Wednesday, July 24, 2013

THAT Woman

The lottery jackpot was $141 million dollars Saturday night and I'm pretty sure I've won.  If so, in addition to buying my friends Linda and Dave a lakefront home (as I promised them I'd do), and giving my hairdresser Doreatha the best tip she's ever had in her life (because she's THAT good), I'm gonna find someone with excellent taste to buy my clothes for me.  I tend to make bad garment choices so I could truly use professional guidance in this area of my life.

Earlier today I went to JC Penney because they are having a clearance sale on their summer merchandise.  To me this makes no sense at all.  Living east of Hell as I do, in my mind July is actually summer and so are August, September, October and a big slice of November too.  It appears to me that Penney's is getting rid of the lightweight stuff way, way too soon but I was armed with a 10% discount coupon and the sale/coupon combo is difficult to resist, even for me.

What treasure did I find on the sale rack?  A long-sleeved red tee-shirt that would be perfect to wear during the Christmas holidays.  It was marked $.97.  I asked the clerk if it was a pricing error and she assured me it was not.  She said, "This is really old.  It's from last winter." to which I (mentally) responded, "The newest stuff in my winter wardrobe is from last winter.  The oldest stuff is from when I was in sixth grade.  THAT is really old.  THIS is really new.  In fact, it's brand new.  New doesn't get any newer than that."

I bought the tee-shirt, and yes, I used my 10% off coupon.  I purchased an item that was under a dollar and I asked them to give me a ten-percent discount.  I'm THAT woman.

I am having a fabulous life!  I'm just not sure that winning all that lottery money is going to make my life that much better - but I've graciously decided I am willing to find out.  If South Carolina is a state where you can collect your winnings anonymously, then you will never even know I won.   Unless, of course, Linda and Dave invite you to their housewarming party.

Friday, July 19, 2013

Running Late

According to my husband, we were running late.  He'd planned to leave our house at 3:45 a.m. and it was now 3:55.  I had wanted to blow dry my hair.  Was that really so wrong?

I was surprised at how many people were on the road this early in the morning.  Surprised, largely, because I never am.  Jerry travels more than I do so he was unfazed.  ("Unglazed," according to Autocorrect.)

Jerry parked our car and we rushed to the shuttle bus.  I could feel the tension.  "What time is our flight?" I asked even though I had zero idea what the current time was anyway.  "Six." was the curt reply.

The line for security was massive and there was a huge group of people wearing teal ("real" according to Autocorrect) tee-shirts in it.  I wondered what their story was but Jerry grabbed me by the hand and steered me out of the line just as I was opening my mouth to ask.  

We walked the length of the airport to Checkpoint B where there was no line at all.  Not one person was in front of us.  None.  Zilch.  It was eerie.  I wasn't even sure this security point was open but, in fact, it was.  As we walked through what appeared to be our own personal security line, Jerry's tension dissipated.  We looked at the monitor to locate our gate.  When we got there, imagine my surprise to see this:

Just in case you don't understand what you're seeing here, don't feel like the Lone Ranger.  I didn't get it at first either.  Later became obvious.  It's not what you are seeing that's important, it's what you aren't seeing.  You aren't seeing a scrolling display that says "Detroit" with the flight number on it.  Instead you're seeing an advertisement for Delta Airlines.  Why?  Why is a valid question and I do know that answer.  There is no flight information being displayed because they haven't opened for the morning yet.  

And now I look up and I see I'm surrounded by people wearing teal tee-shirts.  I guess I have time to hear that story after all.

* * * * *

P.S.  It turns out that I had even more time than I thought.  When Delta finally opened for business, our flight was delayed.  After the delay, the flight was canceled.  (Apparently our assigned aircraft had been struck by lightning and damaged as it landed in Charlotte the night before.  Why this was not discovered until fifteen minutes prior to our boarding is beyond me.)

                                                * * * * *

For the curious ~ the story of the folks in teal:

The wearers of the teal tee-shirts are a friendly bunch of seventeen volunteers (varying in age from teens to grandparents) from Morning Star Lutheran Church in Matthews, N.C.  These happy people are affiliated with Pray America and their destination is Chichicastenego, Guatemala where the group will be building shelter for widows and their children.

