Ruminations From a Cluttered Mind

Top Ten Reasons My Blog Page Suffers Neglect

10. Got the blahs for a while

9. Sounds like work

8. Life hasn't been cooperating with inspiring thoughts

7. The weather's nice, need more rain

6. Spending more time watching TV with husband

5. Going to bed earlier thanks to an evening nightcap

4. Haven't been writing, have nothing to share

3. Contemplating new projects, less online time

2. Who am I kidding? Online time heavily favoring nice British lady's Scarecrow and Mrs King blog

1. Time for dinner!

It's Friday, fish-n-chips night, a nod to our honeymoon in London. :)

It was a long time coming, but stranger things have happened. Tonight I viewed the 88th episode of Scarecrow and Mrs. King. Actually, it was season 2, episode 10, but here's the deal. Back in high school, right after both Probe and Adderly went belly up, I recorded every episode of Scarecrow and Mrs. King. Every episode except...the one never shown in syndication. I was such a doofus, I memorized every episode title and could name them in order. I used to kill study hall hour timing myself to see how fast I could write them all down. Anyway, 1 episode was never shown, and now I found it on-line. It's called "Playing Possum." Was it worth the wait? *giggle* It was a fair episode, and not nearly as exciting as "A Far, Far Better Thing" from Adderly. That's okay. I still got a kick out of it. Husband had to rest up for the night shift, so I had time on my hands.

In other news, Husband was a little jumpy last night. We hadn't been sleeping long when I awoke to him leaping out of bed and peering through the blinds, muttering to himself. He grabbed the phone and ran out into the hall, turned on the light. Well, that had my attention.

"What's the matter?" I reasonably wanted to know. Had to ask a few times before he answered.

"Gunshots," he finally said grimly. "Kids running down the street. I'm calling 911."

Oh, Lord. There's a Saturday night on the wrong side of the tracks. So he went to the front door and gave an account to the authorities. Apparently, he awoke to the sound of 2 sharp cracks not far away, and when he got up to investigate, he saw a group of a half-dozen juveniles running past the house. It might have been less intimidating to me or anyone else who didn't grow up on Chicago's southside, where the crack of gunfire in the night is sadly familiar. Anyway, our local PD sent out 3 squad cars immediately to check things out, and they talked to husband while I padded about the downstairs, shivering and near blind without my contacts.

Turned out, it wasn't gunfire after all, just a group of teenage yahoos swinging at mailboxes with a baseball bat. They got 2 of the neighbors, but not ours this time. They knocked it flat last Halloween, though. Husband had plenty of reason to be spooked. Just a few days ago, I was working at the computer in the front window at night when something thunked against the glass in front of me. Husband checked the front porch and found a paper bag in flames. Sounds like we live in a war zone, doesn't it? Well, it's not quite the Mayberry it used to be when I was a kid, I'll say that much.

Well, hello, blog. I'm resurfacing from a splendid Adderly lovefest on Youtube. We're up to 16 episodes posted. Two went up while I was watching another one earlier toight. And #16 is Requiem, one of my alltime favorites. Adderly supposedly dies. I don't think it's a spoiler to say he doesn't actually die. I mean, he's the title character after all. It's a great opportunity to see how his coworkers really feel about him, though. The office secretary, Mona, is my favorite. Her devastation when the office manager has to break the news just kills me, and then the reunion...big ol' smile on my face every time.

In other news, my resident thesbian is preparing for opening night of the local performance of "Anne Frank." He plays a scary Nazi. He gave me a sneak-peak of his part, and I have to say, he is a very scary Nazi. Hard to believe a man can be such an innocuous goofball and still play a very convincing brute. He says next time he's doing a comedy or he's passing it up. I've read The Diary of Anne Frank, and honestly, I'd rather not see the play. But since Husband went to the trouble to take a part in it, I probably ought to buck up and show some support.

A nice, long weekend away from home (without children, of course), is a terrific way to decompress, reflect, and find a new perspective. This happy event occurs for me approximately once every five years, so I made the very most of it and never touched a keyboard nor raised my voice at anyone, not even once in forty-eight hours.

On Friday night, husband and I went to eat at Little Tokyo. We had bento boxes and the opportunity to increase our proficiency with chopsticks. In this area, I excel, which is why I out-ate husband, who is eight inches taller and *undisclosed by request* pounds heavier than me.

Husband: You know, it would be nice if the waitstaff offered tutorials with diagrams when you come in here so people could learn how to use these things.

Me: (between bites) That sounds helpful.

Husband: They probably used chopsticks in Europe once, but everyone gave up on them and went back to fingers until they came up with the spoon.

Me: Mmmmm.

Husband: I wish someone here would show me how to snap 'em, like Mr. Miyagi in The Karate Kid.

Me: That would be cool.

Husband: Ouch!

Me: What's the matter?

Husband: (holding lip) I think I got a splinter.

Me: Ohhh, sweetie. Why don't you just use the fork?

Husband: (Disregarding the suggestion. He won't give up so easy) How do you pick up a whole salmon filet with these? Oh, look. You can perforate it in a line and it just splits. That works.

Me: I don't think you're supposed to poke the food like that.

Husband: If you weren't suppose to poke with them, then why would they taper to points? (Holds up the chopsticks, for effect)

The next night, we went out for Mexican. A waiter left a serving platter with an assortment of desserts on a shelf next to our table, and we spent a fair amount of time debating whether they were real or fake samples. In the end, husband put his finger in the cheesecake with chocolate sauce nearest him and made the final determination. "That is not real. I know polyethelene drizzle when I feel it."

My most exciting find on the trip happened in a used bookstore on the Main St. strip. Isaac Asimov's 1976 Murder at the ABA. I've had that on the mental to-buy list for years! It's connection with Probe, its recommendation by the author himself, combined to make me squeal like a schoolgirl when I saw it. And bonus, it only cost five bucks. First chapter contains a naughty limerick and a reference to "Crossover." I'll be doing a lot of reading between today and tomorrow.

Well, I'm back home now and slowly reacclimating to my ordinary life with its unavoidable limitations, obligations, and disappointments. But that healthy dose of rest and spontaneity may have given me the boost I need to carry on in a slightly altered direction. I have some new ideas that I think will be very helpful.