Bluer than The Blue Angels

Posted on August 17, 2020 by Sheila Moss

It’s not every day that the Blue Angels come to town. It was the weekend for the big, every-once-in-a-while air show in my hometown — nationally known flyers from all over and a high-profile flying group too.

Saturday was a clear day, blue sky, puffy clouds, a chilly wind, but otherwise pretty good weather. Did I go on Saturday? No, of course not, I decided to wait until Sunday when it would be cold and damp and I would freeze to death while watching the show.

Sunday broke cold and cloudy, but I already had tickets and was determined not to miss it. It was Spring. How cold could it get? Not frigid, but when you set outside in the cold wind for a couple of hours, it begins to chill your bones.

The crowd was smaller than usual. All the warm-blooded fans were there the day before. Only the die-hards with more stamina than brains had elected to wait for day that was cold and rainy.

Speaking of rain, we had our pants scared off a couple of times, and not just by the low flying planes. It would sprinkle just enough to make everyone run for umbrellas. That was all we needed, pouring rain to go along with the cold weather. But, it was just a little weather joke and shortly after the clouds sneezed on us, the showers stopped.

The planes were fantastic! Any good southerner loves an airshow, and I’m no exception. Lots of whooping and swooping, plenty of noisy and smoke, loops and spirals to keep us cheering, it would have been wonderful on a warm day. But what made it really special was freezing to death to see it, nothing else could be quite as special as that.

We shivered in the wind, watching, teeth chattering. I gave up taking pictures after a few ground shots, too cold to hold the camera steady. I pulled down my stocking cap and pulled up the hood on my jacket. My fingers were freezing. I had an extra pair of socks that I turned into a pair of makeshift gloves.

What a great day for an air show. The announcer kept telling us what a loyal crowd we were to come out in this weather. “Don’t leave; the Blue Angels are still coming up.” Leave? Was he kidding? We were frozen to our chairs. Bi-winged planes doing upside down passes with wing walkers didn’t impress us at all. What we were there for was one thing — to freeze to death waiting for the Blue Angels.

The Blue Angels finally did fly. I don’t know if we saw their full show or not. I doubt it as I understand they have three shows and the one they fly depends on the weather. With the clouds getting ready to pop at any minute, we were lucky it wasn’t canceled.

The minute they finished their routine, there was a surge of humanity making a giant exodus for the parking lot. I don’t know why as we were having such a great time and had only spent five long hours outside in the cold.

Later I saw news reports on T.V. about what a good show it was. I noticed, however, that the pictures always showed blue sky with puffy white clouds, obviously made at the Saturday show for wimps.

What they need to do is get insulated underwear and an umbrella and come out and freeze to death in the rain like us real fans.

Copyright 2008 Sheila Moss
Edited
Posted in Entertainment, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Wall to Wall

Posted on August 15, 2020 by Sheila Moss

floorRemember when wall-to-wall carpet was all the rage? Rugs were out, the kind that could be turned around to even out the wear and sent out to be cleaned when dirty. I remember having a 9×12 rug in my first apartment. When the corners became raveled, we simply rolled it up and sent it out to be bound.

Ah, those where the good old days.

Then wall-to-wall carpet came along. Everyone had to have the luxury of carpets that were nailed to the floor. We liked these carpets so much that we covered up beautiful hardwood floors to install them.

I remember having a perfectly good hardwood floor in my home and having it covered up with wall-to-wall carpet — green shag carpet, at that. Oh, the luxury of deep green shag all over the house, like walking through grass we thought.

We liked wall-to-wall carpet so much that we even put it in the kitchen. It wasn’t green shag, of course, it was some sort of carpet that was supposedly resistant to spills. The kitchen carpet trend didn’t seem to last too long. Regardless of how resistant to stains the carpet was supposed to be, a hard floor was much more practical in an area like a kitchen.

When I moved into my current home, the bathroom was carpeted — wall-to-wall, what else? It wasn’t long before water leakage took its toll, the floor rotted, and that particular luxury was exchanged for a more durable ceramic tile.

