The Savings Place

Posted on May 3, 2016 by Sheila Moss
grocerygirl

I usually try to go early on Saturday morning before everyone else gets there. The trouble is, everyone else has the same idea. I probably would be better off to wait until about midnight, but I want to get it over with, just like everyone else.

The little old lady who stands at the door always has a row of buggies lined up. Proper WalMart manners require that you take the one at the front of the line. If it’s raining, you have to wait for her to wipe off the buggies that just came from outside so you don’t get your hands wet.

I’ve been there so many times that I have the fastest route mapped out in my head. Make a left and rush by the candy row as fast as you can so you are not tempted. Try not to look at the fresh flower display either or you will end up adding them to the grocery bill as well.

Make a beeline to the drug section, stopping at the first row for aspirin, and then whipping around the back to grab shampoo or whatever else is on the list from that area. Hopefully, I won’t need any toothpaste or vitamins as it is easy to get sidetracked on those rows and start looking around.

Back to the center aisle as fast the wheels will roll. I don’t look at the cosmetics as I pass, too expensive. I make a quick left at the center aisle and head for the back of the store grabbing dishwasher soap, detergent or whatever I need. I try not to pass the room deodorizers as they smell so good that it’s really hard to resist them.

Down the pet food aisle grabbing my kitty’s groceries for the week. The cat eats better than I do. Make a fast right and return to the front where the produce is. Ah, ha! Made it to the food. Good for me. Get only what’s on the list and try not to pick up anything extra. They really make those red apple displays look pretty, don’t they?

Bread goes in the cart’s kiddy seat where it won’t get squashed. Canned goods, juice, and paper goods are next. I can’t resist the cola, so I grab a pack from the big display. Down the dairy and milk aisle and back to the meat counter, which runs down the side of the store and takes me back to the front. Turn right and get the frozen foods last so they don’t defrost.

They put the snacks in a little section all their own instead of with the other groceries. Pretty clever. To get crackers I have to run the course where the chips, dips, cookies and other goodies are. Good thing I have resistance. After I make it past the sweets, I’m home free and ready for checkout.

Naturally, all the people from the parking lot finished before I did and are already waiting in line. I don’t why I was in such a hurry to shop, but finally it is my turn. The cashier scans the items and puts them in the blue plastic bags. She rings up the final bill, fifty dollars for food, and a hundred for fresh flowers, candy, pet toys, panty hose, a room deodorizer, nail polish, face cream, a Sponge Bob video, kitty litter, car wax, light bulbs, dishtowels, plastic storage bowls, and a hair dryer.

That’s why I like to shop at the discount places; groceries are cheaper so I really save money. I don’t know how all that other stuff got into my basket.

©2004 Sheila Moss

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Ever have this problem or is your resistance better than mine?

Posted in Food, Shopping | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

Granny Makes Pudding

Posted on May 2, 2016 by Sheila Moss

pudding

Okay, grandkids, today we are going to make an old-fashioned banana pudding, grandma’s way, not that new fangled stuff they make with instant pudding and phony whipped cream. Phooey! Ours will be made from scratch – real pudding made on the stove and real meringue on top.

Here’s what we need, a baking dish, a bowl and a large pot. Let’s make a big one. Banana pudding will not last long. Measure out 1-1/2 cups of sugar. That’s okay; we can clean up the spills later. Now we need 4 eggs, and this is the tricky part; we have to separate the yokes from the whites.

Crack the egg and let the white part run out. Oh, we need the bowl. Whew, that was close. Now put the yoke in the other half of the eggshell and separate the rest. See? You try it now. Crack it carefully, and… Uh oh, the yoke broke. Oh me, the whites will not beat up fluffy with yellow in them. We will try and get it out with a spoon.

Put the sugar in the pot, and stir the egg yokes into the dry sugar. That’s a little grandma trick to make the egg mix in. Now stir in 2/3-cup flour, and 4 cups of milk. Just add a little of each at the time and stir it in, so it will mix.

Okay, put the heat on medium and cook. We have to stir it the whole time or it could burn. While grandma stirs, you can fix the wafers and bananas. Make a layer of vanilla wafers in the bottom of the baking dish, and then a layer of sliced bananas. You did remember to wash your hands first… I hope?

