EYE CANDY FOR GEEKS:
WATCH THE GROWTH OF WALMART
Here's my new favorite website, and one of its most popular infographics:
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Thursday, September 22, 2011
BUT YOU CAN'T SHOUT 'HALLELUJAH!'
IN PUBLIC SCHOOL!
Yesterday, they handed out mid-quarter grades. Maddy saw some fat numbers on hers. When you are trying to be a top student, fat numbers are bad numbers. AAAIIIEEE!!!!
Then the teacher realized that she had switched two envelopes and given two students the wrong reports. Maddy and the kid next to her switched reports to the correct ones. Now Maddy was seeing THIN numbers -- meaning, all 1's and 1+'s.
Out of concern for her neighboring classmate's feelings, she did not leap on her desk, shoot her arms skyward, and shout, "Hallelujah!"
But she felt like it. :>)
IN PUBLIC SCHOOL!
Yesterday, they handed out mid-quarter grades. Maddy saw some fat numbers on hers. When you are trying to be a top student, fat numbers are bad numbers. AAAIIIEEE!!!!
Then the teacher realized that she had switched two envelopes and given two students the wrong reports. Maddy and the kid next to her switched reports to the correct ones. Now Maddy was seeing THIN numbers -- meaning, all 1's and 1+'s.
Out of concern for her neighboring classmate's feelings, she did not leap on her desk, shoot her arms skyward, and shout, "Hallelujah!"
But she felt like it. :>)
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Thursday, May 19, 2011
THE CRACK OF THE BAT . . .
WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM ABOVE
Maddy's softball game got called off in the middle of the first inning because of lightning, thunderboomers and a sudden shower.
She had just been up, and swung at the first pitch. CRACK! It was a great hit -- hard and low -- and the shortstop couldn't handle it, so Maddy made it to first base easily.
She was sad that the game was called before it really got going, but happy to have a hit.
She said she wishes that RIGHT when she swung at the ball, one of those big thundercracks would have sounded. "Everybody would have thought that was the sound of my bat hitting the ball!" she grinned. "They would have run out onto the field, lifted me up in the air, and carried me around, going 'Woo hoo!!!!!'"
If you could score runs for having a good imagination, she'd be a Hall of Famer for sure.
WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM ABOVE
Maddy's softball game got called off in the middle of the first inning because of lightning, thunderboomers and a sudden shower.
She had just been up, and swung at the first pitch. CRACK! It was a great hit -- hard and low -- and the shortstop couldn't handle it, so Maddy made it to first base easily.
She was sad that the game was called before it really got going, but happy to have a hit.
She said she wishes that RIGHT when she swung at the ball, one of those big thundercracks would have sounded. "Everybody would have thought that was the sound of my bat hitting the ball!" she grinned. "They would have run out onto the field, lifted me up in the air, and carried me around, going 'Woo hoo!!!!!'"
If you could score runs for having a good imagination, she'd be a Hall of Famer for sure.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
DOUBLE, DOUBLE
TROUBLE, TROUBLE IN THE BURGER KING LINE
Maddy and her little fifth-grade friends have a new game at recess. It's called "Double, Double."
You square off with a partner, and bump fists (every time you say "double") and either slap the palms of your hands (when you say "this") or the backs of your hands (when you say "that"), in this fast-paced rhythm:
Double, double this, this
Double, double that, that
Double this
Double that
Double double this that
Well, we were waiting in line at the Burger King order window last night, and Maddy was trying to teach it to me. My aging pea brain was not able to get it right until about the fifth try. We were cracking up over my clumsiness, and the car windows were down. Just then, I caught the eye of the mom in the car in the other order lane. She was cracking up, too, and nodded her approval at us.
They call them "teachable moments" -- anytime you can interact with your child and learn something new together. That other mom in the Burger King line was totally on board with what we were doing. It was pretty nice mom-to-mom radar. And no, I still can't QUITE get that game right, but will have fun and keep trying!
TROUBLE, TROUBLE IN THE BURGER KING LINE
Maddy and her little fifth-grade friends have a new game at recess. It's called "Double, Double."
