follow their example  but in my own form of exercise.

I have to laugh now at the times I would sit on that same chair at that same table and enjoy a first of the morning cigarette along with my coffee. The smoke would curl up and the red end of that cigarette would glow while I watched as those walkers and joggers would note my presence, nod and move on. I enjoyed watching them improve their health. I continued to enjoy my cigarettes.

In March I will celebrate two years of being clean. Clean of nicotine and it makes me smile. It took  many years of self flagellation and a few tries before I got to where I am today. The husband still enjoys his cigarettes and when people make a comment about it, I'm quick to defend his choice. It's his choice as it was mine.  He pays for his cigarettes. It's not illegal YET.  He respects others that do not imbibe and I know he envies me my "quit". 

Two years ago this March, I entered the hospital for my knee replacement. The husband asks "What are you going to do about not being allowed to smoke?" and I replied, "I'm going to quit." I saw the look on his face. A non believer standing in front of me. I just smiled and entered the surgery suite maxed out on some thing slipped down my IV line.

Hours later, out of surgery, an IV of Dilaudid kept me pain free. I was attached to that IV via a pump with a button to push when I need more pain coverage. For three days, I punched that little button for the delivery of that Dilaudid. It wasn't the pain I was medicating but the nicotine craving and addiction I was experiencing. It takes 3 days for nicotine to completely be washed out of your system and I had those three days of Dilaudid. I've never had a better detour around the cravings for nicotine. I still had to fight the habit but at least the withdrawal from the nicotine was avoided. I slept for most of those three days. I highly recommend it. It's just unfortunate that a knee replacement had to be part of my "quit".

That's my story and I'm stickin to it!

20 minutes tops

It's 0100hrs and about 10 minutes ago I swallowed an Ambien. I'm thinking this will be a really short post as it usually takes about 20 minutes for that little white pill to kick in and send me sailing away into dreamland.

I've had a busy day in excellent weather. The leafs from the maple were piled against the house burying the purple and yellow pansies. My goal was to fire up the lawn tractor and run down every leaf and  grind it to a find powder. First I had to use the blower to clear them from the flower beds, porch and patio. Frost bitten flowers, dried, brown and frozen from the 32 degree temperatures last week demanded some attention. The gas tank on the lawn mower was empty along with most of the gas cans. I had planned on  an hour for yard work. I saw my plans melt into hours raking, mowing and clipping.
A few hours later, I look at my tidy lawn and then race for the shower to get cleaned up and out of the house.
The Mercury had to be taken for an inspection sticker before I could have some fun time. That done, I got back to the house, dropped the top on the roadster and headed into the city.
Best Buy was my destination. I Phones, IPods and I Pads and I know these are all Apple products and I needed to know a bit more. I have been weighing the idea of purchasing an I Pad for the husband. I found the IPad area and checked out the newest gotta have item.
It's by Apple and doesn't support any Windows programs which signals to me that the husband won't be using this for any Excel programs. The IPad has to be mothered off a computer for upgrades. A nine inch screen makes it very portable. Internet connection via WiFi will cost about 500.00. Boosting to 3G will add another 300.00 to the price.
For me, this would be perfect. For the husband, not so much. He would still have to have his laptop along for billing and to do his calculations. I left the IPad right where I found it and moved along.
Right now the Ambien is kicking in and I'll finish this quickly.
Checking my email a few minutes ago, I received a message from the husband.They are finishing up the job he is on and he will let me know if he is heading home or heading to Montana.
Say what? Montana? Where did that come from? No..no Montana. It's cold, icy and snowy and it's not necessary. I'm waiting on a phone call or an email again. Turn down the offer...and head home. Don't drive into that mess and if you have to go, swing by and pick me up.
I'm waiting on the news but right now the Ambien is moving along delivering it's farewell. I'm done.

In The Homestretch

What, you may ask, have I been doing since the 17th, Dec., which was the last day I posted anything on this, my daily memory.

Christmas is just 5 days away. I haven't baked a cookie nor a cake nor a candy. I don't stress myself about spending time in the kitchen. This town prides itself on it's food and it's bakeries. To  support the economy, I shop these places and at the same time, it keeps me out of the kitchen. See how this works for everybody involved?

Oh, I can hear you now making those silly comments about the house filled with the aromas of holiday baking. I have tart warmers that I fill with a oil called "Sugar Cookies".

