Thwarted Expectations

It happened again today. In a world practically ruined by the ravishes of technology (what do you mean Blue Ray won? I just finished converting all those VHS's into DVD's!) I found myself utterly unable to cope.

I was leaving the Rite Aid, packages in hand. I stepped up to the door, fully expecting it to swing open and let me out into the world. But no. Something was wrong! Very wrong! THE DOOR DIDN'T OPEN!

I tapped my foot. I pretended to surge forward with my upper body in a feint. I pawed at the earth like a caged stallion. And yet the door remained unmoved and unmoving.

I am ashamed to admit I even looked around for help.

And then reality struck. It was an OLD-FASHIONED kind of door. The one you have to push open by yourself!

Now those sci-fi movies do not seem so far-fetched to me. You know the ones where humans become utterly dependant on robots and then the robots take over the world.

Thief of Hearts

Lovely Coconut Valentines Cake

STOP, Thief!

Happy Valentine's Day!

National Drizzle Elephant Day

It's not really National Drizzle Elephant day, but I had to use this cookie cutter and it just doesn't seem to fit into any of the other holidays for baking! In fact I rather wonder why anyone would make an elephant cookie cutter? Don't get me wrong, I love and adore elephants. I've had a collection of elephants every since I read "The Secret Garden" as a child. In one chapter, the poor little mite Mary Lennox is wandering around the wuthering halls of Mistlethwaite Manor and discovers a room with a cabinet full of elephant figurines in it. It instantly caught my fancy and I decided to collect elephants from that moment on.

And it did sort of pay off, because one day my little Nephew was messing around in the loft at home and came across the box of my carefully packed-away elephants. He took them all out and played with them; and he told me it was just like finding buried treasure.

But an elephant cookie cutter? I have no idea. So just because it is no holiday whatsoever, I decided to bake some Drizzle Elephant cookies. Bon Apetit!

A Splendid Poem

As the coffee was perkin'

He served me a gherkin

His aspect was lurkin'

In an outragious jerkin.

That is the extent of my creative brain power for today.

Now Accepting Donations for a Worthy Cause

MEET the FAMILY NECK: (click on each picture to get the full horror.)

Here's one.

And here's another.

And a couple of them, side by side.

And here is yet another.

And another.

I tell you there is no escaping biology. Heredity. DNA. I've sworn for years that if I ever developed the family neck I would fall off a cliff or wear turtle necks swathed in scarves while falling off a cliff.

But here it is at last. My dearth and my doom. Jeff said, "There are exercises you can do to fix that. Look Left, Look Right, Repeat until you find a Plastic Surgeon."

Ha, ha, Funny, Jeff!

And so here I am, accepting donations for a chin lift. Don't you think it's a worthy cause?

Curb Your Broad

I was eating lunch with a friend at the lovely little Land Park establishment called Central Valley Coffee, when a lady came in from the patio area and in a flurry asked, "Did anyone leave their dog outside? It is running around without a leash!"

Since my hearing is quite dotty and I wasn't facing her or actually paying attention, I heard something else entirely. "Did you say Broad??!!"

"Now why would I say Broad?" the woman asked in a huffy snit. She was sooo offended she actually sniffed and tossed her head.

But of course my friend and I burst out laughing at my silly translation of the word 'Dog' as did the ENTIRE COFFEE SHOP!!. It's a small place, and the woman had been quite the attention getter to begin with.

We laughed so hard about it, I was quite the hit of the party I assure you!

Of course my friend and I had to remark between ourselves what a surly, non-humorous woman that was!

But when she came back inside to take her seat, she gave me a big grin and a bit of a wave.

I decided that it must have taken her a second to get the joke, which was at least some comfort to me. When we left I was determined to take my leave of her in a funny fashion, and as her table was near the exit door, I said, "Don't forget to Walk your Broad!" as we passed.

I got a hateful scowl in return. Hot thunder bolts of menace shot from her eyes. My friend and I skedaddled from her presence as quickly as possible, laughing all the way to the car.

In a moment here came the sourpuss, and she had a BIG smile on her face and was nodding and laughing towards us.

I think she had some kind of condition. Delayed Reaction Syndrome is my guess. So then I couldn't resist one more volley:

"Always tie up your Broad before entering a coffee shop!"

ProActive's Plan for World Domination

Does anyone ever see those ProActive commercials and actually pay attention to them? I started noticing them when Jennifer Love Hewitt was the spokesperson and garbled her English. I felt she should have come across more polished and less like a dunce.

But I think they just want to target stupid teens who never learned any grammar and who don't know to lay off the pop and the candy to help clear up their faces.

