Wednesday, March 31, 2021

I May Be Going Bananas

Hi, guys. I know. It's been too long, so I figured I'd pop in to say hi and give y'all a brief update before another month slips through my fingers. My daughter has been working reeeeeeeally hard, both with a physical therapist and on her own at home, and her progress is absolutely astounding. I'm so proud of her determination and good attitude. She was even able to shoot some pool a couple days ago!

And me? I'm doing well. Better some days than others, but mostly, I can't complain. Thanks to some wonderful ham friends, all the antennas and towers that were at the side of the house got dismantled last weekend. Woo HOOOOOOOO!!! Still more antennas and towers to go, but this is a huge step. (I haven't seen the naked side of my house in years!) Hams are the BEST. Really. I've gotten lots of other stuff done, too, but no need to bore you with the details. One kinda neat thing... my neighbor mentioned that he was going to buy a riding lawn mower, and I told him he could just use mine... and asked him to give me a brief tutorial so I can operate it, too. Get this. He's gonna use my mower, but he's also gonna maintain it... and cut my grass! Win-win for both of us! Life is good.

I started writing the following post one year ago today. I got about half of it done, but then Mike got sicker, and I wasn't in the mood to finish. Now is its time. Might as well... I'd already done the research and taken notes. HA. No promises, but I'll try to get back to the blogosphere a little sooner next time. Y'all take care. I love you guys.

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Thought for the day: The older you get, the better you get. Unless you're a banana. [Rose Nyland]

Some of you may remember this cute little guy, because I've shared his picture with y'all before. Mike (AKA Smarticus) gave him to me for Valentine's Day about a thousand years ago. Give or take. 

Anyhow, when you squeeze the monkey's belly, he gives a wolf whistle and says in a raspy dirty old man kinda voice, "I go bananas over you!"( If he had eyebrows, they would've wiggled, I'm sure.)

The monkey's voice is fading and is growing more and more muffled, but he still looks good as new. Even his banana looks pristine. Which is a lot more than I can say for the bananas I bought at the grocery store a couple days ago. I swear, if I ever get a speeding ticket on the way home from the grocery store, it'll only be because I was trying to get home before the darned bananas turned brown.

A ham radio friend emailed me the picture on the right, which he described as a giant elephant made out of bananas

First thing that came to my mind was that a heckuva lot of people must've worked on THAT project. I mean, just think about what it'd be like if anyone ever tried to pull off a feat like that single-handedly. Before the poor slob even made it to the halfway point, the first bananas he'd put in place would've already mutated into smelly oozing gobs of brown mush that he'd have to replace. Impossible, I tell ya!  It'd be like trying to fill a bottomless bucket with water. Oh, and don't forget the fruit flies. The smell of overripe and rotting bananas would attract fruit flies like... um, flies. Yeah, exactly like flies. Those annoying little boogers would magically materialize out of nowhere, and they'd establish a brand new thriving community faster than a hungry gorilla can inhale a banana . 

So, um no. Not gonna try that. I'll happily bake some banana bread or a decadent banana cream pie, but ix-nay on the banana-building with a bunch of rapidly rotting bananas... while being swarmed by fruit flies. 

But what would be fun is... a banana CAR. You know, like the famous Oscar Meyer weinermobile... only instead of a rolling hot dog, it'd be a rolling... banana. I find that idea rather... a-peel-ing. 

Evidently, a guy named Steve Braithwaite liked the idea, too. 

This self-proclaimed goofy fella decided about a decade ago to up his eccentricity credentials by creating a unique vehicle to tour around the U.S. and spread joy. He wanted something totally ridiculous and fun. Looks like he got just what he wanted, dontcha think? Built on the chassis of a 1993 Ford pick-up truck, this impressive never-rot banana mobile measures twenty-three feet long and is 9.8 feet tall. Like everything else, the pandemic has changed things for this adventurous gent, but no doubt, as conditions improve, I reckon he'll be able to resume his appearances at fairs and festivals all over the country. His license tag? SPLIT. 

Hmmm, which reminds me... do you know why the banana split? 

He had artistic differences with the rest of the bunch. 

And how about the banana smoothie?

He's the one who gets all the girls. 

Ever hear of shoes made out of bananas? 

Yep, they're called slippers... (Totally nonfriction!)

