Saturday, October 31, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Monday, October 26, 2009
During commercials of Saturday’s Dracula presentation, I enjoyed practicing my fake British accent, a la Miss Lucy, Drac’s bloody love interest in the flick. Sir Geoffrey, aka: Big Bore, eventually became weary of me gleefully repeating the same lines in the script over and over again, with different inflections each time, as in:
“Oh, FAH-thuh! Don’t be so ab-SUHD! I SAW the woooooooo-nds!”
“I’m going to pull my hair out if you keep saying that!” moaned Big Bore.
“OH, Sir GEOFF-rey! Quit BE-ing such a BOOOOOOOOOR!” I said back to him.
I think Halloween Movie Week on TV is quite a MAH-velous treat, but Big Bore thinks he could do without all my drama. He says it SUUUUUUUH-cks.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Watching the gardens die out with the approaching colder weather makes me sad. It’s like losing grand old friends who I’ve become attached to over the past six months. I don’t want to part with their cheer, and I feel so crummy when I yank up the annuals, cut back the perennials, and toss them in the compost pile like yesterday’s garbage.
Yes, the fall colors are beautiful but so fleeting. Probably by next week most of the red and golden and yellow leaves will be gone from the trees--on the ground, waiting to be heart achingly (and back achingly) raked away into crispy brown piles. If you know how to treat my autumn blues, short of electroshock garden therapy, please plant some ideas on my calendar to make the next four or five months zip by.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
No, I’m not blogging about the naughty verbal blunder Ralphie makes in the movie A Christmas Story when trying to help his dad do surgery on a flat tire. No, this blog is actually about fudge. You see, the past few days I’ve relentlessly been consuming mass quantities of the sweet stuff.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
I recently read an article about a hotshot wedding planner in California who whips together ceremonies and receptions in the $15,000 to $750,000 range, average being $135,000. Holy matrimony!!!
I think I probably spent 20 bucks on my one and only wedding. That was for a Sarah Lee frozen cake and some ice hockey tickets. No big to-do for the Flaming Bore. In fact, I even put in a half-day’s work before driving over to the courthouse in Wichita for the grand affair.
Back to the newspaper article: the wedding planner said the most memorable wedding he’s worked was for country singer Leann Rimes, who ordered 20,000 Black Magic roses to be included in the decor. Well, that marriage only lasted seven years, ten years shorter than mine, so I figured I came out way ahead.
If she ever decides to get married a second time, I propose that Leann hire me as her new and improved cheapskate wedding planner. We’ll skip all the frou frou, save her a cool million, and just send the happy couple off to battle it out at a hockey game. As the late great President Harry Truman and the Flaming Bore once said, “The buck AND the puck stop here!”
Monday, October 19, 2009
Yesterday was a fine windy day to watch an old movie on TV, so I picked High Sierra, a 1941 crime drama starring Humphrey Bogart and Ida Lupino. I watched probably 15 minutes of the beginning, then fell asleep, but woke up in time for the grand finale. And grand, it was!
Eventually the road ends and the villain has to start hot-footing it up the rocks, along with his arsenal of guns. The good guys wait it out below, while one sharpshooter stakes out Bogie from a higher vantage point. Long story short but Ida and her adorable dog Pard come on the scene. The pooch breaks free and starts running to man’s best friend, Bogie, who recognizes the bark, stands up, and “Ka-pow!” The sharpshooter gets his man, who dramatically bounces down the craggy mountain, thanks to a great stuntman. The cops and Ida skeedaddle to the landing site.
“You just wait,” I told Big Bore. "He’s going to have some final words for her, like, 'Here’s looking at you, kid.'”
“No way he survived that fall,” BB predicted, and he was right. Rats.
I was so impressed with the little bit of the movie I saw that I got on the Internet to read about its making. The best part was about the stuntman who kept doing the death fall over and over again, wanting to get it to look just right. The director, feeling like the poor guy was being put in too much peril, finally told him to forget it. “It’s good enough for those 25-cent customers!”