The candy dishes are filled. The french bakeries supply the cookies and cakes and I have a stress free holiday.

Today Carrie and I had our little shopping trip. The Dollar Tree is a store that has for sale nothing over one dollar per item. I followed Carrie around the store and watched as she selected items for the important people in her life. It was interesting to note the things she chose. A lighted Yo Yo for Shane's son and a pack of pencils for Shane. A plastic shiny saber for her brother and shampoo and conditioner for her sister. A small Santa statue for her mother and a box of cookies for her Poppy; a pretty bottle of hand soap for her Nanny Carol and she was ready to hurry home to wrap her gifts.

She chose the paper at the Dollar Store, some bows and tape. We were ready.

I refrained from helping her too much. She didn't want my help in making neat packages. I stepped back and let her wrap them without my interference. It's not about how well the packages appear but that she did them herself. This part was a little difficult for me.

To label them, I printed the To: and the From: on a piece of paper and she copied the names onto her packages. We packed up all her gifts and her brother collected her.

The remainder of my evening has been spent online and outdoors. I'm watching for the eclipse of the full moon and that's where I'm headed now for one last look before I climb into bed. I doubt that I stay up to witness it but I did have all intentions of doing just that.

I'm done. One last trip to check out the moon and then I'm off to bed.

Not a Sound to Be Heard

I have the house to myself and it feels strange but only because the last few weeks this house has been void of quiet. I have missed that quiet and then I became accustomed to not having that quiet. I now find myself readjusting and realigning with the quiet. It is not something that I have totally embraced yet. The husband is off to Texas to work. The grandson that plans on spending the night is off with friends right now and I have the television tuned in to the weather channel and muted. I can hear the dryer making it's revolutions and the washing machine spinning through a cycle.

Occasionally a car can be heard, whisking tires on the pavement, a puff of warm air biting into the coolness of the night, it's  trail of exhaust marking it's passage.

I'm ready to climb into my bed and continue the quiet. The grandson is past due to return  so I'll wait quietly. The cell phone buzzes and it's Ted with an excuse for his lateness and an apology. He is at a friends house and dependant of them to transport him home. They are watching a movie and he will be home when the movie is over. A few last minute instructions on locking up and turning off the lights when he gets here. I'm nodding with my Ambien. It's time to slide down off these pillows and pull up the covers and call it a night. It's quiet here still.

Something for Everyone

And it was gone. Tapping on the Facebook icon on the desktop to this laptop left me staring at a blank page. I went to the browser and typed in the http and still nothing. What happened to my Facebook? http://downrightnow.com/facebook 

and that's when I found this handy little link. It told me what I suspected.

What is it about Facebook that attracts? I don't play any of the games and I'm not interested in any of the "gifts' others are so generous with. I don't want someone to throw a pig at me, or poke me. I stop by to read the comments and occasionally post something of totally no importance to anyone. 

A matter of minutes and the site was back up and accessible and I sighed in relief.  I visited and once was enough for the afternoon. Knowing it's accessible was all I needed. The rights are righted.

The call came in around 1700 hrs and he was gone in a flash, almost. A blur of activity, suitcase, computer and telephone gear was quickly stowed in his truck soon after he received that call. Along with his leaving town, Carrie was collected by her mother and she too left on a trip to see her dad. She will be gone until Monday while the husband may be gone for the next 10 days. Everyone has somewhere to go but me. I'm sticking close to the house. I have some shopping left to do.
I'm off to bed with my eggnog and Ambien; a recipe for sleep.

And Again I was The Cook

Mexican food should be cheap, wouldn't you think? If that's what is cooked in Mexico and the Mexican folks can afford it, then it stands to reason a third world country living on beans and rice would be a food most of us could afford. Why, then, does a plate of it cost upward of 15.00 here?

I lived in Phoenix, Arizona for a year. South Central Phoenix was a haven for good Mexican food. Since I didn't speak the language and they didn't speak mine, I would point at the item on the menu and soon a wonderful plate of whatever entree I chose along with the prerequisite beans and rice and tortillas would be delivered. All of this for a little over 5.00 per plate and not only was I hooked but I was spoiled.

For a while I lived in Farmington, New Mexico and again the restaurants there offered more Mexican food at low prices.

Eventually my travels took me east and then south until I arrived for my third time in Louisiana. Cajun cooking and French bakeries offer some of the best food in the whole of the USA.

