It’s not easy being me

So, the other day I IM’d Fever-girl to ask how she was doing. (I was concerned about her, Dengue fever can be a serious hemorrhagic illness). She said, “I am pretty and cutie fine. :-)”. I knew she was feeling much better, for you could almost hear her smile.

I always have fun chatting with her.

Then last week we had to do that ‘sensitivitysexualharrassmentethicsdotherightthing’ BS at work. Instead of a seminar, you read things on the web and then agree to be a good boy at work. Really effective.

So the next time I was chatting with her, I told her that I should really follow the guidelines at work. So, to avoid the risk of offending her, I should no longer refer to her as pretty or cute.
You could almost hear the ‘harrumph’ from seven thousand miles away.
‘I would be offended if you stopped calling me pretty or cute.’ She said. ‘And furthermore, I was pretty and cute long before there was any company policy!’

Yes, do not get ‘small but terrible’ upset.
So to keep our friendship, I will continue to refer to her as ‘PQ’.

But you know what is going to happen. Others will read this and insist that I call them ‘pretty’ or ‘cute’. (Heavens, I do not want to see Willow pout!)

But I must be careful! For I know that Skinner would be incensed if I called her cute. ‘Cute is for little girls’ she once said.

So I walk the fine line, ever struggling to keep my friends happy, ever mindful to use just the right word.

Thank goodness that Wonder-Girl accepts most any compliment, when properly given.

A new way forward

Maybe I am dating myself, but the recent announcement that Bush is looking for 'a new way forward' sure reminds me of that line from David Frosts 'All purpose political speech' where he says,


'For it's only with your back against the wall, that you can then move forward'

Nomenclature

We bought a wrought iron table base from a salvage yard last year. Wonder-Girl like the looks of it and we bought it. Three months ago, we took it down to a shop and had it powder coated. (that’s a very thick, enamel like coating)
Last week, we finally ordered the glass table top for it.

So my son called the other day and asked what was new. I told him that we finally got the glass top for the patio table. And it is now on the back deck.
“Does the Master like it?” He asked.
“You mean the Mistress? Yes, she likes it.”
“I wouldn’t use that word.”
“Why not? It is the female word for Master.”
“But it has the other connotation.”
“And that’s okay. We are married after all.” (and I gave him my best dirty old man laugh)

So folks, use the right nomenclature. A man may be the Master of his destiny, but a woman is the Mistress of hers.

Of course, one could argue that Wonder-Girl is the Mistress of my destiny. And if that is so, then I accept my fate.

The Bolero in the corner.

Ever paint yourself into a corner? Sitting there stuck. Nothing you can say or do. Been there, done that; will do it again.

I remember Rooster once said, ‘There are no ugly women, just ones I don’t find attractive.’ It made me think a little.
Now we have all seen someone who looks like one of the Gorgon sisters, or perhaps Quasimodo. I suppose those are the exceptions that prove the rule. (go look up prove in the dictionary.) But since I consider ugly to be someone that is painful to look at. Most people aren’t ugly.

So then, I classify them as attractive, or not. Either I am drawn to a woman, or not.
So women fall into this huge sliding scale. Those outside the lines are not attractive. Those inside the lines are. I know that part of it is instinctive and visual. But there it is and you have to live with how you are made.
You know, it is easy to say nice things about a person that you find attractive. Wonder Girl has probably gotten tired of all the nice things I say about her, so I try to come up with new ones.

And it’s a fine line you walk, doling out the compliments. You want to be nice, but not become known as just Bolero (a smooth talker).
And it pains me to see my friends beat themselves up over their perceived flaws. So I try to be complimentary.
So when I say to one friend(who thinks she is fat), you are nice and curvy, I know I am close to crossing the line(for I dare not say that you are attractive). And at that moment, my other friend realizes that no matter how fond I am of her, I have just placed her on the other side of the line.

And there I sit in the corner, wet paint all around. By trying to be nice to one, I have maybe hurt another.

But my silence would have hurt them all.

