I mean, how far do you take your idiosyncrasies before you say enough is enough? Are there limits to your going the extra mile to achieve perfection?
I had a good friend over for dinner last night. We are close enough friends to be unmoved by criticism and actually listen to, and learn from, each others critiques. That doesn't mean we change, but there is a mutual communications thing going on that we enjoy.
Anyway... as I was cooking dinner, she was constantly on my case about the way I did things. As I cook... I clean; wash what I use and put it away. So that by the time the meal is served, only the serving dishes and utensils are left to wash...after the meal.
"Boy Dave," she said.
"You are really weird in the kitchen. It's home, not a hotel."
And... she's probably right. Most folks wait until after a meal to do the dish chores.
As her picking at me went on, I asked if she had any peculiar habits (tongue in cheek), as if I didn't already know. She is by most standards... Ms Perfection. I had an opportunity to prove the point later in the evening.
After dinner... and after watching a movie, I pulled out one of many LARGE containers of change that I have accumulated over the years, and started rolling pennies. No big deal, right? Count out 50, stuff them in a penny roll, fold the end and be done. As my friend watched me do this a few times she finally spoke up.
"You're not doing that right," she retorted, as she dumped pennies from finished rolls.
"All the heads have to face the same way," she corrected me.
"Why?", I asked.
"I mean, I'm not going to get extra credit just because all the heads are facing the same way."
"Because that's the way it's done", she replied.
I sat and watched for awhile, as she stacked pennies with all the heads facing the same way and then dropped them into the rolls. After she finished a few, I reached over and dumped them out on the table.
"Wha.. why did you do that," she asked.
"Because you're not following the rules," I said.
"I mean if the rules says all the heads must face the same way, it follows that you should put them in the roll head facing up. You were putting them in head first."
She thought about that for a moment and then reached over and dumped out the remaining rolls and started over.
Sigh!
So, now I have 200 rolls of pennies with all the heads facing the same way. Too funny!
That's the way it is in my world... and so it goes!
13 April 2009
10 April 2009
When Hunger Calls
... I listen; and then I eat, and eat, and eat.
Now, I'm not a real big guy. I reach a modest height, slightly south of five foot seven; and tip the scales somewhere near eleven stone and six... on my heavier days. That's about 160 pounds American.
Most days I don't eat much. A few cups of coffee in the morning charges my batteries and puts my adrenaline on fast forward. Occasionally I need a small snack to get me into evening. A decent dinner keeps me healthy.
It was different this morning. A quick fix of Juan's best brew got me off on my jog. By the time I returned I was hungry. Not just ready to eat... but, hUnGrY; really ugly hungry. This called for some serious culinary creativity.
So I set a pot of water to boil, flipped the switch on the belgian waffle maker, gathered up some milk and eggs and butter and flour; a package of yeast, some vanilla sugar and bowls and whips and things and churned out some mix. Setting the mix aside to mature, I poured some creme of wheat in the boiling water and slapped a dozen strips of bacon in a pan. After draining the bacon I fried a half dozen eggs in the drippings and filled the waffle maker. All the while I was getting what you might call coffee tipsy. No matter.
Waffle all fluffy and golden brown, I set another to cookin, and dressed the first with fresh strawberries and cool whip, and sat down to feed my hunger. The dining table was brimming with delights and I wasted no time digging in...bite, after bite, after bite. The hunger finally satisfied, I made note of what I'd just ate: a large bowl of creme of wheat, two belgian waffles, 12 strips of bacon, a half dozen fried eggs, a bowl of fresh strawberries, two glasses of orange juice, and eight cups of coffee. I know I'm gonna pay. You always pay. I had planned on meat loaf, spinach and potatoes au gratin for dinner. Probably I'll pass.
... and so it goes.
Now, I'm not a real big guy. I reach a modest height, slightly south of five foot seven; and tip the scales somewhere near eleven stone and six... on my heavier days. That's about 160 pounds American.
Most days I don't eat much. A few cups of coffee in the morning charges my batteries and puts my adrenaline on fast forward. Occasionally I need a small snack to get me into evening. A decent dinner keeps me healthy.
