PBJ&O, here we go again!

One day last week I was watching those olden days television programs, you know Green Acres, Mr. Ed, Beverly Hillbillies, the good shows, no swearing, no lewd behavior and outrageous clothing;  just good clean fun.  I do so enjoy an afternoon with them. 

Anyway, I think it was on the Patty Duke show that someone (I think Patty's boyfriend) said he was going home and have a peanut butter, jelly, onion sandwich.

Yes, I'll wait for you. 


I did say peanut butter, jelly and onion sandwich.

Boy, was I intrigued.  I tucked that little 'goodie' away in my brain's refrigerator and told myself "some day, some day".  Now, I know I've posted here some pretty disastrous recipes, and I admit they were awful...really, really awful.  I learned from my mistakes, never ate them again and moved on.  Still, I like to try new things, like escargot and frog legs, and for some reason PBJ & O...well as I say I was intrigued, I knew someday I would try this.

It didn't take long.

A few nights later I happened to mention to my daughter I might try this sandwich sometime.  She laughed, and almost dared me to eat such a thing.  I'm sure she though I never would.  Well, I did.

Picture me in my kitchen.  It just so happens I have some marbled rye bread on hand, lots of peanut butter, three kinds of jam and a big Texas Sweet onion.  Soon peanut butter is spread on one slice of bread while a huge amount of strawberry jam is spread on the other.  On top of the peanut butter side I've added lot of onion.  I plop the two sides together and stare (unbelieving I've actually made this sandwich) wondering if I'd have the guts to take a bite, much less eat the whole darn thing.

I'll be honest.  I thought this was going to be Awful, with a capital A.  The first few bites were, "do I like this, or don't I".  Turns out I do, did, do.  By the time I was done eating it I discovered you don't really need the "J", because the peanut butter and onion stand alone quite nicely.  I decide I will have this sandwich again.  However, trust me, not everybody is going to like this, and it is definitely for 'discriminating' tastes.

The only 'down hill' side to this sandwich is, you can't stand near anybody for quite a while...I'm talking QUITE A WHILE, but believe me, as far as I'm concerned this sandwich is worth it.  Just make sure you don't have any social engagements for at least 24 to 48 hours, depending on your brand of tooth paste, mouthwash and how long you scrub your tongue and roof of your mouth. 

In conclusion and retrospect, I think the only thing that would make this sandwich better is bacon, crispy, crunchy, bacon.

Beep...beep...beep

I awoke to an unfamiliar sound.

Beep, beep, beep.

What the heck was that?

It is pitch black in the bedroom, except for a very subtle light that outlines the bedroom window.  I push down on the pillow so I can see the clock on the night stand.  Nothing is glowing there.

Beep, beep, beep.

By now I'm awake enough to realize the beeping is not coming from my smoke detectors or carbon monoxide detector.  And, that we have lost electrical power.

Beep, beep, beep.

Yep, every couple of minutes there's that dang beeping.  I know the power is off, because there is no glow from the clock or the phone.  I mean it's dark. 

Showing great foresight, late last fall I sat one of my LED battery operated lamps on my chest of drawers, 'just in case' of a winter storm power outage.  It seemed like a good spot and I guess at the time I figured in order to reach it I could just roll over grab the lamp and turn it on.  (Forgetting I would have to squash Zorro in the process).

Beep, beep, beep.

Sigh!  So, I get out of bed, walk around it and eventually reach the lamp.

Beep, beep, beep.  Where the H-E-double hockey sticks is that noise coming from? 

By now Zorro is aroused and the two of us begin to explore the house.

Wait a minute!!!  Beep, beep, beep. 

There is an eerie, bluish hue coming from the office.  There is power in there!  The monitor 'sleep mode button' is glowing, so are the buttons the modem.  Has the power come back on?  Nope, the rest of the house is pitch black. 

Beep, beep, beep.  Ah-ha!  The old grey matter suddenly kicks in, and I remember the power to my computer also has a three hour battery pack in it.  The dang thing is telling me so.  I walk over and click the off button.

Zorro and I retreat to our bedchamber and eventually fall into a troubled sleep.  By the time we got up this morning the power had returned.  However, now I've got to go around the house and reset every electrical device that has a built in clock.

