ABOUT AS GOOD AS IT GETS

Yesterday was one of those banner days around Casa de la Flaming Bore. It started out with a breezy 68 degrees for watering the garden and sitting out on the porch slurping coffee.  Then Sweet Neighbor Girl came over for some cat chat, deadheading, and a discussion of what we were going to do on her last day of freedom (school starts today!)  She decided we should go to the library, not to put away books and videos this time, but to hang out in the magazine lounge.  We took our own beverage of choice, hot chocolate and vanilla chai tea, a box of good ol' honey buns, and chilled out with some fave magazines.  In my case, it was the ones about gardening, while she chose Seventeen so she could have a fashion fantasy. I think she is determined to make the library tres chic.

While we were doing our girl thing, Big Bore took off for Climax to visit his big bro and sis-in-law, which  he enjoyed. From what he reported, they talked about their gardens, bird houses, and then took a drive out in the country to inspect what is called The Bottoms, which has to do, I believe, with the Fall River and not the derrieres of Climaxians. But then, what do I know?  (Question to Bill and Janet:  Are people who live in Climax called Climaxians, Climaxers, Climaxites, or just plain lucky?)

In the evening I went to the Open House at the high school in order to touch base with some former teaching co-horts.  I wanted to wish them well for the upcoming academic year, but I think they thought I was there to rub in my freedom from lesson plans and curriculum alignment.  It's funny, but the older teachers seemed more enthusiastic and ready to roll than the younger ones.  Maybe that's because they know they are one year closer to retirement.

After that, I pedaled my bike on up to the library again for the monthly meeting of our Friends of the Library group.  After the business part, we had a lively discussion about our book of the month, One Thousand White Women.  A big thumbs up. --By the time I got home, BB was in bed and I was ready for a late supper--a bowl of Sugar Pops, along with cottage cheese and homegrown tomatoes. Mmmmm good.

We are receiving a misty rain this morning, so I plan to crash out on the front porch hammock and read. As the title of this blog says, this is.......





supper of Sugar Pops.  

NO WAY!

I've periodically been watching snippets of the 2012 Summer Olympics the past few weeks and have come up with the two events I would be LEAST likely to enter--especially since I'm a 63-year-old graduate of one back surgery and at least a few dozen hopeless diets. 

The first sport is BMX bike racing. Big Bore and I watched this event a few nights back and we were moaning and grimacing the entire time.  I even spewed forth with various expletives. Loud ones. The course is nothing but a giant, curvy washboard of spine-jarring bumps, propelling the bikers into orbit half the time. And the eight bikers per race are not staggered; they start out at the same time in a fury of speed. I didn't know bike pedals could be pedaled so fast. One little tire wiggle and--BAM!  They crash and burn like a bunch of human dominoes on wheels. During one race we watched, only one contestant finished. The rest were splayed out on the course in one big heap of BMX. 

The second event in which I would never compete is womens' beach volleyball, mainly because I would never subject the viewing public to seeing me in the so-called uniform--which is mainly two strips of Spandex. Any gal with a hint of breasts and a belly bulge need not apply. "How do they keep those briefs on?" I asked Big Bore. "They spend more time pulling them out of their butt cracks than they do hitting the volleyball."  One of the competitors was soaking her feet in hot water during time-outs because, the announcer said, she was so cold.  Well, duh! Put on some clothes, girlfriend, and maybe you'd warm up!  

Give me a pair of sweats and a relay baton and I'll see you at the starting line.  

SHOW AND TELL

School starts in just six days in our little burg, and Sweet Neighbor Girl has made sure that we old folks at Casa de la Flaming Bore get to have viewing privileges of all her finest back-to-school purchases.  This includes a stylin' pink, black, and gray checked book bag, jammed with nine pounds of required supplies ("I don't know what the heck this box of plastic bags is for.") and the "Ten for $10.00" special at Claire's Boutique. The dangling peacock feather earrings and matching necklace are faves.

