I thought T-Bird had snapped a cog when he decided a few years ago to start gardening. He had grown his
own tomatoes because he couldn't find any in the stores that he really liked, and the boy did good.
I raised an eyebrow, however, at the suggestion four years ago that we "grow our own" EVERYTHING. But I try to be a supportive wife, and only roll my eyes when his back is turned.
It was hard to imagine my scotch-drinkin', guitar-playin', bar fightin', party-til-you-puke biker bad-boy plowing The Good Earth for Sustenance.
He borrowed a tiller from his cousin, and I kissed the backyard good-bye.
Now, we grow some of everything.
Cousin Dave has a garden too. We planted onions at the same time that Dave did. My husband will tell
you that I am inept at planting onions and he's right. He has a one-handed technique that involves three
simple motions. I cannot master it.
He tended his onions with tender loving care and was so proud when they started growing. We thought we would get a fairly good crop.
Cuz e-mailed us pics of his onion crop, and THAT started it all. You could hear the swearing from blocks away.
Very impressive crop of onions. Especially if you compared them to ours. Ours looked good, but not
THAT good.
It turned into a pissin' contest between cousins.
They work at the same plant together, and each brought a sample of their onions to compare when they got
close to being ready for harvest.
They "whipped 'em out" at work, apparently. Competitive much??
Later that afternoon T-Bird came bursting through the back door:
"His tops may be prettier and longer, BUT MY BULBS ARE BIGGER!!!!"
Ya know......I just had to let that one go.........
Where in the world do you get Onion Enhancers?
If your tops droop, will Viagra help?
Bulbs do not make the man. Nor do the tops. It's not the size of the onions that matters, but how you cook with 'em.
We need to stop Produce Envy in our lifetime.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Thursday, May 19, 2011
A Head-Bangin' Good Time
With the roar of a Ford engine, a spray of gravel, and an ear-splitting Rebel Yell, I finally started my vacation today.
And not one damned minute too soon.
The stress and strain of the last few months has been all that I can stand.
I guess that everybody handles it differently.
Primarily, I am a head-banger.
The first time, I was stuck in traffic at my son's school with a headache. Oldest was long gone to his class, but I was stuck in the drop-off line, and nobody would let me pull my car out. I mean, c'mon, a little consideration here?? I sat there for an eternity, while a hundred other mothers were dropping off their kids. I would think I had a chance to pull out, and here would come another car. Or a bus. Or kids.
Aggravated and in pain, I began to bang my head on the PADDED steering wheel. No, it didn't help the headache any, but it was better than throwing myself under a school bus. THAT was my second choice.
It looked like the only way I was getting out was by ambulance.
I heard a horn blowing behind me. What kind of sadistic ass was blowing that infernal horn, with me in pain and now totally infuriated?
When I turned around I saw a city cop car, Police Chief AND Mayor in the front seat. They were frantically motioning for me to go on. Expressions of shock and bewilderment on their faces.
Yes, I have used it to get sympathy from other drivers, and it works about 90% of the time. If they think you are stone-cold crazy they will motion for you to go ahead. Sometimes they do it out of pity, or they feel like doing it themselves.
My father has tried it, but says it doesn't work for him too often.
The second time, it got me booted out of the Elk's Lodge Bingo Night. The Elk's didn't do it---my mother did. I was one little number away from a win......and didn't. Some lady hollered "BINGO!" and I started banging my head on the table.
Quietly, softly.
I wasn't TOO obvious with it, but it was too much for Momma. She had overlooked the tee-shirt with The Grim Reaper on it that I had picked out to wear. Maybe not a good choice in a room full of senior citizens, come to think about it...............
But she couldn't get past me banging my head on the table in front of her friends. I understand that. My children embarrass me, too. Just for fun.
The third time, I had my arms full of grocery bags and my purse, fumbling with my keys trying to unlock my
front door. I dropped 'em. They fell thru the crack between the porch and the trailer into the dirt underneath the porch. I just sighed, and started rocking back and forth on my heels, lightly banging my head on the door. A trailer door isn't made out of sturdy materials, so no real damage was done to my noggin. Of course, it was during that time of day when every one of my neighbors was coming home, so several of them no doubt saw this.
You know, not a single neighbor has come by to borrow so much as a cup of sugar..........
I am not the only one who does it, either.