Thanksgiving

Was at our house this year. With only nine guests, it should be a more intimate gathering.
Of course, WG started a few days early, getting as much prepped ahead of time. With her directing and me assisting, the work is fairly easy. So Wednesday I picked up Aunt Obie and the final prep was done.
So Thursday, it was get the bird in the oven and finish setting up. This way, when the guest arrived, we could chat for a while. Younger Brother, his wife, and their son; mom, step-mom and dad, a cousin and cousin’s boyfriend.
Snacks are eaten and the dog has settled down. Once the bird is done and sits, the rest of the food goes in the oven. Neat and organized.

The good thing is that we all get along and we all behave. No one argues about stuff. There is enough to talk about without getting someone riled up. But that is how we are.
Everything was done on time and dinner was served at three. Quiet descends as we dig into the favorites. Turkey, mashed potatoes, baked yams, stuffing, green-bean casserole.

After dinner, several people just got up and began clearing the plates, washing dishes and general cleanup.
Then it was dessert time. Pumpkin pie with real whipped cream, pecan-pie bars and cranberry bread.

The nice thing is that everyone helps; if not during the prep, then during the cleanup after. It sure makes things easier for WG and me.

All in all; a nice, pleasant get together with many of the family.

And by seven, everything is put away and the house is back to normal.

Creator and Destroyer

Maybe it is the birdseed we put out, maybe it is the hedge that has grown up along our back fence. Regardless of the cause, all summer long, our backyard has been home to 3-4 dozen little Finches. (Possibly house Finches) They are kinda fun to watch, but at times, when they are all chatting, the chittering can drive you mad. The only way to quiet them is to shake the hedge. Then some fly away and rest get quiet. But not for long.

They gather around the feeder and eat, then they all flock to the hedge and chatter about their day. (or the food, or whatever.) The hedge is so thick that you cannot see them, just the shaking of the little branches.

Then they fly back to the feeder and eat some more.

And last month we realized that the hedge was way too thick. So we did some major hackenabush.

Now you can see right through the hedge and see all the little birds.

And someone else can see into the hedge and spot the tasty little birds; for now we have a falcon watching our yard. A blur of motion is all you see as he swoops into the hedge and tries to snatch a tasty snack.

Wonder-Girl is not pleased! Despite the noise the little birds make, she does not want to see them eaten. We would rather the falcon eat the pigeons. Maybe the pigeons are too big? (Me, I don’t care what the falcon eats. Everything is fair game)

We hope that the falcon also tries to catch mice.

Now, since the hedge is open, the finches don’t hang around as much, but we know that as the hedge fills back in, the finches will be back.

So though we have destroyed the finches hiding place, we have created a feeding place for the falcon. I guess it balances out.

Who r u?

There is a way to stay in touch, in a roundabout way. You read a friends blog and leave a comment. They read what you say and leave a comment. It’s a way of communicating. And they also get to read the things that you forgot to tell them.

I like to leave comments. Sometimes I have something to say. Other times, I’ll leave a funny comment; just so they know I stopped by.

But that brings up a question. If a friend has the same blog in two places, and I write a comment on one; should make the same comment on the other? Or a different comment?

And as I write, I try to think of what others would say as they read this. Do they laugh?

Who knows.

And is anybody out there?

You can call me Po.

I was chatting on IM, with a co-worker the other day. I enjoy this because you learn more about them and they about you. It makes for a better work relationship and you make friends this way.

After a while, she said, ‘I like chatting with you. You’re nice, like my Grandpa.’

I am sure what you are thinking, no guy wants to be thought of as THAT old. But considering that I am over twice her age, it’s not so bad. (She had said that when she saw my picture, she realized that I was not old like her Grandpa, but more like her dad.)
When you think about it, it is actually a good thing. Since I do strive to be the Gentleman, this means that I strive not annoy young women. No one likes a dirty old man.
So if they see me as older, it puts a nice little distance between us. We can be friends with clears line that won’t get crossed. Then everyone can relax.

But I am not thrilled with being thought of as a ‘Grandpa’. Maybe older Uncle?
I’ll take Po, (Cebuano for ‘respected elder.’)

