Where There’s Smoke…

Posted on October 30, 2017 by Sheila Moss

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It was a dark and stormy night. At least I think it was a dark and stormy night. At this point I can’t be sure. The only thing I can be sure of is that I am lucky to be alive.

It was a close call, you see. I woke up in the middle of night to the smell of smoke. In my sleepy haze, I thought to myself, “Who’s smoking?” Then I woke up a bit more. Wait a minute, nobody smokes here! “Must be a burglar,” I thought, still half asleep. But, burglars don’t take smoke breaks.

Suddenly I was awake!

Stumbling around in my nightgown, I checked the entire house for the source of the smoke. I looked in the attic. I opened the closets. Nothing. I looked outside – still nothing. I decided the smell must be a back draft from the chimney. The next morning, still puzzled, I decided I might as well go to work. No reason not to go … I thought.

When I came home from work that evening; however, the unmistakable smell of smoke hit me as soon as I walked in the door. I know the thermostat was set at 65, “Why is it so hot in here? It’s 80 degrees!” I tried to turn off the furnace and nothing happened. “My gosh, the furnace is malfunctioning, I need to call the furnace company – FAST!”

Naturally, the company was closed for the day. “If this is an emergency, press 0 says the recorded voice.” I pressed 0 and waited. Twenty rings later, an answering service picked up. “What is the problem?”

“My furnace won’t turn off! It’s 80 degrees in here! I smell smoke!”

“Is this an emergency?”

Is this an emergency? Are they nuts? “YES!!!” Should I just hang up and call 911, I wondered?

“Someone will call you back,” said the answering service.

Again I tried to turn off the furnace, again with no luck. The phone rang, and I explained the problem to the repairman as calmly as I could.

“Can it wait till tomorrow? You will have to pay overtime if I come now.”

Overtime? What did that matter? The furnace was going to blow up! “I need somebody NOW!”

“Why don’t you pull the breaker?” he persisted.

“What’s that?”

“Okay,” he finally agreed, “I’ll come.”

It occurred to me about that time to go outside and have a look. I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of this before. The exterior type unit is located on the far side of the house where it can’t be readily seen. As I rounded the corner, I was horrified! A bale of charred and blackened straw was lying against the unit’s exhaust! I begin tugging at it in a panic. It disintegrated as I pulled away handfuls of burned straw.

I decide to get help. My honey, was on the phone. “I need your help!!” I yelled. He continued to talk. “I NEED YOUR HELP!! How he could sit there calmly talking on the phone when the house was 80 degrees, full of smoke, and ready to burn down is beyond me.

“I’m talking to the income tax accountant,” he says, as if that should explain everything.

Who cares? “HANG UP!”

Finally, it sunk in.

I grabbed shovels and we finished getting the smoldering straw away from the furnace. A night or two prior, there was a windstorm and it was very gusty all night. It must have blown the bale of straw against the furnace. Who would have figured?

We were filthy and must have looked like a couple of forest fire fighters by the time the furnace company finally showed up.

“I think we found the problem,” I told the repair person.

It could be worse. MUCH worse! If the hay had ignited instead of smoldering or if carbon monoxide had backed up inside. And the natural gas line was blackened. Well, I’d just rather not think about it. The furnace was saved with minor repairs and a major cleaning. My entire house now smells like a smokehouse or a pit barbecue, I’m not sure which.

“You were lucky,” said the repairman. Never keep anything flammable anywhere near a furnace.”

Funny, I don’t feel very lucky.

After this little episode, I’ll never need to be reminded to be careful about how I store stuff. I also won’t ever need to be reminded that where there’s smoke there’s fire.

Copyright 2001 Sheila Moss

This is almost too embarrassing to admit. Have you ever done anything this stupid or am I the only one?

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Survivor South

Posted on October 26, 2017 by Sheila Moss

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After watching Survivor’s umpteenth episode on television the other night, it occurred to me that if these folks think they are survivors, they ought to live in the South where surviving has been more than a game; it’s a way of life.

Survival? Try taking a short cut across the back lot behind ol’ Mr. Jones’ house if you really want to be a survivor. You will learn to survive really fast to when being chased by his ornery old bull. And if the bull doesn’t teach you anything, chances are Mr. Jones’ pit bull will.

Southern rednecks knew about survival long before it became a reality television show. Survival wasn’t a game though, it was a way of staying alive. Southerners suffered though poverty and hardship for a hundred years – not to mention chicken floggings, outhouses, barbwire, and cowpies.

