Saturday, January 30, 2010


The neighbor’s wood chipper is grinding away on this frigid, snowy morning. Yikes! I’m having flashbacks of the movie Fargo! It’s a gruesome flick, but the juicy characters and surreal plot make it hard not to watch. Everyone is outrageous except Margie, a pregnant sheriff’s deputy, and even she is a bit on the country bumpkin North Dakota side. “Yah.” Murder aside, it’s sort of a funny movie.

Perhaps I should be like Margie and mosey on over to check out the noise across the street--but I’m afraid I might find a foot sticking up from that wood chipper, and I don’t want to ruin an otherwise fine day.

Friday, January 29, 2010


A few months ago I was thumbing through the latest Entertainment Weekly and saw an ad that really grabbed me. It was for Skecher’s Shape Up walking shoes. They were going to improve my slumping posture, firm my saggy butt, tighten my flabby abdominal muscles---heck, I didn’t know I even had any--plus help me lose weight. I’d just become an overall new person. Wow! I had to have a pair! Now, I knew better than to believe a pair of shoes could perform all these miracles, but if they would just help my aching back, I would be happy.

So, the next time I was at the mall in the big city, I plunked down major dollars for a pair of black and white Shape Ups and was ready to walk my way into a better body. Two months or so later, I am here to report that I probably should have saved my money. No one has told me I’m slouching less or looking thinner or have a perky bum. The only reason that these shoes might help strengthen and firm any body part is because they weigh a ton and extra effort is required to lift one’s feet when wearing them.

I’m not yet ready to ship out my Shape Ups, though. They are cushiony and comfy enough, and we all know that Rome wasn’t built in a day. I am expecting that at some time in the distant future (in a galaxy far, far away) I will wake up 20 pounds lighter, spring out of bed not feeling like my back needs lubed up with WD-40, admire my abs of steel, then pat myself proudly on my J-Lo-like ass. Until then, however, the full-length mirror remains in hiding.

Wednesday, January 27, 2010


My friend Texas Kayle sent me a funny email last weekend about why men are never depressed. It listed around three dozen reasons, and here are just a few:

*Three pairs of shoes are more than enough
*The world is your urinal
*Can “do” your nails with a pocket knife
*Mechanics don’t lie to you
*Phone conversations over in 30 seconds flat

After finishing laughing at the list, I decided there were a two more really good reasons why men aren’t depressed. Here they are:

Males do not have to stuff their man boobs into bras. No harness straps digging into their backs. No cross-your-heart discomfort squeezing the life out of them up front. Before I went through menopause, I had such hideous PMS breast pain that I had to wear three bras when I went jogging just to keep my 36Cs from slapping me in the face. Three bras! As if wearing one torture restraint wasn’t bad enough. After menopause the pain stopped, and after retirement the bra wearing stopped most of the time, too. Hallelujah! I’m a new person. Have you ever heard that song, “Free At Last! Free At Last! I thank God I’m Free At Last!” ? Well, I’m bra-free at last and feeling like a depression-free man!

And speaking of menopause, my second additional reason why men aren’t depressed is that they haven’t had to spend about 40 years of their lives using plugs and pads when Auntie Flo makes her monthly visits from hell. I can remember when I first started my period after a summer track team practice in 1963. I was so pissed off because I knew it meant a world of trouble trying to keep the stupid Kotex belt from showing its telltale strappy lines through my stylishly tight shorts and skirts. (You young gals probably are fortunate enough never to have experienced a ridiculous looking Kotex belt. Lucky you!) Thank god I eventually graduated to tampons. But then there was still the incessant worry about popping a leak (am I giving away too much information yet?) And need I say the word, “cramps?” Oh, the agony. Just get me a knife and cut me open right here on the spot. I get depressed just thinking about it! Aaaaaaggghhhhh!

Thanks a lot for the dandy reminder, Kayle! Pass the Prozac.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010


(WARNING: If you are from Missouri, don't read my blog entry today!!)