The ones that get me are the ones that mix up their syntax something awful. Like the boy who says, "I went to bed at night after putting on ProActive and you wake up in the morning without acne!"

I just scoffed at such Bad English until I realized! OMIGOSH! I DID wake up without Acne!

Expires 10/2056

Almost everyone I know or hope to know or used to know or will never know here in California has a tattoo.

A friend of mine has the pink cancer ribbon tattooed on her chest where her breasts used to be.

Another pal has her new boyfriends name twining around her ankle, in a rolling viney sort of pattern so that if it doesn't work out between them she can just add more vines and obliterate him in the process.

It seems once you get a tattoo, the barriers are down and the next thing that happens is you can't wait for the next one. And the one after that...and so on, until you totally run out of body space and start shopping around for some to rent.

I see it in our future: People with Other People attached to them by rope or chain or staples whose sole purpose in life is to display Permanent Body Art.

Soon, Ralph Lauren and The Gap and Nike and all the Other Hot Brands will be forgoing labeling their clothing and will go straight to body tattooing as a means of dispensing their advertising across the globe.

Remember when Volkswagen did that? You could get a 7-UP commercial painted on your car, drive it around for a year and then they'd pay to have it repainted the color of your choice.

If you got THE GAP tattooed across your chest it would certainly get a lot of people looking at your cleavage.

I suppose the Grand Canyon would be vying for space on the asses of the obese.

And in later years, there will no doubt be a real fad for digging up dead bodies and making collectibles out of the skin art...there may even be a market for being a tattoo donor by then.

But I am adamant that I will not be getting any tattoos. I know they are hugely ingrained in our culture now and for most of the population are considered totally the Norm. But I can't help but hearken back to my childhood when the only people with tattoos were old sailors who smoked Camels and had black, bleary, bleeded-out tattoos on their hairy and wrinkled arms and torsos.

Tattoos were for Truckers and I never can escape that imagery. The tattoo is forever, but the skin it's imprinted on? Gets Old. Gets Wrinkled. Gets Saggy. Gets Liver Spots.

But then, because I never can stand to be left out of a trend, and because I figure when I'm 72 it's really not going to matter if I get a tattoo because there will be no one of my acquaintance left alive to harass me about it, and because I dearly love a good joke, I have decided to get a Tattoo on my Posterior when I'm Old that says...:

BEST IF USED BY:

Got Redemption?

Well, we had another windstorm--just a small one this time-- and once again I got Redeemed!

Who knew I could get redemption every time the wind blows?

A Three Hour Tour

Well, I know you gentle and faithful readers have been wondering why I haven't posted in days and days, and its because I have not been at home where the quill and writing desk reside. Indeed, I have been sitting at the County Clinic waiting for my number to be called.

Yes, for 4 or 5 or 6 days, I believe.

The facts of the matter are these: I got an actual BILL from the county in the mail, which sight sent me into hysterical fits of mirth and laughter. But once the sober truth hit me that they actually want me to PAY for my medical appointment and hundreds of dollars worth of Crazy Psyche Meds each month, I realized I had better get on down there and see about it.

It was only the work of a moment to grasp that my year-long medical plan had expired unbeknownst to me, as there is no expiration date written anywhere on any of the documents.
Therefore, to my reasoning mind, it should only be the work of a moment to pop in there, pick up an application to reapply and be on my merry way.

Au Contraire! Je suis Desolate! Upon entering the building I could clearly see the lines of halt and lame trailing down the hallway, looks of pure resigned boredom on their faces. I secretly smirked because I was not going to the clinic! Oh no! My destination was upstairs to the billing office where I planned upon sweeping in and grabbing my application with aplomb and then ditching the joint.

Upstairs, alas, I also saw trails of people lined up down the hallway, leaning on the wall or even downright snoozing in place upon the floor.

But never one to feel that she is unentitled to receiving an immediate answer to a 'quick question' I mildly barged to the front of the line and got the attention of the weary, brain-fogged reception clerk.

She told me that in fact, I could not be processed until I had a referral form from Lobby A downstairs. Where the Halt and Lame were lazing about in droves. That place of Woe I had just sped past with a smirk in my eye.

And, she suggested, I take a number before I went down there, and as I did so I saw that I had drawn the lucky number of 93 when the little red number on the wall read "Now Serving #25"

Down the stairs I went, implementing my plan to barge to the front of the line again and ask about getting a quick referral form so I could be on my way, but wisely picking a number as I went by. I drew #172. The board with the red indicator number said.....15. And thus you now know why I was at the county clinic for 4 or 5 or 6 days. Just waiting for a referral slip.

