|I had to go to Walmart the other day to pick up a few things I needed and took my cart over to the checkout lanes when I finished. Of course, all of the lines were extremely long so I just settled into line behind a little old lady that closely resembled my late Granny.
"Oh, my goodness!" she exclaimed. "I don't know how these people can get away with charging 3 dollars for a loaf of bread. I'm just a little old lady on a fixed income and I can't afford these prices. I stayed at home my whole life caring for my husband and my children only to be left nearly penniless by some fat cat insurance company in New York. Health Care reform, I think that's what they are calling it. A thousand dollars a month for health insurance, who would pay that? I was hoping to have an easier time in my Golden Years and now I can barely afford food for me and my handicapped son. I had to leave him out in the car because I upset him when I get to complaining about these prices. I don't mean to, but I'm doing the best I can."
"I'm sorry to hear that," I said. I felt sorry for the lady, I really did. Times are tough all over. I knew exactly how that lady felt about those astronomical premiums, I've been paying them myself.
It was finally her turn to begin placing her items up on the register belt and she began talking to the cashier and pointing to me in a friendly manner. I wasn't really paying attention to what they were talking about. I had just discovered a copy of The Global Wacko News that had Tim Ruse on the cover saying that he was the reincarnation of Lon R Cupboard and was trying to convert the world into his new class of Cosmetology that would be opening new centers worldwide whenever he had another hit movie and earned enough money to do so. (Good luck with that.)
The little old lady kept gesturing and smiling at me. I didn't want to be rude so I gave a little half-smile and nodded in agreement to whatever they were so animated about. You know what I'm talking about. When somebody tells a joke and you laugh along anyway even though you don't get it.
By now, there was enough space on the belt for me to begin placing my purchases alongside the lady's items. My first item was a huge 16-roll pack of toilet paper that was on sale and it separated my things from hers. It also separated me from her as she gave another wave and headed out the door.
"That was awfully nice of you," said the cashier. "Your Great Aunt said you was going to pay for her groceries. That will be $88.32."
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Monday, March 21, 2011
|In my family we like to have more than one bank account. I'm not sure why but I think it started with my Mamaw, who was my father's mother. Her name was Mary Lou Leonard Palmer Pitzer and she had money in every bank within a three county radius.
I never knew this until later, after she had passed away. I may have accompanied her to the bank once or twice when I was little but I can't say for sure. What I can say for sure is that I knew where Mamaw kept her spending money: in her bra. I wonder why she did that? She always carried a large pocketbook, full of all kinds of junk, but she kept her money close to her heart.
I've thought about doing that sometimes too, but I really don't have any extra room in there other than what is supposed to be in there. (If you know what I mean.) Over the last couple of years, more than one bank that I am affiliated with has gone belly up. The next thing you know the old signs have either been removed or covered up by a new bank's banner from somewhere that I've never heard of. Then you get new cards, checks and all sorts of other junk from the new bank and you're supposed to chuck the rest.
Sometimes, I don't do that.
A few days ago, I had to visit different locations to handle several different transactions. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem. But someone forgot to tell me that. As I waited in the drive thru line mentally checking off items on my to do list, I realized that the lady at the bank was trying to get my attention.
"Ma'am? Excuse me?"
"Ma'am? Hello? Earth to lady in the red Mustang..."
"Yes?" I replied.
"What account do you want this to go into? And while I've got your attention, are you sure you're at the right bank?"
"What do you mean, what account? Of course, I'm at the right bank." This lady had my attention now.
"Well, ma'am, you've given me a bank deposit slip from a bank that was shut down five years ago and you didn't write down the account number."
"Oh, goodness! Can't you just look it up by my name?" I asked.
"Sure. I just need some identification."
"Okay." I began looking frantically for my license but it was soon apparent that I had forgotten it somewhere. I must have left it at the previous bank. I told the lady that I would be right back and drove back to the other bank.
