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Rota wrotas …

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101914_1729_Somedays1.jpgThursday dawns cool and humid, but we have central heating and cooling, so who cares as long as there is coffee? So I pad on down to the studio with a handful of lemon cream cookies while balancing my cup to keep it from sloshing.  I have grown very adept at that over the years.

The news is still a predictable spaghetti bowl of conflicting information on the virus. Never has the press been so irresponsible as it has in this instance. But my life changed very little out here on the Texas pampas in spite of the screaming of the Chicken Littles.

And the food fight between the press and Trump goes on.  I think Trump is actually winning this one. In their effrontery they reveal more of their elitist disdain for conservatives than they would like the people to know, and it serves among most of us to let us know that the press hates conservatives.  The liberals seem to think that the world is just fine if it wasn’t for that damned Fox News stirring up the peasants.

My brother and niece are still trapped here with Snooks and I.  We are enjoying them though we have a tendency to treat them as hired help. I suspect they are getting antsy about going home, but they have kept that counsel to themselves.

And I still set and molder in my brand new $59 dollar executive chair.  My $49 one bit the dust and was unceremoniously rolled out to the street for the trash man to haul off.  Faux suede for my pampered bottom, padded armrests to sit back and ponder this miracle of miracles.  A window into the world.

Behind me is a real window, and Kippur da bird lives in a cage to one side of it.  Outside, three yellow feral cats reside.  The pecan tree is in full leaf … the acacia tree has been hauled off, and a weedy front yard cries for some TLC.  But all it will get is weed poison and a sharp mower blade.  Some day.

So goes the rota of days.  Coffee in the morning.  Brunch.  Dinner.  Bedtime.

Good morning!

Ghosts of the old days

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There it is again.
The notice of the annual all 1960’s class reunion.
A reminder of about the most unhappy year of my entire existence.

I don’t know how they tracked me down for the invite, but Connie whose name I do remember, but whose face I don’t, sent the notice, and all of the pain of that year flooded in on me as I remembered events that I had no control over overwhelmed and shamed me.

It isn’t like I had committed some unpardonable act or anything, but I just gave up on school and my hometown. All I had left was a bad attitude and an even worse reputation, and all I wanted was to be gone.  Anywhere.  And so a few short months before graduation, I quit.  Just like that.  Walked away.

Some time later I returned to Alamosa to go to college, but frankly, academia and I have no love for each other, so once again in my sophomore year I cut and ran, never to return.

I found peace much later in life in religion and a second marriage.  But at odd moments like this the old days rise up to disturb my little utopia out in the Texas pampas …

Beauty with a little caution

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It is bluebonnet season in Texas. But they are best viewed from the road …


… there was silence in heaven …

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Late in the evening I gradually prepare for bed. The hearing aids are the first thing to come out, and a glorious hush settles in. Little things like fans on computers and air filters make a lot of noise that I somehow tune out. Then I am surrounded by a real silence.  I am reminded of Revelations 8:1


“When he opened the seventh seal, there was silence in heaven for about half an hour …”


That must be an overwhelming half hour.

The Devil’s inside the can …

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One treat I liked as a kid was deviled ham sandwiches. I suspect that it must have been inexpensive since we didn’t by expensive meats back then. But it was salty and hammy, and the little strings of  desiccated ham got caught between your teeth and could only be removed with a toothpick and much sucking of the teeth.  It was wonderful stuff.

But since I got religion, I don’t eat no ham, but I haven’t forgotten the taste. Bacon. Spiral cut, sugar cured ham.  Ham bones in beans.   I do miss it from time to time.  Or I think I do, since I don’t eat it.  So in looking for high protein/low carb snacks, I came across chicken deviled something-the-other.  They said chicken on the can, so I bought a can and hid it in the pantry.  I am surprised Snookums didn’t tell me I had to eat it outside since she keeps a pretty close eye on the larder and it is hard to hide stuff like that from her.  She doesn’t approve this kind of gourmet.  The woman doesn’t know what’s good.

