What is the Royal Canadian Air Force Trying to Tell us?

Welcome Dear Readers!  Have you been eating a little too much of everything lately causing you to feel fat?  Feeling fat is a horrible feeling. To find out how horrible ‘feeling fat’ is let’s look at where feeling fat lies on a scale of one to ten:

Feeling Fat on a Scale  of 1-10

Well never fear, Dear Readers!  Help for “Feeling Fat” is on the way from the Royal Canadian Air Force!

Yes you too can look hot in your Royal Canadian Air Force uniform if you ignore the shoes!

Yes you too can look fetching in your Royal Canadian Air Force uniform (providing you leave the shoes at home)

Now you’re probably saying to yourself, but, Linda, what gives?  (If you’re not go ahead and say it to yourself, I’ll wait)

You’re not even a Canadian, Linda. Shouldn’t a post about exercising with the  Royal Canadian Air Force at least be written by a blogger who is actually from Canada like Zoe, or Trent,  or Helena? Or at least a blogger who recently visited Canada – like the effervescent Guap?  Or even Lily, our most beloved Canadian poser?

Effervescent Guap

“Peel me a poutine!”

And the answer is a resounding NO with 5 Canadian exclamation marks not including this one → !

While I was Schlepping

For I ask you, Dear Readers, where were all these so-called Canadians while I was schlepping around the thrift store hunting my fingers to the bone looking for Royal Canadian Air Force Exercise booklets from 1962 to keep you, Dear Reader, from “feeling fat?”

I’ll tell you where they were!  They were relaxing on their ice-sculpted couches, eating their poutine with their miniature hockey sticks, that Canadians use instead of forks – all the while going on and on about how great William Shatner is ad naseum in between sticking the letter “u” in random words that are just fine without them — that’s where!

But let’s get back to the topic at hand:  Feeling Fat, America’s National Epidemic that the Canadian Royal Air Force is trying its darndest to help us out with

People in Canada don’t have a “Feeling Fat” epidemic because they’re a hardy bunch of stalwart individuals who brave the bitter cold each and every day. In fact, Canadians burn more calories walking to and from their cars in freezing temperatures in one day than a typical American will burn in a week paddling on an air mattress to Hawaii or Alaska (but usually Hawaii).

So now let’s open the The Royal Canadian Air Force Exercise book and see just exactly what exercises the Royal Canadian Air Force tells us to perform to keep us from feeling fat:

Feeling fat

The Royal Canadian Air Force stresses that if you don’t have a rough towel any type of sandpaper will work.

" okay

For  “Feeling Fat” Americans  this is going to be while putting on our socks as shoes weigh us down when we’re swimming to Hawaii or, less rarely, Alaska 

Oh boy

In Canada stepping out smartly always includes carrying a chair in Canadian underwear — which, of course, goes without saying, and we Americans would do well to follow suit.

And there you have it, Dear Readers! If this little exercise in exercising the Royal Canadian Air Force way has helped you to feel a little less fat, then their job here is done, and they can go back to what they do best which is, of course, carrying chairs around in their Canadian underwear.

Until next time . . . I love you

Casual Friday Fashions For Guys and Gals

Hello Dear Readers.  Gosh I feel like such a heel.  I just realized this blog has never taken it upon itself to discuss Casual Friday Fashions for Guys and Gals!  I felt so bad last night, I can hardly see to type this having cried my eyes out all night long   for a couple of hours  a tear from peeling onions.  Anyway, I hope these Casual Friday fashion stories won’t be too little too late.

Hey Guys! Think You Can’t Look Manly in That Hand-Knitted Cardigan Sweater on Casual Friday?  Well Think Again!

I've got a knitted sweater plan Linda vernon humor

Stan and Newt.  Casual Friday Pioneers.

“Hey I got a plan, Stan.”

“Shoot Newt!”

“Let’s take our fine sweater-ed selves down to the local tavern after work while wearing our Casual Friday sweaters and order a couple of screwdrivers.”

“But what if they try to beat us up, on account of our sweaters, Stan?”

“They won’t, Newt, because we’ll tell the bartender to hold the straws.”

“Uh . . .okay, but can I bring my hard hat just in case?”

Hey Gals! Nothing says Friday Casual Fashion Quite Like the  Versatility of a Vest!

Full Figured knitted vests Linda Vernon Humor

Nan and Fran.  Putting the Casualty in Casual Friday

“Say Nan.”

“Yeah Fran?”

 “Your vest is very casual, Nan.  But mine is just a tad bit more casual.  No offense.”

“No offense taken, Fran.   Your vest is a tad bit more casual due to the fact that there’s a tad bit more of it.  No offense.”

“No offense taken, Nan. I know you eat the Twinkies out of my lunch everyday.  No offense.”

“No offense taken, Fran.  I eat your Twinkies everyday because you eat my ham sandwich everyday.  No offense.”

“No offense taken, Nan.  You want to come over and knit Casual Friday vests tonight? No offense.”

“No offense taken Fran.  Sure Fran.  No offense.”

Hey Teens! Don’t Let That L7 Mom of Yours Try To Talk You Out of Busting a Move In Those Casual Friday Rebel Puff-Painted Threads!

