Wheely Pat?

I'm waiting for my phone to ring--the call telling me
that I'm a contestant on "The Wheel".
You know the show--the show where Vanna looks
doomed to wear, at times, the most ridiculously
outlandish evening dresses. Isn't Outlandish a planet?
Nah, but it should be...

I think my luck in receiving a phone call is much
like my luck in hatching an egg!
Paul reminds me that I had a darn good contestant
chance last summer when the traveling wheel was in
Naples for a contestant search.

It was a broiling hot day.
Jen and I approached the area of the search,
Hodges University, sweeping our eyes over the
multitude of hopefuls, and decided that standing in the
hot humid sun, probably for hours, was not that enticing.

So, on most nights, I'm correctly guessing the answer,
usually with only a smattering of letters, sometimes
with only 2 or 3 letters showing.
Tom and Paul usually can't believe how quickly
I can guess. They both think my wallet would be
bulging by now, if I were on the show...

Maybe I'll try out this summer--can I wear my swimsuit?

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…

Snort, Snort--Guess Who?!

New Years Eve brought us a wonderful,
butt-wagging, foot-flapping surprise:
Cruiser, our resident duck, came waddling
back to our yard. Surprise of surprises!

With Paul running to the kitchen to grab
some multi grain bread, Mama Cruiser, who
is leaner, began snorting, wiggling her way
past the screen door.

She was as excited to see us as we were
to see her-- at least 3 months have passed
since her last visit. What better New Year’s
than to have Ol’ Snorty back in our lives.

Funny how much we missed feather-butt
and her almost daily visits.
I was sure that my scolding had sent her
off into a huff when she had voraciously
grabbed the bread from my hand, as well
as my finger.

My New Year’s resolution--at least one?
Cruiser, I promise not to quack at you!

Don't Foil Me, Matey!

If the movies were casting for a pirate movie,
I’d be perfect: I’ve been sporting a Pirate Pete
black eye patch the last few days.

I had a setback, post cataract surgery,
when a few stitches began weakening.
My eye became watery and inflamed causing
double vision, and sending me pronto to my surgeon.
Years ago I had RK, which scarred and softened
the cornea, leading to the existing problem.

So, ol’ Patchy now has a contact lens keeping
added pressure applied to help stave the errant
stitches and heal the eye.
The lens adds to the double vision and lack of
depth perception, so the patch helps, blocking that problem.

On a scale of 1-10 on Nancy’s Humor Scale,
don’t expect too much ha-ha from me today.
It’s still a little rough to see especially after
taking the $200 eye drops, which really set me
off the plank at the pharmacy where I stood
dumbfounded, mouth open, in complete shock,
that a tiny bottle of 10ml drops could cost
that much. Funny thing is I apparently saved $60!.

Not one to be duped, I did some cyber investigating.
I found the same drops selling anywhere from $30 to
$90. Other pharmacies were charging $150.
Even my surgeon was dumbstruck by my cost.

So, patch-covered and blood boiling a bit on
my Richter scale, I faced the tall and mouthy
young man who sold me the prescription.
Like a Peanuts movie, I bleah-bleah blaaa blaad at him
about my price discoveries and discrepancies.
He became defiant, so I walked away and served
the kid up to the store manager, vowing not to
return to the store pharmacy.

Later, I attempted to make a pumpkin pie and
added too much/too little of some ingredients.
Jen and Paul complained of bubbling stomachs
soon after taking a few bites. I must have a cast
iron stomach, though I knew something was amiss.


I want to make some Christmas cookies, but
I’m enlisting Jen to measure the ingredients.
I don’t want to be responsible for any rolling
and pitching stomachs.

As Christmas nears, Ahoy mates, swab the decks
while yer at it!

Toilet Bowl Blues

I’ve been analyzing toilets lately.

Sounds weird, I know.

Walmart has quick, super-zap flushers.

Borders have semi-quick, shred-the-paper flushers.

Books-A-Million [BAM] has the best, so far.

Our master bathroom toilet had a fitting

replaced by Steve The Plumber months ago.

Since then, the fill up is noisy and takes

longer than it takes to launch the Space Shuttle.

I hate the obvious--just give me a

discrete, quiet toilet. I bet the TV Caveman

could’ve fixed it--he’s a sensitive type,

instead of Steve, who reminded me of a mob boss.

I never liked the faucet he replaced in

the kitchen: A single, nondescript Delta--

no zip, doesn’t extend long enough.

Dishes are always banging the side of the sink.

I like a little style with function, after all.

