wordsmith647

I Don’t Like Bugs!

Did I mention that I am not a fan of creepy, crawly things? I am not. Going back to my childhood, my screams would bring my Dad, running at full speed, to save me from…mostly spiders, but also some other unidentifiable creepy things. However, I am a fan of butterflies and lady bugs and, also, fireflies. Go figure.

My Dad has been in Heaven since 1992, so I have had to find other champions. My grown sons, if they are around, have often picked up the gauntlet, but they are rarely here at the appropriate moment. Jerry, my late husband had other virtues, bug killing was not his forte. 

My wonderful Ken, my loving husband and champion, does, when he’s awake, protect me from all things that disrupt my serenity. However, on this one particular occasion, he had gone to bed before me. I was on my way to bed, performing all my pre-bed rituals. I am in my 70’s and there are things that need doing before bedtime. I put out my nighttime prescriptions on the kitchen counter, next to the glass-topped stove. The stove top happens to be black and shiny.  I mention this because many bugs also fit that description. 

On this particular evening, I may have fallen asleep on the sofa during a TV movie. When I woke up, I may not have been as astute as I normally am… I got up and made my way into the kitchen, turned on the overhead light and did a doubletake. On top of the stove was a Cave Cricket aka Camel Cricket which was the size of Cleveland. Now as groggy as I was, I new not to take a heavy metal object to obliterate said critter. And I also knew not to wake Ken, who had a class early the next morning. So, what was I to do? A trap, I needed something to contain the cricket until Ken could get it in the morning. I looked around and saw nothing suitable. Then I looked under the counter on the carousel. There are assorted pots and pans and containers of all description. I finally saw it! My trusty purple plastic bowl…perfect! I took it and gingerly placed it over the heinous creature. But wait, what if Ken got up before I was awake and just picked up the bowl?! Something more was called for…a post-it note, upon which, I cleverly wrote: BUG!

By the time I got into bed, I was vibrating with anxiety over the previous caper.  Ken was immediately awake and asked what was wrong. I related the event, using every detail. When he was done laughing, he rolled over and went back to sleep.

When I got up, he was having his coffee, the dish was in the sink and I looked at him anxiously.

Mission Accomplished, he said.  And life went on… My Hero!

www.goodreads.com/review/show/5497545314

I loved it!

Ken brought home blackberries from Stop ‘n’ Shop yesterday. This is not an unusual occurrence. He loves fresh fruit and this time of year it appears in great abundance, if not of great quality. We were both arriving home from different directions and met up in the basement where he was sampling the blackberries and succeeded in spilling about a third of one container of blackberries at the base of his workbench. As I arrived, he was reaching for the dustpan and brush. I looked at the plump, luscious looking blackberries on the basement floor and Ken wielding the dustpan. “Don’t do that”, I may have shrieked. He stopped in his tracks. 

“What’s up?” he queried. 

“I will get them!”

“You’re going to eat blackberries off the basement floor?!” He sounded astonished because he perceives me to be the more fastidious of the two.

“I’m going to wash them!”

I proceeded to pick them up by hand, placing them back in the container with those which had not spilled. Some had rolled under the workbench and I stretched and reached as far as I could. When I had retrieved all that I could see, we both went upstairs. I got out a pretty, flowered bowl, placed the berries in it and got some cold, filtered water from the refrigerator door. After I double rinsed them, I tasted one. It was well worth the effort. These berries were as good as Mr. Zomzelli’s berries, who was my neighbor from my childhood.

Life was very different in the late ‘40s and early ‘50s. Neighbors were generally very friendly. I lived between a vacant lot and Mr. Zomzelli. He had a rather large piece of property, easily two or three times the size of my parent’s yard. His property went up a hill, and on this incline, about two thirds the way up the hill, was a patch of blackberry bushes. He sometimes brought berries to my mother. When I was about three years old, I took to exploring my yard and accidentally wandered into his yard. I discovered the source of these delicious berries. There were quite a few blackberry bushes in his yard and I may have sampled a few on several different occasions. One day, I got “caught” and I started to run away, but Mr. Zomzelli said to me, “You don’t have to run away. I just wanted to tell you that you may pick the berries. There are too many for me to enjoy and they will go to waste if someone doesn’t eat them.”

After that, for the remainder of the summer, I was a regular visitor to the blackberries and they have lived in my memory as the best blackberries that I ever tasted. Every berry that I tasted in my 70+ years have been evaluated against Mr. Zomzelli’s blackberries and not meeting the standard…that is until today. Ken, you did it. You have fulfilled my childhood fantasy for blackberry excellence. In my imagination, at least, these berries from Stop ‘n’ Shop, through some circuitous journey through time and space, are related to those of my childhood neighbor…and I didn’t even have to pick them.