Okay, how about some fun facts about bananas?
  • The inner skin of a banana peel works well to polish leather. (I wonder what inspired someone to try this for the first time...?)
  • Bananas can float on water, because they're less dense. (Does that mean they're smart? )
  • Bananas grow on plants considered herbs, but the banana itself is classified as a... berry. ("Berry" is a botanical term, indicating the presence of seeds, pulp, and three separate layers: the exocarp is the outer skin, the mesocarp is the part we eat, and the endocarp is the part closest to the seeds... which are on the inside. Ironically, blackberries, mulberries, strawberries and raspberries aren't actually berries at all... but bananas, pumpkins, avocados, and cucumbers ARE.)
  • Bananas are low in salt and high in potassium, generously providing a natural way to help lower blood pressure. Most of you probably already knew that, but did you know banana potassium is slightly radioactive? (K-40) Not dangerous... just interesting. (If someone eats too many bananas, do you think he could go into banana-phalactic shock...?)
  • Bananas may serve as a mood enhancer. That's because they contain tryptophan and B-6, which help the body produce seratonin. (All they do for me is give me gas... which makes me giggle. So yeah... mood enhancer... never mind.)
  • In addition to polishing your leather shoes with a banana peel, you can also rub that inner peeling on your skin to alleviate itching and inflammation. (And the fruit flies will just LOVE you!)
  • Would you believe humans share about 50% of the same DNA that's in a banana??? 
  • A cluster of bananas is known as a hand, and each banana is a finger.
  • In China, it's illegal to stream videos of anyone eating a banana.
  • Despite the banana's phallic shape, alas, its sex life stinks. Cavendish, the kind of banana most of us eat, is sterile. In the wild, most bananas have very large seeds and are mostly inedible, and what we eat is a mutation, in which the seeds are underdeveloped and incapable of sexual reproduction. Farmers use cuttings to start new plants and replant cuttings to clone.
There. Now you know far more about bananas than you ever cared to know. You're welcome. 


   

                                    Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

P.S. The picture of the giant elephant made out of bananas that my friend sent me is actually a depiction of the Hindu god Ganish, made of green bananas. It was created in Odisha, India, in 2017, and at the conclusion of a 10-day festival, the ripened bananas were then distributed to the poor.

Monday, February 1, 2021

But I've Got an Excuse

 Thought for the day: Everything is possible. The impossible just takes longer. [Dan Brown]

Hi-ya. Well, crap. What the hell happened to January? Didn't it just start? How could it be gone already?

Sorry about that. I've all but disappeared from the blogosphere over the past year, but I thought I could at least come up with something once a month. I mean, that isn't too much to ask, is it? 

Evi-damned-dently, it is. 

I hate to be the one to break it to you, but it's becoming increasingly apparent that we're all trapped in a rather bizarre time warp. Maybe you've noticed it, too? Each day drags by on leaden feet, possibly an indication that there's been a shift in the time-space continuum, causing each day to surpass what used to be its usual 24-hour allotment. Yet, paradoxically, the weeks and months slip through our fingers faster than a greased pig's leg on a hot summer day. 

Or perhaps not. Maybe it's just me. Okay, fine. Sounds like the title of an article in an old True Confessions magazine, but here is it: Trapped in a Time Warp. That's my excuse. You buying it?

Oh well, that's the only excuse I've got for letting January get away from me without posting some kind of update. No promises, but I'll try to do better. So how are you guys doing?

Me? I'm doing okay. Matter of fact, I've kinda been doing the... impossible. When I look back at the number of seemingly impossible things I've tackled in the past six months, it boggles my mind. There's still a loooong way to go, (I'm afraid my dear husband was a bit of a hoarder... pack rat... junk collector... archivist.... whatever you choose to call it) but I've gotta say, dismantling Mike's main amateur radio operating position last week... clearly a daunting I can't do that endeavor... was one of my biggest victories to date. His Emergency Communications Central Extravaganza was based at a massive computer desk, and every square inch of it was covered with multiple stacks of radios, power supplies and converters, amplifiers, antenna tuners, laptops, mikes, keys, and a host of other equipment, all interconnected with a baffling maze of cables and power lines. The rear of the desk held four (Count 'em... four!) power strips, and various cords snaked all over the place, all screwed or otherwise clamped in place. Stuff plugged in here and there, cables fed through holes drilled throughout the desk, and to make things interesting, there was also some nifty homebrew stuff that he built to fit his needs. (It helps to figure out what something is before attempting to take it apart, especially when dealing with high voltage.) Anyhow, suffice it to say, it was all very complex... but I did it! Then I had to get that big-assed desk out of the house. OY. Not just BIG, but also very HEAVY. Had to dismantle some shelves and remove a door, but by golly, I got that son of a gun out the door. I still have to finish removing 25 coaxial cables that were feeding his station. They're now cut off about six inches below the ceiling, and they have to be pulled out to the exterior of the house, so I can fill the hole. (A task that'll have to be repeated at several other spots around the house. yippee) But ya know what? I've got a plan, and I think I can implement it. No, I know I can. Who knew? I had no idea I was so... capable.

