I heard this one and recognized Aretha Franklin’s voice before Big Mo ever announced her on KCCK.
I also heard a little more about MayRee and her hand-battered catfish. It’s tenderized to perfection, but you already knew that. Big Mo said her establishment is located at what sounds like the corner of Highway 73 and Snowflake Road.
I suspect it’s not on any GPS. I might have to ask somebody to draw me a map.
The other day we heard this big bang against one of our windows. We both guessed what it was—another bird collision. A couple of years ago, one crashed into a window, got knocked out, lay on its side, and puffed really hard for a half hour or so.
Then it flew away.
This bird was not so lucky. It was hard to identify until we looked at the large flock of similar looking birds in the backyard trees. It was one of a large gathering of juvenile Cedar Waxwings. They didn’t have the red wingtips but they had sporty yellow tail feather tips and they had typical masks around their eyes.
Sometimes birds attack their reflections in windows. Several species do that but this one was not on the list. We think it was just an accident.
They were probably after the winterberry shrubs. There are a lot of articles on the web about birds getting drunk from eating fermented berries. I’m not sure how anyone knows, but some writers say it can cause birds to crash into windows. Have the birds undergone some kind of field sobriety test (“Okay buster, stand on one leg, and touch your beak with your wings.”)?
Cedar Waxwings are very gregarious, raucous, and rowdy birds who eat berries with gusto. The adults look a little like clownish (and maybe drunken) bandits.
We planted an Amaryllis in a pot to celebrate the bird’s life. I guess Amaryllis bulbs can sprout new blooms for several years, almost like being reborn many times.
A little story from Greek mythology says that a maiden named Amaryllis had a monster crush on a shepherd named Alteo, a first-class heel who ignored her but loved flowers. She tried stabbing herself in the heart every day with a golden arrow for thirty days but at first that only led to a lot of trips to the local emergency room. But on the thirtieth day, a gorgeous flower grew from her blood. That’s the only thing that got Alteo’s attention; can you believe that jerk? They got married and honey-mooned at Niagara where they both got smashed on fermented winterberries, jumped out of the Maid of the Mist boat, crashed into a rainbow which turned out to be a wormhole portal to another galaxy where they finally sobered up by eating beef jerky from Sasquatch, who is an interdimensional creature as everyone knows.
The moral of the story is you should close your window shades more often, which might deter some birds from crashing into your windows—unless they’re really drunk.
Sena bought me some new juggling items, which include three new balls and 3 Blobs. The Blobs are probably extraterrestrials because they have antennae. They all tend to bounce off my hands, but that’s no excuse for my continuing ugly form, which I swear I’m continuing to work on.
I’m starting to occasionally sneak in an over-the-top throw. I toss it over instead of under the ball. I notice that I hold my left arm above the right one for some reason. It looks weird, but it may be an unconscious way to cheat my way to the silver trophy for 20 throws.
This is just a quick scratch-my-head post about product labels. The Boss Hog Italian Sausage Screamin’ Sicilian pizza is nothing to puzzle over and it tells the unvarnished, unambiguous truth. This is just our opinion, of course and you’ll have to judge yourself.
The Screamin’ Sicilian Boss Hog box says it has “boulder size” Italian sausage pieces in it. Hey, I’m fine with exaggeration. All marketers do that and it show a sense of humor. Sena and I tried it and we both gave it a thumbs up. The pizza tastes great over-all and you can actually taste the fat sausages. The product lives up to the label and doesn’t confuse us.
Now take mayonnaise labels. These are from Hellmann’s and Kraft. They both say their products are “Made with Cage Free Eggs.”
Okay, I’m not sure I get the “Cage Free Eggs” thing. I think labels that make me scratch my head are interesting but sometimes a little annoying. First of all, I get hung up on the idea of how an egg can be “cage free.” I know the advertisers are talking about dirt-scratching, pecking, clucking chickens—but the image of the egg takes over the message.
I had no problems when I first heard the phrase “free range chicken” even if I was not sold on all the health benefits claimed. But then, as I was doing my “research” on the internet about this, I came across the term “free range eggs.”
Sorry, but that makes no more sense to me than “cage free eggs.”
So, help me, these terms just lead to comical images of eggs rolling in a nonchalant oval way around the barnyard. It reminds me of the style of Gary Larson’s Far Side cartoons. One collection of his published cartoons is entitled, “The Chickens Are Restless.” I’m not sure, but I think I actually owned a copy years ago.
The boulder-size sausages claimed by Screamin’ Sicilian doesn’t faze me because I know it’s a joke.
But somehow, I don’t get it when the mayo people say things like “cage free eggs” or “free range eggs.” That’s because I suspect the image the terms evoke were not intended by the advertising department.
You’re welcome to share your opinion about this crucial, clucking issue of our times in the comment section.
I caught a video of a buck deer (shot through our sun room window) on the trail of a doe yesterday. He looked a little old and on the slow side. And the doe was shy and just galloped away whenever he got too close.
Maybe he’s constipated. He might need a little Serutan. The Serutan company sponsored the Lawrence Welk show for a while. The laxative seemed to target people over the age of 35 according to one article on the web.
Remember, Serutan is Nature’s spelled backwards.
