Trick or Treat

HAPPY HALLOWEEN

Busy getting ready for the live Ghost Hunters

More thoughts tomorrow

Unearthly Mornings

We've been having some chilly mornings here recently. I'd call them cold, except that would leave me no room for describing the days yet to come when just walking out the door is bad for your health. (Everybody knows people have no business being outdoors when the temperature is below freezing - right?)

And with these chilly mornings we've been getting that weather oddity where a layer of fog forms about twenty feet above ground level in random patches. The sheet of fog creates an artificial ceiling, blocking the sky above from view, giving everything a dead-gray color, and making it appear as though any tree over twenty feet tall has had its top half lopped off.

Every time I hit one of these creepy patches as I am driving to work, I feel like I've entered some kind of parallel universe where I'm over sized by about five hundred percent. I half expect the car radio to turn itself on and emit the voice of Rod Serling saying, Welcome to the twilight zone.

Toss Those Pumpkins

Once a year, the eyes of the world turn to Sussex County, Delaware. Don't believe me? Keep your eyes on the national news broadcasts this weekend. (Really)

Yes, it's time for "Punkin Chunkin" when people from far and wide flock to lower Delaware with their gizmos and contraptions in the hopes their creation will be the one to toss a pumpkin the farthest. This event has grown so much over the years that it keeps having to be moved to bigger venues. This year a whole hunk of some Delaware farmer's land has been set aside for the event.

Now I don't know how it works if the winner is from another state. But if the winning vegetable tossing machine is built by a local Sussex County resident, the engineering marvel is proudly displayed in the winner's front yard (or nearest major intersection) for weeks afterward.

I can personally attest to this having come upon just such a contraption two years ago, staring dumbfounded and saying to myself, What the h... is that?

I know, I know. You're wondering how you have missed this event all these years. I don't know how to soften your sense of loss. I can only provide advance notice of the event this year in the hopes that you can make it to Delaware in time to give witness. (The big day this year is Halloween itself. Why go trick or treating when you could fill your goody bag with smashed pumpkin?)

How did all of this start? My guess would be that a couple of generations back there was a particularly poor pumpkin season. Some farmer walked out in his field and tossed a pumpkin in frustration. His throw happened to be noticed by a neighbor who walked over and said, Awh, shucks Clem, let me show you how to throw one of them there things.

And history was changed for ever.

Glowing Bananas

Recent research has revealed that yellow bananas glow blue in black light.

First of all, I want the job where you spend your time studying things under black light to see if they look different than they do in normal light.

Secondly, this discovery would have been made a long time ago if marijuana had just been legalized back in the sixties. Instead of sitting in sterile laboratories dressed in crisp white lab coats following strict protocols; researchers would have been wearing tie-dyed outfits and saying: Dude, I wonder what would happen if we put a banana under a black light? It makes me wonder how many other life-altering discoveries have been missed as a result of the failure to legalize.

Thirdly, whatever happened to all those variations of black lights and black light posters? Apart from the back corners of Spencer Gifts, you just don't see them anymore (or maybe I've gotten so old that I don't know the right places to look).

Reading the article about the glowing bananas got me thinking back to the days of glowing t-shirts and three dimensional posters. If I had known then that I could have framed posters with banana peels - well I could have started a decorating trend that would have allowed me to retire years ago.

Hmm.. I wonder how Motivated Mom would feel if I.... no never mind... bad idea... fruit flies you know.

Phone Reaction

Why is it that we feel compelled to drop what we're doing and answer the phone when it rings? Is it some carryover from the Neanderthal era? Do our brains liken the ringing of the phone to a clan leader banging on a hollow log as a danger alert?

I have been fascinated by this need to run for the phone ever since I was a teenager. I used to call my friends and when they answered the phone I would say, Isn't it interesting how I, sitting in my house, can cause you to do something in your house? When my friend asked the real reason for my call I would say, That's all - just wanted to make you do something you hadn't been planning on doing just now.