One of my daughters had a teacher who borrowed her Stress Kit. It's just a piece of paper with a circle on
it, and inside the circle are the words Bang Head Here. He made a copy and taped it to his filing cabinet that sat by his desk.
One day shortly after he hung it up, my daughter had to go back to his class for something, and there he was: sitting in his chair, quietly banging his head on the circle taped to the filing cabinet. She let him have his moment.
Before you start thinking I am The Queen of The Bangers, let me tell ya:
I have been de-throned!!
Yesterday, our friend Willie saw a car accident, and stopped to render assistance. A man driving a PT Cruiser had smacked into a utility pole, and half of the pole had broken off. The man came running to Willie, and all the poor thing could do was bang the hood of Willie's truck with his fists. Willie figured this was beyond his abilities, and didn't want his hood pounded, so he left the scene.
A few minutes later, one of my co-workers drove by. The front of the Cruiser was still wrapped around the bottom half of the pole. The other half of the pole is on the ground.
An officer is directing traffic. Officers are studying the scene, writing notes, and, no doubt, tickets.
There, huddled on the sidewalk, is the driver.
On his knees, banging his head on the concrete.
I hereby abdicate the throne, and place my crown on his head.
It was all dented and scuffed up anyway.
And not one damned minute too soon.
The stress and strain of the last few months has been all that I can stand.
I guess that everybody handles it differently.
Primarily, I am a head-banger.
The first time, I was stuck in traffic at my son's school with a headache. Oldest was long gone to his class, but I was stuck in the drop-off line, and nobody would let me pull my car out. I mean, c'mon, a little consideration here?? I sat there for an eternity, while a hundred other mothers were dropping off their kids. I would think I had a chance to pull out, and here would come another car. Or a bus. Or kids.
Aggravated and in pain, I began to bang my head on the PADDED steering wheel. No, it didn't help the headache any, but it was better than throwing myself under a school bus. THAT was my second choice.
It looked like the only way I was getting out was by ambulance.
I heard a horn blowing behind me. What kind of sadistic ass was blowing that infernal horn, with me in pain and now totally infuriated?
When I turned around I saw a city cop car, Police Chief AND Mayor in the front seat. They were frantically motioning for me to go on. Expressions of shock and bewilderment on their faces.
Yes, I have used it to get sympathy from other drivers, and it works about 90% of the time. If they think you are stone-cold crazy they will motion for you to go ahead. Sometimes they do it out of pity, or they feel like doing it themselves.
My father has tried it, but says it doesn't work for him too often.
The second time, it got me booted out of the Elk's Lodge Bingo Night. The Elk's didn't do it---my mother did. I was one little number away from a win......and didn't. Some lady hollered "BINGO!" and I started banging my head on the table.
Quietly, softly.
I wasn't TOO obvious with it, but it was too much for Momma. She had overlooked the tee-shirt with The Grim Reaper on it that I had picked out to wear. Maybe not a good choice in a room full of senior citizens, come to think about it...............
But she couldn't get past me banging my head on the table in front of her friends. I understand that. My children embarrass me, too. Just for fun.
The third time, I had my arms full of grocery bags and my purse, fumbling with my keys trying to unlock my
front door. I dropped 'em. They fell thru the crack between the porch and the trailer into the dirt underneath the porch. I just sighed, and started rocking back and forth on my heels, lightly banging my head on the door. A trailer door isn't made out of sturdy materials, so no real damage was done to my noggin. Of course, it was during that time of day when every one of my neighbors was coming home, so several of them no doubt saw this.
You know, not a single neighbor has come by to borrow so much as a cup of sugar..........
I am not the only one who does it, either.
One of my daughters had a teacher who borrowed her Stress Kit. It's just a piece of paper with a circle on
it, and inside the circle are the words Bang Head Here. He made a copy and taped it to his filing cabinet that sat by his desk.
One day shortly after he hung it up, my daughter had to go back to his class for something, and there he was: sitting in his chair, quietly banging his head on the circle taped to the filing cabinet. She let him have his moment.
Before you start thinking I am The Queen of The Bangers, let me tell ya:
I have been de-throned!!
Yesterday, our friend Willie saw a car accident, and stopped to render assistance. A man driving a PT Cruiser had smacked into a utility pole, and half of the pole had broken off. The man came running to Willie, and all the poor thing could do was bang the hood of Willie's truck with his fists. Willie figured this was beyond his abilities, and didn't want his hood pounded, so he left the scene.