And so it has gone thru the years. You name it, and it has been carpeted, whether it was the basement, the patio, or even the garage at one point, crazy as that sounds. I must have been out of my mind.

Builders wised up about flooring. Looking to save a buck, they quit putting hardwood floors in new homes and put wall-to-wall carpeting right over the plywood subfloor. Who cared if there was hardwood under it? No one was ever going to pull it up anyhow.

And that’s what I was stuck with, carpeting over a plywood subfloor, carpeting that gathered dust to aggravate my allergies, carpeting that had to be cleaned by paying a professional  or with do-it-yourself backbreaking labor, carpeting that never seems to stay clean, that shows wear in traffic areas, that has historic stains left by accidents that I’d rather not recall, carpeting with a nostalgic tear made when the dog decided to bury a bone inside the house, carpeting that never quite fit right after the bathroom floor was replaced, carpeting that was horrible and needed to be replaced.

But what did I decide to do instead?

Well, the new trend is, guess what? Hardwood. Wood that can be cleaned and will not harbor germs, dirt, dust and grime. There are new engineered hardwood flooring materials now that are easy to install and don’t require the maintenance that the old wood flooring required.

I am burned out with carpet. I want engineered hardwood, even in the kitchen, even in the bedrooms. I saw it in a magazine and it looks great. If I have a spot that needs covering, I’ll get an area rug. Imagine getting rid of the years of dust, grime, and allergens imbedded in the carpet. Imagine cleaning with a dust mop instead of having to drag a heavy vacuum cleaner around.

Yes, wall-to-wall carpeting is out, and hardwood is back in. Somehow I can’t help but notice that the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Copyright 2009 Sheila Moss
Posted in Home, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , | 5 Comments

False Teeth Fiasco

Posted on August 9, 2020 by Sheila Moss

teeth

For those whose natural teeth have received a rejection slip from the tooth fairy, plastic choppers are somewhat better than the alternative of being a toothless old geezer. The thrill of being able to flash beautiful, white, plastic, pearly teeth when you smile is unknown to those who still have their own natural choppers.

Assuming you have already been in the torture chamber and experienced the bloody, bone-cracking process of having your personal ivory collection extracted, you know about the waiting period between the chain saw massacre and the time when you can cancel the call to the blood bank and look forward to being a medical student’s next assignment.

“Don’t remove them,” you are told, “or your gums will swell and you will not be able to put them back in. “So, you endure the burning, throbbing pain, like demons from hell having a camp-a-roo and wiener roast in your mouth.

Eventually, the swelling subsides and the dentures begin flopping around in your mouth like the tongue of a duck. You then get to have your floppies re-lined and begin looking over the selection of powders, pastes, amazing goop, and super glue so the teeth will stay in your mouth and not fly across the room at the next church ladies’ social.

Like the legendary wooden teeth of George Washington, commercially produced nibblers never seem to fit properly, and relief only comes when a corner cracks off and it is time to have a new denture made.

You were under the influence of Novocain and laughing gas the first time, and believed that artificial teeth are made by magic elves that left the shoemaking business for better working conditions in a hollow tree.

It won’t be that bad the second time around you decide. So, you go back to the dentist where a concrete truck is backed up to the dental chair and your mouth filled with plaster of Paris. After the plaster has dried and is jack hammered from your mouth, a second mold is made from Silly Putty and you try not to gag, vomit, or kick holes in the ceiling while the dentist molds it to fit your mouth.

Bite,” says the dentist. “Ouch! Wait until my finger is out of the way.” (Biting the dentist is the most pleasurable part of the process.)

At last, “done,” you think. But no, you must return to the dentist for a fitting in which a denture the size of Hoover Dam is shoved into your mouth. Adjustments are made and the set is chipped down to the size of a mortal mouth.

“Next time we will have the real denture,” proclaims the dentist, very pleased with the torture sessions so far and with the down payment you are making on his vacation home in Bermuda.

Next time arrives and you are presented with a denture only twice the size of your mouth. While the dental assistant tells you how great you look, the dentist climbs into your mouth with a pick and digs for gold.

