Mrs. Giddy and the RV Flood

Being a new travel trailer owner results in hearing all sorts of misadventure stories from friends.  This is great, as Mr. Bumble and I realize we are in great company.

When Mr. and Mrs. Giddy were first dating, and rented a huge RV to drive down to the Burning Man festival.  The as-yet-to-be Mrs. Giddy was not at all shocked in accepting an invitation to go to Burning Man in an RV.  She was so truly enamored in her new beau.  She couldn’t do enough for him.  Their RV was huge and comfortable, as Mr. Giddy spared no expense.  They had a great time at Burning Man and managed to come through it all fairly sober and sane.

Heading home up the highway, and the future Mrs. Giddy decided it might be wise to make Mr. Giddy some coffee, as he had been driving for hours.  However, she had to first use the lavatory, and then she tried to wash her hands.  She turned on the faucet, and…nothing.  Like we have found, the water doesn’t just gush out.  There are systems to be aware of.  But Mrs. Giddy believed herself to be no airhead.  She knew there was a pump to turn on and set about finding the switch and turning it on.

“Hey, beautiful,” called Mr. Giddy.  “How about that coffee?”

Knowing that if she ever was going to be successful in landing the thirsty, cute, and well-heeled Mr. Giddy, our young and beautiful lady was oh so pleased that she had been able to turn the pump on to get water for Mr. Giddy’s coffee.  She measured the coffee beans so carefully, ground them in his jazzy grinder, and she got the water in the pot.  All it took was a push of the button to start the coffee maker, then she turned to see a rubber duck floating in a slick of water coming from the bathroom.

When she had gone to turn the water pump on, she’d forgotten that she’d left the faucets of the bathroom sink turned on.

She dashed in to turn them off, and found the water was even deeper in there.

Mr. Giddy rounded the corner, and the future Mrs. Giddy slipped on the water and knocked herself out on the counter.  When she came to, the coffee was done and the water was up to her ankles.  She didn’t want to tell the very cute Mr. Giddy about the water issue.  She quickly poured him a cup, sloshed up front where the water was shallower, and gave him his coffee.

He wanted to chat, and she sweetly sat down to listen, casting longing glances at the mop and the bathroom door, where water was getting even deeper. 

Finally she excused herself and waded back to turn off the water, looked for a mop.  Unfortunately, all she could find was a Swiffer and a wet wipe, and it wasn’t doing much good. 

In a flash of brilliance, she realized that all she had to do was open the back door and the water would gush out.

She unlocked it and opened it a crack.  However, Mr. Giddy rounded a curve, the door swung open with the hapless, hopeful bride clinging to it with all her might.  The water did indeed gush out, as well as several socks and pieces of underwear that had been lying on the floor.

People honked and shouted, but Mr. Giddy just flipped them off and called them names, not realizing his date was trying to reach the doorjam to pull herself inside.

Fortunately, a kindly trucker maneuvered his truck closer and our heroine reached out with her leg, kicked against the truck, and got the door to swing back where she could get a fingernail on the inside and pull herself to safety.  She blew the trucker a kiss and slammed the door.

Once the wet floor was dried with a towel, a fresh cup of coffee poured for Mr. Giddy, she plopped down in the front seat.

“What were you doing back there?” asked Mr. Giddy.

“Just washing the floor,” replied the future Mrs. Giddy.

Mr. and Mrs. Giddy have celebrated their sixteenth wedding anniversary.  But Mrs. Giddy tells me that Mr. Giddy always offers to mop the floors.  She’s not sure why.

Easy Cucumber Appetizers

I’ve got some monster cucumbers in the backyard, the result of being gone to various fun spots this summer, and the cucumbers have languished.

But they are just the right size for appetizers.  Sliced ¼ inch thick, one can top them with all sorts of things.

Mango Coconut Pepper Peanut Chips

 

Slice cucumber into 10 slices, each ¼ inch thick.

Top each with 1 Tbsp. cottage cheese.

On that, place 2 tsp of mango coconut pepper sauce (from Costco)

On that, sprinkle chopped peanuts

Feta Cheese, Balsamic Dressing and Kalamata Olives

Slice cucumber into 10 slices, each ¼ inch thick

Top with 1 Tbsp feta cheese

On that, place ½ tsp of balsamic dressing

On that, place ½ Kalamata olive, cut in half

These look really pretty on a colorful plate.

