Good afternoon. We are watching the Republican Convention, via the auspices of MSNBC.....
It is a long afternoon. Thank goodness the television is working.
Mr. N took the car in to be fixed this morning. Patricia was going to be late to play, so I got a few things done around the house. Nice to be alone for a bit.
Then Theo came home, dropped off by a car from the Witt Lincoln place. Plunk. "Where is the loaner car? " asked I. "There is no loaner car; they will come and get me," was the lofty response from my liege. Oh dear.
Patricia came and we played worse than we have ever ever played before. Clinkers right and left. Why was this, I wonder? I mean, I know I am losing it, but P. isn't, and she hit a few clangers too.
She leaves tomorrow for a Michigan vacation and I guess she needs it, LOL. Pat this is a test to see if you read this.
NOW, Witt Lincoln has called to say that they will be picking us up tomorrow afternoon. TOMORROW AFTERNOON!!!! We are stranded on the moon. I cannot go walk in warm water this afternoon as was my plan. I cannot go to my exercise class tomorrow afternoon as was my plan. What is this?
Oh well, that leaves me to the computer and as luck would have it, the sisters are all on the outs and are leaving the round robin (collective emails) faster than you can say Mitt Romney. Or even Barack Obama. Nobody will write. We all have a beautiful new little great-niece to love and admire from afar, so soon I hope for repair to the information superhighway of our familial ties.
In the meantime, I have virtually nothing to eat. I gave Patricia a great salad with lots of baby wild greens (from a bag) combined with minced figs and sliced nectarines. Oh how yummy. I gave her a soup made of chicken broth added to the leftovers from the chicken-noodle-rice side dish.....and it was pretty good. We had thin crispy bread sticks with hummus. And the cupboard is bare!! I was going to insist on a trip to the supermarket this afternoon. As luck would have it, there's a ground beef patty waiting for mein mann in the refrigerator and plenty of cheese to put on top of it. That's what he likes. And I--there are lots of corn tortillas (aging), and I will have a quesadilla with some more of that field salad thrown into it. It will all be good, here on the Moon. YAZZYBEL
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
A Philosophical Question
Good morning.
This morning, I only want to ask: Is the pleasure one gets from having a Katy Kornette worth the damage it does to one's body? (supposedly)
I had a nice breakfast of one piece of bacon, a bird egg's worth of egg, and 2 small Katy Kornettes. Very delicious!!!
I eat the one piece of bacon sometimes on Wednesdays but always on Saturday, at breakfast.
And have decided on the one bird egg's worth of egg to be my portion, as when my ancestors were wandering through the woods I would have been lucky to even get one bird egg as my share, with all the men grabbing the nest and hogging down the contents. If they'd had an extra egg it would have gone to some nubile young gal anyway; an eighty three year old would just have to lag behind and try to dig up a wild turnip.
That turnip reference is, of course, to God's Little Acre, where that poor old grandma is literally starving, crawling around on the ground looking for a portion of turnip someone dropped. I think of her often, nowadays, as I try to stay realistic about my place in the universe as a senior citizen. YAZZYBEL
This morning, I only want to ask: Is the pleasure one gets from having a Katy Kornette worth the damage it does to one's body? (supposedly)
I had a nice breakfast of one piece of bacon, a bird egg's worth of egg, and 2 small Katy Kornettes. Very delicious!!!
I eat the one piece of bacon sometimes on Wednesdays but always on Saturday, at breakfast.
And have decided on the one bird egg's worth of egg to be my portion, as when my ancestors were wandering through the woods I would have been lucky to even get one bird egg as my share, with all the men grabbing the nest and hogging down the contents. If they'd had an extra egg it would have gone to some nubile young gal anyway; an eighty three year old would just have to lag behind and try to dig up a wild turnip.
That turnip reference is, of course, to God's Little Acre, where that poor old grandma is literally starving, crawling around on the ground looking for a portion of turnip someone dropped. I think of her often, nowadays, as I try to stay realistic about my place in the universe as a senior citizen. YAZZYBEL
Monday, August 27, 2012
Remembering Gregory Neff
Good afternoon.