So, back to the ambiance of the toilet.

I’m putting my request in for a pot

with a dynamic personality.

Dark eyes, dark hair--

My mind wanders…heh-heh.

Justifiable Chocolate-cide

"Don't even think about it, mom"!


I love the Chicken Soup For The Soul books.
I could use some chocolate instead.
I’m all chickened out.

I’m looking forward to my Swiss Colony
order--free truffles with my order.
It’s the only time that I get chocolates from
somebody. I sure could have relished
the chocolaty goodness yesterday.

I spent the greater part of Thursday fuming
in my eye doctor’s office. I’d waited for only
10 minutes and was ushered into the exam
room for a quick eye chart exam, given a
pressure test, then ushered into a waiting room.

“You’ll be called soon, Nancy” the attendant said.
I was hopeful that I’d be out within an hour
at the most. I was planning on meeting my gal
friend for a coffee afterward.

Two and a half hours later, my name was
called--not after the poor souls who were waiting
just as long, were conspiring to order up Pizza
Hut for all of us. It was 5:45 by the time I’d
been called into the office for my pre-op briefing.

I was hanging by a thread at that point,
since my healthy lunch at 12:00 consisted of
one piece of low sodium turkey, some carrot
sticks, an apple, raw sunflower seeds and unsalted peanuts.

I had a raving gleam in my eye by the time
I’d been called in. Someone had walked by the
room, the smell of a Subway sub drifting under my nose.

We’d all been commenting on the fact the office
should have had, at the very least, a plate of
cookies--something--for the stranded patients.
We’d learned the new girl had overbooked the
one surgeon we were all seeing that day.
Some patients were booked for the same time.
Good Grief!

I know my son is always drilling me about
staying on a good diet--no junk food--
but this morning I have thoughts of a guava danish
from Whole Foods, if any are left.
There’s always chocolate covered cherries, too,
that I have stashed away for Christmas…

Ho-Ho-Ho

It’s that time of year when grown men
start climbing up ladders propped against
their homes, strands of twisted Christmas
lights looped around their necks.

I’m sure some wives would love to tighten
a few of those light ropes just a bit…
It’s a heated competition in the neighborhood
to see which home can out-light the other.

One year, we had an idiot family living
directly across the street--always in trouble
with the law. Their last hurrah before moving
away was to string as many lights as humanly
possible over the roof of the house, much
like Chevy Chase in Christmas Vacation.

The woman’s boyfriend--we called him
Joy-Boy, climbed over the roof, draping and
stapling thousands of lights across the entire
roof. J.B. started stringing at noon and his
Gold’s Gym body didn’t finish to well after 1 a.m.

Our bedroom was suddenly lit up like a
fireworks factory had exploded. I’m sure
the Space Shuttle astronauts could have
spotted their home.

It’s amazing how far some of the neighbors
go to decorate. My neighbor and friend,
Jimmie, a short and portly Italian, must have
bought every Christmas decoration sold by Walmart.
Every part of his home has something.

The blow up figures are the funniest since many
of them semi deflate, so that half of the character’s
body is upright with the top half hanging over to
the ground. Probably how a lot of people will
feel after the holidays…

So, the first section of our street has inflated
Nativity scenes, inflated Frosty’s, golden
reindeer, and Santa sleighs, along with luminarias
bordering the driveways. Quite a pretty spectacle.

From my home a few houses up, it’s dark--no
Grinches here, just people who realize
ya gotta unstaple, un-tangle, deflate, climb
around like a roof rat, and eventually figure
out how everything goes back in the boxes
the stuff was originally in.
Ha! It's a feat that makes the sane go nuts.
Good luck all, and to all a good night!

Sticky Business...

Y-a-w-n…Tom’s snoring kept me awake
from 2-4:30 this morning.
Nothing I did remedied the snap crackle--
from bed wiggling and gentle nudging, to
“Tom, knock of the snoring!”

On the master bathroom window, illuminated
by the moon, was a huge tree frog.
I was tempted to grab my sticky friend
and seal him over Tom’s semi-open mouth.

While Jen was sleeping one night, she
awoke screaming. When I rushed into
her room, flipping on the light, a frog
as big as my fist had plopped onto her face--
nesting right over her nose and mouth.
We figure the frog had been stranded on the
overhead circulating fan, and decided to hop off.

I finally succumbed to sleep, only to be
awakened by Jen and Paul’s 5:00 rustling
in the kitchen. My two fly fishermen were
getting up to make first light on the Tamiami
Trail canals for tarpon.