You square off with a partner, and bump fists (every time you say "double") and either slap the palms of your hands (when you say "this") or the backs of your hands (when you say "that"), in this fast-paced rhythm:
Double, double this, this
Double, double that, that
Double this
Double that
Double double this that
Well, we were waiting in line at the Burger King order window last night, and Maddy was trying to teach it to me. My aging pea brain was not able to get it right until about the fifth try. We were cracking up over my clumsiness, and the car windows were down. Just then, I caught the eye of the mom in the car in the other order lane. She was cracking up, too, and nodded her approval at us.
They call them "teachable moments" -- anytime you can interact with your child and learn something new together. That other mom in the Burger King line was totally on board with what we were doing. It was pretty nice mom-to-mom radar. And no, I still can't QUITE get that game right, but will have fun and keep trying!
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
HEYYY! WHAT IS THAT PLANT DOING
IN A REPUBLICAN BACK YARD?!?
I was a one-woman S.W.A.T. team in gardening today. I worked from 9 a.m. to 3 p.m., even though it reached 97 degrees, a record for this day in May.
We've had to cut several lower limbs off each tree in a long row of beautiful big pine trees. As a result, the sun gets down to the ground a lot better now, and millions of pesky weeds have sprung up.
As a certified, card-carrying cheapo, I refuse to buy new plants to crowd out the weeds. Instead, I am dividing my already overcrowded existing perennials to take up the new garden space.
So today, I broke apart and moved several huge clumps of day lilies, mums, lamb's ear, columbine and a few other varieties-- hundreds of plants -- into new digs -- literally. Whew! It was work, and I started getting really tired.
I was bending over pulling weeds when suddenly, a GIGANTIC bumblebee buzzed by and lighted on the nearest plant -- a huge bleeding heart shrub.
My dazed mind instantly decided that that plant, identified with "bleeding-heart liberals," has no business in the back yard garden of a proudly conservative member of the GOP.
At that point, I realized that I had had a LITTLE too much sun . . . so I went inside and regained my sanity with a giant glass of iced tea. Actually, bleeding hearts are just about my favorite flower, so I'm glad I realized that I was just a little sun-crazy at that point.
IN A REPUBLICAN BACK YARD?!?
I was a one-woman S.W.A.T. team in gardening today. I worked from 9 a.m. to 3 p.m., even though it reached 97 degrees, a record for this day in May.
We've had to cut several lower limbs off each tree in a long row of beautiful big pine trees. As a result, the sun gets down to the ground a lot better now, and millions of pesky weeds have sprung up.
As a certified, card-carrying cheapo, I refuse to buy new plants to crowd out the weeds. Instead, I am dividing my already overcrowded existing perennials to take up the new garden space.
So today, I broke apart and moved several huge clumps of day lilies, mums, lamb's ear, columbine and a few other varieties-- hundreds of plants -- into new digs -- literally. Whew! It was work, and I started getting really tired.
I was bending over pulling weeds when suddenly, a GIGANTIC bumblebee buzzed by and lighted on the nearest plant -- a huge bleeding heart shrub.
My dazed mind instantly decided that that plant, identified with "bleeding-heart liberals," has no business in the back yard garden of a proudly conservative member of the GOP.
At that point, I realized that I had had a LITTLE too much sun . . . so I went inside and regained my sanity with a giant glass of iced tea. Actually, bleeding hearts are just about my favorite flower, so I'm glad I realized that I was just a little sun-crazy at that point.
Monday, May 09, 2011
BUCK! BUCK! BUCK! BUCK-KAW!!!!!
STILL CLUCKING OVER THIS MOTHER'S DAY THOUGHT
Had a most lovely Mother's Day, with tender talks, cards and gifts from all my chicks.
Speaking of chicks . . . my "quote a day" book had an outstanding message for Mother's Day. It was unattributed, so don't know who to thank for this:
THE ROOSTER MAY CROW . . . BUT IT'S THE HEN WHO DELIVERS THE GOODS.
Love it! I love men, too -- but this little piece of wisdom is Grade A.
STILL CLUCKING OVER THIS MOTHER'S DAY THOUGHT
Had a most lovely Mother's Day, with tender talks, cards and gifts from all my chicks.
Speaking of chicks . . . my "quote a day" book had an outstanding message for Mother's Day. It was unattributed, so don't know who to thank for this:
THE ROOSTER MAY CROW . . . BUT IT'S THE HEN WHO DELIVERS THE GOODS.
Love it! I love men, too -- but this little piece of wisdom is Grade A.
