Why I Hate Grocery Shopping

I hate grocery shopping! If it weren't for the small problem of needing to eat while home I'd refuse to do it . I know I can have pizza or some other fast foods delivered, but I'm serious about my eating so I need real food in the house.
Which brings me back to hating to grocery shop. If I could do it in my sleep, which I've been known to do, it wouldn't be so bad, but where I shop (it shall remain nameless because it's a government entity and might revoke my privileges) they make it difficult for me to shop in a less than wide awake state.
That's because the place is always full of whinny kids
and lovely mommies always saying"That's one ..." or just ignoring them.
They constantly rearrange the shelves so I need to wake up and look for stuff (that's a technical term)
Then there's the fact that our house is built 14 feet off the ground
so dragging bags of groceries up the stairs though great aerobic exercise is about to kill me (I looked into having and elevator put in, but that would have cost about $14,000).
Let's not forget that inorder to do shopping I have to make a list
and I'm such a detail orientated person that's just the way I want to spend my time (NOT!)
And last, but not leastm I always put off going until we're out of everything and I'm starving, so I end up buying everything but the kitchen sink and I just get fatter than ever (that's also a factor in dragging in those bags).
If I were rich I'd have food delivered in small, calorie free amounts, that would unpack themselves neatly into the refrigerator and cupboard. And I could die fat and happy.

Internet Shopping

My daughter April has an important interview in July as part of her applying for the Consular Service. It's an all day thing with group presentations, interviews, etc. She has been told to wear what she would wear on the first day of her job. The problem with that is that she's in IT and they don't dress, it's always casual, and she has nothing appropriate to wear.
April lives in Maryland and we live in Georgia so I can't go shopping with her, at least not in person. As we talked on the phone yesterday we did manage to internet shop together which was kind of cool, very 21st century.
Today she had to work so I continued the search and e-mailed her the results. She liked one and will check it out at her local Macy's this weekend.
It's fun shopping with your daughter.

His Name is ....

Mac has been painting for years and since he retired he's been working at it professionally, selling numerous paintings and doing onsite painting in local clubs. A man, who shall remain nameless ( but it's the same as a cancelled NBC sitcom call My Name is E**l) saw one of his horse paintings in a club and called to commission a painting of a famous racehorse from the early 1900's. He showed Mac pictures of the horse (in black and white), showed him pictures of an Arabian ( which is not the breed he wanted), but he liked the color and stance, though he wanted Mac to change the direction of the horse. In other words he had a million nitpicking things he wanted done. Mac, who enjoys a challenge, painted the horse and it was gorgous! The man came out to pick it up, studied it, liked it, though he wondered about the mane, and decided that Mac had to change the ears a little. Satisfied, he paid Mac extra and commissioned another painting, of his dead dog. Again, a million instructions, particularly about the dogs ruff in front, he wanted it smooth as if it had been combed. Mac really worked on that dog, particularly the ruff, he painted it the way it should be, then made it smooth the way the man wanted it, and hated it. He really agonized over that dog, he knew how the dog should look, but decided the customer is always right, even when he doesn't have a clue. I got thoroughly sick of seeing that dog sitting on Mac's easel, but the dog is beautiful, looks like you could pet him, except the ruff, it just looks strange, but that's what E***l wanted. So E**l picks up the painting, loves it, pays for it and leaves. Then last night when we were out dancing E**l tracks us down and wants to know if Mac can change the ruff, to make it look like it should have looked , instead of what E**l had ordered, even offered to pay extra. Mac smiled and agreed, I'd have told good ol' E**l to put the painting where the sun don't shine. Here's hoping E**l finds someone else to paint his next picture. If you look at the picture you'll see the ruff as it should not be.

