This winter we're in a fishing village off the coast of Florida. All the folks in this area seem to be from Michigan and they're either related or neighbors of each other up north. They're all retired and living a great life.
The guy next door is the epitome of the "Fisherman". He's got a boat(a very nice Boston Whaler), a bunch of fishing poles, some pretty heavy duty knives, and an assortment of fishing gear,(I still don't know what some of it is, and I was a buyer of fishing accessories in a former life). He has a fishing table in the back yard of his trailer next to the canal. The table is to clean the tons of fish he catches, and the birds love it as well. When he's out there with the fish he's caught, the birds are there with him, cheering him on, because they know when they see a good easy meal coming their way.
This guy fishes nearly every day. He loves to be outside doing whatever the season says he should be doing: fishing, hunting or anything else he can do outside. The guy has a number of very old friends (or relatives) who love to fish as well, so they leave early in the morning with all their "stuff" to do their fishing. The wives (the smart ones) stay home keeping the home fires burning...
Now, here's the rub. Most of the guys around here are old...I mean really old. The neighbor and his most recent fishing buddy have defibrillators inserted under the skin in their chests. The neighbor had his put in last month after his 7Th heart attack. His pal? He's had his for 6 months. They take off in the morning to fish. They're both highly intelligent men, but neither one knows how to use a cell phone.. Oh, they have them, but they don't turn them on, but honestly even if they were on, they don't know how to open them to talk. They both have hearing loss, so whoever was trying to call them hasn't got a prayer of getting them on the cell phones. If, the operative word being "if" here, they had the cell phones on, it's debatable whether or not they could hear them ring. Even if they did hear them ring, it's questionable if they would know how to open them, then they more than likely wouldn't be able to hear who was calling them anyway. It's a riot.
They came home late yesterday and the wives were understandably worried. Both wives knew the guys didn't have the cell phones, since the phones were still in the houses. Finally one and a half hours later than expected they come home with their little boat. In the boat, with them, was a live shark... Yes, I said "live".
The shark had half it's guts out of it's body, but it was still thrashing. The neighborhood came around to see this thing because it was big, over 6'4". It was looking at everyone with it's clouded eyes. Larry, my husband, got down on his haunches to look at the thing "up close and personal". As he was getting into a better position to get a good look at the thing, the shark flopped around to get a better view of Larry. The shark was trying to get a little nip of Larry. Larry jumped straight up in the air, far away from the jaws of, "Jaws". I nearly peed my pants, so did Larry.
The old guys, Larry included, continued to battle with, "the shark that wouldn't die" for about 10 minutes. No one was willing to take a chance with this thing. When the old guys caught the thing it took them more than 1/2 hour to land it. They thought it was dead, dragged it into the boat but apparently it was only resting, because the fight continued in the boat as they were hauling ass to get home. I don't know who they were more afraid of by that time, the shark or their wives because they were late.
The whole fiasco in back of our trailer houses took about 3 hours to play out. The guys, Larry too, were all gleeful at the Man vs. shark entertainment. It was pretty entertaining, even for me.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Living the life in Old Fogey Land
I come here annually, down to the land of sun, fun and really old people. I'm old too, so I know what I'm talking about, but honest this place is really something.
They call it God's waiting room, for a damned good reason. The newspaper we get has at least 12 people listed in the obituary, daily. We are not in a huge metropolitan area. We're on a barrier island off the west coast of Florida. There aren't that many people to warrant that many dead notices...honest...but each and every day I open the paper to find more.
After the first couple of days I decided to look at the ages of the people and see if I could figure out how they kicked the bucket. Most were old folks, well into their late 80's and 90's. I could accept that, but others were women in their early 60's and it seemed as though the illnesses that took them were pretty much the same thing, cancer.
I went to a garage sale today, which is a big social gathering thing down here. It seems that all the old folks hit the garage sales on Friday morning to check out each others junk, then end up talking about where they originated from, what they did when they weren't old, and what ailments they were fighting at the moment. The men especially.
At one of these social gatherings I met five women, all with no hair. They were all breast cancer patients in different stages of chemotherapy. They were laughing and talking about things that happened to them as a result of the chemo. None of the women wore wigs or those bandanna things. They were bald as babies and they didn't care. It was great to see they were out and about and didn't give a damn what others thought of them or their cue ball heads.
