Shit Happens

One of Handy’s business colleagues gave him a bag of exotic coffee from her recent trip to Vietnam.  It’s called Con Soc and has a picture of a squirrel eating beans on the bag.  According to Handy, who looked into what makes this coffee so unique, the coffee beans are hand-picked and sorted by specially trained Vietnamese workers.  Then the best beans are fed to squirrels.  After the beans go through the squirrel’s digestive system, they are again sorted by the workers, and the best ones are ground into this coffee, which is supposed to be, like, the best in the world.  So while he’s telling me all this, I can hardly keep from gagging while he’s slurping squirrel poop.

You would have to know how many times he’s gotten on my case about washing fresh fruits and vegetables because “the last person to touch that lettuce probably picked his nose first” to understand why I’m delighted to have squirrel shit to fall back on.

The Fancy Perspective

It seems like my first grandchild (aka “Fancy”) was born about five minutes ago, but, in fact, she turned 18 this year.  Unbelievable!  One day not too long ago, we were talking about armpit hair.  OK, that seems like a strange topic of discussion, but Fancy has opinions on everything.  Remember, she’s 18!  Anyway, she noticed that my pits needed a shave, and I said I’d try to do a better job of it, but that it’s harder to do as you get older.  She said, oh, that’s probably because when you get old, you’ve got a lot of hanging skin to deal with.  I said, well, smartass, that’s true, but it’s mostly because you can’t actually see what you’re doing.  In my case, I can’t even turn my head far enough to look, never mind see if there’s any hair under there!  And Fancy, in her sarcastic 18 year old way, said, “Well, I guess that’s just one more thing I have to look forward to.”  

Actually, I’ve taught her a lot of stuff about what to expect as she gets older.  I hope she’s been taking notes.  When she was about 10  or 11, we were spending a lazy, hot, Mississippi summer day floating in the pool, when she said, “Let’s talk about puberty.”  OK, I said, and I gave her the whole talk about how the body changes and what menstruation is all about, even though I was pretty sure she had heard it all before from her mother, my daughter, who probably understood the whole process by the time she was five.  I asked Fancy if she had any questions.  She said, “No, I got it.  But I’m not going through all that mess.  I just want to pop out some boobs and get on with my life.”  If only!

These memories came to me this morning in the shower when I realized that I had been “shaving” with the plastic thingy still on the razor!  I guess it's time for me to start taking notes on the things I learn from Fancy!

Road Rage

I don't need to be driving to experience road rage.  Today I got it just walking.  In the mile or so stretch of Mississippi country road I walked today, I saw empty soda cans, cigarette packs, candy wrappers, chip bags, milk jugs, all kinds of unidentifiable styrofoam, plastic, and metal, a bungee cord, the top of a cooler, an empty deer feed bag, some pvc pipe, countless beer bottles, baby food jars, and, strangely, a TV antenna stuck in the ground next to a plastic chair and an old iron stove.

If you're the guy who throws beer bottles out your window, I guess that makes sense.  You're drinking and driving, and when you get pulled over, there won't be any evidence in your car and, of course, the police officer will never notice that you're acting like a total dick-wad.

If the plastic littering my walking route can be recycled for plastic surgery, there's enough of it for every woman in Kemper County to get a boob job.  That stuff does not break down, people!  It will still be on the side of the road next month, next week, next year, and probably 100 years from now.  Granted, it's all junk.  The morons who throw crap out their car window didn't want it and will never want it.  I'm pretty sure no one will be collecting styrofoam Sonic cups for their sentimental value anytime soon.

I'm particularly peeved at the baby food jars.  Might as well teach them young how to properly dispose of garbage.  "Look, son, you just throw it out the car window.  Isn't that clever?"

As for the TV antenna, chair, and stove.  I suppose that could be somebody's deer blind.  That would also explain the deer feed bag.  After all, this IS Mississippi.

Driving Miss Crazy

It's been slowly dawning on me that I am becoming the person on the road that I used to hate when I was working and always in a hurry.  Those other drivers that are wildly waving their arms at me are not being friendly, no sir, they are evidently signaling for me to get the hell out of the way.  Ah yes, I remember doing that to people.

I feel bad now for the old lady who waited in a cold and snowy parking lot for me to come out of Econo Foods one day because the front end of my car was too close to the back end of hers, and she couldn't open her trunk to load up the groceries.  Being in a hurry at the time, I said, "Well, geez, didn't you think about getting in your car and pulling up a little?!" and I drove off in a huff.

The other day as I was meandering around the back roads of South Carolina with nothing but time on my hands, I came to an intersection and, of course, stopped for the red light.  It seemed like a very long red light and the line of cars behind me was so long I couldn't see the end of it.  It crossed my mind that the light could be malfunctioning, but I wanted to make a left turn and there was no possible way to see if there was anything coming from the right.  So I settled in and waited…and waited.  There were a few people honking behind me, but I'm thinking, look, you can honk all day, but the light is red and I'm waiting.  I checked my email, found a better radio station, filed my nails….and still the light was red.  I cleaned out my purse, dusted off the dash and polished the mirrors….still red.  By then the guy behind me was having a coronary trying to make his horn louder by pounding on it, but I thought, you can blow that horn up your ass….THE LIGHT IS RED!!!!!!!!  As I was watching a video on YouTube, I hear a knock on my window and see a red-faced man yelling something at me.  I slowly roll down the window…."What?" I said.  "You need to pull up to the sensor.  There's a goddam sensor!!!"