Sounds simple enough. I’ve been doing it since I was a about two years old. At home, you reach for the terry cloth towel. When you are out in public, is when it has become more complicated.

Be honest, how many of you have found yourself waving at the paper towel dispenser…palm up, palm down, making circular motions in front of the machine? I know you have, because I have caught myself doing it, sometimes only to discover it is an air-dry scenario.

Our grocery store has an all-in-one gadget that straddles the sink. Foamy Soap, Water, Blow Dryer, in that order. You don’t need to take one step away from the sink before you are clean and dry.

Gone forever is the continuous cotton towel that wound its way out of and back into the dispenser on the wall. Didn’t you wonder if you were getting the same towel someone else had used after it cycled through the machine? That has been replaced by machines that emit ultra-violet light and seem to suck the water off your hands at the same time. This is done so quickly that it boggles the mind. I always want to put my hands in one more time to make sure they are dry, although they seem fine.

I think a lot of these gadgets emerged after Co-Vid when we started getting out in public again and needed to feel safe. We could clean our hands without touching anything that anyone else had touched. This was comforting to our “quarantine weary” minds. 

I am now a post-quarantine senior who is trying to be up to date. I like to look like I know what I am doing, I exude poise, panache’, cutting edge style. So, I am in the bathroom of a restaurant, alone. I have concluded my business and emerged. I wash my hands and I face the drying apparatus. I have waved palm up, then palm down. I am now making an arc in front of the machine when a woman walks in. After watching my gyrations for a few seconds, she says, “push the lever.” I look up at her, then glance back at the device. Sure enough, it is a late turn of the century paper towel dispenser with a lever. As I push the lever with my hand, the paper towels emerge from the bottom of the antique contraption and I feel rather foolish.

By the time I have completed my task, the helpful woman has disappeared, either into a stall or back out the door. I pat my hair, apply fresh lipstick and pull myself together. I exit the bathroom, giving the appearance of a. normal person.

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                                            October 19,2022

I admit to having an inclination toward a bit of intrigue, mystery perhaps…things just a bit askew from the same old same old. However, on this Wednesday, October 19th, my mind was on the day’s business. I had come from an appointment, then I went to ShopRite, stopped for some overpriced gasoline on the way home and had just carried my groceries into the house because my new husband was having lunch with the guys. I was looking forward to having the rest of the day to myself when my phone buzzed with a text message from my fellow sleuth across the street.

She made reference to the fact that one of my adjacent neighbors’ front doors was open and no car was in evidence. Did I know, she queried, if they were home. I did not. 

I told her as soon as the perishables were refrigerated, I would investigate.

Now my sleuthing skills are not what they once were (not sure if they were ever that good) but on this particular day, my mind was elsewhere. I was planning to cook for my son and send food up the hill for their dinner. I was trying to remember if I had curry powder in the spice cabinet or if I was going to need to improvise. Those thoughts were predominant when I ambled out the door and checked out the front door of my neighbor who is closer to the lake, which was closed tight.

At this point, I re-checked my fellow sleuth’s message and realized that she left clues that I had ignored, like my neighbor’s name! At this point, I texted the correct neighbor and asked if she knew her front door was open. She did not and said it shouldn’t be open, all the members of her family were at work or school. Would I please close the door and excuse her dog if she barked at me. 

Now, if there was a criminal present, I wanted someone to be able to identify my body, so I texted my fellow sleuth to watch out her door while I did the deed. She did not immediately respond to my text and since I was already down the stairs and out my front door. I decided to risk my life and proceeded without back-up. I felt like a cross between Bosch and Nancy Drew. I walked boldly up the steps to the front door, peered in, saw no one, opened the storm door, reached in and pulled the inner door closed and re-closed the storm door. In the middle of all this, their aged watch dog barked, but did not move. As I was walking down the stairs, I got a text from my sleuth across the street. She apologized for not answering, she was washing her hair…

When I got home, I texted my neighbor with the formerly open door that all was well. She was grateful and I felt appreciated. At 75, I had finally accomplished one of the goals that I had set when I was about 12. 

I last posted early in February, when. my little Nuthatch appeared and disappeared. Since then I have seen Cardinals and mostly sparrows.

Yesterday, I did my annual rotation of the table so that it faces the patio door. I get up, open the drapes and sit with my morning coffee and face the deck and the backyard. This mornings’ visitors include chipmunks and squirrels. I can hear birds, but I haven’t seen any yet this morning.

