FOR THE GOOD

When I was young,                                                                                                                                                I couldn’t speak.                                                                                                                                            I couldn’t feel.                                                                                                                                                I couldn’t think.

When I was young,                                                                                                                                                I watched my peers.                                                                                                                                      And, yes,                                                                                                                                                        I shed big crocodile tears.

When I was young,                                                                                                                                                The rules were harsh.                                                                                                                                    Our drummers deemed                                                                                                                                  The tempo’s march.

The times were thus,                                                                                                                                            When children, good,                                                                                                                                     Refrained to fuss,                                                                                                                                           And understood.

The willful price,                                                                                                                                                    Brought on by pride,                                                                                                                                      Resulted in                                                                                                                                                    A well-tanned hide.

Restrained and bound.                                                                                                                                        Commanded by:                                                                                                                                             ‘Be seen...not heard.                                                                                                                                    Don’t dare to fly.’

No sass. No guff.                                                                                                                                                  No fluttered motion.                                                                                                                                      Suppress.                                                                                                                                                      Deny creative notion.                                                                                                                                    

Good girls. Good boys.                                                                                                                                           Good God! Don’t scream!                                                                                                                               Polite. Restrained.                                                                                                                                         And never mean.

For goodly is                                                                                                                                                        As goodly does.                                                                                                                                            And little ears                                                                                                                                                Should never buzz

With adult tales,                                                                                                                                                  Or gossip strong.                                                                                                                                          Such treachery                                                                                                                                              Is always wrong.

Then came a day,                                                                                                                                                  When verdict rash                                                                                                                                          Wed sentence foul,                                                                                                                                        To lead the clash.

An untrained voice                                                                                                                                                Was heard to howl:                                                                                                                                      “Be gone,                                                                                                                                                       Assassins of the soul!”

“Unjust!                                                                                                                                                                  Dispel this cruel charade!                                                                                                                              No more I’ll dance                                                                                                                                          In your parade!”

Electric sparks                                                                                                                                                      Flashed bright and well,                                                                                                                                Throughout my carapace:                                                                                                                              My grown-up shell.

For this good child                                                                                                                                               Cannot remain                                                                                                                                               Unaltered                                                                                                                                                       By this new domain.

Survival must now                                                                                                                                                Take the lead                                                                                                                                                In all thoughts, judgments,                                                                                                                            Plots and deeds.

The mind, the heart,                                                                                                                                            The voice and soul                                                                                                                                        No longer suffer                                                                                                                                            Or shiver cold.

Still...‘Goodly is                                                                                                                                                      As goodly does.’                                                                                                                                            But driven by                                                                                                                                                  A hotter blood.

SEX IS NOT THE PRIMARY THOUGHT

I’ve decided to throw caution to the wind and embark on a subject which, to put it bluntly, says: SEX IS NOT THE PRIMARY THOUGHT ON A MAN’S MIND WHEN HE MEETS A WOMAN.

For untold centuries, the Kama-Sutra has had an exotic and mysterious reputation as the ultimate sex and man-grabbing manual.

Your friendly psychic, fortune-teller, or Curandera promises Success In Love at each turn-of the-dollar. And matchmaking services rely on technology to locate your ideal mate. All these services dwell in The Land of Romantic Imagination, and assume that every couple will author their own bodice-busting best seller.

But, since life and love are akin to shooting craps at a Vegas casino, I thought I would load the dice by calling your attention to a little known fact of life and love: MEN ARE HOOKED ON LEATHER AND VINYL!

Now, before you go into cardiac arrest, let me assure you that this is not going to be a blog filled with kinky thrills. I have no idea if any serious study has been made regarding luring men with leather and vinyl. If so, I guess some findings could be somewhat interesting, but I would like to take a more logical approach.

Over the years, I have noticed that there is an extension of the female anatomy that men find absolutely fascinating. This extension has been known to use various aliases. The most common are PURSE; POCKETBOOK; CLUTCH; HOBO.

99.9% of the women of this world lug around one variety or another of the above vinyl or leather creations every day. It is part of our mystique. Who knows what fills that dark vacuum of space?

Men find it mysterious and revere it as a holy repository of the inner woman.

Oh, yes. Some of us have found bona-fide relics during the excavation ritual that we are forced to conduct from time to time.

What has all this got to do with attracting a man? Well, men are creatures-in-conflict. They want all the bells and whistles. So, they not only want an attractive package in a woman. They also want that package to be capable of carrying some of the bells and whistles essential for their own personal happiness.

That’s why the purse you carry can make a difference between: “I’ll call you Monday night at 8 P.M.” Or the dreaded: “I’ll give you a call sometime.”

Have you ever noticed how a man’s eyes wander to your purse whenever you open it to search for something?

Has it come to your attention that, when you ask a man to hold your purse for a second, his whole demeanor changes?

