It’s a Maniac Thing

Many years ago...like in the 1920's....(Wow.  That’s 100 years ago. My how time flies.) Anyway,  a basketball team from Orofino High School was playing a game in another town.  Apparently they were playing quite well.  “Like Maniacs” was the reported description.  The name or team moniker stuck. 

Those of us who went to Orofino High School prior to the 1970s didn’t even have a picture if you will.  Someone clever student in the ‘70s came up with this picture.  There has been disagreement about who that clever student was.  Never the less the picture is now present on T-shirts, sox, hats, hoodies, flip-flips, sweat pants, window decals, and a local fabric shop sells fabric featuring Maniacs.  I have a license plate frame that reads “Once a Maniac, always a Maniac.”  I wore out a spare tire cover with an old Maniac shown here with my Aunt Mary who was a 1949 graduate of the aforementioned Orofino High School. As you might

have figured out Maniac gear is a hot selling item in the quiet little town of Orofino.

Then along comes the naysayers.  From time to time folks get their panties in a bunch and think the name should be changed to some common name like Bulldogs, Eagles, Lions, Tigers, or maybe even Badgers.  Most often these complainers don’t live here in O-town.  If you want to get a bunch of local Maniac supporters riled up suggest this idea.  A while back a new family moved to town.  The father proudly  told me his son would be a Maniac when he started school. 

Several days ago I watched a comedian doing his routine somewhere in Utah.  The subject of school mascots came up.  He pointed out to the audience that there were only about a dozen of them.  Like I noted before...your Eagles, Bulldogs, Lions, Tigers, etc.  He mentioned Wildcats and pointed out that wasn’t even a thing.  (It is a thing to Buick lovers).  He asked the audience members to shout out their  schools’ mascots.  I wish I had been there.  I would have been waving and yelling, “Pick me. Me! Me!, Me! 

                                 Something About Baby Boomers

Someone or ones had the well, balls, to write a dissertation about Baby Boomers.  It was not at all complimentary.  Probably the intention of it all.

I don’t have a clue about the Gen X-ers, the Millennial, Gen - whatevers.  I do, however, know a little bit about Baby Boomers.  We were so named because our fathers came home from THE WAR (you know... the big one) and began making babies.  They were tagged the Greatest Generation.  Many older Boomers wound up serving our country in  Viet Nam.  That’s a whole other story.

Who can deny that Boomers had the best cars?  Who does not like ‘57 Chevys or ‘68 Mustangs?  Or maybe ‘66 Chevy pickups.  Boomers didn’t make them, but they made them popular and collectible.  Most of the Boomers I know can tell you about a car they should not have sold.  Have ya’ll seen the joke where Jane Doe is at the Pearly Gates and St. Peter says, “Sorry, I can’t let you in.  It says here you traded a ‘69 Buick Skylark for a Toyota”.  That could be me.;;

How about the music that the Boomers made popular?  Elvis, The Beatles, Roy Orbison, and many more.  Some of the music (?) available today is not worthy of an 8-track tape.  Can’t you just hear “I Got You, Babe” playing in your head now?  (And for the rest of the day)  

And the movies that Boomers made classic along with the stars...John Wayne, Steve McQueen, Dean Martin, Debbie Reynolds, Jimmy Stewart, Bette Davis...just to name a few.  

The article accused Boomers of being capitalist.  That’s probably why a whole lot of Boomers own their own homes.  They figured out a way to make and keep their money.  You know ...not squandering it.  Boomers usually don’t live in communes like the Gen-Z’s or X’s or Q’s (whatever they are) recommended in this article.  If I recall correctly Charlie Manson was a commune dweller, before a prison-dweller.

Most of us Boomers were raised by the folks who are/were part of the Greatest Generation.  They taught us a thing or two about manners.  Things like saying please and thank you.  Our mothers made sure we didn’t go out with holes in our jeans and darn sure wouldn’t buy them that way for us.  Because our parents survived the Great  Depression we were taught things like waste not, want not.  My Aunt Pearl washed her tin foil so it could be reused.  There was something about living within your means.

Oh, yeah. Boomers should quit collecting stuff.  By stuff I’m guessing they meant anything they didn’t like.  I get that.  If ya’ll don’t have a house you probably shouldn’t be gathering up a collection of Depression Glass or first edition copies of rare books. However, if you have a house with a cupboard or a bookshelf perhaps you might want to load them up.  Or maybe a garage or even a warehouse.  I’m guessing Jay Leno has a place to store his car collection.  

Speaking of collections....lucky thing for me that I have a shelf or two to put boxes of fabric on...one of mine.  The boxes will fit right next to my boxes of baseball memorabilia. I don’t question Mr. Lucky about his collections and he doesn’t question me.  We’re smart that way.

 First Week in May

The first week in May has lots of folks scrambling to get the best deal on petunias, choosing tomato plants.  Will it be Early Girl or Beef Steak? How about skipping the zucchini and go with cucumbers?  So many choices.

Well, not so much for me.  The first week in May has me looking over the line up for the KENTUCKY DERBY.  Ya’ know....  The most exciting 2 minutes in sports which takes place on the first Saturday in May.  Except for in 2020 when Covid messed it up.  It was postponed until September that year.  

There is so much to consider before placing a bet or bets.  Read on..........

1.Track conditions.  Which horses can run in the mud if it happens to be a muddy track?  In May a muddy track is always a likely possibility.