Oh….a sensor.  I pulled up.  Sure enough….a sensor.  Never heard of such a thing.  Well, the rest of the world is just going to have to chill.  I've got all the time in the world.

Please Don't "Leave" Me

I have a huge yard....HUGE...and it's a hill...a steep hill.  I used to more or less ignore my beautiful yard,  there not being nearly enough hours in a day to tend it properly.  But now that I'm retired, I have tackled all kinds of things I didn't used to do, and one of those things is yard work.  At about the time I got everything cleaned up last spring, the dandelions came in, and about the time I had a good start on the dandelion problem, it was autumn and the leaves started falling off the trees.  As you can see by the photo, we do not have a shortage of trees or leaves.  But I have a pretty good rake, so I went for it.  About the time I would get one section raked up, there'd be another tree shedding and I'd have to start all over again.  So my handy hubby bought a leaf blower and spent one whole Saturday out there blowing leaves around.  The yard looked pretty good that Saturday, but by Sunday more leaves had fallen, along with a dusting of snow.  After almost a week of wind and rain and a little snow, the sun came out today and, of course, the yard is again about a foot deep in leaves.  So I had me one of my brilliant ideas.  I got out the leaf blower about a half hour before Handy was due home from work.  I figured he'd freak out if he saw me using his newest gas-powered toy.  He'd be thinking, what the hell is she doing?  She's gonna break that thing!  And he'd take it away from me and finish the job.  I heard his truck coming down the road and thought thank god he's home...my arms are getting tired.  He drove slowly up the driveway, surveying what I had done so far, gave me a big smile and a thumbs up and went in the house!  Oh, he's just going in to change his clothes, I thought.  He came back out appropriately dressed for yard work and said, "I see you have this under control so I'm going to check my bait pile."  And off he went.  My plan backfired.  I blew leaves until dark.  I'm still vibrating, and I'm sure the neighbors hate me.

MOP YOUR WAY TO FREEDOM?!

I was in Shopko on the first Wednesday of August, and I mention this because I only just recently learned that the first Wednesday of every month is Senior Citizen Discount Day.  Since I don't consider myself a Senior Citizen, I didn't think their ads announcing the Wednesday thing applied to me.  But it turns out that, according to Shopko, I've been a Senior Citizen for 7 years!  So it kind of irks me to think of all the money I squandered shopping on Tuesdays and Thursdays, not to mention Saturdays, for pete's sake! 

I also discovered that Econo Foods offers a senior discount every Wednesday.  This I learned when the check-out girl, who couldn't have been older than 12, said, "Do you qualify for the senior discount?"  I said I probably did since I did at Shopko, and I told her my age.  "Wow, I didn't think you were THAT old!" she said, as she applied an apple sticker to my More card so I won't have to announce my age every time I buy groceries.

That's how the first Wednesday of the month became my shopping day. 

So, as I said, I was in Shopko on Wednesday and something called a "Freedom Mop" caught my eye.  Logic would preclude putting the words "freedom" and "mop" in the same sentence, so I was intrigued.  Here's what it said:

"Freedom from disposable pads!"  Right away I knew this was a brainchild of a brainless man.  For women, "pads," and particularly "disposable pads," means something altogether unrelated to mopping.

"Free to choose your cleaning solution!"  I guess so, but I fail to see how this mop would offer more freedom to choose my cleaning solution than would any other mop.

"Freedom from batteries!"  Well, thank god, because I hate having to replace the batteries in all my other mops.

I may be old, but I know what freedom feels like, and mopping won't get you there.

SO, WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE?

I've been retired from my life in public schools for almost a year now. One night at dinner, Handy asked me the above question, and I thought, What?!  You mean I have to DO something?!!  Of course, he has no idea what I do all day and naturally thinks I sit on my butt watching TV 24/7.  I'm not afraid to admit that I asked myself that question for the first 15 minutes of my retirement.  And then I just started doing exactly what I felt like doing....all the time!  I feel pretty good about what I've accomplished during this first year of retirement.  I spent loads of time with my kids and grandkids, which is always number one on my list. I cleaned and organized my entire house.  I found things I've been looking for for 15 years and things I didn't even know I had.  I hauled everything out of the attic and went through it box by box, pitching everything we don't need.  I worked on the yard!  I pulled weeds!  I watered plants!  I lunched with friends instead of 500 kids!  I shopped in the middle of the day!  I slept in!  I cooked!  It's been a grand and glorious year. 

The answer to Handy's question?  "Whatever I want!"

Now excuse me while I go watch me some TV.