So yes, you can call me ‘Po’

Travalin Man

A week, north of Boston. Business trips can be tedious for some, but not for me. Besides the fact that I enjoy learning new things from people, I also get a chance teach people things.
Beyond that, there are the WF’s. No, I am not talking ‘What a Fox’. That’s a WaF. I am talking about Work Friends. (though I will admit, some of my WF’s are quite pulchritudinous.)
It makes a trip more enjoyable to be able to see friends. Some still work for the company, some have moved on and bettered themselves. Normally, I might not travel to these places and get to see my WF’s. But if I have to travel there on business, then what little time I get to spend with them is a bonus.

I go to work with my friends in my group, reestablish bonds. For the ones that have left, I have to arrange time.
I missed Skinner on this trip, perhaps next time, I can give her more advanced warning. Sill, I got to have lunch with DT. (The Daughter Twin)
I haven’t seen DT in a couple of years. She is still the fun young lady I have known all these years. But she has slimmed down and stayed slim. Plus she is using less makeup and her freckles show. (yes, I like freckles) She has grown up into an attractive young lady. As Wonder-Girl said, ‘your daughter is all grown up.’
Nice to know that she is happy too.

Shy-girl was there from Cebu. I got to work with her for two days before she flew back to Cebu. As a bonus, I took her out to dinner, just the two of us. Mostly as a thank you for all the hospitality that the Cebuanos showed me when I was there. Plus it was a good time to learn a little more about who she is.

And to gain another friend.

It was suggested that next year I should plan two trips to the East. And two trips to Cebu.

I’ll be a treat to see so many friends, so many times.

My Halloween joke

Mick Jagger buys an old estate just outside of London.
Soon after he moves in, he begins to hear strange noises at night. Besides the usual creaks and groans, he thinks he hears doors closing and footsteps. It seems to be a little noisier each night.
Halloween night he is awoken by this terrible noise from the kitchen. He runs downstairs and finds a ghost pulling pots and pans out of the cabinets and throwing them against the walls.
“Just what in the bloody hell are you doing.” Mick yells.
“This is my house!” The ghost screams. “You can’t have it! I’m going to keep this up until you leave!”
Mick throws back his head and laughs. The ghost just stares at him. Finally, Mick stops laughing, catches his breath and says,
“You know, you can’t always get what you haunt.”

Not my cup of tea

I don’t care for funerals. Not just because nothing can be said. Instead of listening to music, or hearing people singing, I would rather sit and talk to people. Reminisce.
Maybe it’s because I am not religious, I take no comfort from talk of the afterlife. After all, the person is gone, so what happens now to them affects me not.

So I help those left behind. Give them aid and comfort, for they are the ones I can help.

I am so glad that I won’t be there for my funeral

Winter is coming.

It was 64 degrees out, when I took Tommy for the five am walk.

There was an unsettling, warm dry wind this morning. Like the breath of a thousand-year-old mummy, when she whispers in your ear.

I don’t mind warm winds in the summer. I have gone for a 5am walk and it was 75 degrees.

And in the dark heart of winter, it’s always a cold wind.

But October is when there is a chill coming. Winter is just around the corner. I know this because it was 86 here yesterday, 84 today. Warm dry winds blow off the lands, sucking the last of the moisture from the brown, grass-covered hills. The end of the fire season and high winds whip over the hills.
We always get this mini heat wave in October. Right before the rain and cold of November descends.

But a warm dry wind blowing over me, at five am, is very unsettling.

Can you find me? Will you try?

Something Danger Girl wrote recently, a little quote about building walls just to see who really wants to scale the walls and be with you. It reminded me of this 30 year old cartoon.

(I seriously keep too much junk)

I live in a shell.
That inside a wall.
That is inside a fort.
That is inside a tunnel
That is under the sea
Where I am safe.
From you.
If you really loved me, you'd find me.

PS-oh, and in case your are wondering, it does not work!

Bastard!

