WANDER INDIANA CALIFORNIA DREAMING

"California Dreaming" -- beautiful sunny California, the state that speaks of Copper Tone tans, sunshine, warm beaches, and the inspiration of many a song.    Contrariwise it’s sad to hear of storms and high water and so many deaths.

You can dream in Indiana, too, can’t you?  I hear that “If you don’t like the weather, just wait five minutes” and “Here in Indiana the weather’s made up and the seasons don’t matter.”  Too funny.

It’s so beautiful today, 65 degrees in the middle of February, and such a blessing.   Especially since John and Ian are changing the water pumps in John’s truck and Ian’s car.  No need for coveralls, just jackets.  And there's no wind from the river cruising across their faces.

First, it’s California sunshine, then wait for it, wait for it…“Nova Scotia snow!”  ha, ha.  

An online friend that lives in Nova Scotia gets snow before we do, and continues to get snow long after we’ve started getting our spring flowers.   I’ve got crocus poking up their nubby heads and the bushy greens of surprise lilies.

It's so lovely out that I took a small walk just to get back in shape.  Used to be able to walk 2–3 miles but haven’t done so in months.

Of course, when coming home I see all the things that need attention like my flowerbeds, the birdbath, and trash all over the yard from highway traffic.  So, trash got picked up, which really interested Sadie, Ian’s German shepherd.  She stuck her nose in an old disintegrating McDonald’s cup I bent over to pick up.  Filled the birdbath with fresh water after dumping out the brittle maple leaves.  When I was done Daisy Dog had to sniff my footprints in the old mulch.  Piled a bunch of “manly” stuff near the fence corner for the boys to put away tomorrow.  That means 5 foot metal rods, old bumper, tow hitch, and some yellow ramps.  Mercy, but boys make big messes!

When I came in I heard thunking and wondered if Sadie had followed me into the Roger Run.  But, no, it was the St. Patrick’s Day wooden decorations I’d hung on the porch banging in the wind.  That meant get out the ol’ hammer and nails and do a better job of securing. 

The birds are all a’twitter.  They’re loving this pre-mature pretty weather, warbling and tweeting in the trees.  I know I hear robins, sparrows, and turtle doves.  Maybe even a cardinal.  They’ll love the birdbath as soon as their scout discovers it.

You knew birds had scouts, didn’t you?  Yep.  One will go looking for food in the winter snow then inform all the others.  At the birdfeeders, one will scamper in the tree branches keeping watch twisting his little head this way and that while another eats at the feeder and yet more eat the spillage on the ground.  After a bit they’ll all trade places.  Very interesting stuff, the nature of birds.

Remember back in the ‘80’s that license plate that said “Wander Indiana”?  Well, I’d say I’m going California Dreaming, but the day’s too far spent to make that long a trip, I’ll just continue to Wander Indiana, in my own front yard.

P.S. Leave a comment at the pencil icon, good or critiquing.  I'm all for making improvements.

THE FINAL "C" !

Cordoba Chrysler, Corinthian leather, commercials, customers, and connection, do you get the similarities?  No?  That's funny, I don't much either except for alliteration--they all start with C!  Now you're thinking in a guttural tone "C is for cookie" like Cookie Monster.  Durn, now we're all hungry for a sweet snack.

Forget that.  Back to the Cs.  It was suggested to me that I connect up the idea of Corinthian leather to a commercial to a commercial to my TJMaxx customers.  I accept the challenge!

As TJMaxx's cashier I've met all kinds of people.  When they bring you clothes they're purchasing (let me tell you, they bring you clothes, anywhere from $100 to $500 dollar's worth!) you have time to chat.

Every garment from infants' 2-piece sets, to men's underwear, to teens' prom dresses will have a hanger to disengage, a security tag to unpin, and a price tag to wrangle for scanning.

This gives you time.  Time to visit about the pleasantries of the weather, ask about the kid chewing on the price tag she's about to hand you with all it's gooey wetness and DNA sample, tell a joke, and even inquire as to their ancestry since they're speaking a foreign language.  