Down South no one is expelled from a clan except maybe a few politicians, which are sent up to Washington. But they ask for that. They usually don’t stay long enough for anything except a couple of filibusters until they come back home.

Southerners also learned to survive the Yankees that move down here because they think the climate is better. Funny how the first thing someone from the North does when they move down South is try and change people to be like them. You’d think as much as they dislike us, they’d want to stay up yonder where they belong.

Southerners don’t get immunity from anything, especially hard work, no matter how many votes are in our clan. It’s just as well since we don’t have any shark jaw necklaces like they do on TV.

If Southerners wanted to play games, we could use bandannas to identify teams. They come in both red and blue. But, they are just big handkerchiefs to us and mostly used for working and sweating. We don’t have anything fancy with a redneck logo on it.

Looking for food to survive would be easy. Southerners are used to hunting, fishing, eating wild greens and berries and other unusual food. It’s part of the heritage. The South figured out survival and living off the land a long time ago from necessity. We can even eat kudzu if we have to.

Nobody gets a million bucks for surviving as a Southerner, only a chance to continue surviving. We don’t have much time for playing mental games or planning strategies to outwit each other. Trying to work and make a living is challenge enough for most good ol’ boys and gals.

Southerners have learned to take it slow and easy and to cooperate with each other instead of competing. There is a lot of good music, good neighbors, and good fun. If someone else strikes it rich, maybe they can loan us a few bucks to buy gas for the truck until payday.

So, that’s the Southern take on this Survivor stuff. Thanks goodness real life isn’t reality television. There are enough folks trying to outsmart and outwit their neighbors. Most likely I will just stick to watching shows that make sense and let other folks figure out Survivor.

©2005 Sheila Moss

NOTE: This is my lame attempt at Southern humor and not intended to be offensive to anyone. I’m Southern too. Just so you know.

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Eat Your Broccoli

Posted on October 23, 2017 by Sheila Moss
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Photo by Dan Gold on Unsplash

Once when he was on a state visit to Mexico, George W. Bush was taken to visit the ranch of the Mexican President. Seemed only natural to visit a ranch with George W. being from Texas and all. Wouldn’t you just know it? It turned out that the “ranch” was a broccoli farm. The Salinas Valley of Mexico, so to speak, smell of broccoli everywhere.

When his father, George Bush Sr., was President, he was famous for his aversion to broccoli. Astute reporters, wondering if George W. loathed broccoli as much as his dad, just had to ask. Sure enough, he replied with an off the cuff remark about preferring cauliflower. Fortunately, international relations survived the incident and so did George W. as far as I know. Guess he didn’t have to eat any, just look at it – lots of it!

Now, personally, I can take broccoli better than cauliflower. Cauliflower is so bland you can’t even taste it. It doesn’t even have any color to it, all bleached white like that. None of the cabbage family is really terrific tasting, though. Heck, kids have been hiding broccoli in their milk for ages to avoid having to eat it – ever since they found out it was good for them. Maybe that’s why George W. likes cauliflower – it’s easier to hide in his glass of milk.

Brussels sprouts are far worse tasting, of course. We won’t even speak of cabbage unless you are planning to make coleslaw. What is it with this aversion to vegetables? I didn’t really realize it, but I’m not much of a veggie person either, I guess. Greens? Yuk! Cooked leaves! Here in the south they say we’ll eat anything as long as it has enough bacon grease in it. But I wouldn’t touch a pot of turnip greens with a 10-foot pole, much less a turnip. I’m just not THAT hungry.

That goes for a lot of the vegetables that people seem to be fond of. I used to belong to a group that had a social dinner every week. Seems the chef was especially proud of his zucchini squash, or maybe he was just cheap. Every week, a big pan of yellow buttered slimy stuff graced the table. I finally just rebelled and refused to try to eat it. If God want me to LIKE that stuff, he wouldn’t have made me carnivorous. I’m not even gonna mention okra. What a disgusting vegetable! It even sounds nasty, “ok-raw.” So vote me off the island. Who cares?

Starchy vegetables are okay – corn, potatoes, beans. Starch is a carbohydrate. It’s just sugar that’s over the hill. Starchy vegetables are in an entirely different sort of category. They hardly count as vegetables at all in my book, nothing like those super nutritious, vitamin C, and calcium rich, broccoli spears.