So, at 3am, the Tommy dog began to bark. It barely registered and my sleepy mind was debating what to do when Wonder-Girl gave me a nudge. “Tommy’s barking.”
So I climbed out of bed and peered through the window blinds. No prowler in the backyard.
I meandered to the kitchen and looked out, no aliens on the front lawn. Tommy barked again.
Into the family room and Tommy is at the back door. He barks again. I look out into the backyard. No zombies. Tommy’s hackles are raised and he emits a low growl. I turn on the lights and notice a pair of beady eyes staring back at me from the lawn.
Damn, a raccoon! I know what Tommy is thinking, Intruder! But I don’t let Tommy out. I have heard stories that raccoons can be formidable opponents. And this one is about Tommy’s size.
I pet Tommy and calm him a little. When I look up, the raccoon is gone.
Most of the time, I never see what Tommy barks at. This time I saw the critter. We get squirrels all the time and cats. Sometimes an opossum.
Back to bed.

At 8am, I am my in my home office and working, when WG comes in all upset. ‘The fish are gone! All gone. Not a trace!”
“Damn, the bastard raccoon ate all the fish!” I go look at the little pond and there is no evidence of a disturbance. Just no fish.

Our son built the pond years ago and I helped him finish it. We had to change the water many times until the chemicals got leached out of the cement.
Some of the third dozen goldfish survived. Mostly. Over the next fifteen years, four fish made it. And they were pretty big, after fifteen years. One fat one was about six inches long! We cleaned the pond constantly. Added a filter a few years ago and a waterfall.
So we are pissed at the damn raccoon for eating our fish. I hope he gets a stomach ache!

Random thoughts on Maui

We got back home just in time to enjoy the first cold storm of the season. Not really a cold storm, but we were used to 85 plus on Maui. We kinda wished we were still there.
Maui was great, as usual. Even when it clouded up, it was still warm (well, hot and humid for me). Wonder-Girl sure loves the hot, humid weather. We did some sightseeing, including a tour of a pineapple plantation. We were the only people on the tour, so the guide gave us twelve pineapples! Not those green things you get here on the mainland, but yellow, ripe, sweet fruit. We ended up giving away five of them. One can only eat so much each day.
Most days, we relaxed by the pool and read. The ocean was right there, so I did get some snorkeling in. Saw a school of five unicorn fish, each as long as my forearm and hand. It was fun swimming slowly over them and watching them feed on the coral. (Skinner would so not like swimming with such big fish.)
Kannapali beach is on the leeward side, so we didn’t get much rain, despite it being the rainy season.
Did you know that botanists love getting those flower necklaces? That way they can get the lei of the land.
We also found out that some of the oldest parts of the island chain(like Midway Island) are just coral atolls. You see, once the land wears away, there is nothing at’oll left.
(hey, this is my blog and I’ll use all the puns I want!)

Only a week there seems not enough, but if we see all the sights, then there are fewer reasons to go. Next time, we’ll spend some time on other islands.

I did notice some odd things. Like most of the people working in the stores and restaurants were white folk. I expected a lot more Hawaiians. I have no idea why, since I don’t know the culture there. I know some Hawaiians resent the houlies and I am not surprised. (Hmmm…I could add a chapter about this to ‘Cross Country’. I’ll ponder that some more.)
Since it is an island nation, I am sure that they don’t have the same illegal immigration problems. No one can swim there from neighboring countries. I think this affects the price of their crops. Everything is expensive there and without cheap labor to work in the fields, other countries can produce food cheaper. That may be part of the reason that they have fewer pineapple plantations now. It would be nice to chat with some of the people there and find out how the labor is classified.
Everywhere, there are cultural differences and it is interesting to explore them.
Though I am sure that a lot of houlies don’t care.

Storytime - Inky, Sucky

Inky.
Sometimes, I am partway through a story and I realize that before I can go any farther, I had better figure out the rules. Why does he do what he does, and who the hell Sucky is.
Because later on in the story, I might fold her in as a subplot, or maybe just a continuation of the story.

