tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62664148487983822902024-03-18T08:21:50.377-04:00ApacheDug's TeepeeSingle and retired, my views from the 4th floorApacheDughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05520433539816634566noreply@blogger.comBlogger630125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266414848798382290.post-81652998689240463842024-03-15T21:48:00.000-04:002024-03-15T21:48:42.450-04:00Anxious for things to return to normal, but right now I’m in it for the (covid) long haul<div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; float: right;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5KBKGQJrysSlramKXeF48vybjSzykak_jv4SJo41wE-0jFbdxZkU9QKczL0zhyzkK87kenkebfI8JFRu6c5aXIkusD6UgJ1LHtHXQy7my9BUExhZgE-HE1Ic959Yu21W7IP2nXT9GKqY21iz5oWBcEyW0V16SIXI04q5uJ4VYIDPxHMf-DNNoaY1uX6M/s738/longhaul.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5KBKGQJrysSlramKXeF48vybjSzykak_jv4SJo41wE-0jFbdxZkU9QKczL0zhyzkK87kenkebfI8JFRu6c5aXIkusD6UgJ1LHtHXQy7my9BUExhZgE-HE1Ic959Yu21W7IP2nXT9GKqY21iz5oWBcEyW0V16SIXI04q5uJ4VYIDPxHMf-DNNoaY1uX6M/w526-h640/longhaul.jpg" width="350" height="426" data-original-width="606" data-original-height="738" /></a></div> <p>Isn’t this a strange photo?  This is me sitting on the floor of my bedroom, wearing a Moist Heat Sinus Relief Mask from Amazon.</p> <p>It’s a very soft, plush fabric that wraps around your head and comes with 3 heat settings and an auto-shutoff timer after 15/30/60 minutes.  It’s comfortable to wear and the heat can be soothing; I only wish it came with eye-holes!  Debbi from the blog ‘Life’s Funny Like That’ reached out to me with a link to this device and after reading most of the customer reviews, I went ahead and ordered one.</p> <p>The instruction book says <em>“Even though this comes with a shutoff timer, please do NOT wear it in bed or to bed, it can get hot enough to burn.”</em>  So, unable to sleep or read or look at TV, you’ve got plenty of time to sit there and think.</p> <p>It’s pointless to look back and wish you could have a do-over, but I can easily see how events played out that led me to this.  The Tuesday after Thanksgiving I stopped at Rite-Aid on my way to the Senior Center to see about getting my covid vaccine shot and a prescription refilled.  </p> <p>There was a line, so I thought I’d come back the next day.  On my way out the door I said to the manager “You guys aren’t on the bankruptcy closure list are you?” and she said <em>“Not yet!”</em>  I didn’t return the following day, and when I finally went back on Friday—sure enough, the doors were locked with a sign on the front saying goodbye and prescription pickups were sent to the Giant Eagle on Mt. Nebo Road.</p> <p>(That’s when I asked my friend Susie if I could ride along the next time she went there as she did her grocery shopping there.  I went with her the following Monday, she called me the very next morning and said she was sick and tested positive for covid; 2-3 days later I wound up positive too.)</p> <p>She recovered from covid with no issues, I wasn’t so fortunate.  So if I hadn’t gone with Susie, would things be any different right now?  This is entirely my fault of course, but I bet my IRA I’d be pain-free and blogging about something else. </p> <p><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="5">I</font></em></strong> haven’t been to the center since February 21.  We had a nice lunch that day of broccoli stuffed chicken and orzo, and they asked if I wanted seconds as there’d been several cancellations.  I said yes, thank you… but also admitted I was dealing with a buildup of orofacial pain for the last couple weeks and it was becoming too much to bear.  Little did I know what was coming… </p> <p>I have to admit the persistent pressure in my forehead and temples is making me a bit mental.  Earlier today (I’m writing this on a Friday night) I decided to shave and walk to the store for some ham sandwich spread and a can of Resolve Carpet Cleaner.  Maybe do a little ‘early spring cleaning’ and freshen my bedroom carpet.</p> <p>So I’m standing in line at the deli counter, and because it’s Lent there’s a lot of people in line for fish sandwiches and stuff.  The woman behind the counter says “Next!” and it’s the tall guy in front of me, but he’s turned sideways, talking to a woman not in line.  The deli woman says again “Next!  Next!”  and I lost it and poked the man’s shoulder and said “SHE’S TALKING TO YOU!”</p> <p>The man jumped and said <em>“Dude!  I was talking to my Mom!”</em>   I said “I DON’T CARE YOU GOT A LINE OF PEOPLE BEHIND YOU!”   He said to his mother  <em>“Can you believe this?  I’ll call you tonight!”</em> </p> <p>Now see.. normally I wouldn’t have said a word.  But it was my head doing that, not me.</p> <p>I forgot where I was going with this… I guess I just wanted to put something new out there.  I know I’m going to fully recover from whatever this is.  (Lots of pressure in the front of my head with jabs of pain, sore sinuses and mouth.)  I no longer think it’s sinusitis, there’s no congestion, no (forgive me for being gross) colored discharge.  Just lots and lots of chronic inflammation.  At night I can sleep for the most part, and that’s a good thing.</p> <p>As long as I’m thanking Debbi for sending me the link to that face mask, I also wanted to thank blogger Joanne for the Neilmed Sinus Rinse suggestion.  I’ve become quite the pro at using it, and the saline wash has been soothing to my dry, ragged sinuses.  I can’t believe I’m in my sixties and never used one before.</p> <p>If you made it this far, let me know and I’ll add you to my will.  Thanks for listening. <br /></p> <div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiItqpVc3Es0zUfrfL4GRJUhFY97CzZpZhCEqs6UMx_RVGBwglANMHDR7IuiTGaBMfPQNpcpfgKRCVCyV6Uvy6kklRoXejGBx9Um2jS3sTWJJXpZ_3Qa8dPhUsriPex-_aVDVupbfRs6twAQvhbrFaFGbhpQGRJKYTDW1oZ9IYxQRCos16UGho7EW46tQY/s832/neilrinse.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiItqpVc3Es0zUfrfL4GRJUhFY97CzZpZhCEqs6UMx_RVGBwglANMHDR7IuiTGaBMfPQNpcpfgKRCVCyV6Uvy6kklRoXejGBx9Um2jS3sTWJJXpZ_3Qa8dPhUsriPex-_aVDVupbfRs6twAQvhbrFaFGbhpQGRJKYTDW1oZ9IYxQRCos16UGho7EW46tQY/w480-h640/neilrinse.jpg" width="300" height="400" data-original-width="624" data-original-height="832" /> </a></div>ApacheDughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05520433539816634566noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266414848798382290.post-60306161880335026712024-03-07T07:20:00.000-05:002024-03-07T07:21:10.234-05:00That’s my head in the vise and I feel guilty it’s there, but I’m working on it<div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQex3wy79aRJXjNXFrqLB0wEfF6fm_7woWH_XGYb6rU_rN0BgZUM5VTYh-rjqxCDFNyivXIHkUkBk4n19slMlCi-e4s50pY51-NoR35GUcBVgQglV7mAn27CciYxRFiGtfLrFu07oQdltKU1ov70ZnNAdEQSYS2TOoLcmwFTkZ1KAWjZOHIonLaJXnPuQ/s521/headinvise.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img style="display: inline;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQex3wy79aRJXjNXFrqLB0wEfF6fm_7woWH_XGYb6rU_rN0BgZUM5VTYh-rjqxCDFNyivXIHkUkBk4n19slMlCi-e4s50pY51-NoR35GUcBVgQglV7mAn27CciYxRFiGtfLrFu07oQdltKU1ov70ZnNAdEQSYS2TOoLcmwFTkZ1KAWjZOHIonLaJXnPuQ/w640-h434/headinvise.jpg" width="525" height="356" data-original-height="353" data-original-width="521" /></a></div> <p>Last week, the day after my trip to Mercy Hospital to meet with my PCP and an ENT, my sister texted me and asked if I was feeling better now that I started the antibiotics.  </p> <p>I responded I didn’t feel any better, I’d only taken two pills so far.  She replied<em> “With strep throat two doses of antiobiotics you feel like you’re healed!”  </em>I felt guilty for not having strep.</p> <p>The next day, my friend Elisa (who works at the Senior Center) emailed and asked what happened at my medical appointment.  I told her my PCP believed this was a long-covid condition and they didn’t have all the answers.  But post-covid inflammation could persist for 3 months or even longer.</p> <p>My friend said <em>“Sorry, I’m not buying it.”  </em>I felt guilty for sharing such a dire forecast, I should’ve just said I’ll be better soon.  (Still, this is now in it’s second month.)</p> <p>Three days ago my friend Pat texted me and said <em>“It’s 72F outside!  Go for a walk, I bet you’ll feel like your old self!”</em>   I said okay, but the truth was I just returned from a walk to the market and felt guilty it didn’t make me feel like my old self.</p> <p>The day before yesterday, I emailed Courtney (the director of the Senior Center I belong to) to inform her I wouldn’t be coming up for the Flatbread Turkey lunch, and could she please express my regrets to my flatbread partner Mary.  She said of course, and asked if I wanted to attend the St. Patty’s Day luncheon next week.  I said I’d better not schedule anything else just yet.  </p> <p>But I still felt guilty leaving Mary in the lurch for lunch.  </p> <p><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="5">Y</font></em></strong>esterday morning I called my doctor to let him know I was on the last of the antibiotics but wasn’t feeling much better yet.  He said <em>“Douglas, the antiobiotics were to ensure we got any bacteria in your respiratory.  What are you doing to manage things?”</em></p> <p>I told him I was taking a nightly bath with steam and epsom salts, it really seemed to ease the cranial pressure for an hour or so.  And I was going to bed with Vicks VapoRub streaked on my cheekbones like Indian warpaint.   </p> <p>I added the Naproxen was a game changer, it reduced the pressure in my head by almost half sometimes and for hours too. </p> <p>My doctor said <em>“I only prescribed you ten of those pills for worst case scenarios, they weren’t intended for daily use.”</em>  Oops.  He asked how many I’d taken, I said 6.  He said <em>“You abused those, I don’t want you taking anymore.  Have you tried aspirin?”</em></p> <p>I said yes, but they only help a tiny fraction of the discomfort.  He said <em>“It’s better than nothing.  Next time follow my instructions.”   </em>Yes sir.  Oh the guilt.</p> <p><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="5">O</font></em></strong>kay, I just finished proofreading all this and boy this is one big boo-hoo, isn’t it?  If I post this on my blog, I’m going to feel REALLY guilty for sharing it with all of you.</p> <p>But as long as I’m feeling so guilty already….</p> <div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzW4z6cGikY5-ug_cAfhyphenhyphenNc-qAwIMnYJStRtMMM2jKpIixC48oZYgdHO3APdEAPDT82v3w2DsAMbOBiPXSh2TO1F7wxr4TQZWMKpOBlAea-rG9R1ix8Wl5z4NxvSQdhSCw5ht_370CQu36TmZKbcBf11ksN8F5szwVGaUEMKyPMADIpj056YTTJl5DdD0/s277/shrug1.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzW4z6cGikY5-ug_cAfhyphenhyphenNc-qAwIMnYJStRtMMM2jKpIixC48oZYgdHO3APdEAPDT82v3w2DsAMbOBiPXSh2TO1F7wxr4TQZWMKpOBlAea-rG9R1ix8Wl5z4NxvSQdhSCw5ht_370CQu36TmZKbcBf11ksN8F5szwVGaUEMKyPMADIpj056YTTJl5DdD0/s1600/shrug1.jpg" width="175" height="258" data-original-height="277" data-original-width="188" /></a></div>ApacheDughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05520433539816634566noreply@blogger.com41tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266414848798382290.post-53269674319589447292024-03-04T07:37:00.000-05:002024-03-04T07:37:58.016-05:00From my old comic book and sci-fi days… the unearthed videos of ApacheDug<div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; float: right;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSgRt2a1Jn3fH-wDY86ZJZhhlwnlVrU07_LghO2rkjaFOmSPDTFz4itL499dgSEL-RYuIme9FdTbjxzosyOGtvoNL7IXeUlYLJq7vWDLNzUNz40_sPshZjS9egStFUWYyu9VaprizcXnEA-Hq5cGhbZm7N9Sx5XaFQ2ZYmTuznQPZajLGTtQ-385o1ClE/s600/kerblammo.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSgRt2a1Jn3fH-wDY86ZJZhhlwnlVrU07_LghO2rkjaFOmSPDTFz4itL499dgSEL-RYuIme9FdTbjxzosyOGtvoNL7IXeUlYLJq7vWDLNzUNz40_sPshZjS9egStFUWYyu9VaprizcXnEA-Hq5cGhbZm7N9Sx5XaFQ2ZYmTuznQPZajLGTtQ-385o1ClE/w454-h640/kerblammo.jpg" width="285" height="402" data-original-width="426" data-original-height="600" /></a></div> <p>While I’m waiting for this brain fog & long covid orofacial stuff to go away, I thought I’d share something silly I found (and long forgotten) on the internet Sunday.</p> <p>Several years after my mom passed and before I retired in 2015, I belonged to an online club called Blammo.</p> <p>Blammo was a place where we got into some pretty heavy discussions on everything from finances to music—but the focus was on comic books, movies, Doctor Who, classic and contemporary science fiction, Star Trek.</p> <p>It was mostly guys and we teased each other relentlessly.  Some became like brothers.</p> <p> I was going to do a series of videos on there after the first one got so much feedback, but I worried the guys would see me as a goof and nothing more.</p> <p>There’s only 4, and they’re only 1-3 minutes long, but if you’re curious to see me jibber-jabber in person so to speak, lisp & all, here ya go.</p> <p><strong><em><font color="#ff0000" size="3" face="Trebuchet MS">1.  I made this first one to celebrate my 9000th post… MY 9000TH POST</font></em></strong></p> <p><iframe title="YouTube video player" style="width: 521px; height: 301px;" height="315" allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/rS1ZwDRm0DQ?si=HgjasewwtMDG4llA" frameborder="0" width="560" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share"> </iframe></p> <p><strong><em><font color="#ff0000" size="3" face="Trebuchet MS">2.  That first video got such a positive response….</font></em></strong></p> <p><iframe title="YouTube video player" style="width: 523px; height: 296px;" height="315" allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/kaIzCY7UL5s?si=UqiBOTf7uj5iexXp" frameborder="0" width="560" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share"> </iframe></p> <p><font color="#ff0000" size="3" face="Trebuchet MS"><strong><em>3.  Third time’s the charm?  (I was on something in this one)</em></strong></font></p> <p><iframe title="YouTube video player" style="width: 525px; height: 290px;" height="315" allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/kNUP-q0SzhQ?si=__mK9eJEC_bQIlZc" frameborder="0" width="560" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share"> </iframe></p> <p><strong><em><font color="#ff0000" size="3" face="Trebuchet MS">4.  Capped and caffeinated (this is still my favorite ball cap)</font></em></strong></p> <p><iframe title="YouTube video player" style="width: 527px; height: 288px;" height="315" allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/7Ne7XymQp2E?si=CENsXcq5__TvoEJg" frameborder="0" width="560" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share"> </iframe></p>ApacheDughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05520433539816634566noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266414848798382290.post-3691415220554187802024-02-29T07:32:00.002-05:002024-02-29T07:45:10.187-05:00You take the good, you take the bad, you take ‘em both and there you have—chronic sinusitis<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMmr5KZ-9xhUhsERYJL3Nsd9JPr_RvriD6-W0nCLUsFHKQ6uAx869Y2kuXaEWsvMSZltpjKlphunDwawxIwUVTmkdy__DwOHpDw4YE2iQb1gtZt4BkDoJV5-2uNJz23HbhzrwlluCYziU3iJfAxRpBjN6eLfElRQCAtrJIMF4fIzzDBoBdz5n9Nm1Dpt8/s856/meds24.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="856" data-original-width="714" height="391" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMmr5KZ-9xhUhsERYJL3Nsd9JPr_RvriD6-W0nCLUsFHKQ6uAx869Y2kuXaEWsvMSZltpjKlphunDwawxIwUVTmkdy__DwOHpDw4YE2iQb1gtZt4BkDoJV5-2uNJz23HbhzrwlluCYziU3iJfAxRpBjN6eLfElRQCAtrJIMF4fIzzDBoBdz5n9Nm1Dpt8/w534-h640/meds24.jpg" width="326" /></a></div> <p>I just wanted to give a quick update on things, if that’s okay—the last few days wrestling with all this inflammation and crazy noggin pressure was making me pretty batty. I spent most of Saturday on the phone with my dear friend Erin, then did a repeat performance Monday night with my friend & former classmate Diana. </p> <p>They were both so kind, I owe them both big-time. Thank you, thank you.</p> <p>Early Tuesday morning, I called my PCP’s office and a kindly triage nurse let me explain what I’ve been wrestling with since January. She told me that my PCP was going to be at Mercy Hospital on Wednesday, get there bright and early and he would do an evaluation. I almost cancelled when I woke up to the biggest rainstorm Pittsburgh’s seen in 30 years, but made it to Mercy Hospital almost an hour early. I was dripping wet when I walked in there, but they got me a pair of scrubs and those comfy grip-socks to wear.</p> <p>It turned out (luckily for me) they’d had a number of morning cancellations. My PCP and his 3rd year medical student saw me almost immediately, and because we were in a hospital and not his private practice, was also examined by an ENT (ear, nose, throat) specialist.</p> <p>I have to say, that specialist was remarkable. He said <em>“Here’s what happened. You had covid in December, you recovered from that. Then you got sick again with another virus or infection in a 2 week timeframe.” </em>I said yes I should’ve remembered that.<em> </em> He said <em>“That’s how your acute sinus infection became chronic.”