2. Jockey.  One must consider his or her experience or lack thereof along with their win/loss record.

3. Trainer, owner, stable in which the horse was trained.

4. Family Tree.  In this year’s Derby 8 horses are descendants of Secretariat.  5. Horse’s Record. You want to select horses with the best winning record. Maybe.  The best odds are on horses with less than stellar records and oftimes they come out on top.

6. Color.  The color of the jockey’s silk, not necessisarily the color of the horse, but ya’ll can consider that too.  This year’s lineup has a pretty gray roan.  It’s nice if it matches the red roses they drape over the winner.  After all it is the “Run for the Roses”.  

When making my selections I consider a couple of other things.  The name of the horse goes to the top of the list.  A few years back the winner’s name was I’ll Have Another.  I liked the name thinking it might be another beer or piece of pizza.  Turns out the owner would always have another cookie.  Even better. 

Some final thoughts for picking a winner:

a.) Dart Board.  Arrange all the names of the contenders on a cork board and throw 3 darts for the first 3 positions.  

         b.) Hat.  Instead of placing the aforementioned names on a dart board you can place them in a hat.  You can draw three of them out yourself or have an uninterested party draw them out for you. Lucky for me I have a 3 year old grandson.  I’m sure he’ll be up for the challenge.

I’ll add another pearl of wisdom.  One zucchini plant will feed a small village.  Much more than that and you’ll have to sneak them onto your neighbors’ porches and into unlocked cars under the cover of darkness.  I think I'll plant another rose or two.

 December 31, 2022

Mr. Lucky and I have had a great year (sigh). I am happy to report (again) we made it through the year without buying a Buick.  I drool sometimes about those cute Honda Ridgeline pickups.  Good thing I haven’t seen one in a magenta color.  It’s probably an even better thing that Buick doesn’t make pickups.

Our summer was pretty much usual.  Hot.  Dry.  We were able to enjoy a few rides in our side x side, affectionately known as Red Rover.  In fact our year has been pretty much usual.  We had the same number of birthdays, one each, and we quietly celebrated our 58th anniversary.  And some folks thought it wouldn’t last.

One of the highlights of our year has been getting to spend time with our grandson.  His daddy bought him a gizmo called a Strider.  It’s a bike without pedals.  The idea behind it is to teach younguns all about balance.  Our grandson has this figured out.  I am guessing that this summer, when he’s 3, he’ll be teaching the other kids about balance and riding these things.  I’ll let you know where to sign your kids up.  He has figured out the most important; wear your helmet.  I see a motorcycle in the future.

We are slamming the door on 2022 and opening up the door for a new 2023.  I think I have this backwards.  There is some sort of an Irish thing about opening and closing doors on New Years Eve to let the evil out and the good stuff in.  That’s what we aim to do.   Anyway, we are wishing all of our friends, neighbors, UPS drivers, snow plow operators, waitresses, and even relatives a warm, happy New Year.

Mr. Lucky and I hope you all are happy, healthy, and ready to bring in a New Year.  May you be able to put your snow shovel away, keep the doctors at bay, and keep on celebrating.  After all St. Patrick’s Day is just a few short weeks away.

                                    Something About Aunts

Perhaps you have seen the Geico commercial on TV about an aunt invasion.  It is actually funny, as all commercials should be.  The first aunt tells the man of the house to stop slouching.  Another aunt is throwing out the expired contents of the fridge.  It can even be seen on You Tube.  Look for “Aunt Invasion”.

Ok.  Moving on here.  Fortunately my aunts didn’t get together to stage an aunt invasion.  I was blessed with 6 of them.  That is just regular aunts.  I’m not counting great aunts or aunt-in-laws.  

My favorite aunt was Aunt Pearl.  Look up ‘worker’ in the dictionary.  Chances are you will find her picture there.  She worked hard all her life and pretty much expected that from everyone else.  Different folks had different tasks, of course.  One of mine was her hair.  One time I went to visit here for a few days.  Before I got my suitcase packed into the house she had the equipment laid out for me to give her a hair cut and a permanent. The last time I visited her in the “home” a haircut for her was involved.  My sister had the misfortune of visiting her during peach picking season.  Aunt Pearl might not get after you for slouching but she was not above checking your teeth.  

Aunt Pearl had two sisters.  Aunt Ruby was known for her perpetual rummage sales.  She had boxes of “stuff” all around her patio to be sold at the next rummage sale for some charity or other.  She was also a part time newspaper reporter for the Lewiston Morning Tribune.  One Friday evening I stopped in at her house while walking home. The phone rings.  It’s her husband who happens to be the Chief of Police.  There is a fire at the grain warehouse in town.  “Come on”, she says, “we’re going to get the story on the fire”.  Trust me.  It was the biggest fire I had ever seen before or since.  She got the details and pictures and back home we went.  She called the news office at the newspaper and gave them the story.  Then back to the scene of the fire to get an update and more pictures.  Somehow she got the film (this was a long time ago) to the tribune before the paper came out the next morning.  For a young girl (me) at 14 years old or so this journalism stuff looked mighty interesting.  Up to that time I didn’t realize Aunt Ruby actually worked at being a reporter.  

The other sister was my Aunt Margaret.  If you ever went to the bowling alley in Orofino from the late 50s until sometime in the 90s you would have encountered my Aunt Margaret or Midge as she was known. That is where she worked and played.  She was a top notch bowler for many years.  Her work there entailed doing everything from mopping the floor to taking care of league bowling to making her delicious potato salad.  Sometimes all in the same day.  She was an early riser, too.  She got the family sense of humor.  She was always happy to share with you the latest joke she heard.  Aunt Ruby might have been able to write a story, but unlike Aunt Margaret, she couldn’t tell a joke.  She never fully understood the role of a punchline.  One of the highlights of my youth was the day Aunt Margaret let me play in her jewelry box.  Oh, my, all those sparkly things.  Dozens of pair of earrings, necklaces, pins.  Oh, my.

