can you hear me now?

Banjo Man has never been, and never will be, a techno-geek.   His purchase of a new Blackberry Storm cell phone three years ago was fraught with terror and stress.  The touch screen, the tilting, the apps?  If you have ever wanted to toss your cell phone onto the ground and jump up and down on it until your sandals disintegrate, then you know how we felt about this phone.

Banjo Man never learned how to retrieve voice mail, but he could check email on a day when the battery cooperated and Jupiter aligned with Mars.

Last week it was time to take matters into my own hands.   I braved the rain and wind and fog and drove south to a different Verizon store, the one near WalM**t (where my groceries awaited) to Solve Banjo Man’s Phone Issues Once And For All.

Lucky for me, the manager (Jeremy Loudermilk) met me at the door and asked how he could help.

“I need a new phone for my husband.”  I pulled out the Storm.  “This one has never really worked.”

“Whoa,” said Jeremy, taking the phone from me and staring at it as if it was a rare artifact.  “No wonder!  Did you know this was voted one of the Top 5 Worst Cell Phones Ever Made?”

Jeremy was now my new best friend.  He then pulled up our records and announced we were overdue for free phones.  I was putty in his hands until he led me to a display of cell phones with screens, keyboards, internet, cameras and all the latest apps.  That’s when I screeched to a halt and explained, “My husband will never be able to work one of these.”

“It’s easy,” said the thirty-year old.  “Look”.  He thumb-pushed seventeen on-screen “buttons” and showed me the stock market graphs.

“You don’t get it, Jeremy,” I said.  “I need a KINDERGARTEN phone.”

No problem.  He showed me a simple one with a slide-out keyboard for texting.  I gave him my best “you must be joking” looks and we moved quickly to the other side of the display to the super-duper-basic models.  I selected the two easiest phones (his and hers) and bought different colored covers (red for him, blue for me) and left happy.

If you are in the Westerly, RI area and need help with your Verizon phones, see Jeremy at the Verizon store near the new Stop & Shop.  He and his staff were competent and kind and personable and efficient.  I said “thank you” many times!

As did Banjo Man, when he discovered the joy of do-it-yourself voice mail.

p.s. if you want a free Blackberry Storm (without a battery), call me.

p.p.s. the cobra is still for sale.

Posted in rhode island | Tagged , , , , | 1 Comment

it’s my party and i’ll laugh if i want to

Does anyone remember that song???  No?  Okay.  It’s from the 1950’s (I think) and the actual lyrics are:  It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want, sigh if I want to, die if I want to; you would cry too if it happened to you, wah, wah, wah, wah!

I’m now officially sixty.  I do not know why I think this is so exciting, except…

I’m finally a grandmother.

None of my adult children live with me.

Banjo Man is still my boyfriend.

I own cowboy boots.

I am in a band.  We are going to bluegrass camp.

I love my fiddle.

I am looking forward to loving my cranky lap steel guitar, if it would ever stay tuned.

I love the lake.

And my family.

And my very, very, very special friends.

Dancing Mandolin Player gave me the best birthday party ever.  I posted all the photos in a separate page (at the top of the site, below the big photo of the lake).  I felt so lucky, in so many ways.  Check out the fresh berries (from DMP’s garden) on the homemade cheesecake.  Sigh.

Pat and Sharon surprised me with a cake at last Sunday’s Writers Day at the clubhouse.

I served myself and then took a picture.  It had pineapple cream filling.  Let me say that again:  pineapple cream filling!

It’s my party and I’ll eat if I want to.

Posted in a more pie opinion, family, food, friends | 8 Comments

in texas: life in the sandbox

I shouldn’t tell you how many hours I spent hunting for a baby turtle sandbox for my grandson.  Two months before his birthday I ran the whole sandbox idea past his mom and dad, who said okay, and I thought it would be easy to pick one up when we arrived in Texas.

I was wrong.  See this cute creature?  He’s practically extinct.

Walm**t was the only store that carried it, but they really didn’t.  I went to several of them, even one 35 miles from Austin at 10:30 PM.  This is what grandmothers do.  I was told the sandboxes were locked up in a trailer behind the store and maybe, probably, if I came back tomorrow, someone could maybe, probably, find the key.

At another W*****t, the salesclerk led me to the aquarium aisle.  At yet another, I was taken to the garden department (now filled with artificial Christmas trees) and told the turtle sandbox was a swimming pool and “seasonal”.

I heard the word “seasonal” a lot, despite the fact that in Texas (10 year drought, record number of 100+ degree days last summer) is finally “cool” enough (in the 80’s), for children to actually be outside in sandboxes without collapsing of heat stroke.