When my friends tried to turn the tables they were often disappointed. I never felt compelled to answer the phone if I was in the middle of something. I always figured that if the call pertained to something really important the caller would try again almost immediately.

Today, with cell phones practically having become a new evolutionary appendage, the phone interruption in our lives is worse than ever. I have observed that teenagers are on the phone 24/7 - it is absurd. There HAS to be downtime in our lives.

If you are the parent of a teenager and have Verizon service here's a tip for you. You can go to online account management and program your teenager's phone to be inactive during the hours your child should be sleeping. The programed down time does not affect calls to 911, nor calls to and from parents - so you can be assured that your child can still make contact with the outside world if there's an emergency. You can also pat yourself on the back for making a least a small contribution toward better sleep and better health.

Sea Witch

This was the weekend for the annual Sea Witch Festival in the town of Rehoboth Beach. The festival is Rehoboth's unique Halloween celebration and always takes place on the weekend before Halloween.

The festival runs for three days and includes parades, contests, crafts, games, and more. Sea Witch weekend is a huge draw and the town is as busy during the festival as it is during prime beach season.

I missed the costume parade for children and families on Saturday because the weather was pretty miserable. In fact, I was surprised when I heard the parade had gone off on schedule because there had been some really heavy rain showers.

Sunday was a beautiful day so I went down to check things out. I arrived just in time for the costume parade for pets. I suppose you can enter any type of pet, but all of the entries I've ever seen are dogs. Dogs dressed up in every type of costume imaginable.

There are dozens of ways to win a costume award. This year's winners included pet families from as far away as Reston, VA. and Scranton, PA. The dogs were dressed as King Tut, Jimmy Basset (Buffet), a roll of salt water taffy, a lion, a bumble bee, a ballet dancer, and even a rooster.

It seems to me an animal psychologist could make a killing at this event. If the psychologist were to set up a booth in the craft area (which is where the parade ends), dogs by the dozens would be dragging their owners to the doctor's booth.

The line for the psychologist would move slowly I'm sure. It would take a long time to talk a dog back into a self-confident state of mind after it had just paraded down the boardwalk as a rooster or a bumble bee.

Ghost Hunters

If someone were to ask me what interests me the most, without hesitation my answer would be the paranormal.

I am fascinated by things that go bump in the night. Probably because I've heard and seen things most people don't ever since I was in elementary school. (For you smart a...s out there, no I had not discovered recreational drugs in elementary school.)

One of my favorite television shows is Ghost Hunters. The show is on the Sci Fi channel Wednesday Nights at 9:00. Even if you're a skeptic you should check it out - it is fascinating. I would LOVE to experience some of the things that those guys do.

Every Halloween, Ghost Hunters does a live broadcast from a reportedly haunted location. Sometimes the live broadcast is fascinating, sometimes its a dud - ghosts do not perform on cue.

This Halloween the show is being broadcast from a spot nearly in my own back yard - Fort Delaware. They did a regular show (not live) at Fort Delaware last year and got some pretty amazing results. I'm tempted to hop in my car and join in the fun, but since Fort Delaware sits on an island in the middle of the Delaware River I'm guessing measures have been taken to keep over zealous folks like myself away.

I'll definitely be tuned in though.

This Could Be...

This could be your last catalog.

That was the message on the cover of the mail order catalog in my mailbox today.

Gosh I hope so, was the first thought to cross my mind.

But I quickly stifled that line of thinking. There was no point in setting myself up for a big let down. This could be your last catalog was just an empty promise. I've been to every website and called every phone number to be removed from mailing lists, but the darned catalogs just keep coming.

I've decided mail order companies must be subsidized by the U.S. government to ensure the post office has things to deliver. Requests to be removed from a mailing list probably actually wind up at the Office of Anti-American Behavior so that those people making the requests can be added to a watch list.

If a mail order company wants to ensure I at least open their catalog, then the message on the cover should say something like Your neighbor just bought item H on page 17 - or- We will start sending you three times the number of catalogs if you don't order within 30 days.

