In Which A 3:00 A.M. Conversation About An Alleged Nightmare Turns Into A Nightmare

It is 3:00 a.m. We are in bed asleep. At least one of us is…

HIM: Are you awake?

ME: {sleeping}

HIM: I think you’re awake.

ME: {ignoring him}

HIM: You were counting in your sleep.

ME: {rolling over in order to ignore him better}

HIM: Why were you counting in your sleep?

ME: Not counting, sleeping.

HIM: Ah-ha, so you are awake.

ME: {sigh}

HIM: So what were you counting? You woke me up because you were counting in your sleep. Out loud.

ME: Don’t know. Sleeping.

HIM: Ah-ha, so you admit to the fact that you were counting in your sleep.

ME: Don’t know. Maybe? Sleeping.

HIM: What were you counting in your sleep? Hmmm?

ME: SHEEP. I was counting sheep.

HIM: Really? I didn’t know people did that except in stories and commercials.

ME: Uh huh. SLEEPING.

HIM: What kind of sheep?

ME: Fluffy. White. Just basic sheep.

HIM: What were they doing? How were you counting them?

ME: THEY WERE JUMPING OVER A FENCE, OK? AND I COUNTED THEM AS THEY DID THAT. 

HIM: Well, you don’t have to yell at me. I was only concerned that you were having a nightmare.

ME: I wasn’t before, but I sure am now.  

HIM: Well, I’m going back to sleep now that I know you’re ok. Good luck with your sheep. Sorry you can’t sleep.

ME: {wide awake and fretful at 3:05 a.m.}

HIM: *snoring*

~ ~ • ~ ~

Rejoicing With A Glass Of Wine: Cheers To Tenacity & Typos

TENACITY, I GOT IT

AFTER TRYING UNSUCCESSFULLY for three weeks to get wine in our weekly grocery order for curbside pickup, we finally got some wine in the house.

How did we do this, you ask?

We joined an online wine club wherein you pick from their selection of wines and your wine is then delivered, a few weeks later, to your doorstep.  All that is required of you, beyond deciding which bottles of wine you want and having a valid credit card, is to have an adult sign for the wine when it is delivered to your doorstep at an assigned time.

I am an adult, with time on her hands, thus I was more than willing to sign for the wine.  Which I did by standing in my jammies, shamelessly, on our front stoop a week ago Thursday morning at 10:00 a.m.

And by having gray frizzy hair.

The friendly UPS man sized me up from afar as he walked across the lawn carrying the box of wine.  He didn’t bother having me physically sign for the wine, instead he scribbled something on the electronic form and went on his way.

That worked for me, buddy.  No need to be uptight about the signing part of the blessed wine delivery. 😇

Hallelujah!

FUN WITH TYPOS

LAST TUESDAY NIGHT I opened the first bottle of the wine we ordered.  We were having salmon and mashed potatoes and spinach, thus I reasoned a chilled bottle of Sauvignon Blanc would be lovely.

[Truthfully I almost always think a chilled bottle of Sauvignon Blanc would be lovely, but I digress.]

As I was sipping the first glass of wine to cross my lips in quite some time, I decided to read the back label on the bottle of wine.  I like to know what I’m supposed to be tasting according to the vineyard.  Plus I’m into marketing, so I do like well-written copy.

When I can find it.

And even when I can’t…

Below is a photograph of the back label on the bottle of wine. Can you see the typo? The numerical one that made me smile?

And with that I’ll end this post by telling you we enjoyed this bottle of wine.  Perhaps it was because of all the effort it took to get it.  Or, perhaps it was because it taught me a profound lesson: YOU CAN’T JUDGE A WINE BY ITS TYPO. 😉

Happy Weekend, everyone.

Photos From A Car Ride On Saturday Afternoon, Just Because

Spoiler alert: pretty photos do not necessarily make for an exciting blog post;  however I work with what I’ve got, adding some attitude with my words.

THE BEGINNING

Saturday the weather was unusually clear and sunny and cool.  It was a perfect day to do something, if there’d have been something social to do, which there wasn’t.  So instead of having a nutty at home, we went for a car ride.  Like old people.  

Here is a park bench with no one sitting on it.  I’m not sure I’ve ever seen this particular bench without someone sitting on it.  It kind of unnerved me, but ’tis a different world now, hey what?  

This is a photo of a charming gazebo that suggests a refined gracious lifestyle and the patience to, or the bank account for hiring other people to, maintain such a folly in your yard.  Cute, huh?

Here is a field as seen from the car window.  To me, a non-farmer, it looks about the same as it usual does.  I include it here because it is something I saw and the sky was a snazzy shade of blue, don’t you know?  Pretty.

This is a photo of a horse doing her best to ignore me.  I wanted to get a picture of her face, but she was having none of that.  Not that I blame her, I don’t like having my picture taken either.  Too personal.

Here is a soccer field without one person on it, near it, around it on a Saturday afternoon in the suburbs.  If the first photo is one of amazement, this photo is a one of disbelief.  In over 20 years of living around here I’ve never seen this field empty like this at this time of year.  Just weird.

THE END

Ms. Bean Is Delightfully Ornery Whilst Conversing About A Cocktail Recipe

It’s probably not nice to torment a friend who happens to groove on numbers, but you know what? I’m not always nice. 

