My Sister-In-Law Is STILL Ruining The U.S. Economy

Posted on December 9, 2013 by pegoleg

Christmas is all about traditions.  Every year we unpack our favorite, old ornaments.  We unearth our Bing Crosby and Manheim Steamroller CDs.  We watch A Christmas Story, Miracle on 34th St. and It’s a Wonderful Life.

Around this blog, tradition means dusting off the ghosts of Christmas blog posts past.

This one was my first ever Freshly Pressed.  Back in the WordPress Stone Ages (3 years ago), they didn’t give you advanced notice of Freshly Pressed.   It didn’t take me long to figure out something was going on, however, when I published this and actual strangers showed up at my blog.   At that time the number of readers I had that were not related to me by blood or marriage was approximately zippity-nada.

Hope this helps firm your resolve to do the right thing for our country!

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Support your local eggnog farmer!
Support your local eggnog farmer!

My sister-in-law, Lisa, just announced she is starting a diet.  With 3 weeks to go until Christmas.

This is wrong on so many levels.  Besides the masochistic overtones, we have to consider how such a move might affect the nation’s economic recovery.

Lisa just wants to look hot for New Years Eve.   But she may be starting a dangerous trend.  Perhaps I can help her to see the bigger picture – what economists call the unintended consequences.

Seasonal industries have just a small window of opportunity to make sales.  (i.e. yellow marshmallow chickees that can only be sold for 1 week before Easter.)  In December, fattening Christmas food companies are scrambling to make their budget goals.

Take eggnog.   Its rich, creamy goodness is almost synonymous with Christmas.  But where does it come from?  Family farms in the heartland keep herds of  special, eggnog-producing cows just for the Christmas season.  No eggnog, no eggnog farms.

All the farms will be sold for shopping malls, the farm children will have to leave the land for New York to become actor/model/waiters and the cows will be processed into McBurgers.  Do you want to be responsible for the end of the family farm in America, Lisa?

And what about that company that makes those chocolate-covered cherries that you can get for $1 at Big Lots and other fine emporiums?  They do all their sales this month.  Does it occur to you, Lisa, that the firm that makes those has employees?  If health-conscious, get-in-shape people don’t buy those candies, all the chocolate-covered cherry employees and their families, some of whom might have lame children who use crutches, will be out on the streets. Just in time for Christmas, you Scrooge!

These are just a few of the businesses that would be affected. There are anise-flavored cookies, monastery-made bourbon fudge and whisky fruitcake, and candy canes.   I’m sure we could come up with lots of examples.

Sure, tofu sales will go up. But that won’t increase jobs.  There is such a huge surplus of tofu just sitting around on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator case in the grocery store produce section (often right under the Bleu Cheese crumbles, ironically), we could go years without making any more.

And what about after Christmas?  In the natural order of things, you sign up for diet and exercise programs in January.  If nobody is overindulging in December, no one will be repentant and resolved to change in January.

80% of the YMCA’s income is derived from initial membership fees garnered in January.  They can’t rely on the monthly fees, because those dry up in March.  That’s when the new members cancel, although they actually stop working out after only 2 weeks.  (The Y does get residual income from all the new members who forget they signed up to have the dues automatically deducted from their bank account.  They can end up paying for years after their actual 2-week attendance is over.)

Eat, papa, eat!

Do you want to be responsible for closing the doors on a fine, old institution like the Young Men’s Christian Association?  And then what?  Our nation’s young men will be out on the streets, joining gangs, becoming hooligans, and not being Christian.

Nutrisystems will go back to using their food as industrial lubricants, Jenny Craig will have to get a job as a brownie taster and South Beach will be deserted. Dr. Atkins will turn over in his grave!

(“America the Beautiful” starts softly in the background).

We are trying to climb out of a terrible recession right now, Lisa.  Our president, and our congressmen and women, are working hard to get this economy back on track

(for amber waves of grain…)

It is the duty of every American to help in this struggle.  If you think your hot-ness is more important than your country, Lisa, keep up the pre-Christmas diet.  Help put thousands, nay millions of our fellow Americans out of work.

But as for me and mine, we love the U.S. of A., and we will support her!

(music builds to a crescendo, “from sea to shining sea!”, I get up and walk out like that scene in Animal House where Dean Wormer revokes the Delta’s charter because they have been on double-secret probation ).

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go buy some peppermint stick ice cream!

 

Posted in General Ramblings | Tagged , , , , , , | 57 Comments

What We Remember At The End

Posted on November 1, 2013 by pegoleg
My macho brother and his not-so-macho station wagon.

My macho brother and his not-so-macho station wagon.

Two women slid into the pew directly in front of me as the church service started.  The younger led her mother by the hand.  The tiny, elderly woman was a bit unsteady on her feet, but her eyes were bright and as inquisitive as a bird’s.

