Kay cooks for Cindy of Signing with Cindy Fame

“Kay's cooking episode”

Kay and I are going to do a cooking show together tomorrow. If that doesn’t scare you, it should.

One reason our marriage has lasted so long is ‘cause we know not to prepare meals together. We’ve also learned not to wash the car together, but that’s a whole different thing.

There was a time much earlier in our marriage when we could cook together, but that was back when I didn’t know how to cook. Kay would have to tell me what to chop or skin or stir. Now, I know all that stuff. And, when push comes to shove – which it usually does – I think I’m the better cook.

That’s because Kay doesn’t put enough stuff in what she cooks. She doesn’t put enough butter or oil; enough sugar, salt or cinnamon; or enough chocolate chips or icing. I always put just the right amount. That’s who I am.

The person producing our cooking segment is a good friend of ours Cindy Cochran. Do you remember a show that was on PBS several years back called “Signing with Cindy”? Well, Cindy is that Cindy.

I may have watched every segment of “Signing With Cindy.” I learned to sign the entire song “Sunshine on My Shoulder.” That may not impress you, but it astonished my students back when I was teaching. -- “Mr. Hayter, do you know anything by Journey?” I’d break into “Just a small town girl, living in a lonely woooorld…” – That’s a lie, I only knew the sunshine song, and it began to grate on my classes. – “Somebody stop him! He’s killin’ us!”

I don’t know where Cindy lived when she was SWC, but right now she lives in Montgomery County, and along with a bunch of other stuff, she’s starting a cooking show project and she wants Kay and me to participate. A foolish experiment for sure, but I’m just proud she’s coming to our kitchen.

Where was I. Oh, yeah, Cindy asked Kay and me to each cook something that has a little history behind it. Something we got from a good friend or family member. We’re supposed to tell the history of the dish and then cook it in front of the camera. That part doesn’t worry me so much, but I don’t know how Kay’s gonna handle it. I do know that whatever she does, she’ll be cute doing it. She’ll likely yell at me a few times, but she’ll look cute doing it. Always does.

Kay’s going to show viewers how to prepare Penoche-coated walnuts. It got it’s name from the Disney character Penocheo. Can you see how much I’m going to add to Kay’s cooking segment? I’m going to help her prepare stuff while acting like I know nothing about cooking. I’ll be acting my buns off, ‘cause you know how much I know. A little test for you. Who’s the better cook? Just checking. -- And, yes, Irma. I know. Who’s on first. Cute.

After Kay’s walnut coating fiasco, I’m going to prepare Uncle Ray’s beans, a dish ripe with history… and beans. Lots of beans. By the way some of you may remember that Uncle Ray was Kay’s dad. My father-in-law.

I called him Uncle Ray as a joke once. It was a joke that took root. One of the greatest guys I’ve ever known. Wish you could’ve known him. While that’s no longer possible, you will get to know his beans. They’re quick, they’re easy and they were created at a roadside park in Utah. That’s part of the history.

If you wish to see Cindy’s family recipes show -- and who wouldn’t – you can locate it on www.youtube.com/instantifame. If it’s not there now, be patient. Cindy probably had to do more editing than she had planned. I could see that happening.

Click on Kay to see show

END

Click on photo below to see Brad and Mark's review of Chuy's.

And, you can reach Mark at mark@rooftopwriter.com

Somebody's messin' with me.

“Return of the spoon”

    Something around this house is messing with me and I want it to stop. Are you hearing me?

    Half the time I’m walking around with one houseshoe on ‘cause somebody… or someTHING stole the other. Reading glasses mysteriously leave the room I’m in and go to where I’m not. And, the remote? Do I look like a guy who would toss the remote control behind the couch? Who does that?

    The latest wonderment is the real bat buster. A good while back Kay bought a set of four spoons. There were other eating implements in the box, but I only cared about the spoons. They were perfect, Jerry. 

    The part that goes in your mouth was rounded, not pointy. I like that. A pointy spoon makes the milk dribble down the side of your mouth when you’re eating cereal. Newton proved that even before spoons were invented. Did people listen?

