Tuesday, January 13, 2009

MY FAVORITE ‘U’ WORDS, UNABRIDGED AND UNADULTERATED

Lorrie assigned me the letter “U” after I cavalierly suggested that I wanted a forlorn, cast off and oft-over-looked letter on which to heap praise. This turned out to be harder than I thought...


1) Ultracrepidarians What the heck is that, you say? Well, I’m here to tell you this is a prime example of the power of the letter U and it is a dandy word. According to my dog-eared copy of Webster’s, an Ultracrepidarian is someone who gives opinions on matters beyond his or her knowledge. Sort of like my Crazy Boss, Dubya or Madge the Manicurist. Or bloggers. Not that I could ever be accused of being an Ultracrepidarian, of course. Ahem.

2) Ubiquitous The other day there was one of those annoying people in the car ahead of me who was busy talking on her cell phone when she surely should have been driving. I don’t think talking on your phone while poking along at 32 MPH on the interstate shows much concentration. I am tired of the ubiquitous cell phone, texting and internet surfing that seems to have stolen the soul of two-thirds of the population. Whatever happened to the art of conversation as practiced at the dinner table rather than alone in your car?

3) Umbrage I take umbrage to the ubiquitous cell phone. See#2.

4) Umpires I love umpires because for one thing they wear a nice dark suit to work and look like businessmen. I hardly ever see men wearing suits anymore and if I do I automatically assume they are undertakers. It's nice to know that not all men show up for work these days wearing jeans and Deaf Leopard (sic) tee shirts.

5) Über The new 'designer word" which popped up after people got tired of using boring, if perfectly serviceable words like “super” or “extreme”. And BTW, the two little dots are called Umlauts, which is another U word but did not make my list because, well, they're just little dots.

6) Umbrella I love umbrellas because so many nice people seem to carry them: Gene Kelly in “Singing in the Rain”, Julie Andrews in “Mary Poppins” and all those English people that just use them as walking sticks. James Smith and Sons in London sells some of the finest umbrellas in the world and you can pay over $300 for one of their top-of-the-line brollies. There is something comforting about a really good umbrella. Not the cheap, pop-up ones that always seem to turn inside-out at that first puff of wind. I mean the sturdy wooden ones with ivory handles like Sebastian Cabot carried in "Family Affair".

7) Ukulele These little guitar things are cute and endearing and I tend to think that laid-back people are the ones who take the time to learn to play the ukulele. Unfortunately, Don Ho is no longer with us so the ukulele's days may be numbered. Maybe someone should compile an "All-Time Greatest Ukulele Hits" to ensure its popularity is passed down to the younger generation. Or instead of "Guitar Hero" how about "Ukulele Hero"?

8) Underachievers These folks have tons of potential and the very word says so. If they weren’t capable of achieving something at some point they would be called “neverachievers” or “don’t hold your breathers”. Underachievers are simply achievers who have not gotten with the program yet. Perhaps they are too busy learning how to play the Ukulele (see #7).

9) Unbridled People who are unbridled are happy, carefree, devil-may-care and capable of experiencing pure joy. People who carry umbrellas can be unbridled, like Gene Kelly and Mary Poppings (see #6).

10) Unicorn Anyone who has ever read Tennessee Williams’ “The Glass Menagerie” will understand what is so captivating about these mythical creatures. Personally, I don’t collect them because I already have enough stuff in my house collecting dust but I loved it when Laura Wingfield lost herself in her unicorn collection to escape the drudgeries of the apartment she shared with her mother and brother. Maybe if she had owned a ubiquitous cell phone back then, however, she wouldn’t have had time for her herd of Unicorns and would have spent her days texting and surfing the internet (see #3).

Monday, January 12, 2009

BLOGGERS BLOCK

I think I can understand why Ernest Hemingway spent so much time down at his favorite watering hole in Key West. As I understand it, he wrote from 8am until around 2 pm each day and then put the cover on his Smith Corona and headed to Sloppy Joe's for a few cocktails. Maybe that was to avoid the inevitable Writer's Block that seems to afflict most Serious Writers.

I keep a list of potential blog titles for those rare times when I can't think of anything to post about and am tired of Music Monday (like today). So here they are:

1) "Spinach is a Verb"The uncertain consequences of eating healthy

2) "The Price of a Penny For Your Thoughts Has Gone Up" Racie’s household money-saving tips

3)"My Next-Door Neighbor is Crazy and Unstable" Self-explanatory

4) "Mercenaries Are People, Too" Unlikely job alternatives for these uncertain times

5)"Why Didn’t Any of the Cartwright Boys Have Girlfriends?" Didn’t they all get tired of Chinese food?

6)"I Am Tired of Calling India For A Repair Man" Am I being charged for this long-distance call?