At long last the final fitting. After all the torture you have endured, you just want to get the thing done and get out of there. But something spears you in the roof of your mouth like Captain Ahab has mistaken you for the Great White Whale.

“It hurts!” you scream.

The doctor takes the denture to the back room and mysterious grinding sounds are heard that vibrate the dental insurance card in your pocket. Done at last, you go home and your new oral meat grinders begin the process of rubbing blisters and carving ulcers in your mouth like the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon. You pray that you will be lucky and the blisters will become calluses before they become cancer.

And that is all there is to having pearly white false teeth so that you can eat without worry – at least for a few years until they wear out and crack again.

Copyright 2009 Sheila Moss
Posted in Health, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Where Do They Come From?

Posted on August 6, 2020 by Sheila Moss

WalmartWhere, oh, where do they all come from? When I worked during the week, I presumed that everyone else did too. From the looks of the Interstate in the morning going into the city, the whole world commutes to downtown.

Imagine my surprise the other day when had to make a trip to the local Wal-Mart. Everyone will be at work, I thought. The place will be empty. I’ll park at the front and run in and grab what I need in no time.

Wrong, wrong, oh, so wrong! The place was packed! It was almost as bad as it is on Saturday.

I was there because I had a sick daughter. They can’t all have sick daughters! What’s their excuse? Who are these people and why are they not at work?

Well, I suppose some of them might be retired. That could explain the older folks that I saw. Really, it didn’t seem as if I saw that many seniors, though. Who are the rest of them?

Could they be women that do not work outside the home? Homemakers? But 50% of all women do work. Surely the entire population of the world that does not work could not have decided to come to Wal-Mart at the same time.

Maybe these people were on vacation? That’s not likely. Why would you spend your vacation at Wal-Mart? It’s not like it’s DisneyWorld.

Could they be home from work because they are sick? If you are sick, why are you not at home in bed?

Who are these people?

I suppose not everyone in the world works a 9-5 job. Some people work shift work and are off during the day. But at least a third of the shift workers are sleeping during the day. That means only one-third of them could even think about going to Wal-Mart at that hour.

Maybe it is people who ARE working, or supposed to be. Maybe they have jobs flexible enough to allow them to shop while at work. Must be nice. hope they don’t run into their boss or they will have plenty of time to shop — maybe more than they want.

Speaking of which, I suppose some people are unemployed. I know the unemployment rate is higher than ever. Even if you are unemployed and don’t have any money, I supposed you have to buy a few things.

Some people are disabled and cannot work. I see them riding around in three-wheel carts. A few might be on welfare or in some sort of government program that provides support too. Some could be college students who are not in class all day.

Some people are self-employed and can do what they want to do. However, unless they are buying something for the business, I still need to question their motivation for shopping instead of working.

Maybe they are all independently wealthy and don’t have to work. Yeah, right, and that’s why they are at Wal-Mart instead of Neiman Marcus.

Now that I think of it, someone has to be shopping during the day or else the stores would be closed. It must be an assortment of people who keep the stores almost as crammed during the day as they are on weekend.

I just had the idea that no one would be there because I was never home to see the day people, those who do not have to cram living into the weekend.

The shock of it all.

There was life out there while I was at work. The world went right on without me at a rip-snorting pace. They didn’t know I was elsewhere slaving away and didn’t even miss me. They went right on living as if I did not exist.

Come to think of it, I don’t miss them either.

Copyright 2009 Sheila Moss
Posted in Humor, Shopping | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

The Wart Has Got To Go!

Posted on August 2, 2020 by Sheila Moss

elizabeth-jamieson-jlslZBMTJ9Q-unsplashYou’ve seen pictures of old women with warts on their nose. Soon that may be me. I have this nasty wart on my leg. I’ve tried to ignore it, but it will not go away. I’ve tolerated it about as long as possible. The wart has to go!

Warts are an ancient plague, the sort of thing that legend and folklore are made of. Medical people say that warts are caused by a virus and stress. Folklore says they are caused by toads and curses.

There are all kinds of folk remedies from apple cider to duct tape. I’m not sure if you put the cider on the wart or drink it, but either way sounds better than letting a doctor burn it off. I’ve been there and done that before.