It can be a hassle; sometimes a customer only knows the word "kay", short for okay.  Sometimes they only know please, thank you and excuse me.  Sometimes they just hand gesture and look at you like you're a nitwit 'cause you obviously don't understand that your job includes understanding me!

Oh, the stories I could write!  But I won't.  I'm here to connect up the C's.

Here in little ol' Noblesville where Heywood Banks once said it best, "the preppies live next door to the rednecks",  now it's our farmers selling out and the Hindu Indians moving in, I've had Mexican, German, Spanish, Puerto Rican, Asian Indian, Muslim, Bosnian, and Corinthian customers.  I know because I've asked them.  Remember?  We've time to visit.

When a customer said they're from Greece, my ears perked up and I made eye contact, "Oh?  I have a Corinthian brother-in-law."  And.....you get that blank "you nitwit" look.  Oh, boy.  They must not speak English. 

But no, they don't know where Corinth is -- in their own country!  Are you kidding me?!  Everyone I know knows where Corinth is.  We learned that in seventh grade when studying the countries of the world and their capitals.  

Maybe I should've went with the theme of nitwits.

Remember the old commercial with Ricardo Montalban selling us  the goodness of a Chrysler Cordoba?  In the first place a 1979 Cordoba wasn't a desirable car.  In the second place Corinthian leather was an advertising-invented term!

Thirdly Cordoba's in Spain, and fourthly, the Cordoba emblem was a version of an Argentinan coin.  How ethnically mixed up can an ad agency get?

On to the other commercial.  Now this one makes you smile.  I love the "FarmersOnly.com" brand just because I grew up on a farm.  Pride makes me straighten my spine and raise my chin, "Yah!  Farmers Only!  Yah!"  

A young girl sipping a drink, sitting in convertible next to preppy guy, gets out her cell phone saying, "I gotta find a country boy."  Next scene.  She's waving goodbye as "country boy" drives her away in a mud splattered 4 wheel drive white pickup.  Why?  And here's the final C connection:  Her preppy date had admonished,  "Coffee?  Not on my Corinthian leather!"  

~~Pamela~

"Enter into his gates with thanksgiving, 

into his courts with praise: 

be thankful unto him, bless his name."  

Good morning God and friends.

ACCORDING TO THE TAPE MEASURE

Long.  Skinny.  Bright yellow.  Makes tinny, twisty metallic sounds.  Says DeWalt at the source.  You guessed it.  It's a 25 foot tape measure.

"What's he doing now?"  I'm thinking as out of the corner of my eye I see over 6 feet of it's yellowness extended across the floor.  Nope, he's not measuring the room.  Yep, he's explaining something to the youngest, Ian.  So, I listen in.  Then, he draws me in with questions.  "Oh, boy," I think with raised eyebrows.

Cousin Jack is always coming up with something thought provoking, or prankish.  He loves to poke around in peoples brains and this is just one more instance.

"How long do you expect to live?  The average is 75, isn't it?"  He's looking down the length of the skinny aluminum with its one inch black markings and with his right thumb and index finger he pinches at 80 inches to stop its retraction.

I respond, "Well, the Bible says 3 score and 10, that's 70 years."

To Ian, while he indicates the 17 inch mark with his left hand, "You're about right here."  Out of 7 feet exposed those 17 inches don't look like much.  "You've this much time to do something," showing the expanse from 17 to 75; it's a goodly amount of time.  "You're young, you have lots of energy."

Oh boy, then he looks at me, "You're how old, around 50 something?"

"Yes, Jack, I'm 59." While he pinches those left fingers at 59 the right fingers stay near 80 -- he lets 6 feet drop to the floor!  Sheesh!

He gently pushes the tape forward toward me, it's only a foot, "You have this much time.  Not much."

He continues, "And here you don't have the energy you had down there," pointing to the Ian mark.    "The energy you have here, isn't near as much.  Will you have time to get it done?"

Reality hits me.  I get up to add my own finger indicator to the tape.  "Here," and I point to 64, "is where my mother had a stroke and she was done."

We look at the little measure.  It's like those little 6 inch elementary school rulers.  Then we look at the length on the floor, and back to what he can practically hold in the palm of his two hands.