Stay Tuned for Part Two where I reveal the scintillating details of waiting in line at the billing office to be told that my appointment for Renewal of Benefits will be held on April 23, 2009 as that is the first available opening.

A Mild Breeze

Some of you probably saw on the news that California had a major winter storm on Friday. The electricity flickered so much that I had to go ahead and turn off the computer and unplug it. I was really afraid of frying my motherboard and I never do trust those surge protectors.

Of course later I discovered that in fact, I had unplugged the paper shredder. And, indeed, the paper shredder was not fried during the wind storm.

This was the view out my window after the storm had blown over. I was very worried about the big banners mounted on aluminum poles outside my window. I was just certain that the whole thing was going to become a projectile and crash through my living room window and impale me or one of my teapots.

Later I found the banner that spells REDEMPTION in my front yard. I have big plans for taking it over to the church and asking them if they have been Seeking Redemption. And then I can tell them that I have their Redemption Right Here, buddy!

Won't that be a hoot?

I was fascinated by my favorite palm tree, as I watched it bend over almost perpendicular to the ground during the wind gusts of up to 65mph.

You can see it in the distance looking a bit like a shredded bachelor's button. Normally it looks like the puffier ones in the foreground.

Later, I was fascinated to see that the Channel 3 satellite truck had pulled into the church parking lot. I figured there must be some limbs down in the street nearby but I couldn't see them from my window.

I turned to Channel 3 in time to see the reporter standing in front of this:

Just on the other side of the church from where I live!

Apparently, every time they run a water line, or a cable line, or a sewer line, or dig down to put in a sidewalk, they hack away at the root structure of the tree. This tree literally just tipped over because it had nothing to anchor it down.

There was no actual damage to the structure of the church however. They will have to do some roof repair but only minor! I think it will be awhile before they even notice that the Redemption Banner is missing.

So THAT'S Where They Went!

Don't even try to make me explain this!

And Now for a Really BIG Shew

Does anyone ever remember the Ed Sullivan Show? He always did his intro by saying "And now it's time for a really Big Show" Only he pronounced it "shew".

I guess it's time for a really Big Year. Back to work after too many days off without pay, I took Miss Kitty to the Walmart for 100 dollars worth of crap and senseless purchases. We then had to decide where to eat for lunch.

I wanted to go to Chili's for their nachos. They have the old fashioned kind that are individually made rather than the lazy, newfangled kind where they throw a handful of chips on a platter and then slop all the stuff on top of them and you have to dig your way through them in the most disgusting, untidy and inefficient manner. All the chips on the bottom get soggy before you reach them and some of the chips don't get any cheese on them at all. I hate that!

Miss Kitty was leaning towards Applebys or some Chinese place. But I've not been her caregiver and chauffeur for 2 years now not to have learned a thing or two.

"Well, you know, Miss Kitty, at Chili's they have these really BIG nachos."

"Ahhh!" she gasped in pure, wide-eyed wonder, "That's Right! Really, Really BIG nachos! I mean, those Nachos are REALLY BIG! Have you ever seen such a Big plate of Nachos? I mean, Really, really BIG!"

And thus I was able to manipulate my way to the lunch venue of my choice, and start the New Working Year off with a really BIG, I mean BIG, BIG Bang.

So Far? No Different from Happy Old Year

It's a New Year and I suppose I'm required to make some kind of statement of purpose.

Like, I intend to loose the same 18 pounds I've lost every other year of my life.

Or that I intend to exercise every day until the Second week of January by which time I'll have forgotten all about it.

Or that I have every desire to quit cursing, dammit.

Or that I wish to really apply myself to taking better care of my heart, soul, mind and body except for the part where I fall in love with vastly inappropriate males, completely ignore going to church, read crap novels, do NOT study improving literature or the Newspaper and binge eat every chance I get.

In the meantime, while I'm still hashing out potential self-promises of disaster, here is what I did yesterday.

I took this old decrepit tray

And gave it a Shiny New Coat of Paint.

And that's the kind of 'Newness' I can enjoy!

Treasures within Treasures

One of my original clients had a horror of garage sales and thrift stores. She often told me that the very idea of pawing through someone else's discards was abhorrent to her. I remember looking at her with pity, scorn and delight. Pity and scorn because she didn't know what she was missing, and delight because that's just one less person getting the goods that I treasure so much.

The whole point of thrifting, in my view, is the thrill of the hidden treasure. It's like hunting for Easter Eggs or digging potatoes. You are looking for something, you know it's there, and suddenly, There it IS! A delightful thingee! Your Heart Leaps! And it's only 50¢ !!!!