Mowing the Lawn

When we first moved here we had to buy a lawn mower as we had left ours in California, we didn't bring it because Mac said he couldn't remember whether we even had a lawn at the new house.  Well, the house sets on nearly anacre and most of it is grass, so we needed a mower.  Mac,  in a mood of economy (notice I didn't say cheap), bought a gas push mower.  After suffering for 2 years I convinced him to buy a riding mower.  Not quite like the one in the picture, but close.  He did the lawn for a couple more years, but complained the mower was killing his back because it bounced him around so much.  He tried putting a cushion on it, but it didn't really help.  Finally I told him that the problem wasn't the tractor it was his bottom, for like Hank Hill, the man has no a** (what he has is quite cute, it's just that there isn't much of it).  So I with a larger than life rear end started mowing the lawn, and I love it.  Except for running into a tree (the tractor doesn't quite steer like a car)  the first time I rode it I have a great time doing it.  Just finished in fact and except for suffering heat stroke I had a great time! Thought I'd throw in a ....you might be a redneck... picture.

Dog Days of Summer

The Dog Days of Summer are supposed to be in August after months of hot weather. But I'm afraid we're having them now. It is so muggy here, and usually it's not. When we lived in Georgia before, in Augusta, it was always muggy, but it was inland and you expected it. Here by Ft.McAllister we're less than 10 miles from the ocean and it's not nearly as humid. Till this year that is.
Good ol' Global Warming I guess, but then again we also had the coldest winter we've ever had down here this year, so maybe we're heading towards another Ice Age, or that was the theory in the '70s. I guess if you live long enough you'll hear all the theories about the weather, even if they still can't predict it.
Anyway, I'm moving my sweaty old soul out to the pool so I can bark at the birds like a good ol' dog of summer should.

Imma Needs

My friend Patty wrote an Imma Needs Blog today (Imma Needs is whatever you need at that moment) and I really liked it, so I'm going to give it a try.

Mother Nature, Imma Needs you to cool it a bit.
It's too damn early in the summer for it to be this hot.

All Snakes, Imma Needs you to stay the h**l out of my garden.
Mac thinks you're cool, but I think you'd better be gone.

Old Age, Imma Needs you to stay away for a bit longer.
This being tired all the time is pigeon poo.

Mario Batali, Imma Needs you to come and take over my cooking.
I love everything you cook.

Hollywood, Imma Needs you to start making movies for adults.
I'm tired of movies aimed at the junior high set.

Sandman, Imma Needs you to do a better job.
It's my eyes that need sand, not my joints.

Sneaky Snake

I've talked to this narrow fellow about playing in Janet's garden, told him she would come down on him like the fat lady in B.C. He told me he was just smelling the roses, but he let it slip that he was really looking for an apple tree. I laughed and assured him this was not that GARDEN, and anyway I just love ribs and would not give one up, Eve or no Eve! He did not look pleased and stuck his forked tongue out at me and slithered away. So this morning we found this shed skin in the garden, seems there has been some nocturnal nakedness going on! Janet said if she finds this snake in the pool skinny dipping He's going to lose more than his skin!

Use it or Lose it

I'm always reading about how to avoid Alzheimers and Senile Dementia (one worries about things like this when you get to my age) and they're always saying to to stay mentally active and learn new things (in other words use it or lose it). So with that in mind I decided to learn to play the piano.
When I was 9 or 10 ( and Lord knows I can't remember being that young) my parents got us an old upright piano and my older sister Judy and I started taking piano lessons from a lady named Fern Viera (don't even ask how I remember her name) at $2.00 a lesson (they're now $25 for a half hour). I think Judy lasted a month and me a bit more. So basically I would be starting completely over, and given the price of lessons now I'd be teaching myself.
I started with a small Yamaha keyboard and used it the first year as I relearned everything. Last Fall I got an 88 key Yamaha with all the bells and whistles, but I was never very happy with it and this Spring I made the decision to buy a piano. And I love it!
When I started playing the keyboard Mac had just started playing the guitar (he too had played briefly as a child) and we thought we'd play music together, all the old rock songs. And it's true we can play a pretty decent Stairway to Heaven, but we don't play much together, for as it turned out, I can play rock and pop, but it's classical music I love! Who knew? I'd certainly had listened to very little classical music through the years and can say quite honestly that everything I know about classical music I learned from watching Bugs Bunny cartoons. But that's what I play most of the time.
I don't know if all this has kept Alzheimer at bay, but it certainly makes me think more than weeding the garden (one of my favorite mindless activities).

