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"I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox.   ...so delicious and so cold."

Guess who

Eureka!

   I needed to find an item.  There was a time limit on it.  I knew where the item normally was, but with a visitor coming, I had rather hastily moved some of the clutter into temporary storage.  I can't remember where I put this particular item.  I spent 2 days searching, looking into all the likely places I might have stashed it, and lacking success, I went on to look into a great many places where I know I would never have put it.  Apparently it ceased to exist, no luck anywhere.
  Oh, we do have storage space in the area that was built as a garage, and later remodeled into a family room, with ping pong table, piano, and other stuff.  But we passed through that stage of life and the room became a collection area for the belongings of several family members when their homes were broken up.  The random collection of storage cartons and bins, thanks to a generous gift, gave way to 5 very nice stainless steel shelving units, each with 5 shelves. Naturally, the random arrangement prevailed once again, and the shelf units became filled with cartons and storage boxes of various items with no particular order of contents.  A mini-hoard of sorts.
    I tried to call up a logical location for the lost item.  I could find it nowhere, after I convinced myself that I had looked in  all the places where I could logically have stashed it, and also into remote areas where I knew I never would have put it.  I'm usually very good at retrieving lost items, because I do admire organization, but have lately fallen far short of achieving it.
   In my time of searching, I detected--Horrors----traces of mouse presence. The mice have been few and far between this year, nothing like last year. And when the exterminator came this year to de-ant the foundation under  that room, he said the substance used may well deter mice.  Even though the mouse evidence may have been from before, I saw what I saw, so I set a trap I'd just bought at Lowe's, and reminded myself to check it regularly as it was in an area not well visited.
   Early this morning, I woke up with the lost item still preying on my mind.  One more attempt, I told myself, "Start over.  Pretend you're going to put that item away for a while, and just walk out there and do it."  So I walked out into that cold spare storage room to a place I'd already looked, of course. In vain.  But in front of that space, a box was on the floor. I knew it hadn't been there yesterday.  And in the space where it had been, totally in view, lay the missing item.  One box had concealed the other, apparently.  I looked at  the nearby shelf where I had positioned the trap.  The trap had sprung, and enclosed the remains of a mouse, of a dark brown variety.
      I don't know what goes on out there at night under cover of cold and darkness. The mouse the cat, the trap. All players, and their story remains untold.
 

Eat His Words

I almost feel sorry for Sean Spicer.  Well, not really, but it is  pathetic.  That's pretty close.
  Putin must be ecstatic.  All his work is paying off and his dreams about to be realized.

"Mandated Reporter"

  That's a real term, one important to people who work with children.  If you suspect child abuse of any sort, you are legally bound to report it to the authorities.

Sorry, too busy

Hey, I understand, you're very very busy now, but if you can't call me back, could you at least maybe tweet me?  In hopes, The Pope

Alternative Fact

A dry sponge soaks up more moisture than a dampened sponge.

Do the Math

Who has the bigger throng anyway?

Drone On

   Sighting:   Today I saw aerial images  of myself walking on Muriel Lane, wearing a black coat and hat.  A figure joins me, she leading a golden retriever.  We walk together for a while until we turn the corner, and disappear into the neighborhood.  What looks like it could be crime scene surveillance  is instead rather innocuous, filmed by a drone directed by none other than a grandson.  You never know what's happening in the ether.

Premiere?

Alone in the house, I turned on the TV last night and saw------The Waltz of the Zombies??

Salad Days not really

Did you ever wash your salad greens, and wrap them in a dish towel to absorb the moisture, then walk away for a few moments to do something else, and come back and shake out the dish towel?  No. I never did that either.  But I'm seriously considering giving up cooking.

Not a recipe for disaster.

    It was almost time for the hungry one to arrive home, so I made cookies, Snickerdoodles to be precise.  Easy enough, only one egg and one stick of butter so I had all the ingredients on hand.  After the ten minute baking time, I took the first batch out of the oven. Of course, I sampled one while it was still warm.  Quite delicious it was, and a little crispier than usual.  I attributed that to lack of moisture from the size of the egg, which the carton called Large, but the eggs inside are pretty darn small, not what would have been considered large in days gone by.
    So, never my practice to stop at one cookie, I decided to have another, with a hot drink.  When I opened the microwave to place the cup, there inside was the called-for stick of butter, melted and ready.   So I now have the perfect recipe for, not Low-Fat, but  No-Fat Cookies.

Never More True

"What fools we mortals be."

