decidedly not fair

First I waited years for the tree to mature, to grow big enough to produce flowers.
You see, Chuck and I grew it from seeds we gathered from a tree now long since gone.
But our tree is still growing and strong and tall and now, mature enough for flowers and it regales me once a year with a fantastic display of yellow flowers; the tree is rightly known as Golden Shower Tree.
But the last couple of years the timing has been a bit off. My tree will explode with flowers and just then, sure as manure, there will be a nasty and heavy rainstorm and all the flowers will end up on the ground. Millions and millions of them.
Is it too much to ask for a respite for a few days for me to enjoy the flowers before the destructive rains ?
I am nost asking much, just a couple of days. I do so love that tree.
Ah well. Maybe next year.

Instructional videos

I have been curious about soy protein for a while so I went on a search to find out more.
Now I know it is called TVP ( Textured Vegetable Protein ) and now I know that many people like to make videos and display them on Youtube.
I sat through three excrutiating videos, short in time but oh so long in endurance.
The first was a Vegan showing how to hydrate the TVP. This she did in a not too clean pot and was fumbling about all the time explaining in a monotone voice what she was doing. And I wanted to scream.
Second try was another vegan lady, this one chirpy and smiley and not about to adhere to things like measures. HUH ? Chirpy or not, she got the ax. She also was too fond of saying " good to go " which she must have used four times in a very, very short time. I loathe that expression.
Third try looked like she had been an extra in a cheap vampire movie with stringy hair and lots and lots of eye make-up. Lots. Her method added nothing to my knowledge of how to make TVP, so she went the way of all vampire cooking shows. Gone.
But this all made me wonder. What makes people want to make these videos and display them. What ?
Earnestly feeling that they have something worth sharing ?  And maybe they do. It just is that the presentation, earnest if you will, leaves a lot to be desired.
And don't get me started on the video of the lady showing how to make rag rugs. That was a trip.
Bless them, though, for doing it. It is so easy to make fun, but a lot harder to make a video, so here is to all the unsung heroes of homemade instructional videos. May they continue to make them and brighten my lonely days.

Leaks

I have learned that when peeing over the railing as I do to save water, I have to shake rather more vigorously that I used to, or I will end up with the tell-tale leaky spot in front of my shorts.

  So it is not such a wonder that my car has developed a leak; we are both getting old. Now I don't know if cars age at the ratio of say dogs, seven doggie years to one human year but they surely age faster than do we mere humans.
So my car had a leak and I was worried.
Enter the Mannies, Manny Sr. and Manny Jr.  They have opened a car repair at the bottom of my hill. It is not much of a place, a wooden shack with one door and no windows and a slab of concrete and all the odors of the neighbor shacks which are not hooked up to any sewer or running water. Rather ripe.

Manny Jr.is deported from Chicago where he lived for 31 years and Manny Sr. is from Ciudad Juarez and dyes his hair a most unusual color of reddish brown.
He claimed that he could fix what was ailing the car and started to dismantle it with great vigor. I left.
And the following day it was all ready for me..sans leaks.  I took it to the market keeping a woried eye on the signals on the dashboard but all seemed OK. I came back and unloaded and parked the car and checked and...

I HAVE ANOTHER LEAK....

Not the same to be sure, but a leak. And now I have to make up my mind as to whether to go Manny Sr. again or bite the bullet and try to coax the car to my normal and known mechanic who is located way the heck and gone on the other side of town.
OY such decisions.

Of Gods and Goddesses

I had mentioned to a friend in a mail that I thought Mrs Thor was looking after me since for sure Thor, the embodiment of all things macho would not be bothered by a person such as I, looking all over town for and finding and loosing and finding again a light bulb to sewing machine.

but Mrs Thor ( Sif ) might be better disposed I thought

and that got me to thinking about what they might have looked like.
This is my version of Mrs Thor and her husband.

The hill

An so I finally got my manure together, I looked the devil in the eye, I grabbed the bull by the horn and  a few more hackneyed expressions...in short..I went to town. I got the mutts safely ensconced inside the house and I merrily skedaddled down the road when suddenly i had to stop. My legs were not doing what they were supposed to do. I stood there, in the middle of my badly paved road, all by myself and took stock of the situation. The situation being that I had pain in my legs and felt that I did not really control them.
Now i have done this trip many times. It is easy when you go down the hill---normally.   So why was I having these problems ?    Old Age.  Plain and simple. I am getting old....correction..I AM OLD...I will be 69 this August...or maybe even 70..I am not too sure. What I am sure about is that I cannot do what I used to do without even thinking.
Anyway. I took a couple of deep breaths, counted to some silly number and proceeded to the bus stop and on to town, where I did all the things i had decided to do, shopping et al.
And got my weary self on buses going back to Mismaloya where I was confronted with the daunting task of climbing the hill to get to my house. I did climb the fricking hill and I did huff and puff and I did take a lot of breaks to catch my breath, but I did do it, dragging my groceries in two big shopping bags.
I idly wondered why I was having such a bad time schlepping back up the hill. I had been particularly careful in my choices of comestibles, to wit, rather than buying four cartons of cheap red wine I limited myself to ONE.  One silly carton of wine. Surely that could not be the problem. Then I had the bright idea, after I had unpacked my groceries and taken the dogs for their midday walk, to check the receipt and see whatever cargo I had been hauling up the hill.
About 15 kilos worth of stuff.
No wonder I felt a bit put upon. And I had been so careful, I thought. So certain to pare down my purchases to bare essentials. 15 kilos worth of bare essentials. However, hauling 15 kilos ( 33 pounds ) up the hill in two bags is hard work even for a young and fit person and I am neither young nor fit.
So I suffered.
And I realized with excruciating pain that I am now OLD.
I am old and I hurt when I do things that i used to be able to do without even thinking, like going up and down my hill. Yikes, but how I hate this.
I have decided i deserve to empty my one carton of cheap wine..and I will.
Tomorrow is another day and I may think of something else to bitch about

A fancy word

I am a procrastinator, a delayer and I know it.  I can delay things so long that I forgot what I meant to do in the first place.
I am not necessarily proud of it, it is who I am, so I was elated when i learned that there is a fancy sounding word for this condition

cunctator

PRONUNCIATION:

(kungk-TAY-tuhr)

MEANING:

noun: One who hesitates; a procrastinator or delayer. 

Now I don't feel so bad about it. I will shrug my shoulders and say

Sorry folks.  I am but a poor cunctator. 

See?