Café Cocoa and the Alien

Posted on March 9, 2016 by Sheila Moss

coffeeIt was a strange looking place – more like a house than a coffee shop. Could that be why they call them “coffee houses?” For a minute I wasn’t sure whether to go inside of not. Finally, I figured, “What have I got to lose?” Besides, it was cold outside.

It isn’t the sort of place I normally go to. I was waiting on my daughter.  On one side a group of young people  poured over books with coffee and papers spread all over the table, obviously students from a nearby university. “What am I getting into here?” I wondered.

In the back was a counter where two people debated over what to order. I looked at the menu scribbled on a blackboard, concoctions of pineapple and caramel that sound more like ice-cream sundaes than coffee. I picked the one with the least amount of whipped cream and waited my turn.

The couple finally took their selection and wandered toward the back of the house. I peered down the hall after them. The server ignored my presence busying herself with washing cups or some other menial chore. Finally, she acknowledged me standing there just as I was about at the point of leaving.

I ordered my coffee unable to take my eyes off her chin. What is that? A pierced lower lip with a stud? I tried not to let my own tongue wander to the inside of my lip as I wondered what it feels like to have metal piercing your lower lip.

After much mixing and blending, all done in slow motion, the coffee was finally ready. I took the frothy blend and again peered down the mysterious hall before deciding on the side room close to the front door. I squeezed into a corner table by a TV set that was being ignored, hoping that I would be treated the same.

One couple was so busy with each other that they scarcely knew anyone else existed at all. Another table of people with weird hair were talking animatedly about politics, or some other earth shaking concern, as if their opinions really made a difference to anyone but them. They all looked very young.

I sipped my coffee and it really wasn’t too bad – didn’t taste a bit like coffee – but not bad. I checked my watch and stared at the documentary on the TV. Not my taste. Finally, I retrieved a used copy of the local alternative paper from another table and flipped through it.

What a dump this place is, peeling paint, rickety tables, a fireplace unused for 40 years, college kids, and a few tough types that appear to have wandered over from a nearby AA meeting house. Definitely not the sort of place usually frequented by middle-aged women. I’m on someone else’s turf, I surmised.

I looked at my watch again, sipped my empty coffee cup, and watched the worthless documentary. Finally, it was time and I could escape. I left my new and unusual company. No one said goodbye.

Do they feel as alien in my world as I do in theirs, I wondered?

“Hi Mom, isn’t the coffee house a neat place? Did you like the coffee?”

“Sure, honey, the coffee was out of this world.”

©2003

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Pizza, Pizza

Posted on March 8, 2016 by Sheila Moss

pizzaI’m really happy to live in civilization. I used to live on the edge of civilization until urban sprawl caught up and I was absorbed. My definition of civilization is being within a pizza restaurant’s delivery zone. Not being able to order pizza and get it delivered is a genuine
hardship, comparable only to no water, no microwave, no cable, or no cell phone.

Friday night is pizza night at my house. Before we became civilized, we relented ourselves to ordering carryout and picking it up ourselves. Not the same at all as it was always cold by the time we got home and the cheese had turned to chewy leather that would have been perfect for making belts, wallets, or moccasins except for the chopped onions.

On pizza night the first problem is always what kind of pizza to order. Roll call shows that I don’t care as long as it doesn’t have black olives. My significant other doesn’t care as long as it doesn’t have any meat. My daughter doesn’t care as long as it has pepperoni. My grandson doesn’t care because he takes everything off and eats only the bread anyhow. The dog doesn’t care because he will eat anything that remotely resembles food.

As you can see, we already have a problem. Nobody cares but everybody wants something different. Disregarding the dog’s vote, as he is not a certified voter, we’ve pretty much got it down to one large combination and one large mushroom and onion two-topper.

I really hate calling in the order. They always put me on hold until I forget what I want, and then talk in fast-forward mode while taking the order. I’m positive they are making pizza with one hand and taking orders with the other. I fare better with ordering pizza online, no
pressure to hurry and decide between thin crust, hand-tossed and pan pizza.

