Friday, October 31, 2008

Punkin, waddya say we have some of those sweet little trick n' treaters for dinner?

Happy Halloween From The Muse And The Mister!

Thursday, October 30, 2008

Chicken Wing Adventure

M-m-m-m! One of the nice things about being unemployed is if we get out of bed and decide to shower and stuff we can go out for a late lunch. On the water, in the sunshine and wherever we want. So we did! We went to the best place for chicken wings anywhere in America. The secret in the breading is Parmesan cheese. Our waitress is Heavenora. That's her name. Is too.

You can see by her t-shirt where we are. In Port Richey. On the water. In the sunshine.


Cool. Plus we get a menu. I won't even show you the entire menu. We came for wings. Ordered 25. Don't worry - we'll take some home with us too. Can't eat them all at once even if we want to.

Because we also have to eat our curley fries with cheese sauce.

Service was fast! We ordered them "hot" and that's what we got!

The Mister was happy as a clam.

And lunch was finger licken' g-o-o-o-o-d! And A-Musing!

I took a picture of a cow bird especially for Shelly. He's waiting for the waitress to come. Florida will freeze over before that happens, birdie!

Please pass the ketsup! And some of those paper towel napkins all the messiest Florida restaurants like to use. I do too. I needed 62 of them.

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Yearbook Fun

Several of my bloggie buddies - including Willow and Kat -been going over to a site that allows us to see how we would look in a yearbook had we graduated from high school in the 50's and 60's. I'm game! This is what I got:
First I did a picture for 1963:
And then I did one for 1969:

Waddya think? They turned out rather nice. Got those early sixties and late sixties looks going on here.

Oh, wait! I was supposed to go to that site, wasn't I. Well I don't have to - I'm no -whipper-snapper, ya know. I've been around the block a few times. These are the real me.

The first picture is my high school graduation picture from 1963. The second one was taken in 1969 while I was employed with Michigan Bell Telephone Company. I think it was for my "permanent" file. Kind of a mug shot. It's probably still stuffed in a green file cabinet at the central office.

I LOVED that dress in the '69 picture! It was red wool, a-line, size 8 (eight!) and it had a matching coat that buttoned just under the white piping around the stand up collar on my dress. I was so stylin' in those days.

I'll go to the yearbook site later and see play with those pictures - see how I would have looked in the 50's

It's WUV-ley!

My bloggie buddy, Sparkey of My Thoughts Exactly has bestowed this WUV-ley award on my blog! I WUV it! Maxie the miniature schnauser was more than delighted to pose for the award which makes it all the WUV-lier! Thank you so much Sparkey - I shall treasure this bright bloggie gift from you! Stop over and visit Sparky - you'll love her blog. It is an eclectic adventure! What a WUV-ley way to start the day!

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

Fountain of Youth Give-a-way Day! And The Winner Is...........

The winner of the A-musing Fountain of Youth Give-a-Way announced today!

Drum roll please! We have a winner of the genuine bottle of hand dipped water from the Fountain of Youth.

Are you among the very Young at Heart ? I'll tell you who is:

Blicky Kitty's comments included originality, poetic license, and that all important touch of blatant groveling. Blick wrote the following comment:

Well you know our old kitteh named Blicky,

When he looked in the mirror felt Icky,

There was a droop to his tail,

Once perky and hale,

But, he realized he couldn't be picky.


Then the Muse's song came to our friend

This bottle all troubles will end,

With a laugh and a jump,

You'll admire your rump,

And no longer need to pretend.


"Now he really is loathe to be pushy,

Groveling and getting all mushy,

While returning to ten,

Would bring pimples again,

He really would love a new tushie!

Congratulations Blick - a new tush and a kindergarten picture of the Muse is just a postman away!