When I finally got up this morning to make
my coffee in a hazy stupor, I had left
some of the previous day’s coffee in
my thermal drink cup.

I poured the first hot ounces which then
spilled over and onto the counter top, the floor
and me, soaking my clothing.

The thought of a couple more hours of sleep
sounded good about then, but wait--
I have today’s blog already brewing in
my froggy head--er, foggy head…

Drip-Dry Brains…

Either age or Florida’s rain this past
summer has put my brain in a spin
cycle. Mine is tagged: Handle with care, delicate
cycle, cold water. That explains everything:
My brain has shrunk.

It seems like I’m always looking for
something--simultaneously forgetting
where that ‘something’ was placed.
Drives me nuts…

A day doesn’t go by that I’m asking:
“Has anyone seen my phone?”
Definitely the number one thing that I
misplace, or think I do.

I had it clipped to my shorts when I asked
Paul that question a few days ago.
“It’s on your waistband, Mom.”

At times, I’ll be thinking of something
that I need to buy or do--and whoosh--
gone--flown right out of my head.

So, I stand there, glued to the floor,
trying to recount what I was doing that
hopefully, will bring me back to the matter
at hand--or,in my case--brain.

I write stuff down now.
Tom’s called me 'old forgetful' for years.
Funny, I didn’t forget our 37th wedding
anniversary on the 21st ,or my dental
appointment this morning…

Open Wide...

I visited the dentist last week.
It’s not something you mark in red on
the calendar, like maybe, a trip to
Disney World or the Bahamas.

A full set of xrays were taken--I felt more
exposed than a stripper without her tassels…
“Mmm, 22&23,19," the hygienist said to
her assistant. Lotto numbers? No such luck…

After poking and prodding, Odalia, the
hygienist, said, "Nancy, not bad at all--you
have two cracked teeth.
You'll need two half-crowns.”
Blimey...

So, I’m pondering, how did I get two
cracked teeth? What was I eating--
Jawbreakers, or one-month old French bread?
Couldn’t have been the over- roasted chicken…

The receptionist handed me a description of
the proposed work: 2 porcelain crowns,
one small filling: $1988.

Holy cannoli! Where does the porcelain
come from--the Queen’s Royal cabinet?
$1988 is equivalent to a high end digital SLR
with two lenses, or an exhilarating Caribbean cruise.

I’m thinking, as I leave the cold office and
step out into the midday oven, What if I
hadn’t taken care of my teeth?

Tom might have left me for that stripper,
and I'd be gumming and thumbing
along Route 10...

The Ambiance Of The Weed...

I was flipping through the pages of Florida
Design gathering decorating ideas.
I came across an ad, The Ambiance of the Gate.
Pictured was a massive, ornate gate protecting
the endless driveway to a palatial estate.

We don’t have a gate--or an endless driveway.
We might have ambiance, though.
Do weeds with pretty flowers count?
The two Royal Palm trees are stately.
Jen's SUV parked in the driveway with her
yellow Tarpon fishing kayak perched atop
the rack makes a statement of sorts...

All the gorgeously appointed homes lining
Gordon Drive and Gulfshore Blvd. have the
most awesome gardens, many adorned with
koi ponds, Asian-inspired bridges and waterfalls--
and gates with superior ambiance.

A weed would be largely intimidated if it
dared to sprout among such a garden of wealth
and enterprise. The weed family, on the other
hand, has decided it enjoys our unadulterated,
understated front, side and back yard.

It’s clearly an endless battle.
We spray, pull and curse the insidious growths.
I developed a case of carpal tunnel from endlessly
ripping the deeply rooted sprouts from the grass.

Yes, ambiance falls into the gardens and
homes of the wealthy.
Those koi fish have it made…

"Excuse Me, But..."

Embarrassing moments. We’ve all had them.
I remember an incident at Saint Monica High School.
I was participating in an awards ceremony, and I
was waiting off stage with some other girls.
My name was called eventually to receive a religious honor.

I was petrified.
My legs were glued to the ground beneath me and
my feet wouldn’t move forward. I very gawkily forced
my white buck uniform shoes to move across the stage.
I think I blushed every shade of red during those moments.

Another time was on a flight to New Zealand.
There had been a long, dancing line to use the bathroom.
When I eventually went in and came out, I was
walking to my seat--unspooling almost the entire
roll of sub grade toilet paper which had somehow stuck
to the edge on my clothing…

A handsome male passenger alerted me.
I looked back to see that I’d left a runner of at least
20 feet along the length of the aisle.
What could I do but laugh at myself!
I’m sure that most of the passengers were too
embarrassed to initially bring it to my attention.

