World's Greatest Pop-Pop

I have been a bit absent from the computer lately. There are two parts to a successful blog: one, having adventures. Two, writing about adventures. Not necessarily in that order. In fact, I am a big proponent of writing about wishing I had adventures. Not lately, Constant Reader. Lately, I have been an adventurer who has lapsed in logging of said adventures.

You would probably expect me to tell you about some of my recent exciting experiences, and yet it is actually a mundane occurance which has prompted me to wake my hibernating computer today. After work, I headed to a Happy Hour for a few rounds with my colleagues. Unfortunately, I left a few minutes after them, and I ended up behind a (sloooow) car with a license plate holder that proudly proclaimed the owner of said car to be the "World's Greatest Pop-Pop".

Umm....I think not.

Seriously, I looked at this guy when I finally managed to pass his slow-ass. He did not look all that great. And I happen to know that the World's Greatest Pop-Pop died in 2000. Yes, nearly ten years ago, and my little pea-brain can still manage to contour up his exact laugh at will. I can still hear him say "Yeah, yeah, yeah," when he hears some random story he likes as if I had last heard him say it yesterday. I hang on to these memories because they are all I have left.

My Pop-pop was a plumber who had big, stiff, working-man hands and whiskers on his chin at all times. When I was a little kid, he came to the house and we rubbed cheeks to say hello. He always wore a fedora-type hat, and he was impossible to buy Christmas presents for. He was the type of guy who didn't need much to make him happy, and who bought whatever he did need. My siblings and I gave him silly things for Christmas - like levels and cheapo tools, hunting gear, joke books, cook books, and pictures we drew ourselves. My parents bought him cigarettes and beer, until he gave up smoking. Yet, he always opened each gift and thanked us so whole-heartedly, that our hard work in thinking of that perfect thing always paid off. One year, I bought him a new fedora with a fancy feather in the band. He never wore it, to my knowledge, but it was still in the house when he passed away, in the original packaging. In his own way, I think he truly appreciated these gifts, even treasured them, but he never really needed them at all.

My Pop-pop loved corny jokes, and he told them all the time. Our favorites were the "almost dirty" kind - What do you get when you cross an elephant and a rhino? A HellifIknow! He told the same jokes nearly every time he visited (like, weekly) and he always always laughed out loud at the punchlines. Somehow, I never grew tired of them.

There was nothing my Pop-pop seemed to enjoy more than making my grandmother argue with him. In fact, I think they both enjoyed it. Even to the days when his body ravaged with cancer, and he was weak with pain, I remember him telling her that she was not removing the lid from the "Ensure" can correctly. Did they argue because they were actually mad at one another? Or because bickering about mundane daily life kept them from worrying about the big issues?

My Pop-pop had endless patience (with us kids, not with the Ensure can manufacturers). When he got home from work, I went into the basement and asked him question after question after question. I do not once remember him being short with me, or ever suggesting that I was asking too much. He explained what every tool in the workshop did, when he used it, why he kept it stored in such a way, how he cleaned it, why I shouldn't pick it up, how it worked, why I shouldn't plug it in, and where the sharp parts were.

My Pop-pop was in World War II, and he flew a plane. Though we often bought him plane-themed gifts (for lack of a better option), we never knew a whole lot about his plane-flying days. It was not until his funeral that we heard the tale of his homecoming from the war - when he flew a plane just above the power lines on a residential street over his mother's house, to let her know he had safely returned. He received only a small fine for the infraction.

Worlds Greatest Pop-pop? He truly was, and it is amazing how I still remember him so clearly. I hope I never forget.

Life Lessons

When I was just a young (very young) tyke, I remember a conversation with my Mom. She told me we would go to church to learn about God. "What's God?" I said. She told me that God was responsible for making all the people, and plants, and things in the world. In fact, she claimed He made the world itself. I had a vision not unlike the Monty Python cartoon God - a man, a little scary, in the clouds. "But Mom," I said, "if God made the world, then who made God?"

I don't remember a response. I think she may have changed the subject or something.

A little while later, I remember eating lunch at a neighbor's house. My friend's mom had made the most delicious meal I could think of: macaroni and cheese. And not that crappy stuff that takes all day to make either - this mac 'n cheese came from a box. As we ate our food, my friend and I compared fingers. Amazingly, we realized that we both happened to have five fingers on each hand. I remember being unbelievably surprised at this coincidence.

At one time, I thought it was customary to pick your last name when you got married. My father's parents were divorced and I knew that their last name was different from our own. Likewise, my mother's parents had a different last name. I asked my mother why my teacher, Mrs. Etchberger, would have chosen such a crazy last name.

