Saying yes...

Karen's been a writer for as long as I've known her

We were visiting my parents last weekend. The summer has been filled with so many other things that a visit with them had yet not been possible. Judging from the look of the rest of the summer, last weekend was the only weekend it was going to happen so off we went.

Going back to my hometown is always a mixed bag of emotions for me. I loved where I grew up, but it was also a nice place to leave when the time came. Going back is always a little dicey. I never know which ghosts are going to show up and refuse to leave. I never know which memories will be messing with my psyche. Some trips are easy and the memories welcome. Some trips are overwhelming and I try to find the balance between the person I am now and the person I was then and try to reconcile the passage of time. I can go back home and have it feel like no time has passed and yet people and places around me tell me it has... or sometimes I am the one screaming that it has. It was a nice trip though... could have been longer, but this summer wasn't permitting it.

One good piece of news I received while back home was that a high school classmate of mine was having her first book published! I was so excited for her. Karen Day and I were not close friends, but we knew each other. She knew I liked to paint and draw, I knew she liked to write. She was very into tennis and Fleetwood Mac and had me do drawings of Vitas Gerulitis and Stevie Nicks for her. The memory of drawing Vitas particularly stands out in my mind because his dominant forearm was so massive. No matter how many times I drew it as I saw it, it still looked wrong. I'd probably also cringe at how I drew Stevie's teeth. Teeth were never easy.

One other thing Karen asked me to do was read a book she had written. I'm still not sure why she asked me, as I said, we weren't that close, but I was honored... honored and amazed that someone had the determination and focus to write a book while in high school! It was obvious that Karen was going to be a writer. No, it was obvious that Karen was a writer.

Over the years I've heard snippets about what Karen was up to. Her mother and mine occasionally golf and play bridge together. I knew that Karen had written for numerous magazines, Tennis being one of them. She even got a chance to interview Arthur Ashe before his death, but I had never heard anything about books until this past weekend. Her first book, Tall Tales, a story for middle graders, came out this past May. Her second book, No Cream Puffs, is being published next June.

I feel like I've come full circle... thinking back to reading Karen's first book oh so long ago and now being able to buy my daughter her first published book. I'll be reading it as well. Keep it in mind if you have a *tweener* or know a middle schooler who likes to read.

I leave town for one weekend...

... and Idyllopus changes everything around. Apparently Idyllopus was bored. She's changed the design of her blog. Even the comments section is different. Suddenly every comment seems to hold more weight, more importance! She may have done this because she was bored, but frankly, I think she did it to hide the fact that she consumes plebeian cheese.

Her place is a plebeian cheese-eaters safe zone. You're allowed to comment even if you eat cheddar!!! Your secret will be safe with her and your comments will look smarter than ever!

side effects might include...

I keep hearing a commercial for a new medicine to treat Restless Leg Syndrome. I have on occasion had RLS. I attribute it to too much coffee too late in the day, or to being stressed. I tend to bicycle in my sleep when I'm stressed. It doesn't happen all of the time so I have never considered the need to take medicine for it. I suppose if I were doing it every night, an Rx might be alluring. 

The latest medication, which I will not name... because I can't remember it... I've also got Restless Brain Syndrome... has some side effects. As the commercial continues, you hear the usual list of what might happen... dry mouth, stomach upset, blah, blah, blah. And then, when you least expect it, they slip in, SUDDEN SEXUAL URGES AND UNCONTROLLABLE GAMBLING!

Wha???

I don't know what you think, but those are some pretty major side effects. I suppose we're all zapped with sudden sexual urges, but we can choose to act or not. This almost sounds like the control option has been taken away and impulses rule! I'm wondering how bad your RLS has to be to take the chance that you might wager away your house and retirement fund or might get it on with the passing mailman. I think I'll settle for bicycling  in my sleep.

The internetz work in amazing ways

Grizzled got some wonderful tickets for yesterday's presentation of Wicked. They're an example of the kind of perks that sometimes come along with his otherwise soul-deadening job. The show was at 7:30 so the girls and I headed into the city early in order to see his new office building (they moved back in May) and then to catch a bite of dinner.

It dawned on me during our glacial-speed drive into the city that I might be able to catch up with Claire! I still have a hard time realizing that internet people are actually real people and that I might actually see some of them in the flesh during a regular day.

There was only one problem. I did not have Claire's phone number and couldn't remember where she said she worked. I knew the building where she worked, but couldn't remember the name of the company.

