They're Here!

The film, Poltergeist, contained a phrase that's been used and nearly worn out: THEY'RE HEEERRRE!

For years Cowtown has prided itself in being gang free:  No thugs, no problems associated with them.  Things have changed.  Word on the street is that organized crime (gangs, Mexican mafia, prison gangs, other pieces of shit) have chosen our area as a ripe plum right for the picking.  Cowtown has been declared as open territory. 

It's the perfect place that no one group of organized thugs have claimed as theirs.    Our area has lots of open spaces and forests for marijuana plantations and meth labs.  Places to conceal whatever it is you want to hide are abundant.  Interstate 5 runs through it making for easy transporatation of legal and illegal goods.  There's not enough law enforcement to cover all of the bases.  All of the ingredients for illegal crime.

Over the past year the incidence of gangs attempting to gain a foothold here has risen.  There have been several shootings ending in deaths.  Drug related crimes are becoming common.  Our county is fast becoming the Marijuana farming capital of California. 

There's been a some tagging and graffitti by gangs attempting to claim one portion or another of Cowtown.  Just until lately it has been small in amounts and until now no big deal. 

Yesterday I'm at the marina and happen to notice Tiny's white Chevy truck parked next to mine.  Tiny is a fellow slip owner who owns a patio boat.  Seeing that Tiny had parked his truck and taken his boat out onto the lake wasn't an unusual thing.  His brother is confined to a wheelchair and Tiny regularly drives him to the lake for fishing. 

AS I walked by the hood of Tiny's truck happened to catch my eye:  WHOA!  Major tagging!!

First thought crossing my mind:  They're here!!!  meaning the presence of at least one gang that had marked their turf via the hood of Tiny's truck.  Bastards.  This incidence underscores the importance of safely parking anything on four wheels in the garage.  

It's a sad commentary on society when thugs muscle into the everyday life of a small community.  Next time you snort that line, put the needle in your arm, pop that unprescribed medication, smoke that weed or crack . . . you're the real source of this problem and not the gangs.  If American would cease its addiction to all of these things we'd rid outselves of the leeches who are permeating our country. 

Think about it.

RECORD HEAT!

Yesterday the temperature hit 107 degrees in Cowtown.  That broke the record set in 1996 of 106 degrees. 

When it gets that hot nature's creatures seek respit in cooler places.  Small finches are using the fountain in the front yard both for drinking and bathing.  Snakes look for a cool place to curl up. 

Take these two small snakes, babies no doubt, that were on their way into the garage when one of us put the down down on top of both of them.  A day or more later they were found, all shriveled up, mouths open with a crease on their backside marking where the door had come down on both of them.

People out this way are always mindful of snakes and their pets.  It's not unusual for a four legged house pet to be bitten on the face by a rattlesnake.  Depending on the size of the pet and the quality of the veterinary treatment following the bite they usually survive.  Small dogs and cats are usually not as lucky. 

It really wasn't a surprise to find the remains of these little creatures at the entrance of the garage.   It's been hot and logical they were looking for somewhere to cool off.  Unfortunately, they got more than they bargained for. 

Today promises to be another Cowtown hot one with 107 or higher in the forecast.  This snake is looking for a cool place in the shade.....like reclining in the Lazy Boy, a cold beer in one hand, a bucket of wings between my legs, and the remote control in the other hand.  Kicking back when it gets hot is the order of the day.   It's all good unless the garage door happens to come down on my head.

Chore Whore Music

Time to douche down the house.  Gotta move, groove......to the beat.  Check in at about 1:45 into this piece.  There's a change-up that makes for better music.

I'm chore whore and I love it.

Shifting From Second Into Third

The school year began last week.  Grace was so excited to get back to school that she could hardly contain herself.

Third grade marks that last year of the primary grading system. Beginning in fourth grade student progress on a report card progress is measured in letter grades A through F.  In fourth grade the reality of life starts to bite.  Yeah, life often bites, too.

While she's a very smart young lady, Grace has a tough row to hoe in school.  She's the youngest in her class.  Born in November Grace barely met the age requirement to enter kindergarten.  It was one of those things:  Not a good thing to do another year in preschool and questionable developmentally if she was ready for kindergarten.

There's a bill in the California Legislature to change the be five before December 2nd to enter kindergarten to be five before September 1st.  It's a good thing for kids.  Being developmentally older translates into school success and fewer children at risk.  Maybe it's not a good thing for those parents with children born between September 1 and December 2....it adds up to another year of preschool.  Either way changing the age for entrance into kindergarten is a good thing.  School is about kids and their success.  Changing the age requirement will certainly add to it.