I decided to ask a group of my humor-writing friends how to get rid of a wart. They came up with much funnier solutions for wart eradication than apple cider. “Divorce the bum,” suggested Alice Masci, or “Pack you mother-in-law’s bags and get her on the plane as soon as possible.”

Don’t expect a serious answer from a humorist. So much for any help from this bunch. I might as well stick with banana peels, dandelions, and castor oil.

Ben Baker not only agreed with the duct tape idea but added that it makes an attractive fashion accessory. I hate to admit this, but I have seen prom dresses made of duct tape on the internet. I wouldn’t call them attractive, though.

“Rub a penny on it and give this to a homeless person,” Ben suggested. Are you kidding? I would probably get mugged if I insulted a homeless person with a penny. I might rub it with a five dollar bill and try it, but I’m not sure if the magic would work that way.

Brenda Birmelin suggested I try Vicks Vapor rub. “It’s great for almost everything including ingrown toenails.”

Really? I didn’t know that! I’m starting to believe this stuff. Next thing you know I’ll be boiling the moss from the northwest side of a Black Gum Tree and rubbing it with turpentine, as my good friend Ren Summerlin suggested.

Cathy Gregor said, “That duct tape really does work.” But just as I was starting to get hopeful, she had another suggestion: “A girlfriend of mine told me to find a frog and lick it.”

I don’t think I’ll be licking any frogs. A wart on my leg is bad enough. Besides, kissing frogs turns them into princes. Don’t you believe in fairy tales? I don’t need a bunch of lazy princes sitting around the house.

Cloudchaser Sakonige suggested Dr. Scholl’s Wart remover. “Make sure you get the kind with the salicylic acid discs, not the liquid stuff.” You would think with a name like Cloudchaser, he could at least come up with a medicine man’s remedy — or maybe medicine men use salicylic acid these days.

Now, I’ve heard tell there are people with special powers who can remove warts, but I don’t know any witches, at least not the broom-riding, magic potions, wart-removing kind. I’m sure it would take one with some really special powers to cure this stubborn wart.

Finally, I broke down and bought some Dr. Scholl’s freezing stuff at Walmart — guaranteed to remove it in one application. Strangely, the package contains six applications. They don’t seem very confident in their product. It must be potent stuff, though. It sat off the buzzer at the door when I left.

So far, the wart looks the same in spite of duct tape, cider vinegar, turpentine, and Vick’s salve. I’m going to give the freezing stuff one more try before I give up and go to a medical doctor for a ritual wart burning.

Maybe if we all stand in a circle and chant, it will help.

Copyright 2009 Sheila Moss
Posted in Health, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Time To Call the Plumber

Posted on July 30, 2020 by Sheila Moss

unsplashIt had only been about a year since the dastardly deed had been done, so imagine my surprise when I heard strange gurgling noises coming from the plumbing.

A few days later, Honey came screaming into the bedroom at 4:30 in the morning, “The water won’t go down in the shower and the toilet won’t flush.”

It’s 4:30 in the morning, I can’t deal with this. “Get the plunger!”

Finally, the water went down and things returned to normal for a day, but a few days after that we had a repeat performance. This time the water ran over onto the floor.

It’s time to call the plumber.

I envisioned the worst possible scenario — septic tank failure.

Those of us who live in the suburbs without city sewers have to deal with the grossest of tasks called “getting the septic tank pumped.” Since it had been only a year since it was cleaned, there must be something dreadful going on.

City dwellers have not the foggiest notion what I’m talking about, so let me tell you. A septic tank is sort of a mini household sewage treatment plant. From what I’ve read, about 25% of American households are on a septic system.

No shower and no flushing for me that morning.

My daughter was off work, so she agreed to call the septic service. I left a blank check for her to pay them — envisioning my bank account going down the toilet, if you’ll pardon the expression.

All day long, I bit my fingernails, getting periodical calls from my daughter. “I’ve called and left a message.” “They called back.” “They are on a big job today.” Finally, at 4 PM after waiting all day, “They are on the way.”