Wednesday, May 04, 2011
SOMETIMES IT'S YOUR BELOVED,
BUT SOMETIMES IT'S YOU
We were taking a lovely spring walk when my husband looked over at a house, pondered for a second, and then said:
"Pods! What a good idea!"
I looked in that direction. There was a tree there with brown seed pods hanging down. Uhhh . . . was my husband complimenting God for the ingenious way that He designed seed pods?!?!?! Gulp. I smiled a bemused smile (translation: "You dork!") and said nothing.
A split-second later, I saw the brightly-colored portable STORAGE SHED that was right next to the tree with the pods. Apparently, they were doing some remodeling and were storing furniture and stuff on site. The brand name on the storage shed: PODS. As in . . .
Ohhhhh! THOSE were the PODS that he thought were such a good idea! THAT'S what he meant!
I was the dork this time. All I can say is . . . POD'n ME!!!!! :>)
BUT SOMETIMES IT'S YOU
We were taking a lovely spring walk when my husband looked over at a house, pondered for a second, and then said:
"Pods! What a good idea!"
I looked in that direction. There was a tree there with brown seed pods hanging down. Uhhh . . . was my husband complimenting God for the ingenious way that He designed seed pods?!?!?! Gulp. I smiled a bemused smile (translation: "You dork!") and said nothing.
A split-second later, I saw the brightly-colored portable STORAGE SHED that was right next to the tree with the pods. Apparently, they were doing some remodeling and were storing furniture and stuff on site. The brand name on the storage shed: PODS. As in . . .
Ohhhhh! THOSE were the PODS that he thought were such a good idea! THAT'S what he meant!
I was the dork this time. All I can say is . . . POD'n ME!!!!! :>)
Tuesday, May 03, 2011
KIDS ARE TECHNICALLY MORE ACCURATE
THAN THE MOST HIGH-FALUTIN' ADULT
Got this joke via email and loved it:
While walking along the sidewalk in front of his church, a minister heard the intoning of a prayer that nearly made his collar wilt. Apparently, his 5-year-old son and his playmates had found a dead robin. Feeling that proper burial should be performed, they had secured a small box and cotton batting, then dug a hole and made ready for the disposal of the deceased.
The minister's son was chosen to say the appropriate prayers and with sonorous dignity intoned his version of what he thought his father always said:
"Glory be unto the Faaather, and unto the Sonnn, and into the hole he goooes."
(Do you want that line used at your funeral? Might give your mourners a smile!)
THAN THE MOST HIGH-FALUTIN' ADULT
Got this joke via email and loved it:
While walking along the sidewalk in front of his church, a minister heard the intoning of a prayer that nearly made his collar wilt. Apparently, his 5-year-old son and his playmates had found a dead robin. Feeling that proper burial should be performed, they had secured a small box and cotton batting, then dug a hole and made ready for the disposal of the deceased.
The minister's son was chosen to say the appropriate prayers and with sonorous dignity intoned his version of what he thought his father always said:
"Glory be unto the Faaather, and unto the Sonnn, and into the hole he goooes."
(Do you want that line used at your funeral? Might give your mourners a smile!)
Monday, May 02, 2011
Friday, April 29, 2011
GOT 'THE BUSIES'?
YOU'LL LOVE THIS SCREW-UP
For about a week of every spring, because it's gardening season, I get so busy night and day that I can't even remember my name. The window of opportunity is only so long in gardening, and you have to pounce while the pouncing's good. I'm usually madly overscheduled, frazzled and brainless much of the time in April and May.
But this woman has me beat:
I can't remember all that she was accomplishing that same afternoon, but it was a lot. She had thrown all kinds of things in the car -- dry cleaning, library books, etc. etc. -- and zoomed off on her rounds. She was happy that she had remembered to throw some workout clothes in a plastic sack, and was going to treat herself to a rare hour in the gym after doing 52,000 errands at home and abroad.
She got there, got a locker, opened her sack . . . AND FOUND SOME REALLY SMELLY, RIPE, OLD KITTY LITTER!!!
Whoopsie daisy! She must've thrown the sack of her workout clothes in the trash by mistake.
You can't work out with an outfit made of kitty litter . . . not even a "litter" bit.
Guess it was her clue to quit letting herself get so . . . pooped . . . and to get more of what they call "margin" in her life. Not to be . . . catty . . . but that's not such a bad idea for all of us!