It's like that down here. Many folks seem to love to tell strangers about their last surgeries, exams, colonoscopies, wart removals or the different fungus that's engulfing their bodies like some alien life form. It's amazing. I stand, watch and listen. Honest, I couldn't make this stuff up. This is amazing. There seems to be nothing that's held back. You ask a seemingly benign question and you find out the most personal things about a person. It kind of shocks you the first few times it happens. After a while though, you sort of join in without realizing it.
I think people down here think they may as well say whatever they want to because they're not going to be here for a long time so they don't care. I'm sure when they were younger they didn't spill the beans so to speak, but they sure do now.
I met a guy today who told me that the new pills he's been taking were really helping with his excessive urination. Did I need to know that? I was looking a pair of wine glasses he was selling. Did the wine glasses remind him that he had to pee, or didn't have to now because of the pills? I don't know, but apparently he thought I should know.
How do you respond? You look at the guy and say, that's great, I should find out what those pills are so I don't have to worry about my diaper leaking....
They call it God's waiting room, for a damned good reason. The newspaper we get has at least 12 people listed in the obituary, daily. We are not in a huge metropolitan area. We're on a barrier island off the west coast of Florida. There aren't that many people to warrant that many dead notices...honest...but each and every day I open the paper to find more.
After the first couple of days I decided to look at the ages of the people and see if I could figure out how they kicked the bucket. Most were old folks, well into their late 80's and 90's. I could accept that, but others were women in their early 60's and it seemed as though the illnesses that took them were pretty much the same thing, cancer.
I went to a garage sale today, which is a big social gathering thing down here. It seems that all the old folks hit the garage sales on Friday morning to check out each others junk, then end up talking about where they originated from, what they did when they weren't old, and what ailments they were fighting at the moment. The men especially.
At one of these social gatherings I met five women, all with no hair. They were all breast cancer patients in different stages of chemotherapy. They were laughing and talking about things that happened to them as a result of the chemo. None of the women wore wigs or those bandanna things. They were bald as babies and they didn't care. It was great to see they were out and about and didn't give a damn what others thought of them or their cue ball heads.
It's like that down here. Many folks seem to love to tell strangers about their last surgeries, exams, colonoscopies, wart removals or the different fungus that's engulfing their bodies like some alien life form. It's amazing. I stand, watch and listen. Honest, I couldn't make this stuff up. This is amazing. There seems to be nothing that's held back. You ask a seemingly benign question and you find out the most personal things about a person. It kind of shocks you the first few times it happens. After a while though, you sort of join in without realizing it.
I think people down here think they may as well say whatever they want to because they're not going to be here for a long time so they don't care. I'm sure when they were younger they didn't spill the beans so to speak, but they sure do now.
I met a guy today who told me that the new pills he's been taking were really helping with his excessive urination. Did I need to know that? I was looking a pair of wine glasses he was selling. Did the wine glasses remind him that he had to pee, or didn't have to now because of the pills? I don't know, but apparently he thought I should know.
How do you respond? You look at the guy and say, that's great, I should find out what those pills are so I don't have to worry about my diaper leaking....
Thursday, February 10, 2011
February 2011 Dateline:Florida
In the last blog entry I told you about the place we're living in down here in the sun and fun state of Florida. Anything is better, I guess, than dealing with the weather in Northern New York at the moment, but this place has given me a new look at the differences in life as we know it.
The place is situated on a canal, nearly in the canal, I might add, and it's very old. It hasn't been rehabbed as I was lead to believe, and rarely has it seen a mop, bucket or cleaning agents. It is however, a place to learn how to repair things.
So far I've learned to repair slats of vertical blinds (which if you think they're cool, think again...they're awful in humid conditions and they rip apart quickly if there's a slight wind...trust me, that's experience talking and I've only been here one week) , repaired drain plugs, wiring, oven, mirror, shelving and some other assorted items that broke as I touched them.
The decor leaves much to be desired in 2011. Although, perhaps it was state of the art in 1968. At the moment I'm being seranaded by a myriad of fine feathered things. I can't call them all birds, I think they're more like ancient dinos that didn't realize they were supposed to be extinct.
