Jeanne Robertson's Left Brain Grocery List

It’s tradition in the South and, I suspect, in most other areas of the country to take food to a friend who is sick or has an emergency. You get credit if you take over anything, more credit if you make it yourself.

For years in these situations, I took over a big bowl of my “special” potato salad. Then the place that made it for me burned down. Now little 7-Up pound cakes are my specialty. I make them by the dozen and freeze them. If someone gets sick and I’m out of town, my husband, Jerry, (a.k.a. “Left Brain”) takes one over.

I was getting ready to leave on a speaking trip when I heard that a friend was sick. I headed straight to my freezer, but there wasn’t a pound cake in it. Left Brain announced, “A lot of people have been sick. I’ve been running cakes all over the county.” Then he mumbled, “I might have eaten a couple of ’em myself.”

Now, once you establish a tradition (taking pound cakes, for example) and then miss a few times, another woman will jump in ahead of you, start showing up with pound cakes, and declare herself the pound-cake queen. We’ve all seen it happen. It’s not pretty. I had to get a pound cake made before I headed to the airport.

I was really in a hurry, and making a pound cake wasn’t in my time plan. And to add to my dilemma, I didn’t have the ingredients. I needed Left Brain to make a quick trip to the grocery story while I packed.
He looked at his watch. “I can’t go, honey. I’m trying to get to badminton.”

“I just need a few ingredients,” I coaxed. “That badminton birdie is not flying away. And as you just admitted, you ate two of the cakes.”

He finally agreed—on one condition. “Just make sure I can get through the express lane,” he said. I nodded.

He took the short list and left. I waited and waited. He didn’t come back. And he didn’t come back. I figured he had gone to badminton and forgotten me and the cake. I was about to call the grocery story to have him paged (again), when I heard the car pull in. Left Brain came hurrying through the door, grocery bags in hand.

It is important that you know I’m married to a nice guy. Left brained? Absolutely. Still, a nice guy. That noted, when he came through the door, he glared at me as he put down the sacks. “Gotta get the rest out of the car,” he muttered. I looked in the first sack. There was a pound of butter and two gigantic bottles of vanilla flavoring. Doling out a teaspoon and a half per cake, it would take years to use that much vanilla flavoring.

In the next sack were three dozen eggs. I only needed five eggs and had clearly written on the list to get a “dozen eggs.” Must have been a “special” on the eggs, I thought.

In the next sack was a 3-pound tub of shortening. No, two tubs. In the next sack, two more. Twelve pounds of lard—enough to fry fish for a civic-club fund-raiser! But in that fourth sack, I found my list.

You also need to know that Left Brain is a smart man. He went to Duke University on a basketball scholarship, played basketball for four years, and graduated in the same four years. Then he got a master’s degree and a doctorate at The University of North Carolina. But I don’t care how many diplomas you have, if you have a left brain, it is going to kick in on you. His kicked in on him in that grocery store.

To make sure Left Brain could get through the express lane, I had, for probably the first time in my life, numbered
my items:
1– pound of butter (No problem.)
2– large bottle of vanilla flavoring (Why did he get two?)
3– dozen eggs (One, two, three dozen—this man has a doctorate degree!)
4– can of shortening (One, two, three, four. Unbelievable!)

I could hear him coming back and quickly looked down at item No. 5. It was a 5-pound bag of sugar. I knew he was coming in the kitchen with 25 pounds of sugar. Item No. 6 was a 5-pound bag of all-purpose flour. Thirty pounds of flour!

He came stumbling in with bags in each hand, on both arms, and between his teeth and started plopping sugar and flour in 5-pound thuds on the kitchen floor. “One more trip ought to do it,” he glared.

I sneaked a look at my list. Item No. 7 was a bottle of 7-Up. I didn’t want that big 2-liter bottle because I was only going to make one cake. I wanted a six-pack of medium-size bottles that hang down from plastic. I started clearing a space on the kitchen floor.

In a few minutes, he was putting the 42 bottles among the other sacks. “Well, obviously, they wouldn’t let me through the express lane,” he said. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have got to get to badminton.”