YOU'LL LOVE THIS SCREW-UP
For about a week of every spring, because it's gardening season, I get so busy night and day that I can't even remember my name. The window of opportunity is only so long in gardening, and you have to pounce while the pouncing's good. I'm usually madly overscheduled, frazzled and brainless much of the time in April and May.
But this woman has me beat:
I can't remember all that she was accomplishing that same afternoon, but it was a lot. She had thrown all kinds of things in the car -- dry cleaning, library books, etc. etc. -- and zoomed off on her rounds. She was happy that she had remembered to throw some workout clothes in a plastic sack, and was going to treat herself to a rare hour in the gym after doing 52,000 errands at home and abroad.
She got there, got a locker, opened her sack . . . AND FOUND SOME REALLY SMELLY, RIPE, OLD KITTY LITTER!!!
Whoopsie daisy! She must've thrown the sack of her workout clothes in the trash by mistake.
You can't work out with an outfit made of kitty litter . . . not even a "litter" bit.
Guess it was her clue to quit letting herself get so . . . pooped . . . and to get more of what they call "margin" in her life. Not to be . . . catty . . . but that's not such a bad idea for all of us!
Thursday, April 28, 2011
NINTENDO IN THE WEEDS:
NOW, THERE'S A METAPHOR FOR YOU
Last night, El Magnifico was shooting trap. That left me alone to shoot my mouth off at our daughter, the adorable but homework-averse Maddy. She messed around, she watched TV, she played with the hounds . . . and I caught her playing on her Nintendo DSI a half-hour AFTER I had given her an ultimatum to do her math homework, or else.
Our eyes locked in that eternal Mom-Kid power struggle. Stealth and deceit won out, despite my age, as I snatched her little hand-held right out of her hands, and said she couldn't have it back 'til the weekend.
Lower lip protruding, she stomped off to do her homework at last.
Now imagine the hours of the clock spinning forward, to 9:30 p.m. -- past her bedtime. She wondered where her DSI had gone, so that she could charge it overnight.
It wasn't on the kitchen counter, where I usually put contraband.
It wasn't in my closet, where I hide contraband when the perpetrator is REALLY in trouble.
It wasn't anywhere in sight! We checked the trash, her backpack, her combination chair/junk pile . . . the bright blue handheld device was nowhere to be found!
It had vanished! But it was sooooo late, Maddy went to bed, uncertain of its fate.
After a while, I remembered that I had run outside to pick a few dandelions that evening. Maybe it had fallen out of my pocket? It was dark, so I carried a flashlight. Not a glimpse of it!
Returning to the door, dejected, I glanced at the big blue bucket of weeds. Hmm. You don't suppose?
Sure enough, there was the DSI, halfway down -- a little moist, but none the worse for wear.
Was I tempted to just leave it where it belonged -- among the other weeds and distractions keeping our little girl from acing every subject in school, because of the handheld's siren song of fun and games?
You other mothers, struggling against the lure of kid technology: can I get an "amen!" here?!?
You bet I was tempted. But I'm not crazy . . . so I snuck into her room and told her it was found. She hugged me her deepest thanks, plugged in the charger, and sank back on her pillow with a great, big smile on her face.
Her heart had blossomed into flowers, where before, there were only weeds. Or something like that.
NOW, THERE'S A METAPHOR FOR YOU
Last night, El Magnifico was shooting trap. That left me alone to shoot my mouth off at our daughter, the adorable but homework-averse Maddy. She messed around, she watched TV, she played with the hounds . . . and I caught her playing on her Nintendo DSI a half-hour AFTER I had given her an ultimatum to do her math homework, or else.
Our eyes locked in that eternal Mom-Kid power struggle. Stealth and deceit won out, despite my age, as I snatched her little hand-held right out of her hands, and said she couldn't have it back 'til the weekend.
Lower lip protruding, she stomped off to do her homework at last.
Now imagine the hours of the clock spinning forward, to 9:30 p.m. -- past her bedtime. She wondered where her DSI had gone, so that she could charge it overnight.
It wasn't on the kitchen counter, where I usually put contraband.
It wasn't in my closet, where I hide contraband when the perpetrator is REALLY in trouble.
It wasn't anywhere in sight! We checked the trash, her backpack, her combination chair/junk pile . . . the bright blue handheld device was nowhere to be found!