You know, what I wonder is whether there is a place for ugly juggling? Because that’s what I do. There might be such a thing as an ugly juggling stage in learning to juggle, and could there be an Ugly Juggling Society?
I could be the president. We could have annual meetings in warm climates and juggle ugly until we drop our balls. Careful. We could have ugly juggling contests, live music, and a hog roast.
I tried juggling my wife’s socks and even a cold or heat pack we got from the Iowa City Police. Don’t worry, I was not placed under arrest. It was a complimentary gift from a member of the local police force who attended the opening of the newly renamed James Alan McPherson Park in Iowa City.
I think I might be ready for the bronze trophy for getting 10 throws, more or less consistently (OK maybe a little less).
If you think my juggling is ugly, you’ve got to see the scandalous cat juggling event. I would never stoop that low, especially since I’m allergic to cat dander.
Just to update you on my juggling progress, I’ve come up with some personal goals. My milestone are the iconic 3 trophies, gold, silver, and bronze, to line up with what I’m learning—the 3-ball cascade.
The trophies are keyed to the number of throws you make when you juggle. The juggling manual says 30 throws is the milestone that means you’ve made important progress in the cascade stage.
I’m arbitrarily setting 10 throws for bronze, 20 for silver, and of course, 30 for the gold.
I’ll be the first to admit my form is pretty ugly, but I’m working on it. I need to keep my balls closer to my chest. Get your mind out of the gutter.
Anyway, I practice juggling over the bed because it cuts down on the having to pick up the dropped balls from the floor—at least that’s the theory.
They fall on the floor often enough that I’ve made a game out of it. I start juggling on one side of the bed and when I drop one or more balls on the bed out of my reach or on the floor, I switch to juggling on the other side of the bed.
I switch sides a lot. Sometimes the balls end up in the window sill or bouncing off my head—so switch sides.
The other thing I do is count the number of throws out loud. When I do it in a kind of sing-song voice, I often am able to make more throws. I guess it helps me focus. Goodness knows I can always use more focus.
Certain numbers of throws are like walls. I got stuck at 3 for a short while, and then 4 or 5. Six throws are usual for me for the most part.
However, it’s more and more common for me to throw more than 6 the more I practice. Occasionally I can throw 10 or even more—although my form is pretty awkward.
If you read my lips, you can follow my count, including the lucky 20 throw. When I get more consistent, I just might be eligible for the bronze trophy.
Sena and I played cribbage yesterday and, of course she won. She has been on a spectacular winning streak. She got a hand score of 21. I don’t know what I’m going to have to do to come up with a win. Cheat? I could keep extra cards up my sleeves and elsewhere, but I doubt it would help much.
I downloaded the Cribbage Classic computer game, the on-line version of which I reviewed recently. The game was made by Jeff Cole and is available for free on the Microsoft Store. And it’s fun to play–although it’s always more fun to play cribbage with a real person.
I think it’s a good game for learning how to play if you’re a beginner or to relearn if you haven’t played in a while and need a refresher. I still make suboptimal tosses to the crib, which the computer reminds me about every single time. I reviewed the game using a screen recorder.
I’m still making slow but steady progress at juggling. I’m juggling 3 balls although my form and rhythm need a lot of work. I’m still lunging to catch balls I’m tossing too far out in front of me.
But I’m having a great time learning. You’ll notice I sometimes count the throws. I have a long way to go to get to the goal of 30 tosses.
The dryer ball trick includes a couple of dryer balls which I add to the usual 2-inch juggling ball which came with the kit I bought at Barnes and Noble. Or I add the big brown one to the two small regular juggling balls.
The brown dryer ball with a face which looks sort of like a teddy bear is almost 3 inches in diameter and really tough to catch coming down. The knobby blue one is part of a set we’ve had for use in our dryer for a while now.
I can’t tell if the dryer balls work or not in the dryer, but they’re fun to juggle.
Sena had some sewing to do the other day and bought a small sewing kit. It included something we’ve never seen before—a needle threader. It’s shown in the featured image above.
Sena asked me to help her get the needle threaded. I tried to do it the old-fashioned way and, of course, couldn’t get the job done. She finally did it on her own, the old-fashioned way.
I was curious about the needle threader though, and finally tried it when I got the chance to thread another needle for her. It worked.
When I was a kid, I used to thread needles for my mother when she needed to do some sewing. I had pretty good eyesight then, now not so much.
I read that the face on the handle side of the needle threader represents Ariadne, who is very important in Greek mythology. She was the daughter of King Minos, who ruled Crete back in the day. The short story is that the Greek hero Theseus got roped into a battle with a half-man, half-monster called the Minotaur held in a big cave with a labyrinth. Sacrificial persons couldn’t find their way out and were wasted by the Minotaur.
Ariadne helped Theseus by giving him a ball of thread, which he used to find his way out of the labyrinth after he slew the Minotaur. I think she later was hired to be the goddess of mazes and labyrinths. It’s a neat story when you tell the short version, although the usual Greek myths are always a lot more complicated, much like modern soap operas.
Anyway, I practiced a little with the needle threader, which by the way probably got patented in the 1930s. I’ll probably never pick it up again, but there’s no denying it’s a fascinating and useful little gadget.
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