Teens in painted t-shirts

Brandi and Candi. Rocking Casual Friday Teen Style!

“Hey Candi?”

“Yeah Brandi?”

“I see you didn’t let you’re stupid mother keep you from rocking your Casual Friday puff-painted threads!”

“Are you kidding, Candi?  My Mom can go to H. E. Double Hockey Sticks!  I told her I wear what I want to wear, and she can’t stop me.  Besides she made this outfit for me.”

“Way to go Brandi!   My mom made mine too!   But my mom can still go to H. E. Double Hockey Sticks.”

“And how! Candi!”

And there you have it, Dear Readers, this blog’s Casual Friday Fashion for Guys and Gals.  I just hope it wasn’t too little too late.  If so, please accept my apology.  (If you need me I’ll be peeling onions.)

Until next time . . . I love you

Dr. Who Me?

Last week I had to go to the doctor.  The doctor is in a town we used to live in which is two-and-a-half hours away.  The drive there was pretty uneventful given the fact that I am a nervous driver and as such tend to over think things like curves and on ramps and things of that nature.

I don’t actually close my eyes when I have to merge onto the freeway in fast, heavy traffic but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to.

woman merging into traffic Linda Vernon Humor

Geronimooooooo!

Sometimes I think I hear honking and my heart just about stops and then I’ll realize it’s on the CD I’m listening to.  “Why is there so much honking on CD’s nowadays?”  I often yell to myself once I figure out what’s going on.

So I got to the Dr.’s office alive, a fact which the lady behind the glass seemed to think was no big whoop.  Then, I had to tell her I forgot to bring my insurance card (which I somehow lost), but something told me to lie and tell her I forgot it to lessen the blow of her indignation.  It didn’t help though.  After that, she treated me like I was a teenage, reckless driver who had just ran over her prized petunias.

mean dr. office receptionist Linda Vernon Humor

“Forgot your insurance card? Humph! Likely story!”

Anyway I finally got into the little room with my dignity semi-intact, and I noticed that the doctor had up the sign about menopause that says:  The good thing about having hot flashes is that you are one hot babe for a couple minutes, or something to that effect.

“Menopause humor makes me want to shoot my doctor!” I wanted to say when my doctor walked in. But I didn’t because I like my doctor for the most part, and I don’t own a gun.

Anyway, the nurse took my blood pressure, listened to my pulse and wrote everything down in small numbers and I had to peek to see what she was writing.  I couldn’t read her writing so I had to ask her.  Why don’t they just announce it?  The nurses always act like your blood pressure and your pulse are none of your business.

So then my doctor comes in.  She’s a real nice lady.  We go over my health, everything is fine and dandy until she brings up that my cholesterol number was too high last time.  Have I had it checked since? No.  So she decides to check it right there in the office.  Okay.

I knew the number was pretty high when she came back in and started treating me like I was a vial of nitroglycerin that could explode at any minute and wipe out all life as we know it.

Doctor:  You cholesterol is off the charts!”

Me:  You mean like “off the charts” good.  Like it’s so good it’s “off the charts?”

Doctor:  No I mean it’s so high it can’t be measured.

 

'I like to view the glass as being half full, just not half full of cholesterol!"

‘I like to view the glass as being half full, just not half full of cholesterol!”

Oh nuts!  Unfortunately, in my case my high cholesterol is hereditary.  So I didn’t even get to my off the chart number by eating all kinds of wonderfully decadent things that I now have to cut out.

Frankly I’m already scraping the bottom of the barrel when it comes to fun — food wise.  Now it looks like I’ll have to cut out even more joys, like dairy and oils and sweets and everything that makes life delicious. Sigh . . .

If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen trying to figure out how to make a Tofu milkshake.

Until next time  . . . I love you

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Sinuses of the Times

I’ve got a cold.  Which is weird because I never get colds due to the smallness of my sinus passages.  That’s what they told me when I had my head examined anyway.

I probably would have never gotten around to getting my head examined had I not used it to crack my car’s windshield.  You see, back in 1978, I was sitting behind the wheel of my Buick Skylark, minding my own business. when it suddenly stopped abruptly due to a truck that had gotten in its way. Even though the car was stopped, my head just kept on going and going and going  kind of like the Energizer Bunny (only not as cute), until CRRRAAACKK! It finally came to rest on a not-very-fluffy windshield.

Energizer bunny linda vernon humor

Oh go sit down!

I didn’t have a mark or bruise or anything at all on my head afterwards.  It was one of those accidental Ninja moves wherein if my windshield would have been a stack of bricks, I would have cracked right through them and everyone would have applauded.

I’m pretty sure the policeman who showed up shortly thereafter was impressed with my seemingly black-belt, head-butting abilities, but he suggested I get my head examined nevertheless.

Maybe I just looked like the kind of person to him who could never have too many head examinations.

So I did and that’s when I found out I had unusually small sinus passages.

Somebody get me my microscope! STAT!

X-ray Technician:  I bet you don’t get very many colds do you?

Me:  No, why?