Whether you believe you can do a thing or not, you are right. [Henry Ford]



My friends and kids kinda think I'm a bad-ass, too. 


(shhhh) Feels kinda good.


I don't particularly like having to do so many things by myself, but it's reassuring to know that I can. There are things I'll definitely need help with, but they can wait. Sure, it'd be nice to get our five towers and bazillion antennas down now, but they can wait. I may sometimes forget I'm such an old broad, but I don't think I'm ready to climb to the top of any towers to dismantle antennas. Not impossible... just not smart. Best wait until the pandemic is under control and invite some young hams over to lend a hand. If they take 'em down, they can have 'em. Win-win, right?


So what else has been happening? My wonderful daughter Sunshine fell at work on December 17. It was a freak accident in which she not only dislocated her right ankle, but she also fractured it in three places.  Poor thing. She was whisked away in an ambulance, and after a considerable wait... alone, of course, because of the surge in Covid cases... an orthopedic surgeon finally addressed the dislocation. Then they put her in a temporary cast and... sent her home! She had to wait two whole weeks before getting surgery. Extensive surgery, too, because there were lots of bone fragments floating around in there... and now she has more metal holding her ankle together than I ever would've  believed possible. All in all, it's been a painful ordeal for her, but she's been a real trooper. I'd say she's a bona fide bad-ass, too. We've got our fingers crossed that she gets upgraded to a boot when she goes to the doc later this week.

I used to read a lot. I mean... a LOT. Now? Not so much. Took me a while, but I figured out howcum. I used to do most of my reading in the evenings while Mike watched TV. But now, for the first time in my life, I'm in charge of the remote control. HA! It's funny how much more interesting the tube can be when you're the one doing the choosing. Plus... I've got several streaming services now, too, so I've been indulging in some binge watching. How cool! In addition to binge-watching shows like This is Us and Outlander, my other new hobby is buying stuff from Amazon. All kinds of stuff. One of my latest acquisitions is a stud finder. What a great idea!  I haven't taken it out for a test run yet, but I have high hopes for it. Using a simple handheld gadget would be soooo much easier than having to sign up on some stupid online dating site... 

I used to write, too. Not any more. My PC died shortly after Mike did, and that's where my manuscript lies. I do have it stored on a backup hard drive, so all is not lost, but I haven't made any attempts at replacing the PC yet. For now, I'm relegated to this, my old laptop. It'll do for now. Good enough for checking email and making a brief foray into Facebook from time to time. 




Ugh... Facebook. A very brief foray is more than enough.There's way too much negativity for me on there these days. 








But working on this laptop is a little rough on my old eyes. (sigh) I wish they were as young as I am... 

You wouldn't believe how many hours I've been working on this post. Ridiculous. But I'm about done. It's been kinda nice sitting on my butt this long. It gave my back a bit of a break from the heavy-lifting I did yesterday, so it's all good. I can get back at it tomorrow. Gotta stay busy. Busy, busy. busy.

I have the choice of being constantly active and happy or introspectively passive and sad. Or I can go mad by ricocheting in between. [Sylvia Plath]

I choose active...

Before I go,  I'm gonna share a video. This song has been running rampant through my mind all day...  care to join me?


