Posts Tagged ‘ jim ’

Where The Men Are

Wednesday, September 5th, 2012

 

“They’re Not Where Carole And I Went”

My friend Carole and I go to brunch at a classy, rich golf resort down the mountain.

We sit on the up scale patio next to the golf course. There’s a vast green view filled with grass, oak trees, designer clouds in the sky and old men trying to put balls into little holes.

The table beside us has grandparents and four tiny children. The kids keep shrieking and knocking on the back of my chair and sometimes they step on my toes as they race around the tables. One little girl says to me, “Why do you have gray hair?”

“It’s platinum,” I say. “I have it because I’m lucky.”

Carole and I are pretty much OK with the childish revelry because we have grandkids and we know how they are.

However….Carole has been single for centuries and so have I. We think it would be fun to talk to a nice, eligible man once in awhile.

I had suggested we go where all the men go on a Sunday morning; to a fancy restaurant on an expensive golf course.

That idea isn’t working out too well. Especially since I have a stomach ache and can’t eat very much.

Carole and I are disappointed today but we  have been for years. We often go to luxury places and the men we have managed to meet have been disappointments. Like, they wear little tassels on their shoes and don’t exhibit any animal magnetism. Or, they are looking at these same places for rich women to take care of them, or to take advantage of women in some other ways.

A week or so later I stop at my brother Jim’s new place. He has moved his mobile kitchen, The 3rd St Grill, next to an old  country convenience store right up the street from me. (more…)

Sudden Luck… And The Rat Shit Morning

Tuesday, July 24th, 2012

The End Of The 3rd St Grill!!

My brother Jim has a germ phobia. He’s reminding me how when he was a teenager he was at his friend Roger’s house. Roger’s dad, an old cowboy, was fixing breakfast for the kids.

“He was whipping up pancake batter, ” Jim tells me, “in a great big bowl. He’d tossed in the flour and eggs and oil and I was watching him with that big blue bowl under his arm, slapping the hell out of that batter with a wooden spoon.

“Roger and I were really hungry. And, you remember Mr. Payne, he was a Real Cowboy and he was tough. He was so tough he scared me.”

Jim and I are sitting at my kitchen counter and at this point in the story he puts his head on the granite. He almost sounds like he’s going to cry.

I know the story and I know he might cry for sure.

Every once in awhile Jim trots out this tale of The Terrible Morning With Mr. Payne, The Cowboy. He has never gotten over it.

“So,” Jim continues, ” he plunks the bowl down on the table where Roger and I are sitting and says, “Looks good boys! How many do you want Jim? How ’bout I make you twelve of these here flapjacks.”

“Well, ‘great,’ I say, ‘I’m starving.’

“Then I take a look into the bowl.”

Jim’s voice rises. “I see lots of little black specks. Wow, what is that? Pepper. I lean over and look closer. Shit! (more…)

The Crepe Hangers

Tuesday, June 26th, 2012

The Crepe Hangers

A couple I know that I secretly call The Crepe Hangers, say to me as we are leaving the coffee shop, “Do you realize the three of us only have ten to fifteen years left to live?”

Not in my book.

A few days ago I’m walking with my daughter and I say something like, “When I get old I’m going to hang spangles out of my nose.”

Summer laughs but not at the spangles. She says, “Mom! ‘When I get old’ is something a forty-year old would say!'”

She laughs and laughs.

Later, a man friend tells me, “We have to pay $1700 to put my 101 year old mother’s ashes in a grave we own! It’s next to her first husband. Plus we have to pay  extra money for other things just because we’re putting her ashes there. In the grave we have owned for years!”

I say, “Just scatter her ashes on top of your dad’s grave and save the money.”

I think he is horrified with what I think is a reasonable idea.

My mother, I tell him, is still in her fancy box on my hall table. My cleaning lady doesn’t know that’s my Mum in there & she is always stacking books & what nots on top of her. (more…)


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