From the Back Nine

Family visit

Linda — Thu, 17 Jul 2008 14:32:52 +0000

Linda, JB, Riley and Dylan are coming for a visit. This is cause for great celebration. And, ok, maybe a little panic. Let us begin:

The weather always sucks when they are here. Local playgrounds are drippy and covered with moss. So are the local children.
Of our four dogs, only one is socially acceptable. Charlie pees if you look at him, Cassie is an old grouch when a little boy steps on her tail, Caesar hates everybody. So we need to find at least three places to stash canines. Let’s see … garage … basement … hmm. Sundance, the parrot, only likes me and that’s because I let him bite me. But at least he can remain caged. Maybe Charlie would fit in there, too.
Linda has gone on record that she isn’t wild about toys that make a whole lot of noise. Wouldn’t you think she’d know better than to tell her mom and me that? So we know our gift will be unappreciated.
None of us knows anything about contemporary movies, contemporary terms, contemporary fashion. They know nothing about what a mess Nixon left the country in.
I am vaguely embarrassed to have seen JB’s ass on Linda’s blog.
I will have to clean house. Not that Linda would require it, but I don’t want her to think I live like this.
Sis, John and I are each on the back nine. So it is very hard to avoid repeating the same old shit.
Sis, John and I are each on the back nine. So it is very hard to avoid repeating the same old shit.
We don’t cook. I think every single time this group has visited, they’ve had Egg McMuffins for breakfast. Hope Dylan is old enough for grease and salt.
When Riley was a baby, Linda and JB took the ferry to Victoria for an evening, leaving him in our care. That is when I learned that baby boys really do pee up. Sis and I diapered the kid repeatedly, but never put pants on him again until we saw the ferry from Victoria enter our Harbor. Then we dressed him. Unfortunately, I told Linda the story and I am not sure we’ve ever really been trusted since. Rightly so.
JB’s family is a lot more fun than we are. And we know it.

All that said, Linda and Family are willing to stash their own animal pack, load the truck, cross the big water from the land of plenty to Dogpatch. I am the luckiest aunt alive.

Short Game 27

Linda — Sun, 13 Jul 2008 16:51:33 +0000

My significant-other-in-law John has been installing a GPS in his car. The unit also has a radio, TV, reverse camera, CD/DVD player, and can land airplanes in heavy fog. This threatens to be a little more difficult to install than, say, putting proof of insurance in your glove compartment.

So, ladies, we’d start by reading the manual, yes? Ha! But having suffered the agony of defeat on his own, he finally looked at the instructions. This time, I must admit he has a point when he says they just get in the way.

Here are some excerpts from the warnings:

• Pls keep disk slot clean, wipe it off when there is some dirty on it. Pls wipe off the dirty on disk before slot it into the unit. If dirty on disk go into the slot, that is not quality problem. Pls ask professional to clean the laser. That will bring you some inconvenience.
• To avoid accident caused by scatterbrain, driver should not operate this unit or watch its screen.
• Clangorous effects: press once off clangorous, press again to come back
• We keep improving this product, if there is any change, forgive us do not announce.

***

I was crossing from Bainbridge to Seattle via ferry on the first sunny day. Now I remember why we put up with all this rain.

***

Pardon me for being such a blog slug. Much going on. I just picked up a new assignment that will pay some bills but takes some time. Also I’m up to my elbows in the book now. I believe I’m literally on the back nine with it, moving into the final 100 pages. Next step: look for an agent. And a word of warning to others about critique groups: they can be bloodsucking timewasters that poke you in your insecurities. So shop around, and be sure you find a good one. Not pushovers but not a bunch of bullies.

In the oven

Linda — Sun, 06 Jul 2008 17:44:29 +0000

While my revised site is in the oven baking to a new degree of sweetness, I thought I’d post some random photos. Many thanks to all of you who have pointed out that the foibles of WordPress don’t matter much, and that you’ll mosey on over anyway.

I was looking for a photo of me, maybe to use on a revised site. I came across two shots that tickle me. The first, well, I believe it is a good idea to wear a life jacket wherever you are because the Under Toad is everywhere. And the second is the night on a cruise ship that they served me liver.