Canine Courtesy

If you have ever been a dog owner, you know there are certain rules of etiquette when walking your dog. One of those rules being to keep a respectful distance from other folks out walking their canine companions.

Maintaining a courteous distance is imperative for letting the dogs concentrate on the business at hand - if you know what I mean. It also keeps the human companions from being tugged into an unexpected trot and running headlong into one another as the dogs race to check each other out.

Tonight I saw what, at first glance, appeared to be just such a display of courtesy. A man and his dog were standing near the end of their driveway while a woman with her pet made their way along the shoulder of the road. But when the woman had walked a considerable distance and the man had still not moved, my curiosity was piqued.

Slowing my car, I saw that both the man and his dog had nearly identical expressions on their faces. Expressions that suggested they had just eaten something incredibly bitter - or had just witnessed a stranger excrete bodily fluids on their property. With their expressions so alike, I had to wonder which one was going to raise their leg to mark the property as theirs again.

Snoopy for President

When I started this blog site, it was my intention to stay away from politics and religion.

But given the current choices voters are presented with, I feel compelled to do my part in resurrecting the Snoopy for President campaign.

Let's take a look at Snoopy's qualifications:

Leadership & negotiating: Snoopy deals with a horde of preteens on a daily basis which gives him the necessary skills to deal with Senators and Congressmen.

Budgeting abilities: Have you ever seen his food bowl empty at meal time?

Communication skills: How many dogs do you know that own a typewriter?

Foreign Policy: Snoopy put the Red Baron in his place.

Energy Policy: Rise at dawn and go to bed at sunset. Apart from decorating for Christmas, lights are not required - the energy savings will be enormous.

Health Policy: Eat three balanced meals a day and take naps as required. Dance when the mood strikes you.

Policy on creative arts: Snoopy endorses making pianos available for kids who want to learn Beethoven and Bach.

Running mate: Garfield. A cross species ticket will be very attractive to voters.

Do your part to get our country back on track. Forward this page to everyone you know. And on election day, demand the right to write in Snoopy as your choice for president.

Sports & Health

Sports are bad for your health.

I'm convinced of it.... at least watching sports on television is bad for you.

My mother has been complaining of a sore shoulder recently. She's a Philadelphia Phillies fan and I'm convinced she hurt her shoulder either trying to hit the ball out of the park, throwing a guy out at home, or waving her arms at the umpire.

When she was visiting the other week, I frequently heard my mother "coaching" the players. Come on, hit the ball. What are you walking him for? Now let's go, get him out. Oh you just blew the game.

My mother is her upper seventies and has trouble getting around, but I'm certain there was some arm swinging accompanying those shouts of encouragement and cries of dismay. Not to mention heart palpitations and blood pressure surges.

My father was much the same when he was watching sports -only a zillion times more emotional than my mom.

With two parents knowing how the game should be played better than the actual players, it was inevitable I would inherit the same traits.

I finally recognized the health risk for what it was and started watching the sports summary shows instead of the actual games.

Some sports fans may feel I'm short changing myself - missing out on the minute to minute excitement of the game.... but I'm not nursing an injured shoulder.

Surprise Party

It could not have gone off better if it had been planned - which it was not.

Tonight ended up being my surprise birthday party. It came as a surprise to everybody.

College Dude called to chit-chat about everyday stuff, which was a pleasant surprise in itself. He had no idea at the time that he was adding to the evening's festivities.

Just as we were finishing our conversation, Motivated Mom arrived home.

Since it was obvious I had seen it, Motivated Mom and Media Girl presented me with the eye-catching brown cardboard box that had been delivered to the front door during the day and was now sitting in the middle of the living room.

I had moved the box indoors when I had arrived home, pointedly ignoring any markings on the box even though the corrugated container was exactly the right size to contain the one thing I had asked for.

While Motivated Mom and I sang a couple of very off key verses of The Beatles' song titled Birthday, we removed the handsome new end table from the box. We moved the table to its home in my writing area and loaded it up with books.