We decided to check out some other parts of the island today. It's about 15 miles across the island and there is only one road in and out. There are no traffic lights and everyone is pretty good about courtesy on the road. There are many accidents though, usually motorcyles vs. cars. Motorcycle drivers are not required to wear helmets, and as far as I can see, that's just hoping for suicide by old people driving cars.
There are lots of old Americans on this island all looking for their youth again. They have all the toys they wanted when they were kids but couldn't afford them, or else their wives, Moms, or kids wouldn't let them have them. They look kind of cool I think, but Larry thinks they look pretty foolish. The ones I like are the ones with the longish hair tied back with a bandanna, jeans, boots and tee shirts that say things like, "road hog", "don't be jealous, you can have me too", and assorted other things unprintable. You KNOW they wouldn't have worn some of this stuff when they were younger but now they figure, "what the Hell".
It's really quite a place. It's not all bad, mind you, but it is different. We wanted different this year and we certainly got it........
The place is situated on a canal, nearly in the canal, I might add, and it's very old. It hasn't been rehabbed as I was lead to believe, and rarely has it seen a mop, bucket or cleaning agents. It is however, a place to learn how to repair things.
So far I've learned to repair slats of vertical blinds (which if you think they're cool, think again...they're awful in humid conditions and they rip apart quickly if there's a slight wind...trust me, that's experience talking and I've only been here one week) , repaired drain plugs, wiring, oven, mirror, shelving and some other assorted items that broke as I touched them.
The decor leaves much to be desired in 2011. Although, perhaps it was state of the art in 1968. At the moment I'm being seranaded by a myriad of fine feathered things. I can't call them all birds, I think they're more like ancient dinos that didn't realize they were supposed to be extinct.
We decided to check out some other parts of the island today. It's about 15 miles across the island and there is only one road in and out. There are no traffic lights and everyone is pretty good about courtesy on the road. There are many accidents though, usually motorcyles vs. cars. Motorcycle drivers are not required to wear helmets, and as far as I can see, that's just hoping for suicide by old people driving cars.
There are lots of old Americans on this island all looking for their youth again. They have all the toys they wanted when they were kids but couldn't afford them, or else their wives, Moms, or kids wouldn't let them have them. They look kind of cool I think, but Larry thinks they look pretty foolish. The ones I like are the ones with the longish hair tied back with a bandanna, jeans, boots and tee shirts that say things like, "road hog", "don't be jealous, you can have me too", and assorted other things unprintable. You KNOW they wouldn't have worn some of this stuff when they were younger but now they figure, "what the Hell".
It's really quite a place. It's not all bad, mind you, but it is different. We wanted different this year and we certainly got it........
Friday, February 4, 2011
How Does this Happen?
We live in upstate New York State. Upstate New York State does not mean, Westchester County, which we refer to as "downstate". We are in the Northern regions where folks have Winter Olympics and speed skating. We are in the Adirondack Mountain range and quite happy about that, usually.
In the winter months we can get as much snow as we like, sometimes more than we like, although not as much as our neighbors to the west, Syracuse, Rochester and the lovely city of Buffalo. They get far more than we do, but sometimes our temperatures are colder than theirs so it's a trade off.
In February, when we know the probability of getting really bad weather is upon us, we bail. We decided several years ago we would take off for parts south and get away from the weather. This year is no exception.
I (ok...it was my decision) decided this year we needed to go somewhere different from past years. I wanted to see a "different" Florida. I didn't want to be in another Condo, townhouse or duplex in some ultra suburb of some large megalopolis down here.
I searched the Internet and found a real estate management company that specialized in "the true Florida experience". I spoke to the folks there, felt a warm fuzzy feeling when conversing with them and decided to give them a try. They sent over photos of some of the rental units. We (now I say we" because I don't want to take all the blame for this now) decided on a manufactured home in St. James City, Pine Island, Florida.
The trailer is on a canal...almost IN the canal. We are very close to our neighbors, nice folks albeit a bit older (but Hell, we're older too). The setting is gorgeous. Out the back door we have a patio over looking the davits, dock and fish cleaning tables (oh, did I tell you this is a mega fishing area?). There are some strange looking cacti (plural for cactuses...) and some dead trees. I think the trees once bore fruit, but God knows what kind....
The trailer is...vintage...old...decripit....generally yucky.....It's gotta be circa 1960, and that is not an exaggeration...We were told it had been rehabbed...perhaps in the latter part of the 20th century but I can guarantee it hasn't had anything done to it in the 21st century.