The day is overcast and drizzly, but it is in the low 50’s…nothing to sneeze at in February in northern NJ.

Our Community Garden sign-up was last week and although I have been a member for ten years, this year will include a number of firsts: my partner of the last nine years moved away and so, I will be without her. My fiancé will be joining me in gardening, as we expand our partnership to another area. Third, I will be moving to a new plot. I am hoping to visit the new plot and begin planning its layout. Soon after that it will be time to start some seeds to get ready for our May planting date. This year I hope to make one section a cutting garden, I love flowers and growing some of my own would make me smile. Even thinking about Spring activities makes me smile. Long before planting time we will be cleaning up the plot and adding some topsoil to make it ready to receive the seeds and plants. I am getting excited just thinking about it.

On Monday, I had lunch with some of my friends. It was our first visit to the Windlass this year. It was sunny and beautiful. Just looking at the patio swings made us all long for the warm weather when we can happily swing while gazing at the lake. Did I mention that I love living by the lake? Well I do. 45 years and still my happy place!

Before I even got to sit down with my coffee, I heard them through the drawn drapes. The birds are back. I try not to get excited about this as a forecast of Spring because it is 21 degrees this morning (also, it’s February 9th in northern NJ). I slowly open the drapes, trying not to startle them away. They have good volume, I realized, as I see that they are in the tree in the back neighbor’s yard.

I leave the drapes open, the chirping continues. I sit down with my coffee, turn my attention to my puzzle and a cute, chubby nuthatch appears on my deck, right by the door. He examines the fallout from the flower pots and pecks at this and that. I have no bird seeds because my significant other thinks it would attract bears, it’s possible so I acquiesced. I rummaged through our snack jars until I found trail mix, heavy with sunflower seeds. I separated them out from the almonds and other big pieces. When I had half a palm full, I carefully opened the door and spread them on the railing. The cutie disappeared as soon as I opened the door. If I keep the door opening to a minimum, I hope he will return for his treats. Ken said I’ll probably get Blue Jays…

Hopefully, more news to follow..

Corona in my cornflakes

what am I to do?

I reached into the darkened fridge

Instead of milk, I poured you.

I didn’t realize at first

My liquidy mistake

Tentative, first taste revealed

It was the very worst!

In shock I dipped my spoon again

Into the frothy mix

I searched deep within my brain

Some way for me to fix

This briny, fizzy bowl of breakfast

Should I put it down the drain?

Second spoon, not quite as bad

Am I acquiring a taste?

For Fizzy, Briny Flakes?

Is this the way new trends begin?

My mind began to race

Did I, by chance discover something new

To set the pace

For many trendy tastebuds to be shaken from

Their droll 

existence to the peak of awe, 

Spoon three declared the outcome,

It was as I had feared,

No trend, but just a soggy mess

Oh darn, oh heck, oh dear!

Corona in my cornflakes

Just a terrible mistake

It likely would have been much worse

If I had been awake!

Following a doctor’s appointment, Ken and I decided to have lunch at a Local Diner. This is an old favorite of mine and a place that Ken has never been.

We arrived and were seated in a very short time. We were given two regular menus and a specials menu. At the very top of the “specials” menu was an apple and grilled chicken salad that appealed to both of us. We were discussing sharing that and one additional menu, we selected a club sandwich to supplement the salad and when the waitress brought our beverages, we were ready to order.

Now the fun begins… We ask for the apple and grilled chicken salad and are informed that they are out of apples…really. It is 1:00pm on Monday and this is the featured item on their “specials” menu. She offers to substitute strawberries for the apples and we decline. Eventually we select a wrap and the club sandwich, but I can’t let this go. I am stewing over the “special” not being available at lunchtime on Monday…then, I look out of the window and what do I see across the street? A chain supermarket! Really…they could have walked across the street and bought a bag of apples or two and not made me feel that I no longer knew this place. What is wrong with the concept of keeping the customer satisfied? Especially in this era when restaurants are struggling for survival. This place has been in business for decades, they have grown and remodeled. Now, when every restaurant is struggling to keep their doors open, is not the time to skimp on customer service. Eventually, I let it go. We relax, actually, I relax, Ken has been fine all along. He suggests I order a hot beverage, since I had had water. I order coffee and he suggests, that I select a dessert for us to share. (Does he know how to win me over or what?) I find a slice of Godiva topped cheesecake which turns out to be light as a feather cheesecake topped by scrumptious chocolate and delectable strawberry. All’s well that ends well, but you know…the apples on the specials menu…