7) "Gratuitous Vacuuming" The Dyson siren song

8) "Does This Diet Make Me Look Fat?" Why do I gain weight when I diet?

Obviously I haven't used any of the above titles yet in a post. If any of them seem of even vague interest, please leave me your comments and I will expand on one of them. Right after I get back from Sloppy Joe's.

Friday, January 9, 2009

THE GREAT BOXING DAY FIRE

I used to have an annual Boxing Day party at my house, mostly back when I had someone from Across the Pond living under my roof. Being as he was of Foreign Persuasion and in his country it was an actual recognized National Holiday it only made sense that we should recognize it in this country, too. Or at least in our own household. Although not a religious or nationally-recognized holiday in this country, I nonetheless felt justified in recognizing it and throwing a party in honor of the Day After Christmas.

Time passed and the Foreign Person no longer used my address to receive his mail and I found myself without a good excuse to throw a Boxing Day party except for the fact that the ones in years past had been very popular with our British and Anglophile friends. So I just kept having the party, albeit not every year. This year Paco and I decided to stay in town for the holidays and thus the idea of having a Boxing Day party seemed like a sound move. I designed and sent out a clever invitation addressed to our nearest and dearest and then began a three-week massive overhaul of our house: carpets professionally cleaned, furniture cleaned and spruced up by Paco and me (don’t try cleaning linen furniture yourself, BTW), heavy silver polished and food and wine bought in liberal amounts. I also borrowed some additional serving items from Sister K, chief among them two very nice silver chafing dishes in which to serve the (homemade) Vegetarian Curry and Basmati Rice.

Boxing Day dawned bright, if unseasonably warm, and slightly after the appointed start time our guests began to arrive. We had lots of folks show up, many of whom eventually migrated to our deck to escape the growing line crowded around the dining table. Luckily, Paco and I happened to both be standing next to the said table at the same time, along with a few other guests not already outside eating and drinking. Suddenly, and totally without warning, the Denatured Alcohol warming one of the chafing dishes decided at that moment to boil over, engulfing the dish in flames and spreading to the linen table cloth underneath. Just like one of those movies where everyone is watching something horrific happen as if in slow motion, we all stood there, frozen in our spots as the flames shot upwards and the entire contents of the chafing dish started to burn. Since I had not bothered to replace the kitchen fire extinguisher since the last time it was needed (I will save that for another posting) we had nothing to douse the flames until Paco finally yelled for a wet cloth. I ran into the kitchen, flames starting to spread to the table itself, grabbed a tea towel, ran it under the faucet and threw it to him in time for the flames to be extinguished. The flames were so intense, however, that they actually melted the soldering on one of the legs of the chafing dish frame and the entire thing collapsed into a heap, spilling curry everywhere and necessitating Paco bravely picking the entire mess up and throwing it from the deck, much to our horror. At that point everyone stood there in complete shock, me wondering what damage had been done to the dining table and starting the “well, it could have been worse” self-talk. It surely could have been worse, as in the entire dining room, if not the rest of the house, ending up on the 10 o-clock news that evening: “House burns to ground in Vegetarian Curry Drama”.

The damage proved to be less than at first thought, albeit Sister K’s chafing dish is in the shop, her linen tablecloth ruined. Fortunately, she had the forethought to place a table pad underneath the table cloth so even though both burned completely through, the table only bares the scars of a slight singe and will probably provide countless hours of retelling the great Boxing Day Fire. Ironically, the person in who’s honor the party was so many years ago thrown was not present to witness the drama. Good thing, as I would never have heard the end of it. Of the many possession over which we argued when we parted ways, the dining table was chief among them. The house could have burned to the ground but I would have been expected to somehow save the table.

On second thought, maybe I should have let that frappin'table burn to a crisp out of pure spite.

Monday, January 5, 2009

MY YOGA PROBLEMS SOLVED!

Monday is usually reserved for my weekly music selection but I am making an exception today because of what arrived in my mail over this past weekend. It was a white envelope with something lumpy inside and I started shaking it to try and figure out what was in it (because tearing open the envelope would have been too easy and spoiled the suspense).

Paco: “I don’t think you should shake it, whatever it is. It’s making those ‘crushed’ noises. For pity’s sake, please just open the frappin’ envelope. You’re driving me crazy.”

Finally I decided I had to find out so I opened it and out popped a large packet of wheatgrass seeds as pictured here. There was a note in with it that read “Grow Your Own Yoga Instructor!” and was signed Sheila and Sweet Hubby. I completely cracked up and, laughing hysterically, showed it to Paco. For those of you who follow “The Continuing Adventures of Sunshine Wheatgrass” you will recognize the reference to my yoga instructor, who I often do battle with over issues of personal space, yoga blanket protocol and wardrobe choices.