Back to Grace.  She was assigned the teacher that she had been hoping for.  Mrs. Heller seemed to be just right for Grace or at least in her mind.    A few but not all all of her friends are in her class. A week after the first day of school Grace remains all smiles.  I would hope so.

Come June and the end of third grade let's see if our girl is still smiling.  My money says that she will.

A Worthy Cause

I've been called a rebel with a cause . . . someone who fights for the underdog and personal freedoms.  I can be a big boob at heart.    Here's the next fight for freedom, the cause to pause for, the thing that needs fixing. . . . please join me in righting this wrong.

Mudpie Queens

 

Last night the "girls" activated an old game of theirs.  Take the ball.  Drop it in a mud puddle.  Fish the ball out.  Run away with ball in mouth.  Then bury the ball or drop it back in the mudpuddle.

It's a game of keep away. 

This time around one of the dogs hid the ball in an abalone shell.

Sometimes the game becomes a test of stare down.  Don't blink or you'll lose the ball.  That's one of the rules of their game.

In the end the girls have to be cleaned up before coming into the house.  Last night it was an easy clean.  Fill the wading pool with water.  Drop the ball in.  Dogs wade in to get the ball.  Bingo!  No more mud.

Kiri, at the tender age of 8 months, has already mastered major bravado when it comes going nose to nose with Zeenie.  Nothing phases or intimidates this pup.

I've got to cover the mudhole only to open it when the girls need a good run and a roll in the mud.

When was the last time you had a good roll in the mud?  Or made a mudpie?  Maybe it's time to bring out your inner child and make that pie or take that roll.

Here's Bobby!

Last Wednesday Marina Bob helped to mount two new mooring cleats on Sparkle Plenty.  Bright and early Friday morning we finished the job.

So I said to Bob as he leaned over the deck, "Look up and smile, Bob.  I want a picture so that I can forever remember this day."  Bob looked over at me and smiled a Bob smile (every Bob has a shit ass eating grin).

I remind Marina Bob that his tummy makes him look pregnant.  "I know, I know.", he saying gribbubg back at me with his Bob smile.  Being Bob means that you have to take a lot of teasing with a smile. 

I also remind Marina Bob to put on a hat because when the shine on the top of his head reflects the sun I nearly go blind.  Marina Bob tells me that he's man enough to keep the hair on his head rubbed off.  If you're thinking "huh?" think sex.

You can tell by the photo that Bob is a likeable kind of guy.  Like most other Bob's you would not want to cross Marina Bob.  He can be meaner than a junkyard dog.  Bob's are like that.  Smiling one moment and ready to punch out your lights the next.

Bob wanted to make a little more extra money and asked if he could scrub the bottom of Sparkle Plenty which I agreed to.  He makes but minimum wage, has monthly child support payments to contend with along with the daily expense of plain old living.  Helping Marina Bob just a little by paying him to help mount mooring cleats or scrub the boat's hull is a good thing.  It's also a good thing for one Bob to help Bob another out.  As they say, A Bob in need is a friend indeed.

It's Sunday. Wifey and I plan on sailing when the winds on the lake kick up a bit.  That will be early afternoon or sometime in the mid to late afternoon. 

Before that there are lawns to mow, shrubs to clip, life to enjoy.  Check.  Check.  And double check.

Maybe I should call in Marina Bob this morning to do the heavy lifting around the house and go sailing.  Ya think?

Anchors aweigh!

ANTIGUA SAILING WEEK '09 MUSIC EDIT

Tango?

If I ever were to learn to Tango it would be to this one. 

Does it still take two to Tango?

Writing More Often

I should really write more often here.  It's good for me.  Keeps the mind sharp, sometimes the tongue, too.  Not writing has been a matter of time and the weather.  Good weather means more time outside and less time doing this.  That's a good thing.  Come winter I'll be here and not there.

Like this photo?  It was taken 9 or 10 lives ago.  This is my first class in the first year of teaching.  Do I look the part?  I just noticed that there's t-shirt under the polo that I wore that day.  I never wear t-shirts under shirts.  Never.

