Oh Well

Sunday, August 28, 2011

Oh Well

My last fortune

Ever wait to the last minute to do laundry; that point at which you've run out of hampers to stash the evidence and you'd rather just buy new clothes instead of wash the old ones because you know it's going to take hours to wash, dry and put it all away? I do that almost monthly. I say monthly because I actually have enough clothes to last that length of time without having to repeat, minus undergarments, but who needs 'em. I've learned it doesn't even pay off to stuff as much as you can in the washer because then you're left with half wet clothes when the cycle is finished. What to do, what to do? If I had to be completely honest, I'd say the couple of times that happened, I mumbled my Nana's infinite phrase, "oh well", and continued to throw them in the dryer anyway!

Guess I've always had a "thing" for hats!

Speaking of Nana, she gave me the sweetest pictures while I was down visiting. My Papa, her husband and my father's father, passed away of esophageal cancer when I was a mere 2 years old, but I still retain vague memories of him. I've been told he wanted a grandchild so very badly, and could not have been more thrilled when he was blessed with a granddaughter, that's me. He showered me with kisses every chance he had and although I don't remember his kisses, I do remember laying in bed with him, the same bed my father still has and keeps outside at the river lot to relax on. Just looking at old pictures, I can feel his love. I also remember standing in my Nana's kitchen and looking up at everyone while we waited for Papa to slowly make his way to the dining room, maneuvering his walker, so we could all have dinner together. My last oldest relating remaining memory I can recall is knowing what roads to turn on to drive to Nana's house. I loved staying at Nana's because she would feed us whatever we wanted (even if that meant going to 4 different fast food places or cooking me a pound of bacon so I could devour it myself and let me eat peach preserves from the jar), take us to tilt (as a form of bribery to take more pictures), and not force us to take baths (we'd have a "spit bath" instead). However old I am, I still love to go to Nana's house, where there's always flavored soda and a smiling face there waiting to ask if I'm hungry. {If you think I'm a lady of many words, you should meet her.}

Check out that rain!

I thought we were going to get rained out at the Ranger game last night! I don't know if I've ever seen people run so fast for cover as if they were made of sugar cubes. Row by row we kept migrating up to shelter as the rain poured harder, and once a bolt of lightning was so loud I thought it got us! I believe I wasn't alone in that scare, just about everyone jumped. We stuck it out long enough to watch another inning after the game resumed and then headed home feeling pretty comfortable that we had a win in the bag. On a note of bags, I got commended on my supreme organizational skills when showing the purse police the inside of our soft cooler when entering the ballpark. Upon every entrance, I have at least one guard ask me if I'll share what's in the bag. I always pack dinner, snacks and drinks so we aren't tempted to spend money on outrageously priced and unhealthy ballpark food. Last night's main course: pork tenderloin and turkey bacon burgers on a toasted bun with provolone cheese, sundried tomatoes and pesto mayo sauce, garnished with a few sprigs of spinach leaves......and cheetos. Yummy.