This Scares Me

     Some of you, not many, have asked me what scares me the most. I hate horror films. Driving a one lane road in a two ton truck on the side of a mountain with a 3000 ft drop on one side kind of makes my spine tingle as does an IRS audit. Not taking out the trash can causes a bit of anxiety as well, fearing not so much the trash not being taken out but my wife's reaction to not taking it out. That will ruin your day.  I am most scared by one little word, apricot.
     I hate apricots and have had many sleepless nights with nightmares about them. They bring many unpleasant memories from my childhood. You just don't understand, I HATE APRICOTS.
     Let me explain.  When I was growing up we had an apricot tree in the back yard. To say it was a healthy tree would be an understatement. The tree bore fruit, boy did it bear fruit. We picked apricots off it and all at the same time.  Do you know what happens when apricots are over ripe?  So, the family each year undertook the Herculean task of picking the darn apricots--tons of them.
     What do you do with all those apricots, all ripening at the same time. As I said in my last post, you try to give them away to friends.  This lasts only a short while as your friends quickly disappear.  In most cases, they don't like apricots and they try to avoid you because they know you because they know that you are going to try to palm more apricots on them. By this time they have sat for awhile and I won't even go to what happens after they have gotten soft and mushy.
     The idea hits that maybe we should make apricot jam. I don't like apricot jam and never have. When I was young, if I were to have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich it was made with apricot jam.  My mom always wondered why I would eat her PB&J sandwich made with apricot jam. After all, we had to use up all the jam that we made that season, let alone the twelve seasons before. I think after 50 years, I still have a jar of that ugly stuff from out tree laying around somewhere. Its probably well aged by now.
     Not only was I a picker, but I was the cleanup crew as well.  As the apricots we didn't pick off the tree ripened they would fall off the tree, mushy of course. I used to hate stepping on them.  You just couldn't help but not step  on them. There were still millions of them. How many can you eat and make jam out of.  Our grass in the back went right up to the tree so I had to mow under the tree. You can imagine the mess to the mower, not to mention squishing the ugly things. You would have to clean your shoes of an ugly orange goo.
     How many apricots can you eat.  I have had enough.

I can eat pineapple, watermelon, strawberries peaches and other fruits. I just can't stand apricots.

Everything's Peachy, Or Peary, Or Grapey...I Don't Know

     I respect farmers, I really do. If you are a farmer, God bless you and I salute you for your patience, courage and skill.  I don't have that skill, the skill of growing things. My thumb is black, anything I try to grow has the proverbial kiss of death attached and doesn't have a chance of surviving.
     The house we are living in right now has a huge back yard, and in the backyard there are a pear tree, a couple of berry bushes, a grape vine and two orange trees. I can understand why some people would love to grow fruit trees in their back yards. There can be a great amount of joy going out to your backyard and picking a fresh peach or cluster of grapes.  My relatives who live in the Northeast where they don't grow oranges always tell me that it must be nice to just go out your front door and pick a fresh orange.
     Yes, picking a fresh orange off a tree is nice, but what about the rest of the two million oranges which are still on the tree. You know what I'm talking about. The same is true with the two million peaches, the four million pears and the three million clusters of very small grapes.  What do you do with them? I am sorry, I don't make wine.
      I used to be in Multi Level marketing and they tell you about the NFL or No Friends Left club. The same is true with giving away fruit.  After trying to give away the fruit off the trees, friends see you coming and try to avoid you. You try to explain that you have given up ACN and Amway, you just want to give them some fruit for the third time. This is a gesture of kindness and friendship not of trying to rope them into a business venture.  I'm sorry but they just don't buy it, probably because you are not the only one that has tried to give them a bag of peaches.  By now they are sick of peaches--and plums and nectarines--given to them by friends that have fruit tries. If you have fruit trees you have gone through this and can just see that look in their eyes sensing the fear. How about trying to give out the grapes? You can explain to them that they can make wine out of them. I can't do that because most of our friends don't drink.
     Here in the Central Valley of California where I live you can just about buy any kind of fruit or vegetable you want, from artichokes to zinnias--OK zinnias are flowers, I couldn't think of a fruit that started with Z--and rather cheaply.  There is a fruit stand on almost ever corner selling fruits and vegetables as well as a great many public "Farmer's Markets". Why would I want to grow a tree or a vine and have to water them and take care of them when I could get what I wanted more cheaply with only the effort of stopping and getting out of the car? I hate watering plants and trees.
     Why would you ever want to plant strawberries? I could bring myself around to planting a couple of beefsteak tomato plants. There is nothing like home grown tomatoes. Nah, they would only die from my growing skills as a farmer. Won't you please take a bag of peaches?  They are very sweet.