The blond kid, yellow shirt in the middle...that's John Wetteland who went on to pitch for the Yankees and the Texas Rangers.  I'd play baseball with the kids during recess.  Because no one could really throw a ball straight over the plate I would usually pitch.  During each and every game John would walk over to the pitcher's mound and plead, "Mr. Watson, I can pitch better than you can.  Can I pitch?"  And he was just that.  Even at age seven John was a pretty good pitcher.

The teaching career was short as I was destined to leave the classroom and be an administrator.  Didn't plan on it.  Wasn't appealing.  But nonetheless it happened.

I posted this photo to commemorate the opening of school.  Doesn't it seem that school starts earlier and earlier every year?  Middle of August and it's school days, school days, good old golden rule days. . . .

Last night was Taco Night at the Lodge.  Once a month it's Taco Night at the Lodge.  Our first experience with that venue was last night.  

Buck fifty for a taco with all you could stuff into it. The Lodge opened its doors last night to non members meaning every sorry ass Tom, Dick and Harry came out for it.  They brought their kids and their barely walking parents, too...adding yet one more ingredient to a miserable experience.

Come time to start the line-up for tacos there was a rush to be first.  You would have thought that it was the Last Supper and first in line got to eat with Jesus.  A wide bodied granny and her two brat grandchildren were first in line.  Then it was like a herd of cows lining up to be fed and milked.  Moooo, I thought.  It felt like a cow ready to be served and serviced.  Moooo.

Help yourself tacos:  No sneeze guards over the food.  Slow ass people who seemed to be picking their butts as they slowly moved through the line.  I wanted to say loudly, "You people would never make it in a military chow line" and they wouldn't have.  Anyone having served in the military knows that you get your chow and get out.  No lolly gagging around.

For a buck fifty the tacos were fairly decent tasting.  Didn't find any foreign objects in my meal.  I liked that part.  I also loved that we had great people to share our table.

Three tacos, two beers later I was ready to go home.   If it weren't for the other idiots the experience would have been great.  Taco Night had me feeling like I was back eating in the school cafeteria with a bunch of seven year olds.

And that wasn't a good thing.

Elvis Has Left the Building

It was August 17th, 1977, a Tuesday.   Wifey and I were driving down the California coast after a weekend in our ocean cabin.  It was a sunny day, not a cloud in the sky.  The top on our convertible was down, music tuned to a San Francisco station, wind in our hair and most likely there was a can of cold beer between my legs (back in the day that's the only way I could balance myself while driving plus my nuts seemed to always need cooling off).

Driving home marked the end of a long weekend, a great one.  There's nothing like sleeping near the ocean.  The smell, the sounds, the stars, a cresent moon.  Spending time at the cabin was always a piece of heaven.

About halfway home the music on the radio was interrupted with the announcement that the King was dead. 

Live fast.  Die young.  Leave a good looking corpse.  That's what I was thinking.

We stopped the car at an open spot in the road that overlooked the Pacific ocean.  I slipped a tape of the King's music into the car's stereo and this song came up:

In This Economy?

Farmers Insurance owns this blimp.  It's been flying around our neck of the woods for the past few days.

Apart from selling insurance Farmers is selling rides on this beast:  $400 a person for an hour high in the sky.  Now tell me, who in their right mind has the money to joy ride in a balloon filled with gas?  And in this economy when the future is so uncertain?

The same $400 could be put to a charitable use.  For example you could probably feed a starving family in Africa for 6 months . . . maybe a year for that amount of money.

Better yet, I'll bet that same 400 bucks could do two things:

#1  Visit  the Cowtown airport.  Buy a hell of a lot of Farmers insurance.   At least $400 worth.

#2  Get a free ride in the Farmers blimp.

Ya think? 

Not the Beach Nor the Ocean

I don't know what you call it but out this way when you're heading to the ocean it's called going to the coast.  It's not the beach.  It's not the ocean.  It's the coast.

If you called it going to the beach it could be any beach on a river, lake and maybe even the ocean.  Going to the ocean is a close second to saying you're going to the coast.  Those who live close to the ocean usually say coast.

Don't ask why.  It's just one of those things.

It's like where we used to live there's a river close by.  If we were headed there to go swimming, partying, or just fooling around we'd say that we're going to the River.  Everyone knew where we were headed.  To the River.  Now if we said that we were going to the beach no one would really know where we were going.

Me:  Going to the River, Mom.

Mom:  Don't you drink beer and come home shit faced.

Me:  (With both fingers crossed behind my back)  Yes, Mom.  I learned by lesson last time.

