Not much, but something

Just so you know, the beagle does bark in the daytime, like right now. His pals are barking with him.

*     *     *

The Orkin guy was just here, Tim. A plain guy, simple, and I like him. He sprayed under my sink and then went outside to "spray the heck out of it" back there where it's always wet in the summer. It's to kill those tiny black insects that come up in my sinks every summer. When I say tiny, think tinier than you're thinking.

If the spraying doesn't do it, I'll try Drano. Tim said that's what his boss, Jeff, says to try.

*     *     *

Wow. Talk about a name from the past.

I got a note from Carolyn Baum Buttorf. I'll have to write about it, and maybe about her, on my other blog. For now it is enough to say that my children had very much fun with her name. You can imagine.

A Couple of Things I Now Know

Am I the last one to figure this out? Why the Golden Corral is so named. It's because old people--in their so-called golden years--eat there.

I was coming out of REI last Saturday morning, next door to Boise's Golden Corral, and saw the old folks, mostly old guys, coming out the the Golden Corral. Breakfast a plenty, no doubt.

Yep, that's when I figured it out.

*     *     *

Hyundai and Kia are the same. 

Both Korean, built in the same factory. So says Richard.

Wikipedia says Hyundai owns 51% of Kia.

It's of interest to me. Maybe not to you.

A Little Night Music

Clarks live at the end of the street, where it turns. They're fine people. They have dogs. Every night the beagle howls. It's a bark, but it sounds like a howl. If you live near here, you have heard it.

How can a dog carry on for hours? I ask.  But I can't answer. Why not howl in the daytime? I ask, not that I would enjoy it then.

What I am saying is that the dog howls for hours on end every night, wee hours.

The other day my neighbor Ron said the beagle was sauntering (not his word and not something I can see a beagle doing, but . . . ) down the street at 3 a.m. and howling, too. Ron's sleep was disturbed, obviously, as mine was last night and has been before. (That is, when I can actually sleep. But that is another story.)

Ron said he didn't want to knock on the Clarks' door at that hour, and I thought he was very considerate of their sleep, but before I could finish the thought, he said, "I didn't want to get shot." Yes, Clarks also have guns.

Maybe I should change the names to protect . . . oh well.

This is a smart kid.

Last night at my house we had this little exchange. I think it's worth noting.

Jeff: What are you doing tomorrow?

Richard: Penelope has a playdate with Caroline.

Axel: What about me?

Richard: You'll have a playdate with me.

Axel: No, Dad. I want a playdate with kids.

Richard: I know, but we'll do something fun.

Axel: I want a playdate with a boy.

Richard: Peter can't. He has La Crosse.

Axel: What's that?

Richard: It's a sport.

Axel: I want a cross.

Grandma: It's La Crosse, Axel.

Axel: What is La Crosse?

Richard: It's a sport Peter plays.

Axel: How do you play it?

Grandma: I'm not really sure, but they run around on a field.

Richard: Carrying a basket on a stick.

And I can just imagine the picture Axel saw in his mind.

Axel: I want a sport.

I hope his dad takes him somewhere fun. That is what I really do hope.

Of the Heart

I'm supposed to go to the cardiologist this week because, to sort of quote my gp dr, "There was something on the ekg I didn't like. A little squeak." He also said, "Your heart is stable, no damage."

Is this a mixed message? I certainly do not know what that means, a little squeak. Either this: something irregular about my stable heart. Or this: something he just didn't understand. Whatever.

My "blood work" (a very medical-sounding term) was all good. Thyroid good, blood sugar very good, cholesterol good, and I have not had another heart attack. Which is also really good. These are the matters that occupy the minds of elder people.

The thing is, though, that Richard and his children are here this week. And I have to take my car in tomorrow and leave it all day and I just don't see how I'm going to get to the cardiologist. And . . . a bunch of other stuff.

My idea is to call that office, ask if a dr has seen the ekg, and ask if they think it warrants a visit. Hmmm. My guess is they would say it does.

I think I'll just wait a while.

P.S. I just brought my phone in, and because it has been in my car all afternoon, I missed the call from the cardiologist's office wanting to set up an appointment. Guess I'll call them tomorrow.

Wars and Rumors of Wars

The "separatists" in Ukraine, those who are pro-Russia and want to be part of Russia and who are being supplied weapons, including anti-aircraft missiles, by Russia, used one of those radar directed missiles to shoot down a Malaysian airliner yesterday. 

It was five miles up, flying from Amsterdam to Kuala Lumpur. It exploded in the air and fell, spreading its parts and body parts of passengers and crew over many miles on the ground. All  298 aboard killed. And what do we do about it? Nothing so far. I am against doing nothing, although I don't know what we ought to do.

