Well, this line made me LOL during my lunchtime viewing of Frasier yesterday and my mother suggested it would make a good blog title. DIBS, I declared.
Anyway, Daughter #1 here. Back on Wednesday with jokes at my own expense, probably related to relating to overweight men who joke about donuts and french fries.
Yesterday, I needed to run to Target to get some essentials (makeup remover, candy) and I thought I’d better get some toilet paper since apparently we are doing that again.
I almost threw a fit in the Target because SERIOUSLY.
After the depressing realization that I almost had to buy generic toilet paper, I immediately high-tailed it to the dessert aisle where for a moment I considered purchasing these:
I resisted the urge. And instead hit up the candy aisle.
In the chip aisle, I spotted this:
Yes, please.
Well, enough about my hopes and dreams.
Last week, Aunt Mary’s School for Misbehaving Tots opened its doors, meaning I got to watch the Bud for two days. It was great fun. And my co-workers enjoyed hearing him being noisy in the background during the staff meeting.
This weekend, while going through my Christmas stuff to find the cards I purchased last year, I found this gift my father gave me:
We all know I’m so fun! But did you know I am decorative gnome wine bottle topper on a DANNY KAYE THEMED WINE BOTTLE fun? I have four.
Speaking of lushes, this came in the mail for me yesterday:
Jane and Dagobert are my second-favorite borderline alcoholic, mystery-solving couple (with Nick and Nora being first) and it is absurd that they are not all in print. I got this on eBay.
The end of the year is fast approaching. Indeed the Christmas Cactus started blooming a few weeks ago.
I have a lot on my work ‘to do’ list to accomplish in order to take some needed time off at the end of the year. This is stressful, as are most things these days. We are also hoping for a holiday visit from daughter #2, DN and the darling babe, but who knows?
But it is good to note amid all this unending stress that today we celebrate World Prematurity Day and our own miracle twins who were born at 27 weeks.
Lottie’s hand is the size of her mother’s fingertip!
Even though they weighed only 1.5 pounds each when they were born, they were ‘real’ babies who fought for life. Through perseverance and lots of love…
…and with the help of great doctors and nurses…
…they grew into the remarkable nutballs we know today.
They’ll turn four in less than a month! We are so thankful for them.
As we approach Thanksgiving–whatever Thanksgiving will be this year–we must keep in mind how much we have to be thankful for and to whom we are thankful.
“Thee asked me where I’d been and how I’d fared. I’ve been quite a step…and fared mighty well the whole ways. If a man’d fared any better’n me it’d unsettled his mind. I’ve had two eyes and seen sights so pretty there’s no words to duplicate them. I’ve drunk the wine of astonishment…standing still, gazing. I’ve had two feet and no better land anywhere to walk on. Green plush grass in spring, and leaves like a carpet in fall. I’ve smelled white clover in daytime and quenched my thirst with live spring-water. I’ve earned my bread in the sweat of my brow, and still do, hard-scrabble like any other man, but making out. I’ve had for wife the one woman I’d choose, and been free to lift my voice to God. Though mighty backward, I reckon, in making out what He’s had to say to me. I’ve fared so well…that a jot more’n I’d be crying.”
My DP and I have been thinking a lot about the blog lately and whether to continue after 9 years. We never had a lot to say really, but we enjoyed sharing our small thoughts and random joys. We amuse ourselves and I, for one, like to spit in the devil’s eye occasionally.
So if you want to hear about our latest estate sale rescues and old movies watched, see pictures of the darling babes and sing along with Chris Stapleton and Bob Dylan, tune in. We’ll still be here.
And here’s a good poem:
Nearing the start of that mysterious last season Which brings us to the close of the other four, I’m somewhat afraid and don’t know how to prepare So I will praise you.
I will praise you for the glaze on buttercups And for the pearly scent of wild fresh water And the great crossbow shapes of swans flying over With that strong silken threshing sound of wings Which you gave them when you made them without voices.
And I will praise you for crickets. On starry autumn nights When the earth is cooling Their rusty diminutive music Repeated over and over Is the very marrow of peace.
And I praise you for crows calling from treetops The speech of my first village, And for the sparrow’s flash of song Flinging me in an instant The joy of a child who woke Each morning to the freedom Of her mother’s unclouded love And lived in it like a country.
And I praise you that from vacant lots From only broken glass and candy wrappers You raise up the blue chicory flowers.
I thank you for that secret praise Which burns in every creature, And I ask you to bring us to life Out of every sort of death
Having made it through the last week of classes and several exceedingly tedious Zoom meetings,* I rewarded myself by watching a Yul Brynner movie that I had never seen before called Invitation to a Gunfighter.