So I sat down and wrote how Inky and Sucky met. A piece of the original story was posted a while ago here.
I hope you can figure out what they are by the clues.
GW

--

Inky, Sucky
By G.W. Hogg
©9-15-06

The grocery store was not very busy when I stopped off to buy something for dinner. I wasn’t surprised. The moms had been there earlier and now they were back home busy cooking dinner for their husbands and family. I’ve always had a hard time thinking what to make for dinner. Many nights I decided as I drove home, if not as I perused the aisles in the store.
It was Friday, the repair job on the linotype had taken a lot less time than was expected and I was able to quit early today. I felt like something easy, but tasty. I looked over the meats in the butcher counter and the cube steak looked good. Maybe Swiss Steak tonight? I could make several and then I would have leftovers. They were always good.
“How’s the cube steak, Fred?” I asked the old guy behind the counter.
“In two days ago. The Missus cooked some up last night, quite tasty.”
“Okay, I’ll take four pounds.”
“Company?”
“Naw, just figured I’d cook up a mess. That way I won’t have to cook for a while.”
“Smart thinking. Still, a man like you should have a wife at home. How long has it been, three years?”
“Three and a half.”
“She was a good woman. Shame to have been taken so young.”
“Yes, it was.”
He weighed out the meat and then wrapped it up in the white paper. After marking the price with a grease pencil, he looked up. “Anything else?”
“Yes, I’ll take two of the thick pork chops and a chicken.”
“Okay, but you should buy the chicken on Tuesday. I’ll have fresh ones in then.”
”Okay. Thanks.”
He weighed and wrapped up the chops. “There you are.” He said as he passed the wrapped meats over the high counter.
“Thanks, Fred.”
“You’re welcome Mr. Scott.”

I took my time selecting the potatoes and vegetables. Meat, starch, and vegetable. At least the minimum. I had seen guys who didn’t take care of themselves. Always eat right; not that I really ever had to worry. A few more items and I had everything for tonight’s dinner.

As I rolled my cart up to the checkout line, I saw that the new girl was running the register. I had seen her once or twice in the store. Nice looking young gal, maybe nineteen. Long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. No makeup, but she didn’t need any. Pretty face with full lips. Black skirt, white shirt, and a thin black tie. Her brown smock was buttoned up, but you could still tell where the curves were. Kinda of a funny butt, still, nice looking. I rolled up and smiled at her. She looked up, our eyes met and she smiled at me.
I felt the wave of desire crashed over me. The thoughts of cupping those young breasts in my hands, my hands on her slim waist, the moist, musky smell of her curly black hair, her nails digging into my back as she cried out.
And I let it all flow away, like water off a ducks back. I knew who she was now.
I kept looking up at her, as I wrote out the check. She saw me glancing up at her constantly, as she punched in the amounts and rang up my purchases. Yes, let her think it has affected me. She should have know better than to cast one on a regular customer. Or maybe she was just playing.
“That will be eighteen forty-nine.” She said as she turned to me. The smile on her face was a little different now, more predatory.
I finished writing the amount and handed her the check. As she reached for it, I extended one finger so I almost touched her. I was rewarded with a huge blue spark that leapt off my finger and into her hand. There was a satisfying ‘crack’!
“Son of a Bitch!” She exclaimed, then dropped the check as her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, I am terribly sorry Mister! I didn’t mean to say that!”
“It’s okay.” I said as she bent down to pick up the check.
“It’s not okay. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I just didn’t expect that!”
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, but it was a fun way to say hello.”
“You’re mean.” And she smiled at me. It was a totally different smile. More like a starving person sitting down to a huge meal of steak and potatoes. There was now lust in her eyes and a look of anticipation.
“Not mean. Maybe a brat?”
“Yes, a brat for sure.” She looked at the check, studying the address. When she looked up at me, her eyes glance at the ring on my left hand. Her look changed. “Married?”
“Widower”
“Oh, I am sorry.” But she looked relieved.
“Thanks. It was a while ago.”
“But you still wear your ring.”
“It comforts me.”
She started bagging the groceries. “It’s good you know how to cook.”
“I have always liked to be self sufficient.”
“Good for you.’ She placed the three bags into the cart. “Do you need carry out service? I can call the bag boy.”
“It’s okay. Billy is busy stacking the shelves.”
“Okay, well enjoy your dinner. And I’ll be seeing you.”
“Thanks…” I stared a little too long at the nametag on her smock. “Cynthia.”

On the drive home, I tried to remember the last time I had met another. Sometime before the last war. No, it was the war before that. A long time ago. I didn’t dwell upon it as I pulled the Bel Air into the driveway of my old Victorian.

