Collards, Cornbread, and a Love Doll

Sunday evening I went over to my friend John's for dinner and a movie. We do this fairly regularly since he has a big, crisp screen on his wall and I have a Netflix subscription. Sometimes we dine out, and sometimes we fix dinner at his house. This time, John prepared a delicious dinner before we watched the movie I took along.

John grilled thick, juicy pork chops outdoors, and he also fixed collard greens, fresh corn, and iron skillet cornbread. After a satisfying meal, we settled down to watch the movie. I have to give Netflix credit for having a great selection of DVD's. I've watched many films that, otherwise, I would not have had easy access to view. More and more classic, foreign, documentary, and obscure films that would have been too unprofitable for the VHS format are being released on DVD's.

Last night we watched an enchanting film called Lars and the Real Girl. I've enjoyed nearly every film featuring Ryan Gosling, and when I saw that Patricia Clarkson also appeared in the movie, I decided to give it a try. Ryan Gosling plays Lars, a painfully shy loner who lives in a garage behind the home of his brother and sister-in-law. Lars orders a life-size love doll from a website, not for sex but for companionship. He believes that his new friend Bianca is real, proudly introduces her to his shocked brother & sister-in-law, and from that point on the film is a delightful journey.

An astute doctor (played by Patricia Clarkson) instructs the bewildered brother to play along with Lars' delusion, assuring him that it will pass when Lars no longer needs it. The reaction of the townsfolk to their newest citizen is heartwarming, and soon Lars is taking part in social activities with Bianca in tow.

This film speaks comically but eloquently about the healing power of acceptance, kindness, and love. I can't help but wonder how much more splendid our world would be if we treated each other with such tender compassion. Please add Lars and the Real Girl to your short list of must-see movies. Your time will be covered by Planet Bill's guarantee of satisfaction, and if you feel your ninety-five minutes were wasted each moment will be refunded. This film is a jewel!

(Note: you may click here for your own love doll, but be forewarned that this is an adults-only site!)

Cool Cat in Texas Celebrates Birthday

Happy Birthday to Scott!!!

My pal Scott in Houston has a birthday on Sunday, June 29. You can drop by and wish him a happy day by clicking here.

I started dropping in on Scott's blog last year. He's a faithful daily blogger, and his place always has a thought-provoking quotation and a lot of gratitude for life. He's an artist, and he occasionally posts one of his latest creations, and there's also a link on his blog to a website devoted to his work.

Through Scott's blog I've met many new friends, so it may be his birthday, but I'm the one who has received the gifts. Sweet!

Scott has been an inspiration to me in my own recovery, and many of the old photographs you see throughout my blog are courtesy of the work he offered to do to transfer them to digital images for me. He's just an all-around good guy.

Have a great day, Scott, and keep coming back! And here's what Blogthings says about your birth date...

Your Birthdate: June 29

You have the mind of an artist, even if you haven't developed the talent yet. Expressive and aware, you enjoy finding new ways to share your feelings. You often feel like you don't fit in - especially in traditional environments. You have big dreams. The problem is putting those dreams into action. Your strength: Your vivid imagination Your weakness: Fear of failure Your power color: Coral Your power symbol: Oval Your power month: November

What Does Your Birth Date Mean?

Back to the Salt Mines

Yoo Hoo! I'm still here on Planet Bill, but I've been making daily trips to another galaxy. After three years of a job-free lifestyle I am now pulling on my grown-up pants and wearing shoes that require a shoehorn again each morning. Blogging has been a low priority, although I've been making an effort to visit your blogs. Even that has been haphazard, I'm afraid, and I haven't always had time to leave a comment. Soon, though, the transition will be complete, and I'll settle into a daily routine.

The job dropped out of the blue and into my lap. I was sitting here in my home one morning, minding my own business and probably visiting your website, when my phone rang. The local office manager of a worldwide service organization was leaving her position, and had recommended me for her job. The fellow calling me, the chairman of the steering committee, wanted to know if I would be interested in the job. This seemed like one of those God Moments I've heard people talk about, so I bowed to the Greater Reason and went to an interview a few days later.

I worked closely with the departing manager through yesterday, and there's been a lot to learn. So far, so good. Here are just a few of the things I like about the job:

• it's in a climate-controlled environment


• I work with people all day, in person and on the phone, but I work alone


• there are a lot of balls to juggle, so the work is interesting


• there's candy


• I get to order lots of fun stuff


• there's a 24-hour crisis hotline


• the region, ranging from urban to rural, is large


• I get to dispense a lot of hope and encouragement


• I have a lot of responsibility


• I am extremely grateful for this opportunity to help others

Thanks to the efforts my HP and I have been putting out over the past year, I am able to handle stress much better these days. This calmness and detachment came in handy today when I was ready to lock up and leave. The second telephone line went verplunkt, and I was able to contact the repair service and get the crisis hotline transferred to another number without getting agitated. There's a temporary fix in place, and the phone company will solve the problem tomorrow morning. And since I sat on Ma Bell's knee at one time, I know the magic words to use tomorrow morning if the situation has not been resolved: I'm filing a complaint with the State Corporation Commission. Those are the magic words when you are at odds with the phone company in Virginia.

