That’s A Lot of Pocky!

 

 

Mister has been snacking on Pocky for the last month or so. The sole box, residing in the pantry, is a mere 2.47 ounces. There’s no back-up and once these Pocky’s are done, they’re done.

 

 

Anyhoo – the other night he pointed out how many are remaining, and how he’s been snacking on them for a while (as stated above). Then he showed me the printed nutritional information’s serving size:

 

 

We both had a good chuckle and then he wrapped up the remainder and put the box back in the pantry. And then we wondered aloud. Seriously – how many Pocky sticks can a person eat in one sitting? That is not a rhetorical question, friends. I really want to know!

Jiggity Jig

 

 

Mister has been away on business. It was quiet while he was gone. There were fewer dirty dishes. Less picking up to do.

 

It was also a little on the dull side, as that guy is a hoot to have around. I didn’t cook, as I wasn’t inspired enough to do so just for myself, which meant my meals were a bit boring. I also didn’t sleep so well while he was gone. That was mostly due to being cold all night, as that hoot of a guy is also a little heater. And that’s mighty nice to have around during the winter.

 

But now Mister is home. And I am as happy as a denuded lark in a thistle patch. I don’t ever want to be the sort of person who would deny him the chance to travel or have his own fun, and I’m not that person. But I am a gal who likes having her dude around. So yes – happy I am. Jiggity jig!

The Weak-end

 

 

Yesterday I had a moment of weakness. I was driving by the Krispy Kreme and thought I spotted the “Hot Doughnuts Now” sign. Even though I was headed away from doughnut mecca, it occurred to me that I could jump the curb and take out a small tree and still land in the Krispy Kreme parking lot. And just as I was about to put the pedal to the medal, I realized the sign wasn’t lit. There were no hot doughnuts now. There were only ordinary, room-temperature, fabulous doughnuts at that time.

 

It’s a good thing, too, as I would surely have lost a tire or two. Besides – I’ve got a birthday doughnut coming in only a couple of months…

Magic

 

 

Two days ago I was driving through Holly-weird and passed The Magic Castle. As I inched along in afternoon traffic, I thought about how much I liked that place the one time I was there and how I’d relish the opportunity to go back for another outing. When I woke the next morning, I had a message from a friend, inviting me to – you guessed it – The Magic Castle. I started typing a response, saying how busy I was and that even though I’d like to go, I needed to focus on getting some work done.

 

And then I thought about how amazing it was that I had just wished for something specific and life had delivered. I mean, come on! That’s incredible! Is this happening all the time? Or was it a one-off? Am I a beneficiary of coincidence? Or am I one powerful chick?

 

Still working on my response, I erased what I’d typed and instead sent my friend a note saying I’d love to go with her to The Magic Castle. And so last night I did.

 

When you ask for magic and you get it, perhaps the best response is to simply say Thank You.

Plumber Crack

 

 

Last week I was doing laundry and happened to be outside while the washer was draining. That’s when I saw it. There was a leak in the pipe coming out of the wall, at the elbow joint, just before the connecting pipe ran to the ground and out to the main line. Now if you’re wondering why there’s a pipe coming out of the outside wall, instead of simply running beneath the house and into the main line, all I can tell you is that the new pad is a bit janky here and there.

 

Anyhoo – back to that leak. It was just laundry water, granted, but it was close enough to the house that I worried it might – at some point – cause a problem with the adjacent wall. My first thought, naturally, was to call the plumber. But our janky love nest is always needing attention in some manner or another, and yet our janky love nest account doesn’t magically replenish itself. So sometimes a gal’s gotta take care of bid-ness herself.

 

Because of another outdoor leak, Mister had ordered some sort of magical sealant. That leak was/is by a sprinkler valve. But we’ve not been turning our sprinklers on (drought and El Niño), so that leak’s not been a problem. Since the package o’ magic was just sitting there, I decided it might be useful to apply it to the washer line leak instead.

 

The magical sealant is called Perma-Wrap and I’m now an unofficial spokesperson for the danged stuff. I read through the instructions, watched a vid-ja on the YouTuber and decided I was ready to give it a go. Basically, I applied the putty-like stuff around the pipe joint, then soaked the wrap in water for 20 seconds, rolled the wrap around the pre-puttied joint and wrung out the wrapping. I didn’t stray from the instructions and I didn’t fret. It was a ridiculously easy process, so of course I doubted it would work. And while the instructions state the wrap takes only 30 minutes to set and is then ready to use, I opted to wait a full 24 hours. Just in case.

 

Well yesterday I did laundry, friends. And guess what. It worked! That stuff didn’t leak a drop and is rock-hard. I plan to paint the wrapped patch, so that it doesn’t stand out so much, but other than that – touch wood – I think this problem has been handled.