Then we all went about our respective routines for the evening.

That's really all it takes to have a great birthday once you've lived to see half a century and then some.

Sugar Has Left the Building

Ying and Yang. It is the way of the world - the balance of life.

Yesterday we celebrated the marriage of Motivated Mom's mother to the new significant other in her life.

Today our family mourns the loss of our cat, Sugar. Yes, that very same cat who was making the administering of medication a challenge a month ago.

At 108 in cat years, the old guy just never fully recovered. He breathed his last as we were preparing to rush him off to the pet emergency center.

It is fitting that a cat who despised the cold should check out before the bleak days of winter.

We said good bye with a simple ceremony in the back yard just as the sun was dipping below the horizon. I'm sure that Sugar was already confidently stalking the warm, sunny Savannah of his new world.

May he always enjoy abundant sun, green grass, restful shade, and nourishing water.

Peace.

Promise & Threat

Two days ago I spent the evening on the back patio enjoying temperatures in the eighties. Today the thermometer refused to leave the fifties and I turned on the heater to get the chill out of the house.

Pre-summer and post-summer have these temperature swings in common. But that is where the similarity ends. The temperature fluctuations of pre-summer promise warmer weather and longer days; the weather changes of post-summer threaten colder weather and shorter days.

A month ago I was surprised by my new found acceptance of post-summer. That acceptance is rapidly withering like the plants all around.

The steel gray clouds that have been blanketing the sky today have sapped my energy and muddled my mind. All I have been able to think about is taking a nap.

Well, there is that one redeeming aspect of this time of year. The opportunity for lots and lots and lots of naps.

Fasting

I was due to have blood work done this morning. My instruction packet emphasized that I was to have been fasting for at least eight hours in advance of my appointment.

Fasting is a huge misnomer. Nothing happens fast when you are told you can't eat. Time slows down exponentially.

In fact, I'll bet that if one hundred fasting people stood around that super accurate atomic clock in Washington, the fasting effects would cause the clock to slow.

It's the period of getting ready to fast when things move quickly. I had planned for desert, then a little something extra just after desert. Of course there would need to be a little something extra just before a bedtime snack, then the bedtime snack itself.

But at ten o'clock I realized that it had taken only twenty-five minutes for the preceding hour and a half to speed past. Now I was going to have to combine the pre-bedtime snack with the bedtime snack.

Which meant I would be too full to sleep well and would wake up - GASP! during the fasting period when time moves so slow.

At night. In the dark. All alone. Awake and listening to the abnormally slow tick....pause... pause... tock of the clock.

Subliminal Excercise

My rational self and sensible self were at odds tonight.

It was exercise night. All evening my rational self was insisting on exercising to keep my joints from becoming as stiff as those of the Tin Man in the Wizard of Oz. My sensible self was equally adamant that with the earlier setting of the sun, a nap was in order.

My rational side won out by falsely agreeing to a compromise. Lighter weights and half the repetitions.

It did start that way, but on the second set of exercises I reached for the heavier weights.

A decidedly Gullum-like voice screamed in my mind. It tricked us my precious!

The back and forth arguments in my mind continued all during my work out. It was obvious that my sensible self would not continue to fall for this misdirection. What was I going to do?

A brilliant idea finally blossomed.

It is said the human brain learns best at a subliminal level. For instance, play a recording for learning a foreign language while you are sleeping and supposedly you will learn the language must faster.

So why wouldn't it work for the body as well as the mind? Here's my plan. Get into my exercise clothes, dampen a sweat band under the faucet and then put it on my head, put an exercise video on the T.V. - and then sit in my easy chair and take a nap.

When I wake up, I'll remember the exercising, my forehead will be damp with what I believe to be sweat, and I'll be well on my way to better health.

Great Pumpkin

I read where some farmer out in California won a contest with his 1,528 pound pumpkin. According to the article, the pumpkin gained nearly thirty pounds a day for a couple weeks in August.