This is the eighth anniversary of the death of Gregory. It is his official date of death, although he died about ten or so, the night before. It took hours to get the proper people here to have him declared deceased. So this is the date.
I was asleep in the room at the time he actually breathed his last, just a couple of feet away. He had asked me not to go to sleep but I was anticipating a full day of work the next day, and we had two nurses with us. I told him I had to rest and would see him in the morning. I think he knew that I would not.
I'd scarcely fallen asleep on the sofa, there, when one of the nurses, said, "Ma'm, wake up. I think he has passed. He is not breathing."
Indeed, it was true. He was not breathing. We listened for his breath, for his heart. Nothing. His body had shut down.
It was time. His body had had a long travail, and of the travails of his spirit I can hardly think. It was time; God said so.
We took his ashes to Texas first, but when it became apparent to me that Theodore had no intention of ever moving from here, we had his ashes sent back here and they lie encrypted in the back wall of St Paul's Cathedral, near the main aisle and the font, and underneath the Rose Window. I think Gregory would have liked that as a final resting place.
I wonder, why did he live, and why did he die? Which leads to the question for all of us. Why do we live, and why do we die? What lives, and what dies? What remains? I like the idea that his breath was drawn back into the great breath of Watan Tanka, the great creator. "Gregory is with God," said our Episcopal priest, when I wondered back then eight years ago....For us here on Earth, there remain precious memories, that's for sure. YAZZYBEL
This is the eighth anniversary of the death of Gregory. It is his official date of death, although he died about ten or so, the night before. It took hours to get the proper people here to have him declared deceased. So this is the date.
I was asleep in the room at the time he actually breathed his last, just a couple of feet away. He had asked me not to go to sleep but I was anticipating a full day of work the next day, and we had two nurses with us. I told him I had to rest and would see him in the morning. I think he knew that I would not.
I'd scarcely fallen asleep on the sofa, there, when one of the nurses, said, "Ma'm, wake up. I think he has passed. He is not breathing."
Indeed, it was true. He was not breathing. We listened for his breath, for his heart. Nothing. His body had shut down.
It was time. His body had had a long travail, and of the travails of his spirit I can hardly think. It was time; God said so.
We took his ashes to Texas first, but when it became apparent to me that Theodore had no intention of ever moving from here, we had his ashes sent back here and they lie encrypted in the back wall of St Paul's Cathedral, near the main aisle and the font, and underneath the Rose Window. I think Gregory would have liked that as a final resting place.
I wonder, why did he live, and why did he die? Which leads to the question for all of us. Why do we live, and why do we die? What lives, and what dies? What remains? I like the idea that his breath was drawn back into the great breath of Watan Tanka, the great creator. "Gregory is with God," said our Episcopal priest, when I wondered back then eight years ago....For us here on Earth, there remain precious memories, that's for sure. YAZZYBEL
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Sunday, Church, Earthquakes, etc.
Good evening.
It's been a quiet day punctuated by tiny earthquakes emanating from Brawley, CA, several hundred miles to our east. We can feel them, but just a few--the bigger ones, I guess.
Church was good. Can it be otherwise? At the forum, three couples were on the griddle, telling us about their relationships and how they lasted many years. The youngest relationship was 33 years old, and the longest lasting fifty. I was struck at how different the three couples were, and yet how we all seem to have almost the same problems.
One of the couples was a gay couple and they seemed to have worked out their problems very well. One of them is a doctor, the other a nurse, and they were both outgoing and funny. They never go to sleep angry or fighting. They work it out efore calling it a night. They never employ the Silent Treatment on each other.
The two man/woman couples were both open and honest with their problems and with their solutions. I can't imagine Theo and I going onto such a stage: not because I couldn't but because he would not ever do such a thing. There was no time for Q and A, which was perhaps lucky though being Episcopalians we are all too polite to ask awkward questions.
I still go with what I 've said: The secret to a long marriage is a short memory. The more you can forget the more you won't resent, and you won't hold grudges because the older you get the harder it is to remember what they were about anyway.
