Mowing and major pruning

This did not happen at my house. I just thought it cute.

MARK’S ARTICLE – April 9, 2010
“Snake sticks to weedflowers”

ROOFTOP – Whoa, watch your step. This metal roof is still dew-wet. Don’t make today the day you slip and bust your buns. Put that off for awhile.

About settled down, are you? Good. Is this not the nicest of roofsitting mornings? Little bit of a breeze, clouds easing on by, cool not cold, oak tassels drifting like a light snow.

And, cats. Look at ‘em. There are two over by the birdbath. Probably a couple more in the front yard. For a guy who owns no pets, I sure have a lot of cats using and abusing my yard. If they didn’t keep down the mole and creapy critter population, I’d be throwin’ rocks at ‘em. They still suspect I might, ‘cause they run when I approach.

I’m pretty sure the cats also keep the snake population down. I haven’t seen a snake in the yard in a good bit. Never saw one up here on the roof. The day that happens is the day I jump. Forget the ladder.

When I was with the Texas Forest Service I was walking in the woods one morning after a heavy rain. I was getting ready to brush a tree limb aside, when I saw a copperhead strung across the limb. Messed up my whole day. Hard to confidently walk in the woods when snakes are at eye level. Impossible for me. If I got snake-bit on my leg, that’d be just terrible. If one latched onto my nose, I’d scream like a girl… up until the time my air passage closed off.

Like I say, I haven’t seen many in the yard. Oh, I’ve seen several snakesticks. There are a lot of those down there. I saw a snakestick in the driveway a couple of days ago and had to stand and stare for several seconds. A most convincing stick. Don’t know why God allowed such a thing. I’m sure snakes do something to balance nature, but a snakestick serves no purpose other than to tease. – “Ha, ha. Made you look.” That’s what they’re thinking.

What I’m thinking is that we need to get off the snake topic. Don’t know why you brought it up in the first place.

Let’s talk about that pile of wood down there at the base of the giant oak. A couple of weeks ago, I had just relaxed in the recliner with a can of cashews when a guy knocked on the door. Whatta bother. How many people knock on your door expecting nothing of you? Never have I answered a door and had someone hand me $20 or a bag of brownies.

This guy looked rough as all get out. A real working man. Asked if I had any trees I wanted removed. He didn’t get the word “removed” outta his mouth before I said “No, thank you.” I was gonna add that I don’t let any doorknocker touch my trees. Never have. It’s actually never come up.

The guy smiled big and turned to leave. Something in the smile made me rethink. “Uh, how about removing a couple of big limbs?” He assured me he could do that.

Long story less so, that guy grabbed a couple of ropes and a chainsaw and climbed that huge oak. Looked like he was on Circus Sole or Cirque du Soileil. (That’s for my three French readers… or two Italians. Whichever.)

The cutter was tied off seven ways to Sunday, but it was still scary as all get out watching him swing around up there. One limb looked like it would slam right into the roof, right where a couple of you are sitting. But, he had a special knot tied that allowed it to swing and then ease to the ground. That guy had to be both an engineer and an artist.

He ended up sawing the limbs into smaller pieces, and stacking ‘em at the base of the tree. Nalin, my nephew, said he’d pick ‘em up someday. Might make a table or chair out of some of the pieces. I don’t think the kid is thinking right. Doesn’t matter. I doubt he picks the stuff up. Nephews. I love ‘em a lot, but I think they’d tell me anything just to get me to change the subject.

Hey, you haven’t even said anything about the lawn. See? I mowed all the weeds. Actually, Kay did a lot of the mowing, while I worked on the weed-eater. Are you aware that weed-eaters hibernate? They sleep hard, too. Don’t like to be startled awake. Shutdown is what they do.

Kay tired of mowing about the time I got the weed-eater working. She did a pretty bad job, too. Kay tries to mow around all the wildflowers. Don’t know if you’re aware, but most weeds come with a flower. They’re still weeds, though.

You can’t just leave clumps of weeds in your yard. It’ll look scalped. The neighbors will stop and point. Before long a mowing guy will be knocking on the door just as I’m sitting down with a can of cashews. “Hey, how ‘bout letting me mow your scalped yard?” I just hate it when people come a knocking. Be okay if they gave me something. Like that’s ever happened.