“Is the pizza coming?” squeals my four-year-old grandson, so excited he is climbing on the backs of the furniture like a squirrel and turning flip-flops in the living room.

My daughter switches on the porch light and opens the door so the delivery person can find the house. My grandson presses his nose against the glass storm door and peers into the darkness straining to see if the car with the pizza flag is coming up the driveway.

“Where are they, grandma? Maybe they got lost!”

“No, honey, they never get lost – they will be here.”

The phone rings. It’s the pizza guy. “Now where exactly is your street?” he asks. I don’t believe it – he is lost! I explain the location and he remembers, or says he does.

A knock on the door and the dog is barking and knocking over furniture as he runs to the door attempting to decide which to eat first, the pizza or the pizza delivery guy.

Pizza! At last! The cheese and other toppings come off of a piece for my grandson. The dog wags his tail frantically as he knows who is going to get that leftover cheese.

I select a slice of the combination pizza, which looks pretty good after I pick off the black olives that I forgot to tell them to omit. Jalapenos! I forgot about jalapenos, Flames shoot out of my mouth and singe the dog’s fur. Mamma Mia, those peppers are hot! I nearly do a few flip-flops myself before finally quenching the fire with a diet cola.

“This is the best pizza in the whole world!” proclaims my grandson as he chews on his second hunk of pizza flavored bread, while the dog stands by waiting for the child to lay it down for a moment so he can grab it and run under the bed.

As I clean up the spilled dipping sauce, drag pizza out from under the bed, throw out the giant boxes that are too big to fit in the trash can, and check out the blisters in my mouth, I sort of wonder if civilization is such a great thing after all.

©2003

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Eat-It-Up Diet

Posted on March 7, 2016 by Sheila Moss

burger

Are you sick of being hungry? Are you tired of tasteless diet food? Now with the Eat-It-Up Diet you can eat all you want. Our diet plans are specially prepared by world class chefs and guaranteed to be delicious or your money back. Eat fried foods, creamy sauces and rich gravies. No more turning away dessert. With our diet, you can eat as much as you want whenever you want it.

Have you been skipping breakfast again to try and cut down on consumption? With our diet plan you can eat three meals a day and be guilt free. Thousands have tried our diet and report that they are eating more and eating better than ever.

veggiesOur diets do not concern themselves with fat content or cholesterol, the words you have learned to hate. Our diet plans are loaded with the good food that we all love. We know you are sick of fish, carrots and broccoli. Red meat is a major part of our meals. Give yourself the food you want and deserve!

Craving mashed potatoes and gravy? Go ahead and indulge. On our diets you can actually eat these foods or anything else that you want. And best of all, no dangerous diet pills or exercise is needed when you follow our plan. You simply stay on the plan for three meals a day and eat snacks as desired between meals.

How is this possible, you wonder? Simple! Eat-It-Up diets are designed to satisfy your food cravings and desire for sweets. They allow you to eat anything you want and still say you are on a diet plan. What could be simpler than that?

Do we guarantee that you will lose weight? Of course not! Unlike other diet plans, we tell the truth. Others promise that you will loose weight, but fail to mention that as soon as you leave the plan, you will regain all you have lost and probably more. In our plan, we simply leave out the period of starvation in the middle and go straight to the final result.

All nutritionists know that crash diets do not work and the so-called healthy weight loss plans allow you to loose weight only temporarily. Here at Eat-It-Up, we opt to tell the truth. Our motto is: “You are what you eat!” Why spend countless hours worrying about losing weight when you will gain it back eventually anyhow?

Forget about going without the high calorie foods you love. You can eat it up and still say you are on a “diet plan.” Your friends will be so amazed by the food you eat that they will be dying to know your secret. Imagine how envious they will be.

This is a diet plan you can stick to. No more getting hungry and going off the diet. Because you can eat anything you want, everything is on the plan. Weight loss plans with cardboard-tasting diet dinners practically beg for you to cheat. So why not just get on a diet plan that you can stay on?