He started to leave, then walked back into the kitchen. “For the record,” he began, “I figured out what I had done wrong, but by then she was ringing up the 7-Up.”

I was standing there among the sacks, when Left Brain stuck his head in the room one more time. “Don’t tell anybody,” he said.

Three days later, the cashier ringing up my items in the grocery store commented, “I think I checked out your husband a few days ago. That was an interesting order.”

“Well, yes, let me explain,” I said. “Anytime a friend of ours gets sick, I take over a pound cake.”

She thought a few seconds, then asked, “Is there an epidemic?”

Here is her recipe for 7-up pound cake

Hillbilly Vasectomy

After their 11th child, a hillbilly couple decided that was enough, as they could not afford a larger bed.

So the husband went to his veterinarian and told him that he and his cousin didn't want to have any more children..

The doctor told him that there was a procedure called a vasectomy that could fix the problem but that it was expensive.

'A less costly alternative, ' said the doctor, 'is to go home, get a cherry bomb, (fireworks are legal in hillbilly country) light it, put it in a beer can, then hold the can up to your ear and count to 10.'

The hillbilly said to the doctor,

'I may not be the smartest tool in the shed, but I don't see how putting a cherry bomb in a beer can next to my ear is going to help me..'

'Trust me,' said the doctor.

So the man went home, lit a cherry bomb and put it in a beer can. He held the can up to his ear and began to count!

'1'

'2'


'3'


'4'


'5'


( you'll love this..)


At which point, he paused, placed the beer can between his legs and continued counting on his other hand.

This procedure works in Tennessee , Kentucky , Louisiana ,Arkansas , Mississippi , Alabama , Georgia , and West Virginia .

Hip Hip Hooray

Two of my most favorite people in all the world just announced that they are having a BABY!................I get to be Nanny Dani........doesn't that have a great ring to it?

Congratulations Brad and Megan!!!!!!! I love you both!

While we are on the subject!

Since I've been talking a lot about my dad lately I thought I'd share another telling tale that is yet another example of his sarcasm and wit. It occurred many years ago when my brother had just had a not so comfortable hemorrhoid surgery. He was staying at my parent's home during his recovery and was about 3 days post-op. With a look of determination we watched him gingerly walk toward the den with a rubber donut in one hand while gripping the wall with the other. Mike was making his way to the den where dad and I were watching tv. During the hour is seemed to take him to reach the half way mark I caught a glimpse of my dad watching Mike. He was sitting in his recliner with his left leg slung over the arm of the chair puffing away on his cigar. He was watching Mike with keen interest, his eyes never leaving the scene for a seond. I didn't know just what was coming but I was pretty sure he was going to have something profound to say about Mike's painful pilgrimage. We continued to watch as Mike hovered for a second over the couch, kind of the way a dog goes in circles before curling up on the hearth. Slowly, hesitantly, Mike began his cautious descent releasing a giant sigh once his back side came to rest on the strategically placed rubber donut. Before Mike's facial muscles had time to relax my father looked at him and nonchalantly said, "Well, I'll be damned Mike, you are finally a bigger pain in the ass to yourself than you are to anyone else."

Mike pitifully responded, "Ahhhhh Dad."

Although I admit I burst out laughing and rolled on the floor ...I feel sorry for poor ole Mike to this day.

Mr. Hughes and Dad

My father owned a pawnshop for many years. He liked to refer to himself as a Jewish pawnbroker although his Southern Baptist upbringing contradicted that claim. He wore a pendant for years that boasted the Star of David on one side and St. Christopher on the other. He said he was just trying to cover all his bases and according to his mother-in-law he needed all the help he could get. But that’s another story.



My dad was a colorful character and I think the main reason he enjoyed his entrepreneurship so much was that it afforded him the opportunity to be the main act on his own center stage. Since he was always performing he acquired quite the following of groupies. There were a few dubious characters that showed up from time-to-time to be entertained by the wit and sarcasm of my father but there were also some characters equally colorful in their own right.