I suppose there is still a tiny bit of doubt about whether or not they did it, used Russian-supplied missiles. From what I've heard and read, seems clear to me they did it.

Then there's Israel and the Gaza Strip conflict, which is a euphemism for war.

Not to mention Iraq and Afghanistan. Supposedly, the elections in Afghanistan indicate a stable government/country. Suicide bomber there yesterday killed 40.

As I said, wars and rumors of wars.

In My Neighborhood

They're digging a well down the street. The ugly house on the corner. Only ugly because the previous owner had it painted that eye-catching--not in a good way--turquoise.

Anyway, I am hearing the rhythmical pounding. A huge truck sits in the front yard, its wheels on planks so as to protect the lawn. Those guys--and they're not young--are working very hard. Very hard. One guy in front, one in the back chest deep in a hole. It looks very complicated.

I don't often see anyone there at that house, but why would I? I wave at the woman when I do see her. She was in the back yard as I drove home from Curves today, watering the lawn with the hose. And I see her little plot of flowers back there, brightening the place. It had been quite barren looking. Lawn, but not healthy.

It was Mrs Lindell's home, and I know her children came in and cleared a lot of stuff out after they moved her into a "place." I think they are responsible for the color choice, too, although the house was painted and re-roofed while she lived in it. I do not remember when she left.

Yikes! This whole thing is starting to make me feel sad. Better quit.

Pre Pre-mixed

Today I had a hot dog at Costco. I know, I know. It's not good for me. But the hot dog is not the point.

The point has to do with the lemonade, Minute Maid. You can have it. And Country Time, if that still exists, and Crystal Light, and even Paul Newman's, which has been rated the best pre-mixed lemonade.

Pre-mixed. Interesting word/concept.
How do you mix something before you mix it? (For that matter, what exactly is a pre-owned car?)

And do you really want something that has been pre-mixed? I mean, does it appeal to you in any way? The bottom line for me: these pre-mixed lemonades and powdered lemonade mixes do not taste much like lemonade. And frozen lemonade also falls short. It's better, but . . .

Not any of it can come remotely close to the lemonade my dad made on Sundays with lemons from the two little lemon trees he planted. I'm sure I've mentioned it before. Even so, I say this: That is the lemonade I want. Maybe this is a glorified memory from childhood. Maybe not. How do you like the lemonade you buy these days?

And, while I'm at it, wouldn't it be fun to be in that kitchen again with Mama and Daddy working on Sunday dinner? Mama cooking the food, Daddy making the lemonade.

Indeed it would.

Carol's Corner, after all

"Never compose anything unless not composing it brings you constant annoyance."

That, says Gustav Holst, is the best advice he ever got.

I say, let's stick it onto writing. If it's bugging you, you'd better write it.

Brief Thought

Isn't one of life's purposes to complain about the weather? I think so.

Here, in fulfillment, is my complaint.

Too hot for too many days. No relief.

Reader Response

Here's the book I'm reading: Black Sheep and Kissing Cousins How Our Family Stories Shape Us, by Elizabeth Stone. It's old, 1988, but good.

The author's heritage is Italian, her great and great, great grandparents coming from Sicily. There was a lot of cousins marrying in her family in those earliest days. I know of no cousins marrying in my family, but we're not Italians and I don't know enough to say for sure such a thing never happened. But I believe it didn't happen.

Here's something to think about. It has certainly made me think:

"In 1983, 5.7 million families were headed by women, which meant that 22 percent of all children were growing up with just one parent, usually the mother. The increase in such families is usually attributed to the increase in divorce, the American inclination to self-fulfillment at the price of commitment and self-sacrifice, and the greater number of women in the work force."

This information comes to support Stone's assertion about women's prominence in the family, that it puts women in the role of caretaker, not only of children, but also of family stories, traditions, sayings, rituals, and so on. 

I have no argument with this assertion, except that I have already written that in my family my father told the stories. But they were not, that's not, family stories. At least I don't remember any. And we were far from a single parent home. My dad was gone some, traveling up and down California to sell life insurance, but he was home a lot, too.

I could say Wow! about those statistics.  

Because can you imagine how those statistics have changed since 1983? How on earth many single-parent homes do we have in America today, in 2014? Good heavens! It's a staggering number, no doubt.  

But this is not the part that struck me most. I'll carry on.

It's that little idea tucked away in the middle that struck me. The one about "the American inclination to self-fulfillment at the price of commitment and self-sacrifice."  I could write a lot about that, and I think I could argue for and against that American inclination.

I have written on the subject already, many years ago, from a very personal perspective. Some day I may find it or write it again. I do remember what I said, how I felt, and I know what I think now.  I suppose I'll have to write it.

Just not today.