Until recently, absent from the scene here was a good authentic Mexican food restaurant. On the days we get a craving for real Mexican food, I find myself in the kitchen using the training I acquired from the husband's family in Arizona. I chop, grate, peel, mash and cuss.

You do remember from our previous discussions here, I don't consider myself a cook? I can think of a lot of places I would rather be then in a kitchen and you should see my kitchen. Miles and miles of beautiful granite grace the cabinets, a baker's dream. Granite is wonderful for rolling out dough. That's what my sister in law tells me when she visits. She likes to cook and I make sure she has everything she needs to enjoy herself in my kitchen. 

Yesterday I spied some beautiful Poblano peppers at the market and immediately I started craving Chili Rellenos. This afternoon I committed to creating. 

Every time I enter a Mexican food restaurant and note the prices on the Rellenos, I'm appalled. How could  a couple of chilli's stuffed with cheese and deep fried warrant that price?

Ah, tonight I again had a reality check. As I slid those peppers on a tray beneath the broiler and waited close by for them to toast, the minutes crept by. I opened the oven door and with tongs rolled them over and closed the oven door again and waited.  I noted the time this took.

Soon the peppers were toasted then removed from the oven, placed in a paper bag to steam till cooled. The next step is removing the skin and then slitting them open to remove the seeds. It's at this time, which is still early in the preparation of this dish, that I realize why the price on the menu is what it is.

I still have to shred cheese, whip egg whites, get a skillet of oil hot and then stuff, dip and roll those chilies before they are fried.

From the kitchen, halfway through this adventure, I sing out to the husband who is in the living room. "Hey, remind me to not do this ever again! The next time I get in the mood for Rellenos, we will visit that new Mexican food restaurant!"

I know there is a whine attached to that comment. Ask me if I care? By this time, the kitchen is a mess of bowls, plates and grease and I've been at this for way too long.

Not only am I the cook but the person that has to clean up this mess.

What took hours to prepare, is consumed in minutes and for the next 30 minutes I will be remaining in the "room of torture" removing all the evidence.

The Rellenos were great. I'm good for another 6 months and by that time I will have forgotten the trauma tonight. (Making note to self to reread this post in 6 months!)

Hot Dog!

Barbeque. Just hearing that word conjures up different geograhical locations to people. Some think "Texas" while for some it's the state of North Carolina, Mississippi or Alabama but it's usuallly a 'suthern state. Catfish? I think of Mississippi. Crawfish?  Well that would be the great state of humidity..er ..Louisiana.

Steaks? How about Texas or Wyoming? For me, Illinois is the home of brain sandwiches, while Wyoming is the Buffalo burgers served at a little drive in on the edge of Jackson Hole. California brings to mind vegetables, fresh and plentiful. Yep, some states just have their own recognition factor when it's food related.

How about hot dogs? Does a certain state leap to the forefront of that brain? Maybe the term "Hillbilly Hot Dogs" clears it up a bit for you? The state of my birth proudly claims the hotdog as it's culinary cuisine.

 A nice glass of burgundy, a lace edged linen napkin and some fine bone china, the table is set. The engraved place cards displayed.

The real scene? A quick stop at a "Quik Stop", a 7-Eleven, or a grocery store to pick up a couple of chili dogs with cole slaw, mustard, and onion and a Coke. Back into your car, one hand balancing the sloppy hot dog, mustard, chili and slaw splattering the front of your shirt as you continue on your way.

There are hotdog joints that specialize in the Hillbilly hot dog. In my opinion, the best hot dogs aren't boiled but simmered till crisp in a bath of hot oil. The buns are fresh and steamed, the chili sweet and beanless and the cole slaw, a tangy light yellow from the mustard in the dressing and  with a bit of sugar.

To properly dress the hotdog, a certain order is maintained. It goes something like this. Hot dog, bun, mustard, chili, diced onion and cole slaw.

My mouth waters at the thought of a good Hillbilly hot dog and Nathans' on the boardwalk has nothin on the hotdogs served in West By God Virginia. 

My trips to WV were planned to arrive on Friday. Saturday, we were  up early and on our way to the Big R., a grocery store that served the Hillbilly hotdogs on Friday and Saturday. We took our place in line and waited our turn. Some of the customers were ordering 10 or more hotdogs. A cardboard tray from the bottom of a case of canned Cokes was used as a tray/carrier for the large orders. The smell of the homemade chili sauce saturated the air and was the first thing that reached the olfactories when you entered the store. We looked forward to this store visit on the many miles and hours it took to drive to WV from southern Louisiana.