One such character was Robert, a full-blooded American Indian of extreme short stature who was a highly decorated veteran of Vietnam. Robert, alias Jerome, alias Geronimo, was also a victim of alcoholism and became a regular in the pawnshop when he was in-between jobs and sobriety. Dad would often find work for Robert, who also resembled a troll doll with the wildest mane of jet-black hair I’d ever seen. It was curly and stood about 2 feet straight out from his skull. One of the jobs my dad hired Robert to perform was to drive my mom around in their old white Cadillac. Robert’s duties involved picking Ms. Earl up at her house and driving her to church for her ladies circle meeting. What a sight they were. Robert, with only his wild main of hair visible over the steering wheel and my mother, prim and proper Ms. Earl, in the back seat. My mother was way too sweet and polite to be anything but gracious to her unusual looking chauffeur but secretly admitted she wanted to kill my father. She adamantly declared she neither needed nor wanted a driver and she sure as heck didn’t want him taking her to church for all her lady friends to see.

Another of my dad’s regulars was a man named Leonard Hughes, known only to me as Mr. Hughes. He was an old cowboy small in stature standing no more than 5 feet 5 inches in height. He had a rugged, weathered face but the gentlest blue eyes that sparkled when he was spinning a yarn. He was so petite that he once loaned me a pair of cowboy boots to wear to a high school howdy hop and they rubbed blisters on my size 6 feet. Mr. Hughes was also a true southern gentleman. He never used profanity and was always soft spoken. His gift as a storyteller was just one of the attributes that attracted my father and together they could spin a tale totally off the cuff. They would develop their stories on the spot feeding off the vivid imaginations of one another.

On one extremely hot August day in Oklahoma a young man came in to the pawnshop and while my father was completing his pawn ticket Mr. Hughes approached the counter carrying a large bag of pennies. Barely looking up my dad inquired, “What, more pennies? How much does that make now?”

“A little over a thousand dollars worth so far” replied Mr. Hughes with just the tiniest hint of a grin.

Barely glancing up my dad asked,” Well, are you going back for more?”

All the while the young customer was becoming obviously interested in the conversation between the two men.

“I’m going back as soon as I can get a truck and some shovels. There are just too many of em to pick up by hand.” answered Mr. Hughes.

Mr. Hughes was now pouring the contents of the bag on the counter. While the pennies rolled across the counter the young man could no longer resist the bait and inquired, “Uh, where did you get all those pennies?”

Now it was just a matter of reeling in the fish.

“Didn’t you hear about that that armored plane flying down by Lake Murray?” asked my dad. “It was so weighed down with money that it couldn’t get any altitude. The pilot had to make a quick decision to lighten the load or he’d have to ditch the plane. So he just started tossing bags of pennies out of the plane and now they are scattered all around the lake.”

Picking up the lead Mr. Hughes added, “There must be at least fifty thousand dollars in pennies down there. I’m getting a truck and going back for more.”

By now this kid is about to soil himself with sheer excitement. He asks the two older men for directions and nearly forgets to take his pawn ticket on his way out the door leaving the two storytellers to gloat over their sheer cleverness and quick wits.

Now it was probably 110 in the shade that day and these two old tricksters had just sent some gullible kid out to gather pennies from a lake shore nearly 100 miles away. Forty-five minutes later they were still enjoying the success of their tag team prank when the same young man came running into the shop to ask if they might draw him a map of the exact location.

My dad noticed that the young man had pulled up out front in a dilapidated truck hauling a flatbed trailer loaded with young kids and one old woman sitting on a lawn chair. Each of them had a shovel in one hand and a pail in the other.

Now, it’s true that Mr. Hughes and my dad loved a good joke but they were neither heartless or cruel. There was no way they were going to send a bunch of children and an old woman on a wild goose chase in that heat. Of course they later admitted had it just been the kid they might have drawn him the map.

59 no more

Yesterday I joined a new club. It is the club of 60's. It should feel pretty comfortable since the 60's WAS my era. I had my first date in the 60's, graduated high school, got married..... so 60 does have a familiar ring to it. I'm trying now to embrace this new age with complete gusto.