My Cat's Under the Bed and I May Join Her

Huge storms last night, not unusual in the South in summer, but this one was a doozy. Mac and I usually sit out front and watch the lightning getting closer, counting the distance. Sound travels at approximately 750 feet a second and there are 5,280 feet in a mile and so you can get a rough idea of how far away it all is.
When we first got Miss Kitty she was really frightened by the storms and would hide under the couch or bed at the first boom. But as time has gone on, like any Southern lady, she has grown use to the storms and frequently sits in the window to watch.
Last night was different! There were several strikes that you couldn't count the distance, it was flash, boom simultaneously, meaning it was hitting less than 750 feet from us. Miss Kitty dashed to the bedroom and to be honest I felt like crawling in after her, there's something very comforting about dustbunnies in the dark.

Happy Father's Day

Happy Father's Day to my husband Mac. It's not easy to find the words to talk about him without sounding sappy because he's really very special.
We first met when I was 16 and he was 17. I make a joke that I was his stalker, and it's true I looked for him everyday at school, though he had no idea who I was. I asked a mutual friend who he was and hoped I'd get to meet him.
Well I had never believed in love at first sight and in fact had always swore I'd never get married. But obviously someone else had other plans for me because I did fall in love with him as soon as I met him. Not only was he beautiful, he was funny and intelligent. We married a little over 2 years after we met when I was 18 and he was 19 and have been married almost 44 years and the longer we're together the more I know how lucky I am to have him.
This is a picture of him with our daughter April taken in DC this Spring. I'm counting on 44 more Father's Days with him so I can keep telling him how much he means to me.

Summer Time

It is supposed to be 102 here today for the first full day of summer. With this kind of beginning what's the rest going to be like? Don't get me wrong, I love summer, it's my favorite season, but the heat is supposed to build up gradually, not hit you with a sledge hammer the first day.

I swam yesterday for less than 30 minutes and I burned to a crisp, my Dermatologist is going to scream at me. I've had 5 skin cancers since we moved here. What can I say, I'm Irish, we grow skin cancers as a hobby.
But back to summer, I hope it eases up a little and lets me slide slowly into the long sunny days.

Crustacian Station

Some people have cars in their garage with great animal names; Jaguar, Mustang, Impala etc. But I bet they don't have what I found in our garage this morning. This is a Marsh Crab, Marsh being the operative word, he's only an inch long and that is as big as he will get, he normally stays in the marsh that surrounds us, and we sometime see his buddies if we walk down the streets by the marsh, but we have never seen one on our street. Just how he got into the garage, and what he was up to, he wouldn't say, he was not in a good mood, but what can you expect from a crab!

The Mind of a Cat

We've had Miss Kitty for about 2 and 1/2 years now and she never ceases to amaze and entertain us. Her best friend is a "critter" known as Tail, Miss Kitty takes her everywhere. We're not sure what the precise relationship is, but Tail is not a toy, Kitty doesn't play with her. She plays with her mice, her climbing house, paint brushes, redbug laser and anything that makes noise, but not Tail. Tail is taken places that Kitty finds interesting and that she wants to share with Tail: to look out the window, to check out the Christmas tree the first time Kitty saw it, upstairs to watch tv, to lay on the ice chest when it's hot, to lay in front of the refrigerator when Kitty is studying what's under it. Lately squirrels have taken to coming up on our deck to eat birdseed and I'm sure that soon Kitty and Tail will be watching and discussing the situation.`

Good-by Tybee Island

We were supposed to go to Tybee Island to fish this week, but Miley Cyrus is making a movie out there and they've done away with half the parking so the film crew can have it. The other parking lot is at the north end of the island, about a 2 mile walk from the fishing pier. Which is ok if you aren't carrying a 100 lbs of fishing gear. And the pier where we fish will be off-limits when they're filming there, but they won't tell us in advance when they'll be filming there because they're afraid of swarming herds of tweenies rushing out to Tybee to see Miley (that rhymes I think). Isn't it nice to know that in the scheme of things a teenage (what is she, singer/actress, Disney darling?) girl and the millions she'll bring to the island will make my summer so much better than going to the beach would. They're only going to be filming till the middle of August so we might make it out there by September.

