And then, there’s this..

I’m resting the ‘blog, now. No, really, I am! As always, I’ll be looking in..

Got big plans for this birthday weekend –big-huge!!– and other birthdays, an anniversary, and all manner of super-summering is coming up, now. And I am so behind!

Have some cheesecake for me (NY style). I’m allergic to strawberries, though, which is why God invented cherries, so indulge ourselves with cheesecake with cherries, ok? I can also handle blueberries, but nothing green, please – lime, kiwi? No. Go for the gooey red. I’ll drink a toast to that. (You think up the next toast — I’m tapped.)

🙂  ❤


 

 

 

 

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Colors (Colours!)

This family is becoming quite a melting pot.

On DH’s side, it’s all Irish, ‘though shockedly and outragedly, he doesn’t give any of that its due! (“I/he/she was shocked and outraged” is a frequent quote-phrase in Ireland’s news reports; apparently, an Irishperson cannot have one without the other.) (“Gobsmacked” is just as bad; it is like a private blend of the two terms, as in “I was gobsmacked to find out he wouldn’t care if he hadn’t a drop of Celtic blood!”)

On my side, there’s exclusively brawly refined wealthy Irish via my father, and too damned quiet French Canadian/Micmac utter wonderfulness via my mother.

This alliance should explain a lot about its sole offshoot..

One of my own offshoots has added a bit of German to the mix, now, and others have brought in a bit of Vietnamese, Mexican, and Portuguese.

Or, “My grandkids are gorgeous!”

One’s beloved (this-is-the-one!) is 100% Filipino, and I have no idea what nationality(ies) the newest almost-engaged of the fam might be, but he is possibly pro-Trump, is originally Mormon and now may or may not be a believer (things are hidden from the mother-in-law-to-be), and is definitely a pro-vaxxer. I am shocked and outraged right there, eh?  He better damned well have some Irish blood in him!

>:-|

Yeah, yeah, yeah — he’s upstanding and is good to her; big deal.  :-p

While at the 11:00 Mass on Sunday, it came to me that I was sitting in the midst of a whole LOT of white people. Fortunately, an entire black family came in just then, as did an entire Filipino family. Ah, yes — the entire Chinese family was there, too, as were the two little and growing Indian families (and by “Indian” I mean Indian). We had Fr. French Canadian the Short. Our Kenyan priest must’ve said the 9:00 — the two take turns with the Masses.

Or, “My parish is gorgeous!”  Amen.


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Long ago but not far enough away

Back in the day, we in the ‘hood knew a heavy-footed fellow from an even worse place who was forever in trouble– with good reason. We’ll call him “Billy.” Billy, usually gruff and insulting to all, was outraged and wanted something: Sympathy (attention), even from us evening porch-dwellers to whom he’d never before spoken directly. This night, he acted like my cousin and I were friends of his, or like we all had something in common.

“I haven’t been past here for a while — as you may’ve noticed.”

Right — we haven’t seen you. How come? 

“My buddy shot me in the ass!”

Oh!

“My best buddy!”

What??

“It really HURT!”

Wow, bummer. 

“HAHAHA — good one!”

Why’d he do it?

“Well, I guess he was even drunker than me!”

Are you still friends?

“Oh, yeah.. I just don’t drink with him anymore, HAHAHA! Well, have a good evening.”

 

A little further ahead in time, back in the singles clubbing phase, a friend and I decided to check out the dance floor at a really nice restaurant/club.  We’ll call this subject “Willy” (mostly because his *real* name was “Forrest” or… maybe it was “Hunter”).

I was having a perfect hair night. Perfect. It just did not get any better — soft cascading curls all around and halfway down my back. It totally riled a female acquaintance at another table who prided herself on always having the best hair around.

Willy would’ve spotted me from the moon, and came rushing over with an offer to buy me a drink. “Oh, thank you — but I usually drink a margarita.” Bald-faced lie, that — I usually nursed a small beer for 3 hours. I was trying to put him off, because I could see from my spot on Good-Hair Planet that he was a long-time lounge lizard (and getting a little long in the tooth). I was to nurse that margarita for 3 hours. He stared from the bar. Of course he asked me to dance.  Well, I had come here to dance

…’though I forgot about waltzes.

He grabbed me in a sweaty bear hug to his uber-cologned self — crushed me to him — and I knew before the song was over that he had absolutely flattened one whole side of my hair. After sorting out all our 4 lungs, I was able to extricate myself from his clutches and slunk off to the Ladies’ to try to fix the damage (and/or to flatten the other side myself — there was NO way I was going to dance with him again just to even out my hair!).

Here’s my question:

I wouldn’t dream of helping to elect a tough/bully (ass-shot or not) with a bad mouth, nor a proven “Hunter” with alleged money, so, why would anyone elect that combination — for four years — for me??  Thanks anyway. I learned my lesson both those nights!

 


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Autobots, roll out!

Our refrigerator may be a Decepticon.

Do Decepticons smell?

Do they alternate freezing things in their vegetable bins and at their back walls?

Is mine trying to do me in?

One thing it’s not is a ninja. (Our Northeast word for a super do-er.)

I am struggling always to find (and indeed finding — hence, this post’s title) a way to house, refrigerate, heat, cool, and bathroom 4 adults, 4 kids, and a puppy (the goldfish are a non-issue) (so far).

