Baked By the Chicken

March 2, 2014

I’d left the six breaded drumsticks in Mrs “Bs” oven last night. Yes, it was turned “OFF.” I didn’t realize until 2:00am, give or take a few hours. Impossible to call her and ask to toss the pan in the freezer, or better yet, place them in a plastic ziplock to store. Unfortunately, by the time I could reach her, she insists I come to her place and take care of the cooked poultry.

Mirrors smashed against the door of vehicles parked along the side of the road, indicate a slippery street. Creeping along, breaking every few feet is the only solution. Getting to Mrs. “B’s” chicken rescue takes twice as long as it should. I open the door to her place and find her, none to keen on my error, telling me I need to take the chicken home for the dog, she cannot eat it. I will buy her another package of drumsticks and Shake ‘N Bake them my next scheduled day. Toss a salad and heat up her dinner while she runs to the toilet. Now I am a very unhappy camper but know the Park Ranger has spoken.

Seasonal Affect Disorder

March 1, 2014

Free samples brings a stampede of folks, wanting to appear satisfied with empty hands yet actually succumbing to the tendrils of complimentary plastic, paper, metal rings at the end of nylon, bright colors and tacky fabrics, that entice raccoons after curious shiny objects. The mob needing the instant experience of something delectable, and unique, elbows to experiment the products before they disappear. Herds plod the Convention Center, where, close by, the Dalai Lama is presenting. A murmur of powerful awe leans into the staff behind our booth as someone mentions his name. Most turn to peer around the arena, as though he will round the corner at any moment, the incredible Spiritual Leader of the Tibetans. Just talking of him gives us a little more hope.

Women, following their spouse down the row of bottles of colorful alcoholic beverages, show favoritism. The men nod to the “boss” in expectation of the next move. One is always the leader. It isn’t always easy to distinguish which is the director, from a distance. The chief tends to fess up, at some point, to beguile the party into one more sip of enticing sample, to encourage another gift to the bag, or turn away, moving onto better tastings. It is all the same to them.

Randy, “The Barefoot Guy,” ambushes the thrill of camaraderie with his glow of command. Three bartenders, the man in charge of all of North America, two regional managers, and five workers bees crash around under the perilous tent, aiding and abetting the consumers of spirits. We almost get it kind of together and the next shift arrives. Giddy with relief, we dance away into the crowd of tasters, mingling among them, disappearing into nobody special.

Greener Grass

February 28, 2014

The dog truly didn’t understand he could literally walk right over the chain link fence into the front yard, since the snow level is ridiculously high. He barked and carried-on, defending his territory against the invading passerby people and dogs. I finally had enough, and called him in, relieving him of his insufferable duties. Salivating, until I gave him a treat, he calmed right down and laid on his cushy cedar-filled pad, contented to spend the remainder of the afternoon snoozing.  The cat got his treat too, though he didn’t spend half an hour deflecting thieves from the house. He believes, if the dog is having a snack, he should be tossed one as well. So be it.

We create our own fences, like the protective mutt. I could most likely escape mine just as easily as lifting one leg up and over at a time, skirting the sharp bits. Why is it then, we go ‘round and ‘round, not abandoning the very things that prevent us from screaming success, true love, healthy gums, a chic wardrobe, and organic mangoes in the middle of a blizzard. We are comfortable, I suspect, in our dissatisfaction, at least more accepting than being on-edge in the unknown.

Who knows, maybe the snacks are tastier on the other side of the chain link.

Nuts for Nylon

February 27, 2014

Seems as though everyone is willing to do what it takes to get a free nylon purple Barefoot bag. Some did a pleading dance, others texted smart messages, filled-out little survey cards, whispered promises in my ear, and one even claimed her mailman wanted one. Shocking. So many chatchkeys, we don’t know where to store them all. Didn’t take the time to scoot around the Home and Garden Show today. I was stuck at the booth, doling out shopping bags, pouring bubbly wines, and suggesting recipe options with the patrons of the Show.