The whole place is paneled...a walnut sort of wood, kind of. The "accent" colors are harvest gold (yep, appliances and all) and this throw-up orangie color. The bathroom (there are two so I better explain them) that I use is...well...scary is a good term, I guess.
I feel as though I'm in Japan. I'm afraid to sit on the toilet for fear the whole thing will end up on the ground under the trailer...The floor is bit soft and squishy...no kidding. Consequently, I sort of hover over the top of the bowl and pee astride the bowl. The shower and tub are original and it sort of reminds me of the movie Psycho when I get into it....There are shower doors and they're the same kind we had in our house 25 years ago. As a matter of fact, lots of the stuff in here reminds me of the 60's ans 70's when I was, shall we say "tripping".(I exaggerate a bit but you get my drift).
The kitchen is something out of a bad Brady Bunch episode, double ovens (one doesn't work, the other sets off the smoke detector when I turn it on) , built in stove (one burner makes ungodly noises when turned on...needless to say I don't turn it on), small but adequate refrigerator, tiny sink (no dishwasher) and all this Harvest Gold loveliness is surrounded by a counter island/dining area situated between the living room and the kitchen.
The living room has an addition...Thank God. Although, the tenants that used this place before had a cat perhaps two, (or twelve). The house reeks of cat pee, not all the time, only those times when the humidity hits high...Did I mention we are situated between two canals and the sides of the trailer have perpetual mold??? It's tough to get away from the humidity....
Oh, and by the way, I'm allergic to cats. We're having cleaners come in next week to see what can be done ab out this...not on MY dime I might add.......
Well, I said I wanted to experience Florida in a different way....this is certainly different...I'll say that much...
In the winter months we can get as much snow as we like, sometimes more than we like, although not as much as our neighbors to the west, Syracuse, Rochester and the lovely city of Buffalo. They get far more than we do, but sometimes our temperatures are colder than theirs so it's a trade off.
In February, when we know the probability of getting really bad weather is upon us, we bail. We decided several years ago we would take off for parts south and get away from the weather. This year is no exception.
I (ok...it was my decision) decided this year we needed to go somewhere different from past years. I wanted to see a "different" Florida. I didn't want to be in another Condo, townhouse or duplex in some ultra suburb of some large megalopolis down here.
I searched the Internet and found a real estate management company that specialized in "the true Florida experience". I spoke to the folks there, felt a warm fuzzy feeling when conversing with them and decided to give them a try. They sent over photos of some of the rental units. We (now I say we" because I don't want to take all the blame for this now) decided on a manufactured home in St. James City, Pine Island, Florida.
The trailer is on a canal...almost IN the canal. We are very close to our neighbors, nice folks albeit a bit older (but Hell, we're older too). The setting is gorgeous. Out the back door we have a patio over looking the davits, dock and fish cleaning tables (oh, did I tell you this is a mega fishing area?). There are some strange looking cacti (plural for cactuses...) and some dead trees. I think the trees once bore fruit, but God knows what kind....
The trailer is...vintage...old...decripit....generally yucky.....It's gotta be circa 1960, and that is not an exaggeration...We were told it had been rehabbed...perhaps in the latter part of the 20th century but I can guarantee it hasn't had anything done to it in the 21st century.
The whole place is paneled...a walnut sort of wood, kind of. The "accent" colors are harvest gold (yep, appliances and all) and this throw-up orangie color. The bathroom (there are two so I better explain them) that I use is...well...scary is a good term, I guess.
I feel as though I'm in Japan. I'm afraid to sit on the toilet for fear the whole thing will end up on the ground under the trailer...The floor is bit soft and squishy...no kidding. Consequently, I sort of hover over the top of the bowl and pee astride the bowl. The shower and tub are original and it sort of reminds me of the movie Psycho when I get into it....There are shower doors and they're the same kind we had in our house 25 years ago. As a matter of fact, lots of the stuff in here reminds me of the 60's ans 70's when I was, shall we say "tripping".(I exaggerate a bit but you get my drift).
The kitchen is something out of a bad Brady Bunch episode, double ovens (one doesn't work, the other sets off the smoke detector when I turn it on) , built in stove (one burner makes ungodly noises when turned on...needless to say I don't turn it on), small but adequate refrigerator, tiny sink (no dishwasher) and all this Harvest Gold loveliness is surrounded by a counter island/dining area situated between the living room and the kitchen.
