If I Apply Wrinkle Cream When I Get On Line at the Cosmetics Store, Will I Look Younger By the Time I Am Waited On?

I just escaped from the Ulta store with my self-image still intact while having dropped less than $50 which must be some kind of national record or even a Christmas miracle.

I hate that store. First, there are too many mirrors for someone my age. I think they should have a special 'Of A Certain Age' section where the lighting is softer and all mirrors are paired with smoke machines.

Furthermore, the wrinkle creams Ulta sells are bogus. In fact, all creams promising dramatic results which include younger-looking skin are scams.

Look, the first one I tried promised dramatic results in 30 days. After that, I tried one that promised dramatic results in 10 days. After that, I tried another that promised dramatic results in one week. The last one promised dramatic results in just three days. Then I stopped them all; I couldn't stand all the drama of broken promises and accompanying hits to my self-image after I realized that instead of looking years younger I looked 50 days older.

The worst, however, is at the checkout. Today I had to stand in line for 16 eye rolls. Sixteen! A new record.

Many eye rolls were necessary because of Ulta's complex discounted pricing which demands lengthy complicated explanations to each customer. See, in addition to coupons, there are loyalty points, sale items, clearance items, specials, today's specials, special specials, extra-special specials and I think the Ulta Ultimate Super-Special Special.

Outside of these categories is the Buy One at Regular Price and Get One Half-off from a Special Selection of Merchandise, which is 60 percent off two if you buy three, or 20 percent off three if you buy two, which entitles you to BOGO of the store brand of anything under $10 as long as you buy more than one and are a member of the rewards program. Sign up now! Tallying up your remittance takes 20 minutes of studying the circular, higher math skills than what I got, and four eye rolls.

Final humiliation: The chick on line in front of me commented on what she called my 'facial exercises.' Naturally I told her the eye rolls help eliminate crow's feet and that sticking out your tongue helps smooth double chins.

So next time you're standing knee-deep at some cosmetics counter waiting to pay, try some 'facial exercises.' They are great stress relievers/conversation starters, are cheaper than wrinkle cream, and it doesn't matter if you forgot your coupons.




















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Magical Mist Tree Tour

Today we put the finishing touches on our Christmas tree. Yesterday we motored out to Pell Farms in Grafton to cut one down; little did we know what magic awaited us.

It was all because of the fog. Temperatures the night before had dropped below freezing before quickly rising with the sun. When the low-angled sunlight beat down on the snow-dusted ground, the result was a chowder of fog thicker than a South Boston accent.

Look, we already are experienced in picking out a tree after a six-inch snowfall. Therefore we had no thoughts of canceling, figuring that at least we won't have to shake six inches of fog off every balsam fir on the 10-acre farm in order to see what they look like.

It's not surprising we made a wrong turn en route since visibility was reduced to 30 feet.
Our eyes were peeled for Stowe Road, but when we spotted a sign with a Christmas tree and an arrow pointing left, we confidently turned to follow it.

The fog quickly became so dense that we had to slow down even more to avoid unseen danger on the narrow twisting roadway lined with old stone walls and bisected by small creeks.

Suddenly we came upon a great stone castle with a tall, wrought-iron gate guarded by a strange creature who looked like a cross between an elf and a fairy. He was called a Felfry.

The Felfry, whose name was Esodidfgfdiohgafuieoripe, guided us through the fog to an enchanted forest beyond the castle with Christmas trees of every size, shape, and color. I wondered whether they were all atavistic intangibilities, although none of them were crowded by anonymity. Row after rainbow row of pines, firs, and spruces shimmered with an ethereal light shrouded in a milky gray mist. It was the most uncommonly beautiful sight ever. I had to pinch myself to make sure I was awake before grabbing my phone camera.

Through the fog we heard a murmur of music and laughter, which seemed to emanate from the middle of the forest. Esodidfgfdiohgafuieoripe told us there was live music and food there and invited us to mingle. After a few delightful hours of drinking, dining, dancing, and conversation, Husband and I regretfully bid farewell so we could complete our tree-cutting mission. Esodidfgfdiohgafuieoripe said we were welcome to take any tree we fancied. He waited patiently, nodded with approval as we made our choice, then refused to take compensation. He wouldn't even accept a tip, even after helping us load our tree onto the car's rooftop.

He lead us back to the gate and we all took more pictures and said we'd friend each other on Facebook. Finally with a wave and a honk, we pulled away back into the fog.

It lifted less than half a mile after we left that enchanting forest. We found our way back to the highway, returned home, and immediately put our lovely tree in water. Then Husband took me to see  'The Life of Pi' (after I falsely convinced him it was about mathematics); afterward both of us took a nice long nap.

I awoke first, feeling totally refreshed, then charged up my phone to upload the pictures. 

Here is Husband and me with the tree:

Here is Husband and me with Esodidfgfdiohgafuieoripe:

Mitt Romney, President Obama, and I toast each other:

Here I am dancing with Daniel Craig:

Here is me with the castle in the background:

The Lady and the Tiger: Me with the co-star of 'The Life of Pi.'

We had been contemplating buying an artificial tree this year, so I'm glad we made the decision not to go that route. Perhaps this surrealistic experience foreshadows a fake tree next year, because surely no tree-cutting trip could compare to yesterday's 'mistical' journey.

Kind of like 'The Life of Pi.'

http://www.pell-farms.com/christmas.html






















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Dear Santa,

Another Yuletide season has arrived! We really don't need anything from your magical bag of gifts, but we'd still love for you to make your traditional stop here on December 24.

Assuming you come, heads up on our new chimney liner. The fit up and down might be tighter than last year, but at least your belt buckle shouldn't get caught again. Remember I agreed to cover your therapist bills if the claustrophobia recurs even though I suspect it may run in your family.

Unlike last year's 'smokin' hot' celebration, this year's Christmas Eve promises to be much quieter since our new gas furnace is unlikely to catch fire. When I glimpsed you at the mall recently, I was relieved to see that your beard has filled in nicely, plus you can't even notice the burn marks on your nose. Remember to send me the bill from your burn specialist and dry cleaner.

I'm also leaving you some ear plugs in the unlikely event the smoke alarms activate and we can't shut them off even though this is totally unlikely and nothing will happen so you won't need the ear plugs nor temporarily lose your hearing this year I guarantee it. BTW, did you consult the audiologist and otolaryngologist? I haven't received any bills yet.