</em></p> <p>He said the good news was, my masseters (jaw muscles) looked untraumatized and the oral pain was from tissue inflammation, not muscle. So he didn’t see this being a TMJ issue (at least, not yet). The bad news was, the orofacial pain wasn’t going anywhere and could probably continue another couple months. </p> <p>They gave me an antibiotic to be taken twice a day for 10 days, and a 10 day dosage of Naproxen. Also some prescription FLonase, and a saltwater concoction to irrigate my sinuses regularly. </p> <p>I asked about the intense pressure in the front & sides of my head, my PCP asked if I was sure my vision wasn’t blurry. I said my sight was clear and he said <em>“Good, then we can probably rule out a tumor.” </em>Er… good to know. <br /></p> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6bJvmsuynslqdfDtuIFj7h0utmLIuBBlH0jhg8yGzDi0tjZ0p9QbSgibhIUYLQ3aHAn8Mu_NMIkoD1AqYcV3c_eaj_mIpEAwi02gnxBCj3TvehGJd4JILWsM36ODc65j3EXzxY_9vtnt9fpzFeZ5F-htXY52i7YsquLtDyDpbaTboM5v1T4bdlvgyRZs/s500/wakeupman.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="353" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6bJvmsuynslqdfDtuIFj7h0utmLIuBBlH0jhg8yGzDi0tjZ0p9QbSgibhIUYLQ3aHAn8Mu_NMIkoD1AqYcV3c_eaj_mIpEAwi02gnxBCj3TvehGJd4JILWsM36ODc65j3EXzxY_9vtnt9fpzFeZ5F-htXY52i7YsquLtDyDpbaTboM5v1T4bdlvgyRZs/s320/wakeupman.jpg" width="200" /> </a></div>ApacheDughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05520433539816634566noreply@blogger.com42tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266414848798382290.post-34700130541290514282024-02-23T07:46:00.003-05:002024-02-23T07:50:46.400-05:00Fearful of going down that rabbit hole again—I hope I won’t have to<div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; float: right;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_yDuIFQGi3MynrMV5HB8PEKRzuVwLXLj9o0lROEHNOtUozuDtal8x4j0wdusPYbK4PQ05mDHKy-KDSr8jl-XmC3gTlsxcJX-yHbkCLuQQWQdt8vI1Wb-W5-LgIWO0n772V29d18rS4U2Y11KRLnlIRhFCVoMHINOdPY1rLSqoGRGJ3SIDMaYz8RBUlMg/s493/dugRabbit.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_yDuIFQGi3MynrMV5HB8PEKRzuVwLXLj9o0lROEHNOtUozuDtal8x4j0wdusPYbK4PQ05mDHKy-KDSr8jl-XmC3gTlsxcJX-yHbkCLuQQWQdt8vI1Wb-W5-LgIWO0n772V29d18rS4U2Y11KRLnlIRhFCVoMHINOdPY1rLSqoGRGJ3SIDMaYz8RBUlMg/w562-h640/dugRabbit.jpg" width="300" height="342" data-original-width="433" data-original-height="493" /></a></div> <p>I probably shouldn’t be writing anything right now, for all I know a real miracle will occur in the next day or two and everything will be right as rain again.</p> <p>But the truth of the matter is, this TMJ I’m wrestling with keeps going in the wrong direction.  Every few days it will lighten up enough for me to believe it’s getting better, and I’ll start to do normal things again (like preparing those mini-chicken pizzas in my last post).</p> <p>I’ll tell a couple friends I’m on the mend, and then the next day it comes roaring back with a vengeance.  Right now my temples and the top of my skull are enflamed, my face aches and my mouth is very, very sore.  Eating is difficult but not impossible (yet).  For some reason, hot creamy coffee soothes things.  Not tea, not broth, hot creamy coffee.</p> <p>I know I wrote about this a week or so ago, how I was convinced my TMJ was “reactivated” one week after testing positive for covid.  What I didn’t mention is that the TMJ only lasted 2 weeks, then faded completely.  But exactly 2 weeks after that, I got a severe case of food poisoning of all things, and it REALLY woke up the TMJ.  That was in January, but seems longer ago.  </p> <p><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="5">S</font></em></strong>ometimes blogging can be a real pain in the ass.  I’ve gotten angry emails from people in the past about something political I’d written, or called out for getting my facts wrong, all sorts of things.  But last night I did a search on TMJ in my blog, and was reminded (by many awful posts) how much I struggled with TMJ from December 2018 to December 2020.</p> <p>Those two years (TWO YEARS!) I remained holed up in my apartment, watching nothing but MSNBC and slurping coffee, Ensure & Metamucil.  I often went to bed at 5:30-6pm, only because the fewer hours I remained awake, the better.</p> <p><strong><font color="#808000">That is the rabbit hole I’m fearful of going down again.</font></strong>   </p> <p>Last March I went down to my sister’s house and stayed a week while my apartment was getting its furnace repaired and the place ozoned.  I told Shawn I’d been a hermit for far too long, and when I got back to the city I was going to change my life around.  I knew she didn’t believe me but I meant it.</p> <p>I wasted no time joining my local library, signing up with a local senior center, reconnecting with an old classmate.  I spent a few weekends in the spring & summer with my sister Shawn and brother-in-law Jim, toured points of interest (like Falling Waters) with my friend Diana, went to museums, restaurants and even a gateway clipper ride with the folks at my center.  I made a lot of friends there too.</p> <p>I can’t imagine having to go back to the person I was before.  (Trust me, you can only “grin thru the pain” for so long, with so many people.  It’s not sustainable.)</p> <p><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="5">A</font></em></strong>nyway, I know this wasn’t an entertaining read and I apologize for that.  One good thing about having a blog, you can share & share and there will always be someone out there listening, and it really helps.  Thanks for listening and I hope my next post is a brighter one. <br /></p> <div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgljx81ku80VCe99BXJhyphenhyphenUWIA41NWva_KMoF6lMmMArXGtGsIxTvzZLf4s3dL-488izyMtHftV4KviQ37HQ7WTxlwy3SY9i1KmrWKvGQDtmO4Eu5mYgXuDYESirUL0F1pyScxWjFHtZm8lfuv2y7WL2oDRz63b-CVCHF8a2mu_knrRXc4E0jr9mj7TBUp0/s299/lightinhole.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgljx81ku80VCe99BXJhyphenhyphenUWIA41NWva_KMoF6lMmMArXGtGsIxTvzZLf4s3dL-488izyMtHftV4KviQ37HQ7WTxlwy3SY9i1KmrWKvGQDtmO4Eu5mYgXuDYESirUL0F1pyScxWjFHtZm8lfuv2y7WL2oDRz63b-CVCHF8a2mu_knrRXc4E0jr9mj7TBUp0/w400-h225/lightinhole.jpg" width="300" height="169" data-original-width="299" data-original-height="168" /> </a></div>ApacheDughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05520433539816634566noreply@blogger.com42tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266414848798382290.post-74593194325927814282024-02-19T08:15:00.000-05:002024-02-19T08:30:11.635-05:00This Keto is for the birds! No, literally—it’s for the birds, you’ll see<div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2SLRUHnRQayjecYMUsbf_uNBhx2ErQE7Q5kCi_oFUQAXKu7zL5Gydk27Rp2ILKVW7M5BeDoVLw2czD-jTIR3dKnCOO0PVTAdSyLMptQLy3cqsGZpLjeKIiduknRJ2A4hANNpokSMvUDdC0s3Hyn4LGQ6FH_e2w6F5zk1UqdZMsNS8LEX1XpCzXUs_nEM/s1020/keto1.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2SLRUHnRQayjecYMUsbf_uNBhx2ErQE7Q5kCi_oFUQAXKu7zL5Gydk27Rp2ILKVW7M5BeDoVLw2czD-jTIR3dKnCOO0PVTAdSyLMptQLy3cqsGZpLjeKIiduknRJ2A4hANNpokSMvUDdC0s3Hyn4LGQ6FH_e2w6F5zk1UqdZMsNS8LEX1XpCzXUs_nEM/w640-h372/keto1.jpg" width="600" height="349" data-original-height="593" data-original-width="1020" /></a></div> <p>A couple weeks ago at the Lutheran Senior Center, they served a lunch we’ve never had before.  Roast turkey sandwiches on artisan flatbread, with some surprising toppings (barbecue sauce, pepper jack cheese & cole slaw).  </p> <p>It came with a side of potato salad that was soft, creamy & delicious.</p> <p>I sat with my friend Mary, a tallish slender woman with red hair and ornery personality.  We both agreed the sandwich was awesome and Mary said <i>“I would like to have this sandwich added to the regular menu!”</i>   My friend Elisa (who works there) said <i>“Thank you, Mary—we’ll let the vendor know!”</i>   </p> <p>In my best <i>Oliver</i> voice, I meekly raised my hand and said “The potato salad?  Please ‘sa, may I have some more?”  Elisa wasted no time shouting “NO MORE!”  Seriously, for government-issued potato salad I thought it was the best I’d ever had.</p> <p><b><i><font color="#808000" size="5">I</font></i></b> decided not to wait for the center to serve this sandwich again, so I did my best to duplicate it at home (the picture at the top).  My local market didn’t have any artisan flatbread though, so I bought these Arnold KETO Round Sandwich Thins.</p> <div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4YNX0AVG0EwK0DGB4U7Dkh-Cy0QZei7-7HHWpWt-Dq_OeHKAamX3D5danbZSmC97ai_H_OBaQwxziByNFviUf3vd8SkPoYj6v60JPhA-aNQJGLCg5GINtPw8lBLtV24s0hlgO9cZWSZpH0V4cmFr8MNtnEOEr5AKRTNcxoNS0OD_WZ4_VEXKBelsWDnQ/s412/keto2thins.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4YNX0AVG0EwK0DGB4U7Dkh-Cy0QZei7-7HHWpWt-Dq_OeHKAamX3D5danbZSmC97ai_H_OBaQwxziByNFviUf3vd8SkPoYj6v60JPhA-aNQJGLCg5GINtPw8lBLtV24s0hlgO9cZWSZpH0V4cmFr8MNtnEOEr5AKRTNcxoNS0OD_WZ4_VEXKBelsWDnQ/w640-h376/keto2thins.jpg" width="415" height="244" data-original-height="242" data-original-width="412" /></a></div> <p>They look like hamburger buns that were flattened by a steamroller!  But they did the trick, for the most part.  </p> <p>(I was also able to duplicate the thin, peppery barbecue sauce by adding 3 shakes of Heinz Worchestershire Sauce to 2 tablespoons of Baby Ray Barbecue.)</p> <p>Here’s a funny story: a few days ago (the day of the Ice Cream Social), the lunch served at the Senior Center was tortellini of which I’m NOT a fan, so I packed one of these sandwiches along.  I showed it to a couple of the ladies at my table.</p> <p>Swearin’ Connie (who’s forced to carry a swear-cup and deposit a dollar everytime she swears) said “WHERE THE HELL IS MINE!”  When I offered to share, she laughed and patted my hand and said she was joking.  But when Mary came over with her lunch tray and sat down, Connie yelled “LOOK WHAT THIS %!*^$# BROUGHT FOR LUNCH, MARY!  HE’S TOO GOOD TO EAT THE %!*^$# THE REST OF US ARE HAVING!”</p> <p>My sandwich wound up costing Connie 3 bucks.  I love Connie, I swear!</p> <p><b><i><font color="#808000" size="5">A</font></i></b>nyway, after I used up my turkey at home I still had half a box of these Sandwich Thins and wondered what to do with the rest of them.  Then it hit me—<b><font color="#c0504d">barbecue chicken mini-pizzas.</font></b></p> <p>I made these with a spray of olive oil, a blend of 1/3 cup pizza sauce & 1/4 cup barbecue sauce, shredded rotisserie chicken (white & dark), mozzarella and Monterey Jack cheeses, some crumbled bacon, chopped onions and green peppers.</p> <p><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4oGw1RBvR0st5QEyIu28GJlkTOfvqrfG3tZMqYYv9mUO8eHCjqv-DlGYCnv4_9qZBsUE_xG_xSPo-aqnILhZARgHUQAe8Y51VbT7X4wjlH5UR7SnFZUnohLTS8_QIyJ8Zjoni-KI4j1qdYmALvq-YbEf3znBHPSGjEvAe5bt642CQVkRMmbZMJnPVk64/s1108/keto3.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4oGw1RBvR0st5QEyIu28GJlkTOfvqrfG3tZMqYYv9mUO8eHCjqv-DlGYCnv4_9qZBsUE_xG_xSPo-aqnILhZARgHUQAe8Y51VbT7X4wjlH5UR7SnFZUnohLTS8_QIyJ8Zjoni-KI4j1qdYmALvq-YbEf3znBHPSGjEvAe5bt642CQVkRMmbZMJnPVk64/w640-h408/keto3.jpg" width="600" height="382" data-original-height="707" data-original-width="1108" /></a></p> <p>Put them in an oven preheated to 350 and let bake for 10 minutes.  I know these don’t look very pretty, but these thins were <b>made</b> to be eaten as no-carb mini-pizzas.  The crusts came out of the oven hot and soft, with a mild crisp.  They were absolutely delicious. </p> <p>This may be the only way I ever eat pizza again.  And I wasn’t even trying to go carb-free!<a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzOVtnzwtke43dAemEWuUMIPvEMX8krsm1ATjfQkspzoAzOfXg473tJsXIl9w-8eTUzsptd724s4Gkxd7j_V2K0XGeP9xV7_h_C5GcBWfiUKqAXi2e65CgodVuvnGhP-IGZai4_4dfRVSwBVyptyfngHo7JPemu41ayiN_kFIiTx9aFmoic6cY7riYJnE/s184/keto4.jpg"><img style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzOVtnzwtke43dAemEWuUMIPvEMX8krsm1ATjfQkspzoAzOfXg473tJsXIl9w-8eTUzsptd724s4Gkxd7j_V2K0XGeP9xV7_h_C5GcBWfiUKqAXi2e65CgodVuvnGhP-IGZai4_4dfRVSwBVyptyfngHo7JPemu41ayiN_kFIiTx9aFmoic6cY7riYJnE/s1600/keto4.jpg" width="184" height="177" data-original-height="177" data-original-width="184" /></a></p>ApacheDughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05520433539816634566noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266414848798382290.post-55623371544191688812024-02-14T07:37:00.000-05:002024-02-14T07:37:54.388-05:00Thinking I need a new picture here…and here and here<div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; float: right;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnFgs6wr-6ZQRN8INQMEvWXKXzceUUh3gbMYJvevJeuK_XvaPDJb2aE80dF3CnG2C17qXK_2c6fFzjgunnFbJj4R8OAtDdA-EZlBQ9-vfUSxAoXW2gdUynqfA3Q44-d9ENKQwPp32oouLtUrVnWbUPTCyLsMbXoUHRUefn4BPQOvLp0PEs3SbKOZF12HM/s653/better1.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnFgs6wr-6ZQRN8INQMEvWXKXzceUUh3gbMYJvevJeuK_XvaPDJb2aE80dF3CnG2C17qXK_2c6fFzjgunnFbJj4R8OAtDdA-EZlBQ9-vfUSxAoXW2gdUynqfA3Q44-d9ENKQwPp32oouLtUrVnWbUPTCyLsMbXoUHRUefn4BPQOvLp0PEs3SbKOZF12HM/w480-h640/better1.jpg" width="350" height="467" data-original-height="653" data-original-width="490" /></a></div> <p>Good morning.  If you don’t really know me that well, you probably wouldn’t notice anything too weird or different with my face.</p> <p>(Well, hopefully you wouldn’t!)</p> <p>But trust me, it’s different this morning.  Got out of bed a couple hours ago and the left side of my face was swollen.  It feels like someone stuffed some bristly nuts in my left cheek while I was sleeping.  (Well, I’ve always been a little squirrely…)  It’s just another day of living with TMJ.</p> <p>Things are getting better though, this is Day 4 where the right side of my face has remained unswollen.  That’s a good sign.  I can’t believe I’m even dealing with this again after 3 years.  It returned on Saturday December 16, exactly one week after being struck down with Covid.  Did you know there are studies linking the two?  </p> <p>I’m convinced my bout with covid (with a high fever for 3-4 nights) “woke up” the chronic inflammation that causes TMJ.  Anyway, enough said; I just wanted to share a promising update.  As soon as it ends I plan to eat “sharp foods” like Wheaties and toast for breakfast again.  And bacon.  Boo on oatmeal.</p> <p><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="5">G</font></em></strong>etting to my next reason for wanting a better picture, does my blog look a little different to you?  When I began blogging back in 2006 I did it on a Microsoft site called “Windows Spaces”.  All went well until 2010 when Microsoft announced they were closing their Spaces platform.  </p> <p>They offered to help us migrate to WordPress, but I decided to go my own route and came over to Blogger.  I was a software developer at the time, and thought I’d use the move to learn how to code my own blog using HTML (a website coding language).  I figured it would be a good skill to add to my IT resume.</p> <p>But I only learned just enough, and for the last 15 years I’ve been unable to do much with the look of ApacheDug’s Teepee.  For example, I’ve never been able to change my orange banner which was ‘hard-wired’ into my code.<img style="margin: 20px auto; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXpnLMzgICsigpOf9Wg5IsIFUe_iffhyphenhyphenfuTqbFiiVVP46bcML0dr6iPs3bkTjMH3BhTYbxKg_1GtZeWsn68uBko6hr3IN9ok5Tm9TG49zgYmjnaxt4c6hbEjbms8Pk-CnFdD7hCfyg7q4ekYJyGQ_uuvHhx2m1OAcQ3JnQIRUktxY0yUJfZyEHSFQwlWc/w640-h118/better2.jpg" width="550" height="102" data-original-height="190" data-original-width="1039" />But I’m ready for a change, so a week ago I began looking at Blogger’s ready-made templates, and picked one I could update (without getting into the infernal HTML code).  If you notice anything wonky on here, please let me know!</p> <p><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="5">A</font></em></strong>nd finally, I should probably stop worrying about my blog and focus a little more on fixing up my REAL place.  Last year I gave myself a decor-goal for 2023: find three or four artworks for my apartment so I could stop living with empty walls.  One for my large dining room wall, one for my living room and 2 for the bedroom.</p> <p>What’d I accomplish?  I bought a tiny framed art piece for the bathroom and a medium-sized one for the wall above my clothes hamper (I wrote about <a href="https://apachedugs.blogspot.com/2023/05/you-dont-have-to-be-nerd-like-me-to-be.html" target="_blank">here</a>).  You have to be in the bedroom and around the corner to even see it though.</p> <p>So I’m giving myself a new decor goal for 2024:  find one thing to hang on this wall!  I’m thinking of a 3 x 3’ frame-wrapped canvas art print, maybe Asian-themed or industrial.  I’ll tackle the other rooms next year for sure. ;^)  </p> <p><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp3cQdC1rTn_zcZCjylIFdLe8mQXpO0sptN6WfkChKiuBFVwpajnctITOUHRo0prqfhj2WGr8a7tllZ_Y4WvQuO2Hf9qO-oWW_zD889bstevzkT-c5ngaOWrb2rnknAFVOEkE8v3s5lE1J1MRM7bUBvRidXYZ9xu1AG7it36q6w1P3ve7b7g_mUGYM8dY/s1040/better3.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp3cQdC1rTn_zcZCjylIFdLe8mQXpO0sptN6WfkChKiuBFVwpajnctITOUHRo0prqfhj2WGr8a7tllZ_Y4WvQuO2Hf9qO-oWW_zD889bstevzkT-c5ngaOWrb2rnknAFVOEkE8v3s5lE1J1MRM7bUBvRidXYZ9xu1AG7it36q6w1P3ve7b7g_mUGYM8dY/w640-h480/better3.jpg" width="600" height="450" data-original-height="780" data-original-width="1040" /> </a></p> <p align="left"><strong><font color="#ff0000">HAPPY VALENTINES DAY EVERYONE—I’M HEADING TO THE SENIOR CENTER TO ATTEND AN ICE CREAM SOCIAL AT NOON.  I HOPE YOUR DAY IS SWEET AS WELL.