In The Blink Of An Eye

Today Eddie and I were heading down I-10 just east of Thousand Palms, CA when the traffic started to slow. We were directly behind a pilot car (the cars who lead or follow oversized loads) who was following one of those trucks that haul mobile home halves. You know, when you see one part of someone's house and they twelve miles down the road, you see the other half.

We couldn't see the reason for the slow down (Eddie was driving, I was in the passenger seat) but Ed uttered, "Come onnn," seemingly in annoyance of the typical California traffic. Just after he said that, we saw a lone tire shoot out from the direction of the mobile home and roll down the side of the highway in the direction of the pilot car. Actually, the pilot car was catching up with the rolling tire since we were all going the same way!

The pilot car driver slowed, the tire shot right past him (towards us!) and then wobbled, veered and headed toward the wall. It hit the wall, bounced off, crossed in front of us and into the center lane of traffic.

At that instant, I thought to myself, oh shit, someone is going to hit that and before I could say it out loud, someone did hit it. The driver lost control of his car, which crossed right in front of us and then smacked into the wire fencing on the side of the highway and flipped into the air, landing on its side!

Oh. My. God. RIGHT BEFORE OUR VERY EYES! I'd never seen an accident in motion before. I've seen the aftermath, but never the duringmath. Yeah, I know, it's not a word. Anyway..as usual I wasn't dressed appropriately for public (I hang in comfy clothes when not driving or when I'm in the truck all day) and wasn't wearing shoes, so all I could do was yell at Ed. "Oh my God! Get out! Go see if he's okay! Hurry! Shit. Shit. Where are my clothes?? Where's my camera? Hurry, go check on that guy!"

So as Ed went to check on the guy driving the car, I threw on some pants and shoes, grabbed my camera and headed out. Several other people had stopped to help at that point and they were all standing around the Jeep, which was sitting in the dirt, where it had landed; on the drivers side door.

Everyone checked on the driver to make sure he was ok (which he seemed to be) and they helped him climb out of the vehicle. I can't imagine that he wasn't flustered, but he appeared very calm and the only blood I saw was from a little scratch on his hand; but then again, I was more focused on taking pictures, so I didn't pay much attention. I couldn't believe how the car flipped so easily (although people always do say Jeeps are prone to flipping) because the guy driving it wasn't speeding at all. I say this because I saw the rate at which he came up beside us. We had slowed way down and he must have seen our brake lights and done the same, but since he was passing us in the middle lane he couldn't possibly have seen what was happening on the other side of the road, which is why he hit the tire. It totally took him by surprise.

The police were right behind us (we had passed them about half a mile back) and the EMS, Fire Department and tow truck arrived within minutes. The EMS checked out the driver, determined he was fine and left. The fire department assessed the scene for any fire or chemical hazards and they took off.

The only person left to do his job was the tow truck driver who, within minutes of checking out the wreck, began to hook up to the Jeep and get it upright before dragging it onto his truck.
Although this made for an interesting half hour this afternoon, I'm thankful for two things; one, I wasn't driving the truck and two, the driver of the car was okay. I'm usually very judgemental about accidents because I see so many drivers (cars and trucks) taking too many risks on the road; whether it's driving too fast, talking or texting, changing lanes erratically, or just plain being discourteous. I usually figure it was their fault to begin with, but I actually saw this guy and knew he did nothing wrong, so I was very happy he didn't get hurt worse in what was a freak incident involving a flying tire.

It's hard to prepare for unexpected events like this and it's a great (although costly for some) reminder of how important it is to pay attention while on the road and in traffic. This happened so fast, if Ed wasn't paying attention, he could have hit the tire or worse, been hit with the Jeep as it careened in front of us. I'm thinking the size of our truck would have kept us fairly safe in this situation, but that's no reason to not do your best to avoid any type of collision. Ed saw what was happening (with the slow of the traffic) far enough ahead to determine that something was up and reacted exactly how he should have.

As for the guy in the Jeep - I'd say he's very lucky as it could have been much worse....he could have hit a concrete wall.


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1 YEAR AGO: Duck, Duck, Drake
2 YEARS AGO: The Lady And Sons
3 YEARS AGO: The Department Of Mindless Vegetables
4 YEARS AGO: Ooo Rah Johnny Cash!

Getting Tanked In Al-Nahar

About thirty miles north of El Paso, Texas, on the Fort Bliss Military Installation (which covers approximately 1,700 miles in New Mexico and Texas, making it the Army's second largest installation after the adjacent White Sands Missle Range) is the Doña Ana Base Camp.

It sort of feels like you're driving forever because there's nothing out there, but following the directions we were given, we continued on. We were delivering fabricated metal target practice stands and galvanized steel handrails for the observation decks; you know, so you can get a good view of the stuff being blown up.

