Serious as a Heart Attack

A new issue of AARP magazine came the other day. For some reason the contents seemed oddly familiar to me, like it was last month's contents with a new cover. I'd already read the article on how to save money at the supermarket and the list of must read books. I didn't recall seeing Clint Eastwood however. He's the latest celebrity to grace the cover to make us feel young again. We are after all getting AARP magazine.
Richard read aloud from an article titled, 'How to Prevent a Heart Attack'.
"Lose weight, especially those people who tend to gain weight around their middle," he read to me. Then he put the magazine down and asked, "Where do most people gain it? In their big toe?"
We peered over our mountain high bellies trying desperately to determine if our toes were fat or skinny.
"Guess we'll never know the answer to that question, will we?" as we wiggled toes we couldn't see.

A Man For All Seasons

"Meet me in my office," Richard announced this morning. He likes to have a morning business meeting every day. I kicked him out of my chair and made him sit in his own.
He grabbed the card file where we keep all the important numbers and started flipping through it.
Our conversation went something like this.
"What's that guy's name?" he asked.
I'm a mind reader. "What guy?" I replied.
"You know. The builder guy I need to call." He tapped his pen on the desk to help him think.
"Derek?"
"Yeah, Derek. What's his last name?"
"I have no idea. Jeter?"
"Very funny. What's that other place I need to call?" He scratched his head.
I'm a mind reader. "I have no idea."
"Oh, you know. What is it? I'm having a senior moment."
While Richard's busy having his moment, I checked email. I think I can still multi-task at the same high level as I did when I worked. I forget sometimes that I haven't worked in almost a year. My skills are pretty rusty. Never, ever try to insert a multi-task into a senior moment. I was asking for trouble.
"Autumn," I sneak into the conversation. "That's the girl with the truck." Autumn is someone we don't know. She's coming for Christmas dinner with my nephew and his wife. We couldn't remember her name so I had to look it up.
Richard opened up the bottom file cabinet. "I'll wrap those later for her," as he pulled out a couple things from our re-gifting stash.
"Can you wrap these for me too?" handing him a couple books from the shelf.
He's still admiring a candle he took from the drawer. "This will be a nice gift for April."
"Autumn." I correct him.
"Same thing. They're both seasons, aren't they?" Then he added, "When can I take the Christmas tree down?"
"Not yet. 'Tis the season, remember?"

Your Government Tax Dollars at Work

Richard received a letter from the Social Security Administration the other day. They wanted to raise his Medicare premium based on his 2008 income tax return.
"But we're unemployed! How can they do that?" I kept reading. He can dispute the amount if he had a life changing event. I read the list. My eyes focused in on number 5, work reduction and number 6, work stoppage. Hallelujiah!
I gathered all my proof, set the GPS in the car to the address for the local SSA office and told Richard to get in.
"You have arrived at your destination." said the woman in the GPS.
We parked at the end of a row far from the other cars. An old rusty, missing it's bumper, baby blue pick up truck parked covering three spaces far from the building. He wanted to make sure no one would hit his prized possession. I was right there with him after perusing the other cars in the lot.
At the front door, we walked directly into the side of a large, 5 foot tall black box and rows of folding metal chairs mostly filled with people. When we walked past the front of the box to find a seat, we noticed it contained a computer and a sign that said "Sign In". The touch screen computer listed five numbers each with a description. I touched the appropriate number and ten feet away on a desk, a number spit out of a machine. I retrieved it. It seemed like an awful lot of technology and energy for producing a number. The little green paper ones at the deli would work just as well.
Sitting at the desk was a security guard. Carrying a gun. Just in case a fight broke out over the numbers. We giggled to ourselves as we watched all the newcomers walk past the ominous black box never noticing the computer inside.
Finally our number was called. A plexiglass window with a small opening separated us from the clerk who was going to help us.
"Write your social security number on the number slip," she barked at us.
"Are you going to shred this when we're done?" I asked.
"All paper is shredded at the end of the day." as I watched her toss the paper into an overflowing wastebasket. Well it's Richard's identity that will be stolen, not mine. I shrugged it off.
She read our letter and says she can't help us.
"We don't have jobs," Richard pleads with her finally deciding to get in on the experience.
"Well then let me check."
We wait and we wait and we wait.
"Where's the crematorium?" Richard asked.
"I have no idea. Are you dying soon?" I wanted to know.
"We have to save some money. Take me directly to the crematorium. Bypass the funeral home."
"What brought this up?" I'm curious now.
"Everybody here looks like death warmed over. This place kind of smells like it too."
He made a good point.
The clerk returned. "I filed a dispute for you. We'll send you a letter."
We said thank you and left. The baby blue pickup still hogged half the parking lot.
"He never figured out how to take a number. He's still waiting." I quipped.
"Boy is he going to be mad when he figures out he needs a number. Good thing that guard packs a gun."

