Turkey Talk

Thanksgiving is a time to be truly thankful
for family--and many things--particularly
for not being a turkey!

My daughter took one look at the turkey in
the refrigerator and said “It’s a little small, isn’t it?”
Anything larger than 10 lbs. and I’d need to
throw out an entire shelf of food.
I’m stacking butter and dip, jams and mango
salsa as it is…

I was informed that most people eat
Thanksgiving dinner around 1:00.
The pilgrims in my family began cooking
the turkey around 4:00 p.m.
I think my ancestors came over on a
different vessel--later in the day, too.

I’m a descendant of Zachary Taylor, the 12th
President. I’m not sure what time he had
his Thanksgiving dinner…he looked well fed though.
Back to turkey day...

I’m definitely thankful that I’m walking
without my leg cast.
My family is the joy of my life,
And I’m blessed with friends--both near and far.
I’m thankful for all my readers in cyberspace, too.

Last of all, I hope our resident ducks, Cruiser
and Whitey will come around soon.
They’ve been missing since Sept., no doubt
living it up in warmer climes.

I hope everyone has a wonderful Thanksgiving--
and to those who don’t celebrate the holiday,
have a great day!

Gobble…

Step Into My Web...

Hello, my dearies!
Welcome to the Witchin’ Kitchen where I
will brew up tales of Hollow’s Night of Yore.

Many harvest moons ago, there lived a
family of four in the beach city of
Santa Monica, where the foghorn bellowed
and the dense fog swirled in ghostly waves,
bathing the city in an eerie glow.

Halloween was spooky in our neighborhood.
Houses all stacked like dominoes lined the
unlit street, with narrow passageways
between the houses.

I was convinced a witch lived in one of the
houses along the walkway. Her pointy nose and
glaring eyes always peered through the parted
lace curtains at the window anytime I walked by.

Mom loved Halloween.
She wore her huge black witch’s hat, and tied
a sheet around her.
Raisins dotted her face like old, gnarled warts.

Michael was a pirate and I, a witch--what else?
I’m not sure if my Halloween bucket got pirated
and pillaged by Michael as I stealthily tried to
hide my treats.

Years later, we were living in the hot San
Fernando Valley where thoughts of Halloween
were brewing yet again.
We decorated the house with ‘pumpkin tumbleweeds’.
Mom had her warty, powdered face and dad had a
few surprises of his own.

When the grandkids came over Halloween night,
he told them to go to the closet...
Suddenly, the kids were screaming--dad had
his prosthetic leg propped up in the corner with
an old shoe attached.
That always gave dad a laugh.

As I later had my own family, I strung cobwebs,
hung skeletons and spiders, stuck a candle in a
cow’s skull, and played spooky howling tapes from
the upstairs window that could be heard outdoors.
Needless to say, there were few kids coming to the door!

It’s that time of year again, in another town where
we have Halloween parades up the street of our
gated community, and a few kids will come to claim
their treats. I have an overfilled pot of candy waiting--
and maybe, a trick or two…

I'm in Love With You...

After 38 years of marriage I've learned
a few things, particularly ways not to make
a husband gag:

* Don't stuff yourself into a bikini meant for Twiggy.

* Don't pierce anything other than your ear lobes--
and a nice juicy steak!

* Don't wear mini-skirts if you're not a 'mini'.

* Don't wear ankle bracelets that look as though
you're under house arrest.

* Don't wear midriff shirts that float over
The Island of Flab.

* If your 'skin' doesn't 'fit' you like it did
when you were first married, ban yourself
from those drive-thrus!

* Avoid or don't over do Botox-ing and facelifting--
he didn't marry a manikin.

* Too much sun equals skin like a dromedary--
only camels belong outside that much.

* Keep a sense of humor--it can throw your
husband off-balance when he wants to start complaining...

* Don't 'show' too much--'cracks' are for sidewalks!

*Treat yourself and life like a fine wine--
let it age naturally.

To my husband, Tom: Happy Anniversary,
with many more to come.

I'll love you "'til the 12th of Never..."

Whine And Dine...

"Doctor, can you help me?"
"What seems to be the problem?"
"Writer's Block. I can't seem to get my funny on."
"Ahh, yes, that could be a problem."
"Ok...so what can I do about my writing drought?"
"I don't know--can't think of a thing."
Big help...

I need an elixir of Rodney Dangerfield, with a double
shot of Woody Allen and Carl Hiaasen--something
I can't get at Blue Martini!
Some people are dripping with humorous anecdotes
and one-liners, with little effort, it seems.

I could make fun of myself, I suppose.
Tom's been calling me peg-leg.
I've become glued to my sofa lately--not by choice.
I fractured my ankle recently.

I'd rather be outside in the pool, enjoying the
hot Florida sun, or on the Las Vegas trip we
had to cancel this week.

So, I've been following orders to stay off my feet.
I'm getting into the Cleopatra routine: Enjoying
being waited on hand and foot--pardon the pun.
More fruit, maybe a sweet tea, please.