On our way in, we saw this sign:
Now, our truck is pretty big, but I'm not sure we really want to play chicken with a tank, so we made sure to look ALL ways before continuing on. The Doña Ana Base Range connects the temporary quarters area for the troops at Fort Bliss with the White Sands Missle Range. Also located in this area is the McGregor Range, which according to GlobalSecurity.org, contains twenty-six air defense missile firing sites (both static and field) which support training, annual service practice (ASP) and tactical missile firings for U.S. and allied units.

On the way out, we saw this sign:

Guess they want their training exercises to really feel authentic.

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1 YEAR AGO: Bracing For A World Of Mouse Ears
2 YEARS AGO: At Least He’s Up Front About It
3 YEARS AGO: Aten HUT!!
4 YEARS AGO: Be The Player

A Beautiful Deep Fried Pocket Of Cornmeal Dough. Or, My Mom.

On a recommendation by a local, Eddie and I ate at the Red Rooster Cafe in Anthony, Texas tonight. The place was a mixture of American and Mexican cuisine, but all Ed cared about was the Chile Relleno he saw on the menu. I wanted tamales, but since they didn't have those, I settled for a gordita plate; three gorditas, beans and rice. Perfect.

The gorditas were delicious, but the reason I'm writing this post it to tell you a story about my mother. I know, that's totally not where you thought it was going, but the gorditas are what did it. It reminded me of the story.

About fifteen years ago, my mother was an alcohol and drug abuse counselor at a famous drug treatment facility; one where stars went to deal with their problems. While there, she decided to start working out at their gym, as it was made available to the counseling staff.

One day, she was in the gym and there were a few Mexican women in there with her. They were minding their business, working away and talking to each other in Spanish. My mother said hello to them, they returned the greeting and went back to their conversation.

When my mother came home that day she told me, "I met these two ladies in the locker room today. They were so nice, chatting away in their cute little accents. Oh, I just love the Spanish people..."
"They're Mexican Mom, not Spanish. They speak spanish."

"Well, Mexican, Spanish, whatever. They were very nice and I think they thought I was beautiful. I heard them say gordita a few times."

Pause.

"Mom. Gordita means fat. They were saying you were fat."

My mother looked puzzled. "Fat? Oh no, I think you must be mistaken. They couldn't be calling me fat while I was standing right there. Noooo."

"Uhhh, yeah. Gorda means fat person, gordita is the diminutive version, so they were actually calling you "a little fat". You weren't a total porker in their eyes."

"Humpf," she said.
"Well, it's sort of like a cute version of fat, like for a child. You'd call a little girl gordita and a little boy gordito. They're chubby and cute and cuddly. Like you."

She smiled. By that definition, I don't really think she minded being gordita. Beautiful? Chubby and cute? Same thing in her eyes.

And in mine too.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
1 YEAR AGO: A Foxy Furry Little Friend
2 YEARS AGO: The One That Got Away
3 YEARS AGO: Don’t We All?
4 YEARS AGO: Miss Singular

What's All The Glee About?

Last weekend Ed and I watched the first nine episodes of Glee. We are now up to date and ready for tomorrow's new episode. I know Ed could give a rat's ass, but I don't know where the hell I've been for the last six months; it's been on since May! I remember seeing the coming attractions for the show and exclaiming to Ed, "We have to watch that!" And by "we" I mean "me" because I know he doesn't care. Apparently we both forgot about it. For six months. Thank God for Hulu.

We don't watch a lot of TV in the truck. If I didn't listen to the radio, I'd have no idea what was going on in the world. Most of the time, that's just fine. And up until two weeks ago, I only watched two shows; Flash Forward and Grey's Anatomy. Then I added Modern Family, which by the way, is hysterical. And now there's Glee.

When I posted my discovery of Glee on Facebook, I realized that others were talking about it too. And not just my friends; even the Los Angeles Times has their eye on it. I don't know if I can explain what makes me like a show that in some people's eyes is considered cheesy. In fact, someone on Facebook had the nerve to call it a "stupid sitcom"; but I'll cut that person some slack since they're in their mid-sixties.

The show sort of reminds me of Fame. Remember that one? School full of talent, girls walking the halls in their ballet sweaters and leg warmers, guys in their MC Hammer pants carrying band instrument cases? The drama, romance and everyday student life; all set to an incredible and danceable soundtrack? Whatever it was, it worked. Just like Glee does.

How can you not love a show that makes you like the Thong Song? Or that finds a guest star spot for 4'11" Kristin Chenoweth’s powerhouse voice? Or who makes you love a Journey song in the very same way you did the first time you heard it?

