I haven't been here so if you've been looking for me, I'm still around. Been trying to dispose of junk, junque, and just plain crap. In between, I've been shampooing carpet, a section at a time. I cannot believe it's Holiday Time again. And as usual, I try to do everything at once and end up by not finishing any of it.
I spent Thanksgiving Day doing exactly what I wanted to do. Which was nothing. Now as usual, my family dinner will happen on Sunday, and I'll enjoy it because someone else will cook it for me. It's a tradition I started many years ago when my youngest two always had "other plans" (read girlfriend) and I began accepting invitations from older, already married, sons. So I would cook my family dinner on Friday or Saturday, depending on individual schedules. It worked quite well for many years until the youngest got married and had his own home and family. He went to his in-laws on THE day, and I to somewhere else. So youngest's wife decided that she would continue my tradition and have a dinner for me. (I don't do in-laws, even though I'm invited.) Don't misunderstand - I have nothing against in-laws, but they come in large quantities and I don't do well in crowds, unless it's my own crowd. And even my own crowd, much as I love 'em, is only tolerable for limited periods.
I had to go out today for milk, the bank, and the dry cleaners. You will notice that I did not mention Black Friday Door Busters, which are, to my mind, a bunch of hoo-hah. Or as Colonel Potter used to say, mule muffins. Haven't heard any reports of violence, but I'm sure that somewhere in the country it got out of hand and tomorrow's news will have all the gory details.
The bank wasn't busy, and I was in, made a deposit, and out in less than three minutes. The market, where I bought the milk, wasn't too busy and I was in and out of there with dispatch. The dry cleaner's had two ahead of me but still not a long delay. I did make an unscheduled stop at the hardware store for some lamp repair stuff - same story, in and out. My Black Friday commerce took me all of about 35 minutes, including travel time. No bargains, but no crazy crowds either.
So I will wait for my Sunday turkey and smirk at the wild and wacky people who got up at 3:30 AM when they could have slept in.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Huh?
It's Hallowe'en and while I am prepared in case little goblins show up, at 7:30PM, none has so far. Of course, there isn't one light on in the whole street. I heard from someone that pickin's were slim on her street as well - blames it on the economy.
Meanwhile, I pass the time watching something called Sister Wives. Yet another reality show on TLC. Where do they find these people?
Anyway, premise is this polygamous family who "want to show everyone what our life style is like". Oooookay. What it's like is three women who appear to be normal, but the fact that the weasel they are "married" to makes me gag has me wondering how normal they could possibly be. And now he has added another "wife" to the mix. Along with her three children from a previous marriage. Now this fool has three other wives with an aggregate of 13 children (all his) and he's slobbering over this new chick who doesn't appear to have much to say except, "howdy".
All the while, one of the "old" wives is preggers with her sixth child. All three of the koo-koos live in the same house, divided up into three suites so each wife and her offspring has their own living quarters. Hubs spends rotational nights with each one. His interaction with the kids seems limited and they don't seem too enamored of Dear Old Dad. F'rinstance, when he was packing to visit Candidate #4, who was living four hours away, none of the kids was around to say goodby to him.
But that's none of my concern.
Now that the new wife/concubine/mistress/whatever is "legal", whatever that means to them, she is ensconced in a home half a mile away from the "compound", a place of her own which none of the other three have. Would I be ticked? You betcha!
Mr. OMYGODWHATDOTHEYSEEINHIM has a job in advertising, and the word is that he has lost clients because of the revelation on TV of his life style. Meri, the original wife, was the only one employed outside the home, and has lost her job (in the mental health field!!) since the advent of the show. But I'm sure that TLC is providing plenty of dollars to this freak show. The authorities are taking a long look at the group, since polygamy is illegal. Funny, even if the marriages are not true civic unions, it is apparently against the law where they live to present yourself as married if you aren't.
To add to the nauseating factor, he has the gall to drag some of his old kids and a couple of the Stepford Wives down south to help pack and move Miss Dumb-As-A-Stump and her kids to her new home. (To make it more interesting, one of her kids has Asperger's Syndrome, which I'm guessing entitles her to some gubmint money.)
How these unfortunate children are being dragged into this is making me cringe. It isn't as if they signed on to live a polygamous life-style. And they don't go to public school. And the daughter who wants to go to the Naval Academy doesn't have a prayer because her education is limited by the schooling she is receiving.