In kindergarten, I pretended to go potty so I could be first in line, and an hour later, I realized this was a very silly thing to do indeed. In second grade, I went to a neighbor's pot luck party and ate enough brownies to make myself sick. In college, I made a similar mistake with vodka.

The point, my Constant Readers, is that life is all about experiences. There was a time when we did not know even the simplest things, and somewhere along the line, we picked up little tidbits of information. Some things, like the very beginning of existence itself, we ponder all our lives. Others, like the size of our bladders, we figure out pretty definitively after an unfortunate occurrence.

Sometimes though, we just forget our past experiences and open our big fat mouths. Like today, I entered the gym and was a bit surprised to see that the check in guy had shaved his head. Yesterday, he had long-ish hair, kind of feathered. Not the most up-to-date hairstyle, but certainly not all Michael Bolton-y and sad. He had hair on top; he had no comb over. I handed him my card and calmly reacted: "So, did you lose a bet or something?"

To his credit, he simply said no and left it at that.

Farming in the City

I finally made it to the Farmers Market this morning. It's something I have been meaning to do, along with getting my car in for an oil change, getting my wheezy cat in to see a new vet, researching new vets, going to BJ's for a refresher on my gum reserves, buying new pants, etc, etc. The reasons for trying to buy more local foods are many - it reduces ones carbon footprint, it helps the local economy, it saves money, blah, blah, blah. I can practically hear Adam's brainwashed Fox News fan parents yelling from Pennsylvania: "You liberal hippie! It's all a plot to put our hard working Walmarts out of business!" (Ironically, these folks live on 52 acres of land and pretty much already grow or personally kill all of their food...though they do buy canning supplies and ammo at Walmart.)

But I digress. Even if all those real, politically and socially motivating things do not convince you to buy local products, here's one you just can't beat: The stuff tastes better. So, a few weeks ago, after buying yet another mealy peach that was pretty much inedible, even though I know peaches are in season in my area, I took the plunge. I began committing myself almost strictly to the "homegrown" section in the supermarket. I thought this would limit my diet, but it hasn't. For one thing, I have bought and used produce that I would not have bothered with before - like Asian pears (grown in Northern Virginia, don't ask me), eggplant, and corn on the cob (more on this in a moment). This is all well and good, but I know from my handy little pamphlet distributed by Maryland's Best (http://www.marylandsbest.net/), that there should be more variety. The grocery store ran out of peaches and corn last week. While they still had tons of eggplant and bunches of absolutely delicious I-could-eat-a-flippin-pint-in-one-sitting baby tomatoes, I grew weary of the same old same old. And really? There's only so many ways to skin an eggplant.

I dutifully printed out the list of local Farmers Markets which actually sync with my schedule and location from the Maryland's Best site, and went to the market on this, a cold, rainy, fall day. They had - peppers (hot, sweet, and bell), butternut squash, cantaloupe, sweet potatoes, regular potatoes, fresh herbs, tomatoes, peaches!, onions, carrots, beets, green and yellow wax beans, chard, and cucumbers. Oddly, no eggplant. There were only two vendors there, so I made sure I brought some from each, and I was on my way. I bought so many tomatoes! They smell like heaven, and I got bunches of hot and sweet peppers, so I'm going to make fresh salsa if I can ever manage to stop reading blogs and do some recipe searches.

I really can't wait to start a garden if we ever manage to find a house. In fact, my house hunting has actually been yard hunting. It could be a big, woody lot with a tent in the middle for all I care. Umm, scratch that for I do appreciate modern plumbing.

There are some contingencies to this garden though (see how I can now use real estate jargon in my daily communication?). You see, when I was a kid, we grew all our fruits and vegetables. We planted, we weeded, we picked. And picked. And picked. My garden will (hopefully) be a stress reliever, not a stress creator. Read: tiny.

You (an innocent bystander): Oh how wonderful! You must have loved growing up with all that fresh food!

Me (a wise worker): Ahh....no. First off, I was a very picky eater and refused to eat pretty much all vegetables except corn. And we had so much corn, that my dad would put three ears per meal on each plate. None of my siblings really cares much for corn on the cob. We all OD'ed on it back in 1987. What I remember? Was the work. When the green beans came in, we picked beans for about two to three hours in the hot sun, then came inside and cleaned them. (We got to do this in the living room and watch a movie, so this was not too bad.) Then, we froze them. My parents operated the stove, boiling the beans in batches for three minutes, then racing them across the kitchen into an ice water bath. We kids were the baggers, pulling out handfuls and tossing them into bags, sucking all the air from the bags, and securing them with a twisty tie. We would finish up around 9pm.

Imagine doing this every three to four days, all summer, for various veggies and fruits. It is not really a kid's idea of fun.