The living room has an addition...Thank God. Although, the tenants that used this place before had a cat perhaps two, (or twelve). The house reeks of cat pee, not all the time, only those times when the humidity hits high...Did I mention we are situated between two canals and the sides of the trailer have perpetual mold??? It's tough to get away from the humidity....
Oh, and by the way, I'm allergic to cats. We're having cleaners come in next week to see what can be done ab out this...not on MY dime I might add.......
Well, I said I wanted to experience Florida in a different way....this is certainly different...I'll say that much...
Monday, December 20, 2010
This is NOT man-bashing...honest....
Answer me this: Are all men stubborn, or is it just the one that comes with me?
We've done some remodeling in our cellar/family room. We added a bathroom, a laundry room and made a delineated area for my art stuff and Larry's wood working shop. It looks great. We have a great contractor who puts up with my whining and complaining when I tell him what I want done. I know better than to think that we, Larry and I, could possibly do the work which needs to be done to get a room looking like a room.
Many years ago we did some remodeling by ourselves and it nearly ended in divorce court. Since that time, we know to hire outside help. Yes, I know it's more costly, but when you consider the cost for lawyers and courts, it's the less costly way to go about the remodeling.
This time we decided to add the bathroom 10 days before a party. For some unknown reason we felt everything would be done in plenty of time to hold the party in the family room with the new bathroom at the ready for all the guests.
Believe it or not, the contractor finished the last of the remodel at 12:00pm the day of the party. We went downstairs immediately to clean, clear and set up for that evenings festivities. We did a great job too, together. We had so much to do there was no time to bicker, sneer or complain to each other. The party came off pretty well. Just one time I had to brush off my friends tush to get the sheet rock dust removed. Not bad, considering the way it looked when we started the cleaning.
However, when the remodel was completed we realized the walls of the existing family room looked bad, I mean really bad. We're talking 1960's maple paneling...(I know...it's coming back in style...but honest, there is no way this stuff will ever be on the H&G network as a "new and improved" look for your house....It's said that "everything old is new again" but that phrase wouldn't cut it for this paneling....My gosh, when we bought it, it was $3.49 a sheet [that's 4' X 8' sheets we're talking...] ). Anyway, the paneling needed work, of some kind. The best thing would've been to remove it and do something different on the wall, but Larry thought better of that idea.
Up we went to our neighborhood big box home improvement place. We were looking for something called, "coverall". It's a kind of wallpaper made to be painted, or not. It covers a mass of sins on existing walls, paneling being one of those sins.
We found some and bought it. This would be a "GREAT" project stated Larry. (I think he'd had a couple of beers before we went to the store. He was in a very "project" minded mood. It was either the beers, or it was the fact he was so excited about the bathroom in his "man-cave" that he morphed into some alien being....I'm still not sure).
So the party was over, a success I might add, but we had two more parties that week. I thought the wallpaper project would be done after all the parties...How dumb am I? No, Larry (or the new alien being I'm living with...still to be determined...) decides he's going to "just try a strip or two".
Larry is not the one who does wall covering in the house as a general rule, that's my bailiwick. Larry decided to go ahead and do it while I was getting ready for party number two.
Anyone who has had experience doing wall covering knows there are certain instructions that cannot be skipped. Oh, you can try to skip them, but it will take more time in the long run and the process will be so bad you'll be looking for a bunch of baby ducks to peck you to death. However, what do I know? I had to leave the family room because I started to kibitz and started to see the fire coming out of his ears.....I knew my retreat from the family room should be post haste.
After quite a while he came up and said, "something is wrong.....". I looked up from the umpteenth crystal glass I was polishing and said, "Why, whatever do you mean???" He looked at me and said, in all sincerity, "I think I should have done more prep work before hanging the paper". "Oh, reeeeally?" said I.
I followed him downstairs to the family room. We opened the door, directly opposite from the doorway where we were standing was the wall covering rolling down the wall, falling into a puddle on the rug....I just turned around and went back up the stairs, as Larry uttered, "Thanks for all your help...". ARRRGGGGHHHH!!!!!!
To be continued...