You'll be happy to know that I've moved the wires running from the tree to the outlet so they're no longer a tripping hazard. However, just in case I'll be supplementing the First Aid kit with a bucket of ice and the heating pad which you brought us last year, remember? That automatic shut-off feature is great, and the cord-as-tourniquet is literally a life-saver as you know. Handiest gift ever! Hey, chicks dig scars, right? Otherwise, send me the plastic surgery bills.

I've already packed away the home-made cat treats so this year there should be no confusion. But in case you need to barf again I've put up a string of Christmas lights leading to the bathroom and cleared all obstacles from the hallway. And guess what: new toilet -- no clogs and overflows this time, I promise.

You'll be sad to learn the snake died, alas, but the upside is there won't be another Pythonesque escape involving Prancer's antlers. Who would have thought a ball python could fit inside Tickle-Me-Elmo. I heard little Stevie's made great strides in therapy, plus his parents dropped the lawsuit, so glad tidings all around (except for the snake). Don't forget to send me the vet bill for Prancer's antler rash.

Finally, be assured that all weapons are safely under lock and key so there will be no repeat of last year's mistaken identity mix-up. Hey, talk about a 'claus call'! We can laugh about it now, right? Ho ho ho, right?


Look, Santa, it's been almost 12 months and we'd really like it if you canceled the restraining order. One bad experience shouldn't ruin a life-long relationship, right? We are truly sorry for a few, er, minor mishaps, but the ER staff did top-notch work and I heard you completed your route on time so things worked out in the end, and no hard feelings, right?

Christmas just won't be the same without you. Really looking forward to seeing you this year.

Ring the bells! Bring the bills.


Love,

P@













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Halloween Anxiety

Another confession: I dread Halloween.

Nah, I'm not spooked by ghouls or anything. I'm haunted by all the nighmare-inducing decision-making regarding The Three C's: Costumes, Candy and Carving. Look, I have a lot to live up to:

The Costumes: My mother, who must be a descendent of Betsy Ross, used to make our costumes when we were kids. I went to our kindergarten Halloween party as Martha Washington in a blue satin ensemble Mom whipped up complete with gathered white cap, apron, and shawl. This may explain why I subsequently got the female lead in the kindergarten play, which I recall was about a princess who dressed a lot like Martha Washington.

In fourth grade Sister No. 2 and I dressed up as an Amish girl and boy. Guess who was the boy. It was the first time I ever wore pants to school and it felt great. This may explain why during high school when they finally legalized girls in pants I never looked back.

Lately, however, I have had to rely on my own imagination and skills for costumes. Fortunately the days are over when I had to assemble outfits for my kids, because I didn't inherit Mom's talent with thread even though they say I'm pretty good at needling.

So today I need to come up with a costume using stuff hanging around the house. I'm thinking of  borrowing a long dress and No. 1 Son's Jay From Silent Bob wig from last year (which is currently being used as a burglar alarm on our sofa along with strategically placed pillows, blankets, and realistic looking BB gun).  If I put the wig in a bun and add a shawl, maybe I can recycle this Martha Washington thing for tonight's party. Packing the BB gun would give the costume some added flair, right?

The Candy for Trick-or-Treaters: It just occurred to me we should buy one of those clicker-counter thingies so on Halloween night the Rocket Scientist could occupy himself collecting data on the number of trick-or-treaters. That would come in handy for next year since I never know how much candy to buy, meaning we either run out or have an extra five pounds. I also agonize about offering at least one thing that tots might enjoy eating instead of choking on. In an effort to pre-empt lawsuits, I finally settled on some Annie's organic bunny crackers in Halloween wrappers.

The Carving of Jack-O-Lanterns: It has been a tradition to carve some intricate skull or complicated, labor-intensive design on at least two pumpkins each Halloween. This year I found a small mutant-shaped pumpkin that's ideal for a skull at the farm stand up the road. I also bought a large round 18-pounder, which unfortunately rolled around in the back of the car and pulverized the packets of Annie's bunnies on the drive home.

As far as the carving goes let's just say I've set the bar impossibly high in past years with carvings of bats, witches, Frankenstein, headless horseman, etc. One year I carved a raccoon holding a jack-o-lantern. Jeez, what was I thinking? So this year Ima start with a small, simple skull the day before, and then see how I feel before committing to a satellite image of Hurricane Sandy superimposed over a geopolitical map of the East Coast on the 18-pounder.

Scary, right?



Fortunately the Rocket Scientist will be home to help distribute the candy, assuming Hurricane Sandy hasn't already done the job. He already has come up with his costume: Dressed in a white robe, a halo made out of a coat hanger, and pair of wings he found in the closet while looking for the coat hanger, he will be channeling Saint Gobain (http://www.saint-gobain.com). I plan to be at his side rockin' a long black dress, frizzed-out Jay From Silent Bob wig, black make-up, and the wizard's hat that I just tripped over in the hallway. A heaven-and-hell kind of vibe, right? Maybe these get-ups will scare the shit out of all the little trick-o-treaters thus precipitating a hasty retreat and rendering the pulverized crackers issue moot.


Now that I've worked out most of this year's holiday problems, I'm feeling much less anxious. I will wrap this up by wishing everyone a Wicked Happy Halloween. Be safe! For you parents who will be bringing baby trick-o-treaters to our doorstep, that means pack some extra baby wipes.













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What Do You Give a Rocket Scientist for His Birthday?

He wants the world, and I'd like to give it to him.

Last year he asked for a globe and I gave him something so forgettable I can't remember what it was.

Look, I like globes. I like orreries too. But here in our own private little solar system, the problem is space, and it's not infinite. It's all been conquered and the final frontier is full up. There is not a single cubic foot available to put a globe. Not even a moon. Not even an asteroid.

Ok, that's not exactly true. There is space to suspend a globe from the ceiling. I've been looking for a pulley system that would move the earth with some up and down action. Use the spider plant as a counter-balance and pretend it's a comet or an alien ship. Alas, my online search turned up no such globe-and-pulley product. (I did find a cool levitating Uranus for $299, but decided that might not send the right birthday message.)

Ideally we need a holographic globe. Again my searches yielded bupkis, but perhaps one will be available by the time this year's gift gets knocked over and broken after being repeatedly blasted with plastic BBs by six-foot-tall creatures with the minds of 12-year-old boys who like to reenact 'Star Wars.'

Alternatively, I'm thinking about getting him a set of new dishes. Seriously. I just bought a new Corning Corelle serving plate on clearance, and the Rocket Scientist thinks it's the coolest thing since the SpaceX Dragon launch.