X-ray Technician: Because you have the smallest sinus passages I have ever seen!

Of course, he probably only started working as an X-ray Technician that morning, but WOW!

It’s kind of nice when one has a feature about oneself that distinguishes one from The Great Unwashed.  I was so impressed with this news that, truth be told,  I have been a bit of a sinus snob ever since.

“Sorry Darling! I don’t have time for you today. I’m meeting my X-ray Technician at the Waldorf Astoria where we will be discussing the smallness of my sinus passages.”

But now, I’m a little worried about my small sinus passage status, because I’ve got this cold see.  And it makes me think that somehow I might have accidentally stretched out my sinus passages, you know, inadvertently.  But how?

Well,  I suppose after all these years, something’s bound to give in the area of the sinuses.  For instance back in 1978, I weighed approximately 110 whereas now I weigh approximately more.

Could some of that extra weight have ended up in my sinuses causing them to enlarge?

Does this make-up make my sinuses look fat?

Maybe I’ll just scoot on over the X-ray lab and find out what’s going on with my sinuses.

Of course,  I don’t want to brag, but since I’m the kind of person who looks like I could never have too many head examinations, they’ll probably let me go first.

Until next time . . . I love you

This Blog’s Fashion Recommendations

Hello Dear Readers!  It hit me like a ton of bricks this morning that this blog has never taken it upon itself to discuss fashion.  I’m so embarrassed I can’t even tell you!  So without any further delay, here are some outfits that this blog highly recommends:

 The I Wanna Hold Your Hand If I Can Find It Sweater

awkwardly posing in a sweater

“Who can’t put their arms around a four-arm sweater?”

Say goodbye to those inferior two-arm sweaters once and for all, Dear Readers!  Having to put your arms in the same old armholes day after day is for suckers.  This sweater will revolutionize your world especially if you happen to be a  Type A personality!  Now you can vacuum with one hand, and drink a glass of milk with the other — all while your sweater is hugging people goodbye!

The outfit that makes you want to dance!

A woman in a striped black and white sweater

Now you can look just as good leaving as you did coming!

Are you tired of only looking like a million bucks from the front, but then when you turn around to leave, you look like a buck fifty?  Looking bad from the back is for suckers!  Here’s an ensemble that will revolutionize how you look at 360 degrees 24/7/365.  You’ll be so happy you’ll want to dance everywhere you go!

It’s Not Just an Outfit; It’s a Potholder!

Girl wearing a shirt and shorts out of potholders

Sexy Pot Holder Girl

Are you tired of always misplacing your pot holders and not being able to find them so you use your bare hands instead to remove that roast from the oven and end up in the burn unit at your local hospital?  Being in the burn unit is for suckers! Here’s an outfit that will revolutionize oven safety.  All you need now is a strong set of abs so that everything in the oven can be removed with your stomach all while, at the same time, making  you look quite fetching!

Twin Outfits for Twins Who Don’t Want to Look Alike Because They Aren’t Twins

women posing in sweaters and hats

Unidentical Twin Outfits

Are you tired of being mistook for your twin when you don’t even have a twin?  Getting mistook for your twin is for suckers!  These outfits will revolutionize individualism.  Whether your style is to sneak into the park wearing a sailor hat in the dead of night to pick every single daffodils just cuz — or whether your style is more along the lines of a wanna-be 1903 motorist adventurer with a bad attitude, these outfits scream I AM NOT A TWIN!  And if that doesn’t make the people in your life want to re-think their relationship with you, nothing will!

And there you have it, Dear Readers, this blog’s fashion recommendations.  Please accept my apology for having waited so long to get around to it!

Until next time . . . I love you

Ten Reasons Why You Might Be Feeling Fat

You have a tendency to eat breakfast four times.

The only equipment you keep in your home gym are a treadmill and a chocolate pie.

Your dog leads a scrap-less life.

a sad pug

“My owner sucks!”

You’ve traded in all your P’s and Q’s for M and M’s.

Trading post sign

“But I gave you ten P’s and Q’s and you only gave me seven M and M’s.”
“Listen, bub, nobody ever said life was fair.”

Your idea of the great outdoors is standing under the air conditioning vent at Mrs. Fields.

Your bathroom scales have filed assault and battery charges against you.

lady standing on bathroom scales

“If you don’t get off me right this second, lady, I’m calling the authorities!”

You only have 34 payments left on your last McDonald’s drive-thru.

McDonald's Mcdrive

“Are you ready to order?”
“No I’m just here to make a payment.”

Whenever you get tough and declare you’re going to lick something, it always turns out to be a Tootsie Roll Pop.

You brake for cake!

woman in an cheesy auto accident

“How’d it happen?”
“She was braking for cake.”

And the number one reason why you might be feeling fat:

You are fat.

 

Until next time . . . I love you

My Brain Peanuts Breaks Glasses Causing Immediate Nerd Transformation!

I broke my glasses because my brain, Peanuts, placed them directly underneath where my foot was supposed to go.

Peanuts and I have been wearing glasses now for 20 years due to adult onset blurriness, and you’d think my brain, Peanuts, would have figured out a way to not step on them.

