Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Snubbed Again

I went to an elegant Academy Awards event on Sunday night.  Flower petals were strewn across the entrance; there was a lush red carpet; paparazzi flashed pictures as women in floor-length furs swept by.  Shrimp, salmon and champagne were served.  There was even a delicious Italian torte from Jason's Deli, the Spagos of the South. 

Men never look better than when they don their tuxedos and the women were smashing in silk, satin, and sequins.  Diamonds (or rhinestones, in my case) glittered brilliantly on ears, necks and wrists.  Even Charlie the cat was wearing a bowtie.  (Since he's black, he chose a white one for effect.)

I cannot overemphasize the elegance of the evening.  It was so formal that women were wearing both pantihose and updos.  In every way, this was an affair to remember, just a cut above the norm.  We don't get much classier than this here in The Cay.  There was only the slightest of shadows cast over the evening, practically too small to mention, really.

Okay, here it is.  George snubbed us again.  There!  Now everybody knows.  For the second year in a row, he has ignored our formal invitation to attend the soiree of the season then brazenly turned up at a televised event in Hollywood, taunting us with his cheekiness.

I have only one thing to say to you, George Clooney, and this is not sour grapes.  We only invited you for the eye candy factor anyway.

Thursday, February 23, 2012


"Cleanliness is next to Godliness"
I'd always heard that cleanliness is next to Godliness but I never realized how serious God was about this until my Sunday School teacher told our class the shortest sentence in the Bible, "Jesus swept."

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Hats, hats and more hats...and with pictures!

Several people had questions about last week's post, so here's the clarification you requested.  The headgear that Jerry's wearing (no, it's not a shower cap) is a feathered headband and was worn during a New Year's Eve that we celebrated with our friends and former neighbors, the Grayelettis.  The beautiful - but unhappy- baby is our own sweet Brody on the occasion of his first birthday.  He obviously doesn't like hats as well as his grandpa.

Brody's Uncle Josh loves a good hat, too.
Josh has quite a collection of hats and in that, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.  I have enough pictures of my husband in goofy hats that I could wallpaper the dining room with them....but I don't and perhaps that's why we're still married after all these years.  However, I am not above including one in this blog occasionally, especially if I think I can get a laugh out of it. I thought the feather hat would do it, but didn't count on people not being able to recognize what it was. 

Now that I think about it, it's not just the guys in our family that love wearing hats for all occasions, it's just that they look the funniest in them.  We gals look cute in velvet witches hats or adorable in homemade birthday hats but people don't usually laugh out loud at us. 

The men, for some reason, are funnier than we are when they put on hats.  I don't know why but I do know on a gut level that this picture of Jerry from the 1970s will make some people laugh out loud. 

"Chris, look what I found in the basement!"

And, finally, here are a few pictures from the Zimmerman tiara collection. If this isn't enough to land me in divorce court, I think this marriage will probably last a lifetime.
Tiara and wig - jackpot!

Mine has an understated elegance
Little Kate

"Oh!  What kind of family have I
gotten myself into?"

Thursday, February 16, 2012

Deep Thoughts

This evening, Jerry had a thought that he felt was profound, so he repeated it to me two or three times.  He said he thinks I need to hear something at least twice and sometimes the third time's the charm.  I feel that this need to repeat himself is borne of the fact that he himself doesn't listen to anything I say until at least the third go-round.

Would you buy a used car from
this man?
Quote from Jerry Zimmerman:

"All sorts of people have all sorts of opinions about all sorts of things."

Thank-you very much dear Jerry for this insight.  Perhaps I ought to wage a write-in campaign for you for President this fall.  You're sounding more and more like a politician every day.

"How can people take
me seriously when I'm
wearing a clown hat?"

Meanwhile, I'm having trouble focusing on the magazine article I'm reading entitled, "Focus."

****H.t.N.N.E. *****

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Northern Girl

I'm a Northerner born and bred and spent most of my life kicking around the Midwest.  I have lived for significant chunks of time in Michigan, Indiana and Ohio.  What these three states have in common is long, snowy, cold winters.  Now I'm not saying my favorite season is winter because it's not.  My seasonal preferences are: spring, fall, winter, summer.  Although I love the blazing color of sugar maples on a crisp autumn day, spring wins by a nose because the days are getting longer and light cheers people up.

Last year was my first winter in South Carolina.  There was a week of winter weather with about an inch or two of snow on the ground.  People made snowmen, angels in the snow and sledded down golf course greens on blow-up mattresses.  Fun!

Normal life came to a screeching halt.  Nobody in our neighborhood was foolish enough to try to go to work except Jerry.  (When he got there, he found the place was closed.)  There was no bread or milk to be found in any area grocery stores; UPS delivery and the Post Office both took three-day vacations.  People frolicked in the winter wonderland, just like all the kids and kids-at-heart do on the first snowfall of each and every year up north.  People in the know told me that this was "an unusually cold winter."  It seemed perfect to me. 