What's so great about being a kid anyway? What's so exciting about it? In a word, it’s potential. Kids see few limits to their potential. She wants to be an astronaut, or a nurse, or a lawyer, and on and on. She changes her mind every few days or weeks when she discovers something new. It's amusing, but it's exciting to see such enthusiasm and willingness to try something new.

What so bad about being old? What's so depressing about it? In a word, it’s limitations. He's too old; he can't do that any more. He used to be able to, but no more. There's no real future in trying to start a new career at his age. He doesn't have the time. He's "paid his dues" and he didn't get what he expected. He doesn't like it, but it's his lot in life. He gets tired quickly, doesn't have the energy he used to have, but he "can't expect it" at his age. It may seem logical, but it's depressing to hear such negativism.

If middle age is the period between these two states, then middle age must be that point in your life when you shift from seeing the future in terms of your potential and begin to see it in terms of your limitations. It's a shift that's so slow, so incremental, that we don't even notice it on a day-to-day basis. But we start at one end and end up at the other. It doesn't happen overnight.

Looked at with any objectivity, it doesn't make sense. Once we're in our 40's, or 50's, or 60's, we ought to think that we finally have enough experience and enough freedom to really begin to grow, not begin to decline. I know people who are 85 or older, but who still look forward to tomorrow. Unfortunately, I know people 15 or younger who've already given up. But they're rare, most of us slide down the hill from youth to old age, instead of climbing the hill. Sure, it's a matter of perspective and "all we have to do" is change our perspective. But we make it very hard on ourselves when we associate a perspective with a specific age group and treat it as inevitable because aging is inevitable. As the old saying goes, we dig our own grave. But,we don't have to.

If you could pick one day to live over....what day would it be?

When I think about the play, Our Town, by Thornton Wilder I wonder what day would I pick if I had the chance to live it over again. Maybe I’d choose a Sunday afternoon when my best friends, Pat from next door, and Cecilia and Diane, the 2 southern belles from across the street, were all at my house watching my parents dance in the den. Often on lazy Sunday afternoons my parents would roll back the rug in the den and turn on the hi-fi. I would watch them sway to the songs of their youth, those melancholy tunes that brought whispers and dreamy eyed gazes from days gone by. Sometimes I would catch a tear or two in their eyes and wonder why these songs evoked such emotion. Always aware that I was only a spectator and these moments belonged solely to them yet more often than not perturbed by their preference to the oldies and anxious for the opportunity to replace them with the current songs of the day. Who wanted to hear Star Dust or I’ll Never Smile Again when the Beatles had just invaded America? To add to the already sickening display of nostalgia my father would softly sing the words in my mother’s ear while holding her close oblivious to the glaring stares of their inpatient teenage audience. Though I wrinkled my nose in disgust, as any self-respecting teen would have done, I was secretly comforted by their overt display of affection. I enjoyed how their love was displayed for the entire world to see and it reassured me to know that my parents still felt the passion that had ignited their courtship. This is the kind of ordinary day I think I would choose to relive just to be with my parents, feeling not only their love for me but also their love for each other.

The siding is done!

I'm not a photographer but here is the completed siding and I'm so HAPPY to have it finished.

The Hazards of Sunbathing

Couldn't resist this cartoon. The last few days have been hectic with all the work around the house. I'm hoping that the siding work will be near completion when I get home this afternoon. There may be one more day of work before it is totally completed but I'm seeing the end now.....

We are planning to go out for my birthday this weekend and then I'm dog sitting for Julie while they take a trip to Las Vegas. I'll enjoy the company......

Well, the 105 degree weather has delayed the installation of the siding but they are supposed to get started this morning. I think it will only be 101 today......big cool front! However we have a 50% chance of rain late tonight. I'll believe it when I see it.

My day has started off well at least so far. My 6:30 am meeting is over and we have moved on to the next day's events. I decided to take tomorrow off and try to get a structural engineer to check-out my house. I'm anxious to get a report on what to do next.

Spoiled Romance

Karl and Milly were lying in bed one night. Carl was falling asleep but Milly was in a romantic mood and wanted to talk. She said, “You used to hold my hand when we were courting.”