We arrived at Grizzled's office around 4:30 so I figured I'd send an email, hoping to catch her before she left. Unfortunately TypePad was down. I could not access Claire's site. How could I find Claire?!?! I did what anyone would do, I emailed Lance. I know Lance never leaves his computer and I actually remembered his email. BG, I would have emailed you, but I knew you were feeling under the weather and also, since you changed your email oh so many months ago, I still can't remember the new one! So, yes, I emailed Lance. I asked him to please email Claire, give her Grizzled's office number as well as his cell phone number (I did a no-no and had left my cell in the car) and then I'd wait and see. Would an email to NY put me in touch with someone who was possibly mere blocks away???

We went on with our plans. Grizzled showed me the posh new office setting. They're on the 39th+ floors and have gorgeous views of the city and the lake. He showed me their fabulous lounge where he stayed late one night when invited to join some fellow workers in a round of Guitar Hero. (FYI Brando and Chuckles, Grizzled did NOT rock. :( He can play a real guitar, but apparently this guitar was beyond mastering in one evening), but still no call from Claire. What was I thinking. It was a long shot. I was kicking myself for forgetting that Claire was real and not virtual.

Around 6 o'clock, while eating dinner at a lovely sidewalk cafe, with pigeons and garbage trucks swirling around us (I MISS THE CITY!!!), Grizzled's cell rang. It was Claire! Unfortunately Claire was already at home, miles away from where we sat, but it was still Claire! The message had gotten through. I actually got to talk to Claire on the phone, like a real person!! She has a voice! And as I was sitting there talking to Claire, it hit me again how bizarre the internet and blogging can be. Here is a women who lives relatively close to me. I may have walked past her many times, but I only know her through the computer, and when it dawned on me yesterday that she might only be blocks away, the only way I could figure out to get in touch with her was via a man who lives half a country away... but it worked! The internetz are indeed an amazing and bizarre thing.

Have mosquitoes taken over this site?!?

It has been suggested by one he/she/it/bird (aka, plover) that this site and its creator, have gone over to the dark side and have become pro-mosquito. I am not pro-mosquito, I am merely anti-spider-in-my-home. Spiders can live in my yard, spiders can live anywhere around me, preferably at least 10 yards away. I'm not sure that makes me pro-mosquito...

Plover has suggested that the mosquitoes have made a deal with me... he/she/it/bird wrote in a comment:

"You sold out, didn't you?

What kind of nefarious cookie ingredients did they offer you?"

I did not sell out... as far as I know. I was, however, baking cookies with my lamblets yesterday and what did I find on my kitchen counter this morning??

Apparently the mosquitoes don't have the steady hand that I do...

Plover, I think this one was meant for you!

The mosquitoes also wanted me to add the following YouTube tune by the wonderful Peggy Lee. Most people think she's singing about a man. She's not.

She's singing about a mosquito!

Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the garden... The Snagradish LIVES!!!

Update photo at the bottom:

Grizzled was doing some much needed weeding this morning. Along with the weeds, he pulled out the few remaining radishes that had never been picked. They're waaaay beyond eating, but they needed to be taken out.

This is what he pulled out of the radish patch... Dear LORD! What has nature unleashed on us? Was not the first Snagradish imposing enough??? Looking back, that one must have been the Son of Snagradish... while this one was busy grumbling and snarling beneath the soil. I always wondered why our dog refused to walk past, instead scurrying to the other side of the path. I always wondered why the lamblets, when picking the radishes last time, refused to pick from this one section. Now I know why.

And I have absolutely NO IDEA what that lavender root thingie is... maybe a Snagradish Wannabe.

I have cleaned the mutant radishes and still have all fingers. Here is a photo of them with the majority of the dirt washed off and their stems removed.

As I look at them, I can't help wondering if purple radish 1 and purple radish 2 weren't twins, but one took all of the nutrients for itself...

Of course I realize I'm going to have to taste this, if only a nibble. I want to see if this big, honkin' radish doesn't taste more like a turnip. Its flesh though, was definitely that of a radish and its aroma... oh my... it was a very pungent radish aroma. My glasses steamed, my hair frizzed, my eyebrows singed ever so slightly.  I'm also wondering if the little lavender Wannabe is going to taste lame or more like Wasabi... pale is not always a guarantee of mellow.

OK, I just dug out the old order. These radish seeds came from Henry Fields. The package of seeds we ordered were called, "Champion". They are described as "Always crisp and delightfully sweet, even at silver-dollar size! (It says nothing of tennis ball size.) Really red (red?? Are you sure??) really smooth, with a mild-flavored white flesh.