YAZZYBEL
It's been a quiet day punctuated by tiny earthquakes emanating from Brawley, CA, several hundred miles to our east. We can feel them, but just a few--the bigger ones, I guess.
Church was good. Can it be otherwise? At the forum, three couples were on the griddle, telling us about their relationships and how they lasted many years. The youngest relationship was 33 years old, and the longest lasting fifty. I was struck at how different the three couples were, and yet how we all seem to have almost the same problems.
One of the couples was a gay couple and they seemed to have worked out their problems very well. One of them is a doctor, the other a nurse, and they were both outgoing and funny. They never go to sleep angry or fighting. They work it out efore calling it a night. They never employ the Silent Treatment on each other.
The two man/woman couples were both open and honest with their problems and with their solutions. I can't imagine Theo and I going onto such a stage: not because I couldn't but because he would not ever do such a thing. There was no time for Q and A, which was perhaps lucky though being Episcopalians we are all too polite to ask awkward questions.
I still go with what I 've said: The secret to a long marriage is a short memory. The more you can forget the more you won't resent, and you won't hold grudges because the older you get the harder it is to remember what they were about anyway.
YAZZYBEL
Friday, August 24, 2012
Friday Already
Good afternoon.
My, where did the week go? One day it was Monday, and suddenly...days are gone into thin air. I wrote another haiku but it was in the middle of the night and I forgot it. I forgot to put a 'tag' on it when I was thinking about it. If you can put a 'tag', you have some chance of remembering something.
At church on Sunday, three long-term couples are going to tell what made their relationships endure. Two are male-female pairs, and the third is a gay couple. It might be interesting if they open up and tell the truth.
Nobody asked me and Theodore, who are possibly the longest lasting of all....if you count off-and-on. I could tell them in one short phrase what makes a long term relationship : a short memory on both sides. (It gets easier as you get older; we literally can't remember what we were fussing about just minutes earlier.)
I am making box lemon bars as we speak, here. I could not resist the box, therefore we shall have lemon bars. I was going to grate in fresh lemon zest and put in a few drops of juice but was too zonked from going out in car with HRH. So they will be as Krusteaz hath ordained them.
I gained a pound this week because, after being terribly good for many days, I finally decided I couldn't go on without some meat. So we bought pork chops at Ralphs, nice plump ones, and last night I dipped them in s, p, and flour, and fried them! And I made country cream gravy with the pan scrapings too! And ate thereof!!! Was it worth it? YES.
YAZZYBEL
My, where did the week go? One day it was Monday, and suddenly...days are gone into thin air. I wrote another haiku but it was in the middle of the night and I forgot it. I forgot to put a 'tag' on it when I was thinking about it. If you can put a 'tag', you have some chance of remembering something.
At church on Sunday, three long-term couples are going to tell what made their relationships endure. Two are male-female pairs, and the third is a gay couple. It might be interesting if they open up and tell the truth.
Nobody asked me and Theodore, who are possibly the longest lasting of all....if you count off-and-on. I could tell them in one short phrase what makes a long term relationship : a short memory on both sides. (It gets easier as you get older; we literally can't remember what we were fussing about just minutes earlier.)
I am making box lemon bars as we speak, here. I could not resist the box, therefore we shall have lemon bars. I was going to grate in fresh lemon zest and put in a few drops of juice but was too zonked from going out in car with HRH. So they will be as Krusteaz hath ordained them.
I gained a pound this week because, after being terribly good for many days, I finally decided I couldn't go on without some meat. So we bought pork chops at Ralphs, nice plump ones, and last night I dipped them in s, p, and flour, and fried them! And I made country cream gravy with the pan scrapings too! And ate thereof!!! Was it worth it? YES.
YAZZYBEL
Monday, August 20, 2012
Haiku Monday
Garden Thoughts
Mad wasp of August
Angrily claiming air space
Getting in my way!
Thirsty plants waiting
Ambulant human feeds them
With living water
Madame Hummingbird
Drinking from the bottlebrush
Needs not me, no no!!