Cider

Another tale (though true) from England has to do with cider, an interesting drink.
Beautiful day as we sat over looking the Irish Sea in the garden of the Wooten Pub. Had a little snack and watched the birds and the sea. Not one to leave well enough alone I recalled that our daughter April had suggested that since we were going to be in the Apple Cider area of Britain I should try some. So off I go to the bar to see what they have and the first thing I see is a spigot with the words SCRUMPY JACK, FINE SMOOTH CIDER! So I order a half and its back out to the sun and distant sea.
I check out the translucent color of this cider and take a nice long gulp. Mistake! However not one to jump to conclusions I edge the glass toward Janet and solicit her opinion . She took one small sip and gave me a look that could kill and we both said in unison PIGS! Actually we said more but lets just say that it taste like it had already been through a pig. Actually its the after taste that first gets you and anyone who ever been near pigs would understand. More about this later. Actually just a word more... Just who drinks this stuff! I would love to have the money and time to make a study of this as, long as I don’t have to drink any!

*
Thus our first encounter with cider and the beginning of love/ hate relationship with this branch of the apple juice family. Working from the tenant that one must know one’s enemy we did a little research.
The cider apple was introduced to Britain in Celtic time, however it is not certain that they were used at that time to make cider. It is known that William the Conqueror brought over a generous supply of cider when he landed in England in 1066. So perhaps cider was not being made in England at that time. However by the 1300s cider was being made throughout southern England. An example of how well it caught on was demonstrated during the English Civil War when the son of Charles I, later to be Charles II, had to flee England rather hastily, but managed to take 30 hogsheads of cider (1600 gallons) with him. Before lemons were discovered to keep scurvy at bay, cider was taken on long sea voyages. Captain James Cook took cider with him on his voyage to Tahiti. In fact cider became so popular that in the early 1900s a third of a farm workers wages was paid in cider. All that being said, we still can not see how anybody can drink the stuff! Perhaps a visit to a cider farm would be of some help.
The Perry Cider Mill is located in the village of Dawlish Wake in Somerset. Here you will find all the apparatus needed to make cider, the washer, pulper, cider presses, and of course many aged wooden barrels for storage. Perry’s is set up as a turn of the century cider mill, and is well done. There is also a tasting room where you can taste the fruit of their labors. We were soon to learn that there are many types of cider, Vintage Dry, Vintage Sweet, Sweet, Medium Sweet, Medium Dry, and dry. Throwing caution to the wind we tried them all. The decision was unanimous they tasted like Vintage Dry Pig, Vintage Sweet pig and plain old pig!
This was not getting anywhere so maybe we needed to go to the source of the matter, the simple apple. Not so simple it seems, there are more types of cider apples than one can imagine, and with such wonderful names. There are Dabinetts, Kingston Black, Cider Lady fingers, Sweet Coppin, Strawberry Norman, Foxwelp, and many many more, and let’s not leave out good old Pig Snout! In the past cider apples were not picked, one simply waited until they fell off the tree, or for the more industrious the tree could be rammed by a tractor. Even in this overripe state they were left in a pile to mature even more. Regardless of the the name or manner of harvesting, we found that the one characteristic that they had in common was that they were more or less inedible, what we would charitably call crab apples