Hmmm, mild? We'll see.

 

Fossil Futility

3 Bulls! as some of you know, runs a spot called Delicious or Disgusting in which one of their illustrious members samples some epicurean delight and deems it either Delicious or Disgusting. I must admit, they've been pretty much on the money with some of their critiques... of course, taste is subjective... but all in all, I must say, I'd pretty much trust these gents (except for plover... plover eats bugs).

Mr. Pinko Punko recently reviewed Ben and Jerry's, Fossil Fuel and gave it high marks. He even said the piece that went flying to the floor (he couldn't wait until it had been properly warmed) and was covered with dog hair was STILL delicious. Well, dear lord! Who wouldn't want to try that?? At least sans the dog hair.

After reading this rave review, I decided if we were in the market for ice cream, we'd give it a try.

Let me just say, "Gackety, gack, gack, gack!" I'm now not sure if Pinko's review was a rave or the rants of a raving lunatic!!!

Fossil Fuel, according to ice cream gods, B&J is: Sweet Cream Ice Cream with Chocolate Cookie pieces, Fudge Dinosaurs and a Fudge Swirl. I like chocolate, but found this to be a tad redundant. Personally, I think if you want that much chocolate, go buy a candy bar...

The next thing I noticed about Fossil Fuel was the GRIT. It was incredibly gritty! It took me back to my early childhood days of thinking it was OK to continue eating the apple you had just dropped in the sandbox. I did indeed taste the fudge, but the fudge was also gritty. I'm not a huge fudge fan, but if I'm going to have fudge, I prefer the creamier varieties. And speaking of creamy varieties... if I'm going to have ice cream, I'm prefer the creamy varieties! Is it not ice CREAM after all??? If you want ice grit, get a snow cone!

I must confess though that I am wondering if my grocer did not unload this ice cream fast enough to stop melting. Some of the *grit* could have been the result of thawing and refreezing thus compromising the ice cream integrity and replacing it with integritty. I also know that the cookie crumbs would lend grit, but I don't mind Cookies and Cream so why the problem with this variant?

In fairness, the lamblets loved it while I was done testing it after three spoonfuls. My eldest lamblet proclaimed it quite good and said that fossils are found in dirt and dirt is gritty so that aspect didn't bother her, but added to the realism. She was also really hungry and probably would have eaten head cheese had it been offered.

All in all I am not so upset that Fossil Fuel does not live up to preconceived ideas... I am more or less just disillusioned with one Mr. Pinko Punko... What's he going to do next??? Try to sell me on the rarity that is WHITE SUGAR?!?!!

Pinko is trying to tell me that this whole ice cream parting of ways is my fault... but I think he knows he is largely to blame for leading people astray. He has, after all, gone underground. Sure, we're supposed to think it's all because he's waiting for the Harry Potter release to be followed by a weekend of solitary reading... but I know better.

I can wait for you, Pinko Punko... I can wait a looooong, loooooong time!!!

 

I miss my Lettuce o' Love

Our backyard butts up against the long side of a backyard of a retired couple that lives around the corner. The two yards are divided by a waist-high fence and a straggly row of Mock Oranges. The retired gentleman, Charlie, is in his 70’s, suffers the damage done by a stroke, and yet is an extreme gardener. He’s usually out there all the time, keeping things in line. I have never seen a neater garden. Grizzled and I love to garden as well, but we usually run short on time and the weeds get the upper hand. We’re also big on letting volunteers grow. You never know what’s going to pop up. We’ve had the errant tomatoes, a volunteer celosia, a marigold that grew out of a crack between our driveway and our porch, just to name a few. I like seeing what botanical presents I might get. Charlie is not like this. If he didn’t plant it, it doesn’t stay. There are no weeds that my eye can discern in Charlie’s yard, there are no plants growing beyond their allotted space.

Since Charlie is often in his backyard and I am in mine, we chat over the fence. Sometimes this means meeting in the middle of the mock oranges, sometimes it means finding an open spot over the raspberries. He eyes our yard and you can pick up a little bit of disapproval. I mentioned one year that we were canning tomato sauce, a tradition from Grizzled’s youth, and he bellowed, “You can’t make sauce with Beefsteak tomatoes!!! You need plum tomatoes! Romas!” I reassured him that we knew this and were indeed canning the Romas. The other tomatoes were for eating off the vine.