A few of my aunts and cousin's have this same hunter/gatherer urge coded deep within their DNA. We simply cannot pass up an opportunity to go thrifting (or junking as it used to be called), forage at the dump or find somewhere to dig up old bottles.

Some of my most prized possessions are not the new things I've acquired, but rather the thrift store treasures that I've collected over the years.

For instance, my collection of Baby Jesus Orphans.

How did they get separated from the rest of the Manger Gang? Who in the world loses a Baby Jesus? And why would anyone bother to put it on a thrift store shelf and charge 98¢ for it? How did it escape being thrown in the trash? I don't know the answer to those burning questions but I have 4 Orphan Infants that come out every Christmas and have a place of pride on my mantle piece.

Or this butter yellow indigo star quilt that I found for 5 bucks. It was wedged between a dismal polyester comforter and a decrepit, stained electric blanket.

I think about the woman who made it, day after day adding another star to the pile until she had enough to start piecing the top together. I love old quilts. Finding one in a junk store is like finding the Golden Fleece as far as I'm concerned.

Very rarely I will find something that is so delightful it is beyond price. Like this framed print of the Beatitudes. It has gold leaf and beautiful calligraphy. It was at the bottom of a pile of framed prints and it was only 75¢. When I saw it I snatched it up and looked around furtively to see if I had just taken the one item that someone else was longing for with all their heart. I couldn't believe my luck! Nobody seemed the least bit interested besides myself.

Then I turned it over and saw the back. And all the little old ladies of religious sensibilities longing for a gold leaf copy of the Beatitudes to hang in their foyer or stairwell could have attacked me at once and torn at my flesh to get their hands on it, and NOTHING, NOTHING, NOTHING could have pried it from my hands.

Not only was it backed with vintage Rose wallpaper that was the Apex of All that is Shabby Chic, it had a hidden treasure even more delightful than the glorious, decorative back. Something so amazing that I never hang the Beatitudes on my wall. Instead, I hang this picture backwards.

Because along the edge of the frame...in pencil...in old style handwriting...someone had written...

Exceedingly glad

And it just doesn't get any better than that, now does it?

Creation Station

It's been a tradition of mine for the past 20 years or so to take Christmas Afternoon and make my Holiday Thank You cards. It reminds me of when I was a kid and we spent the rest of the day playing in the mess of Christmas wrapping with all our fancy loot.

Dad didn't like us to clean up the paper and ribbons until the day was over. He said it made the Christmas feeling last longer. And I agree! So I create a little chaos and disarray of my own in the afternoon after the Ham and Creamed Peas have been devoured.

I call it a Creation Station. Isn't it a delightful mess? It is my work area for writing my after-Christmas Thank You notes and cards. I make the card and decorate the envelope and include a hand written note inside each one. I feel that if someone has taken the time, in all the holiday bustle, to select a wonderful gift for me, just me, then I can take the time to write a Thank You of the First Order. And I like doing it. Much more than I like shopping!

And this year I had so many things to be thankful for! Good company, friends and family calling from far away to wish me a Merry Christmas, and then get a load of this Loot!!!!!

This candle set spells Noel and you can't see it here but in the back it throws out a field of stars. It came with a bag of pine scented candles, too!

But Wait! There's More!

You can STACK them!

This is an antique soap dish from Cousin Bobbity Jane. I collect them so this was just a blissful present for me. The glaze is cracked and crazed and utterly stained with the patina of age and use. It is just the way I like my antique porcelain.

But Wait! There's More!

Get a load of these kitchen towels! They are made from thick old feed sacking and have a row of 3 different coffee pot/kettles along the bottom. I plan on refolding them every chance I get so I can see all the designs in rotation. Cousin Skeeter Jean, THANK YOU!

But Wait! There's More!

The Q's gave me this set of embroidered pillowcases, which are another weakness of mine. They are PINK flowers with tiny green leaves on a thick, old-style cotton pillowcase and it just doesn't get any better than that.

So even though I don't have a big tree and torn wrapping paper to wade through for the rest of the day, I still get to bask in the glow of opening such gifts as I write my Thank you Notes!

Merry Christmas to All! And to All a Good Night.

Unlocking the Key to Obesity

It is Scientific Fact...

Studies have shown...

And Experts Agree...

That Obesity is caused by an unhealthy obsession with food. Oh, and overeating. And I think I must agree with them because....I had a wonderful Christmas Party on Saturday afternoon, filled with lovely people and all kinds of Holiday Cheer....and the only thing I took pictures of was the FOOD!