We make no false claims or artificial promises. We tell you right up front that you can continue to eat the same way you always have. If you want to eat unhealthy food, that is strictly your own business. We are here merely to supply a demand. Why do other diets feel they have an obligation to dictate to you what you can and cannot do? With the famous Eat-It-Up diet, it’s your choice.

If you love your meat and potatoes, if you crave sweets and carbohydrates, you can continue to have the food you want. Eat the way that 90% of Americans eat anyhow. No more cheating, no more worrying. The choice is yours.

Choose to Eat-It-Up today and worry about it tomorrow. We’ll be glad you did.

©2002

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I’m Bored

Posted on March 6, 2016 by Sheila Moss
grass

Watching the grass grow

How long since you’ve been really bored? People seem to believe that there is a human right to NOT be bored. We have television, computers, videos, radio, movies, cable, satellite, Red Box, Netflix, Prime, and On Demand. Heaven forbid that anyone should ever spend any time being bored.

Remember when it was actually possible to spend a boring afternoon? We were forced to find creative ways to entertain ourselves, things like reading books, doing crafts, or just daydreaming. No more. We cannot stand to be bored long enough to dream or think creatively. We rush to push buttons before boredom sets in.

When I was young, life was pretty boring, but somehow we all managed to grow up anyhow. If school was not interesting, we learned to challenge ourselves. Now kids must be entertained to learn. Computers provide constant feedback and stimulate learning, or at least that’s what we are told.

Somehow, our gadgets are not quite as entertaining as they used to be, though. Hundreds of channels on the satellite and still we can’t find anything on television worth watching. Thousands of websites, but we surf aimlessly from one site to another. The biggest challenge for a webmaster is getting a person to stay on a website long enough to look at it.

We have become multitaskers, eating, watching TV, working on the computer, and talking on the phone all at the same time. The more stimulation we have, the more we seem to need. It keeps us from being bored.

Could it be that we have become so overly stimulated that nothing truly entertains us any more? We are always looking for something better, something more interesting, something more exciting – something less boring.

“I’m bored,” is not heard often anymore. And if it is, we seem to think it is our responsibility as parents, teachers, or society as a whole to provide ways to keep people from being bored. Bored children get in trouble, we are told. You have to keep kids busy, entertained. But how do you do that when staying busy itself has become a bore?

There is too much to see, too much to do, too much to entertain us, too much competition for our time and attention. There is no time to watch a sunset, go for a walk, feed the birds, or rediscover the thoughts, meditations and dreams of our own mind.

We are filled with the voices, thoughts and words of other people with values different from our own. The more we absorb, the more alike we all become and the blander, more uniform and more boring life becomes.

Soon nothing will be stimulating enough to keep boredom away. We will sit among our electronic gadgets, surfing from channel to channel on the television, clicking from site to site on the computer, pushing button after button on the remote control, reading email after email, as we look for a something we’ve not seen or heard a hundred times before – or at least something almost like it.

Funny how our minds never died from boredom in the past. Is it really so likely that they will now? Nothing is entertaining enough; nothing is worth our time. We feel forced to seek more and more of the very thing that is causing our demise. We are stuck in information overload.

Perhaps it is time sit back and just do nothing for a while. Perhaps we need to take a little time to clear our minds and just be bored. Maybe, just maybe, a little old-fashioned boredom is not such a bad thing after all.

©2002

 

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Murphy’s Laws for Kids

Posted on March 5, 2016 by Sheila Moss

mom

The original Murphy’s Law is a rule that says: “If something can go wrong, it will.” There are many variations. Here are a few that especially apply to kids.

