Temptation

Isn't she the picture of innocence?

I met Christina Fluet Cockey last night at a Pampered Chef party that my daughter Kate was hosting.  We hit it off right away.  She's cute.  She's fun. She's energetic.  Turns out she's also the Picasso of the cookie world. 

She came in carrying a box of cookies, and, although the packaging was lovely, I didn't pay much attention to the contents because I've been on a diet for, well, ever.  Weirdly, my newest lifestyle changes ~ which I've been following since Easter ~ are actually delivering results and I'm now the LIGHTEST WEIGHT of MY ADULT LIFE.  I'm gonna pause now and bask in the glow of happiness that surrounds me. Ahhh….

We are laughing and cooking and then it's time to eat so we wander over to the food area where Christina holds up:

Curryously Coconut (dark chocolate, coconut, curry)

I know what you are all thinking.  That I caved and gobbled up that scrumptious looking piece of art.  Well, you're wrong.  I passed that up -- as well as one called Apple Cider Sangria that everyone was raving about.  My downfall was the Chocolate Chip M&M cookie.  Comfort food!  As soon as I held it in my hand my resolve began weakening but I still planned to take home. Planned.

My cookie is on the counter.

While I was filling out my Pampered Chef order, I decided to nibble on a piece of cookie, just to make Christina feel happy.  Who am I kidding here?  On a good day my willpower is the size of a gnat and I was holding a cookie.  Once I had a taste, I was hooked.  It was like eating the seven deadly sins all wrapped up in one delicious cookie.  I savored every morsel of that tasty treat. 

Today I'm back on my bandwagon.  Do I regret eating that cookie?  Nope.

I could have done without the knowledge that VanDoughs, Christina's cookie company, ships though.

www.StillSwimmingUpstream.com

Daring Rescue at Sea

Sunday was our "Second Annual Neighborhood Pontoon Party" and we all had high hopes for a day of fun. Like the fateful trip the passengers took on the Minnow, ours was to be a three-hour tour. (A three-hour tour.)

As you may recall on their voyage, "The weather started getting rough, the tiny ship was tossed..."  In our case, it began gently sprinkling and gradually turned into a light rain.  The weather didn't dampen our spirits though - largely because our spirits were in coolers.

Then...disaster!  Overboard and into the murky waters of Lake Wylie!  Tension was high.  Someone turned off the party music.  Our Skipper (brave and sure) maneuvered the behemoth boat around with precision and speed - which is difficult in a pontoon - and, just at the perfect moment, The Mate (a mighty sailing man) leaned far, far out over the water, reaching farther than he'd ever reached before. He finally grasped ...

...Keith's hat.  Waterlogged, but otherwise okay. 

The men were jubilant!  The Captain and The First Mate high fived each other.

The Captain and The First Mate

Music blared again, spirits lifted, the women danced, the men smiled.  And then...the unthinkable.  The angry wind whipped and Mary's yellow ball cap was airborne.

If not for the courage of the fearless crew, the yellow cap would be lost.  (The yellow cap would be lost.)  The men ignored Sweet Mary's protests and, with a battle cry of "No hats left behind," they sprang into action.  Again, for the second time in mere minutes, they executed another successful rescue mission.

Jerry, the HERO!

The big reach

                 










During the debriefing, someone remembered hearing Jerry remark, "We train for this all year but we hope we never have to use it."

If any ship I'm ever on "sets ground on an unchartered desert isle," I could do worse than having these guys with me.    

The New Guy

At a party last week, I met a charming fellow who told me he was in his late '80s.  He was interesting, intelligent and an excellent conversationalist, a real pleasure to talk to. 

We were chatting away, thoroughly enjoying ourselves in our own little world when he said, "I'm blind, you know."

Well, I didn't know but I figured since he brought it up, he must want to talk about it, so I said, "Macular degeneration?"

"Yes." He responded.

Did it come on suddenly or was it gradual?" I asked.

"Gradually."

"Do you have any vision left?"

"About fifteen percent."

"Can you see me at all?" I asked.

"I can see your outline." he said.

I touched his arm as I leaned in a little.  "I have something important to tell you." I said and I paused for effect.  "I'm very, very attractive."


"I thought so." he replied.

We both laughed.

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.