Oh, the pudding is boiling. It’s sticking to the bottom? Stir! We have to cook it until it boils gets thick and then 2 minutes extra. Why? I don’t know why. Don’t question me now while I’m busy.

Grandma will take it off the heat, and add 4 tablespoons of butter and a dash or two of vanilla. As long as it doesn’t taste scorched, we can still use it. We will pour half over the wafers and bananas. Yes, I know we are using store-bought wafers. It is not going to be THAT homemade. Now, make another layer of wafers and another layer of banana and pudding. Hurry before the pudding gets cool.

You can lick the pot while grandma makes meringue. See: whip the egg whites with a fourth teaspoon of cream of tartar, another little grandma secret. When they are fluffy, we will add a teaspoon of vanilla and 2 tablespoons of sugar for each egg. Why are they not getting fluffy? It must be that yoke that got in the mix. What a mess.

grandmakitchenThrow it away and get some more eggs out. Grandma doesn’t remember it being this difficult when she used to make it. We will beat until peaks form and add the sugar. Now, spread on top of the pudding. You can use your finger to make peaks in the meringue. No! Don’t lick you finger first!

Grandma will put it in the oven and let the meringue brown for 10 or 15 minutes. We can clean up some of this mess while we wait for it to finish. Let’s check it. Eeek! It’s burning!

Get out of way and let grandma get it out of the oven. I don’t understand it. It was only in there for 10 minutes. Well, it is a bit brown, but not too bad. Thank goodness we checked when we did or it would have been a burnt offering.

When it cools a while, we can eat it. Grandma feels a bit dizzy. Must be from standing over the heat. Grandma better sit down for a while before she faints and falls into the pudding. We have had enough disasters for one day already.

It does look pretty good. Maybe grandma can make a cook out of you yet. The next time, though, we will just use instant pudding and artificial whipped cream. The old way is too much trouble.

©2004 Sheila Moss

AUTHOR’S NOTE: The ingredients are correct. Don’t pay any attention to the rest of that stuff.

Posted in Food, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

Sleepless in a Sleep Clinic

Posted on May 1, 2016 by Sheila Moss

apnea“I think you have it,” said the doctor.” We just need to see how much.”

What he was referring to is the state-of-the-art illness called sleep apnea. In seems the only way to find out if you have it is to spend a night in a sleep clinic. Now a sleep clinic is not like a hospital. Your room is supposed to look like a motel room so you feel at ease and are able to sleep normally while they “monitor” you.

My room didn’t look a whole lot like any motel room I’ve ever been in, but why argue? Obviously, they are not going to redecorate just for me. I sat down on the sofa that was so slick I had to brace myself to keep from sliding off. What do they do? Wax the upholstery?

The sleep technician came in to “wire” me. This involved having receptors glued on my scalp and forehead with long wires running out to “monitor my brain waves.” The fumes from the glue he used were so overpowering that I was afraid if he didn’t finish quickly I might not have any brain waves.

“Now you can relax a while,” advised the technician.

“Oh, goody.”

I watched the required video about sleep apnea in which fat old men snored while their wives proclaimed the virtues of having them sleep wearing an air mask. The apparatus looked a whole lot like a gas mask to me. How anyone could sleep with that contraption on was beyond me.

“There goes any hope for a romantic relationship that I might have ever had,” I thought.

Eventually, I figured I might as well go on to bed and get it over with. Before my head could hit the pillow, the technician appeared to “finish wiring” me. That’s when I realized that I was on candid camera. I began to understand how a rat in a cage feels.

Wires were taped to my body and legs. “My, God,” I thought, “I hope they are not going to electro-shock me.” As I stared at the camera on the ceiling, the tech informed me about the live microphone over the bed. Wires were running everywhere and all of them were eventually attached to me.

“Now sleep!”

“Right!”

SONY DSC

I tossed and turned pulling the wires with me. The oxygen monitor glowed in the dark, so I put my luminous finger under the cover. The harder I tried to go to sleep, the tenser I became. The pillow was too firm and the mattress too soft. The wires were hanging all over me like a string of Christmas tree lights. The room was stuffy and my bladder was calling out to me.