                                     Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

Friday, December 25, 2020

Joy to the World

Thought for the day: Hang onto your hat, hang onto your hope, and wind the clock, for tomorrow is another day. [E.B. White]

Well, it's Christmas. Doesn't feel like it... but it is. The house is very quiet, making it easier to hear the ever-present high-pitched monotone ringing in my ears. Both cats sit close beside me, the feeling of their warm bodies a reassuring reminder that I'm not entirely alone. Oh, I could've gone to Alabama to spend the Holidays with my son and his family... but I wanted to stay home. Really. I'm hanging in there pretty doggone well since my husband died five month ago today, but I'm not ready for any raucous celebrations just yet. I seek solace in the quiet... the normal. Not much in the way of decorations here this year. Our same-old, same-old wreath hangs at the front door, and bright red poinsettias sit atop the shelf above the fireplace and on the coffee table in the sunroom. Also on that fireplace shelf are two candles that I've had forever... one of a jolly waving Santa, and the other a snowman with a huge smile. My kissing Santa and Mrs. Claus salt-and-pepper shakers sit up there, too... and one other cheerful snowman figure. Next to the TV is a seated fabric Santa that my mother made years ago, and the hooked rug my father made is in the sunroom. That's it, but don't you dare feel sorry for me. I didn't want all of the trappings this year. No cards, no gifts, no twinkling lights. Just a peaceful day with a minimum of tears. I'm not exactly pretending that it isn't Christmas, but I don't want to be reminded any more than I am every other day that Mike isn't here. 

It seems I'm not the only one who skipped sending cards this year. Mike and I used to get a kazillion cards, but this year, there's only been a trickle. Which is fine. Better than fine, actually, because that makes me feel less guilty about not sending any myself. But holy moley! I got cards from some of YOU. People I've never met face-to-face, but whom I've grown to love, nonetheless. Thank you. Thank you for caring. Thank you for spurring me to sit down to write this message to all of you. I know you care, and that means so much to me. I care about you, too. It's been a hard year for all of us, but today is a day for joy. For hope. Next year, we can celebrate, hopefully, but for today, let's embrace hope. Hope that each day will be a little better than the day before and that normal is right around the corner. Don't despair. We'll get there. You and me. All of us. We'll get there.

One tiny bit of normal is the following post, one I've shared almost every year since I started this blog. It's... a tradition. That's what you guys told me. So fine, let's go with that tradition. It seems I can do quite well without decorations and presents, but who knew? It appears I don't wanta do without Louise...

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Thought for the day: We don't stop laughing because we grow old; we grow old because we stop laughing.


No telling how many years this wreath has graced our front door.

We never made a huge production out of outdoor decorations, but every year, our kids made the same grand proclamation after we cruised our decorated-out-the-wazoo neighborhood on the way home from the candlelight service on Christmas Eve.

"The best one of all!" they'd lie as we pulled into our driveway.

Okay, so maybe they weren't really lying through their braces. Maybe anticipation of the hidden presents awaiting inside added a certain luster to their perception of our decorations.

Anyhow, I'd say decorating styles can pretty much be divvied into three categories: traditional, enlightening, and inflated. Us? We're traditionalThat means, except for an occasional new acquisition, I've pretty much used the same decorations every year. For a LOT of years. Like the ornaments that hung on my parents' tree when they were first married, some of which are now paper thin, and considerably faded with age. And a slew of decades-old goodies fashioned by our children with copious quantities of felt, glue and glitter, construction paper, walnut shells, clothespins, eyeglass lenses, and even a Mason jar lid. A black spider in a golden web and a huge decorated crab shell, both made by my sister-in-law. Boxes of tinsel painstakingly applied, strand by strand, and then painstakingly removed to store in a box for yet another year. Like I said, traditional. Well, to be more accurate, I suppose we've become more traditional cum lazy, because each year, I use less and less decorations, and some of them don't even make it down out of our attic anymore. This year, very few decorations found their way out of the storage boxes. (A RED tablecloth counts as a decoration, right???)

These carolers once belonged to my grandmother.


Everybody knows the enlightening type of decorator. They're the ones with so many lights blazing in their front yards, they risk causing a blackout across three states every time they turn 'em on. Very flashy. Sometimes, they even incorporate animation and music, too, and carloads of people stop by every night to ooh and aah over their winter wonderland. It isn't at all unusual for a competition of sorts to begin when multiple enlighteners live in close proximity. (Those neighborhoods can be seen from the space station.)


                                         We're more like the house on the right these days:



And then, there's the inflatedThis is a fairly recent category. I sure don't remember seeing this sort of display when I was a kid. Nowadays, you can purchase just about any character you can think of ... inflate it ... and stick it on your front lawn. And if you can't find a particular character, for the right price, you can probably have someone make one for you. Then, all those characters can weave and bob all over your yard.











