I met Betty today...

Journal entry: 7/21/04
Morehead, KY
9:30 a.m.
I met Betty Hall, the proud proprietor of the Treasure Vault in Morehead, Kentucky, today. She celebrates her one year anniversary as owner of an antique store where "people come from all over, even as far as Areezona, and a few from Califor-neye-ay", she proudly exclaims with her southern twang.  So, I bought a kitchen witch. It's pretty ugly. Like I needed one, wanted one, or even have room to hang one.  It's far from an antique.  Brand-spankin' new, complete with tag, a dollar store find, and I bought it for $2.99 because I had to.  I felt as though I would've insulted this warm-hearted woman, full of southern hospitality, and an owner of a small business--a tough venture for any brave soul nowadays.  For this small token, I was awarded, no correction, blessed with a gift: future contact and recipe exchanges beginning with the infamous Betty Hall Peach cobbler and promises for banana bread down-home style and any jam/jelly receipe that I desire.  All I have to do is report back to Mrs. Hall after trying her peach cobbler, and the correspondence will commence.  This exchange of ten minutes reminds me of the importance of taking time to connect with one another and share in a moment. 

Betty Hall's Cobbler

 

Take a glass pan (8x11) and melt a stick of butter in the oven.  Mix one cup of flour, milk, sugar and beat into a batter.  Pour the mixture into the pan of melted butter.  Take a can of peaches (a bigger size can) and pour on top of the mixture.  Bake in 350 degree oven until golden brown on top.

Bathrooms One Mile Up

I just got back from Lexington, Kentucky.  On the map, it doesn't really look that far from my home in Magalia, but I could have flown to Paris in the amount of time it took me to get to the Bluegrass Airport.  This fact caused me to spend an unusual amount of time in the Delta bathroom. Actually, this shouldn't count as a "room", perhaps "closet" is a better term.  Anyway, these many visits caused me to realize the necessity for rules and regulations that should be enforced and punishable by throwing a passenger out of the plane if not followed (don't gasp, they can have a parachute).

• Men must sit down. Always. Period. No exceptions. End to standing in sticky pee.
• No pooping. End of discussion. No passenger seated in the back of the plane should be subject to family odors other than that of his own family.
• Sweet smelling sprays should be made available to disguise the B.O. of passengers with overactive glands.
• The sign that reads "Please be courteous and wipe out the sink for the next passenger" should be replaced with "Drain the damn sink you slob."
• People in first class should not have bigger bath closets.  They already have free booze and don't have to pay for their sandwich. Enough is enough.

So, there it is.  Toileting rules.  Afterall, it's just too hard to hold it for nine hours and there aren't any bushes in the air to use.  With no other alternatives, there has to be some regulations to make everyone's toileting experience a happy one.

On the way to Princeton, about 15 miles outside of Chico, I stopped to take this picture. Funny how one can be found standing impatiently in an Albertson's line or flipping off a driver slowing down the freeway traffic, and yet, just a short drive away, one can be at peace in such a wide expanse of freedom.  

Service Sucks Nowadays

"Yes. Hi. My name is Kathy Thomas. Yes, that's correct. .T...h...o...m...a..s," spelling carefully and slowly for the bimbo on the other end. "No, T...H," I forcefully replied, not surprised at her phonic confusion. "Yes, I have a problem, that's why I'm calling." (Duh!)"I need a service technician to come out and spray for fleas." Silence. Let's see now, bimbo probably ponders, she lives in Magalia, gots a problem with fleas, so her house must be just a crawlin' with 'em. "There not in the house," I quickly add, "just outside in the grass and where my three dogs sleep." Sure, she thinks, those fleas are probably bouncing on her Posterpedic right now. "Well, ma'am (man, I hate being called ma'am), I can send out Dave on your regularly scheduled visit next Tuesday, and he can spray for the fleas, but you'll have to do your part as well, you know," the bimbo explained. Do my part? Was there some sexual payment required for flea spraying in the contract's small print? I have shampooed, scrubbed, sprayed, brushed, done everything imaginable...The next step was the pest control. That's why I called. Because I had a problem. Because that's why I pay an exorbitant fee. Because that's what they advertise. Because I am the damn client, and they are the service provider. Needless to say, Dave never even showed up on Tuesday. Today is Thursday, and we still have fleas. Service sucks nowadays.

New Fangled Madness

What ever happened to walking into store to make a purchase and walking out with the item ALREADY PUT TOGETHER. Today I bought a desk for my son. Nothing fancy. A desk with room to do some dang homework without pushing away computer mice and keyboards. It came in a box, weighed about 100lbs (I can tell because it was at least the weight of two bags of Kibble 'n Bits), and the instructions were not in written form. No writing. Just pictures. Weird-looking pictures. It took both of my sons and myself a good five minutes to translate one of the illustrations. In fact, we were searching for a part, that actually was non-existent, and I was cursing up a storm internally as I was certain that this pile of @$%* from Denmark was missing an integral part. Turns out that the illustration was a "close up" of the small bag of glue that was included. Needless to say, I tossed the friggin' baggy of glue and pulled out my trusty bottle of Gorilla Glue. Baggies of glue? Pleeeeeeezzzzzz.....

You have zero friends

Not good for one's self esteem. Check it out at aiyo.com. You sign up your recommendations for books, music, etc. (I really only listed my current reading material and music to make my blog a little more interesting as well as to experiment with links and changing the template). But, as I clicked to visit my "profile" at aiyo.com, it states, for the whole world to see, "You have 0 friends." How pathetic. Talk about feeling like a loser. So, if you are reading this, thanks for being a friend to a current aiyo.com big zero!

Flea ridden diggin' dog. No matter what I do (chemically charged shampoos al fresco, contra-flea jewelry, Hartz perfume, and special serums), you still harbor baby bouncin' bugs and dig through the bricks and rocks just to sit by the front door to further torment me. I just love my dog. I just love my dog. I do. I do. I do... 

I hate milk-toast politics

Someone asked me whom I was going to vote for. Rather than giving my political stance away (although it's a big DUH for anyone that half knows me), I asked him back,"Well, who are YOU going to vote for? Kerry?" It was a rhetorical question. This person is a union man to the bone. But the answer to the follow-up question, a simple one, is one that brings much frustration to my simple, yet happy, life. "Why?" I ask. "Why do you think Kerry will make a decent president?" is a question that I ask every Kerry supporter. I have yet to receive a response that is backed by political fact, stance, or platform. I'm tired of hearing, "Because I just can't stand Bush!" Well, I didn't know that you were having him over for dinner for God's sake. Last night, on the Daily Show, Ralph Nader suggested that Americans should follow politics like they do their favorite sports team. What a concept...and hey, even me, a Bush/Cheney supporter, can compliment Nader for an intelligent comment. Please, Kerry supporters, study your stats and your players, and be a true part of the playing field.

Kerry marries Edwards

Kerry finally announced his running mate: the grinning, effeminate Mr. Edwards. So we have John Kerry, an out of touch senator, with no substantial political platform, but one who plays to the media's frenzy by posing with a football (notice the throw wasn't broadcasted) and skeet shooting (again, notice the shot wasn't revealed). I suppose it was his feeble attempt to appear to be one with the average American...although I can't remember the last time my husband had time away from work and the "honey do s" around the house to toss the football around or hit the shooting range. Now Kerry has found his "soul mate" for his "political marriage" to John Edwards, another senator, to supply a more people-friendly addition to the democratic ticket. I just hope history remains true. There have been only two successful senators to win the presidency: Warren Harding in 1920 and John F. Kennedy in 1960.