We've had our share of multiple births, and dwarfs who want to prove they can be self-sufficient, and people who hoard and people who need intervention for their addictions. Every Tom, Dick, and Mary bakes cakes, and fishing for crabs, lobsters, and other sea creatures is supposed to be riveting entertainment.
All of this reality is becoming way too unreal. And far creepier than the Hallowe'en kids that I wish were here instead.
Meanwhile, I pass the time watching something called Sister Wives. Yet another reality show on TLC. Where do they find these people?
Anyway, premise is this polygamous family who "want to show everyone what our life style is like". Oooookay. What it's like is three women who appear to be normal, but the fact that the weasel they are "married" to makes me gag has me wondering how normal they could possibly be. And now he has added another "wife" to the mix. Along with her three children from a previous marriage. Now this fool has three other wives with an aggregate of 13 children (all his) and he's slobbering over this new chick who doesn't appear to have much to say except, "howdy".
All the while, one of the "old" wives is preggers with her sixth child. All three of the koo-koos live in the same house, divided up into three suites so each wife and her offspring has their own living quarters. Hubs spends rotational nights with each one. His interaction with the kids seems limited and they don't seem too enamored of Dear Old Dad. F'rinstance, when he was packing to visit Candidate #4, who was living four hours away, none of the kids was around to say goodby to him.
But that's none of my concern.
Now that the new wife/concubine/mistress/whatever is "legal", whatever that means to them, she is ensconced in a home half a mile away from the "compound", a place of her own which none of the other three have. Would I be ticked? You betcha!
Mr. OMYGODWHATDOTHEYSEEINHIM has a job in advertising, and the word is that he has lost clients because of the revelation on TV of his life style. Meri, the original wife, was the only one employed outside the home, and has lost her job (in the mental health field!!) since the advent of the show. But I'm sure that TLC is providing plenty of dollars to this freak show. The authorities are taking a long look at the group, since polygamy is illegal. Funny, even if the marriages are not true civic unions, it is apparently against the law where they live to present yourself as married if you aren't.
To add to the nauseating factor, he has the gall to drag some of his old kids and a couple of the Stepford Wives down south to help pack and move Miss Dumb-As-A-Stump and her kids to her new home. (To make it more interesting, one of her kids has Asperger's Syndrome, which I'm guessing entitles her to some gubmint money.)
How these unfortunate children are being dragged into this is making me cringe. It isn't as if they signed on to live a polygamous life-style. And they don't go to public school. And the daughter who wants to go to the Naval Academy doesn't have a prayer because her education is limited by the schooling she is receiving.
We've had our share of multiple births, and dwarfs who want to prove they can be self-sufficient, and people who hoard and people who need intervention for their addictions. Every Tom, Dick, and Mary bakes cakes, and fishing for crabs, lobsters, and other sea creatures is supposed to be riveting entertainment.
All of this reality is becoming way too unreal. And far creepier than the Hallowe'en kids that I wish were here instead.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
The Sunday Funnies
There was a time, maybe about 25 years ago, that I couldn't call my Sunday complete until I had read the comics section. I had favorites, of course, and some I never bothered to read at all. Prince Valiant was one I never read. That said, I admired the astounding attention to detail of the artist, and that was a case where I just "looked at the pitchers". Now the comics section had changed quite a bit from the time I was a child. Some of my old favorites were gone - Smilin' Jack; Li'l Abner; Dick Tracy; Alley Oop; Mary Worth; Gasoline Alley - lost either to discontinuation of the strip or because the strip no longer existed. Over the years, lots more of them disappeared and were replaced with some stuff that just didn't hold my interest. And so, as I aged, I was less and less interested in the funnies.
Until this week. The last time anyone read the funnies to me, it was Fiorello LaGuardia, Mayor of NYC, who read them on the radio during a newspaper strike so as not to deprive people of the continuity of the strips that were following a story-line. But this week, my five-year-old granddaughter read Hagar the Horrible to me, giving it a twist that only she could conceive.
Bearing in mind that she is in Kindergarten, and while she is accomplished at printing her name, first AND last, and her sister's name, she has not yet learned to read, but she enjoys looking at the pictures and telling the story as she perceives it.
Thus it was that Hagar, (the boy) was dressed for Hallowe'en. He was dressed like a "warrior" who "kills people" and they "don't get alive again". And Helga, "the girl" is dressed "like a Grandmom" and "she cooks".
I'm sure the rest of the story was just as compelling, but I had to leave the room so as not to insult the child by laughing. (By this time, I was actually holding back a snort! Or maybe that's a snert?)