When I watch Glee, I want to be every one of those beautifully talented characters. I love the music. The energy. The creativity. The youth. The everything. I want to be the black girl with the diva attitude belting out songs. I want to be friends with the gay guy who has the fashion guts to rock a clear vinyl trenchcoat. I want to be torn between the smokin' hot bad boy with the mohawk who makes a Neil Diamond song cool, and the smokin' hot dumb jock who makes you forget all about Chris Brown. I want to be the mysophobic guidance counselor with the wicked crush on the handsome and talented Spanish teacher/Glee coach. Even though I'm over forty, I still love that butterfly in the stomach feeling you get from seeing the boy you really, really like walking the hall. How you feel when he talks to you; how you feel when he doesn't. When I watch Glee, the butterflies are out in full force.

So why do I really like this show? It's the elation my heart and body feels when the songs are belted out perfectly and the dance numbers pulled off so smoothly. It's the smile plastered on my face from beginning to end, loving the awkwardness of the teen life but also wanting to be that girl again. It's the dancing I do in the kitchen of my truck as I get dinner ready or wash dishes. It's the glee.

Merriam-Webster defines glee as "exultant, high spirited joy." And that's why I watch it.

For the joy.


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1 YEAR AGO: Connecting Over The Mystic River
2 YEARS AGO: Randomly Weird
3 YEARS AGO: Eddie Acts Like A Five Year Old Friday
4 YEARS AGO: From Earth To Heaven

Gleaming Curve

Yesterday Eddie and I visited the Gateway Arch in St. Louis. Unfortunately, the tour to the top was sold out, but I did get this great picture right from the base. We go through St. Louis all the time, so there will definitely be another chance to get to the top.

Standing right underneath it was fantastic. You don't realize how big it is until you're right there; and I didn't know until I Googled, that this is considered a catenary arch. I am always so amazed when I look at structures like this and think that someone designed and then built it.

Every time I pass through St. Louis, it always seems to be at night which is fine with me, because I love the way the arch looks at night. But seeing it up close made it so much more beautiful to me.

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1 YEAR AGO: Color Me Casual
2 YEARS AGO: Eddie Goes Running Friday
3 YEARS AGO: Forever Yours
4 YEARS AGO: Home Away From Home

Text Me

Text messages I have sent and received:

Max!

I never saw it but that's my dogs hometown.

Yeah, yeah...don't worry I was busy today and now I'm working.

Sometimes you feel ugly.

Well, sometimes you ARE ugly.

OMG! We got the coconut, YAY! The kids are running around the house shaking it!!

Why did he leave me? You were singing that??

This music is depressing.

She thinks everything I make is the best thing she's ever put in her mouth.

Trojan or Durex?

Holy crap! Red bell peppers are $4.49 a pound!!

Weirdo, but nervous.

Don't be pissed...it's all good.

OMG! This group is freakin' SO out of control! This place is a wreck adn they are PLOWED!


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1 YEAR AGO: Going The Way Of Astatine*
2 YEARS AGO: Picture Perfect Pilot
3 YEARS AGO: Not Falling For Winter Yet
4 YEARS AGO: I Miss You Already

You Gotta Be A Good Fighter To Make It 88 Rounds

Today is my step-father Frank's 88th Birthday. Eighty-Eight! You've gotta have a whole lotta fight in you to make it through eighty-eight years of life! Imagine all he's seen?? And done! I was just telling Eddie this morning that he has fifty-four years to go before gets to Frank's age. He better tread lightly if he plans to make it that far! As you read a few days ago, I posted a bit about his service in World War II. I've also written about his restaurant The Dodge Inn, and all the famous people he served there. The pictures in this post are from that time. Above you'll see Frank with Trainer Al Silvani (picture is mislabeled as Joe Silvani) on the left, and the Heavyweight Champion of The World Rocky Marciano, in the middle. It was taken at the restaurant back in the early fifties, just before Rocky was getting ready for an upcoming match. I guess he thought a good meal of steak and potatoes would keep him nourished to get a few more world titles! 

In the picture below is boxer Rocky Graziano, considered one of the greatest knockout artists in boxing history, posing with Frank's sister-in-laws, Rosie and Babe. There was never a day where at least one family member wasn't hanging around (or working at) the restaurant; the best part was being lucky enough to be there when a celebrity came in! Although all close in age, all of the people in these photos are long gone. But not Frank. I marvel at his desire to keep plodding through the daily grind of life. Sometimes when I think about how much I don't want to do something, or how I think I don't have the energy to drive one more mile or hike one more hill (OK, not that I'm an avid hiker or anything...I'm just using that as an example of well, exercise-y type things), I think of Frank. He's survived war, a life of hard work, quadruple bypass surgery, cancer, the passing of friends and loved ones, the loss of three of his five siblings (he is the oldest), and the presidency of George W. Bush. I really have nothing that compares to that....well, except I also made it through the Bush years.