Guess winding up on a broccoli farm was sort of a nightmare come true for Bush. Well, I can sympathize to a point. Please don’t send me your eggplant casserole recipe that you can’t-even-taste the eggplant in. If you can’t taste it, then leave it out, for Pete’s sake! I don’t have a glass of milk big enough to hide something like that in.

Thank goodness, I do like broccoli, especially the cheese sauce!

Copyright 2001 – 2015 Sheila Moss
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The Grocery Store Police

Posted on October 18, 2017 by Sheila Moss
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Photo by ja ma on Unsplash

We here at the Grocery Store Police are writing this letter to warn you. You probably have never heard of us and didn’t even know that we existed. Yes, we do exist! It is our job to watch shoppers and to be sure that no offenses are committed. You have grievously erred and are receiving this friendly citation as your last and final warning.

Grocery shoppers are notorious for their offenses. We work very hard on a daily basis. Produce is one of our most difficult beats, and it is there that we first noticed you. You started at the apples and picked only the very biggest and best. Do you not realize that when you choose the best produce only the smaller and less quality items are left for our other customers?

At the broccoli you actually reached over the wilted bunches which we had carefully placed near the front and reached all the way to the back to take crisp fresh broccoli. It served you right when the automatic produce sprinklers came on. You thought that was an accident, didn’t you? And the bananas! You passed by the ripe ones and took the green ones! No one does that! Just because they will ripen by the next day does not mean that you should buy them.

We saw you turn over a basket of strawberries to see if there were green ones on the bottom. And you SQUEEZED a melon to see if it was ripe. You were saved only by the fact that you put the melon in your basket after the squeeze. Our swat team was ready to strike. You are very fortunate!

Moving along, we would like to cover a few other matters. We no longer have butcher counters where the butcher can select meat and pass it off — er — sell it without regard to quality. We saw you selecting the leaner cuts of packaged meat and checking for excess fat. This, again, is not permitted. Actually, these packages are all pretty much the same and poorer quality items are hidden under the good stuff anyhow. Now that we are wise to you, only the poor quality meat will be in the meat counter when you shop. You may have suspected that we are doing this already.

In regular grocery items, our agents saw that when cans of vegetables were three for a dollar, you were buying only two. When cans of vegetables are three for a certain price, you have to buy them all whether you need them or not. That is the rule. Never, ever, let us see you buying just what you actually need.

What took place on the bread aisle is a true atrocity. You squeezed several loaves to see if they were fresh before taking one. It is only because our agents are so busy that you manage to get by with this week after week. After all, if we took action against everyone squeezing bread, we would get little else done. (By the way, those rules about squeezing toilet paper are a fallacy. You are allowed to squeeze it. However, if your thumb goes through the plastic, consider it purchased — it is yours!)

There are many other violations that we did not cover at all: the way you checked expiration dates on milk, instead of taking the jug in the front, the way you passed over the non-grocery items thinking, no doubt, that you could purchase them cheaper elsewhere. Do you not realize that these items are carried as a convenience for our customers? If you fail to buy them, they might be discontinued. Then what will you do when you need shampoo and don’t have time to go elsewhere? See how this works?

In the checkout lines, remember the “no talking rule” and do not complain to your fellow shoppers about how long it takes to get out of the store. Those little last minute candy items at the check out lines are there to occupy you. Take advantage of the opportunity to run up your bill a bit more while waiting.

Finally, remember we at the Grocery Store Police are always on duty. You may look for our agents in overcoats and for cameras or mirrors in the store, but you will never see us. Changing stores will not help — we are everywhere. We are taking notes and you are being observed. Consider this a warning. Change your ways immediately or you may never eat again!

Copyright 2001 Sheila Moss

 

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Just Suppose

Posted on October 16, 2017 by Sheila Moss

dan-aragon-387266.jpgSuppose the impossible became the possible. Suppose every daydream you have ever dreamed came true. 

Suppose the boss said you are much to valuable to be doing the job you have; you deserve an immediate promotion and raise! Would you say that you love your job just the way it is and you could not possibly use any more money?

Yes/No

Suppose you found out the odometer on your car is not showing the correct amount of actual mileage but is vastly under counting. Would you immediately go to the dealer and demand that it be fixed?

