Friday, August 1, 2014

What's a body to do?

Okay, okay, okay...I confess.  When the first hot spell hit I was e-x-t-r-e-m-e-l-y tempted to call my local pizza delivery place and order some pizzas, wings and some pastas too so I would not have to heat up my own kitchen by cooking.

In the end, I decided against that, after all this kind of food is (supposedly) not good for you...fat, cholesterol, calories, etc. etc.  Instead I went about cooking up a batch of baked beans and making homemade salads, even opening cans of pickled beets and three bean salad.  The food lasted through the heat wave, I felt smug and quite proud of myself.

Then, this second heat wave came.  Dang, I was sick and tired of salads, beans and pickled beets.  I could not...would not be eating any of those.

When I was watching television night before last, I was hungry, but didn't know what I wanted to eat and frankly had no energy to prepare a meal.  Sure I could open a few cans of vegetables and fruit and come up with something, I simply didn't want to.  Then, there it was...a commercial for my favorite pizza place. THEY HAD DEALS.  REALLY, REALLY GRRREAT DEALS.

I try to resist, the commercial will be over in 30, 29, 28....15, 14, 13 seconds and that delicious food will disappear from my TV screen.  Frankie enters the room waving a limp stick of celery looking glummer than the kid that got kicked out of Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory...oh, dear, food again.

Frankie:  "Here's the deal.  You fix something to eat and I won't kill you."
Me:  (Mildly interested) “Well, that's a little harsh."
Frankie:  "I mean it.  I want food, substantial food.  There's tons of stuff in the kitchen, go fix something."
Me: (Sprawled on the sofa) “You know how to cook, you fix something."
Frankie:  (Dramatically falling into a chair) "It's too hot, I don't have the energy, I don't want to."
Me:  "Well, neither do I."

We do the stare down.

Another commercial fills my TV screen; this one advertises a sandwich, chips and a drink for five bucks.  Oh my, that sandwich looks good.

Frankie:  "Do they deliver?"
Me:  "Nope."

Silence, except for the sounds of stomachs growling.

Another commercial advertising meats being BBQed.  I swear I could smell them.

Now, I honestly don't know who 'blinked first', but we both reached the computer at the same time.  Both with the same

I'm embarrassed to admit this, but in my beautifully alphabetized 'favorites list' is the name of a particular pizza place.  When I log in, they cheerfully say, "Hi Sandra, welcome back.  What can we do for you today?"


If you please...

...two pizzas, two pastas (with bread sticks) and a bucket of wings.  Yep,...real food, (totally not good for you) food will be at my front door in approximately 30 minutes.

Hello, Pizza Guy!

Frankie and I break these items into manageable packages, (nibbling on chicken wings as we work) we freeze some, refrigerate others and then return to our seats with a plate full of food to resume watching all those murders on our favorite mystery channel.

Soon the sounds of tummy growls are gone.


Thursday, July 31, 2014

Once upon a time...

...there was a quiet little street.

It was not a long street, it came to a dead end after only a few short blocks.  It was not even paved, it was in fact, covered with layers of gravel that eventually flung itself to its outer edges leaving potholes where cars actually drove. The people living on the street would take turns knocking on neighbors' doors to collect money to buy new gravel to fill up the holes.

Once the money had been collected, some Saturday morning truckloads of gravel would arrive and all the men living on the street would go out with shovels and rakes and spend the day filling the holes, and leveling off the street surface the best they could.  It made for a tiring day.

Then, one year, the dead end part of the street was annexed to the city, the people rejoiced, and immediately requested their end be paved and brought up to city code.  Oh, it was expensive and the homeowners spent many, many, MANY years paying off the expense on their property taxes.  However, everyone knew it was worth the price.

Years passed.

At first the city took very good care of this several block stretch of dead end street. The crews would come out with their city trucks, hose down the gutters and then the sweeper swept out the loosened the debris that had begun to collect there. They even came in the autumn and cleared the drains of all the fallen leaves.

Years passed.

The city no longer had funds to look after the street.  It fell into neglect.  Potholes appeared, native greenery began to grow along the gutters, and once the rainy season appeared it was the locals that donned boots and headgear and with rake in hand went out in downpours to push and pull fallen leaves out of the drains. Complaints to the Powers To Be, fell on deaf ears.  Sometimes an anonymous somebody would buy a couple of bags of 'Road Repair Pothole Patch' plop them into a pothole, slice it open and hope the local drivers would run over it until it leveled off and fill the hole.  Poor substitute for an up-grade repair, but 'close enough for who it's for'.

This Tuesday.

Lo, the mailman delivered a brochure from the Bureau of Transportation addressed to:

"Current Resident".