  • The more you hate spinach, the more likely it is you will have it for dinner.
  • If you miss the school bus, it will always be on the day of a field trip or party.
  • If you spill your milk, the dumb dog won’t lick it up no matter what you promise.
  • If you use the sofa for a trampoline, you will forget about your muddy tennis shoes.
  • If you have a helium birthday balloon, it will get caught in the ceiling fan.
  • The more you need to go potty, the harder it is to get your pants down.
  • If you have an unbreakable toy, it will break it anyway.
  • The harder you try to hide something, the more psychic mom becomes.
  • If you have two best friends, they will like each other better than they like you.
  • If you forget to put something away, it will be the carton of ice cream.
  • If your favorite program is on TV, your little sister will be watching a cartoons.
  • The more you try to sit still in church, the more your underwear scratches.
  • When you have to do you homework before playing outside, you will invariably get stuck on the last problem.
  • The harder you try not to eat before dinner, the more likely a friend will share candy.
  • The more you try to hurry while getting dressed, the greater the probability that you can’t find socks without holes.
  • If you kick anything under the bed, the cat will be sleeping there.
  • If you remember to wash your hands before eating, the dog will lick you on the mouth.
  • The more relatives your have in the audience at the school play, the greater the chance of forgetting your lines.
  • If you remember to turn out the lights in the basement, dad will be downstairs.
  • If you try to flush a dead goldfish, the toilet will clog and run over.
  • The more parts a game has, the greater the likelihood that it will get spilled.
  • If you want junk food, it will always be on the highest kitchen shelf instead of in the bottom cabinet.
  • The more you want to go outside and play, the harder it is to clean your room.
  • The newer your shoes are, the more rain puddles you will see to tempt you.
  • If you wake up with a stomach ache and fever, it will be on Saturday.
  • If Murphy was a kid, he would lose his lunch money.

©2002

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The Big Screen Dream Machine

Posted on March 3, 2016 by Sheila Moss

Embed from Getty Images

Years ago, big-screen TV’s were about the size of a kitchen range and took up half a room.  I will never forget the time when my man first decided that we had to have one.

**********

My honey has a new toy. It’s the ultimate, all time, masculine, state-of-the-art dream machine – a big screen TV.

It started when the old TV began to fade and lose the color once in a while. There was really nothing wrong with it. All you needed to do was turn it off and back on and it worked as good as new. It probably had another year of two of life.

But pushing remote control buttons off and on was too much exercise for my honeyguy. Beside, it was an excuse for him to go to the electronics store and check out the new stuff.

I wouldn’t go with him. We didn’t need anything from the electronics store as far as I was concerned. We already have so many gadgets that we can’t figure out which remote control goes to what.

He came home with that I’ve-been-brainwashed-by-a-salesman look on his face. “How would you like to have a TV that hangs on the wall?”

“NO!” I screamed. I thought that was the end of it. I couldn’t understand why he blatantly insisted on going back to the electronic store again. Probably wants to give the salesman the bad news in person, I surmised.

Then “it” came. “It” was half as big as the house. “Good grief! That won’t even fit through the door!” Not to worry, the delivery guys have a shoehorn and Vaseline to squeeze it though the doorway, if needed.

As they wheeled it in, the floor buckled and furniture slid to the center of the room. I watched in a daze as the cat disappeared. Grabbing a toppling lamp and holding to the doorframe to avoid slipping into the void, I gasped, “My gosh! That’s the biggest TV I’ve ever seen!”

“But, you said that you didn’t want the kind that hangs on the wall. This is the other one.”

Male logic, I’ll never understand it.

“I don’t suppose you would consider returning it,” I asked. I need not have bothered asking.

Honey was in a man’s world. Testosterone had numbed his brain and he was too busy figuring out the buttons on the new remote control to even hear me. He muttered something about having given away the old one already. Men cover their bases, don’t they?

Besides having a screen big enough to make a stadium scoreboard jealous, “it” has speakers – lots of speakers, front speakers, rear speakers, rattle-the-windows speakers, shake-the-roof speakers, and vibrate-your-eardrums speakers.

“Where are you going to put all those speakers,” I foolishly asked.

“Oh, I’ll just hang them from the wall,” he said. Of course, silly me, just hang them from the wall. I envisioned all the ugly holes this was going make in my wall and shuttered.

“I think I have some old speakers up in the attic. Maybe I can hook them up too,” he speculated.

“Please, NO!” I threw myself in front of the attic door and threatened bodily harm if he even thought about going upstairs. Any more speakers and the house would explode.

We now have shelves behind “it” to hold all the mysterious black boxes that came with the package: tuner, speakers, subwoofer, DVD and tape players. We have wires running crisscross to speakers on the walls. I feel as if I have died and gone to e-hell.