“How can anybody possibly sleep under these conditions?” I wondered. Tossing and turning I was soon wound up in wires like a kitten in a ball of yarn.

Sometime about four o’clock in the morning, I finally dozed off into an uneasy, dream-filled, slumber, while my brain waves scribbled hate messages on the technician’s monitor screen.

At last the night from hell was over. The tape holding the wires in place was ripped away, and I wondered if the ones in my hair would also be jerked away and how I’d like being bald. But some sort of solvent was used to dissolve the glue, leaving my hair in an icky mess.

“You need to shampoo,” said the tech. Fine with me, except there was no shampoo and no hot water in the shower. I finally washed my hair under the faucet in the sink using a bar of soap. It had to dry naturally as I did not think about bringing a hair dryer. I also found I had no toothpaste. After only two hours of sleep all night, however, I really didn’t care at this point.

I have a feeling I flunked my sleep apnea test. I bet I’ll get an A+ in insomnia, however. I don’t know why they call it sleep clinic. As far as I’m concerned, it should be called a “sleepless” clinic.

©2003 Sheila Moss
Posted in Health, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , | 11 Comments

You Know It’s Spring When…

Posted on April 30, 2016 by Sheila Moss

tulips

The flowers are blooming, the birds are singing, could it be Spring? Spring, that glorious time when we put the cold and chills of winter behind us and celebrate the beginning of a new season. We feel a surge of extra energy and watch for the parade of blossoms, suddenly wanting to be outside to soak in the renewal of life

Here is the check list to be sure you are reading the signs right and it’s not simply wishful thinking:

“You Know That It’s Spring When….”

*Your heat is too hot, but your air conditioner is too cold.
*You leave the office at lunch and don’t want go back.
*You want to spend time alone watching the grass grow.
*You find yourself obsessively counting robins.
*You can’t concentrate because you are busy daydreaming.
*You feel a sudden uncontrollable urge to clean your closet.
*You start sneezing at the mere mention of pollen.
*You remember how it feels to be in love.
*You feel like jogging around the block – until you try it.
*You go for a drive in the car just to open the sunroof.
*You have a craving for fresh strawberry shortcake.
*You decide to wash and wax the car – at home – by hand..
*The birds are building a nest in your mailbox.
*You wonder if the lawn mower will start and hope it doesn’t.
*You leave the windows wide open just to smell the fresh breeze.
*It’s raining outside and your umbrella is strayed, lost, or stolen.
*You splash in the rain puddles and hope no one sees you.
*You notice the “for sale” signs on houses are blooming faster than daffodils.
*You find yourself wishing you knew how to whistle.
*You even like dandelions – almost.
*You wonder why we have those other seasons anyhow.
*You visit the local lawn and garden shop just to browse.
*You come home with fertilizer, tomato plants, and a garden hose.
*You buy new lawn furniture even though you don’t need it.
*You wonder how to cure spring fever and then decide you don’t want to.

SCORING:

-20 or above YES –
What are you waiting for? Start planting flowers and gas up the mower.
.
-15 to 20 yes – Clean the garage and find your fishing pole. It won’t be long!

-10 to 15 yes – Stock up on allergy meds and read the seed catalogs.

-Below 10 yes – Salt down the driveway and buy a new jacket. That should bring it on faster than washing a car brings rain.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Although Spring Fever is highly contagious, it is not long lasting. There is a timeless remedy that never fails to cure it. It’s called Summer.

© 2004 Sheila Moss
Posted in Humor, Weather | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Dear IRS

Posted on April 29, 2016 by Sheila Moss

1040-form

I have received your letter regarding my 1040 Federal individual income tax return. When I went to the mailbox, it was right there among all the bills in a plain white envelope – plain except for three little words in the return address “Internal Revenue Service.”

I thought that perhaps you were writing to me to thank me for my contribution to the national budget and to wish me a large, taxable income this year. But you simply said you had received my tax return and that you needed more information to process it accurately.

Now I know that I accidentally underpaid a few years ago, but I didn’t think you would continue to hold a grudge. Last time it was three years before you caught the error. I would like to congratulate you on your improvement in promptness.