Aunt Mickey was married to my Uncle George.  By the way, I had 6 uncles, too.  Unlike my mom she prepared dinner in the middle of the day.  We had it at night and lunch in midday.  Oft times her dinner would include her homemade rolls.  Ummm. Good. Funny how you remember things about folks.  I remember that she came to get me at a friend’s house the day my father was killed in a logging accident.  I’ll bet she always remembered that, too. I also remember that when the phone rang she ran to answer it.  No one does that now.  We are not eager to renew our car warranty.

Moving from my paternal aunts to my maternal ones brings me to my Aunt Mary, my mom’s sister.  Before she got married she taught school for a year in Weippe.  One winter weekend my Grandmother and I caught the bus to Weippe to spend a couple of days.  Aunt Mary and Granny fixed a nice meal and Mary set the leftovers outside on the window sill.  What?!  No refrigerator.  I’m glad I don’t have to do that.  I don’t have window sills that big.  And where would you put the beer?  And later when she married my Uncle Pert she would need that fridge for the beer.  Heidleberg.

Aunt Ronnie was married to my Uncle Bob.  She introduced our family to spaghetti.  I don’t remember that we ever had it until she joined our family.  She was also a savior on Saturday night.  Before she came along Mom would fix my and my sister’s hair for Sunday School. Those dreaded pincurls.  Aunt Ronnie took over the Saturday night hair-do job.  What a relief.  She never stopped learning.  She decided she wanted to sew.  She bought the top-of-the-line Singer, took some classes, and sew she did.  Same thing with guitar playing.  She bought a guitar, took some lessons, and played it.  She was a teacher, too.  She taught me lots of things over the years.  Some of which I remember....like ironing a man’s dress shirt.  

Oh, yeah.  I have one pseudo aunt, too.  Aunt Jemima.  If you’re on my gift list you can expect to get a box of Aunt Jemima Buttermilk Pancake Mix.

One more thing....if I am your aunt figure out how to sneak vodka into the old folks home when the time comes.

I’ll bet you can’t wait to read about my uncles, all six of them.  

 

Gorillas Not in the Mist

In a recent blog I went on about red trucks and my “thing” for them.  Well, I have a thing for gorillas, too.  I am a secret admirer of Dian Fossey of ‘Gorillas in the Mist’ fame.  She is right up there with Madame Curie and Rosa Parks.  Some of you may remember Koko, the gorilla who learned sign language, thanks to Penny Patterson.  Pretty remarkable.

I have a bit of a collection of gorillas.  No.  Mr. Lucky’s knuckles don’t rub the ground when he walks about.  Nor does he beat on his chest, much, anyway.  

Back to my collection....it started with a cute little stuffed one and moved on from there.  Two of them, a mama and a youngun, like to drive about in a red cadillac or a...are you ready for this...a red truck. After all, like the rest of you I am sequestered.  

One time driving along Hwy 160 in Pahrump, NV I noticed a big blue one all blown up attempting to sell cars.  Mr. Lucky was not to keen on the idea of stopping to buy it or a car, for that matter.





Then there is this mask thing.  I know of several women who are sewing them by the dozens.  Not me.  I made two; one for Mr. Lucky and one for me.  Then I discovered the trick of folding a bandana and adding rubber bands to cut of the circulation to your ears.  Enough of that. 

 Then out came the latest addition to my latest gorilla collection.  Check it out.  I’ll be styling on my next trip to the grocery store.  And wait until Halloween.   

Take care.  Be safe.  Wash your hands.  Oh, yeah.  Laugh, too.  

The Red Truck Craze

It all started innocently enough... My fascination with red trucks, which are really pickups.  When Mr. Lucky and I first got married he had the most wonderful car.  It was a 1960 Studebaker Lark.  The finest driving car you would ever hope to drive.  But it wasn’t a pickup.  So when a 1954 red Dodge pickup came up for sale we decided to buy it.  Every young couple needs at least 2 vehicles, right?  

This red pickup looked nice in our driveway along side the Studebaker.  Sadly I don’t have a picture to show off.  This rig had one of the first Dodge Hemi engines and the transmission was complete with a granny gear.  Up to that point I thought granny gear was appropriate shoes and a proper house dress.  Little did I know.

So when my thoughtful sister sent Mr. Lucky a birthday card depicting a red pickup, an American flag, and a Route 66 sign or two I cabbaged onto the card and put it on the wall where it has remained for 5 or 6 years.  


Much to my delight you can now find a boatload of stuff with red and sometimes blue trucks.  My first purchase with the red truck theme was a $4.00 plastic tablecloth.  It’s still in the package waiting for the perfect time to be displayed.   I have personally bought no less than 7 yards of fabric, napkins, and a magnificent wooden wall hanging.  One of my cronies discovered garden flags on Amazon and got not one, but two, for me for Christmas.  (Thanks Marg).

I am on the hunt for the perfect red truck(s) to use as a centerpiece along with some of the fabric I have acquired.

It doesn’t stop there.  Take a wild guess about what Mr. Lucky is getting for Valentine’s Day.  We’ll pay no attention to the fact that this chocolate delight has only 680 calories.



So...Happy Valentine’s Day to you all.  Go ahead and buy the chocolate.






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It’s Beginning to Cost a Lot Like Christmas...

I have decided to combine my Christmas Blog with my timely Christmas Letter.  So here goes.