Watching “it” is like setting on the front row at the movies. My eyes water as a bigger than life police car chases bigger than life bad guys across the screen. It’s a woman’s worst nightmare and a man’s biggest daydream all in one massive manifestation of media.

I watch the walls buckle and ride the shock waves, holding tightly to my sanity as the curtains shred and wallpaper peels.

“Can you turn off some of the speakers?” I scream.

“I’ll need to go to the electronics store first for more cable.”

“You’d better come back with a cable and nothing else,” I shout, as I envision him in a hypnotic trace, seduced by electronic gadgets that force themselves upon him with easy payment plans.

So, my honey owns a big screen TV – or “it” owns my honey. Wonder how long it will be before they come out with something bigger and better and “it” will become obsolete?

Not soon enough, I’m sure.

**********

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I endured this big black monstrocity for eight long years until it finally succumbed to age and we purchased a flat-screen TV and hung it on the wall. Sympathy notes appreciated.

(c)2003

Posted in Entertainment, Home, Humor | Tagged , , , , | 4 Comments

Losing It

Posted on March 2, 2016 by Sheila Moss

cellMy guy has some excellent qualities, but keeping up with his cell phone is not one of them. He has misplaced his phone so often that I have lost count of the number of times.

The other day it happened again. We were in the car heading home after work when he reached for his phone and it wasn’t there.

“My cell phone is gone!” he exclaimed, as he scrambled around in his pockets while still trying to drive.

“Call the number from my phone and maybe someone will answer.”  But it only rang and rang. Either no one found it or whoever found it intended to keep it.

“Maybe you lost it in the office?” I suggested.

We circled the block and parked in a no parking zone while he ran inside to check. Shortly he returned — phoneless.

“It wasn’t there.”

“Did you check with security?”

“Yes, they didn’t have it.”

We returned to the parking garage, checked the stairs, checked around where the car was parked, called the number. Nothing. Finally, we gave up.

“Maybe you left it at home? When is the last time you remember using it?”

“I can’t remember.”

So, I called and asked my daughter to look for it. Maybe he dropped it in the yard when walking the dog. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Soon she called back. “I found it,” she said,“I called his number and heard music in the bedroom.”

Well, at least it is found. End of crisis this time.

We once spent an hour checking everywhere we had been in an entire office park. I found that phone weeks later at home under the bed. It had already been disconnected and replaced, of course.

Another time we found one in the wet grass where he had walked the dog.

He always gets insurance in case of loss. Someone like him had better have good insurance. However, even with insurance you can only get a phone replaced a limited number of times until they no longer want your business.

Strangely, lost phones always seem to show up eventually but not until you give up hope, have it deactivated, and get a new one.  The best time to find one is right away, while it still rings and before the battery goes dead — or the day after you buy a new one.

No one is perfect, of course. I lost mine once in the parking garage. I called the number and someone answered. I was lucky.

My daughter lost my phone once in a resort in Texas. We spent days looking and asking only to have the hotel call a month after we got home to say someone had turned it in. It had already been replaced.

I found a cell phone once on a hospital parking lot. I just turned it in to security and let them deal with finding the owner. My daughter said she has found two at gas stations while pumping gas.  I imagine airports and restaurants probably have boxes of them.

Losing cell phones seems to be an epidemic. Usually people are honest and return them. If you return them to the cell phone company, do they return them to the owner? Or should you call every number in the phone’s directory saying, “I found this phone.”

Phones with trackers seem like a good idea, but even with those you can only find the general area where the phone is and not a specific spot.

So, I don’t know what the answer is other than being careful.

If you figure something out, let me know.  I think I’ll go check and be sure mine is still in my purse.

©2008

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In Pursuit of a Purse

Posted on March 1, 2016 by Sheila Moss

unsp-purse.htmAs all ladies know, we must have a purse to haul about our “stuff.” The amount of stuff needed depends on the individual lady, but all of us need something to carry it in, whether large or small.