Don't everyone leave yet! I have a 2nd place winner! The Mister produced a second bottle of genuine Fountain of Youth water. It has been propping up a picture on the Mister's desk for the last 14 years. He produced it just hours after I announced the contest. Our 2nd place winner is:


Queenie's tissue dabbing comments just struck a cord in my heart (or maybe I just ate dinner too fast.) It was mainly the part about her school pictures. You can imagine I, of all people, would sympathize with that plight. I would only ask that Queenie produce one of her "better" pictures on her blog. Perhaps we could have a "who's grade school picture looks more doofus" contest. Can ya beat this, Queenie? Can ya? Huh? I double dog dare you!

Winning comments from Queenie:

Mmmmm, 28th day before my #~^# birthday is reason enough. Then if i really pull at the OLD emotions, just out of hospital shortly to go back Arrrr....The think to really crack it, my childhood photos mum always trimmed my fringe just before, need I say more about being the cause for the loudest laughs in our family, bigger Arrrrrr!!!!!Of course if there is someone out there more desperate than me, they have my blessing to sip on the bottle youth....

Queenie even promises to share!

I loved all of your comments - this was a difficult decision - although a few of you made it easier by stating flat out that you do not need or want the miraculous elixir. One person, who shall remain anonymous (unless of course you read the comments) went as far as to state that she is already looking younger each year - all by herself - with no need of enhancement! (Wonder what she keeps in all those birdbaths of hers...) This may be true, Missy, but imagine if you will the lengths some of us have to go to keep up appearances -and how high we must hold our head for photos so that most of our 6-8 chins are less noticeable.

Oops! I just heard someone out there say "speak for yourself Miss Musey Faloozey" so let me just say congratulations to the winners!

I'll be cleaning out some drawers soon, and you never know what may rise to the surface (another reason I wear my gardening gloves indoors). Another A-Musing Give Away may be just around the corner. Or behind the dust bunnies in the closet!

Oh - one more thing - an experiment to try!

Who is your real friend?
This really works!

Just try this experiment:

Put your dog and your spouse in the trunk of the car for an hour.When you open the trunk, who is really happy to see you??

Sunday, October 26, 2008

The Woman at the Well Explains Her Actions to the Local Chapter of N.O.W.

The Woman at the Well John 4:1-42

I wrote a one act play for one actor about the Woman at the Well. The woman is seated on the stage in a spotlight. She can either wear contemporary or period clothing. She is being asked questions by the local chapter of N.O.W (The National Organization of Women). The panel of women to whom she is speaking are not visible, nor are their questions audible. The actor pauses between answers. She "listens" attentively, nods and has expressions appropriate to the question being asked.

This is intended as a short drama for a church.

The Woman at the Well Explains Her Actions to the Local Chapter of N.O.W.