    The new spoons were the perfect size, too. Oh, the set included larger mouthed spoons, but I couldn’t handle ‘em. The smaller ones were perfect. And, they’ve got long stems, good for stirring coffee in my tall, narrow coffee cup with the state-of-the-art lid.

    So the four spoons became my friends. Kay intended to get some more, but the Big Lots people never found another set in the dropped crates down at the docks. Apparently.

I treasured my four spoons for, oh, a couple of years when one of them went missing. You might think the dishwasher ate it, but I stopped using the dishwasher. When you have only four favorite spoons, one favorite cereal bowl, the perfect spatula and my futuristic coffee cup, well, you can’t have ‘em sittin’ in a dishwasher waiting for a full load. Know what I mean, Vern?

So, I was down to three favorite spoons. If one more went missing, there’d be a pattern. I was scared. I took an entire Saturday looking for the missing/stolen spoon. Oh, I took a break to take Kay to see “Sleepless in Seattle.” They only meet in the last five minutes? Give me a break.

Anyway, no luck. I even looked behind the stove. When is the last time you pulled your stove out? It’s scary. I found a tennis ball, Kay’s catcher’s mitt, Big Al’s hairbrush and one of Jimmy Hoffa’s socks. Looked about his size. No spoon.

I had to give up. I’ve been nursing the remaining three spoons for years now. During commercials I’ll even run to the drawer and check up on ‘em.

Well, this morning something freaky happened. As I was arranging a fisted-bundle of silverware into the drawer, I chunked in all the forks and knives and the pointy spoons and then I put four special spoons into the appropriate slot. Did you catch that? FOUR. The prodigal spoon had returned.

“Where have you been?” I asked. It wasn’t talkin’.  I ran to find Kay. “Kay, the spoon is back!” You know what she said? She said, “Oh, good.”

Oh, good? A missing cat would get more of a welcome. So, I ran to the kitchen and prepared my cocktail mix of Oatmeal Crisp, Wheat Chex and Nutty Nuggets, and I grabbed hold of my prodigal spoon. I had to take a bite with each of the four, ‘cause I wasn’t sure which one was the missing one. I should’ve labeled ‘em.

I’m still left with the why, what and where” of the spoon. The “how” would be good to know, too. I’ve got the “when” down. This morning.

Yep, either I’m goin’ nuts or something is messing with me. I’m pretty sure I’m not nuts. Would a crazy person continue to wear one houseshoe so he doesn’t have to look for it when the other one appears? Or, would he protect his favorite spoons by hiding them inside an empty box of Wheat Chex? I think not.

END

To view Brad and Mark’s review of Wang's Asian Fusion Restaurant, click on pic below.

You can reach Mark at mark@rooftopwriter.com

Babysitting the Shaner

"Birds, bubbles and Shane"


ROOFTOP – I think we may be rushing this autumn thing a bit. It’s still too hot to be up here. We’re looking at 84 degrees with a hot breeze. And, if that’s not a line in a Country Western song, it oughtta be.

I’m just surprised you followed me up here. Figured you for more sense. Loyal, that’s what you are. Loyal with a touch of odd.

At least you didn’t bring coffee with you. Can you believe this? This is my second cup of the morning. Sweating like a Lebanese sumo wrestler, and drinking coffee. Jill has been trying to get me interested in iced coffee. It makes no sense to me. If coffee were meant to be consumed cold, they would have called it Java-ade.

I thought we’d face the front yard this morning. Hope you don’t mind. It was a little shadier on this portion of the roof. The big oak will likely obscure us from any passing motorists. Let’s hope.

Speaking of all the birds, someone told me the other day that hummingbirds will eventually settle down and share the feeder. I can’t see hummingbirds sharing anything. One will sit down and just dare another to sit on one of the three vacant stoops. Chases off anything that attempts to hover. I just wanna slap ‘em.

