Rolling in her grave, or, a light at the end of the tunnel

Mom, you would be so ashamed of me.  No, would have been so ashamed of me – today, you are, no doubt, beaming with pride.  Today, Bruce and I replaced 17 light bulbs in 6 rooms.  And that’s counting the chandelier, with it’s ten bulbs, as 1, and not counting the lights that were still good, but had to be changed out to match the new ones.  If you count all those (and, since each one required a trip up the ladder)(Ha! Trip up the ladder – that is so me), we changed 37 light bulbs total.

The smart light bulb changer would have had all the light bulbs and ladders ready when her strapping, 6 foot-1 inch son was home earlier the in the week, because he is still immortal. But, no, we waited until no one under 50 (and, let’s admit it, 50 is in my rear view mirror, and not even a dwindling peak in the distance for Bruce) was home, one of us holding the ladder, the other standing on the all but top (can I use penultimate here, Uncle Mike?) step, craning our arthritic necks, burning our gnarled fingers.

Ok, it wasn’t that bad, except to our bottom line – We spent over $100 dollars in lighting today.  But, hey, we didn’t end up in the ER.  As Mom has always said, “Turn on the lamp, you’ll ruin your eyes reading like that.” Now we can.


I so love sandwiches. Love, love, love them.  Today, I was trying to remember a series of detective novels from the 80’s, in which the hero would build the most magnificent, mouth watering sandwiches, and eat them standing over the sink, but I couldn’t remember the author.  I literally googled  Police detective in novels that made sandwiches, and the author, Lawrence Sanders, and his books, the “Deadly Sin” series, were the first hit. So I know other people are as obsessed with sandwiches as I am.

When I was little, my mom would make me mustard sandwiches, not because we were poor, and couldn’t afford a spread or slice of bologna, but because the texture of Mrs. Baird’s White Bread and the tang of French’s Mustard was the best combination of all time.  Gradually, my tastes refined (but not much), and I came to love braunschweiger and mustard, cheese and mustard, pickle and mustard.  Sense a theme?  It really wasn’t until I was an adult that I developed a taste for mayonnaise, and now I know that there is nothing better on the after-Thanksgiving turkey sandwich on a leftover dinner roll than mayonnaise and a sweet pickle or two. In fact, I could skip the Thanksgiving meal completely, and just go straight to the sandwiches and my daughter’s pumpkin pie.

Another of my favorite sandwiches is and always be dill pickle slices and creamy peanut butter.  Yes, you read that correctly. The crunch of the pickle, the creaminess of the pb…aah, man, heaven.  Also, banana slices and peanut butter.  And, of course, the classic, fritos and peanut butter (potato chips may be substituted in a pinch).  Another wonderful sandwich theme.

At one point in my life, I worked as a temp for the Central Texas Council on Aging (or something like that – now that I am one of the aging, I can’t remember exactly), and one of my duties was making up the lunch menus that would be served to the elderly.  While going through the cook books, I found a recipe for BACON AND PEANUT BUTTER sandwiches.  The idea of the salty, fatty, crispy goodness of bacon, combined with the salty, fatty goodness of peanut butter, just blew my mind.  I still haven’t tried it, because I am worried that the sandwich will take me to Nirvana and my time here on earth will have to end, because, after all, what higher level of heaven can you hope to attain after eating a bacon and peanut butter sandwich?  I also worry that that combination will clog all of my arteries and I’ll die of a heart attack. This was, after all, Elvis’ favorite sandwich, and look where it got him, dying on the toilet with his favorite white spangled jumpsuit and cape crumpled around his ankles. No, the bacon and peanut butter will have to wait.

And finally, I give you the universal symbol  of all sandwich makers everywhere for “I’m not sure; I might want to make another”:

 IMG_2572 (4)

First World Problem

The problem with starting a blog is the immediate and all-consuming writer’s block that ensues.  Running through my head this week:

  1. What was I thinking??
  2. No one will think I’m funny, nor care for my opinion.  Even if I could think of something to write.
  3. I can’t think of anything to write, anyway, so life as a blogger is over. Completely. Dead in the water.
  4. Even if I did have something interesting to write about, the IT required to set up this blog is still boggling my mind. For instance, I have no real idea how much I am paying for the domain name/monthly access/yearly fees.  Can’t wait to see that next visa bill (This is mostly because alcohol was involved in the starting of this blog – liquid courage, so to speak).

Other Questions also arise:

  1. Do I keep this family friendly?  My thoughts (and vocabulary) are definitely NOT g-rated most of the time.
  2. Do I write about politics? Religion?  If I do, will people not follow me, because they think I’m a heathen liberal? Do I care?

Ultimately, regarding these latter questions, I must refer back to John Cleese, who said, “There are always those one would WISH to offend.”

One of the nice things about blogging, versus the blurbs I write for my morning message at school, is that I don’t have to be PC, which you would think would open up my horizons, but, so far, hasn’t.

And my last question for the day – Don’t some people actually make a living off of their blogs? How do they do that? I want that.  Send money.

The Prince (not the one with a weird sign for his name)

I try really really hard not to talk politics with anyone, including my husband.  It leads to fights and talks of divorce. But I read this in this morning’s Writer’s Almanac, written by Garrison Keillor, and could not help comparing it to the presidential candidates – you decide which one. and I bet you each think of a different one.
 “…he wrote that morality was irrelevant when it came to running a state. He didn’t advocate evil for its own sake, and believed rulers should stick to the good whenever possible. But he also said they should be willing to perform evil acts when it became necessary to hold onto their power and maintain the security of the state.”
Written by Machiavelli in The Prince,  in 1513.


A little boy I know recently got a new baby brother, and is consequently raking in the loot as Big Brother.  One of his presents was a Fisher-Price shaving kit, complete with plastic razor, shaving mirror, and pretend can of foam.  I can just picture him in the bathtub or standing next to his dad, pretending to shave, because I remember standing in the bathroom watching my dad shave.  Every time, my dad would take a scoop of shaving foam (not the aerosol canned kind, either, the real stuff from a cake of soap in a mug, with a shaving brush swirling it into a lather!), and stick it on my nose, sending me into gails of laughter.

I also remember wishing I was a boy, and could shave, too – it looked like fun, and was so clean and smelled so spicy.  Of course, now that I am a post-menopausal woman, I shave my face every day, and it’s not nearly as much fun as I imagined it…..