Nothing like reality hitting you between the eyes in bright living color in the hands of your innocent nephew in your very own family room.

Ian is chuckling.  Cousin Jack is bright-eyed fascinated.

This young black haired, goateed whipper snapper raises his eyes to mine,
"What are you going to do? "

"You really don't have much time!"



August 2022

I recently came across this blog and via Facebook, sent it to Cousin Jack.  He'd never read it before.  5 years have passed and our paths don't cross often.  Here's what he had to say today:

My, oh my, how the time flies.... the truth is you don't actually know your length of tape do we? but the reality still stands, in the beginning you're boasting and bubbling with energy but as you age you learn more and more about life and what works and what doesn't, you learn the most effective ways to use your energy. That's the beauty of life, tomorrow could be doom or completely awe inspiring. So, what really lies next, the choice is yours! 

DOUBLE JOINTED. APPROPRIATE?

Double jointed?  If you remember that line, the actress on the t.v. sitcom was introducing herself to a black suited man, "I know it's not pertinent at the moment, but I'm double jointed," she had said flirtingly.

Lately we've been outraged at the shows where base bodily functions are funny, at which explicit talk is titillatingly snickered, and at which embarrassing visual props are laughed.  

We’d just had a huge discussion about one of the episodes of The Office.  They were showing a woman using a breast pump and I was outraged.  John heard them say something about womanly parts and was disgusted.  I wanted Ian to censure himself, John forbade him to ever watch.

Over the years, as parents, we've protected the boys concerning the content of television shows and/or movies – the language, the props, and especially the violence.

As they've grown, we've seen more and more inappropriate actions and words being accepted as “the norm.”  It’s sad.  Gone are innocence, the thrill of exploring newness, charm, delicacies, and being genteel.  For example, one gentleman expressed happiness at my "having a bun in the oven."

Now, here we are in the family room, having just switched channels when Ian came down the hall and stepped in.  Turning the tables on us, speaking of the show we were watching, Ian plops down on the couch,

“Oh, the Golden Girls!  They’re always so appropriate  Let’s watch them as a family.”

Durn, Blanche!

FUSS! FUME! CLINK-CLONK! "STUPID DOOR!"

Fuss!  Fume!  Clink-clonk!  "Stupid door!"  

Sounds from the next office sure were making me laugh.  Someone, she had to be a manager, was very frustrated.  I got up from the desk to see if she needed help.

"Quiz time!"  That's what my mind had translated earlier when another manager had called me to the office to take an online teaching survey about the cashiering job I'd been doing these 4 months.  And that's why I was in the adjoining office laughing at one of my favorite managers; now she was speaking to me. 

"Did you say something to me?"

"Tell your son that door is stupid," says the manager.

I lost it, started laughing out loud. 

She was referring to a story DH, darling hubby, and I had told her in the parking lot one day as we were all walking to our cars.

It was about Ian, our 17 y.o. teenager, who had just popped in between classes saying, "I'm hungry."

I rarely to never see him in the middle of the day; this makes it a treat for me.

He always scrounges around to find what HE wants to eat.  I can suggest many things, but HE has to find and fix and devour.

He's so much like my dad.  You could suggest to Dad to go or do something that was his very favorite, but if he didn't think it up first then we weren't going to do it.  What an odd quirk.  Used to think it was affected, but since have decided it's inborn 'cause Ian's personality is much like him.

For example, after Mother died, we were going to a pitch-in dinner and I told Dad I was making pork n'beans.  Dad said, "Don't make 'em stupid."  

"Stupid?  What are you talkin' 'bout?"

He informed me I was to bake 'em in the oven with strips of bacon on top.

We now call them Smart Beans, LOL.  Anyway, back to my story and why I had to laugh and give Ian a hug.

So here I am, I'm doing my PODA task of making a grocery list that includes cookie ingredients needed and ask him, "What's your favorite cookie, Ian?"

With his mind elsewhere and his back to me while he's bent half over in the fridge he responds, "I don't know.  (Pause)  Something with white chocolate."

Then, you can tell he's finally giving me some attention, "Actually, mom, just make your chocolate chip cookies!  And don't do anything stupid to 'em."