One day Charlie showed up at my door with the gift of acorn squash. What he really wanted to do though was tell me that I was neglecting the raspberries that were growing on our side of the fence. He said technically they were his since they came from his plants and if I was not going to pick them, he would. I told him anytime he felt the urge to hop the fence, he was more than welcome. I truly hoped he was feeling that spry. I also told him that technically the ones he was referring to were ours since we had planted that bush and even if we hadn’t, they were now growing on our side of the property line.

Charlie means well though and I like him. Since we have moved in, he has bestowed upon me, many gifts of produce. He has given me peaches from his miniature peach tree. He has given me rhubarb plants that are now thriving in our yard. We’ve gotten raspberries before we had our own, and lots of wonderful fresh lettuce. Charlie liked to give me lettuce. It seems his wife only likes Iceberg lettuce. I’m not surprised. Charlie would grow all of this wonderful lettuce, but there was always too much to eat. He knew I liked it so I got plenty. It became apparent that Charlie not only liked lettuce, Charlie liked me.  He would whisper over the fence and motion for me to come over, always with a produce gift in hand and a gardening tip, maybe a recipe for the best way to serve something. Grizzled and I started referring to the gifts of lettuce as the “Lettuce O’ Love”! One day however, when Charlie and I were meeting in the overgrown Mock Oranges, he asked me if I would hold his hand. I didn’t hesitate. I grew up in a family full of hugs and hand-holdings, but as I held his hand, I noticed a distant look in his eyes. He didn’t appear to be all there. He then asked me for a kiss. I told him I was flattered, but that I was a married woman and out of respect for Grizzled would have to decline. He said we didn’t need to tell Grizzled. I told him, but I would know and that wouldn’t work. I got out of the garden as fast as I could and encouraged Grizzled to leave the Mock Oranges as unruly as they were.

I hate to say it, but I would go out less and less when I saw Charlie out there. His stroke had not only changed his walking and his face, it had changed his mind. He seemed to have lost certain filters and I just didn’t feel like putting myself or him in the position of awkwardness again. But the gifts of produce kept coming. Charlie would send Grizzled in with lettuce or raspberries for me and would tell him that they were specifically for me and that he was to make me close my eyes and open my mouth, that he had a gift from Charlie. Grizzled was usually laughing, but I was kind of creeped out.

This past year, something happened to Charlie that has him confined to a wheelchair. He has some undiagnosable pain that won't allow him to stand for more than a minute. His grandson is doing the majority of the work out in the yard, his garden is still superb, but Charlie is not. At first I was kind of relieved knowing I would not hear him calling to me from the Mock Oranges, but as the summer has progressed, it makes me sad. That man was his garden. His garden was what kept him going. It has got to be torture to not be able to get in it and get dirty.

This year there have been no gifts of raspberries or peaches… no Lettuce o’ Love. I never thought I’d say it, but I miss it. I miss seeing Charlie outside dancing with his yard and I miss my gifts of produce from a man who probably misses his mind and his body. I miss my Lettuce o’ Love.

Color me gullible...

Warning for AG: The word *cool* has been used in this post approx. 2-3 times. It's a habit retained from youth, one I'll probably take to my grave. Proceed at your own risk! :)

Blue Girl and I were chatting yesterday. She was relating a story where she had succumbed to her gullible side. She was being a little hard on herself, but I could relate. I can be as cynical as they come, I can be as wary as they come, but under the right circumstances, I can suspend my disbelief and can buy something hook, line and sinker. Frame something in the right way, say it with enough authority, and I will believe. I will see something with new eyes. As Grizzled has often said, I'm a marketing man's dream.

Yesterday, in an attempt to make BG feel a little better about her moments of gullibility, I shared one of mine:

When we moved into our current house, it was late September. Autumn was in the air. My eldest lamblet was excited about the move, but was also missing her old home. I tried to throw myself into activities that might distract her and make her see that we would build good memories here as well.

One of those activities was making Halloween cut-outs. Grizzled and I had been shopping for something we needed for our new place when we stopped into the almighty William-Sonoma. I was lured by their Halloween Cookie kit. Oh hell, I was lured by everything. Everything looked so pretty, so functional, SO NECESSARY! But I kept my sights on that lovely little kit. It had 6 great cookie cutters in it. It had tubes of special orange and black chocolate to be used for decorating. It had various course, colored sugars. I bought it, rushed it home and broke into the box to see what was waiting! I noticed there was black and orange sugar, but there was another sugar container! I wondered what color it would be... Orange and black were obvious Halloween choices... maybe there was a yellow, maybe a purple.  I pulled out the container. IT WAS WHITE!  How cool! As I sat there reveling in my white decorating sugar, I thought of the wonderful ghosts we could make. Again, how cool! White sugar!