</font></strong></p>ApacheDughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05520433539816634566noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266414848798382290.post-19573170879577042122024-02-09T08:13:00.003-05:002024-02-12T14:05:52.037-05:00Still singin’ praises for the Eggplant Parmigiana<div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; float: right;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjveDyvM8bAjTZ-zZxFx2mFXgqRz-tBsanUBi5v6prMJKTxgqsf8N5fX5nzHKfoMAfTXRX81ZL-NXlRZ9V8oFXCSZBmsH5B6FZry5upzxut2RJZwnfIqykwCdq5VcuI1HYQwa7guMwiVS-tkQRmVpoJ9aXkYdBIIQEK9kVfc8-3swrAF8p6tGzSWUUBoQE/s486/br1.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjveDyvM8bAjTZ-zZxFx2mFXgqRz-tBsanUBi5v6prMJKTxgqsf8N5fX5nzHKfoMAfTXRX81ZL-NXlRZ9V8oFXCSZBmsH5B6FZry5upzxut2RJZwnfIqykwCdq5VcuI1HYQwa7guMwiVS-tkQRmVpoJ9aXkYdBIIQEK9kVfc8-3swrAF8p6tGzSWUUBoQE/w375-h400/br1.jpg" width="335" height="357" data-original-width="456" data-original-height="486" /></a></div> <p>Have you ever made plans to get together with some friends to go out to dinner or see a show, but the day of the event got different “signs” you should maybe cancel?  But you went anyway, and wound up—well, I’m glad I still went.</p> <p>This past Wednesday I awoke to my right cheek swollen and a bit painful (I’ve been dealing with a recent TMJ flare up).  I had plans to have lunch with my pals Evvie & Elaine (and some other folks from the Senior Center) at the Bravo Italian Kitchen on McKnight Road, and I wasn’t about to let this stand in the way.  I rubbed some Ben-Gay on it and hoped for the best.  </p> <p>I showered and shaved and got dressed, then ran out the door (we were expected to be at the center by 10:30am for our road trip).  The entire walk there, I kept noticing a persistent perfume smell around me.  <i>Where was that coming from?  Did one of the ladies from the center hug me the other day when I had my coat on?</i>  I was half tempted to turn around and go home to change my jacket when it hit me—Tide Pods!  I washed my clothes with them on Monday and forgot I only bought them for my pillows and bed sheets.  Now I smelled like a basket of flowers.</p> <p>I get to the center, say hello to everyone, there’s Evvie and Lady Elaine, thank goodness.  It’s soon announced the first of two shuttles is here, but I’m not on the list for the first one.  By the time the second shuttle arrived and brought us to the restaurant, I was dismayed to see all the tables had been filled except one: the one with Dennis, Paul & Gary.  <b><font color="#ff0000">The guy’s table.</font></b></p> <p>Dennis is a nice guy (though he smokes a lot and reeks of cigarette smoke), and I like Paul (even if he is a sex maniac) but Gary—well, I’ve written about Gary before.  He claims to own 3 hearing aids but refuses to wear them, SO YOU HAVE TO SHOUT WHEN YOU TALK TO HIM.  REALLY LOUD.</p> <p>I feel bad for him, but I’m also convinced he’s in the early stages of dementia as every time he sees me, asks me my name (over and over and over) then proceeds to tell me his entire life story.  When our server was taking my order, he kept poking me<i>—“What’s your name again?  I weigh 286 but want to get down to 165!  That was my senior high weight, you know!  Guess how much I weigh now??”</i></p> <p><i><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO2lhbDEcnyKBt6sRNvQ4kdhEftfg6oPCQZUJ-BIJqnpEktHjpT77t2gmrR8iQBFfiHSABJ5UP0xZQsiIUTs-MQVXts1PN_DcCkp2wINBAVt3xD9wjZdnnNjG7EJ4qS3OqyjvwRNChqKeUxRC6e1I1anHaApdyDhWe_WIO8TTxHY3OEtHNw7bpbHfwuCs/s1181/dpg.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO2lhbDEcnyKBt6sRNvQ4kdhEftfg6oPCQZUJ-BIJqnpEktHjpT77t2gmrR8iQBFfiHSABJ5UP0xZQsiIUTs-MQVXts1PN_DcCkp2wINBAVt3xD9wjZdnnNjG7EJ4qS3OqyjvwRNChqKeUxRC6e1I1anHaApdyDhWe_WIO8TTxHY3OEtHNw7bpbHfwuCs/w640-h338/dpg.jpg" width="600" height="317" data-original-width="1181" data-original-height="623" /></a></i></p> <p align="center"><b><i><font color="#808000" size="3" face="Trebuchet MS">Dennis returning from his 15th cigarette; Paul the Ladies Man; Gary</font></i></b></p> <p>After I finally got my order in, Paul said <i>“Want to see some photos?”</i>  and showed me pictures on his phone.  <i>“This is the first of my four wives, here’s my second wife, my girlfriend last year, my sugar lady who’s taking me to Tahiti next week, the woman I’m dating now who lives in Bobtown, oh here’s Wife No.4….”</i>  </p> <p>I said his wives were beautiful and his current ladies looked like fun, and Paul let me know what he couldn’t get enough of.  (Cough!)</p> <p>My friend Elaine was at the next table, leaned over and asked what I was looking at.  When I said Paul’s stable of women, she said <i>“His what??”</i> and Paul turned and said <em>“Oh hi there what’s your name?”    </em>Back off Paul, Elaine is spoken for!</p> <div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR8dVe9qdUzw929yJSgYdwaxK5mT9BrFDeZPUSPv304DviTBBWJrd9QuBS_ZuLB0HLqh6-iJUWdFrtShjGlLkwctaJqPOocWAObX9bjw-VidZxq4P73ov9P-3F6JoRUjsoNF2hpmD8iOQdbUPwjanYdckC1xf1aCgjTPnfym3gGXTZiLj0jHxOgOX2GSE/s1171/bravevvie.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR8dVe9qdUzw929yJSgYdwaxK5mT9BrFDeZPUSPv304DviTBBWJrd9QuBS_ZuLB0HLqh6-iJUWdFrtShjGlLkwctaJqPOocWAObX9bjw-VidZxq4P73ov9P-3F6JoRUjsoNF2hpmD8iOQdbUPwjanYdckC1xf1aCgjTPnfym3gGXTZiLj0jHxOgOX2GSE/w640-h412/bravevvie.jpg" width="575" height="370" data-original-width="1171" data-original-height="755" /></a></div> <p align="center"><b><i><font color="#808000" size="3" face="Trebuchet MS">My friend Evvie and the Bravo menu</font></i></b> </p> <p>When I flagged down our server (a very pretty young woman who seemed to be going out of her way to avoid the guys table) I pleaded for a glass of ginger ale.  She set one down then hurried off, I picked it up and took a big gulp and gagged—it tasted like a tumbler full of liquor.  </p> <p>When I asked for a replacement, she said <i>“Are you sure it’s alcohol and not just really old pop?  You might get the same thing again.”  </i>I said “Please just bring me some water!”</p> <p>The Herb Linquini was a little too al dente for me (and I realized when we were leaving I never got my salad), but the eggplant was crispy, hot and delicious.  And a good enough reason to get me out of the house!</p> <p><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijsLAt8G89wcBvTH8lAvJxvWhpG4IBlYcb4qxvV-5xO44CD_4xZH-fHv9EYHPaUnqTg09jQf68V6v7pwls52i6gKrxHebTDecBTskvnzqG9ATrB9xGb8z5Gd-PfiWMceXUz89NZXBVu0j4QZi961NAik2o_BFgEVVM4j4-Ob0Fak05G79eGi32hW64fYY/s1248/zeggplant.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijsLAt8G89wcBvTH8lAvJxvWhpG4IBlYcb4qxvV-5xO44CD_4xZH-fHv9EYHPaUnqTg09jQf68V6v7pwls52i6gKrxHebTDecBTskvnzqG9ATrB9xGb8z5Gd-PfiWMceXUz89NZXBVu0j4QZi961NAik2o_BFgEVVM4j4-Ob0Fak05G79eGi32hW64fYY/w640-h412/zeggplant.jpg" width="600" height="386" data-original-width="1248" data-original-height="803" /> </a></p>ApacheDughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05520433539816634566noreply@blogger.com41tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266414848798382290.post-82611337343349340122024-02-06T07:35:00.001-05:002024-02-11T20:16:42.217-05:00Here in my abode, there are many potions… and popcorn<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1S1oVxsTQ0DAVzm-TLrWV0drNVdNCpeg3o4MLb9zwvzgxNu23AtfiQ06AFnoAEiJg7oaljwZy849sIj_VcvcKxNN3bVrKMuKxFYPD3B013QRRXEkcORMW5eg5kbe8ymsPTjWBRImoPqidSJouCKXhWfXF-uL00-P5SM538rl99KRX4EtR9f02cgqpGAg/s1137/ra1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="809" data-original-width="1137" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1S1oVxsTQ0DAVzm-TLrWV0drNVdNCpeg3o4MLb9zwvzgxNu23AtfiQ06AFnoAEiJg7oaljwZy849sIj_VcvcKxNN3bVrKMuKxFYPD3B013QRRXEkcORMW5eg5kbe8ymsPTjWBRImoPqidSJouCKXhWfXF-uL00-P5SM538rl99KRX4EtR9f02cgqpGAg/w640-h456/ra1.jpg" width="600" /></a></div> <p>Last week I was downstairs talking to my neighbor Andrew, the young man who sings opera in his studio apartment by the elevator, when I saw Karen, another of the Tiffany’s residents, coming up the walkway to the front door, carrying a couple of Kuhn’s Market bags. </p> <p>I ran to let her in, she said thank you, I asked if something was wrong. She said yes, we need a new drugstore. Kuhn’s didn’t have half the stuff on her personal items list.</p> <p>When I moved to this neighborhood in September 1993, there were 2 drugstores within walking distance from my apartment. Revco Drug was two blocks up the street, and Thrift Drug was only 1/2 block farther down. I shopped at both, depending on sales or convenience.</p> <p>Revco closed in 1997 and became a pizza parlor, and Thrift became a Rite-Aid in 1999. It’s been my only place for toiletries & pharmaceuticals for 25 years, until it closed a few weeks ago. </p> <p>Karen asked how I was handling not having a drugstore nearby, neither of us own a car. I said it hadn’t been a problem, other than getting two prescriptions filled. I told her I pretty much only went to the drugstore for soap & toothpaste anyway. She said she should’ve known better, guys were low maintenance. I said “Well… on second thought, Rite-Aid<b><i> was</i></b> the only place that sold my favorite popcorn.”</p> <p>This is the truth, I always hated microwave popcorn for being too salty or too greasy until I discovered Jolly Time Healthy Pop. Their Kettle Corn is dry but fluffy, with just a hint of salty sweet flavor. But I’ve never been able to find it anywhere else.</p> <p><b><i><font color="#808000" size="5">A</font></i></b>nyway, after I came upstairs I began to wonder: how much shopping did I REALLY do at Rite-Aid? I began gathering items only purchased there.</p> <p>As I loaded my dining table, I felt my anxiety rising. This seems like a LOT. Does Kuhn’s even carry my brand of Irish Spring? It’s called <b><font color="#808000">Active Scrub</font></b> and nope Kuhn’s doesn’t! They’ve got 25 varieties of body wash, but I’m old school and prefer bars of soap. And Active Scrub is infused with a bit of grit, not exactly gentle but just right for scrubbing the dead skin cells and other sins from my chubby body.</p> <p>Will I settle for another soap? No, but at least I know it’s safe to purchase online. I just don’t see myself ordering liquids like Natural Dentist Mouthwash or Dr. Teal’s Foaming Bath, I’d probably wind up with some leaky packages. </p> <p>(Have you tried Dr.Teal’s? It’s made of Eucalyptus leaves, spearmint oil and lots of suds, I’ve grown to enjoy soaking in a steamy tub 2-3 nights a week before bed.) </p> <p>At least I found my popcorn on Amazon.com. I thought I’d play it safe so I bought a case!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO__ASq0KvAHvM3IiOEkCsDA0Fcw8Uuo-ZvdZSDZP608RWO5eVBNzl3FO-K_eReLSo3voUL03by_XbMoe8oD4QLCCh4yirwH5CZLIFD-eAAHKWeBeIJehj_NIbD2TkBxZCsfhdB4dUU_S8GSv4IiObyInL3vDcr-Hc3Cb_xPchIW_yuNDkBvrjyQH8v1A/s983/ra2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="983" data-original-width="936" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO__ASq0KvAHvM3IiOEkCsDA0Fcw8Uuo-ZvdZSDZP608RWO5eVBNzl3FO-K_eReLSo3voUL03by_XbMoe8oD4QLCCh4yirwH5CZLIFD-eAAHKWeBeIJehj_NIbD2TkBxZCsfhdB4dUU_S8GSv4IiObyInL3vDcr-Hc3Cb_xPchIW_yuNDkBvrjyQH8v1A/w610-h640/ra2.jpg" style="display: block; float: none; margin: 20px auto 0px;" width="450" /></a></p>ApacheDughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05520433539816634566noreply@blogger.com50tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266414848798382290.post-60860933521221792262024-02-01T07:46:00.004-05:002024-02-02T12:27:44.760-05:00Makes no difference where I go, you’re still the best hometown I know<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAgED1LVrFgoTLLSnNRbOmCIMX4GXGokxycrieFJVojwNjehWsjb_riOUvJv0YendsYmBSsHL5fVmYhyphenhyphenEUiwQbOgPS5WZTH1ObPwNpXcmW1c6CF2-P1EI0cMXhe5LfI5kQCvR356xLXw6-8D45dfOfNnOz_o_i-sP5OaOoA5Zcq2gi3hEnMo_Wn7gvptM/s456/pghskyline.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="456" data-original-width="304" height="412" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAgED1LVrFgoTLLSnNRbOmCIMX4GXGokxycrieFJVojwNjehWsjb_riOUvJv0YendsYmBSsHL5fVmYhyphenhyphenEUiwQbOgPS5WZTH1ObPwNpXcmW1c6CF2-P1EI0cMXhe5LfI5kQCvR356xLXw6-8D45dfOfNnOz_o_i-sP5OaOoA5Zcq2gi3hEnMo_Wn7gvptM/s16000/pghskyline.jpg" width="275" /></a></div> <p>The other night I was on Youtube looking for local weather reports from the 1970s (my life is one thrill after another) when I came across a news jingle that surprised me—it was the first time I’d seen it in 45 years.</p> <p>It was a catchy song from WTAE-TV (our local ABC station) and aired throughout 1977-79, “Hello Pittsburgh, Channel 4 Loves You”. </p> <p>I remember seeing it often, but never grew tired of it. They produced different shorts of the 'Burgh, and I took pride in where I lived.</p> <p>Anyway, I started to look into it’s backstory but soon discovered it wasn’t Pittsburgh’s own. (In fact, Milwaukee lays claim to that.) It turns out in the late 1970s thru the mid 1980’s, news stations everywhere aired their own version of it—and not just in this country!</p> <p>I wound up finding 25 versions of this song, but I’m only sharing my Top 8 here. (Apologies to Witchita, Atlanta, Nashville, Rhode Island, Indiana & Syracuse, among others.) You should watch the ones below, they’re only one minute long—well, except for the last one it’s two minutes—but there’s a good reason.</p> <p><b><font color="#808000">1. HELLO PITTSBURGH – The video quality isn’t great, but it’s still my favorite. The traffic cop at the end was a downtown fixture for many years and made famous in the movie ‘Flashdance’.</font></b></p> <p><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ZUN7C7GRDNs?si=1QAYTEt_3pgQMxEz" style="height: 306px; width: 546px;" title="YouTube video player" width="560"> </iframe></p> <p><b><font color="#808000">2. HELLO HOUSTON - Space City USA!</font></b></p> <p><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/HNT9pnitd3E?si=NkT2eAw3ajJW8Xa5" style="height: 304px; width: 547px;" title="YouTube video player" width="560"> </iframe></p> <p><b><font color="#808000">3. HELLO MILWAUKEE - Milwaukee aired two versions, one sung by a woman, the other a man. (Pittsburgh did the same.) I think the male version here is smoother.</font></b></p> <p><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/oE0aaCc0b6A?si=wRzJLZXPXuFrmVKj" style="height: 304px; width: 551px;" title="YouTube video player" width="560"> </iframe> </p><p><b><font color="#808000">4. In the Canadian province of Alberta… HELLO CALGARY! Some great aerial shots here, and this was before drones.</font></b> </p> <p></p> <p><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/WA5VnKimBRs?si=yQB9HMCPK_sn-L5S" style="height: 307px; width: 548px;" title="YouTube video player" width="560"> </iframe></p> <p><b><font color="#808000">5. HELLO SAN DIEGO – I think this one’s the prettiest.</font></b></p> <p><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/AEB4aY6oYs4?si=1qClMce2GVGC0kdy" style="height: 299px; width: 547px;" title="YouTube video player" width="560"> </iframe> </p><p><b><font color="#808000">6. HELLO ACADIANA – Hello Acadiana? Oh look, Ron Howard!</font></b></p> <p></p> <p><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/APb8ZtQ-XEQ?si=FKWOWaFAakKYppNT" style="height: 296px; width: 545px;" title="YouTube video player" width="560"> </iframe></p> <p><b><font color="#808000">7. HELLO MELBOURNE – Yep, Australia! And looking good too.</font></b></p> <p><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/nE3R8ROqrq4?si=F9dRvftEZ6SO8C0m" style="height: 305px; width: 543px;" title="YouTube video player" width="560"> </iframe></p> <p><b><font color="#808000">8. HELLO OSMONDS (HELLO UTAH) – My other video roundups contain an Osmonds clip, why make an exception now?</font></b></p> <p><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/2Y_ItRGHyNc?si=TyL3fwLmpVE4VguN" style="height: 301px; width: 543px;" title="YouTube video player" width="560"> </iframe></p>ApacheDughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05520433539816634566noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266414848798382290.post-19137305293109664262024-01-26T07:29:00.001-05:002024-01-26T07:34:27.699-05:00Finally, a senior outing! Livin’ the Vida Loca at the Buca di Beppo<div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLP-jv3VuLlDhroOH1WDUUYINCMv0bh0hyphenhyphenqNEWfxiMwBHzw3gNJtoPV_slcnwW62vIBcbs28jaJV67RqIdXlMU-dvwOPJjQ7seRE8YiOpNLNX_sXp0GTVERtmDMX9yNsCagfr6Royp-6_WqTjsF94XYKeLGtZMzenT-kLCvrwF9_aOfLH-0xEZUjsWJ6U/s596/buca1.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLP-jv3VuLlDhroOH1WDUUYINCMv0bh0hyphenhyphenqNEWfxiMwBHzw3gNJtoPV_slcnwW62vIBcbs28jaJV67RqIdXlMU-dvwOPJjQ7seRE8YiOpNLNX_sXp0GTVERtmDMX9yNsCagfr6Royp-6_WqTjsF94XYKeLGtZMzenT-kLCvrwF9_aOfLH-0xEZUjsWJ6U/w640-h344/buca1.jpg" width="600" height="322" data-original-height="321" data-original-width="596" /></a></div> <p>A couple days ago, a few of us from the Senior Center went out to lunch (my first outing since the Narcisi Winery in October) to Buca di Beppo, an Italian restaurant in Robinson Township.  It felt a bit strange as there was only 2 other customers there.</p> <p>However, we were treated like royalty and our server (Ashley) was wonderful.  When I said my lasagna was probably the best I’d ever eaten, she went back and told the chef, who asked if he could meet me.  His name was Roberto and my gosh, what a humble, kind man.