Now then, to the point of today's post. Time for a tale about a Christmas inflatable of an entirely different ilk. This story originated in 1999, and was alleged to be the winning entry to a Louisville Sentinel contest about the wildest Christmas dinner. Turns out, no such newspaper ever existed, and the writer remains unknown, but the story lives on, thanks to the good ol' Internet. (WARNING: Better put your drink down before you read it.) Now here, after a bit of minor editing on my part, is that story:





As a joke, my brother Jay used to hang a pair of pantyhose over his fireplace every Christmas Eve. He said the only thing he wanted was for Santa to fill them, but what they say about Santa checking his list twice must be true, because every Christmas morning, the other stockings would all be bulging with treats, but Jay's poor pitiful pantyhose were always left dangling as empty as ever.

So one year, I decided to make his dream come true. I put on sunglasses, a fake nose, and a ski cap, and went in search of an inflatable love doll.

Know what? They don't sell those things at Wal-Mart. I had to go to an adult bookstore. By the way, if you've never been in an X-rated store before, two words: don't go. You'll only confuse yourself. I was there for an hour saying things like, "What does this do?" "You're kidding me!" and  "Who would buy that?" 

So anyway, I finally made it to the inflatable doll section. I wanted to buy a standard, uncomplicated doll that could also substitute as a passenger in my truck so I could use the car pool lane, but finding what I wanted was difficult. Love dolls come in many different models. The top of the line, according to the side of the box, could do things I'd only seen in a book on animal husbandry, but I settled for the bottom of the price scale: Lovable Louise. To call her a doll required a huge leap of imagination.

On Christmas Eve, with the help of a bicycle pump, Louise came to life. My sister-in-law was in on the plan, and she let me in during the wee morning hours. Long after Santa had come and gone, I filled Jay's pantyhose with Louise's pliant legs and bottom. I also ate some cookies and drank what remained of a glass of milk on a nearby tray. Then I went home and giggled for a couple of hours.

The next morning, my brother called to say that Santa had been to his house and left a present that had made him VERY happy, but his poor dog was very confused. She would bark, start to walk away, then come back and bark some more. We agreed that Louise should remain in her pantyhose so the rest of the family could admire her when they came over for the traditional Christmas dinner.

My grandmother noticed Louise the moment she walked in the door. "What the hell is that?" she asked.

My brother quickly explained, "It's a doll."

"Who would play with something like that?" she snapped.

 I had several candidates in mind, but kept my mouth shut.

"Where are her clothes?" she continued.

"Boy, that turkey sure smells nice, Gran," Jay said, trying to steer her into the dining room.

 But Granny was relentless. "Why doesn't she have any teeth?"

Again, I could have answered, but why risk it? It was Christmas, and nobody wanted to spend it in the back of an ambulance saying, "Hang on, Granny, hang on!"

My grandfather, a delightful old man with poor eyesight, sidled up to me, waggled his eyebrows, and said, "Hey, who's the naked gal by the fireplace?"

I told him she was Jay's friend, and a few minutes later, noticed Grandpa standing by the mantel, talking to Louise. And not just talking. He was actually flirting. It was then we realized this might be Grandpa's last Christmas at home.

The dinner went well. We made the usual small talk about who had died, who was dying, and who should be killed, when suddenly Louise made a noise that sounded a lot like my father in the bathroom every morning. Then she lurched from the pantyhose, flew around the room twice, and fell in a heap in front of the sofa. The cat screamed. I passed cranberry sauce through my nose, and Grandpa ran across the room, fell to his knees, and began administering mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. My brother fell back over his chair and wet his pants, and Granny threw down her napkin and stomped outside to sit in the car.

It was indeed a Christmas to treasure and remember. Later in my brother's garage, we conducted a thorough examination to decide the cause of Louise's demise. We discovered that she'd suffered from an acute case of hot ember to the back of her right thigh. Fortunately, thanks to a wonder drug called duct tape, we restored her to perfect health.

After that, Louise went on to star in several bachelor party movies, and I'm pretty sure Grandpa still calls her whenever he can sneak out of the house.

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             Merry Christmas! May all your dreams... no matter how inflated...  come true.

                           Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

                                                                As for 2020?