Look, he really likes these dishes. Made in the USA, they are break- and chip-resistant plus are safe in the dishwasher, oven, and microwave. They are made with a patented process blah blah blah. They are square.

It occurred to me that having this new set of dishes may inspire the Rocket Scientist to cook, set the table, load, and unload the dishwasher more frequently instead of wasting time looking for the capital of Mauritania on a 12-inch-diameter sphere.
 
It's also true that the new Corelle ware will stack better and take up less space in the kitchen cabinet than our current crockery, but I doubt we gain enough room to fit a globe. Also, storing it in the kitchen sounds like a recipe for global warming ....

I truly can't bear to disappoint Rocket Scientist two years in a row. So I guess I should move some piles of junk out of the study to make room for a globe. At least it would give the space some atmosphere. Some of this junk hasn't been touched in eons, so I doubt anyone would miss a few piles that get sucked into the black hole known as the basement.

So I'm signing off to do more globe shopping. That has a nice sound to it even though it's not as much fun as globe-hopping, globe-trotting, and dishware shopping. At least it sounds better than black-hole sucking, and is easier to spell than 'orreries.'

Or maybe I should buy him the globe and the dishes. That way I can give him the world on a platter ....

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Trainblogging

Driving down to New Jersey and back is a pain compared to riding Amtrak's Northeast Regional line. Driving a car may be cheaper when you are traveling with companions, and flying might be faster, but train travel can be a pleasure compared to the highway and friendless skies. Here's why:


     *     You don't have to pay tolls or attention 

     *     Restrooms are only a few steps away and there's no one loitering at some remote Rest Area Men's Room entrance who creeps you out

     *     You arrive at your destination without getting lost

     *     You get to enjoy the self-righteous feeling of using mass transportation thereby reducing your carbon footprint blah blah blah

     *     Your underarm flab never sets off any sirens or alarms
         
     *     The conductors are friendly, helpful, and won't try to confiscate your smoked ribs like the flight attendants just because they skipped lunch and the ribs smell heavenly
    
     *     You don't have to cough up extra dough for an Exit row seat, meaning in the event of an emergency you haven't paid a premium to perform a job and assume responsibility for strangers while presumably being one of the last people off the plane.



I believe everyone should consider riding the rails when making their next travel plans. If it's been a while since your last train trip, here are some tips to make the experience even better:

     *     Don't touch anything at Penn Station!  If you do, have some hand sanitizer. If you buy hand sanitizer at Penn Station, disinfect it.

     *     If you have packed a snack of some old raisins you found in the back of your pantry, make sure you look in the box before popping a handful in your mouth and then noticing there is something squiggling inside it as you grab a second helping.

      *    It's also a good idea to clean out your pantry every once in a while.

     *     Not having a seatmate allows you to spread out more and enjoy a window seat view without having to say 'Excuse me' every time you think about those raisins and feel like you need to visit the bathroom to throw up. Here are tips to maximize your chances of snagging and retaining a row to yourself:

           *     Arrive on the platform before the train arrives, then try to telepathically signal the engineer to align a train door with where you are standing

           *     Refrain from bathing for two weeks previous to departure

           *     Eat something garlicky before boarding

            *     Head for the middle of the car, grab a vacant row seat, then start coughing, sneezing, and blowing your nose

            *    Nod your head a lot while muttering

            *    Have a melodramatic phone conversation in a loud, abrasive voice using words like 'Beeeeitch' a lot

            * Put a half-eaten box of old raisins from the back of your pantry on the aisle tray table.





A final message to the graffiti artists whose canvas is the concrete walls and supports frequently lining the tracks:  Make your letters really big, wide, and really far apart. Or else create a big 'flip book' effect so the thousands of people whizzing by at 50 miles per hour each day would see a movie.

That's all I can think of for now, except for some quick editorializing. Our public transportation system is pretty amazing. It's a valuable service that works. Evidently we like it, we use it, we underwrite it. I'm proud to be a supporter of this basic choice.


All Aboard!?!






Gotta go throw up ....








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Is That a Weed in my Garden of Eden?

As the earth dances its way around the sun, the inevitable result here is cooler temps at night.

I love fall, not only because the foliage is beautiful but also because it still symbolizes new beginnings, as in a new school year. It's been a long time since I've started a new semester, but for me the shorter days and cooler air evoke a different, more focused vibe.

One of the best things about autumn is you get to wear jackets. This means that no matter how torn or stained your clothes are you can just grab a jacket to run errands instead of having to change into something decent so people don't mistake you for homeless and direct you to the nearest thrift shop or People In Peril center. Honestly, judging by all the bleach spots and food stains on my T-shirts and shorts you'd think I did nothing all summer but clean, eat, and stage a laundry strike. Upon reflection that may have some advantages, which I need to explore later.

Gotta focus. With the cooler night air, it will soon be time to move our house plants indoors after summering on the patio. I dread the transition, not only because it involves heavy lifting, but also since it means a significant drop in foot candles as they huddle inside for the next eight months with their faces upturned to the grow-lights. Kind of like me in the winter ....

White flies have been a problem this summer. I need to spray my flora for bugs and fungus before bringing them inside, which means finding gloves, mask, sprayer, solution, and the directions. Sure, they are all in the garage -- along with 25,347 other items. Here's a fun idea: let's all go on a scavenger hunt in my garage!

Anti-fungal treatment needed.

I am worried about covering The Poinsetter Sisters to get them to bloom for the holidays. They look so happy, healthy and green now -- I don't want them singing the blues. I don't want a repeat of last year, when they didn't bloom and I was too lazy to buy more so I took some fake poinsettia flowers and tied them to the live plants so it would almost look like they flowered. Toooo lame .....

The Poinsetter Sisters

What concerns me most is carving out space with enough light for the two scheffleras, which are now seven feet tall, and the split-leaf philodendron affectionately known as The Goddess. What they all really need is a spacious solarium or conservatory which also has a hot tub, large Tv and Wi-fi.

                                 The Goddess, so nicknamed because her branches reach out like a multi-armed deity.                              

On the bright side, I am eagerly awaiting the blossoming of my mystery plant. Several autumns ago I bought a purple-and-white aster and planted it by the driveway. Something always sprouted there every spring but was subsequently devoured by critters such that I'm no longer sure if it's actually the aster. So this year I dug it up and potted it. I am hoping the emerging buds don't shrivel and drop off since I've put time and effort into this plant's survival even if its foliage doesn't look so good. I am also hoping this doesn't turn out to be some random weed that I've been nurturing.

