Author: Rene

This particular comic spoke to me, because it’s true, apparently. I am a “Plugger.”

I remember Saturday night watching Lawrence Welk, dreaming of being Sissy with Bobby, or Ralna with Guy. Singing or dancing – either one was good for me! I’m surprised I never had the desire to learn the accordion? I did stick with the piano and voice lessons in college though. And – I’m sure one day a comic strip will appear touting Mutual of Omaha’s “Wild Kingdom.” (Another show that stayed with me and carried over to my love for Nat Geo.)

And a one, and a two….

Although it can be difficult to meet new friends while being socially distant, I have managed to ditch the face mask and distance with my two new besties. Hummingbirds have visited me daily for a couple of months!

We’ve heard them every day zipping around and spotted them frequently. At first, they were merely dabbling in the Indian Paintbrush I have kept un-mowed in the back yard, but recently they moved to the front yard and my feeder, and I think I know why.

While outside last week in my red painting sweatshirt – featured below – one hummingbird continued to fly around me. My spouse noticed the little guy drinking from my feeder. I was elated! The next time I was outside in my red painting sweatshirt – featured below – same thing! He was now dining at the front yard feeder, as well as the backyard flora. Who knew I was the attraction in my stunning gear and not a rotten banana or tempting flower?

Even though I’ve seen the pair every day, it was only yesterday that one of the little guys came over to say, “hi.” I just stood there talking to him. I think he enjoyed the attention – probably starved for social interaction, too. We didn’t wear our masks, and he was only a foot from me, hovering and chatting. We are now fast friends.

Obviously I can’t get rid of this sweatshirt now, especially while it’s in the prime of its life! I plan on donning it for morning coffee with my buddies.

Two droopy plants required staking, so I went in search of pantyhose to tie them up. I had about nine pair in every color stashed in my cubicle. Who even wears them anymore? Miraculously, not a single one had a hole or run!

That brought me to consider the nail polish in my cupboard. I really only ever used it to stop runs in my pantyhose. I tossed out four dried up bottles and found one pretty pink shade I might just don when I’m done painting everything. Right now, I’m sporting “Kilz White.” It goes with everything.

So, call me nuts, but I couldn’t sacrifice a pair of good hose just for two little plants. I used some old fabric and made a commitment to wear a pair of those magical stockings when it’s not so darn hot. I’m pretty sure I’ll go with the green pair. It goes with everything.

Once-in-awhile I come across something which causes an audible chuckle.

Of course, it’s still been a good year in spite of the travel deprivation. The people at Behr paint corporate headquarters have sent me a personal thank you for keeping them in business. And hey! I used up four gallons of old paint this past week! That is an extremely satisfying accomplishment in my book. It goes along with my husband’s determination to deplete the entire two freezer sections of our fridges before we restock. Another laudable goal I support.

To celebrate these remarkable achievements, I am going to go and paint a ceiling. Just a “heads up” kind of day.

Saturday’s word-of-the-day was, “Elflocks.” It refers to a tangled mess of hair. Such a cute word! It might make a person feel good about her unruly locks, boost her confidence, inspire her to search for different answers to the situation. My mom always called it, “a rat’s nest.” That totally uninspiring term meant painful combing and brushing to tame.

It’s true. I woke with a bed head mess often, so much so that my father actually noticed when I got my hair cut and styled in eighth grade – perhaps the first time ever in my young life. Those home perms also did nothing to remedy the situation, but they were a heck of a lot of fun to give and get! Of course, my mom brushed and curled my hair and it always looked good when she was in charge, but at some point I had to take over.

Then, voila! Layering and Farrah Fawcett waves! Oh my. That attempt “fell flat“ a few times, but the layering seemed to stick. My hair really is better without all of it joining me for the morning brush-and-roll routine. (Wait, wasn’t that the name of the painting company we hired ten years ago? Yes, it was!)