Yesterday's bit of show and tell was a set of fake fingernails...French-tip manicure, of course. Hopefully they will stay on at least through the first recess.  ("I have a back-up set, just in case.")  --We haven't yet seen the sneak preview of the ensemble SNG will be wearing on the first day of school, but I'm sure a Project Runway fashion show will be on the agenda before long.  She is a quick-change artist of the highest degree.  (Big Bore to SNG:  "That's the fourth outfit you've had on today!!")

I'm glad I'm not a mama with school-aged kids. My checkbook and patience would never survive.

A PRIMARY PAIN IN THE.....

Election Day is here at last! Thank the political gods for small favors. Perhaps the telephone won't be ringing quite so often at inconvenient times--after today.  "Hello. Don't hang up!! My name is Joe Schmo and I'm running for....." Click.

I'm also getting weary of having my mailbox stuffed with slick campaign messages. The mail carriers must be having nightmares.  And it will be nice to have the local newspaper getting back to printing just news, although I'm sure the editor has made a windfall from all the paid political ads, which is nice. We have 16 people running for two county commission seats.  You figure up the math.

I suppose I'm one of the few people who actually reads these ads. Last week I about gagged on my breakfast when reading one in support of our state representative who is now running for state senator. His name shall go unwritten in this blog, but you all know who I mean. The ad was sort of like an open letter from, guess who, his dear wife and the mother of his 13 children and the grandmother to one grandchild who, she states, attends public school. The letter starts like this:

"My favorite way to describe (name I won't print) is to say that he is a lot like Jesus."  Oh, really. Is that so? Now, granted, she didn't follow up that little eye-opener with how well he walks on water, but she did let us  know that he's the only elected official in Kansas who "works tirelessly" at the capitol building in Topeka "till near midnight."  When she asks him if anyone else is there with him, "...His reply, 'Just the security guards and me.'" Oh, and by the way, did you know that she's been told by his peers, "If your husband would get to introduce ALL of the bills, we'd all understand them better...."  Jesus, (and I'm talking to the candidate here) give me a break.

To make me even more cynical, later on the same day when I was choking on my breakfast reading this crock, there was a knock on the door. And who was standing there with a clipboard and a stack of political flyers--but one of the 13 children of our lord and savior, er, I mean the dude (name I won't print) who is running for senate.  The poor kid was probably an 8th or 9th grader, except he's home-schooled so who knows, and he was practically shaking in his shoes.  

He said something like, "My father is running for state senate and I'd like to know if you're going to vote for him."  I could see names and addresses and little check boxes on the clipboard. Now, I wasn't about to make the kid feel lousy about his father, so I just took his flyer and told him I was undecided. I suspect he felt lousy enough just having to schlep door-to-door, all dressed up, on the hottest day of the year. I bid him a friendly goodbye and sent him on his way.

"Who was at the door?" Big Bore asked from the kitchen.

"The son of (name I won't print) asking us to vote for his dad," I yelled back.

Big Bore has no idea who this politician/religious icon is, but he grumbled, "He shouldn't be making his son do his own work."  

Then....another knock on the door. It was the kid again.

"I forgot to ask if I could put a campaign sign in your yard."

Now, there's already one sign in our yard...for a friend who is running for one of the aforementioned county commission seats...so I spit out a quick response. "Oh, I don't want more than one sign in my yard.  Thanks anyway."  End of discussion. Although as I watched him walk dejectedly off the porch, a little part of me wanted to invite him in for an icy lemonade and ask him how much fun he was having traipsing around in the heat with his flyers and clipboard asking strangers to vote for his dad. Poor kid.

So, anyway, that's why I'm celebrating today and heading down to Election Central pretty soon to cast my ballot.  That's also why I won't be voting for (name I won't print).  

CELEBRATION

We went to Pittsburg today to celebrate great neph William's 3rd birthday, even though he insists he's 5.  It finally dawned on us big folks that he has come to this conclusion since his birthday is on the 5th of the month. Big Bore and I gave him what every little wild child needs....a gift card to Chuck E. Cheese.  