Paco examined the packet and the note and then said:
“I don’t get it. Why did they send you a packet of Wheatgrass seeds and can you eat them?”

Me: "Yes, you can eat them after you grow the grass, but that isn’t the point of the joke. They sent them to me because of my posts about my yoga instructor, Sunshine Wheatgrass. Oh, never mind. I forgot, you have never visited my blog so you wouldn’t know about Sunshine except what I mention to you after class. And please remind me again why you won't visit my blog."

Paco: “I don’t visit your blog because I am living it everyday and get to experience the real thing first hand. I couldn't deal with also having to read about it. That would be too much, even for me."

Thank you Sheila and Sweet Hubby. I will plant the wheatgrass seeds just as soon as the ground thaws out and also thank you both for being Kool-Aid Drinkers. Maybe one of these days we can get Paco to take a small sip.



Friday, January 2, 2009

I'M SO GLAD I DIDN'T REALLY SAY THAT

I had one of those bad dreams the other night that woke me up from a sound sleep, made me sit up in bed and fill me with dread. You know the ones, where you aren't sure if it was real or a dream?

I have to preface this by mentioning we have some really annoying neighbors. The kind that will never, ever move and make me want to put a skunk in their basement.

Back to the dream. I shook Paco awake, in utter fear that I had just done something awful and not sure at all if I had or it was just a bad dream.

Me: "Please tell me I didn't just open our bedroom window and scream at Larry 'For God's sake, Larry, it's 7:15 Sunday morning. Stop throwing your empty beer bottles in your recycling bin. It's right underneath our window in case you hadn't noticed' and then slam the window down."

Paco: "No, I don't think you did. I think you dreamed that."

Me: "Are you sure? How can you be sure? Oh geez, I am so embarrassed."

Paco: "No, I was right here. You didn't scream at him."

Me: "Are you sure? You were asleep, too. How can you be sure?" (I am frantic).

Paco: "I'm sure you didn't say anything to him."

Me: "How do you know?"

Paco: "Well, for one thing, today is Friday."

I fell back onto my pillow, feeling foolish yet totally relieved. I probably need to explore why it is so important to me not to offend my neighbor while at the same time fighting the urge to put a skunk in his basement.

Wednesday, December 31, 2008

ISN'T "RESTORATIVE YOGA" OVERKILL?

Last night at yoga the lovely Marigold Lamb substitute taught the class in place of my nemesis, Sunshine Wheatgrass. I got there way early, as usual, and sat in the very back in anticipation of more yoga blanket folding angst, comments about my baggy yoga pants and gym sock debacles. When Marigold walked into class (late- ahem) I breathed a sigh of relief.

Having already been to the gym yesterday morning for my regular workout I was feeling all proud and sanctimonious that I was back there again on the same day for more punishment. After all, it is the holidays and I have over-indulged just like everyone else these past few weeks. So imagine my surprise and somewhat disappointment when Marigold announced we were going to do something called "restorative yoga". What on earth is that? Isn't all yoga restorative or is the regular kind actually designed to beat you to a pulp and leave you a quadriplegic? I was drawn, yet repelled by this new concept.

At any rate, and not to belabor the point, the class was fine and very relaxing in a stretchy sort of way. I will say that I have noticed no one in yoga class except for me seems to have a sense of humor, though. After class I told Marigold that I very much enjoyed her class but we should all really be taking this "restorative" class Thursday morning ha ha. She gave me an odd look and said "well, we will be closed for the holiday but I'm sure you can do this on your own at home." So of course I felt the need to explain my joke to her by saying "No, I mean because tomorrow is New Year's Eve and we will all need some restoration the next morning ha ha." Nothing, no response, blank look. Oh well.

Just then who should walk in but Sunshine Wheatgrass, up selling, of all things! She had a handful of fliers and was talking about all of us showing up at her yoga studio Thursday morning at 10 am to participate in something called "108 Sun Supplications" or something. She handed me a flyer, calling me by name and telling me she expected to see me there Thursday morning. Never mind that it cost $20 for the privilege of getting out of bed the morning after New Year's Eve and then enduring whatever odd rituals, supplemented by heated crystals, Sunshine had cooked up for us. I said thanks and would think about it, handed the flyer to another unsuspecting soul and beat it out of there. They can have my share of supplications and hot crystals on New Year's Day. I will be at home with Paco, eating black-eyed peas and watching the Rose Bowl. On my yoga mat.

Tuesday, December 30, 2008

MONDAY MUSIC (one day late)

I hope everyone had a lovely, safe and blessed holiday, whatever your religious persuasion. This week's musical selection has nothing to do with Christmas, Hannukah, New Year's or Ramadan. I just happen to love this song and it reminds me everyday how lucky I am to have Paco in my life.



Happy New Year and everyone be safe.