Beer Wagon

While we were living in California in the 90's we frequently traveled to England and this is a true story from one of our trips.
England in September can present many faces to the traveler. Long sunny autumn days, when the hops are brought in off the vine, haystacks lined up and pheasants gleaning the empty fields. Or, endless rain and windswept days, when it seems to get dark before it ever lightens up. These are the things we have learned to expect and accept in our annual pilgrimage to England. However what we did not expect or plan for was an island wide fuel blockade!
Less than a week into our three week trip we were sitting in a small village pub, the sole customers chatting with the publican, when the TV news commentator informed us that all of England’s major refineries had been blockaded by truckers protesting the 75% fuel tax. Janet and I looked at each other and wondered how this could been done so quickly. The publican interjected that unlike America, England only had five or six major refineries. With a half a tank of gas in our rental car this was not a good omen.
In response to the fuel shortage we limited ourselves to short trips from our cottage. One of these short jaunts was to be to a tiny village pub, The White Swan, in the minute village of Wiggenton. The pub was renowned for it homemade sausage, which is a culinary weakness of mine. The pub, at the end of a tiny country lane, had a cheery fire, trying its best to ward off the cold and dampness of the day with little avail. Warming our hands on two cold pints of ale we quickly noticed that there was not one sausage dish on the menu board nor none on the menu itself. Further inquiry revealed that the renowned sausage chef had left for greener pastures. We settled for two steaming beef and ale pot pies and did our best to finish them off.
While we were eating a well dressed English gentleman came in and approached the bar. The barmaid, engaging in small talk, asked him what he thought of the fuel blockage. In a pub so small we couldn’t help but hear response. We were expecting something along the line of for the good of queen and country or a short but knowlegeable lecture on tariffs. To our surprise he responded in a cultured voice that fuel was not his paramount concern, however he was extremely concerned about the free flow of beer to his local pub! The barmaid laughed and said that was not a problem for her because her beer was delivered by horse and wagon from the local Hook Brewery not five miles away. They came every Wednesday at 10 O'clock, just like clockwork. Janet and I looked at each other and put that on our things to do list.
The following Wednesday we were outside the White Swan at 9:30 waiting for the beer wagon. Patience is not one of our strong points, so we decided to find a place in the road between the brewery and the pub to waylay the beer wagon. And that is what we did armed with our cameras, and you can see by the picture it was well worth it!
*

When we were living in California in the 90's we use to go to England twice a year and the following is a true story about what happened there one year.
England in September can present many faces to the traveler. Long sunny autumn days, when the hops are brought in off the vine, haystacks lined up and pheasants gleaning the empty fields. Or, endless rain and windswept days, when it seems to get dark before it ever lightens up. These are the things we have learned to expect and accept in our annual pilgrimage to England. However what we did not expect or plan for was an island wide fuel blockade!
Less than a week into our three week trip we were sitting in a small village pub, the sole customers chatting with the publican, when the TV news commentator informed us that all of England’s major refineries had been blockaded by truckers protesting the 75% fuel tax. Janet and I looked at each other and wondered how this could been done so quickly. The publican interjected that unlike America, England only had five or six major refineries. With a half a tank of gas in our rental car this was not a good omen.
In response to the fuel shortage we limited ourselves to short trips from our cottage. One of these short jaunts was to be to a tiny village pub, The White Swan, in the minute village of Wiggenton. The pub was renowned for it homemade sausage, which is a culinary weakness of mine. The pub, at the end of a tiny country lane, had a cheery fire, trying its best to ward off the cold and dampness of the day with little avail. Warming our hands on two cold pints of ale we quickly noticed that there was not one sausage dish on the menu board nor none on the menu itself. Further inquiry revealed that the renowned sausage chef had left for greener pastures. We settled for two steaming beef and ale pot pies and did our best to finish them off.
While we were eating a well dressed English gentleman came in and approached the bar. The barmaid, engaging in small talk, asked him what he thought of the fuel blockage. In a pub so small we couldn’t help but hear response. We were expecting something along the line of for the good of queen and country or a short but knowlegeable lecture on tariffs. To our surprise he responded in a cultured voice that fuel was not his paramount concern, however he was extremely concerned about the free flow of beer to his local pub! The barmaid laughed and said that was not a problem for her because her beer was delivered by horse and wagon from the local Hook Brewery not five miles away. They came every Wednesday at 10 O'clock, just like clockwork. Janet and I looked at each other and put that on our things to do list.
The following Wednesday we were outside the White Swan at 9:30 waiting for the beer wagon. Patience is not one of our strong points, so we decided to find a place in the road between the brewery and the pub to waylay the beer wagon. And that is what we did armed with our cameras, and you can see by the picture it was well worth it! *

The Big Day

Yesterday was our Low Country Boil and it was spectacular! Left is an actual picture of what we ate. Steve and Teresa brought fresh corn from his Dad's garden and Mike did the cooking.
It takes a couple of hours of cooking, but that's fine because that gives us plenty of time for eating my killer 7-layer dip, swimming, picking of the guitars and telling lots of tall tales.