As soon as they sat down, Mom asked for a cough drop.  She attempted a whisper, but her question boomed out for the entire congregation to hear.  It seemed her hearing wasn’t so great.

Later in the service she sneezed.  This mundane event seemed to catch her totally by surprise; she was delighted with herself.  She laughed out loud with the glee of a little child, as if sneezing were a strange and wonderful event.  I couldn’t help but smile.  I also couldn’t help but feel sad that her mind, as well as her hearing, was slipping away.

The daughter had to remind her mother when to sit, stand or kneel.  This woman, who had no doubt been the one to patiently teach her child these rituals many years ago, now merely copied the movements.  The ritual no longer held meaning for her.

Or so I thought.

At one point during the mass, the congregation knelt in prayer.  I could see the elderly woman’s profile clearly.  She looked solemnly and intently at the altar, then made the sign of the cross without prompting, doing so deliberately and with reverence.

The last time I saw my brother, Pat, he was in a hospice.  The cancer that had started in his brain would soon claim his life.  He would leave behind a large, loving family including a wife and four very small children.  Due to the cancer and the massive doses of morphine they had given him to dull the pain, he had slipped into a state that was mostly unconscious.  He could no longer communicate.

My parents, several siblings and I were gathered around his bed.  My Dad suggested the family pray together, and he began the Rosary.  The rest of us joined in the familiar prayers, but emotion overwhelmed us.  One by one, our voices faltered.  Dad continued on, his voice low and steady, leading his family as he always had.  He called to his son in the twilight world Pat now inhabited, and Pat answered.

Pat’s eyes were still closed, but his lips started to move.  It was clear he knew what he struggled to whisper; the prayers he had learned as a child at this same father’s knee.  They were words and meanings still remembered, still sacred, even at the end of life:

                  “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…”

What will we treasure at the end, when most of what seemed important in this life is revealed to be extraneous?

What will I remember?

What will you hold tight to?

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Happy Birthday, little brother, forever young.  Be’s lovin’.

Posted in General Ramblings | Tagged , , , , , , , | 73 Comments

Goldilocks And The Fruit-Of-The-Loom 100% Cotton Hipsters

Posted on October 14, 2013 by pegoleg

goldilockshipsters2

I had a great weekend.  I spent my time on “want-tos” and didn’t do any “have-tos,” like laundry.  Monday has come all too soon.  When I went to get dressed this morning, a glance at my underwear drawer revealed a most unwelcome surprise: I’m down to my EBUs.

EBU = Emergency Backup Underwear.

A man’s choices for under-garments is pretty straightforward: boxers or briefs (except when they “go commando,” a situation I would rather know nothing about.)  Women have a dizzying selection from which to choose; briefs, thigh-cut, boy-cut, hipsters, granny panties, thongs and bikinis in satin, silk, cotton…the list goes on and on.  Some styles are too uncomfortable for daily use and some are too old-ladyish.  Like Goldilocks searching for the perfect bowl of porridge, a woman has to sample a lot of underwear before she finds the style that is JUST right.

We don’t get rid of the rejects; they’re just shoved to the bottom of the underwear drawer.  There they act as insurance against a day like today; a day all the preferred panties are in the wash.

My usual style is an all-cotton brief.  That may be TMI (that means “too much information,” Mom) but you need background to appreciate how dreadful the choices were that met my eyes this morning.

1) Thong.  I bought this after my 24-year-old daughter extolled the virtues of having no visible panty lines.  I should have remembered that when we’re talking about a 54-year-old derriere, there are much worse things to have visible than panty lines.  The more layers there are between this back-end and public view, the better for all of us.

I wore the thong only once.  One day spent surreptitiously picking at a dental floss wedgie was more than enough to convince me this was not the style for me.

 2) Valentine panties.  This Valentine’s Day present was a hoot when I unwrapped it, thanks to the same microchip technology used in talking birthday cards.  The black lace and big, pink, satin heart make them extremely uncomfortable to actually wear.  I’d still wear them, however, if it wasn’t for my fear that every time I crossed my legs I would treat the office to a chorus of “Let’s Get It On” blaring forth from my crotch region.

 3) Spanx.  These fall more into the category of “special occasion” than “rejects.”  Still, you have to think carefully before choosing to wear Spanx for an entire day.  They definitely smooth the silhouette, but it’s almost impossible to get them on and off without help.  With Spanx, it takes a village.

 4) Past Their Primes.  These take up half my drawer space.  They are once-favorites that have seen better days.  They’ve been bleached so often the only remnant of their formerly vibrant colors can be found around the edges of the unraveling waistband.  They either have big rips or the leg-holes are so stretched out they flap about the thighs like flags in a breeze.