It was different this morning. A quick fix of Juan's best brew got me off on my jog. By the time I returned I was hungry. Not just ready to eat... but, hUnGrY; really ugly hungry. This called for some serious culinary creativity.
So I set a pot of water to boil, flipped the switch on the belgian waffle maker, gathered up some milk and eggs and butter and flour; a package of yeast, some vanilla sugar and bowls and whips and things and churned out some mix. Setting the mix aside to mature, I poured some creme of wheat in the boiling water and slapped a dozen strips of bacon in a pan. After draining the bacon I fried a half dozen eggs in the drippings and filled the waffle maker. All the while I was getting what you might call coffee tipsy. No matter.
Waffle all fluffy and golden brown, I set another to cookin, and dressed the first with fresh strawberries and cool whip, and sat down to feed my hunger. The dining table was brimming with delights and I wasted no time digging in...bite, after bite, after bite. The hunger finally satisfied, I made note of what I'd just ate: a large bowl of creme of wheat, two belgian waffles, 12 strips of bacon, a half dozen fried eggs, a bowl of fresh strawberries, two glasses of orange juice, and eight cups of coffee. I know I'm gonna pay. You always pay. I had planned on meat loaf, spinach and potatoes au gratin for dinner. Probably I'll pass.
... and so it goes.
07 April 2009
Some Days Just Don't Do It For Me
Today was one of those days.
Rising at 5 a.m. my first order of business, after morning hygeine, is coffee. Alas, the coffee maker was on the fritz. Now... I don't have alot of vices. But I must have my morning coffee if I am to face the day with a respectable level of endurance and tolerance. Without it, I don't quite reach that rung on the ladder that says I am human.
So, off I go... to the corner convenience store to get my fix. It's a cold, blustery morning. A good excuse to postpone my jog to the donut shop. But that's okay. Sweets is not a vice. I can pass on the fried dough.
Back at the Briars I turned to the overnight news. Little Sandra Cantu was found. The news was not good. A bad day just got worse. I'm not prone to violence. I had enough of that during the war to last me many lifetimes. But I have absolutely no problem giving child abusers and molestors a bad hair day. Just point me to the switch and I'll gladly crank up the voltage.
Later in the day I braved the cold and ambled on down to Wally World to get a new coffee maker. A black one... to match my black stove top, fridge, other appliances and my coffee mugs. Back at the Briars I put my new dispenser of morning relief to the test. Now.... here's the thing about a black coffee maker, and black coffee mugs. They blend! You can't see the coffee coming out of the spout into the mug... and you can't see how full the mug is, until it's too late. But it shows up real well on a white tile counter top and floor. Get the message?
After wiping up the spill, I settled into my favorite recliner to savor the aroma and tantilizing taste of brewed coffee beans. Ahhhhhhh. What could be better than this?
Off in the distance I heard the faint sound of a ring tone... "Gonna get me some lovin'". It played over and over. Try as I might, I couldn't locate the source. Just when I thought I was getting close... it stopped. Oh well; that's the story of my love life anyway, so what else is new? I gave a sigh and reflected on when life was so much easier. The telephone hung on the wall or sat on a table, and made a ringing sound. Hello! I gotta get rid of my cell phone. Half the time I don't know where it is and the other half of the time it doesn't know where I am. Duh!
Like I said... some days just don't do it for me.
...and so it goes.
Rising at 5 a.m. my first order of business, after morning hygeine, is coffee. Alas, the coffee maker was on the fritz. Now... I don't have alot of vices. But I must have my morning coffee if I am to face the day with a respectable level of endurance and tolerance. Without it, I don't quite reach that rung on the ladder that says I am human.
So, off I go... to the corner convenience store to get my fix. It's a cold, blustery morning. A good excuse to postpone my jog to the donut shop. But that's okay. Sweets is not a vice. I can pass on the fried dough.
Back at the Briars I turned to the overnight news. Little Sandra Cantu was found. The news was not good. A bad day just got worse. I'm not prone to violence. I had enough of that during the war to last me many lifetimes. But I have absolutely no problem giving child abusers and molestors a bad hair day. Just point me to the switch and I'll gladly crank up the voltage.