+ 😈 + • 

I WAS TALKING WITH a longtime friend about a cocktail called The Pink Drink.  Years ago I found the recipe in a magazine and over time we’ve modified the recipe to please us.

It’s one of those simple three-ingredient “trio” cocktails that when made ahead and stashed in the freezer for a few hours, can be slushy or just darned cold.  The viscosity of it varies depending on how much alcohol you put it in when you make the drink.

If you want it slushy [our preference] use less alcohol. If you want it just darned cold [original recipe] use lots of alcohol.

Both are good. The choice is yours.

It is that simple.

+ • + • 

HOWEVER MY FRIEND, a numbers freak who prefers all things quantified, is one to want precise measurements for any recipe.  She snorted derisively when I told her the recipe for The Pink Drink is more conceptual than measurable.

Friend wasn’t happy with that explanation.  She wanted specific details, demanding that I tell her how I make this drink.

So I did.  But being the creative ornery wordsmith that I am, my explanation about how I make the drink sounded more like my philosophy on how to live my life than an actual recipe.  I said:

“For me it’s all about the good taste, not the buzz.”

Friend was not amused, but I was.

+ • + • 

THE PINK DRINK

  • pink grapefruit juice
  • pomegranate juice
  • orange-flavored vodka

measure the above ingredients relying on any proportions that make sense to you.

[original recipe was 30-30-30 one-third each ingredient, but we go for 60-30-10 now]

introduce ingredients inside a pitcher. encourage them to mix it up. place pitcher in freezer for a few hours, allowing them to chill together.

serve drink up in a martini glass with a twist of orange, if’n that’s something you like to do. or serve in a highball glass over ice.

[remember this is a concept, think of it as improv, not a precisely-scripted Tennessee Williams play, ‘k?]

+ • + • 

QUESTIONS OF THE DAY

Are you always nice? Or do you stray into ornery on occasion?

And how does this make you feel?

+ 😈 + • 

In The Countryside: A Leisurely Walk Along A Trail, A Quiet Study In Contrasts

The sun came out over the weekend so we went for a walk along a biking + walking trail that runs through the area.  [Read a previous post about it HERE.]

Usually when we walk this trail going out into the countryside the trees are leafy green so we cannot see what is beside the trail, but this being late winter the leaves on the trees didn’t obscure the views.

This is what we saw.  Much of it was new to me, even though it’s been there all along, just hidden from view.

I’m sure there’s a lesson in this post but I’ll leave it to you, kids, to discern it.  I’m still trying to figure out what time it is.  Spring forward, my Aunt Fanny.

~ ~ • ~ ~ 

The trail out into the countryside seen with hardly a soul on it.

~ • ~ 

An old house with a bowed roof that appears to be someone’s home.

~ • ~

A McMansion in the process of being built next door to the previous house.

~ • ~

Three trailers parked across the way from the McMansion.

~ • ~

A gazebo in a township park close to the trailers seen above.

~ • ~

A rustic creek with new apartment complex overlooking it.

~ • ~

Bicycle sculptures with benches, a place to rest along the trail.

~ ~ • ~ ~ 

Five Photos From A Walk In The Park On A Gloomy Afternoon In February

This blog is mostly words and thoughts, but perhaps you’d like to see what I’m seeing around here at this time of year?

It’s not the brightest time of year but there is weak light that makes for some interesting photos.

However, mostly it’s gray outside with not much snow.

Of course, with the leaves off the trees it’s possible to see from afar what’s ahead of you on the path.

And despite the gloom there are bridges to cross just for the heck of it.

But in the end, it’s not the most cheerful time of year outside, she says stating the obvious while counting the days until spring.

• • •

GOT ANY SUNSHINE WHERE YOU ARE? DO TELL

• • •

Home Sweet Home: A Simple Way To Explain Where You Live, Just Cuz

•  •  •

A rambling introduction then a simple question…

A friend and I were talking about where we each live now and how unexpected it’s been for us to find ourselves where we are.  In college we could never have imagined this.

She lives in an older home built in the ’40s in an affluent part of town in a community with a vibe that suggests social status.  It’s a desirable address, near a country club and fancy hospital and an upscale local grocery that’s all the rage.

Posh is the word for it.

I live in a 20 year old home in a quirky suburb with a bit of regional history that until a few years ago was considered to be the sticks by the people who live in affluent parts of town.  It’s an address that suggests good schools and unique local restaurants and outdoor activities.

Relaxed is the word for it.

To be clear, neither of us gives a flying fig through a donut hole about where the other one lives;  we’re not hung up on only befriending people who live exactly like we do.  Call us non-judgmental, I suppose.

Friendly, even.

No, the crux of our conversation was about how she’s ended up as an adult living close to where she grew up as a child while I’ve ended up as an adult living somewhere I knew nothing about as a child.

Without belaboring the point by getting pedantic with sociological terminology and geographic nuances, this is a simple | interesting | harmless way to divide people into two categories based on their subjective responses to the following question:

Do you consider where you live now to be your childhood hometown/region OR do you consider where you live now to be somewhere new you moved to along the way?

Discuss.