I really wanted to title today's posting "Morons, Idiots and Imbeciles" but then thought better of it. That does not, however, preclude me from thinking it or writing about it.
You see, Capt. SO and I have had the Aqua RV out of her slip for two nights and two days. We ran away from home and would still be on the lam but Mother Nature foiled our long-range plans and the captain said it was time to take her home and tie her up. (The boat.....not me.)
Are you familiar with the phenomenon that occurs when parking in a parking lot......far away from any other cars? The unspoken rule that says if you park way out, by yourself, some other person will undoubtedly park a vehicle RIGHT NEXT TO YOURS. Yes, you can tell by my capital letters that this annoys me. It must be that the mere sight of a car parked far away acts as an inspiration to others to join it. Well, the same rule seems to apply to boat anchoring. If you are the only boat - or one of very few - it is inevitable that another boat will anchor close to your boat. Today was no exception except that this pontoon boat anchored REALLY close to us. Under normal circumstances, this would have just been uber annoying and we would have just had to keep an eye on the other boat to make sure that its anchor held properly, but there was a brisk little wind as we prepared to pull anchor and here sat this pontoon boat, with ten people on it, mostly teenagers, right tight to our port.
Our customary practice, when dropping or pulling anchor, it that Capt. SO handles the anchor and I take the helm. It came time to leave and I started the engines, which caught the attention of the two adults on the pontoon who should have known better than to anchor quite as close as they did. When Capt. SO strode up to the bow, the two adults kind of gave him the eagle and evil eye and, said I to myself, "You are the ones who were foolish enough to anchor where you did. What do you expect us to do?" Pulling anchor went just fine - we probably came closer to the pontoon than they would have preferred, but when you are pulling anchor and it is windy, you do the best you can. Did the pontoon people ever start their engine and move the pontoon? Noooooo, they did not. Then, just as we were in our final movements to leave, still close to the pontoon, a two-person kayak decided to paddle between our bow and the pontoon.....further proof that the world is full of moron, idiots, and imbeciles.
I apologize for the unflattering remarks about my fellow humans, but remember this, when anchoring your boat, car, bicycle, bathtub, bed or kitchen table, remember to give the boat next to you a little space.
Ancora imparo
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Saturday, August 27, 2011
The Old Gray Mare.......
Are you familiar with the children's song, "The Old Gray Mare"? The words are as follows:
The old gray mare, she ain't what she used to be - aint't what she used to be, ain't what she used to be, many long years ago. The old gray mare she kicked on the whiffletree, kicked on the whiffletree, kicked on the whiffletree, the old gray mare she kicked on the whiffletree, many long years ago.
Today, I feel like the old gray mare who ain't what I used to be. There was a time when I could stay up all night long or sleep for a few hours at night and wake up refreshed the next day. Apparently those days have disappeared from sight, or at least, significantly diminished. This revelation came to me over the past thirty-two hours as I have discovered that, of my eight cylinders, I am only firing on six, at best.
Yesterday, Capt. SO and I made a marathon, labor-of-love trip to pay our respects to a wonderful human being whose life was cut short by health issues. As an eighty-year-old, he had lived a good life and left this world as a highly respected and much beloved individual. We should all be so fortunate. We wanted to attend his funeral but could not leave any earlier than the day of the ritual. We set our alarm for "o-dark-hundred", as a former military friend describes early risings, and were on the road at 4:00 a.m. for a four-plus hour car ride. Having elected to return in the same day, we knew the ride back would be challenging but with the help of a book CD and LOTS of munchies, apple slices, carrots, and popcorn, we ate our way back and arrived at the Aqua RV about 7:30 p.m. Needless to say, we had little trouble sleeping last night.
Today, it rather feels as if a fleet of semis has rolled over us. We have remarked several times that if this were thirty or forty years ago, yesterday would have never phased us. I cannot speak for Capt. SO, but I am quite certain that "the old gray mare"......she ain't quite what she used to be.
Ancora imparo
The old gray mare, she ain't what she used to be - aint't what she used to be, ain't what she used to be, many long years ago. The old gray mare she kicked on the whiffletree, kicked on the whiffletree, kicked on the whiffletree, the old gray mare she kicked on the whiffletree, many long years ago.
Today, I feel like the old gray mare who ain't what I used to be. There was a time when I could stay up all night long or sleep for a few hours at night and wake up refreshed the next day. Apparently those days have disappeared from sight, or at least, significantly diminished. This revelation came to me over the past thirty-two hours as I have discovered that, of my eight cylinders, I am only firing on six, at best.