(I wanted to take a second here to thank my Pasadena friend, Cora Beth, for continually reading and commenting on my bouts of silliness. I'm a better writer for knowing that you are a big part of my audience. -- Didn't say I was a good writer. Just better. -- You're a peach, lady.

Oh, and Jill, if you didn't read it'd break my heart. What would I do with out my sweeter than sweet Sis? Don't ever wanna know.)

Al and Mark get major backstbbed

MARK’S ARTICLE –April 4, 2010
“Quiet on the set!”

“Quiet on the set!” That’s what you hear when somebody is making a movie. Hear it a lot. “Quiet on the set!”

When you hear “Quiet!” you’re supposed to shut-up or quit walking or stop clicking your ballpoint. Planes should exit the sky, cars brake, lawn mowing cease and squirrels sober up… like that’ll ever happen.

Director Chuck Walker sets the scene featuring Lorenzo Lamas and Tammy Barr

I would really hate to be a soundman on a movie set. The director will holler “Action!” Two seconds later the soundguy says, “Airplane.” Matt is our sound guy. A calmer person would be hard to find. Yet, yesterday he blew his stack. He kept hearing noise that would make Chuck have to holler “Cut!” Eventually, people started yelling at Matt for stopping the filming, so he quietly said, “Hey, I just record the sound. I don’t make it.” That’s about as frustrated as he gets. We all told him to calm down.

Beg pardon? Oh, right. I forgot to mention that we’re on a movie set in northwest Montgomery County. It’s being filmed at David and Pam Carter’s Chantilly Country. (I love David and Pam. So, book your wedding and family event now!) Absolutely scenic. Perfect place for this movie.

Chuck Walker and Sam Cable are the big honchos shooting the flick. What I like about this movie is that it’s a non-Western and I’m not playing a crazy guy. I’ve been so typecast.

Naveen Ramineni wrote the script. He’s supposed to be a surgeon in the Woodlands. I have trouble believing that ‘cause he looks too young. He’s a super nice guy, though.

In fact, everybody is nice on this set. Nicest crew and group of actors I’ve ever been around. The only mean person is Big Al, and he’s nice to everybody else. With me, it’s “Hey, Mark, you can slow down with the peanuts. They’re not going anywhere.” and “Just once you need to say the line the way it was written.”

Al sits amidst the greatest film crew in Western Civilization.

Fortunately, Al’s already been killed. This is a stabber, stalker kind of movie called “Backstabber.” I think I could do the soundtrack for it, but Chuck won’t let me. -- “He only comes out at night. He’s a backstabber!” -- I’ve already got a good start.

Like I was saying, Al got stabbed big time yesterday. He was crawling on the ground and everything. Zach killed him, because Lorenzo Lamas hadn’t arrived yet. Zach Cadwallader is the big brother of Michael one of the helper guys. Gaffer, grip, grabber. I don’t know what the crew people are called. I’m just throwing names around so fewer people will be mad at me for not mentioning them. Did I mention that Big Al was mean?

Lorenzo is on set today, so he will actually be killing me. I don’t wanna give anything away by saying that Lamas is the bad guy. Maybe I’m the bad guy and need killing. I play a really nice guy who everybody hates. I’m acting my buns off, ‘cause I am so likeable in real life. What? So much mumbling on a movie set.

Let’s see who else you might know. Tammy Barr was mentioned in Brad Meyer’s article about the movie. She’s in “Young and Restless” and she’s done a lot of other stuff. She’s a doll. She calls my character some bad names in the movie, but I don’t think she means ‘em.

You wanna know a nice guy? Leesa’s dad, Jack Zimmermann, has been on the set helping out. If I wanted a Raspberry soda about now, Jack would look for one. Nicer than nice. Oh, and Leesa is the girl who almost gets eaten by the alligator. Tammy saves Leesa from drowning and then Sean Busse kills the fake alligator. So much stuff going on.

Oh, yeah, Gary Parker with Quanah Parker Productions is the cinematog-something-or-other. In a normal world, I’d call him the cameraman. Gary’s cool. Al and I work with him on MyMTVnetwork.com. Jonathan Massey is another cinematog guy. I like him 'cause he’s so encouraging. He says stuff like “Mark, you weren’t all that bad. Besides, we’ll probably cut the scene editing.”