Wearily Karl reached across, held her hand for a second, and rolled over to try to fall asleep.

A few moments later she said, “Then you used to kiss me.”

Mildly irritated, he leaned across, gave her a peck on the cheek and settled back down to sleep.

Thirty seconds later she said, “Then you used to bite my neck.”

Angrily, he threw back the bed clothes and got out of bed.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“To the bathroom to get my teeth,” he replied.

The Recital

I wish I had the words to adequately describe my father. He was bigger than life and always entertaining. He had a great sense of humor and one of the sharpest wits I have ever encountered. As a former high school English teacher he had a wonderful command of the English language but more often than not talked like a sailor on leave. This was a trait that made my mother cringe whenever they were in public together. No one was ever sure just what might come bursting from my father’s lips. Another of my father’s “bad habits” according to my mother was his love of cigars. He was rarely without one dangling from his hand while a pungent trail of smoke rose to the ceiling.

Now between his cigar smoking and his uncensored vocabulary my mother would rather wrestle a snake than take my father anywhere that might result in the tarnishing of our family name. Yet, there were those rare occasions that could not be avoided like my piano recitals. Yep, here was an occasion dreaded by all for various and distinct reasons. I dreaded them because I hated to practice the piano and hated even more to play it in front of anyone. My mother dreaded the event because it meant being accompanied by my father and my father would have rather been anywhere other than sitting on a metal folding chair listening to 25 kids peck out the tune Country Gardens.

I had been taking piano lessons at Mrs. Glascock’s piano studio for about two years and at the age of eight I was ready for my first piano recital and yes, the piece I would play for my musical debut was indeed Percy Grainger’s Country Gardens. I can still remember the words, “Come let us go where soft breezes blow and the lovely country gardens grow”. I remember it so well because I must have played it for 30 minutes a day every day for a year. Thirty minutes was the minimal amount of required practice time imposed by my mother who emphatically refused to waste the $5.00 weekly lessons on an ungrateful child unwilling to practice.

Unfortunately I was billed second to last on the recital roster leaving each of us to suffer our own individual torment. I was tormented with pure fear and anxiety as I waited for my turn to play. As each student got up and performed their piano solo I counted down how many were left before the curtain fell on me. My mother’s torment came in the form of the 200 lb man squirming in the chair next to her and his torment was the fact that he had to listen to 25 children play the piano when he was only interested in one of them.

His impatience grew steadily by the minute. The more restless he became the louder were his grunts and sighs. He wiggled around so much in the metal folding chair it was making groaning sounds of its own. At one point my mother gave my dad a sharp elbow to the ribs and not so delicately told him to hush and be still. Finally she suggested he go outside and smoke a cigar but with the explicit order to be back before his only daughter was called to perform.

All this time I was getting fidgety myself. The more noise my father made the more anxious I became. One-by-one the children climbed the stage to take their place at the piano. Finally, it was my turn to play. The only person remaining was the little boy who was to follow me. He was the last remaining soloist. Just as I sat down at the big white grand piano my father came rushing through the door collapsing into his metal chair. He let out a big sigh as if to say, “Yes, finally we can get this show on the road.” Slowly I lifted my hands and brought them down to the black and white keys striking the notes only once before the contents of my stomach emptied all over the piano and my lap. My mother gasped in horror while my father loudly inquired, “Just how much are these @#%&* lessons costing me anyway?” Needless to say that was the last recital for my dad and me. The only person thrilled by my performance was the little boy who didn’t have to follow me on stage!

The transformation continues

Old Roof

New Roof

Today begins the final transformation..........the siding starts going up today. I was so happy with the roof I can't wait to see everything when it is complete. I'm not sure what the temperature is supposed to be today but I imagine it will be another scorcher. I tried to take a picture of the roof but it came out all wavy and distorted. In spite of how the picture looks.....the roof really does look good.

My next task it to tackle the problems with the cracking brick. I have had approximately 12 piers put around the foundation of the house and still I'm having problems. My house sits on clay soil which is the worst for causing foundation problems. The pier work was warrantied for life but this time when I called the company they said the problem wasn't the piers but that the ground had uneven moisture distribution. I think they just know they can't sell me anymore piers because I already have the around the entire house. I am planning on contacting a structural engineer to come out and look at the house and see if I can get an idea of what to do next. It's a 40+ year old house so I know there are going to be issues. Home maintenance.........it never ends!

