Let’s muse over lemonade and hazelnut cake.
I am coming out of the longest three-day weekend Camp Run-A-Pup ever suffered through. Bronchitis, rain, thunder, lightening, the mysterious woozle and a challenging camper that had me beating my chest and yelling, “Give me strength.” However, by Tuesday, my life regained its balance, and I looked in the mirror and thought, “Oh My God, I look like Tomaine Till.”
Here, have a piece of Hazelnut cake, and I will tell you about Tomaine Til…
When I was a dumb little kid growing up and riding horses in the West Texas town of El Paso, there was a tiny dump of a hamburger place on the way home from the barn where we boarded our horses. The women who owned it had straight greasy gray hair, smoky breath, and was always a mess with catsup and mustard stains on her clothes. Her nails were bitten down and ragged. She did not wear plastic gloves to make burgers. She did, however, make the best hamburger in the world. The story goes that one morning after riding, my mom and her girlfriend stopped in for a burger on their way home from the barn. Now, my mom loves a great burger and could care less what the person serving it looks like. However, she was dining with one of her more discerning friends. I guess, after the burgers were ready to be served, the owner took a little nibble of lettuce off the more discerning friend’s burger–much to her complete horror. Well, my mother started to laugh, the friend worried about ptomaine poisoning, which, of-course, made it even funnier. The owner of the burger place was promptly nicknamed Tomaine Til. My mother’s friend did not die of ptomaine poisoning, and I’m pretty sure after she tasted the burger she went back again occasionally. Over the years when my mom wanted me to clean up, she would remind me that I did not want to look like Old Til-I didn’t.
On Tuesday, I looked like Til. So, I immediately made a hair appointment, nail appointment, and am even considering adding one feather extension to my hair. My hair dresser told me feather extensions are all the rage with strippers.
I’m proud to say, I washed all the Til away and cleaned up pretty well just in the nick of time. I am dining tonight with one of my favorite people at a grown-up restaurant. Now, what to wear, what to wear. . .
My number one son returns home from his two week trip on Friday, and I can’t wait. I’m never going to let him go away for such a long time again. Never. I tried it; I did not like it, and he cannot do it again. My Facebook friend’s daughter just graduated from college. After her mother worried about her and protected her through the toddler and grade school years, let her live through the teen years, and sacrificed through the college years, her daughter informed her that she had fallen in love and was moving to another state far, far away and, by the way, could she take her mom’s, hostesses with the mostest dishes, with her. I KNOW I DID THIS TO MY MOTHER, but this it different –this could happen to ME someday. And, don’t tell me good parents are supposed to work towards this end or that it means my friend did a good job. It sucks and I am telling Cole right now he can NOT GO. The end. Maybe.
It’s time for me to start planning my outfit for tonight’s dinner out. Should I have a martini? I think I might–just one to toast my dear departed husband with a dear friend that he loved to drink and laugh with. After all, tomorrow he will have been departed two years.
So what do you think should I get a feather extension? Just one. I will let you know about the martini tomorrow.
Hope your day is musing right along.