The office is on an upper floor in a large office building. The state rents a great deal of space for its department of Taxation, and one floor is leased to a large law firm. There also a Hispanic radio station that broadcasts from the building. Who knows what other enterprises operate from this structure? I'll keep my eyes peeled.

Yesterday when I approached the elevators to leave, there was a tiny, thin woman waiting for an elevator. We shared it on the way down. As we exited toward the parking lot, I noticed that this woman needed a shave. It was a weensy man with a unisex hairdo. If a celebrity, his picture might appear on this site. He headed toward a motor scooter parked next to the building.

The telephone problems this evening were foreshadowed by various technical calamities throughout the day, including a facsimile machine that continuously jammed. I had an urgent fax to send, so I dropped in on the law firm next door to my office. There was the miniature man/woman. His name is Paul, and he is a very nice fellow. He cheerfully allowed me to use his fax machine, and I complimented his scooter. He beamed, and told me he's only had it a couple of months. It gets one hundred miles per gallon. Paul is my new hero.

That's what I've been doing lately. How about you? In other blogger news, Our Girl in Amsterdam became engaged on her birthday last weekend. She and her betrothed are planning an Autumn Wedding in New England.

Speaking of birthdays, Someone Very Special will celebrate a birthday this Sunday, so mark your calendars and drop by his place for some cake and ice cream on the 29th.

I hope to post again soon. I have something in mind already. Think Murphy Bed.

The Quiet Man

This Father's Day I am revisiting a post I wrote about my father last year. I'm grateful that he was my dad. He loved my mother, and he loved me. Only now, as a grown man, can I appreciate his remarkable courage, compassion, humility, and sweet nature. I am proud of my father, and I miss him.

(Our scene opens in a large, homey kitchen in an American suburban home in the mid-1970's. A small family - father, mother, and teenage son - are sitting at the Early-American style round wooden table having dinner)

Son: We learned about this French luxury oceanliner, The Normandie, today. It caught on fire in New York harbor during World War Two and sank because of all the water they pumped in it trying to put out the fire. Isn't that neat? Have you heard of it?

Father: (chews, swallows, pauses) I was on it.

Son: (speechless)



How in the hell do you become old enough to drive a car without knowing this about your own father? After a few initial sputters reminiscent of our pushmower, my engine roared to life. I peppered my dad with questions as liberally as I had the Swiss steak which now sat before me, untouched and forgotten.

The French luxury liner, The Normandie, made its maiden voyage from France to New York in 1935. She was the sleekest, fastest, most artfully decorated ship of her day. The Normandie was the largest object man had ever set in motion. She was the pride of France. She was the pinnacle of the era's shipbuilding technology.

The Normandie was seized by the United States in December, 1941, and was immediately turned over to the Navy to be re-outfitted for troup transport. My dad, a young sailor, was assigned to this task. The ship caught fire and sank in February, 1942.

As I continued to poke and pry, my father told me that he was in a briefing in the childrens' playroom when the fire broke out. The playroom, he recalled, had padded leather walls so that rambunctious children would not injure themselves if they fell. The sailors were evacuated from the ship, and then sent back onboard to assist with firefighting. The irony is that the fire did not cause the demise of this great ship; the amount of water pumped inside to quell the fire caused the ship to capsize and sink harborside.

This story is typical of my dad's reluctance to talk about his past. To this day he remains a cryptogram to me in many ways. The bits that I coaxed from him revealed that he led a fascinating life. Through crafty questioning and wheedling I learned that my dad went with a friend to a Navy recruiting station and lied about their ages so they could join the action in WWII. He was assigned to the Atlantic Theater, and reassigned to the Pacific after the Normandie went belly-up. Assigned to a destroyer, the USS Buchanan, he was in many battles, including Iwo Jima, Guadalcanal, Okinawa, Bougainville, Cape Esperance, and others. He never talked about these battles. They were listed on the framed USS Buchanan scorecard on the wall that I had passed by every day without a glance.

The Buchanan was one of the first ships that entered Tokyo Harbor following the surrender of Japan, and his ship participated in the surrender ceremonies. He said the Japanese citizens were terrified by the sight of US sailors in Tokyo. He saw sumo wrestling matches and God knows what else before his ship was given the task of going up and down Japan's coastline picking up POW's. The only thing he would say about this was "Bill, they didn't even look human when we got them back." Those few words still make the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

After the war, he became a Navy diver, a "frogman", a member of the elite Underwater Demolition Team (and, later, the UDT/SEAL team). At the time, there were four UDT's; two in California, and two in Norfolk, Virginia. He was first in San Diego, and I know nothing of his life there. He was then reassigned to Norfolk, where he met and wed my mother.

By the time I happened upon the scene, my dad was an elder member of this branch of the service, and he instructed younger men in the art of utilizing finesse and perfect timing with explosives. He was respected and admired by the men in his charge, but at least one told my mom that if he ever blew his top, they shaped up fast. He had a long fuse in general, but had no tolerance for the careless grab-assing of cocky young men. My dad had a dangerous job. He had seen buddies killed in combat, lost a man in a fall from a helicopter during a training maneuver, and had a diver alongside him eaten by a shark during a nightime mission. He told me the only parts they recovered for burial were a hand and a piece of thigh. He knew the dangers of the ocean. Sometimes the phone would ring in the darkness of night, and my dad would be gone in a flash. My mother and I didn't know where he was going or when he would return. But he always came home to us - thank you, God.