The chili and the slaw are "kept' secrets at most of the places that make hotdogs their specialty. Ft. Knox might have the secrets of the sauce and slaw protected in their vaults. The shop owners just smile when  asked for their recipes by out of state visitors. We, the daughter and I, know not to ask.

There is a blog site on the web devoted to the hotdogs in WV.  WV Hotdog Blog Site    This blogger travels around the state sampling the hotdogs. He gives his opinion on the best places to indulge your craving for this mountain state's favored food. As I cruised through his blog, I recognized some of the places I have enjoyed a 'dog or two'. 

Tonight the menu consisted of Hillbilly hotdogs. Homemade sauce, fresh cole slaw from a head of cabbage purchased today, steamed buns and fried weiners and it was on!

Hopefully this coming spring, I can make a trip back to West By God Virginia (we have to say it that way or else everyone thinks we are saying we are from "Virginia"). I'll head for a little spot in Ravenswood that still sells some sloppy juicy Hillbilly hotdogs. The last time I was in WV, I stopped by and treated the family to some WV goodness. Some days are just chocked full of homesickness for family and hotdogs!

That's Game

"Poppy, is football important to you?" she sat beside him on the sofa as she asked this. "Poppy, who is more important to you? Me or football?" and as I listened, I wondered how many years would pass before she became a weekend widow and spent the seasons' weekends doing what football widows do.

"Honey, I'm going shopping." she sang out as she opened the door and headed for the car. He absently nodded, his eyes never straying from the television. Some weekends I portray the weekend widow and sometimes I participate by watching.

It's a Monday night football game here tonight and I'm watching. I haven't watched the whole game. I slept through much of it and caught the last half. Houston was  behind 21 points and caught up. In the last 60 seconds of the game, they tied it up with a touch down and a two point conversion. Exciting to watch the underdog fight their way back.

Overtime. Baltimore won the toss. Played out their downs. Houston's ball.  Houston threw an interception for a touch down ran by Baltimore. Game!

The evening began by the husband watching the game in the living room while I escaped to the bedroom to find something to watch on that televison. I settled onto the bed and surfed the channels, settled on a show and promptly fell asleep.

When I woke up the television was tuned to the Baltimore/Houston football game and the husband had the remote control firmly in his grip. It was either wrestle him for it or watch the game.

I never regained control of this televison. From that game to the Vikings and Giants game, I'm pulling the covers over my head and shutting down this laptop. I'll hit "publish" and be done for the night.

Universe Central

Sunday:
Yesterday we roamed in the bare minimum in clothing, the younger the barer it seemed. Beaches should be banned on sun worshipers above the age of 21. For those of us that have passed that age by 20 yrs or more, bare means capris or knee length shorts.
I had no desire to go anywhere yesterday.
Both the husband and I spent time in the kitchen. I simmered a pot of Gumbo while he cooked spicy shrimp and Jamican Jerk chicken wings. It was game day and the Saints were playing in the afternoon.

Monday:
And I'm up early to tidy up before Carrie rolls out of bed. Spent the night again. I tried to talk her into going home but she wasn't having any of it. She's hard to say "no" to so she gets to do as she likes here. Her mother offers her frequent "realilty" checks when she returns to her care. By this time in Carrie's life, I'm sure she recognizes there are two sets of rules.
"Poppy's rules" where anything goes; she gets to do as she likes and "Momma's rules" where nothing slides and she slips back into the submissive role of a 5yr. old. She quickly learned the difference and how her role changes in the short distance from here to her house. Two different worlds exist and she slips from one to the other now with ease. Here she is the center of attention while at her house she is just "one of three" and her Princess crown rusts quickly when she makes that trip home.
Her meals are not served to her on a tray that is hand carried to her and consumed while the large screen TV is tuned in to her favorite shows. Her playmates are not the adults in her house. She entertains herself with her toys, no adults to play her imaginery games, to stop what they are doing to become immersed in her little life.
Nope, Carrie is on her own at her house and this is not a bad thing. Learning that she is not the center of the universe will serve her well someday. Learning to love being the center of the universe is where actors and actresses, professional atheletes, and "stars"  end up and we know how those lives usually end.