I’m not going to say which EBU I went with today.  Suffice it to say that laundry will be the first order of business when I get home tonight.  Gotta go now.  With all the coffee I’ve been drinking, I’m going to need a potty break soon and I have to assemble my team.

Posted in General Ramblings | Tagged , , , , , | 96 Comments

Pay No Attention To That Woman With The Hefty Bags Crawling Across Your Lawn

Posted on October 4, 2013 by pegoleg

Nothing to see here, folks.

I’m environmentally sensitive.  Like most thinking people, I practice the three Rs: Reduce, Reuse, And Recycle.  But my favorite R is the fourth one:  Relocate.

We have lots of trees, flowers and wide open spaces out in the country where I live.  What we DON’T have is trash pickup.

All you city slickers have to do to get rid of trash is gift-wrap it in scented pink bags, stroll 10 feet out the front door and rest it gently on the curb.  The Trash Fairies magically whisk garbage away while you sleep.  Living in the sticks we follow the same rules as when hiking in a national park; if you bring it in, you have to carry it out …on your back.

Or, you know, in your car.

I spend a lot of time in my car.  I’m dining (fine and not-so-fine), banking, visiting clients, shopping – busy lives generate a lot of trash.  Since anything I throw out at home has to be brought back into town, my mission is to not bring it home in the first place.

Trash relocation has become something of a game with me.

When I run to Dollar General for supplies, I empty the stray gum wrappers and bank deposit slips from my purse into their trash can.

Fast food for lunch?   I trade in that morning’s coffee cup at the window.  You’d be surprised how many drive-through employees seem annoyed when I ask them to dispose of my garbage.  I figure if McDonald’s wanted me to toss it myself, they’d put those funneling chutes on all their trash cans.  Surely they don’t expect me to get out of the car?

A fill-up at the gas station calls for a total car cleanup.  I’m down on my hands and knees, under the seats and in the way-back, gathering up old church bulletins and fossilized Junior Mints.  Some times I unearth a toy that has been wedged under the seat-belt mechanism for years – who will give me $20 for a vintage Happy Meal Beanie Baby?  I also use the gas station squeegee and windshield fluid to clean my windows, but I absolutely draw the line at doing the whole car with the squeegee;  the redneck car-wash.

While I like to be clever about trash relocation, I do have my limits.  We bring newspapers and magazines to my mother in law’s house for recycling, and aluminum cans go to a co-worker who cashes them in.  Plastic bags are reused by the Goodwill, and vegetable waste is tossed into the woods.  Whatever we have left is bagged and lugged into town to be deposited in our office dumpster in a sanitary and lawful fashion.

Not everyone shares my scruples.

trashbarrelOne person thought the best, final resting place for his or her old, scraggly garden hose was the trash can outside Dollar General.

  buttsinsnow

Another person developed a hole in his car and never noticed that the entire contents of his ashtray had spilled out into the street.

  trashbyroad

  Yet another person felt that nothing would improve the pristine beauty of this country road quite like a queen-size Serta BeautyRest.  Although it is true that most of us hillbillies find a rusting  washing machine adds a certain “je ne sais quoi” to the porch decor, we don’t necessarily want to add someone else’s Zenith Solid State Mahogany Console TV to our landscape.

Of course I would never do what these 3 slobs did, and I know you wouldn’t either.    You keep taking your trash to the curb and I’ll keep bringing mine to town.  And if by chance you look out your front window some dark night, and think you see a woman in camouflage “low-crawling” across your lawn with a couple of Hefty bags…pay no attention.

Posted in General Ramblings | Tagged , , , , , , | 90 Comments

How To Lose Weight and Look Years Younger With Absolutely No Effort On Your Part

Posted on September 19, 2013 by pegoleg

comaRejuvacation

Two women pass in the street.  One is middle aged and overweight, her plodding walk mirroring the exhaustion in her tired, wrinkled face.  The other woman is noticeably younger.  Her long, blonde hair swings around her smooth, glowing face as she strides briskly down the sidewalk.  A couple of steps after they pass, the older woman stops and turns to look at the younger’s toned derriere in its form-fitting, blue jean casing.

“Angela?  Is that you?”  The older woman asks, uncertain.

The younger woman turns around.  “Oh, hi, Sandy.  Sorry, I didn’t see you.”

“I didn’t recognize YOU!” Sandy replies, disbelieving, as she looks Angela up and down.  “My God, you look great!  What have you done to yourself?”

Angela preens under Sandy’s incredulous stare, flinging her hair back and smirking.  “Thanks; you’re a doll to say so.”

“No, really.”  Sandy persists, “You’re the same age as I am, but you look 15 years younger.  What have you done?”