</p> <p>I didn’t take a lot of photos, but thought I’d share the few I have.  When we left, I said I hoped we made it back this way again soon, and my friend Evvie said <em>“Okay, but we’re only steps away from an Outback Steakhouse!”</em></p> <p><font color="#808000"><strong>Seated in the Cardinals Room, there’s a giant peacock painted on the wall behind my giant head</strong><font color="#808000"><strong><img style="margin: 20px auto; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOeL1xPTVV1cQoEDyxe1dfhPWZL9yacL0_c13AJP53-ya4DG-plIOzxhyphenhyphenWN2jgn7RlnNgMSOgmOktAPCZ6e2m23hRvH8Z_8Ja9rK1cGTZgyVJUo2U5tsxTTi7SqoP5198pNLFfmBVbnpcrMvl1ETT3FAMokkbuYVr7UZb0-off_fRal1FeRpG8869G_Vw/w576-h640/buca2.jpg" width="550" height="611" data-original-height="951" data-original-width="857" /></strong><font color="#808000"><font color="#808000"><strong>A mural of nuns riding bumper cars—I almost wish I had this hanging in my apartment.<img style="margin: 20px auto; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpLslu5Z6JXcVWNzAXyLTFBw-qUXnaBPdagNvWPyHxfZNmDX-jiSh37mtizskaVjYeNke1s9l2lslYt6Z7RctW2XBoyEqEBltglgUQH04dfmPhLsTsFpzicv8ZmuhKx9uhErWAV2BZFhL-XivzakaXSBMLN5rYhUgNYQrCOA6BLcTCp6BiclK0jOqrNH8/w640-h480/buca3.jpg" width="600" height="450" data-original-height="936" data-original-width="1248" /></strong><font color="#808000"><strong>While Dennis is outside smoking his 16th cigarette, Paul is about to order a glass of wine so expensive I feel the need to tell him how to drink it.  S L O W L Y.</strong><font color="#808000"><strong><img style="margin: 20px auto; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqDTobs8XfvaRHFqjhAUUivjiNQFL-yiUTk-ej5U2JW1ZIcjQB_lSzO9WG9X52P2rUslckt3EP1-X5MIJT5x6SuLClC0SckpB53BrypNOgXM2-nch0SDF6VjIuGqGJkRBMf8LohsDIRPJRkxPz9WdLT00DmUrCvEZ08NgHXKvPQKMfFcjwlyZ7otEC1d0/w640-h480/buca4.jpg" width="600" height="450" data-original-height="780" data-original-width="1040" /><font color="#808000">Hot plate!  You can’t tell from this photo, but there must be a quart of lasagna and sauce here.  </font></strong></font></font></font></font></font></font></p> <p><font color="#808000"><font color="#808000"><font color="#808000"><font color="#808000"><font color="#808000"><font color="#808000"><font color="#808000"><strong>I was going to post everyone’s lunch, but we all ordered the same thing!</strong><font color="#808000"><strong><img style="margin: 20px auto; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDrN8gtg9NBZBFDjWEAV4WgqNELcPjGpjX_kHMh0-O_L59OQ9tj1RGpSE0NlPXyR58qa_j_YeUT5KJFf-5FFPjT7THDcXpSDO_kGz2WTLJpiEYzgIoWemUyUw2eLZJupnlpz7T4M-gYIiabpcUMaI1mTeAZ3IwYagVtwcRcjLLAA4qAHocygnKNVjtf3w/w640-h480/buca5.jpg" width="600" height="450" data-original-height="780" data-original-width="1040" /></strong><font color="#808000"><strong>My dear and funny pal Evvie, we discussed places to visit in DC and the going rates for cadavers, among other things.</strong><font color="#808000"><strong><img style="margin: 20px auto; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3Mm5LaEOLvQWeav-YLs_6rbrp_18xWgRUPVXcs6AtqVwsf_e94tGF9C7V3ll5bLPSE30YEuOtTnIyiE7dSFHhgzB4wBdhAVPG2eB0Aaoajo0AwoCNvLAB46UlVBob-yER0lgQRGVcYOl3NhROMzQZ3S0hM7BpucChkQZlwjmWsK1-K92M0gDAtwKGJcg/w640-h480/buca6.jpg" width="600" height="450" data-original-height="936" data-original-width="1248" /></strong><font color="#808000"><font color="#808000"><strong>I brought home my leftover lasagna, and our server put a paper sack with a small loaf of warm bread in my doggy bag.  Talk about first class service.</strong><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFBxPG5C4IfiRMqzP2KC3aa_FiYvybrX9FfvE_sEG8IEpsQTKymD-PSdEUat1TV2oVu1en5hN6c2IqaBKHCnWzOlsRzdAYJlGoQ_PqM0z-lnzMZ79c0tnMU6T6ek9X1G6EAufUu2YzzUrh-bOXGWf18WxbXAvJf9ABjmX_C65Bhxl7zoBw8R7qVNFNR68/s1040/buca7.jpg" imageanchor="1"><strong><img style="margin: 20px auto; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFBxPG5C4IfiRMqzP2KC3aa_FiYvybrX9FfvE_sEG8IEpsQTKymD-PSdEUat1TV2oVu1en5hN6c2IqaBKHCnWzOlsRzdAYJlGoQ_PqM0z-lnzMZ79c0tnMU6T6ek9X1G6EAufUu2YzzUrh-bOXGWf18WxbXAvJf9ABjmX_C65Bhxl7zoBw8R7qVNFNR68/w640-h480/buca7.jpg" width="600" height="450" data-original-height="780" data-original-width="1040" /></strong></a></font></font></font></font></font></font></font></font></font></font></font></font></p>ApacheDughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05520433539816634566noreply@blogger.com43tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266414848798382290.post-39482819643469357392024-01-23T07:49:00.004-05:002024-01-23T09:19:23.975-05:00Man does not live by bread alone; he also lives by potatoes! Lots and lots of mashed potatoes<div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; float: right;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi99FLyHMb5u3tldRi13pdkvPFX8FhA1e1Hrhmb4veM-TwNNAV6y5tLr1SGaHQxa7AeteiJxpqaF-0qw2RWl3lD_rNhBmlklUNytPQxvf_23SPjuRgTc9pCAkagtJa5ahZGPpkwo469crmrwaRRZ9IXFC9Rx75rE4aKFWPpjEtRu3NKN8I-MvYeeXfBvJ0/s612/fork-mashed-potatoes.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi99FLyHMb5u3tldRi13pdkvPFX8FhA1e1Hrhmb4veM-TwNNAV6y5tLr1SGaHQxa7AeteiJxpqaF-0qw2RWl3lD_rNhBmlklUNytPQxvf_23SPjuRgTc9pCAkagtJa5ahZGPpkwo469crmrwaRRZ9IXFC9Rx75rE4aKFWPpjEtRu3NKN8I-MvYeeXfBvJ0/w440-h640/fork-mashed-potatoes.jpg" width="295" height="429" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="420" /></a></div> <p>Some time back when I was at my sister Carrie Shawn’s house for dinner, she said <em>“Taste the potatoes before you season them, I added a lot of salt when I was mashing.”</em></p> <p>I said “Speaking of mashed potatoes, Kuhn’s has stopped selling Hungry Jack Potatoes and I am devastated.”   Shawn said <em>“Hungry Jacks what?  I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</em></p> <p>I said “HUNGRY JACK INSTANT POTATOES.” She said <em>“Sorry, I don’t buy instant stuff.  My family eats the real thing.”  </em>I said “They ARE the real thing. They’re russet potatoes, flaked & freeze dried.”  Shawn said <em>“Sounds like space food to me!”</em></p> <p>I said “For your information, Carrie Nation, astronauts haven’t eaten freeze dried food in decades!”  She said <em>“Well, you still do.  Now pass the REAL butter!”</em></p> <p>I considered slamming my fork down and storming out of her dining room, but I <em>was </em>hungry and it’s not everyday single guys like me get the chance to have real mashed potatoes, you know?</p> <p><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="5">F</font></em></strong>or the record, instant mashed potatoes aren’t as simple as you think.  If you don’t add the right combination of water, milk, salt & butter you can wind up with something inedible.  Potatoes too soupy?  Stir in more flakes.  Add too many though, and you get paste—and NO AMOUNT of water or milk is gonna fix that bowl of glue!</p> <p>When I returned to the city (and Kuhn’s Market), I decided to check out what other potatoes they had in the astronaut aisle:  I saw these and was intrigued, and bought packs of each.<img style="margin: 20px auto; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYXagpNv6WmwaVGrz-eaBYORWUv1No8bB8vvh2YxFg6_Yqozsyzc36ub_IsdKvVib5Ej09abBLXObjbIo7uYnA7sHrSfywfRF-HAduu5XC1ch34ACn3s0NWZE_eLFY9C18Ia0b0nYEYhKIk8ix4-ZiI2hv0EhdqAiAP0agMP0qit8ZexuGiNC9ehjwoRo/w640-h480/IDAHOS.jpg" width="575" height="431" data-original-height="780" data-original-width="1040" /></p> <p>Um… these potatoes are wonderful.  Boil 2 cups of water, empty in a packet, wait a minute or two.  <strong>That’s all you have to do.</strong>  Here’s a few meals I had with the packs above:</p> <p><strong><font color="#ff0000">POTATOES:  FOUR CHEESE.  SERVED WITH:  Chicken tenders, buttered corn.  </font></strong></p> <p><font color="#ff0000"><strong>THOUGHTS:  These potatoes weren’t bad, but there was more tang than cheese.  I don’t think mashed potatoes should be this tangy.  Did I still eat them?  Yes.  Will I buy them again?  I doubt it.<img style="margin: 20px auto; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC1oWX4nLuWOR6qWeqtTLGxH92-4zRNaZfeXyZlZKZ4ZO1w_GWg9CYGU9Sdvp3v6JP7dFXe77-LiEub4YJIeyyujBSI6zTGySAcWSf_h3oT4FdOnX3YDvkhNL9D67TlOvOy0jfihDvGfLkttzWauBGVaG3rFj-QeaGwsUM3M5hsKkiiFkf5DhYk9tbL2Q/w640-h480/pots_4cheese.jpg" width="575" height="431" data-original-height="780" data-original-width="1040" /><font color="#ff0000">POTATOES:  VERMONT WHITE CHEDDAR.  SERVED WITH:  Baked chicken thighs seasoned with Old Bay, green beans.</font></strong></font></p> <strong></strong> <p><font color="#ff0000"><strong>THOUGHTS:  These potatoes struck the perfect balance of creamy potatoes & mild cheddar.  They were absolutely delicious (and the Old Bay chicken was excellent).  Will I buy them again?  You bet—in fact, I went back the next day and bought a couple more packs.<img style="margin: 20px auto; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP7X2qVx0X5SBciTln4Y_igUltMYLrmdlnHpbyk3XAqjBIfGzMDrj4k7nZ9XGlC1bNTfer91L1_T9SrmrCgvNOYZmS2iLrthyUp6nzZExKHbQXreEYqxPcQnZPCmIlO6k1kEnfXfURRdmmWQ74CSG_-Af9Kk7O96-MOBs62WPeiLXQjNQH-s-tfhDsePw/w640-h480/pots_vermont_wc.jpg" width="575" height="431" data-original-height="780" data-original-width="1040" /><font color="#ff0000">POTATOES:  CLASSIC.  SERVED WITH:  Meatloaf, frozen peas.</font></strong></font></p> <p><strong><font color="#ff0000">THOUGHTS:  These had a mild aftertaste that reminded me they weren’t real.  In fact, they took me back to my high school cafeteria days and the mashed potatoes served with meatloaf or chicken & gravy sandwiches.  You knew they weren’t genuine, but they were hot so you gobbled them down anyway.    </font></strong></p> <p><font color="#ff0000"><font color="#ff0000"><strong>On a tastier note, I make a pretty good meatloaf which you can find </strong><a href="https://apachedugs.blogspot.com/2014/04/my-no-surprise-meatloaf-nothing-new-to.html" target="_blank"><strong>here.</strong></a><strong><img style="margin: 20px auto; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWju6Ek9pqBW4kUS8BdSIrqKTFhoEfmD5w-iaLY8VUFCmlywkrh2IbxTBpXpaI8uGfsNajEfZrqQ9X-VAZP6VL-3cdbSBcFRoIyN2m5Hf28op8kFA1nWvjby7Gb7GElddruW5TA_9dOk5g0d0mOXrFX2mPNoTRVIPB3al8kZm6YoJ6j31QpKQWEcXX2Bc/w640-h480/pots_classic.jpg" width="575" height="431" data-original-height="624" data-original-width="832" /><font color="#ff0000">POTATOES:  BABY REDS.  SERVED WITH:  Ham, roasted broccoli topped with shredded parmesan.</font></strong></font></font></p> <strong></strong> <p><font color="#ff0000"><strong>THOUGHTS:  We have a winner, these potatoes were delicious and tasted homemade.  They even have lumps in them, I love that.  They just became my new go-to.  </strong></font></p> <strong></strong> <p><font color="#ff0000"><strong>Also, this is the only way I’ll cook broccoli again.  Take 1</strong><strong><font color="#ff0000"> bag of frozen florets, add in 1 1/2 tablespoons olive oil, 1/2 tsp kosher salt, 1/2 tsp sugar, pinch of white pepper, shake of red pepper flakes.  Shake bag well, spread on a baking sheet and bake at 450F for 20 minutes.<img style="margin: 20px auto; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8k2ve_Fq3j3Il8Y-c2SdWefYiWRsi1dMHiSqKTysrbZW4qLO_rnI-i_TEPzQGZ8ZBh3oPVsGeDhon0QQVSK3mIPHHiEVr8GSg5GrGboGd6Kx0AHq_9JehjlgwmuBVmSnfoMagoGmC2CYexAgy8yGImaa_TV_-u7ztuvXqcpTA_HXU0od8kuAL6SyzKK8/w640-h480/pots_babyreds.jpg" width="575" height="431" data-original-height="624" data-original-width="832" /></font><em><font color="#808000" size="5">F</font></em></strong></font>inally, I wanted to mention that I enjoyed the ‘Roasted Garlic Parmesan Baby Reds’ with a nice piece of baked flounder and brussel sprouts, and they were my third favorite, behind the White Cheddar.  The reason I don’t have a photo is because it was my first potato mix and what inspired me to blog the rest of these.  </p> <p>Also, Kuhn’s has just added 5-6 more flavors to the Idahoan Mashed lineup (Applewood Bacon, Herbed, Country Style, etc.) so I will be doing a Part Two.</p>ApacheDughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05520433539816634566noreply@blogger.com46tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266414848798382290.post-9980932868401761162024-01-17T08:03:00.000-05:002024-01-17T09:02:47.105-05:00When it’s 8F outside and nothing but ice & snow… time for some Bachelor Man style Nanner Cookies<div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; float: right;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtXnR3-nSYVvOdFNepajqYnwpDsTqjFBpgJBxgoYXJ25lyfb65a-6bs8-uTHqTw5wKmpiovrbNNa4c3smqAo4NLuHMx42WSqWTiDBa_h7cMCkvJNd5TO0RT7NkKqFmAlvhMezPN1kzLffZ1QoQTjU0TZoE7Xibn1fL91Tfi9Ab6lfF4rcvc5aaaeM9fco/s656/n1.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtXnR3-nSYVvOdFNepajqYnwpDsTqjFBpgJBxgoYXJ25lyfb65a-6bs8-uTHqTw5wKmpiovrbNNa4c3smqAo4NLuHMx42WSqWTiDBa_h7cMCkvJNd5TO0RT7NkKqFmAlvhMezPN1kzLffZ1QoQTjU0TZoE7Xibn1fL91Tfi9Ab6lfF4rcvc5aaaeM9fco/w480-h640/n1.jpg" width="335" height="447" data-original-width="492" data-original-height="656" /></a></div> <p>The title says it all.  When I got up this morning and shivered into my kitchen to make a cup of Tully’s coffee, the news in the other room announced the start of a new Ice Age and I wished I had something sweet to go with my Hawaiian brew.  I had 1 1/2 overripe bananas sitting on top of my fridge, what if I made banana bread?</p> <p>Forget it—no walnuts, no nutmeg and I don’t think I have enough flour or bananas.  But I do have some cinammon and this handful of leftover Hershey Kisses from Christmas.</p> <p>Okay, this cinammon has a “Best if Used By March 7 2001” date but it still smells cinammony.  Didn’t I read about a team of archaeologists who made campfire stew using 2,500 year old spices from an Egyptian tomb?  What’s 25 years compared to 25 hundred, right?</p> <p>Let’s go!</p> <p><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="4" face="Trebuchet MS">All cookies start with beating 1 stick of softened butter and 1 cup of sugar until fluffy.  My grandma’s Rival mixer makes a racket, but gets the job done<strong><em><font color="#808000" size="4" face="Trebuchet MS"><img style="margin: 20px auto; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoa-3DCtcxr54I4MKSt1N5n7UrOxcfLIo4yF3tbzVBqFnjYvFCXpXFEimPY3To5vt-rhmIBknRFvr3W2eIRFEAeZOy3YtimBLpZya6T1FET9Rsr4MVSgOU3IZ4yNdN9ZNUhtMCGERj1n9Lam5DVlP_-qUZQWAb87JmFomBMflAMSo0jyV6RWRIPY88cFs/w640-h480/n2.jpg" width="525" height="394" data-original-width="832" data-original-height="624" /><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="4" face="Trebuchet MS">Now I’m beating in one large egg that I let sit out for an hour (to reach room temperature) until creamy</font></em></strong><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="4" face="Trebuchet MS"><img style="margin: 20px auto; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxWl8L4G-ksfDpspIr08_aGUehwREigjFugd2W1HtZCbW1YoTJaknavZVDdCmxcd8nm2KiSILZbM9GsmrYN509otraBbk9W_ZYeWpqv1Lk2mu7gBaN8y98WKDz3h4s3Scg0e426Hd4myXp4IYl8wye-g54ziSbwptMxZIbkc31QaIrMLzOmrs2kI1VioM/w638-h640/n3.jpg" width="525" height="527" data-original-width="624" data-original-height="626" /><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="4" face="Trebuchet MS">Chopping up those Hershey Kisses… these suckers are hard, it felt more like I was whittling soap</font></em></strong><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="4" face="Trebuchet MS"><img style="margin: 20px auto; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioKy-2wgqXHmaPARApFAmn9GNrmBx1EDnJs6w5MU7dfo7Hv259LJH6Sw1EUSPOsMOrpfEl_rA-jNMUVq_I60Zxxv40iy358fAFPPOWZBRJ5pjHQb0ZA8xPqCbpvRk9h7R1hWK4gDv6ToX8WPzy2-ydVB-cdS5_yHQXyScC21RNK98jCwZzltp_xzRyYtc/w640-h570/n4.jpg" width="525" height="468" data-original-width="624" data-original-height="556" /><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="4" face="Trebuchet MS">Sliced up those ripe bananas, sprinkled 1 teaspoon baking soda over them and then mashed them up good with a fork</font></em></strong><img style="margin: 20px auto; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjawGKAaBf4x7nVbNngzfIlV610hcxyrGOjnoXkWzDfiLio2KExuUVZWMQV5wk0aTio25YoJl-9pH-VlueXOlhv4cEWxoaf3lgGatIusRGfQjx4K6mtdCgxuTq1dB6Zn9SQW3FvXkR828KYFSfDIPiFmwQ3TN88qxYj-nn0qSrCXg17BS0H_G496P641s/w640-h406/n5.jpg" width="525" height="333" data-original-width="790" data-original-height="501" /><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="4" face="Trebuchet MS">Adding the molten bananas to my sugar-butter-egg mix, then beat together</font></em></strong><img style="margin: 20px auto; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1J4mUTKm-9TjE1msVf0IAPO1TdEH-ttmibfGR1so-HIOCSOfRBgbDwq_uLvSdPkK4xznULYAh-vEKMIujJx8La_oH2oYgPMvWPEeWyCUwByPbEytMUe9Nx2Nw-GVfQ2UqTchxcjD14SLlITp2A24AchpJDDBRAsxfSZyLYVSCC_S3NsCsNWF4e-71c4I/w640-h638/n6.jpg" width="525" height="523" data-original-width="624" data-original-height="622" /><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="4" face="Trebuchet MS">Now I’m sloooowly adding 2 cups sifted all purpose flour, a hard pinch of salt and 1/2 teaspoon of 25 year old cinammon</font></em></strong><img style="margin: 20px auto; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1ywaM6on7KUlZMF5QvDGh5x3qb2-AFRk8dcopvCAzor8VNUA454YgYhQFBmsXPcfafsw4lQTHfnQFhybvdF3242d7XY8UCp1c0CxnE3PQzNVkjZhQuRlsD8vI_WgPRmvY7CAMa3fqpRY-x10fUwxQDwN4SUq5TP0HMzkxvlAgf1SiCqGpKN-Idvv1ZG0/w640-h492/n7.jpg" width="525" height="404" data-original-width="758" data-original-height="582" /><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="4" face="Trebuchet MS">Lastly, folding my chip-chopped chocolate kisses into the batter</font></em></strong> with a large spoon<img style="margin: 20px auto; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxQ4RG0vXxJ5MXi0zVdBngez6VnAOH0QvwKjsxdBO8XFiymfTEf05cWEL6rBGnZvNagdCHdbno-OPvKqS5GlxWcV0MiBTgPjVlbTLLOa13utFd61MXd31pMZFOCymGqYbhO858NEO9YL47VetxlUbWFQE4BsDfskw7-iDsdznPSjzNW2rrPKnwY41jHNI/w640-h480/n8.jpg" width="525" height="394" data-original-width="832" data-original-height="624" /><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="4" face="Trebuchet MS">Nine tablespoon-sized glops on my air-baking sheet.  