Another hot day here, 104 this afternoon. It was just too hot to get outside and do anything. The new roof was done yesterday when I got home from work and it looks great. They did a really good job. I went out and purchased some vinyl shutters and have them ready to put up after they get the siding finished. That's supposed to start Monday. I don't know how they work in this heat. It would be brutal to be putting dark shingles on a room in 104 degree temperatures. Gad

Today was my son-in-laws birthday and we all went to a new restaurant for dinner. It was a cute little Bistro and the food was fantastic. I had the salmon and it was really good. I need to remember to take my camera with me but I never seem to remember. I've never been much of a photographer but I need to get better about documenting family memories. Something I'll work on.

Hooray it's Friday and it has come none to soon. They are delivering the shingles for the roof this morning and "may" have it completed by the time I get home from work. If not it will be done tomorrow. I'm not sure about spending my Saturday with hammering over my head all day but I'll deal with it. Monday they will begin installing the siding on the house.

My electric locks in my car have a short and so the car locks and unlocks at will. I never know if I'll find the car locked or not in the morning and sure enough it wasn't this morning and my little car thief had hit again. The door was standing ajar and the glove compartment was open. They never steal anything because I don't keep anything in the car but it is so irritating none the less. I always leave a note in the glove compartment to "please shut the car door after you finish looking for loot so the car battery won't lose it's charge" but I guess they can't read. Who am I kidding....they don't care if my battery goes dead. I have a 96 Nissan Sentra with no hubcaps. What do they possible think they will find in that car? If I put a nickel in the car and they stole the car I'd only lose a nickel. The car is a regular grapes of wrath mobile. But it gets me from point A to point B and that's all I care about. I so wish I had a garage but it was converted into a room many years ago to give us more living space. Now that the girls are gone I really don't need the space but I don't want to spend the money to change it back into a garage....besides I've gotten used to the extra storage space.

Thieves..........beware...someday I will alarm that car with a blow horn. I'll catch you some day in the act.

Shall We Dance

Since I’ve been dwelling on the whole age thing lately I decided to do a little research on the subject today. There is so much out there in cyberspace on the subject of Growing Old Gracefully I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to give up or take dance lessons. Would a little rhythm in my feet help be to age gracefully? It probably won’t stop the progression of time but it might make me a little lighter on my aging feet. And what does it mean to turn back the hands of time? Turn them back to where? Will I be as smart as I am now with a younger body? (Now I could go for that) or will I just have to learn all my life’s lessons all over again? (No thanks) I don’t know if I’m aging gracefully or not but I sure am trying to find the humor in the process. I have learned in my almost 60 years that laughter truly is the best medicine and that a smile will take 10 years off your face. I don’t need botox to sport a toothy smile in fact it just might hinder the effort.

Today was a pretty good day. The roof is going to be replaced with minimal cost to me and I'm putting siding on the house. I'm never going to have to paint it again! Oh Happy Day! I will have to take before and after pictures. I'm really excited about my little house make-over.

The Pampered Chef party was fun. They really have some nice cookware. The host demonstrated a stoneware roaster that she used to cook chicken fajitas in the microwave. They were delicious! It only took about 20 minutes. She also cooked barbecue pork tenderoin in it and it was also delicious.

It's was just an all around good day today. We had a little shower this afternoon and it cooled things off. It is supposed to get back in the 100's by Saturday so I guess this was just a short break in the heat.

Time marches on....19 day until I'm 60!

Having a husband creates an extra seven hours a week of housework for women … A wife saves men from about an hour of housework a week.
Source: University of Michigan

What! Only 7!