Next time High Sierra comes on the tube, I plan to get the rest of my quarter’s worth of viewing pleasure and stay awake.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Yesterday our Garden Club group took a guided tour at Botanica in Wichita, where I took the cool pictures above. This is a rotating bowl of pansies as seen through a kaleidescope. I just shoved my camera lens next to the kaleidoscope lens, shot away, and screamed with delight. "Hey! Ya gotta see this!!"
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Monday, October 12, 2009
The ferns always look fab when we first bring them in, and then, day by day, they start losing their luster. No matter how much I spray and pray, the fronds keep falling until, by March, they are practically bald.
I’m going to put up a calendar that will show the cats and greenery how many days are left until spring. As of today, it’s 160. Aggggghhhhh!
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Friday, October 9, 2009
Smaxie, one of my teeny-bopper pals from a "few" years back, sent me a hilarious email yesterday called “25 Ways to Tell You’re Grown Up.” Here’s a sample: “6 A.M. is when you get up, not when you go to bed.” “You watch the Weather Channel.” “You’re the one calling the police because those blasted kids won’t turn down their music.” The one that hit a homerun with me, however, was Number 20: “A $4.00 bottle of wine is no longer ‘pretty good shit’.”
That last one reminded me of the time in the fall of 2006 when Big Bore and I were celebrating my retirement in Estes Park, Colorado. We had rented a little cabin, and the best thing about it was: HOT TUB!!! And aside from lounging in the bubbly heat, the next best thing about being in a hot tub is: BOTTLE OF WINE!!! Right? We headed to the nearest liquor store.
“I wonder if Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill is still on the market,” I said, as we made our way through the aisles of bottles. A helpful clerk directed us to the right spot.
“Wow!! Remember how good it was?” I said to Big Bore and myself. “I used to drink it like a baby sucking a bottle!”
Big Bore agreed that Strawberry Hill was A-number one. It was his choice of wine, also, back in the 1970s. Of course, that may have been because it was 99 cents a bottle.
So, we picked up some Boone’s--I think it was now up to $3.49, and we rushed back to the cabin for some hot tub and Strawberry Hill. Now, I’m not supposed to drink alcohol. It doesn’t mix well with the meds I’m on, but I figured a little sip for old time’s sake wasn’t going to hurt.
So, we got in the tub, clinked our glasses with a toast, and drank to our youth, wherever it went.
And--the wine was horrid!!!
“Good lord! Why in the world did we think this was so great?” I asked BB, who was also making a face in disgust. What a disappointment. “Pretty good shit” doesn’t taste pretty good at all when you’re over 50!
We put the glasses down, never to pick them up again that night. And the only time the bottle has since been opened was to dump the wine down a sink.
There’s a well-known old saying: “You can’t go home again.” Whoever came up with that adage must have lived at Boone’s Farm.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
“Lucky Strike’s Your Hit Parade,” for those of you not lucky enough to be around in the 1950s, was a Saturday night show that featured the Top 7 single songs of the week, plus some “Lucky Strike Extras.” Lucky Strike, a cigarette brand, was the sponsor; this was when tobacco products were cool and not known to be killing half the population, so they were advertised like mad on TV.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
When J. came to class on the following Monday, I suggested he wear football body padding and a helmet if the flag girls were going to try anymore aerodynamics near his saxophone. It’s no wonder marching bands have gotten smaller over the years. It’s not the reduced enrollment, jobs, or other activities that are responsible for the decline in numbers. Those deadly flag teams have been scaring everybody away!
Monday, October 5, 2009
Friday, October 2, 2009
Thursday, October 1, 2009
I don’t recall what kind of costume I had in 1st grade, but I do remember that the boy who sat to my right, Monty, was a tiger. This silly piece of trivia is etched in my brain because when we came back from lunch in our costumes, our teacher Mrs. Rankin told us NOT to sit in our assigned seats. We were going to have a guessing game and try to figure out who was behind each costume. Well, no one knew who the blasted Tiger was because Monty was sitting in his usual spot! Everyone got a huge laugh out of it, and no one accused him of cheating because this was in the 1950s and the term “dirty trickster” had yet to come on the scene. I thought he was a total genius for being so deceitful. At age 6, no less.