from the man cave!

 

Yes indeed.  Technology and little Billy have come to an accord.  I am now the owner of an I-pad Mini and a full size roll up Blue-tooth keypad!  This 21st century stuff is really kind of fun!  Now all I have to do is figure out how to use the thing.  Easy, you say?  Well, let me put things in perspective.  When we got home from the store last night I immediately wanted to be sure the little devil was fully charged, so I take out the cord and the plug  Now, I'm advanced enough to know the plug goes in the wall.  But there's this lightning adapter thing that goes into the I-pad.  Sure it does  If you know where to put it.  I search for the connection.  Cath searches for the connection.  It's hidden.  It's been a long day.  I'm tired.  I am willing to admit defeat.  So I put it down and pretend it doesn't bother me that I can't even plug the darn thing in.  That lasts about 25 seconds.  I will not let a piece of equipment get the best of me, I Google how to plug it in.  Let me tell you, there are hundreds of articles about how much power an I-pad mini has and all the things it has to offer!  NONE of them says how to power the devil up.  After 20 minutes of searching, I mistake upon a diagram that shows the different parts of the mini.  Voila--there it is--right where it should be.  I even figured out how to charge the key-pad.  I can now go to sleep assured that in the morning, I will be ready to go.  Morning comes.  The I-pad is charged.  I get to move on to the next challenge.  Aps!  Now understand, my flip phone doesn't do aps!  And there are a lot of them!  I could be looking at aps for the next thirty years.  I never have to leave home again!  I think I even found a bathroom ap!  Maybe not.  Anyhoo, here I sit in my man cave with the television playing oldies, the roofers next door running the air compressor so I can barely hear the oldies, realizing that you can teach an old dog new tricks.  It just takes a while!  If you need me in the next few days, you'll know where to find me!  Heck, just e me!  My Mini will let me know!  Oh, and the ezbz ap says to tell you you are loved!

Actually!

The thermometer on the dash says 92.  My stomach says Hu-Hot was a good choice for lunch.  In the back, riding peacefully, are 102 rolls of toilet paper, 36 rolls of paper towels, varietal dog products, and 50 pounds of sugar!  You gotta love Sam's club.  Of course  one of the major impeti of the trip was the Crystal sugar.  To my knowledge, I can't get the ten pound bags in town...at least for under $5.00 a bag.  That's my story and I'm sticking to it.  And Crystal sugar is what I need to make fudge.  Okay, maybe "need" is an over statement.   But it's my sugar of choice.  And that brings us to...
Fudge!  Lord how I wish I had kept track of the pounds of fudge that have left our house.  And it's all Adeline's fault!  Understand, when I was getting older (I still am forbidden to allude to the process as "growing up") Miss Lucille used to make GREAT fudge at Christmas.  So, my first year at Watertown Junior High, I decided to try my hand at making the sweet treat.  I took some to school, and Adeline, the custodian, thought it was good enough to have me make some for her.  I did.  Then she wondered about different favors, so little Billy started experimenting.  And of course, if it is made, it must be eaten!  Enter the concept of sharing.  And it just grew from there. I started the speaking thing, and the fudge just fit in.  Then there were the auctions, and people liked it.  The great thing is, I love to make it!  New flavors are a challenge, and what better way to share the love?  So...while the paper products are necessary, and the dog treats will be appreciated, the sugar will allow me in yet another way to tell you you are loved!

to the little things

Have you ever noticed how the "big" things in life have a tendency to take over?  For the 3,232,152 time, I was looking at the Africa pictures, trying to decide which elephant picture was best.  Where was the best shot of the warthog?  And did I really need 3180 pictures of giraffes?  When I cam across this shot.  As I recall, it was an extremely small capture--but one that really shows off!  The fighting hippos movie takes my breath away.  The lion, close enough to reach out a pet, sends chills down my spine.  The memory of the elephants chasing the lions is one I will never forget.  And yet, I come back to this shot.  It was just there...surviving...flourishing...making its own statement!  And it reminded me that spectacular doesn't have to be the biggest.  Spectacular doesn't have to be the loudest.  Spectacular doesn't have to grab the spotlight.  Spectacular is that small part of the big picture that somehow manages to create beauty...to quietly exist.  And isn't there that part of the grand scheme of things in all of us?  We have a tendency to miss the small, enticing things by getting caught up in the larger effect.  We need to spend a little more time reveling in the quiet, amazing parts that each of us has!  And that's my philosophical diatribe for the day!  By the way, the elephant, the giraffes, the lions, and the warthog will take center stage in the soon-to-be-created powerpoint, available soon for oral discussion and viewing.  But NEVER underestimate the beauty that is often hidden, and know how much you are loved!