When the oriole wants to visit, the hummingbirds don’t pester it. I’m fairly sure it’s from Maryland. I thought it odd the first time I saw the bird balance on the tiny hummingbird feeder. I seldom see any orioles around here. I had no idea they liked sugar water. We’ve got the birdbath down there, but they occasionally like to hit the sweet stuff. Reminds me of me.

Oh, and speaking of Kay reminds me that we had to baby sit Virginia and Freeman’s great grandson last week. Shane is, what… almost a year old? He can’t walk, he’s not crazy about crawling, but he likes to bounce. When you stand him up, he bounces like Tigger on speed.

If you lay him on his back, he kicks and punches the air like he wants to bounce in space. It’s best not to try to tummy-gum an air-bouncer. Look at my nose. I think he broke it. Strange lad. Grins and giggles like a Ukrainian drunk. (I don’t know where that came from.)

Other than the facial breakage threat, the other aggravating thing about the kid is that he doesn’t like to nap even when he’s half asleep. And, he always likes to be with someone. He even enjoys MY company. What an idiot. But, he much prefers his Aunt Kay. She threw a blanket in the backyard, put Shane down on it and started playing with one of her many bubble making mixtures. Kay’s pretty much a bubble freak. I had no idea when I married her.

So, she blew bubbles at Shane and the kid would giggle and try to focus on one while dozens of ‘em were popping on his noggin. Kids are just nuts.

I don’t care to spread this around, but I halfway enjoyed Shane’s stay. The first couple of hours anyway. And, I do think it was a little too hot for me to be outside with him. Fortunately, Kay put some water in a spray bottle and sprayed us with it. I think I giggled as much as the kid did. I even started bouncing.

I wish I had thought to bring the spray bottle to the roof. I’m melting. Just look at me. Tell you what, let’s get off this metal furnace, get in the house, lose the coffee and hit the Dr Pepper. The ol’ sugar water. I think I’ve got some oriole in me.

Oh, and watch your step, people. When it gets cooler we’re gonna want to do this again. So, if you fall and break something, I’m sure not hauling your rear up here next time. Loyalty counts for just so much.

END

Watch Brad and Mark’s latest restaurant review clicking on photo below.

 You can reach Mark at mark@rooftopwriter.com

36 days until completion

Dad and Mom on left. Uncle A.B. and Aunt Bertha on right

“Favorite age”

    How old would you like to be? Would you care to go back to the puberty? Was that a lot of fun for you? How about the mid-twenties? How would that work?

    That’s what Brad asked me the other day. Brad is the local restaurant critic and reporter. Brad Meyer? Big guy? Mean? By the way, I want to thank those of you who commented on Facebook and by e-mail asking Brad to be nicer to me. It didn’t help a bit, but I appreciate the support.

    Anyway, I was driving us back from our latest restaurant experience when Brad asked what age I wanted to be. His question made me think about how much time I spend with the guy. Next to Kay, I talk to Brad Meyer more than anybody else in the realm of Mark. That just scares the willies out of me.

    The Plilers don’t have as much time for us anymore, ‘cause they’re with grandkids. You can never really assess the true value of one’s friendship until they have grandkids. I think William James said that. Or William Tell. One of the Williams.

    Point is, I’ve been spending a lot of time with Brad. Way too much time. Fortunately, he seldom says anything to me that requires a great deal of thought. So, you can see why I was genuinely surprised when he asked what my favorite age would be.

    Unfortunately, I spent too long thinking of my response. A nanosecond after asking the question, Brad started telling me his favorite age. Seems like it was 27. I wasn’t listening all that much. 

    Instead, I started thinking about my current age. It’s been on my mind quite a bit since my last birthday.. My 23rd, 33rd, 53rd and 62nd birthdays hit me hard. When I was a kid I thought that at the age of 23 I’d have everything figured out. I’d be smart, wise and on top of stuff. Instead, I was as confused as ever.

    At 33 I realized I had to get a move on, ‘cause time was really running out on me. At 53, time had run out on me. And, at my last birthday, 62, I realized that in late November I’d be as old as my dad was when he died.