“I’m really trying to get in touch with my spiritual side, to lead a holistic life.”  Angela explains, assuming a pious expression. “I’ve taken up yoga and meditation, I’m eating whole foods and natural grains and treating this body as the temple it…”

“Cut the crap.” Sandy interrupts ruthlessly.  “I saw you just a couple of months ago and you were as wrinkly and flabby as I am.  There’s no way eating quinoa for a couple of weeks causes THIS kind of change.”

Angela’s smooth face momentarily creases in an expression of annoyance, although her forehead doesn’t move.  Then she shrugs fatalistically and says, “If you must know, I just got back from a Rejuvacation ™.”

“Rejuvacation ™?  What the heck is that?” Sandy asks, perplexed.

“I was on a Rejuvenating Coma Vacation at The Lazy P Ranch & Spa for the last 2 months.”  Angela replies with a self-satisfied smile.

“Coma vacation?” Sandy gasps, “What…??”

“It’s the latest thing!” Angela explains enthusiastically (although her forehead still doesn’t move.)  “They put you in a medical coma for 2 months.  While you’re under they do plastic surgery; breast implants, tummy tuck, chin lift – whatever you want!  I had the Total Package.  They pump you with a liquid diet at the minimum calories required to sustain life, and use electrical stimulation to exercise your muscles.  You lose a ton of weight.”

“But, but…” Sandy sputters, having finally found her voice. “That’s so extreme!  So dangerous.  It’s like a sci-fi movie!”

Angela holds up her hands to stop her friend’s protests, “It’s all safe; everything is done by a team of medical specialists.  The best thing is you sleep through all the pain and inconvenience.  Think about something as simple as getting hair extensions.  It takes hours and the process is incredibly tedious.  That’s just one of the little things they’ll do to you while you’re out.”

Sandy’s shock is fading, but she looks skeptical.

Angela’s unnaturally plump, red lips curve into a condescending smile. “I know what you’re thinking.  But really, what’s stopping any of us from getting in shape and looking our best?”

Sandy shrugs, not sure what her friend is driving at.  “We’d rather eat Little Debbie Snack Cakes than go to the gym?”

“Lack of self-control, lack of will-power, fear of pain, no time to heal” Angela ticks the reasons off on her impeccably manicured fingers “and the countless distractions and obligations of our daily lives.  The Rejuvacation ™ takes away all of those obstacles.”

A momentary silence falls as Sandy takes it all in.

“What does something like that cost?” Sandy finally asks, a speculative look in her eyes as the wheels start turning in her brain.

Angela laughs and tosses her shiny hair, gesturing down the length of her newly  flat-stomached, big-busted body.  “Does it matter?” she asks.

==================================================

Rejuvacation ™.  Because when you look this good, who the hell cares what it costs.

*********************************************************************

Are you a candidate for Rejuvacation ™ ?  Our friendly financial consultants are standing by to guide you through the preliminary major asset analysis and mortgage application process.

*Rejuvacation ™ and The Lazy P Ranch & Spa are registered trademarks of Peg Co, a division of Peg-o-Leg Industries.

**Neither Peg Co. nor Peg-o-Leg Industries are responsible for any minor, incidental side affects that may result from your Rejuvacation ™, like paralysis, divorce or bankruptcy.

Posted in General Ramblings, Peg-Co Catalog | Tagged , , , , , , , | 118 Comments

Riders On the Corn

Posted on September 7, 2013 by pegoleg

ridersonthecorn

Shadow truck  speeding down the late afternoon, early fall corridors of Any Farm Road, Illinois.

Posted in General Ramblings | Tagged , , | 58 Comments

What Not To Hear

Posted on August 27, 2013 by pegoleg

robocaller

Corporate America, you’re messing up.  Big time.

My job requires me to spend a lot of time on the phone.  That kind of exposure to what now passes for business phone etiquette has made me a seething volcano of frustration.

I’ve often been tempted to unleash this rage on some clueless customer service flunky in New Delhi, but I haven’t.  Instead I’m going to use my vast experience in the oozing slime pit of business phone systems as a force for good.  To improve the lives of my fellow man.

You’re welcome.

Gather round, corporate decision makers.  If you want to make friends and influence people (i.e. make money), listen up.  Here are a few of your phone practices that drive us crazy:

  • Domo Arigoto Mr. Roboto:  Nobody wants to be called by a computer.  No.  Body.  The robo-call is the most annoying business practice ever designed by fiendish marketing gurus.  The land line is going the way of the dodo primarily to avoid robo-calls.

These always ring when we are in the bathroom.  Dashing to answer the phone, while simultaneously yanking up our pants or wrapping a towel around our wet, shivering nakedness – that’s an accident waiting to happen.  After falling flat on our faces on our way to the phone, what are the chances we’re going to want to take your survey, vote for your candidate or buy whatever you’re selling when we finally get there?  Slim to none.

If you want to sell us something, you’d better be willing to invest at least as much human capital in the process as we are.