I noticed that you said to enclose only the information requested; however, you had not yet requested anything. You also said “Do not send a copy of your return.” Why would I do that when you already have said that you have received my Form 1040? So far compliance is not an issue.

What really upset me was when you said that if you do not hear from me within 20 days that you may have to increase the tax I owe or reduce my refund. You really do need to do something about your pessimism.

Finally, you got around to the real purpose of the letter; “Your Form 1040 doesn’t show your original signature. Please sign the declaration below.” So, I forgot to sign my tax return? That’s it? No fine? No penalty? No audit? Not that I’m disappointed, or anything, mind you.

I really couldn’t figure out the rest of the letter. You said:

1. “If this is a joint return, both husband and wife must sign.” But you already said that you have received my return. Didn’t you look at it to see whose name was on it?

2. “If you can’t write your name, please sign your mark.” Well, I’ll admit that there are a lot of people who think I can’t write, but I don’t believe they are referring to my name.

3. “If you are signing as a parent of the minor child, sign both the child’s name and your name.” Thanks, but we established in number one (1) that you received my return, and that you obviously didn’t bother to look at the name on it.

4. “A power of attorney is needed in all other instances.” There you go, flaunting your clout again. You must stay up nights programming computers to write intimidating letters.

So, all you really want is for me to sign my name on the affidavit and return it? I don’t know why you had to get so huffy about it. I signed the check I sent you, didn’t I?

Thanks, however, for offering to answer my questions. I don’t have any questions, but I thought I’d write anyhow just to show that there are no hard feelings. Actually, I believe I said what you wanted to hear in mid-April – even if I didn’t sign it.

It was also nice of you to apologize for any inconvenience, especially, since I’m the one that apparently inconvenienced you. You may rest assured that I won’t make that mistake again.

If I may make one teensy suggestion, it would really help if you would put your address on the return envelope instead of using a window envelope. The only thing I could find with an address to fit the window was the payment voucher, which in my case did not apply.

Also, I would like to call to your attention the fact that the signature on your letter does NOT appear to be ORIGINAL. Therefore, I’ve enclosed an affidavit for you to sign. Please return it within 20 days.

Thanks and have a great year!

Sincerely yours,
A Taxpayer

©2004 – Sheila Moss
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The Escape Artist

Posted on April 28, 2016 by Sheila Moss

cat

This has been a bad pet week, to put it mildly. Last summer, we adopted a wild cat. I use the term “wild” only to signify that it is an untamed member of a domestic variety. It was a stray cat that loved us so much that it sat on the back patio and sang for days until we finally reluctantly took it in.

The funny thing is that as much as the cat wanted in at that time, it now wants out. It has become an escape artist, refusing to behave like a house cat and instead reverting to its primitive instincts, which include escaping to the outdoors and climbing all over my car.

There is absolutely nothing as vexing as getting ready go someplace and finding your car covered with cat paw prints on the windshield. It does no good to wash it because the instant the cat sees a nice shiny clean car, its sole purpose in life is to reclaim its territory and mark it with more prints.

If the cat could go outside and behave itself, it would not be so bad, but it cannot. It fights. It was once an attractive cat, but that was before the back surgery. A close encounter of some sort in one of its adventures caused an injury that required surgical intervention and resulted in a large patch of fur being shaved off the cat’s back.

Even before the sutures healed, the cat bolted outside and was gone overnight worrying my daughter to death. Frankly, I was rather glad it was gone. She made “lost cat” signs to put around the neighborhood. Naturally, it eventually got hungry and came back home, none the worse except for a bloody and crooked toenail.

Regardless of how hard we try to keep the cat inside, it manages to figure out a way to get out. The latest trick of choice is bolting unseen from behind a chair and running between your feet. Previously, it was hiding behind the curtains by the window and bolting out as soon as the door was opened. Thank goodness cats do not know how to use crowbars.

Naturally, it does no good to attempt to catch the cat once outside. It is far too clever to let anyone get close enough. After his last wild night out, we noticed he was walking on only three feet. Another veterinary bill for an injured pad on his paw.