Who else can I keep happy? Let’s see, there’s Bea and Yankie, the two people really running the show. Annie puts on my makeup, and Bonnie will make me look stabbed. Grant Fratt (Gator), another technical guy, had the best non-recorded line so far. He said, “I’ve never seen a crew that had so many people with Alzheimer’s.” He said that after stuff kept getting lost. – “Hey, I didn’t have it Gator. I gave it to Tyler.” Tyler is the guy you’re always supposed to blame. It’s just an understanding we have.

And, then there’s Jared (Good actor. One of those pale vampire types.), Bardia (First Bardia I ever met. A funny guy.), Sarah (She acts like a whiner, but she’s a peach.), Erin (She had to wear high-heels out in the woods. Always had trouble keeping up.), David (Next to me, probably the loudest actor out here. Really sells a scene), Ben (plays a real quiet guy who really is.), Errol (He’s the cook and the first person killed. Just doesn’t make sense.)

Did I mention Lorie and Ginette? (Good workers and huggers. I like hugs.) I’m leaving out a bunch of names. Brad Meyer told me never to worry about leaving people out. Too many names make the piece less interesting. Brad said that ‘cause he’s meaner than Big Al. (Brad is the Montgomery County food critic. Remember? And, one day I’m gonna be reviewing with the big meany! I’ll try to turn him nice. *See the comment about sober squirrels.)

“Quiet on the set!” Oh, shoot, I think I get stabbed after this scene. I’d better go get—“Quiet!” Oh, yeah. Uh, next time.

END

Happy day

MARK’S ARTICLE – March 29, 2010
“Second best season”

ROOFTOP – Each season has its first roofsit, and this one is spring’s. Spring is a nice season. Of course, it’s not the nicest season. That distinction goes to Fall.

I like Fall the most ‘cause it’s got crunchy leaves, football and two names. Fall and autumn. I don’t know why that is. Between now and the first roofsit of autumn, I’ll try to have an answer for you. Might have to remind me. For now let’s just enjoy the moment.

Do you know what’s particularly great about this moment? It’s the fact that we’re up here, and Kay is at ground level doing stuff like potting plants, digging around in the yard, and talking to birds.

Before I came up here, she commented on a bunch of little birds that were flitting around, getting all excited over the budding trees and the birdbath. The birds weren’t singing or anything, but I could tell they were excited.

I asked Kay what kind of birds they were, but she didn’t know. She called ‘em “little sweet birds.” I think that’s why God let a man name all the animals. -- “Blue-footed Booby.” That’s a man’s name for a gull-like bird. Genius!

What Kay lacks in bird expertise, she more than makes up for in knowledge of plants. Plantimatology. The girl has sap for blood. We went to Home Depot yesterday to pick out flowers and herbs and wedgetables. (I sometimes have trouble with the “vee” sound.) Kay wanted me along just to load stuff for her. She doesn’t want, nor does she accept plant advice from me.

I’ll point out a lovely flower with beautiful blooms and she’ll say, “That’s a creeping trexblat, and needs direct sunlight.” Our yard has few areas that get a lot of direct sunlight. Seems most of the pretty plants like direct sunlight. They’re the ones with cataracts.

Every plant I recommended to Kay was wrong. Just aggravated me no end. I can’t even pick out potting soil. Instead of reading the bag, I read the price tag. That’s a bad selecting indicator for soil. Apparently. And, speaking of manure, Kay prefers sheep over cow. How does anyone stuff like that?

We ended up buying a bunch of flowers and herbs and wedgedable plants. When I saw the tomatoes and bell peppers in the basket, I said, “Does this mean we’re having another garden this year?” It was such a stupid question. It’s like watching someone put on boxing gloves and asking, “Are we getting ready to have a fight?”

I reminded Kay about how much trouble I went through with last year’s garden. Only ended up with five tomatoes. She said, “That’s because it was a bad year.” No joke. I thought it was because I over tilled.

So, tomorrow I’ll be digging out another garden plot. Tomatoes and bell peppers. No carrots, though. I only mention that, because of what happened last night. Kay and I had just gotten into bed after a long day of weed pulling and the like. I was about to roll over for my goodnight kiss when she said, “Did you know that when the ground is 40 degrees it takes a carrot seed 50 days to germinate?”

