Triple Dipping

a movie logo

Thursday, May 5, 2016

Today I am grateful for triple dipping.  Not ice cream. . .movies.  Early this morning Himself and I decided that we could not sit here and look at another gray day, so we decided to use the movie passes given to us and see a few flicks.

 

Yes, we cheat and see more than one movie.  In the afternoon.  Us and about six other old geezers, all doing the same thing.  Since the first movie started at 12:30, I knew I’d need some lunch, so we stopped at WaWa for small sandwiches and the Junior Mints Himself can’t see a movie without.

 

I guess the Catholic boy never leaves him because he says to me, “There is a sign ther that says, outside food is not allowed.”  Really?  Gee, I never saw that.  And I guess I must be the first person to ever bring something in.  “How will you hide it?”  Why do you think I brought the poncho?  Rookie.  I could bring three people in under this poncho.

 

Standing in line in front of us while getting tickets to “Eye in the Sky”, were a couple of moms and a bunch of kids.  One of the girls, who was about seven, looked 8 months pregnant. . .with candy. . .that kept dropping to the floor in its ziplock bag.  This to the consternation of her poor “cheating” mother, who proceeded to the concession stand and bought two tubs of popcorn and waters for everyone, which probably cost her car payment.  I don’t blame her for supplementing with filled baggies!

 

After “Eye in the Sky”, which was suspenseful and excellent, we were going to go to another movie, but it was an hour wait.  Himself suggested “Jungle Book”, which was also fantastic, but for completely different reasons.  We’ve never done three movies before because our bodies go numb. . .and they did today, too. . .but when I mentioned that we might as well sit in the movies as drive home during rush hour, he agreed to see “Mother’s Day”, which was a bit fluffy, but also good in its own way.

 

Each time we headed towards another theater, I caught Himself looking around like he was working for the KGB.  It’s a bloody movie!  They are going to run it anyway.  Us being in two of the seats is only going to up the audience to eight, so what’s the big deal?  I wasn’t raised Catholic so I marched in like I owned the place.

 

Relax. We bought popcorn and even a soda, too.  At least 15 bucks!  That’s my disclaimer. . .for our WaWa lunch, Junior Mints, two tubs of popcorn (free refills), a root beer that happened to be in my purse, a theater soda and three movies.  On a gloomy, rainy Thursday we had a lot to talk about on the drive home.  Nothing like triple dipping to make you feel like you won the lottery!

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Breakfast for Dinner

a bacon & egg meal

Wednesday, May 4, 2016

Today I am grateful for breakfast for dinner.  I took bacon out of the freezer today intending to make BLT’s for dinner.  I even mentioned this to Himself, who began an immediate and persistent lobby for eggs-over-easy instead.

 

I counterpointed with the fact that I have seen him eat literally two small bites of lettuce from my salad the other day and it was the first green he’s had since I had surgery over a month ago.  Turn my back for a minute. . .

 

Later in the afternoon, Himself rebutted with a confession that he had lettuce, a few pieces of tomato and some onion, along with some “awful” meatloaf,  at lunch with his old work cronies on Monday.  “You didn’t see it, but you can call them and ask them.”  Really?  Are we in elementary school here?  Apparently we are.

 

I learned to flip eggs when I was 17 and worked as a short-order cook and I love doing it.  So the big spoiled baby got his way. . .bacon, eggs-over-easy, white bread toast with butter, hot tea.  I had a Swiss cheese omelet and the rest.

 

Maybe tomorrow I’m make him eat asparagus.  Hahahahahaha!  Not going to happen, but I have to admit, there is nothing like breakfast for dinner.

 

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The Twilight Zone

a twilight zone logo

Tuesday, May 03, 2016

Today I am grateful for The Twilight Zone.  Mostly because I think I’m living in it.  I’m expecting Rod Serling to pop up in the darkness of my sunroom window and say, “You are travelling into another dimension. . .next stop, the twilight zone.”  Or is it just the presidential election?