A few minutes later, one of my co-workers drove by. The front of the Cruiser was still wrapped around the bottom half of the pole. The other half of the pole is on the ground.
An officer is directing traffic. Officers are studying the scene, writing notes, and, no doubt, tickets.
There, huddled on the sidewalk, is the driver.
On his knees, banging his head on the concrete.
I hereby abdicate the throne, and place my crown on his head.
It was all dented and scuffed up anyway.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Mother's Little Helper
Youngest was a HUGE help fixin' up the blog for me, and it feels much better. One minor glitch with my comments section, but I ain't complainin'.
I wouldn't dare complain after The Facebook Debacle of 2010. She helped me with that, and let me tell ya, it wasn't pretty.
Call it a wild hair, a whim, curiosity, or whatever, but I am now on Facebook.
I knew right off the bat that I could in no way set up my own account, and I would NEVER figure out how to navigate it.
I called on my Ms. Fixit, Youngest, to help poor ol' me out. She jumped right on this little project, and wishes now she had never heard of Facebook.
She set up my account on The Stream, and she's the one who changed my background. She went into The
Facebook Debacle with her eyes open.
She KNEW!
I asked her a slew of questions about it before we started. That should have tipped her off that this was going to be as aggravating as the aforementioned projects.
If I said "I don't understand one word of what you just said" once, I said it a dozen times.
Likewise "huh?"
And "what?"
All interspersed with puzzled looks and blank stares.
One or two "you gotta be shittin' me"s.
Several "explain that to me one more time"s.
Fortunately for her, my grandbaby ran out of patience and put in to go home and go to bed. She showed me how to post pics and hauled Tater (literally) to her house, thanking her lucky stars for a cranky baby.
We did a repeat last night on this blog, complete with stupid questions and confusing answers.
She says this is my Mother's Day present and I can accept it as such.
One more problem this year with my social networking and I probably won't get a birthday present. Unless I hold out until the end of August. After I unwrap my gift I'll casually mention that I have a small problem with my blog......................
I wouldn't dare complain after The Facebook Debacle of 2010. She helped me with that, and let me tell ya, it wasn't pretty.
Call it a wild hair, a whim, curiosity, or whatever, but I am now on Facebook.
I knew right off the bat that I could in no way set up my own account, and I would NEVER figure out how to navigate it.
I called on my Ms. Fixit, Youngest, to help poor ol' me out. She jumped right on this little project, and wishes now she had never heard of Facebook.
She set up my account on The Stream, and she's the one who changed my background. She went into The
Facebook Debacle with her eyes open.
She KNEW!
I asked her a slew of questions about it before we started. That should have tipped her off that this was going to be as aggravating as the aforementioned projects.
If I said "I don't understand one word of what you just said" once, I said it a dozen times.
Likewise "huh?"
And "what?"
All interspersed with puzzled looks and blank stares.
One or two "you gotta be shittin' me"s.
Several "explain that to me one more time"s.
Fortunately for her, my grandbaby ran out of patience and put in to go home and go to bed. She showed me how to post pics and hauled Tater (literally) to her house, thanking her lucky stars for a cranky baby.
We did a repeat last night on this blog, complete with stupid questions and confusing answers.
She says this is my Mother's Day present and I can accept it as such.
One more problem this year with my social networking and I probably won't get a birthday present. Unless I hold out until the end of August. After I unwrap my gift I'll casually mention that I have a small problem with my blog......................
Sunday, May 1, 2011
The Idiot Blogger System
BEEEEEEEEP BEEEEEEEEP BEEEEEEEP
This is a test of The Idiot Blogger System.
Do not attempt to adjust your p.c..
Whatever you are lookin' at, it ain't your fault.
Should an actual blog appear here it will be a miracle.
If one does not immediately appear, I will be forcing my 'Puter Whiz here at gunpoint to do
that hoo-doo that she do so well.
This is a test of The Idiot Blogger System.
Do not attempt to adjust your p.c..
Whatever you are lookin' at, it ain't your fault.
Should an actual blog appear here it will be a miracle.
If one does not immediately appear, I will be forcing my 'Puter Whiz here at gunpoint to do
that hoo-doo that she do so well.
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