The Pastries

The first studio First Chamber had in Seattle was a converted factory located in a seedy part of town.
Within easy walking distance I discovered a real Danish bakery, run by real Danes and making real Danish pastries.
Oh the joy...
and if you hit it at the right time, just when the pastries came out of the oven, there would be nothing closer to rapture.
One day on a break I hit the magic moment and decided to be generous and buy pastries for my hard working friends at the studio.
The pastry was so hot they had to punch holes in the pink box I was given with the lot.
And on my way I allowed myself a taste, and another.....and another
so when I was a few blocks from the studio I realized I did not have enough left to share with my friends....
and ate the last ones too.
AH, the guilt, but somehow I got over it real fast.
I don't recall if I ever told my friends about the pastries.

Some day are easier than others. On the not so easy days, I seem to be imbibing a bit more than usual.
But what, I wonder, what makes a day an easy one or a not so easy one ?
One factor I have learned that is part of the equation, is the behavior of the Worthless Ones.
When they decide that the poor, unsuspecting person passing by my the house is a threat or at best a nuisance, they will all, as one, start to bark and run out in the street, chasing the poor fellow.
Or fellowin (f), as they don't seem to have any preference for either sex.
And then, after screaming at them, threatening them with early and painful euthanasia, I grab the proverbial bottle which, in my case, is a carton, and I drink.
So that is a bad day; thanks to the Worthless Ones.
But it keeps makers of cheap and tasteless wine in business.

I thought I would write about an amusing incident that happened when Nicholas, my neighbor, returned after two months in the UK visiting with his family, and I stopped by to give back the keys to his house that I had been checking for him and the accounting of the bills I had been paying for him.
He thanked me and then I saw a light flicker in his eyes when the realization hit him, that a present might have been appropriate.
And he rushed to his bedroom and came back with a tin of shortbread cookies and a tin of tea bags, four flavors.
I was amused and I wondered why I knew what was going through his head when it dawned on me : This was me too. At times when Rey would show up on a Sunday to help with chores around the house, I would be in the same dilemma. To show my appreciation with money was out of the question; that would be an insult to our friendship, so I, like Nicholas, had to find things that would show how grateful I was for his help. Luckily the Bennetts have supplied me every Christmas with bags and bags of chocolate goodies and this was what I used to give to Rey.
Realizing this, the incident was not that funny anymore, so I decided not to write about it.

There I was, upstairs, cleaning up after the Worthless Ones who have decided that they prefer indoor facilities and therefore regard certain parts of the house as their private toilet, when Toby walked in, sniffed at the-- to him--delicious flavor of doggie excrement, lifted his leg and peed on the floor.
TOBY....my boy, my last bastion in the futile fight for canine training, the one who never, ever before would dream of going to the bathroom inside.
There he was, peeing inside, and all because of the Worthless Ones and their unsavory habits.
I am devastated now; all my theories about breeding and training have gone out the window. All it takes is a house full of untrained mutts and even the best of dogs will succumb.
Sad and ever so like humans.

Theory of relativity

I am not totally sure what the theory of relativity is all about, well no, to tell the truth, I have not the foggiest notion.
But in my world, in this little enclave of lush greenery compleat with an astounding array of creepy crawlies and mentally challenged canines, the relativity is this:
relative to the amount of bad news on the computer and amount of barking and screaming by the resident canines, is the amount of cheap wine to be consumed.
Add to the equation the number of non-functioning electronics, starting with but not exclusive to, the TV, and you have another part of the problem.
So the more bad news, more screaming mutts and more dead electronics, the more the imbibing of cheap wine.
I am no Einstein but I'll say this is pretty cool. Even if it is written after a certain amount of cheap wine.
It wouldn't have been any better had the wine been expensive.

Am I missing something here ?
On the admittedly rare occasion when I pick up my cell phone or my camera, they always seem to be out of battery.
So I charge them and then, when next I pick them up, they are out again.
What am I missing here ?
Should a charge not last a while ? Or am I in a space where charges dissipates ?
The latest to join the line of battery challenged equipment is my portable phone.
Sure, as of late it would send funny "ping" signals after a certain amount of airtime, but how was I to know that this might mean that the battery was about to go dead, which is what I fervently hope is the case at this moment.
Here is what I have learned from a search of the web.
A new telephone will cost about $50.
A new battery--if found--should cost no more than $4 to $5, even here in Mexico.
The trick is, however, to find a place that sells these batteries, and herein lies the challenge.
I know where to buy unlikely thingies for the water pumps, and even where to buy seeds and freshly roasted coffee, but batteries for phones ? No way. And my phone book is six years old and terribly out of date, so where?
Ah, light some candles and hope for the best.
Smoke signals ?

The window 2

TMI, said one of my favorite nieces.
I don't need to know this much, she said.
Hence the TMI ( too much information )
And yet
she admitted that she had a laugh and that the vision of the old fool on the hill peeing out the window was kind of funny.
That is why I love those girls. They will follow the dictum of society but only to a point. After that they are free spirits. And being able to see the silliness in some geezer peeing out the window, in particular if the geezer is an uncle.
It is of course much easier for a male to pee out the window than for a female, but that is for another post.