I once decided I didn’t need a purse. I could get by just fine with keys and a cell phone, I declared. It didn’t work out. I needed things at home and things at work, and what if I was not at either place or needed something both at home and work? You can see the problem.

My pockets and lunch bag became fuller and fuller until I finally relented and decided I needed a pocketbook, as long as it was lightweight with bare necessities inside. If I have to carry a handbag around, it might as well be a nice one, I thought.

That meant buying a new purse.

Ladies will pay in the hundreds for this most important of fashion accessories. Designers turn $20 worth of leather into big bucks with only a signature or brand name. Personally, I can do without a designer purse, I decided.

I only need something functional, something functional and leather. I do like leather as it lasts longer. So, as long as it is functional, leather, and pretty, I’m okay with it — and lightweight, of course. I want something functional, leather, pretty, and lightweight. That is all I need.

I do not want to pay hundreds for a designer’s name.

I wanted a purse that would go with everything for daily use. So, I did a quick search online to see what was available as I have not shopped for purses for a while — a longer while than I want to admit.

The purse I use now is rather pitiful, made of quilted fabric. It wasn’t too bad until I decided to wash it in the washing machine. Even my daughter says it is pathetic now. I have leather purses in the closet, old ones, but I want something new, something that will make a statement.

Searching online for multi-color purses, I found some. My, gosh, they are beautiful, and leather, and functional, and light weight. The bags I found were hand-painted leather. They had flowers growing out of them, birds flying over them, peacocks spreading their tail feathers, and butterflies flitting around them. They were almost too gorgeous!

I narrowed the vast designer collection down to four hobo-style handbags and finally to two choices, Henna Rose and Flying Jewel. The prices wilted my credit card. Yes, I know I said no designer purse, but that was before I saw these. Besides, I’m not buying for the name, I rationalized, I am buying because I need a purse.

Maybe it is too gaudy? Maybe other people will think it is tacky. Another woman’s opinion might help. I’ll ask my daughter. I showed her the picture on the computer. “Oh, that’s pretty,” she said. We agreed on the Henna Rose design. “That looks like you, mom,” she told me. I had to order it now. How could I not order it when it looks like me?

I had a credit with Amazon, compliments of some promotion codes I had been saving up, so the hit would not be quite as severe if I ordered it. Darn the precautions, full speed ahead. I clicked the “purchase now” button and the purse will be mine in 3-5 days with free shipping.

My credit card had a nervous breakdown. But, women will understand.

©2013

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Home Alone

Posted on February 29, 2016 by Sheila Moss

black_lab

Day 1 – I come home from work and find the garage door partly open. “What’s going on?” I wonder. I go inside to check and find a strange dog in the garage. Whose dog is that? “Get! Go away! Shoo!”

I guess I will just leave the garage door open until it decides to leave. I’ve seen him around here before, but I’m not sure whose dog he is.

Day 2 – My daughter informs me that the black lab belongs to the neighbors. “They are gone for the weekend. Something could happen to him.”

Yeah, like he could get reported to animal control for not being on a leash. But, she makes him a bed in our garage and closes the garage door so he will not get cold.

“Okay, he can stay in the garage until they get back, but he absolutely cannot come in the house. He is not our dog.”

Day 3 – I walk into the kitchen and the dog is sleeping on the rug by the door. “What is that dog doing inside?”

“Smokey was cold outside.” Smokey? Now it has a name. “He is too afraid to get off the rug. See him shaking?”

Probably afraid the dogcatcher will find him. “Okay, he can sleep on the rug in the kitchen, poor thing, but he absolutely cannot go in the rest of the house. He is not our dog.”

Day 4 – My daughter says, “I checked the neighbor’s yard. Smokey’s leash is broken; he chewed though it.”

“He has food and water and a warm place to sleep. But you are not going to make him go outside in the cold rain, are you? They don’t ever let him run loose.”

Meanwhile, the dog is in the garage scratching on the kitchen door. Next thing I know, he will want to bring 20 canine friends inside with him.

“Okay, he can sleep here until they get back, but he has to stay outside except at night. He is not our dog.”