Bears Are Bigger in the North Cascades

There’s no doubt that the North Cascades National Park is one of the prettiest places on earth.  Lucky us, that our friends from France purchased some land near there a few years ago, built a house, and invited us and other jolly friends for happy times.  We look like an advertisement for merlot, sitting around a table with gourmet food, laughing, talking about politics, religion, marriage, children, jokes, and memories. 

One of their friends from France was determined to see some wildlife, and in the Cascades, it is not that hard to spot something.  They took us for a pretty walk alongside the Stetattle Creek, north of Lake Diablo. 

The French friend Etienne, and JP, the host, went up a hillside trail.  Etienne went ahead to spot a deer or elk or even a marmot if they got high enough.  Maybe a mountain goat?  Etienne was quiet and determined.  After climbing higher, he saw some bushes moving. He paused.  Deer?  A fawn?  Two cinnamon-colored, round ears rose from the bush, then two eyes, then a huge muzzle.  Etienne turned and ran back down the trail and hid behind JP.

Right behind him was the bear.  JP knew that running from a bear is useless, they can outdistance any human athlete.  But JP’s got a set of lungs on him from years of hiking in the Alps and rooting at hockey games.  He bellowed at the running bear, which made a right turn off the trail and fled down the mountain, a terrifying and altogether beautiful sight of liquid velvet muscle and fur.

Etienne confessed he had a lot to tell him friends back in France, and JP hoped he would get the story right of who hid, and who scared off the bear.

The next day everyone went out hiking again, this time taking more friends and a miniature Austrailian Shepherd named Ayla.

There were some fast hikers and some slow, and the two groups became further apart.  This drove Ayla crazy, and she ran back in forth between the two groups trying to herd them together.

JP, being the charming host, stayed behind and led the slower hikers, even though he could outdistance us all with his high altitude lungs. 

Suddenly Ayla came flying back down the trail and kept going, terrified.  Up ahead, we heard someone shouting, “Bear!  Bear!”

Chasing Ayla was a huge black form.  This time JP did not bellow, he just stood there.  The massive black animal crashed into him, stood over him, and then started licking him.  We just stood there gaping as JP yelled, “Get offa me!”

Running down the trail were strangers, continuing to shout warnings about the bear.  Etienne grabbed the monster by the scruff of the neck and pulled him off of JP.

“Bad dog, Bear,” scolded the strangers, taking hold of the Great Dane’s collar from Etienne.  Bear’s tongue lolled in his smiling face.  “So sorry,” they apologized.

JP rose from his near death experience, his eyes like fried eggs.

“I hope you get this story right,” Etienne told him.  “Un chien. Seul un chien.”

“It wasn’t only a dog,” protested JP. “You must confess it was a very BIG dog.”

Pink Roses and See's Candies

It wasn’t especially sad.  She was the happiest person I’ve ever known.  I can only smile when I think of her. 

Her name was Marjorie.  Last Sunday, her family gathered at the rocky beach of Lake Crescent, in the Olympic National Park in Washington State.  The lake was utterly still.  The rainforest held back the rain, staunchly showing only misty sunlight.  We placed a vase of pink roses beside the edge of the lake, a canoe at the ready to launch them forth.

One brother gave the eulogy.  The other brother read a moving tribute.  People gazed at the firs and cedars silently reaching heavenward on the slopes of a mountain named Storm King.  

I read a blog post (posted last September on this site) called Post Apocalyptic House.  One can’t help having a few tears at the memorial service, and we had a popular box of Kleenex in the middle of our circle.

At that point, we all took a rose from the vase and inserted it in a grapevine wreath, which was launched into the water and tied offshore while a simple guitar played Amazing Grace softly in the background.

Then, we raised a toast to Marjorie with her favorite thing: See’s candies.  My husband wrote a little poem for her on her 90^th birthday, three years ago:

She loves candies from dear Mrs. See’s.

Pass me one more, if you please.

Though I live here in So Cal,

I’ve no need of things low cal,

Just put the box here on my knees.

We laughed at hearing it again.

All week, as we swam, kayaked, watched toddler grandchildren wade and make mud pies, the rose wreath was near the beach action, precisely where Marjorie would want to be.  Before we came home, we took the roses and one by one cast them in the middle of the lake, or left them in the forest.  I turned to see the one I left. It was under a fern, the sunlight steaming down through the great old growth forest.

A laugh, a cry, a soft August morning. 