The Grocery Store Detective Agency

"Look, Linda! Tiger cheated!" exclaimed Richard as he pointed to the grocery store tabloids next to the checkout stand.
"On his taxes?" replied the cashier with a big wink.
"His wife didn't want to get him out of the car. She wanted to beat him up and the golf club was the closest weapon," added the girl bagging our groceries. "He must have a garage full of them."
"She hit the window and then he crashed into the fire hydrant." I added. "Not the other way around."
"We sure don't need a police report to figure that out," came from the cashier.
I chatted and laughed with the women over poor Tiger Woods while Richard calmly packed the shopping cart. We were about to leave the store, Richard turned waving good bye to the two women. "Case solved. I'm glad I stopped at the grocery store detective agency!"
"Next time the police need help have them ask us first!" as the laughing workers waved back.
We got in the car and headed toward home.
"Glad you didn't have to spend money on a copy of the National Enquirer this week aren't ya?" I asked.
"I think I'll cancel my subscription all together now. If I want the scoop I'll just ask the cashier. She's a detective."

The Elusive Fruitcake

"What's fruitcake?" answered the baker at the local warehouse club when Richard asked for his favorite holiday treat.
"Then I guess you don't have it." he replied.
He drove across town to a competitor and asked the same question after searching the aisles.
"What's fruitcake?"
Could it be that we moved to a fruitcake free county? We're the only married couple on earth that BOTH love fruitcake. Christmas is not complete without several different varieties making our New Year's resolutions always the same. Lose a few pounds.
"We're going to the old neighborhood for Thanksgiving. We'll get some there and put them in the freezer when we get home."
I was meeting some old friends for lunch. "Can one of them take you to Costco for the fruitcake?" Richard asked more than once.
They all had to go back to work so they couldn't make the trip. I decided to go it alone. Stopping at the membership desk, I told the sad story. "There's no Costco where we live now. All I want to buy is a fruitcake. One fruitcake."
"I can't help you. Go over to the manager's desk and ask there."
"Please." I begged the manager. "All I want is a fruitcake."
"You must be a member. I'm sorry."
"I was a member for twenty-five years. Please."
"You must be a member."
I left after drooling over the stacks of the delicious cakes neatly placed at the front door. I should have grabbed one and ran tossing a twenty dollar bill behind me.
Next stop was at an old neighbor's house. "Can you take us to Costco for some fruitcake?"
"Do you think there's a reason they don't have fruitcake? It's disgusting. No one wants it."
"Ah. Not true. They have loads of it at Costco so someone must be buying it."
"Buying it, yes. Eating it, no. The landfills are full of old but still edible fruitcake." She handed over her membership card.
I raced back to the store risking life and limb in the day before Thanksgiving madness. A driving rainstorm added to the chaos. After being clipped by a renegade shopping cart, I grabbed the elusive dessert and prayed the cashier wouldn't check the picture on the back of the my friend's card. After a few nervous moments I paid for my item and ran back to the car holding the cake tightly in my arms.
Friday, we drove the 140 miles back home, unloaded the car, emptied the suitcase and flopped down on the couch. Richard and I turned and looked at each other.
"Let's have some fruitcake," we said in unison.
Mmmmm it was good!

