lay/lie, come on people

Here is a direct quote from the small recipe tag that accompanied the asparagus I bought. "Cover grill pan with aluminum foil, lie Asparagus stalks on foil . . ."

I am fully aware that lay has replaced lie for many folks. They don't lie down, they lay down. Oh well.

But is lie now going to replace lay? Lie the book on the table? Lie the asparagus on the foil? Oh, I hope not.

Toothsome

Mama said, “Whatever you do, Janeen, hold on to your teeth,” hold on meaning keep them, avoid their extraction by some dentist who wants to sell you dentures, those fake teeth that never look quite as real as you hope they might and have been known to slip or become dislodged when the poli-grip wears off, and which, in Mama’s case, came partially out on purpose as she chased us around the living room or den when she wanted to scare us and make us laugh at the same time.

Two Sentences, Not About HonK's

He’s handsome and blind and Italian and a tenor and quite the rage among opera lovers who never go to the opera, the ones who know Luciano Pavarotti because of the three tenors and all the hype that went with them and Cecilia Bartolli because she’s been interviewed on television—that great equalizer and spreader of culture to anyone who’ll watch PBS—or who know of Enrico Caruso because he was the answer to a question on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire.

Still, he has a glorious voice, rich and true of pitch and clearly Italian in its tenor timbre, and I wonder if his blindness makes him a better singer than if he had sight, better because he isn’t distracted by lights or the movements of the orchestra conductor or fidgety audience members who may figure because he can’t see them they can slouch or stretch or yawn, as if opera goers would ever slouch or stretch or yawn, and who may have forgotten that he can hear and probably better than most of us who have seeing eyes and are easily pulled off course by whatever is going on around us.

Honk's

I went to Radio Shack today, bought a new phone battery, came out and saw that Honk's $1.05 is back to Honk's $1.00. I guess Mr or Ms Honk found out that folks here in Boise don't want to go to a dollar store that charges a dollar, five. After all, Dollar Tree is half a mile away, and it really is a dollar. Anyway, as I recall, Honk's started out at 99 cents. If he'd go back to that . . . oh well, who cares. I won't be shopping there. Regardless of what you may be thinking because it's twice this week I've mentioned it, I have only been inside the place four times. In my life. Period.
Could Honk be a real person?

A Short Short Story . . . start

You might expect there would be more than one woman in the town named Edna. Edna should be as common as Della and LuDean, names that sound right here because they are here. The place has its share of Dales and Delmers, too, and a LeeRoy. Solid names, down to earth, as you might expect in a place called Farm City, which could be an oxymoron. But about Edna--it's Edna Willets, actually. She's a good looking woman, dark brown eyes and blond hair, a striking combination, and the blond hair is real, as ErmaDean--who is Edna's hair person and sounds like she might be related to LuDean but is not--will tell you if you ask, and apparently many do because of Edna's notoriety.

And notoriety she does have. But being the only Edna and a brown-eyed blonde are not Edna's only claims to fame, not the only reason women are naming their baby daughters after her. It's what she did.

No, she didn't drive the hay baler, like Dale Jones's wife, Della, or run her husband's dairy farm, like LuDean Hunsaker, Delmer's wife. She didn't take over the crop duster business and learn to fly those bi-planes either, like Florence Croft did after her husband LeeRoy crashed nose down and died. But Edna's fame did depend on a man, sort of, because it surely began when she married Ronald. Ronald Arvel Willets was his full name, which allowed friends to call him Raw, which he always was anyway, before they married and, unfortunately, after.

Twinked

I’ve been wanting a Twinkie, of all things, for many weeks now. Save your breath. I already know it’s only sugar and fat, neither of which I need. Yes, it’s a “shouldn’t” food, and so I have not bought one. And one is the operative word. I only want one, but you can never buy one. I have known that from childhood. They come in a package of two. That is good, I guess, because it has kept me from getting a Twinkie and hating myself afterward, that and Albertson’s ridiculous price for a package of two, $1.79. Who needs it for that kind of money?

But today, when I came out of Honk’s $1.05 store, I saw that a new Hostess/Eddy’s Bread outlet had opened up two doors down. Here’s the thing. I never go to Honk’s. I don’t like it in there, but today I needed a cheap picture frame, and they had it. For $1.05.

Anyway, I went to the outlet store. I said to the nice lady who asked if she could help me, “Yes, get me out of here without a Twinkie.” She smiled in a way that made clear to me she did not understand. After all, why would a person come into a place like that unless she wanted to buy something? Good question.

I could have turned right around and walked out, but I went down the aisle. Twinkies galore, but $.75 a package was still too much for me, and besides, as I have already said, I only wanted one Twinkie, not two. Okay, I thought, it’s meant to be. No Twinkie.

About to leave unTwinkied, I looked up and saw that they had a manager’s special featuring a box of 10 Twinkies for $.99, and I, the bargain-loving daughter of my father, just about had to go for that. Didn’t I?

I reasoned I could eat one Twinkie. I argued against that, wondering how likely it was I would do such a thing. I reasoned I could give nine Twinkies to Lola and her boys, but they are all cutting back on their consumption of such foods. I reasoned again that I’m in charge here. I can eat just one Twinkie if that’s what I make up my mind to do. I quit reasoning and took the box up to pay for it.

And guess what! They gave me a second box free. That was the surprise special deal. Oh my. So now I have 20 Twinkies. And all for $.99. What a bargain. What a fix I’m in. Twenty Twinkies. Well, 19 now.

I did call Lola. She said, no thanks, Mom.

I could throw them away. It’s only 99 cents. Right? But I’m not going to. I have put them in my freezer, all 19 of them (okay, it's down to 17, but I didn't eat those other two). Happily, they freeze well. Lola said they do. She said, “Sure, Mom. Freeze ‘em." Then she said something about having a nice spongy treat for people when they come over. I think she was kidding. I have never offered a frozen Twinkie to a guest. Not yet, anyway.