This and That

It rained in the night. Again.

After a brief respite, it's coming down. Again. This time it isn't rain. I'm saying it's hail, because it bounces. Something warms up there and usually turns hail back into rain. So I expect that will happen soon. Not a day for a walk. Not a day for going out much at all.

Fascinating, huh.

* * *

We have the new Westside Drive-In over here now. Such a reputation for great food, you wouldn't believe. Well, Lola and Clayton and I went there the other night. Great? No so far. My soup was fine, nothing special; Lola's salad must have been good because she at it all; Clayton's double something hamburger was huge. Does that mean great? Not to me. I'll have to back and order a signature dinner some time. Maybe.

* * *

Betty, my visiting teaching companion, is 91. She still drives herself all over. Certainly has her wits--which are considerable--about her. Is outspoken to the max. But, hey, she's 91, and I am pretty sure she doesn't much care what folks think of her any more. If she ever did.

When you meet someone after she's already in her 90s, you can think she's just an old woman. But Betty has been places--Taj Mahal, for starters, and Greece, and so on and so forth. And she has done things, raised a family, known people. It's good to find out these things about old people. Know why?

So we don't dismiss them as irrelevant.

Betty gave me a gift for my upcoming trip to Israel. It's a travel journal. And she told me if I didn't want it or like it, she would be happy to take it back. I told her I loved it and would think of her every day as I write in it, asked her to sign it. She was very pleased.

I'm not so dumb.

* * *

We're supposed to bring snacks with us on this trip to Israel, in case we don't get breakfast some days. That has Ann worried because she does not like to miss breakfast. Can't say I blame her. It has me worried because a) I don't usually have to pack food; b) most snacky foods have too much sugar in them, and I'm off sugar; guess I'll be on it in Israel; c) I'll probably take too much. That's my style. Too many clothes and now too much food.

What it's like buying gas these days

Some people say you should pay no attention to what you pay for gasoline. Because you just have to pay it anyway.

Okay. No, not okay.

I have rarely paid no attention to what I have paid for anything. In my whole life. That's how I was raised, a child of the 40s and 50s, one of five children. Our parents were not poor, but they were not rich either. My dad grew up eating what didn't sell at the Brimley Brothers' Meat Market. His mother was Scottish, and maybe she was also Scotch. Frugal was a good word in their home, no doubt.

When my mother was young, her dad was a farmer. They raised what they ate, and, don't forget, when they moved from eastern Idaho to western Idaho, they had no home and lived in a chicken coop, cleaned and scrubbed and whitewashed by my Grandma Nelson.

Both my parents were young adults during the Depression. They did not ever have to wait in lines for food. They both had jobs. But they knew the times were hard.

When they married, my dad probably very early revealed his frugal habits. He sought out and found bargains, often to my mother's consternation. The point: They knew where their money came from, and they watched where it went.

I knew to save money if I got it. They taught me that and to stay out of debt.

So yesterday, when the numbers at the corner Chevron station went up to $3.75 and 9/10 per gallon--and I do not know but what they will be up again the next time I pass that corner, and pass I will without stopping for gas--I moaned, I grumbled. I paid attention.

Then I went to Costco and paid $3.67 9/10 per gallon and grumbled only slightly less.

Yes, I noticed the price.

I always will.

And don't be telling me they pay more in Europe, thinking to shame me or make me feel--what?--better? I already know what they pay. But I live in America.

Random

• Overheard (guess where): "You'd better straighten up, young man, and improve your attitude, or you're not getting any samples."
  

• Income tax revisit. Yes, yesterday two interesting items came in the mail. 1) My Idaho refund check; 2) A corrected 1099 form. So I have now amended my taxes, printed out all thirty pages, signed, included a check to Idaho State Tax Commission (for $2.00), and am about to head out for the Post Office. Both state and federal want a copy of the corrected 1099. Just so you know.

My brother . . .

. . . Sterling called this morning.

Me: Hi, Ster.
Ster: Hi, Sis. How are you?
Me: I'm good. How about you?
S: Well, I'm okay, I guess. (Trouble in his voice.)
Me: (Uh-oh.) What's going on?
S: I need to tell you something, not good news, and I don't know how to break it you.
Me: Oh, I don't know if I want to hear it. (And I'm thinking maybe someone died.)
S: I think I have to tell you. I just talked to Tracy. She told me, and it isn't good.

Tracy is his only daughter. She has celiac disease and other health problems. So I'm thinking something dire has happened to her, that the very bad news is about her.

S: Are you ready?
Me: I don't know.

At this point, half dressed, I stop what I'm doing and sit down.

S: Walmart is Chinese.
Me: What?
S: Walmart is Chinese!
Me: That's it?
S: Yes, that's it. It's terrible.
Me: Everything's made in China, Ster. You know that.
S: But the whole company is Chinese. How could they let that happen?

I could ask how he knows this or where Tracy got this information. After all, he's the one who forwards all those extreme political emails to me. (The last one another bit of proof about the bogus nature of President Obama's birth certificate.) But I don't bother asking.

S: I'm probably going to have to stop shopping there. Not that they would notice.
Me: Sterling, you are nuts. You have led me to believe something terrible had happened or that someone had died.
S: Someone died? Who? Who died?