 

I am not a very political person. . .mostly because I believe in honor, truth, integrity, honor (I know I said it once, but it bears repeating), compassion, honesty, good character, the golden rule, blah, blah, blah.  Okay, probably some of the candidates have a few of these positive characteristics, but others must have been standing in the extra-bad-hair-line at the pearly gates when all of that positive stuff was handed out.  I know whereof I speak because I was in the extra-hips line.

 

I have been trying, really trying to understand what it appears so much of the people of my country want.  But it doesn’t even feel like we’re living in the same country and I’m just head-spinning confused.  Have we gone back fifty years?  Will the world start appearing back to black & white?   The Twilight Zone ran five years.  I feel like I’ve already lived five years of this mess and we’re not done, yet.

 

I like color.  All color.  I like differences. . .even the ones I don’t like so much.  I like freedom of speech. . .even when it means I have to suck-it-up sometimes and let people I perceive as idiots spout rhetoric that I 100% do not agree with.  It’s their right.  And then I can do the same.  Like now.

 

I live in a free country, yet I’m waiting for Rod Serling to step into focus with a closing line. “Couldn’t happen here, you say?  Probably not in most places.  But it can happen in. . .The Twilight Zone!”  It’s where I seem to be living.  Here comes the black & white! Yikes.

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Yarn

basket of yarn

Monday, May 02, 2016

Today I am grateful for yarn.  Not the yarn you tell, the yarn you crochet with.  If it wasn’t for the basket of yarn I purchased a few weeks ago, I think I might have lost my mind by feeling useless and unnecessary.  At least making my silly little dish cloths gave me purpose.

 

Productivity is important.  I believe it is what people in nursing homes ruminate about more than anything.  “I can’t see to knit. . .sew. . .draw.”  Or, “I miss having my own kitchen and baking.” Or, “I used to do woodworking and make toys, but my hands tremble too much now.”  Everyone, young or old, needs a sense of purpose. . .however small that purpose might seem.

 

This morning I got up early, made a banana bread, had breakfast, a shower and was out the door to meet my friends after the water aerobics class.  What a delight.  I’m a bit social.  Did you notice?  Unfortunately I have felt like a grounded teenager lately, with the same snappish attitude.   Himself has been great, but I need way more activity and people than I thought I did.

 

After the gab fest I ran to the CVS, got gas in the car, came home, had lunch, then crashed. . .with three other errands on the list to get done today.  They are pushed off to tomorrow. . .or the next day.  Oh well.  Maybe I’ll yank a skein of yarn out of the basket and crochet another dish cloth to feel a little more useful. . .and necessary.  Yup, that’s a sense of purpose right from the chair.

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Once Upon A Mattress

a once upon a mattress logo

Sunday, May 01, 2016

Today I am grateful for the musical, “Once Upon A Mattress”, currently playing at North Penn High School and based on one of my favorite children’s stories, “The Princess and the Pea.”  Today is the last day.  Get there at 2:00 and bring your kids and/or grandkids.  Not only will you see some extremely talent kids, but also the stunning costumes and dancing princesses.  They were as colorful and energetic as skittles in a BINGO ball.

 

Wow!  Even the male costumes were fantastic, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of and dissected every fabric choice and piece of trim on the female gowns. . .including the nightgown!  Plus, the headgear was perfect.  Absolutely perfect.

 

The color!  The talent!  The amazing set changes done with the efficiency of Broadway. . .with my particular favorite entrances and exits and dance numbers happening inside moving archways.   Brilliant directing.  Equally brilliant choreography.

 

There was a lot to love in this production and I’ve made it clear many times that I don’t miss much at the theater.  I appreciate every nuance, particularly the lighting, which also didn’t disappoint, especially in the Jester number.  Spectacular!  Beautiful!

 

One of the directors, in her curtain speech, praised the school district for the elementary and middle school music and art programs that feed talent into the high school.  Great speech. . .and I 100% agree.  Music/art programs should never be put on the chopping block.  They are vital in the culture of our society and the education of our children.  Who would sing?  Who would design lighting?  Who would create programs and paint sets?  Who would play in the orchestra?  Who would handle the hundreds of other details involved in a big production?

