Rethinking the Christmas List

I got almost everything I asked for on my Christms list.  As I opened gifts, I mentally checked them off.  There’s the Homer Laughlin book; the Garden Claw; the black gloves; the black peacoat; the Felco secateurs; the external hard drive; the gift cards.  All neatly checked off.  But no heart shaking surprises.  No opening a gift and getting a huge surprise…”For meeeee?  Ohhhhhhhh how did you know?  How did you guess?  It’s the best thing ever!”  Nope; none of that.   Actaully opening gifts was rather anticlimatic.  I know that isn’t something that the gift-giver wants to hear since I got exactly what I asked for.  That’s the purpose of wish lists, right?

That’s sounds ungrateful, doesn’t it.  It isn’t meant to be.  I’m thinking of past Christmases.  Perhaps Christmases too long ago.  Perhaps back to Christmases when Santa brought one toy.  And we received one gift from Mama and Daddy.  And one gift from my older sister.  There was  more excitement and anticipation then.  And absolutely no sense of expectation.  I never even sat on Santa’s knee and told him what I wanted because I was scared to death of him!  And you know WHY he frightened me?  Because.  Mama always told my brother and me that if we weren’t in bed and asleep by 8:30PM on Christmas eve night, that Santa would bite our ears off!  Talk about PTSD.  It’s a good thing I don’t believe in Santa.  Now that I’m a grownup and everything, I know why she did it.  She just wanted us from underfoot so they could get the Santa stuff going on.  But try telling that to an overly sensitive and literal 8-year-old.  No wonder I grew up so ambivalent towards Christmas!

But the point of all of this is just to question if Wish Lists are a good thing.  The whole point is a list of things we wish for; not a list of things we actually get.  Or is that just wishful thinking?  Nevertheless, I hope Santa was good to you and yours.

Trying to capture a butterfly

My backyard has come alive lately.  Perhaps keeping the bird feeders stocked and the birdbath full of clean water has a hand in that.  It’s been so hot lately that I’ve been extra vigilant in seeing that the backyard critters are fed and watered.  I have a yardful of finches that have been eating the grass seed from the lawn, cardinals and their babies, blue birds, blue jays, doves,  hummingbirds, and woodpeckers.  And squirrels.  Can’t forget the squirrels, although the squirrel-proof feeder and safflower seed seem to leave them in a constant state of pique.  And me, I feel sorry for the furry rodents and put down sunflower seed for them so they won’t go hungry.  Hah.  

Each morning while my coffee brews, I pet Rosie the cat while I watch all the goings-on in the backyard.  It’s mesmerizing and soothing and hard to tear myself away from.  The butterfly bush and periwinkles attract butterflies and their flittering around is a happy sight.

I envy wildlife photographers; their skill to get beautiful pictures of flora and fauna.  Watching the butterflies yesterday gave me the bright idea of trying to get a picture of one.  They don’t stand still on cue and certainly don’t smile at the camera!  My meager attempts left me more frustrated than fulfilled, but I think I did pretty good considering…

And don’t forget the little yellow butterfly.  Talk about something that wouldn’t sit still!  What a flitter critter.  It is big enough to be considered a butterfly, yes?

 

See you in the funny paper.

                                   

  Bucky Kat 

 

Hammy Squirrel                             

Bucky’s trapping tasty animals this morning.  He calls it the ‘Tasty Animal Trap 5000.’  I love Bucky Kat but I seriously   couldn’t live with him and if I did have a cat like that, well, let’s just say he’d be getting intensive therapy.  But if I were picking a life-time partner from the comic strip world, I think I’d have to choose Hammy Squirrel, the most adorable, naive, innocent, more-than-slightly-off-center animal in the comic animal kingdom.  Heck, I’d even vote for him for president; the world would truly be a better place.

But no politics, please!

Every morning I read the comics while I have my coffee and blueberry bagel.  Have done faithfully since even before I could read.  One of my earliest memories is sitting in the floor with the Charleston, South Carolina News and Courier spread out in the floor in front of me looking at the pictures and wondering what the squiggles (words) meant.  I looked at the funnies and when I learned to read, I began to read the funnies and still do.  I  read Nancy and Sluggo, Little Orphan Annie, Blondie of course, Steve Canyon, and Brenda Starr.  There were others, but those are the ones that come immediately to mind.