One hundred forty-seven years ago the murderous William Quantrill led a group of pro-slavery thugs called the Missouri Partisans into Lawrence, Kansas, and they proceeded to kill just about every man and boy in town--183 total--most asleep in their beds. Quantrill's Raiders ransacked businesses and homes, then burned Lawrence to the ground. Thus was born the KU-MU basketball rivalry, aka: The Border Wars. Of course, basketball had yet to be invented. That came 28 years later.

Old grudges die hard, though, and this felonious blip in history is alive and well--mainly through the sale of T-shirts at Joe College, a dandy shop in downtown Lawrence, up from the ashes. Here are a few anti-Missouri slogan samples for sale from Joe, take your pick:

Ask any sports guru about college basketball rivalries and the names Kansas and Missouri are always near the top. Oh, of course, there's UNC and Duke; Kentucky and Louisville; but their hateful histories are not based upon slavery issues, murder, and mayhem like Kansas and Missouri. And when it comes to basketball, the Jayhawk fans HATE the Tigers and the Tiger fans HATE the Jayhawks. It's just the natural order of life, I guess.

So much for my fractured lesson in history and basketball and my plug for Joe College's T-shirts. Oh, by the way, Kansas beat Missouri last night in Lawrence, 84-65. A slam dunk. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, William Quantrill.

Monday, January 25, 2010


We went to Pittsburg yesterday to visit family. Baby William, above, didn’t mind me taking pictures of him, so I had fun acting silly trying to get him to smile. I often wonder what babies must be thinking of those of us who carry on one-way conversations with them. “Why are you making such goofy faces at me? “What is your problem?” “What a dork!”

Dr. Maddie Bishop, my 6-year-old personal physician, re-checked my bum toe and said I’d be fine after “one more day of rest and two days of jogging.” She also checked my vitals with some wacky medical instruments that made some equally wacky noises. I think I need to conduct an investigation into her medical background. Stat. I’m beginning to wonder about her credentials.

I’m giving Boomer the prize for Funniest Comment of the Day, however. When I was sitting on the couch with Big Bore, Boomer pointed to him and asked me, “Is he your dad?” I loved it! Three year olds are soooo observant, you know.

“Jeff, Boomer has a question for you.” Jeff moved closer to hear him.

“Are you her dad?” my astute great nephew asked.

Jeff took it all in good stride. “No, I’m her boyfriend.”

In view of the fact that Big Bore is six years younger than I am, I felt quite skippy after Boomer’s sweet little question. And I think it’s great that he is already learning how to ingratiate himself into an older woman’s heart with flattery. Boomer is definitely my kind of guy!

P.S. William isn’t far behind Boomer when it comes to making Aunt Nancy happy. Take another look at what he’s wearing! He’s one Rock-Chalkin’ baby!

Thursday, January 21, 2010


(Question unrelated to today's topic: Can anyone explain to me why Blogger has started double underscoring certain words? It's annoying. How does one get rid of it? The underscoring doesn't show up on the draft, just on the final post. Help!!!)

The brilliant State of Kansas is considering charging $25.00 to those who file their state income taxes via paper mail rather than on the computer. Now, this doesn’t affect me, because years ago I said, “To hell with it!” and turned over the mentally taxing tax return duties to H and R Block. It’s expensive, but cheaper than me having a nervous breakdown trying to muddle through the filing booklet.

But I do know many people who have either limited incomes or limited knowledge and take the paper route to file their returns. Why should they be penalized? The very people who need the money the most are going to be the ones who get the shaft. What’s more, if a filer doesn’t have a bank account of some sort and requires a paper check for a refund, an extra $10.00 would be charged. Shipping and handling fee. Sure. And, of course, those who file by paper can expect to wait four months longer for their refund than those who file electronically, according to the article I read in the newspaper. Shouldn’t that be enough of a penalty?