His reticence was not confined to his years of military service. I learned more about his family from his sister, Therza, than I ever learned from him. For example, Aunt Therza told me that their oldest sister, Olivia, died in the great influenza epidemic of 1918. My mother nor I had ever heard of Olivia. Even the circumstances of his mother's death when he was six are cloudy; he always said she died of tuberculosis, but Aunt Therza told me she died following a horseback riding accident. He did not like to talk about his childhood, and was adept at avoiding questions. Like the sea he loved, he held his secrets close.

He was a quiet man. He enjoyed simple things. He liked to laugh. He did not want many possessions. He cherished my mother and me, and he provided us with a good life. There was always plenty of food on our table, even if boats and campers never cluttered our driveway. The vehicles may have been old, but were always bought new and never financed. Our house was not large, but it was paid in full and we lived in a nice neighborhood. He and my mother taught me that friends and family do not wear out with time like material things.

I grin everytime I think about my friend Suzanne and my dad together. Once one started chuckling they were off to the races. Chuckles and giggles turned into side-clutching gales of laughter. My friends adored him, and he made each one feel welcome with an easy-going manner, a twinkle in his eye, and questions that engaged them in conversations that told them that he found them as interesting as they found him. He was never boastful, and was always kind. Meeting him casually, you would never guess the risks he took every time he headed off to work. No one would dream that he had been trained to kill with his bare hands.

I think my friend Tracey put it best when, following his death, she turned to me and remarked "You know, Bill, if I had to describe your dad in two words I would say 'humble' and 'gentle' ."

I couldn't have said it better.

Bulgarian Rhapsody

One of my treats this past Sunday was getting an impromptu phone call from Wendy. Wendy is my pal Suzanne's mother, and we call each other from time to time. When I was growing up, Wendy was the Interesting Mom who taught foreign languages at a local Tidewater college, practiced Transcendental Meditation, and served green spaghetti with green sauce to her daughter's unsuspecting guests. She is still filled with a love of learning, and took a Japanese language course as well as folk dancing lessons following her retirement from a Norfolk university.

One of the topics Wendy brought up was her daughter's upcoming trip to Bulgaria - had I heard about it? Yes, I had. Wendy expressed her concern that Suzanne would decide to move to Bulgaria, because it would make calling her by phone even more inconvenient because of yet another time zone differential. She did allow, however, that the folk dancing opportunities would be richer. Suzanne currently lives in Amsterdam, after spending about six years or so in Spain.

Suzanne and her boyfriend, Brett, have made several forays to various places in Europe, but Bulgaria is the most obscure country they have included in their travels. I had a vague idea about its location, knowing it was near Greece, but had to look it up on a map to pinpoint it. Oh, there it is, on the Black Sea! It's not a country I hear mentioned much in the news, but I remember hearing about a change in their political climate several years ago. Tourism in Bulgaria is growing, and I was eager to hear from Suzanne about her impressions of this wallflower of Europe. This morning I got my wish when Suzanne sent me a message from her hotel, and I asked her if I could share it with all of you. I think you will find it an interesting read, so here you go without further ado.

WOW!!!

We're fascinated. This is really something different! We are day two in Veliko Turnovo. It took us just about a day to get here from Amsterdam. On the down side, the town is shrinking and a bit decrepit, lots of faded paint jobs and abandoned buildings. On the up side, gosh so much. What's not to love. The people are gentle and curious, eager to learn English and friendly.

The town's history is considerable, and monuments dating back to this city's glorious medieval heritage dot the surrouding hillside. We are staying in a very upmarket hotel by Bulgarian standards. Ninety euros a night is exorbidant in a town where the best rooms go for 50 euros a night, and many a room can be had for 20 euros or less. However, this must be the most modern, chic, lovely, well-equipped hotel in a 100 mile radius, and we are well-pleased to be paying the rate. When visiting a depressed area, it's kind of nice to come back to something upmarket at the end of the day. This is really in the chic boutique hotel category.( I cringe to think of the horrid hotel room you could end up with in Amsterdam for 90 euros a night.)

Things are astoundingly cheap here. Brett and I dined at a lovely local tavern last night. I had a crisp white Bulgarian wine, Brett a local lager. He had some local dish of pork Kavarma, a stew sort of a thing, and I had an innovative stuffed trout. We sat on a spotless patio at a cute polished picnic style table next to a box of bright impatiens and gazed over the clay rooftops at the nearby lush green hills. The entire bill came to 24 leva, or twelve euros. In Amsterdam we pay more than that for a snack from the local taco hut. Brett and I figure on paying around 45 euros when we dine out at a restaurant, and we don't go to the Ritz.

While dining there an American approached us, astounded and grateful to hear English. He was visiting VT with his wife, who is from here. He told us the name of another town that sounds intriguing, Povdiv, with Roman monuments and a thriving art community, but three hours from here, so we'll save that for the next trip.

We saw the Veliko Turnovo light show from the rooftop of our hotel last night. It's a breathtaking light and music extravaganza that involves the entire excavated fortress collection of buildings...and ...I can't even begin to describe it. Maybe I was tired, but I was moved to tears, it was so beautifully executed, so professionally done. There seems to be a native intelligence among the people here. I find it interesting that they excel, as a nation, in mathematics.