We've done some remodeling in our cellar/family room. We added a bathroom, a laundry room and made a delineated area for my art stuff and Larry's wood working shop. It looks great. We have a great contractor who puts up with my whining and complaining when I tell him what I want done. I know better than to think that we, Larry and I, could possibly do the work which needs to be done to get a room looking like a room.
Many years ago we did some remodeling by ourselves and it nearly ended in divorce court. Since that time, we know to hire outside help. Yes, I know it's more costly, but when you consider the cost for lawyers and courts, it's the less costly way to go about the remodeling.
This time we decided to add the bathroom 10 days before a party. For some unknown reason we felt everything would be done in plenty of time to hold the party in the family room with the new bathroom at the ready for all the guests.
Believe it or not, the contractor finished the last of the remodel at 12:00pm the day of the party. We went downstairs immediately to clean, clear and set up for that evenings festivities. We did a great job too, together. We had so much to do there was no time to bicker, sneer or complain to each other. The party came off pretty well. Just one time I had to brush off my friends tush to get the sheet rock dust removed. Not bad, considering the way it looked when we started the cleaning.
However, when the remodel was completed we realized the walls of the existing family room looked bad, I mean really bad. We're talking 1960's maple paneling...(I know...it's coming back in style...but honest, there is no way this stuff will ever be on the H&G network as a "new and improved" look for your house....It's said that "everything old is new again" but that phrase wouldn't cut it for this paneling....My gosh, when we bought it, it was $3.49 a sheet [that's 4' X 8' sheets we're talking...] ). Anyway, the paneling needed work, of some kind. The best thing would've been to remove it and do something different on the wall, but Larry thought better of that idea.
Up we went to our neighborhood big box home improvement place. We were looking for something called, "coverall". It's a kind of wallpaper made to be painted, or not. It covers a mass of sins on existing walls, paneling being one of those sins.
We found some and bought it. This would be a "GREAT" project stated Larry. (I think he'd had a couple of beers before we went to the store. He was in a very "project" minded mood. It was either the beers, or it was the fact he was so excited about the bathroom in his "man-cave" that he morphed into some alien being....I'm still not sure).
So the party was over, a success I might add, but we had two more parties that week. I thought the wallpaper project would be done after all the parties...How dumb am I? No, Larry (or the new alien being I'm living with...still to be determined...) decides he's going to "just try a strip or two".
Larry is not the one who does wall covering in the house as a general rule, that's my bailiwick. Larry decided to go ahead and do it while I was getting ready for party number two.
Anyone who has had experience doing wall covering knows there are certain instructions that cannot be skipped. Oh, you can try to skip them, but it will take more time in the long run and the process will be so bad you'll be looking for a bunch of baby ducks to peck you to death. However, what do I know? I had to leave the family room because I started to kibitz and started to see the fire coming out of his ears.....I knew my retreat from the family room should be post haste.
After quite a while he came up and said, "something is wrong.....". I looked up from the umpteenth crystal glass I was polishing and said, "Why, whatever do you mean???" He looked at me and said, in all sincerity, "I think I should have done more prep work before hanging the paper". "Oh, reeeeally?" said I.
I followed him downstairs to the family room. We opened the door, directly opposite from the doorway where we were standing was the wall covering rolling down the wall, falling into a puddle on the rug....I just turned around and went back up the stairs, as Larry uttered, "Thanks for all your help...". ARRRGGGGHHHH!!!!!!
To be continued...
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Just one of those days....
I sure most people can relate to this.
I'm a person who likes to make lists of things I have to get done in a certain time. I don't leave things up in the air, because I know full well if it isn't written down by my own hand, not typed on the computer, it's not going to gain any priority in my brain. As a matter of fact, it won't take up any space in my brain what so ever...This is a true fact, from years of experience.
Armed with my list this morning, I promptly started to complete some of the tasks listed for Sunday, November 21. Since the Thanksgiving feast will be at my house, I have this big honking turkey in my refrigerator in some stage, I hope, of defrosting. I know from past experience it's better to turn over the turkey at intervals. With that thought it mind, I opened the refrigerator door, pushed up the shelf that was resting on the top of the turkey, and proceeded to pull the big beast off the shelf. With a tug and a heave ho, the beast came out of the fridge and promptly fell on my big toe, the one that has had some pretty bad hits of late...