"What happened to Bin Laden? They used to talk about him all the time. Now they don't even mention … Bin Laden. Now, I hate to sound like a conspiracy theorist, but I don't believe Bin Laden really existed … A seven-foot diabetic Muslim, lives in a cave like Dr. Evil, there is no electricity, yet his camcorder is fully charged? Bin Laden did more movies ... than [Samuel L.] Jackson."
--Chris Rock in a clip from Kill the Messenger and on Larry King Live

Yeah, where is that pesky little terrorist anyway?

The Internal Revenue Service audited 36 percent fewer millionaires in 2008 than it did in 2007, according to a Syracuse University study. The IRS disagrees, saying the decrease was "only 19 percent."

Oops...my bad!

"Economists mostly failed to predict the worst economic crisis since the 1930s. Now they can't agree how to solve it. People are starting to wonder: What good are economists, anyway?"
--Peter Coy in BusinessWeek

Uhhhhh No Comment!

BORDER PATROL

4th of July was a lot of fun! We got there just in time for the cookout and as always the food was great and the company even better. We had an unexpected thunderstorm just about the time the burgers were done so the party moved indoors. It was nice listening to the rain while we ate. There were about 14 people there and the girls organized some fun games to play. Since I was considerably older than most of the guests it was interesting how the age gap manifested itself. One of the games required all present to put a person's name on 3 different slips of paper. The person could be anyone from history, politics, entertainment, etc. The names I put down were Helen Keller, Walter Cronkite and Julia Childs. Now mind you half the guests were age 24 - 25. The other half, with exception of myself and Ron were mid thirties and early 40's. The object of this game was pair up in teams and to put all the names in a bowl. The bowl was passed from team to team and each team had 2 minutes. A team member drew a name from the bowl and then set out to describe the person without saying the name. If guessed correctly the other team member then drew a name and it continued until the 2 minutes were up. Each team kept the names that were answered correctly. It continued around the room until all the names had been answered correctly. This was round I. Teams counted up how many names they had answered. Then all names were put back in the bowl and it started around again but this time you could only say 1 word to describe the person. After that round was completed you put the names back counted up your points and started again only this time you couldn't say anything you had to do charades. What was interesting was the age gap. Now these were all college graduates mind you but none of the 24 - 25 year olds knew any of my people. They didn't know who Charles Manson or Ted Bundy were either. By the time the game was over I felt 110 years old. However, the winning team was my daughter and Ron. So I guess age has its reward.

My daughter is having a Pampered Chef party tomorrow night. I've never been to one but I'm looking forward to seeing what it is about. From what I see in the catalog they have some nice things. I don't do that much cooking anymore so I don't think I'll be buying much unless it is for Christmas gifts. I need to get started on that list as I try to be finished before October. I enjoy spending the remainder of my holiday season baking cookies and decorating. I don't like shopping when the crowds are out!
Time is racing by as usual!

Happy 4th of July

It's firecracker day! The day for backyard cookouts, homemade icecream and swim parties. My daughter is hosting this year and they are all there swimming. I'm not going over until later as I do not plan to swim. The chlorine kills my eyes now that I have chronic dry eyes. I just can't take it and I'm not one to just float and bake. I like to swim too much to do that. So I'm going over in time for the cookout......

I hope everyone has a great 4th and enjoy the fireworks~!

What do you all think about this mad frenzy over Michael Jackson? Wasn't it just recently that the world had decided he had slid off his cracker? I have always believed he was a gifted artist but as many gifted people he had his share of difficulties. His childhood was non-existent and he certainly came from a wild and crazy family. But I don't get all this idol worship now. They will pick over his poor bones for months, try to cash in financially, and I just feel bad for those 3 children. Who knows what will happen to them. I'd rather see them go to Debbie Rowe. At least she hasn't already screwed up kids like the Jackson's have. Don't give them 3 more to ruin.

Well, I'm sitting here waiting on the plumber! All the sinks, toilets, and bathtub decided to back up this morning. Always something! I'm hoping I don't have to replace the sewer line. It has been a possibility for the past couple of years. Just trying to make it last as long as possible. They are supposed to be here this morning but as usual you just have to sit and wait.... no telling when they will actually get here.

Well, $145.00 later and the sink is draining. Even though the pay is good I still wouldn't want to be a plumber. I do wish I had one in the family though.........