I do love Texans–they are a polite, cheerful, friendly group of people and I love their music and dance halls and vintage fashion sense—but they are definitely strange about cool weather.   Halloween morning it was below 70 (picture an early August morning in the Bitterroots).  I was on the road at 8 AM for an outing with my daughter-in-law and grandson and it was a gorgeous day.  The Austinites strolling the sidewalks wore heavy coats, scarves, ski caps and thick boots.  I saw one guy wearing gloves.

Seasonal clothing.  Yep.

Back to the Little Tykes Baby Turtle Sandbox search…I was determined, no matter what the online websites said, to find a sandbox (the baby turtle was the right size and highly rated for safety) so I could play with my grandson.  I haven’t been able to take him to the beach in RI (yet!) so I would bring sand to him.  None of the men in my family said a discouraging word about this quest.  Come to think about it, they all became very quiet whenever my frustration with the elusive Baby Turtle Sandbox flared up.

I finally found one in a thrift store.  Banjo Man and Steel Guitar Man (aka brother-in-law GL) scrubbed it clean and filled it with new play sand.  We delivered it to its new home on my grandson’s deck.

The little guy was thrilled.  His fat little toes curled into the sand and, once he got over the shock of the new feeling, he screeched with joy and tried to stand on his head and couldn’t stop laughing.  Neither could I.

Maybe we should all screech and laugh and stick our rears in the air when we discover something new and wonderful, like sand.

Might make an interesting finale to next year’s band gigs.

Or maybe not.

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heavy metal expressions

Where are the hot dogs? Bring on the ribs!

My space alien grill smiles at me.

Whaddya mean, I’m not in Texas anymore????

My guitar looks a bit dismayed.

(Get a grip, I tell him.  At least you’re not still living in that dusty old case and in seven months you’ll see the USA from the back seat of a 2003 Mazda Dream Van.)

BRAIN SURGERY?????!!!!!

Let me get this straight:  I have to have surgery,  leave Texas and live with a woman who knows nothing about me?????
Put me back in that storage closet with the wild Telecasters and the old Rickenbacher guy!!!!   I’ll even let the yellow Fender Champ lean against me and moon about Hawaii.

Quit whining, Supro.  You’re a member of the Cougar Creek Band now.

[Update:  My Supro and I are having our first lesson together tonight!!!! ]

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in texas: lovin’ Lamar

If you’ve been in Austin, chances are you’ve driven South Lamar.   These signs share a parking lot, so you can buy a guitar and walk next door and have a beer.  Or vice versa.  Not that I drink beer.  I’ve guzzled a few Diet Cokes in the Saxon, though.  It’s a great old bar that supports local musicians and makes out-of-towners feel at home.

Makes you want to be in a band, doesn’t it?

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what’s inside box #17

Box #17 (or was it #27??  or #189??) contained baby clothes and blankets.  A couple of them brought back wonderful memories.  But the rest were a mystery.  Why on earth had I carted this box around for 30+ years?

But worse…a tangled piece of cotton and lycra and snaps (snaps??) turned out to be my maternity bra.  I had saved my nursing bra!!!

You don’t have to tell me how weird that is.  It is also weird that I am telling you about it.

Just so you know, when I say I’m “cleaning out stuff”, I mean even 33-year old undergarments!!!!

Don’t worry.  I did not stop cleaning to take a photo.  But I’m sure I was wearing it when this picture was taken.  Overalls were very fashionable that decade.

The Hippie Family Portrait, 1977:

1977 Hippie Family Portrait

Posted in family, rhode island | 2 Comments

rethinking the dining corner

I took apart two chair seats Wednesday.  They were my grandmother’s cherry dining room chairs;  I had recovered them about 10 years ago by stapling fabric over what was already there.

Then I had my “shabby chic” secondhand-furniture nervous breakdown and painted everything white.  But even then, in the midst of insanity, I was not stupid enough to paint cherry chairs.  A friend needed a new home for four wicker chairs, so I painted them white and recovered the cushions, which I would do several times over the years.

This is not a very interesting post.  I’m sorry.

That same year I bought a great big mahogany table that had seen better days, but was sturdy and had two leaves.  I painted it white.

Now that we have the enormous, new, brown sectional, the old white stuff really stands out.  Sigh.  How was I going to tone it down a bit?  So I took two of Grandma’s chairs out of storage (over my mother’s garage) and cleaned them up.  Then I took apart the chair seats so I could see what I was dealing with.

Oh, my goodness.  I’m dealing with a lot.  Five layers of fabric.  Lots of little rusty nails.  Lots of big rusty staples.  Cracked, ancient plywood.  But do-able, if I convince my husband to make new plywood seats.

BIG IF.

