A Little Bit Of This And That...

My eyes are growing to the size of golf balls
as I stare at the blank computer screen...

It’s not easy dredging through the cobwebby
recesses of my brain in the early morning hours,
trying to figure out something humorous to write
about for my blog--and to think I was writing my
blog every day for a few months!

My blog friend, Colin, is prolific--his food blog at:
http://wokkingontherun.blogspot.com is colorful
and informative, filled with delicious recipes.
But then, Colin isn’t an antique like me.
His brain is still in diapers…

Speaking of which…

Cruiser, our resident duck, has been bob, bob,
bobbing along the back lanai twice a day.
She brought her white headed baby with her last week.

Cruiser was quite piggish, swiping whatever bread I
was tossing out to her baby. So piggish in fact, that
Cruiser has a case of “beano-itis’.

Yesterday, she waddled beside where I was soaking
up some sun, and emitted what I thought was a foghorn.
She looked over at me, and I thought, don’t you dare
pin that ’blurp’ on me!

Speaking of which…

I live in Naples, Fl, a beautiful, gulf coast town filled
with senior folk, a natural, tropical atmosphere,
early bird dinner and drink specials, assorted cultural
events, and cars that cost as much as pocket change
in an Arab’s wallet.

So, with all the round-the-clock, delectable varieties
of international cuisine and drink, over-indulgence
is often a big problem.

Store aisles are often filled with indescribable ‘blurps’.
“Air fresheners on aisle 6, please.”
I make a quick beeline so as not to get pinned with the
unfortunate scent du jour.

Speaking of which…

I’m thinking about my sinner menu for tonight.
I mean dinner menu! Stir-fry, I think-- right, Colin?
My eyes are now hanging on little springs, flopping
up and down as I continue staring at the blank screen
in front of me, wondering if Dave Barry ever had this problem…?

Whatever Happened To...?

Calling all geeks, braniacs, hulks, and
ex-cheerleaders! Canoga Park High School’s
class of ‘65 is kicking the 45th reunion
into high gear this year.

I won’t be there.
My geeky senior picture won’t surface into
the ‘ha-ha, you looked funny’ zone.
It was taken early in my junior year, unfortunately.
I was totally different by the time I graduated.
Unfair!

Reunions are no doubt a blast from the past.
I wouldn’t know--I’ve never crossed into the
Time Machine and gone to even one of them.

I imagine the event will be filled with sideline
glances, assessments and offside remarks:
‘Good grief, what happened to her'?
'Bill was such a hunk…’

Amid memories of starched, skyscraper hairdos,
ex-tarts fired up with post-hickey-Monday-
morning locker room stories, who ran off
with whose wife or husband, and who made it
to the silver screen: Mike Larrain [Rosemary’s Baby]
and Barry Cutler [Dynasty], conversations will be
peppered with fond memories.

I have fond, coming-into-my-own memories of my
senior year: Columnist on The Hunter’s Call, Steering
Committee member, editor of Horizons, our literary
chapbook, Writer’s Club president, co-coordinator of
Journalism Day, and off-key member of the Folk Singing Club.
Those were the days…

The Ant-inator

Ants, the size of Sherman tanks, invaded
the lanai over the weekend.
Tom and I foot stomped at least 100 or more.
They're indestructible.

No sooner would I squish them, that
they'd pull an Arnold, suddenly reconfiguring
their twisted bodies.
I couldn't even get Cruiser, our tortilla chip-eating
resident duck, interested in picking them off.

The recent deluge unearthed the huge beasts.
They were circling the pool in droves; some were
diving into the water.
All that was missing were their floats and snorkels.

I hosed them off through the lanai doors,
then used some ant spray.
Impervious to that, the armor proof
ant squad regrouped and skittered defiantly
along the cage perimeter.
I expected to hear bugles blowing...march on!

Short of using something volatile like
a flame-thrower, I sprayed them once more .
I could've been spritzing them with
Tommy Bahama, all the good it did...

Then, seconds later, dizzy and awkward,
they fell, legs up...
looked like the conga line after a wild night
at Sloppy Joe's.

What a way to spend my summer...

Buzz It...

I see nothing but horrible comb-overs.
Men take the thinnest, stringiest bits of hair
and lop it to the other side of their skull.

The part is falling off the side of their head.
I won't even mention bad, ill-conceived hair-pieces.
Looks like something died up there...
It's the most unnecessary, last-ditch effort to
preserve the appearance of having hair.

Remember GLH,the powdery spray-on
one could use to disguise a thinning scalp?
Hair in a can.
The consistency was weird--
looked like colored, vinyl-like sawdust .

Get rid of the comb-overs with a
close haircut--bald is in, too.
Gals like the chrome-dome look.
Yul Brynner was handsome and hairless.

If you're losing
it don't despair...
just cut it off
and look debonair...

It Wasn't Me...Heh-Heh!