Today I got carried away with breakfast, and served up a working man’s breakfast of runny eggs a-la bell peppers, hash-browns with onions, and turkey sausage links.  It wasn’t bad, but we were still full when dinner rolled around and so a every working-man for himself day was declared.  We do that ever so often when we find a good excuse to not prepare dinner.  I don’t know what the upper limit is on those declarations would be, but we have never reached that high bar in spite of several each month.

So later, I got to thinking about that can in the pantry when my stomach started making suggestions.  Yeah.  That would be a gourmet supper for one!  Spread on saltines paired with Château Diet Squirt, I sat back in my brand new $59 executive chair to enjoy this latest discovery in modern food technology.

Bleah! What some nasty carp that was!  Grainy with some chunks hidden in a porridge looking matrix of mystery food, using the term food in its loosest sense.  But my loyal dining companions ‘Becca da Beagle and her brother Tic were watching, and so I scrapped the grainy goo into their waiting maws until it was all gone. They seemed to like the stuff, but you can never taken my mutts assessment of food seriously.  I have see what they will eat.

I saw an internet meme that went “I was hungry and looked in the cupboard for some food, and there was only ingredients.”.  That’s me.   When I go foraging on an every man for himself day, I want to open something and eat it.   I don’t want to fry, mix, toast, cut, spread or plate anything.  Just eat it.  A spoon or fork is as far as I want to mess with it.

So I have been trying to stock stuff I can just eat, yet will last awhile just sitting in the pantry.  The do make vienna sausages out of chicken that are bad.  

Please stop with the clucking …. some day I’ll sneek a peek into YOUR cupboard … 

Libby's Vienna Sausage in Chicken Broth, 4.6 Ounce, Pack of 24They are about two for a dollar, and they kind of work, but I need more variety.  And I have to really watch the label.  My once favorite brand on close examinatons said it also contained pork and other meats beside chicken.

But down here we also get a lot of food from Mexico and I found a brand with just chicken.  I can trust the Mexicans, right?

Yogurt works.  But you have to use it up.   Ice cream bars, but expensive.  String cheese, but not very filling.  Bakery goods give me heartburn so raiding the cookie jar in the evening is out.

I dunno. There has to be something that isn’t loaded with sugar that you can eat without dragging every damned put out of the cupboard just too cook it  …  

In Memoriam ~ Ellen Marie

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The sun rises. News that my ex had passed on arrived via fb. Blessed remembrances and tragic sorrows flood my mind. My rage with politicians deflates, and I become stricken.
RIP, Ellen Marie. It was a hard row to hoe, but at last, it is finished.

Stand Aside!

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While musing this morning I ran across a little piece from another elderly curmudgeon I sometimes read when he isn’t grumping about his miserly Social Security benefits. He caught himself slowing his pace at a big box store so that he didn’t arrive at the door before a liberal woman did.  I don’t know how he knew she was liberal, but I have my guesses. They do tend to share a lot in common. But to continue, he didn’t want to have to hold the door for her and risk being berated for his sexism.

I have caught myself doing things like that. Changing my gait or direction of travel to avoid groups of people wearing their tribal clothes.  I am still courteous of older women, at least those not mounted on mobility scooters. Those I avoid like smallpox. My bigotry isn’t confined to race and gender. Groups of youth, gatherings of disabled people and aged mall walkers are a short list of people I circle around when I am out amongst them.

I have had the compassion beat out of me by a lifetime of ill-mannered boors, social misfits and crusaders. You don’t dare stand holding an open door and smiling a good day at this bunch of aggrieved people.

So I have become aggrieved myself.

No longer will I circle around such people.  I’ll wear my outrage where everyone can see it. Maybe I’ll carry a cane to threaten people who stand in my way or lollygag along the aisles of the supermarket. A friendly greeting will be met with a glowering scowl. Stand aside at my outrage!


Good morning!