Dear Resident:

This summer, the City is planning to repair and seal your street,...What?????  Us ladies were ecstatic, phones began to ring.  Gone would be the potholes and the native greenery from the gutters.  We were all "twitterpated".

Then, as all bubbles seem to do...our bubble burst.  I re-read the brochure.  Damn, that fine print!  What that first paragraph really said was.

"This summer, the City is planning to repair and seal your street, or nearby street, as part of its neighborhood street maintenance program."  Sigh.  "You will receive at least 24 hours' notice before work begins, and your street will be closed."

Now, the good thing is the brochure also states the street will be cleaned first and yesterday after a long, long time, the street sweeper did go up and down the least loosening the local greenery, if not physically removing it from the gutters.  However, I'm not getting too excited...the sweeping could have been a simple fluke.

The brochure assures me (if) my street is going to be worked, I will wake up some morning and find a 'door hanger' notice announcing the work will begin in 24 hours and I will have to move my parked car (LOL), and to keep all my people, pets and other vehicles off the street until repairs are made.

I've decided I'm not going to get excited until my 'door hanger' appears.  And, there you have it...Once upon a time, there was a quiet little street.


Wednesday, July 30, 2014

Am I the only one?

Okay, I know you regular readers have a pretty good idea I'm kind of a peculiar kind of a gal.  Like constructing a cardboard laundry room in my garage...then painting it white.  I also spent a day (literally) dragging two slightly used park benches from my back to front yard.  Oh, and lest we forget, there was the retaining wall and dirt moving project of a few years ago.

Then there are all those personal 'little' things I report on about becoming aged that nobody else will have the guts to report.  (No, I will NOT re-report them here.)

However, last night another peculiarity of mine pushed itself to the surface.  This is something I've noticed before, but always forgot about once I'd finished this particular 'thing'.

I worked in the yard a bit yesterday and I got some dirt under my fingernails.  Oh, I washed my hands several times afterwards, but as I was getting ready for bed I noticed there was still a bit of grime under the nails.  I have a specific old toothbrush for such occasions and I put a bit of liquid soap on the brush and began working the nails on my right hand.  Brush in my left hand, back and forth it went. I worked loose old cuticle on the top of the nails, and massaged under the nails removing particles of dirt.  I got a rhythm going...I could have written a song.

It was time to transfer the brush to my right hand and start the same routine on my left hand.  First loosening the cuticles and then I began to work on the dirt under the nails.  WAIT A MINUTE!  What the heck?  My right hand was not moving at all. Nope, I was holding it rigid, and my left hand was doing all the labor. Back and forth went my hand, the brush firmly anchored in my right fist.  Rub, rub, rub went my fingers back and forth across the brush, cuticles neatly loosened.

Time to work on the dirt under the nails.  Again, it was the left hand that did the work.  How odd. At this point I decided this was ridiculous, and tried to make my right hand make the toothbrush do all the work. OMG, that was soooooo hard, and clumsy,  and uncomfortable...and to make matters worse my poor left hand wanted to take charge so badly I thought my hands might come to blows.

It was absurd.  But, at the same time I was fascinated.  How did I not concentrate on this before?  And, how did I not realize just how dominant my left hand was.  Oh, sure, I've always done many, many things with my left hand, but this incident certainly brought it home.  I've concluded I'm one peculiar duck.

So, I washed my hands, admired my pushed back cuticles and clean nails then slipped that brush back into its holder.  Finally I reached for my tooth toothbrush. I uncapped the toothpaste tube with my left hand, spread the paste on the brush with my right, and then brushed my teeth with the brush in my left hand.  That hand snickering all the while.

Finally, ready for bed, my curiosity got the best of me, and I began to wonder whether I'm the only one who, when cleaning their nails with a toothbrush uses their dominant hand in the same manner as I?  I'm very I the only one?

Tuesday, July 29, 2014


...there's this mole.

(Isn't there always.)

It's been very persistent this last week.  Every morning I go out to my back yard, and...there...on both sides of my sidewalk are two mounds of dirt.  They're directly across from each other.  It's been infuriating.  I've been taking out my broom and dust pan, sweeping up the mess, and depositing the dirt in various gardens.


The first couple of days, after the clean-up, I would simply stomp the sod back down over the open hole, somewhat covering it up, and walk away.


When I discovered being nice, and hoping the mole might consider living in harmony with me was not going to work, and getting frustrated at having to clean up every morning after its night time labors I decided to take decisive action and shove some rocks down the holes and block its way.  Yeah, right!