to the next season

So...we're on our bikes, heading north on Broadway, when my olfactory sense sends a message to the part of my brain that's still working (god forbid it gets overloaded!);  autumn!  Granted, the temp is supposed to get to 90 for the next three days. But there was that distinct leaf smell that says change is on the way.  Oh, and football starts tomorrow night.  Whee!  (For those of you who don't really know me, the sarcasm in that "whee" was as great as you can imagine.  All I can say is I'm happy for my espoused and all my friends who enjoy the sport.)  There was a time when the end of a season marked direct changes in my life.  The end of summer meant back to work.  The end of autumn meant Christmas season.  The end of winter meant more winter, and the end of spring (that elusive little devil) meant school was out.  Now, amazingly enough, they all just pass.  Yeah, it's hot.  Yeah, it's cold.  But little changes in world.  Shorts become sweatpants.  Bare feet put on socks and shoes.  Bring out the sweatshirt.  Or go visit someone who is smart enough to be where it is warm!  One day follows another, and each in its own way provides a reason to celebrate, a reason to bitch, and a reason to reflect.  The trick is to spend the majority of my time on A and C!  B is kind of a useless waste of breath, and I really hate to miss any of that!  Perhaps it's the onset of my 64th year.  Perhaps it's the realization that my 45th class reunion is next week.  Perhaps it's the hips, the knees, the other varietal joints.  Or perhaps, it's just as time has passed, I've discovered it really doesn't matter what the temperature is, what the season is, or what foolishness we have embroiled ourselves in, EVERY day is amazing!  So bring it on.  Fall, leaves.  You'll be back next spring.  Fall, snow.  You'll be gone next summer.  Bloom tulips.  No matter how hard I have worked to kill you off, every spring you return!  And grow, zucchini.  I will find SOMEONE who wants you!  In short, the next season will be the best it can be.  I will embrace it.  I will cherish it, as I do you!  Know you are loved!

ode to the mundane

At 2:22, the mind was awake; the body, alas, not in sync
Sweet slumber eluded our Billy last night, affording some time for to think.
Oh try as he may, soporifics were nil, the tv was no help at all
The internet players of bridge were quite rude so off for a run was the call.

Upon his return, the joints they did ache, the breath it was short but alas
Whilst tiring out the body a bit, the mind it was still on full gas.
You see, in the morning, presenting was due and timing was first thought in line
10 minutes they said would be what he did have. 10 minutes?  That's simply and truly not fine.

Impossibly short for a point to be made, the intros last longer than that
10 minutes it was to be over and done...the chance, as they say, was quite fat.
But up to a challenge (well up any way!) the mind did its thing on its own
Ideas they did clamor around in that void, and seeds of solution were sown.

Scatology was the receptor of choice--now get the ideas in a group
What can you tell this wonderful crowd?  How will you excite them with poop?
The answer quite simple, it popped into head--don't treat them as if they were fools
Share concepts and thoughts and put it succinct--just tell them the primary rules.

Crap happens, it's true as we all can attest; Avoidance a pitiful ruse
Bad things seem to happen to all sad and good, on this you can ask them to muse.
Rule two a bit dicey, straightforward you go, at least at this time that's the plan
Not evenly divided this load full of crap whenever it locates the fan!

Conceptually speaking, the idea was great.  On these I could limit to ten
My hope was that audience make up would be--few women primarily men!
Of course I'm not stupid, my bases I cover...my psyche it gives me a nudge
They'll tolerate you and the message you have if in the end they all do get fudge!

I'm here to report that the speech it went well.  Receptive were they to the speech
It lasted 10 minutes 15 seconds more--that goal I surely did reach
And smiling they were at the end when I said, perception was what they did need
Get up get going recover my plea when crap did creep up and breed.

So now it is noontime and speech it is past, the eyelids are starting to droop
Perhaps when I'm sleeping the mind it will cease continually thinking of poop.
And oh, by the way, there was quite a stir--most smiling and nary a frown
When fudge it was offered to all who were there--you see it was soft--and was brown!

May all your slumbers be joyful and know that you are loved!