By Cynthia Conciatu © 2004

Yes, I want to tell you about the things that happened that day I went to the well. But first, let me say I know what you mean by “women’s work.” Tasks are divided out of necessity. It has to be that way, you see! Division of labor means survival. Men work in the fields. Women take care of the house. Should we all go out to the fields each morning the hearth fires will die out. The children, the elderly and the sick will not be tended to. There will be no one to make bread or draw the water.
So yes, to answer to your question, of course I went to the well. That is what a woman does. Besides, I have no desire to herd sheep or grow the grain. There are wolves and robbers. And the weather…always so hot or bone chilling! At least, doing my woman’s work, as you call it, I can stay in my warm house when it is wet or cold and enjoy the sweetness of my children.
Oh, I’m sorry for digressing. I was saying that I went to the well that day. My children waited at home and our mid-day meal was late. I needed water for the bread. And my children were thirsty.
The bread? Hah! Now you digress! We make it every day, my older daughters and I. The same as my mother made and her mother before her and countless mothers all the way back beyond the one who knew Jacob, who dug the well. It is the only dealing we have with the Jews, this well, otherwise they do not speak to us.
Yes, the son of Isaac. That Jacob.
No, I do not have a recipe for the bread. It’s just a little of this and a little of that….
So, to get back to my story, from the distance I could see a man sitting at the well and from his clothing I knew him to be a Jew. I almost turned to go back, but I remembered my children were thirsty and it was hot and now I was thirsty too from my long walk. So I lowered my eyes and continued towards the well.
Yes, I admit I lowered my eyes, but I did so because of the sun and the inconstant wind that kicked up the sand. I lowered my eyes because of the brightness of the sun. Not because of the brightness of the man. Did I just say brightness of the man? I don’t think I meant to say that, yet there was something about him… Anyway, I came closer. I thought he would stand and leave. Jews do that you know. They don’t like us. He did not stand though. He looked at me. And I, who have known many men, looked right back at him.
Yes, I’m sure it was because I am bolder than most women that I looked him in the eye. There was nothing about his eyes that caused me to do this. But…. as I think back now…. I did see something I have not seen in a man’s eyes before. It was …like…love, but not the kind that I have been seeking from men all of my time here on earth. His was an unabashed pure love.
Because, that’s the only way I can explain it. Those words just now came to me as I spoke them. I hadn’t really given it much thought before now. Well, alright, I admit I have. Yes. Given it some thought, I mean. It’s all I’ve thought of since that day, really.
But anyway, as I was saying, I came close to him because of the water. I had to make the bread. There was nothing in his continence that drew me closer. It’s just that my children were thirsty. And then he spoke to me. Can you imagine? I jerked my head as though I had been slapped. But those aren’t the right words to use here because there was nothing evil in the way he addressed me. It’s just that Jews do not speak to us Samaritans.
Oh, Did I already say that? I’m sorry. So to continue with this retelling; all He actually said to me at first was, “Give Me a drink.”
Yes, you’re right, it sounded more or less like a command. I know what you are saying, but I could clearly see He was tired and thirsty. Besides, He had nothing to draw water with. I obviously did. I mean, had my water jug and that small clay cup with the chip in it. But still, He was a Jew! And I was surprised that He spoke at all.
I couldn’t keep myself from asking Him, “How is it that You, a Jew, ask for a drink from me a Samaritan woman? (I know I’ve said this before, but let me explain. The Jews do not like us. They think we are not as good as they. They say we are of mixed ancestry…. half heathen. They say we are not pure as they. That’s what they say.) As it happened, He didn’t answer my question. Instead He said something very surprising. Just listen to His words:
"If you knew the gift of God, and who it is Who says to you, 'Give Me a drink,' you would have asked Him, and He would have given you living water."
I all but sputtered as, "Sir,” I said, “You have nothing to draw with, and the well is deep. Where then do You get that living water? Are You greater than our father Jacob, who gave us the well, and drank from it himself, as well as his sons and livestock?"
Wait. He said living water, didn’t he? Those words. He meant something more than this, I know, but the living water I have heard stories of is sweet and cold and bubbles up from springs and flows in rivers. I cannot even imagine such water. It is not the same as our well. This water that is stagnant and tastes like a goat. But it is water. I am thankful for it.
Oh, yes, …sorry…. The Man motioned toward the well and replied, "Whoever drinks of this water will thirst again, but whoever drinks of the water that I shall give him will never thirst. But the water that I shall give him will become in him a fountain of water springing up into everlasting life."