We've observed that the native television shows have better production values, especially where lighting is concerned, than homegrown Netherlands TV.

We're off to explore the fortress. Just in to escape a sudden sun shower, but it seems to have cleared.

Ciao!
Your Wandering Expats
Suzanne and Brett

Blue Blazes

Has it been hot where you live? It's been swelteringly hot here. My grandmother would have said that it's "hot as blue blazes." We stand a good chance today of breaking a temperature record for the fourth day in a row. I wilt in the heat. My discomfort says I was made to follow the climate, but my wallet says "no."

I was invited to go to the beach this past weekend, and that was a treat. Sheldon likes to go to Virginia Beach on summer Saturdays, and he asked me to go along. His son, Ricky, met us at the beach, and we spent most of the day enjoying the sun, water, and ocean breezes. The water was cold and refreshing. Sheldon looked at his brand of eye-candy, and I enjoyed my own. No harm in looking, right? There was this one fellow in particular... but I digress.

On the way back home, we rode by my childhood home. Boy, I wish I owned a digital camera. Everything looked so pretty. They've had a mild spring in Tidewater, too, with plenty of rain, so everything was lush & green. Many of the trees are now fifty years old. My boyhood house looked neat as a pin. Our brick barbeque chimney and my dad's beloved shed were still in the backyard. It all looked almost exactly as it did when my parents lived there. You could tell that the folks who live there love their home, which makes it nice for me. I assume that the same people who bought it back in the 80's still own it. I also saw my mother's old car sitting in our backyard neighbor's driveway. I sold Mom's car to Ruby after my mother died, and Ruby still drives it. I hadn't been in my old neighborhood in a long while, and it reminded me of how lucky I was to grow up the way I did.

For your hot weather diversion, I've included a quiz from Blogthings. I like their quizzes, because they are so scientific. You can really base your life on whatever the quiz results reveal about you. Before you move on to the Beach Test and the Fridge Quiz, let's take a moment for an important announcement.

Tomorrow, June 11, will mark seventeen years of sobriety for Pam! Pam has a Great Dane named Theo, so as far as Theo is concerned it's really one-hundred & nineteen years. Either way, it's a long time, and it shows that a twelve-step program of recovery can work. That's why these anniversary dates are so important; they give hope to those who still suffer. Pam is an inspiration and a friend, and I love dropping by her site each day. Sometimes her posts are funny, sometimes they're touching; they are always honest and real. Pam's a friendly Texas gal, so click here if you'd like to say "howdy" and wish her well.

What the Beach Test Says About You

You tend to be a very social person. You live for your friends and family. You can get social burnout occasionally though. You aren't a total extrovert. You have cold feet when it comes to love. You have a lot of uncertainty until you convince yourself to dive right in. You are deeply passionate about several things in your life. You're not passionate about much... and the few passions you have are truly obsessions. Your sense of humor is intellectual and obscure. Only really well educated people get your jokes.

The Beach Test

Next, let's take a look at the refrigerator...

What Your Fridge Says About You

You like to be surrounded by things you love. You aren't exactly greedy, but you can be materialistic at times. You tend to be a fairly thrifty person. You splurge occasionally, but you're mostly a saver. You are a very adventurous person. You love to try new things, and you get bored very easily. You are responsible, together, and mature. You act like an adult, even when you don't feel like it. You are likely married, possibly with kids.

What Do the Contents of Your Refrigerator Say About You?

Kids? Married? Uh-oh! That must have happened during a blackout.

Cats and Coons

I had an interesting telephone conversation with my buddy Sheldon this evening. Sheldon has lived in his house for about twenty years, and he takes an evening walk around his neighborhood when he isn't working. I've walked with him a few times, and most of the neighborhood cats dash out to greet him when they see him coming. Sheldon knows them by name, and he spends a couple of moments with each one catching up on current events.

Pete the Cat lives at one of the houses that Sheldon passes on his walk. Pete's house has a large tree in the yard, and there are two or three raccoons that live in the tree. Pete's owners put food for their cat out on the front porch, and they have told Sheldon that they've seen Pete and the raccoons sitting side by side eating from time to time.

During our phone conversation, Sheldon told me that as he was walking by, he saw a raccoon on the porch of this house near the food bowl. The raccoon picked up the bowl of cat food with its front paws, and walked upright off the porch and down the side of the house, carefully holding the bowl. The raccoon stopped about midway along the side of the house, set the bowl down and ate a couple of bites, and then picked the bowl back up and continued around the corner to the back of the house.

Sheldon said he wondered whether the homeowners came out the next day and thought "Now, how in the hell did Pete carry that bowl into the backyard?"

This story made me recall a couple of things. First, I thought of my pet raccoon, Jake, who lived in a raised hutch in our backyard. I used to love to watch him eat, because he was so dextrous with his little black hands (paws, I know). He would daintily pick up each bite of food and dip it in his water bowl before he put it in his mouth. His fur was very coarse, and he didn't like to be petted like a cat or a dog; he liked to be stroked from the back to the front.