You think I'm bad at farming, you should see me fish. No, I didn't catch these. 

   
   

My Style Was Cramped

     How many of you have ever been indulging in a wonderful and restful deep night's sleep and have had to turn over. When you turn over something very painful happens.  You get a muscle cramp that makes you feel like your tendon in your foot is about ready to snap.  The pain is intense, and the darn think just doesn't want to go away.
     You try everything to work it out, to no avail.  It just keeps getting worse and your muscle tenses up even further. It hurts, let alone a wonderful deep sleep has been interrupted. The darn thing just isn't going away. If you were a horse your master would have gotten a gun and shot you at this point because of the pain you are suffering just to put you out of your misery.
     What does your wife, who is sleeping soundly next to you no more than a couple of inches do. She turns over and says in a still voice, "Do you have to make so much noise?"
     The pain and noise doesn't subside.  You are trying to be quiet but it hurts too much. The decibel level of the screams of pain seem to increase in relationship to the severity of the pain and the failure to loosen the muscle. You have tried to stretch it out quietly, but to no avail. The cream seem oblivious to any of your efforts to combat it. The hope that I could return to a state of slumber is quickly melting away. Its 2:00 in the morning by the way and I want to go back to sleep. Two O'clock in the morning is too early for me to get up.
     My beloved finally turns to me and says, "What's the matter?  Does it hurt?"
     "No, I'm just trying to gauge my pain tolerance." I said quietly, hiding my real feeling toward her at the moment. (I love you dear.)
     "Why don't you get up and walk it out?" she suggested.
     "I would love to dear."  I said in a loving voice. I think what her real motive was that she wanted to see me crawl or at least fall down out of bed. It has been a long time since she has had a good laugh at my expense.  IT HURT!!!
     After a few minutes which seemed like enough time to create a new world had passed, the cramp finally went away.  I had to gut it out through that incredible pain. I moved my foot back and forth and up and down.  Finally, the pain subsided. It was time to try to finish out the night's sleep.
     Have you ever tried to go back to sleep after a painful incident like this. Morphine would be a great choice, but I am not a drug abuser and I am not in a hospital. My brain decided that the strategy should be to return to sleep by fluffing up my pillow and just going for it. That wasn't working so I decided on another tack.
     I would start counting the dots on the ceiling.  Did you know that there are five billion, three hundred two million, six hundred seventy five thousand, two hundred and seventy eight dots on our bedroom ceiling.  I know this.  I counted them all--twice. That took about two hours and didn't work. I thank my fourth grade teacher for teaching how to count that high.
     Since the counting of dots strategy was not working another strategy had to be implemented. I decided the "Happy Gilmore Happy Place" technique may work. I decided to try to imagine a "Happy Place" and go to it in my mind. I won't describe my "Happy Place" because this post is getting to long, but it was restful and calming, kind of like the dream I was having before all this took place. The is just something about a warm tropical beach and, well you get the idea.
     Can I ask a favor? Will someone look at my leg to see if my foot is still there? My leg has gone numb from the knee on down to my foot.  The cramp has pretty much taken the feeling out of it. I can walk though, I think.

This is a beautiful place, but its nothing like my "Happy Place".