If someone had been walking down the dark street at eleven, and if they had turned to look at the old Berkeley Victorian, they might have seen a white mist flowing across the front lawn and down the driveway. If they had watched it, they would not have believed their eyes. The white mist coalesced at the rose bush there, then slowly flowed up the trellis. It paused by the second story window for a moment, then flowed inside.

The sound of the window unlocking woke me. The cool damp air flowing over my naked skin brought me fully awake. I sat up and slid my legs over so I faced the window. A white mist flowed over the windowsill into a small puddle on the floor. As I watched, the mist rose up into the diaphanous form of a woman, slowly undressing.
And suddenly, she was standing there. The long dark brown hair cascaded to her shoulders. The full lips smiled with ravenous anticipation. The thin film of perspiration made her clear white skin glistened in the moonlight. My eyes traveled down to her firm, well rounded breasts. The hard, slightly upturned nipples, pointed over my head. A slim waist and flat stomach drew my eyes down to the generous curve of her hips. The black triangular patch of hair was like a road sign, guiding me down the highway. Firm, muscular thighs sloped down to slim calves and well turned ankles. I smiled back at her with equal anticipation.
I stood and let her look me over. She seemed pleased.

“It took you long enough to get here.”
“Yours is not an easy place to find. Did you have to lock the window?”
“I just wanted to see how good you were.”
“Oh, I’m good.”
I looked her up and down again and smiled. “I can see that.”
She took a tentative step towards me and I did the same. A blue spark coalesced on her shoulder, rolled down her arm and arced across the five feet between us. It stung a little where it hit my shoulder. We took two more steps towards each other and more sparks erupted from our skin and arced between us. Quickly, we reached out and grabbed each others hands. The electricity sparked and cracked along our hands. We stared into each others eyes, feeling the energy surge between us.
“I will take nothing from you, only give.” She recited.
“And I will take nothing from you, only give.” I recited back to her.
The oath and spell were said and the sparks of energy between us slowly died.
She tightened her grip on my hands and suddenly pushed down. My arms didn’t move. She pushed harder with a strength that would have forced a man to his knees.
I smiled and lifted my arms. Slowly I drew her arms up over her head, she fought back but was unable to stop me. I raised my arms further, until her toes were dangling above the floor.
“You’re a lot older and stronger than I thought.”
I just smiled and took a few steps towards the wall. I stopped when she was pinned between me and the wall. And I kissed her, long and deeply. She responded for a moment, then turned her head to the side.
“I have waited forty years for this and I am not going to play any games!” She hissed. Then she pulled her legs up, wrapping them around me. I pulled back a little to give her some room, she squirmed a little to align us, then her strong thighs pulled us together, impaling her against the wall.


She rolled off of me and lay next to me, panting. When she finally caught her breath she turned and looked at the broken clock on the floor. “I think it’s Monday morning. I have to be at work at ten. Do you know what time it is?”
“About five. I think I heard the milk truck.”
“Do we have time for breakfast?”
I leaned over and kissed her nipple.
“No, not that! Eggs, bacon, hash browns.”
“I can do that.”
“Good. I am starved!” She turned over to face me and wrapped her small hands around me. “I was so afraid you might be small. But goodness! I’ll be walking bowlegged for a week!” Then she kissed me hard on the mouth. “Not that I’m complaining.”
She stood up and walked off the bed. Then she turned and surveyed the damage. The headboard was leaning against the wall, but intact. Deep grooves, like claw marks, crisscrossed it. The bed was on the floor, it sheets torn, burned and bloody; the footboard was snapped in two.
“Can I use the downstairs shower?”
“Sure, mind the broken glass.”
She grinned, picked up her clothes that were strewn about the room and walked bowlegged out the door.

I got up carefully, trying to avoid the broken glass. I wasn’t sure how and when the mirror got broken, but we did spend two hours picking glass out of each other. I glanced down at where a large piece had sliced a three inch gash in my arm. It was healing nicely.

I showered quickly and carefully shaved the three days grown of beard off my face. A least I was able to find my shaving brush and soap.
I put a robe on and picked out some clothes to wear.