Yes/No

Suppose calories and fat grams don’t affect you. Suppose you are one of those people who can eat anything you want without gaining an ounce. Would you still eat low fat foods?

Yes/No

Suppose you can get by with three or four hours of sleep and still feel great. Would you sleep eight hours whether you need it or not because you are so bored with late night television?

Yes/No

Suppose the President called to ask for your opinion on his new foreign policy? Suppose he likes your ideas so well, that he offers to make you an unofficial consultant. Would you leave home to travel all over the world at government expense?

Yes/No

Suppose scientists find a miracle cure for aging. Suppose you can live as long as you want and never get wrinkles or gray hair. Would you accept your body just the way it is and continue to grow old gracefully?

Yes/No

Suppose researchers invented a vaccination for disease that cures any sickness. Suppose you don’t believe in shots. Would you refuse the treatment?

Yes/No

Suppose you win the lottery! Would you donate it to charity because you know others need it more than you do?

Yes/No

Suppose a new synthetic gasoline substitute is invented that gets 500 miles to the gallon. Suppose the effects of the new gas on the environment are not fully known. Would you worry about carbon monoxide?

Yes/No

Suppose a new and inexpensive nutritional food additive keeps foods from being fattening or carcinogenic and adds vitamins, but suppose it tastes just like chicken. Since you hate chicken, would you refuse to use it?

Yes/No

Suppose you are offered a community service award for your great humanitarian works, but you are a private person who hates publicity. Would you accept the honor?

Yes/No

Suppose your tiny stock investment explodes and you become CEO of your company. Suppose your boss then asks you for a job. Would you offer him your old job?

Yes/No

Suppose the IRS made a mistake on your taxes and owes you a refund. Would you tell them to keep it to help the government balance the budget?

Yes/No

Suppose beautiful members of the opposite sex call you day and night to beg you for a date. Would you say “Sorry, I’m in a committed relationship.”?

Yes/No

Suppose you are in excellent physical condition and can run as far and as fast as you want without getting tired. Suppose you are invited to be in a marathon. Should you decline, as your superior physical condition would make the race unfair to the other runners?

Yes/No

Suppose you are a great lover of animals. Suppose all animals become tame and friendly when you approach them, but you are allergic to animal fur. Would you befriend and pet the animals anyhow – between sneezes?

Yes/No

Suppose you are invited to be on Opra, write a book, and star in a movie about your life, but you just want to be an ordinary person. Would you say “no thanks?”

Yes/No

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SCORING

1-3     Yes – Time to wake up now. Did you enjoy the dream?
4-10   Yes – Welcome to the human race. You are just as bad as the rest of us!
11-14 Yes – Maybe you should have accepted that humanitarian award after all!
15 +   Yes – You are an angel. Check your head for a halo.
18-20 Yes- Who are you kidding? There are only 17 questions.

Copyright 2001 Sheila Moss
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Friday 13th… Pushing Your Luck

Posted on October 13, 2017 by Sheila Moss
saso-tusar-130051Photo by Sašo Tušar on Unsplash

Have you looked at the calendar today? It’s Friday, the thirteenth! You are NOT superstitious, of course, are you?  So, why miss an opportunity to prove it?

Having an unreasonable fear of something for no logical reason at all is just plain silly. Friday the 13th is another day exactly like any other Friday, nothing different, nothing special.

The sixth day of the week and the number 13 both have reputations for being unlucky, a belief that dates back to ancient times. So when the 13th of the month falls on Friday, it is a double whammy, so to speak, and thought to be especially unlucky.

But what is luck anyhow? You make your own luck, don’t you, good or bad? You make your own choices control your own circumstances, have control of your own fate. There’s really no such thing as “luck.” How can unrelated outside events control our destiny?

How can something like a four leaf clover, broken mirror, or a black cat crossing your path make any difference whatsoever in how your life goes? Such things are absolutely ridiculous. But…

Believing that Friday the 13th is unlucky is one of the most common superstitions in the United States.

Many people think, why invite bad luck if you don’t have to? But others like to push their luck with a negative number like Friday the 13th and to show there is no luck, good or bad, associated with the day.

If you want to push your luck, you should not mind walking under a ladder today — or even walking under three ladders if you want tom even though people often believe that the number three is unlucky and that bad things come in threes.

Don’t worry about that black cat that ran across your path. Thank goodness, you are NOT superstitious as a black cat crossing your path is considered a sure sign of bad luck to come.