By that time, I was off work. When I arrived home, the tank trunk was in the driveway and my daughter was running from room to room turning the water on and flushing. I don’t know what the septic guy was doing and was afraid to look.

Eventually, he came to the door and I went outside so he would not have to come in. I introduced myself but did not offer to shake hands. I hope he understood.

“It was just a plugged up tee,” he said.

“Oh,” I replied, wondering what a tee is and trying not to look as stupid as I am.

“Sometimes the solids pile up at the end of the line and block it,” he said, writing out a bill for $125.

Oh, gross!

“You can just open up the tank and push the stuff down with a stick to clear it if it happens again.”

Not likely.

“I think I would rather pay you $100 to come and do it,” I joked.

He laughed. I guess he must hear a lot of very tasteless jokes about his line of work, so I tried to avoid saying anything obnoxious. I was just relieved that it was not as bad as I expected.

Most things as expensive as a septic system come with an owner’s manual, but not  the septic tank. It is a mystery, so I decided to read up on the subject on the internet.

Suffice it to say, what should go into a septic tank is the obvious. What should not is anything else from kitchen, bath, nursery, or laundry, whether it says flushable or not. I already knew that.

I decided that my selection of TP was probably the culprit. What seems “charming” to people, is not so charming to the septic tank.

I visited my favorite discount store for a supply of scratchy toilet paper that says “septic safe,” and liquid detergent for clothes washing and dishwasher.

I’ve become a septic use expert.

Honey has been in the shower long enough. He is flooding the system. I’m knocking on the door. He may have to go to work with shampoo in his hair today.

Copyright 2009 Sheila Moss
Posted in Home, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Economics for Blondes

Posted on July 28, 2020 by Sheila Moss

sharon-mccutcheon-8lnbXtxFGZw-unsplash (1)

Money, money, money. The economy is all people seem to be talking about these days. It seems that we are all going to go broke, be homeless, and have no job sooner or later through no fault of our own, of course, but due to government, the pandemic, or big business.

I see a lot of suggestions on how to avoid it as an individual, such as consolidating my debt into one big bill that I can’t pay instead of a having a lot of small unpaid ones. It is called “MasterDebt.” How appropriate. Somehow I’ve always been of the opinion that I couldn’t borrow myself out of debt. Obviously, I’m blonde when it comes to economic matters.

It seems that home loans are not covered by MasterDebt. If I can’t pay my mortgage, experts have another solution. Interest on loans is low now; they say it is a good time to refinance the home interest rate that is putting me and my MasterDebt card into the poor house and avoid foreclosure.

Chances are that if I’ve gotten myself so far in that I am consolidating debt, refinancing, and borrowing from Peter to pay Paul, I am not credit worthy, however, and I can’t get a new mortgage loan. So, I might as well reserve a spot in the soup line and go broke early before the homeless shelters are all full. At least I won’t have to pay property taxes.

Presuming I still have a job or any income, I will still have to pay income taxes unless I am wealthy enough to have tax shelters and know how to avoid it. Since all the money I make is going to pay MasterDebt, interest payments, and taxes, it hardly seems worth the effort.

If I had no income, I would have no taxes. But, without tax payers, the government wouldn’t be able to bail out banks and big businesses so they can continue to overcharge me while I pay off high interest loans and MasterDebt.

Somehow, no matter how simple it all seems, the average blonde just can’t come out on top. If the auto industry went out of business, for example, I would be stuck with an obsolete, gas guzzling car that I couldn’t get parts for and couldn’t sell because it is suddenly worthless.

Of course, that isn’t going to happen as the government will continue to keep automakers afloat, at least for a while. So I need to get rid of that automobile now, before it’s too late. If I don’t have a job, I won’t need a car anyhow.

Things are finally all starting to come together. As I said to start with, we are all going to be broke, homeless, and unemployed before it is over so why worry myself to death about it? Who’s going to bail me out if I am broke, homeless and unemployed? Hope for a stimulus check from the government?

So, I need to follow the advice of the experts and keep on spending to stimulate the economy now why there is still time. I should have plenty of credit available since I consolidated my loans into a MasterDebt.

Where does it all end? I have no idea. If I did, I would go there and collect.