There have been times while on a dinner date before
I was married, that I had something wedged between
my front teeth. I tried for what seemed like endless minutes
to force it out--all the while holding my one hand coyly
in front of my mouth. I finally tugged it out, and felt safe
enough to withdraw my hand and smile across the table
at my date. He sweetly told me,
“You have something stuck in your teeth…”

Why is it that one never forgets those Kodak moments,
but birthdays and other important things float out of one’s brain?

Raindrops Keep Fallin'...

Florida reached the peak of hurricane season
on Thursday. Thankfully, hurricane predictions
have been way off this summer--not to say it
still couldn't be a possibility. Our worst hurricanes
have occurred in mid September-October.

Every summer, Tom cringes at the thought
of another hurricane season when the predictions
are revealed by the National Hurricane Center.

He says that I can’t bury my head in the sand about
the possibility of still getting one this season.
I don’t think about it so much.
What’s scarier are the heavy downpours we get
sometimes, like yesterday.

Naples got 2” of rain and the thunderstorms were
shattering. I’d met up with a gal friend for a late lunch
and became stranded at her place.
Electricity flickered for hours until 9:00 p.m.
when the storm let up a bit.
By the time I got home safely, I’d passed
by three severe accidents.

The back yard is a pond, teeming with tadpoles.
The woods are noisy with cicadas and frogs.
Cruiser is wading this morning, enjoying her morning feast.

Ducking Out....

Paul and I are attempting to train Cruiser,
resident duck, to ‘do its thing’ on the grass.
Cruiser’s favorite spot is right behind Paul’s
truck--specifically under it.

We chase her from the garage with a push broom.
She snorts at us as she's flapping off...
It would be nice if said pooper would help
with fertilizing the lawn.
It’s the least the mooching duck could do.
She leaves her molting feathers everywhere.

Paul would love to train Cruiser to mow the lawn.
It’s a tough job on these hot, 97 degree days.
Rain makes the lawn grows twice as long, and fast--
mowing it almost twice every nine days is a nightmare.
Weeds poke through and defy any treatment we use.

I’m thinking about getting a goat…

Humor Me...

Humor is supposed to be funny, right?
One shouldn’t have to be sloshed to laugh
at a good joke or a one-liner.

So I go ahead and tell my gal friend
a very funny side-splitter.
You’d think I was telling it to Mt. Rushmore.
Barely a crease of a smile--a bit reminiscent
of Nixon’s post-Watergate stone face.
A colonic may have helped her…

Who wouldn’t think that a Rodney Dangerfield
one-liner wasn’t funny:
*My parents gave me toys for the bathtub--
a toaster and a radio.
*My uncle’s dying wish, he wanted me on his lap.
He was in the electric chair.
*I was an ugly kid. I went to a freak show
and they let me in for free.

It’s okay if those humor shorts didn’t tickle
your funny bone.
R.D. was off-the-wall funny.
I connect to his weird sense of humor.

I inherited the funny bone from mom;
we had some great unforgettable, hysterical moments.
Laughter is the best medicine…

The Great Bowl Beyond...

Not only have I not had a green thumb over the years,
but my track record with pet longevity has been just so-so--
especially with goldfish.

When Paul was about 8, he wanted two gold fish.
So off we went and bought a couple of very cute fish,
which Paul named Junior and Goldie.
We wanted to do things up right to give Junior and
Goldie the best advantage of a long life.

After paying the cashier for Junior and Goldie,
a proper size bowl, food, and a water filtration system,
we got home and set everything up.
Junior and Goldie were as happy as two fishes could be…
for a couple of days.

The fish either didn’t like their existing accommodations,
or we were lacking something in the care and feeding
department. Paul thought a toy in the bowl would give
the fish something to swim in and out of.
A diver and a piece of coral later, Junior and Goldie
sort of perked up…
for a couple of days.

The glint in Junior's and Goldie's eyes had dimmed.
What was wrong? Had we failed as fish caregivers?
Paul tried his best to get his fish back in the swim of things…
But they were out of one bowl and into another…

Going Once...

I'm after ants, again.
Not your typical black ant, but swirly ants,

better known as sugar or crazy ants.

They're nearly microscopic.

And nuts!

They swirl around like Whirling Dervishes.

Jen made the mistake of leaving a half-finished

soda can in her car. The next day, I think every

crazy ant in Naples was feasting on Coke.

Daisy, our lovebird, enjoys a tropical seed mix.