Superstitious people often believe you should not open an umbrella inside your house. I’m not sure why this is considered bad luck, but umbrellas are really for outside and not needed where it isn’t raining.

Everyone has heard that spilling salt will bring bad luck. There are ways to break the spell, but that would be superstitious, and you are NOT superstitious, are you?

So, go ahead and put your shoes on the table and your hat on the bed. Do I need to say why? I guess we will all die at some point, but hopefully that will be too far in the distant future to result from shoes on the table.

Remember, superstition says, if mirror is not covered and you look into it, it might steal your soul. Speaking of mirrors, breaking a mirror is one of the worse possible curses and brings seven years of bad luck to those unlucky enough to believe in superstition.

It may be difficult to avoid stepping on the cracks which are pretty much everywhere. I’m happy to say that so far, no backs have been broken as far as I know. If you are NOT superstitious, I’m sure you know why. Maybe you should call your mother and check, just in case.

It’s okay to open the window even if a bird might fly in and bring bad luck with it. Don’t let it land on your bed or you may not make it until the day ends before impending doom overtakes you, according to superstition.

If your lottery ticket doesn’t win, it is nothing new and you can’t blame it on bad luck, just on chance not working out for you this time. Winning the lottery is always merely chance and luck has nothing to do with it, unless you are superstitious.

When you leave, walk out the door where the horseshoe is turned upside down so any possible luck that remains will spill out, and you will be left with none at all. Don’t break a leg when you do.

If you missed this fantastic opportunity to prove you are NOT superstitious, don’t feel bad. Friday the 13th will come again and you will have another chance to dance with the devil if you dare.

How lucky can you get when you are NOT superstitious?

Copyright 2017 Sheila Moss
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The Redneck Kosher Hotdog

Posted on October 7, 2017 by Sheila Moss

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The other day I was down in the “Boro” and decided to stop in at the Home Improvement Warehouse on the parkway to check for a light fixture. The light fixture in the bathroom has been blinking and winking for some time and finally died. I wanted to get another one that would fit the same space, but have been having trouble finding the right kind.

I didn’t have any luck finding the light at the warehouse either, but that’s not the story. As I left with my partner, we noticed a hot dog vendor outside on the sidewalk.

“Kosher Hot Dogs,” it proclaimed on the red umbrella. My partner, being Jewish, is always looking for Kosher things.

“Ever have a Kosher hot dog?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. I have no idea what came over me next. I never buy food from street vendors, but suddenly, on impulse, I heard myself saying, “Wanna get one?”

So, there we were, on the parking lot of a hardware store buying hot dogs from a street vendor. I don’t even like hot dogs.

“Regular or Super?” asked the vendor.

“What’s the difference?” we asked, showing our hot dog ignorance.

“Super is twice as big!”

“Well, in that case, make it super.”

Those Kosher dogs were HUGE, on a large gourmet roll – not a regular size hot dog bun, and with all the fixings – mustard, onion, and sweet pickle relish for me.

“These are not like the ones you get at the ball park,” proclaimed the vendor. We were pleased to hear this as ballpark franks are not all they are cracked up to be.

“My hot dogs come all the way from Chicago,” said the vendor. We were properly impressed.

“But the price of gasoline is killing my business,” he confided. We were properly dismayed.

He wrapped the giant dogs in silvery paper and money was exchanged in the customary manner.

“Where do we eat them?” I asked my partner.

“Right here,” he said.

So there we were in the hot parking lot, dining out in the sun.

“I’ve finally become a full-fledged redneck,” I thought, eating hot dogs on a parking lot. Residing in Tennessee, I kinda figured the redneck transformation might happen some day.

But that was the most delicious hot dog I’ve ever eaten! It was large, plump and juicy, nothing at all like a regular hot dog. “This is GOOD!” I exclaimed!

“I told you that Kosher dogs were good,” replied my partner smugly. I think he was pleased with himself for being right for a change.

Now I can hardly wait for Saturday to go back to the Home Improvement Warehouse again. I sure hope that vendor is still there. If you want to eat out for lunch, I know the perfect spot. Bring your pickup truck and we can sit on the tailgate. A carton of RC might be good too, seeing as how we are admittedly doing this redneck style.

