Hello Mountain View, California

Hello Mountain View, California! It's nice  to meet you! But who are you? Can you believe it's approaching the fifth year anniversary of this blog? I know, very hard to believe. I'm thinking about coming up with another top ten list of my favorites from the past six years.  Also, by the end of the year (if I keep writing at the same speed), the blog will achieve it's 1000th post. I don't care who you are, that's pretty dang good! I know there are people all over the world that like to drop in on the middle-aged fat woman and I really enjoy it. There is a tracking system that I use called Feedjit that tracks the somewhat precise location of where a visitor is from. I say somewhat precise because it says I'm from the next town which is twenty miles away. It lists the city and state and in lots of cases the country, too.  I'm always intrigued when a new country pops up--last week someone from Kazakhstan visited.  I can assure you that I have never been there but it might be a fun place to check out.  I'm sure mom would like to go! One of the regular city/state combinations that pops up is Mountain View, California.  In my travels out west I've yet to grace California's doorstep; in fact, I've come about 17 miles short on more than one occasion. I don't think I have any relatives that live there, either, so the visitor must be totally interested in sharing a laugh with me. How cool is that? So, whomever you are, thank you for visiting and if you'd like to send me an email at gianettapalmer@gmail.com to introduce yourself, I'd be tickled pink. Thanks for stopping by. P.S. Mom says hi!

It's National Hamburger Day

Yeah, it's officially summer! Memorial Day marks the unofficial start of the summer season with a long three-day weekend. I'm sure many of you prepared, participated or partook in a meal that had summer written all over it. I know I did. I fired up the old grill and threw on some burgers and a few hot dogs. Honestly, doesn't everything taste better when it is grilled? Imagine my surprise when I found out that today was National Hamburger Day. Who knew? I knew burgers were special but I didn't know they had their own day. Can you imagine the excitement in the meat department? Oscar Meyer: "Yo, Chuck. Today's your big day; how ya feelin'?" Chuck: "A little lean, man, a little lean." Oscar: "Glad to hear it. I bet you'll get picked first. Everyone likes patties over dogs these days." Chuck: "I don't know. It is summer. Lots of fun, kids and picnics. Maybe, we'll get picked by the same family?" Oscar: "That would be great! I could help you celebrate your day. Oh, wait, here they come--a whole family of them.  Yeah, I made it. We're both in the same basket. I love these guys already." Chuck: "I know! It doesn't happen very often.  I've gotta get ready. I'll see ya at the picnic, okay." Oscar: "Okay, but don't let them do too much to you--you're a lot better the less they mess with you. It is your day after all." Chuck: "Yep. Well, let's go chill before we grill..." Oscar: "Ha ha, good one!" So enjoy National Hamburger Day, but if you hear an extra sizzle coming from the grill, don't be worried. It's just the boys celebrating in their own way...

My New Ride

I haven't deserted the blog. Or my Mustang. I've just been doing other things. We went camping all the time when I was a kid. Never in a camper, though. We always had Dad's pickup truck with a shell on top and a mattress thrown in the back. (That's where Mom and Dad slept.) When I was younger, my brother and sister and I shared a tent with a thousand metal poles that always needed to be assembled, usually in the dark, usually when it was raining and that nobody could put together but Mom. It was a canvas tent and you never touched the sides for fear of having a leak. (And by touching the side that would somehow let the leak in.) There was always a leak because it always rained when we camped. Always. One year, Brother had his own tent which was a small two-man pup tent. He chose his own area in the campsite to pitch the tent which turned out to be a bad idea because he ended up nearly being washed away after a massive night time thunderstorm. I don't remember much about it except we all three ended up in the cab of the truck because the old canvas tent had way too many leaks. (I do remember looking up through the window of the tent trying to touch all of the stars that seemed just within my reach.) I've camped a few times as an adult but it has been almost 15 years since I last camped. (Something about my snoring that seems to keep the whole campground awake or something like that.) So for the past few years I have been thinking about getting out into nature once again. In style. And in comfort. In case you're wondering, it's a 24-ft 1998 Ford Jayco Class C Motorhome. I think I got a really good deal. I did have a tire blowout on the drive bringing it home. (That's another story!) And there are some minor issues that the mechanic is working on. I was able to get it to a local campground this past weekend to get the sewage system cleaned out and to clean the inside. Of course, it rained the entire time but I didn't touch the sides--no sense taking a chance if you ask me.