This is my first ever eagle picture. As you can see, they don’t give you time for a second.

And last, if you are a female older than eight, you may think you will never again get happy with puppy dogs on your socks. But just wait til you hit sixty! It’s a nice day today on the back nine.

Til we meet again

Linda — Thu, 26 Jun 2008 15:51:53 +0000

I’m having WordPress woes, the symptoms of which are hysteria, sniveling out of context, and a desire to pick fights. To begin, WordPress no longer emails notifications of new posts, and I know how you all cherish these pearls of wisdom. I can’t get it fixed. I’ve had no luck with the WordPress forum either. So this is my last post until I find a solution, which may be a blog location elsewhere.

If you have any suggestions or recommendations for me, please comment. Or send an email to fromthebacknine@gmail.com. When I’ve returned to the Back Nine, I’ll see if niece Linda will let you know. In the meantime, I’ll be lurking around your sites. Love to all. Well, except a few of you, and you know who you are.

Short game 26

Linda — Sun, 22 Jun 2008 17:35:18 +0000

Apology: Apparently my blog is not letting subscribers link right to new entries. I’ll be damned if I can figure out why. Sorry for the inconvenience … and if anyone has any hints for me, I’d love to hear them.

***

The Mister, devotee of many scientific journals, emails me this quote: “Staring at women’s breasts is good for men’s health and makes them live longer, a new survey reveals. Researchers have discovered that a 10-minute ogle at women’s breasts is as healthy as half-an-hour in the gym.” Men are such simple creatures.

***

A tall ship sailed into the harbor this weekend, announcing its arrival with cannons, which set all four dogs to howling. Good thing none of these Stronghearts is responsible for bringing down an enemy.

***

I don’t know about you, but this sign doesn’t really make me want to rush right in. Especially if blue flame means today what it meant when I was a kid.

***

A local farmer is experimenting with a crop of flamingos. I’ll let you know how he does at harvest time.

***

Washingtonians aren’t wild about Californians because they mostly have more money and whiter teeth than we do. But the poppy is one Californian we’re glad to see each summer.

Moans & groans

Linda — Tue, 17 Jun 2008 22:18:10 +0000

This morning when I woke up, I was Andy Rooney. Well, ok, maybe Andi Rooney. Either way, a blanket of hoar frost had descended on me and I have spent the day moaning and groaning and shooting messengers. I suggest you watch your step today on the Back Nine.

***

I saw the term staycation, idiot-speak for what we’re all doing because we can’t afford to vā this year. Give me a break. I know this dog-pile infested backyard is no vā. Hell, I thought we were still cocooning.

***
I am sick to death of opening the patio door and bellowing HERE LIZY when that dog has been dead for more than a decade. I hate rummaging around in this grab bag of a brain and coming up with the wrong word altogether. Not to mention how it confuses Bella who isn’t that bright a bulb to begin with.

***
A privilege of old age is to change the rules. That’s not true; I just made it up, but I like it so I think I’ll go with it. Therefore, I am no longer going to put the dinner napkin way down there on my lap where no part of my dinner ever lands. Much like the trajectory of the Kennedy magic bullet, a spill would have to head outward before curving down around my chest, then veer inward to wedge itself between the table top and the muffin top (OK, you bastards, the fat rolls) before free falling to the thighs. Ain’t never happened, ain’t never gonna happen. Resolution: I will keep the napkin on the table, where it is easier and speedier to reach, and fuck you very much, Miss Manners.

***

No matter how much I’ve spent on serum, gel, cream, and lotion in order to restore, smooth, brighten, firm, tone and lift all the lines, circles, puffiness, and wrinkles away, I still look older than I used to. In fact, I’ve reached a point where there’s only so good I can look. From now on, a simple face wash and moisturizer. And I’m done with make-up which is no great loss since I have never really been able to see well enough to apply it evenly anyway.

***
And the final moan & groan: A nurse checked my height, and I am an inch shorter than I have been ever since I was thirteen. A whole inch! She was right, too, because I made her check it again. Shit, shit, shit. So I have been working on posture, which explains why I’m sitting here stretching upward like a slug reaching for the top of a planter. And why my back now aches. Ah, for a comfortable slouch. Or a comforting Vicaden.

