English Cucumber

Motivated Mom watches a lot of cooking shows and picks up all kinds of nifty food preparation tips. She recently learned that English cucumbers are seedless and she passed that little tidbit along to me because I make a LOT of salads.

So I checked out the English version of these vegetables in the grocery store. They looked more like a kielbasa that had been stretched to the breaking report as opposed to the robust American cucumber but I kept an open mind and brought one home.

At first I was disappointed when I sliced the cucumber open thinking that the veggie had seeds after all - but it turned out not to be the case. The cavities where the seeds would lie were still there, but there were no actual seeds. The cavities were filled with fluid.

So... no more need to remove the seeds before chopping the cucumber into the salad. I was thrilled.

Then I got to wondering.... If the cucumbers don't generate seeds.... how do farmers grow more of them?

Friskies Commercial

The new Friskies cat food commercial is all the buzz and is racing over the You Tube airways.

In the commercial a hungry cat steps into an animated world that takes us back to the psychedelic times of Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band and Yellow Submarine.

I was reading an interview with the advertising muckety-muck for Friskies who explained the goal of the commercial was to enhance the relationship between cat and owner.

Come again?

Friskies wants to catch the attention of cat owners and reinforce how important it is to bond with their cat over a tasty dinner of wet cat food.

I've had meaningful relationships with several different cats during my life. The word tasty has never crossed my mind when I popped the lid on a can of cat food. Gross, smelly, disgusting, and eeewwhhh have all crossed my mind - but tasty? - never.

Actually I have often wondered what was added to the ground slop to make a cat want to dive in.

And now I know - the same chemicals that had an entire generation mumbling far out, man.

Mirage Flip Side

You're familiar with the concept of weary travelers seeing mirages of ponds and lakes in the middle of the desert?

I experienced the exact opposite this evening.

The rain just doesn't seem to want to stop around here. It has rained so much that farm animals are up to their shins in standing water. Stilted playhouses with bright yellow slides look like they have been constructed lakeside rather than in the middle of a urban back yard.

I was making an evening commute in yet another torrential downpour when the lower clouds thinned enough that I could see a distant column of moisture laden thunderheads in the distance. At any other time I might have compared the line of clouds to a chain of mountains with peaks pushing into the sky. Tonight though, I compared the undulating clouds to a camel train. I imagined camels lined up head to tail, humps creating an endless ridge on the horizon.

Rather than a parched traveler imagining water, I was a rain weary commuter imagining an arid desert.

Octopus Masses & A Short Break

I recently learned that after mating the Giant Pacific Octopus (averaging fourteen feet in length) releases over 10,000 (yes thousand) eggs.

During the several month incubation period the female eats nothing. Well, there would be no time to eat with all those eggs to care for.

After the eggs hatch, the female dies. Good planning on her part.

Think about it, even though only 4 percent of the eggs ever hatch, that's still 400 offspring who would be calling : Mom, I'm hungry or Mom, my sister pulled my tentacles.

And as for Mom, if she did survive, how would she ever keep all the names straight?

What I'm wondering is ..... does Dad stick around for the mass hatching or does he swim off before he can be held liable for child support?


NOTE: Various obligations will have me away from the internet for the next few days. Look for the next post on Tuesday, March 30.

Last Portions

I have rediscovered a youthful past time - surfing the radio waves. Now having a longer commute to work than I've had in some years, I've become intimately familiar with the SCAN button on the car radio.

This morning I happened upon a comment that made me lock in the radio station.

Food portions in paintings of the Last Supper have been increasing.

What? Was this a modern day version of the fishes and the loaves? Was food miraculously multiplying (well paintings of food anyway)? Could the end days be at hand?

Nope. No miracles. It seems researchers studied 52 different renditions of the Last Supper and found that more recent pieces of art depicted more food on the table than earlier works.

Which begs the question - exactly who sits down and says, Hmmmm I wonder if the apostles have a greater chance of being overweight now than two thousand years ago?

The only imagination challenging event is that someone took the time to develop a computer program that would compare the size of depicted bread to the size of the apostles' heads.