A Length of Fabric To Some

A long length of brown embroidered cloth, she calls this a scarf. It drapes over her shoulders, the ends wrap around her arms. She wears her scarf to parade around the house. Sometimes it  covers her body as she curls up on the sofa to watch television.

Later in the day, we were watching TV in the master bedroom. That's when the scarf took on a whole new use. As the IPod in it's IHome played some Dave Mason tunes, the scarf was flung over her shoulders. Her arms extended, the ends of that scarf in her hands, she see-sawed the scarf back and forth while swinging her hips. She let the scarf drop from her shoulders to her waist then to her hips all the while with the see-sawing motion of her hands pulling on it. Her head was flung back and her eyes were closed. She danced about the room and used one hand to twirl one end of the scarf in a circular motion. Moving to the bedpost at the foot of the bed, she snaps the scarf from behind her back, over her head and lassos the bedpost, hips swinging, she pulls on one end of the scarf while loosening her grip with the other hand then reverses this motion. She swings her head, her long hair floats out from her head obscuring from sight her face.

The husband and I sit on the bed watching this display. I can't decide if she resembles a belly dancer or a stripper but I do know she doesn't resemble a 5yr. old little girl. I quietly whispered to the husband what I thought might be a career move for her in, oh say,  15 years.

I must confess, I don't remember much about my playtime as a 5yr. old but I'm sure it didn't involve scarfs, music and bedposts.

 I've never been a believer of reincarnation  but lately I've begun to be a little more accepting of that philosophy. Maybe Cleopatra used scarves and bedposts. 

My Schedule is Not Yours?

I plug my cell phone in at night to charge. I never ever forget to do this especially since the date that I cancelled the house phone. The cell is my only phone connection to the outside world so it has to be fully charged. It's left on the sofa table behind the sofa in the living room. Should there be an emergency call during the night, you would be out of luck. It might be fair warning to you, that if you are stumbling out of the bars late at night and need a ride home I won't hear you should you choose to ring my cell after 2100 hrs. Break down? Same thing.  

I naturally assume that the whole world operates as I do so when I woke at 0300 hrs this morning and moved myself to the sofa, I was wide awake. My replacement used cell phone that I ordered from Ebay arrived yesterday and what better time to add new numbers to it then 0300 hrs in the morning? Carrie is in bed. The husband is asleep and nobody has any demands on me. No chocolate milk needed. No "hey, where is my....." from the husband. No interruptions and I can concentrate on adding numbers and names. I needed to check all the functions of this used phone in the event that it was defective and I might have to return it to the seller.
 By 0400 hrs I had finished with my phone contacts, checked my email, checked Facebook and read some news articles on the web.

It was at this time that I started sending text messages to friends' cell phones. Checking functions of this phone.  I assumed they would be asleep and when they awoke, they would see these texts and reply. I'm also assuming their cell phones aren't at their bedsides.

Big news flash here for ya. Not everyone loses contact with the world when they retire for the night. I'm sending pictures of a sofa to Ms. K. in WV at 0400 hrs  and right away she answers with a text. I'm concerned. What is she doing up at this hour? I text her and ask. Her reply?  "Answering you."   Ahhhhhhhhhhh....ooooops!

I texted back "Sorry." and laid the cell phone down. If you received a picture of a sofa at an ungodly hour this morning, I would like to take this time to apologize. Could you let me know if you received it? You know I'm checking the functions on that cell phone?

It's barely 0600 hrs here and I need a nap. Carrie will be up soon and sleep will be an unanswered wish. 

It's 59 degrees here right now and I'm debating on taking the Trek (bike) for an early morning spin around the neighborhood. Rain is forecast for later in the day and I've been grounded from riding my bike because of the artic blast of cold air during the last week. Maybe I'll wait until the sun comes up and the temps reach the predicted 70 degrees? 

Maybe I'll try to catch a few more hours of sleep.

Gone?

I have been put on alert. We may be casino bound  this afternoon. I'm hurrying around here to finish up some projects started and watching the hot rolls on the counter rise, the hamburger meat thaw and during this, I'm altering the length on some pants for Carrie. Stuffed bell peppers, whipped potatoes and sweet corn with hot rolls is my answer to "what's for dinner?", a question the husband asks every morning. Usually I have this dumbfounded, confused look on my face when he asks. I think he was shocked to silence when I actually had an answer for him. This will be two meals in two consecutive days that I have managed. I'm caught up for the remainder of the year. It's out of my hands now. Don't ask. I'm done. It's somebody elses turn to cook.
P.S.
The vegetable beef soup was great. Lots of meat and vegetables and too much left over. Daughter will be enjoying soup for the next few days.