Copyright 2009 Sheila Moss
Posted in Finance, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Liberation

Posted on July 25, 2020 by Sheila Moss

purse

After a lifetime of toting around a big heavy purse, I have been liberated. No, my purse was not stolen. I just realized how heavy it is and wondered what I could do to lighten the load.

Nearly all women carry purses, some are the size of a small suitcase and could really use wheels. It’s a wonder we don’t break our backs. In my case, my knees are going bad and any extra weight I can get rid of is a good thing.

Why do we carry all this junk around? Are we so afraid that we won’t have essentials that we burden ourselves down with too many non-essentials?

We tote around wallets with cards for every appointment we will ever have, not to mention credit cards, driver’s license, insurance cards, AAA card, membership cards, discount cards, and business cards.

We have makeup, hairspray, lotion, hand wipes, comb, lipstick, hairbrush, manicure set, band-aids, Kleenex, and makeover equipment for a bad hair day.

There is the cell phone, change purse, address book, keys to everything we own, and photos of all the kids and grandkids.

No wonder those purses weigh in over the luggage limit.

Are we really going to have an emergency that requires all this equipment every time we leave the house? If not, why are we carrying around an emergency toolbox?

Let it go, I decided.

It was hard. I love my stuff just like every other woman. Deciding what I need and what I can leave at home is difficult. However, something has to be done. I could not continue to tote around a cosmetic counter, reference library, emergency room, and family photo album.

I took a small zipper purse, added money, a credit card, driver’s license, insurance cards, a car key, and cell phone. It would all fit in a pocket.

That’s it? That’s all I need?

Yes, it is. If I need a makeover, I can do it at home. My cell phone has all the vital info in electronic form. The likelihood that I will die of thirst if I don’t carry my own bottled water is really not very likely. I probably won’t go anywhere that I can’t get out of the rain so why do I need a rain bonnet or poncho?

It felt funny at first, almost frightening. After a while, I realized that I didn’t use 99% of the stuff anyhow. And the very few times I did need something was not worth the trouble of dragging it around unused for an entire lifetime.

How many times have you actually whipped out that handy sewing kit to fix something? If you are that paranoid, carry a safety pin. I promise you, it will be years before you need it and you could probably buy one even then.

So, that’s it. I’m liberated from purses. I’m hands free and light as a feather. So far I’ve not had a panic attack when I needed something that was at home. I waited or found a substitute.

Could someone loan me some change now? I need to feed the parking meter.

Copyright 2009 Sheila Moss
Posted in Fashion, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

Road Trip

Posted on July 22, 2020 by Sheila Moss

highway

We decided to go to St. Louis on a three day weekend for a chance to see my mom and dad. We would drive up on Saturday and back on Monday. It seemed simple enough. It would be me, my honey, my daughter, my grandson, and the two dogs.

Somehow when I see it in writing, it does not sound like such a good idea.

Honey said we would get an early start in the morning. I woke him up and then we all sat and waited for an hour while he piddled around in the bathroom getting ready. Finally, we got suitcases, dogs and other junk packed in the car.

Honey immerged from the house with a steaming mug of hot coffee. I have a sinking feeling we will be stopping at a lot of rest stops.

One of our dogs is optimistic and loves the car. She always thinks we are going to the pet store or the bank drive-through where they give her a dog treat if she stands up in the window and looks cute.

The other dog is pessimistic and always thinks we are going to the vet. He has to be dragged into the car where he hides in the back seat shaking, hoping we will forget him.

The optimistic dog rides on the armrest and tries to drive. She would like to have goggles and a scarf like Snoopy. Her driving, however, mostly consists of stepping on buttons to the power windows and rolling them down while we are going 60 miles per hour.

It is not until we are in the car that I realize I have on a black shirt and will be covered with dog hair before I get there. I look next to me and Honey is wearing a black golf shirt. Who would think two people could be equally stupid?

“Are we there yet?” asks my grandson.

“No, we are still in Tennessee. Oh, wait, ‘Welcome to Kentucky'” and even better — welcome to the first rest stop where we lose 30 minutes while Honey visits with all the other tourists traveling with dogs.