I also thought about the documentary, Grey Gardens, specifically the scene where Little Edie takes plates of food up to the attic to feed the raccoons that come in through the holes in the roof. Grey Gardens concerns the lives and living conditions of Edith ("Big Edie") Bouvier Beale and her daughter, "Little Edie" Beale in their crumbling and squalid East Hampton mansion in the early 1970's. It's a bizarre film, especially since it's a true story. If you haven't experienced it, you must see it.

p.s. keep your pets away from wild animals!


more cat pictures

Center Square

Earlier today, I was trying to decide whether this was a Serious Sunday, or a Silly Sunday. Today would have been my parents' 52nd wedding anniversary (I hope someone up there baked them a cake), so I thought about writing about their marriage, but decided to wait.

For no particular reason I thought of Paul Lynde today and started poking around on the web to see what I could find. I remember as a child being delighted and astonished that such a flamer was a popular television personality. Some of us remember his appearances on Bewitched, but most remember him for his rapid-fire one-liners on Hollywood Squares. I'm going to keep things light by posting a bunch of his quips.

However, I wasn't surprised to learn that, as funny as he seemed on camera, his life ran on a different track. He died at the age of 55. His death was mysterious, and his life was marred and scarred by alcohol abuse. He is buried in Knox County, Ohio, beside his long-time companion, Bing Davidson. whose accidental death in 1965 was witnessed by Mr. Lynde.

Today, lets take a look at his legacy of laughter...

Q: You're the world's most popular fruit. What are you?
Lynde: Humble.

Q: What is said to be wasted on the young?
Lynde: A whipping.

Q: It is considered in bad taste to discuss two subjects at nudist camps. One is politics. What is the other?
Lynde: Tape measures.

Q: True or false? At a recent hearing, opponents of fluorinated water argued that too much fluorine in a person's system can cause an uncontrollable desire for sex.
Lynde: (shouting) HEY CULLIGAN MAN!

Q: Why do the Hell's Angels wear leather?
Lynde: Because chiffon wrinkles so easily.

Q: Who stays pregnant for a longer period of time, your wife or your elephant?
Lynde: Who told you about my elephant?

Q: When you pat a dog on its head he will usually wag his tail. What will a goose do?
Lynde: Make him bark.

Q: In Alice in Wonderland, who kept crying, "I'm late, I'm late"?
Lynde: Alice. And her mother is sick about it.

Q: Which is better looking, a pixie or a fairy?
Lynde: I'll go for the fairy.

Q: In The Wizard of Oz, the Lion wanted courage and the Tin Man wanted a heart. What did the Scarecrow want??
Lynde: He wanted the Tin Man to notice him.

Q: Who are more likely to be romantically responsive. Women under thirty or women over thirty?
Lynde: I don't have a third choice?

Q: Paul, how many men on a hockey team?
Lynde: Oh, about half.

Q: What would the Lone Ranger always leave behind with the damsel in distress he'd saved?
Lynde: A masked baby!

Q: Why was Nathan Hale hung?
Lynde: Heredity.

Q: Is it normal for Norwegians to talk to trees?
Lynde: As long as that's as far as it goes.

Q: Why do sheep sleep huddled up?
Lynde: Because Little Boy Blue is a weirdo!

Q: Paul, what profession is the most common for prostitutes after they retire?
Lynde: Smuggling.

Q: Does Mark Spitz believe swimming in the nude helps you go faster?
Lynde: Well, it's easier to steer.

Q: True or false: in the recent world kissing contest in England, two contestants were disqualified when they got too passionate.
Lynde: Yes, but they went on to win in three other categories.

Q: True or false: Paul Revere had sixteen children.
Lynde: From one midnight ride?

Q: You’re equipped with a pick, a sieve, and a shallow pan. What are you about to do?
Lynde: Joan Crawford's eyebrows.

Q: What two things should you never do in bed?
Lynde: Point and laugh.

Q: Is there any substance that will stunt a child's growth?
Lynde: I've found a hammer works very well.

Q: I'm the son of your father's sister. What am I to you?
Lynde: Just a silly fantasy.

Q: In the movies, where would you find Happy and Doc together?
Lynde: In the balcony.

Q: According to etiquette experts, is it okay to chew gum in an evening gown?
Lynde: Who's gonna stop me?

Q: Who was the first actress to be depicted on a postage stamp?
Lynde: Kate Smith, but it took twenty minutes to lick it.

Q: Paul, in ancient Rome, bakers were required by law to bake something into each loaf of bread. What?
Lynde: A Christian.

Q: What is the name of the instrument with the light on the end, that the doctor sticks in your ear?
Lynde: Oh, a cigarette.

Q: Prometheus was tied to the top of a mountain by the gods because he had given something to man. What did he give us?
Lynde: I don't know what you got, but I got a sports shirt.

Q: Paul, can you get an elephant drunk?
Lynde:: Yes, but he still won't go up to your apartment.

Q: According to the old song, "At night, when you're asleep, into your tent I'll creep." Who am I?
Lynde: The scoutmaster.

Q: According to Tony Randall, "Every woman I've been intimate with in my life has been..." What?
Lynde: Bitterly disappointed.

Q: True or false...research indicates that Columbus liked to wear bloomers and long stockings.
Lynde: It's not easy to sign a crew up for six months...

Q: During the War of 1812, Captain Oliver Perry made the famous statement, "We have met the enemy and..." What?
Lynde: They are cute.