Later in the day I braved the cold and ambled on down to Wally World to get a new coffee maker. A black one... to match my black stove top, fridge, other appliances and my coffee mugs. Back at the Briars I put my new dispenser of morning relief to the test. Now.... here's the thing about a black coffee maker, and black coffee mugs. They blend! You can't see the coffee coming out of the spout into the mug... and you can't see how full the mug is, until it's too late. But it shows up real well on a white tile counter top and floor. Get the message?
After wiping up the spill, I settled into my favorite recliner to savor the aroma and tantilizing taste of brewed coffee beans. Ahhhhhhh. What could be better than this?
Off in the distance I heard the faint sound of a ring tone... "Gonna get me some lovin'". It played over and over. Try as I might, I couldn't locate the source. Just when I thought I was getting close... it stopped. Oh well; that's the story of my love life anyway, so what else is new? I gave a sigh and reflected on when life was so much easier. The telephone hung on the wall or sat on a table, and made a ringing sound. Hello! I gotta get rid of my cell phone. Half the time I don't know where it is and the other half of the time it doesn't know where I am. Duh!
Like I said... some days just don't do it for me.
...and so it goes.
05 April 2009
I Have a Date With Seven Sisters
How Romantic is that?
Alcyone, Asterope, Celaeno, Electra, Maia, Merope and Taygeta. Nymphs all, and possessed of magnificent beauty beyond imagination.
Now..... as a rule, I'm not so bold as to flirt with more than one gal at a time. At my age, even one successful coupling is a plus. But, I've dated them before; many times. These inseparable gals are among my closest friends. One might say "friends with benefits" that mesmerize me into a hypnotic state of euphoria. Who... in my position, could have one without desiring the others? A menage a trois, two-fold plus one. I might die before it's over; but I'll die smiling. Who could resist such an invite? I mean...it is Spring.
Sound kinda kinky? It's not, really. These seven sisters, along with their kin, are better known as The Pleiades. The daughters of Atlas and Pleione. Together... they make up the cradle of life. As Orion drifts away, The Pleiades take center stage in the night sky.
The Pleiades is a "star cluster", set in the constellation Taurus. Probably the most well know star cluster. By eye they are sometimes mistaken as the little dipper. With binoculars they tug at your heart. Through a modest telescope, they steal away your soul. Through a really big telescope, well... like I said, who could resist the euphoric bliss.
It's probably just as well that Orion is in decline. I mean, the great hunter, himself, was once seduced by these goddesses of folklore. And I'm in no position to compete with such studly opposition.
If you have never spent time gazing at stars up close... I can tell you this:
Every object, or group of objects out there, has a particular emotional tug. They touch you in different ways. Some leave you feeling all scrambled up and worn out from the chaos they display. Some, spark fear in your heart. You want to look away... escape, but you can't. Some absorb you, leaving you tired, helpless... empty. Others, give you mass doses of energy. Your adrenalin level increases. They're addicting, far more than any drug known to man. But only one, that I know of, seduces you. Enticing you with a unrelenting allure that always results in conquest. Joy, excitement, wonder, happiness, fulfilled, are just some of the words that come to mind. Pleiades.
Alcyone, Asterope, Celaeno, Electra, Maia, Merope and Taygeta. Nymphs all, and possessed of magnificent beauty beyond imagination.
Now..... as a rule, I'm not so bold as to flirt with more than one gal at a time. At my age, even one successful coupling is a plus. But, I've dated them before; many times. These inseparable gals are among my closest friends. One might say "friends with benefits" that mesmerize me into a hypnotic state of euphoria. Who... in my position, could have one without desiring the others? A menage a trois, two-fold plus one. I might die before it's over; but I'll die smiling. Who could resist such an invite? I mean...it is Spring.
Sound kinda kinky? It's not, really. These seven sisters, along with their kin, are better known as The Pleiades. The daughters of Atlas and Pleione. Together... they make up the cradle of life. As Orion drifts away, The Pleiades take center stage in the night sky.
The Pleiades is a "star cluster", set in the constellation Taurus. Probably the most well know star cluster. By eye they are sometimes mistaken as the little dipper. With binoculars they tug at your heart. Through a modest telescope, they steal away your soul. Through a really big telescope, well... like I said, who could resist the euphoric bliss.
