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...

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...

Golden Dreams

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 63rd 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, whom 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.

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…?

For You, Jen: Daisy

Today’s blog is for my daughter, Jen.

It’s amazing how much a pet comes
to mean to us everyday. Someone said yesterday,
“It wasn’t the same as losing a dog.”
Does that make the hurt any less?

As many readers know, I’ve blogged
about Daisy, our lovebird, on numerous occasions.
She died yesterday.

We all had an attachment to her.
Even Daisy’s vet said that she was the most
resilient, sweet bird he’d encountered in a long time.
She always looked like she was smiling.

Jen and Daisy were on the lanai yesterday morning,
probably on ‘Cruiser’ watch. Daisy liked to walk
around the decking by the pool.

She was always honing the edges of her beak
along the textured concrete. Recently we needed
to take the edge off her sharp beak--she could punch
a hole through leather, it was so sharp.

Suddenly, Daisy toppled over into the frigid pool,
wings flapping. Jen quickly grabbed her out,
and spent several minutes trying to revive her,
but the shock was too much for Daisy.
Heartbroken, Jen buried her in the woods.

Daisy was a loving animal. She begged for
and enjoyed her head rubs, and was always nuzzling
our cheeks and necks.

Daisy is missed, but won’t be forgotten…
Turn the sound on high for the spoon clattering!

Fitness Flapper

I threw out the last of the holiday eggnog.
Sad. I really enjoy the few weeks from
Thanksgiving to New Year's when eggnog
is almost flying off the shelves--luckily,
a few flew to my house.

Now, I have to admit, I can see a little
bit of “eggnog” thighs…
I wasn’t able to exercise to the extent
I’ve wanted to--one excuse being, my eye
surgeon wanted me to take it easy for awhile.

Well, the ‘awhile’ has passed, and I’m
forcing myself to our clubhouse fitness room.
I can't stick my head in the sand any longer...

It’s tough to get rolling--it’s easier to stay
home and roll out pie dough!
But, after assessing the slight under arm
droop too, I’m hauling butt over to the
fitness room, despite the frigid cold walk.

The machines I like to use are open, waiting
for me to decide which weight level to choose.
Let’s see…how about a 20# ? Naw...
I slide the selector into the 40# slot to start.
But wait--I have to warm up!

So, I’m rotating my arms like airplane props,
just as a hulking Hulk walks in--and just
about gets popped by my twirling arms.
It’s him or me, so I eyeball him, slowly
blocking his way, moving backward, then
do a quick launch to my favorite machine.

After a few minutes of several reps, I leave
it to go use the butterfly machine, which
he has set to almost 200#’s. Good grief!
And I had the nerve, the sheer audacity, to
look into his steel gray eyes, short of intimidation?

I adjust the weight level to 40#’s, and finish
after 5 sets . My arms are burning.
I figure in a couple of weeks, I’ll have my
arms and legs back in shape.

Cruiser, our resident duck, has been getting
more exercise than me, doing her laps around
the house, hoping that someone will take notice,
grab the bread, and toss her a few crumpled pieces.

The other day Cruiser flew up to the computer
room window, flapping for Paul’s attention.
I wonder if flapping my arms will work,
and someone will toss me a powdered donut…