Q: Burt Reynolds is quoted as saying, "Dinah (Shore)'s in top form. I've never known anyone to be so completely able to throw herself into a..." A what?
Lynde: A headboard.

Q: True or false, the navy has trained whales to recover objects a mile deep.
Lynde: At first they tried unsuccessfully with cocker spaniels...

Q: What should you do if you're going 55 miles per hour and your tires suddenly blow out?
Lynde: Honk if you believe in Jesus.

Q: If you were pregnant for two years, what would you give birth to?
Lynde: Whatever it is, it would never be afraid of the dark.

Q:If you want to know if a plastic surgeon is really qualified, who should you check with?
Lynde: Tony Randall.

Mulberry Meatloaf & 1976 Holidays

Let's start with the 1976 Holidays before we talk about that meatloaf. In researching the previous post, I noticed that my mom's 1976 Dailyaide Diary (The Silent Secretary©) thoughtfully lists the upcoming holidays at the beginning of each month, so that diarists are never caught unawares. Here's a list of each month's notable holidays. Some are familiar, and some, well, aren't.


January
Thursday, Jan. 1 - New Year's Day (so far, so good)
Tuesday, Jan. 6 - Epiphany
Thursday, Jan. 15 - Martin Luther King's birthday
Saturday, Jan. 17 - Benjamin Franklin's birthday
Monday, Jan. 19 - Robert E. Lee's birthday

February
Monday, Feb. 2 - Groundhog Day
Thursday, Feb. 12 - Lincoln's birthday
Saturday, Feb. 14 - Valentine's Day
Monday, Feb 16. - Washington's birthday

March
Tuesday, Mar. 2 - Mardi Gras
Wednesday, Mar. 3 - Lent begins
Wednesday, Mar. 17 - St. Patrick's Day
Saturday, Mar. 20 - Spring begins
Friday, Mar. 26 - Kuhio Day, Hawaii
Tuesday, Mar. 30 - Seward Day, Alaska

April
Sunday, Apr. 11 - Palm Sunday
Thursday, Apr. 15 - Passover begins
Friday, Apr. 16 - Good Friday
Sunday, Apr. 18 - Easter
Thursday, Apr. 22 - Arbor Day

May
Saturday, May 1 - May Day
Sunday, May 9 - Mother's Day
Monday, May 10 - Confederate Memorial Day
Saturday, May 15 - Armed Forces day
Monday, May 31 - Memorial Day

June
Thursday, June 3 - Jefferson Davis' birthday
Friday, June 11 - Kamehameha Day, Hawaii
Monday, June 14 - Flag Day (I might as well leave mine up)
Sunday, June 20 - Father's day
Sunday, June 20 - West Virginia Day
Monday, June 21 - Summer begins

July
Thursday, July 1 - Dominion Day, Canada
Sunday, July 4 - Independence Day
Tuesday, July 13 - Nathan B. Forrest's birthday (Holy Crap! White sheet & hood, anyone?)
Saturday, July 24 - Pioneer Day, Utah

August
Wednesday, Aug. 4 - Colorado Day
Saturday, Aug. 14 - V-J Anniversary
Sunday, Aug. 15 - Admission Day, Hawaii (does this state seem to be hogging the holidays?)
Monday, Aug. 16 - Bennington Battle Day

September
Monday, Sept. 6 - Labor Day
Friday, Sept. 17 - Citizenship Day
Wednesday, Sept. 22 - Autumn begins
Saturday, Sept. 25 - Rosh Hashanah
Monday, Sept. 26 - American Indian Day (no longer popular, I guess)

October
Monday, Oct. 4 - Yom Kippur
Monday, Oct. 11 - Columbus day
Wednesday, Oct. 20 - Alaska Day
Monday, Oct. 25 - Veteran's Day
Sunday, Oct. 31 - Halloween

November
Monday, Nov. 1 - All Saints Day
Tuesday, Nov. 2 - Election Day
Friday, Nov. 12 - Elizabeth Cody Stanton's birthday
Thursday, Nov. 25 - Thanksgiving
Sunday, Nov. 28 - First Sunday of Advent

December
Wednesday, Dec. 15 - Bill of Rights Day
Friday, Dec. 17 - Wright Brothers Day
Tuesday, Dec. 21 - Winter begins
Saturday, Dec. 25 - Christmas

Now you can plan accordingly, at least for the remainder of the year. I think it is interesting that a few of these holidays have dropped off the calendar. I also found it astounding that a holiday was still noted in 1976 for the founder of the Ku Klux Klan - or ever, for that matter.

Thursday, on my way home from my dawn meeting, I talked with my buddy, Sheldon. He had just returned home from a walk, and was excited about finding a mulberry tree growing wild. I swung by his place, and we picked mulberries, which I had never eaten before. You should always pick mulberries in the nude, or in dark clothing. The stain factor of mulberries is off the charts. They would cause Lady Macbeth great unhappiness.

We picked quite a few of them, and I brought them home. They look a lot like blackberries in size and color, but are more elongated than round (sort of like miniature grape clusters). They have a sweet flavor, and when you pick them the stem comes off the tree along with the berry. This morning I made Mulberry Muffins. I made up the recipe, but they turned out pretty well.