I'm really hoping that was a type-o, because anything gaining thirty pounds a day that is attached to a vine needs to be hauled off to Area 51 or wherever the Air Force is hiding alien life forms these days.

I've grown pumpkins in my backyard garden before and they are creepy under ordinary conditions. The vine is anchored in place by tendrils that reach out and curl around any nearby object. Watching those little tendrils actually search for something to grab is way too close to a cognizant life form for my money.

A vine that could yield a fifteen hundred pound pumpkin would have to have tendrils the size of an infant's arms. Can you imagine walking out into your garden to find a sea of arms reaching and flailing? The mere thought gives me shivers.

And if, in the middle of those arms, there was something growing at the rate of thirty pounds a day.... Well, Invasion of the Body Snatchers would be upper most in my mind.

Flash

For a split second I was certain my life was changing forever. The brilliant flash of light had to mean one of two things.

One. I had just died and was now experiencing the beautiful white light so often described by those who have had near death experiences.

Or, two. I was about to experience divine intervention. Don't folks in the Bible always cower in awe of the radiant beauty that precedes the appearance of an angel bringing a message?

Turns out I failed to consider option three. The light bulb burned out just as I flicked the wall switch. Good thing I was in the bathroom at the time because it scared the you know what out of me.

Why do light bulbs do that - put out a zillion times their ordinary level of light just as they're dying? If they can put out that much light at the end, why can't they put out the same level of brilliance throughout their entire life cycle? Think of how many fewer light bulbs we would need.

It has to be plot. I can see that now (now that I can see again). Some giant light bulb consortium bought the patent to some garage inventor's superior light bulb design. Not content to simply stash the designs in a locked safe, they ingeniously shortened the life cycle to a nano-second so that at the death of every bulb we get a snap shot of what we can never have.

Beach Combing Fashion

I got a lesson this weekend in beach combing fashion. It's not the clothes I'm talking about, but the accessories.

I had no idea accessorizing was so important. It turns out that for a serious beach comber, heading onto the beach with an improper collection bag is as unthinkable as the caterer of a two hundred dollar a plate dinner setting out paper plates.

Motivated Mom is definitely a serious beach comber, while Determined Dad (yours truly) is a serious beach sitter. The difference is important. The trunk of Motivated Mom's car is filled with bags of all shapes and sizes, things to poke with, and things to reach and dig with. The trunk of Determined Dad's car is filled with beach chairs, umbrellas, books, and towels.

We were in Determined Dad's car when we drove to the beach Sunday. When the lid of the trunk was popped open, Motivated Mom was mortified... Empty plastic grocery store bags were the only things available. HOW was she going to go beach combing with plastic bags? Plastic bags screamed amateur. Canvas bags were a necessity.

I pointed out that some of the bags were different colors and perhaps we could find a couple to complement our attire - but no go.

Just when all seemed lost, Motivated Mom let out an ecstatic whoop having spotted a duffel bag in the back of the trunk. The duffel bag was quickly emptied of its contents and we set off for a happy afternoon of beach combing.

I thought it best not to mention the color of the duffel bag clashed with her clothing.

Sea Glass

The theme for today's activities was beach combing.

Motivated Mom and I started the day at a sea glass festival.

(If you're a new reader, go to the September archives in the sidebar and highlight Cast of Characters to get up to speed on the different folks I refer to in my blog.)

We were surprised to find people from all over the United States and Canada at the festival. We had no idea the collecting of sea glass had such a following. Some folks were the crafty sort who were displaying things made from sea glass; others were selling just the individual found pieces of glass.

(I REALLY have to start paying more attention to those shiny pieces of glass along the beach. Today I saw pieces no bigger than the nail on my little finger selling for twenty and thirty dollars a piece.)

After our visit to the festival, Motivated Mom and I went off for a walk along the beach. And what should Motivated Mom find but a lavender colored glass bottle, obviously old, that was completely in tact save for a small chip in the neck.