Copyright 2001 Sheila Moss
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The Scenic Train Ride

Posted on October 4, 2017 by Sheila Moss

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While we were on vacation in Colorado, my sister was looking through travel brochures and found a narrow gauge train trip. “This should be fun,” she said, “Let’s do it.” I was already tired of sight-seeing. But anything would be better than more steep mountain roads with sharp curves which made me feel as if the car was going to go over the edge of a cliff taking my stomach with it.  A train has to stick to the rails unless it jumps the tracks or runs into the station, a possibility I refused to let my mind dwell on.

The locomotive was an old steam engine from the 1800’s fed with coal shoveled into a boiler to create the steam that powered the engine. “Narrow gauge,” I discovered means the rails are 3 feet wide instead of the usual 4 feet 8 inches. This enables the train to make sharper turns in steep mountain passages. Oh, goody!

According to history, and travel brochures, the trains were originally used to serve the gold and silver mines in the area. After the mining rush ended, most trains were scrapped. Only a few survived, one of which was the one we were riding.

The seats were hard and the ride bone-jarring with nothing to cushion us from the metal wheels on metal rails. Not only one of the longest surviving trains of the era, it was also one of the longest surviving rail lines, taking about eight hours to go from beginning to end. I was beginning to wonder if I would be one of their longest surviving passengers.

The old engine was barely able to make some of the steep climbs. We were in the first car behind the engine and could hear it huffing and puffing, reminding me of the children’s story the “Little Engine that Could,” “I think I can, I think I can,” it puffed. “I hope you can, I hope you can,” I thought.

We opened the windows so we could have an unobstructed view to make pictures.  Sometimes a whiff of the engine’s smoke came inside and tiny cinders settled on the window sill, a reassuring occurrence. At one point we stopped to take on water at a tank reminiscent of the old TV show, “Petticoat Junction,” except there were no petticoats. After the boiler heated up, there was a large blast of steam and a rainbow appeared in the steamy mist causing “ooh’s” and “ah’s” from the passengers.

The mountain scenery was spectacular, to say the least. We snaked along on heart-stopping narrow ledges that were carved into the side of the mountains especially for the train. Sometimes the rails followed a creek which had managed to find a passage between mountain peaks. There were so many vistas of rocky peaks and broad valleys that I wore out my finger snapping pictures, not to mention killing the battery in my cell phone.

After my heart restarted, I saw the green spruce trees creating forests of Christmas trees on the hillsides. Due to the high elevation, the aspen trees had already changed to fall colors and the white bark and gold leaves stood in magnificent contrast to the evergreen trees. The round leaves of the aspen trees resembled gold coins hanging from the branches, an enchanting sight even when scared out of your wits.

There were hundreds tourists filling the cars of the train. We couldn’t figure out where they all came from. My sister overheard the conductor say the engine was pulling the maximum load that it could carry. I must have been right about the puffing of the engine. I didn’t want to think about what could happen if the engine gave out.

The trip took eight hours on the slow-moving old choo-choo. For the return trip, we boarded a sleek and comfortable bus that took only about an hour to return us to our starting place. Thank goodness we no longer have to depend on old steam trains for anything other than sightseeing, and possibly an occasional heart attack.

Copyright 2016 Sheila Moss

 

 

 

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Rocks and More Rocks

Posted on October 2, 2017 by Sheila Moss

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Last year I went on an auto trip to the state of Colorado. After crossing the flat nothingness of Kansas, we had our first glimpse of the Rocky Mountains, which seemed to spring up out of the plains like a blue mirage. Honey, who had never been west before, was so excited by the vision that he tried to take pictures and drive at the same time, running off the edge of the road onto the safety warning strip, which didn’t go over too well with me or the other passengers.

Arriving in Colorado Springs, Honey wanted to drive to the top of Pikes Peak. But I’ve done that before and I promised God that if I got down alive I would never go again, one promise I intend to keep. My sister felt the same way as sudden changes in altitude made her sick. So Honey decided to drive up by himself and leave us chickens behind to stew in the motel’s hot tub. This was fine with me as in my book no view is worth risking the  dangerous mountain roads and sharp drop-offs — and I’m happy to be a chicken instead of an eagle.

I always thought Tennessee was “Old Rocky Top,” but Colorado has outdone us. We saw rocks and more rocks. One gigantic drive-through rock garden near Colorado Springs was called Garden of the Gods. We didn’t see any Gods there, only large red rocks with unusual shapes and long geological explanations. Different formations had different descriptive names, such as, Three Graces and Sleeping Giant. I liked the one called Kissing Camels. It took a little imagination, but if you squinted enough, it did almost look like two camels.