Not Gonna Happen

    I think it possible that a person, having fallen on some hard times and into a difficult situation, could deliberately distance oneself from family and friends by presenting a facade of negativity so deep and powerful that it repels them.  If that were intended to relieve others of any sense of duty or release them from attempts at compassion, it would indeed be a sincere display of altruism on the part of the afflicted.
    However, it seems at least as likely as not that any such conclusion so drawn is a pragmatic manifestation of survival of the fittest and more likely to have arisen from the circumstance of self preservation.
   

True Colors

Purple Rain.   Golden WHAT!!!

"Excellent Point!"

 Mr. Harris has made no attempt to hide what he's done.  He even seems proud of his nefarious behavior.  He has left his fingerprints at the scene of the crime. The camera has captured him in the act. And he has posted public accounts of what he has done.  Caught in the act, everything points to his having to pay the price for his transgressions.
    But wait---he speaks out, offering no defense for his misbehavior, but suggesting  a financial boon to the one who is to judge his behavior.  The judge, intrigued by a way to save money, hastily  dismisses the charges, no longer interested in serving justice, instead hoping to benefit himself.  He takes the word of a  criminally inclined man  that he will profit by following his advice.  The judge  doesn't think it through, doesn't know if the savings will actually be available to him.  Irrational behavior to be sure, especially from one who should be held to standards of accountability.
   Sure, just a commercial.  Nothing like that  could happen in real life.
 
   

The Sinclairs of Dinosaur Renown

    Relax, I'm not saying anyone is pushing us.  But we're standing on the edge of a precipice and it's a long way down.   And we don't look up because you can't grab a handful of sky.  We look down because that's where our feet are, planted firmly on the ground, or so we hope. The foothold on earth, though, that we've put our trust in all these years, appears to be of sand because it's shifting day by day.  Nature has no remorse.  

Where have all the old people gone?

   Once they were visible everywhere.  They handed us our mail at the post office window; worked in the stores; sat in the barber shop, conversing with the barber while he cut their thinning hair and trimmed the more plentiful hair sprouting elsewhere on their balding heads;  the church held them in their pews, the women wearing hats,  often with  somewhat bedraggled mink fur pieces around their necks, and the men dressed in overcoats,  fedoras on the seat behind them.  The men hung out at the gas stations; the women sat on their porches, greeting those  who walked by with an invitation to sit and chat. Old people were all around us, though youth tends not to distinguish the decades after a certain age: old is old.
     The absence of old people came to my attention a number of years ago.  I was doing my usual civic duty, carrying petitions for potential candidates. That year we had been given a computer printout of the eligible voters in each district, Each copy of the printout had voter birthdates listed in a single column on the right. Scanning that list was an epiphany. In our district, very few citizens were born prior to 1945, and only a handful  in the decades before that.  To put it clearly, my generation was now the old people.  That's where they went.

Cat and Mouse

   Maybe was staring at the area beneath the drawer of the kitchen stove, historically a sign that she sensed an intruder in the house, of the rodent variety. I diligently put the garbage out several times a day so as not to lure any creatures inside. We have no food that is not sealed, everything else is pretty much kept in the refrigerator, and our food supply is pretty sparse nowadays anyway.  But when I saw her on point, pretty much like an English setter, I moved the loaf of bread from the counter into the microwave, and went to bed.
    I used to put Maybe into the former garage area at night time, but this year have relented and let her stay inside, where she sleeps on the couch.  She's not that young anymore;  in cat years she is roughly the same age as I am, so I sympathize with her increasing need for comfort.  She has gotten into the habit of coming into my bedroom at about 7:00 a.m. and meowing softly for me to give her breakfast. (Her meow is soft because she has only one volume setting. Her mixed heritage of Persian mother and Maine Coon father is responsible for that it seems.) I don't mind her coming in at that time.  If I'm not awake, I'm due to get up soon anyway.  But this morning she made a more peculiar sound before she entered my bedroom and when I looked at the clock, it was only 5:15 so I escorted her out, closed the door on her, and went back to bed.  Too early to eat, I scolded her.
    A few hours later, when I got up and went into the living room, I saw that a pair of pictures on the very top of the bookshelf had been knocked over, one lying on the shelf and the other on the table beneath.  When I opened the curtains, there in the light of day, in the middle of the living room floor, lay a mouse. Maybe must be a stealth killer because this mouse, like all her victims, appeared unmarked, as if sleeping.  Maybe she frightens her prey to death, I don't know.  I only know that I'm glad she lays them out on the floor, and doesn't bring them to me in bed.
 

Security Measures

  Last week I was carded at the ShopNSave register for a bottle of Robitussin Cough Syrup, Today I had to show my driver's license at the M&T Bank drive-up window in order to cash an insurance company check for $55.30.  The cashier was about 7 years old and warned me to be careful that the money didn't drop out of the envelope, even though she'd taped it closed.
   