But war? Hard work? Medical issues? So far, none of those have touched my life. I should really stop bitching about everything. But that's my nature; it's just not his. His ability to forge through all of those things has probably only made him stronger. And more determined to see one hundred. He always says that's his goal. As I've said before, with his curmudgeony ways, it will probably be more of a challenge for us than for him, but I'm sure he'll hit his 100th birthday with ease. He's a tough cookie for sure, and I know there is so much more to learn from him than I already have. I only have one question for him right now. You grew up in the Bronx...where the hell did you get that pony?? ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
1 YEAR AGO: Eddie Working In Paradise Friday
2 YEARS AGO: 86 Going On 8 3
 YEARS AGO: A Fine Cargo Of Experiences And Memories
4 YEARS AGO: 84

Breaking A Leg Doesn't Always Mean Good Luck

This sticker is actually ON OUR TRUCK. Placed strategically below the door opening and above the steps, it's visible only when the door is open.

You'd think people would know how to climb in and out of a vehicle, wouldn't you? But in a truck, sometimes it's tricky. It takes my mother a full ten minutes to climb two steps and situate herself in the seat; a seat that raises and lowers with air so somtimes it's in a very high position and difficult to slide your ass onto. And trust me, she's a person that needs to have three limbs in contact with the truck at all times.

That said, I've seen Ed fall right out of the truck because he wasn't holding on properly. One minute, I was sitting in the passenger seat talking to him and the next minute, whoosh! he was gone. His foot missed the step and he fell to the ground.

I shouldn't make light of that incident though, because I've done the very same thing; I just didn't have any witnesses. In my defense though, it was winter so things were a little slipperier than usual. I was using just one hand to pull myself up as I was climbing, when my foot slipped on the step. Picture my entire body hanging from one hand. I think I actually dangled. I was hanging on so tight with that hand that my body twisted and smacked against the truck. I'm no lightweight either, so my whole body hanging by one hand was quite a feat.

I came to learn the proper way to get into the truck and I'm usually pretty good about doing it the right way now. Getting hurt would not only interfere with my ability to work, but it would also get in the way of my play time. I've already tripped into the sleeper and practically broken a hip.

I don't need to fall out of the truck and break a leg.

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1 YEAR AGO: Showing Its True Colors, Even On The Cloudiest Day
2 YEARS AGO: Priorities
3 YEARS AGO: It’s All In The Cards
4 YEARS AGO: A Blond Moment

There's No Whey In The Way Of This Delicious Treat

A few months back, I wrote Ode To Milk, telling all about my love affair with the Moo Juice. But now, I have to share with you another love....a love of curd.

I have discovered the most delicious cottage cheese on the face of the earth, and if you're a cottage cheese eater, you'll want to pay close attention, because this is a regional item that not everyone has the pleasure of getting their hands on, and I'm going to tell you all about it since the chances are none if its deliciousness will ever touch your tongue. I know, that's kinda mean.
Made with the same delicious moo juice, Michigan Brand Cottage Cheese is by far the most superior brand I've ever eaten (the one with the dark blue label).

I'm not sure about people who eat it as depicted below, with a salad or doused with pepper, because I'm strictly a fruit and cottage cheese sort of girl. My fruit of choice are pears - they must be Del Monte, any other brands are just too mushy - and I only eat the pear halves, not slices.  Myy very favorites are the cinnamon-flavored ones. If pears aren't available, I'll go with one of the following; pineapple chunks, cantaloupe, strawberries, peaches and every once in a while, fruit cocktail. Fruit only.

From the distributors website, Michigan Brand Cottage Cheese is described as follows:
"Michigan Brand Cottage Cheese was developed in 1929 by a German immigrant in Michigan. He produced what is called "Old Fashioned" or "Farmers" cheese. This cottage cheese is very dry and small curded. Because the product is so dry it will have a longer shelf life than other cottage cheeses."

I didn't know there was such thing as "old fashioned", but I do know that I hate soupy, wet, fat-curd cottage cheese. Preference, I know. But these tight, small, dry little curds are amazing. I love the texture.

I discovered it earlier this year in Columbus, Ohio at the local Meijer store. I also discovered that not everyone carries it.  Meijer is only located in five states; Kentucky, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois and Michigan. So every time I'm in one of those states, I hit up Meijer and stock up on the cottage cheese.

It's distributed by a company called I & K Distributors, who I've contacted to try to locate other stores who carry it, but I've been unsuccessful.  (Update:  I & K has been bought by Lipari Foods and they did respond to my request but said their distribution list is too vast to provide.)

It would be helpful to have a list (or even a handful) of grocery store names so I don't have to limit my search to Meijer stores. Someone else must carry this stuff...but who?? I can't be whippin' my eighteen-wheeler into grocery stores all over the country just to pop in and check their dairy case. I'm a girl who needs a plan.  An easy-to-execute, fastest-way-to-the-cottage-cheese kind of plan!