We hurried back to the sea glass festival with the find. People oohed and ahhed over the bottle. They loved the color, they loved the completeness, they loved the shape. The general consensus was that Motivated Mom's discovery was a whiskey flask from the 1930's or 1940's.

Imagine - a glass bottle rolling around in the ocean for 60 or 70 years, surviving the crashing surf, and washing up virtually in tact. Pretty neat.

Cars and Orangutans

When the taillight on Motivated Mom's car was damaged last week, I decided to have the replacement part sent directly to me and save the installation charge. I had replaced taillight assemblies before and it was no big deal. All I had to do was remove a couple screws and unhook a wiring harness.

This morning I took a look at the replacement assembly for the first time - and had one of those sinking feelings. There were no screw holes visible from the exterior of the taillight which meant all the fasteners needed to be accessed from inside the car.

Trying to calm my shaky hands, I popped the trunk. As I feared, considerable deconstruction was going to be required. First the bottom liner needed to come out of the trunk in order to free up the side lining. The side lining was interlocked with the plastic trim that needed to be loosened. The plastic trim needed to be pulled out of the way in order to... well, you get the idea.

It all might have been possible if I had been an orangutan. I could have crawled into the trunk, held lining and trim out of the way with my feet, stuck a flashlight in my mouth, bent my head down to my butt, and worked my eight inch fingers into the cubby hole holding the taillight.

Not having the dexterity of an orangutan, all I could do was scream like one.

Next time I'll pay the installation fee.

Hair Moment

2:00 Hair

That was the message written on the dry erase board in the kitchen. It piqued my curiosity.

Was it now possible to pinpoint a time when bad hair would occur? Think of the relief in not having to worry about an entire day of bad hair. Whoever left themselves that reminder only has to worry about bad hair at 2:00.

But was the message a reminder to the person who wrote it - or was it a heads up for someone else?

Could it be me who is going to have a bad hair moment? Suddenly a moment does not seem less stressful than an entire day. What will I be doing at 2:00? Will I be meeting someone for the first time? How will I make a good impression if I'm having a hair moment?

Got it. I'll have to run out first thing in the morning and get a pocket mirror along with a folding comb. Perhaps a pocket size bottle of hair spray as well. Oh - that means I'll need to be concerned about the pants I choose to wear. They'll have to be baggy enough that the bottle won't cause an embarrassing bulge. But baggy pants won't help me make a good impression.

Wait. Did that message just appear on the board today or did I miss it last night? Maybe I already had the hair moment. Oh JEEZZZ, I was in the bank at 2:00. The tellers were probably snickering under their breath. Okay, I need to calm down. Maybe it was just mussed hair and not rooster hair.

Hey - I remember. Motivated Mom has a hair appointment at 2:00 tomorrow.

I knew the message didn't have anything to do with me.

Two Faced Cricket

It's that time of year when the air conditioners get turned off and windows are thrown open. Stale air is replaced by fresh; and the monotonous hum of the circulating fan is replaced by a variety of outdoor sounds.

The evening orchestra of frogs and insects is what I notice most. Foremost in that orchestra is the cricket section. The varying octaves of chirping that rise and fall in synchronized volume can send me into a deep sleep faster than a handful of Sominex.

Yet, let a single cricket find its way into my house and the chirping is the equivalent of Chinese water torture.

A single cricket can have me stalking around the house at bedtime like an apprentice Crocodile Hunter. I will crawl under beds, move furniture, and burrow my way through the questionable stuff that piles up in the corners of closets in my search for the offending insect.

And when, I want to know, did crickets learn how to throw their voice (or chirp)? There is no other explanation. I can track the chirp to a shadowy corner, upside down waste basket poised for a certain capture, only to find nothing but dust bunnies. Even while standing there like a confused trash collector, I can hear the chirping SO clearly. The little devil HAS to be right in front of me.

The outcome is predictable. I will fling the waste basket away in surrender, bury my head beneath a pillow - and wonder where I left the Sominex.

