Things Happen

“They’re in the dishwasher, but should be finished by now.”I told him.

During my errands yesterday, I got a phone call from Bud. “Didn’t you tell me you washed those jars of corned beef you canned? I was going to put them in the pantry and I can’t find them. Where did you put them?” He sounded totally bewildered.

“Why in the world did you do that? Oh, never mind!” He blustered.

We’ve been married more than fifty years, but Bud still forgets it makes perfect sense to me to wash jars of canned goods in the dishwasher. We paid a lot for that dishwasher and need to get full value. Why run a sink full of soapy water to wash them by hand and risk having a slippery jar crash and break? The dishwasher does a great job.

I’ve always felt appliances should be multi-functional. I’ve already done my own research and can tell you some pitfalls, but the idea is great.

Ovens make excellent emergency dryers, but don’t do your hair. Putting your head in the oven makes a bad impression. Properly done, ovens could be used for clothes, shoes, and other stuff you might not want, or be able to put in your clothes dryer. Also, the dryer might be on the blink. (Possibly from Multi-Function Appliance Use)I do have a couple of cautions, however. When drying your dainties in the oven, pre-heat it to a nice warm temp, then turn it off. Be sure to put them on a nice cool cookie sheet before you slide them in. When mine hit the hot oven rack they sizzled and melted. Long crosswise burns across the butt was not a look I could live with.

I ran into a little problem drying my son’s tennis shoes in the oven before I’d worked all the kinks out of my system. His only pair had to be dry for school the next morning, so in the oven they went. It’s a lot easier to set the temperature higher than you think, believe me. I forgot to set the timer. In just a bit, I smelled rubber burning. By the time I got to them, melted shoe soles dripped to the oven floor. Still thinking they could be salvaged, I worked the shoes free, hoping I could saw the drippy soles off smooth. Didn’t work. The toes curled up till the shoes looked like skis. We ended up making a flying trip to the store with him in his socked feet, getting there just before the store closed at nine.Bud was totally unreasonable about the whole situation

To be continued


Potty Mouth


imageYears ago Bud and I went to a car dealership.  For once, we had to wait awhile for a sales person.  Nearby, another couple was also waiting and naturally, we started talking.  After a few minutes, I misspoke, embarrassing myself thoroughly by announcing loud and clear, for all who cared to listen, ” I’m tired of standing here waiting.  I think I’ll just sh__t on the bumper”. Of course I’d meant to say “sit.”  Bud and the other couple stared, then they walked off.  I wanted to run after them explaining, but gave it up as hopeless.  God only knows what I might have said once I was rattled.

Hey, That’s My Mole !


Bubba, the second in our series of four American Eskimo Dogs, now respectfully referrered to as the late Uncle Bubba, was a great and fearsome dog.  We’d been plagued by moles in our yard, which we’d been unsuccessfully battling.  Bubba was extremely interested in the beasts, as any fine hunting dog would have been, but had never actually spotted one.  He’d continually dirtied up his beautiful white coat in attempting to dig out the wily Star-Nosed Mole, courageously enduring bath after bath.  Unbelievably, his heroism eventually paid off!  Finally digging one out, he presented his prize gallantly!  Each of us bragged over his trophy in turn, praising him highly!

He kept his trophy handy all afternoon, bringing it forward from time to time when his ego needed a little boost.  Sadly, for Bubba, a passing crow also admired his catch, swooped down, and snatched it from him.  Devastated, Bubba loped behind him, barking in fury.  “Hey, come back here! That’s my mole.”