It's probably just as well that Orion is in decline. I mean, the great hunter, himself, was once seduced by these goddesses of folklore. And I'm in no position to compete with such studly opposition.
If you have never spent time gazing at stars up close... I can tell you this:
Every object, or group of objects out there, has a particular emotional tug. They touch you in different ways. Some leave you feeling all scrambled up and worn out from the chaos they display. Some, spark fear in your heart. You want to look away... escape, but you can't. Some absorb you, leaving you tired, helpless... empty. Others, give you mass doses of energy. Your adrenalin level increases. They're addicting, far more than any drug known to man. But only one, that I know of, seduces you. Enticing you with a unrelenting allure that always results in conquest. Joy, excitement, wonder, happiness, fulfilled, are just some of the words that come to mind. Pleiades.
04 April 2009
Stuck in the Middle Again
I recently turned 64 and I got to thinking about that. It's an awkward age. Somewhere in-between young and old; too old to be young and too young to be old. Kinda like being stuck between childhood and puberty. Good grief, Charlie Brown!
At least I don't feel old. Oh... I feel some differences from years past. I don't run anymore. I jog. There's a difference. The pace is slower. I don't worry about it too much. I figure it just takes me longer to get to where I'm going (Usually the donut shop). That could be a good thing. At least it would if it also applied to aging. That would make it take longer to get older. Alas, time just doesn't cooperate.
Little aches and pains take longer to go away, these days. It also takes me longer to eat my way through a meal. I don't mind that. I just spend the extra time enjoying the meal.
Some things take less time. Like forgetting. Short term memory is getting shorter. I forgot what day it is, which caused me to lose a day. Well... I really didn't forget. It just took me longer to remember. But, by then the day was pretty much gone, so I may just as well have forgotten.
Mostly, getting older doesn't bother me too much. Especially in retirement. Remembering to remember things gives me something to occupy my time. Otherwise I'd probably have too much time on my hands. Especially if I forget to remember something important.
I know. This isn't making much sense to you. Maybe because you're 63 or younger.... or 65 or older. You don't have the same challenges confronting those of us stuck in the middle. Sixty-four. It's an awkward age.
So, anyway, I'm thinking, hey... I can do this. It's only for a year. Then I'll be sixty-five. Things will be different. Except that it occurred to me I'd be stuck between 64 and 66. Is there no way out of this predicament?
... and so it goes.
At least I don't feel old. Oh... I feel some differences from years past. I don't run anymore. I jog. There's a difference. The pace is slower. I don't worry about it too much. I figure it just takes me longer to get to where I'm going (Usually the donut shop). That could be a good thing. At least it would if it also applied to aging. That would make it take longer to get older. Alas, time just doesn't cooperate.
Little aches and pains take longer to go away, these days. It also takes me longer to eat my way through a meal. I don't mind that. I just spend the extra time enjoying the meal.
Some things take less time. Like forgetting. Short term memory is getting shorter. I forgot what day it is, which caused me to lose a day. Well... I really didn't forget. It just took me longer to remember. But, by then the day was pretty much gone, so I may just as well have forgotten.
Mostly, getting older doesn't bother me too much. Especially in retirement. Remembering to remember things gives me something to occupy my time. Otherwise I'd probably have too much time on my hands. Especially if I forget to remember something important.
I know. This isn't making much sense to you. Maybe because you're 63 or younger.... or 65 or older. You don't have the same challenges confronting those of us stuck in the middle. Sixty-four. It's an awkward age.
So, anyway, I'm thinking, hey... I can do this. It's only for a year. Then I'll be sixty-five. Things will be different. Except that it occurred to me I'd be stuck between 64 and 66. Is there no way out of this predicament?
I've looked at clouds from both sides now
From up and down, but still somehow
It's cloud illusions I recall
I really don't know clouds at all.
... and so it goes.
Morning Coffee: Another Day at The Briars
Well I woke up Sunday mornin' with no way to hold my head that didn't hurt. And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad, So I had one more for dessert. ...
I don't relate much to that song anymore. But there were younger days when it could have been written about me.