It had vanished! But it was sooooo late, Maddy went to bed, uncertain of its fate.
After a while, I remembered that I had run outside to pick a few dandelions that evening. Maybe it had fallen out of my pocket? It was dark, so I carried a flashlight. Not a glimpse of it!
Returning to the door, dejected, I glanced at the big blue bucket of weeds. Hmm. You don't suppose?
Sure enough, there was the DSI, halfway down -- a little moist, but none the worse for wear.
Was I tempted to just leave it where it belonged -- among the other weeds and distractions keeping our little girl from acing every subject in school, because of the handheld's siren song of fun and games?
You other mothers, struggling against the lure of kid technology: can I get an "amen!" here?!?
You bet I was tempted. But I'm not crazy . . . so I snuck into her room and told her it was found. She hugged me her deepest thanks, plugged in the charger, and sank back on her pillow with a great, big smile on her face.
Her heart had blossomed into flowers, where before, there were only weeds. Or something like that.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
NEVER MARRY A BLACK THUMB;
THEY WILL NEVER 'GET' YOU
I lumbered upstairs. "Where have you been?" my Beloved demanded.
"Checking out the cosmos," I replied.
There was a silence, and a frown. Finally, he broke down. "What do you mean, the cosmos?!?!"
I stared at him. Then the light dawned. "I mean the red cosmos SEEDLINGS that are growing under the lights downstairs. They just got their second pair of leaves, and I'm excited."
He thought I had snapped and was doing some kind of ephereal Carl Sagan thing with a telescope and stuff. But I was just doing my red butterfly-attracting prairie flower thing. Cosmos is part of my gardening . . . cosmos, that's all.
THEY WILL NEVER 'GET' YOU
I lumbered upstairs. "Where have you been?" my Beloved demanded.
"Checking out the cosmos," I replied.
There was a silence, and a frown. Finally, he broke down. "What do you mean, the cosmos?!?!"
I stared at him. Then the light dawned. "I mean the red cosmos SEEDLINGS that are growing under the lights downstairs. They just got their second pair of leaves, and I'm excited."
He thought I had snapped and was doing some kind of ephereal Carl Sagan thing with a telescope and stuff. But I was just doing my red butterfly-attracting prairie flower thing. Cosmos is part of my gardening . . . cosmos, that's all.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Monday, April 25, 2011
IF THE PRICE OF GAS
RISES TOO HIGH. . . .
One of the side benefits of our trip last week to the Kearney (Neb.) Arch and Pioneer Village in Minden, Neb., were the examples of how people got themselves and their stuff from place to place back in the olden days.
The kids in our party ooh'ed at the Mormon handcarts, imagining how hard it must've been to walk from back East to the Great Salt Lake with everything you owned in that cart, fording rivers and whatnot. They aah'ed at the railway pushcarts, and tried them out, with exaggerated energy:
But you know, with the price of gas more than DOUBLING in recent months, us parents have been ooh'ing, aah'ing and ouch'ing at the gas pumps . . . and those two old-fashioned and gas-free methods of transportation aren't looking half bad these days. YIKES!!!!
RISES TOO HIGH. . . .
One of the side benefits of our trip last week to the Kearney (Neb.) Arch and Pioneer Village in Minden, Neb., were the examples of how people got themselves and their stuff from place to place back in the olden days.
The kids in our party ooh'ed at the Mormon handcarts, imagining how hard it must've been to walk from back East to the Great Salt Lake with everything you owned in that cart, fording rivers and whatnot. They aah'ed at the railway pushcarts, and tried them out, with exaggerated energy:
But you know, with the price of gas more than DOUBLING in recent months, us parents have been ooh'ing, aah'ing and ouch'ing at the gas pumps . . . and those two old-fashioned and gas-free methods of transportation aren't looking half bad these days. YIKES!!!!
Friday, April 22, 2011
MOVE OVER, CANCUN:
SPRING BREAKIN' IN CENTRAL NEBRASKA!
Just back from a wonderful day in fabulous Kearney and Minden, Nebraska. They are two towns along I-80 and the Platte River in the less-populated central part of the state. Our daughter and a friend had fun, and got in a little historical learning as well.
We visited the unique museum that is inside a huge arch over I-80 at Kearney. We learned about the prairie pioneers, peeked inside a Native American earth lodge, and realized that today's fiberoptic network follows the same path as the covered wagon wheels of more than 150 years ago along the Oregon Trail.