But no, every once in a while Peanuts has to test me to see if I’m still paying attention (and I never am).

I don’t get it because there’s nothing Peanuts and I hate doing more than having to get new glasses.  What was Peanuts thinking?

So I got my husband, 37, to tape them back together for me, because he’s an engineer so he knows about things like that.

Except that I didnt trust his taping judgment once he was done and added more tape myself.

So now I’m officially a nerd.

I’d take a picture to show you but I think it might be too early in the morning for that. Oh what the heck, let’s live dangerously shall we?

Me in my new nerdy glasses:

Well, wait a minute . . . let me see if I can take the picture from a better angle:

Oh that’s better.  I like this of me in my nerdy glasses a little better because you can’t really see the tape all that much.

Anyway, what were we talking about?  Oh yeah, the careless behavior of my brain, Peanuts.

So now Peanuts and I will have to stumble down to the glasses store and get those nasty drops put in.  Then once we are legally blind, we will be guided out front to pick out frames from the two or three thousand styles displayed right in front of our eyes somewhere.

The conversation with the professional four-eyes care specialist will go something like this:

Me:  How do these look on me?

Her:  Oh those look good on you.

Me:  Really?  Well how about these?

Her:  Oh!!! Those look good on you!

Me.  Really?  What about these?

Her:  Oh those!!! Look good on you.

Me:  How about these?

Her:  Oh those, look!!!  Good on you!!

Me:  And these?

Her:  Oh those look good!!! On you!!

Me:   Oh but what about these?

Her:  Oh those look good on!!!  You!!!!!

Me:  Oh, yeah, what about these?

Her:  Oh those look good on you.

Of course, we all know how this story ends.  Peanuts and I will finally decide on frames, then go back to pick them up three weeks later because their motto is ready in about an hour give or take three weeks.

Me:  Are you sure these are my glasses because they look horrible and I can’t see a thing.

Her:  OH!!! THOSE!!! LOOK!!! GOOD!!! ON!!! YOU!!!

Then Peanuts and I will go home and while I’m crying my eyes out, Peanuts will be eating a 1000 grams of sugar.

Until next time . . . I love you

Adventures in 1941 or Drunk as a Skunk Wearing War Time Trousers!

Sometimes things just keep getting better.  I opened one of my vintage cookbooks this morning and guess what I found folded up neatly inside? A section of a newspaper from May 12, 1941, almost 60 years ago to the day!

So let’s take a look at some of the ads to see if we can discover what was on the minds of the average 1941 citizen:

Here’s an ad that will ruin your appetite:

Apparently back in 1941, people had a lot of excessive ugly hair which was not to be confused with plain ol’ ordinary ugly hair. Because in 1941, everybody’s hair was ugly, that goes without saying.  But apparently, it was only the excess ugly hair that they were worried about.

And apparently if you wanted this excessive ugliness eradicated, you had to go to a Gypsy Fortune-Teller/Seance-Conducting Madame where you could get your offending follicles removed scientifically using multiple needle electrolysis on your superfluous (and uncalled for!) hair.

And speaking of ugly hair, here’s an ad for making it look even worse:

Ah! Back in 1941, nothing gave hair that natural healthy glow like Bay Rum, Barbo Compound, and half a pint of water.

The ad says to try the recipe today and see how much younger you will look — assuming you fore go applying it to your hair and just chug it!

And then there’s the enigma of Wartime Trousers:

Heh? This one is a little tricky to figure out. Let’s see . . .  there’s a war going on . . . so therefore men’s vests don’t match their pants anymore . . .. so they have to send their vests to the Pants Matching Co. . . so they can make a vest to match their pants which are now called “Wartime Trousers”.

And even though the gentleman in the ad has an abnormally large head, he apparently doesn’t have an abnormally large brain — because if he did, why has he taken off his “War Trousers” when he’s suppose to be sending The Pants Matching Co. his vest?

Well anyway, we are going to have to chalk it all up to “Wartime Trouser Secrets of World War II and move on to:

You People Who Are Sick

Well thank goodness there was at least one Dr. Shane D.C. practicing medicine without a license back in 1941!  And not only did this guy somehow get a hold of an X-ray machine, he’s going to diagnose you without asking you a single question!  Talk about saving time!

Of course it’s going to cost you one, hard-earned dollar, so you might not want to do it.  But wait . . . .what if he throws in a Oscillotonometer  heart examination and what if he capitalized HEART EXAMINATION in the newspaper ad?  Would it be worth your hard-earned dollar then?

Still no?  But  what if you suffered from something on the list of symptoms like Deafness or Lumbago or, heaven forbid,  Piles?  What then?

You mean to say you would have actually walked around town in 1941 wearing an ill-matching Wartime Trouser/vest combination with your ugly excessive, hair sticking out everywhere  –drunk as a skunk from ingesting the Barbo hair dye recipe — with extra rum?

OK fine go ahead . . .but I’m telling Madame Stiver on you, so watch out!