Happy Holidaze

The other day I realized it was time for another blog posting. I stared at a blank page for what seemed like hours. Was it possible that nothing entertaining had happened in our lives? Were we sick or had Richard, Ginger and I finally blissfully settled into our new way of life?
I took another look around the house. A Christmas tree draped in gold garland and sparkling colored ornaments stood proudly in the corner of the living room. It's white lights twinkled in the daylight. A beautiful angel tree topper smiled down at me. I glanced at the calendar. Today is November 10th.
We held our Secret Santa drawing. I drew Richard and he drew me. Ginger drew herself so we'll make a trip to Petco so she can pick out something. We set a $25 limit for each other. I fully expect my gift to appear under the tree in a day or two. Oh, the temptation of waiting until December 25th!
If only we had a fireplace, the stockings would be hung with care while the fire crackled below. But we don't. This is Florida. The best anyone can do is an inflatable snowman in the front yard.
Hang on to your hats for the cooking of the Thanksgiving turkey. That event is a spectacular one around here. Always has been, always will be. This year however, Christmas came first.

Translation by Richard

I've spent our entire married life translating for Richard. He never spoke a word until he was five years old. Even today some words come out all mangled up. Recently we were having some guests for dinner. I wrote a list of things to get at the store.
"What do you want to serve for dessert?" I asked.
"Get some oregano." Richard replied.
"Oregano?" I looked at him as if he were crazy. He stared back as if I were the crazy one.
"You know those little pastries with fruit inside."
"You mean rugala?"
"Yeah, rugala. You know what I mean. Oh and get some sparus."
"Asparagus?"
"Aspragarus." He still can't pronounce that word no matter how hard I try to help him.
On a recent trip to Washington, DC, Richard did a little translating of his own.
Our friends insisted we go out for what they called the best Chinese food on earth. George Bush senior had made the restaurant famous during his stint in the White House. We entered a typical American style Chinese restaurant. The former president's picture adorned the walls. Chinese lanterns hung from the ceiling. The waitress put on a show as she carved our Peking duck. We shared more food scooping it from large metal dishes. We ate and drank and had lively conversation.
After we gorged ourselves, the fortune cookies appeared on our table. No Chinese meal is complete without a fortune cookie. We each grabbed one and cracked it open. Keeping with tradition, each fortune had to be read aloud.
"An old pot is best around the kitchen."
"Concern yourself about others more than yourself."
"Watch out for falling donkeys. One may just land on your ass." Silly but true. We all laughed.
Now it was Richard's turn. He put on his glasses and in his most serious voice began to read.
"Tonight you will have good sex." We roared.
I grabbed the fortune from his hand to find out what it really said.
"Look in the right places; you will find some good offerings."
He took the fortune back and showed me the Chinese characters on the back.
"I was reading from this side," He grinned.

The Adventures of Mr. Squeaky

There is only one toy in the dog toy box that has survived Ginger's determination to kill by chewing it to death. His name is Mr. Squeaky. He's a red rubbery looking thing without a face. His big blue shoes and bow tie are surrounded by red spikey rubber hair. I bought him at the grocery store and he's been around since she was a puppy. Few can make that claim.
He makes a squeal that will arouse Ginger from a sound sleep and bring her to my feet in a nano second. Have you seen the new Toyota commercial where they're driving around calling for the dog holding the squeaky toys out the window? In the commercial, the dog keeps running. If I held Mr. Squeaky out the window she'd leap into my lap through the open car window. No question about it. Mr. Squeaky is beloved.
Mr. Squeaky has become quite adventurous lately. Last week he took a ride atop the vacuum cleaner. The vacuum terrifies Ginger. The vision of her boyfriend riding it, freaked her out. Her usual barking and screeching at the moving machine turned into an all out panic attack. Her lip quivered and tongue wagged at a frantic rhythm. She ran up and back trying valiantly to save him, unable to get close enough because of her own fear. Richard finally tired of torturing her and gave Mr. Squeaky back. She grabbed him and ran to the safety of the bedroom.
This morning as Richard tried to make the bed, he uncovered the toy deep within the covers. He set Mr. Squeaky on the frame of a picture hanging on the bedroom wall. Mayhem broke loose once Ginger spotted him. She jumped up and down but he was well out of reach. Her incessant barking forced me to save Mr. Squeaky because my ears hurt from all the noise. Once in her grip, again she retreated to safety in another room.
Where will Mr. Squeaky turn up next? Richard only knows. I know for sure however, that Ginger will rescue him no matter where he goes.