Bon Christmas Appetit!

Clone Sheep

One of the things I've always wondered about the Sheep Cloning ...is how in the world could you tell if a sheep was a clone or not? I mean. Think about it. They all look alike anyway. I think someone was just trying to pull the wool over our eyes.

Whenever we would see a Nativity scene that had the sheep on either side of the manger, my Grandma would always say, "Those sheep would be bleating their fool heads off from being separated!" and I always think of that. Every time I see a creche with the sheep apart from each other I want to put them together so they don't baaaaaa and wake the baby.

Incorrect Sheep Placement

Correct Sheep Placement for Peaceful Nativity Viewing

So, DO, please, run over and put all your sheep together in a clump! Then relax and have a Merry Christmas.

Attention Void Syndrome

Patience Onslow suddenly forgot where she was or what she was holding.

Luckily, the children where there to point the way.

*******

I'm here to talk about AVS. Attention Void Syndrome. Different in scope and depth from ADD--Attenion Deficit Disorder--which affects mostly children on a sugar high who've never had any discipline whatsoever and whose brains have been wired to ultra-speed processing by video games and Intendos and X-boxes and stuff, AVS affects women of a certain age whose bodies are busy elsewhere rebuilding the system, leaving the brain in the precarious position of simply shutting down or short-circuiting.

It is important for women with AVS to have an awareness of 'mindfullness' so that mishaps, mistakes and driving fatalities do not occur.

I'd like to use two examples from my own life which occurred only yesterday.

As I was heating some wonderful Tuscany Tomato with Basil soup, I was also preparing a glass of ice so that I could have some chilly ice water to drink. This may have been my first mistake: multi-tasking is a road paved to hell and everybody knows it but are too prideful to admit it.

Suddenly, the AVS set in and all awareness fell into the void. I had filled the water glass full of hot steaming soup before I realized that something was amiss! I had to make the split-second choice of rinsing the ice to salvage it or just saying "To Heck with it!" and dumping the whole mess into the sink and starting over.

This time I was careful to make the ice water and take it Far, Far, far, far faaarrrrr away from the soup.

The second Dreadful Occurance of AVS came about when I realized that Jeff had called me while I was in the powder room and left a message for me to call him back. Since I was just about to reheat my cup of tea in the microwave, I thought I should get that started before calling him.

And do you know what I did? In a fit of complete and utter AVS, I dialed Jeff's phone number onto the keypad of my microwave!

Fortunately I came back to full consciousness before I hit the 'Start' button, otherwise I would have boiled my tea for 555, 4755 minutes.

Time for the Yearly Newsletter, Y'all!

It’s a Wonderful Life
Dear Family, Friends, Acquaintances and Total Strangers:

It’s time once again for the Annual Update on me and my family. As you know, it is a Great Pleasure to send you these yearly reports in a chatty newsletter format. Even though my family and friends talk on the phone daily, this letter is mostly for those of you who don’t really know or care what the heck happens to me all year long but at Christmas Time you really Can’t Escape!

Well, it was a good year for my dear departed husband. Denzel Jamal just turned 50 and that means only 40 more years left on his sentence! He also completed his GED after just 3 tries!

Speaking of successful graduations, our son Remy Daniels Martell successfully completed 30 days of Rehab right before his 16th birthday! I asked him if he met any famous people while he was in there and he looked moody for a moment and then left with his friends to go pick up the 9 mm I promised him for Christmas.

Our daughter, Bane Marie hit the news last summer when she delivered a 12 lb. 9 ounce baby boy in front of the beer cooler at the Arco Quickie Mart. She and little Bubba are doing well. As soon as she gets her figure back, she and Billy Hicks plan on having a Big White Wedding at the Barbecue pit down by the lake. Everyone is welcome to come: the price of admission is a case of beer, but you know I think these young folks could use some cash so don’t be shy.

As for me, well, the Meth got my teeth this year but it sure kept my weight down. And I painted the house TWICE! Of course the Landlord didn’t care for that Orange color I picked with the purple trim even if it was off the back of a truck and dirt cheap so he made me do it over in a color that blended with the neighborhood. I guess all that graffiti does show up better against the lighter Lavender.

Well that’s all my news for this year. I’m doin’ fine trading my cash for food stamps at double the value and hitting up the Food Bank using several different ID’s courtesy of one of Denzel’s buddies on parole. He and I have a thing goin’ on but don’t any of you tell Denzel! He won't get out until he's 90 and a girls' got to have a little fun!

Have a Happy New Year and I’ll see you Next Christmas!