The state’s rationale is that the paper filing system, which apparently worked fine for decades, is now suddenly too costly to operate. Well, if that’s the case, then I think Kansas should just get rid of state taxes altogether and not have to whine around about returning to its citizens what is rightfully theirs. Problem solved.

Tuesday, January 19, 2010


Jeff “Be Still My Heart” Bridges won a Golden Globe for best actor the other night, and I was in my living room applauding like crazy as his name was announced. I’ve had a movie screen crush on that quirky hunk of a man for close to 40 years, so I was happy to see him be recognized.

Back in the really old days, the other Jeff in and out of my life physically reminded me of the acting Jeff. Same height, same blue eyes, same brown hair, and, most of all, the same cocky smile and “who the hell cares” attitude.

There have been a few changes since 1979.

“What’s he have that I don’t have?” Big Bore laughed during the awards show. “Besides millions of dollars?”

“A flat stomach and a tuxedo,” I said. But I’ll give BB points for still having Jeff Bridges-like hair, salt and peppery now, and plenty of it, and the Jeff Bridges aversion to being clean-shaven. I gave him, the non-acting Jeff, an electric razor for Christmas in 2008, but it only gets used maybe once every ten days or so on the sides of his grizzly face.

Well, I don’t know where I’m going with this blog, other than to say I think I’ll bop down to the video store this afternoon and try to find a few Bridges movies to check out, starting with The Big Lebowski and The Fisher King. As it turns out, the Jeff living in the Bore household also thinks Jeff Bridges is a damned fine actor--even though he's no longer going to pass for his body double in my silly, starstruck eyes.

Monday, January 18, 2010


The 3rd Annual FHS Class of 1967 January Get-Together was held over the weekend at the Altoona Nut Hut. Twenty-two nuts showed up, plus eight others who had the courage to join the chaos. One never knows who and how many are going to show up, so the Nut Hut staff is at our mercy. We filled up all the tables and booths but did leave a few bar stools for “foreigners” who happened to walk in. --There was the introduction of new spouses, cards passed around to sign, pictures to show, and more pictures taken, but most of all there was just mass conversation and laughter in an area about the size of a cozy living room. In the above pic, The Flaming Bore (middle) is schmoozing with old pals Karen and Nancy Sue outside the Hut. Nancy Sue and I got acquainted in a hospital nursery when she was six days old and I was fresh out of the oven, so I truly consider her a lifelong friend. The others aren't too far behind.

Thursday, January 14, 2010


During a cleaning rampage I went on yesterday, I came across several lists that Library Lady and I made decades ago when we were trying to while away the hours of boredom living in a small town. These were not intellectual affairs, by any means. One list, titled “Flintstock Déjà Vu Concert,” consisted of the names of deceased singers who would be featured in a rock festival in the hills west of town so we could bring tourism to our little burg. Elvis is still alive, so why not Jim Croce, Ricky Nelson, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Richie Valens, Jim Morrison, etc?

The other list I found had our “Top Ten Most Hated Songs.” I included obnoxious side comments next to mine. Library Lady just let the songs speak for themselves, although I have added a few side notes. See if you recognize any of them:

1. “Havin’ My Baby” (Havin’ to listen to this song is giving me morning sickness.)
“I Am Woman”

2. “Ben” (Is Michael Jackson so desperate he has to sing a love song to a rat?)
“Daddy, Don’t You Walk So Fast”

3. “Muskrat Love” (Another rodent melody that needs exterminated.)
Anything by the 5th Dimension (I take exception with Library Lady on this one. “Cherish” was my favorite slow song on the dance floor during my senior year in high school, as I tried to force 17-year-old boys into cherishing me eternally via my questionable sexual magnetism.)

4. “In the Ghetto” (In the toilet.)
“Feelings” (LL is right-on with this one since listening to "The Ghetto" usually left me feeling constipated.)

5. “These Boots Are Made for Walkin’” (I’d rather wear platform shoes with spikes. Start walkin'!!!)
“Knock Three Times”

6. “One Tin Soldier” (The theme song for that peerless kick-ass flick, The Legend of Billy Jack.)
“Alone Again, Naturally” (This one was actually a good Saturday night theme song for Library Lady and me!)