Mad wasp of August
Angrily claiming air space
Getting in my way!
Thirsty plants waiting
Ambulant human feeds them
With living water
Madame Hummingbird
Drinking from the bottlebrush
Needs not me, no no!!
Adios, Plaza's
Here's another restaurant review.
First, I should say that Western Chula Vista abounds in Mexican cafes. There are literally hundreds of small restaurants up and down the streets. Most of them are the informal kind of place where you walk up to the counter, order your meal, go up and pick it up when it's ready.
That's what Plaza's is. We first went to it after hearing that it had good caldo, last spring. I think I wrote about it, maybe. And the caldo was good, and Theodore's inevitable two beef tacos were okay too.
Last night we went to Plaza's and had an execrable dinner. I was already a bit leery of a repeat because we'd eaten there a couple of more times since the spring and it didn't seem quite what it was cracked up to be (clean, with well cooked food). But Theo chose it and I said Fine because he rarely chooses.
His tacos were over fried (hard brown tortillas, dull tasteless beef strings with fried edges showing that it had been refried before serving and after stuffing)...tons of dull lettuce, cheese, and that's it.
My chimichanga was delayed in serving. Here's where they made their big mistake. Instead of using one large thin flour tortilla, they wrapped that chimichanga in about three, well at least two, thick flour tortillas...that made a BIG chimichanga but also made a leathery gummy interior wrapped around a very small amount of pretty good tasting beef, cheese and onions. Why can't places realize that less is more? The chimichanga doesn't have to be, in fact shouldn't be, as big as a small automobile on the plate. It should be a thin delicious crispy shell for some good-tasting filling. It should be garnished with some lettuce or sauce or, as in this case, the strangest alcohol-tasting guacamole this world ever knew. Odd, all of it.
The frijoles, my favorite food, were a pile of pallid tasteless mush. And the rice was white, possibly cooked in water with a chicken feather passed over it, and nothing else. HORRIBLE.
I could not eat it. There was a suggestion box on the counter asking for thoughts but I decided they are not worth my opinion. If they really think that's good food, then all there is to say is ADIOS, PLAZA's. YAZZYBEL
First, I should say that Western Chula Vista abounds in Mexican cafes. There are literally hundreds of small restaurants up and down the streets. Most of them are the informal kind of place where you walk up to the counter, order your meal, go up and pick it up when it's ready.
That's what Plaza's is. We first went to it after hearing that it had good caldo, last spring. I think I wrote about it, maybe. And the caldo was good, and Theodore's inevitable two beef tacos were okay too.
Last night we went to Plaza's and had an execrable dinner. I was already a bit leery of a repeat because we'd eaten there a couple of more times since the spring and it didn't seem quite what it was cracked up to be (clean, with well cooked food). But Theo chose it and I said Fine because he rarely chooses.
His tacos were over fried (hard brown tortillas, dull tasteless beef strings with fried edges showing that it had been refried before serving and after stuffing)...tons of dull lettuce, cheese, and that's it.
My chimichanga was delayed in serving. Here's where they made their big mistake. Instead of using one large thin flour tortilla, they wrapped that chimichanga in about three, well at least two, thick flour tortillas...that made a BIG chimichanga but also made a leathery gummy interior wrapped around a very small amount of pretty good tasting beef, cheese and onions. Why can't places realize that less is more? The chimichanga doesn't have to be, in fact shouldn't be, as big as a small automobile on the plate. It should be a thin delicious crispy shell for some good-tasting filling. It should be garnished with some lettuce or sauce or, as in this case, the strangest alcohol-tasting guacamole this world ever knew. Odd, all of it.
The frijoles, my favorite food, were a pile of pallid tasteless mush. And the rice was white, possibly cooked in water with a chicken feather passed over it, and nothing else. HORRIBLE.
I could not eat it. There was a suggestion box on the counter asking for thoughts but I decided they are not worth my opinion. If they really think that's good food, then all there is to say is ADIOS, PLAZA's. YAZZYBEL
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