 

The leads were great.  The chorus was great.  The sets were great.  The orchestra was great.  The lighting was great.  The dancing was great.  My only umbrage at all is that I really did not hum a take-away number as I expected.  Who cares?  Not me!  I’ll be seeing those costumes in my mind for a long time, so that’s more than enough.

 

If I had time and/or energy, I’d see it again.  It’s a rainy, gloomy Sunday here in Lansdale, PA, so please consider brightening your spirits by going to “Once Upon A Mattress”.  I hope you don’t miss it.  Take girls with you.  Any girls.  Even grandma.  They’ll love it.  2:00 today at North Penn High School.  You can get tickets at the door and they are a bargain.  $10 – Adults & $5 – Kids.  Far cheaper than a movie and the effects will be longer lasting.

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Wendy’s Restaurant

a girl running to bathroom

Friday, April 29, 2016

Today I am grateful for Wendy’s Restaurant.  They might not be happy about this. . .if they ever knew. . .but they are my heroes.

 

My body has been a bit out of sync these days from the various set-backs and plot twists with the simple surgery.  Some days I can tolerate food okay, others I’m on broth, noodles and pretzels.  It’s weird.  So when Son-of-Himself told us he wanted to take us out to dinner before he leaves, I was thrilled. . .and apprehensive.

 

Indian food was probably out for me because of the spices and although Son-of-Himself loves it, Himself would nibble on nan and starve.  So no Indian food.  Just thinking about the refried beans in Mexican food gave me the bends, so that was out.  Steak. . . and baked potato.   Yes, I could do a steak at Texas Roadhouse.  Himself would be happy, Son-of-Himself would be happy and I would be happy.  Perfect.

 

We had a lovely, early dinner.  I ate slowly and chewed my food like a cow in the pasture, masticating it to death before swallowing, just to be sure it would set well.

 

After leaving, with me driving, when we had just turned onto the main road, I felt it.  Ggggrrrrrruuuuuummmmmbbble!  Uh oh!  “I might need to find a bathroom,” I said, in between their discussion of sports and the pending football draft.  But there was no turning back on this road.

 

A couple of miles down, with not one bloody fast food restaurant in sight. . .grrrrruuummmbblbblbbe.  Oh no.  I’m in trouble.  Big time.  Listen is this gross?  Of course it is.  Have we ALL been here?  Of course we have, don’t even try to lie about it.  I write about “real” life and this is about as real as it gets. To Hell with “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.”  Medic Alert should make a gizmo that tells you where the closest restroom is!  That would be technology in its finest hour.

 

By now I am plotting my course for an open bathroom like Magellan on a quest.  The place where we buy our plants in spring.  Can I stop there?  But where is their bathroom?  I won’t have time ask, or search around.  Nope.  Keep driving.  Grrrummmbl. . .

 

The elementary school.  Cars are still there.  But I’m not familiar with where the closest bathroom is and someone is sure to stop me for security reasons and by then it will be too late.  I’ll either be dead or mortified.

 

By now I am shouting at Himself to pull off every scarf and accessory I am wearing, including my hair.  Everything is annoying me.  Ours looks like a clown car with demented acrobats flailing fabric.  I am sticking my sweating brow out the window to catch some rain.    Grrruuuuummmmbbbbllemeble.  Yikes!

 

They changed the speed from 35 to 25 and I’ve already been stopped on this road for speeding.  I’m doing 45 when people get outta my way and Himself is not chastising me.  Smart man.  If a cop stops me it will be worse for him than me. . .rumbblegrumbble.

 

The school district office.  No, they have to buzz you in. . .and they might remember me.  Buzzer person:  Can I help you?

Me:  Yes, I am about to self-implode.  Could I please use your bathroom?

Implode maybe isn’t the best choice of words.  I said, please.  No.  Keep driving.