Bye Mom.  Enjoy all the See’s candies and roses in heaven.  I love you.

Better Take a Number

Being the proud, if confused, new owners of a travel trailer, we needed to go get the title changed.  So we head down to the Department of Motor Vehicles to get the proper forms filled out.  On the first try down at the licensing agency, it turns out we are missing one, so contact the owner and after several days, get the form signed.  Thus armed with papers and signatures, we stride into the licensing office to do business.

Imagine our surprise when there is not one single person in line.  None whatsoever.  We grin at each other and walk up to the counter to hand the man our papers.

“I’m sorry,” he says.  “I can’t help you, you need to go to the window titled Titles.”

“Oh.”  We look at the signs and we are in the wrong line.  So we go over to the window titled Titles, just like he said.

Who should appear but the same man.  We hand him the papers.

He doesn’t touch them, for a second man instructs us, “You need to take a number.”

“But there is no one here.”

“You need to take a number.”

We find the number machine and take a number.  It’s 23.  We stand there for a moment, expecting him to call us. 

Nope.  We take a seat.  After we sit, the man who told us to take a number gets on the loudspeaker and says, “NOW SERVING NUMBER 23.”  The building reverberates.  Apparently, sitting is a required function.

We walk to the window ready to do business, but the two men are busy elsewhere.  This too must be a required function of the process.  After a few moments of standing there, the first man comes to help us.

He can’t figure out what model of travel trailer we have, so we tell him to find the closest description and make a guess.  We might have well told him to put a gun to his head and pull the trigger.  He gasped.

After ten minutes of puzzlement and discussion, we figure out the model number.

In California, they call the licensing place the Department of Motor Vehicles (DMV).  Here in Washington, it’s called the Department of Licensing (DOL).  One should know this before wasting a check by making it out to the wrong acronym.

The titles are eventually printed and signed in the correct places, and we heave a sigh of relief.

As we head out the door, we whisper to the innocent walking in, “Better take a number.”

Don't Worry About the Grandchildren

Hi Honey,

Glad you had a nice time at your party. We loved babysitting the grand twins.  They were so good. Toddlers are so delightful.

Thanks for letting me bring Banjo.  Sorry he pooped on the floor the minute we got there. I was on my way to clean it up but Ellie dropped a book in it.  Don't worry, we thoroughly washed Ellie's hand with super soap.  Also sorry he chewed up a block from John's childhood but I think we did a nice job with the chop saw.  Copper was very tolerant of Banjo trying to bite his ears and hump him all night.  I'm kinda surprised because Banjo's only a puppy.  Banjo's just exhausted today. Ha, ha!  Dogs!

We got the new bubble making machine out and the kids do a great job with it.  They figured out how to press that little button to turn it on. Jack showed us that the little fan that blows the bubbles would not hurt his finger.  Ellie's hair was another story though, and I believe I did a pretty good job cutting the bubble machine out.  It is off to one side so you barely notice that it is short there.

Your new deck is glorious!  We decided to hose it off so that you wouldn't slip on all the soap we used blowing bubbles.  And since the broom was soapy too, we decided to use it to scrub off your back door where Copper's muddy footprints were.  That wasn't working, so I found some Pine Sol, and Dad found a brush and we went after it.  Do you have any paint?  We can repaint next time we're there where I brushed a leetle too hard and the paint came off.  Dad had this great idea to use the hose to spray it clean.  Did you know that your backdoor is not watertight?  The water went in your pantry, under the water heater and cat box.

Those Swiffers don't work so well on floods.  No worries!  I found some rags and cleaned up most of it, got the cat box out and (sorry) it slipped and dropped cat litter everywhere.  I'm pretty sure I got most of it, but some of it went under the water heater and I couldn't quite reach it.  Don't worry that the kids got into it, Dad took them into their room.

They invented a great new game!  Dump the Blocks.  Put all the blocks in one bucket, hold it as high as you can, the DUMP THE BLOCKS into another bucket.  Jack just loved it.  Chuck and Meredith from next door came over and wanted to know if everything was okay because you know how boys like to scream. Chuck really likes your beer, by the way.  I hope we didn't give him that special stuff you got in Roslyn.  That wasn't the beer in the growler, was it?