In Through There

I talk a lot about my family and the adventures that we have. I've mentioned several times about growing up on a small farm on Cherry Fork Road and the struggles that Mom and Dad had to keep us clothed and fed. I can't say that I remember every little detail because I can't. Sometimes, at family gatherings, one of us will mention a story that we had long forgotten, bringing us to tears and cracking us up at the same time. Our family likes to tell stories. Nobody could tell a story better than Dad. And every time he told a story each important part would be punctuated with the saying "in through there". I don't know why he said that. He probably didn't realize he was saying it. Maybe, it was how he collected and ciphered through all of those tall tales in his head. One such story might go like this: Back when I was a kid, in '43 or in through there, there was a boy lived up the holler that we scared so bad, that he lit up a tree and didn't come down for three days. Damn, chicken shit, what he was. See, one night we was coming home from coon hunting and he got distracted, in through there and got left behind. Us fellows decided to teach him a lesson and hid behind a rock down there on Island Creek. You 'member where that is, don't you? Shit, he come around the corner, in through there, and we all just jumped out at him and he jumped back, screamed and took off a running, straight up the holler and up that big old oak tree, pissing his pants and carrying on like a girl. That was the funniest damn thing I ever seen. I've heard this story many times and I still get a laugh out of it. Besides being a great story teller, here are some other things, in through there, about Dad. He got drafted into the Army in the 50s and saw Elvis over in Germany. He was scared of heights. His nickname was Diddy. Both of his pinky fingers had been cut off due to accidents as a child. He liked Hudepohl beer. He was a pattern marker for the Hercules Trouser Company in Manchester, Ohio, for 25 years. He could out run anybody in the neighborhood, including Sheldon, the boy from Hawaii. He loved his family, deeply. Lastly, he left us 11 years ago today, on this date. Wherever you are, in through there, we miss you very much.

A Mother's Day Memory

****Enjoy this classic Mother's Day post**** So Brother and I took Mom out to eat for Mother's Day. It wasn't just some local place either; it was the Dillard House in Clayton, Georgia. It's about as far north as you can get in Georgia without falling off the edge of the state. It was a two hour drive and by the time we got there we were famished, and ready to eat. I'm not sure if it was fair to make Mom drive or not but the Mustang ain't really made for transporting folks; maybe two, but definitely not three. We got there at the same time that all of the local churches let out and it was certainly a race to get your name on the waiting list. Mom pulled a stunt that I am known for but I've never seen her do it. It's where you stop the car at the front of the restaurant and have somebody hop out to get your name on the waiting list. Anyhow, I was the lucky soul that hopped rolled out of the backseat of Mom's car. (Her backseat wasn't much bigger than mine.) We enjoyed a half hour wait sitting out on the front porch, stomachs growling, rocking in comfortable high back rocking chairs, straining to hear what numbers they were calling over the loudspeaker. With each number called I was met with questioning glances from Mom and Brother both wondering what our number was and if it had just been called. We were finally led to our table and had to go through the main dining room, out the back door, cross the yard and enter into a whole other building. We were all surprised by this unexpected detour and joked that you usually have to wash dishes after the meal, not before. We were now in an old converted farmhouse and were elbow to elbow with our fellow diners. I was sticking out like a sore thumb. Mom and Brother were seated against the wall and I was seated on the outside of the table which was the main only walkway from the kitchen to the dining area. There was also a loose board or something near my chair because every time someone walked past I got a jolt, a goose and a lift up from my chair. There were three bowls already on the table containing apple butter, relish, and a third bowl that we all sniffed and couldn't identify until Brother tasted it. It was horseradish sauce. I think we were waiting for menus or something and were totally blown away when three waiters arrived with three heavy laden trays of every country food dish imaginable. You don't have to order at this place, they bring you everything , and I mean everything on the menu. The three of us quickly loosened our pants and dug in. I was immediately drawn to the lima beans and Au gratin potatoes. Brother was enjoying the Prime Rib, biscuits and cucumber and onion mixture. Mom, well, she was enjoying the creamed onions. Creamed onions! Sometimes, I wonder how we can be possibly be related. I think it's well known that the MA Fat Woman doesn't do onions, creamed or not. All in all, we had a fun trip and were all in agreement that Dad and Sister would have enjoyed the meal too. I'm not sure about the creamed onions, though. That's something only a mother could love.

The Overly Enthusiastic Wave

I almost had a wreck the other day. Why? You might ask? I was startled by an overly enthusiastic wave. Yep, I almost ran off the road because someone waved at me. I'm not such an ogre that I don't get the occasional wave or even my favorite, the extended forefinger aimed in my direction. But this wave was different. This wave involved at least two individuals in a silver soccer mom van. I couldn't tell what they looked like--I only saw long dark hair on one of them. The person driving the van laid on the horn with one hand and had the other hand waving as fast as she could. The passenger had everything she could possibly find waving in my direction. As I became somewhat distracted by all of these shenanigans, I felt my eyes widen as our vehicles became dangerously close to one another. The wavers' eyes widened as well but it didn't deter the waving; only increased it, I think. I gave the perfunctory wave as I passed them, silently glad that they hadn't run me off the road. Later that day, I recounted  the story to my mom: Me: "Two ladies 'bout ran me off the road today." Mom: "They did? Were you going too fast?" Me: "Nope. They were waving and beeping so much at me that we almost ran into each other." Mom: "Huh?" Did you know 'em?" Me: "I haven't the foggiest idea..." Mom: "Maybe they was just messing with you.  I do that all the time--wave at people real big and act like I know them. Makes people smile.... Me:  "Do you run them off the road?" Mom: "Only if they don't wave back!"