H R Puff'nstuff

I'm going to let you follow the twisted path my mind takes when I'm giving it free creative rein. I give you fair warning - it's scary.

Which is how tonight's blog started - with the word scary.

Cleaning up from dinner, I was wondering what I was going to write about, and I remembered the teenage girl I had seen on my way home. Dressed in black, the girl had black hair with neon purple highlights. I remembered thinking that's just scary.

Which, I guess, reminded me of the Halloween CD of scary sounds I had recently picked up. So I put the CD into the stereo and started wondering how I could tie the together the girl with the purple hair and the scary sounds.

Which made me think of Wilamina Witcheepoo. Witcheepoo was one of the main characters in a kids show that was on in the late 60's.

And the name of that show was... was... was... GOT IT! HR Puff'nstuff. With the Banana Splits, Wilamina Witcheepoo, and some guy with a magic flute.

HR Puff'nstuff was on weekday afternoons.... Which got me started thinking about the other afternoon cartoons like Speed Racer, Clutch Cargo, Space Ghost.

If you weren't a kid in the 60's then I know I've lost you along this two minute journey - and I'm sorry about that. But the memory of all those great things just had to be put in writing because...

OMG, like I am just so totally having a major flashback.

Exception to the Rule

I prepare a fair number of meals, or at least portions of meals in the microwave. I figured out early on that the caveat cooking times may vary depending on the power of your microwave means that every microwaved meal is a potential science experiment gone wrong.

Preferring to err on the side of caution, my routine starting point is seventy percent power for two minutes. The power setting is not high enough to cremate the food, and the length of time allows for at least one stir or flip before a subsequent "nuking".

When he was still living with us, College Dude routinely asked for microwave guidance and I always answered seventy percent at two minutes. Not that college age kids tend to be sarcastic or anything, but one night College Dude mumbled something about there must be SOME reason why they put all those other buttons on the keypad.

Turns out College Dude was right. There IS a reason for the other buttons. Tonight I found the exception to my rule.

Tilapia (that's fish for those of you who don't speak seafood) plumps to roughly twice its original size at one minute, thirty seconds into the cooking cycle. It really looks moist and delicious at that point. In the future I'll remember that, I assure you.

I'll also remember that at one minute and forty-seven seconds, Tilapia explodes with a force that, for just a split second, causes concern about the intergity of the latch on the microwave door.

The Smell of Comfort

I stopped to do the week's shopping on the way home from work today. I exited the grocery store to an early dusk courtesy of the leading edge of an angry looking weather front. The chilling breeze whipping across the parking lot had me transferring grocery bags to the trunk of my car as quickly as possible.

The chill stayed with me for the short drive home. Once the car was safely in the driveway, I grabbed as many plastic bags as I could safely manage and hurried up the walk to the front door. Stepping across the threshold I was greeted by the smell of home made chicken soup simmering on the stove. The smell, heavy in the air, warmed me every bit as effectively as a warm, soft blanket. By the time the door had closed behind me, the chilly weather was forgotten and all was right with the world.

I was overcome with the need to immediately change into a set of loose fitting sweat clothes and a pair of warm slippers before sitting down to dinner.

Isn't it amazing the comfort we can find in a simple smell?

Count the Steps

We had relatives visiting on Saturday and we spent the afternoon at Cape Henlopen State Park.

The state park runs along a section of Delaware coastline and includes land that belonged to Fort Miles during World War II. Fort Miles was an artillery operation with the responsibility of watching for German ships and submarines and preventing then from entering the Delaware Bay. It was considered a key defensive point since the bay provided access to the Delaware River and the shipbuilding operations in Wilmington, DE and Philadelphia, PA.

Many of the cylindrical, seventy-five foot tall, concrete watch towers are still standing. Though most are in poor repair, one tower has been refurbished. Visitors can climb a metal spiral stairway up through the tower. There is an impressive view of the coastline from the top.

