Rambling on the rooftop

“Don’t touch the hat”

ROOFTOP – I’m pretty sure that this is the last day till late fall that we’ll be able to sit up here midday and feel this comfortable. Just as cool as it can be with a breeze that sets the trees off in a loud whisper. Doesn’t that sound great?

I just don’t think our retinas could take in a bluer sky. Looks like we’re in an airbrushed scene of an Avatar sequel. And, all of it is right here in our own backyard… St. Louis.

I’m sorry. The ghost of Judy Garland made me say that. Speaking of “Meet me in St. Louis,” I wonder what happened to World Fairs? I guess most Americans only notice ‘em when they happen over here. Doesn’t do me much good to put one in Brunei.

I can’t help but notice that some of you are staring at my farmer’s hat. Don’t blame you. It’s a dandy. I bought this thing right before I auditioned for a commercial. For a tractor.

I didn’t get the part, because the casting director pulled a fast one on me. I was supposed to make up some things to say about a farmer’s new tractor. I was supposed to come across as reluctantly impressed.

I can do reluctantly impressed. So, I made up a bunch of cute stuff. When I showed up at the studio, the director said she changed her mind. “Here’s what I want you to say.” It was all different. And, it was stupid. I can’t say different and stupid as convincingly as I can original and silly.

All I came away with was my new hat. Cool. I brought it over to Kay’s little brother’s house to do some yard work. Tracy slapped it on his head and wouldn’t take it off. The little twit was wheeling around the house, married to MY hat! When Kay stepped outside for a minute, I decided to trade Tracy one of his guitars for my hat. Hey, I don’t like to resort to stuff like that, but he shouldn’t have messed with my hat.

Those of you staring up from ground level, can’t see the hat that well, but the brim bends down in the front and back, curls up on both sides and has a loosely woven lattice near the top. That breeze is skimming off the top of massive bald spot. Feels great. And, no, you can’t try it on. You’ll pull a Tracy on me.

I’ve named bad behavior after my brother-in-law. Yesterday, Kay tracied my last piece of banana nut bread. See how well the word works?

Speaking of Kay reminds me of Shakira. No, let me finish. This morning I was showing Kay the “Waka Waka” music video of Shakira. I found it on YouTube while looking at one of the restaurant reviews Brad and I did. For some reason one of our reviews was linked to the Latin dancer, singer, philanthropist and staggeringly gorgeous girl. Did I mention that she can dance?

Anyway, I had never heard the Waka Waka song, so I played it and enjoyed it so much that I tried to share it with Kay. Shakira made the song during the World Soccer Tournament in South Africa. The song has a good beat and, uh, made me want to play soccer.

Unfortunately, Kay was less impressed. We are soooo different. When I see something I like, I want to share it. If I can do anything to make life just a little nicer for others, I won’t hold back… within reason.

Take boiled eggs. Not mine. I was boiling three eggs day before yesterday. After the 15 minute stove time, I poured the steeping water out of the pan and replaced it with tap water, and then threw in some ice cubes. The sudden temperature change is supposed to make the eggs easier to peel. I read that somewhere. I’ve been doing boiled eggs that way for years. Kay has watched me do it.

Well, this time the ice didn’t help. The shell fought me like popcorn hull in the throat. I asked Kay why the ice trick didn’t work. She said, “Because the egg was too fresh. Fresh eggs don’t peel well.” Then she went on to explain why. Got into biology and chemistry, so I didn’t listen. Sometimes she makes her explanations up. She got that from me.

Regardless, her revelation really ticked me off. For years she’s been watching me pour off the hot water and add ice cubes. Does she share her fresh egg theory? Oh, no. She watches me do my thing. What kind of person would do that? And, get this. She doesn’t even like Shakira!

And, while I’m talking eggs, yesterday morning Kay and I found ourselves at Whataburger munching on our Breakfast on a Bun. I don’t really know how to pluralize that sandwich. Breakfasts on a bun? Breakfast on a buns? I think they ought to rename it.

After breakfast I decided to take the long way home. Freeman taught me that. Sometimes after we eat out with the Plilers, Freeman takes the long way home. I think once we drove past Toronto.

This time I drove the backroads to the place where we used to lease a house near Lake Conroe. I really liked the backyard of that house. It had a raised deck where we’d sit out and look over a hill to the lake. A great view. That was about 18 years ago. Now there’s another house behind our old house. You climb on the patio and look across into the neighbor’s kitchen window. Watch her boil eggs.

Fortunately, our view is much better up here. And, it’s clear and cool. Likely, the last clear and cool day of the season. Glad we didn’t let it get away.

Oh, well, everybody watch your step. And, a couple of you at ground level, how about holdin’ the ladder for us? I’ll show you my hat when I get down there. And, no, you can’t try it on. – Next time.

END

To watch Mark and Brad’s latest restaurant review, click below. Oh, and to watch Waka Waka, click on Shakira... assuming you haven't already.