The nice lady there saw me approach, waved my license in the air and offered these sage words of advice: "You know, you ought to keep that thing in your bra. My Granny taught me to do that after I left mine once. Yes sir, I keep it tucked right here, up close and personal. You have a good day now!"
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Monday, March 14, 2011
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Monday, March 7, 2011
|I've learned I'm really stupid around fire. I don't know if you call what I do "panicking" or not when I get around an unexpected fire.
If you count running around in circles looking at the fire, remembering frantically where I put the fire extinguisher, yelling, "What should we do? Should we pour water on it? Should I blow on it?" and "Can I hold anything for you?"--then, yes, I guess it is panicking.
It all started a few weeks ago. I had a baked potato explode in the oven and it created a royal mess; spuds everywhere. The exploded potato landed on the heater coils and smoked and smoldered so much that I had to open all of the doors and windows (the stove doesn't have an exhaust) during the latest cold snap. For several hours, one couldn't tell the difference from being inside the house or out.
I wanted to make a banana bread recipe that I found online but either didn't have the right ingredients nor the time to accomplish the task. Until today. The recipe called for a loaf pan that measured 9x5x3, I had a pan that measured 9x5x2.25, so I figured it was close enough and used that. The mixture fit nicely into the pan with ample room at the top for expansion--or so I thought.
The bread was going to take at least an hour to bake at 325, but within a few minutes, the oven began to smoke, and smoke, and smoke. I was occupied elsewhere and hadn't noticed how bad the smoke was getting until Friend asked if something was burning. I opened the oven door and more smoke billowed out; the banana bread had boiled over and was now smoldering on the floor of the oven. (I know, I should have placed a pan under it.)
Since I had been through this recently, I wasn't that worried. After a few more minutes and a lot more smoke--smoke that was coming up through one of the burners, I opened the door again and was met with a wall of smoke and a ball of fire. Holy crap! The oven was on fire.
"It's on fire!" I yelled.
Friend jumped up off the couch and rushed into the kitchen. "It's on fire! Get me something. Get me something!"
"What should I get? You want the fire extinguisher? Where the hell is it?
"I don't know. Don't you know where it is? Can you work it?" she asked as I pulled the extinguisher from the closet. "Get me some water?
"Should I blow on it?"
"No! Don't let the oxygen get to it. Get the racks out of there."
I was going in circles trying not to panic. I had found the fire extinguisher but I didn't know how to work it. I wanted to blow on the fire or possibly even find something like a dish towel to try and beat the flames down, and now, Friend, wanted a pan of water. "Are you going to throw that water on it?"
"No, I don't know what kind of fire it is. It could have grease in it. I'm going to take the bits of burning batter with these tongs and drop them in the pan of water. Now, hold the pan!"
Friend, so calm, so cool, so collected, even while I'm running around in circles, thinking the only thing I really remember about fire training is to Stop! Drop! And Roll!
BTW, we got the fire out and nothing was damaged. Except, maybe, the bread, it came out well done!
Friday, March 4, 2011
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
|My new laptop and I have been having a lover's spat, if you will---it really tries to do what it is supposed to do and I keep telling it it isn't good enough and it's basically a piece of *hit! What is really frustrating for both of us is that the relationship is only 7 months old.
What could we possibly have to fuss about?
My complaints on my laptop whom I affectionately call Shiba, short for Toshiba are: You're only a few months old and you've been to the Geek Squad 3 times.
You had to have your adapter replaced because something got stuck somewhere. (Whoever heard of that happening?)
UPS has lost you in transit twice and you ended up in Hope, Arkansas. (Watch out for that Clinton guy; he likes young things.)
After being repaired twice, you started beeping and making odd noises and then didn't want to work at all.
And my top complaint is that you needed your hard drive replaced and I lost all of those fabulously funny blog posts that I spent months working on.
"What do you think about that, Shiba?"
"Uh, I asked you if you wanted to back up your files several times. And you really shouldn't bang on me every time you make a typo. And you probably shouldn't have dropped me on my head either..."
Oh, shut up!