After regaining my composure, I sat with her and turned the page, and she was barely able to contain her delight when she realized there were even more comics on the inside pages. I offered to read them to her but she said she would read them herself. Her interpretations could actually get me interested in the funnies once again.
There's nothing like the point of view of a five-year-old to make us realize how jaded we have become.
Until this week. The last time anyone read the funnies to me, it was Fiorello LaGuardia, Mayor of NYC, who read them on the radio during a newspaper strike so as not to deprive people of the continuity of the strips that were following a story-line. But this week, my five-year-old granddaughter read Hagar the Horrible to me, giving it a twist that only she could conceive.
Bearing in mind that she is in Kindergarten, and while she is accomplished at printing her name, first AND last, and her sister's name, she has not yet learned to read, but she enjoys looking at the pictures and telling the story as she perceives it.
Thus it was that Hagar, (the boy) was dressed for Hallowe'en. He was dressed like a "warrior" who "kills people" and they "don't get alive again". And Helga, "the girl" is dressed "like a Grandmom" and "she cooks".
I'm sure the rest of the story was just as compelling, but I had to leave the room so as not to insult the child by laughing. (By this time, I was actually holding back a snort! Or maybe that's a snert?)
After regaining my composure, I sat with her and turned the page, and she was barely able to contain her delight when she realized there were even more comics on the inside pages. I offered to read them to her but she said she would read them herself. Her interpretations could actually get me interested in the funnies once again.
There's nothing like the point of view of a five-year-old to make us realize how jaded we have become.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
What Shall We Name the Baby?
I was sitting here the other day pondering the names we give our children, and wondering what it is that drives us when faced with giving to a person, who maybe not even be here yet, or in some cases maybe not even in utero yet, the appellation by which said person will be known for the rest of his/her life. (Okay, can we agree that where I use he/his/him it will mean either sex and is in no way snubbing the femmes? Thank you)
So, back to naming the baby. Naming my own children was not too difficult. The first one was named after his father - yes, he became a Jr. on the moment of birth. But I was young and thought it was expected. I now know better. The second and third sons were named what they were named because I thought the names, first and middle, had a nice ring to them, although in the case of the second son, his middle name was a family name that could as easily been a regular name. Son number four has a first and middle name that I liked all by myself and would have named #two or #three except the last name I had at the time just didn't fit with #four's first and middle. The first and middle name of #five was a mutually-arrived at decision with #five's father. (Who was, BTW, also the father of #four.)
I happen to think that all of my sons have perfectly handsome names, and if any one of them wished to use any variation of their names, they would be equally mellifluous-sounding. Wise of me to think that while they were given those names, they at least had an option in the manner they chose to use them. To wit: First and Last; First, Middle, Last; First, Middle Initial, Last; First Initial, Middle, Last; First Initial, Middle Initial, oh, you know.
In my own case, I was given a first name, which came with a last name. NMI. I have always disliked my first name. Not hated it, exactly, but never thought it had any character or pizzazz. At one point, age 12ish, I desperately wanted my name to be Lisle. pronounced Lie-ull. No, I don't know why. Anyway, for a time I insisted my step-sister call me that, which she did but never without a snicker. But I'm stuck with the name I never really cared for, and I had no options. Until I was confirmed in the church when we got to pick a middle name. At the time, I was in the middle of an episode of religious zeal and having just seen the movie The Song of Bernadette, that's what I chose. The same people who gave me my mundane first name spent no time at all trying to talk me out of my choice and so I ended up with a middle name that offered no options once I came to my senses.
Of course, I, as many others of my age and location, wasted no time getting pregnant and married and being known as Mommy. I was still busy being Mommy when my first-to-get-married son presented me with a baby girl who would be calling me Grandmom. She was followed over the years by siblings and cousins, all 10 of whom call me Grandmom.
Now if we add to the unliked first name, the unwieldly middle name, Mommy and Grandmom, all the character names of all the roles I have played on stage, it occurs to me that it really doesn't much matter what name I was given.
I do recall one woman, upon being told what name I had selected for #five, shrieked loudly into the 'phone, "What the hell kind of a name is that!?" This from a woman who named her only son Guido.