We also visited Harold Warp's Pioneer Village in Minden, which displays an overwhelming number of objects, from 19th Century stagecoaches to stuffed eagles to antique toys.
SPRING BREAKIN' IN CENTRAL NEBRASKA!
Just back from a wonderful day in fabulous Kearney and Minden, Nebraska. They are two towns along I-80 and the Platte River in the less-populated central part of the state. Our daughter and a friend had fun, and got in a little historical learning as well.
We visited the unique museum that is inside a huge arch over I-80 at Kearney. We learned about the prairie pioneers, peeked inside a Native American earth lodge, and realized that today's fiberoptic network follows the same path as the covered wagon wheels of more than 150 years ago along the Oregon Trail.
Not sure the pioneers ever did this to a buffalo . . .
he does look rather startled, doesn't he?
Who knew you could see an ocean-going yacht,
an antique carousel, a 1910 electric car, and so many
other interesting pieces of American history
out in the middle of nowhere in central Nebraska?
After all that, we were interested to know what the girls liked the best. And here are their replies:
1. They were relieved to learn that we were visiting the KEARNEY Arch. They thought it was the BARNEY Arch!
2. They noticed that the mannequins in the historical scenes at Pioneer Village were all identical; the women just had different wigs on. It looked creepy, like OctoMom being reincarnated from the 1850s to the 1950s. Wonder if they are the first ones to notice this, among all the millions of tourists over the years who have gone through this huge treasure chest of historical artifacts. Something tells me they are. Sigh. :>)
Thursday, April 21, 2011
HAVE SALAD BARS
GONE TOO FAR GREEN?
We were at a very deluxe salad bar for lunch. They had every type of leafy salad green and colorful veggie you could imagine . . . every mixed salad . . . selections from every multicultural country of origin . . . every topping, every dressing, every seed and every nut. Wow!
I heard our daughter and her friend giggling down at the other end of the line. What's so funny about a cornucopia of vegetables?
Turns out they were responding to the amazing variety, too. They didn't even know what most of the food items were. So when they came onto a bowl of some dark green and somewhat slimy stuff, they declared that it was:
POND MOSS!!!!!
And that was the end of THAT salad bar. They headed straight for the hot, cheesy and decidedly NOT GREEN pizza . . . and declared it delicious.
GONE TOO FAR GREEN?
We were at a very deluxe salad bar for lunch. They had every type of leafy salad green and colorful veggie you could imagine . . . every mixed salad . . . selections from every multicultural country of origin . . . every topping, every dressing, every seed and every nut. Wow!
I heard our daughter and her friend giggling down at the other end of the line. What's so funny about a cornucopia of vegetables?
Turns out they were responding to the amazing variety, too. They didn't even know what most of the food items were. So when they came onto a bowl of some dark green and somewhat slimy stuff, they declared that it was:
POND MOSS!!!!!
And that was the end of THAT salad bar. They headed straight for the hot, cheesy and decidedly NOT GREEN pizza . . . and declared it delicious.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
BOSTON MARATHON:
NOBODY WANTS TO GET BEAT BY A HAMBURGER
Our daughter's boyfriend ran in the Boston Marathon yesterday. He arranged with our daughter to meet her at Milepost 20 for just an instant as he ran by.
The magic moment arrived. He angled toward her and their eyes met . . . but suddenly, he was passed by a racing HAMBURGER . . . followed closely by a speeding BUNNY RABBIT.
The boyfriend was shocked. He immediately zoomed back into full-throttle form. The reason: who wants to get outraced by a HAMBURGER and a BUNNY RABBIT?!?!
He finished in 3 hours, 31 minutes -- a very good time. No report on how the cartoon characters did.
NOBODY WANTS TO GET BEAT BY A HAMBURGER
Our daughter's boyfriend ran in the Boston Marathon yesterday. He arranged with our daughter to meet her at Milepost 20 for just an instant as he ran by.
The magic moment arrived. He angled toward her and their eyes met . . . but suddenly, he was passed by a racing HAMBURGER . . . followed closely by a speeding BUNNY RABBIT.
The boyfriend was shocked. He immediately zoomed back into full-throttle form. The reason: who wants to get outraced by a HAMBURGER and a BUNNY RABBIT?!?!