    Dad died one year after taking disability retirement from Crown Refinery. I think it was the happiest year of his life. He and Mom did a little traveling, went out on dates, and spent a lot of time with their kids.

     We thought Dad just had minor heart trouble, and would be with us for many more years. One day in late March, while most of my siblings were visiting Big Al and me in Conroe, we got a call from Mom telling us to come to the hospital in Pasadena. Dad was gone by the time we got there. 

    That’s what I was thinking of when Brad was telling me his favorite age to be. I never told him how old I wanted to be, but I’m still glad he asked the question. It reminded of one of my goals. It was just over 15 months ago that I began writing a book about my life with Dad. Originally, my goal was to finish it by Christmas. Last Christmas. But, my lack of writing discipline forced me to move the deadline up to late November. November 18th, to be exact. That’s the day I’ll be exactly Dad’s age when he died. I had to do some serious math.

    I’ve completed 19 chapters of the book and have about six to go. I haven’t written on it for three weeks now. I’ve gotta get busy. Thanks to Brad’s unintentional prodding, I am now going to build a fire under my rear and finish the thing.

    I guess at some point I’ll get Brad to repeat his story about his favorite age. I’m not sure if he was telling me he liked being 27, or just wanted to go back and change some stuff he did at 27. While being 27 didn’t do much for Kurt Cobain, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison , Amy Winehouse and a host of others, it was probably a real gas for Brad. Just a guess.

    By the by, you can find the work in progress by logging onto www.rooftopwriter.com. Or you can wait till November 18, and read the entire thing. Unless Brad does something to really discourage me, I plan to be finished by then. 

END

To view Brad and Mark’s latest review of Guadalajara Hacienda and Grill click on picture.

Fix your taillight for heaven's sake!

Strange Coincidence

Do you wanna know what the biggest coincidence in the world is? Pretend you do.

No, it’s not that your keys are always in the opposite pocket of your freehand. That’s ceased being a coincidence. The Society for Correctness in Word Usage has now labeled that occurrence as customary. (By the way, the SCWU is having a fundraiser Tuesday evening at The Ice House.)

No, the biggest coincidence in the world has to do with defective taillights. A study at Dartmouth University found that 97.4 percent of all cars with defective taillights are driven by people soon to be arrested for something.

Just odd as it can be. Last week I read about a guy who wasn’t even driving the single tail-lit car. He was just a passenger. Yet, come to find out, there was a felony warrant out on him. Police would not have known to arrest him had he not been in a car with a defective taillight.

I don’t know what that tells you, but it tells me that if you’re gonna do the crime, you’d better check your taillights. It also tells me that the law that prevents felons from keeping company with other felons and from owning firearms should be expanded to include driving a car with more than one taillight operational. We wouldn’t even have to have probation officers. The police would constantly be stopping P.I.s and seeing what they’re up to. – What? Oh, It stands for “Previously Incarcerated.” According to the SCWU, “ex-con” is no longer acceptable.

What makes the defective taillight/criminal ratio all the more bizarro is the fact that I couldn’t tell you the last time I saw a car with a defective taillight. I’d come closer to seeing a whopping crane perched on my satellite dish. That must mean that crime is down. Way down.

Used to, it was common as could be to see cars with only one operational taillight… or headlight for that matter. We had a ’54 Ford pickup that came with only one taillight. The left side had a reflector, but no light.

It also had no blinker lights and no power steering. The truck was impossible to steer with one hand, yet, by law, I was supposed to give a hand signal while going into my turn. Couldn’t be done.

Fortunately, I had no police record, or as fate would have it, I would’ve been pulled over every day. – “Mr. Hayter, do you know why I pulled you over?” – “Well, I haven’t checked my taillights, but I assume I must’ve robbed the Sinclair station back yonder. I can’t buy a break.”

So, where am I going with all this, you ask? Well, somebody’s bound to have. The recent article about the defective taillight arrest got me to thinking. When I was young rambunctious teen, Tommy Cromeens and I were pulled over one night at about 1:30. We were out looking to rumble. Or, looking for a 24 hour Shipley’s Donuts.  I can’t remember.

