Living the Hummingbird life

It's tough to catch a hummingbird just sitting in one place.

I took this one shot and he was all...

1. SEE ya, sucka!

2. Wouldn't wanna BE ya, sucka!

3. Gonna sit for just a minute in your TREE ya, sucka!

4. Then I'm gonna buzz your old fat head, spin around, upside down, hover for a while until you think I'm gonna try sucking juice out of your ear to make you FLEE ya, sucka!

5. Oh, look! A flower! 

It was the least I could do

So I’m guessing you noticed that I washed some of the dishes last night and put most of them away. Very thoughtful of me. Right? One question, though: where do you keep the potato smasher? I thought you usually put it in the vintage milk-glass pitcher on the counter next to the oven with the other “too big to go into the silverware drawer” utensils, but I wasn’t sure. So I put it in the fridge, just in case you go looking for it and are wondering where it is. 

And while I’m thinking about it, I put the 18-inch casserole dish in the cabinet with the coffee mugs. It makes getting to some of those mugs a little tricky, but you could always use the other ones. I mean, we have at least 120 of them. Plenty to choose from. I would have put the casserole dish in with the other ones, nested inside each other, but I thought this kitchen needed a little spicing up. A bit more “coolness” vibe. Yes?

Speaking of ice trays. I’m not sure if you’ve ever noticed, but when I empty out the ice trays, I put them back in the freezer without water in them. It’s called “pre-cooling” the trays. Sort of like pre-heating the oven. Imagine how long it would take to cook a meatloaf if you didn’t. Anyways, I read somewhere on the Internet that pre-cooling the ice trays makes for better ice making. So don’t get mad when you see them empty up there. It’s just basic science stuff.

Oh, stop it. There’s no need to thank me for helping around the house. It was the least that I could do.

Changing the subject. I’ve noticed lately how tall the grass has been getting. I say grass, but what is really growing are the weeds — the grass, too, but mostly weeds. I wouldn’t mind spending more time out in the yard, in the fresh air, with nature, and the weed-eater, turning our yard into something we could be proud of instead of something that looks like a vacant lot next to an abandoned meth house — but I’m trying to show empathy for our neighbors.

You see, if I get the lawnmower out today, mow everything in perfectly straight lines, trim, edge, fertilize, add new plants, flowers, trees, hedges, and build a small waterfall, with the water flowing into a small koi pond surrounded by exotic Japanese plants — well, our neighbors might feel bad that they’re unable to keep up with the Smiths and Joneses. And we can’t have that, can we? It just wouldn’t be neighborly.

The same goes for washing the car. Sure, I’ve heard there’s a new carwash in town. I drove by it the other day. Looks kinda fancy. I would think myself the luckiest person in the world if my car was always spick and span, washed and waxed. But the neighbors might become envious of my always-shiny rims and my clear-as-glass windshield. And we both know that “envy” is a four-letter word that leads us all down a foul-mouthed path toward the rocky ledges of jealousy, desire, and bitterness. No ma’am. We can’t have any of that either, can we?

So that’s why I think it’s best for me to leave everything like it is. The car a little grimy, the yard a little unkept, the ice trays in a constant pre-cool status and ready at a moment’s notice, the dishes stacked in random “let’s go on a treasure hunt” places, and me stretched out on the couch resting from all the hard work I was thinking about doing today, but decided tomorrow would suffice. Sound good?

Little Sally Rode the Bus

With school soon to be in full swing, I'm betting there will be a lot of Little Sallys and little Joshes riding on school buses. 

Little Sally Rode the Bus

Little Sally rode 

the bus to school 

each morning without fuss,

even though it
was bumpy,
and smelly,
and hot in the summer,
and cold in the winter,
because Josh,
who sat in Seat 7,
was so cute,
and Little Sally was in love.

This week in "Spooky Science"

According to my interpretation of quantum mechanics, dishes left overnight in the kitchen sink are both clean and dirty — a paradox of quantum superposition — until the dishes are observed the next morning by the wife who stumbles into the kitchen looking for a cup of coffee.

SHE: Hey, it was YOUR turn to do the dishes last night. What’s up?