So, it has taken me a good twenty years, but I am finally ready to plant a garden. A small garden. All I need now is a yard. Until then, I'm off to the Farmers Market.

Shower Party

I came home the other night and headed to the bedroom, where a bunch of unrecognizable people were gathered, apparently having a party. I was tired from work and thought I would have a shower, but the people in the room told me Adam was already in there. A friend handed me a drink from the makeshift bar (Adam's desk) and advised me to sit down and take it easy while I wait. I sat with one ear to the bathroom, where I began to hear female giggling. I was told that Adam had two lady companions in the shower.

I wrestled with myself. On one hand, I felt I should be self confident enough to know that the jaunt in the shower was just a friendly (albeit very friendly) thing. He might enjoy the company of these girls, but I knew he loved me, so I told myself it was no big deal. On the other hand, it was a big deal. Why wasn't I enough for him? Tortured, I drank my drink until my friend suggested that I join them in the shower.

I was not confident that I would stack up against these girls. By the sounds of their giggling, they were likely to be supermodel types, while I, ashamedly, am not. I disrobed behind a screen and donned a blanket to cover my nudity as I approached the bathroom.

I opened the door, and the giggle girls were there, as pretty as I thought they'd be. I cried. I just couldn't bring myself to take off the blanket in front of them and I thought it was very disrespectful of Adam to assume I would be cool with this, regardless of whether an actual infidelity had been committed.

The girls laughed at me and Adam argued with me, and I woke up, short of breath and humiliated.

It was still dark out, Adam was sleeping soundly, the cat was likely puking somewhere, and all was well. But the feelings of anger, humiliation, and indignation, remained. I could not go back to sleep until 6:28, when I reached over to turn off the alarm which was scheduled to beep in two minutes. I ventured into another shower-related dream which took place at my parents house in their newly renovated bathroom. They had converted this into an all-shower room, and the water pressure was so great, that I awoke again gasping for breath because I was drowning in a veritable waterfall of water. But the original bad dream stuck with me throughout the day.

I found myself a bit angry with Adam because he was mean to me in my dream. I told him about it, hoping for some reason that he would apologize. However, he did not feel he'd done anything wrong, and was actually looking to me for an apology since my tossing and turning is not conducive to anyone's sleep.

I'd like to come up with a witty ending for this post...but for some reason I am very tired....

Love Thy Booty

I'm in that blissful stage between exercising for the first time in like, months, and the realization that I have possibly pulled every muscle in my body. I blame this on the Girl Scouts.

Allow me to back up, if I may, because truly, the Girl Scouts are not entirely to blame. You see, last week, two children, on two separate occasions, ran into my ass. Unfortunately, this phenomenon has been observed before. I am not sure why, exactly, this happens. I believe it is a combination of my over sized bum, which apparently projects beyond a typical backside, and the generally unobservant nature of children.

I know you must be thinking, "Surely more children have managed to avoid your ass over the years than those who plow into it."

To which I reply, "Yes, but I still think two times in one week is too many (and don't call me Shirley)." And also? One of those times was on the beach, and I was self conscious to begin with. I am certain the face plant in my posterior wasn't so pleasant either, though the little girl merely said she was sorry as she bounced off and began galloping in a slightly different direction.

I resolved to do something about it...as soon as the Creme Brulee Cheese Cake was eaten.

What? You wouldn't want to see it go to waste!

***

Fast forward a few days to yesterday, when I returned to the gym after a long absence. I huffed and puffed through a workout that used to be easy, and afterward I walked to my door covered in sweat, with a high probability that I had cheesecake oozing from my pores. I got the mail and finally found the magazine I had ordered (like six months ago!) from Adam's niece to support her local Girl Scout Troop. Those dang Girl Scouts. They did not have music magazines, like "Spin" or "Rolling Stone", nor was I able to renew my current cooking magazines. So I decided on something new - a magazine called "Fitness". I am glad it finally came, because I was wondering where my "Girl Scout magazine" was, but I could not actually remember which magazine I had ordered. This makes the complaint a bit difficult. I imagined I would be on the phone making angry accusations to the Girl Scouts, and when they tried to correct the problem by re-ordering, I would admit I had no idea what I was supposed to get.

The headline at the top of the September 2009 Issue of Fitness: "Love your Booty". It includes a "You Can Do It" section which provides a workout intended to make me look skinny in jeans. We shall see, Fitness. We shall see.

Today, me and my ass traversed to the basement gym at the office (incident free due to lack of children at work). I counted the gym as a bonus during my interview, but I have never used it in the five months I have been with the company. So I was a little nervous about carrying a magazine in there and doing my little routine. But it was either this or purchase one of those rubber ball thingies. My apartment is crowded enough with sporting equipment. So, to the gym I went, hoping that there would not be many people there.