Well, I tell you, I thought this Man had been out in the sun too long. These words were not making sense to me. I started to move away, but then I realized that He did not otherwise act as though He had devils in Him. Quite the contrary. He was calm and gentle. And this water He spoke of….? There was something in the back of my mind about this. I wanted to think about it. But I could not think clearly. The thought made me thirsty. Thirsty! Can you imagine? And I was still having issues with Him even speaking to me at all. I was perplexed and unnerved. My head covering kept slipping. I had to readjust it several times.
No, not because I personally feel I have to keep my head covered – no. It’s just that the Son was so bright. I mean sun. But anyway, I said the only thing I could think of: "Sir, give me this water, that I may not thirst, nor come here to draw."
And then, (get this!) He says, “Go call your husband to come here.” What an odd thing to say.
No. It wasn’t because He did not wish to converse with a woman any longer or that He thought I was stupid. Just listen. It will be made clear to you shortly.
So, I said, “I have no husband,” to which He replied, "You have well said, 'I have no husband', for you have had five husbands, and the one whom you now have is not your husband; in that you spoke truly." Now I was truly astonished. How could He know this? A stranger.
No, really! I had never laid eyes on Him before that day. I’ve never left my village, and as I said Jews don’t come this way. They will go miles around just to avoid us. And yet here He was, this Jew, at my well with far more knowledge than an ordinary man.
No! I will not discuss my husbands here, although it appears by your tone that this is the most interesting part of the story so far. I assure you, once I relate the rest of my story, this, shall we say, “small stone in my sandal” will be of no further interest to you.
So then I said to him, "Sir, I perceive that You are a prophet. Our fathers worshipped on this mountain, and you Jews say that in Jerusalem is the place where one ought to worship."
He obviously wasn’t interested in pursuing that line of thought though because He didn’t really answer my question at all, instead He said:
"Woman, believe Me, the hour is coming when you will neither on this mountain, nor in Jerusalem, worship the Father. You worship what you do not know; we know what we worship, for salvation is of the Jews. But the hour is coming, and now is, when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth; for the Father is seeking such to worship Him. God is a Spirit, and those who worship Him must worship in spirit and truth."
Yes, yes, yes, I know what you are thinking. I will answer before you ask, because I am getting used to the tone of your questions: He addressed me as “Woman”. In your language it sounds demeaning and harsh. In mine though, it was a gentle and respectful title. And coming from a Jew…! I must say I was stunned. And that thought – the one I mentioned earlier that made me feel thirsty? It was starting to dawn on me that perhaps … well .. I’ll get to that. Let me tell you what I said next!
I said, "I know that Messiah is coming (Who is called Christ); when He comes, He will tell us all things."
Well, because I thought that would surprise Him – coming from a Samaritan after all. We are not such heathens as the Jews think we are.
What He did? Oh, He did not even blink an eye.! His gaze was steady and there was that brightness again. From the sun. From the s-u-n.
Then when I thought I’d heard everything, He says, “I who speak to you am He.”
Before I could say anything – and what could I have said after all – other men appeared. They were Jews too and looked at me in distaste. I heard one of them ask the man why He would speak to me. I dropped the water jug and I walked quickly back to my village.
No. Not because of those other men. It was because of what He had said! “I who speak to you am He.” Suddenly I was no longer thirsty in my mind or on my tongue! I knew to Whom I spoke and I was no longer thirsty! I knew then too that my children and all of the others in my town thirsted as well –not for water – but for what this Man had to tell them.
I barely took time to readjust my head covering, for this news was too amazing for me to take time for my own needs. I called out to the men who were going about their business.
"Come,” I cried, “see a Man who told me all things that I ever did! Could this be the Christ?"
Of course, they appeared as astonished as I. I feared for a moment that it was my loosed headscarf and wet eyes and the tremor in my voice that had astounded them. But they saw something else. In my eyes now that I think of it. Some new brightness. They stopped what they were doing just as I had dropped my empty water jug at the well. They approached me and would have walked right past me in their thirst had they known where this Man was.
No! I did not tell only the men! The women were in need of this Messiah as well. I knew that. There were children on the street. They immediately saw that there was… something… some news… and ran to tell their mothers and sisters to come, just as I knew they would.
I was quickly surrounded by every person in the town. Everyone. As if we were one body we hurried to the well to hear the words this Man had to say.…to hear everything He had to tell us about the water of life.
And so it was, that we left the town with doors ajar, fires left to put themselves out, goats loose in the streets and tasks undone. For we were all thirsty from centuries of spiritual drought. We knew in our hearts that the Man at the well offered living water beyond our imagining. We went to Jacob’s well and we spent many hours quenching our thirst in the brightness of the Son.
The S-o-n.