As I made my way downstairs I cataloged the damage. Some holes in the walls, a broken chair. I’d need new sheets and pillows for the guest bedroom. I was glad the windows were closed and the shades drawn.
Downstairs wasn’t too bad. I’d have to put the furniture back in place. Hopefully, I could repair the dining room table. It looked funny on the floor, with its four legs splayed out.
At least we had not spent too much time in the kitchen. The little silver and grey breakfast table was intact, as were the chairs.
I filled the percolator and plugged it in. I was really going to need my coffee today. I dug out my two large cast iron frying pans and set them on the stove. The center griddle was just too messy for bacon. It took me a few minutes to find the grater attachment for the Mixmaster. Nancy had been so thrilled when I bought it for her.
Once it was put together, it only took a few minutes to grate the four potatoes. I set them aside and fired up the two pans. Soon the pound of bacon was sizzling and snapping in the pans.
While that cooked, I pulled the ironing board out of the wall and set up the iron. Get the toaster set up. Bread, butter, plates napkins. Then it was time to get the eggs and hash browns going.
The hash browns filled the center griddle and I was liberal with the bacon grease. The dozen eggs filed the two pans and I was hard pressed to keep them from sticking together.

She came into the kitchen and saw that I had everything under control. So she plugged in the iron and started ironing my clothes. “Over easy, if you can do it.” Was all she said.
The second batch of toast popped up. She was finished with the ironing, so she took over the buttering. Then she set the table as I gingerly served the eggs. I was glad I had grabbed the big plates. Six eggs apiece, a pile of hash browns and a few strips of bacon. There was barely enough room for the toast. I placed the dishes on the table just as she sat down. The rest of the bacon I dumped on the plate with the toast.
She poured the coffee then surveyed the repast. “You put together a mean breakfast Cerric.”
“Thanks for your help Cindy”
“You’re welcome.” And we dug into our breakfast.

An hour later, we had the kitchen all cleaned up and were drinking the last of the coffee. “I hate to end this weekend, but I have to get to work soon.”
“And I have to get going too.” She stood up and came over to me. I rose to meet her.
“It’s been a great weekend!” And she folded herself into my embrace.
“I’ve enjoyed it too.” She said as she held me.
“Do you plan to be around for a while?”
“Another twenty years.”
“Good. I just moved here. I am glad I found you so soon. Like said, it’s been a while.”
“I’ll be here if you need me.”
“I’d like that. Not too often.”
“No, too often can spoil the fun.”
We turned and walked to the door. As I opened it, she pulled me too her and gave me a long, lingering kiss. “Keep your window unlocked Inky.”
“Don’t be a stranger Sucky.”

And she turned and I watched her walk slowly to the sidewalk. She turned, waved at me, then continued down the street.

Trains

Sometimes, I feel like I am going down the train tracks. I can go a little faster, or a little slower; but down the tracks I go.
But faster or slower, the course is set. I don’t have to decide where to go, for I can’t change it.

Where would I go if I could change my course? Probably down the tracks.

PC

Political Correctness – The inability to call a spade a spade.

I wonder how many people out there don’t even understand that?

Winter is not far away

Well, as the man said when his girlfriends bikini strap broke.
‘There’s a little nip in the air.’


But there is a little chill in the air. Summer will be over soon.
A little storm blew through today, dropped the temp twenty degrees from what they were yesterday.

Hoy Ganda!

1,000 Ganda points for those who remembered!
Alas, no Ganda points for those who forgot.

Nobody has ever really explained the game to me, all these Pogi and Ganda points.
(For you Americans, it’s fun game where you give a person ‘Pretty points’ or ‘Handsome Points’ for doing something nice.)

Of course I have to ask the question, what happens if you give someone an ‘Ugly Point’? :-)
I’ll have to ask someone the correct Cebuano word for Ugly. There may be several. I’ll bet it is like ‘Feo’. Still, I have to be careful. I just want a simple ugly, not a ‘Butt Ugly!’

I can hear Willow now, as she pouts from a lack of Ganda points, “Give me Ganda points, or not. I am still ninot!”

And yes my Night Creatures who read this, I fully expect corrections!