Random on Three Days

Wednesday:
The weather is almost delightful! A sweater and long pants is all that was needed today. It's chilly at 51 degrees but it feels good. I prefer this chill over the summer heat here and I'm not complaining.

The daughter, Carrie and I headed to the mall today to look for a pair of shoes for Ted. It's not a 'need' but a 'want' so it was a Christmas shopping event we embarked on. We ended up having lunch at the mall, not finding the shoes we were seeking and returning home without accomplishing much. Lunch was yummy.

Fruitcake? I've heard a lot of jokes related to this holiday dessert. I'm not afraid to admit it here.  I like fruitcake. Pat, my friend at the corner loves to bake and a few days ago she made a fruitcake. She has been drenching it in bourbon and today I stopped by for a slice she promised to save for me. I'm not a big bourbon drinker but if you choose to mix it up with same candied fruit, flour, eggs and lots of sugar, I can handle  me some bourbon.
 Eggnog and fruitcake are my biggest clues that Christmas is approaching. There will be no white Christmas but there will be lots of spiked drinks, cakes and cookies that aren't seen all year long. Divinity makes it's appearance on the shelves at the stores. I feel about Divinity the way others feel about fruitcakes. It's not a sweet that I crave.
Thursday: 
I have been lax in posting.

Carrie spent the night and is now awake and watching her morning cartoons. We're hoping for some warm temps today so we can go bike riding. I haven't been on my bike for days now and I miss the exercise. Maybe later?
Later I headed to Walmart instead and it wasn't on that bike. I'm cruising around the store, my cell phone to my ear, when someone sneaks up behind me and wraps their arms around my thighs. Surprised? Well, yes, just a little. I spun around and heard a giggle and Carrie saying "See Poppy, I told you we would find her!"
Carrie had convinced Poppy she needed a toy so they headed to Walmart shortly after I left the house. Carrie spied my car in the parking lot and convinced Poppy it was my car? She said "check the back seat to see if my car seat is there" and "hey, look, there is my jacket" and ..look! there is the crease Nana put in the car when she hit the mailbox. Boy, was she pissed."
Ok, little girl. You convinced him already. You can stop with the stories, especially the one about the mailbox.
My company was not wanted by Carrie. She took her Poppy's hand and led him away saying "It's Me and Poppy time" "we don't want you."
Had I been a sensitive sort, I would have been devastated. Instead I recognize freedom when it is handed to me, so I wheeled that cart in the opposite direction and fled.
Later when they arrived home, Carrie found me to deliver a bit of news. She said "Poppy was talking to a lady at the store."  "Really?' I said "and was she a really young lady?"
"Nah, Nana, she was old and she hugged him."
I'm wondering what defines "old" to a 5yr child. All the time she was sharing this with me she was keeping her eyes on her Poppy  to gauge his mood. Did she expect fireworks to erupt from the story she had just told?  No tense moments here. The husband occasionally runs into people he worked with when he worked for Baker Hughes. Usually they are happy to see him. We had to explain to Carrie that these were old friends he knew. I told her there were selective FEW that Poppy could hug and all of them must be wearing lots of clothing and not carrying dollar bills in a skimpy belt at the waist. I'm not sure she understood the reference but she nodded with a serious look on her face and Poppy just smiled.
Sarcarsm doesn't work well on a 5yr old. We moved on to other things. 

Conversation Shared

There she sat, her sweet angelic 5yr old face beautiful to look at. Her peaches and creme, flawless complexion helps with that angelic look. Then she speaks.  Angels are chased away in a  pouf of sound and you hear about the ideas and thoughts that are bouncing around beneath that beautiful head of honey colored hair.

"Did you know" she says "I'm pregnant". She sat beside her Poppy on the sofa and thankfully I was sitting down when she dropped this bomb shell. Quietly, I sat and waited for the questions that I knew would be forthcoming from her Poppy.

"Really?" he says "and what does that mean?" She slipped off the sofa to stand in front of him and said "See, my baby is here". She pats her stomach and we both wait for more information.

From her Poppy, "Then what happens?" She smiles, peeks through her lashes at him and says "It comes out my "fancy" and it hurts a lot and I bleed all over the place."