Friday, October 24, 2008

Goin' To The Craft Store For Mom

Mother, God bless her soul, would often call me at work at about 4:55 with a list of supplies that she needed for a multitude of crafts that she was working on. Conversations with mother necessitated screaming replies and questions because, among the many, many problems she had, she was - at times- very hard of hearing. So there I am, in the middle of the Corporate Law Department, screaming things like DID YOU WANT THE 1/4 INCH GOOGLY EYES OR THE 1/2 INCH? HOW MANY 9 INCH FASHION DOLLS? WHAT COLOR HAIR? DID YOU SAY 2 BLONDES AND A BRUNETTE. OH , SO 1 BLONDE AND TWO BRUNETTES. AND A BLACK DOLL? DO YOU MEAN A DOLL WITH BLACK HAIR OR A BLACK DOLL. OK, GOT IT - ONE BLACK DOLL WITH BLACK HAIR.
At quitting time, I drive 19 miles to the nearest Michael's Craft store and comb the aisles, making 19 complete circuits of the store as I collected two 8 inch squares yellow felt, 1 pkg. 1/4 inch googly eyes, 3 five inch Kewpie dolls, 1/2 inch multi colored and multi sized pom-pons, 1/16th inch aqua bugle beads, 1000 ft. ecru crochet cotton, 1 straw hat for a 4 inch doll, 6 inches of blue satin ribbon with yellow roses on it, one sheet of orange poster paper and a tube of indigo stencil paint.
I never seemed to wear comfortable shoes on the days she called. I could never find a parking space withing 1/4 mile of the door, it always rained, and when I finally made it to the one check out that was ever open, there were 6 people in front of me with their little hand baskets filled to the brim with plastic flowers and other sundry. It took for ever to get through the check out.
At some point I was so fogged out from the sales clerk ringing up blue roses, one at a time, I would kind of lean back and using the hand basket of the person behind me as a buffer, lower myself to the floor and lay there staring at the ceiling with my basket on my chest waiting and waiting and waiting. I'd ask the person behind me to just kind of push me forward when the line moved.
Finally, I'm on my way, but first, a stop at the Winn Dixie for a 16 oz cup of cream of broccoli soup from the deli, and a stop at the 7-11 for a french vanilla latte and then to the nursing home to visit Mom. I'd walk into her room with my Michael's bags, a blister on my left heel and a small burn on my right thumb from the soup, set everything down and start to lower myself into the visitors chair - which was actually mom's wheel chair.
About the time my hinnie is hitting deck mom says "I dropped my crochet hook under the bed and I think there is a tea bag and a hot dog bun under there too. Could you get it? Have you ever crawled under a bed in a hospital or a nursing home?????? There is not enough Lysol in the world to bathe in afterwards. Straight lye is the only other option. Or a car wash - with the hot wax
So I'm down there on the sticky floor with the dust bunnies groping about for her things and as long as I'm there, I also pick up a quarter, a blue button, 2 used Kleenex and a small damp spongy thing that turns out to be a meatball from dinner. I am just positive that seconds before my arrival Mom takes a handful of whatever off her nightstand and tosses it under the bed so I can amuse myself picking around between the Ebola and typhoid germs that grow like grass on the linoleum.
Meanwhile I hear a combination of sighs and crinkly noises as Mom is pulling sundry craft items out of the 14 Michael's bags. I whack my head on the bed rail, get my foot jammed under the wheel chair and end up having to roll on my side to gain enough leverage to pull myself up without dropping the assorted goodies from under the bed.
Turns out I got the 7 9/10" doll instead of the 8". She needed more of a lemon yellow than a sunny yellow felt, and she meant to say 2 blonde dolls and one brunette rather than the other way around. I wonder for a minute if my medicinal peroxide will resolve that hair issue, but decide the glue that holds the thatch of doll hair on might dissolve and there's no craft in the world that calls for a bald doll.
After my visit with mom, and a very hot shower I call my free psychologist - my sister Mary -and proceed to unload about my adventure with extra drama and adjectives. Rather than a soothing discussion we are sitting on the floor in our respective homes laughing and snorting until one or the other yells uncle. I feel better and hang up so I can get to bed early, get up and go back to Michael's tomorrow.