Perhaps all of the yanking and brushing stimulated my brain cells, allowing me to recall such important facts, like the name of a presumably-now-defunct painting company. I’ll keep that in mind as I tame the tresses yet again before throwing them atop my noggin where no one sees them.

Wandering through my photos, I found one sent to me by a friend, and it was of my very own al fresco dinner table. I found some other lovely place settings in my olio, and I set to pondering the beauty of a well-presented table.

As much as I enjoy a gorgeous spread, I do not often provide one. It’s a necessity of sorts to set the table, and really, who appreciates the water goblets and salad forks? I think my spouse is grateful that I unload the dishwasher and we have clean plates. However, I have decided that different areas for dining can be a new kind of tableau.

We have taken to calling the corner on the new deck, “Paris,” because I have a little cafe-ish table for two set there. The “Lemonade Stand” is the front porch, due to the myriad lemons adorning it. The dining room is still the plain old dining room, so it will have to up its game at the next event. Perhaps “The Dish Room,” from the movie “American President?” We do have a lot of dishes in there.

A new adventure awaits in renaming the dining venues within my own abode. Next I’ll work on embellishing them.

This is going to be my reaction whenever people tell me about their mundane daily routines…to which we all have attended since March. What? You are amazing! You did the laundry AND swept the floor? What? You dusted AND vacuumed in the same day? What? You folded the laundry AND put it away?

There are many amazing moments around us. What? You get to go to a bridal alteration appointment with your daughter?

Whoo hoo! Jackpot day!

This is us today! We shall boldly go forth to crown the day with many achievements. (I’ll think of some to accomplish after my coffee and dental appointment.) Forward, ye citizens! Golf with joy, relish visiting relatives, enjoy your new car, and brush your pearly whites!

Eons ago, during my former acting career, I kept my fingernails pretty darn nice. It was insurance for that big movie role I would nab one day. Cough. Sputter.

Gail, my nail technician, who served wine on Friday afternoons if you happened to make an appointment then, had a mantra she tried to instill in me whenever I ambled in for her to “fix” one of my broken acrylic gems. “Your nails are jewels, not tools.” The mantra stuck with me, but the application of it did not.

A friend we’ll call, “Pat,” confided that she uses her thumb nail as a screwdriver, so she has to maintain its length for that purpose. Yesterday I found myself using my ragged nails as a caulk smoother, wedge to try and remove caulk, and of course, as a screwdriver for taking off electrical plates I missed. It also works to scratch stickers from glass. I accidentally jabbed myself with a screwdriver, too, so I have a nice chunk missing on my forefinger. And, I did an ample amount of gardening in the morning without gloves, insuring dirt resides with the caulk and paint, thus requiring that hurtful nail brush.

Gail even gave me a bottle opener one Christmas with that clever saying etched on it. Maybe I’ll dig it up and hang it from my neck to remind myself to use tools, not my nails! (Or for ease in opening a cold one after a long day of caulking and painting?)

Loved this comic strip (of which I often relate!) and it reminded me of my call Saturday night.

I love it, because the opposite was true in my early years. I was in college, and more than once, I phoned my neighbor, Ann, because I remembered HER number, not mine! Her mother, Betty, and I had lovely short conversations as I was embarrassed that I couldn’t even call home properly. (Was there any hope for the future of the country then?)

I was supposed to call home on Sunday nights so that my parents knew I was alive, but I grew up during the era where you didn’t call unless it was an emergency. So, I had trouble with that request. Why would I call home as a kid? Who did that ever? Who called the home number?

Saturday night I chatted with my four “homies” from elementary school, the four of us girls who spent six years as the only estrogen in the grade. We picked up right where we left off. Zoom has been a lovely gift for us. I don’t remember their phone numbers now, but I know I called them more than I ever called my own home phone number.

The sad fact – I do not know my children’s current cell phone numbers! I’ll work on memorizing those now, a laudable mission.