Well, at least they aren't going beep, beep, beep.

To too two, be bee, or oar, not knot, to too two, be bee

As I come into the office this morning, Frankie is sitting in my chair.  She's swiveled it around and has her nose buried in our "Big Book".  I'm perplexed.  Usually I'm the one who has to look things up.

Me:  (In a sing-song tone.) "So, what's ya doin?"
Frankie:  (Not even bothering to look up.)  "Just checking something out."

How odd!  My curiosity has peaked, I walk toward Frankie and the book.  At first she tries to flip some of the pages, but I  manage to put my hand on the upper left hand corner of the book so she can't.

I see she is in the C's, the first word on page 266 is canvasback the last on page 267 is capital allowance.  What the heck???

"Okay, Frankie."  "What in the world are you looking at?"

She sighs, and slumps back into the chair and gives me a sheepish look.

"You made a mistake in your blog yesterday...I corrected it last night, but then thought maybe I made a mistake, so I'm checking out the word to see who's really right me or you."

Now I'm really curious..."...and just what word might that have been?"  I'm not angry, upset or anything, but can't imagine what word she's talking about.

She uses her heels and rolls the chair back up to the dictionary, and points.  Her finger falls on the word 'capital'.

I'm quite surprised, and openly confess when I typed that word yesterday I meant to look it up myself, but being the dither head I am I forgot.  Oh, I 'spell checked' the word alright, but never did look it up.

Here's what Frankie and I learned this morning.

cap·i·tal¹ /ˈkæpɪtl/ Show Spelled [kap-i-tl]   

noun

the city or town that is the official seat of government in a country, state, etc.: Tokyo is the capital of Japan.

adjective

chief, especially as being the official seat of government of a country, state, etc.: the capital city of France.

excellent or first-rate: a capital hotel; a capital fellow.

capital letter.

Cap·i·tol [kap-i-tl]

/ˈkæpɪtl/ Show Spenoun

the building in Washington, D.C., used by the Congress of the U.S. for its sessions.

( often lowercase ) a building occupied by a state legislature.

Well, son of a gun...I did use the wrong word.  Thanks, Frankie.

Me:  "I'm curious, Frankie, how is it you caught my error?"
Frankie:  "I remember in school the difference between them was hard for me to remember.  Especially when it came to capital or capitol letters.  Somebody made the English language so dang difficult.  Lay, lie...you, your, you're...bear, bare.  Oh, I could go on and on."

I have to confess Frankie has a good point.  I think for the most part, I know, no which, witch word to use and when to use them.  However, there will always be those words I should, I need to look up before embarrassing myself as my blog wings across the world. 

Thanks, Frankie you saved my but, butt.


 

Bridges over troubled waters.

It's just another wild and whacky winter here in the Pacific Northwest.  Last weekend it was snow, this weekend it's rain....and, wind.  Already creeks are on the rise, and there are some areas along the banks of the Willamette River that have reached flood stages, especially down around the state capital, Salem.

Hunker down folks, and grab something that floats.

When we first moved here, back in the early '70's, we knew there was a creek in our back yard and we were good with that, the sound of flowing water was relaxing and serene and added to the charm of the neighborhood.  There were frogs, and quail, and beautiful shimmering dragon flies.  We loved it. 

Before we learned about the marsh that had been filled in so that our house could be built we had our first flood.  The water rose up as high as the top of our front stoop step.  The kids were in a frenzy, I tried to stay calm, all the while I'm wondering what the heck I should be doing.  I admit I was scared. 

First thing I did was call my husband.  It was almost time for his commute home, and I wanted him to know he might have to park in the school parking lot, and walk home from there.  Then I began to ponder if I should walk with the kids over to the school myself.

Then, as quickly as the water had risen, it slowly began to recede.  Boy, was I a happy camper. 

However, I began to wonder about the creek.  Was flooding something I was going to have to worry about every time we had a super-duper rainfall?  At the time we were only renters, and the creek was not on our property and we didn't quite know what to do.

So began my first PRIVATE WORKS project.  I cleared the blackberry brambles, fallen branches and debris from the back wall of the house to the creek.  That way, and for the first time I could see what I was dealing with.  Between my husband and I we were able to keep, our section of the creek clear and open.