Hey Geico, I Could Write A Commercial For You

Dear Geico Insurance
     I would like to offer my services to you as a commercial writer.  If you have read any of my posts on this blog--you probably haven't but you are not alone in that--you would have noticed that I am a very witty guy. I could bring that wit and strange sense of humor to your advertising campaigns.
     The gecko campaign is truly a stroke of genius. Who would have thought that a small green amphibian whose name is a close homophone to your corporate name would fit the bill as your company spokesman--oops, that's spokesperson as we don't want to offend anyone. You really took the ball and ran with it on this one. I do have a question though.  Where is the gecko from with his slight cockney accent?  I would guess Belize or possibly what was formerly known as British Guyana.  Hold on, I'll check Google on that...
     Wikepedia--we all know the foremost authority on everything which is always accurate--states that Geckos are a lizard that can be found in any warm climate. It also states that a species can be found in New Zealand.  This has caused a change in my thinking, based upon the accent of the Geico Gecko. There is an outside chance he is from New Zealand, although I don't detect a "down under" sound in his accent. You tell me.  Where is the famous Gecko from?  I promise I won't tell.
     For now, I have one last question for you.  Where does he hide his wallet?

This is a close as I could come to a picture of a Gecko. The colors are close and birds are related to lizards. 

 

OUCH!

     I think every muscle in my body is sore right now. Why you may ask, or your may not ask. You may not care and that's all right too. The fact that my muscles are sore is not something that will not bring the world as we know it to an end. It feels like it right now from my perspective, but from a more worldly perspective it just isn't that important.  I understand that and accept that fact. It still doesn't change that I am sore all over.
     My clothes have been a little bit tight on me of recent so I decided to get on a scale to see just how much I weigh.  That figure is none of your beeswax and I won't reveal that number to the general public.  That is a secret, sort of like Caitlyn Jenner's measurements so I won't give those numbers--my weight that is. What I will tell you is that the number--my weight--has climbed just a bit. Yes, I have gained a little weight.
      I decided it was time to do something about it, and that was return to what I was doing when I lost so much weight the last time I tried a few years ago and lost seventy pounds. I needed to limit my portion sizes, eat more health things, limit my sugar intake to almost nothing and most importantly go back to the gym and work out. One thing I wasn't going to do though was get another divorce. That was totally out of the question and I want to reassure Denise that was not an option. Tonight I may be sleeping in the doghouse for saying that, but oh well and by the way, we don't have a doghouse or a dog.
     Monday, I went back to the gym for the first time in about a month and a half.  It felt wonderful. I do miss the sauna and jacuzzi that was in the gyms that I worked out in before. That's a bit off the subject so that is all I will mention of that. It was a reward that I gave myself to spend some time after a workout to soothe those tired muscles. OK, I will move on and get to the point.  I promise. Yes, I was sore on Tuesday but I returned to the gym on Wednesday and had a very good workout.
     It was a very hot day Thursday.  The mercury soared into the low 100's.  Denise went to a baseball game in San Francisco so naturally I had to play golf.  I would drink a lot of water so as to not dehydrate and all was great with the world.  I was a little sore from the workout the day before but played well and shot a 92, which is good for me since I only play golf once every three months now.
     Last night, I plopped myself into bed extremely exhausted but totally happy. Immediately I fell into a deep and satisfying sleep. About an hour and a half into that deep slumber, I was rudely awakened by severe pain in my right leg. It was a muscle cramp and a bad one at that. I managed to get up and walk it off with the pain going away after a few excruciating moments. This one hurt!
     I managed to go back to bed and fell asleep again.  The rest of the night was fairly uneventful and I woke up earlier this morning to a very sore body. No, I don't always walk like a gorilla.

I didn't get to play here yesterday.

       
   
     

Hair Washing and Pollution--Really?