When I read or watch a movie, next to a good mystery I get most absorbed in westerns. The exploits of Americans murdering and displacing Indians and Mexicans while settling the west is revealing; the justifications often offered ring hollow but hey...it is what it is and it's done.
Much of what is offered is tempered with poetic license, either to add intrigue or take the edge off the sins of man. I think not many, today, could weather the challenges faced by those early pioneers. We are too spoiled and pampered reaping the rewards, when not getting mired in our own brand of exploitation.
I watched The Last Wagon last night. It's a good yarn that attempts to find middle ground to place the blame for the massacres by both white men and Indians, while weaving in romance and understanding. Centered around a white man, raised by Indians, fighting back against injustice... it's a story that could be more real than fiction. There are some worthwhile lessons to be learned from the story.
All this talk about the Pope, abstinence, condoms, politics, religion, and foisting self-induced morality on others be damned. Life does not stop because of our differences. We either learn to get along or we don't. If we don't, it's as simple as taking different paths and avoiding intersecting crossroads. The problem, I think... is, even as we get older simplicity seems fleeting. Confrontation appears more attractive. Why is that?
I mean, what possible joy comes from exploiting our beliefs to denegrate others? Expressing our beliefs is one thing. Suggesting that our way is the only way is just plain shallow thinking. I have no problem rejecting the way many choose to live their lives, or expressing why I think their choices are wrong. But, that doesn't make their choices wrong for them. It just puts us on different highways in life.
Eventually, we will all reach the end of the road. Some invision a judgement day awaiting them. Others, like me simple hope we've lived a good and full life.
Rub a dub dub
Since I don't have a housekeeper anymore, I was up most of the night doing my twice a month house sanitation thing. You know... those extras that don't come with daily chores. It always starts in the kitchen for me. Taking unused dishes out of the cupboard and running them through the dish machine; Wiping down all surfaces with hot water/pine-sol; hand scrubbing the ceramic tile floor; ridding the fridge of uneaten left-overs. Then it's off to the bathrooms to wash them down with pine-sol and spray the tub/shower with mildew defender; and the can with bleach.
I don't relate much to that song anymore. But there were younger days when it could have been written about me.
When I read or watch a movie, next to a good mystery I get most absorbed in westerns. The exploits of Americans murdering and displacing Indians and Mexicans while settling the west is revealing; the justifications often offered ring hollow but hey...it is what it is and it's done.
Much of what is offered is tempered with poetic license, either to add intrigue or take the edge off the sins of man. I think not many, today, could weather the challenges faced by those early pioneers. We are too spoiled and pampered reaping the rewards, when not getting mired in our own brand of exploitation.
I watched The Last Wagon last night. It's a good yarn that attempts to find middle ground to place the blame for the massacres by both white men and Indians, while weaving in romance and understanding. Centered around a white man, raised by Indians, fighting back against injustice... it's a story that could be more real than fiction. There are some worthwhile lessons to be learned from the story.
All this talk about the Pope, abstinence, condoms, politics, religion, and foisting self-induced morality on others be damned. Life does not stop because of our differences. We either learn to get along or we don't. If we don't, it's as simple as taking different paths and avoiding intersecting crossroads. The problem, I think... is, even as we get older simplicity seems fleeting. Confrontation appears more attractive. Why is that?
I mean, what possible joy comes from exploiting our beliefs to denegrate others? Expressing our beliefs is one thing. Suggesting that our way is the only way is just plain shallow thinking. I have no problem rejecting the way many choose to live their lives, or expressing why I think their choices are wrong. But, that doesn't make their choices wrong for them. It just puts us on different highways in life.
Eventually, we will all reach the end of the road. Some invision a judgement day awaiting them. Others, like me simple hope we've lived a good and full life.
Rub a dub dub
Since I don't have a housekeeper anymore, I was up most of the night doing my twice a month house sanitation thing. You know... those extras that don't come with daily chores. It always starts in the kitchen for me. Taking unused dishes out of the cupboard and running them through the dish machine; Wiping down all surfaces with hot water/pine-sol; hand scrubbing the ceramic tile floor; ridding the fridge of uneaten left-overs. Then it's off to the bathrooms to wash them down with pine-sol and spray the tub/shower with mildew defender; and the can with bleach.
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