Day 5 – The door to my grandson’s bedroom is closed. I knock on the door and the dog answers, “Woof!”

“What is that dog doing in the bedroom? He is supposed to stay in the kitchen! He is not our dog!”

“He is sleeping on the floor, grandma! He likes it in here better than in the kitchen. He is lonesome.”

Am I the only one that suspects a conspiracy? “Okay, he can sleep here, but just on the floor, and just until the neighbors get home! He is not our dog.”

Day 6 – The dog is in my grandson’s bed, stretched out on the bedspread, snoring.

“What is that mutt doing in the bed? Lonesome? How can he be lonesome? Why isn’t he outside? No, you can’t keep him! He is somebody else’s dog!”

Day 7 – The neighbors are home! Yippee! I see their car in the driveway. I immediately give the dog his walking papers and put him out the back door without any luggage or spending money.

The dog walks through the wet grass, slowly drags himself to the neighbor’s house and scratches the door. No doubt he is pretending that he was locked out the whole time, is cold and hungry, and was chased by wild cats. He had to chew through his collar to escape, and is lucky to be alive.

I have not seen the dog since they came back. I’m sure they have no idea that their mongrel was sleeping in the neighbor’s bed, dining on the neighbor’s dog food, being petted by the neighbor’s daughter and spoiled by the neighbor’s grandson.

They are probably so happy to have their dog come home unharmed that they will lavish him with affection and promise never to leave him home alone again.

Actually, there is no point in leaving him home alone. The next time they go somewhere, they might as well just leave him with us. We wouldn’t want him to be lonesome.

©2007

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February Wary

Posted on February 28, 2016 by Sheila Moss

frostThanks goodness the month of February is almost over. It has been a clunker of a month. To be so small, February can surely be a horror. All the worst weather seems to hit in February. Hopefully, the month had its “last hurrah” with that last spell of snow.

Snow at rush hour is enough to freeze the blood and create terror in the heart of any southerner. The best thing about snow in the South is it seldom lasts very long. I used to live in the North and drive in it all the time. But I’m getting warm blooded like the rest of ’em now. A mild climate sure spoils you fast.

What kind of month is February anyhow with not enough days for a decent calendar page and then an extra one thrown in every four years just to confuse us more? It’s a month that is just destined to be a troublemaker – born with meanness written all over it. Most people can’t even spell it right without using a dictionary.

At the beginning of the month, there is all that groundhog stuff – varmints predicting weather and how long the winter is going to last. Of course, something that silly would have to be in February. When else?

Besides that, we have not one, but two President’s birthdays in the same month. Two favorite sons should be enough to dignify any month – but it seems to be just a bit too much for most people to have two famous folks to celebrate so close together – overkill, if you’ll pardon the expression.

Some people celebrate the official Presidents’ Day to get both days over at one time, but others stubbornly bake their cherry pie and celebrate on Washington’s Birthday. He was the father of our country, after all. Illinois totally refuses to conform and celebrates Lincoln’s birthday, insisting he is from Illinois even though everyone knows he was born in Kentucky. Figure that one out.

Even though the short month is already overloaded with holidays, Valentine’s Day also comes in February. That is convenient as it gives everyone the opportunity to use up all the red candles left over from Christmas, and also a chance to get romantic and cuddle since it is too dog-gone cold to do much else anyhow. What if Valentine’s came in August? It would totally ruin the mood – not to mention melting all the chocolate!

If you were born in February, please accept my sympathy. I was born in April, which the poet called “the cruelest month of all”. But what do poets know? February is definitely raw, cold, bitter and more preferable when its snow scene is turned over backwards on the calendar. Happy Birthday to all you leap year babies who have a birthday this year. February 29th comes only once every four years, another strike against this unpopular month.

I’m glad that March is almost here. The bulbs are practically vibrating the ground; they are getting so anxious to bloom. Frankly, I’ve never believed all that that stuff about March coming in like a lamb and going out like a lion. What would make lambs and lions any better predictors of weather than groundhogs?

Yes, February is finally over. Good riddance. Let’s go fly a kite!

©2002

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