 

Ding-ding-ding-ding, red lights, the striped arm comes down.  Are you kidding me?  A TRAIN?  Is this an evil joke?  My distress is such that if I were alone I might have tried to run through to the other side, swerving around the barricade and the cars in front of me like Steve McQueen in “Bullitt”.  Breathe.  Breathe!  No one in the car is talking.  No one.  This is not the time for repartee.  Finally we are in motion. . .too much motion. . .in too many ways. . .

 

Is there a porta-potty in the park?  The field?  The construction site?  Nope!  I know!  My nail salon.  Oh sure.  Leap out of the car and run straight to the bathroom in a place you frequent maybe three times a year.  They won’t mind.  Salad Works?  No, that bathroom is way in the back, I might not be able to knock down all of the people in line to get to it in time and the parking is too far away from the door.  I am totally focused and maniacal in my goal.

 

My only hope, my oasis in the sand, my mecca. . . is Wendy’s.  Parking is close.  I know right where the. . . GRUMMMBBBLEGRUMBLEGRRRRRRMMMM. . .bathroom is.  I fly into the handicapped spot, jump out the door as fast as surgery will allow, leaving the car running and head for my pot-o-gold.

 

What if the door is locked?  I’ll use the men’s room.  I don’t care what gender anyone thinks I am.   I don’t care if they think I’m an orangutan.  I need a bathroom.  NOW!  What if there is a sign on the door, “See counter staff for key”.  I will leap across and yank that sucker off the wall, chastity girdle, sutures and all.  I can take that pimply guy at the cash register!  Watch me.

 

The ladies room was open.  By the time my rendition of the Halleluiah Chorus was done. . . so was I.  Wendy’s Restaurant will never know how grateful I am.  Because I can never go back there again.

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Primary Elections Over!

a primary election sign

Wednesday, April 27, 2016

Today I am grateful that the Pennsylvania Primary Election is over!  Way grateful!  Beyond grateful!  Ecstatically grateful.

 

I bet I was getting 20 calls a day from someone regarding the election.  The last batch, on Monday, nearly threw me over the edge.  AARP must have enlisted the help of senior citizens to place calls.  Now look. . .I AM a senior citizen!  So are most of my friends and others are creeping up on it.  I understand why they seem like the logical choice to make cold calls about the elections.  I get senior citizens.  I like them.  They are fun, informed and enlightened people, usually with a lot more time on their hands than they once had.  Just not on the phone.

 

In my house the word “what” must be used 50 times a day.  When Himself has to make a call to a godforbidcallcenter, he has to use the speaker feature on the phone or he can’t hear or understand a word they are saying.  And they can’t understand him, either.  A lot of times I have to rush in like a corner back who’s trying to keep from fumbling the recently intercepted ball.

 

If I call him on the cellphone it’s a nightmare of what did you says; feedback; delays and impossible communication.  One time he had the speaker on at the grocery store and still couldn’t understand what I was saying to him, even though I spelled it out clearly.  Finally a guy standing next to him said, “Broccoli!  She wants you to bring home broccoli.  B-R-O-C-C-O-L-I.”

 

Imagine my joy when I started getting calls from “seniors”.  I pick up on the second ring.  Look, I know I should let them go to voice mail, but it irritates me to have the phone ringing four times right next to me, so I pick up.  My bad.

 

“Hello!” I bark, obviously already irritated.  No answer. “HELLO!” I try again.

A meek, tiny, blue-haired, apologetic voice says, “hello?  hello?  hello?  Is anyone there?”

“Yes!  Who’s calling?”  She doesn’t want to tell me, but I can picture her sitting in my hairdressers chair in tiny blue rollers, her glasses laying on my station and her telling me she can’t hear without them on.

“Is John there?”

“Who’s calling?”  We could do this all night.

“I need to speak with John.”  She squeaks.

“About what?”

She stammers and whispers to someone near her and fumbles and I’m a horrible person.  I know she’s flustered, but this is my living room and I didn’t invite her, poor thing.  But I’m not calling him in to talk with her because the only thing worse than taking her call in the first place, would be to hear Himself and her trying to communicate!  I couldn’t take that exchange!

 

No primary election is worth it.  None.

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