Of course, I got into hot water at the tail end of the shift since I questioned a woman, who looked about 12 years old, got the responses I thought were sufficient and handed her a sample of wine. Unbeknownst to me, a Legal Bartender jumped all over me, saying she could get her license taken away, serving to minors. Since I hadn’t insisted on checking her ID, (she left it at home and was wandering around with her folks,) I was putting her “life” at risk. Hm. The young lady in question will be 25 in two days, told me the year of her graduation (2005), birth (1989) and the theme song at Senior Prom (I didn’t recognize the song, let alone the band.) I had no idea I was putting someone’s career in jeopardy. Typical event when the staff gets half the story (the Bartender is responsible for the liquor license of the Convention Center and has to be in charge during the assigned serving hours.) Well, I didn’t understand the pyramid of power or responsibility so I suppose I could take blame, explain to the judge it was my fault, and have someone bring me a cake with a knife in it to break-out of jail.

Talking Tissue

February 26, 2014

My box of kleenex states “I’m there when you are sad, love tissue.” “I am there when you run out of toilet paper. You’re welcome, tissue.” ”I’m there when you need to pick up icky things. Kindly, tissue.” ”I’m there when you’re sick. Feel better, tissue.” “On the top, please don’t leave me in your pocket when you do laundry.” Yikes, talking tissue!

I was summoned to generate a series of skills assessments at the Chiropractor’s office in North Saint Paul early this afternoon. Upon arrival, I completed an extensive Employment Application and got a copy of the job description.  Only then did I realize the position pays between $10 and $12 per hour, BOE (based on experience.) An easy  math test, personality test, ten key entry, typing test and short tour of the facilities got me revved. A long-time family business, that intends to grow this year, is hiring to fill one spot. Not certain how many others there are applying, but I was seated next to another applicant during this circuit testing process. She kept sighing throughout the exam and looked over my shoulder to see how she compared. I could have cared less who “won.” Though I believe I beat her out, on so many levels.

I put on hose for this? At least I hadn’t taken the time to shave, then I really would have been bummed-out. Where’s the tissue when I need one?  

The Littlest of Seed Savers

February 25, 2014

Five pair of eyes peered from behind frizzy braids, stick-straight tethers, puffed snarls, knotted tendrils, and hat-head to listen to stories about seeds, gardening, berries, pumpkins, and water from the sky. Storytime at the Riverview library produced cheerful moms and straining kiddies, too young for school, snuggling on the damp-from-draining-boots colorful rug. We giggle at the worms, eating and pooping (harharhar) to make proper earth, for plants that make food. Not one child had shown up for Storytime in weeks. I am thrilled to see so many turn out on the sub-zero sunny day. Moms hear about The Seed Library we have stored inside the Branch at the corner of Humboldt and George. They can pick up packets of vegetables, flowers, fruits, and herbs to grow in their garden, and learn about saving seeds for next season takers.  

The cherubs piped-in about the sun, rain, trees, my hairgoesallthewaydownmybacklikethis, I love peas, worms are for fishing, yucky dirt, some wandered off in the middle of the tale, another sits inches from the book about flying seeds, and helps me turn the bigger-than-life pages. Talk of flowers turns to food then to being cold and healthy snacks. I depart, refreshed, and nourished from the wee one energy. Until next Tuesday at 10:30am Storytime, when we discuss insects and how they help in the garden, I am complete.

Ending Happily

February 24, 2014

I believe in a happy ending. Don’t you.

All depends upon what constitutes happy, eh? If I am a better person today than I was yesterday, maybe last week, then, I consider it a happy ending. Falling in love with “Charming,” having babies, getting the white picket fence and dog, snappy car in the garage might bring the happy ending…or is that the beginning.

Each day, I decide on three things I need to accomplish to bring me the happiest-I-can-be-ending to my 17 hours awake time. When those have a big check mark next to these items (perhaps in pencil) then it is a happy (check) ending.

Since time, success, and a happy ending are all made up stuff…we can simply declare a happily ever after and…so it is!