HE: Funny thing: I was reading about Schrödinger and his cats when I dozed off, and had a dream that every cat in the neighborhood was scratching and yowling at our front door looking to be fed. When I opened the door, they were all staring at me with hunger in their eyes. And then I woke up, and here we are.

The same thing holds true for cat litter boxes. They are both used and unused until you smell something horrendous coming from the hallway. The older cats know the rules, but that younger one? Well, it’s obvious he’s gotten too big for his britches and thinks the whole “clean up your own mess before it starts smelling like a backed-up toilet” thing doesn’t apply to him.

SHE: Hey, it was YOUR turn to change the litter box last night. What’s up?

HE: That’s weird. I don’t think my schnozzola is working at full capacity. I haven’t smelled a thing in months. I think I could walk up to that cat box, put my nose right…OH MY. Now I smell it. Out it goes!

It’s all relative, really. What smells like garlic to one, might smell like dirty feet to another. What smells like rain to your grandfather might smell like wet dog to your grandmother. What smells like exploration to me, might smell like “Dang it, now I’m going to have to find a new place to hide the Christmas presents” to her. Neither is right nor wrong, we’re just viewing reality from different corners of our own personal universes.

(Although, I hope we can agree that if someone offers to sell you 50,000 shares of vintage Machu-Picchu Bank & Trust stocks, promising they will double in value in three weeks as long as you put $10,000 in unmarked bills in a brown paper bag in the trashcan next to the baseball field tonight before midnight  — well, that might sound a bit iffy.)

It all reminds me of poor Gus. Captain Augustus “Gus” McCrae. Former Texas Ranger played by Robert Duvall in the hit miniseries “Lonesome Dove” which was based on the Pulitzer Prize-winning novel of the same name written in 1985 by Larry McMurtry.

Poor Gus died because he was too prideful to have his leg amputated; thought he would be a burden. You and I, on the other hand, might have made a different choice, like living out our lives with bionic legs and being as happy as organic clams about it. But not poor Gus.

SHE: Oh please. What does Gus have to do with anything you’ve been talking about?

HE: It’s “poor” Gus. He let his vanity and pride end his life like black holes crashing into each other at the far reaches of the universe.

SHE: Oh, no you don’t, mister. You can’t just change the subject in the middle of a…

If two black holes collide a billion light years away in interstellar space, and no one is around to see it happen, does the collision still make a gravitational wave? And if it does, when it gets to our shores, would the wave be too mushy for any respectable surfer to even give it a go? Discuss.

Man, Texas is hot! Caliente hot!

Inside my car, on a hot parking lot, at noon.

 

Turn out the lights, the party's over

What do I do now?

“What do you mean, what do you do now? Maybe put the cap back on the toothpaste?”

But I wasn’t brushing my teeth.

“Then what have you been doing in there all this time?”

Staring at myself in the mirror wondering who is that guy, and what is he going to do now?

“Hey. You’re starting to scare me. Are you alright?”

The Scottish are gone. And the Norwegians. They’re all gone. The French, the Spanish, the Tunisians, the Japanese. They just up and left us, as if we could manage without them. But I don’t think we know how.

“Oh. The World Cup. Is it finally over?”

In the holy name of St. Luigi Scrosoppi, the Patron Saint of Footballers, how could the World Cup be over so soon? Four years of anticipation followed by a mere moment of celebration, and now the party’s over and all the cousins are heading back home. And the question remains, what do I do now?

“You know, it’s been a while since you’ve mowed the yard.”

I knew you were going to say that. But I’ll have you know I’m not the only one who feels this way. I was listening to Rebecca Lowe on her podcast with…

“You’ve been listening to a soccer podcast?”

…Brendan Hunt, and she asked from her listeners if they had any tips for getting over something like this after it comes to an end.

“A podcast. You. I don’t think I know you anymore.”

I didn’t write in with any suggestions because I didn’t have any at the time. I was just in shock that someone else felt the same way as I do. And if WE feel this way, maybe everybody else is going through these same feelings. Especially the athletes. And the play-by-play folk. And the hotdog venders. And the… Hmmmmm. Do you think maybe I’ve gone off the deep end on all this?