Thursday, October 23, 2008

A Dogs Life Update

Don't believe a word my personal private Muse Mama says!

Layla the Schnoodle dog and Lucy the Chocolate Lab have settled into a dog doesn't eat dog relationship. It took a while after Lucy's arrival for the fur to stop flying. Layla loved being an only dog and Lucy grew up with two little snappy pomegranate dogs who made her life miserable. She came with a couple of bad habits - don't get near my treats or toys and don't ever get near my food or you d-i-e.

We were aware of this, and I spent a few weeks feeding Layla her dinner on the kitchen table while Lucy covertly ate hers with an eye on Layla. They had several run-ins, and each time Layla left the fray a bit worse for wear. She spent a lot of time feeling miserable and stuck to me like glue. As time went on they each found their place and space and worked out a peace treaty of sorts. They steal each other's toys and raw hides with out fear of injury. Layla, a wise dog, knows I will get her a replacement. Lucy, on the other hand looks at me with such sad eyes I go to Layla and extract Lucy's treat from her mouth and return it to Lucy.

Layla still will not let Lucy come in our bedroom and she will not let Lucy in my office. Lucy is okay with that. She doesn't stand outside the door with her tail hanging and looking like a lost soul. She uses the opportunity to polish off any food left in Layla's dish and to get some personal play time with the Mister. If Layla eats out of Lucy's food dish Lucy doesn't get upset. When it's treat time Lucy moves off to a spot where she knows she won't have to kill Layla. Progress!

About a month after Lucy's arrival Layla made a few playful jumps in front of Lucy and after Lucy stared at her like she was nuts for a while they started to learn how to play together. At first I stood nearby but I can trust them to play now. Lucy, as big as she, is gentle and Layla was never a yippy nippy dog, so playtime is safe and fun for them.

Taking two dogs out together to do their business is the job of a puppet master. Layla goes one way, Lucy the other. They cross over and under each other and Layla always manages to wrap her lead around a tree, bush, fire hydrant, Lucy, Me or the mail box. But we manage. They race each other out the front door and stop just short of yanking my arm off. My left arm is 6 inches longer than the right one now, but a little therapy and a drink or two gets things back in order. Even when the Mister and I take them out together they manage to get their leashes in a tangle and the mister and I twirl around like the Sugar Plum Fairy trying to keep things in order.

Hey you! Yeah, you! Wanna buy a big brown dufus dog?

If you haven't read about their early days together - from Layla's point of view, in her post Dog Days of Summer, check it out now. Things were a bit dicey back then. Layla was not a happy dog. She's okay now. She'd sell Lucy on E-bay if she could, but she doesn't have a password yet. If you ever see a big brown dog with a stuffed gingerbread boy in her mouth on e-bay, please call me before the bidding gets out of hand.

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

A-Musing Fountain Of Youth Give-A-Way!

You have hit on pay dirt today! I was cleaning off a shelf and discovered a bottle of genuine, hand dipped - by the Mister, no less - water from The Fountain of Youth in St. Augustine, Florida.

This bottle has been sitting in the same spot, on the same shelf for no less than 14 years.

As shown in the picture the bottle, once filled to the top, is now half full - or half empty - depending which side of the bi-polar pendulum we are swinging from today. You may want to suggest that some of the water has evaporated, I prefer to think of it as ultra-concentrated.
To prove it's value, I used 1 drop of this water today. You will notice that my profile picture has changed from this:

To this:
Need I say more?
If you would like to have the remote opportunity of owning this coveted half full (or half empty) bottle of Genuine Fountain of Youth water you need only leave a comment. Tell me what you think it might do for you!

You can see what it did to me. Like it or not.

The springy curled picture taken at age 6 was, until today, on the original strip of 4 Kindergarten photos which tells a touching story about just how many of the original 8 Mother Dear shared with the relatives.

