Month: December 2022

New Year; Old Me

Visiting with one of my favorite baristas this morning as he mixed my almond milk chai latte, I couldn’t help but get caught up in his excitement as he told me about his New Year’s Eve plans. He and a couple of friends are headed to Atlanta to a big party. He promised they had a hotel room and wouldn’t drive impaired. He didn’t even roll his eyes when I insisted.

He asked what my plans were. I told him, then we laughed and laughed. Seems going to bed at 8:30 p.m. on NYE isn’t as cool as I imagined.

However you celebrate, be careful. I, for one, plan to wear my slippers with the safety soles so I don’t slip on the tile floor after I’ve had a few drinks. Don’t sip and slide. That’s my motto.

Peace, people! And Happy New Year!

Like Molasses on a Cold Day

In the course of waiting

Seconds don’t click by,

They drag.

One small movement

Oozing after another.

When anticipating the arrival of

Family, grandchildren

On a cold winter’s day

Before Christmas

Try to think about anything else

Good luck with that.

Hurry, but safely

Cookies? We Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Cookies

I tried. I really did. Someone gave us a sugar cookie kit for Christmas, so I dug out the cookie sheet from its hiding place beneath the kitchen island. I found a cooking rack, so the cookies could relax for a while when they came out of the oven. I even dug out the rolling pin I received as a gift thirty or so years ago. I purchased cookie cutters thinking that finally, at the advanced age of 66 I’d be able to successfully roll out dough and cut it into Christmas shapes.

Following the explicit directions on the package, I mixed the dough until it clogged the beaters on my mixer. I scraped it out of the beaters with a knife, then rolled it into a large ball and chilled it for over an hour.

Then I sprinkled flour on my workspace and rolling pin and on my hands and the cat and every other place I could think of. I even dabbed some behind my ears for good measure. I began to roll.

The dough was uncooperative. I used more flour. I rolled and rolled until the dough surrendered and allowed me to cut a snowman. Alas, the snowman fell apart when I attempted to move it to the cookie sheet. The same thing happened with the Christmas tree and the candy cane.

Fine. I decided to just make round cookies. Apparently, my idea of a teaspoon sized ball is warped. And inconsistent. The cookies varied wildly in size. The cutest was just about a quarter of an inch in diameter. I ate it.

Studly Doright said they just need to be decorated. I handed him the icing. And washed my hands. We don’t need no stinkin’ cookies.

Peace, people.

Accidental Makeover

I had places to go; things to do; people to see. I needed placemats, blue ones, for Christmas dinner, and I had just a little over an hour to find and buy them before heading to a casual luncheon with my friends from water aerobics.

Having already looked in likely places, I headed to the mall. Dillards, to be exact. I went in through the parking garage entrance, up the escalator, and smack dab into the middle of the cosmetics department.

Had I gone up one more floor on the escalator or taken the elevator and pushed two, I’d have learned in short order that Dillards had no suitable placemats. I could’ve then turned around and headed to Macy’s.

But, no. I was in cosmetics and remembered I was almost out of foundation. Might as well get it while I’m here, I thought.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, but mostly ladies, is how I ended up getting a full-blown makeover that took a good ten minutes to take off when I got ready for bed this evening.

I kind of looked glamorous for a few short hours, but I prefer my no-hassle “dab and go” routine. No matter the occasion, I’m ready in fifteen minutes or less.

But I didn’t say that to the adorable young woman who carefully primed and brushed and blended and tsked. No, I nodded and smiled and plopped down my hard-earned money for the products she was selling because she treated me like a queen.

There’s a lesson in there: Always take the elevator.

Stitchless

Today I had the stitches removed from my knee. I’d waited patiently since my surgery two weeks ago, wearing compression stockings and keeping the little threads bracketing my kneecap dry.

The waiting is always the hardest, isn’t it? Waiting for Santa. Waiting to get your drivers license. Your first car. Maybe your first drink. All the other firsts.

But today the waiting was for the doctor. I waited, appropriately enough, in the waiting room. Then I was moved to the “SUBWAITING ROOM.” I’m not making this up. I waited for a good ten minutes to see a sub, but none was forthcoming. Not even a periscope came into view. False advertising, I say.

Eventually the doctor arrived. He’s quite a nice young man. Earnest and capable. Definitely worth the wait. And my stitches were extracted by a competent young assistant, rendering me stitchless.

Still, I’d have given a lot to see a sub.

Peace, people.

What Goes BOOM-BOOM in the Middle of the Night?

Studly Doright and I met our daughter and her family at an airport in Orlando yesterday. They’re spending today with us at a hotel in Cocoa Beach before boarding a cruise ship from Port Canaveral. I’ve tried to get myself included as a chaperone for the trip, but so far have had no luck. It didn’t help that I came down with a case of food poisoning last night and puked in the parking lot of the hotel. Now no one wants to take me along. Not even Studly.

There was some excitement around 2:43 this morning when an incredibly loud double sonic boom rattled the windows of our room. Grandson Garrett and I rushed out to the balcony to see if we could get a glimpse of the rocket as it broke away from the earth’s atmosphere. For one weird moment we stared in rapt attention at an extra tall flag pole, thinking it was the tail of the rocket’s trajectory. Sick as I was it made me giggle when we realized that the pole was stationary.

Then I returned to the bathroom where I continued to retch. Good times.

I think I feel better this morning. At least I can now identify a flag pole.

Peace, people!

The Mark of a Good Donut…

…Is the distance a person will drive in order to buy one.

Studly Doright and I drove about an hour to have donuts at Johnson’s Donuts in Perry, Florida, this morning, but that was nothing. A couple from Gainesville, a two hour drive, came in just because someone told them that Johnson’s donuts were better than Krispy Kreme. They ordered one of everything. We didn’t stick around to see what they thought, but they sure had big smiles on their faces.

Studly and I had donut holes, hot donut holes. Well worth the drive.

Peace, people!

We’re Still Here

Happy birthday, Mom. We’re still here, living our lives as best we can. Hoping you’d be proud.

We’re still here, missing you. Remembering the Christmases you made special. The way you always overstressed just so everything would be perfect. And it seemed to somehow work.

And we’re still here, still wishing you were, too. No matter how many years you’ve been gone it still feels like yesterday. Like you might walk in the house any minute wearing that mile-wide smile of yours.

Like you might dance to whatever song came on the radio, not caring how goofy you looked. And we’re still here. Wishing you were, too.

Cost of Doing Business

I’m an author. I write and sell books for fun and profit. And while I may never get rich from my endeavors, I’m doing okay. Really. It surprises me, too.

But some days I’m floored by the way things work. You see, I went to buy some cards—birthday and Christmas greetings for friends and relatives, and when I averaged the cost of a card it came to just slightly more than the cost of my books on kindle. And not a great deal less than the paperback versions.

Maybe I’m in the wrong business. But then again, I’m just not witty enough or sentimental enough to make a living creating Happy Birthday cards. I guess I’ll keep plugging along.

Peace, people.

Dates That Won’t Work

A cryptic message found on a piece of scrap paper in the bottom of a junk drawer.

Dates That Won’t Work:

January 18

January 26

February 12

March 11

I pondered. Dates that won’t work for what? It’s a puzzle. Maybe next time I’ll elaborate.

Right. Like that’s gonna happen.

Peace, people!

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