Until next time  . . . I love you

Your Incomprehensive Guide to Exercise

It’s the new year which means it’s time to commit to that exercise program!  So what better time to present My Incomprehensive Guide to Exercise:

History of Exercise: 1950 to 1959

The only kind of exercises that existed in the 50′s were jumping jacks, deep knee bends and squats and nobody did them without being forced to do so by a P.E. teacher, a football coach or a Drill Sargent. Those were the good old days when people ate just about anything they wanted and only went for walks to commune with a pack of Salem Cigarettes.

walking in forest smoking Salems

“It’s really pretty here when the smoke clears!”

History of Exercise: 1960 to 1969-ish

In the 60′s, exercise  boiled down to a little globule  of a man named Jack LaLanne.  Every day millions of everyday women would stand in front of their television sets to watch tiny Jack LaLanne cutely dressed in a teeny-weeny, one-piece jumpsuit, doing deep-knee bends while singing the praises of vitamins and veggies.  He is still alive to this day but, unfortunately, has continued to shrink  little by little over the years and, sadly;  is now only visible through a microscope.

jack Lalanne in Tux
Here’s Jack trying not to shrink out of his tux.

History of Exercise: 1970-ish to 1980-something or other

Somewhere around in here we got Jane Fonda. Jane was a busy Seventies Gal running around in her shag haircut winning academy awards, making aerobic videos and being against the Viet Nam War.

Everywhere you looked there was Jane Fonda shagalistically shorn in her leotards and leg warmers stretching, reaching, pulling, clawing and cloying.  Looking back it was quite Hanoi-ing.  But she single-handedly started the Aerobics Craze so you have to hand it to her — or trip her whichever you prefer.

Can it get anymore Hanoi-ing?

History of Exercise: 1980-something to somewhere in the 90′s on up

Somewhere in here Richard Simmons skipped onto the scene. What Richard Simmons had going for him was a heart of gold combined with an uncanny ability to sweat to pop songs that weren’t popular anymore.

Richard won over the hearts of  Americans by crying tears of happiness about how he used to be fat but wasn’t anymore; and he didn’t want you to be fat anymore either because it made him cry because you’re so, so fat and he’s not fat anymore.

Lately however Richard Simmons seems to have fallen off the face of the planet — or was pushed.

Richard Simmons, Sweating Professionally Since 1979″

Present Day Exercise: 2011 to To- Be- Determined

In the interest of brevity, let’s be brief.  Exercise in 2011 boils down to one word:   Bicycling.  But not the old-fashioned kind of bicycling we all knew and loved in the 1950′s.  When bike riding simply meant hopping on our bikes wearing jeans and a tee-shirts and riding around the block while smoking  Salem Cigarettes.

People in the country smoking salem cigarettes
“Hey! I think somebody stole our bikes!”  “Don’t worry, they can take our bikes out of the country but they can’t take the Salem out of our lungs!”         “I love you!”   “I love you too!”

In the Year of Our Lord 2011, Riding a Bike is Groovy!

There’s a new, groovy way of riding one’s bike called cycling.  When cycling one must take up an entire car lane and pretend that one can pedal as fast as a car.

This is hard to pretend without the proper “pretending apparel” called cycling apparel which is a necessary technical piece of equipment necessary to make you comfortable technically while pretending to ride your bicycle as fast as a car can go.

It also helps if you make a “vroom, vroom” noise under your breath as you pedal along.

Bicyclist in full cycling apparel.
” Vroom! Vroom! I’m a blur!”

The New Groovy way of riding bikes can be a bit dangerous in heavy traffic, sure, but not too worry.  For every bicyclist that is run over by a car, a pedestrian somewhere in the world is being run over by a bicyclist.  So you see, it all evens out in the end.

Until next time . . . I love you

The Wackadoodle Adventures of 1956 Mom

1956 Betty Crocker Picture Cook Book

In 1956 Betty Crocker Cookbooks not only cared deeply about 1956 Mom’s cooking; they cared deeply about her life.  As proof, here’s some hints from the “Special Helps” section.

Let’s start with this little gem of a helpful hint:

woman lying on the kitchen floor relaxing

Apparently in 1956, it was perfectly acceptable for Mom to lie down on the kitchen floor to  relax and/or fall asleep for as long as 3 to 5 minutes without anyone thinking she was completely out of her gourd.
It’s not clear if this odd form of  “relaxation” was reserved only for the kitchen floor or if one might come across 1956  Mom relaxing on, say, the floor of the Post Office or while waiting in line at the bank.

But a wise 1956 Mom would have  kept this handy little tip bookmarked should  she ever need to explain to dinner guests why they  found her lying down on the kitchen floor after sampling,  god forbid,  one too many Brandy Alexanders.

1956 Mom gets all her thoughts from Betty Crocker!

Woman thinking about activities such as sailling, relaxing on a desert island, golfing and dancing.

Not only does Betty Crocker want 1956 Mom to harbor pleasant thoughts while scrubbing the kitchen floor so clean she’ll be able to lie down on it for 3 to 5 minutes, she is even giving 1956 Mom some suggestions about what these thoughts might be.

Such as relaxing on a tropical island for instance.  Or dancing one-legged with a guy whose center of gravity is somewhere around his knees.