She's kept in the lanai during the day.

By evening, much of her seed has scattered

from her cage to the decking.

Daisy is an enthusiastic eater.

The seed attracts scores of crazies.

It's an ongoing battle.

There doesn't seem to be an insect or reptile

alive willing to help me eliminate the ant problem.

The lizards are bug-specific.

So are the tree frogs.

Not interested.

These ants are indeed crazy.

They're even attracted to dried glue--dried anything.

They've strayed into my old pc a few times.

What on earth could they possibly find in there?

Yes, I think ants were put on earth to drive us crazy.

Too bad some research program can't use them.

How about the Space Program ?

Maybe the ants could be put in orbit.

What about Cyberspace?

Maybe I can sell the ants on Ebay...

*No new Blog on Monday.

Rock On..!

Everything is done on the fly, it seems.

Some people shave and eat while driving.

Bluetoothed drivers, whose laptops are perched

on the console, are hitting the roads.

It's a get it done world.

What did primitive man do?

Yorg had real problems.

Imagine trying to start a fire.

No matches for him.

Sticks and stones were rubbed together for heaven

knows how long, before Yorg blew his top.

His nagging wife, Yakk, banished him to the

wild more than once when he had his fits,

to hunt for some horned creature.

What about communication?

Yorg had a leather pouch filled with stones.

If he wanted to call up a fellow caveman, he'd sling

a few stones, whacking his friend upside the head.

Travel was tough, too.

Poor Yorg spent hours bashing and honing the edges

of a boulder until it would roll.

That eventually became a useful device, especially when he

finally figured out how to get a donut hole in the center.

And most enjoyable, too--when he put Yakk

in the middle and sent her rolling along ...

Daisy Who?

My daughter, Jenny, took her adorable peach-faced
lovebird, Daisy, to the avian vet today.
The bird's been bothered with a bad
irritation under her wing.

Daisy loves to fly around the pool enclosure.
Jennifer took her outside the enclosure
one day to sit.
Daisy decided to visit the lofty pine trees,
and found herself a branch to perch upon.

After 2 hours of bird-smoozing, she flew back to Jenny.
Since her excursion that day, she's been pecking away
underneath her wing. Apparently birdy had significantly
scratched herself and has since been making it worse.

The cream prescription was called in by the vet,
and Jenny picked it up, using her own name.
"What name, again? We don't have a prescription
for Jennifer. There's one here for Daisy Fowl..."
Say again ?

Where, Oh Where...?

Have you ever experienced what I call the
'Poof' Syndrome?
One minute you know what you want to say,
and the next minute--poof, it's gone!
That happens to me sometimes.
I also forget where I've put something, and spend
needless time searching for it.
Which brings me to my husband, Tom.

Tom has a good memory.
He can bring up dates from 30-40 years ago,
knowing exactly where and what he was doing
on that date.
It's like he has a mental logbook.

Tom was an airline captain for 30 years.
Punctuality and attention to details were
of the utmost importance.
He was an amazing pilot--one you would
have enjoyed flying with.

We took some very interesting trips.
Tom lost me once.
He always felt the need to venture off to
find something to eat--usually fruit.

We were sitting in the train in Frankfurt, waiting for departure.
Tom had the sudden urge for an orange or banana.
He got off, leaving me.
"I'll only be a minute," he said, wandering off.
We had less than 10 minutes before the train
left the station.

Minutes later, I looked over to the adjacent train,
and there was Tom making his way on to the wrong train.
I started banging against the window by my seat,
hoping to get his attention.
Tom finally looked over, spotting me.

On another trip, in Norway, his punctuality
didn't matter too much.
He got off the tour bus during a short break.
Tom huffed his way down the road, hoping to find
a vendor. I stayed behind with everyone else.
Of course, the driver, Jorgen, wanted to leave!

All the tourists refused to leave without Tom.
Soon, he was bobbing up the trail with a bag of fruit.
Scrambling aboard the bus, we could see that
Jorgen was drunk.
He'd had extra time to guzzle half
of his 6-pack.
Our tour guide, who I called Blue Boots--
because of the iridescent colored boots he was wearing--
told us this was normal behavior for Jorgen.
Jorgen loved his beer and link sausages!
We sure felt secure knowing that...

There have been some funny twists and turns
during our marriage.
I'm always walking in the opposite direction of Tom.
Maybe that's what's meant by "opposites attract!"
My sense of direction isn't good, and map-reading?
Not good!

Yes, we all have our moments when our brains
take a detour...
I'm still looking around for the car keys.