Mystery Plant

Taking care of plants is a long-term commitment, but it gives me great pleasure to walk into a room alive with the colors and fragrances of photosynthesis. Ok, I over-anthropomorphize but they do seem to appreciate the TLC, often putting out blossoms when I'm out of town for a stretch. It's like they are welcoming me back home. Or maybe they are just having fun while I'm not around ....
















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How to Pick a Peach

We finally got around to peach picking. Procrastinating worked in our favor this year since peach-ripening overlapped with the ripening of Mac, Gala and Seek No Further apples at one of our favorite orchards. So we are actually ahead of schedule when it comes to picking apples.

If you are looking for an agri-tourist destination for your family, this orchard is not the place to go. It's called the Nicewicz Family Orchard in Bolton, Mass. They pronounce it NEE-shway, but I like to call it the Nice Witch Orchard. That's how I would personally pronounce Nicewicz if it were my name .... In fact, I may change the pronunciation of Gasdaska to 'Nicewitch.'

We know a half-dozen ways of getting to the Nice Witch Orchard because we've tried them all. My favorite route involves what I think is the intersection of Peach Hill Road, Peach Orchard Road, Orchard Road and Orchard Hill Road. Which is which? Don't ask me. I'm too busy looking for Whaddayacallit Road which is listed as Waddaquadock Road on Google maps. Look, I'm pretty sure 'Waddaquadock' is pronounced 'Whaddayacallit' ....

The people at Nicewiecz are really, er, nice which makes us feel welcome. I always starve myself before picking there because they encourage you to sample the fruit. 'Find a tree you like!' they tell us. They also taught us the proper, no-squeeze method to pick a peach: Thread the stem through your fingers, cupping the top of the fruit, then pull down.

It was hard to stop grazing on the peaches and switch to apples. Our bags (and stomachs) filled in about 15 minutes and we never did find the Seek No Further trees. Maybe they were behind the Hide n Seek trees. On Hide N Seek Orchard Hill Road.

How do you like them apples? These Galas were beautiful, juicy, crunchy and sweet.

So we bought some onions and corn while hearing about how construction on the new barn was delayed again this season in favor of watering the trees amid the summer drought. The knowledgeable farm stand employee also packed us a SWAG bag of nectarines and Asian pears to enjoy.

Peachy, right? 

The most challenging part of fruit picking involves getting the produce home intact on roads named with words like Hill, Steep, Orchard, Winding, and Narrow. We found that the best method to keep the fruit from rolling out of the bag and under the brake pedal is to strap the bags in the back seat. Lap and shoulder restraints for precious cargo. Airbags on stand-by.

We made it home without damage, but recalculating our total expenditure revealed we underpaid. I think I was so involved in conversation with the farm stand employee I gave her money for an incomplete tally. It was only short by three bucks, but I still feel terrible considering she was so helpful and nice which makes me wish I could simultaneously do arithmetic and be nice which I am just realizing she couldn't do either.

We do plan on returning this season for more apples so I will be sure to make good. Meanwhile, I have successfully deflected family requests for pies and tarts by waving my swollen thumb with its mean-looking puncture wound which I really didn't self-inflict in order to get out of pie-making although that sounds like a good plan now that I think about it. As Peachy Carnehan from Kipling's 'The Man Who Would Be King' said,

'Let us seek safety on the battlefield.'

... It's too bad the Nicewicz Family Orchard's Web page is experiencing technical difficulties or I would include a link. It's located on Sawyer Hill Road in Bolton. I could post directions, but that won't help you much. Trust me. The GPS lady has suffered a loss in credibility too ever since she started sending tourists to Walden Pond in Lynn instead of Concord. I am afraid trying to program the aforementioned four-way intersection might bring down a satellite.

However, if you wander around the higher elevations of Worcester or Middlesex County no doubt you will stumble across one orchard or another. The peaches will be good for another few weeks, so even if you get lost at least you won't starve to death.

'Ol' poor Peachy, who never done them any harm, just hung there ....'

Go read Kipling ....

















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Frog on the Lam

This place is a revolving door of critters lately: new and old, wet and dry, four-legged and no-legged.

Last week Boomer The Cat went AWOL but turned up unfazed and unharmed.

The weekend brought a surprise addition to the zoo: No. 2 Son's ball python.

Look, I'm not happy about the snake. But is it fair for one son to have four creatures and another zero? Still, it's a snake!

And now for today's melodrama in the menagerie: The female of the fire belly toads went missing. Cue the organ music. Will I have to tell my soon-to-arrive guests that we have a toxic frog loose in the house? I'd hate for someone to trip over a dead Boo with a half-eaten frog in his mouth. Especially if it's me. Look, I've already cleaned up one pile of cat barf today ....

Fortunately, Frau Frog was found in the front foyer, barely breathing after hippety-hopping down a flight of stairs. Currently she is back in her terrarium. Her formerly Critical condition has been upgraded to Stable and she has been cleared for visitors. However her status may be downgraded or even changed to Expecting since Herr Frog won't stop mounting her.

Find the fire belly toads, which I'm told are actually frogs since they live in the water (except when they escape). Also, don't bother clicking on that white triangle, because it's just a reflection and not the way to start a video clip. Look, I was tempted to click on it myself ....                                                                                                                                                                

 

Meanwhile, Lizzy the guinea pig has been eschewing all the scenery chewing, preferring her bowl of carrots and hay. Mr. Beta Fish also seems blissfully oblivious.

Personally, I wouldn't mind if Snake-I-Heard-You-Were-Dead escaped, slithered into the frog tank and ate them both before collapsing and dying. That's probably because I haven't bonded with them. You can't force these things, right?



... Our expected guests just called from the road, informing us they are bringing 10 live lobsters.

Welcome to our snake-eat-frog-eat-fish-eat-guinea pig-eat-cat-eat-lobster world!

The fish, guinea pig and of course Boo can stay. The lobsters, temporarily. Ok, frogs and Plisskin can stay too. But I have unequivocally drawn the line at zombies and space aliens.





Gotta go boil water .....














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Prodigal Cat

Whew! I am so relieved Boomer The Cat finally showed up I made myself another mojito to celebrate.

To recap, Boo went AWOL for over 24 hours. That means he missed three meals, a couple snacks and countless unmonitored helpings of treats from several people.

Look, missing one meal is a big deal for Boo. Missing three is worrisome. Enough of an excuse for me to crack open the bottle of Ron Barcelo Imperial aged rum someone brought us from the Dominican Republic.