Low Country Boil

Well tomorrow is the big day, our Low Country Boil, known in some parts as a Frogmore Stew. Mac and I had never eaten one before moving to the Savannah area (though Carolina swears it's their recipe). Basically it's fresh corn on the cob, sausage, Vidalia onions, red potatoes and shrimp boiled together with about a ton of Old Bay Spice.
Now those are the main ingredients, but every cook puts a slightly different spin on it. This is our Third Annual Low Country Boil and you'd think I'd know more about how to make it, like what order to cook the ingredients in, how long to cook it, and how much spice to put in. But the truth is, that though I've looked at a million recipes for the Boil, including Paula Deans, I've never cooked one. Our friends who come every year have told me that only men know how to cook the stew. Usually JR (Jimmy Rogers, legendary bass player) does the honors, but he has other obligations, so this year Mike (legendary bass player, keyboardist and banjo picker) will do the cooking. Each year I try to watch as they fill the huge cooking pot on the backdeck, keep track of what goes in next and for how long, but generally I end up too hot to care and just jump in the pool with the rest of the women and let the men do the cooking. It's not a bad way to go, even if I never learn the true recipe I still get to eat a great meal.

Still Cleaning

It's not that I don't clean my house, it's just that having company over changes how you clean. So today I was supposed to shampoo the carpets upstairs, the part of the house we don't even use in the summer time because it's too freaking hot. We bought shampoo stuff (technical term) and I loaded it up, vacuumed with my industrial strength shop vac and started my shampoorer up! Of course it didn't work, called for Mac, he checked it out, beat it and decided that it had been so long since I'd used it that it had dried up and the stuff couldn't get through. So I ended up doing the shampooing by hand (on my knees--who were already predicting rain). Now I'm sitting here wondering why I even invited anyone over.

How Many Me's are There?

My friend Patty on her Blog Pattyville wrote about how many Patty Leighs there are in the USA, so using the website www.the dailymeme.com I decided I needed to find out how many Janet Gutierrez's there are.

Well I'm distressed!  There are 581,003 Janets in the USA, it's the 89th most popular female name.  And believe it or not 99.9 % of those named Janet are female!  Who knew?

As to Gutierrez, thanks to the invasion from Mexico, there are 156,365 Gutierrez's in the USA. Mac's family came from Spain in the early 1900's and say they're not responsible for all the Gutierrez's from Mexico, that's a result of Lt.(Teniente) Gutierrez, the 2nd man off of Cortez's ship in the 15oo's.  Gutierrez is the  the 199th most popular surname in the USA.  And unlike Patty Leigh who is only 1 of 2 in the country, I am 1 of 296 Janet Gutierrez's.  So much for being unique. 

At the top  are a few of the 296 Janet Gutierrez's who aren't me.

Cleaning the Kitchen

It's done, it's done, oh Lord it's done, my kitchen is done,  for at least 30 seconds.  My kitchen is clean, every cupboard is polished, everything sitting on the counter has been washed, the granite countertop has been polished, the stove, refrigerator and microwave have been cleaned, the floor has been scrubbed.

Unfortunately I have to cook, so it won't stay clean long, but for one brief, shining moment my kitchen is clean.  

Living Near Savannah

We never thought we'd come  back to Georgia after we moved home to California in 1990.  But when we got ready to retire and we started considering what we wanted to do with our retirement Georgia began to run through our thoughts.

We lived in the Augusta area (Martinez) from 1981-1990 (with 2 years --85-86 --being spent in Turkey) and enjoyed it most of the time.  But we missed home, California, where we hadn't lived since Mac was drafted into the Army in 1965.  So when our daughter April graduated from Georgia and decided to stay there to do a Masters  we decided to make the move back to California.  

We're from the San Francisco Bay area ( Hayward to be precise), but we'd grown to love hot weather, which Northern California doesn't have, so we moved to Southern California (Murrieta and the Hemet) where I, and eventually Mac too, taught elementary school.

So moving back to Georgia would be a major operation.  During summer vacation we flew back to Augusta, got in touch with our old Realtor Louis and looked around.  Back in California we sat in our house which was surrounded by miles of Grapefruit  orchards and Mac said he couldn't give that up for Augusta.