I usually attempt to make Christmas gift suggestions.  Well, really, they are more like non-suggestions.  Or what not to buy.

In the event you didn’t pay attention in past years here is a refresher:

Husbands...your lovely wife really doesn’t want a state of the art vacuum cleaner.  She is perfectly happy with that old Electrolux.  If you are hell-bent on appliance try one of those new Air-Fryer gadgets.  (They are more like a new toy, than an appliance.)  Keep in mind that gift certificates always fit.  I don’t mean a gift certificate for Nutri-Systems or a Planet Fitness.  I’m talking about one from a store that she actually shops at.  Hint ... Amazon.

Wives...your wonderful husband is probably a tool/gadget nut.  It’s ok to give him the latest turbo-powered drill with high tech capabilities (whatever they are).  You can’t go wrong with guns or ammo, either.  Or how about assorted accessories for the above-mentioned.  And again, gift certificates always fit.  A shopping spree at his favorite sporting goods store would work.

For the kids...Legos.  Whatever they ask for, give them legos and let the little curtain crawler make their own.  Unless they start pitching them at one another they are relatively quiet.  If you really want to punish their parents (and who doesn’t?) give the little darlings the latest train, complete with bells and whistles.  Don’t forget the batteries.

Teenagers....Legos.  They just think they have outgrown them.  And it is likely that you cannot afford whatever they really want.  (Cars, state-of-the-art sound systems for their cars, spendy ski vacations, etc.)

Now for a more personal note....Mr. Lucky and I have made it through the year (one more time) without buying a Buick.  We actually sold one.  Wrap your head around that.  We did breakdown and buy a gorgeous side-by-side UTV.  A pretty red/white number. 

If you are in need of an ugly Christmas sweater just drop into your local Good Will or other thrift shop.  I breezed into a Good Will a few days ago and they had a rack right up front loaded with really double-ugly Christmas sweaters.  Rest assured.  I did not have to have any of them.  I stopped buying ugly stuff years ago.

Mr. Lucky (or anyone else for that matter) if you read this.  You know what I like.  The initials are BSB.

So...Happy Christmas to all and to all a Good Night.

                                       The Magic of Three

Starting with a back story....Mr. Lucky and I have been married for over 50 years. (Sigh).  Part of the reason for that is we try to avoid engaging in the act of towing vehicles together.  It's in the marriage commandments.  Thou shall not enter in vehicle towing as the tower or the towee.  

A few weeks ago Mr. Lucky and I were enjoying a warm, sunny day riding our four-wheelers on some back-country trails.  I use the word "trails" loosely here because in some places there had not been a tire track for probably 2 to 3 years.  No matter, though.  

As we scurried along all of a sudden my four-wheeler decided to quit.  Where I could coast (that would be on a downhill) I did.  Where I couldn't coast, which seemed to be more common,  Mr. Lucky towed me.  Yes.  The T-word.  I only crashed into him once.   We made it back to the pickup pretty much unscathed. The next day my wheeler got a brand new battery.  Problem solved.

The very next day we were out of town when our great and glorious Buick, affectionately known as Mrs. B, decided not to start.  Long story short a really nice mechanic called a really nice tow truck driver to rescue us.  The Buick, Mrs. B was towed.   Mr. Lucky and I were only involved as observers and, of course, check writers.  Paying for the tow was the least of our concerns at that time.  A few hours later the aforementioned mechanic got Mrs. B back on the road again.  Another check writing episode ensued.  Oh, well.

So, I kept wondering when the other shoe would drop.  When will we have the third towing experience?  That mystery was solved a couple of weeks later.  Mr. Lucky came in to report that one of his riding lawn mowers (#6) had a break-down and we were going to have to tow it.  WHAT?  This time I was assigned the position of tower.  With a limited amount of voice-raising and cussing we got-er-done.  

There are two take-aways here.  A marriage can survive towing.  All things happen in threes.

Christmas Without Guilt

So....it’s that time of the year for the silly habits of decorating, hanging stockings on the mantle with care, baking gingerbread cookies, shopping and wrapping gifts for everyone from the mailman to your mother-in-law’s former neighbor’s Aunt Sophie, and sending holiday greetings to folks you haven’t seen in awhile. 

It all sounds so simple, but you must remember that the decorations from last year or two years ago are just not quite right.  That will require a shopping trip to one of the many stores that started hawking Christmas “stuff” around Labor Day.  Hanging the stockings is ok, but bear in mind that someone (probably you) will have to fill them.  This is another case where size does matter.  Keep ‘em small.  I do point out to Mr. Lucky that rubies and such will fit into a small space.  

Then there is that pesky baking thing.  I think the thing to do is to support your local bakery.  Why mess up the kitchen with all that cookie dough and pie filling?  Besides half the folks you know are on the Keto Diet and the other half should be.  Another thought....you can’t improve on Reese’s Peanut Butter cups or Hersheys’ Kisses.  Buy them and save yourself some trouble.

Which brings to mind all the fuss over Christmas dinner.  If you happen to live within a 60 mile radius of a casino, chances are they will be offering a Christmas buffet, of course, for an inflated price.  An inflated price just might be a money saver for you, too.  If that doesn’t work for you check out your local churches. 

Then there is that gift exchange scenario.  It’s like insurance.  If nobody had it nobody would need it.  You skip buying me a gift and I’ll pass on buying you one.  Whaddya think?  Will that work for you?

How about Holiday Greetings.  It so complicated these days.  Do I say “Merry Christmas”?  Is Happy Holidays unacceptable? Or is it the other way around?  