     In this world we have to be very careful in preserving our environment.  Especially here in California where we are having to live under the worst drought conditions ever recorded in weather keeping history.  Our goal should be to protect our water supply. What we do have cannot be polluted, especially by dumping raw sewage into the American River by certain Norther California municipalities who shall remain nameless.  Sometimes I have to restrain from political comment because this blog is meant to entertain and bring a few laughs. It is not intended to comment on politics, so we will leave it at that.
     Here it is folks, I'm going to give it to you between both eyes. Well, maybe I shouldn't have put it that way. You may have taken that comment the wrong way, given the amount of gun violence we have in our country today.  I want to make it clear to you that I don't own a gun.  My daughter does, but I don't. I can't pass the background check having spent some time in a mental institution back in 1996. I am non-violent, I can assure you. What does this have to do with water pollution? OK, I'll get back to what I was going to say.
     How many of you have seen the commercial for a shampoo product where there is a woman taking a bath in a jungle mountain pool underneath a pristine waterfall and she is washing her hair with a commercial shampoo? Admit it, you have seen it. It is done in good taste. It seems as though she is a Mayan or some other jungle tribe, which is of no consequence. What is important here is that she is rinsing her hair in that pure mountain water. What about the people living downstream from where she is washing her hair. They are having to drink water that has been contaminated by the shampoo she was using.  I don't know about you, but I hate to drink water that tastes like shampoo.  Where are the environmentalists on this one? Where is the outrage?

     Please respect my right to drink clean, unpolluted water. DON'T take a bath or wash your hair with a commercial shampoo upstream of where I get my drinking water.  I can take cherry flavored water, but shampoo flavored water just doesn't taste that good.

Sorry, I'm horsing around again. They wash him with recycled water, by the way and no shampoo. 

Its A Conspiracy--Part 2

     It is a conspiracy.  I get on my computer many times a day and it is as if it is laughing at me. Yesterday my computer had to be worked on to remove some things that were not that pretty. The fact of the matter is, it was spying on me. This is the truth.
     For the past couple of weeks, my computer has been doing some strange things and has been running very slow. You can see some of the mischief that it caused just by looking at my last post.  It redacted, that's a government term for blacked out, some of the best  points in my last post. Again, I don't know what is going on in it's beady little brain.  That's right, it doesn't have a brain just a jumble of electronic stuff that I don't understand anyway. I long for the days of analog.
     What has been done has been done. The witty bit of writing that was my last blog post has been lost in the world of cyberspace and I can't get it back.  This is tragic, although I think that the world will keep on spinning. However, you will not discover the true joy of my wit that I created in Thursday's post. That is sad.  Don't worry though, the problem seems to be fixed and I have come to an understanding with my computer. I'll hit the keys and share my wit, and you just take care of the 0's and 1's.  I am the brains behind this operation, and you are just a tool in my success. I love you, most of the time, but please keep the relationship in perspective. You serve me, I don't serve you.
     That's it for today as I commit this wonderful bit of literaturial drivel to the highway that is the internet. By the way, what is the internet anyway. Computers talking to other computers.  Now there is a scary idea.

Kind of looks like the inside of my brain.Don't touch the lever on the right!

Where Is The Outcry?

     We live in a very dangerous world today.  There is a lot going on that isn't pleasant. I can cite many examples of the crises that are going on which should be stopped. Justice should be served and the rights of those affected should be protected. Many of the unjust situations that exist in the world today aren't even exposed to the light of day, given what is taking place in this world. One of these hidden causes I am very passionate about, baby carrots.
     Who protects baby carrots?  Why are they not given a chance to live to maturity and have a productive life? Take a moment to think about this for a minute. What about their parents? Why are their children taken away from them and sold like unwanted vegetables at a local "Farmer's Market"? This whole sordid situation needs to be looked at and something done about it. Someone has to protect these poor innocent carrots. Nobody else will if we don't take action now.
SAVE THE BABY CARROTS!

Towel Rabbits have already signed an agreement.