Bond...James Bond

If you want to stimulate a true controversy, simply ask the question, "Who is the best James Bond?"  The obvious answer is Sean Connery, but there are those aficionados who will proclaim with all certainty, Roger Moore.  Oh sure, you may get a few Lazenby's, perhaps a few Brosnins, and this Daniel fellow of late, but for sheer gut-wrenching, post pubescent excitement, no one touches Connery.  After all, he was the first--the prototype.  Understand--if Ian Fleming wrote it, I read it.  If there's been a James Bond movie, I've seen it.  That, of course, makes me an expert!  And from my lofty position of Know-it-all, I believe I have just put the controversy to rest. 
You may well be asking yourself, what the heck does this have to do with anything--especially on Labor Day?  Following a four hour pontoon picnic with our family on one of the most strikingly gorgeous summer days we have had, my sunburned body was ready for a little light escapism to cap off the day.  Well, it seems as if there was a JB marathon on one of the 230,415 channels on cable tv celebrating today (a correlation that I simply cannot understand) and I managed to find it!  Voila!  I immediately became 14 again.  Never mind the fact that Mr. Bond was a stereotypical chauvinist--a womanizer--a sexist of the highest order.  Never mind that the solutions he found invariably led to the demise of hundreds of human beings.  His quick wit, his clever Q-esque contraptions, and his bevy of beauties overcame those minor peccadilloes.  He was, after all, the good bad boy we all wanted to be.  And of course he always beat the bad guys, got the girl, and left us smiling!  The proverbial happy ending.
Wait...I think I get it.  Every person out there who labors allows us to search for our own happy ending.  Whether they protect us, provide for us, create for us, build for us, feed us, transport us, clothe us, inspire us, heal us, teach us...you get the picture...we are blessed with the opportunity to find that which makes us happy.  There is no way we could exist alone.  It is the hundreds of thousands of workers who toil to make our lives better.  And it is these individuals for whom today exists. 
Clever, these network professionals.  Who would have known how subtle they could be in reminding us to say thanks to the people that make life better?  See how well they have created a tie between and among the entire nation...a Bond, if you will, that should be celebrated!  And I do!  Know you are appreciated and loved!

Honkin' big cucumbers

You gardeners know of what I speak:  those wily cucumbers that manage to hide from you for a significant amount of time and then you trip over them because they are so large?!  Well, apparently my Y chromosome has truly been working whilst picking, and day before yesterday I discovered about 10 of these behemoths.  Now, you have to understand, sometimes I have this little stubborn streak.  Says I, there must be something to do with these honkers.  So to Google I go for a recipe for mock apple ring pickles (we had received some from the neighbor a couple years ago and Cath really liked them, so...).  Here's the process.  Pick the stupid things.  Peel the stupid things.  Slice the stupid things.  Core the stupid things.  Find a five gallon bucket, mix the pickling lime with the water and place the stupid things in this mixture.  Cover and let sit 24 hours.  Yes.  24 hours.  Drain the stupid things.  Rinse the stupid things until the water runs clear.  Place the stupid things back into the five gallon bucket with ice water.  Let the stupid things soak for 3 hours.  Combine the brine ingredients.  Place the stupid things in the brine on the stove and simmer for 2 hours.  Meanwhile, mix up the pickling melange and bring it to a boil, waiting for the tiny red hots to melt.  (Have you ever really tried to melt red hots?  FOREVER!)  Sterilize the jars.  Sterilize the lids and screw on caps.  Drain the stupid things.  Place the stupid things one by one into the jars.  Cover with the hot liquid.  Lid and screw the stupid things (by now, the most appropriate four words I can think of!).  Place on counter and cover with a cloth.  Wait for the stupid things to seal.  Pop.  Pop.  Pop.  Pop.  Pop.  Pop.  Pop.  Pop.  Pop.  Pop!  (Of course, this was over a 12 hour period, the sound of which was a blessing to my ears!)  Now to wait the two weeks before we can see if they are even edible!  Betty Crocker, eat your heart out!
You may have noticed a bit of redundancy in the above literary effort.  I am totally convinced it is not the cucumbers that were stupid.  Next time, when I find one of those big suckers, it goes in the compost bin.  Once bitten, twice shy!  Stay tuned for the taste test to see how truly stupid I may have been. 
May all your cucumbers be picked at just the right size, may all your efforts be timely and enjoyable, and if you ever have 53 hours to spend, let me know.  I have a stupid idea for you!  What's not so stupid?  The fact that you are loved!