Backin' Up the Breakers

It seems Spring Breakers are going to get a taste of new airport security measures. The heightened security measures have airlines recommending passengers arrive at the airport 75 minutes prior to domestic flight departures and 3 hours prior to international departures.

Obviously the folks who picked this time of year to implement the increased security aren't raising young adults. If they had just made it through their offspring's teenage years, the security folks would know that the last thing you want to do is bottle up a bunch of party happy students in a small space. A small space being any area smaller than a football stadium.

Because what's going to happen is - chaos. In fact this might just be a new definition to include in the next printing of the Webster's dictionary. Chaos - the fallout from the ill advised restraining of hordes of college students on their way to party destinations.

I can't help but wonder how many times a discretely placed body piercing is going to trigger an alarm leading to a full body search.

It might all be worth it if the result would be a truly safer travel experience. But let's face it. If some demented individual is determined to cause havoc they will find a way to succeed.

Winds and 70's

At long last I had the windows open today. Mother Nature sent us a gift in the form of late April weather and I happily aired the house out. The tap tap tap of venetian blind pulls knocking against the window frame and the rustle of sheer curtains billowing in the breeze took me back to childhood summer days.

As though time had never advanced past 1970, I could see the metal-framed casement windows centered in my bedroom wall. Sprawled across the twin bed, I stared at the frosted glass on the ceiling light fixture while the turntable spun at 33 1/3 rpm and the voices of John, Paul, George and Ringo competed with the sound of summer air rushing through the window screen.

Jeans with more patches then denim lay heaped in a mound along with t-shirts, denim vests, and army fatigue jackets. Posters of Jimi Hendrix, The Byrds, and The Band competed for wall space with Salvador Dali reproductions.

Giving silent thanks to the March winds that had swept the 70's back to me, I could swear I heard my childhood friends calling from outside the window.

Breakfast is Served - Or Not

So we're a week into daylight saving time. I think my body clock is close to catching up with the change.

I've been wondering what goes through the mind of pets and farm animals when we humans suddenly change the rules of the game. Humans after all provide domestic animals with their single greatest need - food. So when mankind seemingly arbitrarily pours food into bowls, mangers, and troughs at a different time it has to come as a shock to the pour creatures.

The closest human equivalent I can think of would be to pull up to a fast food place on your way to work and discover the franchise had arbitrarily decided not to open until ten o'clock.

Can you picture the crowds of caffeine starved folks standing with their faces pressed again the plate glass windows in stunned disbelief their java and flash fried food isn't available?

Granted, at this time of year the time change works in favor of animals - they get fed earlier than they expect. Still, it has to have them wondering what happened to shift their world off kilter.

Two Cities

I was living the tale of two cities today.

From eight to five I was working in a sprawling government complex, strolling long halls lined with filing cabinets, scheduling and attending meetings, reviewing lengthy documents, and answering a continuous stream of e-mails.

Six-thirty found me strolling the boardwalk eighty miles away, unconcerned with schedules, breathing the salty ocean air, and heading to my favorite beach front restaurant for a fish dinner.

There on the boardwalk I felt like I had just been sent for a joy ride via the transporter on the Starship Enterprise. Apparently my appearance matched my mental state. To the crowds on the boardwalk I obviously stood out like a member of an alien race who had just beamed to earth. I created a one man traffic jamb as folks dressed in jeans, shorts, and t-shirts slowed to gawk at my dress pants, starched shirt, and polished shoes.

To be in two such distinct locales in so short a time would have boggled the minds of my grandparents. For them, prior to the construction of four lane bypasses, a trip to the beach would have taken half the day. Making the journey in eighty minutes would have seemed as improbable as the teleportation of matter.

Perhaps by the time I'm a grandparent, my grandchildren will be as comfortable with having their molecules scrambled as I am comfortable with sliding into a car and zipping from the world of cinder block walls to the world of shifting tides.

Night Shadows

The world is a different place at night. Even familiar buildings and locales seem strangely uninviting when distorted by night's shadows.