  • While we have you tied to your chair… Don’t make us listen to a commercial before we get to where we want to be.  If we want to learn your hours, how your latest product will change life as we know it, or how you are single-handedly saving the environment by recycling old memos as wallpaper, give us the option to press *6 and hear all about it.  Otherwise, don’t waste our time.
  • It’s nice to share.  Don’t tell us, “This call may be recorded.”  No, really?  We’re shocked and appalled!

Nowadays we know we’re being recorded by your customer service department, the CIA, the NSA, that Snowden guy hiding out in the Moscow airport and who knows who-all.  It would be easier to tell us who ISN’T listening in on this call.

  • Music hath charms to soothe the savage beast. Sometimes.  Choose your on-hold music wisely.  While elevator music is boring, it’s probably a safer bet then expletive-laden rap.  Know thy caller.

Maybe mix it up a little.  One company I frequently call plays the same, Baroque-style  song over and over again.  I’ve heard it so often now I automatically start dancing the gavotte as soon as I dial their number.

  • Just between us “buds.” Knock off the folksy, conversational style recordings.  When we hear, “OK, let me look that up for you.” we do NOT think somebody is searching through an old, metal filing cabinet for our file.  This is a computer.  We get that.
  • Se hablo Inglese. Don’t make us choose English.  It’s great that your company is attuned to the needs of your non-English speaking customers.  By all means, tell us we can press 2 to complete the call in Kurdish.  But this is America. The default language on all communications should be English, with no button pushing required.

When we are calling a government office and English is not the default language, that government better be located in Juarez, and not Galveston.

  • Change Would Do you Good.  Don’t tell us, “Listen carefully as your options have changed.”   Since when…last week?  Last month?  Last year?  You and half your corporate brethren  have been running the same message for 10 years!
  • First I’ll need a little information.  In order to reach a warm body to talk about our specific situation, the computer makes us enter our account number, then our date of birth, then our social security number, then our pin number, then the street address of our first grade teacher.

Why do we put up with this?  Why do we grit our teeth, tighten our carpel tunnel wrist braces and commence with the entering?  Because we have faith that all this hassle will get us to the one person in your company who will surely be able to help us with our problem.

When, at last, we hear the dulcet tones of your customer service expert (who has been chosen especially for us), what does she say?  “May I have your account number, your date of birth, your social security number, your pin number, and the street address of your first grade teacher?”

“But, but…” we sputter, “I just typed in all of that stuff!”

“The computer uses that information to route the call, but doesn’t show it to me.” she responds with the Buddha-like calm of someone who has all day to spend on this call.  Because she does.  Unlike us, SHE is being PAID to languish on the phone.

If you ask for it, use it.

  • People…people who need people. No matter how swell your phone tree may be, sometimes we want to talk to a real person.  We consumers are funny that way.  We don’t even care if it’s a stupid person, as long as it’s a warm body.  Is that too much to ask?

Make sure this is one of the lowest hanging fruits on the first branch of your phone decision tree.  Don’t leave us wandering in the on-hold desert for 40 years, frantically pressing 0 in a futile attempt to find signs of life.

  • We care. We really do. Don’t keep telling us, “Your call is very important to us.”  After we’ve listened to this bromide 37 times, we’re not buying it anymore.  If our call was so gosh, darn important it would have been answered by now.  By a real person.

Life would be easier for us customers, and more profitable for you corporations, if you would just follow these simple suggestions.  Give me a call if you have any questions, Mr. CEO.  Better make it my cell phone, though – I just got rid of the land line.

Posted in General Ramblings | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 98 Comments

Memory Building Blocks For Remembering Memories

Posted on August 22, 2013 by pegoleg

goodhumorplaytruckI’ve got a memory like one of those bowls with all the holes that you use to drain spaghetti, although I generally just use the pan lid, because why dirty another dish?

It’s getting worse as I get older. To help me remember important information, I’ve developed a couple of handy tricks.  I call these the Memory Building Blocks:

  • Kiddius Memorius

Things learned as a kid stay with you much longer than things learned as an adult, and there’s a scientific reason for that.

The brain has a little section called…called… let’s call it the Kiddius Memorius.  This part soaks up memories like one of those really absorbent wipers you use in the kitchen, and which they now say you shouldn’t use because they’re germ-magnets so all you’re doing is pushing the germs around the counter, instead of getting rid of them.  When we become adults, our bodies produce a hormone that shuts the front door on the Kiddius Memorius lobe and locks all that information safely inside.

It’s because of the Kiddius Memorius lockdown that, when I’m a drooling, diaper-clad nursing home resident, unable to remember my own name or what year it is, I will still remember the entire air-drum solo to In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida, and playing “doctor” with Bobby Hightower behind the garage when I was 6.