At the same time as I was trying to remove the turkey, things that were apparently wedged behind the behemoth decided to explode open. Not too bad a problem really, I had some containers of oatmeal on the bottom shelf (why oatmeal in the refrigerator, you ask? Don't ask).
The oatmeal had a mind of it's own and sprayed, literally, all over the bottom of the fridge, into the seal of the freezer (my freezer in on the bottom-the most common sense place for refrigerator freezers in my opinion), and all over the floor in front of the fridge. The turkey, still on my foot, had a sprinkling of oatmeal on top.
The oatmeal somehow managed to get into the two veggies bins and when I opened the bins, I noticed they were in dire need of wiping down. Veggies make a mess sometimes and this was one of those time.
I looked down at my turkey covered toes and noticed blood, not turkey blood either. My blood was pooling next to the toe that took the direct hit. At that time, I realized maybe the list thing I had on the table should be revised. I probably should have added, "Make time to take a trip to the hospital", but of course that wasn't on the list.
Larry wandered into the kitchen after hearing some strange, strangled, suffering sounds. He took one look at the turkey, toe, shelf, bins and burst out laughing. This was probably NOT the best thing for him to do, but honestly if I was faced with the same scene I'm not sure I'd be able to do anything else either. I gave him a pass on that reaction.
Everything eventually was cleaned, including the blood off the toe, and I crumpled up the list and went to bed...To Hell with the list...
Thursday, November 11, 2010
It's that time of year again....ho hum...
Yep, here it is, another November screaming out from all the calendars. Usually the months change on the calendar without much fanfare, that is until you get to November. November is one of those months when you're either going to get euphoric because you can't wait until all the hoopla gets into full swing OR you're going to turn the calendar page over, look at the name of the month and turn to the kitchen to find a sharp knife to cut out your gizzard. Tearing out the gizzard MUST be better than what's in store for all of us these next two months.
I've gotten numb to the stores pushing the Winter holidays down my throat in August. I figure they need to get as much money as they can, as early as they can for a couple of reasons: Someone has to pay for the crap the merchandiser and buyers have bought, and they need to keep the employees doing something, because for sure, the employees are not killing themselves to help out customers . How many times have you walked into a store and IF you see an employee, they're either on a phone or walking quickly in the opposite direction from you. The employers understand that and to get something for the salary they're paying, they make the employees continually stock shelves.
November is that time of year when people start to think about the upcoming feast day....Thanksgiving. Now, I'm not going to blast the holiday by moaning about the excesses we all do on that day, nor am I going to get all pious and religious about why we should be thankful at this time in our lives. I am going to talk about how the holiday seems to start a frenzy of thoughts about the Christmas season. By the time the feast day arrives we all seem to have forgotten about that day, in anticipation for the frenzied thoughts of the upcoming days. It's like wham, bam, thank you ma'am and on to the next. Not breathing, no collecting $200 fir passing go, just slurp down the food, burp, and on to the next. What is it with us collectively? Are we just gluttons? Do we forget what these holidays are for? This is nuts.
I guess we have.....I'm going to continue this another day....I'm getting crazy.....
I've gotten numb to the stores pushing the Winter holidays down my throat in August. I figure they need to get as much money as they can, as early as they can for a couple of reasons: Someone has to pay for the crap the merchandiser and buyers have bought, and they need to keep the employees doing something, because for sure, the employees are not killing themselves to help out customers . How many times have you walked into a store and IF you see an employee, they're either on a phone or walking quickly in the opposite direction from you. The employers understand that and to get something for the salary they're paying, they make the employees continually stock shelves.
November is that time of year when people start to think about the upcoming feast day....Thanksgiving. Now, I'm not going to blast the holiday by moaning about the excesses we all do on that day, nor am I going to get all pious and religious about why we should be thankful at this time in our lives. I am going to talk about how the holiday seems to start a frenzy of thoughts about the Christmas season. By the time the feast day arrives we all seem to have forgotten about that day, in anticipation for the frenzied thoughts of the upcoming days. It's like wham, bam, thank you ma'am and on to the next. Not breathing, no collecting $200 fir passing go, just slurp down the food, burp, and on to the next. What is it with us collectively? Are we just gluttons? Do we forget what these holidays are for? This is nuts.
I guess we have.....I'm going to continue this another day....I'm getting crazy.....
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