Then we talked about what we'd do if we lived in Augusta and we looked at each other and said we'd go to Savannah.  So the next year we flew to Savannah, fell in love and decided we'd buy somewhere near.  So the following year we bought a home in Richmond Hill, about 12 miles from Savannah and we've been here for nearly 6 years.  We love it!  Savannah is wonderful.  We go dancing at least twice a week, go to Tybee to the beach, go crabbing and best of all we're much closer to our daughter April who lives in Glen Burnie MD, just ourside of D.C.

Friends and Messy Houses

I love having people over except that means I have to seriously clean my house.  People always say, "Oh we came to see you, not your house."  But truthfully they're looking at all my dust bunnies, spider webs, dusty floors, spotted windows etc.  So I have to spend this week cleaning.  

I had Mac buy me a large shop vac because this house has reached the point where a regular vac won't "gitter done".  So I'm starting in the familyroom and God help anyone or anything that gets in my way.  I'm out to wreck havoc on dirt, disease and pestilence.

Never Give Your Heart to a Country Band(They'll not only break up and break your heart, they'll turn around and write a song about it!)

We've been hanging out with a band, who shall remain nameless (partly because they have more than one name and partly to protect the innocent) for nearly 6 years.  They've broken up at least 4 times with custody of us being given to their then keyboardist.  They fight, they drink, and they frequently make great music .

Prior to meeting them we had never been country music fans, we were rock people through and through.  But they put so much enthusiasm and feeling into their music that we became fans. 

Right now the lead singer is splitting himself between Nashville (where he's been working on a cd--though he keeps calling it an album--for more than a year) and the band here, and talking to him is difficult unless you begin each sentence with Nashville.  He's talented, though not as talented as he thinks he is.  While he's playing the Nashville game (as so many others have) the band is just sort of drifting and it's a shame, parts of it ( the lead guitar, the bassist and the drummer) are too good for what's going on.

Right now they're the House band at a club that the lead singer is part owner of, but he's not taking it very seriously (it's not in Nashville)  and we're afraid the club is going to go out of business because no one's in charge and the rules, help and atmosphere changes from week to week..  Usually when we tell stories about the band they're funny, but I don't think this story is going to have a happy ending.

Crabbing

We're going crabbing today on  the Tivoli River about a 5 minute drive from our house.  We always catch a load of crabs, look at them, decide they're much too pretty to eat and let them go.  This getting soft hearted in our old age is ruining some of our best meals.  We hardly eat crabs, can't remember the last time we had crawdads and I can't even think about the lives chickens lead because I love eating them.

But even though we probably won't eat them, it's an absolute kick pulling up the crab traps and finding crabs, and sometimes shrimp in them.

Just got back from the river, it rained on us a bit, but other than that it was beautiful!  We caught 4 crabs and as I figured we let them all go.

Guilty Pleasures

My friend Patty listed her Guilty Pleasure of summer and asked others to join in.  I do have guilty pleasures, but since I've retired it feels like I'm having summer vacation all the time, it's just the weather that changes.  Given that, here are my guilty pleasures:

1.  swimming everyday, several times a day

2.  traveling to places even hotter than where I live

3.  baseball, getting  to see the Braves lose in person

4.  eating ice cream, dessert calories don't count in the summer

5.  having an excuse not to exercise, it's too hot  

Traveling

Just back from our latest trip to Maryland/DC, I always say both places because our daughter lives in Maryland, but we spend all our time in DC.  Saw 2 great plays, Rock and Roll and Arcadia.  Both of them are by Tom Stoppard, our favorite playwright. We've seen Arcadia before, saw it in London sometime in the mid-90's, can't remember exactly when.  Loved it then loved it now, though this version was a bit different, changed for an American audience perchance.

Love going to live theatre and we don't get much chance to do that down here in the wilds of 

Georgia.  Saw Camelot 2 years ago in Chicago, Moliere last year in DC, will miss Jersey Boys in Atlanta and won't go to Legally Blonde (Mac dislikes musicals and won't even consider this one).