Here are some more shots of the trip last weekend to . . . . to, . . . go ahead and say it....RIGHT!  To the coast.

Top photo:  Grace and her dad cruising the coastline looking for shells.

Everyone things California is shoulder to shoulder people regardless of what you're doing or where you go.  Hells, bells.  In Northern California a beach that looks like this in the middle of the day is not uncommon.

The property the family owns is close to where this photo is shot.  It's maybe a hundred yards away.  There's ocean access for the homeowners in the area which most use to either fish or dive for Abalone.

Dawn and Grace are pictured here making their way down the hill to the ocean.

Most of the way down the hill is by rope.  Grace, in her white hooded jacket, has no fear of doing this or many other things involving heights or sharp cliffs.  Her dad is at the bottom all ready for some heavy duty dive for ocean snails (Abalone). Click on the photo to take a closer look.

Not many have access to this beach.  It's only for the residents or owners of property in this tiny subdivision.  Many of the owners are older and too frail to make it down the rope and making it doubly difficult to pull themselves back up the hill.  This means there's snails galore that make for easy picking.

I just love going to the coast.  It's a lot better than going to the beach and to the ocean.

All Chick Luncheon

Friday is was an all chick Mexican luncheon for members of the Elks Lodge Chicks Only club.  All chicks.  But there's one man member.  Go figure.  Grace sat with friend Katherine.  She's just had to dress especially for the occasion.  She fit right in with all of the gray headed ladies.

 Wifey sat and talked with everybody.  She likes people.  I hate people.  Opposites attract.

Judging by Wifey's photo don't you think she needs a tattoo on her arm.  Something that reads in big red letters right down her arm like, "Bob Has A Big Dick".  That has a ring to it, ya think?  I'm sure she would rather have something else tattooed like, "Bob Needs Viagra."  Ha.  In her dreams.

Dawn ate with friend Robin.  Dawn has taken time off from work for lunch but still manages to suck down at least on Mexican slushy drink before heading back .  There's a chip off the old block for ya.

Dawn is having a chicken Mexican salad.  For me, chicken does not go on salad.  If you want salad eat salad.  If you want chicken it does not go on anything green.  On potatoes, rice, bread, pasta...you name it but anything but on salad.  Chicken on salad almost seems sacrilegious.  After picking up the 10 Commandments I don't think Moses would have been in the mood to eat a salad with chicken on it, do you?

And this lady.......the club chicks helped her to celebrate her 91st birthday with good cheer, food and gifts.  We should all be so lucky to have lived 91 years and look so very grand, so well preserved.

Are beer and chicken wings considered to be preservatives?

Down the Aisle

A friend is getting married this coming March.  I'm thinking he needs to learn some walk down the aisle get your dance on moves. 

So Russell, here's a video full of moves.   This ones for you!

Nothing like old Soul Train videos to moving first thing in the morning. 

Can't Have It Her Way

Classify this video as being Chicks Gone Nuts.  This is a must see. 

There's no original sound to the video as it was taken from a security cam.  What you hear is after the fact dubbing which does help to explain what the fuss was all about. 

Plain and simple:  Ya can't get chicken nuggets when it's breakfast time at McDonald's.  No way, Jose.  Don't even think about going there.

Fru-Fru Dinner

Last night's was an easy dinner.  Chicken tenders, sage leaves and asparagus wrapped in prosciutto, baked at 425 on parchment paper for 15 - 20 minutes (until the prosciutto is baked to your liking).  Served with rice.

A piece of heaven.  And there's no flatuence!

Two Syllable Flatulence

I was reading several other blogs this morning whose proprietors  bragged about earning money through their blog.  An attorney guy and his wife quit their day jobs to stay home to blog and make a living that way.  Believe it or not they're making more off the blog than they were from their day jobs.  Hard to believe but true.  Making blog money is all about the ads and the number of clicks on the blog which in turn generate income.  Like hundreds visit certain popular blogs every day and which generate a lot of cash.

Frankly, if I had to depend on making a living through this rinky dink rag if a blog there wouldn't be enough income to put a can of beer and a bucket of chicken wings on the table once a year.  Ever.

That's because this place generates few visitors as I post stupid, juvenile shit that pleases only me.  But for you who are here every day, thank yew, thank yew, thank yew ever so much.  I love an audience. 

Posting naked Wifey photos and elaborating on our monkey sex love life would draw visitors by the thousands.  I'd win the AARP Nobel Douche Bag Blogger Prize.  The bank account would grow by thousands every week. 