Is It Halloween Yet?

Richard's been putzing around in the garage. That's his project lately. He's cleaned out and thrown out so much garbage in the past couple weeks that I'm beginning to think I could have moved everything here in the back of my car without a moving company if only he'd done this sooner. People around here route through our trash on a regular basis these days. There's some good stuff out there.
I turned from my computer as I heard him come in the back door. He held his favorite Halloween mask in his hand. It's a scary white face with a black hood. The mouth and eyes are stretched long and oval. I think it's from 'Scream', but I don't know for sure. I'm not very up on horror movies. They scare me.
Just knowing this mask is in the house, frightens me. I scare easily. Richard sneaked up on me so many times over the years with that damn thing on that I had to lay down the law.
"You can't do that to me ever again!" I screamed at him. "I think I'm having a heart attack!" After I said that about ten times, he finally got the message.
This time he held his finger to his lips so I'd be quiet. I wasn't his target today. It was the unsuspecting... Ginger!
Ginger slept curled up in the corner of the sofa on her favorite pillow. Her head rested on the arm, eyes closed.
Richard slipped on the mask while still in the kitchen and started to growl. She didn't move. He groaned and squealed louder. She lazily lifted her head up about an inch. Richard lumbered closer. Ginger put her head back down. He stomped his feet as he got near the couch. Ginger sat up and stared, still not leaving the comfort of her spot. Richard bent down putting his distorted face within inches of her own. No response.
He stood still for a moment. Ginger lurched forward, stuck her nose through the mouth of the mask and kissed him on the lips.
So much for having any fun, scaring the living daylights out of us.
I think the mask went back out to the garage. Not into the garbage, just back to it's hiding place... until next year.

The Journey of Life

Today is Richard's 50th anniversary of his induction into the Navy. It was 1959. He was 17 years old. He got on a train and headed to the Great Lakes Naval Training Center. His mother packed him a lunch for the ride.
As long as I've known him, he's called October 5th his lucky day. This day started him on his journey. A journey that took him around the world. A journey that shaped him for all that was yet to come. A journey that led him to me and us.
Thank a service man today. Hug someone that has made a difference in your own life. Look up an old friend on facebook, that you've lost touch with long ago. Make connections.
You may never know where life will lead you.

The Lap of Luxury

The new loveseat is being delivered today. It's two plush, cushy leather recliners stuck together to form one cozy loveseat. It's perfect for our little extra bedroom turned TV room. We bought it on Tuesday and they can't deliver it until today. In typical Richard fashion, he did all the furniture rearranging as soon as we returned from the store. So needless to say we haven't been able to use the room. We've spent our evenings sitting on the plush, cushy sofa without recliners in the living room, dreaming of when we could finally stretch out.
Yesterday as I left to do the grocery shopping, (alone I might add) Richard said, "Get some ice cream so we can eat it and celebrate the new loveseat."
"I can't do that. You'll eat it tonight and there won't be anything left for tomorrow." Richard is a glutton when it comes to anything sweet. He can woof down an entire half gallon of ice cream in a single sitting. We call it the family sweet tooth. His brother has it too however his wife has much more control than I do. I can't keep ice cream or cookies or cake in the house. It disappears.
"Hide it in the freezer. If I can't find it, I won't eat it." He winks at me.
Against my better judgment I bought ice cream. It was tricky hiding it in the freezer. I only had some Lender's bagels to use as camouflage since the pancakes are all gone. I did my best to conceal the frozen treat.
We tried to settle in to our last night of television on the sofa. We both tossed and turned and fussed and fidgeted.
"Why did you buy two containers of ice cream?" he asked.
"I didn't." I lied.
"I saw two pints out in the garage."
I glared at him. I knew he hadn't even been in the freezer in the garage. We'd played this game a million times. Richard likes to see if he can trip me up. Usually he can. My face can never tell a lie. He can be relentless in his search for sugar.
I held firm. "I'll buy ice cream tomorrow when I go to Walmart. I'm not stupid you know."
"All right,"he said with a frown.
Phew! I breathed a sigh of relief. Tonight we're going to celebrate!!