So, back to naming the baby. Naming my own children was not too difficult. The first one was named after his father - yes, he became a Jr. on the moment of birth. But I was young and thought it was expected. I now know better. The second and third sons were named what they were named because I thought the names, first and middle, had a nice ring to them, although in the case of the second son, his middle name was a family name that could as easily been a regular name. Son number four has a first and middle name that I liked all by myself and would have named #two or #three except the last name I had at the time just didn't fit with #four's first and middle. The first and middle name of #five was a mutually-arrived at decision with #five's father. (Who was, BTW, also the father of #four.)
I happen to think that all of my sons have perfectly handsome names, and if any one of them wished to use any variation of their names, they would be equally mellifluous-sounding. Wise of me to think that while they were given those names, they at least had an option in the manner they chose to use them. To wit: First and Last; First, Middle, Last; First, Middle Initial, Last; First Initial, Middle, Last; First Initial, Middle Initial, oh, you know.
In my own case, I was given a first name, which came with a last name. NMI. I have always disliked my first name. Not hated it, exactly, but never thought it had any character or pizzazz. At one point, age 12ish, I desperately wanted my name to be Lisle. pronounced Lie-ull. No, I don't know why. Anyway, for a time I insisted my step-sister call me that, which she did but never without a snicker. But I'm stuck with the name I never really cared for, and I had no options. Until I was confirmed in the church when we got to pick a middle name. At the time, I was in the middle of an episode of religious zeal and having just seen the movie The Song of Bernadette, that's what I chose. The same people who gave me my mundane first name spent no time at all trying to talk me out of my choice and so I ended up with a middle name that offered no options once I came to my senses.
Of course, I, as many others of my age and location, wasted no time getting pregnant and married and being known as Mommy. I was still busy being Mommy when my first-to-get-married son presented me with a baby girl who would be calling me Grandmom. She was followed over the years by siblings and cousins, all 10 of whom call me Grandmom.
Now if we add to the unliked first name, the unwieldly middle name, Mommy and Grandmom, all the character names of all the roles I have played on stage, it occurs to me that it really doesn't much matter what name I was given.
I do recall one woman, upon being told what name I had selected for #five, shrieked loudly into the 'phone, "What the hell kind of a name is that!?" This from a woman who named her only son Guido.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Was That This Year?
Okay, here's a rant. On many occasions, when stopped at a traffic signal, I glance at the surroundings and of late have noticed a proliferation of yard sale signs tacked/stapled/nailed/taped to trees and utility poles. In fact, I've had the dubious pleasure of watching someone put the sign on the pole. Just when I'm about to ask the sign putter-upper if he/she knows that the tree or pole to which he/she is affixing said sign is private property, the light changes and in my neighborhood, you better damn well be prepared to move the exact second the light changes. Or suffer the horn-blowing that is sure to ensue if one's foot is not immediately off-the-brake-and-on-the-gas.
Since I'm not the Private Property Police, it's probably okay that folks want to publicize the sale of tacky junque, which if they don't want it, what makes you think you do?
But it surely grinds my gears when the asshat doesn't have the good sense to come back and take the bloody sign down when the sale is over! Fact is, some of the signs have been on that tree/pole for months. Since we don't live in graffiti-ridden area, and most people are pretty respectful about littering, the yard sale signs are a singular blight on our small communities.
But I have what I consider a way to , if not eliminate these eyesores, at least decrease their numbers. I hope you'll join my crusade. It's pretty easy. So many people are "walkers" in the quest for physical fitness, slip a plastic bag in your pocket tomorrow when you leave for that constitutional. Keep your eyes open for unattractive yard sale signs littering your neighborhood. Since the miscreants have to put their address on their signs, cue ominous music: duh duh daaaaaah we know where you live. After you have collected all the signs along your route, return those suckers to their rightful owners. You can nail them on their tree; slip them under the door; mail them back; or if you're feeling particularly bold, knock on the door and hand 'em over. I suggest you only do the latter if you're sufficiently able to run fast!
Elections have a way of bringing out those odious lawn signs that pop up all over printed with Vote for Doofus thereby perpetrating another eyesore because the law that says the signs must be removed following the election isn't always enforced. I'll bet Mr. Doofus would like to have his signs back. You think so, too? Well, let's make sure Mr. Doofus gets those signs back - on his lawn. Be even better if Mr. Doofus didn't win. (Cue sound of gleeful cackling.)
Since I'm not the Private Property Police, it's probably okay that folks want to publicize the sale of tacky junque, which if they don't want it, what makes you think you do?