  • Total Sensory Immersion

If you rely on just one of your senses to remember things, you’re doomed to failure.  The secret to getting information firmly stuck in your brain is to use all your senses, something I call Total Sensory Immersion.  That’s how I prepared for tests in college.

First I read my notes  – sight.  Then I wrote my notes out longhand – touch.  Finally, I read the notes out loud  – taste and hearing.  I repeated this regimen throughout the night, pacing back and forth, and by the next morning the fifth sense, smell, was also fully engaged – the horrible smell of my dirty, all-nighter self.

To this day, a whiff of stinky armpit sets off an involuntary response, “Phew! Smells like a Stats final.”

  • Potsiefication

Songs are always easier to remember than dry facts and numbers.  That’s just how the human brain is programmed.  Setting information to music increases the rate of retention to the…to the…that little number that you write a little up and to the right side of another number.

This is a scientific fact that was proven by Potsie in that Happy Days’ episode where he was cramming for a test about the heart, and everybody was wearing 1950s clothes but had 1979 hair.

  • Drooling Dog Training

People can be trained to associate one thing with another.  For example, when I hear a bell ring, I immediately think of ice cream because of the trucks that drove around our neighborhood in the summer when I was a kid.

This technique was invented by a guy who rang a bell every time he gave his dog some kibble. After a while the dog started drooling as soon as he heard the bell ring, even if there wasn’t any food.  Because of this scientist’s landmark research, the technique was named after him: Drooling Dog Training.

Now that we are familiar with the Memory Building Blocks, let’s look at a real life situation in which I use the whole spectrum of techniques.  See if you can recognize them in action.

The Problem:

My parents moved from 909 N. Lincoln to 5551 Stoney Creek Drive more than 6 years ago, and I still can’t get their new address to stick in my brain.

 Memory Building Blocks Solution:

Our old street was named after Abraham Lincoln.  We are conditioned to associate President Lincoln with chopping down a cherry tree because of lessons learned in childhood.  Cherry pits are sometimes referred to as stones, which are, by definition, stoney.

Cherry trees grow in orchards, which are found in the country.  When I think of the country, I invariably start humming a favorite song by Three Dog Night, “Out In The Country” because I used to lie on the couch and listen to their album over and over again after high school dances, especially if the cute guy I was crushing on didn’t ask me to dance, in which case I’d cry as I sang along.  This song says the country is where “the rivers like to run” and a small river is a creek.

If you want to visit a cherry orchard out in the country, your best bet is to drive there.  Otherwise, it could be a really long and sweaty hike.

Last year a movie came out called “Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter”.  I didn’t see it, but I bet those vampires were evil.  The master of evil is the devil, and his sign is 666. But vampires aren’t quite as evil as the devil, maybe only 5/6th as evil, so their sign might be 555.

President Lincoln probably found it pretty lonely at the top. I imagine being a vampire is also rather lonely.  I think Three Dog Night said it best in their classic song, “One (1) is the Loneliest Number.”

See how each piece of the puzzle is carefully, skillfully interwoven to knit the whole memory together?

I reinforce these lessons by subtly working their address into the conversation each time I call my parents.

I might say,

“Hi, Dad, located at 5551 Stoney Creek Drive.  What did the doctor say at your last appointment?  Does he want you to go for more blood tests, not at 5551 Stoney Creek Drive, of course, but at the hospital?”

 Or,

 “Hi, Mom! How’s it shakin’ there at 5551 Stoney Creek Drive?  Did you know I used to play doctor with Bobby Hightower behind the garage at 909 N. Lincoln, but NOT at 5551 Stoney Creek Drive?  Because you just moved there a couple of years ago?”

As I sit here, writing 5551 Stoney Creek Drive over and over again on a pad of paper, then licking the paper while ringing a little bell, I am confident I will have my parents’ new address indelibly burned into my brain in no time.  Soon, when asked where they live, I won’t miss a beat before I blurt out – 6663 Crying Vampire Orchard!

I hope you find the Memory Building Blocks help you as much as they have helped me.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to dash.  I suddenly have an uncontrollable craving for one of those red, white and blue ice cream bars in the shape of a rocket.

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Like Two Ships That Pass In The Park

Posted on August 13, 2013 by pegoleg
shipsinthepark

It was just like this.

“Small world!”

That’s what we say when we bump into someone unexpectedly, or find out we know the same people.  But do you believe it?  Is it a small world after all, or is that just a Disney ride with an incredibly annoying theme song?

I believe.

Susie from Susie Lindau’s Wild Ride is a force of nature in the blogging world.  You may have met her here when she enjoyed the distinguished honor of being Freshly Pegged.  If you’re smart, you hang out at her place routinely.  Although Susie and I are blogging buddies, we’ve never met.  That almost changed recently when we were half a world away from home.