These are strong emotional signals which should not be ignored.

What he is unconsciously doing is making a decision about entrusting you with his life.

Oh, you’ll know when he has decided to further your relationship. His commitment becomes clear the first time he asks you to keep something in your purse for him. Then, almost at warp speed, any number of his things may find peace and safety within that sacred vault.

He may start out with just a pack of gum or breath-mints. However, nearby wedding bells will begin to peal when he hands you his glasses, cigarettes, calculator, camera, or a snack or two.

If your man is plagued with allergies, you can also expect to add his pills, inhaler, and an extra hankie. He, of course, will hold on to his wallet, cash, credit cards and lottery tickets.

Yes, ladies, the purse you select can influence your love life. And the training a hefty purse exposes your body to is a benefit realized when the babies are born. The increase in upper-body strength you receive has already prepared you for carrying the weight of baby and that ever-present diaper bag. Don’t think that men are not aware of this.

If your man is intent on having children someday, he is already scouting out the woman with the necessary background and physical attributes to provide the means required to balance and sustain the weight of that diaper bag. And once that diaper bag appears, make no mistake about it; he is absolutely certain that he has discovered a virtual warehouse to add more of his things to.

So, don’t dismiss the purchase of a purse because it seems too large. Your man can find many things to fill any space you do not use.

Skimpy little purses and skimpy little women look wonderful and move with grace and charm. They are able to glide and pivot like runway models. But how many wives and mothers do you see gliding and pivoting like models? It is the woman who can look good with a big purse, and move with strength and purpose, that attracts the man who collects many things, and is looking towards the future.

Certainly, the above is just my own theory, based on personal observation and experience. Just keep your eyes open and see if your candidate for wedlock takes a special interest in the purse you carry. He may be more smitten than he lets you know.

If everything falls into place the way I described, be forewarned. You will carry and dispense forever. You will droop and drag. You will throw away your three-inch heels. You will hop when you hear bells. And you will write late at night.

Take heart, though, a tasty recipe follows. It’s a pantry throw-together and spice quantities are all approximate. I’m just not much of a by-the-book cook.

ITALIAN GREEN BEANS WITH TOMATOES

1 can DEL MONTE ITALIAN GREEN BEANS

1 can DEL MONTE PEELED TOMATOES

3 tblsp. ONION - yellow or red - diced

1+ tblsp. BUTTER

Dash SAGE (adjust to your preference)

Dash THYME (adjust to your preference)

SALT & BLACK PEPPER - to taste

Put TOMATOES in a 2-quart saucepan. If you use DICED TOMATOES you will save yourself the work of chopping the WHOLE TOMATOES. Add ONION, SAGE, THYME, BUTTER, SALT and PEPPER. Stir well.

Cover pot and cook on medium-low heat until contents heat through and begin to bubble. The ONIONS will determine the cooking time. Let them soften.

Then add the ITALIAN GREEN BEANS (drained), and blend well. Continue cooking on simmer until heated well through. Check pot and stir often.

Serve in separate small bowls and eat with a spoon.

QUESTION: Where did POCKETBOOK come from? It’s definitely not a book; and if you had a pocket big enough to fit it into, then you wouldn’t need it in the first place. Right?

OF BRUTES, BEARS, FRENCH FLAIR

Lightning strikes frequently in the form of an unexpected guest. It’s inevitable. Just when you stretch your need to shop for food supplies to the breaking point, someone shows up at your door hungrier than Yogi the Bear.

To develop this picture further, let’s add that it is your husband (brute that he is) who has dragged Yogi to your door with a glowing rendition of how you would love to meet Yogi. He further commits spousal mayhem with assurances that you will provide a meal more worthy than any restaurant could imagine for this misdirected business pow-wow lunch.

Also imagine that this picture portrays hubby and Yogi in business suits, while you are very likely decked-out in old clothes, no makeup and hair rollers.

Now add the trappings of massive house cleaning, the smell of furniture polish, the necessity of silencing the vacuum, and returning the furniture to their rightful places in society. Is this a subtle portrait of domestic bliss? I think not!

You’re caught like a rat in a trap, but you must suppress the panicky, wild-eyed beast within you, and fondle Yogi’s paw.

All this takes talent, my friends, because fondling Yogi’s paw, while flinging daggers at hubby, is beyond the realm covered by marriage vows.

You know you’ll forgive The Brute someday, somehow, so you wash your hands and prepare the dining room table for your amazing magic act.

Thank God they are out of the line of vision, you muse. Then you begin the horror of taking inventory of your meager supplies. Leftovers: Nada! Pantry: Sparse! Cookbook: Aw, forget it! Cookbooks do not address the issue of battle rations.