In the 4th grade at St.Clement's,
I remember dipping a girl's hair into an inkwell;
she was annoying.
Her obnoxiously long braids always hung
temptingly over my desk;
they must've been 20" long.

They'd swing, swish-swish...
sometimes they became airborne,
flicking me in my face.
I could've used them for bookmarks.

Mind you, only the tip of one, from the
rubber band down--say 1"--got baptized.
The unfortunate thing was that her braid
began dripping onto her crisp, white uniform blouse;
just a little, but enough to notice.
Uh-oh.

Sister brought it to the girl's attention,
who was then excused to wash the ink out
from her braid and her blouse.

The girl never could figure out how that had happened.
I think I confessed my bad deed at confession,
just to be safe.
Scissors would've been fun, too...

A Lobster By Any Other Name...

Lobsters.
Mm mm...butter-dipped, succulent warm meat.
When we first moved here to Naples in 2002,
Jen wanted to celebrate our first night by taking
the four of us to a restaurant, which I won't name.

The advertised special was a 1# lobster for 16.00.
We ordered 4. When the plates arrived, we each
looked at the anorexic lobsters sitting on our
huge white plates--kind of like an island with
only one palm tree...
I was thinking, where is it?

I'd never seen a smaller tail in all of my lobster days--
which amounts to three over my lifetime.
I'd seen bigger tails on shrimp.

I wasn't sure how to attack it.
I wasn't even sure if it wasn't just a faux lobster--
one in disguise, or only the skeleton of one-- minus the meat.

We were all so hungry, so I prodded and picked,
and saw some disgusting green and gray muck that
looked like it came from a space creature's guts.
How would I know that...?

We all managed to get no more than a 1/4
cup's worth. Jen was disappointed, but her
intentions were sweet.
I haven't had a lobster since.

Jen's been in town, from Key West.
She and Paul went fishing for a few days in Stuart.
Her fella, Vince, has a bucket of lobsters from lobstering
in the Keys.
The lobsters are calling, so Jen's heading back
to K W this afternoon.

I'm suddenly having visions of warm, sweet,
butter-dripping meat...

Half-Steam Ahead

*6:10--Wake up, thank God... stretch, groan...
and wonder why I get up so dang early every morning.

*7:00--Brew coffee. It's a new flavor called
La Brea Tar Pits.. what eventually killed the dinosaurs!.

*7:40--Wonder why I haven't perked up
from the percolator...
my stomach sounds like the water works, however.

*7:50--Get on the computer. Look at the blank screen.
Try to dig something funny from my tired, locked
down brain. Should I tackle bug invasion...again?

*8:30--Voila! Edit my draft blog, upload a picture,
save and publish the blog.

*8:45--Do some internet research.
See an interesting site and unleash a viral nest
of trojan downloaders. Norton kicks in immediately.
Virus scanning.

*9:30--Head for Books-A-Million bookstore [BAM].

*9:50--Blog some more on my AlphaSmart 3000
word processor. Best thing I ever bought...
gets people wondering what the heck it is! *11:15--Go home, check out the inviting pool which
has invited small, beetle-like bugs, no larger than
an ant, to a pool party.
How they get through the pool enclosure netting
is beyond me. These winged bugs cluster in pods
of 20 or more.
Hmmm...Invasion of the Body
Snatchers comes to mind...

*12:15--Skim the pool and take a dip.
Maybe I can sell the bugs under miscellaneous
weird stuff on Ebay...

*12:30--Cruiser, our resident duck, shows up.
Give him water, but he's on a tortilla chip ban.
He snorts a few times, then leaves.

*1:00--Think about having some lunch.
Eat some of Cruiser's unsalted tortilla chips
with cottage cheese, raw unsalted peanuts and fruit.
Take vitamins.

*2:00--Watch recording of A M C.
Pine Valley is one dang-interesting place!
Zack is some hunk...

*3:00-start yawning...thinking about what to
have for dinner.

*3:15--Sleep on it...

*5:00--play Some Enchanted Evening by Art Garfunkel while preparing dinner. So romantic...

*6:30--Just in time for Seinfeld.

*8:00-- Get some ideas tapped out for tomorrow's blog.

*10:00--Curtains... Tha-a-at's All Folks...!

A Mouthful...

Some people are adept at using slanguage or incorrect
grammar in their conversations.

Phrases like "Ya know what I'm saying...?" is commonly

reiterated and means nothing.

In 1996 in Oakland, California, there was an outcry over Ebonics.

Protesters felt it was an excuse for learning grammatically

correct English.

Students wanted this sociovernacular officially

recognized as a language in school studies.

Thank God Ebonics never made it to the school curriculum.

What would have happened if Shakespeare had penned

the phrase "Yo, Romeo! What up? Peep dis..."

It makes me cringe.

Expletives are part of our language, unfortunately.

The beauty of our language has been integrated with filth.

I credit its abundant use for lack of something substantial to say.
I've always had an affinity for words.

Words can color, describe, resonate.

