Accidental Asshole

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I didn’t mean to be a jerk. Sometimes I’m in my head and not paying close enough attention, and other people get mad. It happens more often than I’d like to admit.

Vintage gas pumpWe went to the gas station today to fill up both vehicles because I love a great deal, and had 30 cents off per gallon to take full advantage of. To do this properly, I need to pull my car all the way through the fill up lane, so husband can pull his in behind and we both can reach our respective gas tanks with the same hose.

We got there, and I spied a pump opening up. There was a vehicle idling that may have been waiting for an open pump, and I was going to let him take that one, but when his vehicle didn’t move, I took this as my opening, went around him and took my turn. When I got out of the car, I heard yelling, and thought, “Wow, someone is in a bad mood.” Turns out, he was yelling at me for taking “his” pump. I only know this because husband told me I almost started a fight. Oops.

By the time I was old enough to drive, self-serve pumps were everywhere. I’m perfectly capable of pumping my own gas, and in all these years, never set myself on fire or dumped fuel all over my body. I did once step away from my car when it was filling, and the pump thing didn’t click off, so I paid for about 5 gallons of gas that poured out onto the concrete.

This would never have happened if we still had full-service pumps. I remember driving into the Texaco with my mother when I was little.* There would be a “ding ding” sound as she drove over the alert, and the attendants would come out of the station with a big smile. One would stride up to the car in his starched uniform to pump the gas, clean the windshield, check the oil, and the tires. We didn’t have to get out of the car. I didn’t realize at the time how luxurious that was. 

I wouldn’t trade all of today’s conveniences for someone to pump my gas. If I really wanted that luxury, I could just move to New Jersey. Better yet, I’ll just pay attention next time.

*Always trust your car to the man who wears a star. The big red Texaco star.

Image by Stacey Kennedy

My Daddy Wore Blue Jeans

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My dad lived a long, often hard, life. At the end, it’s easy to see that all he wanted was to be a better man than he was the day before.

Daddy was proud of a job well done, and wasn’t afraid of hard work. He never let anyone pay his way. He earned it, and stood on his own two feet. He wore blue jeans, because they were working-man clothes, and boots for the majority of his adult life, because he was a cowboy.

Of all that he was, at heart he was an entrepreneur, a helping hand to those in need, and a protector of those he loved.

For three years a child, he delivered produce, and for three of his adult years, he delivered newspapers by cargo plane. In between, and for years beyond, he did too many things to list. Of the numerous hats he wore, he was a:
Motorcycle Racer
Electrician
Building Contractor
Horseman
Cowboy
Wrangler
Cutting Horse Champion
(Yes, those are 4 different things)
Pilot
Munitions Expert
Radio Operator
32nd Degree Mason
Grand Master
Census Taker
Trucker
Veteran of the Korean Conflict
…and a lot of things I’ll remember after I click “publish.”

I remember hot summers playing in the barn, climbing on the hay bales he told us to stay off of, riding horses in the corral (my chosen horse was Tubbs, because she was gentle), and picking out any cereal I wanted when we went to the grocery store, which was a rarity in a home with 6 kids. He was always happy to see me, and when we were together, he made me feel special.

I’m proud of all he accomplished, and am happy that, with all the ups and downs in my life, we never lost touch. If I disappointed him, I never knew it.

In his final days, his thoughts and concerns were for his wife. She has dementia and is in a care facility with wonderful people watching over of her. He wanted to make sure she’s taken care of as long as she lives. He put things into place in insure that, and tasked my brother with the huge responsibility and honor of carrying out his wishes.

I miss him. The last thing he said to me was, “You did good. You did a good job.” It touches my heart to know he was proud of me, and what I’ve accomplished. While others may bicker over the small things, or fight for an inheritance, those words are a treasure that will stay with me to the end of time.

Rest in peace, Daddy. You deserve your reward.

This photo makes me smile. I think this is the only selfie Daddy took. As you can tell, it was fun for both of us.
Photo of me and Dad

Jello Salad is an Oxymoron

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Screenshot of Jello Book adI cook nearly every day, so I regularly browse recipes online, looking for inspiration to change up our menu. Since I also like “Free”, I’m in a Facebook group where people post links to free Kindle books. Today, those two interests combined with a free kindle Jello cookbook. I’m surprised anyone eats Jello on purpose, and more so that someone thought there was a demand for a Jello cookbook. But, there it is.

The title, “Jello Salads 250: Enjoy 250 days with amazing jello salad recipes…” is pretty ambitious. Could anyone possibly enjoy 250 days of nonstop jello salad? Are there any jello salads that anyone would, with a straight face, call “amazing?” Then there’s the sales pitch: “If you’re living a sedentary or inactive lifestyle, this book might INSPIRE you to eat more Jello Salad Recipes!” Talk about target marketing. This book is for sedentary/inactive people who need inspiration to eat more Jello. Can’t get more niche than that.

I remember Jello salads. Mom especially loved putting cottage cheese and pineapple in jello, which IMO (and the opinions of everyone else around the table), looked like it had already been eaten once, and then remolded when the unfortunate diner couldn’t keep it down. She also loved a spam/jello monstrosity, and one fateful meal included tomato aspic. The memory still makes me gag.

My first after-school job was waitressing at a Walgreens Grill where we served a bunch of jello. At the end of the week, any Jello still hanging around was nearing the rubber level of a Knox Blox (remember those?) and got dumped into a tub, mixed with the leftover strawberry pie, both the crust and filling, spooned into a parfait glass and finished off with that fake restaurant whipped topping that doesn’t melt. People LOVED it for some very strange reason I still don’t understand. We always sold out.

Just like drivers who slow down to rubberneck a gnarly accident, I did end up downloading the book. Free is free. Flipping through the recipes left me shocked, horrified, and surprised that someone could come up with 250 variations of things to entomb in jello. If anybody actually pays real money for this book, I will truly be amazed.

NOTE: This blog is being updated to a new domain. When you return (if you return), the new domain is weirdenough.rocks. Hope to see you there.

This is exactly how you ruin summer

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Sunkist has a unique way of ruining things for kids. We all remember the horror of the “Raisins – nature’s candy” campaign that destroyed Halloween. Their latest ad is guaranteed to break the heart of any child looking forward to a sweet frozen treat on a hot day. Because vanilla prune popsicles will definitely make them cry. Thanks for ruining summer.

Popsicle advertisement

“We know what you’re thinking. “Prune Popsicles?!” But trust us. They’re delicious, healthy, easy to make, and perfect for summer!

 

NOTE: This blog is being updated soon to a new domain. When you return (if you return), the new domain is weirdenough.rocks. Hope to see you there.

Now you’re just being silly

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Black Globe from IkeaIKEA, the store where you can buy reasonably priced stuff with weird names, prides itself on selling a lot of things nobody really needs to people who just buy stuff because it’s at IKEA. To test the limits of their customers’ ability to waste money, they have just released this black globe, and many people like me wonder why. Do you write on it with markers? Maybe, but it doesn’t say so. Is it just an apocalyptic scorched-earth representation? It doesn’t say that, either.

So, we look to the copywriter for some insight, and they basically say, “Yeah, I got nothin'”.

Since the description isn’t helping, let’s ask Google what “Lindrande” is in English. That ought to help us out.Google translate

Okay, then. I’m pretty sure I know what palliative means, but just in case I’m wrong, let’s ask the good folks at Google.

I can’t imagine this globe relieves pain, is soothing, or calming, so they must think this “alleviates a problem without addressing the underlying cause.” The problem? Having enough cash to waste it on silly things like a black globe that is, “Nice as a table decoration, for example.”