Here’s my wish for you....Have Warm and Fuzzy St. Patrick’s Day. 

Some Things are Just Not Right

A few days ago as Mr. Lucky and I were leaving a parking lot after an exhausting shopping experience in a grocery store, I spotted a Dairy Queen sign. Mr. Lucky whipped the car into the nearest parking spot (thankfully it was empty).  We leaped out of the car and rushed in.  Well, guess what.  This was the “other Dairy Queen”.  No # 4 (bacon cheeseburger with fries and a drink) was available there.  In fact no  cheeseburger with or without fries.  We were able to find something to satisfy our hunger.  Remember we had just finished all that exhausting shopping.  Anyway.... A Dairy Queen without burgers and fries is just not right.  So be careful out there.  You could wind up in one of the other Dairy Queens.

How about polyester bandanas?  You know the colorful, frequently red or blue, bandanas like your grandpa had in his back pocket.  They were a handy item if you got a cut that he needed to tend to, or a tear to wipe away, or maybe he just needed it to wipe the chewing tobacco off his chin.  Nowadays you can find them in polyester.  Mr. Lucky says they are like blowing your nose on a plastic bag.  Anyway, they should be made with cotton.  It’s just not right.

And another thing....have you tried turkey sausage?  If you haven’t don’t bother.  It has the flavor and texture of cardboard.  Don’t get me wrong.  I love turkey, especially the drumstick part, just not turkey converted to something that is supposed to be made from pork.

Who doesn’t hate robo calls?  Have you noticed that if they don’t happen as you sit down to enjoy a nice meal they just when you’re getting out of the shower.  You run to the phone, dripping wet, half-wrapped in a towel to find out you can get a hot deal on a no-interest credit card.  Or maybe you can extend the warranty on your 15 year old car.  Robo calls are just not right.

How about man buns?  If you have to put your hair in a man bun maybe you should think about getting a haircut.  

While I’m going on about stuff that is not right I have to add Woman’s March.  I don’t get it.  Women have it better than they have ever had it and not because of women marching in the streets, creating havoc in cities all over the country, while wearing costumes depicting lady parts.  After all, there were children watching.

So...be careful out there that you don’t wind up in the other Dairy Queen with a polyester bandana, as you answer a robo call on your not very smart phone.

What’s in a Name?

Before I was born, or perhaps even dreamed about, my mother promised her dear old Aunt Lura that she would name her second (that’s right SECOND) daughter after her.  Hence the name Lura.  Apparently my father was ok with that because he had a cousin named Lura. The first daughter would be Judy.  A nice easy name to say and even spell.

So you may have noticed that the name is Lura.  Not Laura.  Not Lora. Not Lara.  Not Vera.  (You would be surprised at how many times people think they heard Vera, instead of Lura).  Now in these times with invented names, and I mean just that–names that were created for who knows what reason–how could anyone not be able to grasp something as simple as Lura.  Four letters, two syllables, for crying out loud. 

Anyway, growing up, one of my friend’s mothers always called me Laura.  When my friend attempted to correct her, she informed anyone within earshot that she would call me whatever she pleased.  Obviously she “pleased” to call me Laura.  Oh, well.  What are you gonna do?  She never called me late for dinner.  Along those same lines, next door growing up lived my aunt and uncle.  My aunt, (bless her heart) always called me Laura, much to my mother’s chagrin.  Try as she might Mom couldn’t convince her that my name was Lura. 

In this day and age with such names as, well, pick up your local paper and read the names listed in the birth records.  It sort of amazed me that a simple 2 syllable name like Lura can’t be pronounced or spelled.  In my earlier days I never corrected people, but answered the call, so to speak.  Well, heck, I still do.  What if I’m the prize winner.  Call me anything close and I’ll come running or at least walking fast.

Some folks have established clever ways of remembering what they deem to be a hard name to recall.  Are you familiar with the tune Tura-Lura, an Irish lullaby?  It is quite often sung to me.  It happened not long ago.  A sweet lab tech was preparing to draw my gin-infused blood for some testing and sang a few bars of it.  Some think of a fish lure-a.  Whatever works.  

It has not become a family tradition to be continued for future generations. In my family, anyway.  I have, at the last count, five (that’s right), five nieces and not a Lura in the bunch.  They might regret that when the will is read. 

If It Works Don’t Fix It

This catchy little phrase is a pearl of wisdom I sometimes forget.  Here’s why.  I have a slider cell phone.  You all know what that is.  You pick it up and slide it to open and talk or whatever.  I guess you can play games with it or calculate how much of tip you want to leave....and lots of other stuff, too.  I rarely need to know how many feet or inches are involved in a meter, but I can determine that on my phone also.  I mostly use it to make and receive phone calls. 

Anyway one day I happened to be looking at tracfone.com to renew the service on my slider phone.  The words “shop for phones” just popped right up.  Shop being the key word here I clicked on to, well,  “shop for phones”.  It was all innocent enough.  Right?  Not so much.  The next thing I knew I was ordering a brand new smartphone which would work in the Idaho back country where I live. (We do have hot and cold running water and electricity and an occasional cell tower). 

The phone arrived in super quick time.  Fed Ex Express.  Oh, my.  It’s got all the bells and whistles.  GPS, 3.4" touchscreen, 2 MP camera/Video recorder.  I charged the battery and set about setting it up.  The first step is to activate the phone and transfer service from the old phone to the new phone.  Well 9 hours later, 3 of those hours on the phone with two different tracfone techs it is determined that my phone is not compatible with my service area (Idaho back country).  Interestingly enough I checked this out when I ordered the phone.  Tracfone even has a handy little map so you can even view your service area.  Don’t believe everything you read.  