But it surely grinds my gears when the asshat doesn't have the good sense to come back and take the bloody sign down when the sale is over! Fact is, some of the signs have been on that tree/pole for months. Since we don't live in graffiti-ridden area, and most people are pretty respectful about littering, the yard sale signs are a singular blight on our small communities.
But I have what I consider a way to , if not eliminate these eyesores, at least decrease their numbers. I hope you'll join my crusade. It's pretty easy. So many people are "walkers" in the quest for physical fitness, slip a plastic bag in your pocket tomorrow when you leave for that constitutional. Keep your eyes open for unattractive yard sale signs littering your neighborhood. Since the miscreants have to put their address on their signs, cue ominous music: duh duh daaaaaah we know where you live. After you have collected all the signs along your route, return those suckers to their rightful owners. You can nail them on their tree; slip them under the door; mail them back; or if you're feeling particularly bold, knock on the door and hand 'em over. I suggest you only do the latter if you're sufficiently able to run fast!
Elections have a way of bringing out those odious lawn signs that pop up all over printed with Vote for Doofus thereby perpetrating another eyesore because the law that says the signs must be removed following the election isn't always enforced. I'll bet Mr. Doofus would like to have his signs back. You think so, too? Well, let's make sure Mr. Doofus gets those signs back - on his lawn. Be even better if Mr. Doofus didn't win. (Cue sound of gleeful cackling.)
Friday, August 13, 2010
At the Beach
A week at the Jersey Shore. Wildwood Crest, to be precise. The southernmost end of the Wildwoods. All that's left after the Crest is Cape May and the Atlantic. Ocean, that is. This was my third year of vaca with my youngest son and his family. DIL rents a condo and we do spend the week in comfort. This year's was beach-block. In the Crest, that's very desirable, because crossing the sand to get to the edge of the ocean is quite a walk in itself. In North Wildwood and Wildwood it's an even longer walk. The Wildwoods do have a lot of beach. If you are a beach devotee, you probably have heard that Wildwood is a loud, rowdy,raucous, drunken-party kind of town. You must come to the Crest. It's not at all like you've heard.
So we had a three BR, two bath first floor condo. Nicely furnished and clean as a whistle. Balcony overlooking the well-maintained pool and grill area.
Breakfast in the condo, sandwiches and snacks on the beach, dinner at one or the other of the hundreds of restaurants in the area. Some are good, some are very good and some are just revolting. One night of a seafood feast but we bypass the over-priced all you can eat seafood buffets and opt to cook our own feast in our condo. Shop-Rite has some excellent deals on crab, shrimp, scallops, etc. Our feast, with left-overs, cost about a fourth of what we would have spent at Urie's.
The boardwalk is as gaudy, glitzy, crowded as I remembered from my childhood vacations. The only difference - it was fun then. And it's still fun for the kids. At one spot on the BW, at one of the numerous pizza joints, there was a man tossing pizza dough in a showy manner. He delights in selecting someone, usually a child, from the onlookers and making the dough into a t-shirt. It is kinda cute and they take a photo which can be seen on Facebook. My eight-year-old Granddaughter, who is a ham anyway, was one of the lucky girls who wore this silly garment and had fun doing it.
Lazy days building sand castles and hauling buckets of sea water up the beach to moisten the quick-drying towers seems to be a lot of fun. For the kids. As for me, sitting quietly and reading my Kindle is fun enough for me.
A day in Cape May to wander the shopping district (high-priced clothing, for the most part), and roam the book store. Enjoyed watching the people climb into the horse-drawn open carriages for a half-hour tour of the residential streets with the charming Victorian homes. Forty-five dollars for one person, $60. for two and increments for each add'l passenger. We passed on the trip. Cape May does have a wonderful Zoo/Park and is run by volunteers. Wholly operates on donations and endowments. The animals are scattered about in native habitats, for the most part, and the fences that surround them are mostly disguised. We didn't go this year, but it is a nice way to spend a few hours.
The consensus? A week is too short.
So we had a three BR, two bath first floor condo. Nicely furnished and clean as a whistle. Balcony overlooking the well-maintained pool and grill area.
Breakfast in the condo, sandwiches and snacks on the beach, dinner at one or the other of the hundreds of restaurants in the area. Some are good, some are very good and some are just revolting. One night of a seafood feast but we bypass the over-priced all you can eat seafood buffets and opt to cook our own feast in our condo. Shop-Rite has some excellent deals on crab, shrimp, scallops, etc. Our feast, with left-overs, cost about a fourth of what we would have spent at Urie's.