Grizzled just looked at me like I was INSANE! It took me a bit, but I realized what I was saying, what I was reveling in.

God, I never lived that down.

Life is a highway...

I don’t remember where I saw it, but some time in the past few months, I read an article that said if you and your mate travel well together, especially by car, then you will no doubt be able to survive the journey that is marriage.

Grizzled and I had our first *date* 19 years ago this week. I accentuate date for my own reasons. He was a very nice man and was one of the few that I felt incredibly comfortable with. I, however, saw this summer fling as going nowhere... 

In a couple of weeks, we’ll celebrate our 15^th wedding anniversary. I’ve never been one of those people to not be able to say I was wrong. :)

When Grizzled and I got married, we were hoping to go to Alaska on our honeymoon, but time and money were telling us that was not in the cards so we planned a trip that might have some of the flavor of  of the bigger, grander trip. We were going to drive out to Montana, spend some time in Glacier National Park, and then spend a few days at a beautiful bed and breakfast on Flathead Lake. This particular B&B was a refurbished one room schoolhouse.

So... we rented a cushy Lincoln Continental with unlimited mileage (they must have hated us upon our return) and we drove. We did lots of driving.  "Life is a Highway" was popular that summer and played often on the radio.

Our only reservations were at the B&B. The rest of the trip was going to be winging it. Our first stop was in a crappy Quality Inn in Fargo, ND, but it was our honeymoon, we didn't care. Grizzled had even brought in his camping coffee gear so that I could have morning coffee. Grizzled had been with me long enough to know I like morning coffee and by morning, I mean as soon as my eyes are open. He had been with me through the stage of keeping my coffee maker at the foot of my bed so that when the alarm went off I could merely lean forward and push, "On"!

Our next stop was Havre, Montana. It was dark, it was late and we were tired. Havre looked large enough to have a variety of hotels/motels, but what we didn't know beforehand and what one chiding clerk told us was that the state fair was in town! All rooms had been booked up for weeks! There would be nothing to have in Havre. We found one creepy drive-up motel that charged $23 per night. The clerk kept asking Grizzled if he was sure he wanted the room for the entire night and not just for an hour because they also charged by the hour... wink, wink.

The next leg of our trip took us to Gustin Orchard where we had a few days of solitude and creature comforts. This was followed by a night of camping in Glacier National Park and then poof, we were winding our way back home.

All in all, we must have spent 65% of our honeymoon, driving. We were on no ones schedule, but our own. Having taken the northern route to Montana, we drove back home via Wyoming, saw Devils Tower (Dick Cheney's home, I believe), went through South Dakota, saw Wall Drug, Mt. Rushmore, and in the *in process* Crazy Horse Memorial. We also did a drive-by of the Badlands. Ironically, we had our only fight in the Badlands. Grizzled was driving at this point and I was navigating. We had intended on doing the much touted *scenic turnout*. We missed the scenic turnout which Grizzled attributed to my lax navigational skills. I have wonderful navigational skills when I have a map and dammit, I had one! I had a brand-spanking-new atlas! It turns out, Rand McNally oopsed on that one and I was vindicated.

If I recall, the last leg of our trip was from Pierre, South Dakota to Chicago. We easily did it in one day. The entire trip was wonderful, was full of lots of unplanned adventures, but best of all, Grizzled and I were just in the car with nowhere to be, nothing we had to do, and plenty of time to talk.

We have since taken many trips. On occasion we have flown, but we are never against getting in the car and driving. We've gone to Atlanta in one day, to Ontario in one day. We once did a 10-day, spring break tour of the Southwest. We hit Nebraska, Colorado, New Mexico, Texas and Oklahoma and this trip was done with two young children and two dogs in tow. We travel well together.

Someone once asked my oldest lamblet if she had a DVD player in her car for those long trips. She said no, she took books, but other than that, she preferred to look out the window at the view. "What's the point of going somewhere else if you're not going to look at the changing scenery?" she asked. I thought she had a good point.

I like long trips because I know I have Grizzled to myself. We talk a lot, we solve a lot of the world's problems, sometimes we just sit next to each other and enjoy the silence of the ride and wonder when the next *hysterical marker* will appear. We've always traveled well together and judging from the fact that we've been together for 19 years, that first long trip must have been a good omen.