So much greenery

Almost from the moment we drove east of the Mississippi, amidst the kids' choruses of spelling the river's name forwards and backwards, our easterly route along our friend I-40 entered one massive corridor of greenery, extending for miles and miles and interrupted every hundred miles or so by the larger cities. It became almost claustrophobic to cruise through this mass of foliage with very little in the way of a visual break. Trees on either side of the highway, many of them choked by prolific strands of ivy, rose like two walls on both sides making it impossible to tell what the countryside offered on the other side. Or was there another side? Could the land all be like this? Would it ever open up to reveal its secrets?

Cross the southwest and the Heartland

Memphis Tennessee, birthplace of the blues. It is blazings hot here, I cannot fathom how the two gentlemen soaking in the hot tub can stand it. One of them has flung his lolling head to the side of the tub like a dead thing. Later he revived himself, emerged from the tub, strolled over to my table and commenced to recommend the lesser-known sites of Memphis while he smoked a cigarette. After he left, Mariana, who had been casually listening to us converse from the cool safety of the pool, hissed to me, "I do not want to visit a cemetery!". We opted instead to see Beale Street at night, two blocks of neon clad bars, shrimp and catfish specials, live music emanating from every entrance, and raucous crowds of early 20-somethings spilling from bars with pints of ale in hand. It felt like a giant fraternity party.

Remembering Bober

--"Clap clap, I'm a seal, clap clap!" while holding Bo on his back and "clapping" his hind legs together.
--"Don't look, Kitty, it's scary" watching scary movies downstairs and hiding the cat's eyes
--"Kitty....DON'T!"
--"Babycat!"
--Meowing at 5:30 am to be let out to pee
--His great belly wobbled to and fro when he lumbered
--Sleeping on top of the cat mint bush
--Standing like a sentry when I would drive away from the house, his black and white fur a stark contrast to the neutrals of the house
--Mr. Bo is visible from space, just check Google!
--Jumping up onto the piano bench whenever Nico practiced piano
--"pawing" at my lap (sometimes painfully) downstairs late at night to watch Seinfeld with me
--Chewing at his front leg whenever the base of his tail was scratched
--following me out to my office and hanging out with me for awhile
--scratching his paws on my office doormat and always being scolded
--Rounding the corner into our cul-de-sac and seeing him trot across the top of the driveway from the bushes toward the front door to be let into the house for food. I think he knew the sound of our car.
--He wasn't that playful, but he did like to take a few swats at my shoelaces when I'd tie my shoes at the bottom of the stairs. He was a string kitty, not a ball kitty.
--There is a blackened area of paint where the wall turns a corner near the entrance to our kitchen, about 12 inches high, where he would rub his mouth in a sort of sweeping motion. Over the years, the repetition of this marking behavior stained the paint. I will not paint over it.

Concerning Rants...

I have decided to change my blog's Pet Peeves to Rants because I like to mouth and say the word "Rant". It is an unusually-sounding word, though I suppose if I were from Iceland it would sound rather prosaic. I like to rant. Ranting enables me to feel empowered, even if noone is listening to my rant. Ranting gives some small shred of meaning to my life. The act of ranting makes me feel as if I think about things. So many people don't think about things. Or they think about the wrong things. Here are some topics which I will be ranting about in the future: the farce that is the high-tech washing machine, Obamacare for inmates, people who don't know how to store tomatoes properly, ranting parents, wrestling coaches, people who ignore speed bumps by driving around them, the death of cursive writing, and finally, states, capitols, and 5th graders who are geographically-challenged.

ApParently So

While organizing "hard copy" documents printed off my old computer, I recently stumbled upon these classic quotables from my kids when they were much younger:

My middle son, then 3 years old, announced "I'm going to be a talking animal".

I then asked him, "Oh yeah? What kind of animal will you be?"

"A yak." he answered. He had no idea that he had just made a joke.

My oldest son, then 5 years old, lamented that he could not find a particular Lego, "I can't find that piece I need!"

I try to reassure him, "Don't worry, it will turn up".
"Where?" he pressed, "I can't find it!"

Again I try to pacify him with Zen-like wisdom, "It will turn up when you least expect it."
"I least expect it now...(he paused)...What does that mean anyway?"

Word of the Day

I discovered tonight that I am a certified cartophile...

That said, how can people justify using GPS devices in their cars without insulting their intelligence at the same time? God forbid you have to use a map to guide you to your destination. This reliance on GPS has created a subtle yet very discernible sucking noise, most notable on weekends and near popular tourist attractions, which is the sound of our navigational neurons and good old-fasioned resourcefulness flying out the proverbial window.

Pet Peeves I

What's the deal with purchasing extended warranties on products such as appliances and tech devices (cameras, computers, etc)? Isn't the very fact that these companies offer such options an admission of producing an inferior product? Wouldn't it be nice to be able to buy a product that did not offer an extended warranty because (drumroll)....THEY DIDN'T HAVE TO!!