And the next few minutes pass in that I-get-nowhere fashion I am thoroughly familiar with. At least I'm laughing.

S: I'm not telling you you can't shop there. I mean, when did I ever try to influence you or tell you what to do?
Me: (Ha!) Many times, Sterling, as you well know. But it has been while.
S: Name me one time. Go on. One time I told you what to do.
Me: I can't, of course, but that doesn't mean it isn't true.

And he laughs. Finally.
Then he says: "I just called to see how you're doing. . . . And to tell you about Walmart. I'm in the parking lot right now, but I'm not going in. I'm going up to Dick's Market."

This is Sterling. This is my brother.

DST begins tomorrow

I started moving my clocks forward yesterday. I know, I have too many clocks.

Remember? If you have a clock, you know what time it is; if you have more than one clock, you never know what time it is.

Did all but one of my watches this morning, the one I'm wearing. Tonight I'll do the other four clocks and the last watch.

Oh yeah, five clocks counting the one in my car.

Fortunately, this computer will take care of itself.

Some poeple should take their own advice

Which, in this case, is: Always read the label.

And I mean read the big print, not just the small print--like those lengthy lists of ingredients wherein you find coffee listed. Oh wait, that's me.

I found coffee listed in the ingredients of the Atkins protein shake I bought. The flavor was Cafe Caramel, as shown on the four-drink carton. You might be thinking, Duh, because you probably know that I know what cafe means in Spanish. Two things, actually: 1) brown; 2) coffee.

What I thought was that there might be some coffee flavor in the drink. And I love caramel.

The truth was that there might have been some caramel flavor in the drink, but I couldn't find it. It went like this.

I tore the carton open, put the four little drinks in my fridge to chill, as instructed on the label. Later, I opened one and took a swig and said, "Whoa! That is coffee." Which is when I read the ingredient list, after which I actually looked at the name of the flavor on the front of the container. Cafe Caramel. And directly above that in fairly big letters, MADE WITH REAL COFFEE.

The thing is, I read a lot of the label, like the part that said 13 grams of protein, 1 gram sugar, and so on. That information was in biggish letters on the front of the container and had influenced my purchase.

How I missed the coffee part, like an inch away, I don't know.

My age?

So now I'm going to give away or throw away the other three containers. (I don't know what to call them. They are not cans or bottles. But who cares?)

And it's not just the money--the $5.78 plus tax--but that's in there. It's that I feel like, Duh, Carol.

The Helms Man

Still haven't reached Aliie.

But I'm sure she remembers the Helms Man. He drove through our southern California neighborhoods, too. His truck was yellow, his call a two-note whistle. (Two notes that sounded at the same time.)

Helms Bakery was a California company, started in 1926 by a guy named Helms. The company lasted until 1969.

I remember going to the bakery itself with my mother--it was in Culver City, not far south from us. That was kind of a wonder-ful thing for me, because I loved the little truck and always wanted something from it.

It was actually Helms Olympic Bakery.

From the truck you could buy bread and baked goodies--cinnamon rolls, cookies, doughnuts, coffee cakes, cupcakes, I would guess, and probably Danish, too.

I used to like those little right-to-your-door things.

Not now. When those guys come around and tell me they're just in the neighborhood and would I like to buy a bunch of meat, I can't go for it.

And when I say no, they usually ask, "Don't you like steaks?"

I just say no, thanks, although I'd like to say, quoting my husband, "What's it to you?"

Out of the way back past

I've been trying to call my Aunt Allie to share a memory with her. No answer for two days. This could mean she is up at Charlie's, spending some time with them and her only grandchild. I hope that is what it means.

The memory is of the Good Humor Man who drove through the neighborhoods every evening, or nearly so. You could hear him in his little vehicle--neither van nor truck; it had sliding doors on either side which he left open as he drove--because of its loud music box sound. It played Turkey in the Straw.

I loved Good Humor ice cream, especially from that little truck, which was the only place you could get it, as far as I knew.

You would hear it coming, run to ask for money--and pray you got it--then dash out, hoping he hadn't gone down the hill already. Sometimes you didn't get any money, or sometimes you were too late and you missed him.

Sad.

But when everything worked out right and you got there on time you could get that favorite vanilla ice cream bar with chocolate coating.

The part that concerns Allie is this: She and Callie, her fiance, came to visit often. This one time, when I opened the front door, they handed me a Good Humor sundae. They said they found it on the sidewalk by our retaining wall.

I knew it wasn't true; I had heard the Good Humor Man go by. But it was fun.

I'm sure they brought a sundae for Lucile, too. I'll ask her.

And. I'll call Allie again today.

Out of the past

Looking for something in an old journal, I found this (not what I was looking for, but worth putting here). It's from 15 1/2 years ago. I was teaching at BSU, and other stuff was going on, as you will see.

8/26/96
School today. And Shane goes to 1st grade and Patrick to kindergarten. Big day for him. Down in Austin we have another kindergarten kid--Anna. Sarah in 5th, Cory 3rd. In Dallas Jacob isn't 3 but could teach a class. And here Bryan rules.