7. “Puff the Magic Dragon” (Exactly what kind of smoke are Peter, Paul, and Mary puffing on, anyway?)
“Go Away Little Girl”--Donnie Osmond version

8. “One Bad Apple” (One rotten song.)
“Garden Party” (I think this was the song we were going to ask Ricky Nelson to sing at the Flintstock Deja Vu Concert.)

9. “Purple People Eater” (Pass the Di-Gel, please.)
“Do You Really Wanna Hurt Me?” (Yes, Boy George, I really do wanna hurt you!)

10. “I Gotta Be Me” (I gotta go barf!)
“The Name Game”

I didn’t find the best list that Library Lady and I ever scientifically developed. It started out being called, “Top 10 Men in Eureka We Wouldn’t Want to Kiss,” but it ended up being “Top 100” because we got on a bitch roll and couldn’t stop with just ten. I think it’s best that this list stay hidden in the archives forever.

Wednesday, January 13, 2010



1. The temperature outside is 40! Get out the bikini!
2. My African violets are blooming!
3. I’ve bought a new bottle of 409 and am attacking the grease and grime in the kitchen!
4. The Gurney’s Seeds and Plants catalogue has arrived!
5. I’m so excited I’m using exclamation marks after every sentence!

67 more days until it’s official!

Tuesday, January 12, 2010


I have a new addiction, and it doesn’t have anything to do with peanut butter. Since I enjoy watching Game Show Network, I got on its website over the weekend, played one round of Catch 21, and instantly got hooked. It’s a game of luck, speed, and eye/hand coordination. High scores are recorded for the day to compare oneself with the rest of the crazed world.

The best aspect of this game is that it doesn’t take very long to play, which is great since I have the attention span of a gnat. I can usually get through the deck of cards in less than a minute, which means I can squeeze in three games during a TV commercial instead of doing housework during such breaks.

Actually, I have a pact with myself that I cannot spend more time frivolously Catching 21 than I do spending on chores or volunteer work. My mental list of important things to do today is scrambling about in my brain, so I’m going to play ten games of 21 and then go bravely out into the world before my butt cements itself to this computer chair and I succumb to card fever. Aaaggghhhhh!!!!!

Monday, January 11, 2010


Well, Dr. Maureen and I are in a Blue Funk today because our Jayhawks lost their first game of the season yesterday and it is all our fault. Her husband Scott and she had journeyed from North Carolina to neighboring Knoxville, Tennessee to watch the game in person, which meant no crazed cursing like she does in the privacy of her own home. I suspect Scott refuses to bail her out of any profanity-related public mischief. At the same time, I had promised Big Bore that I would try my best to be a lady and refrain from spewing naughty words at the TV, just to proved that I am capable of not being a raging maniac during a game. Well, guess what all this self control managed to do? We lost the f---ing game, that’s what! Believe me, this will never happen again! When KU plays Nebraska Wednesday, you can bet that I’m going to go back to my obnoxious game plan, and I guarantee you that Dr. M. will be doing likewise!

Friday, January 8, 2010


I wrote Wednesday that Mama Bore was not able to take many of her possessions to her new living quarters. She has been a collector over the years: large ceramic roosters, angels, and Betty Boop items. They are everywhere! Sadly, there is no room in the inn for all her knick-knacks, but I have discovered a way to bring some of them to her, after all, thanks to inspiration from our local Garden Club.

I gathered up some of her Betty figurines and brought them home with me last week. I made some red bows, bought some glittery red hearts and a plain wreath, loaded my trusty glue gun, and went to work. In no time--boop-boop-a-doop! Mama Bore now has a Betty Boop wreath she can put on her door or on a wall, out of the way, but still around for her to see as best she can. I will take it to her next time I journey to Pittsburg, hopefully next week if the weather warms up.

I hope she enjoys it as much as I enjoyed making it for her.

