Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Crying Me a Moon River


When I was a girl, I used to lay with my eyes closed on our brown carpet in front of our big brown stereo cabinet with my ear to the brown netting over the speaker.  (We were fond of brown in those days... and tan, and beige.)  At the top of my healthy little lungs I would sing along with my first major crush,


 I need you baby 
and if it's quite alright
I need you baby to warm the lonely nights
I love you baby, 
trust in me when I say, 
Oh pretty baby don't let me down I pray
Oh pretty baby 
now that I found you stay
And let me love baby
let me love you.


I was probably taller than Andy Williams during the time I loved him, because I had grown inches overnight to achieve my 70" height during my 14th year.  I didn't care.  I knew we were meant for each other.

I loved Andy as passionately as I hated his breathy singing little French wife
Claudine Longet...

who left my dear Andy for a skier named Spider.  I don't remember how I came by so much information in a world devoid of the internet and People magazine, but I was fully informed of Claudine's evil ways and judged her like an Old Testament Prophet.

Andy crooned me through many a lonely angst filled teenage hour and I never missed his variety show.  It was here that  he let me down gently by introducing  me to a more appropriate crush, one my own age that I wouldn't have to convert to Mormonism so I could marry him in the Temple...


Goodnight Andy Williams,
your voice was too good to be true.



Friday, September 14, 2012

I'm a Smoothie Operator


I gave up on my old Oster Blender because I had to play the buttons like piano keys to get it to stop blending.   I don't play the piano,  so my lack of talent resulted in a bevy of blended blobs all over my kitchen.

Which is what lead me to this muscular beauty.  I usually prefer my kitchen appliances be weak and submissive but I was assured by many healthy people, that only a 800 horsepower blender could grind up the ingredients necessary to a create a green smoothie powerful enough to help me bench press 200 lbs. and give me 20/20 eyesight with night vision capabilities.

It has changed my life.

As promised, this mini wood chipper has the ability to grind up a small mammal without deboning. 

I started out by blending up breakfast shakes, and then progressed to lunch smoothies and now we are pretty much drinking all our meals.

Husband:  Hey, what do you have in mind for dinner tonight?

Me:  I thought we would have steaks.

Husband (brightening)  With baked potatoes?

Me:  Mmmm hmmm.  And green beans.

Husband:  That sounds so good, I was really getting tired of smoothies.

Me:  Not so fast sweetie, (pouring a thick brown amalgam into a quart mason jar).  I call this the "Bottomless Black Angus" and you're going to need a fat straw.

I still can't see in the dark, 
but give me a week or two.

 

Sunday, September 2, 2012

Children: The Pride Cure

 Yesterday my 5 year old grandson was lying across my lap on the couch and he looked up lovingly and said,
"Grandma, why is your neck so wrinkly?"

While Liam was writing
 
My grandma's neck is not wrinkly, I must need glasses

500 times and washing all my windows, I thought about pride, which is the universal sin (common to everyone but me of course).  

Children begin the laborious process of stripping us of pride from the moment we conceive. 

Pregnancy:  The fun girl that could stay up all night is replaced by a boring whiner who falls asleep over a meal of saltines and snores.

Newborn: The lithe body that once sported the long lean muscle of a porsche with flirty curves has been replaced by the pudgy shape of a Dodge Minivan with an exhaust problem.

Toddler: While your neighbors little darling has mastered bladder/sphincter control since the age of 14 months, your 3 year old responds to repeated attempts at potty training by flushing his spiderman underwear down the toilet, cutting out Pampers coupons with his safety scissors and magneting them to the fridge.

Kindergartener:  You get the glare of death from your favorite grocery store manager because you didn't notice that your little iron chef has torn open the 5 lb. hamburger package and left a trail of meatballs down every aisle.  You are too embarrassed to redeem $50 worth of coupons you spent 2 days collecting.

Grade schooler: Your babysitter abruptly begins refusing further jobs, muttering something about your child's ability to levitate out of bed at night and the need for an exorcism.

Middle schooler: When you call your child's Algebra teacher to inquire about a failing grade, she asks you sympathetically how life is on the "outside" and whether you have a sympathetic parole officer.

High schooler: You find that your daughter has won first place in spirit points, wearing your favorite outfit for "Geek Day".

With five kids mostly raised, I can still find a few scraps of pride hanging in tatters from my wrinkly frame, but I'm counting on the grandkids to take care of them.