The little strip of toothless Muses has served me well over the last 57 years. I keep it on a box of family pictures - pre- marriage -. My brothers and sisters and I like to shuffle through the pics on occasion and laugh ourselves into a stupor. About the time we are all sobbing, snorting and trying to catch our breath, these pictures emerge and cause Mary to scream STOP STOP I CAN'T BREATHHHHHH...STOOOOPPPPP.

A few years ago, a cousin, and I won't mention his name but his initials are Philip, was looking at the pics and said to me: You look like a boy with a wig on. Sent the family into near death spasms of hilarity. We've always been a very complimentary and ego bolstering family.

I just may send the winner a picture too - what am I going to do with 4?

So, leave a comment letting me know just what this elixir might do for you. I will choose a winner one week from today at about 12:00 noon EDT. I should be out of bed by then. The winner will be announced Tuesday, October 28.

Monday, October 20, 2008

Underwire Bras Detrimental To Tampa Bay Rays Celebration

So, I'm sitting here, typing away, and I get this sensation that I have a pair of reading glasses stuck in my shirt. You know what I mean. You take off your glasses, and there's so much stuff on the table next to you that there's no place to put them, so you stick one of the ear pieces over the top of your shirt and you leave them there until you need them again, and then you wander all over tar nation looking for them until you get that sensation that they are stuck in your shirt.

That would be all well and good, except I don't wear glasses. So I continue to stare at the computer screen and start fishing around in my shirt. I come up with some kinda metal object that is poking into my diaphragm. I look down (finally) and it's the under wire from my soon to be ex under wire bra. Instead of just poking it's edge out, and then sitting there quietly for the rest of the day without bothering anyone, like I do, the thing slithers out about 4 inches. Tch.

So I'm sitting there, still at my computer, trying to get it back in my bra where it belongs, instead of my clavicle, and the mister goes scritching by in his sandals, stops at the door of my office-ette and says "Is there something I can help you with in your shirt there?"

I tell him I have everything under control, he stands there for another minute or two and scritches away. Here again, this under wire escapee stabbing an unsuspecting female, is yet another thing that the human male never has to deal with.

As luck would have it, my daily Victoria Secret catalogue arrives in the mail, so I flip to the sale section (I am unemployed, after all) and start browsing. After about 5 seconds I am so depressed by the young nymphs that I set the catalogue aside. I decide that next time I venture out I'll just stop at Stein Mart or Walmart or one of the other Marts. Meanwhile, I'll just sit here and not bother anyone. But, if I suddenly stop typing and leave the room you'll know I have to attend to a serious under wire injury. All this on a day that I should be dancing around the house celebrating the Tampa Bay Ray's victory last night.

I called the dug out just after the win and got Coach Maddon on the phone. If Evan's mom can do it, I don't see why I can't.



Coach: Yeah?


Muse: Congratulations on your win!


Coach: Yep, thanks. We've been within spitting distance of going to the World Series for 3 games now, and finally made it.


Muse: Your team played an awesome season! It's just amazing after last season when you were in the baseball cellar fall of fame all year.


Coach: Well I wouldn't go spitting hares now...


Muse: That's spitting hairs. I mean splitting.


Coach: (spit) Look I gotta go dump champagne on the guys in a spit second . Ya got any other questions?


Muse: No, I'm good. I tried resolving the spitting image of the team a few posts ago but we'll just leave that one out there for now. Sorry about those last 2 games. It was rough losing to the Red Sox when you were so close.


Coach: There's no use crying over spit milk. The team got 'em this time.


Muse: Sure did! Tell them all I said thank you and congratulations!

Sunday, October 19, 2008

This Just In: Tampa Bay Rays Going To The World Series!!!!!

