Dang, It's Hot!

Nothing much happening with the Specks in Speckville these days. It is just too danged hot to do anything.

Temp at 5:45pm in the shade:



But it feels like:
Thank goodness the humidity is lower than normal or it would be even worse.

The animals are too hot to care about anything either. This squirrel is laid out at the base of the tree not too far off our front porch.

Cheezburger the Porch Cat knows the squirrel is there and is too hot to care. He has been laid out on the porch watching the squirrel about 15 minutes. He's too hot to bother about getting up and getting himself an easy squirrel snack.

The squirrel knows the cat is there and is too hot to care. He must figure becoming a squirrel snack may be a good alternative to suffering in the heat.

It is just too danged hot.

Tormenting the Cat

Because we are old and have no children, we entertain ourselves by tormenting the cat with hi-tech gadgetry.

Yes, we need to Get a Life.

Where I Rant at the Television

Yes, it's a bad day when I rant at the TV, but I did tonight. My newest guilty pleasure is the reality show "Addicted to Food" on the Oprah network. It's an addiction recovery show, kick-ass Texas style. Woot! I love it when the therapists get all hardcore. No mollycoddling the addicts here.

The story lines don't deal with food or eating all that much. That's all minor in the show. Food just happens to be the substance the addicts abuse. What they do show is *why* the addict is an addict and deal with the core problem. Now that there is some good TV!

Anywho, the new episodes air on Tuesday nights. I checked the schedule to see if last week's episode was airing as a rerun before the new episode. The show wasn't even on the schedule! Crap! What's up with that, Oprah? The last show had trailers for the next show, so I know it's already in the can and ready to air. Where is it? I want my Addicted to Food! And I want it now! I'm addicted!

In Addicted's time slot was "Becoming Chaz" about how Chastity Bono had a sex-change operation and is now physically and legally a man. Whoa! When did this all happen? Why haven't I heard about it before now? Am I that behind on popular culture? Hubby even knew about it already. Last time I saw Chastity she was getting her house fixed up on "Designed to Sell" or one of those shows.

Saw Chaz in a preview clip of the show. Made me sad. Oh, I'm happy for Chaz that he now has a body that matches his brain. Good for him. However, stepping back and looking at the big picture, I'm a little sad. The world is now -1 in the Damn Fine Lesbian column, and +1 in the Bloated Straight Guy column. That can't be good.

**sigh**

Doris - My Hero

Doris Ruth (Fuller) Larson Ryan, age 48, of Cove, Arkansas passed away February 28, 2011 at UAMS.

Doris was my hero. I found her obit in today's paper and cried.

She appeared on my radar in the spring of 1975, the day the results of the Junior High cheerleader tryouts were announced. Eight of the girls were no surprise; the usual suspects - cute little petite popular girls. And then there was Doris. All through the day everyone was asking, "Who is this Doris girl???"

In an era of cutesy names like Mitzi, Jenni, and Kristi, there was Doris. Doris, a name associated more with grandmotherly smells and sensible orthopedic shoes than perky little cheerleaders. Doris.

You see, Doris was one of those 7th grade girls nobody noticed. She was tall, gawky, all arms and legs; towered over everyone and slouched just a little to fit in. She had a mop of wild, curly carrot-red hair she hadn't yet learned to tame. She didn't wear makeup and dressed like a tomboy. She was practically invisible to the tight social cliques of a small-town Junior High.

But she had given it her all in the cheerleader tryouts and earned a coveted spot. Against all odds, she, who once was a Nobody, suddenly became a Somebody. She was living proof that Cinderella stories can and do come true, a hero to all little geeky girls who can only dream of sitting at the Cool Kids table at lunch. I always wondered if that fateful day in '75 had a dramatic impact on the outcome of her life. Did she dance in her glass slipper or did it cause blisters?

I didn't know Doris personally because we were in different grades and ran with different crowds, she an exalted Cheerleader and I a lowly Band Geek. I doubt she would have even recognized my name. But I admired her from afar, marveling at the grace with which she carried her unexpected fame.

I've thought about Doris from time to time over the years and wondered where she was and how she was getting on. Sadly, that question was answered today.

Rest in peace Doris. You will always be my hero.

"I'm too sexy for yourself; too sexy..."

Sunday afternoon, 1:00 pm. Hubby is "suiting up" for a shopping marathon at Wally World.

From top to bottom his ensemble includes: a blue and gold ballcap from a community college; a gray and green Portland State University Athletics T-shirt; a pair of khaki Dockers with green paint splotches, holes and frayed hems; and a pair of ankle-high Red Wing workboots long past their prime. His hair is wild, he has a three-day beard stubble, and I'm pretty sure he hasn't bathed since early Friday morning.

He tucks in his shirt, loads up his pockets, then gives himself a last admiring look in the mirror.

Then he strikes a pose and starts singing, "I'm too sexy for yourself, too sexy for yourself, too sexy...."

Ah, yes, you are *waaay* too sexy for me honey. (eyeroll)

Frozen in Time

(Valentine card from my brother-in-law Poppy.)

I've just returned from a two-week stint at my sister Nana's house trying to get her to part with more of her possessions. It's a hard row to hoe, but she did very well this trip. We took a truckload of stuff to the dumpster and a mountain of paper to recycle. Poppy lightened his bookcases by 250 books which were donated to a community library. Yay! Life is lighter at their house now. Next trip we get to lighten Nana's bookcases. Oy vey.

Anywho, I was at their house on Valentine's Day and got the card above from Poppy. It was perfect for me since my latest obsession is writing papers and fountain pens. When I pulled the card from the envelope, Nana and I both squealed, almost simultaneously, "It looks just like me(you)!"

When Poppy came home that night, he said he had plucked the card from the rack of hundreds just because she looks like me. Well, the little girl does look amazingly like me when I was her age. I'm well into middle age with gray hair and bifocals these days.

It's interesting all three of us said she looks just like me. Not that she looks like me when I was her age, but that she looks like me now. All three of our memories are frozen in time back when I was four, Nana was 16, and Poppy was 18. When we are together we revert back to that time and those ages.

Nana becomes Mother Hen again because she mommied me more than our mother ever did. There are times when I catch her looking at my dinner plate, pausing just a split second to consider if she should cut up my meat for me. I don't mind. I liked being mommied every now and then.

I enjoy not having adult responsibilities, or having to cook or clean or pick up after myself. I get to play with Nana's toys and poke around in her attic for treasures. I get to stay up late, sleep late and eat all kinds of sugary treats.

Frozen in Time is not such a bad thing after all.

Says my inner 4-year-old Speck, "I yike it."