I forgot to buy parchment paper the last time I was at the store, so I put a dab of canola oil on my pan and rubbed it all over with a half paper towel.  <strong><em><font color="#808000" size="4" face="Trebuchet MS">Bake at 350F for 10-12 minutes.</font></em></strong></font></em></strong><img style="margin: 20px auto; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgduKNPL1s1vibvEcK14WsD27SnliaPVnhLGGD3CRL5fxSuqlMHEOgOIezbpCm4ceWelV8mfqmcixRzmgRTphOeABj9Z0rrP3NiXKuM2trRi3B5ipU3IFaAqpeV-cGDceurS6qqzNnOSVRa9b9N9-OBO5fOcGoY5yHD5WkWBirt1N-TJt-QkzImQmQDRL8/w640-h480/n9.jpg" width="525" height="394" data-original-width="832" data-original-height="624" /><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="4" face="Trebuchet MS">We’ve got cookies!  These are actually VERY moist, like cookie-sized slices of banana bread, but crispy around the edges.  </font></em></strong></font></em></strong></font></em></strong></font></em></strong></font></em></strong></p> <p><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="4" face="Trebuchet MS"><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="4" face="Trebuchet MS"><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="4" face="Trebuchet MS"><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="4" face="Trebuchet MS"><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="4" face="Trebuchet MS">This recipe made 33 delicious cookies total.  Time to make that coffee.</font></em></strong><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXaKJqTFM-wCj4XQXP9j0wINQQbInPZKdd6_2p4WXti2y22GqoPPVGWqkToGk184uSdt0EpodVavMpSYehzP25exqlm9CkW-AyPbIfQbBMAF9Rhkg01sCbgnO8ym2FyHR7ZBnHrpan5OIgBtOz6vvmMJ1xwMZoDKo_B_BtzKm0aGP2irHbLDrtiZVKhCk/s825/n10.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img style="margin: 20px auto; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXaKJqTFM-wCj4XQXP9j0wINQQbInPZKdd6_2p4WXti2y22GqoPPVGWqkToGk184uSdt0EpodVavMpSYehzP25exqlm9CkW-AyPbIfQbBMAF9Rhkg01sCbgnO8ym2FyHR7ZBnHrpan5OIgBtOz6vvmMJ1xwMZoDKo_B_BtzKm0aGP2irHbLDrtiZVKhCk/w640-h420/n10.jpg" width="525" height="345" data-original-width="825" data-original-height="542" /></a></font></em></strong></font></em></strong></font></em></strong></font></em></strong></p> <div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"></div>ApacheDughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05520433539816634566noreply@blogger.com37tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266414848798382290.post-13085080933446980692024-01-13T13:42:00.004-05:002024-01-13T13:46:46.313-05:00Getting older: you don’t have to look like my grandma (but maybe I do)<div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwbfSBLehPZfLWxj-bFlIKvmYJxzdX3G13iVoVhyphenhyphenVNI24iHNWDmAVwKap-PqNPAwVO_nm7eMHXJ3voQiXoh4ZAnFRqY9oIhS1_E5TxdBEyxq7puD3wQ0yX4_GepG8CKZgWEqtBcyKzc93aQnadTFt6k_RyZqnh_HJBXxSDay28YK-JC-jafzko_74Jpwc/s653/me2024.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwbfSBLehPZfLWxj-bFlIKvmYJxzdX3G13iVoVhyphenhyphenVNI24iHNWDmAVwKap-PqNPAwVO_nm7eMHXJ3voQiXoh4ZAnFRqY9oIhS1_E5TxdBEyxq7puD3wQ0yX4_GepG8CKZgWEqtBcyKzc93aQnadTFt6k_RyZqnh_HJBXxSDay28YK-JC-jafzko_74Jpwc/w600-h640/me2024.jpg" width="500" height="533" data-original-width="612" data-original-height="653" /></a></div> <div> <br />A couple nights ago, I was in my customary place on my living room floor talking to my friend and former classmate Diana on the phone, about another friend and former classmate of ours who has fallen on some pretty bad times, health wise.  She may end up in a nursing home later this year.</div> <p>I remarked that it was simply too incredible to fathom; she’s not even 62 for a couple weeks yet.  (Diana turned 62 this past summer, I did this past Halloween.)</p> <p>Later, while going through photos on my old computer (yes, I’m taking too much time deciding what I want to move to my new laptop) I came across this picture from May 1976.  It was taken in front of my old high school, and it’s apparently May Day as my sister was a Maypole dancer.  Her dress was red with white stars, in honor of the Bicentennial.  </p> <div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj257YcY7o033RyoCqtYTLIXVenOW9Pq_IWKAm816ZkWc0kzNxwAfuQaHZGajxbikyFY7QpT8_t04alKWpFalQz97J3A-deIZUavmQpJ1XXDPoAcmcJ3N65217T27Z_9ssyMPynMFzxR28_C4mhQjD3ZBpyO6ipZ82EFgk7vqdFEl22f5NS7lRpEpOOJo/s481/grandma76.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img style="margin: 0px 0px 5px;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj257YcY7o033RyoCqtYTLIXVenOW9Pq_IWKAm816ZkWc0kzNxwAfuQaHZGajxbikyFY7QpT8_t04alKWpFalQz97J3A-deIZUavmQpJ1XXDPoAcmcJ3N65217T27Z_9ssyMPynMFzxR28_C4mhQjD3ZBpyO6ipZ82EFgk7vqdFEl22f5NS7lRpEpOOJo/w606-h640/grandma76.jpg" width="425" height="449" data-original-width="456" data-original-height="481" /></a></div> <div><strong><em><font color="#ff0000" size="3" face="Trebuchet MS">Grandma Morris, my sister Shawn, Dad in May 1976:  Shawn was 12 here (3 months from turning 13), Dad was 39 & Grandma 62</font></em></strong></div> <p>(Meanwhile, our dad was rockin’ that denim leisure suit!  Seriously, I’d forgotten all about it.  The man was too cool for school.)</p> <p>As we’d just been discussing the good & bad of being 62, I forwarded this photo to my friend Diana to show her what 62 was looking like in 1976.  Diana gave me a chuckle when she replied: </p> <div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYFazbffzr1hCE_bp2lF0bTIKHxxS1aXFmOKfkmsW3ctHFQ1kqDU8LNdqkoTr9uRe50sw0h6yinW_-3y1CwSXo6myAsUP0a78FkiWQokDg4cCpUZiyNiG0-9AIKf_R3CbB4squ7URPXjgZYnNWjz-R0MJlxBN77Vd5ptcnb4SOXQmQqvpqGY0GLKnODgk/s521/diananote.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYFazbffzr1hCE_bp2lF0bTIKHxxS1aXFmOKfkmsW3ctHFQ1kqDU8LNdqkoTr9uRe50sw0h6yinW_-3y1CwSXo6myAsUP0a78FkiWQokDg4cCpUZiyNiG0-9AIKf_R3CbB4squ7URPXjgZYnNWjz-R0MJlxBN77Vd5ptcnb4SOXQmQqvpqGY0GLKnODgk/w640-h514/diananote.jpg" width="450" height="361" data-original-width="521" data-original-height="419" /></a></div> <div>Boy this made me laugh—I assured Diana that even though my grandmother looked perfect to me, Diana did look less grandmotherly than Grandma here.  I was being honest too.  Diana (who lives on a mostly plant-based diet) is probably in better shape now than she was in the 1970s.  </div> <p>Anyway, it gave us both a good laugh and I’m glad we ended things on a positive note. But then an hour or so later, I’m in the bathroom brushing my teeth and boy, do I look like my grandma.  That’s not how it’s supposed to work… is it?</p> <p><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="5">W</font></em></strong>ell, on that silly note I just wanted to add a new post to my blog.  I hope everyone out there is doing good.</p> <div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbpH81khTUUyu_QJ75pOlpK6-xNSrsoz9jFUS5cdwjFqUqxzmD0FqalcLrDL5IF4wSGfONvz6rYNTx_PwakTDbEhIJoF7bk7sFfMN8H_Cymnn1ty3xchpTQ31KpJ6Zk1yPWa6QxfRzuDm3_cofpI0A3dICrsNklt4E580XTCOA1Libs2KPA6SoduFvA7Q/s184/teepee_dribbble_1x.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbpH81khTUUyu_QJ75pOlpK6-xNSrsoz9jFUS5cdwjFqUqxzmD0FqalcLrDL5IF4wSGfONvz6rYNTx_PwakTDbEhIJoF7bk7sFfMN8H_Cymnn1ty3xchpTQ31KpJ6Zk1yPWa6QxfRzuDm3_cofpI0A3dICrsNklt4E580XTCOA1Libs2KPA6SoduFvA7Q/w400-h385/teepee_dribbble_1x.jpg" width="200" height="193" data-original-width="184" data-original-height="177" /> </a></div>ApacheDughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05520433539816634566noreply@blogger.com38tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266414848798382290.post-42039130012747126612024-01-04T07:59:00.000-05:002024-01-04T08:03:12.092-05:00Steve’s sheet, money shame, what is it and why do I even have it<div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; float: right;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGRRDShHstL5kAAlKaE1xI1BSm9PN6NvvGUEBJkVyXpZ1VO5W0vGPKsps7-uPZ2mSQVxOp67ycDCjpQUzJijgHEdlMBQXF_Gc-pqbwiTmSqqEcQLM_8_x5gf-CytB405A3aWsdieoIughQqH9pWNqOvGBYhh_IEK-XVe2TfXGGUkj71CLN00QN4xbPDHQ/s431/handsinpockets.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGRRDShHstL5kAAlKaE1xI1BSm9PN6NvvGUEBJkVyXpZ1VO5W0vGPKsps7-uPZ2mSQVxOp67ycDCjpQUzJijgHEdlMBQXF_Gc-pqbwiTmSqqEcQLM_8_x5gf-CytB405A3aWsdieoIughQqH9pWNqOvGBYhh_IEK-XVe2TfXGGUkj71CLN00QN4xbPDHQ/w480-h640/handsinpockets.jpg" width="300" height="400" data-original-width="323" data-original-height="431" /></a></div> <p>A few weeks ago my old buddy and former coworker Steve R. retired.  He sat in the cubicle behind mine for several years, and they don’t come nicer, funnier or more helpful than Steve.  I love the guy.</p> <p>Steve is 64 and wanted to retire 4 years ago, but then covid struck, the stock market (and his retirement account) crashed and his wife Cindy got very ill.  It took long enough but everything turned around (and Cindy’s all better), so better late than never.  A week after he retired, Steve texted me one night and said <em>“Doug, Cindy is sending me out at 9:30 for chicken & rice!  It’s pretty late but this is how we roll in Retirement Town!”</em>  </p> <p>Since then, I’ve heard about Retirement Town 3-4 times and I’m glad he’s enjoying it.  I can’t believe I’ve been here myself since January 2015, where did the time go?</p> <p><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="5">T</font></em></strong>his reminds me of my last day in the office, the events that day are etched into my brain.  My boss called me into his office and said he couldn’t believe I was really quitting.  (I’d given my notice a month before, shortly after Thanksgiving.)</p> <p>He said <em>“You’re not retiring, where are you going?  Highmark?  PNC Bank?”</em>  Nope.  He said <em>“How can you retire, I’m older than you and I can’t retire.  I make more money than you, I probably save more than you.”   </em>I said I did more than save my money, I invested it.</p> <p>When I left Len’s office, Steve asked what happened in there and I told him.  Steve said <em>“Do you really have enough to retire?”</em>   I said I hoped so.  I had no problem telling him what I had, we often compared notes when it came to investing.</p> <p>I said “I have $223,000 in a personal stock portfolio, and $15,000 in the bank.  If I can live on $25-27,000 a year, and don’t fall in love with any black widows or get catfished by online romance scammers, I’m hoping that money can last 10 years.  Then I can start spending down my retirement fund, and I’ll have social security too.”</p> <p>Steve said “Let’s set up a spreadsheet to see how long your non-retirement stocks last” and came up with the simple excel below.  He said it looked like I’d be down to $4,500 by January 2025.</p> <div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8lf3EKyNEpOC8WBeQH3gAilJt50vS7WdE8kFBkKUDwPsLg1uBOlnDiZSHoz2B6jFaZ-95xPaO6VDVymLT9TPkM6PACa5ddtdzqTWPbOqQQbyhe0B7lkC4hqISeDUPQq4vzfyFrObdBDXBYIpkKWMqLXrfSGOL3YGS4uVAAkTxw6J6VJXFtwzgUPRDfsc/s912/2015_PREDICTION.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8lf3EKyNEpOC8WBeQH3gAilJt50vS7WdE8kFBkKUDwPsLg1uBOlnDiZSHoz2B6jFaZ-95xPaO6VDVymLT9TPkM6PACa5ddtdzqTWPbOqQQbyhe0B7lkC4hqISeDUPQq4vzfyFrObdBDXBYIpkKWMqLXrfSGOL3YGS4uVAAkTxw6J6VJXFtwzgUPRDfsc/w640-h400/2015_PREDICTION.jpg" width="600" height="375" data-original-width="912" data-original-height="570" /></a></div> <p>According to this I should be starting January 2024 with $29,367 remaining in my portfolio but it’s quite the opposite; I don’t want to say how much, but I’ve got more now than what I started with in 2015.  How is that even possible?  I guess Steve’s 3% growth estimate was too conservative, and nothing beats the magic of reinvesting dividends, capital gains & a seven year bull market.  </p> <p>If I could give a person under the age of 40 some advice, I’d tell them to do more than stick their money in the bank.  <strong><em>Invest it.</em></strong>  You don’t even have to know what you’re doing; go to Vanguard, Fidelity, Charles Schwab—open an account, find a mutual fund that invests in the S&P 500, buy shares of that fund.  Buy shares monthly or when you can afford it.  Do this for 20 years.  You’re done.</p> <p>So why do I almost feel guilty for having what I do?  No one gave it to me, I saved for thirty years and instead of buying a home, put it in stocks instead.   A friend and former classmate of mine wants to retire this year, but doesn’t have a lot besides their social security and a small pension.  At least she owns her home, and her mortgage is paid in full.  Can she do it?  I very much hope so.</p> <p>I have a one bedroom apartment I’ll be paying rent on forever, yet I still feel like I have more than my fair share.  I was talking to another friend and relating all of this, and she said it sounded like “money shame”.  I said I’d never heard of it, she said it’s the feeling of shame you get for having too much or too little money.</p> <p>It’s not like I’m a millionaire, but if I continue living the way I’ve <em>been</em> living for the last 30 years, I’m pretty much set.  There’s nothing wrong with that, right?  Isn’t that the goal here?</p> <p><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="5">M</font></em></strong>aybe I retired a little too early than my subconscious liked, but better too early than too late.  I’m just glad Steve & Cindy are enjoying living in Retirement Town. <br /></p> <div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0qBAumKrMFfrH7yK7txUEEkg8IH6WOi7Lpu20emrCT84rBHQ-3xrpk7rifE16fQplxC60ietWi4h3XgqOwiqV19io0o5E0YjZn5AxH5gl7cMZFTuO64rTnIlPUR_wICNS066_al41QMu_8_Jn0lrxZ6Ndv6r00q7H4k4MfZcEauTEIYTiFHaDHpdq5eU/s470/cindysteve.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0qBAumKrMFfrH7yK7txUEEkg8IH6WOi7Lpu20emrCT84rBHQ-3xrpk7rifE16fQplxC60ietWi4h3XgqOwiqV19io0o5E0YjZn5AxH5gl7cMZFTuO64rTnIlPUR_wICNS066_al41QMu_8_Jn0lrxZ6Ndv6r00q7H4k4MfZcEauTEIYTiFHaDHpdq5eU/w640-h554/cindysteve.jpg" width="400" height="346" data-original-width="470" data-original-height="407" /> </a></div>ApacheDughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05520433539816634566noreply@blogger.com40tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266414848798382290.post-70029506024191258662023-12-29T07:49:00.001-05:002023-12-29T07:52:04.180-05:00Happy New Year: Looking back, looking about… but no looking ahead just yet<div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuFAI8wnCEIrrd6xL1zNGyxlea8cfNR_xkjk9XIKzQ2swPZjYXHQAZD1aFYtWJf1VMrGwSeLfYbb_b2CYIK0dOxjZWVINhgDlXREzSqa0KU_kR6Yeorwjb7u6s99MijfiNj-8Q7vuZSwnGlj6KWSxKmYOUrVKXHzZ_Jw46gi6W8XAfl89S3WGUckJ2LPk/s564/dadme6.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuFAI8wnCEIrrd6xL1zNGyxlea8cfNR_xkjk9XIKzQ2swPZjYXHQAZD1aFYtWJf1VMrGwSeLfYbb_b2CYIK0dOxjZWVINhgDlXREzSqa0KU_kR6Yeorwjb7u6s99MijfiNj-8Q7vuZSwnGlj6KWSxKmYOUrVKXHzZ_Jw46gi6W8XAfl89S3WGUckJ2LPk/w640-h450/dadme6.jpg" width="575" height="404" data-original-width="564" data-original-height="397" /></a></div> <p>A couple months ago when my Uncle Mike (my dad’s younger brother) passed, his family displayed various photos at the service of my uncle and his brothers from their younger years.  I was greatly surprised when I saw the one above of my own dad, as I’ve never seen a photo of him this young before.</p> <p>That’s Dad on the left of course, looking 6-7 years old from 1943.  Knowing I had a photo of myself at around the same age in 1967, I thought I’d do a side by side (like I’ve done of Dad & myself before, <a href="https://apachedugs.blogspot.com/2023/09/photo-of-day-dad-heres-me-and-heres-you.html" target="_blank">here</a>).  I find it hard to believe these two photos are only 24 years apart.</p> <p>What I mean is, I’m betting our family wasn’t any wealthier than Dad’s was in the 1940s; but I think in the 1960s there was a greater emphasis placed on the look of success.  I remember the story behnd this suit on the right quite well; my mom was so upset with my ‘hobo look’ in my first grade school photos, she said never again and picked out these nifty threads from the 1967 Sears catalog.  </p> <p>Thanks to Google, I was able to look up my suit and the price was $11.99, shirt & tie included (around $90.00 in today’s dollars).  I got some good use out of that suit (much to my mom’s delight) as my second grade teacher Mrs. Brown had a thing for us kids dressing up a couple times that year.  And in the last week of school, our entire class came to her home for a ‘hot lunch’, girls in dresses, boys in ties.  </p> <p>Mrs. Brown had a son three years older than myself, also named Doug which intrigued me; I’d never met another Doug before.  I remember asking him if I could see his room—he said yes—and asking him if he wanted to be friends.  He said no.  Oh well!