Which of these things is not like the others?

When you've lost your favorite vegetable peeler, and someone kindly gifts you with a replacement.  It's a beautiful kitchen tool, but doesn't do a very good job peeling potatoes.

Maybe 2017

It may seem that Maybe keeps her own counsel as well as a low profile, but she must have some appeal to others.  One health care worker who came to her house asked if she could take her picture to show to her daughter.  Another asked to borrow a scissors so she could remove a snarl from the ruff of fur around her neck.

Bon Appetit. Candy of the Year

The Apprentice and The Wall

   I can hardly qualify as a TV critic under the best of circumstances, and probably not at all since I didn't watch the shows with due attention, but I was exposed to both and can relate their overall effect.
   I wasn't actually aware that The Apprentice was airing because I was in the midst of my routine bookkeeping duties as well as embarking on my version of The Odyssey when the phone rang, so I muted the volume on the TV.  But not before I was vaguely unsettled by the appearance of Arnold, meaning I felt a slight wave of nausea;  Has he ordered the cast of wanna-be has-beens to call him Governor and does his hairdo in any way resemble he whose name must not be mentioned?  I thought he fired someone named Connie, but then realized he was referring to Carnie Wilson.  Oh, well, maybe she's moved on to a better place.
     Ending my phone conversation and clearing up my workplace, I paid no  attention to the following show, ironically enough called The Wall, until somewhere near the end.  I know some game shows are rigidly enforced as to contestant eligibility and authenticity, but I can't help but sense that The Wall is about 99% phony.  The pair of contestants that I saw appeared to be straight out of central casting and if their words were not scripted, it would be a huge surprise.  The show is overwrought anyway, with rules galore. The stakes are enormous, putting Jeopardy and Millionaire to shame. And moreover, in light of how cautious most game show contestants are, what player would risk over a million dollars?  This one, evidently, just because he didn't want his buddies in the military to scoff at him for not taking a chance.  But he and his family seemed okay with their leaving with zero dollars, and the host congratulated him on his love for family and thanked him for his military service.  Que, sera.
   

Fruitcake Paean

     I could have used a few things for Christmas this year, mostly as replacements for things that were shattered this year, such as my camera and my psychological state, but I only requested one thing the single time I was asked.  I said I'd like a fruitcake.
     I don't know how fruitcakes came to have such a bad reputation. The standard joke is that only one exists and it is constantly being circulated in the re-gifting cycle because nobody likes fruitcake.  Well, I do. Of course there are such things as bad fruitcake, but let's not paint the whole fruitcake industry with the same brush. Fruitcake can be delicious,
   My in-laws used to give us a fruitcake every year at Christmas time, and that may be when I discovered that I did indeed enjoy them. He worked for a liquor company, and may have ordered through the company;  I believe the cakes came from Tennessee, and contained a generous  amount of spirits along with the fruit and nuts. Of course, my kids would never eat fruitcake, and neither did my husband, he preferring to partake of his spirits unadulterated by cake or fruit.  So I would keep the fruitcake in the refrigerator, and eat it throughout the winter.
    That is where my gift of fruitcake is at the moment. It was exactly as requested---not one of those tiny, individual loaves which tend to be dried up, not one of those intimidatingly oversized behemoths, but a nice medium-sized  fruitcake, round in shape.
   Now I'm not sure as to what makes a fruitcake so unpopular,  Can it be the ingredients?  But what's not to like about flour, sugar, spices, fruit and nuts, with maybe a trace of something alcoholic, which bakes out after contributing its flavor.   This year's specimen is moist, flavorful and delectable.  The nuts are pecans, the fruit more candied than dried, cherries being the most prominent, with a plentiful supply of the candied glaze permeating all.
    I waited a few days after Christmas before cutting into it, and presumed it would be around for a considerable amount of time.  But it's more than half gone.  That's what happens when you have fruitcake for lunch. Oh, for my lunch only. Everyone else has gone on record over the years for detesting fruitcake, so I would never attempt to coerce anyone into eating a despised food.
 

Out of Service

    I wonder what percentage of returning military men and women simply walk into their homes and re-unite with their families in a private setting.  With all the media publicity about the surprises at pop-up appearances of returning moms and dads, there must be some children  who expect the appearance of Santa, or the guest speaker at their school assembly may be their father, or the waitress  serving them burgers at their  favorite fast  food restaurant is none other than mom.  But, kids, be aware:   even if in disguise, that person may be someone else's parent.  You're not the only one, you know.