Grocery Store Etiquette

Let's just say I do the grocery shopping and have for all 23 years of our married life. The other day we were out running errands and I decided to stop for my weekly grocery trip before heading home.
"Get on the scale! Get on the scale" as he tries to grab my purse from my arm.
Here in Florida the local grocery chain has a big commercial scale by the door in every store. It can be entertaining to watch and listen to people who get on and off it. They're either smiling or swearing.
"No! I need to get some walking in before I do that. The grocery store etiquette is to weigh on the way out."
"Linda, just get on the scale." I do and I'm surprised by the number. It's low and I'm fully dressed with shoes on. "Hey. You're not doing too badly." The number surprised him too. I guess that diet we're no longer on is working pretty well.
Richard insists on pushing the cart and heads straight for the soda and snack aisle. I decide it's useless to tell him that we have to start at one end of the store and go down each aisle in order.
"Look they have coupons for diet coke." Richard loves diet coke. We stock up when it's on sale. He figures how much a two liter bottle will cost with the coupon. It's in the budget. He rips ALL the store coupons from the pad and starts to load up the cart.
"You can't take all the coupons. Leave some for other people." I shouldn't be shocked by this behavior. It's typical Richard.
"Why?" he says innocently.
"It's grocery store etiquette. Leave some for other people. You're not the only one who needs a bargain these days."
He counts off some coupons and puts the rest back on the shelf.
Now it's time to check out. Richard goes in the line first, then the cart, then me. There's another customer in front of us making her purchase. Richard empties the cart and moves up next to the woman. I try to wave him back because I can see her giving him a dirty look.
"Don't crowd the person in front of you." I talk softly so the woman can't hear me.
"What?" Like a typical man, he feigns deafness when it suits him.
I speak louder. "Don't crowd the person in front of you."
"Why not?"
"It's not proper grocery store etiquette."
"I'm never coming here with you again. Too many rules."
I say to myself, 'Thank goodness'. I hope he's busy when my grocery trip comes around next week.

An Announcement

Richard announced this morning that we are officially out of pancakes!! I ate the last pair for breakfast this morning. Mixed with strawberries, bananas and a little syrup, I must admit, they were to die for.
I'll keep you posted when the next batch arrives!!

The Miracle of Advertising

I toyed with the idea of blogging for a long time. I thought it would be difficult to get set up and going. And what would I blog about?? It turns out there are a multitude of things in my life worth blogging about right under my nose.
When I set up the blog I was asked if I wanted to show Google ads and 'monetize' my blog. Since I'm unemployed any possible way to make some extra money is a no brainer. I said yes. Now mind you, in two months I've made a whole penny from these ads. I'm grateful my friend Mr. Obama continues to send my unemployment check so I can pay the bills.
These ads however fascinate me. What pops up changes as my blog posts change to fit with my topic. I've been studying how that works. Some are obvious. For the post, 'A Bit About Ginger', the ads were for puppy training pads and obedience school. I needed those things three years ago! For 'Are We Thin Yet?', I was tempted to buy Hoodia or a book on foods to get rid of belly fat. The diet was short lived so I don't need those things anymore either.
The post that really interested me however was 'Louie the Gimp'. What words in that post generated the ads for Clorox bleach and Hefty trash bags? Was it 'cement shoes' or the phrase 'swim with the fishes'? If Louie were in the business of killing someone, would he stop and look on the Internet for where to buy the supplies to clean up the crime scene? I don't think so. I've still only made a penny! Obviously he has enough experience to not get caught and doesn't need my help.
Do you think they'll send me a check for that penny?? Every little bit helps these days.