You probably know I took a trip to England a few weeks ago.  One clue would be that I did a post about the royal birth, and haven’t shut up about the trip since.

I didn’t announce my plans beforehand, and it wasn’t until I got back that I discovered that Susie was in the same place at the same time.  Literally.

She and her sweetie went on a whirlwind, “If It’s Tuesday This Must Be Belgium” kind of vacation around Europe.  She marked the trip with a fun game on her blog, “Where In the World Is The Wild Rider Now?”  where she posted vibrant pictures of the sights she saw, and asked readers to identify the places.

I recognized a photo from her last post because I had just been there. When we compared notes, it seems we were both in the Kensington Gardens in Hyde Park, London, probably on the same day.

Not that we saw the same things.

Kensington Gardens are in the front yard of Kensington Palace, the London home of William and Kate, proud new parents of Little Prince Georgie.  Susie observed a gorgeous, sunlit garden by the palace.  Her artist’s eye captured the serene beauty of the place in this lovely photo.  Surely the blooming flowers are a metaphor for the new life to be found within the palace walls?

I snapped my photo at the Round Pond in front of the palace.  Instead of stunning beauty, my eye was drawn to the spectacle of one bird attacking and killing a smaller bird while their feathered friends looked on in dismay.  (That, or they were waiting their turn to get their licks in.  I couldn’t tell what the other birds thought, bird expressions being notoriously hard to interpret.)  Witnessing this in front of the palace after the birth of a new heir seemed, to me, to be another metaphor.  A metaphor for the struggle to the death that has marked the path to the throne for much of  history.

kensingtonkill

Almost meeting Susie in London was “small world” indeed, but it isn’t my most impressive example.

Years ago, my hubby and I vacationed in Rome and had a 1/2-hour stopover in Zurich on the way back.  Since there was no way I was going to be in Switzerland without scoring some chocolate, I dashed into the duty free shop and hoped the plane wouldn’t leave without me.

The store was stocked with expensive perfumes, liquors and chocolate.  I only had eyes for the later.  As I backed up to let my eyes take in the whole, sweet display, I collided with a gentleman who was performing the same appraisal of the liquor selection.  We turned at the same time to apologize and I saw I hadn’t booty-bumped a random stranger…it was my cousin’s husband, Chris.

He had been on a business trip in Italy and took a train to Zurich.  He was killing time in the duty-free shop because his plane home to Seattle didn’t leave for several hours. The “what are the odds” quality of this meeting had us both sputtering in disbelief.

Later I couldn’t help thinking, what if one of us had been doing something they shouldn’t, like having a clandestine meeting with a lover?  Just my luck, I’d be feeling smugly anonymous that far from home, and BAMM! Busted.

My take-away lesson was this; it IS a small world after all.  Not only is God watching, but you never know when you’ll run into someone who will rat you out if you misbehave.

While I’m bummed that Susie and I didn’t meet on this trip, I hold out the hope that we’ll bump into one another someday, somewhere else in the world.  And since I know I would have treated you to a pitcher of Pimm’s in London, that means it will be your turn to buy when we DO meet, Susie.

What was your most memorable “small world” experience?

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These Are A Few Of My Favorite Things: London Edition

Posted on August 8, 2013 by pegoleg

Me: “I just got back from a trip to London with my daughters.”
Her: “How I envy you – I love London!  The art, the architecture, the history…what did you like best?”

The Tower

Off with his head!

Me: “Oh, jeez, it’s hard to pick…”
Her: “How about The Tower of London?  Didn’t you love the Crown Jewels?”
Me: “We didn’t actually go IN the Tower.  But I got tons of pictures AROUND it.   When you think of what those ancient stones have witnessed.  And now this. That’s a DUDE.  Wearing capris.  With black socks and shoes?   They should have thrown Dexter Dweebly into the Tower for crimes against fashion.”

Her: “What about Westminster?  To think a place so steeped in history is still a vital part of the working government. Could you imagine working there every day?”

Westminster: Big Ben - yes. Wifi - no

Westminster: Big Ben – yes. Wifi – no

Me: “We were more interested in absorbing the general flavor of the place. Like this picture of Big Ben. Well, near Big Ben. I was 4 miles into my quest for a trash can at this point (which, as it turns out, they don’t have public trash cans because Britanicals are very private and proper, even about their garbage), and Liz stopped on the sidewalk to try get a Wifi connection.  We almost got trampled by the crowd when the little walk-guy light turned green!”