My nephew, Joey, a fifth grader, was anxious to climb the tower. Motivated Mom volunteered to accompany him. I offered no objections. I had been in the tower several years ago with my own children. It had taken hours for my leg muscles to recover.

I'll take Joey's word for it that there are one hundred and twenty four steps to the top. I hope never to have to count them. Joey counted them four times - twice up and twice down.

After going up the first time, Joey decided he wanted to use pine cones to spell out his name on the ground in a size visible from the top of the tower. Of course once that was done, he felt compelled to return to the tower's top and take a picture of his handiwork.

We let him make the second trip on his own.

.... Which supports the adage, with age comes wisdom.

These Are the Times

These are the times that try men's souls.

Thomas Paine wrote those words. The phrase has been bouncing around in my head recently. I googled Thomas Paine to refresh my memory about the man - and was surprised to learn the infamous phrase pertained to the revolutionary war.

I thought sure Mr. Paine had been writing about trying to raise a teenage daughter.

How does anybody survive the raising of a teenage girl? The years of thirteen through fifteen were certainly challenging. Year sixteen is going to kill me.

I know people who now have or will have multiple daughters in teenage years and all I can say is God bless you. If those parents are still alive when the girls are gone, I think the parents should immediately qualify for sainthood.

I don't think I'm going to make it to sainthood. There is a slim chance that I'll survive, but I think killing offspring would disqualify the whole saint thing.

In case Media Girl is checking in on my blog.... just kidding sweetums.

Dogs at the Beach

We spend a lot of time in the town of Rehoboth Beach, Delaware. As the name suggests, the town is a beach community.

When it is not prime sunbathing season, Rehoboth Beach does a great job of keeping tourists coming in by hosting all kinds of special events. The event for the days of October 10 through 13 is Greyhounds Reach the Beach.

If you are a dog lover and live near enough to Rehoboth Beach for a weekend excursion, you might want to check it out.

What started as a Greyhounds only event has grown to include all breeds of dogs. The weekend is such a huge draw that local businesses make a special point of catering to it.

Seriously, there are dogs everywhere. You can't swing a dead cat without hitting a dog.

Nearly every store and restaurant keeps a bowl of fresh water outside their doors. Most shops have freebie dog treats inside, and several restaurants with the proper seating arrangements welcome canine companions this one weekend of the year.

For more information on the event you can go to www.adpot-a-greyhound.org
Once in the site, you might want to start by clicking on their press site link.

Big Brother

When College Dude had called me last week, it was to request help in getting some application paperwork unstuck. The names of both College Dude and myself appeared on the paperwork and apparently my identity needed to be confirmed.

I had already sent in a mountain of forms accompanied by copies of legal documents proving I was College Dude's dad. What was a faceless phone call going to prove?

Never the less I made the call. After an endless series of prompts by a computerized voice I finally reached a service associate who said she needed to ask me some questions so she could validate my identity and get the stuck paperwork moving. As I supplied answers, I heard the tapping of computer keys on the other end.

"Just a moment sir," the associate said.

I sat in silence for three minutes while some electronic brain reviewed data.

Finally the service associate congratulated me on being who I claimed to be.

Hooray! I was so thrilled to know that I am who I thought I was.

Then the hair on the back of my neck stood up. If a computer can validate my identity based on the answers to telephone questions, then just exactly how much information about me is floating around out there.

1984 has come and gone - and Big Brother is still watching.

It Had to Happen

Media Girl has had her conditional drivers license since February. When she was able to start driving without a parent in the vehicle, we made an older car available to her.

Today that older car was in the shop and Media Girl was borrowing Motivated Mom's car.

And.... It had to happen. This was the day of Media Girl's first vehicle "incident".

When the phone call came, it was immediately apparent no one was injured, so I felt very little guilt that one of my first thoughts was why didn't I spring for the vasectomy sooner?

Inspection of the car confirmed Media Girl's assertion that the only damage was the tail light lens. I know I should be thankful.

Once I get my heartbeat back into normal rhythm I'm sure I will be.