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I got a message from Twitter the other day.  They said the men's gay chorus was following me.
I turned around to see if they really were.
They could be, but I didn't see them.

Wild Thing

I heard "Wild Thing" on the radio the other day.
It made me think of my very first boyfriend.  I don't know if I was ready yet, or if he was, but he thought so, and after a bunch of years of being the ugly girl, I was flattered by his attention.

He was a surfer with a Beatle haircut and exotic eyes like the the very skies above the beach where we met.

I don't know if either of us was the wild thing.  I don't remember singing it together, but that is the song which reminds me of him as a young man.

He is grown now with grown up problems different from mine but no easier to deal with.  I know where he is, far away from here and that long ago beach.  Sometimes I hope he hears a song and thinks of me too.

You never know

A funny thing happened.
My Father sent me an article from the New York Times Sunday Supplement.

It was about marginalia, the marking up and commenting not merely in the margins of books, but throughout the text, underlining sentences, adding little flourishes of one’s own, including but not limited to stars, brackets, and all manner of marking for reference at a later time.

The writer of the article infuriated me by lyrically extolling his nasty and destructive habit of marking up the pages of books. In fact, to me he sounded overly self congratulatory, actually boasting to writing as much in the margins as there may have been on the original page. To me, this is extreme hubris, and as I understand it, hubris is already extreme.
That he owned the books he had virtually destroyed seemed to me to be beside the point. How distracting to borrow such a volume and try to read through his copious blather? He described just such an incident, and that he needed to borrow back the book while the lendee was still reading. He said that she felt the clean book was somehow lonely.

In my mind this man is a negligent desecrator of the hard work of both author and editor and that instead of creating his own notebook for those meanderings of his mind he preferred to massacre the pristine pages of a new volume.
He even gave historical reference in his defense, possibly not noting that in the 18th and 19th centuries, one did not necessarily have the requisite quill and foolscap at the ready.

I was about to turn the page to finish the article when I discovered that the article sent to me was about soup, and the story about the marginal writer was merely on the outside of the folded pages.

I will probably never read the end of the article, and in any case had read enough of his outlaw ways with the written word. Instead, I will read the soup story intended for me, and perhaps make some nourishing and delicious chowder or stew on this cold and rainy spring day.

What's in a Name?

I've stopped remembering names.  I don't know how it happens, but some time in the last year I just quit.

I read a lot of fiction.  Not romance, or historical fiction, but genereally sub-humorous prose with zany characters if I can find it.  I like Tim Dorsey and Carl Haiisen ( can never spell that right) but also a lot of women writers, too many to mention.  Once I went through a series of baseball and even golf novels, but that's immaterial here.

The thing is that I am reading along and I cannot keep the characters straight.  I pick up the book and look in mid sentence where I left off, (I can remember where I left off, that's interesting), but I do not remember the story line, or who these people are.  I have to say that if left to my own devices I will read 3 or 4 books a week, and that often the character names overlap so that there may be the same names in consecutive books, or even similar story lines which is purely coincidental, but it adds to the confusion.

I look at the page and wonder is Rory the doctor with a disabling disease, or is she the housewife living multiple lives in another dimention?  I don't really know until I have back tracked a couple of pages or just gone forward to see what she does next.

The last book I read had so many characters that I treated them as I had when I read the "Russians" in my youth.  The names were so cumbersome I just used the first inital, and raced past those crippling amalgams of consonants jangling in my mind.  Eventually, in a burst of inspiration I quit reading them altogether. The book I was reading did not have difficult names, just too many to keep straight.

I forget the names of neighbors and people I meet sporadically, like at once a year parties.  I may have spoken to them for an hour, but guaranteed, I will not recall their names 5 minutes or a year later.  They, however remember mine, and I have no idea why or how they do.

I will remember your name if I have known you for 20 years or so, but last night in a dream, I forgot the names of some very dear friends.  It could be that I have not seen them for years, and they did not look like themselves as sometimes happens in dreams.  I woke up troubled.

I'm kind of worried, but most people say we are all forgetting things, and there is some stress to consider.

The thing is, if you run into me and I appear not to know you, just introduce yourself again.   I will remember you or be happy to meet you.  Does it matter which?