Yesterday, Capt. SO and I made a marathon, labor-of-love trip to pay our respects to a wonderful human being whose life was cut short by health issues. As an eighty-year-old, he had lived a good life and left this world as a highly respected and much beloved individual. We should all be so fortunate. We wanted to attend his funeral but could not leave any earlier than the day of the ritual. We set our alarm for "o-dark-hundred", as a former military friend describes early risings, and were on the road at 4:00 a.m. for a four-plus hour car ride. Having elected to return in the same day, we knew the ride back would be challenging but with the help of a book CD and LOTS of munchies, apple slices, carrots, and popcorn, we ate our way back and arrived at the Aqua RV about 7:30 p.m. Needless to say, we had little trouble sleeping last night.
Today, it rather feels as if a fleet of semis has rolled over us. We have remarked several times that if this were thirty or forty years ago, yesterday would have never phased us. I cannot speak for Capt. SO, but I am quite certain that "the old gray mare"......she ain't quite what she used to be.
Ancora imparo
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Happy Avians
There is a very popular game sweeping through cyberspace - Angry Birds. Apparently, the game can be downloaded to computers, laptops, tablets and as an "app" to cell phones. It's appeal runs from the very young to adults of many ages.
My first introduction to "Angry Birds" was in a McDonald's play area recently. A three-year old, her teenage sister, and mother were already there when Capt. SO and I went in with Princess Leia. Having never been in a McDonald's play area before, I found it odd and annoying that the teenage sister and her three-year old sis were running completely unsupervised while their mom fed an infant and browsed her laptop. The running was bad enough but the yelling and screaming they were doing was highly distracting to all three of us. Princess Leia didn't know what to make of all the commotion and was content to watch the two siblings. The three-year old soon became bored with the game and ran yelling to her mother that she wanted to play "Angry Birds". I had no idea what "Angry Birds" was but after watching the little girl, I assumed it was some bizarre family game she played at home. A few days later I read a newspaper article about the "app" and understood what she was asking for. Just last week, a sixty-plus year old friend announced she had it on her Android.
To the maker of "Angry Birds": I understand that your game is immensely popular, but couldn't you have given it a different name? It just seems to me that by giving the game a name with the word "angry" in it sends a message to children that I am uncomfortable with. Call me old-fashioned, but I think there is enough anger in the world without enticing our children to play any game that extols the virtues of "angry".
That makes me angry.
Ancora imparo
My first introduction to "Angry Birds" was in a McDonald's play area recently. A three-year old, her teenage sister, and mother were already there when Capt. SO and I went in with Princess Leia. Having never been in a McDonald's play area before, I found it odd and annoying that the teenage sister and her three-year old sis were running completely unsupervised while their mom fed an infant and browsed her laptop. The running was bad enough but the yelling and screaming they were doing was highly distracting to all three of us. Princess Leia didn't know what to make of all the commotion and was content to watch the two siblings. The three-year old soon became bored with the game and ran yelling to her mother that she wanted to play "Angry Birds". I had no idea what "Angry Birds" was but after watching the little girl, I assumed it was some bizarre family game she played at home. A few days later I read a newspaper article about the "app" and understood what she was asking for. Just last week, a sixty-plus year old friend announced she had it on her Android.
To the maker of "Angry Birds": I understand that your game is immensely popular, but couldn't you have given it a different name? It just seems to me that by giving the game a name with the word "angry" in it sends a message to children that I am uncomfortable with. Call me old-fashioned, but I think there is enough anger in the world without enticing our children to play any game that extols the virtues of "angry".
That makes me angry.
Ancora imparo
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
It Looked Like Playtime
I've watched "them" from a distance for some time now - little gray heads (well, mostly gray) bobbing up and down in the water. I had been invited to join them repeatedly but I never thought I had time to add water exercise to my day. "Besides," I always said to myself, "it doesn't look like much of a workout." Daily, I would walk past, the women would wave, and I would go about my business.
Last week, I received yet another invitation to join the women for water exercise and, unexpectedly, I heard the words, "I'll be there tomorrow." pop out of my mouth. This morning was my third time in the pool and, let me tell you, that is one uber workout. We are either jogging in place, doing jumping jacks, bicycling, - kicking in some form - for forty-five minutes. I do not know how I'll feel later this afternoon, but I can tell you that my two sessions last week left me wiped out and tired by the afternoon. When I stop to think about how much movement I am doing with my feet, legs, and arms, I realize it is no wonder that my energy level gets zapped from these workouts. Then, when I listen to some of these women talk about doing yoga after water exercise and playing tennis after lunch I think that they are built of titanium or steel, or maybe even they are bionic. One of them even bikes twenty miles every Saturday and Sunday. All I do know is that these little gray-haired ladies must be readying themselves for a bi or tri-athelon.
And I thought it looked like playtime.
