CATS AND CANS

 

I recently sent a friend a birthday card with the picture of a cat staring at a sardine can. The comment on the inside of the card said something like – “Hope your birthday is as happy as the first cat who learns to use a can opener.” I have had many cats over the years and I can’t imagine any human having that much fun.  I then began to ponder the idea of cats actually being able to use an electric can opener. The following is the story of Lefty and Babyface.

            Lefty and Babyface lived in a house with humans. Lefty spent a great deal of time observing the humans and, in particular, the magic machine that cut into cans of food. One night, while his humans were asleep he wakes Babyface and announces his plan to use the can opener. With this power, they can feed themselves whenever they want.  Babyface is hesitant, but Lefty is very skilled at persuasion.

            On soft feet, they go down the hall and enter the kitchen. Lefty orders Babyface to get a can of food from the “cabinet of cans.” Babyface opens the door. His eyes behold cans…many cans. There are so many! They are different shapes, sizes, and colors. Which one should he take? He tries to remember what his food can looks like. He knocks down a can and pushes it toward Lefty. Lefty skillfully maneuvers the can into position. With great anticipation and excitement, the can is opened! It’s not their food. It contains slices of round, yellow fruit with holes in the middle.

            Lefty sends Babyface back to the cabinet. A different can is retrieved. Lefty works the machine’s magic and the can is opened. This time there are short pieces of a green plant material floating in liquid. This isn’t cat food either. Several hours and many cans later, the sun starts rising.

            The humans enter the kitchen to begin their morning routine. The counter tops are covered with opened cans….pineapple, green beans, peaches, corn,…. and two sleeping cats.

            The humans eye the disaster.

“Oh no….the cats have learned to use the can opener,” exclaims one human.

The other signed, “That’s great! But I wish they’d learned to read first!”

Catsup Anyone?

When I was a kid, I would see grandmotherly women clutching their snap-shut purses. Their fingers clutched the tops of the bags as their bespectacled eyes darted from side to side daring anyone to try and unlock their grip. Being quite young and naïve, I just knew that those bags must contain gold or precious stones. What else could be so valuable that they were willing to risk life and limb to protect?

Now I know!

Hello. My name is Kay and I am a packet-holic.

I collect packets…artificial sweetener, sugar, crackers, mustard, catsup, honey, jelly, soy sauce, mayo, salad dressing … anything that comes in a packet.

I did not realize how this addiction had taken over my life until I went to get something out of my purse and had to empty an assortment of packets first. It was then that I suddenly realized what the women of my youth guarded so determinedly! They didn’t want anyone to get hold of their packets. Back then there were, sadly, few things packaged in packets so collections were limited to sugar, salt/pepper, and crackers.

 But now? Now the plethora of plentiful packets places a packet-holic in peril!

 I don’t know if anyone else has noticed this, but the more packet items available the bigger the purses! I don’t think this is a coincidence!

My addiction started harmlessly enough…a few sugars then the leftover crackers. Before long I had to clean out a drawer in my kitchen just for my stash. Sneaking the items into your bag is an art form in itself. While casually sitting at the restaurant table, you pick up the artificial sweetener – just to “check it out.” Then – very gradually you move the item to your hand that is closest to your purse. Lower the hand and into the purse it goes. I never take more than one or two packets of anything as I don’t want to take advantage.

Also, dining out decisions must include a thorough knowledge of what items each restaurant has available in packet form. One eatery may have BBQ sauce and horsey sauce; another has parmesan cheese and red pepper flakes, and still another specializes in packets for the salad lovers. I have had to resort to a chart just to keep track of the restaurant and the packet items provided

I don’t need any more packets, but I can’t resist the temptation of seeing condiments contained in cute convenient containers.

 I can’t get a bigger purse! The one I have now was made by Samsonite!

This addiction has begun to take a toll on me. I’m not sleeping. I dream that packets are piling up on me and I’m being suffocated by them. The catsup ones are the worst because there are so many!  I can’t throw them away because of all the packet condiment deprived people in the world.

Please help me!

DOES GOD HAVE A WIFE?

Several years ago I was teaching second grade. If the kids had been good and all that day’s work was finished, they could have some free time at the end of the day. Most of the time they were given about 10 minutes to draw, read, talk quietly, color, or do a jig-saw puzzle. On this particular day I was sitting at my desk sorting papers and keeping an eye on what the students were doing.

There was a small group of students who liked to sit in front of my desk. I noticed that their voices were getting a little louder – not yelling – but emphatic. I began listening to the conversation to find out what was so important. Here’s what I heard.