Ms. Information

I've been looking for work sporadically although I am in dire need.  The Etsy is slow going and no computer in the house does not help.

I was wandering aimless in Chico's the other day.  I'm not really a Chico's kind of person, more like Salvation army, (the Sal) these days.

I was approached by two sales women, and told them that I had no idea what I was doing there.
Somehow, the next thing I knew, one of the girls told me she was nervous about her upcoming wedding.
"Well, what's the problem?" I butted in once more where anyone else would fear to tread.
She told me they kept adding to the wedding list, and it was out of hand.
"So, tell your boyfriend (of 10 years) to put all new people on a list and have a separate party after the big day." 
She liked that a lot.
"I wonder if you could give me another opinion," she continued, "the girls made me register for gifts but we have been living together for 10 years and I have everything, and don't know what to do with all the new stuff!"
Easy, I told her, just keep all the new stuff and donate all the old stuff unless it's heirloom or something.
"Wow", she said, you should wander in here more often!"  "Not only will I have great new stuff but I will get credit for doing good for others!"  " I love that."
Just another day for Ms. Information I thought.  How can I make money doing this?
Let me know if you have a problem or a solution.
I'm open to both.

What's in a Name?

I have to have a tooth extracted.  I had it worked on last year, and it has hurt ever since.  I have bounced back and forth from my dentist to the endodontist who did the root canal, both claiming the tooth to be fine, and neither claiming blame for the pain.  "that's his tooth" said my dentist.  Now it's infected and I'm just having it out.  The dental Surgeon's name is Wank.  Yes, he's a wanker.  Omygod, that's ridiculous, but it sounds like yank and that's close enough for me.  I am nervous and expecting pain and misery which is basically what I have now, but with the addition of bleeding.  (That's nice dear, could you change the subject?)

The thing is, I have noticed lately that people are once more becoming what their name tells you they are, as in mideval times.  So the woman doing my alterations is named Taylor, for instance.

One day I went with a friend who was getting Lasik Surgery on her eyes.  I don't know if you can get it any place else, but that's what we were doing.  She was holding on to me so hard, the doctor must have thought we were a couple, and when he finished explaining the proceedure, he asked "do you have any questions, Meg?" 

I said "Well, Dr. Foot, I would feel a lot better if your name were Iris or something, but other than that I have no qualms."

So that's my day, how's yours?

Feel free to write me. 

Visit me wouldja?

I might mention the shop is still open. Chandeluse.etsy.com. I have loaded it with home made (hand made) valentine jewelry and boxes.  Still working on cards.  I never print them out correctly so it's difficult, and for a woman who hopes to become a writer, I am surprisingly bad at greeting cards.

Remark

Sorry I have been MIA.  I have to type at the library and I have 9 minutes left so i gotta keep this short.
I was talking with the hub and he said :
Fast food always has cheese in it somewhere.  Whether you order a milk shake or a salad there's cheese in there somewhere.

I hope it makes you laugh too.

Holy Cow

At the thrift shop the Cristmas music was playing.  Not my favorite tune but it kept building and building until it took my mind off the search for designer presents and I thought... that woman is singing her guts out here, and she is darned good!  Just as I was thinking that, one of the workers passed behind me in mid sentence  " So's I told them to go to Sears and Robot"..
Yes SHe Did!
Celine Dion finished O holy night, and we got on with our day.

A very Merry to any of you who are left.  There's no computer in the house, so my midnight rambles are turned to library nocturnes.

Which Hand?

Nory went to see her friend in Brooklyn.  It took a lot of effort because she did not like to drive far, or to places where she had never been before, or not driven to before.

They wandered around the streets, stopping for snacks, and watching the beautifully costumed children trick or treat from store to store.

As they crossed one street, Nory noticed something sparkling on the asphalt. She scooped up a crystal drop earring.  Scanning the street for possibly the other earring, she found a steel nut that had come loose from something or other.

Jon was waiting on the other side of the street, looking quizzical.  What's going on? he asked.

Putting out two fists, Nory said choose one hand, and Jon picked one.  It was the nut.  So he took the nut, still looking at Nory like; what gives?