If I changed up here the blog would be so very great and popular that Wifey and I would be regular guests on Dr. Phil, Oprah, George Lopez (on TBS Mon-Fri nights at 8 ...he's soooo funny!), Rush Limbaugh (speaking to the rednecked, far right side of sex), IMUS in the Mornings, 60 Minutes.....you name it, we'd be there.

But no, oh no, I've got to write other things, keep the sex life and photos of Wifey out of here, and concentrate on what's important to me:  Juvenile thinking.  Besides, I'd only live a day, maybe two after Wifey found that I was posting butt ass nekked photos of her.  She's a good shot and it would be right between Bob's eyes.  Bang.

Here's a good example of juvenile thinking creates juvenile actions that translates into juvenile posts.

Shopping at Rite Aid yesterday for a new razor (damn!  they're 10 bucks or more), shampoo, floss and toothpaste.  On comes the song, Gypsy Woman.  The Impressions were first to sing the song making it popular and then came a lot of other versions.

Right before the song played it did feel like there was a lot of gas in me...that full feeling... all due to a wonderful dinner last evening that came with a side of beans, salad with beans, and soup with beans.  Add a couple of beers to the menu and by golly it's a case of , "Houston, We Have Ignition".  BLASTOFF!

As I shopped and the more that I shopped right there in the middle of Rite Aid I knew something had to give.  What goes up must come down?  Well,  what goes in Bob has to come out sooner or later and one way or another.

So then I'm listening to the song playing, Gypsy Woman.  The light bulb goes on.  I'll toot along with the music.  I'll bop down the aisles.  It will make me feel so much better.

When the time came for the chorus, She was a Gypsy Woman, I'll sing She was a Gypsy and then toot woman. 

It went like this:  She was a Gypsy Toot Toot, A Gypsy Toot Toot.

I tried, She was a Toot-toot Toot-Toot but there wasn't enough steam for two, two syllable words in a row.

Man, that was fun (doesn't take a lot to float my boat).  I was definitely good, even professional sounding at two syllable flatulent tooting to the music. 

Next time I'll have to try three syllable tooting to the music, like that song from Westside Story, Maria.  "Toot-toot-toot, I just met a girl named Toot-toot-toot!  Three syllable tooting would be an accomplishment requiring lots of beans, chicken wings, sausages and gallons of beer the night before. 

It was fortunate that Rite Aid was nearly empty for the sight of a card carrying AARP member happily pushing a cart down the aisles a dancing, a singing and a tooting would have created a cry for MANAGER!  MANAGER!  CODE 50 IN THE TOOTHPASTE AISLE!!!  MANAGER!!!

When the manager came to glare at me I'd still be singing, Gypsy Toot Toot, she was a Gypsy Toot Toot.  Sir, would you like to toot-too along with me?

All said, it was a fun way to get rid of that awful full feeling of too many beans and way too much gas to contend.  Sure, I could have hit the toilet but where's the fun in that? 

I have to say, shopping and tooting is one hell of a lot of fun.  I can hardly wait until the next bean laden meal and discovering there's a necessity to shop at Rite Aid.

I'd like Wifey to come check out this master piece, "Ohhh Toot Toot?  Toot, Toot?"

Wifey:  "Bob, quiting farting.  What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Indeed, a juvenile mind is a terrible thing to waste.

Kit's Ocean Visit

This is Gracie's American Girl doll, Kit Kitridge.  This last weekend she traveled to the ocean.  It was her first and probably not the last visit to the Pacific ocean.

Grace and Kit walked the beach and collected driftwood and shells.

Kit got tired of walking.  So Gracie had to piggy back Kit up and down the beach.  Somewhere along the line she started singing, "She Ain't Heavy, She's My Sister."  That's a new century girl who knows 20th century lyrics.  

Man Cave!

Sparkle Plenty will soon be taken out of the lake for the winter.  She'll "winter" alongside the house in the provided 45' long paved RV space.  

The question for last couple of months has been what to do with the 30' fifth wheel trailer that's already parked alongside the hous?  Can't park it in the driveway:  Vandalism seems to be on the rise in the neighborhood.  The trailer would make for an easy target.  And the neighborhood CCR's prohibit that kind of stuff.  

The trailer has a height between 13 - 14 feet.  The sailboat and its trailer has the same height.  It made no difference which went where, both rigs are about as tall as the law (and overpasses) allow.  They're as tall as they get.  Therein lies the rub.