Casey at the Spittoon

Much to his surprise, Richard has turned into a baseball fan. He's hooked on the Tampa Bay Rays. Over the course of the summer he's learned all the players names. Garzo, Peena, Zober,Upter and Longo. For those of you who follow the Rays, you'll know who he's talking about. Mispronouncing words and names is par for the course around here. I'm lucky that after 22 years of marriage he can say 'Linda'. I'm used to doing the translation.
I come from a long line of baseball fans. My grandparents listened to Detroit Tiger games on the radio. My father took us to the ball park no matter what city we were living in at the time. Richard was into swimming as a child and never played baseball. He had a big learning curve. I had to explain the baseball lingo like full count, double play and the seventh inning stretch. Richard is a quick learner however. He talks baseball like a pro now. Now when he's watching a game, I get some quiet time to myself, so I want to encourage his interest in it as much as possible.
There are still some things he can't figure out and I don't know the answer. Like what do those hand signals the catcher gives to the pitcher mean? And why does the camera man have to give us a close up of his crotch while he's doing it?
"Why do they have to spit all the time?" I asked. It was grossing me out so much spitting in between pitches. Home plate must be slippery by the end of the game.
"Do you think they ever forget where they are and spit in the house?" replied Richard.
"Why don't you email that question to 'Ask the Rays' and see what they say?"
I'd love to know. Wouldn't you?

A Day at the Doggie Spa

Yesterday was a big day for Ginger. I made her an appointment at the spa. Her scraggly brown fur curled up over her collar. Hair grew out between her toes and she'd permanently scarred visitors to our home with her sharp nails. Plus she'd been terrorizing the construction workers building the house next door. She was being just a little over protective. It was time for some pampering!
A trip to the doggie spa starts with a ride in the car which is always exciting. Ginger loves to stick her little nose out the window. We can't open the window very far. She's been known to jump out if given the chance. Trust me, Marley can't hold a candle to Ginger!! Whatever he did, Ginger can do better! We dropped her off without incident, thank goodness.
Richard went to pick her up after a couple hours. He opened the back door to let her in the house. She paused for a second to look for me, tried to get traction on the tile floor, then scooted full force across the room at break neck speed. I turned my head waiting for the bundle of love that was headed my way. Ginger jumped into my lap, every inch of her body in motion, slobbering kisses all over my face.
"Look at me, Mommy! Look at me!" she said to me.
"You're so pretty." I told her over and over. It is so funny how dogs know when they've done something special.
She hopped down, ran about five laps around the house and settled in her favorite spot on the sofa.
She spent the rest of the day there. At bedtime, she curled up in the crook of my arm and fell sound asleep. Gorgeous Ginger was pooped. All that girlie maintenance is exhausting, even for a dog.

Are We Thin Yet?

"We're going on a diet." Richard announced. "And it's not going to be any fun living here. I'm going to be very strict with you."
I have to admit we'd both gotten a little fat and happy lately. The novelty of not working wore off and we'd settled into a more sedentary routine. As a writer, it's easy to sit all day when your muse is working in overdrive. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.
I headed off to the grocery store and stocked up on all the makings of a wonderful salad. Frozen veggies stuffed the shelves of my freezer. I loaded up on fish and we were ready to embark on our new, thinner selves.
Richard brought the bathroom scale out of its retirement in the closet and put it in the bedroom. On the dresser was a paper and pen. One column for Linda, one for Richard with the dates down the side. I was instructed to weigh myself every single morning and write it down. We both recorded our weight religiously. We were on the road to thinness.
We kept up our plan for about a week until we had to go to Wal-Mart.
"Can we have lunch at McDonald's?" Richard begged.
"There's nothing on your diet on the menu there." I was trying to keep us on the straight and narrow.
"I know, but I'm dying for a hamburger."
"OK, get me a chicken sandwich and some fries." The mention of a hamburger perked up my appetite.
McDonald's never tasted so good.
As the days went on we ate less and less of the salad fixings and even less of the fruit in the bowl on the kitchen counter. Richard declared he was tired of bunny food.
Yesterday was his day to clean the house. After he finished, the scale was missing from the bedroom and the pen and paper had mysteriously disappeared.
I asked the expected question.
"Are we not on diets anymore?"

Pay Up or Else!