Zucchini--I'd Like To Squash It's Existence (Oh Come On, You Got To Admit That Was Funny)

     Who invented Zucchini squash in the first place?  It sounds like it was an irate Italian botanist who was trying to get back at the vegetable producing community because he was laughed at so much at their vegetable convention for inventing this ugly green tubular thing.  I don't know if it is obvious to you, but I hate zucchini.
     There is nothing I like about it.  I don't like it almost as much as I don't like persimmons.  I still wonder why persimmons were created in the first place.  The same goes true for zucchini. By the way, why do you put an "h" in the spelling of zucchini?  What good is it.  The Latin "double c" makes the "ch" sound anyway.  Was some English guy not sure of his--yes his, because this was probably the twelfth century--English grammar and spelling so he probably thought that it would be wise to put and "h" in zucchini after doubling the "c"? I don't know, I wasn't there. We also don't what he was drinking either. You probably realize that they didn't have dictionaries back then either. That English bloke probably was inventing one.
     I still hate zucchini. That hatred comes from out of my childhood. My parents were of Mediterranean ancestry--Dad was Greek and Mom was Italian, well Albanian by way of Italy actually but that is a different story--so like good Mediterranean homes, we had a garden.  In that garden were peppers and tomatoes as well as--you guessed it--zucchini. Have you ever grown zucchini?  It is the rabbit of the plant family.  For you Star Trek fans, it is the Tribble of the plant family. When the zucchini ripens there is so much of it.  I think you could feed half of China on the zucchini growing on one plant.  Those of you who have had that experience of ripening zucchini know what I'm talking about.
     Mom would make zucchini in ways that I don't know if even the CIA has discovered. We had it fried, baked, added to spaghetti sauce and in Zucchini Parmesan. By the way, I do like eggplant but zucchini Parmesan.  I place that in my "I don't think so" file. She baked zucchini bread and also boiled it with butter on top.YUCK!!!! We had zucchini coming out of our ears.  I wish it was corn, but no it was zucchini. I HATE ZUCCHINI!
     I have got to run now.  I am on my way out the door to travel to San Luis Obispo, California.  They have this bakery there that bakes some wonderful breads.  They make a chocolate zucchini bread that is to die for.  What can I say?

There's no zucchini in these cupcakes, is there?

On Assorted Fruits--No, I'm Not Looking In The Mirror

     As you know, I like to pose questions to you.  I am concerned with exercising your brain the goal of which is helping you to get your brain functioning at its optimal level. Sometimes I just can't sleep at night with a healthy concern for that achievement of excellence as far your brainpower. It is a very tough burden to be sure, but I can shoulder the responsibility. After all, I'm here for you.
     That's a crock, I know but I had to write something to get this post started and you have grown to accept that kind of clever opening. Maybe I'm just a victim of my own success. To those of you in France and Poland, I don't want to explain the meaning of the American idiom "crock". If you have been following this blog for any amount of time, you will get a true sense of what I mean.
     Enough of this pitter-patter, let's cut to the chase. Ponder this question long and hard beloved readers as it is very important. What is a persimmon and why is it here?
     Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against persimmons. It's just that they make no sense. They are orange when ripe. I thought only oranges were orange when they turn ripe. Peaches do turn a shade of orange, but it's not called orange. It's called peach and there basically is more red in the color than yellow. But a peach is a peach and the color they turn is peach.  You can make pies out of peaches and a whole lot of other things.  What do you make out of persimmons? I've had a persimmon cookie, but yuck!
     A good friend of mine saw the persimmon tree in our back yard and that touched off a discussion on persimmons.  It seems as though there are two kinds of persimmons, hard and soft.  I did not know that. She said that the hard persimmons were good to eat of the tree and the soft persimmons were--well, soft. She said that she prefers the hard persimmons to eat but her mother tends to like the soft ones. I'm not sure of either.  You have to be just a bit different to eat a persimmon and enjoy it.  My friend plays the flute, by the way.
     I do know one thing about persimmons. They used to make golf clubs out of the wood. I actually played persimmon woods when I was younger.  The wood is hard, has a very tight grain and is very dense. By the way, the "wood" clubs played in golf used to be made out of wood just as the "iron" clubs used to be made out of iron. Now, the woods are made out of titanium or whatever exotic metals they use in airplanes or moonships and the irons are made out of steel or aluminum. Go figure. If you are a persimmon tree, you are pretty safe as far as golf is concerned.  I still don't like your fruit though.
    One last important thing to ponder in the scheme of all this.  Will they ever make a persimmon Froot Loop?  I don't think so.

I wonder if Marilyn Monroe ate persimmons? Hmmm....