</p> <p><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="5">M</font></em></strong>eanwhile in the present, my tmj has put a real damper on things, my blog writing included.  I swear, I’m not looking for sympathy or attention—I just want it to be over.  It’s put a halt to things in my life (like going to the senior center) and I’m left with little energy to do anything except apply hot & cold compresses, stare at the tv and wait for things to get better.</p> <p>I had this three times before—the first was in July 2016, lasting seven months.  At the time I had no idea what it was, and wound up spending $3000 on specialists and various oral appliances, all of which did no good.   My second bout was a year later and only lasted 6 weeks.  My third was horrendous, and went on for over two years.</p> <p>So far it’s been two weeks and I’m hoping (as I’m sure it was ‘woken up’ by my recent battle with covid) it fades as quickly as it surfaced.  Thanks for letting me share and on that note…</p> <p align="center"><font color="#c0504d" size="5" face="Lucida Calligraphy">Happy New Year Everyone<a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdyaDe9rn-GvaFXT_5fbkZXf0KyzqMXfXYO41p9Gz_E_MnVLsDVXwVGfKNpUuAMvX2gWXVmcfGlVlBfZre1DD-JGPcEWwkFAhKooKHLMrVWhyvMuzdPwQWmYRBN6LM6Hi-koBHZUlLD00g-uI90IEpPRmmm7mRTJ6fR0-VyhspYv1jYABuVGtgVsOCn3k/s559/2024bowl2.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img style="margin: 31px auto 0px; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdyaDe9rn-GvaFXT_5fbkZXf0KyzqMXfXYO41p9Gz_E_MnVLsDVXwVGfKNpUuAMvX2gWXVmcfGlVlBfZre1DD-JGPcEWwkFAhKooKHLMrVWhyvMuzdPwQWmYRBN6LM6Hi-koBHZUlLD00g-uI90IEpPRmmm7mRTJ6fR0-VyhspYv1jYABuVGtgVsOCn3k/w400-h258/2024bowl2.jpg" width="350" height="226" data-original-width="559" data-original-height="360" /></a></font></p>ApacheDughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05520433539816634566noreply@blogger.com42tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266414848798382290.post-38986027850621320442023-12-21T07:54:00.001-05:002023-12-21T07:57:26.328-05:00Computers, covid & Christmas: life goes on & on<div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; float: right;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRtwwgbsYOXNlawaIJPgS9Gr8bzjljdE7YPnQipXVR-sCn_cPzqWH0rizeJFuoxeV_J-YYPjUTJHZDXlahDCkvPm0PUerB_0ifxu3erazQPGomXCbE1yLDqMWPGRHdYqTjb5D4We2HVwf4UrfrsiaG4H6n-emcAffVQg0SwWGJxHzgFEtv_VFWoCZzbtQ/s624/covtest.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRtwwgbsYOXNlawaIJPgS9Gr8bzjljdE7YPnQipXVR-sCn_cPzqWH0rizeJFuoxeV_J-YYPjUTJHZDXlahDCkvPm0PUerB_0ifxu3erazQPGomXCbE1yLDqMWPGRHdYqTjb5D4We2HVwf4UrfrsiaG4H6n-emcAffVQg0SwWGJxHzgFEtv_VFWoCZzbtQ/w480-h640/covtest.jpg" width="350" height="467" data-original-width="468" data-original-height="624" /></a></div> <p>Remember me?  It’s been three weeks since I’ve last written, but feels a lot longer for some reason.  In my last post, I lamented that my 2011 laptop had finally bit the big one and I’d lost all my stuff and was unable to blog again for the time being.</p> <p>Shortly after that, an old friend and former classmate reached out and told me about an apparatus on Amazon for extracting data from a defunct computer’s hard drive.  I was surprised to hear from her, we had a falling out a couple years ago and I assumed I’d never hear from her again.  She’s a better person than I gave her credit for, and it meant a lot.  Thanks Pen. </p> <p>Around the same time I got my new laptop (which I’ve yet to do anything with), I learned my neighborhood pharmacy was shutting down, part of the big Rite-Aid bankruptcy.  My bp & heart medications were re-directed to the nearest Giant Eagle, a couple miles from me and not acessible by public transportation.  My old friend Susie drove me there, but the next day contacted me and said <em>“Dougie, I have bad news.  You know I’ve been staying with my sister-in-law… she tested positive for covid this morning.  We’re probably next.”</em></p> <p>Sure enough, two days later on Saturday December 9, I awoke feeling like someone had beaten me up while I slept.  Went to the bathroom, grabbed a covid test from my medicine cabinet and yep—I was positive for covid.</p> <p>I know covid treats everyone differently—some people get slammed and wind up going to the hospital, for others it’s nothing more than a bad cold.  Mine was pretty rough, and for the next 4-5 nights I had a 102.6-103.0 fever.  I’d go to bed with my teeth clamped down from my baking head, and wake up in the morning with my teeth chattering from wet bedsheets soaked with perspiration. </p> <p><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="5">M</font></em></strong>y local senior center was wonderful during this time.  They checked in on me regularly, and since I couldn’t attend the annual holiday party, stopped by to drop off a nice gift and some holiday goodies.</p> <div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGur1aMGY0jPppzE_PqQKHwzxVJ0Z-383nljf0Q0GfqYUxXsDC7WP4xIpxvsJrChYEdRz1itlLw4e5YiMIpA92Eqv8F1dGxq9MT_IEuag3GtRshaYIRrypSrvuVrOy2mpmrhSnPykXLjtKDPt3vWulFXrU-C4zWYPVKjeojvhrlGKEnebZv8W4ZDxdcpc/s832/goodies.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGur1aMGY0jPppzE_PqQKHwzxVJ0Z-383nljf0Q0GfqYUxXsDC7WP4xIpxvsJrChYEdRz1itlLw4e5YiMIpA92Eqv8F1dGxq9MT_IEuag3GtRshaYIRrypSrvuVrOy2mpmrhSnPykXLjtKDPt3vWulFXrU-C4zWYPVKjeojvhrlGKEnebZv8W4ZDxdcpc/w640-h480/goodies.jpg" width="600" height="450" data-original-width="832" data-original-height="624" /></a></div> <div> </div> <p>I wish I could say things ended on a happy note, but exactly one day later—Saturday December 16—I awoke with my right jaw swollen, and my cheekbones and both eyes burning.  I wondered if all the stress from that covid had reactivated my TMJ disorder.  </p> <p>I can’t say for sure what it is, but right now I’m dealing with a lot of mouth soreness and inflammation.  I was able to show my doctor using my smartphone, he thinks it could be a sinus infection, but won’t prescribe antibiotics just yet.  He has me on a couple of prescription strength decongestants for the rest of the week and says we’ll go from there.</p> <p>While I am having some difficulty eating, at this time of year my local deli sells various holiday “fluffs” of roast turkey and ham & pineapple that are very soft & billowy, and require no chewing.  They’ll help me ride things out, but I’m sure things will return to normal soon.  </p> <p>I want to look at events from a positive perspective; in the last couple weeks, I’ve lost 7.8 pounds!  This is the kick in the pants I needed to get things in motion.</p> <p><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="5">A</font></em></strong>nother good thing that resulted from posting my tech-woes here, I have my old laptop working again, sort of.  Someone local who wishes to remain anonymous wrote and asked me the particulars of my defunct laptop.  He recommended a couple accessories on Ebay which I got a couple days ago and wonder of wonders, did “re-energize” my laptop.  </p> <p>I don’t know how much longer this old girl is going to last, but at least now I have a little more time, and can shoot out a couple more blogs using good old Windows 7.  </p> <p>I sure hope everyone out there is doing well, thanks for listening and Merry Christmas.</p> <p> </p> <div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNZBIByg5jBDrjZOAQxkGxapk_udZj_kobMozGjG_D81hX0STDufhuZbrcja-Od8l7SI6XfGSM-1d9Oyf5pW_X2xNcx8mBFywa79bnOpc2bsoHoeBuO9jc3QwVNyyRvnmmAn5JYP2tTCLR4Ixmr8V0z8RjwMsdk2Iq5OnQvwG_usMSrV_HjjkRpOXd_fk/s405/Native-Christmas-Tree.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNZBIByg5jBDrjZOAQxkGxapk_udZj_kobMozGjG_D81hX0STDufhuZbrcja-Od8l7SI6XfGSM-1d9Oyf5pW_X2xNcx8mBFywa79bnOpc2bsoHoeBuO9jc3QwVNyyRvnmmAn5JYP2tTCLR4Ixmr8V0z8RjwMsdk2Iq5OnQvwG_usMSrV_HjjkRpOXd_fk/s320/Native-Christmas-Tree.jpg" width="320" height="320" data-original-width="405" data-original-height="405" /> </a></div>ApacheDughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05520433539816634566noreply@blogger.com45tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266414848798382290.post-46471416697438689962023-12-02T08:04:00.000-05:002023-12-02T08:04:41.215-05:00This was supposed to be a love story, not a goodbye<div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh57DhGIdELXGYoLO3VQ-yTB0CwWqeFP0khvWgkQW4ARJ732ZOADOuNAmnU-ENQfjGQyz5JQ8SaYOhPTEl3vDt-1AvTlgPbw_j6nRO0CGXaU1_vNL9FizVD0ratZudDmE2k6lD-UIrCA4OmOuCAIRhf52-qQHQ8IXEyiQyRoPX6uvTBoQ9D01VK0e5NCw4/s1025/desktop.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh57DhGIdELXGYoLO3VQ-yTB0CwWqeFP0khvWgkQW4ARJ732ZOADOuNAmnU-ENQfjGQyz5JQ8SaYOhPTEl3vDt-1AvTlgPbw_j6nRO0CGXaU1_vNL9FizVD0ratZudDmE2k6lD-UIrCA4OmOuCAIRhf52-qQHQ8IXEyiQyRoPX6uvTBoQ9D01VK0e5NCw4/w640-h360/desktop.jpg" width="600" height="338" data-original-width="1025" data-original-height="576" /></a></div> <p>If there are gods of irony or karma up there, they’re probably looking down at me right now and having a real laugh at my expense.  I have no one to blame but myself.</p> <p>Several nights ago I received my umpteenth warning from Windows that it could not perform security updates, as my Windows 7 operating system was out of date.  I told myself that 2024 was definitely going to be the year I bought a new laptop.</p> <p>I bought my current laptop in February 2012, a Toshiba Satellite L750 with a custom trim in gloss chocolate.  (It came with a 500gb hard drive and 4gb RAM if you want to get technical about it.)  </p> <p>For the last 12 years, it’s served me very well.  </p> <p>As December marks my 18th year of blogging, I thought I’d write a blog singing the praises of my Toshiba and how I hope it gets me through the next couple years, at least.  I did what I always do—I wrote my blog on my desktop using a 2009 blog-editor.  I added photos to it using a 2009 photo-editor.  </p> <p>I moved it to the internet (to my online Drafts folder), then waited until the next morning to post it on my blog.  I always wait and publish new blogs in the mornings.  </p> <p>Anyway—this past Thursday morning, I turned on my laptop, it revved up like it always does, then sputtered out.  I checked my charger, tried it again—my laptop sprang to life for 3-4 minutes, then out it went again.  I spent the day trying to get it working, but it’s pretty much kaput.</p> <p>Panic set in as my whole digital life was on that machine.  It’s where I manage my investments, track my retirement spending, read & send emails, and write my blog.</p> <p>I have other ways to get to the internet, like my Samsung Galaxy tablet—it allows me to read ebooks, watch movies & Youtube videos, go online and read others blogs—but I cannot create blogs on it.  I can’t edit photos or compose blog-drafts on it.</p> <p>In fact, the only reason you’re seeing this right now is because the “love story” I wrote was moved online before my laptop croaked.  I’m using my tablet to change what this said.  </p> <p><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="5">S</font></em></strong>o I suppose what I’m saying now is, I may be off the grid for awhile.  I need to buy a new laptop, and learn Windows 11.  I have no idea what I’m going to use to edit photos or write blog drafts with, as I’m pretty sure those 2009 editors on my Toshiba are not compatible with today’s operating systems. </p> <p>Here’s what I ordered from Amazon this morning, set to arrive next week.  Wish me luck, and I hope I get to talk to everyone again real soon.</p> <p><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJweMvmg2JdNApHvF_GIYOdpAEgxPwGchwLmjRuXfiFKm-C4erK-hz0IOATRS0kglqDfSBakE3kqGRn9u7igiZUagwY69I8JgJvPZdnU8TSaJ-3W8dH8sA-w4UnIBj0VBBrrCFEIArGWhMpy5UT7uP266LA6bqCk6tFM_-kJNav0kMBIrGCI0JkdbAFS8/s1017/vivo.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJweMvmg2JdNApHvF_GIYOdpAEgxPwGchwLmjRuXfiFKm-C4erK-hz0IOATRS0kglqDfSBakE3kqGRn9u7igiZUagwY69I8JgJvPZdnU8TSaJ-3W8dH8sA-w4UnIBj0VBBrrCFEIArGWhMpy5UT7uP266LA6bqCk6tFM_-kJNav0kMBIrGCI0JkdbAFS8/w640-h308/vivo.jpg" width="600" height="289" data-original-width="1017" data-original-height="489" /></a></p>ApacheDughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05520433539816634566noreply@blogger.com46tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266414848798382290.post-2174803874845550502023-11-25T08:00:00.002-05:002023-11-25T08:14:38.752-05:00Where’s all the people? Just a couple Thanksgiving photos (minus any people)<div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; float: right;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtsdMJVtOQUWyqWzZwb36fvwFtnsKxgbN6EKmpcYTG5aSNpaVwIe53CLueC1HETvP-uRU1rPNmpP-N4aurYU02DOswa5rOOSvMhZyhl3XWr13S1Z8ekLWyL0TlDD2dfB6J3DJVJ433668jG8kNaVi_8nkn-E8s0KfeH-XDkREL9kgW5Jl4GFwrBQ9VLxs/s699/tur1.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtsdMJVtOQUWyqWzZwb36fvwFtnsKxgbN6EKmpcYTG5aSNpaVwIe53CLueC1HETvP-uRU1rPNmpP-N4aurYU02DOswa5rOOSvMhZyhl3XWr13S1Z8ekLWyL0TlDD2dfB6J3DJVJ433668jG8kNaVi_8nkn-E8s0KfeH-XDkREL9kgW5Jl4GFwrBQ9VLxs/w496-h640/tur1.jpg" width="325" height="419" data-original-width="541" data-original-height="699" /></a></div> <p>My brother-in-law Jim picked me up the night before Thanksgiving, and I got to enjoy the holiday with him & my sister Shawn, my niece Sophia and Jim’s son Michael, his wife Jessica and their two little boys 8 year old Caleb & 6 year old Isaiah.  </p> <p><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="3" face="Trebuchet MS">My sister had real pies of course, but her daughter-in-law Jessica’s pumpkin pie cookies were a big hit</font></em></strong></p> <p>On the trip there, Jim & I stopped at a McDonald’s to get dinner and I was shocked—I’ve been at Mickey D’s exactly <strong>one</strong> time in 21 years, and it felt like I’d fallen into a time warp and stepped into the future when we went inside.  </p> <p>(I’m not kidding, I’m planning to do a blog about this.)</p> <p>Anyway, I wanted to take some photos of everyone on Thanksgiving Day but people kept scooting out of my way or I got sidetracked.  Here’s a couple random shots, I hope everyone had a nice holiday!</p> <p><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="3" face="Trebuchet MS">Packing for my trip home, here are shoes I’ve bought just in the last six weeks.  I always prided myself on only owning two pair of dress shoes for work and a pair of sneakers, but now that I’m in my sixties…. bring ‘em on!<a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEfESsPw0f14zi-MJtm_IDSM0Yppw7uBA6mpCBH6_UFpirWYCnQziiPvwM1GVcLK1D-MMlGq9e1iewKLED7vw-yQjsFqqJYd4YLP95w__fhAHa9Av_2phqubCOrKSlMJ0pK2awDK9i-jFRc99FqgHCh-xnoiuBamhNVpn9gF-W5jGE6y4e9IWRYpsCZW4/s919/tur2.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img style="margin: 20px auto 0px; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEfESsPw0f14zi-MJtm_IDSM0Yppw7uBA6mpCBH6_UFpirWYCnQziiPvwM1GVcLK1D-MMlGq9e1iewKLED7vw-yQjsFqqJYd4YLP95w__fhAHa9Av_2phqubCOrKSlMJ0pK2awDK9i-jFRc99FqgHCh-xnoiuBamhNVpn9gF-W5jGE6y4e9IWRYpsCZW4/w640-h440/tur2.jpg" width="600" height="412" data-original-width="919" data-original-height="631" /><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="3" face="Trebuchet MS"></font></em></strong></a></font></em></strong></p> <p><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="3" face="Trebuchet MS"><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="3" face="Trebuchet MS">Thanksgiving morning, Jim & I went on a ride in the countryside and drove past my family’s old farmhouse (my family moved out 40 years ago).  </font></em></strong></font></em></strong></p> <p><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="3" face="Trebuchet MS"><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="3" face="Trebuchet MS"><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="3" face="Trebuchet MS"><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="3" face="Trebuchet MS">I was surprised how barren things looked—my dad’s large vegetable garden is gone of course, but so are the sheds out back, the apple tree in front, the dozen or so tall pine trees that circled the property</font></em></strong></font></em></strong><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUbQMqnjVwUAajBJc4sf1j7eP2rMiqGVuUGGNr0n8LDgiBwuz4M_xvqMU6MxgbZOOeV8maYKp88rsSdj7MFZ5FpiSNpmzhkwDfHhZfXGWQpsTylf7FXQ6fMClrSXSfNnZZsI60qYGNQgJZdAFri4LcmnZzAgfo9vDR674Vir-e6eKn4ZXYQQmvMs8-Fuc/s1040/tur3.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img style="margin: 20px auto 0px; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUbQMqnjVwUAajBJc4sf1j7eP2rMiqGVuUGGNr0n8LDgiBwuz4M_xvqMU6MxgbZOOeV8maYKp88rsSdj7MFZ5FpiSNpmzhkwDfHhZfXGWQpsTylf7FXQ6fMClrSXSfNnZZsI60qYGNQgJZdAFri4LcmnZzAgfo9vDR674Vir-e6eKn4ZXYQQmvMs8-Fuc/w480-h640/tur3.jpg" width="500" height="667" data-original-width="780" data-original-height="1040" /></a></font></em></strong></font></em></strong></p> <div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="3" face="Trebuchet MS">My sister’s country Thanksgiving table.  Doesn’t this look nice?</font></em></strong><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYORgcf30IPpdDv55BHEK7caPgSeHDIe_ItwyceBSGU8hHO9orOYkuVSXN0vLrf4IMW-NouNUxFldbTvTL60iWac4GJNil3lmKA4f9MJIiNe6eAAvWIPKUTzL3R3XvjgkctvFTvT5nWekaC2dDYRa3N92DkUjuXQ7EAyyjP2qvU2WkaNUkEreVCbFdpQ8/s1040/tur4.