Nory opened her other hand, showing him the jewel inside.

You found that on the street?  he asked, And I got the nut?

You chose the nut, Nory told him while pocketing the earring, and taking his arm in hers, they continued down the street.

CSI Home: The Case of the Missing Redhead

Waiting for an important call, I realized I had ignored the state of the house for about 6 weeks.  I decided to get with it.

While swabbing the kitchen floor, I decided to break at the oven and spray it with cleaner.  That should take about 2-3 hours to eat through to enamel. (for more on this see: Accidents in the home).

Climbing the stairs, I noticed: they were disgusting.  All manner of dirt dust and hair remained on the treads.  Wearing my trusty Platex Living Gloves, (I think they actually might call them that although outside of the bubble boy I don't know who would call that living..) I climb one stair at a time rubbing furiously at the back edge and then sides and middle.

The resulting debris resembled a hairy bowling ball.  There was soooo much hair!  Obviously I had been there at least once.

This put me in mind of all those detective shows.  Come on, they find one hair on the victim, and it's crime solved?  I had enough evidence to convict myself a billion times over.  I had hair there from when I was a redhead.

Wait a second.... I've never BEEN a redhead! 

Case open pending further investigation.

Soup's On!

Let me just run this one by you:
Rotisserie chicken soup.thrifty or pathetic?
Discuss amongst yourselves.

Recipe:
One mostly denuded chicken carcass
4-6 cups of water
large carrot cut up
stalk of celery with leaves on
half an onin large hunks
salt, pepper
parsley whole
include that dark jelly stuff on th bottom of the plastic chicken garage thing, that's the flavor package

Boil till it smells like grandma's house,( 2-3 hours) taste.  If it's too weak cook it down some more.  Eventually it should taste good.  Then you can add:
leftover chicken
more smaller carrot and celery and onion pieces, sweated,
lentils (handful)
rice (some)
whatever...
maybe kale or spinach
maybe little pale meatballs
red bell pepper, if your stomach can take it
cumin, curry or Chinese 5 spice powder
you can take it from here,
I'm just waiting for the broth to cool.
And that's che sera cooking for today. enjoy!

Sexy Costumes

I was tooling about the web the other day, when I saw a link for interesting Halloween Costumes.  I am interested in costumes because they allow us, for a limited time only, to wear the stuff that would be ridiculous, outre', or just plain unappropriate most of the time.

I was disgusted to find that most of the costumes for women consist of mainly undergarments.  It used to be that you would go to a party and everyone was a French Maid or wearing a catsuit, but now, everyone who dares, just puts on some underwear. 

Even if it's unusually pretty, I don't want to see you without clothing.  My friend Bob once went as Jesus Christ, but due to his stocky build, we all thought he was baby New Year.  That loincloth looked way too diaper for us. Plus, it was cold.

One year I went as the Bride of Frankenstein.  Too bad, I don't have a photo for you, but Mom was out of film or something.  As I was driving through the turnpike, lightning in my hair, eyebrows severely altered, black lips, and bandages hanging from my arms, the toll guy leaned out of the booth and remarked: you look really hot tonight.  He did not know me, and so he did not know how I looked every other night, and the party was about a week from Halloween.  I'm still not quite sure what that was about, but it's a good story, and it's true.

When I got to the party, there were a load of catsuits, but I had my choice of suitors, and eventually chose a gorilla with an oversized tie.  I thought the tie was an extra effort.  He turned out to be Mr. wrong, inviting me over by saying "why not come over and make me dinner?   I bought some kind of meat."

He was not sure what kind of meat he had bought, and from experience I knew he had not even salt and pepper with which to season said mystery meat.

I told him in no uncertain terms that it was not a good invitation.  "You say, come over I have a mink coat, and some kind of meat, or perhaps; I have roses, champagne and chocolates, and some kind of meat." I suggested.

He did not think I was funny, or even helpful, which I really was, and when, a couple years later, he was to marry a young woman, I wondered how he had managed to convince her.  It certainly was not his manner.
Maybe it was the gorilla suit.