Anyway, the officer pulled us over, put the ol’ light in our faces, studied us for a few seconds and then said, “We were looking for two guys in a car like this. We think they robbed a, uh, a 7/11 on, uh, Burke. Or, Red Bluff. One of those.”  He then suggested we call it a night.”

I didn’t mind the experience at all. Gave me the false impression that I looked tough. We were all the talk at school on Monday. “Hey, they yanked Tommy through the window. Me? I wasn’t going down without a fight.” Our friends wouldn’t have laughed so much had our reputations been just a little tarnished. Turned out to be a big embarrassment.

The weird thing is, had Tommy and I been tokin’ on reefer, or bootin’ the ol’ gong (work with me here), we wouldn’t have been stopped for driving in a car the same model as one involved in a robbery. No, we would’ve been pulled over because we had a defective taillight.

For the life of me, I don’t see how that happens. I imagine any day now the ol’ SCWU is going to change the defective taillight/criminal-pullover occurrence from “coincidence” to “customary.” And, I’m not even sure what that means.

END

You can view Brad and Mark’s latest restaurant by clicking on photo.

Ten years later

“Sunrise”

    ROOFTOP -- Anybody know what time sunrise is this morning? Anybody? Oh well, no worry. Li’l Orphan Annie assures us that the sun will come out… come what may. That little 87 year-old girl is just as perky as can be. We need perky.

    I might’ve researched the timing of sunrise, but the decision to climb up here was one of those spur of the moment things. I’m just shocked that a few of you were awake and alert enough to join me. Shows fortitude. Shows something.

    I dragged our buns up here ‘cause I just couldn’t sleep. I was stewing over my article. Not this one. I haven’t written this one yet. No, it was the one I wrote a few hours ago. I thought it best to write something about 9/11, this being tenth anniversary of the horrid event.

    Since so many others were writing about it, I figured I should. Didn’t think it proper to write my usual humor piece, so I got serious. Took me three stabs at it, but I finally ended up with something. Something I really didn’t like. I sounded like a guy who needed direction. I was all over the place. Got into history, politics and social values.

    And, were it not for Kay, I would’ve sent it in to my boss. You can only imagine the amount of bad stuff that girl has kept from you. 

    Like I say, I was in need of direction, so I dragged my rear out of bed and headed to the roof. I heard a wise man once say that if you can’t sleep, don’t fight it. Perhaps God is trying to get your attention about something.

So, here I am. And, here you are. Looking for direction? Well, from up here we’ve got direction in spades. Any minute now we could even get a glimmer of guidance.

Speaking of glimmer, I can see a faint glow right over yonder. I don’t know what time it is, but the sun is definitely on the rise. No, it’s over there in the east. See? No, Peggy, the other east. There you go. Looks like it will be joining us in just a few minutes. I need to assign one of you to keep an eye on it. No, Peggy, let’s let Claudia. Okay, both of you! Sheesh.

What? Oh, before I got the ladder out, I noticed the thermometer read 63 degrees. Almost wish I had thought to bring a long-sleeved shirt. And, Scott, I wish you had thought to throw some pants over your pajamas. Who sleeps in pajamas? Hey, it was rhetorical!

Doesn’t it feel absolutely great up here? I wonder how long we’ll remember this moment. What is the half-life of a memorable moment? Again, rhetorical.

Last night’s article had a part in it about remembering where I was when 9/11 happened. I thought it an interesting story. Interesting to me. But, who cares where I was? Phil, rhetorical. 

We were all somewhere? And, we each have our thoughts of that day. I absolutely hate it when someone describes something as being “surreal.” Just so overdone. But, let’s face it, that was pretty much the sense of the day.

Ten years ago. What’s happened since then? Have things gotten better? Worse? Seems we’re a little less patriotic than we once were. I bought two new flags and some flag decals after the disaster. I still fly those same flags on celebratory days. They’re a bit faded, but I can’t see me replacing them. Maybe when things settle down a bit.