In the great phone shuffle I discovered that my old phone still has the service and minutes but the phone number was different.  Yet another call to the nice folks at tracfone to discover that my old number is no longer available.  Dang it.  I had just memorized it.  Oh, well. At least my old slider phone works.

The bad news is I have a new phone number and have to alert all my family and friends about it in the event they might want to call me.  The good news is that I have a new phone number and someone else will get all those robo calls. 

If it works, don't fix it.

It’s a Hair Thing

This is just a guess, but I think there are probably less than a dozen women who don’t fret about their hair.  Color, style, length, curly, not curly...the list goes on.

My own hair concerns started when I was about 7 or 8.  That’s when my mom pulled out the probably dull scissors to “trim” my bangs.  Well...after the first snip or two they weren’t even.  Grandma joined in the fun.  No improvement.  Mom took another whack at them. Turns out I was sporting bangs about 1/4 inch long.  I was the only girl in third grade wearing a nun’s habit.  By the way it takes several weeks for bangs to grow out.

That, however, was not my last really bad hair experience.  Back in the 70s I wanted to get my hair all wonderful for a trip to Mexico.  Puerto Vallarta.  Big event for me and my hairdo.  So I scheduled a beauty shop permanent.  A home permanent would just not do for this occasion.  The end result was the biggest mess of frizzed hair you could imagine.  Short of shaving my head the only fix was a wig.  Needless to say, I didn’t spend a lot of time in the pool on this vacation.  

So, who remembers the torture of brush rollers?  Back in the day they replaced pin curls which were created by your mom wrapping your locks around her finger and then jabbing a bobby pin into your scalp repeatedly.  My mom always said, “It’s ok.  They’ll loosen.”  Yeah, right.  My friend, Janet, had to endure ringlets (the Shirley Temple look).  Her mom wet her hair down with sugar water to create the ringlets.  The ringlets lasted about 27 minutes after the bobby pins were removed.  In the meantime she attracted bees and other flying insects.

Then we advanced to another form of torture.  Curling irons.  They were a multi-purpose tool.  You could burn yourself or someone else. And if you needed to start a fire you could just plug one in.  

There is the hunt for the perfect shampoo, conditioner to make your hair soft, gel to make your hair stiff, oil treatment, color, and devices to make your hair either straight or curly.  It seems if you have straight hair you want it curly.  If you happen to have curly hair you want it straight.  I don’t know.  Could that be a law of physics?  For every action there is a reaction kind of thing?

Speaking of color.....hair color, that is.  Only 1-2% of the world population is a natural redhead.  If you happen to be of English descent make that 4%, Scottish - 6 %, Irish, you can go to the head of the class with 10%.  That being the case 0% of the population has royal blue, purple or green hair, but you can buy hair color for these and a lot of other hair colors.  Remember in the 60's the lavender hair ladies?  Did they use food coloring?  Many of them had the aroma of Evening in Paris cologne about them as well.

While I’m ranting about hair color I should point out that men can get a product called “Just for Men” to color their greying beards.  Here’s a crazy thought! Shave it off, if you don’t like to reveal that you’re aging.

So I’m off to fix my hair for an evening of fun and hopefully no wind to mess it up.
   

Christmas Hint List

 I have taken it upon myself to prepare a Christmas Hint List for you young whippersnappers. (Please note...that’s Christmas HINT List, not Hit List). Anyway I have been at this Christmas stuff for many years. I have gone through the buying, making, sewing, baking, wrapping, decorating, spending, over-spending for many a year. 

So, in no particular order here are a few tips for y’all.

Christmas Stockings...Think small. If you buy or make one that is 29 inches long you might have to fill it. Not so much fun. Look for something no longer than the palm of your hand. The same thing holds true for those handy gift bags. Look for the smallest one that will hold the gift item. I find an envelope works the best. Keep reading.

Perfume Buying... If she has a favorite fragrance find out what it is. If she likes White Shoulders (hint here for Mr. Lucky) don’t get her Eternity. The same rule applies when buying for your fella. It took me several years to convince Mr. Lucky that Old Spice was his favorite.
Fruit Cake... I love it. The folks who are always complaining about it obviously have never tasted my Mom’s or my Aunt Mary’s. I have entertained to idea of trying my hand at making them. That was before I discovered it might require a bank loan just to stock up on the ingredients. So if someone makes, or even buys you a fruit cake. Suck it up and say thank you. Then you can send it on to me.



Gift Certificates... They always fit. Or do they? If he is not likely to change a light bulb don’t bother getting him a gift card from a hardware store. Maybe one from a men’s clothing store would be more appropriate. If the receiver is not likely to dig in the dirt they might not be to tickled to get a gift card from Plants Are Us. Don’t be buying a gift certificate for a year’s membership to a gym unless you know this is what they want.

Decorating... Remember this one important thing. If you, or someone you live with, put it up someone has to take it down. Hopefully before St. Patrick’s Day. Clark Griswall doesn’t live here anymore.

The Big Dinner... The average Christmas Dinner will contain about 4000 calories per plate. I am not making this up. It might not be necessary to cook and bake for three days ahead of Christmas. It’s ok to cut back on some of the goodies.

So... Now have yourself a Happy Christmas and a Merry New Year!