Thursday, January 7, 2010


Oh, Lord, did I ever wake up today feeling like a slug! Head pounding. Tinnitus clicking and clanging. Big Bore took one look at me and yelled, “Oh, no!!! It’s alive!!!!”

You see, last night the Jayhawks came so close to losing their basketball game that I became a total lunatic. Screaming, stomping, clapping, jumping up and down, swearing, you name it and I did it. I even pretended to be an abusive cheerleader coach and pounded an index finger into BB’s chest during a time-out. “I wanna hear some noise outta you, boy!!!” And, in the end, the Hawks have ME to thank because they came from behind and won the game.

But, today I’m worn out. Dragging. After the game was over and sweet victory was ours, BB removed his earplugs, scooted off to bed, and was asleep in a matter of minutes. I removed my earplugs and channel surfed on the TV until close to 2 AM., still too keyed up. Then, the wind awakened me a few hours later. I was happy to get five more hours of sleep. But, my vicious internal alarm clock found me greeting the day scowling. Hummpppffff!

Tonight we’re watching the Rose Bowl football game for the national championship between Texas and Alabama. Neither of us give a flying flip who wins. No earplugs are needed. I haven’t muttered a single comment about what's going on, and the only jumping up I’ve done is to go to the bathroom. I should sleep like a baby tonight.

Wednesday, January 6, 2010


Since Mama Bore has moved to an assisted living home in Pittsburg and doesn’t have room for all her “stuff,” she has asked that her brood of five pick up items we’ve given her over the years so they will continue to be enjoyed at our own homes. I once gave her a classic Kissy doll that has been looking oh-so-lonely ever since Mom moved, so I finally brought the plastic baby home with me a month ago.

When I was back at the old homestead doing some cleaning over the holidays, I came upon a box of clothes Mom had saved over the years. I recognized most of the items as belonging to the much-younger siblings when they were babies, but one item, a yellow sweater with jack-in-the-boxes on it, was unfamiliar. It either had to have once been worn by Big Sis or me. My guess was it had been mine because it had lots of slobber stains on it. Sis was and still is too clean to have ever made messes on her clothes. I, on the other hand, continue to dribble milk from my cereal spoon all over myself. On a regular basis. Every morning, as a matter of fact.

Big Sis didn’t recognize the sweater, either, so I took it to Mama Bore, who instantly solved the mystery and dismissed the need for DNA testing. “That was yours.” So, I brought the ancient yellow sweater home, not quite knowing what I'd do with it, until I saw Kissy on my dresser freezing her little ass off from all this cold weather we've been having.

"Kissy, would you like to add a stylish sweater to your wardrobe?"

It fit her perfectly, and she didn't mind the slobber marks. Kissy is not a picky kind of gal; she likes her new yellow sweater just fine. So do I.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010


You wouldn’t know by looking at it, but I spent a few hours this morning cleaning up the back porch at Casa de la Flaming Bore. It is not your standard little mudroom. No, this back porch is about 16’x8’ and it is home to three cat litter pans, a gazillion pairs of shoes, coats, umbrellas, loads of cleaning supplies, cat food and litter containers, recyclables, cat dishes of food and water, hats, a wandering jew plant that is abut 40 inches long, the ironing board, space heater, step ladder, the list goes on.

The most challenging part of keeping this room clean concerns the messes the cats make. In spite of heavy-duty, high-cut pans, the litter is still scattered everywhere, and cat fuzz permeates every space. Occasionally during the deep cleaning process this morning, I discovered “presents” the cats had hidden for me to find--I'll spare you the unpleasant details. “How can I get them to clean up after themselves?” I silently asked myself, in frustration.

Big Bore has been gently nagging me for quite some time about all my old running and walking shoes and flip-flops piled in one corner. I didn’t part with any of the flippers today, but there were lots of Nikes and Easy Spirits that were so holey and run down, literally, that I did pitch probably eight pairs. And I was still left with plenty more.

