Kodak, power cords and Shakes...

   We finally got our Kodak digital camera charged and working again.  After almost 2 years, yes 2 years, of looking for the power cord. I found it the other day.  I knew we had packed it when we moved from the farm.  I just could think of where I put it.  Then I found it in last place I expected it to be.  In the camera case with the camera.  Yes, there it was in the outside pocket. I know I looked there at least a dozen times.  I think Deb and Barbara are right, it must have gone on a secret mission and just returned.  If I spoke power cordese I would ask it, for a future blog of course.  That to find out if it had seen the printer cord.  Yes, I looked in the box...again.
   But now I have a camera to use again.  So in honor of this occasion I have been playing around with the Kodak picture gallery site and taken a picture of our dog Shakes. 

   Look at that sweet face.  I dare you to look into those eyes and not fall head over heals in love.  Is it any wonder she can charm me out of being mad at her.  Now if she would just stay out of my peppers.

Thank goodness it's Friday...

   TGIF.  It's Friday and all over people are getting ready to go out.  Lots of people are performing their Friday rituals.  Call friends find out where everyone is going.  Leave work.  Stop at the ATM.  Run home shower and change into their club clothes.  Run through the drive-thru to get something to eat.  No time to make something or sit down you got places to be.  Get to the club before 8pm so you don't have to pay the cover charge. Woo hoo let the good times roll.
   If your really low on cash that week, you change at work and hit happy hour.  A lot of the clubs lay out really good buffets.  In fact, you could eat dinner almost every night for the price of one drink.  When I use to teach dance, the teachers did this a lot.  We could tell you what clubs served meatballs in barbecue sauce and nachos, and who served steaks and crab legs.  Needless to say we tried to hit the latter the most.
   I am not a big drinker, so I was the designated story teller.  While others would drink, I would watch.  It never failed a friend would call me the next morning and ask what happened the night before.  Did I really do what so and so said.  Boy, the things you see when you pay attention.  It's  a whole new show every night.  You always saw some girl falling all over some guy (usally when his girlfriend wasn't looking).  Some guy was hitting on every girl he could, and how they looked depended on how late it got.
   It never ceased to surprise me how brazen both the men and women could get.  I once had a guy come up to me while we were watching a couple of really good dancers on the floor.  He said their good.  I said yes they are.  And then he said want to come home with me tonight.  I said nope, bye, and he left.  I wonder if that ever worked for him, I mean he didn't even ask my name. 
   Another time I was with a friend of mine who's husband was in the band.  A really drunk girl came up to us and said I just want you to know your husband is coming home with me tonight.  My friend didn't even bat an eye.  She looked at her and said just tell him his clothes will be on the front lawn.
   Those are only two of a million stories, but I think I'll save the others for now.  I mean it's Friday and you've got places to go.  So just remember when you go out this weekend, it's a lot more entertaining...and less painful to be the designated story teller.  Why not try it.

                             There bound to be some good stories here...                               





If you got some time why not check out my other blog.  Grandmom's Recipes.
                                                                                 

Age really doesn't matter...

   Deb and Barbara over at The Middle Ages got me to thinking about age the other day.  How some of us never like to think of how old we are and some of us don't ever give it a thought.  It's just not that important to us.   Besides it's not the age that makes  you feel old, it's the mileage.
   I had a good friend, Linda, who would tell everyone who asked her age that she was 16.  Her philosophy was if your going to lie,  make it a whooper.  She did this so often that a few people took it as a challenge to find out just how old she was.  Once her grown son was with us to celebrate her birthday.  At the club and the singer (who was a friend) pulled him aside to talk.  When asked how old his mother was, her son said with out hesitation, “As far as I know she's 16.”  His momma didn't raise no fool.  He was staying at her house.
   I have never had a problem telling anyone my age.  There are 2 reasons for this.  1) I never looked it, and 2) I have a younger sister (8 ½ years younger) who would tell if I didn't.
   An example of never looking my age happened when I was out at dinner one night with Linda and another friend.  When we ordered drinks the waitress asked to see my license.  I was 31 at the time.  When she left, Linda looked me straight in the eye and said just one word.  “Bitch”.  She wasn't asked for her license.
   It's not just women who are concerned with their age either.  Because my birthday fell at the end of November, I was the youngest to graduate in my class in High School.   One of the cheerleaders found out I was younger than he was and I became his new best friend.  It's okay for a girl to be the youngest in the class but not a guy.
  Our 35th reunion is coming up and now the shoe is on the other foot.  We get to call everyone else old folks, and remind them that we are younger than they are.  Ah, revenge is sweet.
   Speaking of revenge, you know how I told you my sister always told my age.  Well, now when we meet people who don't know us, they ask who's the oldest.  That really get her goat.
   Just remember, we are not getting older we are getting better, and that's the truth.  It took us a lot of experience and learning to get where we are now, and I wouldn't trade that for anything.  So pour yourself a glass of wine and celebrate being you, and the age really doesn't matter.

                          To my dear friend Linda: We miss you Rollie Pollie.

It's Hurricane season again...

   Here in east Texas it has been raining for 4 days straight thanks to a hurricane named Alex who decided to visit Mexico and Texas.  The sun finally came out today and guess what?  His little sister has decided to trail behind her big brother.  She should be here tomorrow and maybe staying for the weekend.  I just hope none of their bigger relatives decide to come looking for them.  Hurricane Rita came on September 24th, 2005.  Hurricane Ike came on September 13th, 2008.  So we should be good for at least another year.  Just in case I guess I need to double check the Hurricane kit and make sure it is complete.  It's hell trying to find batteries, flashlights, weather band radios and bottles water when there is a Hurricane anywhere in the Gulf of Mexico.
   At least there is a good side to all this rain.  My garden is loving it.  But then so are the weeds the Weed Demon keeps planting.  If this keeps up the weeds just might swallow us up before its dry enough to use the tractor.  The Weed Demon is sooo good at his job.  If only he would use his powers for good instead of evil.

This is what might be coming our way this weekend.  Oh well, I've still got a few books to catch up on, and a couple of crochet projects that need finishing.

Coming full circle...

 Have you ever noticed how we seem to have come full circle on how we prepare the foods we eat.
   Our Grandmothers and Great Grandmothers made everything from scratch.  They also grew their own gardens and preserved the bounty for later.
   Our Mother's lived in the age of convince.  Canned foods, frozen dinners, and ready to make mixes.  Hamburger Helper was a Mother's best friend.  No one had time for a garden, and why go to the trouble the local store carried everything you needed. No matter what the season.  Women were freed of the need to spend hours in the kitchen fixing meals for the family.  Just check out you Mother's recipes compared to your Grandmother's and Great Grandmother's. 
. 


2 cup cooked beans versus
1 16 oz can of beans

3 tomatoes, pealed, seed removed and chopped versus 1 large can stewed tomatoes....etc.



     But where our Mother's where trying to convert their Mother's recipes into what to use from a pantry of  canned goods.  This generation is trying to convert the canned goods back into cooking with fresh foods from the gardens outside their doors, or at least from the nearest Farmer's Market. 
   No we don't tie ourselves to the kitchen.  We have food processors to cut, microwaves to cook, fryers to fry and freezers to store.  Now we can even buy the vegetables chopped.  And meats chopped, seasoned and cooked for us.  We don't even have to do this. We are even back to making our own breads, with a bread machines help, of course.  Yep, we are all about fresh foods instead of canned.  Cutting back on sugar, salt, and chemicals.  But what if we had to do it all by hand like our Grandmothers... Yeah, I think I'll hang onto the can opener for now.  Ah, you know for nostalgic purposes.