"There's someone here to see you" said Richard as he limped into the bathroom with his hand out.
"Who?" as I got out of the shower.
"Louie the Gimp."
"I was just thinking that I forgot to give you your allowance."
"Well, you'd better pay up." Richard waved his open palm under my nose.
"Or I'll be wearing cement shoes?" I asked.
"I have them ready and waiting for the likes of you," he growled back.
We've been married for 22 years. The day after the wedding I took his checkbook from him, never to return it. He would round off the amount of the checks he wrote. I'm a CPA. That drove me nuts. Ever since he's gotten a weekly allowance.
Since he retired I gave him his first raise of our marriage. I upped the amount to $80 per week, but with the condition that he clean the house every week. I'm unemployed, I can't afford a cleaning lady any longer. Plus I hate to clean.
I'm not really happy with the house cleaning part. I'm still finding dried up pancake batter in the kitchen a few weeks later. I scraped something out of the microwave the other day that had obviously been there for awhile. He's pretty good about doing the laundry though. So I shouldn't be complaining.
I got my wallet and counted out four, $20 bills. I gave them to Louie the Gimp.
"You only gave me $60." as he tried to tuck one bill into his underwear without me seeing it.
"Very funny." I wasn't laughing.
"I'll let you off this week, but you'd better not do it again. You'll be swimming with the fishes."
Oooo. I was shaking in my cement boots.

Happy Birthday to Me!

Today is my birthday. I'm old enough. Let's just leave it at that. I slept in until eight o'clock, Richard made me a wonderful breakfast and then he brought me a card.
The envelope wasn't sealed, and there was no writing on the front. I suspected the fat package had the usual array of scratch off lottery tickets inside. I pulled the card out of its envelope.
"Wait! Where's Ginger? This will make her crazy." Richard yelled across the living room.
The cover of the card has a picture of a funny looking kid with a bunch of balloons standing next to a tank of helium. I opened it. It's a singing card. A group of kids with high squeaky voices sang Happy Birthday.
Ginger went wild! She tried to bite the card, her lower lip started to quiver, she ran in circles around the room. I closed and opened the card again so I could watch the show! She came over and barked at the card after I did that for the fourth time.
Inside the card Richard paper clipped a piece of paper that said "Happy Birthday, Love Richard and Ginger.
Are you getting it now? No writing on the envelope, no writing on the inside.
"I paid $5 for that card. Walmart didn't have any 38 cents cards that I liked." I laughed. This was so Richard.
"We have to recycle the card. If we use it for you, me and Ginger for 5 years, that's a dollar a year and only 33 cents per birthday. Put it in a safe place so we'll remember where it is."
I can put it in a safe place. It's the remembering part that will be challenging. I'm having a birthday, remember?

Tattoo or Not to Tattoo

The City of Cocoa is having a debate on whether to allow another tattoo parlor within its city limits. Eighteen thousand people live there and the town boasts five parlors. You do the math.
Richard's new pastime is shopping. It's a little difficult for me, since we are unemployed. I cringe every time the credit card comes out. He's been hanging out at Pier One and Ross and one day I went with him. Now I know why he's hanging out in these places.
"Wow!" he said to the young girl behind the counter. "Look at that great tattoo."
Immediately she held out her arm so he could examine it more closely.
"Do you have any with color on them?" He should have been an actor. The girl believes he's truly interested in her tattoo. She pulls the neck of her blouse open so that he can peek at one on her chest.
I've never understood the attraction to having a tattoo but that Richard, in the blink of an eye, can get a person to practically bare all to show him is a mystery.
"That's nice. Do you have any more?" She blushes. She won't reveal where thank goodness.
The clerk grinned from ear to ear. They get a whole conversation going about tattoo artists, how much it hurts, how much it costs, what she's planning when she can save up some more money.
Now there are many well documented stories of Richard as an unruly child. He enlisted in the Navy as a teenager. Before he shipped out, his father reportedly grabbed him by the ear and twisted; hard. He put the fear of God into his son that if he came home with a tattoo, he'd be disowned. Obviously it worked. Richard has not a single mark and for a 17 year old in the Navy, in the sixties, that's remarkable.
Does he have a fascination with tattoos? Probably not.
Does he like having conversations with attractive young women? Probably yes.
Does he think Cocoa should have another tattoo parlor? Sure! The more the merrier.