Snow Bird Migration

Snow Bird
O wide vagabond upon the southbound lanes
Pull portly into The Flying T RV
When daylight wanes
And expel thy good wife
From the driver's seat
‘Tis time to fill thy tank with gas and eat

Whit Waltman - Poet Laureate of the AARP

They're heeeere! It's that special time of year when the senior citizens of Canada and the northern United States slip into the drivers seats of their Winnebagos and clog up I-75 from Mackinac Michigan and parts south.
The first signs of their arrival are a sprinkling of massive RV's, each with an auto in tow and 2 three wheeled bikes strapped to the roof. They drive 25 MPH in a 55 with their left turn signal flashing away.

Then you begin to spot signs of Mercury Grand Marquis parked in eclectic positions in the general direction of a parking space.

When you are completely surrounded with Mercury Grand Marquis with out of town license plates you know you're in for a long winter. You'll see out-the-door lines at every Denny's, Red Lobster and Sam Seltzers. But since you'd never step foot in any of those restaurants you're safe.

Signs start popping up - things to do and places to go at special senior citizen prices.

Your own favorite ethnic restaurant will start advertising tantalizing blue plate specials.

And fashion takes a giant leap backwards

Go to your polling place on November 6th at 6:25 AM in an attempt to avoid the crush and get to work on time and these two will be in line in front of you. They've already stopped for breakfast and they've done a little shopping at the 24 hr K-Mart. They'll be back on the road in time to clog up rush hour traffic.

Another sign of the arrival of the snowbirds is abandoned shopping carts. The senior gentleman pictured above wearing the ever fashionable sandals with brown (or black - or taupe) dress socks will walk to the grocery store, purchase 1 box of chicken soup mix, a tangerine and a small jar of instant coffee. To save himself from exhaustion he - or the Missus- will snag a shopping cart, take their purchases most of the way home and then dump the cart. The following morning, they will walk past the abandoned cart, on their way to the grocery store where they will buy 1 box of prunes, a pear and a tin of Pringles. They will then follow the same procedure as the previous day. They leave them....





Leaves on Grass

by Whit Waltman

When autumn leaves doth fall to lie

sprightly on yon grass
then I shall get my a**

to Pinellas County by and by

Saturday, October 18, 2008


Today is wall to wall sports day. College football - three games - and then the Tampa Bay Rays play game 5 tonight. They could have been done with it in 4, but they snatched defeat out of the mouth of victory on Thursday.
I have been amusing myself with other activities; staring at the ceiling, counting cobwebs, twirling my hair around my finger. Stuff like that. The Mister is glued to the sofa and the TV and loving every minute of the day. His chosen apparel for the day is a pair of gray knit shorts with black stripes on the side and a blue and beige floral print shirt. As a result, I've been doing everything that requires going out in public today.
The drone of crowds cheering has addled my brain. My mind is cluttered in one syllable words and cow bells ringing. I was able to rouse myself long enough to make gingerbread. M-m-m-m. The scent fills the house and love is in the air. It seemed to be the thing to do, as a cold front came through and it's been a crisp 79 degrees all day.

We'll have it for dessert tonight with some rum raisin ice cream. It may cause The Mister to speak a few words. We'll see.
Did you know Gingerbread has been around since the end of the 11th century! I found a medieval recipe that you might like to try if you can figure out what it says.

"Gyngerbrede.--Take a quart of hony, & sethe it, & skeme it clene; take Safroun, pouder Pepir, & throw ther-on; take grayted Bred, & make it so chargeaunt that it wol be y-lechyd; then take pouder Canelle, & straw ther-on y-now; then make yt square, lyke as thou wolt leche yt; take when thou lechyst hyt, an caste Box leves a-bouyn, y-stykyd ther-on, on clowys. And if thou wolt haue it Red, coloure it with Saunderys y-now."

The spelling looks quite a bit like mine before I click on spell check, so I've had no trouble figuring it out. I didn't happen to have any leves a bouyn handy so I used a recipe from one of my cookbooks.
It smells like autumn in my house now and sounds like we have 35,000 crazed football fans for dinner. All I know is I'm not feeding them. It will be dinner for two with a sentence or two of good conversation. Plus dessert.
By the way - If you need a hug today - go over and see Devoted