Her: “How did you like the London Eye?”
Me: “That was an amazing sight.”
Her: “You really get a feel for the scope of the city from up there, don’t you?”
Me: “Oh, yeah. I mean, I guess you would.  We didn’t go on it, we just LOOKED at it…from across the river.  I wonder if the carnies running it have better dental work than the carnies in the States?  I always say, if a guy can’t take care of his own teeth, how can you trust he’s gonna take care of a carnival ride that you’re risking your life on?”

camera 7-13 689Her: “Surely you went to Buckingham Palace for the changing of the guard?”
Me: “For sure! See that horse’s ass in that picture there? No, not her…the white dot above that lady’s head, kinda in the middle? That’s almost definitely one of the palace guards.  Couldn’t really tell from where we were standing. But it was so worth the trip over: changing subway trains twice, hiking down that street with all the construction and traffic and standing cheek-to-sweaty-jowl in the broiling sun along with 100,000 other royal watchers with their cameras and cell-phones held up over their heads in the hopes of getting a picture of SOMEthing…anything.  It felt so personal.”

camera 7-13 925

Hot dogs are called tube steaks in a place like this.

Her: “And the Victoria and Albert Museum?  All that wonderful art and history, and it’s free!”
Me: “Ah, the V&A .  Wouldn’t have missed it for the world!  Although, as it happened, we did.  Miss it.  We  popped into Harrods first since it was on the way from the Tube, and I got sidetracked by the meat department.  This ultra-swanky store, and they have a butcher shop inside – have you ever been there?  With the peacocks and the tile mosaics on the ceilings?  It’s the most beautiful thing I ever saw!  I tell you what, if the Piggly Wiggly looked like THAT, I’d be buying ground round just like the Queen, instead of my usual 3-pound chubs of 70/30%  hamburger.”

Her: “You didn’t get to experience the incomparable art scene in London?”

Real, genuine art.

Real, genuine art.

Me: “As if!  Of course we did!  Why, look at this genuine oil painting I bought in Portobello Road. I thought it was a medieval Duke or somebody.  When I got home and showed it to my hubby, he said, right off, “That’s Brad, the Impaler. ” Showed me a picture on the interwebz and, sure enough, it’s the spitting image of the original Dracula.  Imagine him knowing something like that.  I got it as a souvenir for my Mom, but decided to give her some English toffee instead, what with Brad being the personification of cruelty and evil and what-not.”

Her: “Surely you experienced the London theater- Shakespeare at the Globe?  Or one of the fantastic offerings in the West End, like The Phantom of the Opera?”
Me: “No way we would miss the theater.  We were leaning toward some Shakespeare (I had a coupon for 2-for-1 pitchers of Pimms at a club in Soho that was doing a piece called “Two Gentlemen Taming The Shrew As You Like It”), but we decided on the open air theater at Regent’s Park.  They let you bring in your own wine.  And while “The Sound of Music” isn’t British per se, let’s not forget that Julie Andrews, the original star of the movie, definitely is.”

Her: “What about Trafalgar Square? The National Gallery?”
Me: “I remember THAT vividly.  There were so many Italian teenagers on school trips milling about that we could hardly move.  Then we went to this restaurant to buy lunch for a picnic and use the bathroom, and what do you suppose?  “No public bathroom” they said. “Excuse me?” I said. “We’re not the public, we’re customers!  We just spent 20 quiddy-bobbers on sandwiches and weird lemonade in tiny bottles, and that’s more than $30 in real money!”  Still no bathroom.  Did you ever hear of such a thing?”

Trafalgar Square.

Trafalgar Square. FYI, the bathrooms are right under the porch of the National Gallery, just over the shoulder of that Italian teenager on the right.

Her: “So you didn’t get to The National Gallery?”
Me: “Of course we did!  That’s what I’m trying to tell you.  Even though St. James Park, where we wanted to eat, was in the opposite direction, we had to hike all the way back from the restaurant in the midday sun, across the street, through Trafalgar square and past that tall statue of that really famous and important guy on a horse (I think he was Ricky Nelson), shove our way through the hordes of bored, Italian teens, all the while frying like lemmings in a concrete pan, just to use the bathroom.  The public bathroom was in the basement of the National Gallery!”

Her: “How about St. Paul’s? The Winston Churchill Museum? The Tate? Wimbledon? Surely you took a boat ride on the Thames?”
(Long, rather uncomfortable silence.)
Me: “Did I mention we were only there 4 days?  Including travel time?”

Her: “What DID you think about London?”
Me: “London may not have a lot of Wifi, trash cans or air conditioning, but they DO have Pimms.  And that makes up for everything.”

Special thanks to Billy-boy and Kay-Kay for scheduling the Royal Delivery around my vacation.  I’m pretty sure I’ll be asked to be Godmum, so I’m looking for deals on airfare to go back across the pond for the christening.

Thanks to my girls, Liz and Gwen, for being such good travel buddies.  To my hubby, Bill, for holding down the fort while we were away.  To my cousin, Ann, and her partner, Michael, for hosting us in Bath.  And to all of England, for being so, so spectacular.

Had an elegant time, guvna!

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