A few of the Lutheran volunteers headed for Guatemala
This is not their first rodeo.  Morning Star Lutherans have made similar trips for six years now and one of those years they even went twice.  (They can build a dwelling in two-and-a-half hours.  Seems to me their crew would make great Habitat for Humanity volunteers, too...)

This group, and countless others like them, is just another in a long list of reasons to be ("robe" according to Autocorrect) proud to be an American.
And I am.  (Grateful, too.)  I've gotta say though, I'm not that crazy about Autocorrect.

Friday, July 12, 2013

The Tomato

Today, I am a happy woman.  Very happy.

Simple pleasures tickle me and today I just ate my favorite summer lunch:  a fresh tomato with cucumber slices.  Yum!

What's special about this tomato is that it's homegrown.  From my garden to my mouth in under five minutes, and that includes peeling and slicing the cucumber as well.  (A big thanks to Mr. Clif for sharing his homegrown cukes, by the way.)  I love, love, love fresh produce and this is as fresh as it gets. 

It's a minor miracle that I have a tomato to harvest.  First, I live in deep woods and little sunshine filters through.  Second, we have a large deer population that is defoliating plants down to the stems right now.  But not my tomatoes.    

This spring our friends Jack and Shirley were visiting from the East Coast.  Shirl and I like to get the guys involved in a project so that we can converse in peace.  This trip, she conceived window boxes that would sit on the ledge of our driveway instead of below a window.  The guys got right to work.  By the time the weekend was over, I had had fun talking with my friend PLUS had three lovely flower boxes AND the guys got to feel productive.  Win, win, win as I see it.

The driveway boxes were perfect!  I chose to paint them purple (and by "paint them purple" I mean I chose to have Jerry paint them purple.)  Jerry baulked. He said the color I picked was "garish."  Garish means obtrusively bright and showy; lurid.  It's synonyms are: gaudy, showy, loud, glaring, flashy.  Lurid means ghastly.  I know; I looked it up.  Clearly Jerry wasn't complimenting my taste.  Undaunted by this negativity, I persisted.  Unbeknownst to him, I had already watered down my color choice at the paint counter and I was adamant.     

"When Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy."  Jerry understands this folk wisdom at a gut level.  We have, after all, been married for decades so he's had plenty of first-hand experience in picking his battles.  Wisely, he relented and painted the boxes.  

In the center of every box of flowers I planted a tomato.  Imagine my surprise when they actually flowered?  I was beside myself with joy when fruit appeared and giddy with delight when I beheld the first streaks of pink!  I almost picked all the tomatoes at this stage as a strategic move to foil the deer, so certain was I that they would share my sentiments and chomp down all ten tomatoes before I could even taste one.  

Pictures lie.  The flower boxes are not really this garish color.

Apparently deer either don't like tomatoes or they, too, think the planters are garish because they've left them totally alone while at the same time demolishing the bulk of my peach crop which was growing mere feet away.  (They left two tiny peaches.  Why?  Is there something wrong with them or were the deer being polite?  Who answers these types of questions?)

Lunch was everything I imagined.  You just can't duplicate the taste of a freshly picked tomato, warm and juicy.

Today I am a very happy woman, indeed.  Oh, and Jerry says the color is "growing on him."

                       *  *  *  *  *  *                                         

P.S.  If you happen to have seen the boxes and actually liked the color, you are encouraged to post a comment.  Hint, hint.

Tuesday, July 2, 2013


When I picked up a new prescription, I noticed on the side of the bottle is a neon yellow label that says, "WARNING:  This medication should be taken with with PLENTY of WATER."  The words "plenty" and "water" are in bold print and are capitalized.  Clearly, this information is IMPORTANT!  
Proof that I don't make this stuff up!

While I'm grateful for the eye-catching caution, I am left wondering how much water I need to drink with my little pink pills.  How much, exactly, is plenty?  Doesn't the very word seem out of place on a medicine bottle?  It's airy-fairy instead of precise and measurable. Come on, guys!  Couldn't we be a wee bit more specific here?  

My husband's beverage of choice is sweet tea and his consumption of it is legendary.  He has been known to drink endless gigantic glasses with lunch, then ask for a "to-go" cup for the road.  He drinks plenty.  By virtue of contrast, I'm never thirsty. I order water, drink a sip or two and I'm done.  I've had plenty.  

Sixty-four ounces then, or two?  Your guess is as good as mine.