The plan is for the trailer to spend the first part of the winter in an enclosed shed.  The sailboat will take its place once repairs and modifications are made to it.  The boat will be waxed and shined, all ready for the upcoming sailing season.  Indoor storage will save all of that work.  

Yeah, yeah, could have covered and stored one outside somewhere but there's no guarantee that there would be no break-ins or vandalism.  It does happen in these places.  Penny wise and pound foolish?  If the boat or the trailer were damaged that's exactly would it would be.

It's easy to find any storage shed with a 12' foot roll-up door.  They're not expensive compared to a shed with a 14' door.  Like half the price or more. 

After shopping and shopping I found this one.  The truck is parked in front of it.   14' high doors, 14' wide entrance.  45' long.  Room for either one with extra for a MAN CAVE!  Not that I need one because I don't.  Actually, I don't want one either. 

The sailboat trailer goes into the shop this week for new carpet.  The fifth wheel moves into the blue storage shed.  The sailboat comes home from the lake in September.

This is what happens when you have too many toys.  At this point I'm wondering if it is all worth the time, the trouble and the money.  

How much is enough when it comes to recreation?  How much?

4 Years - 1,406 Posts Later

What About Bob? hatched  on August 7th, 2006.  1,406 posts later equals a lot of information about yours truly.    Honestly?  I didn't think neither I nor the blog would last this long.  Here's to the next four years and at least another 1,400 posts.

The first post to the blog was short and sweet.  Here it is.

On The Beach - Brookings Oregon

This is what I do best (well, there are other things, too!) and something I enjoy. There's nothing like walking the beach on a warm day with two of my very best friends, Zoe and Jilli.

Always Something

There's always something broken or messed up that needs fixing or replacing.  Always.  It's a necessity to pay attention to the working order of the little things in your home, your car, your RV, your boat and so on.  If you don't you're either putting yourself in danger OR, there will be a whole pile of stuff needing fixing at the same time.

I try to keep up with repairs.  It's not easy.  There's other things I would rather be doing than fixing crap.  It's not being lazy, it's priorities.   Take the dryer vent you see in the photo.  I knew the lint was clogging the vent and piling up.  For the last 8 months the little voice in my mind kept repeating, "Clean it or you'll be sorry!"  This I ignored until one day last week I climbed onto the roof to check it out.

OMG, I thought.  This is "fire in the hole!" waiting to happen.  I attempt to clean out the vent on my own but in short time it was apparent that someone with the right stuff was needed to clean the vent and pipe out top to bottom.  One day and $75 later the vent and pipe were clean and looking like new. 

Wifey says she cleans the lint filter on the dryer nearly every time she uses it.  Nearly every time seems not to cut it.  Has to be every time.  The dryer is fairly new, is in good working condition and the lint filter recently replaced.  Cleaning the filter every time is a good thing.

The dryer vent deal is typical.  There's always something like this needing attention.  This week it was the sprinkler system.  Sprinklers get clogged with the little particles of dirt that are piped in from the water company.  Or they stop working.  Or the tops of the sprinklers come off and water shoots all over the place.  You always know when there's a problem with a sprinkler:  Everything turns brown and dies, especially in the everyday 100 degree heat of Cowtown.

Then there's Sparkle Plenty, the sailboat.  Issues with steering and lighting on the mast bug me.  Both have to be trouble shot by someone who knows what they're doing.  I could try but it's like there would be more damage I'd cause by "fixing" these things than it is worth.  Towing the boat to a dealer in the Bay Area come this fall will be necessary to make those repairs.  There's always something needing repair when it comes to sailboats.

I could go on and on about what needs fixing or attention but you get the idea.  We've all been there, know that and let things slide.  Instead of "put it off today and 'cause you can do it tomorrow" I should be practicing "never put off to tomorrow things needing done today." 

Taking care of "stuff" is becoming a full time job.  There's just too much of it.  Next time I think of buying anything that age old question has be answered first:  How much is enough?

Lunch with the Ladies

Last week it was Wifey's turn to prepare lunch for her women's club.  Every Tuesday at the Lodge all the ladies turn out, pay their 7 bucks and eat whatever was prepared by one of their members.  Whatever profit was brought in goes to one of the group's charities.  One charity that's near to my heart is the group's preparation of boxes of goodies and essentials that are sent to our troops in the Middle East.