Ancora imparo
Last week, I received yet another invitation to join the women for water exercise and, unexpectedly, I heard the words, "I'll be there tomorrow." pop out of my mouth. This morning was my third time in the pool and, let me tell you, that is one uber workout. We are either jogging in place, doing jumping jacks, bicycling, - kicking in some form - for forty-five minutes. I do not know how I'll feel later this afternoon, but I can tell you that my two sessions last week left me wiped out and tired by the afternoon. When I stop to think about how much movement I am doing with my feet, legs, and arms, I realize it is no wonder that my energy level gets zapped from these workouts. Then, when I listen to some of these women talk about doing yoga after water exercise and playing tennis after lunch I think that they are built of titanium or steel, or maybe even they are bionic. One of them even bikes twenty miles every Saturday and Sunday. All I do know is that these little gray-haired ladies must be readying themselves for a bi or tri-athelon.
And I thought it looked like playtime.
Ancora imparo
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
The Flame-Out
I had been predicting that my hair blow-dryer was on its last leg. Why I thought it was necessary to tell Capt. SO this tidbit of information, one day last week, is beyond me. I guess it is one of those inane threads of conversation that married people have. Well, let me rephrase this: I guess it is one of those inane threads of conversation that women have to the air. I seriously doubt that any man would include a remark about his blow dryer in a conversation anywhere other than being alone with himself in a car or other secluded place. But, as we humans know, initiated conversations are different depending on whether it is a male or female that utters the first sentence.
For two weeks now, my blow dryer has (now had) been making very very unhappy motor noises, but......it kept working so I kept using it. Today's personal attention was going as planned. I was in a hurry, trying to be ready to join the others for a day-outing and I came to the critical point where my hair was ready to dry and I would attempt my daily, futile effort to tame my wayward locks. I turned on the blow dryer to high, as is my normal practice, and was mindlessly moving the brush here and there, up and down, struggling to get just the right curl, when I became aware that the motor was noisier than the previous string of noisy days. I kept going, when suddenly, and simultaneously, the motor screamed to an instant crescendo, something redish emerged from the end, a black-smoke plume shot out and the smell of intense heat emanated from the little blow dryer. I immediately threw down the dryer and unceremoniously yanked the electrical chord from the outlet. Of course, as soon as I disconnected the power to the dryer, the tortured sound ceased and so did the flames, but smoke continued to emerge for a second or two and the smell lasted for several minutes. I noted that, in my excitement, I could have fried myself because when I threw down the dryer, it landed in the sink, which just moments before, had been filled with water.........I then gathered up my vanity, and marched off to the marina office where they keep courtesy hair blow-dryers for other people, like me, who have flame outs.
At least the attendant in the office didn't point and laugh.
Ancora imparo
For two weeks now, my blow dryer has (now had) been making very very unhappy motor noises, but......it kept working so I kept using it. Today's personal attention was going as planned. I was in a hurry, trying to be ready to join the others for a day-outing and I came to the critical point where my hair was ready to dry and I would attempt my daily, futile effort to tame my wayward locks. I turned on the blow dryer to high, as is my normal practice, and was mindlessly moving the brush here and there, up and down, struggling to get just the right curl, when I became aware that the motor was noisier than the previous string of noisy days. I kept going, when suddenly, and simultaneously, the motor screamed to an instant crescendo, something redish emerged from the end, a black-smoke plume shot out and the smell of intense heat emanated from the little blow dryer. I immediately threw down the dryer and unceremoniously yanked the electrical chord from the outlet. Of course, as soon as I disconnected the power to the dryer, the tortured sound ceased and so did the flames, but smoke continued to emerge for a second or two and the smell lasted for several minutes. I noted that, in my excitement, I could have fried myself because when I threw down the dryer, it landed in the sink, which just moments before, had been filled with water.........I then gathered up my vanity, and marched off to the marina office where they keep courtesy hair blow-dryers for other people, like me, who have flame outs.
At least the attendant in the office didn't point and laugh.
Ancora imparo
Monday, August 22, 2011
Chocolate, the Chameleon
Chocolate. It comes in many forms. Powdered as in Ovaltine - good in milk; powdered as in cocoa - used as an ingredient for hot chocolate or as a baking ingredient for brownies, chocolate cake or cookies; liquid as in Hershey's Chocolate syrup - good over ice cream; chunks - as in chocolate chips in chocolate chip cookies; melted into forms - as in candy bars; an additive for ice cream; oh the list could go on and on.
Chocolate has found itself into cereal, coffee, candy, cigarettes, lip gloss, cheese, envelope glue, soda, and fingernail polish. It comes in cheap forms and also high-end gourmet handmade candies. It goes well with pickles, fruit, wine, peanut butter, dairy products, pancakes, caffeine, nuts, and beef.