And, yes, Peggy, here comes the sun. Annie was right, again. Just look at that orange glow cutting through the pines. In lieu of the fire season, I’m so glad I’ve still got my pines. They could catch fire and burn the house tomorrow, but right now they’re providing quite the spectacle.

And, yes, it’s a cool 60+ degrees right now, and it will be in the 90s later in the day. But, now, it feels all right. We’re quietly sitting, looking, listening. Right now is good.

This moment reminds me of one of my favorite passages. “Be still and know that I am God.” -- He just got my attention.

END

To view Mark and Brad's latest restaurant review click on pic below.   

Not good a waiting

“The DPS Adventure”

Did you know that the Texas Department of Public Safety does not inform all residents when their licenses need renewed? I didn’t know that till Kay told me a couple of weeks before my birthday.

The DPS apparently doesn’t have a budget large enough to send out mailers to everyone. Nor does it have enough money to maintain all its offices. They’ve been closing ‘em right and left. That’s what’s been making the experience at the Montgomery County DPS office purgatorial.

Unless you’re incarcerated or deemed a road hazard, you will eventually need to make that trip. All roads lead to the DPS. Add just a tad of heat, and you’ll think you died and went to the bad place.

    I made it to the DPS in Conroe at about 2:00 in the p,m. I read somewhere that it didn’t matter how early you got there, you would still have to wait till your nose bled. I don’t know if that’s true or not, ‘cause I left when I saw the crowd. I couldn’t find a place to park. There were cars circling the parking lot and lined along the railroad track.

    A conundrum is what I had. Had it by the knees. I needed to do one of two things. I could go home, and come back in a better mood. Or, I could go to Huntsville. After 20 minutes of pondering, I headed to Huntsville. That’s what the Plilers had done a couple of weeks before. Said it was faster in Walker County.

    In Huntsville I didn’t have to wait outside. I made it just inside the door, and stood with about 20 other poor saps that were waiting for a chance to make it inside the room with the chairs.

“Hey, what are you here for?” the loud talker said. Every line has one. “Uh, renewal.” I said. – “Don’t you know you can do that on-line?” the know-it-all lady said. Exhibited one of those superior airs.

“I’m gonna bust you up, lady.” That’s the first thing that came to mind. The fourth thing was what actually came out of my mouth. “If your driver license photo was taken back when Nixon was President they want you to show up for a new one. That’s what I found out ON-LINE.”

It was the loud talker’s turn. “Hey, where you from? You know we’re gonna be here five hours don’t you?” -- “Uh, Conroe.” – “Oh, man, that’s the worst. My nephew tried to—“ That went on for about 30 minutes. During the harangue I found out I was standing in line with people from Magnolia, Spring, Montgomery, Hempstead, Willis and Iowa.

The Corn State (sometimes called “Hawkeye State”) couple were newly weds who just moved down. They had no idea what they’d stepped in. “In my hometown we just go to the Courthouse walk up to a window and they take care of us in a matter of minutes.”

“Well, you’re in Texas now. Don’t mess with us, Little Missy.” I was waiting for the know-it-all lady to say that, but she didn’t. I guess even she had her limits.

When I finally got inside the big room I noticed that there were only two clerks. One nice and one not so. Isn’t that the way it is? I wonder if there’s a place in the world where both clerks are nice. 

I was so pleased when the nice lady called me over. She didn’t make me fill out another form or anything. Did some computer stuff and then told me to stand in the square so she could take my picture.

I stood for, oh, 30 seconds. Nothing. Then I looked up for a second, closed my eyes and flinched. Snap! – The nice lady was a ringer. They coax you in with politeness and then catch you off guard with the camera. Oh, they’re good. -- By the way I was in and out in two hours.


Matters not anymore. I’ve got my temporary license, The new one is in the mail. Next time I have to do this again, I’ll be a road hazard. Or, incarcerated. Always a chance of that.

END

You can find Brad and Mark’s review of Hyden’s Sport’s Pub by clicking below.