Coping With Excess

Somehow I reached excess without ever noticing that I was passing through satisfaction.   Before you credit me with this pearl of wisdom I want you to know this brilliant phrase was coined by Ashleigh Brilliant, right out of one of his books.  No...I am not making that up.  He created and was smart (brilliant) enough to copyright some of his sayings.  Many have appeared on t-shirts. And that is his real name.  I researched it.

Anyway, back to the point I hope to make....excess.  I mentioned Mr. Brilliant’s book.  Of course, I have a copy of one of them and hundreds more on a variety of subjects.  I have books on sewing, quilting, woodworking, cooking, gardening, history, genealogy,  graphology...to name a few topics.  I am the proud owner of several books by Celia Rivenbark, Dave Barry, Erma Bombeck, Jack Olsen, and even Mark Twain.  I am the not so proud owner of a couple penned by Bill Cosby.  Oh, well.  I can even scare up a dictionary (you know...the paper version of Google), a thesaurus or two and several real hold-in-your-hand atlases.

Having made my point about books it’s probably time to start weeding them out.  Not only the books, but I can’t close my sock drawer and my t-shirt supply is way out of hand.  As noted I have a supply of books on sewing, quilting, woodworking, etc.   In addition, I have the raw materials for sewing, quilting, woodworking, gardening and cooking.  I have enough pots and pans to create 5 or 6 meals without needing to run the dishwasher.  Need a shovel?  I have 4 or 5 of them in a variety of different sizes.  Wood and wood scraps?  Got it covered.  Fabric?  Let’s not go there.  After donating a pickup load to charity I still have several tubs.  The subject of shoes is off-limits.  We really don’t want to go there.

So it’s time for WWJD.  Let me be clear–I’m not looking for a divine intervention.  I mean  What Would Julie Do?  My friend, I’ll call her Julie (because that’s her name), is a master of non-clutter.  On her dining room table you’ll not find the usual assortment of stuff–yesterday’s mail, glasses, both reading and sun, keys, coffee mug, a stray napkin, and a newspaper clipping of an obituary from last February.  Instead you’ll see a seasonally appropriate floral arrangement carefully placed on a freshly pressed doily.  She doesn’t even stack up her excess junk and wait for a yard sale.  However, rumor has it that her husband’s new ladder turned up missing after a yard sale.  She dejunks regularly.  People are skeptical about buying gifts for her because they’ll find them later for sale at the Salvation Army Thrift Shop. 

So, my only hope about this excess thing is to start a declutter movement.  As Mr. Lucky has pointed out, the way to start a declutter operation is to stop buying, well, cluttery stuff.  So if you see me at a yard sale do not sell me a thing.  (Wink).

By the way, you can probably find a copy of Ashleigh Brilliants book, I Have Abandoned My Search for Truth, and Am Now Looking for A Good Fantasy, and several others on Amazon.  I am not ready to give up my copy of it, no matter what Julie says.

Remembering Bonnie

A friend once told me that you are allowed in this life one good job, one good marriage, one good dog. Mr. Lucky and I have had a good marriage, jobs that we were good at (if that counts) and one over-the-top good dog. Bonnie. The angels came for her a couple of days ago.

She was looking for a home along with two other dogs when we went to an animal shelter to have a look. The other two dogs were more interested in barking at something on the other side of the fence. But not this fifty pound, 6 month old Australian Shepherd mix. She came over to us and sat on Mr. Lucky’s feet. That pretty much clinched the deal, as long as Fred approved of her. He did. He took her under his wing, and taught her lots of things...mostly good. The most important thing for her to know about was come-in cookies. That would be that bribery thing, just for coming in when you were called. A few days after she adopted us, the folks from the animal shelter called to see how it was working out. Did we want to keep her? After only 3 days ...oh, yeah. We were her people.

Along with the come-in cookie thing Bonnie had a special way of training us. At 3 o’clock every afternoon she reminded us it was her dinner time. She also liked her breakfast served at 6 AM. After her breakfast she would make her rounds through the neighborhood. One of the neighbors was trained so well he provided her with treats twice a day. I don’t know for sure what she did if he wasn’t home. She probably worked her magic on someone else.

You probably have seen dogs retrieve balls, frisbies and the like. Bonnie was not one of those dogs. If you threw something for her she would just look at you like "Oh, sure. I don’t want that. Thanks, anyway." Folks would ask if she liked to swim. Well, no. She didn’t. Although, she never passed up an opportunity to get wet clear up to her ankles. She was big on wading.
  

Her special skill was to be there for us. She was happy to see us when we got home, barked if she found something out of place, and was always there to comfort us for any reason. If we had an unpleasant experience she knew it and reacted as only she could. She didn’t limit this skill to just us.   Bonnie knew when other folks were having a rough time for whatever reason. A real people person kind of dog.

 She enjoyed 4-wheeler rides. We outfitted our wheelers for her comfort, too. In fact, Mr. Lucky bought one to color coordinate with her. Camouflage.

Bonnie was a great traveler. She spent 6 winters in Arizona with us and touched the hearts of many of our Arizona cronies. You know who you are.

She was indeed ONE GOOD DOG.

Flea Marketing

Flea Marketing

Much to Mr. Lucky’s chagrin I like flea markets. It’s not that I am a fan of fleas, mind you, it’s junk. Plain and simple. You have probably heard the saying "One person’s junk is another’s treasure".

So...moving along...there is a big flea market up the road a piece from where we stay in Arizona. No. Settle down. It’s not Quartzite. Mr. Lucky caved and took me there a few days ago. An interesting thing about flea markets is that they are all pretty much the same. If you were dropped out of the sky in the middle of one you would be hard pressed to identify the town in which you had landed. Shopping malls are like that, too.