And roadways... well roadways become treacherous stretches of concrete and asphalt where any number of hazards could be lying in wait.

I ran upon just such a hazard last night, an unidentifiable carcass lying in the road. The misshapen form, covered with dark fur, was indistinguishable against the blacktop. By the time the beams from my car's headlights illuminated the dead animal, it was too late for evasive maneuvers.

I centered the car over the form in the hopes of clearing it. While I felt no bump, I did hear a thump followed by what sounded like a spray of buckshot in the wheel well.

Gravel, I told myself. Just gravel. It couldn't possibly have been dislodged animal parts bouncing around in the wheel well - could it?

Happy St. Patrick's Day

Faith and Begora, I nearly missed the opportunity to spend a wee bit of time talkin' 'bout the Irish doncha know.

Though I'm technically a mutt, I do have a fair amount of Irish blood in me. So 'tis a shame and then some tha' our dear ol' Saint Patrick wasn't foremost in my thoughts today. I did no' have even the tiniest bit of green on my person.

Or is it orange I was supposed to be wearing today?

The green and orange was a big deal in my family when I was growing up. Protestant Irish wore orange, Catholic Irish wore green.

I grew up in the Protestant church but switched to the Catholic Church some 10 years or so ago. So I guess I should have been wearing stripes today.

To add to the confusion, it turns out the Irish aren't the beer guzzling folks they are portrayed to be. In fact St. Patrick's Day ranks lowest for beer sales compared to ten other major holidays according to an article on CNBC.

Which says volumes about the Irish palate. Why waste time on beer when you can be warming your insides with some Glennfiddich scotch whiskey?

New Digs

Tonight's blog installment is coming from my new digs. Well, sort of.

My new job entails a lengthy commute. As luck would have it, my sister, brother-in-law, and nephew live near my new place of employment. They have graciously allowed me the use of their presidential suite a couple nights a week which means I only have to make the commute between work and home every other day.

On my way to their house this evening I rediscovered rush hour. It is a phenomenon not encountered in the southern end of Delaware. Well, not during the week anyway. The southern end rush occurs on Saturday and Sunday mornings during the summer as folks hurry to grab prime real estate on the beach.

Here in northern Delaware the massive surge of automobiles happens every morning and evening. Today I was reminded of what it's like to travel only five miles in twenty minutes.

I'm sure I will adjust as time goes on, but right now it seems unimaginable that folks manage to deal with this creepy-crawley pace on a regular basis.

Polar Plunge

This past weekend was the annual Polar Bear Plunge at Rehoboth Beach, DE.

The event was postponed from last month due to - snow.

It seems that while thousands of people (2,323 to be exact) are willing to strip down to swimsuits and run into frigid water, they're not willing to drive in blizzard conditions to do it.

Which is reassuring to me - it means these folks still have some sanity left.

Temperatures this weekend were downright balmy compared to the low 20's of a few weeks ago. In fact, with the water at 42 degrees and the air at 48, some long time plungers felt this year's event hardly qualified as polar.

Well, so much for the remaining sanity.

My arms have broken out in goosebumps just writing about this. I've got to go wrap up in something warm.

Before I go... the Polar Plunge is for a good cause, raising money for the Special Olympics.
This year's plunge raised over half a million dollars.

For that, all of the folks who took part deserve a round of applause.

Where's the Cork?

Remember when.....

Those two words promise one of three reactions. Ahhhs of found remembrance, Ugghhs of things best left forgotten, or quiet nods of confirmation.

In this case I think it will be quiet nods.

Remember when wine bottles had honest to goodness corks in them?

I thought a corked bottle neck was one think I count on staying the same throughout my life. So I was shocked when, after peeling the foil seal from a bottle of White Zinfandel, I found myself presented with an atrocious off-white polymer impostor plugging the neck of the bottle.

After taking a moment to collect myself I decided to be open minded. There was the benefit of not having to worry about pieces of shredded cork floating in the wine - but still - polymer? dirty white? Couldn't the bottle stopper at least have been tan in color?