We decided that the cat must have motivation for wanting outside so badly, and that undoubtedly he was an amorous Romeo to a feline Juliet somewhere in the neighborhood. Juliet apparently is not picky about appearance if she dates a cat in his shape. We decided that neutering was inevitable and the only way to keep the cat at home before he killed himself.

Another trip to the vet and another bill, but we were certain that at last he would behave like a domestic cat and forget all about the great outdoors and romantic adventures. We brought the cat home and were tremendously careful about the door, but before the anesthetic had worn off, he escaped and was out the door, half-drunk.

Well, my daughter went after him and eventually came back carrying the cat and looking haggard.

“How did you catch him?” I asked.

“It wasn’t easy, I chased him around three houses and finally managed to get close enough to grab him.” The cat thanked her for saving his life by howling at the door for 30 minutes to go back out. He seems not to miss his manhood at all.

I really don’t have time to worry about it right now, though, as I’ve got to go outside and clean the paw prints off my car.

By the way, where’s the cat? No! He can’t be…

© 2005

Once they have tasted the outside world is it possible to turn them into a housecat? What do you think?

Posted in Creatures, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

The Good Old Days

Posted on April 27, 2016 by Sheila Moss

201244240_21ce2a379c_z

I have always suspected that the “good old days” may not have been so good. When I was a kid, our family didn’t have a car. Daddy walked to work and we children walked to school. Of course, a lot of people walked in small-town America, even my playmate whose family owned a brand new Frazier and thought that they were “big shots.”

Eventually, my family joined the ranks of the better off and we were really proud of our shiny, black Studebaker. We often went for rides, not to go any place in particular, but just to joy ride. Cars didn’t have automatic transmissions or air conditioning in the good old days. We rolled down the windows and let the wind keep us cool.

Of course, houses didn’t have air conditioning either in the good old days. If you were lucky, you might have a window fan. We were often hot and sweaty during the summer, but we didn’t know the difference. At night after supper, people would set on their porches to cool off, and kids would play tag under the corner streetlight.

Progress came to our small southern town when the local department store installed air conditioning. Everyone went to shop and check out the cool air, but we could not imagine that living in refrigeration would ever become a popular thing. Pleased with their innovation, the same store later installed an elevator. Again, everyone came to see and to shop on the second floor without even having to climb the stairs. The elevator had a driver who opened and closed the door and pulled the lever that made the elevator go up or down. We kids would sometimes use the stairs anyhow just to keep from bothering the elevator man.

The local movie also had refrigerated air. Every Saturday a western movie was shown after a short serial feature, a cartoon, the news, and the previews of coming attractions. This occupied children on Saturday afternoon for the immense sum of 12 cents. For another nickel, you could get a roll of Lifesavers, a Sugar Daddy, or a box of popcorn in the good old days.

Our favorite stores were the two cheap variety stores downtown, which were called 5 & 10s or “dime stores.” Yes, you could actually go shopping and buy something for a dime in the good old days. A kid could always find a yo-yo, rubber ball, or a comic book, if we were lucky enough to have a dime.

I spent many happy hours reading comic books and listening to the Lone Ranger on the radio. Radio was not only for music or news in the good old days; it also had entertainment programming. Of course, it was not long until television came along and changed the world. We scarcely knew what to make of the magic boxes that were just like movies at home. The pictures were black and white, but so were most movies so it didn’t matter.

RCACTC-11FinalCabinetIt was a while before our family could save the money for a down payment on a television set. In the meantime, I continued to watch the radio and wish that it had a screen instead of a dial. When we finally acquired a new television set in a wood cabinet, the good old days were really good. It had only one channel and so we watched whatever came on. In the early days there were frequent technical difficulties, so often we had only snowy screens and test patterns to watch.

Life was simple and more basic in years past, but life was harder too. I wonder what kids nowadays will remember as being the good old days. My kids once thought things were really rough because we didn’t have a microwave or cable TV like their friends.

Now that I think of it, that does seem pretty difficult. I really don’t know how we made it through the good old days.

© 2004

What are “good old days” to you? Can you imagine going without what we now consider necessities?