Weather or Not

I was going to go out today, but the threat of near-flood conditions deters me.  In fact, I would probably just spend money, and I'd just as soon make money as spend it.  I should be listing my entire house on different sites, but as of now I only have a hundred or so listings split between Amazon, Etsy (chandeluse), Ebay and Craigslist.

It's kind of boring, listing things online, and yet, when someone buys your stuff, you get such a happy rush, it's instant confirmation either of your good taste and refinement, or of your canny observation of the market.  Either way, it makes you feel good to have a little cash come in when you have not worked yourself to the bone to earn it.

I could spend this time writing, listing, or making things to list.  So far, the making things to list has been the most useless, as my main site sells Vintage items, and evidently Etsiers prefer their home-made to be separated from their vintage.
  To go farther, it seems that they prefer their shops to sell only one item at a time, such as; soaps, party invitations, or portraits of Marie Antoinette.
  I'm not sure why Marie is so popular, other than, we kind of wish we could march around looking like an elegant parade float or custom cake, more than we wish to wear the type of boring, don't pay me any mind couture we generally have around the house.  It's kind of interesting, because most of us would rather be Marie Antoinette than Lady Gaga.  Think on that, for a while, and get back to me about it.

Pumpkin Carving 101

I tend to digress a lot here, so bear with me.  Probably I should have edited more generously, but frankly most of it amuses me, and so you can be the judge.

 Pumpkin Carving 101

The first thing you must do is find a suitable child. You might think that a pumpkin would be the first item on your list but you would be mistaken.

I don’t particularly recommend using children for many activities, but they are the most fun to carve pumpkins with.

My mother used to buy unusual shaped pumpkins and keep them around the house for indefinite periods of time. One year around January, I felt that this had gone far enough and enlisted my 6-year-old sister to help make the Jack-o-lantern. We had the very best time and the next day; no one at school would believe her story of pumpkin carving while there was snow on the ground. I got in trouble for destroying the squash. I still do not know for what purpose it was intended that we had to keep it for so long.

I do not recommend  borrowing a child without parental permission, it is just not done, but let’s say you have a kid, maybe you are related to one of an age that will still be captivated with an activity where knives are wielded at vegetables for no practical purpose, and you can go together to get a pumpkin. I am going to leave you to your own devices at this point, buy, grow, pick, steal, whatever, depending on how fast you can run towing a small child and one or more pumpkins.

Once home in the kitchen, arm everyone involved with smocks or aprons. Count on getting everything sticky and messy.

On another occasion, ( I know, I TOLD you about the digressing) I had baked a large hubbard squash in the oven to use as pie filling. Lifting the pan proved slippery and the entire pan fell to the floor and splashed up to a spectacular height of seven feet. As I was slipping around the kitchen in orange goo, a telemarketer called, and like a fool, I answered the phone, thus applying gunk to one more surface. “I can’t talk now, I told the woman, I have pumpkin up to here.” She failed to believe me.  That's the problem with my life, too many true incidents that just seem like they must not have really happened.

Newspaper is the traditional covering for your table. It is plentiful in most homes and in addition to slime; you can get newsprint all over everything. This is part of the gestalt of the deal. Note: Papers were plentiful before the national newspapers went to hell, and also before the advent of recycling, but I know of a house that is standing mostly because of the newspapers amending the strength of the walls.

The next step, planning the decoration, is a good place to use the child. Give it a large marker, be specific that it can draw only on the pumpkin or the paper, and let it go. Try not to be picky. If you are not happy with their design, you can make your own as the pumpkin has continuous sides. I kind of like making 2 or 3 faces per pumpkin, and they cast more light that way.

Cut the top off of the squash in question. An irregular cut will make you look like less of an idiot trying to make it fit again. Any attempt to make it an even circular cut will result in you spinning it endlessly over the opening and dropping it back inside with some frequency. A zigzag somewhere along the edge will remedy your lid conundrums.  Also, try to cut at an angle with the widest part at the top and the smaller part towards the inside.

The next step is everyone’s favorite, and if it is not, you will thank me for advising you to invite a small person. Put all hands inside the hole in the top and wiggle your fingers and squish the seeds between your fingers, making jokes with your small person or not, as you wish. This part engenders merriment whether or not you have good comic material, and kids have their own ideas as to just what constitutes humor, and will let you know, whether you are interested or not.