Did this mean I was going to have to purchase a polymer screw instead of a cork screw?

As it turned out the cork screw worked fine but...

When I tried to return the polymer plug to the neck of the bottle I found the man made product was far less pliable than a saturated cork. My fingertips flattened and turned a blueish pink from the effort of trying to coerce the hideous looking cylinder back into place. My face soon turned the same color as my fingertips and I drew blood from my bottom lip. Never mind plugging the bottle back up. I now needed more wine to disinfect the bite I had inflicted on myself.

Some things were never meant to be tampered with. Nix the polymer. Give me a good old fashioned cork.

Traditional vs. Convenience

Yesterday was my last day of work at the convenience store. I had been working there following a layoff. In a crippled economy I am fortunate to be able to move on to a career that will be more personally rewarding.

I learned a lot over the past ten months. Folks who work in the nine to five, Monday through Friday world owe a lot of thanks to the people who make life convenient.

The business of convenience: McDonalds, Burger King, Wawa, 7-Eleven, etc is a business that never sleeps. There are no weekends off, heck there's not even a work schedule that is the same from one week to the next. The people who provide convenience do so at the sacrifice of a predictable personal life.

Hoping to make it to church on Easter? If you're a nine to fiver you can make those plans weeks in advance. The folks in the business of convenience won't know if they'll be able to make that church service until their work schedule for that week is posted.

Need to schedule a doctor appointment or a parent-teacher conference. No problem for a nine to fiver. For the convenience people - good luck, it's a crap shoot.

In the traditional business world paperwork can usually wait a day if you're sick. In the convenience world the food still has to be cooked, the coffee still has to be brewed, and someone is going to get called in on their scheduled day off if a co-worker is under the weather.

The next time you pull up to a drive through window, think about what other people give up so that you can have breakfast on the go.

Muffin Man

I've been waking up at 3:00 in the morning recently. Not waking up as in awake for the day but opening my eyes, noting the time on the clock, and then rolling over.

In the movie Something Wicked This Way Comes (an excellent thriller), 3:00 a.m. is referred to as soul's midnight.

Which has me wondering if prowling spirits are the reason for my nocturnal wakings.

My wondering has led me back to the days of my early childhood when I was certain there was an unfriendly man lingering in the shadows of my closet. I knew the sinister being as the muffin man.

On sleepless nights I would lay in my bed, blanket pulled up to my nose, hearing in my head the childhood rhyme Oh, do you know the muffin man, the muffin man, the muffin man, Oh do you know the muffin man that lives on Drury Lane.

I never actually saw the man residing in my closet, and I didn't want to. Somehow I understood that if the being should step out of the shadows I would be staring not at a baker carrying a tray of pastries, but a wicked faced creature with fangs extending below it's chin carrying a tray full of previously collected heads.

And on that note I will say good night. sleep well, sweet dreams.

Navigating Fog

It was a l-o-n-g day today with lots of emotional stuff happening on the home front.

Capping off the evening was a fifty mile drive in pea-soup fog, the kind of swirling gray mist that car headlights can penetrate only as far as three white hash marks dividing the two sides of the road.

A poor, lost dog materialized in the middle of the road and we gave the brakes on Motivated Mom's car a good workout. I would have liked to have pulled over to try and save the dog from almost certain injury but would undoubtedly have ended up stuck to the grill of a tractor trailer.

Such weather calls for a hot cup of herbal tea along with a good book.

More creative stuff to come when I can clear the fog in my head.

Discography

I learned a new word today - discography.

It's a hybrid word, as so many words in the English language are, with ties to disc (as in musical compact disc) and biography.

I discovered the word because my mind never rests. At least that's what my acupuncturist tells me. She says she has never met a person so incapable of mental stillness. Which is funny because Motivated Mom says I'm so often nearly catatonic that it makes her nuts.

But I degress.

I was watching my DVD of Peter Gabriel's Growing Up tour the other night. The keyboardist on that tour was Rachel Z.