I do not participate in this conversation except to try to maintain a straight face. I imagine the conversation with her mother when she received all this information. Answers to her questions are given age appropriate. When her questions cease, her mother feels she has enough answers to satisfy her curiosity. I direct all creation questions to her mother.

I wonder about the part about "it hurts a lot". I suspect this was thrown in as a deterrent to be remembered at a later date, say around 16 yrs old.

This conversation finished, she requests some chocolate milk and skips off to check out her toy box.

We remained in our seats, eye contact made, silence unbroken while we digested all this new information so unexpectedly acquired.

Carrie, if nothing else is a day of entertainment.

Tech Stuff

I tickled the mouse pad on this laptop until my cyber world appeared on the screen. My Google page has an application where one can list different cities around the world and their current temperatures, both lows and expected highs.

Currently for Lafayette, La. it is 28 degrees. Let me take a moment here to pause, haul myself off the sofa and open the front door. I imagine the ground covered in snow, the trees drooping from the weight of a wet white blanket, the streetlights revealing the white powder like flakes haloed by the darkness. I can hope.

Be aware. I would love to see a snow covered yard, trees and bushes but since I'm placing a wish, I want to add some perimeters. No snow on the roads, a temperature at 32 degrees for a day and then we can ratchet  the temps back up to 75, no wind and not a flake of snow to be seen any longer and let the mild winter regain it's normalcy. We are headed that way by this upcoming weekend. Snow is not forecast for today. I don't have to get up and look outside. My Google page  has spoken. I'll do it anyway. You never know about those weather predictions by the experts do you? 

I'm going to get dressed and out of this house for a while today. I'll join the wild crowds of Christmas shoppers, sip a cup of coffee at the mall food court and people watch.

I'm anxiously awaiting the delivery of the Ebay order. The Samsung Impression cell phone replacement should be here this week.  Since it's coming out of Pampano Florida, it should arrive quickly depending on when the seller packaged and got it to the post office for shipment. The cell phone I'm using now doesn't hold a charge for 24 hrs. and doesn't have a QWERTY keyboard which I had to  become familiar with. Texting you know. We all do it. I dislike texting. If  I wanted to send a letter, I would use an envelope and a stamp. It's a phone people? Remember all that technology that went into creating an appliance where two people's voices could travel over a phone line and wonder of wonders, you could hear that person talk? Of course you don't remember the time of the smoke signals across the plains  nor the drums beating out a message through the jungles do you? You probably don't even remember the dial phones?  What a move forward. From cords to  cordless to cells on satelite. The freedom of travel and still staying in touch with family and friends. A parent's tether to their children.

Texting is a regression to me. Besides the time it takes to type it, the time to find your glasses to read it, I'm all out of patience with texts. Just pick up the phone and "tell it to me" . Use your voice. Leap forward and enjoy voice technology. Can you imagine if texting was developed before the actual "voice" calls? Nobody would be texting. Whose idea was it to slide backward and take voice phones with them?

I am looking forward to getting my old type phone back with the QWERTY keyboard for texting. Though I think texting is redundant, my family seems to think it's the only way to communicate and if I have to text, using a numerical keyboard only adds to my frustration. If ya can't beat em and it's illegal, plus they are a little to large for a beating, then I suppose I have to bend a little in their direction and text.

I can place a call to them and nobody answers. I can text and get an immediate response. I grit my teeth shake my head and text.

The light of day has crept in and I can sit here and see the rooftop of the house across the street. The black shingles are white and sparkling in the first light of day. A heavy frost has coated the flowers, lawn and houses.  Look quickly. The sun will have chased it away by noon.

I'm out of here to get dressed and wait for the temperatures to get to the predicted 56 degrees before I make an escape from this house.

Stalled

My blogger is broke. I open this laptop and place my hands on the keyboard, my finger tips graze the home keys and are still. The fingers hover and no tapping of the keys, no letters to cyber paper, it appears my blogger is inoperable.

I can't force the letters that creep into word form. My mind seems stalled. It waits for a tickle or a trickle of ideas to pour from my brain  into my fingertips. A dry bed of thoughts, my fingers stiff from waiting, the paper remains blank. 

One day follows the weekend, void of contrasts. I need diversity. Sameness swallows my soul and my fingers remain motionless. It's time to move or make a move.