On the road again we head to Paducah. Paducah is notable for many things, I’m sure, but to me it is notable for being about a third of the way there, the largest city we have to go through, and a rest stop that you cannot find. I have tried in the past to look for it but have found only a very popular service station with a long line of people who also can’t find the rest stop.

Fortunately, there is another stop as soon as you cross into Illinois. It is named Fort Massac, which makes me a bit nervous; however, Metropolis, home of Superman is nearby in case of emergency.

After finally leaving the second stop, we reach the end of I-24 and the beginning of I-57, which is 50 miles of road construction and bumper to bumper tractor-trailer trucks. I never like to stop on this stretch due to the traffic. So, what do we do but stop for lunch. After getting off at two wrong exits, we finally find a fast food restaurant and grab a burger.

Back on the road, a construction sign flashes, “Construction starts on June 1st.” We are not sure whether we are supposed to be thankful we missed it or come back later so we don’t.

The rest of the trip is uneventful — unless you considered driving while eating hamburgers and keeping them away from two dogs an event. But we had to keep going to make up for all the time wasted at rest stops.

Nothing like a nice long trip in the car to make you thankful for air travel.

Copyright 2009 Sheila Moss
Posted in Family, Humor, Travel | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Hasta la vista Ventura

Posted on July 18, 2020 by Sheila Moss

Ventura4-46Several years ago, I was at the National Society of Newspaper Columnists annual conference in Ventura, California. Except for exotic palm trees and flowers, which are irrigated, the West Coast is all dry grass and brown hills. This explains why it is either burning down or buried in mud slides most of the time.

The hotel had great views of the ocean and of a historic fishing pier. We went for a long walk on the pier on the first day. I didn’t see anyone catch any fish, but there were many people fishing, so I suppose there will be a lot of fish stories later about the one that got away.

I saw dozens of seals that turned out to be surfers in wetsuits. I thought they were seals because swimmers wouldn’t be out so early in the morning. Apparently, surfing has nothing to do with time and everything to do with when the surf is up. Anything that can get a young person out of bed before noon has got to be good.

Downtown Ventura consists of about three blocks of shops and a historic Spanish mission. The town appears to have died like most downtowns have, but it is making a successful comeback as a tourist destination. Many old buildings have found a second life and there were more thrift shops per square foot than anything else –except maybe tourists walking dogs.

Dogs are man’s best friend and many people apparently bring their best friend on vacation. The beach was full of dogs and people walked dogs along the streets of the town. I was most impressed by one small dog that followed his owner closely down the sidewalks and across streets through traffic without a leash and without running away. He should be a doggie life coach.

The Spanish mission was interesting, although my colleagues from California said that every city in California has an old historic mission. They were sick of missions and of schoolchildren being required to build models of them. Lasagna noodles make a great roof for mission models, they said, speaking from the wisdom of experience.

In addition to producing missions, California produces a lot of wine, and everywhere you go, you are offered wine. Wine tastings are a major pastime. The only difference I could see between tasting wine and drinking wine was the amount of wine in your glass and whether you could walk away from the party afterwards without assistance.

One wine tasting we went to was in the courtyard of the mission. I found drinking in the courtyard of a church a bit odd, but apparently this is accepted practice in California. In addition to wine, we had an assortment of foods from local restaurants, everything from hors d’oeuvres wrapped in grape leaves to meatballs made from wild game. Somehow, it reminded me of the Beverly Hillbillies and how guests were never quite sure what vittles granny might actually be serving.

The conference itself was the main event with many big name speakers to rub elbows with. The theme of the conference was how to survive and thrive in a time when many journalists were being fired due to the crisis in the newspaper industry. Apparently, the way to do it is to go online and use Twitter and Facebook to promote yourself as an entrepreneur and freelance columnist.

If I’d known it was that easy, I could have saved myself a lot of trouble building websites and submitting to editors. Just my luck, though, about the time I start having a bit of success, the newspaper industry goes out of business.

Copyright 2009 Sheila Moss
Edited 2020
Posted in Humor, Travel | Tagged , , , , , , | 1 Comment