Words can inspire and motivate.

I credit two wonderful English Comp teachers: Ann Singer who taught

at Canoga Park High School in California and Jean Wilkinson,

my professor at Pierce College in Woodland Hills, Ca.for furthering

my love of the English language.

Take A Number...

I'm looking forward to getting my HP back today.
As some of my readers know, the hard drive detoured
into Neverland almost two weeks ago.
I've been posting from Paul's laptop and using many of
his wonderful photos of California locations.

I have learned a very big lesson: back up files frequently.
From all indications, HP was able to recover data.
I had numerous photographs on the drive, and quite
a bit of writing: short stories, poetry.

Paul and Tom love using my pc.
Paul wants to load Flight Sim on the pc.
He has a yoke and rudder pedals for FS.
He'd previously loaded the game on my other pc
that crashed 8 months ago.
The Gateway was almost 8 years old.
I'm holding firm on not loading the game.

I bought the HP for my own use, for uploading my images to
micro stock photo agencies. The monitor is 24", perfect
for viewing digital photos. I've already sold some images.

I'll have to lay claim to the pc in the early mornings.
Then again, I just might buy the guys their own desktop pc...

In One Ear...

Things to Avoid:


*Ultra-discount motels--
unless you want to start your own flea circus.

*Sushi that comes with a side of de-wormer.

*Corn-on-the-cob on a first date.

*Bar-be-cued ribs on the second date.

*Egyptian cotton sheets.
I never found Omar Sharif in the package.

*600-count thread sheets.
The sheets were so tight, I couldn't get out
of bed for days.

*Anything that has the word 'miracle' or
'revolutionary' in its advertising.

*Anything that promises it will take the
drudge out of housework.

*Anything that self-inflates.
My air-bra blew up the other day.

*Products that promise a more noticeable
improvement in 4 weeks.
Sure--if you're 30!

*Believing the 'Before' and 'After' photographs.
Ever see the difference in lighting?

*Buying a used car at night--in a
deserted, unlit parking lot.

*A tour bus--if the driver has a string
of link sausages and a 6-pack in his lap.

*Fortune cookies whose fortunes say
"Better luck next time...'

'Nuf Said...

My brother, Michael, three years older and wiser,knows me well enough to see that I have a very quirky side to my personality.
There are times when I become philosophical.
My friends rely on my good judgment and advice.
There are other occasions when I become 'off the wall',
meaning, my proclivity for crazy poetry kicks in.
It's pretty freaky how easily I can write the stuff..
Totally “swamp” poetry as Michael calls it.
My nickname is “Swampette.”

Dear Michael thinks I should wax poetic, let my hair down a bit.
If you're ready, here goes,with apologies to bro:


Spike and Mike

There once was a feller named Michael
Who hopped on his three-wheeled bicycle
He took off like a bat
Spun out and went splat
On ol' lady Greevy's fat cat.

Spike stretched and reeled
Burped loud and clear
The poisoned dinner flew out
Twenty feet to the rear.

Spike stared up at Michael with a toothless grin
Much like Ol' lady Greevy after her gin
Eyeing the bike with his head in a spin
Spike took off like a bat with Mike's bike in tow
Spun out and went splat on ol' lady Greevy's fat toe.

Cat's have nine lives don'tcha know
But Spike who was dumb
Lost count ages ago
And for Spike, at last
This was the end of the show.


Swampette

Down the Yellow Brick Road...

Where have all the years gone, and so quickly?
These thoughts cross my mind every once in awhile,
especially now as I've had my 62nd birthday.
If I could, would I go back to an earlier time, back
to my teen years or my college days?

If I'd had a way of foretelling the future, I may
have done a few things differently, change my
direction a bit, but then again...
If I'd fallen in love at 19 with the handsome Italian
fella living next door, who I felt was in love with me
at the time , I'd no doubt have a houseful of kids.
But, I might also be divorced—since that was his
status a few years ago, and still might be.


If I'd been more motivated to finish college and
get a degree, I'd be teaching English Comp right now.
When I'd moved to San Francisco in 1970, I was working
at a local store. From the entrance I heard,
“Nancy, what on God's earth are you doing working here?”
My jaw dropped.

It was my former college professor, Jean Wilkinson,
who'd had very high aspirations for me.
She'd kept many of the works I'd written, and thought
I would've pursued a writing career, at the very least.
Presently, I'm still writing: short stories and romantic poetry,
as well as this blog.

If I'd followed my parents to Oregon instead of moving to
the Bay Area, I would've never met my husband, a handsome
airline captain,and had our two children.
Nor would I have had the opportunity to meet Charlton Heston
or Bing Crosby who were customers of mine one day.

We now live in South West Florida, which has changed the
direction of my life. I'm a freelance photographer, living a dream
I've always had--sequestered in the back of my mind.
I'm an artist, too.

Life is often convoluted.
You're never sure what each day is going to bring.
Ah, to be a kid again...?
Not a chance.