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img style="margin: 20px auto 5px; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYORgcf30IPpdDv55BHEK7caPgSeHDIe_ItwyceBSGU8hHO9orOYkuVSXN0vLrf4IMW-NouNUxFldbTvTL60iWac4GJNil3lmKA4f9MJIiNe6eAAvWIPKUTzL3R3XvjgkctvFTvT5nWekaC2dDYRa3N92DkUjuXQ7EAyyjP2qvU2WkaNUkEreVCbFdpQ8/w640-h480/tur4.jpg" width="600" height="450" data-original-width="1040" data-original-height="780" /></a></div> <div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="3" face="Trebuchet MS">I feel guilty; my sister worked on this dinner from the crack of dawn and my only job was filling the cups!</font></em></strong><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDPqORnvjV6nejXm2Dh_g0OZUqfCF4E_ZWcLK5gAlq8vV1IliDfqieYJCdvqj_2sZy3w9c-KbPHK3N95GMkQoIrVO47hk1OYq3Jp7t36Oik9fpamKtvLFSl3sgD_BJ3NuVcCV-72uJgriEoiVJWrWWZd6nbNpMQ8tSVMxl-jNFsPV1FIyrdlY6BF-BIIA/s1040/tur5.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img style="margin: 20px auto 0px; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDPqORnvjV6nejXm2Dh_g0OZUqfCF4E_ZWcLK5gAlq8vV1IliDfqieYJCdvqj_2sZy3w9c-KbPHK3N95GMkQoIrVO47hk1OYq3Jp7t36Oik9fpamKtvLFSl3sgD_BJ3NuVcCV-72uJgriEoiVJWrWWZd6nbNpMQ8tSVMxl-jNFsPV1FIyrdlY6BF-BIIA/w640-h480/tur5.jpg" width="600" height="450" data-original-width="1040" data-original-height="780" /></a></div> <div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="3" face="Trebuchet MS">And finally, as Dad used to say:  “Let’s commence to eatin’!”<a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj2ydB6rjMKy1KpAD2oHlujMG9Zg0iybK9XxeRnXhVHMCNLiSZYdRVHxiSSHirLUZ_j0xPugZ_En-B2s26AwHnpjZIhev9Llm5DOio-Z6N1eXXBWzu-fwbhQkhKYAF0Ib7HHny1Ktq-0JDsz8jTd25ga3FuXAYh8bpVtMNvmFgIafDfv7s9eMZiZ7sRao/s982/tur6.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img style="margin: 21px auto 0px; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj2ydB6rjMKy1KpAD2oHlujMG9Zg0iybK9XxeRnXhVHMCNLiSZYdRVHxiSSHirLUZ_j0xPugZ_En-B2s26AwHnpjZIhev9Llm5DOio-Z6N1eXXBWzu-fwbhQkhKYAF0Ib7HHny1Ktq-0JDsz8jTd25ga3FuXAYh8bpVtMNvmFgIafDfv7s9eMZiZ7sRao/w610-h640/tur6.jpg" width="550" height="577" data-original-width="936" data-original-height="982" /></a></font></em></strong></div>ApacheDughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05520433539816634566noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266414848798382290.post-74179661350809043882023-11-21T07:44:00.001-05:002023-11-21T15:55:21.819-05:00Photo of the Day: Can you guess which one is my niece Sophia?<div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ8VMsSqzSUt1lrJWIWGueYHV6NotYCphqSZj_o9f_JEBL3ywym0H_yGVVX3wvSfJ7Rtjj9w0UEOyFj22ySZr1Y0ZbD8gWTF9nDHoeghdidLESCs-mEH5UIRSl2Ml1OGDEw-w2WsmBbOPYHvphmPPqLPuzln2T_ivLtel6zRFgggXlpUlqHrj9l-K8ZY4/s940/IMG_6350.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ8VMsSqzSUt1lrJWIWGueYHV6NotYCphqSZj_o9f_JEBL3ywym0H_yGVVX3wvSfJ7Rtjj9w0UEOyFj22ySZr1Y0ZbD8gWTF9nDHoeghdidLESCs-mEH5UIRSl2Ml1OGDEw-w2WsmBbOPYHvphmPPqLPuzln2T_ivLtel6zRFgggXlpUlqHrj9l-K8ZY4/w564-h640/IMG_6350.jpg" width="600" height="680" data-original-height="940" data-original-width="828" /></a></div> <p>This past weekend, my sister Shawn sent me this photo in an email without including a message.</p> <p>I responded “Sophia looks prettier than ever, but I don’t like her ripped pants.”   </p> <p>My niece is second from the left, and I’m well aware her jeans with the torn knees are what’s in style but I still want to sew big patches on them.  Wouldn’t they look cuter with big knee patches?</p> <p>Shawn replied “I’ve always been mental about her shoes being clean and I’m glad they still are.”</p> <p>I wrote back “Um what is this?” and Shawn answered “Drag Bingo.  I love how Sophia isn’t afraid to try new things.”</p> <p>I suppose those ripped jeans aren’t so bad after all!   And on that note…</p> <div> </div> <div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0-0Ezg3S7cJuoEDEOUmXR3zCI2GjFQj7Mv3k7IYfFw6Q8_3Oi-iw0Z1DTGNrYpvqgUgEB9HX3Ad_q7pyQSqIlzQDj7ZeBkfwfDyVHSwrIWqEwExZ2xF3X8gKEnWNzQQ0g0-T4iwx2oS6IcAsTcd94QEGHm1SXQ1tB6BlpvYA-2FHpD-voNvRtSSTLLOA/s800/thanksgiving-icegif-12.gif" imageanchor="1"><img style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0-0Ezg3S7cJuoEDEOUmXR3zCI2GjFQj7Mv3k7IYfFw6Q8_3Oi-iw0Z1DTGNrYpvqgUgEB9HX3Ad_q7pyQSqIlzQDj7ZeBkfwfDyVHSwrIWqEwExZ2xF3X8gKEnWNzQQ0g0-T4iwx2oS6IcAsTcd94QEGHm1SXQ1tB6BlpvYA-2FHpD-voNvRtSSTLLOA/s320/thanksgiving-icegif-12.gif" width="300" height="300" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" /> </a></div>ApacheDughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05520433539816634566noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266414848798382290.post-80556151747359501802023-11-18T07:59:00.000-05:002023-11-18T07:59:32.650-05:00Frasier may have left the building, but at least he’s back for a short visit<div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcDixATTCLt1xCmJ9tIime7qRIqzPET0sUfvD0OSu-Ghzn9T8MI1xckTFGWxnzYvAEW4LtUpRq_Raile2ovNRSDtPhLbZS8Jt_D7FQ8idrTBxZF90VyIlFplWPthLdia1kzXCjoA8J57l_V6IK8nDv6pbl2cmtkpLJgVC3OpTvCEfwHxnsnlR4BXJOm-I/s774/frasierdvds.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcDixATTCLt1xCmJ9tIime7qRIqzPET0sUfvD0OSu-Ghzn9T8MI1xckTFGWxnzYvAEW4LtUpRq_Raile2ovNRSDtPhLbZS8Jt_D7FQ8idrTBxZF90VyIlFplWPthLdia1kzXCjoA8J57l_V6IK8nDv6pbl2cmtkpLJgVC3OpTvCEfwHxnsnlR4BXJOm-I/w640-h588/frasierdvds.jpg" width="550" height="505" data-original-height="711" data-original-width="774" /></a></div> <p>In the summer of 2016 when I made the ill-fated decision to move out of the city, I also decided to do some serious downsizing and gave away half of what I owned.  I donated over 300 hardcover books and half of my DVD collection to the Bellevue Library.</p> <p>This was actually the very first thing I gave them, my complete set of <em>Frasier</em>, which aired on NBC from 1993 to 2004.  Looking back, I’m not sure why I did; I<strong> dearly</strong> loved this show.  Everything about it was brilliant—from the writing to it’s inspired casting (Frasier wasn’t even supposed to have a brother, one of the producers saw David Hyde Pierce and remarked his uncanny resemblance to Kelsey Grammer).  </p> <p>As great as it was though, my second favorite thing about the show was his luxury apartment in the fictional Elliot Bay Towers in Seattle.  I used to record the show on my vcr, then pause it during replay just to study the artwork or the titles of the books on his bookshelves!</p> <p>My <strong>favorite</strong> thing about the show though was the calls to my mom after every new episode.  She knew to expect my call the moment Kelsey began singing “tossed salad and scrambled eggs”, and we’d rehash that night’s story and laugh all over again.  </p> <p>Sadly, Mom passed about 6 months after the final episode.</p> <p><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="5">T</font></em></strong>he reason I share all this now is because last night I laughed again at Frasier for the first time in a LONG time, and afterwards felt both relief and some heartache too.  The show was recently revived on Paramount Plus with much fanfare (they announced it was returning 3 years ago) but after 4 episodes I was greatly disappointed.   </p> <p>USA Today wrote a pretty scathing piece about its revival and got raked over the coals by Frasier’s adoring fans; the paper was right though, the show was a turd.</p> <p>And then last night (after putting it off for over a week) I watched the fifth episode and it was nothing short of awesome—they got it, they got that magic back!  Well, for this episode at least.  Frasier and his adult son Freddy are in Frasier’s Boston apartment, waiting on blind dates; when the first woman arrives, they’re both attracted to her but don’t know which Crane she’s there for, and instead of just asking…. I was howling.</p> <p>Later when the second woman shows up, and Frasier confesses to Freddy he wants her too, his disgusted son remarks<em> “Why don’t I just pretend to be your personal chef?  We’ll set up another table on the balcony, and try to fool both women into having dinner with you!”</em>  Frasier pauses, stares into space like he’s mulling it over and says <em>“You know, there was a time when I would’ve considered such a thing…”</em>  My God I laughed so hard!  </p> <p>I know it sounds silly, but if you were a fan of playwrights like Preston Sturges or Noel Coward, you’d enjoy this too.  </p> <p><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="5">O</font></em></strong>kay, I thought I’d wrap this little lovefest up with 3 takes on Frasier’s apartment.  The first is from the original <em>Frasier</em>, complete with his dad’s ratty 1970’s recliner.  </p> <p>The second is how designers imagine it would look today—pretty fancy stuff.  </p> <p>The third is his apartment on the revived show, set in Boston.  I am digging that Rorschach wallpaper!<a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivqYhF2xmXMTTwbVLrpIMyxE6UtZg2ksliMPF6rwF44NtLpnG8aOtYabOalWN1iL2KkcBl_oInMpvQqKXxdjkCI1l15tYkkJiHIsRWTdx9TawdgKaSt1N7e_CYR8AlnS7vaQHVrer0FI1K8AfM_RlFTIXPXOPt3jWRWIt_mpfzvQXM3nhfORPsc_LCjko/s795/frasier90s.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img style="margin: 20px auto 0px; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivqYhF2xmXMTTwbVLrpIMyxE6UtZg2ksliMPF6rwF44NtLpnG8aOtYabOalWN1iL2KkcBl_oInMpvQqKXxdjkCI1l15tYkkJiHIsRWTdx9TawdgKaSt1N7e_CYR8AlnS7vaQHVrer0FI1K8AfM_RlFTIXPXOPt3jWRWIt_mpfzvQXM3nhfORPsc_LCjko/w640-h422/frasier90s.jpg" width="600" height="396" data-original-height="525" data-original-width="795" /></a><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW5yEr83GA10T1br0VaWZa2cj55aLrOSNaPREetP_b9PXWtOhYHvgU9_ByGWp6OhE4UM95Av45y3MahpMzje8ijmgAHXq4Guzx_OolYyZ0cSfGEJCnO_qijjTuS11EWnoc5DJuoX3PyRLblzF3jWR3fxJKqwAf3x4M5buDr26_2PQASZNUBWhcr8OK2Eg/s912/frasier90stoday.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img style="margin: 15px auto 0px; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW5yEr83GA10T1br0VaWZa2cj55aLrOSNaPREetP_b9PXWtOhYHvgU9_ByGWp6OhE4UM95Av45y3MahpMzje8ijmgAHXq4Guzx_OolYyZ0cSfGEJCnO_qijjTuS11EWnoc5DJuoX3PyRLblzF3jWR3fxJKqwAf3x4M5buDr26_2PQASZNUBWhcr8OK2Eg/w640-h362/frasier90stoday.jpg" width="600" height="339" data-original-height="516" data-original-width="912" /></a><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEherZMXhS2mW-0UKSfwWG5GkbFNIQHgiWM_qNZj4ys5WmeMhBfDAlFUV4TCTIveKmpULFd8vNeRR1mrp17fNmqTsxE8UXEY94Vbx9dZ6bqnGAiKKnL0OJRgAaJPCg-pB8jv1fzNbCVDy88qvjcnIWZM6wMcDrjjqZYeV9YgOeQG9i4_KgYuTiXbXSxBlNM/s747/frasierboston.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img style="margin: 15px auto 0px; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEherZMXhS2mW-0UKSfwWG5GkbFNIQHgiWM_qNZj4ys5WmeMhBfDAlFUV4TCTIveKmpULFd8vNeRR1mrp17fNmqTsxE8UXEY94Vbx9dZ6bqnGAiKKnL0OJRgAaJPCg-pB8jv1fzNbCVDy88qvjcnIWZM6wMcDrjjqZYeV9YgOeQG9i4_KgYuTiXbXSxBlNM/w640-h320/frasierboston.jpg" width="600" height="300" data-original-height="373" data-original-width="747" /></a><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCdt09bVh6-dT98WHKDgKzoedquhWJ6dWkX992Q2LRNqYGsdrhlzLWRzxMz3i7M9L-0VX1PvFFkU0b5MULpG7qJnzGTE-rzWF90UTiI7_tuLZJXWn9GXVrFz8FESXSwN5ffwvTzv9LhEz9l_X42TnbFLcl76hJ4p1jHKatqXeDVX42wvajEryZbRDXw9E/s184/teepee_dribbble_1x.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCdt09bVh6-dT98WHKDgKzoedquhWJ6dWkX992Q2LRNqYGsdrhlzLWRzxMz3i7M9L-0VX1PvFFkU0b5MULpG7qJnzGTE-rzWF90UTiI7_tuLZJXWn9GXVrFz8FESXSwN5ffwvTzv9LhEz9l_X42TnbFLcl76hJ4p1jHKatqXeDVX42wvajEryZbRDXw9E/s1600/teepee_dribbble_1x.jpg" width="184" height="177" data-original-height="177" data-original-width="184" /></a></p>ApacheDughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05520433539816634566noreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266414848798382290.post-73259248089746300692023-11-14T08:03:00.001-05:002023-11-17T12:52:25.490-05:00Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus—I know because I’ve got his red shoes<div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH3ceyjhz9LYAuYTsV2VuXBGLDsLDm6iyf9fv87ocCBDBMXjiBGmKe5GPs0He-wzA7sNwz-9Uxset3NFJr1HsdLflk-4N0EZzzmO5uFw3JIjUquzqAgr6IM4DCdIUkoGEZmETZ91rmdnMV-dIdddMOnvhrN2yf6-8QJwlN5LoWDjk-TgZIWn3LDCljZSs/s802/redshoes.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH3ceyjhz9LYAuYTsV2VuXBGLDsLDm6iyf9fv87ocCBDBMXjiBGmKe5GPs0He-wzA7sNwz-9Uxset3NFJr1HsdLflk-4N0EZzzmO5uFw3JIjUquzqAgr6IM4DCdIUkoGEZmETZ91rmdnMV-dIdddMOnvhrN2yf6-8QJwlN5LoWDjk-TgZIWn3LDCljZSs/w622-h640/redshoes.jpg" width="585" height="602" data-original-width="780" data-original-height="802" /></a></div> <p>Here are my new red shoes, which arrived via UPS early yesterday.  <strong><em><font color="#ff0000">Ho Ho!</font></em></strong>  I’m so tickled to have them, I keep pausing my television to go into the bedroom and look at them.  My gosh, aren’t they nice?</p> <p>Even though they weren’t cheap (more on that later) I’m surprised at their quality—it’s top notch.  And they’re real leather too.</p> <p>I know what you’re probably thinking<em>—“You got a new pair of shoes, who gives a tinker’s damn!”  </em>Well you’re right, but you have to understand two things:</p> <ol> <li>I’ve been looking for a pair of red running shoes for a long, long time.</li> <li>But I’m a freak of nature and have two platypus feet.</li> </ol> <p>Does this sound normal to you?  For as long as I can remember, I’ve worn a size 9 1/2 shoe.  In my thirties, my shoes began hurting my feet so I tried a size 10; but they were no good, too loose but still hurt my feet in the front.</p> <p>Eventually I learned about Wide shoes, and all was good again.  Then in my early fifties, the sides of my feet began feeling pinched again.  That’s when I discovered <strong>Extra</strong> Wide.  But those shoes can be limited in style & color; still, I made do.</p> <p>And then in my sixties, I began to notice that Extra Wide was a 50/50 toss up.  Sometimes they fit, not always.  </p> <p>(A few weeks ago I was with my sister Shawn at a Skechers store, half the 9.5 EW shoes hurt my feet.)</p> <p><strong><em><font color="#ff0000" size="5">S</font></em></strong>o I’m on my computer a couple weeks ago, and googled “it’s hard finding mens shoes that fit”, and found a discussion board where one guy was saying the exact same thing, and someone recommended he check out Propet shoes.  They specialized in extended sizes and widths, and shoes requiring orthotics. </p> <p>I went to their website and began looking around, and that’s when I saw the red shoes.  In size 9.5, up to XX (5E).  Extra <strong><em>EXTRA</em></strong> Wide.  Yes!   </p> <p>Still, they were $114.95 and I couldn’t bring myself to pay that much for a pair of shoes.  (I just got 2 new pairs of shoes a month ago—buy a pair, get one for free at Skechers.)  I looked at these daily though, and then a few nights ago they were discounted to $84.00 and I pounced on them.</p> <p>But there’s magic in these ruby red sneakers:  I tried them on, they fit good… but I still wished they were 2% less snug.  I looked them up again on the website and saw someone asking if you could remove the insoles as they wanted to insert their own arch supports.  </p> <p>Another person said yes but remember, Propet shoes also come with removable insoles under the main insoles if you needed more room.  They do??</p> <p>Yep—I found and removed them from mine (the blue insole below).  And now they fit perfect.  I think I’m going to save these sexy red beasts for our senior center’s first outing in December, and wear them with a splash of Old Spice cologne.  Maybe they’ll work their magic on someone else too. ;^)</p> <p> </p> <div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid-Dp_qiBooT9yk39nZvs7SnPbpPVxL-R1EKjbG35oXLLuARVeUDC9KHUVLARFiRFHE6l_WcH8FRNi9AyPFxiBEZ8fWqfj8gZNAP1AG6zPSEkuSIUsB3fRuytO7PRQRe9p7Ppz_OAe5abu2Jb2Zs4XLP6xxCUHmK2WvXX8iQTQRblHNCMBqTnlU-TaG60/s832/xtrasole.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid-Dp_qiBooT9yk39nZvs7SnPbpPVxL-R1EKjbG35oXLLuARVeUDC9KHUVLARFiRFHE6l_WcH8FRNi9AyPFxiBEZ8fWqfj8gZNAP1AG6zPSEkuSIUsB3fRuytO7PRQRe9p7Ppz_OAe5abu2Jb2Zs4XLP6xxCUHmK2WvXX8iQTQRblHNCMBqTnlU-TaG60/w480-h640/xtrasole.jpg" width="325" height="433" data-original-width="624" data-original-height="832" /> </a></div>ApacheDughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05520433539816634566noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266414848798382290.post-69093125051158192422023-11-10T07:51:00.004-05:002023-11-11T14:23:35.528-05:00This thing we call life, and the cards we’re dealt—including the silly ones<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYyYAs_TZNqvkqkk9AzdQMG4rRteolPcIXWKsTh-RQmPjNIDurtfT9gLAryz4MxDAWerBMKNnmk6T4_7ZvBnCI-aJFRC5WLrDZYkIOXX71EfoQcHcNCLBhRIAuEde9ur9qe_BaSLL0mkmhZMm8VT_exMeVJF4DykqREKgBk_J0e4i_9ol5KyupUjjPj9Y/s1040/2023bcards.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="780" data-original-width="1040" height="450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYyYAs_TZNqvkqkk9AzdQMG4rRteolPcIXWKsTh-RQmPjNIDurtfT9gLAryz4MxDAWerBMKNnmk6T4_7ZvBnCI-aJFRC5WLrDZYkIOXX71EfoQcHcNCLBhRIAuEde9ur9qe_BaSLL0mkmhZMm8VT_exMeVJF4DykqREKgBk_J0e4i_9ol5KyupUjjPj9Y/w640-h480/2023bcards.jpg" width="600" /></a></div> <p><strong><em><font color="#808000" face="Trebuchet MS" size="3">Top: Birthday cards from my second floor neighbor Sally, my sister Courtney & Robert, friends Danielle & Josh. Bottom row: My online friend Bobi (who included a retro cow magnet for my fridge), my friend & former classmate Diana, friends Chuck & Robin, my sister Shawn</font></em></strong></p> <p>I was talking to my Canadian friend Robin the other morning (who sent me that cool ‘black cats & bats’ Halloween card in the bottom row for my birthday a week ago), and was telling her I have a real problem throwing away cards.