We saw many mountain bikers, hikers, rock climbers, and old people galore. I was wandering around on a trail taking pictures of various rocks and probably appeared lost. An old guy who looked about 90 was hiking with a group and stopped to ask me if I needed help. I must look older than I thought as the old man looked to me as if he should be the one needing help.

The next morning we went to Royal Gorge, which is a deep rock canyon made by the Arkansas River. It was something like the Grand Canyon except not as large. Like many scenic attractions, it has been commercialized. We rode a gondola over it, which was not too scary as it was all enclosed. There was also long suspension bridge across it which was 1250 feet high, the highest bridge in the U.S. It was rather long to walk across, so my crazy sister rented a golf cart and drove us across. “Woman at the wheel. Watch out,” we laughed. The most recent claim to fame for this particular amusement was that the entire place had burned down in a wildfire, everything burned except the bridge.

Later in the trip we visited another canyon called Black Canyon of the Gunnison, 2250 feet deep, no bridge. It was similar to Royal Gorge, except the rocks were gray. It too was rocky and deep with a river at the bottom. The road was along the canyon rim, not too close to the edge. It was interesting but very wild and remote. Unlike Royal Gorge, it is a National Park and has not (yet) been commercialized.

Now for the rant. Too many scenic places have been fenced off, made into commercial attractions, and admission is charged to see them. It seems to me that natural resources should belong to everyone and should not be developed as private property. Any charge should not exceed the reasonable cost of maintenance.

I have no idea how this can be accomplished as even our National Parks are threatened by entrepreneurs, greed and over development. Guess this is another one to write my congressman about.

Copyright 2016 Sheila Moss
Posted in Humor, Travel | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

Table for Two

Posted on September 26, 2017 by Sheila Moss

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Ever notice how obnoxious people do not know that they are being obnoxious? The other evening my honey and I were dining at this great little Italian place we know about. Good food, good service, reasonable prices, you know the sort of place.

We were quietly sipping a glass of wine while we waited for the food. Next to us was a large family celebrating a birthday or some sort of special occasion.

Problem with great little Italian places is when they put you at a table for two right next to a family of eight with all their children. We are used to it. Some of them are actually cute, crunching up their food, eating with their hands and throwing food on the floor.

I don’t know why this family brought kids to a popular dining spot for a birthday celebration instead of taking them to McDonalds where kids would much rather go. But anyhow, there they were. In this case, the kids were being pretty good, for kids. It was one of the adults who was misbehaving, talking loudly, asserting opinions and issuing orders.

“Good, grief, doesn’t that guy realize how loud he is?” Obviously, not. As I said, obnoxious people are oblivious to the fact that they are obnoxious. I could not really figure out what he was doing in a nice restaurant anyhow. He did not seem like the type. He was more of a redneck sort of person.

“Bubba must be tired of the Catfish House,” I said sarcastically. “Wonder why he didn’t go next door? They have barbeque ribs over there.”

Bubba proceeded to loudly assist the children, playing with their toys, blissfully unaware that he was spoiling the dining of all around him. Perhaps he was accustomed to dining at places where they have wooden puzzles on the tables to entertain the customers. Or perhaps the children’s toys simply intellectually challenged him.

By then, we were giggling as the absurdity came into perspective. “Maybe he will be gone by the time the food arrives,” I ventured.

I hate to admit it, but normally these loud people are women, ranting loudly so that all around can hear their conversation, as if everyone in the restaurant is interested. Invariably, if you turn to look, the woman will be wearing a red dress.

Manic personality types, we used to call them in psychology 101. The lady in the red dress talking loudly to call attention to herself and imagining that other people are really interested in overhearing her conversation about her love life, marital problems, financial endeavors or whatever other mundane personal topic she has decided to air.

About that time, the desserts arrived next door. Bubba remember that he had to pick up Shelby and left. We still don’t know who Shelby is, but I’m very grateful to her for needing a ride. Bubba managed to exit noisily just before the check arrived leaving the others in his party to take care of the essentials. Perfect timing.

“Bye, Bubba,” I whispered, as he left the room.

“Fresh ground pepper for your salads?” asked the waiter. Our food had arrived. Perfect timing again.

Copyright 2001 Sheila Moss
Posted in Entertainment, Food, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 9 Comments