Posted in Entertainment, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 13 Comments

Happy Birthday to Me

Posted on April 26, 2016 by Sheila Moss

birthday

Happy birthday to me. You’d think that someone would remember besides my mother who sent me a check. Happy birthday to me. I’ll buy myself a gift and take the day off work. No one will mind. They don’t even know it’s my birthday.

“I won’t be at work Monday. I’m taking the day off.”

“Happy birthday, and have a nice day.” So, they DID know.

Not even a card? Oh, well, that’s why I’m taking off, remember? I’ll gift myself. I need new glasses, and I can spend my mother’s check for something special that I really want. Happy birthday to me.

Why won’t the stupid car start? How can I go shopping? And after I took the day off work too! It probably needs a new battery. Happy birthday to the car. I’ll leave it at the dealership and drive my daughter’s car. She didn’t remember either.

So, I buy some glasses that cost twice as much as I’d hoped. Happy birthday to the eye clinic. I’m going shopping anyway. It’s my birthday, remember? I’ll buy some summer things, maybe an outfit? Happy birthday to me. My mother’s check doesn’t quite cover it, so I pay for the rest myself. Happy birthday to the department store.

“The car needs a battery,” says the voice on the cell phone. “Oh, great!” Did you note the sarcasm in my voice? Why did I mention a battery to them? No discounts from the car dealership, birthday or not. Not exactly what I had in mind for a birthday gift. Happy birthday to the car repair shop.

No one remembers. Oh, well. But back at work the next day, there’s a card on my chair. Happy birthday! One person remembered. Happy birthday to me, and from now on I’ll know who my friends are… um… is.

I am invited out to dinner the next day. My son remembered! I only found out later that someone reminded him. But I did get a nice dinner out of it, so why am I feeling neglected? I ordered a steak. Happy birthday to me.

And later on, I received a gift card from my honey, who said he remembered, but got mixed up on the day. And cards from my daughter and grandson who also got mixed up on the day, and a lemon pie with a candle because: “We didn’t think you liked cake.” I don’t like lemon pie either, but that’s beside the point.

It’s the thought that counts, of course. And I did get a nice gift card for my favorite department store. Obviously, I’m ungrateful. Happy birthday to me. Now I can go shopping… again. Happy birthday to me.

I got an e-card from my cosmetic sales lady and 15% off the next purchase, which should bring her some business. Happy birthday to Mary Kay. I also got a card from my chiropractor. That figures, the older the better for business. Happy birthday to the doc.

No flowers, fireworks, or parties. So what. I have a birthday every year, and what does one more matter, really? Other people are busy and have other things to do. Everyone has a birthday and they can’t even remember their own. Who wants to be reminded that we are all getting older anyhow?

All told, I racked up pretty good. And the important people did remember, sort of, only two days late. So, happy birthday to me.

©2004

Posted in Family, Holidays, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , | 3 Comments

The Vegetable Garden

Posted on April 25, 2016 by Sheila Moss

garden

Spring is here and something primitive stirs the blood – the urge to dig and plant, to renew and revive the earth. Several years ago when we first moved to the suburbs, we dreamed of tilling the soil, producing crops, and becoming weekend farmers.

Never mind that we had grown up as city kids and didn’t know a whit about growing anything expect, perhaps, a tomato plant or two in a flowerbed. This was it, our time to find our roots, get back to nature.

The lot beside our house was plowed, and the smell of fresh earth stirred our planting instincts even further. We visited local garden stores and selected seedlings and envelopes of seeds with colorful pictures of fresh vegetables. We fanaticized about the bountiful veggies we would soon be growing.

But now that we had the seeds, what did we do with them? Well, we did what any city kid would do. We bought a book on how to garden. “Use string to keep the rows straight said the book,” so we did. Use this kind of fertilizer for this plant and that kind for another. We went back to the store and searched endlessly for exactly the right fertilizers.

If the book said to plant six inches apart, we got the ruler and measured. If the book said to use stakes for the plants, we bought stakes. One of us read the book while the other planted. Then we marked the rows so we would know what was planted and waited.

It was a wet spring and shortly thereafter plants began to appear and grow. Oh, boy, did they grow! Why not, we did everything by the book. The lettuce appeared first, lush and green. Saturdays became consumed by the garden. As the vegetables grew, so did the weeds. We fought weeds and grass until our hands and knees were blistered.