</p> <p>She said she held onto cards for sentimental reasons and I said I did the same, like ones from my mom (who passed 19 years ago) as she always wrote such nice messages inside. But even the ones I don’t keep, it pains me to toss them anytime soon. </p> <p>There’s not many here, and of the few I got, half were a surprise; but I genuinely like the people who sent them and I feel fortunate to know them. I’m fortunate, period. I’ve got my health for the most part, my own place in a part of the world that isn’t torn apart by war, enough money in the bank to pay my bills and live comfortably.</p> <p>Y’know, I feel silly for posting much of the things I do on my blog. I worry about guns and climate change and Israel and Ukraine and the future of our country’s democracy like everyone else. (At least I hope everyone else worries about these things.) I just don’t feel the need to write about those things right now. Maybe in the future, I don’t know.</p> <p>For now I just want to thank the people who sent those cards above (and the cow magnet below) and the smart, funny readers who visit my blog. That’s all! <br /></p> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXe69mS7KFtcma6uwDrb1GXh8MNxvEnI1x8dMDpjLCRNGtKvGM7uTbcEODTzejiH6RUKQezcp8kxDzxwbpPokRhKDNfYsT6Ew6ZFde3Q_CkfAcTSZN0bZjHUHSoY-DGLx1cRCeMJ3NNtILPbe3Kv6Gpw0XEOmAW8cIaduLdVG_pnr2hdteW1B8MMnpT7E/s624/2023mags.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="624" data-original-width="468" height="433" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXe69mS7KFtcma6uwDrb1GXh8MNxvEnI1x8dMDpjLCRNGtKvGM7uTbcEODTzejiH6RUKQezcp8kxDzxwbpPokRhKDNfYsT6Ew6ZFde3Q_CkfAcTSZN0bZjHUHSoY-DGLx1cRCeMJ3NNtILPbe3Kv6Gpw0XEOmAW8cIaduLdVG_pnr2hdteW1B8MMnpT7E/w480-h640/2023mags.jpg" width="325" /> </a></div>ApacheDughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05520433539816634566noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266414848798382290.post-14124017144533266032023-11-07T07:44:00.002-05:002023-11-07T08:51:20.419-05:00You people are safe from us older delinquents—well, for a month at least<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc6uykBUd2sEIJZlSH_LueJtuaZVpGUh7_f_9c3Giz5VUboEeve86JO_UOisopXkIj6PgdbuWvNZaX7f_PsnL9qelSybS7C0Um6b3EBRLnaSrEfEksjB3f-GD67aM8csBOLrz4Tfxtim-ba-3FMYiP-ouLuNVaYDE00FCrLs-m_X21i6_IxPKm8GgAEeE/s384/dugleather2.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="384" data-original-width="319" height="391" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc6uykBUd2sEIJZlSH_LueJtuaZVpGUh7_f_9c3Giz5VUboEeve86JO_UOisopXkIj6PgdbuWvNZaX7f_PsnL9qelSybS7C0Um6b3EBRLnaSrEfEksjB3f-GD67aM8csBOLrz4Tfxtim-ba-3FMYiP-ouLuNVaYDE00FCrLs-m_X21i6_IxPKm8GgAEeE/w532-h640/dugleather2.jpg" width="325" /></a></div> <p>A couple years ago (okay, 17 years ago) when Facebook was brand new and I was in my mid-forties, I posted a photo of myself in my new leather jacket on the main page.</p> <p>At the time I was going through some sort of mid-life crisis, and wrote that after spending my entire life as a nerdy square, was I now too old to be wearing a black leather jacket?</p> <p>Expecting a chorus of positive feedback to go for it, I got the following:</p> <p>1) My friend Tracy asked if I was trying to look like the Fonz.</p> <p>2) My friend Alex asked if I was wearing sweatpants below my jacket, I should consider wearing jeans.</p> <p>3) My younger friend (and Photoshop expert) Eric added this pair of oversized undies to my photo. Why? <strong><em> Because the only panty-raids I’d be going on were for granny panties at the nursing home.</em></strong></p> <p>While his doctored picture began getting dozens of likes and LOLs and comments, I slunk away and debated hurling myself off my fourth floor balcony. Oh the humiliation! In the end I just laughed it off, what else can you do?</p> <p>The reason I shared this middle age delinquent look back is because at the start of November when I received “Courtney’s Chit-Chat” (a monthly newsletter from the senior center with 2 calendars—one for activities, the other a lunch menu) there was this special note on the main page:</p> <p><font color="#808000" face="Trebuchet MS" size="3"><strong>It has been brought to our attention that members participating in group trips have not been respectful to ACCESS drivers and participating members. Please keep in mind that you are a representive of the center on trips. ACCESS can suspend individual members as well as suspend the center indefinitely from trips. Due to multiple offenses, we are cancelling all November trips. We do not condone bullying or disrespectful behavior. </strong></font></p> <p><font color="#808000" face="Trebuchet MS" size="3"><strong>Group trips will pick back up in December with a chaperone.</strong></font></p> <p>What the—grounded! Well, that sucked. Hmm.. aside from two trips to the casino (and one to Oakmont Bakery when I was sick), I’d pretty much gone on all the other trips. If I did something wrong, would they have let me know? Did I see someone else do anything?</p> <p>There is one woman in our group who makes a dash back indoors to whatever establishment we just came out of, when the Access shuttle pulls up to take us home. I just chalked it up to a last minute bladder-check, but she usually takes several minutes and we’re not supposed to keep those Access drivers waiting.</p> <p>Speaking of Access drivers, when we went on the Mt.Washington outing for lunch, several Access vehicles showed up to take us home. One was a regular 4 passenger car, and this tall, elderly black man got out. He said <em>“I am lookin’ for someones named Janet—Pearl—and Douglas!”</em> </p> <p>We all came over to his car and he said <em>“Welcome aboard ladies—and fine gent! They call me Crazy Roy! Now who wants to ride up front with me!”</em> Pearl & Janet were already getting in the back seat, and I said “No, no—wait. I want to know why they call you Crazy Roy.” </p> <p>Janet (also black) said <em>“Child, just get in the damn car!”</em> Crazy Roy tilted his head back and laughed. He said <em>“Because Mister Douglas, crazy things happen to me most everytime I get behind that wheel!”</em> </p> <p>He has got to be kidding me. I stood there for a minute, mentally getting my affairs in order then climbed in beside him. No joke—this is a true story—not 10 seconds after Crazy Roy pulled away from the curb in front of the restaurant, some crazy-ass man jumped off the sidewalk in front of our car with his arms outstretched, dancing in place like a jiggly scarecrow. Crazy Roy rolled down his window, stuck his head out and shouted <em>“GET OUTTA THE LANE, FOOL! I ALMOST RUNNED YOU OVER!”</em></p> <p>As we got on our way, Crazy Roy said <em>“See? We’re good now, we got the crazy outta the way!” </em>I said “Pearl, as soon as we get back to the Tiffany please remind me to call Pittsburgh Cremation & Funeral Care—they’ve got a special going on right now for simple cremation, 1500 dollars.” </p> <p>Pearl laughed and said okay, Crazy Roy said <em>“ARE YOU SERIOUS? FIT-TEEN HUNDRED DOLLARS? YOU GOT THE PHONE NUMBER?”</em> I said “Uh… not on me, why?”</p> <p>Crazy Roy said <em>“’Cuz yesterday was my 80th birthday! I could go anytime!”</em></p> <p><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="5">I</font></em></strong> guess I can live with being grounded for a few weeks.</p> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmKRO8T-hYcSCLW4aEpVeUID5VLxIbK-7VPGl_VRJOg0aCl3YzqrrubaISnXE8Wf52eAUqxoeA64wFmoCi1xEU54LsZZ49_Wkr1Gp8_-hR-YN6ugHsemxZkF7zWDE5Tsxq7lycK3Sn91rFBJQoAwnNv6e7hopX_PoK_1944OeMHVipT9usnf3xI1Q4Fj8/s953/pittfun.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="502" data-original-width="953" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmKRO8T-hYcSCLW4aEpVeUID5VLxIbK-7VPGl_VRJOg0aCl3YzqrrubaISnXE8Wf52eAUqxoeA64wFmoCi1xEU54LsZZ49_Wkr1Gp8_-hR-YN6ugHsemxZkF7zWDE5Tsxq7lycK3Sn91rFBJQoAwnNv6e7hopX_PoK_1944OeMHVipT9usnf3xI1Q4Fj8/w640-h338/pittfun.jpg" width="600" /> </a></div>ApacheDughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05520433539816634566noreply@blogger.com42tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266414848798382290.post-40730304802281614152023-11-03T07:42:00.001-04:002023-11-03T14:44:38.892-04:00Hot Dog People and green devilled eggs: what a difference a year makes<div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a style="clear: left; margin-right: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; float: left;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSBsPW1ZVWDDoH7IgNelSKNxN38sSi-bgcaeDkMKTsN0yW8mJ-Iwhtkxol3CUEP3YHr5mD9a9lBnPzccaCm8zBTomgY1WWWFt8r8pxnuJnHZDuhodwfMZJftWW6vOQyI0rXUxBDP9004IupaqP72AYl27ra2Uy5f1C817oyij0k5lCML6uzYC8ZgYYLno/s776/hp1.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSBsPW1ZVWDDoH7IgNelSKNxN38sSi-bgcaeDkMKTsN0yW8mJ-Iwhtkxol3CUEP3YHr5mD9a9lBnPzccaCm8zBTomgY1WWWFt8r8pxnuJnHZDuhodwfMZJftWW6vOQyI0rXUxBDP9004IupaqP72AYl27ra2Uy5f1C817oyij0k5lCML6uzYC8ZgYYLno/w378-h640/hp1.jpg" width="284" height="481" data-original-width="458" data-original-height="776" /></a></div> <p>I’m sure everyone is pretty much Halloween’d out, but I wanted to share a few photos from the party at the PrimeTime Center this week.  It was such a fun time, with good people and good food, and a few too many treats.</p> <p>There was cupcakes & candy galore, punch, cider, cheeses, crackers, meatballs, chips, dips and ghoulish green devilled eggs.  Those eggs were to die for... heh heh!</p> <p>Three of the four women that run the center (Courtney, Elisa & Colleen) were dressed as giant hot dogs and hilarious, each in their own way.  They announced it was my birthday, and it was quite a thing, 50-60 people singing Happy Birthday.  A pretty wonderful experience.</p> <p><strong><em><font color="#f79646" size="3" face="Trebuchet MS">Giant cobwebs (and tarantulas) cover the stained glass windows of the center</font></em></strong></p> <p>I say what a difference a year makes, because precisely one year ago, I spent my birthday at Mercy Hospital, undergoing drug trials for new BP & heart meds.  When I came home the next day, I had a severe gallbladder attack and wound up right back at Mercy Hospital!</p> <p>Anyway, here’s a few photos of the festivities at the center this week.</p> <p><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="3" face="Trebuchet MS">“Say weiner!”  Elisa, Colleen (center) & Courtney looked great in those costumes, but Colleen’s “Puttin’ on the Ritz” complete with hat & cane stole the show<a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLlinxbThHf4EhJxCRT2yjZI7O7ohUBrH8v3iIgm4TPNgkkXN0FPv70G1RBeVZvze5M67-xnPa7WOdvXQZB6yF_SSfBv7SqkGr-I9M5aQSDeh9tcVT1bDg6K4LbbV-sFr9WhNscmt_cDsYnMypc9Nr_9QFGuGzcNL7ZO9LqszngoAr3TWmfnd88V0prok/s1024/hp2.jpg"><img style="margin: 20px auto 0px; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLlinxbThHf4EhJxCRT2yjZI7O7ohUBrH8v3iIgm4TPNgkkXN0FPv70G1RBeVZvze5M67-xnPa7WOdvXQZB6yF_SSfBv7SqkGr-I9M5aQSDeh9tcVT1bDg6K4LbbV-sFr9WhNscmt_cDsYnMypc9Nr_9QFGuGzcNL7ZO9LqszngoAr3TWmfnd88V0prok/w480-h640/hp2.jpg" width="480" height="640" data-original-width="768" data-original-height="1024" /></a></font></em></strong></p> <div align="center">  <strong><em><font color="#808000" size="3" face="Trebuchet MS">Earlybirds are settling in, pretty soon the center will be filled with young and old alike <strong><em><font color="#808000" size="3" face="Trebuchet MS"><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt5Oj_pWkcWxABWPrFpbKncfoca-9q87TB86jQR2wwIUOytwUE5IFENHs-IY9zemFLtFFR5ccvtPrbM3E1nLwbnLvv4O_F7qP-6ws0oqqyazs2lZXGIT3MlqMOCvSlVd4emX0PtNx_9XRPTCvzGGmM63qW9W7kMFduFbenE8D3VxWGNz1VRcBCdirR7wM/s1011/hp3.jpg"><img style="margin: 20px auto 0px; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt5Oj_pWkcWxABWPrFpbKncfoca-9q87TB86jQR2wwIUOytwUE5IFENHs-IY9zemFLtFFR5ccvtPrbM3E1nLwbnLvv4O_F7qP-6ws0oqqyazs2lZXGIT3MlqMOCvSlVd4emX0PtNx_9XRPTCvzGGmM63qW9W7kMFduFbenE8D3VxWGNz1VRcBCdirR7wM/w640-h328/hp3.jpg" width="575" height="295" data-original-width="1011" data-original-height="519" /></a></font></em></strong></font></em></strong></div> <p><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="3" face="Trebuchet MS">I was served my favorite lunch, a jumbo sausage sandwich with onions & peppers, sauteed spinach and a watermelon and Feta cheese salad.   Did you notice that cupcake <strong><em><font color="#808000" size="3" face="Trebuchet MS">with the lit candle in the upper corner of the tray?<a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBlyKYdNKesYLQmDZPn767P72_nvCAJtp90M8TNVjyIPgg_1YGoJzsUFHwQrX-Ke7i3UuY1wIecKES2UArXrdr6WHFl2owaPjqeLfloiavtzAz3NW_VFVOn_zW-f20NMB6ZbR8fjoD4a_E_7pqN-ZCrF5p9-TjTA3K4IVCy4iJb17WX7bwAmWUQDg4xtc/s1040/hp4.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img style="margin: 20px auto 0px; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBlyKYdNKesYLQmDZPn767P72_nvCAJtp90M8TNVjyIPgg_1YGoJzsUFHwQrX-Ke7i3UuY1wIecKES2UArXrdr6WHFl2owaPjqeLfloiavtzAz3NW_VFVOn_zW-f20NMB6ZbR8fjoD4a_E_7pqN-ZCrF5p9-TjTA3K4IVCy4iJb17WX7bwAmWUQDg4xtc/w640-h436/hp4.jpg" width="600" height="409" data-original-width="1040" data-original-height="707" /></a></font></em></strong></font></em></strong></p> <font color="#808000" size="3" face="Trebuchet MS"><strong><em>The Phantom of the Opera (Elisa’s long-time friend David Passeau) played organ music that varied from lighthearted to foreboding, depending on what was going on.  I love this guy!<a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvi7hAs3U7qr8Xwfa6hqpwn7wnv16QFhThPJcWB8eTST3_Dr-CgzL5B0mhlUeq1DNJ2v_YyHQ3510RLoQfFyXvd84yvW-chML_O-4E0xZujWOC_-v_HIcr_1a9DtwRIJmIV3IjcsabTVqBrbmXREW8e5aQR9fsyXwCKIVk4ASN-R_2VCkGtEyQr9vIODs/s1212/hp5.jpg"><img style="margin: 11px auto 0px; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvi7hAs3U7qr8Xwfa6hqpwn7wnv16QFhThPJcWB8eTST3_Dr-CgzL5B0mhlUeq1DNJ2v_YyHQ3510RLoQfFyXvd84yvW-chML_O-4E0xZujWOC_-v_HIcr_1a9DtwRIJmIV3IjcsabTVqBrbmXREW8e5aQR9fsyXwCKIVk4ASN-R_2VCkGtEyQr9vIODs/w640-h414/hp5.jpg" width="575" height="372" data-original-width="1212" data-original-height="783" /></a></em></strong></font> <div><font color="#808000" size="3" face="Trebuchet MS"><strong><em>I love this woman too, and I don’t even know her name!  Dressed as a giant Hershey bar (with a Hershey kiss on top), she won second prize in the costume contest.  <a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-kiTt45nL2NmKsig2NIDR0aTH0TWJ8A_dTaj1SCbmUEuH8vcMp7bo_N3aWn-wqg8APGkjyeB_-8_4jQT9bcb0nVTjnmMHVWgVLoMcEAvcFVpSlJu4MC3dYAVLfAitceZEqVNCtkGfSy3KnuO3vbt_F8kKMMPkkouiWc7ynuyEzgZ_s2xdGlHD61NgXmE/s1040/hp6.jpg"><img style="margin: 20px auto 0px; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-kiTt45nL2NmKsig2NIDR0aTH0TWJ8A_dTaj1SCbmUEuH8vcMp7bo_N3aWn-wqg8APGkjyeB_-8_4jQT9bcb0nVTjnmMHVWgVLoMcEAvcFVpSlJu4MC3dYAVLfAitceZEqVNCtkGfSy3KnuO3vbt_F8kKMMPkkouiWc7ynuyEzgZ_s2xdGlHD61NgXmE/w480-h640/hp6.jpg" width="450" height="600" data-original-width="780" data-original-height="1040" /></a></em></strong></font></div> <div align="center"><font color="#808000" size="3" face="Trebuchet MS"><strong><em>First Prize went to Ruthie, for her homemade Dalmation costume.  She’s a sweetheart (and I believe the oldest person there).<a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZgr88LLOFQl8IZIEHBIs38vnx4EKtNKnRFVv-usXZRGmxrNz2Cy1ZEcdfuZnw1zFBPkLmBFJRikgPCwRxANUzgjsbSekclSP15Xw7kJrtmPcVOd6hkuLt7AoRnepwcRU2n_90_djm-C4wBk_nHYfZE8BzKXLLojVYCQ_EkBXxi1dCP5YWaLfzlUqtuew/s640/hp7.jpg"><img style="margin: 20px auto 0px; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZgr88LLOFQl8IZIEHBIs38vnx4EKtNKnRFVv-usXZRGmxrNz2Cy1ZEcdfuZnw1zFBPkLmBFJRikgPCwRxANUzgjsbSekclSP15Xw7kJrtmPcVOd6hkuLt7AoRnepwcRU2n_90_djm-C4wBk_nHYfZE8BzKXLLojVYCQ_EkBXxi1dCP5YWaLfzlUqtuew/w480-h640/hp7.jpg" width="450" height="600" data-original-width="480" data-original-height="640" /></a></em></strong></font></div> <p><strong><em><font size="5">I </font></em></strong>was going to wear my Navajo serape from the Pow-Wow we attended a few weeks ago, but chickened out.  (I did wear a Pumpkin orange shirt and glowing ghost ring, at least!)  I’m just sorry I didn’t get more photos of the people or food, I went home holding my belly and groaning never again—so what’d I do the following day?  Went back and feasted on leftovers!</p> <p align="center"><strong><em><font color="#808000" size="4" face="Trebuchet MS">Courtney getting her second breath--a hot dog’s work is never done</font></em></strong><a style="margin-right: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcckFpxo9Q-OT-v2xYmIju-BfHI20GRe7ZrBJwcexjVOrollt5cHxmHuNFn80TyERDIEoUi9_SUIMS7wN6hyphenhyphenw49TprRsyIvmZiESDwqDC5sEimJ-aAWVvYY6a4fQFDGmS69CdV4HhMDv060RWR33M4bp9N5V6qNIR_rtN9TV4Vp7dZJeXaJO2b7HHcxgI/s649/hp8.jpg"><img style="margin: 20px auto 0px; float: none; display: block;" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcckFpxo9Q-OT-v2xYmIju-BfHI20GRe7ZrBJwcexjVOrollt5cHxmHuNFn80TyERDIEoUi9_SUIMS7wN6hyphenhyphenw49TprRsyIvmZiESDwqDC5sEimJ-aAWVvYY6a4fQFDGmS69CdV4HhMDv060RWR33M4bp9N5V6qNIR_rtN9TV4Vp7dZJeXaJO2b7HHcxgI/w480-h640/hp8.jpg" width="375" height="500" data-original-width="487" data-original-height="649" /> <br /></a></p>ApacheDughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05520433539816634566noreply@blogger.com28