I checked all over the property and house for Boo, including the basement. Although the latter was a likely possibility, the detective in me could tell right away he wasn't down there because of all the cobwebs I broke at ankle level.

That's disturbing enough right there to call for a mojito  ....


... I have a custom of choosing a simple, go-to beverage each summer. When we were students it was wine coolers made with lemonade. Later on it was a 'frodka' -- Fresca with vodka. Gin and tonic always makes a nice default, and if we felt prosperous it was mimosas -- champagne (the kind spelled with a lowercase 'c') and orange juice. (FYI, two mimosas is a mimimosa; a third one = mimimimosa, etc. If you can't say it, you can't have another.)

One summer it was dirty martinis -- but that was the year I tripped and needed stitches on my head after being clipped by a trolley because I'd had too many and was running to catch the friggin' trolley. (How many dirty martinis did I have? One.)

El Mojito is the returning favorite this year. Look, it's part of a counter-offensive to stave off an invasion of mint in our backyard.


... Boo has disappeared once or twice before, but not since last summer. Maybe this was his big summer vacation or sleep-away camp thing where he journeys to the wetlands across the street and fishes all day and stalks frogs all night while avoiding swamp creatures with chainsaws.

Look, you can't spell 'vacation' without 'cat' ....

But he is such a keeper of routine that any aberration scares me. Also, you can't spell 'chainsaw' without thinking of swamp creatures. Which is why I kind of freaked out. It had nothing to do with the momojitos that I'd had, Ok?


... Some summers my favorite beverage is a bloody Mary. I like to sprinkle the top with celery seed, and learned to spice it up with steak sauce. An A1 option when you are drinking at breakfast because after all, your cat has been missing since last night.



... That DR rum is reeallly goood. It tastes especially sweeet now that Boomer is back sleeeping on the window seat.

Boomer The Shy

Lacking a BoomerCam, we'll never know where he was or what he did.

But I did learn something: The best summer drink is like Boomer The Cat: Aged, imperial, and prodigal.

Gotta go rehydrate ....




                                                        My Simple 1:1:1 Mojito Recipe

     Check some mint leaves for dead bugs, then put several (leaves) in the bottom of a glass.

     Add 1 shot rum, juice of 1 lime (more or less, depending on the quality of the rum), and 1 tablespoon of frozen limeade concentrate (more or less, again depending on the rum).

     Stir and add ice.

     Standing at the kitchen sink, open a bottle of club soda and top off the glass. Stir.

     Garnish with a 'straw' of sugar cane (if you are lucky to live near a plantation), lime wedge, or  mint sprig.

    

!Salud!








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Of Photons and Phaetons

We just got back from our excursion across the Long Island Sound to Stony Brook, where the Rocket Scientist had a science experiment appointment.

His purpose was to use the Synchrotron at Brook Haven's National Lab. Who can resist a visit to something called a Synchrotron? Me, that's who -- even though he explained it is an accelerator which was gonna bombard his sapphire crystal samples with X-rays blah blah blah.

He told me afterward he encountered a small wrinkle entering the lab, since his university-issued, adhesive-backed Visitor's badge fell off his shirt pocket unawares and disappeared en route to the facility. This is one case where cutting down on the fabric softener would have eliminated a wrinkle ....

While his samples were accelerating in the Synchrotron I opted for a tour of the Long Island Museum in nearby Stony Brook, N.Y. It features a special exhibition about Long Island life circa 1950 in addition to an impressive permanent gallery of 19th-century island artist William S. Mount.

But the highlight of the museum was its carriage house filled with a comprehensive collection of  carriages from earlier centuries. I now know more about the difference between a phaeton and a brougham than I do about the difference between a synchrotron and an accelerator. Hoping that bit of knowledge comes in handy some day ....

Unfortunately cameras were prohibited in the carriage house. However, I did snap this one fashion statement from the '50s exhibit:

Like it?

 
... Other than the tornado, the only glitch in the trip was finding the hotel. Look, armed with GPS, Rand McNally and Google, we usually feel confident navigating new territory. However, I believe someone at the hotel inadvertently activated a cloaking device, since whenever we had to return there we got lost.

Look, when even a rocket scientist doesn't know where the hell he is, then that's big trouble. Kind of like being on Gilligan's Island without the professor. The only explanation is a cloaking device, right?

Fortunately since we were on an island we were bound to come across the hotel eventually. It was nice enough once we found it. The only anomaly there was the zucchini plants growing in the front landscaping.

 Now I'm wondering if they are somehow connected to the cloaking device ....




Back to the tornado. The Rocket Scientist wasn't in any danger because he was in a lead-lined bunker, Ok? I was a dripping wet mess in my car with only a moon roof separating me from accelerating waves of H2O molecules bombarding overhead.  A few minutes earlier, a museum curator returning from lunch reported a tornado that was spotted near the island's southern coast was heading north. So I dashed through the deluge to my car to look for an umbrella. That would surely be great protection in a tornado, right? After a fruitless search, I sprinted back into the museum to await a phase change of those H2O molecules.

Fortunately the tornado dissipated or decelerated or whatever. Unfortunately, the 1950s-era clothes dryer in the museum's Life in Levittown display was only a prop.

Anyway, if you are on Long Guyland's North Shore I enthusiastically recommend a visit to The Long Island Museum in Stony Brook. 

Here is a link:

http://longislandmuseum.org/





Don't forget to pack your umbrella. And your anti-cloaking device.












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Post-Musikfest Top 10 List etc.

We made it home safely after a whirlwind tour in NJ and PA, stopping for three visits in three days.

We were hoping to coordinate the tour with Musikfest and our high school reunion in Bethlehem, Pa. However, due to a scheduling conflict, we are unable to travel to the reunion next weekend. So to all my dear friends from the Class of '72, we are sorry to miss the fun but are looking forward to photos ....

En route to PA we followed in the family footprints down memory lane, reliving soccer games we attended at fields we passed; model rockets launched on local farmland; and of course passing the spot fondly called No. 1 Son's Memorial Vomitorium, where many years ago on a dare he drank a liter bottle of Orange Fanta and had to hop out of the car to barf.


Anyway, I like to wing it at Musikfest, meaning just show up and sample whatever music is going on at the time. This year's highlight for me was the performance of Cast In Bronze on carillon bells, a medieval-looking set of 23 ringers of different sizes rigged to levers on a keyboard with pedals. The carillon artist sat at the keyboard and played, sometimes accompanied by drums or recorded music and on some tunes unaccompanied.