With a heavy heart, you put your mask in place and recite the delicate delights to be experienced from your “Broiled Bonito Fromage” and the wispy Hawaii-inspired “Verbiage et Ananas avec Crème Lèche.”

Yogi’s eyes light up in anticipation.

The Brute doesn’t have a clue, but hides his confusion behind a silent, loving smile. Yes! Your telepathic message has been received: “Shut up and clean your plate! It’s the best I can do -- for now.”

Continuing on into the fray, it is only fair to mention that any cook, who has ever slung a spatula, knows the magical properties of the French language. If you cannot conjure French, then choose exotic sounding words from whatever language comes to mind.

Quite ordinary foods become exquisite meals once you have clouded reality with a foreign language. Thus, Broiled Bonito Fromage and Verbiage et Ananas avec Crème Lèche bring a tuna fish with cheese sandwich, and frozen waffles with canned pineapple and cream cheese frosting to new heights of haute cuisine.

Remember, ladies, say it with an accent. Say it with a straight face. And don’t let ’em into the kitchen. Men don’t know! Men don’t care.

BROILED BONITO FROMAGE

(Serves 2-3)

1 can TUNA - all white meat - packed in water - DRAINED

1 good size Celery Stalk -- remove strings and chop into small pieces

1/4 cup Onion - chopped small -- Red Onion preferred

3 tsp. approx. Vinegar: Use any one, or a combo, of Red, Apple Cider, Rice, or Balsamic

1 heaping tsp. Gulden’s (or similar)Spicy Brown Mustard

dash Garlic Powder (optional)

qty. Salt & Black Pepper (to taste)

2 tbsp. Mayonnaise

1 tbsp. Miracle Whip

1/2 tsp. Sweet India Relish (optional)

qty. Slices of BREAD - your choice of variety -- 2-slices per serving

2 slices/serving Cheese -- any variety will do – mix or match – whatever you have

Combine Tuna and the next 9 ingredients. Blend well. Add more Mayo and/or Miracle Whip if desired. Toast Bread slices -- 2 slices per person is the usual serving. (Try not to make the bread too dark so that you avoid breakage or crumbling.) Spread a reasonable quantity of the Tuna mixture on each slice of bread and ‘top’ with cheese. Arrange slices on a broiler pan or cookie sheet and place under a hot broiler element. Monitor closely. Remove when the cheese melts or begins to brown or bubble. Serve immediately. (Knives and forks will be necessary.) You may wish to decorate with pimento, capers, or black or green olives. Kids like this little touch.

VERBIAGE ET ANANAS AVEC CRÈME LECHE

(Serves 2 - 4)

1 can Pineapple Slices -- unsweetened in natural juice (Chunks or Crushed will do, but Slices are prettier and easier.)

4 ozs. Cream Cheese (softened)

1 tbsp. Butter (softened)

4 tbsp. Condensed Milk (Half-n-Half or Cream will work, too.)

3 tbsp. Natural Juice from Pineapple Can

1/8 tsp Pure Vanilla Extract (Quantity is approximate. More or less if preferred)

qty. Confectioner’s Powdered Sugar (Sufficient quantity to sweeten and keep sauce medium thickness.)

1/serv. Frozen Waffles (2/serving if you want to splurge)

Open canned Pineapple and remove the number of pineapple slices you plan to use. (Save the remainder. Refrigerate.)

In a small bowl, thoroughly blend Cream Cheese and Butter. Add liquids and Powdered Sugar, alternating each, a little at a time, until you reach the consistency of a medium thin sauce. Toast waffles; a nicely browned color is preferred, but avoid burning. Top each waffle with one slice of Pineapple (or equiv. chunks/crushed variety). Spoon a generous amount of the sauce mixture on top. Add Maraschino Cherries if you wish. Serve immediately. Knives and forks are also required.

Note #1: If you have nice glass luncheon plates, use them. And put out real napkins if you’ve got them. Yogi will feel extra special and you may get a dozen roses from him the next day. It happened. Trust me. The Brute, of course, will be humbled.

Note #2: Should you need to get yourself spiffed up a bit, serve the tuna and dash off to change and comb. You should be able to manage the transformation between courses. Remember, mon ami, you are magic.

SIMPLE PLEASURES -- FULL-BODIED

I like coffee. I like a good cup of coffee. In fact, I like a good cup of full-bodied coffee.

Well, now, what does the term ‘a good cup of full-bodied coffee’ mean?

To me, full-bodied describes a hefty shot of brew that grabs the taste buds and rings ’em right down to the roots. It’s that ringing or, if you will, a heady chime that sets up the desire to face whatever the day is going to throw at you.

But I’m rushing too much, so I’d better give credit, right now, to aroma and enhancements.

Most coffees smell too good to be true, and generally finish-out well enough. Some, however, suffer from hasty or inappropriate handling. That’s when they become too wretched to be saved by even the finest creamery and sweetening agents. It’s such a pity.