We eventually bought the house.  A couple of years later we bought the land behind ours.  And that began my second PRIVATE WORKS project.  It took a whole summer, but I dragged brambles out of trees that were fifty plus feet high, sawed branches, saved native plants and marveled at the tiny red salamanders I found hiding under decaying branches.  It was hard, tedious, sweaty, wound causing, skin breaking work.

But, once the land was clear, and the creek running through it was 'kind of' ours, Hubby deepened and widened it.  We were bound and determined that if the water rose it would not be because we had neglected our duty to keep the waters flowing freely.

For as long as we owned the property the waters would rise as high as the banks, but thankfully it never over flowed again.  I eventually sold that property, and once more the creek was unattended, it became overgrown with brambles and ivy.  It was a mess, but since it was no longer my responsibility all I could do was worry.  Should I buy some sand, make some permanent sandbags I could drag around if I needed them?

Last year, the local 'powers that be' made the owners of the property 'clear the ivy' from the property, turns out English Ivy is not a native plant.   At least the creek is open again and running free.  What a relief.

Do I worry that we will have flooding?  Sure.  When you live this close to a natural waterway, that is always an option.  But does it scare me away?  No.  Whatever will be will be. 

Then again...it is going to rain, and rain, and rain.  Where the heck did I leave my waders?

So, it's Valentine's Day

I have to confess, I don't get too excited over Valentine's day.  Never cared for it much.

I remember when we were in grade school and we would buy those packets of valentines cards to hand out to classmates.  I hated that, not because I didn't want to give one to each of them, but because I worried that I would get one back.  You see, in those days you were not required to make sure each kid got one, (although my mom made sure we had one for each child).   We knew the 'popular kids' would be getting bunches, while the rest of us...well...not so much.  It was a very unsettling occasion. 

Yes, there were always some in my box, but not always from the most popular.  And, since each card was signed, you knew exactly where you stood with your classmates.
I always thought it was a mean, unkind way to celebrate a day that was supposed to revolve around love. 

My hometown was by no means affluent, we were miners, and steel workers.  Some families lived on the constant edge of poor, and handing out valentines was a thing some kids wished they could do.  As a result, I was thankful my mom always made sure each of us had a card to hand out to everybody, because if she had not some of the kids in my class would not have had a single card in their boxes.   Imagine how you would have felt?

By the time my kids were handing out valentines, schools had changed the rules,
you had to have a card for every child, and a list was sent home with the names of everybody in the class, so you knew how many packets of cards to buy.  There was no discrimination allowed.  There would be a little party with cookies and such, and the kids would come home with their little pile of cards.  I think perhaps they were looked at once or twice, but mostly they were in the trash by the end of the week.  I've often wondered about this ritual...what the heck is really the point?

Anyway, as I grew older, I could see the Valentine's Day holiday hype was meant for retailers who raked in the big bucks selling those little packets of cards, big boxes of chocolates, and dozens of red roses (that died in a week and went to the trash).  Oh, and worst of all were those exciting expectations you might get a diamond engagement ring...maybe...but mostly maybe not...while you are in some expensive restaurant dining on steak and lobster.  Which by the way, leaves a lot of girlfriends bewildered and dejected. mostly because of the 'maybe  not'.    Let's face this is a mean, sad, perplexing, dumbfounding, baffling day.

As a result, this is the tale I tell.  Don't wait for a holiday to tell someone you care.  If you want them to know that you love them, send them flowers for 'just because', or a card to say "hello, I hope you're well", or phone them because you want to hear their voice.

Holidays are rare, the people in your life deserve to know day by day they are valued, thought of, and cared about.  And, if you're busy and time flies by, simply lift your voice and pray...Please, Lord, be with my loved ones today.

Frankly, Miss Scarlett, "I didn't give a damn".

Normally when we have a snow storm I can't wait to grab my wonderful snow shovel and set to work.  This time, the shovel stayed in the garage through the whole ordeal.    On the first day the mailman did not appear felt I had no reason to go out...so I didn't.

Now I know my husband was not pleased with me over my decision.  He worked his whole life in the insurance business and realized early on that people are 'sue happy' and worried constantly that we might someday be sued for libel, so worked diligently to keep our place as safe as possible not just for ourselves but others, mostly others.  As a result, as soon as flakes began to fall it was my job to make sure there was always a clear, safe, un-snowed path from our curb to the front door.