The mole's invasion simply pushed the rocks out along with new dirt. Finally yesterday, and as Popeye used to say "That's all I can stands, can't stands no more." I cleaned up the piles of dirt, swept the sidewalk clean (again), (and...this is hyperbole)...rolled boulders the size of the moon into the gigantic open pits, then shoved the sod back into place and stomped, stomped, stomped till sweat dropped of my brow.  As Elmer Fudd used to say, That'll show that "wasically wabbit"' mole who's in charge around here.

Well, to tell the truth, when I awoke this morning I expected to find that the mole had somehow managed to push my boulders out of their tunnels and I would find a note attached to them stating, "Ha, ha, fooled you...I win. Been here long before you, will be here long after."  I was not looking forward to the trek along the sidewalk to the battle ground.

Son of a gun.

There were no mounds of dirt, no boulders, no note.  I win!  I win!  But, as Foghorn Leghorn would say..."That's a joke son, that's a joke."  Nobody ever wins over a mole.

Monday, July 28, 2014


Oh my gosh.  I do so love my old time television show channels.  Sunday Evenings one of those channels shows back to back episodes of WKRP.  I try not to miss a single one.  Some episodes are funnier than others, some dealt with meaningful issues of the time, while others delved into the personalities of the characters working that the somewhat inept radio station in Cincinnati, Ohio.  I couldn't help but fall in love with these people.

Anyway, one of my favorites was when, for a Thanksgiving Day promotion, they decided to heave live turkeys out of a helicopter.  I have to say to this day, the news report 'live' from the scene of the turkeys departure from the aircraft still cracks me up.  "Oh, the humanity!" And of course, the line "As God is my witness, I thought turkeys could fly."  is burned into my memory bank forever.

Then, last night they had an episode about garbage.  I don't remember ever seeing the particular show before, and this one came pretty close to matching that of the turkey drop.

It seems Cincinnati's refuse workers were in the throes of a garbage/trash strike, and the morning guy (the always outspoken Johnny "The Doctor" Fever) suggested everybody take their garbage/trash and leave it on City Hall's front steps.

Unbeknownst to The Doctor, and the station, it was discovered WKRP, not only had 'a listener' they had listeners, who were doing exactly what The Doctor had asked them to do. Throw their garbage/trash on City Hall's steps.  Well, of course the half hour show continued to spiral out of control from there.

Eventually the good doctor was required to apologize for the morning remarks, which was a very bitter pill for Johnnny Fever to swallow.  However with the help of Bailey, another WKRP employee, Johnny is able to squeak out an apology, but not before he manages to say (on air), to Bailey, "This is, uh, your Doctor speaking. Hello, and good afternoon Cincinnati. I sure would like to take you home and kiss you all over in the dark."

After which, his courage renewed, he announces on air... "Attention fellow babies. If you're driving around out there with your car full of garbage right now, and you were on your way to City Hall, the Doctor feels kind of responsible for that. So why don't you cruise on by the mayor's home? Or maybe the Union chief's home? We'll get those addresses for you real soon so you can find 'em real easy. The point is, if your trash comes flying out on the lawn, it could be an accident, or it could be a political statement! My point here is, we don't have to take this garbage anymore!"

"I'll tell you something else, we oughta all stop paying our utility bills! What's the utility company gonna do, close its doors? And let's talk about the telephone!"

Sigh!  My point is, these folks always, always had good intentions, they simply just didn't know how to go about them.  Maybe that's what made them so endearing, maybe once in a while all of us should 'unload' no matter how ridiculous that unloading might be.  Hey, don't you wish you had the guts to throw your garbage on the front steps of your city hall...or at least a bucketful of e-coli laden water once in a while.

Sunday, July 27, 2014

Lazy, hazy crazy days of summer

Today's blog is compliments of my being misty-eyed, nostalgic and slightly melancholy.

Those Lazy Hazy Crazy Days Of Summer

Roll out those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer

Those days of soda and pretzels and beer

Roll out those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer

Dust off the sun and moon and sing a song of cheer.

Just fill your basket full of sandwiches and weenies

Then lock the house up, now you're set

And on the beach you'll see the girls in their bikinis

As cute as ever but they never get 'em wet.

Don't hafta tell a girl and fella about a drive-in

Or some romantic movie scene

Right from the moment that those lovers start arrivin'

You'll see more kissin' in the cars than on the screen

Roll out those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer

Those days of soda and pretzels and beer

Roll out those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer

You'll wish that summer could always be here.

Songwriters: C. TOBIAS, H. CARSTE

Those Lazy Hazy Crazy Days Of Summer lyrics © DOWNTOWN MUSIC PUBLISHING LLC, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

Thursday, July 24, 2014

Wish you were there? Anywhere?

Seriously, I just had a thought....if you have a place that YOU wish you were there...let me know, Frankie and I will research it, and I will blog about it and then, the three of us will explore all of that places possibilities.