Yul is definitely the headliner of this 1964 B movie, although you will recognize many of the supporting cast, including a young George Segal, Brad Dexter, Janice Rule and Pat Hingle. Strother Martin even has a cameo, although I can’t say I ever noticed him.
After the conclusion of the Civil War, former Rebel Matt Weaver (George Segal) returns home to his farm in New Mexico Territory only to discover that his mother’s grave has become overgrown with weeds, and the local bigwig Sam Brewster (Pat Hingle) has sold the property illegally to someone else.
The flowers are dead, but I only left them here four years ago!
Matt is both heartbroken and incensed. After running off the new settlers (who never get mentioned again), Matt gets himself shot in the arm and holes up in his house while Brewster sends for a professional gunfighter to kill Matt. Before accepting the job, the newly arrived killer gives a tutorial on how to pronounce his Creole name, which he helpfully writes for them on the Stage chalkboard.
My name is not pronounced Jewel!
The locals have never met anyone as suave, exotic and manly as Jules, and they find him rather disturbing.
Meanwhile, Brewster forces Crane Adams, a disabled Union veteran, and his wife Ruth to give Jules a room in their house. Jules is drawn to this lady with the prodigious hair extensions, and she cannot resist his animal magnetism.
Jules, who has no hair of his own, finds Ruth’s mesmerizing.
She is amazed to discover that this icy killer can also play the pianoforte — and in the middle of the night, too. What hidden depths!
If only he would remove his hat while in the house and play during the day!
Poor Ruth. She is trapped in a loveless marriage and torn between her old love, Matt Weaver, and this exotic, mysterious gunman.
Matt is also fascinated with Ruth’s hair.
However, Jules realizes that he cannot have Ruth, because she belongs with sweet (but kind of stupid) Matt and also because — drum roll — Jules doesn’t have a tan; his mother was a slave! The film tries to highlight the ill effects of prejudice, both political (between Union and Rebel) and racial (downtrodden Hispanic locals and mixed-race Jules), but doesn’t quite pull it off.
In true heroic fashion Jules decides to take matters into his own hands. First, he gets drunk, wrecks the town, and kills Crane Adams, thereby freeing Ruth and forcing Brewster to ask Matt Weaver, the only other man in town capable of using a gun, to kill Jules. It would be so wrong to spoil the finale for you, so I’ll leave you with this tantalizing picture.
Just how did that blood stain spread upward?
I must say that finding a new (to me) Yul Brynner movie really made my week! He’s such a pro that he can even make a bad western watchable.
*Thanks to my niece Susie for emailing an adorable photo of Katiebelle! Her sweet face got me through more than one awful Zoom meeting (I have two computer monitors). To give you an idea of the annoyance level of said meetings, during one I became so irritated that I muted my video and walked away from my desk loudly declaring “this is such B&*@ S^%#”, only to discover that I had not muted the sound. Mea culpa!
Have a great weekend and don’t forget to check your settings when you Zoom!
I made it through the week with my sunny disposition largely intact, and I feel kind of proud of myself. Faith, stoic philosophy and a healthy dose of Anglo-Saxon pragmatism got me through. On the downside, my sugar consumption broke previous election week records, but if that’s what it takes to stay sane in this crazy world, I’ll risk obesity.
Part of the sugar problem stemmed from the DH’s choice of birthday dessert. Since we celebrated a milestone birthday (I leave the exact number to your imagination), I figured it would be okay to make the caramel, apple, pecan pie that he wanted to try. You can find the recipe here.
Be warned about three things. First, it may take Pioneer Woman only 45 minutes to prepare this recipe, but for those of us who are not professional cooks and don’t own an apple peeler, it takes longer and is very fiddly. Second, the recipe calls for two different amounts of flour. Don’t mix them up! I did and had to wash my apples and start all over again as a result. Third, don’t try to prepare the pie while attending a Zoom meeting, because even with one’s video and microphone off, the background yammering is distracting. This is a very yummy pie!
After my culinary struggles, I watched an interesting movie called Far from Men that is based on a short story by Albert Camus, a translation of which you can find here if you are interested. Personally, I prefer the 2014 film to the typically grim story from 1957.
Desolation fitting for a Camus story
Set in the Atlas Mountains during the start of the Algerian Independence movement in 1954, the story involves Daru, a Spanish/French school teacher who grew up in Algeria, and Mohamed, a local villager who has killed his own cousin. Daru is forced to escort Mohamed across the mountains to turn him in to the authorities for trial and execution. This is NOT a French version of 3:10 to Yuma; it is a character study and philosophical exploration of duty, national identity, friendship and freedom. Yet somehow it manages to avoid the existential angst we expect from Camus.
The two main characters are played by Viggo Mortensen and Reda Kateb, the latter of whom you may recognize from Zero Dark Thirty or the French TV show Spiral. The characters do a lot of walking around before running into a group of resistance fighters and briefly getting caught up in some fighting.