Or maybe 1956 Mom could distract herself from her work by thinking about  a sailboat with a dangerous starboard list that perhaps the guy with the low center of gravity just happens to be sailing on.

But chances are what 1956 Mom thought was the pleasantest of all these suggestions was thinking about  her husband holding her golf bag  waist-high for her while  she leisurely takes thousands and thousands and thousands of practice swings.

If only 1956 Mom could find a kitten in a tree . . . it would be hilarious!

1956 Illustration of woman coaxing a kitten out of a tree

This tip is a little more tricky, however.  Betty Crocker is only suggesting 1956 Mom find a kitten in a tree so that 1956 Mom will have something –  anything to talk about – besides relaxing on the kitchen floor and  thinking about cookbook-suggested topics.

This is just a suggestion because searching for a kitten could be dangerous to 1956 Mom’s health.  Obviously, it took 1956 Mom hours and hours of uninterrupted hiking to happen upon a kitten in a tree.

Which means by the time 1956 Mom found the kitten in the tree, she was horribly emaciated and her waist had dwindled from its normal  circumference of 7 inches to a measly 5 and 3/4 inches.

Of course, maybe it was well worth it because, in the end, 1956 Mom did  have a wonderful story in her brain about finding a kitten in a tree to tell to her family at dinnertime and — when the time was right — she managed to tell her story with good humor and aplomb.

It was a story that her family would  have found uproariously funny too had they not already left the room.

Until next time . . . I love you

Egg Wars

Two Eggs with boxing gloves fighting

Good news!  I finally found out why the chicken crossed the road but I’ll tell you later.

I went grocery shopping yesterday to pick up a few items. 

 I didn’t have a list.  I haven’t made a grocery list for 30 years. I used to religiously make a list when I first started out my career as a semi-professional food gatherer, but then one day, I overheard a mom say she never made a list, just went to the store and winged it using nothing but her ordinary, everyday memory.

Never made a grocery list? 

Could it actually be possible to go to the grocery store and not make a list and still come home with everything one needed? This was a revelation!   I don’t remember the lady’s name who uttered these words that changed my life (a tiny bit), but I do remember her daughter’s name was Astrid.  I volunteered that year to help out in the kindergarten gym class.  And I’ll tell you what; it was well worth the two-hour weekly commitment just to hear the gym teacher call her Asteroid.

Anyway, I never made a list again which explains why I currently have four cartons of eggs in my refrigerator for just the two of us.

You see, one of the downsides of not making a list is buying too much of one thing.  Peanuts, my brain, gets fixated on a certain food stuff and every time we go to the store, Peanuts reminds me that we need it. Currently Peanut is on an egg kick.

Peanuts is quite convincing, I must say.  After much bandying about, a decision is finally made that it’s better to err on the side of too many eggs than not enough.

Awhile back, Peanuts was on a salt fixation.  Suffice it to say, we now have enough salt to last until Armageddon.

But getting back to why the chicken crossed the road, have you noticed what’s going on with eggs lately? 

It’s like the Ritz Carlton competing with The Four Seasons.  Egg brands are making bigger and better claims about how wonderfully their hens are being treated as they go about the business of laying those eggs.

Case in point:

Emma’s Comfort Coup is the less expensive brand.  “Our hens live in more spacious accommodations” is their motto.  They’re not actually letting the hens out of their cages, sure, but they are giving them a king-sized nest with a roomy sitting area, their own bathroom, no doubt, and breathtaking vista of the other coups, plus room service for every meal, I’ll bet.  So these hens are doing alright.  Oh, and they have an official looking seal that says they are American Humane Certified –which actually means a lot to me considering I don’t actually  know what it means.

Ok, but Emma’s little Comfort Coop operation is the slums compared to these guys:

In the world of chickens, these are the lucky ducks!

Cages?  Forget about it.  These hens don’t need no stinkin’ cages because the whole world is their stinkin’ cage. Sure these eggs are going to cost you a little more but that’s because Egg Lands Best Luxury Hotel and Spa offers their chicken clientele the run of the entire poultry estate. And what an estate it is.  Swimming pools! Movie stars! They are running free in the sunshine; a gentle breeze blowing softly through their fine feathered faces!  Here there are no worries. The chickens that live and lay here have obviously done something right in a previous life.

Plus, these hens of the upper echelons are vegetarian fed.  No grinding up of things that aren’t vegetables for them.  No siree!  They’ll get some form of vegetables or they’ll get nothing at all.

All that is required of these birds is that they lay and lay around!

So why did the chicken cross the road?  Why to get to the better accommodations of course!

Until next time . . . I love you

Do You Suffer from Skin Jogging Syndrome?

An Advertisement from the makers of Plathamath

Like millions of Americans, Sharon was unaware that she suffered 24/7 from a skin disorder so debilitating she didn’t even know she had it.

Then one day Sharon read about Skin Jogging Syndrome (SJS).  SJS is a syndrome so insidious, so sneaky, and so downright underhanded that there is absolutely no way to tell if you have it.

“I feel somethin’ WEIRD!
 