For a second I thought I might’ve climbed into bed with a pod person. I was going to turn on the light, but realized that you can’t tell a pod person simply by looking. So, I did the next thing that came to mind. I started laughing. Laughed big time. That got Kay to laughing, which was refreshing ‘cause pod people don’t laugh.

I don’t know exactly what Kay was laughing at, but I imagine her carrot news eventually hit her about the same as it hit me. Thirty-eight years of marriage and at bedtime one of us brings up the germination period of a carrot seed in cold soil. And, get this. And we’re not even planting carrots! It’s good when you end up laughing at bedtime. Sets the stage for the next day.

So, like I say, the girl who shared the carrot germination info with me is down there working like a Turk. Spring shows up and Kay becomes one with the soil. Me, I much prefer becoming one with a lawn chair at rooftop. More relaxing.

So, what say we sit back and watch all the little sweet birds? Not their official name, but cute. Wonder what Kay would’ve called a Blue-footed Booby. A Wading Cutie Pie would be my guess. You know, something like that can ruin an entire specie.

END

Healthy as all get out

MARK’S ARTICLE -- March 20, 2010 “See what I can do?”

Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve really cut down on fried foods. I’m pretty sure you can see the difference. What if I turn this way? See? What’d I tell you?

Yep, since watching a health documentary, I’ve really changed my eating habits. I now not only use a fork, but I also swallow my food before taking another bite. That’s hard for an ex-teacher to do. For 26 years I had 20 minutes to eat lunch. That’ll turn you into a beast.

But, back to the fried foods. I haven’t eaten a real Cheeto in weeks. I’ve switched to baked Cheetos. They’re pretty bad, but they leave your fingers orange, so your mind can be tricked into believing you ate a real Cheeto. Who am I kidding? I’m not the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but I can sure tell when I’ve eaten a make-believe Cheeto.

I keep dodging the fried foods, though. Last time I went to Luby’s I didn’t even order the fried chicken. Luby’s has the best fried chicken breast in town. Possibly in the world… if you don’t include Rupbuxik, Uzbekistan.

So, instead of Luby’s fried chicken, I got the chopped Angus steak. I wasn’t that pleased. Tasteless. Couldn’t tell it from an Argentine Criolo. What the world really needs is an Angus chicken. That’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout.

I don’t think I did right by getting the chopped steak, ‘cause you’re only supposed to eat beef once a week. That’s what the TV show said. In fact, three days a week, you’re supposed to go meatless. No beef, chicken, fish or lizard. Like that’s happenin’.

But, I am cutting down on fried foods and beef. Oh, and salt. Salt is killing us. If you eat a fried, salted steak, you might as well stick a fork in your spleen. Same difference. I can’t believe our tickers are still ticking. I forget what salt does to you, but it’s not good. Something to do with blood.

Right before I watched the fried food, beef and salt show I bought a couple of jars of dry roasted peanuts. They were salty as all get out. But, on sale. So, I poured ‘em in a strainer and ran water over ‘em for awhile. Then put ‘em in the oven. Not bad.

I have gotten to where I can eat unsalted peanuts without much trouble. I even bought some unsalted cashews the other day. It was a bridge too far. Never do it again.

I did try to desalt my sunflower seeds. Don’t know if you’re aware, but it’s impossible. The salt marries the husk. Till digested do they part. They don’t dry out easily, either. You end up with salty, soggy seeds… which, incidentally, is the name of a popular singing group. Probably.

By the way, not only have I changed what I eat, but I’ve also started an exercise regimen. Started it with Kay. She bought us an exercise tape. We’ve got a bunch.

The exercise guy in this tape is the same person who got Oprah to lose all the weight... one of those times she lost weight. He’s a neat guy. He first tells you about salt and meat and fried stuff (just like the documentary we saw) and then he watches as we exercise. Tells us what we’re supposed to be doing.

I like him a lot, ‘cause he only makes us exercise for about 15 minutes. I can do almost anything for 15 minutes. Except watch a “reality” show. Oh, and brush my teeth. Fifteen minutes would drive me nuts. I can’t hold my breath, or stir Jell-O, or read a telephone bill, or… well turns out there are a lot of things I can’t do for 15 minutes.