It's a little strange to be going on about a food item like this, especially cottage cheese, but I've since discovered that it has a bit of a cult following and I'm right up there with the rest of the freaks who travel far and wide to find it. Tomorrow, after we pick up our load, I'll be visiting the Meijer in the Chicago area and stocking my truck with at least a month's worth, if not more. Because just like the company blurb says, it lasts FOREVER.

In fact, I'm thinking maybe I need to start a little cottage cheese smuggling ring - there's got to be people out there who would be interested in having this hard-to-find item shipped to them, right? I wonder what Meijer will think when I go in and buy 53 containers of cottage cheese??

Little Miss Muffet would be super-jealous of my curds. They are WAY better than hers.



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1 YEAR AGO: O Canada!
2 YEARS AGO: Ladies Night (And Day) Out
3 YEARS AGO: The Queen Is Bleak
4 YEARS AGO: Literacy In The South

Let There Be A Lesson In The Words Of Mark Twain, Who Seems To Have A Handle On Who Is The Real Patriot

"In the beginning of a change, the patriot is a scarce man, and brave, and hated and scorned. When his cause succeeds, the timid join him, for then it costs nothing to be a patriot."
~ Mark Twain, Notebook, 1935

The pictures on this post are of my step-father Frank, who served our country as part of the United States Army during World War II.He first landed in Bizerte, Tunisia on the northern tip of the African continent. From that location, he went to Tunis (the capital city of Tunisia) and then east to Oran, a city in Algeria that lies on the Mediterranean Sea. While in Africa, he fought under General George S. Patton.

From North Africa, they crossed the Mediterranean, heading over to Palermo, Sicily. After spending some time in Sicily, they made their way into Italy, up the western coast of "the boot" to fight under General Mark W. Clark in the Battle of Monte Cassino.

After that, the troops continued even further north to take part in the Allied invasion of southern France on August 15, 1944.
As if that invasion wasn't enough, he moved with his troops into the Ardennes mountain region of France, Luxembourg and Belgium to take part in the Battle of the Bulge. You can read about it in more detail here, in a book by Hugh M. Cole.

In the picture below, he's posing with his brother Benny who was serving in an artillery unit at the same time. Frank was 23, Benny was 21. When he discovered his brother's unit was in the area, he went to his commanding officer to ask if they could look him up and let him know where exactly they were positioned. His commander said he couldn't do that but if he wanted, while Frank was out on his patrols, he was welcome to look for him.

So, that's exactly what Frank did. When he found his unit, he approached Benny's commanding officer to ask his brother's whereabouts. The commander took him over to Benny's tent and hollered, "Get your ass out here! You have someone who wants to see you." Benny exited the tent with his head down, but when he looked up and saw his brother there, they quickly embraced each other with tears in their eyes.

Benny's commanding officer allowed him to go on patrol with Frank, but while they were out there, they encountered mortar fire.

Later, when Benny told the story, he said that Frank turned the jeep around so fast, the wheels never touched the ground. Frank said the only thing on his mind as he maneuvered to get them out of there was the thought of his mother being notified that two of her sons had been killed. He couldn't allow that to happen. Below is a picture of Frank and Benny relaxing in Benny's tent after they got back from that patrol.

While in France, his platoon was asked to provide protection for Ingrid Bergman, who was there to entertain the troops. My step-father was chosen (perhaps for his strapping height, perhaps for his smoldering Italian good looks) to be her personal escort.From France it was on to Germany; by then the war was almost over. Once they left Germany, they spent some time in Denmark and then headed home to the good old U.S. of A. He told me that he and his comrades were the first to go home since they had already been overseas for three years. Finally home! He has so many stories, some he tells freely and others he keeps to himself, but they are all interesting. Fascinating, really. I'm glad he was one of the lucky ones who made it home.

I called him today to specifically thank him for fighting for our country. He was gruff as usual and brushed it off with a few choice words. I laughed and told him that although I was letting him off the hook now, one of these days, I was going to pry more details out of him.

Especially the ones of his romantic escapades with those French girls!

A Special Thanks to all our Veterans. We appreciate your service.


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1 YEAR AGO: Sometimes The Nights Just Fly By
2 YEARS AGO: Who Thought Putting These Two Words Together Was A Good Idea?
3 YEARS AGO: We Would All Go Down Together
4 YEARS AGO: Missing Me?

I Think His Father And My Mother May Be Related

If you only do one thing today, make it be going to this guy's Twitter page. And make sure to read everything by clicking on "more" when you get to the bottom of the page.

I promise it will totally be worth nixing whatever else it was you were planning to do.

You will not regret it.

And if you do, well, I don't know what to tell you. It's not like we made a "money back guaranteed" deal or anything.