Mulberry Muffins
¾ cup all-purpose flour
¾ cup whole wheat flour
¾ cup wheat bran
2 tablespoons ground flax seed
1/3 cup brown sugar, packed
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
¼ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon cinnamon
¼ teaspoon ground cloves
1 egg
¼ cup molasses
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 cup buttermilk
1 cup mulberries
Combine white flour, whole wheat flour, wheat bran, flax seed, brown sugar, baking powder, baking soda, salt, cinnamon, and cloves in a large mixing bowl. I always sift the flours, spices, and salt through a plain old screen-style strainer. I have a handled sifter, but it's too aggravating and hard to clean. My point is, you can probably make do with whatever you have when it comes to cooking. Feel free to improvise. Your grandmother didn't sit around waiting for the food processor to be invented.
In a smaller bowl, beat the egg slightly. Add the molasses, vanilla, and buttermilk. Stir thoroughly to combine.
I didn't find many mulberry recipes on the Internet, but I did read that you can just leave the stems on the mulberries when you bake with them. If you want to do that, it's fine. OCD-Bill could not do this. I had just bought a new pair of nail clippers earlier this week as a spare pair (coincidence? probably not!), so I washed and used them since I hadn't used them on my grubby ol' fingernails. Now I have a new kitchen tool, but I still need a spare pair for my nails. The clippers worked great for snipping the stems off the mulberries.
Toss the mulberries in the flour mixture in the large bowl. Dump the buttermilk mixture in all at once, and stir just until moistened. The more you mix, the tougher your muffins will turn out. It's a gluten thing.
I use paper cupcake liners, but if you don't, be sure you grease the muffin tin cups. Fill each cup about ¾ full. Bake at 375º for 17-20 minutes, or until the muffins test done.

Some of you are still wondering where the meatloaf comes in. Those of you who know me well are familiar with my love of spicy-hot food. The other day I made a meatloaf that pleased me greatly, but most of you wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole. Yes, it is very hot. Another exclusive Planet Bll recipe that I will include below just for fun.

Afterburner Meatloaf
1-½ lbs. ground beef
1 medium onion, chopped
½ stack saltine crackers, crushed
1 egg, beaten
1 can Ro-tel Hot tomatoes with green chiles
2 fresh Habanero peppers, seeds & membrane removed, finely chopped
¼ to ½ teaspoon cayenne pepper
A few shakes of garlic powder
1 or 2 dashes of cinnamon
Get out a large mixing bowl, and get your ingredients prepared. Wash your hands thoroughly! Now it's time to have fun. Toss everything in the bowl. Mix & squish it all together by hand. I use one hand for mixing, and keep the other one clean and free for grabbing stuff. When you've mixed it all thoroughly, form it into a cohesive ball. You can either place it on an edged pizza pan or a baking pan in a rounded mound like a rustic loaf of bread, or you can place it in a loaf pan. Bake at 350º for one hour or until done.

Of course, the (sensibly) faint-hearted can adapt this recipe for sensitive palates, but the basic assembly is the same. You can throw a meatloaf together in two shakes of a lamb's tail, and scoff at the "comfort food" restaurants that currently charge a hat & an ass for food like Grandma cooked. The leftovers make fabulous sammiches.

I did have a bad experience once with a stuffed deep-fried jalapeno appetizer. Jalapenos are not usually very hot at all. The restaurant didn't remove the seeds from the pepper. I think the peppers were grown in chicken manure, too, which I've heard raises the Scoville units. I thought my mouth was on fire, but it was nothing compared to my trip to the bathroom at 3 a.m. I truly had tears running from my eyes as I sat on the throne, rocking back & forth, clutching my stomach, and drumming my heels on the floor. It felt like a pixie in the porcelain bowl was holding a lit match to my bottom.

But I still love that hot, spicy food. And, yes, I did fall on my head when I was a baby.

Two Frogs and a Prince, Chapter Two

I intended to write this chapter sooner, but this damned thing called Life kept getting in the way. The usual stuff, plus seasonal activities. I entertained my first housefly of 2008 the other day, and as soon as I got out my fly-swatter, he disappeared. I'm still standing watch. It's also midge season here on Planet Bill. You probably call them gnats or no-see-ums, but I like calling them midges because it reminds me of my mom's friend, Midge Warner. Midge wasn't gnat-sized, though. She was a strapping woman from West Virginia, not fat or stout, but what John Steinbeck or Flannery O-Conner would call "raw-boned."

On to Chapter Two of our tale...

My dad seemed like Superman when I was a boy, because he never got sick. Never! This changed in 1974. He returned home from an out-of-town business conference, and my mom & I could instantly see that something was amiss when he stepped out of the car. In the full sunlight on the driveway, he glowed bright yellow. The whites of his eyes were gold, and he didn't feel well.

Persistent nagging from my mother got him to the doctor right away, and he was sent to the hospital. Surgery was indicated to remove his gall bladder, and the surgeon kept us waiting far too long for a routine operation. After about six hours on pins & needles, Dr. Miller came out and told us that my dad had inoperable, terminal cancer.