Four families, in essence, all using one deceptively *large* ‘fridge. Fun is the one thing it hasn’t been, here in Ever-pack-rat-ville — especially in summer when more beer, more cookout foods, more deviled eggs, more salad fixings, sudden corn on the cobs, summer-long birthday cakes, and whole watermelons threaten my very sanity.

Yes, the little square ‘fridge that was banished from my room to storage a year ago has come back inside. Suffice it to say “storage” means it’s been outside on the deck for a full New England year — but it’s so old, it still works perfectly well. That‘s a ninja.

Until summer-daughter decided to expand her stay here indefinitely, I had portioned out the fam refrigerator to accommodate us all. I was able to store my special foods in a smallish cardboard box (“MOM’s”) on the middle shelf, which hid less-used items of mine behind it, like a small jar of light mayo.. frozen solid. Daughter with children had the right vegetable bin and some door space (and 2/3 of the two-drawer freezer). DH had the rest (not counting the shared 3 dedicated plastic boxes of condiments, salad dressings, and sauces of every kind).

Sometime after 3 people moved out over the years, the left bin had returned to being a vegetable drawer (it was alternating the freezing pattern by then), and the rest of the refrigerator seemed to be mostly for 24/7/365 leftovers and restaurant take-out boxes and petrifying pizzas still in their boxes. Until now.

Long story not any shorter, the summer+ daughter inherited the left bin (and more — she is a health nut), and now I needed to make room once again for my little ‘fridge atop my chest of drawers. For a while, there, I’d felt normal; the chest’s top had held my *jewelry* box, makeup kit, a stand mirror, a decorative little humidifier, 2 Raphael’s angel boxes for mementos and for religious items, and I’d recently made room for a lamp, since the ceiling fixture is modern (1-piece LED mess) and burned out. If only I’d married a plumber instead of a carpenter/house builder.. It’ll be a while.

I also needed to fit my framed Jesus portrait (with my mom’s little lamb statue ever beholding His Heart) somewhere, as well as the small mantel clock which matched Aunt Jean’s screw-top golden (bronze under) apple that hides/holds small things like swim earplugs, mysterious bolts, thumbtacks and a guitar pick. (If you don’t know anyone who was born in the 1800s, I’m sorry — they had cool stuff that will outlast us all. Plus, the raaaather sharp leaf on this hefty apple can also act as a WSD [Weapon of Small Destruction] should an intruder be foolish enough to add to my level of carping.)

I needed not only to see Jesus now and then, but the clock even moreso. I arranged and rearranged and then rearranged on and around the ‘fridge-not-built-for-bureau-tops (oh, let’s say an hour or so of precious life was not well-spent), and I can finally see the clock from just about anywhere in the room.

The clock doesn’t work, of course. It stopped two weeks ago and it may not just be a battery/seat issue anymore (it is a 14th anniversary gift to us from son 22 years ago next month!). Well, we’ll see — but this is why I can’t take myself too seriously, and neither should anyone else!


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Update

Hi,

Grandson and I are off to somewhere.. I think.. it’s only noon — still waiting for him to eat breakfast, but I wanted to say there is one new link and 3 new pages over in the side panel. I hope to track and post many moves that threaten migrants-without-papers, but there is also a Good News Network page. 🙂


 

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To vote or not to vote…

This morning, I’ve been looking at the 2020 presidential candidates on the (most pressing) issues.

I still can’t vote for the abortion of people, nor for what God has clearly declared a no-go.

However, I also can’t vote Republican. (Some Republicans can’t, either — one just ran off the GOP map entirely!)

I have indeed written in a candidate’s name a few times in the voting booth (and, once, “Elvis Presley”) — and that was even before I found out the electoral college could equivalently render more than 2 million serious votes null and void. I am guessing that at least 2 million of those were (like mine) solely Trump-shut-out votes.

Is Pat Paulsen still dead?

 


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(No more) details at 11

I hope I’m never found deceased, because all the little notes I’ve jotted and stuck everywhere are rather hard to decipher, like last night’s.

After dinner out (scallops!) (“scawlups”!), we went to an old ice cream stand and then drove a bit further with our cone :-p (AND *DISH) to the sea shore. Actually, it’s a harbor shore, but for all intents and purposes, ’tis the sea.  Notepaper says:

2 seag — 3/4 moon
Near full tide
Horizon (up) — blue, pink, white, blue
M dove..

It was probably a far-off fog horn or a boat whistle, but 4 soundings of it notched into the bird portion of my brain; could’ve sworn ’twas a mourning dove I heard.

I’ve decided (after the photo mess below, lol) to not rely on my phone camera anymore. I have an ancient Nikon point-and-shoot which has never been off the Automatic setting and whose batteries (yes, batteries!) only holds a charge for about 5 minutes, but it actually produces photos 77% better than these.

I couldn’t resist a shot of the hole I was standing near. I’ve seen woodchucks late in the eve, there, and oddly enough, they are almost black. The waves were incredibly, blessedly noisy-busy. The water almost always looks so pretty or so inviting, but it’s unbelievably cold, like filling a bath tub with cold water from the tap.

Is “bath tub” still a thing? lol  Hope you’re having a good weekend. I’m off to Mass. It’s beautiful today, again, much like that day 25 years ago which happened to be my mom’s last. I’d like to tell her about the colors of the evening horizon, but I suspect she knows.

 

 

 

* https://whoison1st.wordpress.com/2019/07/07/summer-truthin/

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