Last night Banjo Man hauled his leather what-he-sits-in-when-he’s-playing-chess-once-a-year chairs upstairs from the cave and they looked wonderful.  He was thrilled I liked his decorating idea (he didn’t know I’d been trying to figure out how to steal them for the dining area).  I’m not sure they’re going to be great dining room chairs, though, because they are a bit low (makes it easier to put my face in the food, but not a pretty sight) and will definitely need cushions.  And that’s another project I don’t have time for right now.  I have a book to write!  And decorating makes me slightly (?) insane and compulsive and obssessed and hyper and depressed.

Tuesday I thought about stripping the dining room table.  Oh, my goodness.  I might be too old for stripping.  When I was sixteen I refinished an oak cupboard and loved every minute of it, but…I’m not sixteen any more.  I’m sixty!!  (Hurray!!!)

Nevertheless, I took one of the leaves outside and coated it with paint-stripping gunk.  And nothing happened.  Whatever paint I used to paint that table will be on there forever.  I guess I did a really good job.  Or the paint-stripping gunk was old.  I have to wash it all off today.

So…maybe I’ll paint the top of the table a creamy aqua blue.  Or tan.  Or cream.  Not black.  Not brown.

And not until after Christmas.

Color suggestions, anyone????

 P.S. Pay no attention to the old green drapes. They’re temporary. So is the quilt hanging over the patio doors. They’ll do until I figure something else out!

Posted in secondhand stuff | 1 Comment

a boy’s best friend

Meet Pan.

He was a gift to my son when his was one (thank you, Aunt Marge) and was very much loved.  After resurrecting Pan from a box of treasured baby toys, I’ve been cleaning and repairing him since 8 PM last night.  First I stitched a tear in his back.  Then I washed him in the bathroom sink.  And I washed him again.  And again.  And again.  And again.  I scrubbed various parts of him with an old toothbrush.

The water in the sink looked like root beer.

Today I soaked him in the washing machine and washed and washed and washed and rinsed and rinsed and rinsed, and was very glad the washing machine did all of the work.

He looks much better now, though I will be picking bits of his foam innards out of my clothes dryer until 2013.

I am stitching him again.  And again.  And again.  But he tolerates it well.

His eyeballs have been scratched from my son’s baby teeth.
The fur on his nose has been kissed off.
One of his ears is departing from his head.

I love him.  My 39-year old son will think I’m crazy when he gets this for Christmas, but now that he has a toddler he might understand why his mom kept Pan all these years.

Especially since I’m also sending a new Pan for his own little boy.

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re-homing the cobra, part 2

In honor of Black Monday and internet Christmas shopping, I have listed my cobra on Craigslist. 

“For the person who has everything, a science major, a biology teacher or for someone who likes to make his own belts and hat bands (if such a thing is possible). My brother-in-law sent this to my sons many years ago and it is time for this lovely creature to have a new home.  For some strange reason my grown children don’t want me to ship it to their respective homes.  Imagine that.

The cobra is spitting (which I suppose makes sense). It is/was about 6′ long.  There is a crack in the neck which could be glued, I imagine, but gluing a snake neck is a bit low on my priority list right now.  And if you wanted the skin, the glue would probably be in the way.  It stands approximately 23″ high.

Please call XXX-XXX-XXXX if you can’t live without a cobra or you’re one of those people who plays practical jokes with dead animals and must have this.  Better yet, email.  Please, for the love of God, don’t text me.”

Wish me luck. 

Posted in secondhand stuff | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments

in texas: re-homing the cobra, part 1

Meet Alex.  He is a second-generation taxidermist and a really nice guy.  He gave us a tour of his family’s taxidermy studio, Martinez Brothers, on South Lamar in Austin.

You’re wondering why I told Banjo Man and Son #2 to stop at a taxidermist shop, aren’t you?  Aside from that one time when Retired Mountain Lady and I skinned a deer together, I’ve dealt with no animal hides (and no, neither one of us has any pictures of that night, so don’t get your hopes up).

But, thanks to my brother-in-law (aka GL/Steel Guitar Man), I do have a stuffed cobra.  A stuffed spitting cobra.

I’d hoped that there was a big need for cobra skin in Austin.  You know, for boots and belts and hatbands.  Because I don’t want this cobra anymore.

Alex very politely offered to look at it, with a possibility of consigning it–he said you never know when someone will drop in and want a stuffed snake–but shipping it to Texas would cost a small fortune.  I thought I’d try to sell it on ebay or Craigslist first.

We loved our visit to the Martinez Brothers shop, thanks to Alex, who is deservedly proud of what his family has built.

I am still yearning for these boots.  I guess I should have asked Alex if he’d trade them for a cobra.  I have a feeling he would have said no, though.

Darn.

Posted in austin, secondhand stuff, texas | Tagged , , , , | 1 Comment