Sharon closed her eyes and thought about what it would feel like if her skin was jogging.  And guess what?  The longer she thought about it, the more she thought she could feel her skin jogging; just a little at first . . . and then – yes!  She was sure of it.  Her skin was definitely jogging.  Well no wonder her life was such a mess!

So imagine Sharon’s joy when she found out there was a pill for that!

The Pill for That!
 

It’s called PLATHAMATH!

The makers of Plathamath believe that no one should suffer from Skin Jogging Syndrome simply because they don’t know they have it.

Plathamath taken just twice in the morning, twice at lunch, twice in the afternoon, twice after dinner and then every five minutes until bedtime – will prevent your skin from jogging for a full six hours!

Just this many for SIX FULL HOURS of relief
 

Taken as directed, Plathamath will not only relieve you of your annoying skin jogging sensations, it will relieve you of ALL your sensations!

“I feel absolutely sensational-less!”

Now millions of people are enjoying life again just like they did before they ever heard of Skin Jogging Syndrome.

“Thank you Plathamath for giving me back my life.”

 

So talk to your doctor about Plathamath. (Go ahead and call him right now . . . It’s not that late . . . he won’t mind, really!)

Important Safety Information for Plathamath 

Stop taking Plathamath if you suddenly experience difficulty warbling, sneezing or churning butter. 

Plathamath is not recommended for people who have a history of uncontrollable whittling, elbows that bend both ways, or who are overly interested in France.

Tell your doctor immediately should you slip into a coma lasting longer than seven or eight months.

If you have a tendency to explode without warning, talk to your doctor about whether Plathamath is right for you.

 Studies have shown that combining Plathamath with certain types of other medications such as Cyanide Capsules or Lethal Injections could lead to death and, therefore, is not recommended.

If this happens and you’re not saluting the flag, or singing Ava Maria.

Call 911!

Discontinue Plathamath altogether if you experience an uncontrollable urge to pull over to the side of the road before getting out of bed in the morning.

“Aren’t you going to put on your blinker?”   

“No, I thought you were driving.”

 

In rare cases Plathamath has been known to severely affect judgment concerning lint or lint-related issues.

“This is lint is it not?”

 

If this happens, go to the emergency room immediately and please, PLEASE do not operate any heavy machinery on the way there.

Plathamath . . .  

 . . . Giving you back the quality of life you never knew was missing.

Until next time . . . I love you

Don’t Thank Me, Thank My Noble Metabolism

It’s rerun Friday again already!  Which means it’s time to thrash around in the old post archive and pull out something from the bottom of the pile, dust it off, smooth it out and plaster it upon this screen.  And so here it is:

Don’t Thank Me, Thank My Noble Metabolism  

It’s Official! My Metabolism Has Finally Reached Zilch

My metabolism has slowed down so much lately that not only will I gain weight if I even look at a piece of cheesecake — so will the person standing next to me.

Metabolism Heaven

Some people complain of a sluggish metabolism. If I could get my metabolism up to sluggish, well . . . I’d be in metabolism heaven, that’s all.

I’ve Got a Metabolism That Punches Out at Noon

Now that I’m 59, I get the feeling my metabolism goes home early everyday. I think it’s getting bored with its job. And who could blame it, really. Talk about a backlog of work! Poor Dear.

I would imagine the piles of cheesecake in its In-Basket alone is enough to make even the most dedicated of metabolisms want to call in sick.

What’s a Food Consumer to Do?

Still, even though my heart goes out to my metabolism, it would be nice if it could step up the pace just a little. I’m doing my part by carefully monitoring what I eat. I read all the food labels and whatnot; but it isn’t easy finding a food whose first ingredient is air.

My Life as an Air Fern

I think Mother Nature rigged so it so that 59-old-women can live indefinitely on air to keep mankind from going extinct.

My Metabolism Theory

As far as I can tell, Our Family of Humans evolved so that Grandma could keep the cave clean, do all the cooking plus watch the grandkids without having to eat any actual food — which meant Yippee!! Extra helpings of Kentucky-Fried Mammoth for everyone! (Except you know who.)

Me and My Metabolism, Where Would Mankind Be Without Us?

So I suppose one could say, the more sluggish my metabolism, the more I am actually contributing to the survival of the human race. Each and every time I manage to push away a piece of cheesecake without eating it, I am sacrificing that piece of cheesecake for the global good of my fellow Homo sapiens — because now there is just that much more cheesecake for them to eat.

Thus ensuring the survival of our species.

Who knew something operating at zilch could be so noble?

Until next time . . . I love you

My Teeth Are Getting More Crooked by the Hour

Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Braces

When I was ten, the family dentist and my parents made a secret plan to make my teeth straight. It didn’t involve braces. Instead, it involved pulling out five of my permanent teeth.

When Teeth Fly

I remember several visits to the dentist wherein he grabbed a tooth with his pliers and pulled with all his might until my tooth would finally be uprooted and go flying across the room and hit the wall.

He seemed to think this was a perfectly normal occurrence (which I’m sure in his case it was) and, since I didn’t have anything to compare it to — I thought so too. That is until I had my wisdom teeth removed years later and guess what? Nothing went flying anywhere.