This winter it's been unseasonably warm throughout lots of the country, including here.  Last weekend was our first cold snap.  It was 42 degrees out when my friend texted me, "Is it cold enough for you now?"  How do I respond to that?  "Yes" if you mean "Is it cold enough to wear a jacket."  If you want to see me dig out my winter coat though, it is going to have to get considerably colder -- say zero and windy.  Even then I probably won't keep it buttoned.  If it gets to ten below, I will skip my morning walk, unless it's sunny out.  Sunshine always makes the day seem warmer.

The northern girl key to comfort in the cold is layering.  Leggings under jeans, undershirts under shirts under sweaters.  Cotton socks under wool ones in  lined boots.  Scarf under coat with mittens and hat.  (If it's frigid -- or you're going ice skating, snowmobiling or ice fishing -- you can add insulated underwear, a fleece vest, gloves under your mittens and a ski mask.)  Now I've revealed my cold coping strategies, could some southern woman kindly return the favor and explain to me how you seem so comfortable in the high heat and humidity of summer?

Formal, but he likes to party
The difference between the north and the south is easy. Their high is our low all winter long. In the summer, our low is their high.  In between these seasons in either direction (both geographically and time-wise) is when it's going to be the most fun living anywhere.

**Jerry wears shorts and tee shirts year round, so the opinions in this blog post are not necessarily those espoused by this entire household.** 

Friday, February 10, 2012

Before the Rooster Crows

Every working day of my married life, my husband Jerry has gotten up well before the rooster crows, taken a quick shower, downed an iced tea and headed off to work.  (I believe he kisses me goodbye before he leaves the house, but I wouldn't swear to it.)  He arrives at his destination several hours before work officially begins.  A creature of habit, he likes his morning routine.  He says his schedule offers many advantages:  he beats the traffic; he has time alone at work to answer emails, tie up yesterday's loose ends and plan today's agenda.  

I have a morning routine that I like too, it's just happens later than Jerry's does.  A lot later.  I awaken when I'm done sleeping, then I get up and go for a walk, usually with my friend Mary Ann.  I then come home and start my day, sometimes eating breakfast at the same time my husband is having lunch.   While he feels most alert and energized in the early morning, my most creative time is hours after that and so we have arranged our lives accordingly. 

This year, I've had the dubious pleasure of leaving the house prior to my          husband's departure twice already and it's only February.  This has shattered several items on my long list of 'nevers.' (I never do this...I never do that...I never brush my teeth with cortisone cream - that one was an accident.  All tubes feel the same when you're fumbling around in the dark.)

The first event was a health fair where I ran smack dab into another night owl out of her element.  She was dressed in a nurse's uniform trying to blend in but I recognized her as one of my own.  "How?"  I knew because I complimented her on her glasses which turned out to be new.  As she was telling me about where she got them, she looked right at my bespectacled face and sweetly said, "Do you wear glasses?"  BINGO! That was a classic night owl blunder.  (Thank GOD it was after she'd drawn my blood!)  We both burst out laughing, which, when I think about it, might have actually frightened the others in the room who were waiting for their turn at the vampire's table.    

The next occasion I had to sally forth into the pre-dawn was of my own choosing.  I decided to join Toastmasters.  It was a New Year's resolution but it took the entire month of January before I was actually able to get up in time to make the 7:00 a.m. meeting.

Since I didn't know exactly where the Toastmasters met, I felt the need to leave the house forty-five minutes early to allow for traffic and the inevitable "getting lost three times" that always accompanies me whenever I drive anywhere.  I set my alarm for 5:30 but woke a half an hour early.  Because I was so excited, I had had trouble falling asleep the night before, so I was working with about three and a half hours' sleep.  I was beginning to understand why people find drinking  coffee so charming.

It was lucky that I had allowed extra time because when I got outside, my car was covered in a layer of frost.  Normally it would have been burned off by the sun but the sun wasn't up yet.  Instead, there was a big, beautiful full moon and the bright lights of cars and city. 

If this is sunrise, Jerry took the picture
I'm a big fan of sunsets and thought that one of the perks of getting up at an ungodly hour was that I'd have an opportunity to see the sunrise but it was even too early for that.  I arrived at my destination in the dark.

During Toastmasters time, the sun rose without me but I still couldn't take advantage of Charlotte shopping because it was too early for the stores to be open.  (Who knew?)  Prime-time rush hour was now occurring but good fortune smiled upon me because my drive was in the opposite direction of the wolf pack. Then, in the distance, I witnessed something I haven't seen in years: yellow buses picking little kids up for school. 

Even children were now up and ready for their day to begin.  Not me though.  All I could think of was, "If I hurry home, I can take a nap before breakfast."


Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Poor Lost Sole

Weird, goofy things happen to us all the time, we just need to be alert for them.  Such was the situation on Sunday. 

I don't "get" football, but I do enjoy a good party, so both Jer and I went to Mary Ann's for the Superbowl Sunday night.  Since the Gamecocks* weren't playing,  we didn't have any personal stake in either team, so we decided to just pick one to root for.  Jer noticed the Giants' head coach was the only one on either sideline that sang the national anthem.  That was good enough for him so he became a Giants fan for the evening.  (I would like to note though that he was wearing a Bengal's jersey.) 

I think Jer likes the Gamecocks because of the cheerleaders.
 [*When Jerry previewed this story, he reminded me that the Gamecocks are a college team and the Superbowl is a professional game.  I think that I've already made it clear I just don't get the football thing, and that spills over into sports in general for that matter.  However, I do understand that I'm not allowed to root for Clemson under any circumstances although I do not know why. 

Go Cocks!  Jerry insisted that I write that too. The phrase sounds dirty to me, but nobody in South Carolina seems to mind.]   

Football is a visual affair, which makes it perfect for mixed company.  Talking doesn't disturb the flow of the fun for the fans, so the men watched and the women talked.  Occasionally when the guys hollered, we'd look up from our conversations to catch the action.  (By "we" I mean everyone else.  Personally, I was so clueless that I didn't even figure out which team went with which color uniform until late in the third quarter - and even then I had to ask.) 

During a game high point, several of us noticed that something had fallen off one of the guys' shoes onto the wood floor.  To protect his personal privacy, we'll just call the shoe's owner 'Dick.'  It wasn't a big deal, just something that he'd brought in with him. You know how mud and grass can get stuck in the treads of your tennies and then when it dries a bit, it falls out all over the place?  Well, it was kind of like that, just a tiny bit of something on the floor.  The women ignored it.

Then Jerry saw it.  He doesn't ignore things well and so he started to tease 'Dick' about it.  "What ya got going there 'Dick?'"  'Dick' opined that spring had come early and it was probably just tree pollen.  As 'Dick' grew more animated watching the game, more stuff fell off his shoe.  The larger the pile grew, the more Jerry needled him.  "Geez, 'Dick', did you mow your grass today?"  The stuff did sort of look like a bunch of wet grass clippings by now.

Our hostess was trying to ignore the whole incident and kept directing us back to the screen but every time I looked at 'Dick,' I noticed that the mess was expanding.  The stuff on the floor was darker now, too.  Dog poop came to mind, but it didn't smell at all.  Big relief to him I'm sure, but now I could see 'Dick' squirming just a bit.  Eventually even Jerry must have sensed the poor guy's discomfort, because he quit ribbing him so much.  By now there was a small mound of debris underfoot - more specifically, under 'Dick's' foot.

Finally, after that last few exciting seconds of suspense, the game ended.  'Dick' leaned back and crossed his legs.  It was then everybody saw the bottom of 'Dick's' foot.  Literally.  The pile of stuff on the floor wasn't something he'd  stepped in, it was chunks of his shoe falling off.  Now everyone was howling with laughter!  It was soooooooo funny, especially because it had been a running joke the entire evening.

How old do shoes have to be before the rubber degrades enough for the sole to fall apart when you are doing nothing but sitting?  As the story unfolded, we learned that 'Dick' has a lot of shoes.  (How many?  Well, we couldn't pin him down to an exact number but his wife called it a shoe collection.) When he pulled out this particular pair of classics, they were so comfortable that he decided to start wearing them again. 

One more time, as it turns out.

Thursday, February 2, 2012

Dear Mr. Tall and Dark

He's tall.  He's dark.  He has perfect eyesight.  He's a bit skinny and he has big feet but he's a good listener - although he doesn't retain much.  He prefers being outdoors by himself over being indoors with a group of strangers, or even friends for that matter.  You would call him a quiet man; he never butts into the conversations of others.  He's a rational individual, very left-brained.  He thinks with his head not his heart. People don't accuse him of being dramatic, either.
In my world, cute reptiles are few and far between.
I have never met Mr. Tall and Dark, yet I sense these things about him because of a sign I saw at the foot of the trail I walked on today.  It had his name and phone number on it and said he was a herpetologist.  (That's when I knew he was polar opposite of me.)  It further stated that he was counting reptiles in our area and we are to call him if we see any snakes.  (I couldn't read any more after that...)

Why anyone, a.n.y.o.n.e., would choose to count reptiles I can't fathom; the machinations of his mind are that different  from my own.  I do know this though: If this gentleman is waiting beside his phone for me to call him because I've spotted a snake, he waits in vain.

I will never be calling him.  If I see a snake, I will be too busy screaming and running to make any phone calls at all.