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1 YEAR AGO: Crossing The North Atlantic
2 YEARS AGO: Sharing In The Deliciousness Of Women
3 YEARS AGO: Dining In Lancaster County
4 YEARS AGO: My Sweet Spot

You Build It, We'll Haul It

We picked up this contraption from a company that is the industry leader in the design and manufacture of Maintenance-of-Way (MOW) machinery, the equipment used by railroads to lay, clear, and maintain railroad track structure.

And no, I don't know what it's called.

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1 YEAR AGO: The Canadian MJ II
2 YEARS AGO: Eddie In The Half Moon Hall Friday
3 YEARS AGO: The Italian Death March
4 YEARS AGO: How You Doin’?

How The Train Derails

I've realized that I spend a LOT of time on the internet. I don't think that's a bad thing, per se, but sometimes I get on there and before I know it, I wind up on a website and have no idea how I go to it. It's not even remotely related to the information I sat down to research and I find that if I don't write down what I was originally there to look up, I have no idea where I started.

For instance, today's time on the web started with an email I got from Darren Rowse's site, ProBlogger. He's always got such great information. But as I started clicking on titles that were of interest to me, I found that I was all over the place; saving pages, cutting and pasting, creating new folders on my desktop to save stuff in.

Then, before I knew it, I was on Darren's other site, Digital Photography School. Oh, I love this site! The tips and tutorials, the camera information, the reader photographs. I can't count how many hours I've lost here.

Then I remembered a site I wrote down from a magazine I was reading a few days ago; another makeup tutorial site. Not nearly as good as Kandee's, but it still took me some time to check it out. Chalk up a few more minutes wasted.

After that, I remembered that I recently discovered Stumble Upon. I'm sure many of you already know what Stumbling is all about but I didn't. Oh, I heard about it briefly from Ed (probably during one of his geek re-con sessions) but didn't pay much attention at the time. So I decided to Stumble and found this. And even though I'm not much of a geek, I found quite a bit of it to be interesting.

After that, I decided to Stumble a little more. How much damage could I do, right? Well, then shit, I found this list. That kept me busy for....well, so long that I'm too embarrassed to tell you. Let's just say it was a long time. Clicking and reading, reading and clicking. I think the day turned into night during that little clicking session. I swear I saw moonlight.

And that my friends (boy, John McCain really ruined the use of those two words for most of the world. I can't even hear them without thinking of that delusional decrepit old man.) is how my train derailed. Not that it's a big surprise, since it's sort of the way I think (and talk); I start on one thing, which reminds me of something else which I have then have touch on a bit before it goes into the next subject and before you know it, I'm talking about toothpaste for twenty minutes with my best friend.


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1 YEAR AGO: Good Thing He Didn’t PAINT This On His Truck
2 YEARS AGO: Red Snap
3 YEARS AGO: Convexly Jackson
4 YEARS AGO: Marriage Criterion

Shot From A Safe Distance

Today Ed and I spent the morning at an annual safety meeting. It's the first one we've been to that was hosted by an agent. We specifically went to meet her since we've hauled several load for her. We usually go to the safety meetings held at the annual company driver appreciation days in Florida, but since we were passing right by and we were invited, we couldn't possibly say no.

As you can see, the room was pretty packed, which was a huge surprise to me, and since we got there just before the meeting started, the only seats left were in the very back. Do you like how the back of everyone's head looks? They didn't even know I was taking their picture, they were so glued to the presentation.

I can't say we learned anything new, since we're Grandma & Grandpa Safety on the road, but they did have several guest speakers and free food. They supplied a continental breakfast in the morning, lunch after the meeting (which was delicious!!) and great raffle gifts to go home with!

How can you beat free food and gifts??


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1 YEAR AGO: Eddie And The Moose Friday
2 YEARS AGO: How Many Times Do You Have To Burn Your Hand Before You Stop Touching The Hot Stove?
3 YEARS AGO: Just When You Thought There Wasn’t Another Ounce Of Fun To Be Had Or Another Drop Of Information To Be Remembered, It Doubles And Triples
4 YEARS AGO: This Is What Fall Looks Like

To Tattoo Or Not To Tattoo

I have a very close friend who recently got a tattoo after two years of "deciding".

First there was the task of choosing the tattoo itself. What should I get? Words? A symbol? What will it mean? Does it have to have a meaning? What do I want it to say about me? Should it be who I am or who I want to be? Colorful or simple? Maybe just black and white? What size? Tiny and discreet or big and bold?

Then came the process of deciding on the actual location where the ink would be placed. Where should I put it? On my back? Arm? Breast? My hip? Lower back? Nah, too trashy. Calf? Inner arm? Back of neck? Forearm? Upper arm? Ankle?