But, I can exercise with the Oprah trainer. I can’t do it the way I’m supposed to, but I give it all I’ve got. Some of what I’ve got. A little bit.

You can sure see the results, too. Look at this. I’m gonna sit down on the floor in the yoga position, with my feet folded up in the middle there. And, I’m gonna reach back and, uh… Well, that really hurts. I could do it a couple of weeks ago. I’ve been neglecting my regiment a little bit. It’s not that it takes long, it’s just that I hate anticipating having to do it. Anticipation is a bear.

Come back in a week or two, and I’ll show you what I can do when my feet are folded inward like this. Right now, if one of you could just give me a—That’s better. Oh, that hurt. Thanks.

So, give up the fried chicken, cut down on your beef and salt intake, exercise occasionally, and… uh, well forget about the exercise for awhile. Sorry I even brought it up. Don’t think I ever had anything knot up like that. That’s really-- Kay!

END

Zombies and headbutts

MARK’S ARTICLE – March 13, 2010
“What’s the big deal?”

Too many of my favorite cop shows are beginning to really insult my intelligence. My intelligence is not easily insulted. You have to get way down there.

Each time I see something that disturbs me, I feel the need to discuss it with someone. Kay is usually the only one I have to discuss it with. Unfortunately, with cop shows, Kay is… Kay seems… uh, Kay doesn’t give a hoot.

We were watching NCIS-LA the other night. The series sprung from the bowels of NCIS. You could’ve guessed that even if you’re still sucking on a pacifier. NCIS stands for Naval Criminal Investigative Service. I had to look it up. I’m apparently one of only a few who didn’t know what NCIS stands for, ‘cause each time those agents show their badges they are instantly recognized.

But, back to point, someone from CBS figured there are too many crimes involving naval personnel for just one TV series to handle ‘em all. Navy guys are getting bumped off right and left, so we need another series based in Los Angles.

CBS wanted to carry over the same humor that has made the original NCIS so popular. – There is a bloody body in the street, and DiNozzo says something funny about the dead guy not being able to make it to his next dental appointment. Just funny as can be.

So, Kay and I are still watching NCIS LA, and I notice a scene with LL Cool J. He has just tailed a bad guy to a building on deserted street. The bad guy gets out of his car, looks around to make sure he wasn’t followed and then enters the building. LL C J is sitting there in his black Dodge right across the street from the guy. Only other car on the road. His window is down and J is staring right at him. The perp doesn’t notice.

“Why don’t they try to make it just a little bit authentic?” I said to Kay. Kay didn’t know. “Hey, it’s just a show, Sweetie. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

Don’t make a big deal out of it! I quit the show. It’s insulting. I do like Linda Hunt, though. Hate to see her on such a poorly written show.

I told you all that to tell you this. Jill was over last weekend and we really did some serious making of big deals. One instance involved a zombie movie. It had Simon Baker in it. You know? The Mentalist. Kay loves Simon Baker, remember? But, she hates Zombie movies. Hates ‘em so much that she won’t watch one even if Simon Baker is in it.

Jill and I hate zombies, too, but it was a bad night for TV. We were about ten minutes into the flick when Jill asked a question that should’ve been screamed by every zombie viewer in the land. Jill asked, “Why don’t zombies eat each other?”

No joke! Why don’t they? They’re stumbling around trying to chase live people, when right next to ‘em they’ve got people slowly strolling down the street with their arms sticking straight out! Eat them! Sheeesh, zombies! How dumb can you get?

After the zombie movie, Jill and I watched a detective show. I don‘t remember. We weren’t three minutes into this one when it happened. The ol’ head-butt. All shows have at least three head-butts per episode. Even cartoons.

Kay doesn’t care much for head-butts. She can take ‘em or leave ‘em. They drive me right up the wall. With Jill in the room, I could commiserate. I said, “Jill, why is it that the head-butt never hurts the guy who delivers it? It’s like, hey, if your head moves first, you don’t feel a thing.”

When we were kids, we called head-butts, bumping heads. Head-bumping never happened on purpose. It hurt way too much to initiate something like that. But, on TV, you can just ram your head into anybody’s head and it never hurts. Makes the receiver of the butt wish he had thought of it first.

Jill and I ended the evening watching a spoof on superhero movies. It was lame as all get out, but did have a few parts that had us laughing. Visual stuff. Silly, stupid… hilarious.

