About me

Sunday, April 24, 2011

My Gain fabric softener box

And it's empty. Yet, I'll probably hang onto it a little longer.

Lily came for a visit last January, and I went out to the parking lot to wait for her. On the way, I noticed an open box of dryer sheets on the pavement. Someone had dropped them either in coming or going.

I brought them back up to the apartment, put them with the detergent, and continued to wait. Yes, I had gone to the parking lot far too early.

Each week following, I reached for the box regularly. With each sheet, I recalled Lily's visit. Lunch at the Flying Saucer. Our stroll through the arb. Her happy feet. The hugs. Walking back home after she left from the gas station.

The unwelcome quiet of the apartment.

Sent from a mobile device

Saturday, April 23, 2011

My cough drop wrappers and tissues

I moved yesterday's collection to the trash last night about 11 when I went to bed. Yes, with three hits of generic Nyquil.

At 3 AM, I rolled out to start a fresh pile. The cold med usually does a better job then that.

So it's been over a year since I had a head cold. The Neti rinse had been doing it's job, but here we are. Tufted node. Watery eyes. And a fever that is contributing to global warming.

This could be the end of civilization as we know it. Surely.

And worse, so much worse, the cough drops are two or three years old, and the menthol has partially evaporated. Or turned into rat poison. I can't tell yet.

Someone needs to step over to KMart for more aspirin. Yesterday's trek to Food Lion produced more fruit for smoothies. Beer too. But the straight aspirin was all gone. Hard to understand a run on aspirin, especially now that I need more to continue.

I told you there was a conspiracy against me.

And then the rain started just as I opened the car trunk to bring in the groceries. It took two trips, but that included the extra beer. Light beer. No need to waste decent beer on a head cold.

When you find me dessicated under the pile of afghans on the couch by the mountain of spent tissues, remember the DNR papers. I will so haunt your hairy bohuncus if you bring me back.

But you can have what's left of the Mountain Lion soda. However, the rum is out. It's always out. I so picked the wrong season to be good.

Sent from a mobile device

Monday, April 11, 2011

My French Quarter Keepsake

I would like to report that little red dot is the result of too much excitement on Bourbon Street, and reporting that I'd converted to the Hindu faith might also be interesting, which would make my dot a little off center, but where's the news in that?

Nope. No ribaldry involved, not that I remember. I woke up that way, and I don't even know when it started, much less how.

This getting old is a trip.

Sent from a mobile device

My new adoptee

Found and adopted at the corner of Bourbon and Bienville. That's over in the French Quarter of New Orleans, if you didn't already know.

Conlie was in silent repose on the sidewalk as I walked by to reconnoiter Tony Moran's restaurant, which is directly behind Jean Lafitte's Old Absinthe Bar.

You want to eat there, at least getting dessert, which will be the Bananas Foster again and again for me.

Yes, it's a pricey place, and very well done. I was glad to have Conlie's trust fund to sponsor me.

Nevermind that the absinthe drips are still there, but are no longer in use. Lead piping, you know. I still mourn this loss.

Sent from a mobile device

My nasal mist

Moisturizing nasal mist at that. Ages ago, I used a Zicam zinc swab at the start of a flight. I do not know if it prevented colds or not. The other passengers often gave me the look for using it, though.

After last week's excitement and nose bleed, it seemed prudent to do something, and with airplane air having all the humidity of the deep Sahara during a drought, I chose the sacred saline mist.

And yes, the other passengers are giving me the look. Again.

Sent from a mobile device

Thursday, April 7, 2011


When I visit Goodwill, I always check to see if an afghan has been turned in. As you can tell, I pay little or no attention to the design.

Something there is that is comforting about an afghan, especially when some rhinovorus is around. I would travel with them if I could, but one would fill a suitcase, and the lack of weight would likely cause a back problem some where in the surprise.

Many comment that their grandparents had afghans. Often, those are the younger people with whom I have the pleasure of working. I don't remind them of the generation or more that is between us now.

My grandparents had patchwork quilts, and we won't be finding many of those in a Goodwill. Yarn for making an afghan had to be purchased then, and money was a scarce commodity for that generation, but the cloth for the quilts was available from old clothes and, yes, chicken feed sacks.

Sent from a mobile device

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

My nose bleed

Never before in my life have I had a nose bleed, but today at 8,000 feet, that all changed, saving me from a long and boisterous evening of beer and music in the French Quarter.

I should have have that Kleenex framed or something.

Sent from a mobile device

My seat on the Southwest plane

Seat 23D. It's mine. Stay away.

Like most frequent fliers, I have my ways. Lots of them. You might need to visit a mental hospital to find people more fusked up than frequent fliers, and I make no apologies for that. Just stay away from my seat.

I would not fly on Southwest until they started what they call Early Bird Check-in, because I loathe and despise standing in lines, only to be the last to board with no place for my grip. You might need to be a frequent flier to get that.

My reason for taking this seat is multi-faceted. The screaming babies tend to sit at the front. The gnarly Type-A frequent fliers want the front and the exit rows. I loathe those people, at least when they are near me. The back row is near the bathroom and the rum. It's also the most likely to become my private suite when the plane is less full. Yes, I have the patented frequent flier scowl down pat.

Sent from a mobile device

The Ironman cuff

Two or so years ago, I bought a bike thinking it might be good for my weight loss program, blood pressure, and mood. The universe did not agree. Last year, I bought stuff to go with the bike in the false hope that I might feel guilty and ride the thing, Raleigh traffic be danged. Maybe this summer.

Please note that I did not directly buy the Ironman cuff thinger. It came with the wireless speedometer that does not work reliably.

Not that I have empirical reliability evidence.

Sent from a mobile device