 

I may order some more, just to have on hand. In the meantime, I am super-thrilled to have had a successful experience with Perma-Wrap. Wow!

 

Note: I have NOT received any compensation from Perma-Wrap in exchange for writing this post. But if the fine folks there want to send some Perma-Wrap love my way, I will graciously accept!

“Flowers Wilt. Buy a Poem Instead.”

 

 

I’ve become involved with a non-profit organization called WriteGirl. This group of creative, female writers mentors teen girls with the goal of unleashing their young, brilliant, writer minds. It’s such a lovely community and I’m honored to be a part of it.

 

But I almost wasn’t. I met Keren Taylor, the founder of WriteGirl, early last year. She asked me then to volunteer with WriteGirl, saying they needed more songwriters in their fold. I loved the idea, and I loved what I knew about the group, but I didn’t feel incredibly confident as a songwriter. So I didn’t apply. And before I realized it, nearly a full year had passed since Ms. Taylor’s kind invitation. All because of my self-doubt. And when I think about that, it is quite clear to me that I have more in common with the teen girls being served by WriteGirl than I thought.

 

Anyhoo – a few months ago I decided to deny my doubt and to try something new. I had helped a couple of adults with their quests to begin writing songs, and the sky hadn’t fallen. In fact, those gals realized they were capable of following their writer dreams and they’re off and running. That’s when I signed up to volunteer with WriteGirl.

 

I’ve only gone through orientation, but I’m already excited about this group. Do you know that since WriteGirl was founded in 2001 they have a 100% rate of graduating senior mentees going on to college? That is phenomenal, folks. And when you consider that a lot of the girls in the program are facing substantial challenges in life, it is even more impressive. I’ve seen some of these girls reading their work and I’m here to tell you – this organization is making a positive difference in Los Angeles. I can’t wait to get more involved!

 

For now, I want to tell you about a WriteGirl program: a Poetry Drive! That’s right. Valentine’s Day is just around the corner, y’all. And as the WriteGirl tag line goes, “Flowers wilt. Buy a poem instead.” This is so cool. Basically you go to the site, choose the price and personalization levels for your custom poem, make your purchase (which is really a tax-deductible donation) and that’s it! As long as you order by the deadline (shown on the Poetry Drive web page), your personal poem will be emailed to you, just in time for Valentine’s. Unique and philanthropic. Win-win, I tell ya! (And if you’re not a Valentine sort of person, which I am not, please know that the Poetry Drive will be going on through most of June.)

 

I hope to update you on my involvement with WriteGirl as the season progresses. In the meantime, I just wanted to share positive info about some wonderful people doing beautiful work in the world. Personally, I am in awe.

Germ Man

 

 

On Saturday morning I took the LA Metro train downtown. It was just past nine, so there weren’t too many other riders. But the folks that were there provided some fascinating people watching.

 

The most interesting of the bunch was Germ Man. This dude got on at some random stop and immediately headed to an empty corner of the train. As there were only about 10 souls on that car, it was easy to find solitary space. The first thing I noticed about Germ Man were his blue rubber gloves – the dishwashing variety. The next thing that struck my eye was his homemade cape. He had some sort of skull cap tied around his head, and there was a surgical mask pulled away from his face and propped on his forehead. He was a twitchy fellow, kind of shaking here and there. And he spent most of his time looking at his own reflection in a glass window. At some point, I guess he tired of being alone, so he moved near other riders. In doing so, he reminded me of those schlubs at the movie theater on slow days. You know the type – the sap who spies with his little eye the only other person attending a matinee and then proceeds to go and sit directly in front of or behind that lone viewer. I hate those guys.

 

Anyhoo – Germ Man first headed over to seats occupied by a lady and her 3 small children. Within seconds, one of the kids coughed – politely – into her elbow. Well Germ Man started twitching away and rushed to stand near someone else. Then that dude coughed, which sent Germ Man into a near spasm, followed by a quick retreat. The next guy he approached, well, I swear he started fucking with Germ Man. The rider coughed a little and sent Germ Man fleeing. Then a few more folks did the same. I can’t be sure, but I’m fairly certain the only legitimate cough heard during that ride belonged to a well-mannered 5-year-old girl. And believe me when I tell you I was fighting the chuckles. Before his head exploded, Germ Man headed back to the empty corner of the train car, pulled down his surgical mask and twitched in solitude. He then began rolling his t-shirt sleeves until his shoulders were exposed, he tightened the do-rag around his head and smoothed his eyebrows. He approached the car doors and stood tall. When the train stopped at his station, he walked proudly and shakily onto the platform, ready to fight Germ crime.