This evening, on my way home, a Peter Gabriel song was playing on the radio. Hearing the song reminded of the DVD, which reminded of Rachel Z, which reminded me that I knew virtually nothing about Rachel except she had teamed up Peter and others for the Growing Up tour.

Did I lose you on the third gray matter jump or are you still with me? Still here? Good.

Anyway, when I got home I googled Rachel Z, found her web page, and discovered a link to her discography.

Wondering what in the world a discography was, I clicked on the link and was presented with an amazingly extensive list of albums and songs she has contributed to.

The fact that spell check isn't flagging discography as a non-word tells me the term has been in use for a while.

Obviously I need to catch up on my tech speak.

Creative Collaboration

When I start a blog entry I usually have some idea what I'm going to write about.

Tonight I haven't a clue. Blogger's Block I guess.

So what to do? Just start typing mindlessly? No, that doesn't sound entertaining.

Perhaps this would be a good opportunity to put forth an idea I've been mulling over.

I have been considering an ongoing story in which the reader's of my blog have creative input.

I would post the start of a short story, then invite readers to e-mail a group of words that would need to be included in the next installment - and continue along that way until all involved feel the story has come to a conclusion.

For instance, if a reader were to e-mail the words mouse, hot dog, and campfire the next story installment might talk about Homer the blind mouse who loved the heat and accidentally scurried onto a stick that was being used to cook hot dogs over a campfire.

If you would be interested in participating in such a creative venture, simply shoot an e-mail with the word YES in the subject line to me at scripterbwk@verizon.net (or post a comment on this blog - note: if you post a comment on the blog, your comment will not appear right away. The blog preferences are set for a time delay on comments so that I can weed out any nonsense stuff).

I'll let the number of YES responses be a barometer of whether I should pursue such a creative collaboration.

The Cold and Warm of It

I knew the reports of the groundhog seeing his shadow back on February 2 were wrong. I knew there wouldn't be six more weeks of cold, snowy weather. I knew balmy breezes would blow before we got to March 21. I was certain of it. Never doubted it for a moment.

Well, okay, I was reasonably certain and did my best to control my doubt while shoveling through two feet of snow.

But, hey, here it is, March 8, and the mercury rose to the 60 degree mark. Wind chills are past history. Before long heat indexes will be the topic of conversation.

Which makes me wonder. What ever happened to a straight temperature reading?

We've always known that a strong breeze or howling wind makes any day feel colder than the temperature registering on the thermometer.

Likewise we've always known that when humidity is visible in the air it's time to throw extra ice in the glass of Kool-Aid

Chills and indexes only serve to convince us the weather feels worse than it really is.

Sort of like portable lighting convinces a groundhog its seen a shadow that really isn't.

Tea Memories

We have a china cabinet filled with Motivated Mom's collection of miniature tea sets.

Last night I found myself in a pensive frame of mind and took some time to study the collection. There was a miniature Delft cup and saucer set that Motivated Mom picked up on our first visit to Aruba, a tea pot covered with roses from a weekend getaway in the mountains of Pennsylvania, and a Royal Albert tea service brought back from an English shop in Disney's Epcot.

The tiny tea sets triggered detailed memories of the many memorable events Motivated Mom and I have shared along the winding path of life. The first time we descended the steps of a rolling stairway that had been wheeled to our plane after landing on a Caribbean island, the discovery of a remarkable collectables shop in an otherwise unremarkable rural town, and total amazement at a theme park that threatened to overwhelm our senses.

It occurred to me how like ornaments for a Christmas Tree these tea sets are. Each miniature setting serving as a gateway into a time past just a special Christmas ornament triggers a jump back to a previous home or particular family gathering.

I think I'll be spending a lot more time in front of that china cabinet. Looking at the tea sets and seeing far off places.

Freezing and Fishing

With temperatures pushing into the fifties, the fisherman were out. Today lines were being cast into both salt and fresh water from jetties, beaches, and rowboats.

I understand the desire - no, the need - to be out enjoying this break in what has been brutally cold and snowy weather. I even understand the desire to go fishing. I enjoy a day of surf fishing as much as anyone.