I haven't been through a drive-thru in a long time.
Maybe I'll get Jen to take me this week--though,
with the luck that's been hitting me over the last
few months, I'd probably wind up with an 'unhappy' meal!
But I digress.

With a collective heave I hoist myself from the sofa,
clogging my way to the kitchen to grab the Dustbuster.
Cleo left her cookie crumbs between the cushions--
which has taken on the shape of her bum...

Brain Warp--Rebooting...

I've been sucked into creative quicksand.
Sitting on the sofa, glancing out to the back
yard, I'm waiting for an instant spark of
something funny to tickle the dormant folds
of my usually witty brain.

This on and off period of writing has been the
longest bout of writer's constipation I've ever
experienced. It hasn't helped that I'd been
sidelined by a 'locked' back, and most recently
by an injured ankle--thanks to a misplaced tool box.

I've been watching The Weather Channel, and
all of the whirling dervish spin-offs dancing off
Africa.

Most seasoned Florida residents have
grown accustomed to the over-hype--the
prognostications of the weather men who can't
wait for a tropical storm to hit the coast so they
can valiantly smack-dab themselves right in the
middle of the event...

Every year the hurricane predictors say we're in
for an extremely active season. I just took stock
of my hurricane closet: 2 cases of Sam's water,
some cans of soup, paper plates and cups and
plastic ware,dry foods, as well as 2 propane
camp stoves and enough propane canisters.

I also have 3 loaves of duck bread-- I've had to
stock up since Cruiser is bringing her ducky friends
to the house. If you are a new reader of my blog,
Cruiser is a sweet Muscovy duck who chose our
house to visit everyday.

She's been cruising around the yard from the
lake for over a year. Only recently, Cruiser's
brought along Whitey--and occasionally, another
duck we've not named yet. They are both bread fiends...

Out back there's a swale, a flooded river running
along the width of grass. A couple of weeks ago
we spotted catfish spiraling out from the ground
beneath the water, swimming quickly, then 'walking'
into the woods, like something out of a Stephen King novel.

So, here I am, molting, waiting for a simmering
idea to boil over, watching tiny lizards and a frog
scoot close to the pool's edge...

There's a water bowl outside for the ducks.
There was an Indigo snake coiled over the
bowl a few weeks ago, sipping away...

Oh, I see two bobbing heads coming around the
side of the lanai enclosure, like clockwork.
Whitey and Cruiser are peeking over at me between
the plants...
Gotta go feed them...call of the wild!

Clear The Roads...!

Capt. Tom, thinking did Nan kill the VW?

Tom, with the new car after the

VW died a stick-shift death!

Our VW rib-tickler!

If ya don't like my driving, stay off the road
could've been my slogan when I was learning to drive.
Unlike most people who were driving at 16, I was 27--
bulging with expectant parenthood.

Not only was it a tight squeeze, between me and the
steering wheel, I was cursed with learning on a
stick-shift in my husband's original VW Bug.

While my daughter was busy kicking me in the ribs,
I was ready to stick the shifter! Frustrated that I wasn't
sequencing that well with the clutch, brake, gas and stick,
I'd decided that childbirth would be a hiccup compared to
learning to drive that antique.

Tom was an airline captain and I was expecting that he
was going to call ahead for special clearance--that an
erratically driving female was loose on the road.

I'd managed to run over a row of rosebushes, cut the
turn on the corner, causing a flabbergasted pedestrian
to jump back a few feet.

Finally, after many driving lessons, I was ready to get
my license. Lucky for the man testing my driving ills--
I mean skills--he passed me, out of sheer self-preservation.
I guess hormonally-challenged females, this close to poppin',
was something he didn't want to face--again.

It's a lucky thing I never became an airline pilot...

Just Beachy...

Reptilius Wrinkilum, characterized by and resembling
shed snake skin, is an affliction shared by those
humans who don't look like pancake batter.

Add a little unwanted 'real estate' and behold--it's
a sight: Rippled layers of varnished, lizard-like skin
that appears to have been squashed by a Goodyear tire,
then stretched past the known capacity of nylon and spandex.
In other words, miles of beach-tanned, bikini-ed and
Speedo-ed torsos, frolicking back and forth under the
tropical Florida sun.

The men are a 'whisper' away from centerfold exposure.
The ladies prance along with dimpled, 'thonged' behinds--
looks like a Silly Putty convention...

I wore a swimsuit once, more of a flotation device--that,
when I began swimming, would billow out--much like
the inner tube I used to float on as a kid--drifting between
the pilings of the Santa Monica Pier...

Rising from the bathtub-warm waters of the Gulf, I
looked like a beached whale. Suddenly all the water
dumped out from my swimsuit--along with a slithery
Ramora I called Ramon--since it had clung to my ribcage
the entire time.

So now, bikini clad, I notice that I'm not far from being
in the select classification of Reptilius Wrinkilum--as I
enjoy the tropical outdoors. I'm also noticing that I need
to work out a little harder, too.
Gosh, that almond cookie was sooo good...
Sonia, I slipped...