Wearing a black tunic and trousers, knee-high lace-up black boots, and gold mask in the shape of a flying bird, the carillon master looked like an executioner from the French Revolution. Fortunately his executions took place on the keyboard, where he thrilled a throng of festi-goers with a unique sound rarely heard these days outside of, er, wherever he is performing.

Here are two pics to save me 1,800 more words:

... I also like to browse the vendors at Musikfest, because I love earrings made of dichroic glass and know there's a certain vendor who always books the festival. I didn't buy any earrings this year, but I did get two black T-shirts painted with music motifs using drumsticks. Maybe you have seen them on the summer concert or county fair circuits.

The problem is I bought two T-shirts for three kids. I don't know what I was thinking. So I need to come up with some 'explanation' how I didn't really overlook one kid even though that's exactly what I did.

Look, according to the Rocket Scientist I am a medal contender when it comes to thinking up excuses. In fact, years ago he encouraged me to start a website called excuses.com, where folks could browse an inventory by category and find a match to an appropriate excuse. (Naturally I had plenty of excuses why that wouldn't work ....)

 So here is a quickie Top 10 List of How to Whine or Bluster Your Way Out Of Being Short One T-Shirt:

      10. They didn't have another one in your size.

        9. I didn't know which design you'd like.

        8. I bought three T-shirts, but one of them broke.

        7. One T-shirt fell into the Lehigh River following a rogue wind gust as we walked across the Hill to Hill Bridge.

        6. We gave one to the carillon musician after a bird crapped on him.

        5. Some rank amateur musician spilled sour notes all over one T-shirt and we couldn't get them off and they smelled really bad too.

        4. I thought two of you would prefer to share.

        3. I figured somebody wouldn't want one.

        2. I thought we'd deconstruct these two Extra Larges and reassemble them into three Mediums.

And the Number 1 Way to Whine Or Bluster Your Way Out Of Being Short One T-Shirt:

         1. 'Hey kids, we got you each two-thirds of a T-shirt.'


 If you have any additional excuses I'd love to hear them. Or you could start a website .... (Sorry, but the excuses.com domain name is already taken ....)



 ...  Our return trip was truly harrowing through New York state as we passed through a massive, vicious  thunderstorm. Twice. Rinse and repeat, right? Fortunately we got back in plenty of time for the Rocket Scientist to watch the 'Seven Minutes of Terror' online, meaning the Mars Curiosity rover landing. I decided to forgo the seven minutes of terror since I had just survived 77 minutes of terror driving through New York.

 So I'm off to unpack until next weekend. Maybe I should withhold the T-shirts and in the meantime  order a third one online. I guess the lesson learned from this post is that even if you can count down from 10, that doesn't necessarily mean you can count up to 3.

 That's my excuse anyway ....







Here's a link to Cast In Bronze:

         http://www.castinbronze.com/

Also, a link to Musikfest:

      http://musikfest.org/  


Hope to see you there next year!












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Undercover Cat

... Just got back from a vet appointment; blogging is a way to recover from the drama, trauma, and unhealthy helping of guilt that comes with caring for pets.

Vet visits are always stressful, because they are always a lose-lose proposition. If nothing is wrong with kitty, then you face the doctor's Why Are You Wasting My Time look. If a medical issue is discovered, then you face the doctor's Why Didn't You Come Sooner look ....

In this case, I noticed two days ago that Boomer The Cat had taken to disappearing into the basement. His appetite was off, but worse, he showed no interest in his raison d'etre: Going Outside.

His behavior change coincided with a wicked brutal heat wave -- yet that didn't stop him during the 90-degree-plus, humid weather we suffered two weeks ago, when Boo spent 24/7 outdoors.

(Look, I can't imagine hanging outside all day wearing a fur coat in 95-degree temperatures. But I'm not a cat named Boo ....)

Last night he fell asleep on our bed, and I observed him licking his left hind paw a lot. So I booked a noon appointment.

... Adding to the stress was our missing cat carrier. At 11:40 a.m., after ransacking the basement without results, I vaguely recollected someone borrowing it about nine months ago but have no memory of it being returned.

Time for Plan B, or should I say, time to think of a Plan B. First, I called for reinforcements --  fortunately No. 2 Son was available to drive. There ensued a 10-minute scramble chasing the cat around the house and up and down two flights of stairs. If there was something wrong with his hind leg, it clearly wasn't slowing him down. I figured I was in for the doctor's Look No. 1 ....

I finally discovered him hiding under the covers on our bed. I felt bad that he didn't realize the big lump on the bed was a giveaway ....

Undercover cat.

By the time we arrived at the vet, I was every bit as hot, sweaty and hairy as Boo in my arms. I really regretted not changing into a tan shirt for the appointment. If I ever get another pet it will have to be either black or navy blue .....

Turns out, Boo is missing several hind claws, possibly from being dragged, possibly after being hit by a car. He received an antibiotic injection and was prescribed 1/4 of a baby aspirin every 3 days. He is in otherwise great health and expected to make a full recovery.

We're supposed to keep Boo inside for the next two weeks. I don't know if that will be possible (unless it rains), but I guess he won't pester to go out until he's feeling better. Right now he's back under the covers and I'm pretending I don't know he's there.

So I'm off to buy Boo's aspirin. I hope he doesn't mind if I help myself to a few later on and then curl up next to him .....


















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Fireworks for Freedom!

****NOTE: THIS POST IS FROM JULY 3, 2011, WITH A NEW HEADLINE, UPDATE, AND PHOTOS ADDED *****

Yesterday Husband and I made the obligatory out-of-state fireworks run, patriotically spending money while avoiding higher in-state taxes on other purchases.

Fireworks in Massachusetts are illegal for amateurs; however, a bill (H3372) has been introduced that allows towns to let people register for a permit. The theory is that instead of running around putting out fires willy-nilly, the fire departments will know where potential blazes may occur. Kind of like 'Minority Report' with hoses ....

The potential tax revenue is almost $1 million.  According to sponsor Rep. Richard Bastien, R-Gardner, the Commonwealth might capture some of the $40 million home pyrotechnics business that has traditionally thrived across the border. But for now the penalty is a fine from $10-100 if you get caught, which doesn't include other random violations you may be obliviously guilty of and cited for .....

... Gotta getta bang on the Fourth. So Husband and I drove 50 miles the back way in our heaviest vehicle (it's moose migration season) across the state line and into a primo parking space at the fireworks store.