It’s the economy, Stupid

Linda — Sun, 15 Jun 2008 17:43:46 +0000

Early in his campaign, John McCain said, “The issue of economics is not something I’ve understood as well as I should.” Well, John, take a walk outside the Beltway and you will meet the people who are tightening their belts.

If you reach my age and still have a couple nickels to rub together, then you may not have won the race, but you’re no Big Brown. Before executing a frenzy of back patting, however, remember luck may have had a lot to do with it; you’ve probably dodged some of the cataclysmic bullets that can smack you in the wallet.

I make about half of what I did in my prime. These days, I want time for book writing and blogging and such. Nobody wants to pay me for these activities. Can you believe it? Finding that the money doesn’t stretch to cover all my cruise and pedicure needs, I have begun my own kind of economic recovery program:

I’ve cut the length of my reflexology appointments.
Sis and I share a vehicle.
We make our own lattes at home.
Matinees or Netflix only. No evening first runs.
I record CDs from the library.
Almost everything I wear is bought on eBay. Often used.
I request the senior discount (many young employees hate to ask if you’re really that old).
We book discount cruises. The ones that have towel animals you can’t recognize.

I realize that the above list is not exactly Spam on day old bread. And I still have three pets that get anything they want because I have no control in the moocher department.

Still, the belt is tighter here on the Back Nine. Please tell me what you’re doing to deal with the economy these days.

Bend

Linda — Tue, 10 Jun 2008 19:02:06 +0000

Sis and I went to Bend, Oregon to visit a friend over the weekend. Here are some highlights:

This symbol was on the plastic bag that was on my new suitcase. Sis says it means No opera singing near this product.
***
The following is an actual phone conversation. No names have been changed because there are no innocents:
Me:              We’ve having fun, but my tooth aches so I made a two thirty appointment.
The Mister:   A Chinese dentist?
Me:              Chinese?
The Mister:   Didn’t you say tooth hurty?

This store is in Tumalo. First you go to The Ole Tack Room to get geared up for the big ride. Then you go to the therapist next door to get over the big ride.

This lavatory at the Redmond, OR airport is for non-smoking babies only.

This is my friend Jan’s cat. If it could talk, it wouldn’t to the likes of me.

This is my friend Jan, a nurturer if ever there was one. She looks after the cat and lavishes it with love. But I figure it wouldn’t talk to her either.

Because that is the nature of cats.

Short Game 25

Linda — Sun, 01 Jun 2008 19:04:15 +0000

When I took high school Spanish (the earth’s crust had nearly cooled by that time), my teacher was an Old Maid. In other words, she was probably thirty-three or four. It never dawned on us that she might actually be happy, especially since she was portly with abnormally tiny feet that she emphasized with ballet slippers. As a result, she was a bit reminiscent of the hippos in Fantasia. To add to her overall aura of neediness, she became a blushing pile of gelatin whenever the advanced math teacher came anywhere near the Spanish classroom. But the big reason I remember her as dour is that the only Spanish I recall after four years of study is lo siento mucho (I’m very sorry) and que lastima (what a pity). I can more appropriately visit south of the border on the Day of the Dead than Cinco de Mayo.

***

I have a friend who is the target audience for any organizer, be it for her purse, closet, or kitchen drawers. She is going to take a cruise in October. She has already chosen all her outfits based on day by day scheduled activities. On adjoining hangers, she has placed the jewelry, scarf, belt or other accessory for the outfit. And the next hanger? Her hubby’s outfit, chosen to coordinate with her own. Since my packing involves scurrying about like a frantic squirrel looking for nuts, I am gobstruck by this precision. It’s spooky. What if the weather gets out of line? What if she dribbles her morning egg down her ample bosom? What happens during the lifeboat drill if that orange Mae West looks déclassé with the outfit du jour? I sense disaster in Royal Caribbean’s near future.

***

Somewhere amidst all that smiting, condemnation and general vengefulness, God checked into His happy place long enough to create goldfinches.

Proof

Linda — Sun, 25 May 2008 00:47:56 +0000

There. See, Archie? See? A really bad eagle situation. I wouldn’t lie. This is a real photo taken by my real friend, Steve.