Green salad, carrot salad, egg salad sandwiches, cake and a beverage ...all for 7 bucks.  Wifey had help.  Gracie (shown here at a luncheon table with Wifey), daughter Dawn, two friends and other members of the ladies group helped in preparing and serving the meal.  The luncheon was a success as it was sold out, the food all eaten and a handy profit made.

At each luncheon raffle tickets are sold and items raffled off.  It's a big thing for the ladies.  They buy their tickets and then coo in delight when someone wins a special trinket.  I'm thinking their raffle is a grand way to get rid of some of this crap we have around the house.  They'll be happy and I'll be just as happy to get rid of some crap and receive a donation receipt for tax purposes.  Win/win.

Wifey has to report for jury duty this morning.  Come noon that leaves just Grace and I to have lunch with the ladies at the Lodge.  We're meeting a few friends.  There will be stories, laughing, food (of course), raffle winners and most likely more than a couple of Bloody Mary's.  I'll be just one of the ladies.  Cackle, cackle, cackle.........

School begins in a couple of weeks.  Soon Grace will be hard at learning third grade things and eating lunch in the school cafeteria.  And just as soon the ladies luncheons at the Lodge will come to an end until next year.

With the start of school it also marks the end of summer.   I can't believe that September is around the corner.  We'll be pulling Sparkle Plenty out of the water for winter maintenance, repairs and spit polish.  Firewood has to be bought and stacked.  Gutters cleaned.

A life's chapter is closing, another just beginning.

Chicken Sunday

I like new things to eat.  Eating the same old food day after day after is for prisoners.  More bread and water, please.  That's what they say.  Bob says when the same old is served up, "Oh no!  Not this shit again!"

Well, not really.  Wifey is pretty good about changing up on what's for dinner  It's never boring.  It's the one meal we share so it's a must to make pretty good, not boring, scrumptious, no too Fru-fru sit down suppers.   Breakfast is rarely eaten.  Lunch is hit and miss.  Come dinner time, I'm ready for the feedbag and some serious chow.

So yesterday I found a recipe that looked yummy which seemed fairly easy to prepare.  It was rated a five star meal by other readers so it seemed worth a shot.  Wifey really wanted to take it.  In the interest of watching NASCAR I handed her my apron and headed for the Lazy Boy to assume the racing position.

I love shifting my lounger during any NASCAR race.  Makes me feel like I'm sitting in the stands with all the good old boys.

Our Quick Chicken Corn Chowder definitely turned out well.  It's definitely a keeper.  We'll definitely fix this one again.

Definitely.


Quick Chicken-Corn Chowder


You can have this chicken corn chowder on the table in less than 30 minutes.

Yield:  6 servings (serving size: about 1 cup)


2 tablespoons butter
1/4 cup chopped onion
1/4 cup chopped celery
1 jalapeño pepper, seeded and minced
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
3 cups 2% reduced-fat milk
2 cups chopped roasted skinless, boneless chicken breasts (about 2 breast halves)
1 1/2 cups fresh or frozen corn kernels (about 3 ears)
1 teaspoon chopped fresh or 1/4 teaspoon dried thyme
1/4 teaspoon ground red pepper
1/8 teaspoon salt
1 (14 3/4-ounce) can cream-style corn
Melt the butter in a large Dutch oven over medium heat. Add onion, celery, and jalapeño; cook for 3 minutes or until tender, stirring frequently. Add flour; cook 1 minute, stirring constantly. Stir in milk and remaining ingredients. Bring to a boil; cook until thick (about 5 minutes).

CALORIES 257 (28% from fat); FAT 8.1g (sat 4.4g,mono 2.4g,poly 0.8g); IRON 0.4mg; CHOLESTEROL 52mg; CALCIUM 165mg; CARBOHYDRATE 28.6g; SODIUM 668mg; PROTEIN 19.1g; FIBER 1.9g
 

Hannah Spelled Backwards

Hannah, Gracie's stepsister, celebrated her fifth birthday a couple of days early on Saturday.  A birthday party for her was at the Cowtown plunge.  From 9:30 a.m. until 11:00 a.m. the swim center was for Hannah and her guests.  To help with the celebration they even throw in someone wearing a silly costume.  This is probably someones dream job.

Hannah's mom made a Tinker Bell cake.  It was, as you can see, a work of love and art.

Hannah opened a lot of gifts.  Judging by this photo finger paints are very high on her list of perfect gifts.

Would you like being five again?