But water temperatures are still in the thirties, and with wind blowing toward shore from across those frigid waters, well - that is no day at the beach.

I'd much prefer to eat fish that has been frozen than to be the fisherman who froze in attempt to catch a fish.

Even warmer weather is yet to come, and with it plenty of angling opportunities.

For now I'll stick to enjoying the sun from a backyard patio where the air truly does feel like the fifty degrees showing on the thermometer.

Animal Scene

Let me set the scene:

The wee hours of the morning when a hazy pre-dawn light is just beginning to filter through the blinds. A nine month old dog awakens from a long night's sleep with batteries fully recharged. At the far end of the house a cat is lying on the floor enjoying the heated air blowing out of the register.

And... action:

Tasmanian dog speeds in and out of interior doorways like a marble bouncing between bumpers in a pinball machine.

The sound of jangling dog tags alerts the lounging cat of the horrid dog's approach. In one fluid motion the cat rolls off its back, springs to its feet, and accelerates into warp drive.

Spotting an orange vapor trail streaking across the living room, Tasmanian dog makes a mid course correction and zeros in on a potential playmate.

Said potential playmate hits the pet door at full speed and disappears from view.

Tasmanian dog puts on the brakes just in time to prevent becoming lodged in the too small pet door, then scurries over to the sliding patio door.

Outside the patio door, the tabby cat pauses to blink at the dog.

Inside the patio door, Tasmanian dog bounces up and down like a kangaroo on steroids.

Snubbing the devil dog entirely, the tabby cat tends to her morning bathing ritual, shows her butt to the dog, and strolls off the deck.

It's good to be a cat.

Moody Tour

The Moody Blues are touring again. I've just learned the Grateful Dead will hitting the road again too.

While the price of concert tickets is currently beyond my means, I would enjoy seeing either one of these groups.

Apparently thousands of other folks share the same sentiment.

Which has me wondering, exactly was is it that has bands doing the circuit again?

Let's face it, most of these guys now fall into the senior citizen classification and while I'm sure they all still enjoy completing challenging guitar riffs and drum solos, life on the road has to be draining.

I'm sure some of the reason they're back has to do with love of music. No doubt love of money is involved too. But I suspect there's more to it than that.

There is a pent up demand for quality music. A demand unfulfilled by today's offerings.

Now before everybody screams at me, I acknowledgment there are young, quality performers out there. But if they could really fill the shoes of the masters - well then there would be no real audience for the older guys now would there?

Waterfront Ducks

Temperatures are rising and snow is melting at a furious rate.

Just as a receding glacier leaves newly formed lakes in its wake, so have the mountains of snow left new lakes and ponds in our neck of the woods. Rather than occupying fissures carved out between mountain peaks, the lakes in our area are covering what used to be fields and farmland.

I spotted a pair of ducks swimming in what had just a few weeks ago been thirty odd acres of recently plowed field. Mr. Mallard seemed particularly pleased with himself - head held high as he paddled with bold strokes of his webbed feet.

I could imagine what the drake was saying to his mate. You see, Martha, I told you this was prime real estate. You squawked at me when I chose this field as a nesting place. Now look. Waterfront property.

Day Panic

Oh my gosh, Oh my gosh, Oh my gosh.

Days are shortening, Days are shortening, Days are shortening

Just when I was getting excited that the start of daylight savings time had moved up to March 14, I saw the news article about shortened days.

Apparently the recent earthquake in Chile shook the entire planet. The Earth's axis have shifted, and our days will be shorter.

I was panicked! No! Not now! Not with summer just around the corner!

Then I read further in the article. An Earth day will now be 1.26 milliseconds shorter.

Milliseconds?! A news agency rolls out a bold print headline for a change of milliseconds?

Well, I guess for the Mayflies with a life span of only minutes a millisecond is a big deal.

As for me, I think I've figured out how to compensate. I'll blink one less time when the alarm clock goes off in the morning. That should keep the rest of my day on track.

Whew! Crisis averted. There will still time for frozen Margaritas on the patio at the end of the work day.