The boardwalk is as gaudy, glitzy, crowded as I remembered from my childhood vacations. The only difference - it was fun then. And it's still fun for the kids. At one spot on the BW, at one of the numerous pizza joints, there was a man tossing pizza dough in a showy manner. He delights in selecting someone, usually a child, from the onlookers and making the dough into a t-shirt. It is kinda cute and they take a photo which can be seen on Facebook. My eight-year-old Granddaughter, who is a ham anyway, was one of the lucky girls who wore this silly garment and had fun doing it.
Lazy days building sand castles and hauling buckets of sea water up the beach to moisten the quick-drying towers seems to be a lot of fun. For the kids. As for me, sitting quietly and reading my Kindle is fun enough for me.
A day in Cape May to wander the shopping district (high-priced clothing, for the most part), and roam the book store. Enjoyed watching the people climb into the horse-drawn open carriages for a half-hour tour of the residential streets with the charming Victorian homes. Forty-five dollars for one person, $60. for two and increments for each add'l passenger. We passed on the trip. Cape May does have a wonderful Zoo/Park and is run by volunteers. Wholly operates on donations and endowments. The animals are scattered about in native habitats, for the most part, and the fences that surround them are mostly disguised. We didn't go this year, but it is a nice way to spend a few hours.
The consensus? A week is too short.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Been a While
I haven't been around. Well, I've been around, just not around here. Had some bad days - not terrible - just bad. Then went on vacation. And it's been too bloody hot to even think let alone think of posting.
I've been like the weather. Dry. Very dry. We definitely need rain. Got some today, and while it's welcome, it's not sufficient.
I still stubbornly maintain my stance against the air conditioner in my window. Haven't installed it the last couple of years, and despite the intense heat and humidity of this summer, I'm holding fast. What the hell. My youngest son has central air in his house, and I have a key. Or a walk around the Dollar Store gets me a brief respite from the Dog Days. Their A/C is going whether I'm there or not so it doesn't cost them extra when I peruse the merchandise. Buy something. Don't buy something. They don't care. What's that across the parking lot? I do declare it's a Mickey D's. Stroll over and get a Smoothie. Sit and sip a bit. A stop at the market for some watermelon. Linger a while in the frozen food aisle.
A "cool" way to spend the afternoon.
Home for a chicken salad and sliced tomato supper. Nothing too heavy. A frosty pitcher of sweet iced tea awaits. Sit on the screened-in front porch with a good book and a tall cool drink. Sun is low in the sky and the ceiling fan in the bedroom makes the night tolerable.
No strenuous activity during the hot spell, except when the electric bill arrives. I can be forgiven for that big, wide smile, can't I?
Soon it will be Fall. Then Winter. The hot, humid weather nothing but a memory. And I have vowed never to complain again about being cold.
As for vacation, it was lovely. Met a magician at dinner; had a turkey platter that would have fed a small country; granddaughter got a pizza crust t-shirt. Come back tomorrow for details.
I've been like the weather. Dry. Very dry. We definitely need rain. Got some today, and while it's welcome, it's not sufficient.
I still stubbornly maintain my stance against the air conditioner in my window. Haven't installed it the last couple of years, and despite the intense heat and humidity of this summer, I'm holding fast. What the hell. My youngest son has central air in his house, and I have a key. Or a walk around the Dollar Store gets me a brief respite from the Dog Days. Their A/C is going whether I'm there or not so it doesn't cost them extra when I peruse the merchandise. Buy something. Don't buy something. They don't care. What's that across the parking lot? I do declare it's a Mickey D's. Stroll over and get a Smoothie. Sit and sip a bit. A stop at the market for some watermelon. Linger a while in the frozen food aisle.
A "cool" way to spend the afternoon.
Home for a chicken salad and sliced tomato supper. Nothing too heavy. A frosty pitcher of sweet iced tea awaits. Sit on the screened-in front porch with a good book and a tall cool drink. Sun is low in the sky and the ceiling fan in the bedroom makes the night tolerable.
No strenuous activity during the hot spell, except when the electric bill arrives. I can be forgiven for that big, wide smile, can't I?
Soon it will be Fall. Then Winter. The hot, humid weather nothing but a memory. And I have vowed never to complain again about being cold.
As for vacation, it was lovely. Met a magician at dinner; had a turkey platter that would have fed a small country; granddaughter got a pizza crust t-shirt. Come back tomorrow for details.
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