The really sad aspect of my hands-and-knees effort today is that the porch STILL looks like a train wreck. If it weren’t for the fine curtains that Mama Bore made for the room a few years back, I’d just close my eyes every time I pass through and save myself the agony.

Monday, January 4, 2010


Here it is January 4th and I still haven't come up with my 9th and 10th New Year's Resolutions. Big Bore thinks I should have something like: "No screaming and swearing during KU basketball games," but I'm not about to attempt the impossible. Here's what I have so far:

1. Get weight back down to 135. (Of course, I’ve had this same resolution ever since Big Bore moved into Casa de la Flaming Bore in 2006 and started cooking for an army.)

2. Log daily exercising in a notebook

3. Read a biography a month (carried over from 2009 since I bombed it)

4. Go two years in a row w/o surgery

5. Get a new basement door before the current one caves in

6. Get Tegretol back down to 600 mg a day--totally beyond my control, but possible

7. Get kitchen finished

8. Get new flooring of some sort in bedroom and then keep the cats OUT

I will keep cogitating over what to add for the last two. I'm sure I'll think of something, but it's so hard to improve upon perfection. :)

Saturday, January 2, 2010


The yawning old folks at home weren’t sure they’d still be awake to greet 2010 the other night, but that was before we started playing the two “Glee” CDs we got for Christmas. It was time to party down! To Big Bore’s credit, he made it through half of a slow dance before retreating to his man chair, where he tapped his feet and hands to the music. That left the Flaming Bore to solo dance for two hours, which I didn’t mind too much. I had lots of experience being a wallflower when I was in high school.

So, I pranced around, doing goofball hand gestures and using a magnifying glass for my microphone. My best performance, by far, was to “Bust a Move”--7-1/2 minutes of booty-shaking, hip-gyrating mania. Sort of looked like a cat in heat, I suspect. Big Bore was amazed. He didn’t know a 60-year-old woman could move like that and still be breathing at the end of the song. I did come close to falling a few times, however, while doing spins. Thankfully, no video camera was nearby.

Our two Glee-ful CDs finally played out with 10 minutes to go before midnight. We found a TV channel that had the ball in New York City making its dive into the new year. 10-9-8.….we took a few slurps of wine and grape juice to greet 2010, exchanged a smooch, then headed to dreamland.

I’m glad New Year’s Eve only comes around once a year. One dance party every twelve months is about all the Bore family can handle.

(P.S. Thanks to Ken and Marilyn, Brooke and Sam, and Bill and Janet for providing the refreshments for our New Year’s Eve extravaganza and to Mary and Brandon for furnishing the tunes!)

Friday, January 1, 2010


My New Year’s Resolutions for 2009 have been kept on the refrigerator door the past year, ten nagging reminders of what I needed to get off my butt and accomplish in 365 days. Here are the ones I kept:

#2--Get new windows and central air for the house. That one was easy, except for writing out the checks. Agony.

#5--Take a class in something artsy/craftsy. Even though I flunked working with stained glass, I’m counting this resolution as completed. After all, I did take the class. No one said I had to be good at it.

#6--No surgery. Hooray!! This was my most important resolution, since I’m running out of removable body parts.

#10--Get all my loose pictures in albums or manila envelopes. Mission accomplished. Now, if I can just find the space for my 43 photo albums….

The other six resolutions remain to be achieved, so I’m holding them over for 2010 and adding four new ones. One will be to have no surgery for two years in a row. The remaining three new ones are being rolled around in my addled brain at this time. I asked Big Bore for some suggestions and he immediately said, “Learn how to fasten Zip Lock bags properly.” I am Zip Lock challenged. My idea of “locking” is to fold over the top of the bag and stuff it in the refrigerator. This drives him bonkers, but it works for me.

When I get my resolutions for 2010 completed you’ll be the first to know. Perhaps downing a bowl of black-eyed peas will inspire me. Right now I’m suffering from a “Glee” hangover. More on that tomorrow.