Look Ma! No Braces!

Anyway, getting five of my permanent teeth extracted did the trick. My teeth were tolerably straight for a good portion of my life.

The Minute My Mouth is Closed

Then suddenly one morning, one of my front teeth began to stick out farther than the rest. At first, it was hardly noticeable. That’s because this rebel tooth did all its traveling when I wasn’t looking.

If I were to smile into a mirror at any given moment, this tooth would freeze and stay in that exact position until I closed my mouth and then it would continue on it’s mission which, obviously, was to become a Hillbilly Tooth.

The Miraculous Transformation

Over the years, slowly but surely this hillbilly tooth wannabe has made a miraculous migration from sitting straight-in-a-row with all the other front teeth — content to be an all-around team player — to Class Clown of the Mouth. So that today, this tooth has positioned itself in such a way as to stick out way beyond all the others making it appear as if I just have the one.

Surgery for the Problem Child

A couple of years ago I decided I would do something about my problem child tooth. I looked into getting cosmetic dental surgery. The dentist made a mould of my mouth, and we went into the conference room to discuss what could be done.

The Dentist Who Cared Too Much (and had absolutely no sense of humor)

It didn’t help any that the dentist had tears in his eyes when he set the mould of my wayward teeth in front of me. This is the consultation that followed and to quote Dave Barry, I am not making this up.

To lighten up the mood, I remarked, “Those are my teeth? Gee, they’re pretty crooked. In fact, I’ve seen straighter teeth on the 20,000-year-old skulls they’ve excavated on the Discovery Channel.”

To which the dentist replied solemnly, “I know.”

“Well is there anything you can do about it?”

“Not really . . . unless you want to get braces.”

“Braces! But I’m 55 years old!” (although I was wearing my hair in a ponytail that day so maybe he thought I was younger . . . emotionally anyway.)

“There are a lot of OLD PEOPLE LIKE YOU who get braces,” he assured me. “In fact, I had a patient in here the other day who just got his braces off and his teeth looked great!”

“How old was he?”

“85.”

Paying for Invisiline Braces with Invisible Money

So I went to an orthodontist. He informed me that I can get Invisiline braces, (the removable, see-through kind) for somewhere between $5,000 to $7000 dollars.

Hmmm. . After Giving the Matter a Lot of Thought . . .

I’ve decided to wait because who knows? Maybe my hillbilly tooth will come into fashion one of these days. And if that doesn’t happen?

There’s always mouth modeling for the Discovery Channel.

Until next time, I love you . . .

It’s Sad When Your Own Back Doesn’t Have Your Back!

If You Knew My Back, You’d Know My Back Ain’t Right in The Head

I don’t get it.  

By my calculations, my back should be the happiest back in the world.  I’ve always been careful not to “spoil” my back by buying it toys every time we pass by the toy aisle or giving it candy before breakfast (except on Christmas).

Plus, I’ve never been disrespectful to my back by eating other animal’s backs in front of it, like chicken backs and such.

Still, it balks at the simplest commands and freezes up at the slightest provocation.

If my back were a window, it would be painted shut.

My husband, 37, thinks my faulty back is my fault as he pointed out last night:

Your back isn’t getting any better because you slam your heals down when you walk.

Doesn’t everybody?

No.

Do you think I should re-learn how to walk then?

Yes.

Maybe I should just go back to crawling, do you think that would help?

You should just walk without slamming your heals on the ground and without locking your knees.

So you’re saying I walk like Frankenstein?

No.

Well, thank goodness for that!

Because Frankenstein walks with his arms straight ahead and you walk with your arms . . . uh, well let me see you walk again . . . Yeah, you walk with your arms dangling by your sides.

Well, you walk with your hands dangling next to your knees.

I’ve never made any secret about my arms being disproportionately long.

I wish you would.
****

OK, honestly?  The conversation didn’t go exactly like this word for word.  I reorganized it a little so I had all the good lines. But you get the gist.

If 37 Says I Can Re-Learn to Walk, Then, By Golly, I CAN Re-Learn to Walk

Maybe I’ll make a YouTube video of 37 coaching me re-learning how to walk.  I realize he’s not a physical therapist or an occupational therapist, as such, but he’s a darn good golfer and has helped me out in the past with my golf swing. Plus, 37 knows how to walk, I’ve seen him do it with my own eyes several times.

Come to think of it, there’s nothing 37 can’t do when he puts his mind to it. He is a mechanical engineer, you see, which means he is able to figure out stuff he knows nothing about.  It’s a gift, really.

I’ve Noticed That This Journey Called “Life” Requires Lots of Walking

Maybe 37 is on to something here with his suggestion that I need to re-learn how to walk.  Maybe its a metaphor for my personal journey in life.  Perhaps I need to throw everything away that I’ve learned up till now and see the world with new, fresh eyes — starting from the very beginning by re-learning how to walk.

So the next time you’re out and about and you happen to see a 59-year-old woman with a wobbly back toddling down the street two-year-old style? . . . give me a rooty toot toot on the ol’ honky horn and let me know you’ve got my back.

Until next time . . . I love you