There are days that “live in infamy”, but when you have two in a row, what do you do on the third? Do you stick your chin up and proceed or hide under the covers, hoping to avoid another catastrophe? I am not sure I am up for a third catastrophe. I spilled a full cup of coffee on my laptop on the first day. On the second day, I hit a car parked next to the space I was attempting to park in. The damage to my car was worse than that done to the other car, that was cold comfort. I was attempting to meet Susan for our traditional “Saturdays with Susan” which have been hard to come by these days between Co-Vid19 and other commitments that life throws in our way. This Saturday was going to be a normal “Susan” day. We were planning to meet at the Christmas Tree Shoppe, one of our favorite old haunts, and I was a few minutes early (not my usual m.o.) the parking lot was crowded as usual and I proceeded slowly as I looked for a space. I turned down a row where I had spotted several empty spaces, there was a pick-up truck coming from the opposite direction. I didn’t know if he was looking for a space or leaving, so I moved to the right to allow him to pass me. He kept going and I proceeded into the space I had in mind, I had already started to turn when I spotted a shopping cart about three quarters of the way into the space. I guess that distracted me and as I turned, I was too close to the car on my right and heard a sickening sound of car scraping car. I was nauseous. I got out of the car and examined both cars, although the damage to mine was greater, the other car had a lot of my paint on the bumper.

I took a picture of the license plate and set out to find the owner.

First, I went into Christmas Tree Shoppe and went to customer service. I had to wait because she was checking out a regular customer. I told her about the incident and told her I wanted to find the owner of the car. I had the picture of the license plate. She didn’t know what to do. I suggested that she announce that the owner of the car come to the front. She told me that she was not authorized to use the P.A. system. So, she called for a manager, who took 5 minutes to respond. I kept thinking that the owner could have been there and walked out by then, but I remained as cool as I could. Eventually someone with “top security clearance” got on the PA and made the announcement. Another 10 minutes passed and the customer service clerk suggested that the car owner may have gone to Michael’s, which was next door. I agreed and left, looked down the aisle where the cars were and saw no one there and the car was still there. I entered Michael’s and had an almost exact repeat of the previous experience, except this time she had to call someone else to use the PA because she didn’t know how. By now I am frantic, imaging the car owner finding her car and assuming I had left and calling the police to report a hit and run or whatever “leaving the scene of an accident”. Anyway, I walked out of Michael’s and saw a woman standing between the two cars. I practically ran to her and said “I have been looking in both stores for you, I didn’t want you to think I had left!” She was very nice. She said she saw that my damage was far worse than hers. She also said that her Dad had recently died and left her the car. I now felt far worse that I had damaged her legacy from her Dad. She had called the police and we exchanged information while we waited for their arrival. When he arrived he asked if there were any injuries. There were not. He asked if we had exchanged information, which we had. Then he said there was no need for him to file a report if we were handling it through our insurance companies. I thought this over for a minute, trying to decide if I was relieved or disappointed about not having a police file…only kidding.

In the meantime, I had texted Susan, who was already in the store making her purchase. She arrived as the police officer was leaving. She told me to breathe and then get in her car and she would drive us to lunch. Now that’s what a real friend does. She had selected a new place neither of us had gone to before and we had a lovely lunch on their patio. When we were just about done eating and I was starting to feel “normal”, Susan made the most profound statement: I think today is a cake day. I heartily agreed. We ordered two pieces of cake, one lemon and one chocolate mousse, which we both split and shared. It was a perfect ending to another lovely lunch on a Saturday with Susan. She drove me back to my car, which the police officer had pronounced “drivable”. I walked around and again examined the damage. I tried to push the piece of the fender in, but to no avail. Then it struck me: white duct tape. My car is white, silver duct tape would stand out, but white duct tape just might blend in. I went into the store and they did not have any duct tape. I got into the car and headed toward home. I called my son and daughter-in-law and asked if they knew if the dollar store had white duct tape or if they had any. They did not, but encouraged me to try the dollar store.

I got to the dollar store and they did have white duct tape. I was almost happy for the first time since cake. I bought it and texted them that I had made the desired purchase. A short time later, my son called and asked if I would like them to come and perform the “operation”. I was thrilled and said: Yes, please!

A short time later, after I had wiped the dust of the road off the car, they arrived and placed the white duct tape perfectly, putting all the parts in their proper place. However, the color of the duct tape and the color of the car did not exactly match…still white is much better looking than silver would have been. Now I have to deal with the insurance company and the body shop…more fun ahead.