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Am I the only person who gets dizzy when contemplating infinity?
Isn't it funny how just a whiff of a certain scent, a tune from the past, or the feel of the air on your skin can bring back such vivid memories you can almost experience the same feelings again. The other day, courtesy of a warm summer breeze, I had a flashback to being a 12-year-old sitting under the pear tree in the backyard snapping green beans. Isn't it funny, too, how in retrospect, snapping beans wasn't really all that bad a job. While in a contemplative mood, I'll mention the stunning revelation that occurred the other day while I was driving with the windows down, the sunroof open, and the radio blasting. When my mother was my age, 46, I would've been 19. Never in my wildest dreams would it have crossed my mind that my mother may have had an urge to speed down the road with the wind whipping through her hair and the music blaring. Isn't it an amazing discovery that you don't turn into a non-person with age? Those thoughts, urges, feelings, and desires are all still alive and well. Nothing changes--or rather, ideally, a dash of wisdom is added. Speaking of sunroofs, have you ever wondered what you'd do if a squirrel fell in the car with you? Hey, don't look at me like I'm nuts! When they do that tightrope walking act on electrical lines, they do occasionally fall. And what if your car was directly beneath it at just the right moment? I'm telling you it could happen! Just don't blame me if you don't include this on your preparedness list and you end up face-to-face with a wild-eyed squirrel and no plan. I finally went to an allergist in search of medication that won't knock me out for 48 hours per pill. The tests show my highest reaction is to grasses, a mild reaction to trees, and a slight reaction to dust mites. I didn't have the heart to break it to the doctor that it may not be so slight since dust mites hold very rowdy conventions in my home. The informational material he gave me about my specific allergens was interesting. According to it, while I should attempt to keep my house as dust free as possible, I should do neither housecleaning nor yard work. I am hoping the doctor also intends to write a prescription for maid and yard service with a $5 co-pay so that I can manage that. Another one of those signs of age: Having to replace sheets and towels because they're actually worn out--not just because you're redecorating. Late summer=grasshopper season. During this time, I always think of Punkin, a feline who shared an apartment with me for 14 years. He was a real pussycat except when it came to grasshoppers. He considered them a delicacy and would gleefully pounce on them and crunch them up. Hard to fathom--even if I try to imagine them with a very thick chocolate coating. Have you noticed how the insect sound intensifies in late summer? I've come up with two theories. 1) They know winter is coming and they're getting a little shrill worrying about it; or 2) (a more logical yet dull explanation) there's just a heck of a lot more of them by the end of the season. I know some of you will say, in that smug, condescending tone, "You don't have children, so you really don't know", but I'm going to say this anyway. I just saw a picture of the new Miss America. She is stunning. Judging purely on the basis of looks, a perfect choice. But...I wouldn't want my 23-year-old daughter (if I had one) to look like her. I'd rather she looked like, well, like she was 23. Not 30. Okay, this is not going to be a popular one, but I'm going to say it anyway. I saw one of those women who had a litter of children interviewed on television several months ago, and I still kinda froth at the mouth when I think about it. Sanctimonious tones about God's will always annoy me when the signs interpreted are very carefully chosen. Case in point: When questioned about not opting for selective reduction to increase the remaining babies' chances, she tearfully replied something to the effect that it wouldn't have been God's will. I'm not debating the morality of abortion or the fertility treatment issue; those are intensely personal subjects I wouldn't touch with a 10-foot pole. But excuse me. If we're going to use that standard, hadn't she already screwed around big time with God's will? It's difficult to believe fertility drugs to create a clutch of kids that will require donations to support and shifts of volunteers to care for is "God's" will. Sounds like God made his will on that point perfectly clear by not permitting pregnancy to occur naturally, and the action taken was someone else's will. Can't have it both ways, lady. So let's watch the self-righteous tones. C'mon now. Admit it. Is there a woman out there who can honestly claim that deep down inside she doesn't occasionally wish she was a goddess who causes men to pant, drool, and turn into blithering idiots when she enters a room? There's a frost advisory for tonight, so the next words of wisdom (::rolling eyes at the word "wisdom"::) I pass on will probably appear on "autumn". But I had to share a last little bit of summer with you. I learned something new! Well, not that that doesn't happen frequently, but... All these years I had been under the impression barbecuing and grilling were synonymous--or if there was a difference, it was a matter of slathering sauce on barbecue. But, according to a newsletter from Uncle Ben's Rice, I've been oh so wrong. I quote from their article Keep the end of summer sizzlin': "There are two basic barbecue methods: grilling and barbecuing. Grilling involves cooking over high, direct heat (350F or higher) and works well for hamburgers, hot dogs, sausages, chicken and steaks. Barbecuing is done with lower, indirect heat (200F to 250F) and is best for cooking fish, vegetables and larger meats, such as baby back ribs and whole chickens." So now you know. |
