Wax Lips

Remember those wax lips when you were a kid?

I remember walking to the corner store where I could buy penny candy such as wax lips, licorice whips and sugar dots.

There was always a jar of home made, ice cold, dill pickle spears on the counter when I made my penny purchases. My purchases generally included red wax cherry-flavored lips, black licorice whips, and those pastel colored sugar dots glued to a strip of white paper.

The pickle spears were at least six inches long and loaded with garlic and lots of dill weed. The thought of those pickles still make my mouth water. I paid for my penny candy, then paid an extra nickle for a pickle. The store owner put the candy in a paper bag, and wrapped the pickle in a piece of wax paper for me to eat on the way home, which I did...along with the bag of penny candy. After eating the dill pickle, and the candy, I firmly planted the wax lips between my upper and lower teeth. I was a sight when I got home; black licorice on either side of my face with two bright red lips right in the middle.

Those were the days when I spent most of the evening with a very bad stomach ache. Most of the time it was worth it, but after while I decided that dill pickles, penny candy, and cherry flavored wax lips do not go well together. But what does an eight year old know? !

Let's check out more L posts at Jenny's.

   

Kinked Hose and Murphy's Law

Have you ever noticed the longer distance you have to extend a hose the more it kinks, and always when you're stretched for time?

It's at least 100 feet from the barn to the horse's water trough. Most of the time I turn on the water and take the hose out to the water trough only to discover the water is dripping instead of flowing from the end of the hose into the trough. Of course Murphy's Law prevails. The kink in the hose is back inside the barn where it's hooked up to the water pump. "Oh, horse pucky", I say to myself. So back I go to straighten out the hose, then back to the water trough. Still no flow.

By now, my language can peel paint off the barn door. I finally find the second kink which is hidden in a patch of weeds where I dragged the hose, then straighten out the kink. Back to the water trough where the water is finally flowing in a steady stream.

I don't own the barn, just help with chores because my two horses live there. It's probably an accurate assessment that the owners heard my salty language through one of their open windows because the next day the weeds were gone, but they still haven't purchased one of those non-kink hoses. I may be making a non-kink, rubber hose investment this weekend. Happy trails.

Time to trot over to Jenny's for more fun blog posts.

Grammy's Jammies

My grand daughter, Ivey, knows I like frogs. She also knows I like flannel pajamas during the winter months. Being the creative spirit she is, she happened to come upon a pair of flannel jammies with key lime green frogs on a black background and small white polka dots. She gave them to me for Christmas and I love those pajamas for many reasons.

Of course a selfie was in order.

Nester Ramos and Todd Clausen, both writers for the "Democrat & Chronicle", our local newspaper, were tweeting about selfies one day, so I decided to send Twitter a picture of yours truly in my frog jammies. The selfie tweet was favorited by the staff at the D&C as well as other influential and not so influential people in the city of Rochester.

I have no idea whatever possessed me to send this picture out to the world, but I have to say...it was fun! There was even a tweet back from 10 Downing Street. And that's no horse pucky.

Here's my selfie tweet, folks.  Please don't tell my family. Now, let's all go to Jenny's for a pj party.

Grammy's Jammies

I-90

Last week, on my way back to Rochester, from Buffalo, I got pulled over by a New York State Trooper. He asked me for my registration and driver's license, which I produced with trepidation.

"Do you know how fast you were goin' M'am?" "No sir," I said. Sniff, sniff, as I grabbed for a box of tissue. "Well, do ya see that sign over there?" "Which one, officer?" "The one that says, I-90. Just to let you know that's the route number not the speed limit. What da ya have to say for yourself?"

"Well, officer, crying, you see, my-cat-Buzi just-died-and-I'm-still-upset-and-want-to-go-home-and-wasn't-paying-attention-and-I'm-really-sorry." More crying, blowing nose and grabbing for more tissue.

"Don't cry Ma'm. I'm sorry about your cat. I'm not going to write you a ticket, but I am going to give you a stern warning, THE SPEED LIMIT IS 65 MPH ON THE THRUWAY...NOT 90! Now, drive safe on the way back to Rochester and have a nice day." "Whew!"

And I did...drove safe and had a nice day.

Think I'll speed...er...sprint over to Jenny's for more interesting blog posts.

Forever Sunbeams

BUZI

It never gets easier. I feel like someone pulled my heart out of my chest, then stomped on it. I had to say, "Goodbye, dear friend," as I cradled her soft chin in my hand and told her, "I love you, Buzi."

My beloved feline pal Buzi was humanely euthanized on June 10, 2014. I only had her for two years and four months, knowing when I brought her into my home she had a huge tumor in her abdomen, as well as other health issues. I wanted her life, whatever time she had left, to be peaceful, comfortable, and most of all filled with love. She was not cared for by her previous owners, and then left abandoned, where she was found six months later living under a porch. I'm amazed she survived that ordeal, and so is the veterinarian. We're not sure how old she is, but she came to live with me on February 1, 2012. I named her Buzi because it means "kiss" in Polish.

Buzi and I had quiet time every morning on the front porch, in all four seasons. I had a cup of coffee in one hand and petted Buzi with the other hand as she sat and purred beside me. When I came home from the barn, she always greeted me at the door with her happy-to-see-you "Meow" greeting. During the remainder of the day she curled up on the divan in my office, unless there was a sunbeam on the floor. At night she slept on the king size bed always purring beside me.

I miss her paw prints on my bedspread, her loyal and loving companionship, her very sweet disposition, and all things that made her so special. Making that final decision was awful. I wanted one more day, just one more day. But the tumor took it's toll. Buzi couldn't eat or drink anymore. It was time. She was so weak. Her last moments were lounging in a sunbeam near the flower garden, before her final trip to the veterinarian.

At least I am comforted to know she was totally loved in her final years, and that we will be together again on the other side of the rainbow. Right now I'm sure she's napping in her favorite, forever sunbeam.

Think I'll go to Jenny's for a hug.