Kay watched with us for a few minutes. She seldom cracked a smile. Eventually, she left to read her book. I have to respect the girl for that. She’s so much more sophisticated. You see, Kay married into the family. Jill and I were born Hayters. We see humor in the most ridiculous of things. And, we make big deals out of the unimportant. It’s a disease passed on through the ages.

It’s a bad disease, but nothing like the disease that makes you a zombie. Never clear on what that is. But, I do know this. If you ever get caught by a zombie, you deserve to get eaten. They’re slower than slow. Walk with their hands straight out. Give me a break.

END

Looking and waiting

MARK’S ARTICLE -- March 4, 2010
“Waiting with Margaret”

Last night, I looked all over for a book I had been nursing for the last month. It was one of those whodunits, and I was gonna finish that bubba or know the reason why.

The characters hadn’t been fleshed out enough for me to care all that much who the murderer was, but I had invested too much time to let it go. You ever get that way with a book?

So, I’m looking all over for the paperback. After a few minutes I realized it had been stolen. Same with my houseshoes, the clothespin used to seal the Cheetos bag, the downstairs phone and my erasable crossword puzzle pen. There’s something diabolic going on at the Hayter house. Most days.

Oddly enough, everything mysterious reappeared… in places you don’t even wanna know. Everything except the book. I eventually tried the oldest trick in the book. No, not the lost book. Now, you’re just being silly. No, I tried the ol’ where’s-the-last-place-you-remember-seeing it trick.

After a couple of minutes, I reluctantly realized the book hadn’t been stolen at all. You coulda knocked me over with a truck tire. I had left the book in the waiting room of the Toyota service department! Khaaaan!

Took me another couple of minutes to realize that Ricardo Montalban had little to do with me leaving my book at Gullo. It was Margaret’s fault. Margaret was an elderly woman I sat next to in the waiting room. She did it.

You see, when I entered the waiting room, I took the first seat that became available. Had to push an old man down to get to it. Feisty old codger. Wouldn’t stay down. (A joke! Sheesh.)

When I sat down next to the Margaret I couldn’t help notice that she was knitting. Her lap being covered with a big purple knitted thing gave her away

I didn’t engage the woman in conversation immediately. I was in a waiting room. Didn’t I mention that? It’s quieter than death in a waiting room. Quieter than that in an elevator. Negative sound.

It takes guts to speak up in a quiet place. And, I’ve got guts. Lots of guts. Before even opening my later-to-be-left book, I asked Margaret what she was knitting. She said it was a sweater for her niece.

Her smile and polite manner told me that she was not the least leery of conversation. So, I put my book down and pried into the lady’s past. I can be a prier.

The lady didn’t look nearly as old as her remembrances. They went way back. Margaret has a degree in Chemistry. Don’t know if you knew that. She once attended Syracuse University to get her Masters. She didn’t finish there, though. I think it had to do with the winter. She talked of snowdrifts that buried her car. Being from Los Angeles, she wasn’t used to stuff like that.

Margaret has traveled all over. She mentioned mostly Asian locales: Thailand, Japan, Philippines, Taiwan. She liked the Philippines best, ‘cause she said the people were the friendliest.

As she talked, others in the waiting room began to pick up on the conversation. They were all beginning to feel comfortable talking while waiting. When Margaret mentioned she was from Los Angeles and had witnessed a number of earthquakes, a lady to my right asked if, during an earthquake, it felt like you were standing on Jell-O. Margaret said, “No, it’s more like you’re standing on nothing. It’s just odd.”

So much stuff. The conversation took a dive when Troy came in to let me know my car was ready. Troy is one of my ex-students. A nicer guy would be hard to find.

“Mr. Hayter, we just changed your oil. Your brakes are fine.” I told him that was unacceptable and that he needed to go back and find something wrong. I wouldn’t have said that to just anybody. Troy laughed and said, “Mr. Hayter, I’m not back in school. You don’t hafta find something wrong.”

What a great guy. What a great lady. What a super visit. Except for the paperback. I think somebody stole it while I was there. -- “Okay, Mr. Hatesquiet, I’ll just relieve you of this. By the way, the police chief did it.” – That would be doing me a favor.