You will probably have to scrape out the insides unless your child is particularly adept, as well they might be, knowing it is your child, who is, as we all know, smarter than ours.

All that is left is to cut out your pattern, and the powers that be are not holding us to faces anymore. You can make spooky trees, owls, ghosts or perhaps a replica of Mount Rushmore, as you please.

I would do this part myself, as handing tots cutlery is tantamount to mayhem and that parents frown on getting their child back with missing parts. During this boring (for them) interval, give them a bowl of the seeds to play with, that being the most delightful part of it anyway, and try not to be too hard on yourself if things are not perfect.

Put a candle inside, leave the lid off and turn off the lights and make spooky noises at each other. This should kill at least another one minute until your child lender comes to retrieve their progeny and berate you for overindulgence.

What a happy life! Rid yourself of the messy small persons, or rush them to the tub to clean off the excess squash. Pour yourself a drink and congratulate yourself on a job well done. You are now ready for Halloween. Or perhaps not, but you have made the attempt, and that is what matters.

The women are smarter

I was in the GYN office, not particularly wanting to be there, and feeling kind of tired.  I was resting my head on my arms which were crossed over one side of the chair arm, much akin to napping in school but to the side.

From somewhere in the middle of the line of chairs a woman reads aloud from a magazine; "A man does not know anything about a woman  until he gets married."

From my odd perspective both physical and mental,  not missing a beat, I reply "A man does not know anything about a woman  until he asks her."

A man's voice sounds from the far corner, "That's the smartest thing I heard all day".  Then a lively discussion ensued.

Glad to be of help, I said, just as my name was called.

Midnight Ramble

When you are alone in the house, you don't have to play by the rules.  You can get up, walk around, eat stuff you are not supposed to, blog all night, etc.  Frankly, my eating is off, and a good thing too, I am losing weight like crazy but my clothes still fit. (drat!)  Also, I am not eating like a hog, but I decided not to cook for a while.  You do not know what a relief that is! 

I picture myself just tossing out what's in the fridge, day by day, as if in a short film:
Monday: smell milk, if questionable, spill down sink, rinse jug and put in recycling container.  All of this is taken from a rear view as if the camera is behind me.

Tuesday: Attack the veg bin, look for leakage or soppy vegetables, put in compost pile, clean out drawer.

You get the general picture.  I can take all the canned stuff to the food bank at the church across the street.  For some reason they specialize in harboring immigrants.  Go figure people out, I sure don't understand it, but maybe they will love my old cans of chinese mushrooms and water chestnuts. (I like to be prepared for all contingencies).

So, the big deal is that I got a glass of ice water, and came up to write this.  I was asleep but a wrong number woke me at 12:30 and I spent some time switching back and forth between Jimmy Fallon and Craig Ferguson.  They were both pretty funny, but I hate the comercials.

I'm sleeping on half the bed.  It saves a lot of bed making time in the morning.  That's another rule you can break.  You can sleep any way you want, sideways, for instance, but I don't recommend it. Bad feng shui.

This is not as funny as I had envisioned it.  I had some deal in my head about making something with the "magic bullet blender" that you buy on paid for TV.  I forget what I was thinking of making now, so that's lame.  Those deals are so bizarre.  I can just see people at home thinking; yeah, that seems like such a great deal, and I can give the extra (fill in the blank here) to my sister... but of course, they are mostly crap, plastic crap, made in china and guaranteed to break very soon after opening and quizzling around with the chinese goofy translated instructions. (as if anyone ever reads instructions).
The Ikea instructions are goofy too, in that they are mostly pictograms, but odd.  Why should I put the dried cod in the sofa bed, you are wondering, looking at the booklet.  Where can I put all these stupid allen wrenches after the book case is together that I won't lose them?  They end up in the kitchen junk drawer, and eventually you find them and toss them because you forgot what they go to, and then the book case starts to wobble..... you know how that works.

The other night I went to the movies alone.  It's  little screening room, and I was the only one there.  I took a seat in a minimally uncomfortable tub chair with a table, arranged my water and gummy bears, and had a little show just for me.  How decadent, and indeed how wonderful.

