Anniversary

Our first photo together.  I am the chubby baby in the front row.  Bud is behind me to my left.

Bud and I celebrate our forty-eighth anniversary today.  We met days after my birth when his mother came to help out after my birth.  Two and a half years old and more experienced, he wisely waited for me to grow up a little before showing interest in me.  I was pre-occupied with the business of being a baby and had no time for him, possibly leading him to think I was playing hard to get.  From time to time, we’d be thrown together over the years, at holidays, school events, community, church, and family visits.  He was pleasant to me.  I liked him, but had no idea he held a special interest in me.  The summer I was seventeen, he’d gotten a car and starting calling regularly.  My sister Phyllis thought he liked her, so I made a point of getting out of their way when he came to visit.  All socializing was done in the living room in the midst of a large boisterous family with the TV at full blast, so there was no question of privacy.  We could take a guest to the snack bar in the dining room if we wanted, but we were still in the middle of things.  Coincidentally, my fourteen-year-old brother, Bill, really admired and enjoyed Bud, too, so he thought he was there to see him.

Bud was had broken his foot and bashed his thumb in separate accidents in his summer mechanic job, so he was a comical site hobbling on crutches with casts on his foot and hand.  He was good-matured about all the teasing, so I knew he had to be a good guy.

After a week or so of nightly visits to Phyllis and Bill, I was surprised to get a call from Bud, asking me out.  I probably stammered a bit, since I thought he was interested in Phyllis.  I accepted, and that was it.  We were married two years later.  Forty-eight years and two children later, August 22, 2018, we celebrate our  anniversary together.  We’ve had the best life anyone could ever have.

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Crows in the Corn

Nutsrok

We tangled with the crows last summer and came way out on the losing end. They patiently watched us plow, measure, make rows, and plant, showing special interest in the seeds we’d chosen. From their keen attention, we could see they were partial to sweet corn. They practically drooled when it came out of the bag.

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Smorgasbord Blog Magazine – Weekly Update – Music, Cookery, Travel, Health and Books

Smorgasbord Blog Magazine

Welcome to the weekly round up and a catch up on the week’s events here on the blog.

Most of you will know that as of August 1st – our Facebook profiles are not longer linked automatically. In itself it is not a problem because it offers an opportunity to personalise the post when sharing to FB. However, many of my posts, including the columns that are written by William Price King, Carol Taylor, D.G. Kaye and Jessica Norrie, are scheduled to go out at just after midnight. Around 65% of my readers are from North America and they are usually checking the WordPress reader, and also their email notifications during those overnight hours. With the loss of the link to Facebook where I have a substantial amount of followers, this meant that the post would not be seen until the following night, and would most likely be long…

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Joke of the Day

Nutsrok

A small balding man storms into a local bar and demands, “Gimme a double of the strongest whiskey you got. I’m so mad, I can’t even see straight.” The bartender, noticing that the little man is a bit the worse for wear, pours him a double of Southern Comfort. The man swills down the drink and says, “Gimme another one.” The bartender pours the drink, but says, “Now, before I give you this, why don’t you let off a little steam and tell me why you’re so upset?” So, the man begins his tale. “Well, I was sitting in the bar next door, when this gorgeous blonde slinks in and actually sits beside me at the bar. I thought, “Wow, this has never happened before.” You know, it was kind of a fantasy come true. Well, a couple of minutes later, the blonde leans over and asks if I’d like…

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Joke

Joe told  his doctor that he wasn’t able to get as much done around the house as he used to. When the examination was complete, he said: “Now, Doc, I can take it. Tell me in plain English what is wrong with me.”

“Well, in plain English,” the doctor replied, “you’re just lazy.”

“Okay,” said the man. “Now give me the medical term so I can tell the wife.”

 

 

What do you call a woman who works as hard as a man?

Lazy.

 

 

 

Why don’t men do laundry?

Cause the washer and dryer don’t run with a remote.

The Curse

I can’t sit still.  I blame my parents.  On top of Nature, they sandbagged me with Nurture.  They inflicted me with the inability to ignore what needs doing.  I hate it!  I grew up learning to  clean it up, use it up, and mend it as long as possible.  Just one time, I’d like to get up in the morning, decide it’s a lazy day, and then just lie around reading, petting the dog, or lying in the hammock, unconcerned about making the bed, vacuuming, cleaning the stove, or ironing.  Once I note a task that needs doing, it’s written in stone on my little bitty brain.

Yesterday, I woke feeling droopy.  Over coffee, I told Bud I thought I’d take the day off.  The house looked pretty tidy.  It would do fine.  Before I got started relaxing, I decided to strip the bed and wash the sheets.  As I passed through to the laundry, I noted tomatoes on the kitchen counter and remembered my plans to can chili.  Forgetting my lazy day plans, I got right to it, chopping onions and peppers.  I ended up with twelve quarts of chili before noon.  While the chili was in the canner, I vacuumed and scrubbed the bathroom.

As I remade the bed, I pulled out a quilt Buzzy had chewed a quarter-sized hole in.  He haddn’t done anything like that since he was a pup.  The quilt was several years old but too good to discard.  I felt compelled to patch.  I didn’t totally match, but I couldn’t forget about the hole till it was patched.  it would be so much easier to discard it, but I just can’t toss an old friend that can be salvaged.