Right now, it’s the simple pleasures that need the most attention, and that’s why I mention coffee as my lead-in for this week’s posting. (I would like to be able to call these weekly efforts BLOGS, but I know that they’re too fluffy to be taken as seriously as a traditional blog.)

Let me restate the purpose of today’s jumble of words: It’s the simple pleasures that need the most attention.

Yes, right now, there is so much heartache in our wounded country that the only hope for many is a simple pleasure.

We are flocking to the discounters.

We crave bargain sandwiches.

Certain Tuesdays find us standing in line for $3.99 large pizzas, and we gladly wait for a parking space because $12.00 can adequately feed a family of five or six.

Then there’s the fresh food & gas places. There’s a Texaco station just down the street that whips up delicious Chinese take-out at a very fair price. It’s as good as many of the pricey palaces.

There are many more simple pleasures being enjoyed by the average citizen.

Do you rent movies at the Red Box? Do you drag out the board games? Do you make use of the freebies at your local library?

Notice I stress the average citizen.

The politicians certainly don’t curtail their grandiose desires, and too many corporations pig-out at the government’s trough.

How many outwardly successful businesses are behind on payments to utilities, vendors and repair people? How many of these outwardly successful businesses are behind with their payroll, and fudging on health care contributions?

A lot of talk cites the errors of the big boys, but shouldn’t we be paying closer attention to the potential gyp and skip companies and individuals?

Very simply, we are rewarding the scoundrels and the con-men/women.

Comedians, both male and female, and the news organizations revel in the crooks du jour opportunities.

Oh, come on. Let’s wake up and openly admit that there are some things that are just too wretched to be saved by cream and sweetening agents.

Like bad coffee, we are victims of hasty and/or inappropriate handling.

However, it is comforting to realize that we can recognize the spice in a simple ginger snap; and that many have rediscovered the meaning of the ‘pleasure of your company.’

Yes, the appreciation of simple pleasures can all begin with a simple cup of carefully prepared coffee. It did so today.

EARS TO YOU

I have discovered the wonderful benefits of ear plugs.

Oh, yes. The rat race and rabble-roustabouts of the known world care not if a person gets a decent night’s sleep, or even a refreshing afternoon siesta.

The garbage collectors collect and thrash about.

The mower maniacs swarm all over nature’s hard work.

The remodelers cut and bang and crank-up their boom boxes.

And youthful exuberance screeches from dawn to however long it takes to permanently damage the voice-box.

All of the above have the right of personal expression.

All of the above have the right to earn a living.

But all of the above don’t have the right to display excessive behavior.

Do you think I’m going to confront said excessive personnel and undisciplined personalities? Not on your life.

You see, it is very clear that any complaint against freedom of expression (i.e. undisciplined noise) is frowned upon by the liberally deaf.

I fumed and fussed for a very long time before a good friend set me straight. “You don’t have ear plugs?” she said, with a face full of shock and wonderment.

“No,” I countered. “I honestly never thought about ear plugs for noise. Aren’t they just for swimming or for hard-rock musicians?”

“Where have you been?” she continued. “They (ear plugs) come in different strengths and colors. They (ear plugs) are squishy and poufy and you roll then into pointy cones and stick them in your ears.” Then she smiled and sort of rolled her eyes.

“You’ll have the best sleep you ever had; and if you get a sleep mask, the whole world could end without you ever waking up. I’ve used them both for years.”

Well, I knew about the sleep mask. I even had one, but it wouldn’t fit over my curlers. So I just smothered myself under the covers to escape the blazing light.

My husband thought the sleep mask was a scream because it was black satin, and when I did get the dang thing to stay on, I looked like the Lone Rangeress or Zorrina. Kinky, huh?

The ear plug information seemed to be the perfect solution to my sleep problems, so I got a box. They’re disposable after a few wearings, you know.

My first color was turquoise. They did a good job, and I trained my ears to accept the intrusion with little effort.

Then I went on a trip and forgot to bring the ear plugs.

Motels and hotels are inhabited by excessive personnel and undisciplined personalities. I purchased purple ear plugs as soon as was humanely possible.

The purple ear plugs blocked more noise than the turquoise ones and were even more squishy and poufy. Holy cats! I was back in business, and my ears were grateful for the added benefits.

However, there is one tiny, tiny adjustment when you choose to employ ear plugs. Alarm clocks are useless. You need a human or pet to poke you and then jump out of the way as fast as they can.

My hubby doesn’t care if I sleep ‘til doomsday. He refuses to poke anymore. I darn near decked him the last time, and he can still hear my screams in his nightmares.

My current ensemble is a turquoise sleep mask and purple ear plugs. When I add my Smurf hat... Hah! You can only imagine.