“Maybe a little. Listen, I know it’s hard, dear, but I think if you just focus your thoughts on other things, you’ll soon get over this. Just like everyone else.”

(The two stopped and looked at each other. One in shock that the world might not be coming to an end. The other in shock that the other actually thought that it had.)

You’re right. Just refocus. Maybe read a book. Wash the cars. Maybe go outside and see if the lawn mower still works. Maybe cut the grass short, add some fertilizer, turn our backyard into a football pitch — a soccer field — and buy some white paint and paint some…

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

…sidelines. Maybe build a…

“Do you even hear yourself?” 

…goal out of some PVC pipes and some netting. And then…

“Forty-one years of marriage. I thought nothing could surprise me anymore. But I was wrong. You never cease to amaze me.”

I know. Awesome idea. Right?

“What would be awesome if you’d pry yourself off the couch, throw away all those chip and cookie bags, and maybe even take a shower.”

And when I’m not outside playing football, I can re-watch all the World Cup matches, but this time in Spanish. Are there any movies on soccer I can watch? More podcasts? Surely I could find replays of every soccer match that’s been televised throughout the ages. If so, I best start watching them now. I’ve only got four years until World Cup 2030. So much to do, so little time.

Texas Hoss wisdom on Cast Iron

 

An Ode to Peanut M&Ms

CHORUS — Oh, I wish I hadn’t eaten all those Peanut M&Ms on Thursday, but the bag was within arm’s reach, how it got there, I don’t know. Not a small bag that you purchase as a snack ‘tween lunch and dinner, but an industrial size 10-gallon bag I devoured in just one go. And my wife, she shook her head and said, “You’ve got a problem.” I agreed. But I kept popping those chocolate pills as if they were candy (which they were). Oh, woe is me.

VERSE ONE — I’m not exactly sure when my addiction did begin. Maybe Christmas, maybe Halloween. I was 6, or was I 9? But I’m pretty sure some M&Ms filled my stocking, or Trick-or-Treat bin. The plain ones. Easy to swallow whole. But that would be asinine.

VERSE TWO — You can’t beat peanuts for a snack, the roasted kind still in their shell. To crack them out and eat them’s worth the work, the whole day long. And then there’s chocolate, king of sweets, one piece is good, a bar is better, but add some peanuts to the mix? I can’t tell right from wrong.

CHORUS — Oh, I wish I hadn’t eaten all those Peanut M&Ms on Thursday, but the bag was within arm’s reach, how it got there, I don’t know. Not a small bag that you purchase as a snack ‘tween lunch and dinner, but an industrial size 10-gallon bag I devoured in just one go. And my wife, she shook her head and said, “You’ve got a problem.” I agreed. But I kept popping those chocolate pills as if they were candy (which they were). Oh, woe is me.

VERSE THREE — The peanut ones I do enjoy, sometimes they’re honey roasted. I go for almonds in a pinch, a change is sometimes good. The pretzel ones are kind of nice, I like the way they’re toasted. But really, when they’re in the house, they’re all my favorite food.

CHORUS — Oh, I wish I hadn’t eaten all those Peanut M&Ms on Thursday, but the bag was within arm’s reach, how it got there, I don’t know. Not a small bag that you purchase as a snack ‘tween lunch and dinner, but an industrial size 10-gallon bag I devoured in just one go. And my wife, she shook her head and said, “You’ve got a problem.” I agreed. But I kept popping those chocolate pills as if they were candy (which they were). Oh, woe is me.

BRIDGE — And when that candy all is gone, there’s no room for debate, you feel just like a speedboat dragging anchors across a lake.

INSTRUMENTAL BREAK — Maybe a guitar solo, or saxophone. Better yet, a kazoo.

VERSE FOUR — Peanut M&Ms are nice for each and all occasions. Like Mother’s Day or Hanukkah or funerals if you dare. They’re great for birthday parties or a senior graduation. A bag or three at weddings show you have a touch of flare. And if someday you stumble into an odious divorce, you fight to keep the M&Ms though it’ll make the whole thing worse.