A Bit about Ginger

I thought I should give you a little background on Ginger and her role in the family. Ginger is a 3 year old Boykin Spaniel who still looks and acts like a puppy. She's all of 22 pounds of pure energy. She looks like a chocolate lab. I can't tell you how many times one of our neighbors comments on how big she's getting. We've lived here for 8 months and she hasn't grown an inch.
Ginger flunked out of obedience school as a puppy. Was it because the instructor called her a spazz? Or maybe she lost interest in her education when she was accused of smoking a cigarette in class.
The class was held in the parking lot of the pet store. Needless to say, if it wasn't nailed down it was going in her mouth. She dangled that cigarette butt out of the corner of her mouth as if she'd been smoking for years. One of her classmates ratted on her.
She has no regard for the value of money either. Ginger grabbed two, $100 bills off my dresser and devoured all except the picture of Ben Franklin. We saved her poop for a week and sent the pieces to the Federal Reserve. They sent us a check in return, believe it or not. This story did get her a write up in the local newspaper. I tried to keep the fame from going to her head.
These days she still likes to steal things left within her reach. She has become more studious however. Now she steals reading glasses, pens, books and the occasional shoe when she's looking for some attention.
Ginger believes the world revolves around her. She wants her biscuits when it suits her, toys when she says it's time to play. When she's ready to go to bed, she lets us know. And we'd better go or she'll fuss until we do. In other words, Ginger rules the roost.

I Live at the IHOP

"Buy this. Buy this."
It was a huge bag of pancake mix in a plastic resealable bag.We were in Sam's Club.
"What the hell are we going to do with that?" I asked. Stupid question.
A few days later I spotted the bag sitting on the kitchen counter, a fry pan on the stove and a mixing bowl and spoon ready and waiting to go to work. It must be pancake day. I retreated to my office facing the kitchen to see the cooking show unfold.
Richard carefully measured out the pancake mix. He slowly poured in the water as he stirred.
Mix, mix, mix. Pour, pour, pour. Cook, bubble, flip.
Stacks of golden brown circles began to form on a plate on the counter. The aroma of the freshly cooked breakfast treat filled the house. Soon another fry pan made its way to the top of the stove. The piles increased in number as I watched from the sidelines.
It was two in the afternoon.
I heard the burners on the stove click to off. The zip lock bags came out of the drawer. I could sense that soon I would be recruited to help clean up.
"I need help."
My instructions were this. Two pancakes in a small bag. Ten small bags in a big bag. Richard is all about portion control. Only take out of the freezer what you need. I packed all of the smaller bags, burped and sealed them. Then I packed ten small bags into each of ten larger ones.
Richard attempted to clean up. Pancake batter dripped down the front of my new stainless steel range. The floor was gritty with pancake flour. The sink was filled with dirty pans and bowls. This mess was necessary because now we have 200 pancakes in our freezer.
"How long will it take us to eat that?" I asked.
"We don't have jobs. At least we won't starve."
The next time I'm at Sam's Club I'd better stock up on syrup or strawberries and whipped cream. Can I keep those in the freezer too? There's still some pancake mix left in that big resealable bag.

Welcome to my new life!

Earlier this year I joined the ranks of the unemployed. I'm fine with that. After 15 years at the same company, I agree, it was time to move on. Just like the Beverly Hillbillies, we packed up and moved to start a new life in Central Florida.
We picked a town called Viera. It's beautiful here. We didn't know anyone that lived here we just thought it was a pleasant place to start over. We cut our ties to South Florida and began our journey. And what a journey it's been!
What we didn't know was the adjustment we'd have to make. In this economy there are days that job searching seems pointless. Richard says he already has a job called a check from Uncle Sam each month. And Ginger... She could care less as long as she gets walked and fed her daily ration of biscuits.
Some days I just shake my head. I don't think anyone would believe what goes on in my house each day. I watch from my executive chair in my office. While I'm attempting to find gainful employment, Richard and Ginger are having the time of their lives. And oh what a time it is!