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.