The plants continued to grow, blossoms appeared, then tiny fruits. Insects found them before we did. Each plant seems to attract a pest of its own. How did they all find our garden? Cutworms found the tomatoes, beetles found the potatoes, and moths found the cabbage. Back to the store to buy insecticides and sprays.

My back ached from picking rows of beans and my face was sunburned. The tomatoes began to ripen. We picked tomatoes by the bucketful. We gave tomatoes away, we made everything we could think of with tomatoes, and still we had tomatoes. We were almost thankful when the blackbirds ate the corn. It gave us time to make a few pickles from the cucumbers.

We fought bumblebees for every pole bean, and the summer squash vines went wild. Worst of all was zucchini. No one told us about zucchini, not even the book. They grew faster than we could pick them. One day they were a blossom, the next day a watermelon-size gourd. We could only carry two at the time, one under each arm. I was afraid to go to sleep at night, afraid the vines would cover the house.

The endless hours of sweat in the hot sun were not nearly as much fun as we had anticipated. By the time we finished buying plants, seeds, fertilizers, insecticides, tools, jars to can, containers to freeze, and books to tell us how, we wondered if we really needed fresh vegetables.

We eventually abandoned our sweat and blisters, and returned to the supermarket, admitting we were not cut out for country life. But whenever spring comes, I am still reminded by the warm sun and smell of soil. My blood still stirs with the urge to plant and grow.

Only the fear of giant zucchinis saves me.

©2005

Have you ever had a vegetable garden? Tell me how yours turned out.

Posted in Food, Humor, Plants/Gardening | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Blessed are the Trailer Trash

Posted on April 24, 2016 by Sheila Moss

mobile homes

As you may know, the Beatitudes were eight blessings given at the beginning of the Sermon on the Mount, according to Christian beliefs. These were beautiful and inspirational blessings, intended to overcome prejudices of the time. However, we can think of other blessings that are representative of today’s needs.

One of the groups that is most stigmatized these days is southern mobile
home dwellers, sometimes called “trailer trash.” Since there were no mobile homes in the olden days, no specific mention was made of this sub-culture. However, we feel that they are greatly in need of being blessed – so we added a few blessings of our own, just to be sure that all possibilities are covered:

  • Blessed are the trailer trash, for they shall have double wide estates in heaven.

  • Blessed are those who have “house trailers,” “mobile homes,” or “manufactured housing,” for they are essentially the same thing.

  • Blessed are those in rural and remote areas, for mobile homes provide better housing than otherwise available.

  • Blessed are those with bad credit, for they can get a personal property loan.

  • Blessed are those with double wide units, for they pay twice the price of a single wide unit.

  • Blessed are the poor, for they often pay the highest loan interest rates.

  • Blessed are the clean of heart, for 80% own their own mobile homes instead of renting.

  • Blessed are those with low monthly payments, for they often have to pay extra to rent a home site.

  • Blessed are those who live in single-wide units, for they can go to the bathroom and meet themselves coming back.

  • Blessed are they who live in the Southeast, for 15% of all homes are manufactured housing there.

  • Blessed are they who sit down too hard on the couch, for they may cause the house to tilt.

  • Blessed are they who cannot move their possessions without moving their
    entire house.

  • Blessed are those who must sell at a loss, because mobile homes are not really mobile.

  • Blessed are they who hunger and thirst, for there is no pizza delivery in the trailer park.

  • Blessed are “modular” homeowners, for they are trailer trash without wheels.

  • Blessed are they who don’t pay real estate taxes, for they pay personal property tax instead.

  • Blessed are they who have no back doors, for they have more space for bumper stickers.

  • Blessed are they who are trailer trash, for they shall be called the children of HUD.

  • Blessed are they whose homes depreciate in value, for they will build no equity.

  • Blessed are those who have chassis and wheels, for they shall continue to be called trailer trash.

  • Blessed are those who suffer persecution – for manufactured homes are NOT going away.

©2004

 

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Blessed are those who write humor about something that isn’t funny, for they found out a lot of things they didn’t know about mobile home.

Posted in Humor, Southern Humor | Tagged , , , , , , | 2 Comments