Tomorrow will be a break from sameness. I promise myself.

And a Day Later, A Big Difference

Just yesterday the kids were on their skateboards, the walkers were walking and the joggers were missing or maybe they just didn't jog down my street. The bikers, both motorized and the pedalers, were cycling and biking together. 

 The weather was a wonderful fall day and even the big maple tree in the front yard recognized it. The leaves on that tree have finally turned a golden/tan/green and instead of a few leaves falling, I expect truckloads to start descending. It's about time. I hope they all escape to the ground at once so I can grind them up with the lawn mower and be done with it.

Yesterday I dropped the top on the roadster and zipped around for a while listening to the radio, knowing that today and the upcoming week would bring that cold air from Canada.

Hey you Canadians...yes..you there. Listen up. If I wanted 20 degree temps, I wouldn't be tolerating, though barely, the summer temperatures and the humidity here in the south. I tolerate those summers so I can enjoy the mild winters that we expect. Freezing temperatures and that would be 32 degrees F. are not acceptable and 20 degrees is just obscene.

I made a trip to Walmart this morning and watched as some walked around in their sweat shirts, head hunched down into the necklines of those sweat shirts to avoid the cold air. There was one young mother wearing her capris and still another in a pair of shorts with a light jacket. We are a diversified bunch here. We, apparently, are not willing to give up the summer clothes. I have went from bike shorts yesterday to sweat pants and sweat shirt today. That's the best I can do.
It now feels a lot like the season, both football and Christmas. I had to restock on egg nog. I still had some Capt'n Morgans spiced rum that I wanted to finish off. I'm working on it as we speak.
It's been football and chili and chilly today.
I'm ready for a hot shower and a warm bed.
I'm done.

Saturday and College Bowls

I'm sitting here with sweat running in rivulets down my body. My face, I'm sure is red, and slicked with sweat too. The husband and I just got back from a bike ride. One half of that ride was great. It was the return part of the ride that sucked. Into the wind, we struggled to pedal and that's when I realized why the "going" part of this ride was so nice. That wind that was holding us back now was before pushing us along.

The bikes are parked and I'm inside cooling down  while watching  the WVU/Rutgers game and on this one I have to cheer for WVU.

Soon I will drop the top on the roadster and spin around in it for a while today  before the 20 degree temps arrive this coming week. It's hard to believe that in a few more days I'll be  shedding my bike shorts for much warmer stuff and my bike and rag top will be out of business for a while. This is typical of our winters. We never pack away our summer clothes; we just move them farther back in the chest of drawers.

The daughter, who unlike me, likes to cook, just came by with a sample of her kitchen trial on a sandwich served by Bennigan's restaurant. The Monte Cristo.  We used to call it "a heart attack in a sandwich". It's a breaded deep fried ham and cheese sandwich covered in powdered sugar and  served with loganberry jelly. The Bennigan's closed down here and was replaced by the Tiltin' Kilts which I've mentioned in a previous post so she surfed the web and found a recipe for the Monte Cristo. Tomorrow she will attempt to recreate the chicken gnocchi soup that is served at The Olive Garden. We both enjoy the lunch special there of "soup and salad" refills unlimited. I'm waiting on soup for lunch tomorrow. It will compliment the weather we are anticipating.

Ebay. It's been years since I've bought anything from Ebay and just in the past week, I've made two purchases. An Ebay store had a pair of boots the husband had been searching for and I found a replacement for my Samsung Impression cell phone. I don't have an upgrade due until July of 2012 which leaves me using the cheesy little Nokia.
I like the Samsung and but for the moisture I subjected it to, it would still be working fine today. Since I have the car charger and house charger for it, I am attempting to replace it with one from EBay. The problem with Ebay phones? Sometimes they are intended for China and unless you are fluent in Chinese, you may have a problem setting the functions on it. I'll have 30 days to return it. I'll be watching for strange symbols, weird crosses and unidentifiable dots and dashes and an accent. 
It's fajitas for dinner with refried beans. I'm not the cook so that makes the dinner even sweeter. I can watch Auburn and South Carolina battle it out and later tonight S. Florida and UConn which will determine if WVU gets to go to the Fiesta Bowl. I find college bowls confusing to say the very least. The husband remembers the games from last year. I can barely keep up with the games for this season.

I'm gone. Dinner, a quick shower and some warm pajamas, some chilled wine and I'm calling it a day.
I'm done.