            Girl 1:               God does have a wife!

            Boy:                 No, he doesn’t!

            Girl 2:               He has to!

            Boy:                 No, way.

            Girl 3:               Then where did he get all us kids?

            Boy:                 (pausing)  I don’t know, but he doesn’t have a wife.

                                    If he did, where is she?

            Girl 2:               She just got fed up and left!

            Girl 1:               With so many kids – I can’t blame her.

            Boy:                 (getting up and walking away) Girls!

As you might imagine, it was hard for me to keep a straight face. I think about that conversation and laugh even after the many years that have past. I think about the childlike wonder that went through the minds of the kids that day. I had a great imagination as a kid, but I don’t remember ever wondering about God having a wife. I admired their thinking, their creativity.

When I think about that conversation now, I realize that children today have a new sense of what constitutes a family. Yes, their words at that time were humorous and downright funny, but sadly they reflect the notion of the disposable parent. In their young eyes even God’s hypothetical “wife” could simply walk out on the family. Too many kids have lived with the repercussions of a missing parent. That is not humorous.

That conversation will remain one of my favorites. I truly admire the boy for standing up to three girls in such a heated discussion. I don’t think there was a definite winner to the argument that day. It’s up to the parents to decide who wins.

Body Harmony

I recently had an epiphany - my fat and I have developed a relationship based on mutual harmony and compatibility.

How have I come to this conclusion? I’ve tried to get rid of it twice in my life and it came back. Why would it want to leave? It doesn’t have to work, it has comfortable surroundings, and is nourished. I keep it warm in the winter and cool in the summer. Hey, if I had all that I wouldn’t want to leave!

I know what all the doctors and nutritionists say - being overweight is bad for you. They are right. But my fat has been with me since I was two and has “grown” with me. (pun intended!) Despite my “efforts” to send it packing, it loves me too much to leave.

Please don’t get me wrong - I would like to get rid of some of my fat. The problem is selection. It would be like having to select a friend to un-friend! Every bit of my cherub figure has a purpose. A smaller butt would be nice, but (pun intended) that extra layer of cushioning has come in quite handy in the past and I feel quite sure it will maintain its usefulness in the future. It gives me that extra couple of inches of height I need to see over the steering wheel of the car and it makes falling on it less painful. I also have the advantage of being able to sit longer than someone with a bony posterior.

The next obvious area of consideration would be tummy. If that were to go, where would I prop my book while I read or rest my bowl of ice cream while I watch “Biggest Loser?”

Boobs? No, they have been reduced already and what remains is needed to catch food that jumps off my utensils. Besides, the cleavage provides the perfect place to collect stray pieces of that delicious buttery movie popcorn for snacking at home.

Arms? Thighs? No, that wouldn’t work. Would a pumpkin look good with stick figure arms and legs? I think not.

Fingers!! That’s it! I will slim down my fingers! I may have to get my rings re-sized, but that’s a small price to pay for svelte digits. The time it has taken to type this has provided my fingers with enough exercise to have burned at least 10 calories!

My fingers deserve a break! I will allow them to rest while I sip on my fresh cup of coffee (with artificial sweetener) and a 5 pound box of Witman’s Samplers propped on my tummy. I did some on-line shopping and just got the 8-DVD set of Zumba exercise videos. Can’t wait to see them!

Mmm, coconut cream filled. It’s wonderful being in harmony with your body!
　

SIZE DOES MATTER….TO SOME

I was in the process of updating my living room with things like – an entertainment center, a sofa, and a coffee table, a TV. After obtaining many suggestions about the kind of TV I should procure – it seems more people know about TV’s than sofa’s – I was ready to do some of my own research. To save gas so I would have enough money left to buy the said TV, I went “on-line”.

That was a delightful experience. Please understand that I am not a novice at shopping on line or comparing prices on line. I do it quite often with books, DVDs, sweaters, etc. I have an account with QVC and Costco knows me. I spent hours pouring over the customer reviews and wondering whether they were legit or written by ghostwriters hired by the manufacturers.

I narrowed my search to one model. Because the cable installer was coming out in two days, I ended up going to the store rather than ordering on-line. I found the TV on the shelf. I was happy. A blue shirted salesman politely introduced himself and asked if he could be of any help. The TV I was looking at had a 42 inch screen. I asked him if the same model came in a 37-inch screen. He looked a little disappointed, but excused himself to go check…like he didn’t know! A few minutes later he came back  - probably after chuckling with the guys – and said that it did, but it would only be a 720 instead of a 1080. I put a look of consideration on my face and stared into the store and then looked back at him. He quickly added. You know, “Size does matter.” Without skipping a beat, I looked him in the eye and responded – “I would expect you to say that. You’re a guy.”