Oh, don't be upset, I love shoveling snow, and hubby bought me the most wonderful lightweight snow shovel ever.  It worked like a snow plow, and I could clear a path in 'lickity brindle' time.  The dogs always loved these snow excursions, too. 

This time, well...frankly, Rett Butler and I 'didn't give a damn'.  I simply let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.  I stood or sat by the bay window and watched the stuff pile up.  It was beautiful.  Until it got so deep my puppy could no longer wade through it to 'do his duty'.  I did then clear the tiny patio off my sliding door as a convenience for him.  He was happy, so was I.

Then, we waited, and waited, and waited for the flakes to stop falling.  Days later they did.  By then over ten inches blanketed my property.  I was so glad I didn't shovel, because if I had, along that path the snow would have stacked up to 20 inches.  Do you have any idea how long it would take for 20 inches of snow to melt?  Let me tell you, it is a l-o-o-o--g time.  It gets ugly, grey, black with hints of yellow here and there...if you get my drift.

So, this morning most of the snow is gone.  There's a bit here and there where the wind gusts formed drifts, but it melted evenly for the most part, and my walks, driveway and most of the lawn are back to normal.  However, looking around my neighborhood I do see piles of icky snow from left-over snow men, and clumps where people had finally dug their vehicles out. 

Let me just say I'm so glad I didn't shovel....sorry honey, I just didn't give a damn.

Dearie, me.

When I woke up this morning I though sure it was Wednesday...I hate when that happens, because before all the fog has left my brain, the first thing I do is try to remember what day yesterday was, so I know what today is.  I kind of go through the repertoire of that day's activities.  Like, Monday is trash day.  Did I put the trash out?  Or, What TV show did I watch last nigh...oh yeah, that show is on Monday Night.

You know, that kind of thing.  Since the snow storm, the days have all been the same.
We are pretty much house bound, and one day has been a duplicate of the previous one.  Hence, my confusion this morning.

I yanked open the drapes hoping I would see ground, soggy as it might be.  Nope, same old, same old, tired, sickly looking white stuff everywhere.  Yuck!  Oh, it's shrunk quite a bit, but it's still to deep, (and slippery) now for Zorro to venture into it.  All the while I'm thinking, "What the heck day is this."  Its got to be Wednesday.

I pull open the living room drapes, there's my trash bin at the curb.  Oh, it must be Monday.  No...that's not right.  Didn't I get a call from the trash company saying something about no pick-up.  Ahhhhhhhhh.  What's my can doing at the curb?  Oh, I remember putting it there yesterday afternoon.  But yesterday was not Sunday...or, was it.

Dang!

Don't panic old woman.  You'll figure this out.  And, of course I do.  It's Tuesday.  There were two calls from the trash company, one a couple of days ago telling us that our recycle drivers were going to pick up the slack for the folks who missed their pick up day on Friday, and then a call yesterday afternoon saying they would pick up our neighborhood today.  And, that they were very, very sorry for any inconvenience they might have caused us.  Little do they know.

You should have seen me trying to get my can to the curb yesterday afternoon.  Dragging it through, inches and inches of snow.  Especially since my main concern was trying to stay on my feet.  Finally, after much ado and trash can wobbling I achieved my objective.  I kind of ground it down through the snow so that it would not lose its balance and topple over, spill its continence into the street making a meal for the local coyotes.

Then, I remembered we'd not had mail since Thursday, and the good ole' mailman eventually appeared at my box.  Another sign yesterday was Monday...after all when the most excitement you have is the trip to your box for an arm load of catalogs...
you tend to remember how many days you did NOT make the trip.  I could tell the guy did not have his heart in his job yesterday because I got two electric bills.  Mine and my neighbor's.  As I was handing her the bill I told her I was a generous person, but it was winter, and she'd have to pay her own.  We both had a good laugh over that. 

So, I finally have it clear in my mind that yesterday was Monday, today IS Tuesday, and everything is copasetic. 

I guess it doesn't matter the name of the day of the week, we only need to know that, and to quote Craig Ferguson... "Tomorrow just your future yesterday."