Now I mostly read them online, but still check them out in the newspaper and still look at the Sunday funnies to catch the ones I don’t read online.  But the yin and yang of my funnies has to be Bucky and Hammy, devil vs. angel, grumpy vs. sunny disposition, innocence vs. evil, cat vs. squirrel, hairball vs. furball.  I love them both.  And I love me some funnies. 

It was a good idea at the time*

Yesterday was Bill’s 69th birthday and I wanted to take him to dinner to celebrate.  I love Italian food and have wanted to try a local restaurant that I’ve passed many times for many months on Highway 544 near Surfside Beach, South Carolina.  It was the end building in a small, unassuming strip shopping center and looked cute and interesting.  I called to make sure they are open on Monday and we arrived about 6:30PM.  The restaurant is more spacious than it appears from the outside and has a pleasant look and feel with tablecloths and real napkins.  The atmosphere was appropriately dusky with nicely-done murals on the wall, one of which resembled the Italian countryside, and small lamps on the tables. 

Our waitress brought menus but didn’t point out the evening’s specials.  She was earnest and cute, but didn’t seem to have been a waitress very long because she lacked the finesse that a seasoned waitress would have. There were bread plates on the table and I’ve never been to an Italian restaurant that didn’t bring a basket of bread and butter or olive oil for dipping, but we were offered no bread.  Bill had a beer and I had a bellini, which is champagne with peach liqueur.  I have had bellinis which were made with fresh pureed peaches and they can be very elaborate, but this was a simple drink of champagne with hardly any peach essence at all; and a cherry at the bottom of the stem.  Our orders were taken as soon as the drinks arrived:  Bill ordered shrimp marinara and I had chicken marsala which was served with a small side of spaghetti with marinara sauce.  We had a choice of soup or house salad and we both chose the house salad with balsamic vinaigrette.  It’s my theory that one can judge an entire meal simply from the salad that’s served.  If the salad is fresh and generous, the meal will be also.  If the salad is meager in portion and presentation, so will the meal be as well.  Unfortunately, our salads were the latter; a bit of romaine lettuce with two cherry tomatoes, two cucumber slices, and three red onions slices with a fair dressing.  The salad was served on a small plate which made it very difficult to eat and Bill gave up exhausted after chasing the tomatoes around on his plate. 

His shrimp marinara was served in a large bowl with several large shrimp arranged on a bed of pasta.  My chicken marsala was served on a large platter…two small chicken breasts with a generous amount of sauce.  Bill’s dish was disappointing as he said the shrimp were grandfathers (meaning tough) and he wasn’t impressed with the pasta.  My dish was very  delicious with a thick marsala sauce and sliced mushrooms.  The dish was a bit stark as it was served with no vegetable.  A serving of sauteed zucchini or another vegetable would have certainly dressed the dish up and made a more impressive presentation.  The spaghetti with marinara sauce was ordinary and tasted more like plain tomato sauce.  Our waitress asked us halfway through our meal if we would like water and finally noticed that we had no bread.  She asked at that point if we wanted bread and I told her that it was too late in the meal for bread. 

When we finished our meal, she asked if we wanted dessert and I asked to see the dessert menu of which there wasn’t one.  She recited what they had…I forgot the first item; the second was tirimisu (they didn’t have any tirimisu because “what was in the pan looked old, so we threw it away”; the third was a chocolate dessert that she described but didn’t have a name for; the fourth was some kind of frozen “thing” that she again didn’t know the name of.  Suffice to say we didn’t have dessert.

I really wanted to like this restaurant.  A couple of months ago it was written up in a local Myrtle Beach dining magazine and I had great hopes for it.  This is a local restaurant with prices that compare to larger restaurants at the beach and even in California where I’ve had an opportunity to try several Italian restaurants.  Our bill including tip was $55.00, but this was not a value meal.  One can get a deliciously generous meal at a chain such as Carrabba’s Italian Grill for the same price.  As much as I’d like to patronize a local restaurant, my next meal out will not be at Bella Napoli.

*This review was written to help those who might consider dining at Bella Napoli near Surfside Beach, South Carolina.  The restaurant doesn’t have a website and there was nothing online, thus I thought this might be a service to others.  Let me also add that this is the opinion of one diner.  When we left around 8PM, the dining room had a nice crowd and others were arriving.  Please go and be your own critic.  If this review has helped you, please leave a comment.