CHORUS — Oh, I wish I hadn’t eaten all those Peanut M&Ms on Thursday, but the bag was within arm’s reach, how it got there, I don’t know. Not a small bag that you purchase as a snack ‘tween lunch and dinner, but an industrial size 10-gallon bag I devoured in just one go. And my wife, she shook her head and said, “You’ve got a problem.” I agreed. But I kept popping those chocolate pills as if they were candy (which they were). Oh, woe is me.

After 40 years of marriage, who needs to talk?

I know how to make a simple homemade granola. I make my wife a batch. I make myself a batch. She eats hers as a midnight snack. I eat mine with fruit for breakfast. She eats hers most nights. It goes quickly. I only sometimes eat mine. Mine lasts longer. 

I know when she's out of her granola by the empty container she leaves on the kitchen sink. It's her non-verbal way of saying, "Hey! I'm out! Fix more! Please!"

I'm fluent in non-verbal wife talk. So, let me interpret this photo of the message she sent me the other day -- "Hey. I'm out! I've been out for a while! I found your hidden stash days ago."

That's my jar.

"As you can see, you're out now, too! If it's getting too difficult to make this granola every other week or so, I guess we can go back to buying those store-bought brands that have too much high fructose corn syrup and salt and cost way too much for the amount you get. I won't like it, but I can adjust. If I have to. But I'd rather have yours. It's so much better. And healthier. But I'll survive. I guess. Just let me know."

Message received. 

Want to stay fit? Always start at the beginning

The best time to begin a diet is on a Monday. Who in their right mind would start one on Friday? Hamburgers, pizza, hotdogs, chips and salsa. Friday leads right into a weekend of barbecue, homemade ice cream and root beer floats. Monday is a new beginning, a starting line, a chance to begin afresh. Starting a new diet on a Monday just makes sense.

And if you’re going to start a new diet on a Monday, you might as well start a new exercise plan to go along with it. Walking, pushups, deep-knee bends. It makes no sense to start a new exercise program on a Friday. Friday is the diving board into a relaxing weekend on the couch, watching the game. Any game. Multiple games. Let THEM sweat. It’s the weekend. A time to recharge your batteries. Starting a new diet and exercise program on Monday just makes better sense.

Unless of course you’re running late to work and only have time to tie your shoes and, “I wonder if there is any more of that strawberry streusel left? Yes, there is. A million calories per bite? No time to get all mathematical. I’ll eat it on the way.”

It’s possible to start a new diet and exercise program on Tuesday (the perfect day for second chances when Mondays don’t go quite as planned), but I wouldn’t recommend it. Starting on Tuesday is like lining up to race at the Indianapolis 500, but your car won’t start, and the others have already been around the track at least four times. You might as well pull it into the pits and try again next year.

Tuesday IS a great day to start making plans for a new start. Grocery list — fresh vegetables, fruit, beans are good, skip the chips and soda, eggs can’t hurt, lots of fiber-packed avocados. Exercise plan — morning stretches, lunges, plenty of squats and pushups, might need some new walking shoes and some sweat-wicking workout clothes. Online shopping will deliver it by Friday just in time for Monday. And this time I mean it.

Unless of course something unexpected comes up like your house drops into a sinkhole, and then your neighbors are all up in your yard asking, “So, what did you do this time? I told you not mowing your yard would have consequences. And NOW look at your sad, flabby, out of shape and homeless self. What a shame.”

If you really want to start a diet and exercise program off right, not only should you plan to start it on a Monday, but a Monday that just so happens to also be the first day of the month. Like Monday, June 1, 2026. That’s a double-whammy of good-starting vibes.

Unless of course you’ve already planned a cruise to the Bahamas, then never mind. A cruise is the LAST place you want to instigate a “Nope, I’ve had enough. I’m on a diet. And now I’m off to jog around the ship about 100 times. Want to join me?” plan.

As you can tell, I’ve been giving this too much thought.

But if you really want to start a new diet/exercise journey on the right foot, the triple-whammy of all whammies is to begin the adventure on the first day of a new year, when that first day just so happens to be a Monday. Not because of some New Year’s resolution gimmick that we both know never lasts (The next alignment falls on Monday, Jan. 1, 2029, which gives us plenty of time to procrastinate), but because we truly care for our health and fitness.