Fortunately, this diagnosis proved false, and I will write more about this someday, but there was something seriously wrong. Modern medicine just had a hell of a time figuring it all out. For the purposes of this chapter, let's just skip ahead to 1976. Following two surgeries with baffling results, my father's case was accepted by Dr. Kenneth Warren, who was associated with the Lahey Clinic. Dr. Warren, a world-renowned specialist, reviewed my dad's medical history, and wanted to examine him personally.

My father took a flight to Boston to consult with Dr. Warren, and was admitted to New England Baptist Hospital. My mother and I were thrown into a panic when my dad called and said that Dr. Warren would be operating on him immediately. Surgery was scheduled for 7:00 the next morning. It was too late in the day to catch a flight from Norfolk, so we packed the car. My father had barely survived his previous operations, so we wanted to be sure he saw us before he was rolled into the surgical suite.

We left at 5:20 in the evening on September 16, 1976. My mom notes in her diary "It took us 14 hrs. - a hard trip - Had rain & fog - Got mixed up a few times & off the road. Bill done most of the driving." Looking back, it's funny to see that hellish trip reduced to these few lines mom's diary allowed. I have never since experienced such torrential rain and heavy fog at the same time. It seemed that we were constantly paying tolls and changing roads. I did most of the driving, because when I turned the car over to my mom in the wee hours, she dozed and I had to grab the wheel to keep us from hitting a tractor-trailer.

We were both emotionally and physically exhausted, but we had to keep moving in hopes of seeing my dad. He had twice before been told he had little time left to enjoy life, and Mom & I feared that his luck had run out. We wanted him to know that we were right there with him in that strange, distant hospital. Mom & I talked to each other to stay alert on the road.

I drove north up the east coast through New Jersey, across the Verrazano Narrows Bridge, and headed east across New England. It was past the Witching Hour, and we were both having trouble remaining awake. The windshield wipers were hypnotic. My mother decided that it was time to take action. She took a deep breath, and told me a story that jolted me awake.

My mother grew up on a farm just outside the town of Morrison, Iowa. Morrison is still just a dot on the map, so small that several Morrisons would fit inside most neighborhoods. She went to high school in a town due east named Reinbeck, about four miles away. Although there were many photographs of Teenage Carolyn with her friends, she did not have a high school album from her senior year. There were also a couple of pictures that had been cropped so that only my mom remained in the photo.

My mom reminded me of telling me about her former husband, Jon Minor. Well, she admitted, Jon was her second husband. Holy shit! If it hadn't been for pouring rain + dense fog, I probably would have given my mom a full-on stare to be certain she hadn't metamorphosed into Elizabeth Taylor-Hilton-Wilding-Todd-Fisher-Burton-Burton-Warner in the seat beside me. Fortensky hadn't happened along yet, for either my mom or Elizabeth.

My mother married her high-school boyfriend, Wayne Prusner, shortly after graduation in 1949. They may have wed because my mother was pregnant; she didn't say, and it didn't occur to me to ask back then. They moved from their farming community to Waterloo, Iowa, which would have seemed like Metropolis compared to Morrison. I don't know much about this first husband at all, but what I have learned about this time in my mother's life still makes me very sad.

My mom was a sensitive, talented, capable person who was plagued by self-doubt and low self-confidence. The origins of these feelings are explained in this earlier post. I guess this is why she allowed herself to remain too long with Wayne after marrying him. They moved into an upstairs apartment, and once they were married, Wayne's natural cruelty became apparent. He belittled and criticized her, tormented her, and beat her. He kept her from her friends and family as best he could. He treated her worse as soon as her parents left after surprise visits. My mother grew terrified of him, and would not go down a flight of stairs ahead of him because she was afraid he would push her to the bottom.

She had every reason to be fearful, because this marriage ended just as you would expect. My mother was in the final weeks of her pregnancy, and something caused Wayne to fly into a rage. He beat her to the floor, and kicked her repeatedly in the stomach. The child, a boy, did not survive his violence.

Anger probably kept me awake for the remainder of our journey. Emotions carom like free radicals in a teenager's mind on a good day, and the thought of someone harming my mother gave me murderous fantasies. As soon as I was old enough, I would hunt this man down and kill him.

Several years later, grown and on my own, I flew out to visit my grandmother by myself. We had a wonderful time together. At one point, I told Grandma that Mom had told me about her previous marriages. "Oh, so you know about all that, huh?" said Grandma. In talking about Wayne, my grandmother told me "Clayton and I would go to see your mother in Waterloo. We would both cry all the way home. We were worried sick about her, but we couldn't get her to come home." It took that final beating and the death of her child to give my mother the courage she needed to break away.

I'm still in contact with my Aunt Issy in Iowa. Aunt Issy is in her 80's now, and we stay in contact through the Internet and snail mail. She told me that she was at the hospital when the stillborn child was delivered. The doctor, in plain sight of my mother, threw the tiny body in a bin. My aunt still gets angry when she thinks about it. My mother was too battered to attend the funeral, and remained in the hospital while her family watched the little boy's burial at an unmarked grave between my grandparents' future grave sites.

My mother and I reached Boston as dawn was breaking on a Friday morning. The day was rainy and gray. Rush hour was in full swing. We fought our way to the hospital, arriving at 7:25. We were too late to see my father. He had been taken into surgery at 7:00. I saw something I had never witnessed. My mother sank down in a nearby chair, and sobbed like a child, as though she would never stop.