Chocolate is recognized as an aphrodisiac, an energy source, and an additive - perhaps one of the most versatile foods ever discovered. In ancient times and in more recent centuries, the cocoa bean was a highly sought after trading commodity. Chocolate is recognized by some as a separate food group, finding a need to consume various amounts daily. It's versatility allows it to be a snack, a comfort food and a desert.
A true culinary chameleon, chocolate has found its way into lunch boxes, desk drawers, pockets, purses, briefcases, band instrument cases, fishing tackle boxes, and Easter baskets.
Chocolate - it's what for dinner.
Ancora imparo
Chocolate has found itself into cereal, coffee, candy, cigarettes, lip gloss, cheese, envelope glue, soda, and fingernail polish. It comes in cheap forms and also high-end gourmet handmade candies. It goes well with pickles, fruit, wine, peanut butter, dairy products, pancakes, caffeine, nuts, and beef.
Chocolate is recognized as an aphrodisiac, an energy source, and an additive - perhaps one of the most versatile foods ever discovered. In ancient times and in more recent centuries, the cocoa bean was a highly sought after trading commodity. Chocolate is recognized by some as a separate food group, finding a need to consume various amounts daily. It's versatility allows it to be a snack, a comfort food and a desert.
A true culinary chameleon, chocolate has found its way into lunch boxes, desk drawers, pockets, purses, briefcases, band instrument cases, fishing tackle boxes, and Easter baskets.
Chocolate - it's what for dinner.
Ancora imparo
"Caveat Eator"
News, this morning, of a tiff between the Queen of Southern Cooking and the Prince of All-Things-Food, caught my attention. The Prince is asserting that the Queen is "the most dangerous person in America". A war of words is ensuing and the result is great publicity for both of them. The cynic in me thinks that, mayhap, this just might be a collaborative effort between the two "foodies" - as the press calls them - and their publicists. Early morning news shows were all over this spat and the viral coverage will only serve to advance both of their careers, I'm certain.
Now, to the assertion that the Queen of Southern Cooking is "the most dangerous person in America". So, she promotes cooking with butter (and lots of it) and consistently serves up the most scrumptious-looking fried food ever seen on television and in print media.
I'll say again, "So?"
How is this dangerous to me? It is only dangerous if I choose to: Number One - try her recipe and, Number Two - consume all of what I cooked. Furthermore, am I not a consulting adult, free to eat what I want, how I want, and where I want? Is it not my choice to eat fried foods?
Casting aside the health issue of fried foods and uber amounts of butter for the moment, allow me to examine the taste issue of what The Queen cooks. Hands down, I'll wager that her recipes taste better than some of the other Food Network stars who promote cooking with canned goods and lefteovers from last Thanksgiving and Holly Daze. When I watch The Queen make her deep-fried macaroni and cheese squares, I think, to myself, that if she were to accidentally drop one of those mac and cheese deep-fried gobs right in front of me, I'd arm wrestle the nearest person to scoop the food off the floor and gobble it up as quickly as possible.
Is this dangerous to America? Only if arm-wrestling produces broken bones. Otherwise, "caveat eator", which is fractured Latin for "let the eater beware". If I choose to eat The Queen's fat-laden but very tasty food, then I should simply make sure that my life insurance premiums are paid on time and in full!
Ancora imparo
Now, to the assertion that the Queen of Southern Cooking is "the most dangerous person in America". So, she promotes cooking with butter (and lots of it) and consistently serves up the most scrumptious-looking fried food ever seen on television and in print media.
I'll say again, "So?"
How is this dangerous to me? It is only dangerous if I choose to: Number One - try her recipe and, Number Two - consume all of what I cooked. Furthermore, am I not a consulting adult, free to eat what I want, how I want, and where I want? Is it not my choice to eat fried foods?
Casting aside the health issue of fried foods and uber amounts of butter for the moment, allow me to examine the taste issue of what The Queen cooks. Hands down, I'll wager that her recipes taste better than some of the other Food Network stars who promote cooking with canned goods and lefteovers from last Thanksgiving and Holly Daze. When I watch The Queen make her deep-fried macaroni and cheese squares, I think, to myself, that if she were to accidentally drop one of those mac and cheese deep-fried gobs right in front of me, I'd arm wrestle the nearest person to scoop the food off the floor and gobble it up as quickly as possible.
Is this dangerous to America? Only if arm-wrestling produces broken bones. Otherwise, "caveat eator", which is fractured Latin for "let the eater beware". If I choose to eat The Queen's fat-laden but very tasty food, then I should simply make sure that my life insurance premiums are paid on time and in full!
Ancora imparo
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