The workout itself did not appear too difficult - a series of ten exercises which I was to repeat. I managed to complete all the moves, but as I type, I can feel the pain beginning to set in. It has started in the biceps, moved to the shoulders and upper back. I got up to pee, and felt a slight twang in the hips. This is not good. I may have trouble moving in the morning.

Dang Girl Scouts.

If Cats Could Type

This post is brought to you by special guest blogger, Daisy The Cat.

Oh boy oh boy ohboy ohboy, my PEEPS are back! Yay!! I missed them so so so so much while they were away. I sure do hate it when they leave me all alone, even though I did like that neighbor lady that stopped by, she just didn't stay long enough! I don' much like goin' along either - I tried to tell Nicki, but she just wouldn't listen. I cried and cried in my cat carrier and made her feel all guilty in the car so she would open my lock and give me free reign of the seats. But hahahahah, I got her because I stayed in there almost the WHOLE TIME and gave her an especially evil eye until she was almost there and then, you'll never guess what I did, you silly Humans. So I'll tell you: I came outof my carrier and oh this is so funny, I PUKED all over her arm!! That will show her! I just want to stay home!

And then there was that last time when we went to the vet, which I still haven't totally forgiven her for, and she started checking out the Boarding Prices! I was like "Aaaa!! No Way!" so just to be doubly sure she understood how much I hated bein' in there with all the dogs barking their stupid heads off, I POOPed right there in my cat carrier! I showed her again! I just wanna stay home!

But I don't like so much the stayin' home alone thing. So when my Nicki and my Adam came home I made sure I rubbed myself all over their legs so they couldn't walk without tripping over me because I love them ever so much and I just want them to know. And for the past two days, I have been extra sure to show them I care - like I am making sure I rub my face aggressively on their elbows whenever they are in reach so they will pet me pet me pet me...I like being petted. And I sure don't like it when they watch those papers with words on them. I wonder why they always try to watch stuff?? I am really super nice and make sure they do what they meant to do - watch ME! I love laying on papers with words on them! And I am sure my humans would much rather watch me anyway.

This is all normal stuff I like to do so I can remind them to never ever ever leave me at home alone again! (Silly humans, they keep forgetting this!) But last night, I thought of an EVEN BETTER way to show them how much I care! Last night, I thought it would be fun if we stayed up ALL night to play!! So every time Nicki started to drift off to sleep, I made sure she would wake up because I am certain she would like to play all night. I sleep in the day, it is such a much much better time to sleep. But Nicki doesn't seem to agree because she sleeps at night, that Silly Human! So I jumped on her bed and purred in her face, and when that stopped working, why I just walked all over her. I walked from one side to the other side and back and back and back and back, and then I somehow got accidentally pushed off the bed and so I jumped up again and again and again. We had such fun!!

And maybe this time, my Humans will remember, once and for all: I wanna stay home! And they do too!!

Stay tuned for my next post: Plumbing: What's Up With That??

Roughing It

Baltimore, you balmy beast, I have returned. Our beach house in Dewey, Delaware was beautiful. The kitchen was well-equipped, the living room had a comfy sofa, and the game room did too. It also had a pool table, a little "reading nook", board games, and a play station that played blue-ray disks. The Master Bedroom had a bathroom the size of my second bedroom, a little sofa and tv area, and a walk-in closet the size of my kitchen. My sister and brother-in-law got that room (early bird gets the big bed!). However, master bedroom #2 was only slightly less super-rific. Unfortunately it shares a bathroom with the hallway, which I managed to lock myself out of once.

The place was equipped with cable and wi-fi the first and second day.

And then...

...Horror of all Horrors...

...we lost the cable. All our tv would transmit was a fuzzy picture of the Fox News channel. We got no other channels. This was bad, but we still had the many DVD's we brought as well as the DVD's that were in the house when we got there. But worse?

We lost the wi-fi. It was amazing how aimless I felt. Like, I had planned to go to a local winery but I was not sure where it was, and if they had scheduled tours/tastings. I had planned to just look that up when I got into town. I thought I would blog and keep up with my gmail account - which is still inundated with house updates since we still haven't heard back on our offer. I thought I might check out some restaraunt reviews, or go see a movie. How did people do things before the Internet? I sure as heck don't know.

Thank goodness for the GPS - it found the winery AND the hospital, for what family trip is complete without a hospital visit?

All in all, I managed to accomplish my primary goals for vacation. I got away for a while and relaxed with a book. I didn't think about work once. And I got sand in my ears.