I saw The Extra Man starring Kevin Kline (he was in A Fish Called Wanda).  This one  was kind of a strange movie.  He was a down on his luck ex-playwright who is a walker for old women in New York, and he rents part of his crappy apartment to a young man with a curiosity about women's undergarments.  Yeah, it got a bit wierd, but it was oddly uplifting, and had a happy ending.  I laughed, I cried, yada yada yada, I'm not so good with book reports or movie reviews, as you may have noticed.  Anyway, it was pretty stupendous.  And then I walked the 2 blocks back home where I could do anything I wanted, and didn't.

What do you do alone in the house?  Tell me a story.  I'm thinking of sending a prize to the winner.  It's a secret prize.  Might be on my Etsy Store.  http://chandeluse.etsy.com/  tell me what you might pick.

I fall Down

the garage

Well, I fell down the other day.  I wanted to tell people "I took a header" but no one knows what that means any more. 

I did not break a hip.  In fact, I don't think I broke anything larger than my humility, but I can feel a bruise high up on my chest.  I think I actually bruised a rib.I can't see anything though.

Oh yes, and my knees, you don't want to see that.

So now, I am just achy and scabby, like  a couple of cowpokes out on the prairie.  My sister asked if I went to the hospital, but I don't think that's where you go for skinned knees.

I'm not sure why I'm telling you this.  I should really tell you about the neclace and broken bracelet I bought at the yard sale right before this, but I have not taken a photo yet.

Man! this computer keyboard is really loud this morning!

So, I was at my neighbor's yard sale, she is in the friends of the animals, (no kidding) and was a professional estate sale type.  She's sort of retired, but cannot resist other people's stuff.  She always wants to get together for lunch but continues to forget that I do not know her last name or phone number, so when she called later to see if I was okay, I still did not have her phone number to call back.

I gotta walk over there.

I gotta walk a lot, because in the fall, I get so achy, I could die.  If you walk, it takes all the pains away, don't know why.  It's as if nature just sucks all the ache out of you.  Try it, won't you?  It could not hurt.  Just do a couple of blocks and build yourself up.  At one point I was doing about 4 miles each morning, if I can believe my pedometer.  I'm going to say it works, and that it was four whole or part miles I used to walk. 

Git along, lil' dogie, but don't fall down.

Better Living Through Chemistry.

It's definitely fall and I'm so relieved.  This summer has been a veritable hell, what with the weather and the health decline, etc.  I've had just the most terrible day, and yet, right near the finish line, I have sold an item, and that cheers me up again.

It was my grandfather's mortar and pestle.  He was a chemist, and being born in the 1800's, chemistry was tantamount to alchemy.  He loved everything natural that could be produced artificially.  It was new, exciting, and he had tons of ideas.

He was kind of old already when my Dad and his Brother were born, so he was not a ball player, or  anything like that, but he had his charms.

He looked like Teddy Roosevelt.  He made us bubble bath and a giant bubble wand to play with in the yard.
He grew hydroponic tomatoes in the 1940's in his basement.  Dad said they were as big as your head, but tasted like water.

 Also, he gave me a solar motor in the 1960's.  It was set up in a cigar box, and spun a striped circle so you would get dizzy watching it.  He also gave me a black light, and a bunch of metallic stones that glowed under it.  That was fun, sort of.

He also figured out how to blow artificial scents from the fronts of stores so that people would be lured in to buy coffee, or pastries, anything like that.  He left a formulary, which tells me how to make cosmetics out of chemicals, so backward, but for him so modern.

So, I'm a little sad about letting it go.  Aside from that I have a few tiny little chemistry pots and lenses, and that's about it.  I have the memories, and that is what I will keep.

Looks at Books

courtesy of Amazon.com

photo courtesy of Amazon.com

This week's favorite: Aimee Bender's the Particular Sadness of Lemon cake.

It's about a girl who can taste the emotions of the people who have made the food she eats.  It's  a terrible experience, but she follows it along, and makes peace with it eventually.  Her family is of course, disjointed and disaffected and do not believe what she is saying.

I loved the writing.  And needless to say, I was entranced by the story.  You might want to find this one.  It's very popular.