In one booth I heard myself saying to another bargain hunter, "This looks just like my attic". Oh, my. There was an assortment of figurines (dust collectors), shoes and boots, bags of all kinds - carryon, handbags, duffel bags, for carrying your duffels, and plain old suitcases, lamps and books. A couple of things that I have that this vendor was missing were trophies, old motorcycle helmets, and, of course fabric.

Flea markets all have someone selling dolls, crocheted treasures, knives, tools - both old and new, shoes - old and new, CDs and VHS tapes - all old. Then you’ll have the jewelry vendors. This flea market must have had cheap space rent for anyone hawking jewelry. You could have thrown a marshmallow from one jewelry vendor and hit another one...even with bad aim.

I noticed that many of the treasure sellers had captured the technology of the times. Some of them never took their eyes off their gadgets long enough to attempt to sell something. The days are long and hard in the vending world.

I wanted to do my part to help support the economy so I felt obligated to buy a dab of "inexpensive" jewelry.  It will look good in my jewelry box.

Looking for Mud

Several years ago, like 10, Mr. Lucky and I strolled into the local motorcycle shop and bought two brand new, shiny 4-wheelers. Ok. Mr. Lucky bought two brand new, shiny 4-wheelers. Mine is blue. Mr. Lucky settled on camouflage. (Some Californians refer to them as "quads".) Four Wheelers are what you graduate to when motorcycle riding is no longer a real good option. My last ride on my Yamaha 175 Enduro resulted in me on the ground somewhere between a rock and a hard place.  Mr. Lucky wisely

thought maybe my motorcycle riding days were behind me.


An interesting point is that our wheelers are just now nicely broken in and some of our cronies are upgrading to side-by-sides....or as I like to call them "baby jeeps". They come equipped with heaters, sound systems, radial tires, and a host of other options. Did I mention doors and windshields?

It would follow that we like to ride our wheelers once in a while. I sort of lean toward riding in what I like to call "perfect weather".  That would be a nice morning following a rainy night.  Not too hot...not too cold.  Rainy nights equal mud. If there is an abundance of mud there is likely to be lots less dust.  Dust, of course, is the enemy.

So...a few weeks ago we loaded our wheelers.   Ok. Mr. Lucky loaded our wheelers, along with the necessary sandwiches, water, soda pop, Vienna sausages, and spare clothes/coats. There may have even been a cold beer someplace.   Off we went to meet some of our buddies.... in search of mud.

We found some. We went so far as to test it for depth. It was adequate. While poking around with our sticks (not our wiener-roaster sticks) we were unable to locate any lost treasures, dead things, or riding partners.

Our riding adventures sometimes are rich with wildlife sightings. One of our cronies caught a glimpse of a moose. Luckily none of us had Moose Burgers in our lunch packs. It’s hard to explain to an 1800 pound moose why you are eating their cousins.

Some things we just can’t seem to get away from...even in the woods. Like road construction. Do the road construction folks just set up their clever little signs when they suspect that Mr. Lucky and I will be coming along? Makes me wonder.




How about a cabin in the woods? We found one of those, too. I am not ready to move to far away from a grocery store. What if I ran out of milk?

So if you happen to be in the woods. Look for me. I’ll be the one stuck in the mud wearing a burgundy colored helmet.

　

Change is Good

Change is Good

I have noticed that some folks buy, trade, sell, and otherwise obtain automobiles with much more frequency than Mr. Lucky and I do. I have cars that I have owned longer than some of my shoes....and I’m a shoe nut.   

Because we have plenty of places to park cars, pickups, motor homes, motorcycles, and 4 wheelers I decided it was time to buy yet another car;  one of those ever-popular SUVs. This one will tow nicely behind the motor home and has comfortable back seat for Bonnie. The most important thing to consider is the color. Well that, and Bonnie’s comfort. The tow vehicle must, (I repeat MUST) match the color of your motor home. We have been towing a blue pickup behind the blue/white motor home, so a white Tracker will do quite nicely. Now I have to take back all those things I have said about white vehicles. Never mind that I said that people who favored white cars didn’t have much, if any, imagination. Forget all that. I once made similar comments about vests and wearing vests. Then I got one. Needless to say I like vests.



Anyway, back to the subject...automobiles and the like. Let me tell you there is nothing more unsavory than a $250,000 motor home towing a BMW that doesn’t match. It’s just plain unacceptable. Fortunately Mr. Lucky and I don’t have to be bothered by that. No $250,000 moho or, for that matter, a BMW. But if we do find ourselves in that situation you can rest assured the BMW will match the motor home.

Moving along, meet my newly acquired, color coordinated Geo Tracker. I usually name most stuff I buy, build, or otherwise acquire. I started to call it "Bentley". That just didn’t fit. Maybe it’s because one of my cronies has a doxie named Bentley. Mr. Lucky refers to it as "Tracker". Not really catchy and hardly original, but when I call it by that name, it comes. What more could you ask for? So "Tracker" it is.

Speaking of vehicles and their colors, Tracker is the first non-red or reddish car I have purchased since 1973. That was a Buick Skylark. A muscle car.... and a thing of beauty. Two door, hardtop, V8 350. The ashtray got full so I traded it off for a really red Toyota Celica. Since then we have had 2 more Buicks, both red, and a reddish Firebird. Change is good, but I have come out of two different grocery stores looking for a red car only to have a head-slap moment and then I grasp onto the idea that I wasn’t looking for a red car.

Now that the spell has been broken, I might be able to buy more non-red cars. I won’t let anything but common sense stand in my way. Oh, yeah. And money.