Inside, people were packed in like, er, firecrackers and I immediately felt overwhelmed and overstimulated by the towering stacks of brightly-colored cardboard packaging. Graphics of spaceships, ninjas, gods and goddesses, planes, knights, not to mention big guns, dazzled alluringly under fluorescent light with enough glare to blind you to the BOGO special.

I know nothing about fireworks, but quickly bored trying to get up to speed on jargon concerning  mortars, repeats, reports, and the merits of peonies versus chrysanthemums. I immediately picked out some army tanks in cool blue packaging (WARNING: Shoots Flaming Balls). Lost in visions of recreating the second Battle of El Alamein,  I left all other choices up to our resident rocket scientist.

Later, while Husband waited in line, I pulled out my camera and starting clicking. The displays looked very Andy Warhol-like to me, except instead of soup they were explosives. 

I wish the lighting had been better, because all but one shot is disappointing. Also, other customers kept rudely interrupting my shots in order to rudely take something off the table to rudely buy it, all while rudely apologizing profusely. Every time I had all of the Medusa heads lined up (not looking at me), someone would grab one and put me in jeopardy of turning to stone .... (Look, I'm in a fireworks store. I'm trying to minimize risk.)

One patron thought I was sending the pics to someone off-site for feedback and said, good idea. Personally I thought it was a lame idea. Anyway, for some reason I felt like an undercover agent acting like a customer who for some reason wanted to act like an undercover agent while photographing the merchandise ....

Ok, maybe I've seen 'Inception' one too many times on HBO lately .... Or maybe I just dreamed I saw 'Inception' one too many times on HBO ....

In fact, the best shot is of the flag-motif skirting velcroed to the display tables. That's what the picture is.

I think it's pretty great to live in a country where you can drive across state lines without presenting papers, buy some explosive chemicals known as black powder packed inside cardboard cylinders in brightly colored boxes that you can't get in your state legally at least not yet, take pictures of said product, post them on your Facebook page and then motor back home, write a blog about it, and set them off -- all while eluding the fireworks police (and moose).

Or is it?

Ok, maybe the point is there is a lot of gray in red, white, and blue. Kind of like the photo .... The Founding Fathers and Mothers loved to argue about the principle of freedom, and they were also smart enough to realize we citizens of the future would love to argue about it too. With ourselves, even.


So all in all I guess they got things right.


Have a safe Independence Day celebration! Let us never lose sight of the idealistic principles this country was built on!

For an interesting piece on the status of legal fireworks, see

• Bans on Fireworks Lifted to Bring New Tax Revenue 

  
  

from the July 3, 2011,  issue of The New York Times.


For interesting treatments on freedom, see The Declaration of Independence, The U.S. Constitution and the Bill of Rights.

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 *      *      *      *      *     *      *       *      *      ***      *      *      *       *       *      *      *      *     *     *



UPDATE: July 2, 2012



A hearing was held on H3372 by the legislature's Public Safety and Homeland Security Committee on February 27, 2012. A coalition of opponents including fire service, police and the medical community sent a letter to the joint committee outlining their concerns. No action has been taken.

Massachusetts is one of four states prohibiting sales of fireworks.


Sources: 

westwood.patch.com/articles/fire-chief-opposed-to-fireworks-bill

www.metrowestdailynews.com

Wikipedia.com


I managed to get a few photos in the store this year despite the glare (from the light, not the owner, I mean). Humble apologies to Andy Warhol .....

Could the fireworks inside be cooler than the box?

WARNING: If you light this up and put it on your head, you will be magically blown to bits.

For Granite Staters only?

Look, the glare is from the Comet, Ok?? Anyway, wouldn't you love to blow that evil smirk off Bozo's face?

Four-color ink process demo .....

Find the hidden missile base.

Art is all about juxtaposition, right? 

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Musical Cars

Here's a quiz:

1. Four cars divided by five drivers equals how many cars per driver?

    a) 0.8 cars

    b) 1.25 cars

    c) 1 car -- because first you subtract one driver.

The answer in our household, of course, is c).

 2. Q. How do you subtract one driver?

     A.  Play Musical Cars.

Next time you stop by here you may want to join us in this game. In fact, I insist -- especially if you own your own vehicle and carry comprehensive insurance.


Here are the Official Rules to Musical Cars:

1. You must be a licensed driver with a car.

2.  Signing our waiver form is mandatory.

3. Everyone assembles when the music (http://youtu.be/nknVuEvsg0I) starts.

4. When the music stops, everyone dashes to a car.

5. No pushing.

6. Whoever is left without a vehicle is left without a vehicle.

Sounds exciting, right?

I am especially interested in you joining our game if you have an 'L' tattooed on your forehead. Also, if you have been hospitalized recently and can't move very fast.

Look, I know the only reason I am asked to join this game every day is so I can fill the role of designated loser. After months of training, my personal best in the daily dash still isn't competitive with a bunch of 20-somethings with fresh legs and sharp elbows.

Look, I have a day planned that doesn't include watching winners wave good-by to me in their rear-view mirror. In my opinion this game needs new blood, especially from people who drive a cool set of wheels and are on crutches.

Look, we will try not to actually spill your new blood, but accidents can happen. Anyway, if you signed the waiver ....

Personally, I think everyone should add Playing Musical Cars At Our House to their Bucket Lists. It's new! It's fun! I could make up a schedule for when you could stop by for a round. Wednesdays work well for me; right after your surgery is even better.

I'll even validate it on your Bucket List in fancy calligraphy letters ......


... So now I'm off to start my pre-game warm-ups; hope to see you soon ......

Oh, and good luck with that surgery ......














Musical Cars clip song 'No News' by 6 Dead Squirrels used with permission. I believe I am only one handle of vodka away from securing the copyright .....



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Potty Mouthpiece

Yesterday I asked the Rocket Scientist what he was doing on the computer and he replied, 'You won't believe it, but I'm writing a toilet review.'

I wonder why he didn't think I'd believe him .....

See, we've always had a problem with the toilets in this house. The handles break, the flapper valves break, the connecting arms break, and that blue plastic thingie in between breaks too. Basically, everything connected to the units has broken and been replaced multiple times.

But worst of all is that they Always Clog Up. You could always count on one of our commodes being out of commission when we have guests or acute attacks of diarrhea not to mention guests who have acute attacks of diarrhea ....

Clearly, our low-flow, builder's-grade toilets are woefully inadequate for a family that evidently is so full of shit.

So we finally decided that life would be a whole lot better if we replaced the worst offender: the crapper in the family bathroom (the toilet, not the person).