Once those two traumatic decision were made, the next thing to cover was deciding on who was going to wield the needle. Who would the actual artist be? Locations from Miami to New York were considered. Portfolios were looked at, tattoo shops were visited and recommendations from friends were vetted.

Then the day finally came. No more thinking. A date and time was picked and a support staff of friends and family were invited. There is no actual documentation because the subject was vehemently against video or photos, but I did try to bribe someone to get me a picture of the blessed event because I couldn't be there. She wouldn't do it. She had been warned by the "tattooee" of her rules and I just couldn't get her to crack. Damn loyal friends.

Now it's done. And just a day after it happened, I got a text message from my newly inked friend saying, "How many tattoos is too many?"

My answer? One. One tattoo is too many, in my opinion.

But that's me. I'm not a big fan of tattoos. I don't get it. I just don't understand why. And I often think the people getting them don't know why either, because I've asked several people, "What made you get a tattoo?" and the response I get most often is, "Because I've always wanted one."

That doesn't seem like a really great reason to me. Because you always wanted one? That's it? There's no real reason? I don't think it's the same as saying you went bungee jumping because you always wanted to. That feeling is fleeting and temporary; a tattoo is permanent. You have something literally inked onto your body permanently because you always wanted one? That I don't get.

I don't really care either way if someone has a tattoo but that doesn't mean I don't have an opinion or judgement, I do. I think a lot of things, based on what kind of tattoo it is to who has it. I wonder if they think having one makes them more of an individual. And then I think, are you not special enough or confident enough in your individuality that you have to get a tattoo to express how "different" or "cool" you are? And if you're so proud of it, why don't you get it somewhere it shows? I mean, what's the point of getting one if you're not going to show it off? I never can seem to get a really good answer to that question. I get a lot of "Well, it's for me, no one else" kind of answers, but not a good answer.

But I would never just nix a person based on the fact that they have tattoos. Of course I'd still talk to them. I might even be their friend. I do have friends and family with tattoos, but with strangers, I have the urge to stare. Those who are all inked up sort of fascinate me. I want to know the story behind each one. Sometimes I ask. Other times, I'm afraid to ask.

But, when I am lucky enough to get an explanation, I find that I want to know more. Although, some explanations are beyond my comprehension. No matter how much depth someone goes into, I'll just never understand why they couldn't just love unicorns in private instead of having a giant one tattooed on their body. I mean, I'd never consider having a picture of eggplant parmigiana with a side of thin spaghetti tattooed on my body, no matter how much I love it.

Some "ink" is easy to decipher; the name of a fallen comrade, perhaps your military unit number (ooh rah!), the names of your wife, kids or girlfriend, a replica of a famous painting, a banner to show how much you really love your mom. Or maybe something that makes you feel like you belong, to show you're part of a group. I had a friend many years ago who had AOII (Alpha Omicron Pi) tattooed on her ankle; just the tiny Greek letters depicting her sorority. I guess it made her feel part of a sisterhood. It might have been a good idea at the time, but after college when she was working at a serious job, in a skirt and heels everyday, that AOII blared from her ankle for all to see. Maybe not such a great idea after all.

But at least she didn't go as far as The Scary Guy. Eighty-five percent of his body is covered in tattoos, including his head and face; that's a picture of him up there. After he closed down the tattoo parlors he owned, he made it his mission to go on the road to teach others tolerance by giving speeches and talking about his life experience. He lived in my town and I think I even saw him once; I know I read something in the local paper about him, but I never really knew much about him. From what I've read online though, it seems he isn't what you'd think a person tattooed from head to toe would be. I guess that's his whole point.

Even though I don't get the whole tattoo thing, don't have one and will never get one, I think if a person does decide to get one, it should be a significant and meaningful expression of some sort.

So perhaps if you have one, you can tell me why you did it. Tell me what kind of tattoo you have, what it means to you and what you think it says about you. And if you're thinking of getting one, what image do you plan on having tattooed and what does it mean to you or say about you?


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1 YEAR AGO: Sparkle And Glow
2 YEARS AGO: I See Sea Scallops
3 YEARS AGO: My New Favorite Song
4 YEARS AGO: Lazy Sunday

Don't Take It For Granite

Yeah, I know, corny post title. What's up with that lately?? Anyway...

Yesterday Ed and I went to Stone Mountain, Georgia, the largest granite dome in North America. It's 825 feet tall, covers 583 acres and the granite of the mountain extends underground nine miles at its longest point. The exposed portion is approximately two miles in length and a half a mile wide.

In addition to the many attractions at the park, they have many nature and hiking trails, including a trail to walk to the top of the mountain. Hahahahahahahahahahahahaha. A trail! To the top! That you can walk. Oh my God, my sides are splitting! Isn't that the funniest thing you've ever heard??