END






Troy in 1986 Yearbook

A gift from the French

MARK’S ARTICLE – February 25, 2010
“Pinch me”

ROOFTOP – “I’m gonna wash that car!” – “Whatcha gonna do?” – “I’m gonna wash that car!” – “Whatcha…” Oh, I’m sorry. I was making up a song while waiting for you. Nothing short of cool, I’m thinking.

And, no, I can’t see me washing the car today, even though we do have a window of opportunity. Don’t know that I’ve seen a sky any bluer than this one. Makes the buzzards circling overhead really stand out. Buzzards? That can’t be good.

Of course, by the time the readers at ground level get this, the window of opportunity to wash the car will have slammed shut. Too much rain.

No worry. Like I say, the car is not getting washed, regardless. It’s too cold. My hand would freeze to the nozzle. Last time it did that, Kay wouldn’t even let me use her armpit to unfreeze me. Love has its limits.

How do you like the jacket? It’s the black wool thing that I got two Christmases back. I love wool jackets, even though they tend to scratch my neck. I can make a friend out of a wool jacket. Harder to do with other materials. I had the sleeves taken up a couple months back. Cost me about as much as the jacket did, but it was worth it. Here, hold my coffee, while I stretch my arms out. See? Fits great.

Uh, my coffee? Thanks. I brewed it a few minutes ago in my new French Press coffeemaker. Kay got it for me for Valentines. She’s an absolute doll.

If you’re not familiar, a French press looks like a small, see-through R2D2, with no wheels, one arm, and a plunger coming out the top of its head. The first time I had coffee from a French Press was at this snazzy place called the Cru Wine Bar in The Woodlands. I went there once with Brad Meyer the food critic guy.

Just before my meal, the waitress brought my coffee to the table in a French Press. She pushed the plunger thing down and then poured the coffee into a warmed cup. She even warmed the cream! How good is that? I felt almost special.

After my meal, she asked if I wanted more coffee. Does ice cream covet hot fudge? She did the whole thing again. It was the best, Jerry! Pressed coffee is the smoothiest. Yeah, that’s the word, smoothiest.

After that, I was in Starbucks one afternoon when the girl said they didn’t brew coffee in the early afternoon. I just stared at her. My world turned upside down. She thought a second and then said she could make some from me in a French Press. Said she enjoyed doing it. I came out of my stupor long enough to scream, “Do it! Do iiiit!

It was terrific. So much smoothier. The antithesis of Starbucks coffee. The girl said she’d be glad to French Press me any time. I’m going to ask if I can push the plunger next time. Pretty sure she won’t let me. She did seem to enjoy it.

Anyway, I told Kay about the experience, oh, maybe 50 times. So, Valentines rolls around, and she gives me a press. Weird, ‘cause we don’t usually give anything but cards on Valentines. Maybe go out to eat the day before. We went crazy this time.

Oh, and she also bought me this plastic Venti-sized Starbucks cup with a lid. Venti means “The biggest” when you’re referring to a cup. When you’re not talking about coffee cups, I believe it’s something Julius Caesar said. Vinti, grande, tall. I’m thinking he had just taken the mountains of Colombia. That’s where the best coffee is.

Beg pardon? Oh, I got Kay a blouse for Valentines Day. I was looking to get her a pair of bajamas, which some people mistakenly call “pajamas.” I remember the correct word ‘cause it’s the same as the name of the chain of islands close to Florida.

I couldn’t find any bajamas in wool, so I got her the blouse. She didn’t like it much. I could tell. She was cool with it, though. Didn’t even act disappointed. Like she expected… Uh, doesn’t matter.

Kay also got me a Valentine that says she likes me even better than when we first got married. Isn’t that something? I didn’t think anybody could like me more after they got to know me. After awhile the warts start showing. The same lousy comments keep surfacing. Eventually it’s “Okay, Mark. That’s about enough. I’ve gotta go wash the car.”

Not with Kay. She not only isn’t going to wash the car, she’s sticking with me for forever. That’s what her card said. For forever. I wrote something pretty sweet, too, but hers was the best.

So, here I am sitting on the roof on a beautiful day, sipping my French Pressed coffee out of my insulated Starbucks-like cup, while down there at ground level is a girl who loves me even more than she used to. And, get this. I’m not even gonna wash the car. Somebody pinch me.



END