You can get a new flusher at the Home Depot for less than $200. We liked a unit called The Cadet for $198. However after discussion, we bought the upgrade, The Champion, for 40 bucks more. It features a mighty 1.6 gal./flush rate,  a powerful 4-in. piston action Accelerator flush valve, an oversize 2-3/8 in. trapway, and a self-lowering seat. We were afraid The Cadet might not have the strength, endurance, and experience to deal with a daily six-pack of TP and several pounds of brown downloads. Go with the Champion, right?

One trip to the ER later, our Champion was fully installed and functioning beautifully. In fact, all clogs have ceased in the Champion.

It really does make life much better. Now instead of fixing the toilet, Rocket Scientist has the leisure time to write a review praising its performance.

Also, I have the leisure time to blog about it.

I wonder if the toilet company would be interested in compensating the Rocket Scientist for his endorsement. Who wouldn't want a toilet endorsed by a rocket scientist?

You don't have to be a rocket scientist to know the answer to that.

Ok, I first have to get RS's assent, but I see a future in this mouthpiece angle. Look, I'm sure there are plenty of other products he likes out there which would benefit from a rocket scientist's plug too. Maybe we could even get some free product, like a couple more Champions or a lower deductible for ER visits.

However, we may need to move fast to beat the competition. There's a Nobel Prize winner who lives a few blocks away .....















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Coupon Screwpon

I hate coupons.

According to Wikipedia, coupons were invented in the late 19th century by a partner of the Coca-Cola Company, Asa Candler, who deserves a special niche in Purgatory next to the inventor of the game Marco Polo. These two saboteurs of civilization deserve to listen to each other throughout eternity: Marco! BOGO! Markdown! POLO! Coca! COLA!

Thanks to Candler, the potential of coupon clipping makes life a whole lot more demoralizing, since there are so many ways you can screw up a process that's supposed to save you money.

First, you have to clip them, which involves ransacking the house for a pair of scissors. Then they have to make it into your purse, which means you have to take something out, like 2,000 coupons that expired last century.

Look, I already have several coupon organizers stocked with coupons I never redeem but always carry around anyway unless I need to use them in which case I've left them at home .....

... So if I actually successfully enter the store with coupons, there's still a 50-50 chance I will either lose them or forget to give them to the cashier. Then, rather than schlepping back to the customer service counter at the store, I stew all week about the time and money I COULD have saved.

It's dispiriting. It's maddening!


It seems to me couponing discriminates against the disorganized and distracted. Why should the world of discounts be closed to the Mrs. Jellybys of the planet? I must write a letter .....

Another thing: Why do they give out coupons when you Leave The Store? Who wants to carry around tapeworms of coupons with their ticking expiration dates which you won't need for at least another week (or the day after they expire) -- because you have Just Finished Shopping? It seems to me that manufacturers and stores should make coupons available when you Arrive At The Store, right?

Upon reflection, Ima pre-emptively condemn the inventor of that little coupon-spitting machine at the check-out to join Candler and the Marco Polo inventor in the deep end of Purgatory Pool.

 

Extreme Couponers? Fuggedabodit! Their only reason for existence is to make me feel inferior. Sure, I don't begrudge them the hours spent searching for scissors or the days roaming the grocery aisles for deals. They are welcome to that.

What I do begrudge is when the shelves are empty of the only item I have a coupon for. Also, standing in line for 20 minutes behind the person who cleared the shelves of the only item I have a coupon for. Honestly, extreme couponers should have a dedicated check-out line so they can all experience the, er, experience of waiting for 100 cans of cat food to be scanned and discounted.

Meow!


Ok, if the only way you can make ends meet is by extreme couponing, then you gotta do whatcha gotta do regardless of how annoying it is to me.

Just try not to wear that smirk of self-righteousness. It crowds my sneer of entitlement which is actually masking my feelings of failure.

That could be dangerous ......














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Survival Mode

Now that I am a proud new member of the Parents Of College Graduates Club, I've been pestering other members about the secret handshake.

So imagine my excitement today when an unexpected package arrived in the mail from another  recent new member of The Club: my wise and fun-loving Sister No. 3.

Look, I didn't really expect the secret handshake to be in the box, which was too big for mere instructions. But I do love surprise packages that don't tick or involve a trip to the post office, so I opened it with mounting curiosity.

Inside, in lieu of the secret handshake: A Survival Kit For Parents Of College Graduates Who Have Moved Back Home:

     *   1 length of beef jerky -- I guess to remind me not to be a jerk about the state of things.

     *   1 package of CrackerJacks --  Don't crack under the pressure.

     *   1 packet of cashews -- Don't go nuts.

     *   1 pair of ear plugs -- Noise barrier in stylish day-glow orange.

     *   1 blue plastic megaphone -- In case I haven't made myself clear.

     *   1 lavender sachet, 1 jar of aromatherapy cream, and 6 oz. of Lindt chocolate-- all for de-stressing.

     *   1 clear plastic mouth guard -- Takes the bite out of teeth gnashing.

     *   1 magazine, 'Get Rich While Working At Home' -- Can't decide whether to give this to the Graduate or keep it myself.

     *   1 gas gift card, 1 food gift card, 1 Visa gift card, and 1 iTunes gift card -- Presumably to pay for gas, food, lodging, and music for an Emergency Getaway in case the beef jerky, CrackerJacks, cashews, megaphone, aromatherapy, chocolate, mouth guard, and Get Rich schemes don't work.

     *   1 box of Pepperidge Farm goldfish crackers -- Trip snack.

     *   1 set of instructions on how to convert a graduation gown and mortarboard into a tent -- presumably in case the Emergency Getaway doesn't work.


Pretty cool, right?

Personally I have never heard of the Survival Kit, but it beats a secret handshake hands down. I am wondering if by tradition I should now prepare one of these terrific Survival Kits to pass along to the next New Club Member I know whose kid moves back home.

If so, I'm adding a few items:

     *   1 plastic spatula for chasing any graduates out of the house for whatever reason. Also to throw after them so they can flip their own burgers once they've left.

     *   1 box of tissues.

     *   1 nip of 190-proof vodka.

     *   1 2013 calendar with the One-Year Commencement Anniversary deadline circled in red.
   
     *   1 more nip of 190-proof vodka.


Ok, I'm not aware of anyone else graduating for another year, so there's time to add or subtract items as experience dictates.


So to my sister and BIL, a huge hug and enthusiastic thanks for your generosity, thoughtfulness, and for starting or continuing this worthy, sanity-saving tradition.



 Meanwhile, if anyone out there knows the secret handshake, please send instructions.











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