I'm pretty sure I got most of the water and cat litter up off your new kitchen floor, and it was getting near bath time, so we headed the kids into the bathroom.  I did as you said and set the kids on the potty.  Success from both kids.  Jack's not too good at aiming yet.  His little thing can really squirt, but it only got on Dad.  Dad laughs at anything.  I gave them smiley faces on their chart, but you know, I'm not sure I'd let them use that permanent marker to draw the faces.  Ellie drew a really big one.  I think you need a bigger piece of paper.  We can paint over it where it went all over the wall.  They wanted smiley faces on themselves too.  I thought that clown I drew on Ellie's stomach came out pretty well.  It got a little bigger than I planned, but it is still pretty cute.

Into the tub, and a bit more water mess.  Ha, ha.  That's why that pile of rags and towels are sitting on your washing machine.

The kids got a little sad when it was time for bed and missed you and their Daddy, so we got your picture and looked at it and sang that ear worm song about Mama and Dada.  Jack wanted to hold it and so did Ellie.  We can get you a new piece of glass for the frame, don't worry.  Nobody got cut.  We put them down and they only called us in once to retrieve binkies from the floor.  Dad tripped over some of the blocks that didn't make it in the bucket and smashed one of his front teeth when he fell against the changing table, but no worries, they are implants and didn't break.  Changing table is fine.

Chuck and Meredith said thanks for the beer, but since it was all gone they had better go.  Ha, ha, they are just hilarious people.  So much laughter.  That Meredith can laugh like a monkey and it just cracks me up.

So there you go, we had no trouble whatsoever.  Hope you had a good time at your party.

Love, Mom

How I Stole a Man’s Car and He Wound Up Marrying Me

In college, most guys have little economy cars, if any.  Not the most handsome man in all of Zeta Beta Tau fraternity.  Nope.  He drove an enormous family station wagon.  It screamed stability, future children, a house in the suburbs.  To me, at least.  To his fraternity brothers, it was dubbed The Party Wagon, and allowed them to cram in and go to the “$2.50 per carload” drive in theater.

When I started dating this guy, we never went anywhere on a single date.  The more the merrier was his motto.  First date was: “Hey guys, she said yes to going dancing at Ruby Begonia’s Roadhouse.  Hop in.”  The Party Wagon held nine people and we were always full.  Our second date was, “Hey guys, we’re going roller skating, hop in.” Our third date was up the coast at a sand dune beach and you can bet we were full again.  Out to Carrow’s restaurant for a late night sundae?  Table for nine, please.  My sorority sisters enjoyed coming along too.

Maybe he like the fact that I had to scoot over and sit squished beside him?

The only time there seemed to be less than nine people in his car was when I borrowed it on Sunday mornings to go to church while he slept in.  He loaned me his spare key, and I appreciated suddenly having wheels.

So all is going swimmingly in my new relationship.  Lots of ZBTs began hanging out with my sorority sisters too.  But then one of the ZBTs got the bright idea that our Chi Omega crest needed to be absconded with.  I have no idea why we kept our crest by the oft-unlocked back door.  It was a huge thing, probably 3 feet wide and 6 feet high.  You can imagine in which vehicle they spirited it away, probably with nine ZBT’s laughing their butts off.

The Chi Omegas were pink about it.  Vows of revenge.  Scouting teams were sent to storm the ZBT complex and certain other fraternities to find the thing.  I suspected it wasn’t in the ZBT house at all.  Sure enough.  Smack in front of the ZBT complex, parked on the street, the smug Party Wagon sat brooding over her contraband, a thin blanket thrown over a 3 X 6 object in the back.

I stuck my hands in my pockets and pondered my revenge, when behold!  The spare key!  I calmly started The Party Wagon and drove it to the Chi O house, we unloaded the crest, then I drove it back and parked it in the exact spot.  The ZBT’s were nowhere to be found.  Probably studying, they averred later.

No one even realized The Party Wagon had been on a turncoat mission until the next day, when they spied the limp blanket and realized the crest was no longer there.  Cries of “horse thief” and “call the police” ensued.  They were met with “breaking and entering” “burglary” from the Chi O’s.

“You stole my car!” exclaimed my Handsome Friend.

“Nonsense,” I replied.  “Your car is sitting right where you left it.  I did however, take back what WAS stolen.”

“You stole my car!” he repeated.

“Only temporarily,” I admitted.

Seven months after I met him, the handsome Party Wagon’s owner proposed.  Guess his heart was in the glove compartment and I stole that too.

Unlike the Party Wagon, I will never give it back.