 

That was when a no-neck muscle-head roller-bladed aboard and sat near me, knocking me with the boots he held in one hand. In his other hand he carried a metal bar, about 4 feet long. As I’m not used to anyone speaking to me on the train, I was caught off-guard when he abruptly asked my name. Without hesitation, I said “Sarah.” Then – I swear – he started saying something to me in response and fell asleep, mid-slur. He was with a buddy who woke him and they both got off at their chosen stop.

 

My stop was next, and I made my way up and out from the underground and to my meeting. I had only been on the train for a short time, but the trip certainly yielded some mighty fine visual entertainment.

 

Oh. Almost forgot. Germ Man was also wearing a studded dog collar. I’m sure that’s where his power was. Either there or in that fraying, homemade cape. It really was a marvel.

Sportsball Day

 

 

I’m not overly fanatic when it comes to sports, but I am married to a sportsball nut, so I go with the flow. And today the flow is toward the Denver Broncos and the Patriots. As Mister is a Broncos fan (like his daddy), I am very much pulling for that team to sports it up and how.

 

Actually, I do know a bit about the foosball and will be rooting for the Broncs today. So forgive me if that’s where my focus lies. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. Go Broncs!

Nice is Good!

 

 

A friend has been working on a project with Melissa McCarthy, the actress. My friend texted me the other day to tell me how sincerely nice Ms. McCarthy is, as my friend knows I’m a fan. That was the gist of our exchange – short and sweet.

 

What I liked about learning that is this: I see successful people (from afar) all the danged time and I never know anything about the decency of their souls. I often find myself hoping folks are nice, especially when I appreciate their work, but as I will likely never, never, ever meet any of those people, I can’t know for sure. That’s the nature of celebrity-dom us-and-them. We think we know someone, but we don’t. Not really.

 

When my friend told me how awesome Melissa McCarthy is, I was happy. It’s great when someone you admire is actually nice. And nice is good, y’all! For reals!

Sentimental Lady

 

 

I’ve never had a garage or yard sale. Not because those things are beneath me, mind you. Oh no. I’ve attended many a garage sale and still look to a good yard sale for this or that. I’ve never conducted a garage sale because I don’t want to do the work. And that’s the truth. I know how I am, and if I were to host a yard sale, I’d want everything to be just so and presented in this way and priced/labeled and orderly and I’m already making myself crazy, just thinking about it!

 

As it happens, I do end up with things – good things, not trash – that need to leave my home. And those things are relegated to what I call “The Goodwill Pile.” I usually have a large bag of clothes going, and I add to it until it’s filled. Small appliances or housewares go to the designated area, too. Once there’s a decent amount (or the area is just too danged full), I call the fine folks at the Vietnam Veterans of America and they come pick it all up. It’s a win-win situation as far as I’m concerned.

 

Recently I came across a “Habitat Restore” and checked it out. For those who don’t know, the Restore is part of Habitat for Humanity and its efforts to provide homes for folks who otherwise wouldn’t be able to have their own houses. Some of what’s for sale in the Restores comes from demo jobs done by Habitat volunteers. One can find kitchen and bathroom cabinets there. I saw various moulding and trim pieces. There were pallets of bricks and tile, as well as appliances and HVAC units. Those are bigger things and the money saved from buying from a Restore can be mucho. But I also saw things donated by regular folks. Things like furniture and decorative objects. And the pieces I eyed were super-well-priced.

 

Anyhoo – I had a few items to donate that weren’t the sorts of things I usually give to the Vets. In particular, I had 2 lovely silk lamp shades and a coffee table. They were good pieces and I wanted them to go to a worthy cause, so I loaded up the old Volvo and dropped them off at a Habitat Restore. As a young dude was helping to take the coffee table out of my car, he started asking about the table and saying how good it looked. I told him I had refinished that piece myself and that we had loved it for a long, long time. He thought it was in too good of shape to be very old, and asked just how long. I thought for a second, then told him how we had lived and loved around that table for 22 years. He was impressed and took the table and lamp shades into the store to be priced.

 

And that’s when it hit me. Thoughts of when we’d gotten that table and how we’d moved it around with us danced through my mind. I remembered working on it in the driveway of a former abode and how happy I was with how it had turned out. Food and drink had been spilled on that table, and feet had been propped up there as well. Bills had been spread out on its surface and our only pet, Moby Joe Fish, had lived his all-too-short life there.

 

After thinking about the old table, I felt a flood of gratitude. And I thought about how I hope someone else will find it in the Restore, take a shine to its antique nail head trim and decide to carry it home. And then they can live and love around its gleaming wood surface as well. Maybe make their own memories. Who knows? Maybe the love already witnessed by that table will somehow emanate from it into its new home. That wouldn’t be too shabby now, would it?

 

I am a sentimental lady, I know. That’s not a bad thing, friends. And when sweet, sweet memories cross my mind, I am grateful. Grateful to be a gal who is sentimental, and grateful to have a life full of touching recollections. We should all be so lucky.