I feel I need to add that I’m in my AARP time of life and this man was probably all of 24 – maybe. I could have been his mother and maybe his grandmother. He was caught off guard and didn’t know what to say. I then said, “It’s the quality, not necessarily the size.”

About 30 seconds later, he caught a glimpse of a fellow salesperson and called him over. He introduced me to Jason and made up this excuse that he had to take care of some issues in the back and he left. Now Jason was no more than 19 as green as green can be. I asked him about the difference between the two TV’s and he said it’s all in what you need. I liked his answer. I bought the BIG TV.

PS: Parts of this story may have been slightly E-N-H-A-N-C-E-N-C-E-D!!!

Squeaky Clean!

When you are middle “cough” aged, strange thoughts wander through your mind. Some of the thoughts get through without your catching them long enough to remember them. Others stay a while.

The other day I was taking a shower – that’s not the strange part. I had washed my hair and had rinsed it. I was remembering what my mom had told me when I was little. If you can rub your hair and it makes a squeaky noise then it’s clean. I got to thinking about my eyebrows. I rubbed my eyebrows. They didn’t make the squeaky noise. So I put a little dab of shampoo on each one and lathered them and rinsed them. I rubbed them again – viola! They squeaked!

I looked down. No not there, but lower. I looked at my legs. I had a little stubble on my legs. I looked around and thought no one has to know. I put some shampoo on my legs and lathered and rinsed. I bent real low (you have to be flexible for this part). Put my ear as close as I could and ran my fingers over the stubble. It was a Horton hears the Who moment! I could hear the faintest squeak. I stood up with a feeling of success.

Each year when the leaves begin to turn their autumn colors and there is a crisp chill in the air, I make my yearly pronouncement - “I won’t shave my legs until the hair interferes with tying my shoes.”

 I’m sure the squeak will get louder.

The Bra

                In the 7^th Century there were “devices” that were used to cover, restrain, or elevate breasts. Mostly women athletes used them as other women tended to not use anything at all. From the 16^th-19^th Century, the corset was the torture of choice by the wealthier women. The others tended to not use anything. In the late 19^th Century there were experiments with alternative “devices” and the girdle was created to restrain the bottom, but something had to be done to restrain the top! Another “device” was invented that would suspend the upper part from the shoulders. The “device” that is most closely associated with the brassiere of today was developed in the early 20^th Century and manufactured on a large-scale basis in the 1930’s.

                For young girls, selecting and wearing their first bra is an exciting moment in their life. It’s kind of like a boy’s first jock-strap. When you think about it, they have very similar functions – lift and restrain. In time, the youthful excitement of wearing a bra fades and it becomes (for those women who are endowed enough to make a bra mandatory) a bothersome restraint device to be endured.

                My mother hated to have to wear a bra. She would get dressed in the morning and put her bra on so she would be ready to run errands and take care of any outside chores such as hanging out clothes, bringing in clothes, and watering plants. She would then go through her day and as soon as she knew that she didn’t have to go back out – off came the bra and on went the housecoat.  

                There were many times when I would rush home from school hoping to catch her before the bra was off because I needed something from Woolworth’s or needed to go to the library. I’d run into the house and if I saw the housecoat, I knew I was too late. Once the bra was off – there was no putting it back on until the next morning. If I knew ahead of time that I needed to go somewhere after school, I would let her know so I would not have to compete with the bra. I never could figure out what was so hard about putting on a bra!

                Time has passed. I had forgotten about my mother’s routine with the bra, until the other day. I came home from running errands and had no plans to go out again that day.  Before I had taken the items out of the bags, I found myself in the bathroom changing clothes. The bra came off and my house dress went on. As I walked by the mirror, I suddenly saw my mother’s image. After a moment of panic, I began trying to remember how long I had been engaging in the family tradition of bra removal. It didn’t take me long to determine my habit had begun during my 30’s just like my mom.

                I sit writing this – wearing my house dress and no bra. I have no plans to go out again today. I can’t help but think back to the women of the 7^th Century (except the athletes). They didn’t have to schedule their day around wearing a bra. They were not restrained by a restraining device. They were free to come and go as they pleased.  You know that they say history repeats itself.  Well, I’m waiting for the 7^th Century to come back around. Ah….freedom!