 

Hanging Out

The Art Walk and “Art In the Alleys” was held in downtown Conway this past Saturday.  Sandra was having a painting demonstration at Blackwater Gallery on Main Street and I hung out with her…offering support and critique; most of which she ignores…the critique, not the support.  We were having a friendly set-to when Susan, the gallery’s owner, gave us ”that look” which made me remark that sometimes it gets vicious between the two of us.  Which isn’t true, but it sounded dramatic. 

Lots of local art and artists.  Coolish, overcast weather.  The Trestle selling hotdogs and hamburgers outdoors.  Pungent scent of onion wafting through the air.  Lunch at Lazy River cafe.  Palmetto trees and crescent moons in the window of the Jerry Cox Company.  The Theater of the Republic’s next production of ‘Sordid Lives’ on the Main Street Theater’s marquee.  Moss-draped live oak trees.  All’s well in Conway.

By the way, she does take orders for her gourds and they can be customized for any occasion or season.     

One of those days

Yesterday wasn’t a good day.  In fact, it was one of those teary days; when you just tear up for no good reason and you just can’t control it.  The kind of day where you cry in the shower and then scrub your face really hard so no one will notice. 

The reality is that the emphysema is taking its toll on Bill and it’s exacting its revenge in no uncertain terms and asks that its dues be paid in short time.  Old friends have started calling and coming by to see him.  That’s never a good sign.  His pulmonologist  has told him to get his affairs in order and make sure his healthcare directive is on file.  Living with and caring for him is a commitment that I made gladly, but it isn’t easy to watch a loved one dying before your eyes.  A man, who looks so normal on the outside, save for the normal aging that we all share, whose lungs are slowly ceasing to work; whose deepest breath barely causes his chest to rise and fall.  Each morning when I wake, I check to make sure he’s still breathing and I have to watch his chest closely just to see the movement.  A man who doesn’t want to wake from his dreams because in his dreams he lives the life that he no longer can.  In his dreams he’s restoring his ‘67 Dodge RT; in real life he’ll never see it rebuilt.  I’m bitter about that because a certain son chooses not to share his passion, so the car sits, in pieces that will never be complete.  One last dream.  Everyone has one and his is so simple…

His sister, neice, and great-neice will be coming in tomorrow night because they want to spend time with him.  He hates a houseful of people.  The constant chatter makes him nervous, he can’t relax, he can’t watch television, and he can’t sit around in his jammies all day.  And I, the hater of housework and being forced into the bowels of a kitchen, will have to get the guest room ready and maybe cook a pot roast.  The pot roast part isn’t so bad, but the getting ready for guests is.  But they’re family, right?  They don’t require the niceties and trappings of a true house guest, right?

Should I make them eat sandwiches, too? 

Good Glads

After having been in Californina for a month, I can’t seem to get reacclimated to being South again.  When I left on June 12, the gladioluses were in full bloom and as they broke from the weight of their flowers, I brought them inside to enjoy them.  I left this arrangement in the kitchen…right in front of his nose so he would be sure to see it.

I asked that it not be sitting there with gladiolus carcasses in it when I got him.  The first thing I saw when I walked into the kitchen Tuesday night was this:

 

My mouth dropped open; I turned and just looked at him.  He laughed at my reaction and said, “I just had to leave them there because of what you said.”  How do you respond to that?  I always leave him with orders and admonitions and he never listens to them, so I thought this was appropriate.  In fact, I didn’t throw them away immediately; I left them there for two more days before I tossed them.  If you look closely, you’ll see that the apples are slowly petrifying too.  I’ve been feeding them to the birds.

This particular glad is my favorite and has been quite prolific.  About tenyears ago, Mama gave me six miniscule gladiolus bulbs that were a ‘free gift’ from Michigan Bulb Company.  As puny as they were, I plunked them in the dirt without much care because I was sure I’d never see them again.  Lo and behold, those puny and spunky bulbs bloomed and this was the most beautiful.  It was also as tall as me at 5′-3″.  Over the years this buld has multiplied and now I have dozens of them.  It also blooms earlier than the rest of them.  I guess I need to name it ‘Mama’s Glad’ because I always think of her when they bloom.  And she’d be glad to know that they’re still blooming after so many years.