After the cake and ice cream, 6-year-old Boomer got on the lap top computer and presented some sort of virtual travel escapade of their recent family trip to Disney World.  Space Mountain, Pirates of the Caribbean, we did it all, raising our hands and pretending we were riding roller coasters and log flumes.  "Welcome aboard!  You MAY get wet!" Boomer warned me.  His dad said he could have saved a whole heckva lot of money if they'd just stayed home and gotten on YouTube.

After the ice cream and cake had time to settle, we jumped in the pool. Maddie and Boomer did crazy leaps from the diving board; he scared the liver out of me the first time he did a forward flip.  The kid is fearless,while Will stayed on the deck and was content to walk through his new Sponge Bob Square Pants sprinkler.  I spent most of my water time lollygaggling on a noodle float and trying to avoid Maddie pouring ice cold water on top of my head....again and again.

By the time we got out of the pool, I felt like a nice, long nap was in order...but we had to boogie on home.  Thankfully, Big Bore handled the driving duties because I was all partied out.  Maddie has the next birthday...but it's not until October, so I should be rested up by then.  

OVERNIGHT INVASION

A rainless cool front moved in overnight, evidenced by my hammock pillow that had blown off onto the porch floor, a turned-over plastic pot of coleus by the driveway, and (scream! gasp! cower!) the invasion of the pod people in the backyard! Oh, no!!!!

I love flowering trees...but there is a big drawback to having them.  PODS!  The golden rain tree has been shedding them like crazy for a month or so. They are about the size of a ping pong ball, a little smaller, and they have a single seed inside.  The mimosa pods are long and slender, like a flat pea pod.  They are not as plentiful as the golden rain tree pods, for which I am most grateful. 

So,  this morning when I went to the backyard to water our flowers, I was greeted with a procession of pods all over the lawn and patio. Now, I suppose some people just turn a blind eye to a pod proliferation, but not The Flaming Bore.  No, no.  Every pod must be picked up and disposed of immediately. It's company policy. I try to make a game of it and pretend that I am ridding the world of the evil pod people. Remember them?  These deadly imposters were in the classic thriller Invasion of the Body Snatchers...early version starring Kevin McCarthy; later version with Donald Sutherland before he became overshadowed by his snot-nosed acting son, Keifer.  In this movie, creatures from outer space hatch earthling duplicates in life-size pods. Oh, the horror!!

I disposed of my own pods in between moving the hose around the barberry bushes, using the raking and hands-on-knees procedure. They almost filled the designated pod bucket, which will get dumped later today.

Meantime, I plan to recuperate from my pod picking with a big bowl of cereal before returning for round two:  deadheading!!!!! --I betcha Donald Sutherland doesn't have the courage to work in his yard and he just hires a gardener.

FLOWER BUDDY

I'm proud to announce that I have created a gardening monster.

This morning as Sweet Neighbor Girl and I were walking into the public library, I bent over to pick out a weed I'd spotted near the sidewalk, and that got her going.

"Oh, that reminds me," she started.  "The other day I was at the pool, and there are some pink flowers growing there, and they really needed deadheading badly, and it was just driving me crazy, so I decided to go over and start deadheading them because I couldn't keep my hands off them, and my friend asked me, 'What are you doing?' and I said, 'I'm deadheading. What do you think I'm doing?'  (Time out to take a breath.) It seems like wherever I go, if I see flowers that need deadheaded, I want to go over and do it right then and there."

I didn't bother explaining to her that it's a curse...like some obsessive/compulsive disorder. I go through the deadheading motions every day, sometimes several times a day, during the growing season and then suffer from withdrawal symptoms over the winter.

I haven't yet told SNG about the joys of collecting seeds from some of the deadheads, but tonight I "harvested" some hardy hibiscus pods and hollyhock pods and next time she comes over and asks, "Whatcha wanna do?", we're going to do some serious seed picking.