He finished in 3 hours, 31 minutes -- a very good time. No report on how the cartoon characters did.
Monday, April 18, 2011
A POLICE DETECTIVE,
I AIN'T
It's sad to contemplate what my city's crime rate would be if I were the detective investigating every mystery. I'm so absent-minded, my observation skills have shrunk to nothing. A guy with guns, knives, bombs and dynamite might be standing right in front of my very eyes, and I probably wouldn't even notice.
This morning, I was supposed to be at a certain pancake restaurant at 8:30 a.m. for a meeting.
I got there three minutes early, didn't see my associate's car in the lot, so I sat there to wait. The minutes passed. Ever so slowly, the dawn broke in my brain:
Why are there 14 huge, heavy booths on their sides sitting over there by the dumpster?
Why are there 20 wooden chairs with the seats missing stacked by the front door?
Why are the shelves by the cash register not full of yummy pies as usual?
Why is there a truck next to the front door and people are loading equipment into it?!?
And, most critically: am I not going to get pancakes there today?
My poor brain churned and churned, and finally, I got out and asked somebody.
Turns out they had just closed for remodeling. They will re-open in a week. No, no pancakes today . . . but if I wanted to cram the huge booths and wooden chairs into my Mini Cooper, I was welcome to take them, free.
If I could fit even one of them in, now THAT would be a mystery.
I AIN'T
It's sad to contemplate what my city's crime rate would be if I were the detective investigating every mystery. I'm so absent-minded, my observation skills have shrunk to nothing. A guy with guns, knives, bombs and dynamite might be standing right in front of my very eyes, and I probably wouldn't even notice.
This morning, I was supposed to be at a certain pancake restaurant at 8:30 a.m. for a meeting.
I got there three minutes early, didn't see my associate's car in the lot, so I sat there to wait. The minutes passed. Ever so slowly, the dawn broke in my brain:
Why are there 14 huge, heavy booths on their sides sitting over there by the dumpster?
Why are there 20 wooden chairs with the seats missing stacked by the front door?
Why are the shelves by the cash register not full of yummy pies as usual?
Why is there a truck next to the front door and people are loading equipment into it?!?
And, most critically: am I not going to get pancakes there today?
My poor brain churned and churned, and finally, I got out and asked somebody.
Turns out they had just closed for remodeling. They will re-open in a week. No, no pancakes today . . . but if I wanted to cram the huge booths and wooden chairs into my Mini Cooper, I was welcome to take them, free.
If I could fit even one of them in, now THAT would be a mystery.
Friday, April 15, 2011
SUCKS TO HAVE
A CORNBALL SENSE OF HUMOR
Our vacuum cleaner was broken. The superstar at the repair shop was able to fix it for a mere $14. I picked it up today, happy at the inexpensive bill.
The repair guru told me the problem all along has been that a belt wasn't installed right in the factory. Now the vac ought to work tons better. No wonder it hasn't picked up dirt all that well these past few years. I thought I wasn't vacuuming right or something.
I was elated. Over my shoulder as I left with the rejuvenated vac in hand, I tossed back what I thought was a hilarious comment:
"I'm going to tell everybody that your repair services SUCK."
He smiled weakly. I thought he'd crack up.
"Suppose you've heard that joke before," I murmured.
"Almost every day," he replied.
Oops! Guess the real vacuum is the one between my ears, for thinking my joke was so great. But at least if there's a vacuum in there, I'm not thinking dirty thoughts!
A CORNBALL SENSE OF HUMOR
Our vacuum cleaner was broken. The superstar at the repair shop was able to fix it for a mere $14. I picked it up today, happy at the inexpensive bill.
The repair guru told me the problem all along has been that a belt wasn't installed right in the factory. Now the vac ought to work tons better. No wonder it hasn't picked up dirt all that well these past few years. I thought I wasn't vacuuming right or something.
I was elated. Over my shoulder as I left with the rejuvenated vac in hand, I tossed back what I thought was a hilarious comment:
"I'm going to tell everybody that your repair services SUCK."
He smiled weakly. I thought he'd crack up.
"Suppose you've heard that joke before," I murmured.
"Almost every day," he replied.
Oops! Guess the real vacuum is the one between my ears, for thinking my joke was so great. But at least if there's a vacuum in there, I'm not thinking dirty thoughts!
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