Okay, so I blew my lazy day.  Last night, I noticed my stove needs scrubbing and my patio needs a cleaning.  Looks like I’m set for tomorrow.

 

 

Valencia Street Aria

Art by Rob Goldstein

On a walk along San Francisco’s Valencia Street toward the Mission I heard Mozart’s Exsultate Jubilate K165-Alleluiastream from the second story window of an old Victorian.

It was a wonderful San Francisco day and the gardens on Valencia Street were in bloom.

Share this walk with me:

Valencia Street Aria

Music: Mozart: Exsultate, jubilate: iv. Alleluja (McNair, Gardiner)
Sylvia McNair, soprano; English Baroque Soloists, John Eliot Gardiner,
cond.
Philips, recorded March 1993

Video (c) Rob Goldstein 2017 All Rights Reserved

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Sally’s Cafe and Bookstore – Author Update #Reviews – Olga Nunez Miret, D. G. Kaye and Linda Swain Bethea

Smorgasbord Blog Magazine

Welcome to Friday’s edition of the Cafe and Bookstore and the first author with a recent review is Olga Nunez Miret for Escaping Psychiatry.

About Escaping Psychiatry

‘Escaping Psychiatry’ is a collection of three stories in the psychological thriller genre with the same protagonist, Mary, a psychiatrist and writer. She is trying to develop her literary career but circumstances and friends conspire to keep dragging her back to psychiatry.

In ‘Cannon Fodder’ Mary has to assess Cain, an African-American man accused of inciting a religious riot when he claimed that he could hear God and God was black. He might not be mad, but Mary is sure he’s hiding something.

‘Teamwork’ sees Mary hoodwinked into offering therapy to Justin, a policeman feeling guilty after his partner and ersatz father was killed on-duty. Before Mary can extricate herself from the case, things get personal.

In ‘Memory’ Mary goes missing after an…

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Uncle Albutt Part 8

Over the years, Aunt Jewel made frequent mention of Eunice and Doxy. On Sunday, April 14th, Uncle Albert and Aunt Jewel surprised us by showing up for Sunday dinner with Eunice, Doxy, and Baby Dewie in tow. Before the days of telephones, it wasn’t unusual for relatives to arrive unannounced. It was a bit of a surprise to have them bring Eunice and Doxy, people we were only vaguely acquainted with. Like the gracious host and niece-in-law she was, Mother put a couple more potatoes in the pot, opened another can of beans, watered down the gravy, and slid another pan of biscuits in the oven. Even though Mother was creative cutting up the chicken, it didn’t go too far. The big pieces didn’t make it past the company, while the kids dined on the neck, back, ribs, and wings. This was in the days before we knew chicken wings were a delicacy, so we weren’t that happy. We had been forewarned not to complain. In all fairness, Mother did reserve the coveted fried scrambles and put them on our plates to spare us the pain of seeing Uncle Albert gobble them all up.
Mother’s dishpan was at the ready as she cleaned up while she cooked. Aunt Jewel chain-smoked at the kitchen table and watched as Mother cooked. Eunice nursed her snotty-nosed baby. After a wet sneeze, the baby blew out an impressive snot bubble. Eunice grabbed Mother’s dishrag from the dishpan and wiped the baby’s nose, then matter-of-factly, tossed it back into the dishpan. This, on top of the smoking and breast-feeding was too much for Mother. She got Eunice a hanky and suggested the women move to the living room where it was more comfortable. The decibel of banging pots and pans increased as she put Phyllis and me to washing dishes and setting the table.
Fortunately for Mother, while she was struggling to stretch the noon meal, she had no idea Daddy had recently boasted that she’d just completed their return, bagging them a nice refund. Uncle Albert was impressed. Eunice and Doxy needed a nice refund. Uncle Albert assured Eunice and Doxy Mother would be glad to prepare their tax return, hence the reason for the impromptu visit, information he shared as he ground out his cigarette in his dinner plate. Though Mother made no overt objection, I didn’t miss her sigh and pursed lips. Daddy did have the grace to look a little worried. After clearing the table and putting us to doing the mountain of dishes. Aware of her mood, we knew better than to fight over our task. Mother told Eunice, they’d better get started. Naturally, Eunice wanted Mother to do the long form and calculate interest on their many debts. This was long before calculators.
As Mother labored over the form and calculations, Aunt Jewel perfumed the air with her cigarettes at the other end of the table, turning the air blue. The skinny baby squalled and snorted as Mother picked information from Eunice. Even though Eunice had never done a tax return, she argued with Mother over how it should be done, arguing that rent, groceries, and gasoline were exemptions. She felt little concern over receipts. “I got that at home somewhere. That doctor bill was about twenty-five dollars. I don’t need no receipt.” Just as Mother thought she had finished, Moxy strolled through and wanted to claim an exemption for the baby, even though it was born months after the cut-off date. He wouldn’t be convinced, so Mother hastily added the baby, knowing it wouldn’t fly. She did however, refuse to sign the form as preparer, having a healthy fear of being jailed by the IRS.
The little family eventually left, exhausted by the taxation process. I never heard if they ended up in jail. Fortunately, Uncle Albert never brought Mother any more tax preparation business. Daddy never got his hanky back.