We took this to get to the top. Yeah, that's right. I'm no dummy.
From the top, in addition to everything else we saw, we also had a very good view of where we parked our truck. It's just to the right of that circle down there in the parking lot, which happens to be a helicopter landing pad. It's handy to be able to keep an eye on the truck, you know, just in case any hoodlums decided they want to go joy-riding; although I'm sure they wouldn't hear me yelling, "Hey! Stop!" from the top of the rock.

This next one is a shot I got of a father and his son enjoying the view. I saw them struggling to get a picture of themselves with their teeny cell phone camera, so I offered to take one for them; the father shrugged his shoulders as if it wasn't possible and then told me that the batteries in his camera were dead. I then offered to take one with mine and email it to him.

He liked the idea and posed with his son for a photo, then gave me his email and thanked me for taking the picture of them. As we talked, I learned that they were in Atlanta from San Salvador, El Salvador for a neurological medical treatment for his son. The kid was about ten years old, so I hope everything goes well for them.

When I got back to my computer, I sent him not only the picture I took of them facing me, but also the one above and several others I took as they were walking down the mountainside, with the fall colors behind them. In this one, although there is a haze in the distance (you can barely make out the city of Atlanta right in the center, waaay out there) and not a whole lot of vibrant color, I really like the father and son moment.

Here we have Ed taking a break from his extensive picture taking; you know, because it's such hard work and all.

Another view from the top, with the lake and golf course in view.

And finally, the famous carving.The entire carved surface of the Memorial Carving, which is the largest bas relief sculpture in the world and located on the face of the mountain, measures three acres; larger than a football field. The carving of the three Confederate leaders of the civil war; General Stonewall Jackson, General Robert E. Lee and President Jefferson Davis, towers 400 feet above the ground and measures 90 by 190 feet. It is recessed 42 feet into the mountain. The deepest point of the carving is at Lee's elbow, which is 12 feet into the mountain.

I was thrilled to finally have visited this site, after hearing so much about it. I'm also glad that we went in now, since I couldn't imagine being at the top of that rock in the humid Georgia summer. The Fall foliage colors were an added bonus....much more spectacular in person!

Maybe next time we'll get to see that laser light show I've heard so much about!

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1 YEAR AGO: Yes We Did!!
2 YEARS AGO: Green Acres Is The Place To Be, Solar Living Is The Life For Me
3 YEARS AGO: Hail To Our Beautiful Maine Coon Mascot
4 YEARS AGO: Weekend In Nature

I Think I'm Kinda Lichen This Moss

Today Ed and I went to Stone Mountain, Georgia. I took some other photos of the great views from up there (even though there was a haziness, I did get some of the fall colors) and will post them tomorrow.

In the meantime, I leave you with some moss from the mountainside.


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1 YEAR AGO: Holding My Breath
2 YEARS AGO: Ahhhh….Ahhhhh…..Aw Shit!
3 YEARS AGO: Contemplating Flight
4 YEARS AGO: Eddie Blurred By NyQuil Friday

Framed By Fake Fall

Look what I did with my web cam!

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1 YEAR AGO: Let’s Hope This Five Year Old Is As Accurate With His Predictions As He Is With His Aim For The Toilet
2 YEARS AGO: Belated Greetings From The Great Pumpkin Pile
3 YEARS AGO: Working Man
4 YEARS AGO: Black And White

Bigger Than Leif

This truck belongs to the friends we made earlier this year, Jenny and Leif Gryttr. It's freakin' awesome! If you click on the picture, you'll see a much larger version of it.

They have a 170" sleeper, which gives them three more feet to ramble around in than we have (ours is a 132"). They have a side door, which gives them a huge area in the back that when not in "bed" mode, is set up as a wrap around couch area, which is super comfortable.

In addition to the shower/toilet like ours and the kitchen area (hers has much more counter space), they have a full size refrigerator, a desk area for their computer and a TV that flips down from the ceiling!

The paint job is gorgeous, a rose quartz color with burgundy fenders with the names of their puppies on the side. Seeing a rig like this really makes me want to immediatly upgrade. In the ten months we've been in our new truck, we've already talked about the possibility of getting something bigger!

Neither one of us has anything as big as the 230" sleeper the Ringlestetter’s own, but you've gotta start somewhere, right?


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1 YEAR AGO: Newfies, Here We Come!
2 YEARS AGO: Big Teeth And Dancing Just Don’t Mix
3 YEARS AGO: Sittin’ On The Dock Of The Bay
4 YEARS AGO: Nuts

Please Leaf My Pinecone Alone

Pinecone and leaves in North Reading, Massachusetts.

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1 YEAR AGO: A Call To Arms
2 YEARS AGO: Where Defacing Rocks Are A Work Of Art
3 YEARS AGO: One Idiot At A Time
4 YEARS AGO: Find Your Spot