Having taken the escort job with great reluctance, Daru is not at first interested in Mohamed (and vice versa). After a while, each man comes to recognize that the other is honorable but trapped by cultural expectations and circumstances beyond his control. Mohamed must adhere to village custom, and Daru must recognize that, despite having been born and raised in Algeria, he will never belong there. It was a pleasure to watch a movie that took its time to develop characters and actually had something to say.
Have a great weekend. Be patient and be steadfast. Everything will work out in the end.
Daughter #1 here. Put those praise hands in the air, I still have a job!! Last week, while feeling anxious and uncertain, my mother and I watched several classic Treehouse of Horror episodes. And oh man, were they ever enjoyable.
I will admit that finding the exact clips I wanted proved rather difficult. I really wanted Kang and Kodos saying, “That board with a nail in it may have defeated us, but the humans won’t stop there. They’ll make bigger boards and bigger nails. Soon they’ll make a board with a nail so big it will destroy them all!”
And of course, the episode where Homer sells his soul for a donut speaks to me on many levels. Once again, on this blog, I find myself identifying with a large, overweight man who likes snack foods. This episode also features Lionel Hutz saying, “I watched Matlock in a bar last night. The sound wasn’t on but I got the gist of it.” which is something I say fairly regularly.
Homer’s scream is something that has really brought me joy for the past few weeks. And this clip highlights it quite nicely. The end of the episode has the classic, “TV’s warming, glowing, warming flow” that calms Homer down until the Tony Awards start and his urge to kill begins rising. Another phrase I use regularly.
I sound like a real weirdo. And a super nerd.
Of course, I can’t talk about Treehouses of Horror with the original and one of the best segments, The Raven.
Well this is a very darling age of sticking our tongues out, shrieking with joy, holding on to mommy’s arm while sitting on her hip, and so on. Add to that a winter wardrobe with ears attached to everything and it’s all pretty darn cute.
Occasionally, we practice sitting up (albeit pitched forward) and do very much enjoy this view of the world. As for rolling over, we’re still working on it. We’ll get there!
Recently I watched the movie My Foolish Heart (1949) which, as you know, is the only film adaptation of a fictional work written by J.D. Salinger. It was loosely adapted from his short story, “Uncle Wiggly in Connecticut,” and Salinger was so disappointed with the changes made to his original story, that he never again allowed any of his work to be adapted for film.
Dana Andrews and Susan Hayward–all wrong
It isn’t a terrible movie (especially if you don’t know the Salinger connection.) The screenplay is, after all, by Julius and Philip Epstein, who wrote Casablanca (1942). But they took Salinger’s poignant little story and turned it into a four-star tearjerker, giving it the full-blown Hollywood treatment. He must have been really embarrassed, I mean really embarrassed. I re-read the story and I suggest you do the same.
This is an interesting article about a dead Presbyterian who still has a lot to say to us.
And this article by an Episcopalian makes some good points.
And I like this poem by Richard Wilbur:
A Barred Owl
The warping night air having brought the boom Of an owl’s voice into her darkened room, We tell the wakened child that all she heard Was an odd question from a forest bird, Asking of us, if rightly listened to, “Who cooks for you?” and then “Who cooks for you?”
Words, which can make our terrors bravely clear, Can also thus domesticate a fear, And send a small child back to sleep at night Not listening for the sound of stealthy flight Or dreaming of some small thing in a claw Borne up to some dark branch and eaten raw.
Who cooks for you?
*George Bernard Shaw (He continued, “The difficulty is to find them to do. Never lose a chance: it doesn’t come every day.””)
Another Halloween has come and gone without much ado. The boy dressed up as Blippi and went trick-or-treating with a little monster and Princess Celestia.
What you say? You are not acquainted with Blippi? Well get with the program–he is all the rage with the toddler set. You can check him out here.
In other news, daughter #1 and I went to the drive-through Sticker Treat…
…where we got 99.1 Joy car stickers and candy! How fun is that? We are huge nerds and we just don’t care any more.
We also went to a fabric store, bought Diet Cokes in a strange neighborhood McDonalds, bombed out at two estate sales, and had a margarita-fueled sing-a-long with Alan Jackson. I re-read a Longmire mystery. We watched The Blob (1958) and several Treehouse of Horror episodes of The Simpsons. We FaceTimed with precious Katiebelle and her mommy who had an equally exciting weekend.
Now it is back to another Zoom-filled, election-punctuated week. Yikes.
Slander no one … be peaceable and considerate, and always gentle toward everyone. At one time we too were foolish, disobedient, deceived and enslaved by all kinds of passions and pleasures. We lived in malice and envy, being hated and hating one another. But when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared, he saved us… (Titus 3:2-5)
dual personalities 