Anybody Out There?

Hmmm. Not one bit of input as to what y'all want. Does that mean no one's reading, or you don't want one particular focus? Just wondering.

A New Year's Query, Take Two

I realized another option you dear readers could request is weird little slices of my life like this:

Tonight after returning a video my sister had lent us, I went into Roth's IGA to see whether they had any Diet Mountain Dew in stock. For some reason grocers in our area haven't been stocking it in two-liters, which has caused a bit of panic in our household.

But, joy of joys, Roth's had some in stock. And it was on sale, $1 each plus deposit.

I put 20 in the cart.

At the checkout, the cashier's eyes widened.

"Are you... going to a party?" she asked.

"Nope. Just stocking up while it's on sale," I said.

"I know!" she laughed. "A dollar five each; that's a great price."

I nodded agreement and pulled $21 from my wallet.

"WHOA!"

I looked up to see two teenagers clutching bakery boxes and bags, grinning and staring at my cart.

"That is a LOT of Mountain Dew," the guy said.

"Yep," I agreed.

He called to another friend, commenting that "this is how much you'd buy!"

The cashier asked whether I knew I'd get this much attention just for buying soda. I told her I usually stock up like this, and people usually comment.

"Are you going to a party?" the girl asked.

"Just stocking up," I said. Apparently that's hysterically funny.

"Do you, like, only drink Mountain Dew?" the guy asked.

"My husband does."

"Oh. Gotta bump to that," he said, and held up his knuckles. His girl friend and the cashier both giggled as I bumped fists with him.

"I'll pass it along to him when I get home," I promised.

"Right on," the kid grinned.

I smiled good-bye and pushed my cart toward the door, but not before a few other customers glanced at the soda &mdash and then at me &mdash to see what was so fascinating.

A New Year's Query

Ah, the first Monday of the new year. Welcome back to work, everyone!

One of my goals for 2010 is to post a blog entry at least once each week... but I thought I'd let you have a say in what I write. I may only have an audience of, let's generously say six readers &mdash for now, she adds hopefully &mdash but that means I can tailor these entries to your interests.

So let's hear it. Would you prefer I focus on The Dog Blog with tales of Sherman's antics? Are you curious about the latest finds Sue and I make during our Goodwill Hunting outings? Or is there another area on which I should try to focus?

Just let me know and we'll give it a go! Thanks in advance!

St. Nick It

I delivered my sister's family's gifts last week, mostly so Brady could have his Santa Brady bib and his Baby's First Christmas stuff in time for, well, Christmas.

While I was there, Blane showed me all of the ornaments on their tree &mdash the Pooh bears, the Goofy, the apple bell &mdash and saved the best for last: his own Cars Lightning McQueen and Sally from last year and, new this year, Luigi and Guido. Luigi's sporting his Ferrari finery, so I told Blane:

"You'd better watch Luigi when Uncle Cary comes over; he might try to nick it."

"I don't want him to... What does 'nick it' mean?" Blane asked, shifting from alarmed to confused.

"It means he'd steal it, he'd take it."

"I don't want him to nick it!"

I assured Blane that Cary wouldn't take Luigi but likely would admire him. He seemed okay with that idea... but it'll be interesting to see whether he keeps a close eye on Cary the next time he's over.

Crazy Dog People

Yesterday morning, I heard the doorbell and looked up to see a cop car in the driveway. Ruh-roh.

I spent the next five minutes wrestling the dogs into the garage, and then opened the door to a sheriff's deputy. He said someone had reported a Chocolate Lab and a Black Lab running loose around the fairgrounds (which are a half-mile from our house), and wanted to know whether they were ours.

"No, sorry," I answered. "All of our dogs are black."

"Oh," he said. He explained he'd already talked to another Lab owner in town as well as a few other folks, and they'd all referred him to the couple who walk their dogs each morning.

"They walk every day," he added.

"That's us," I confirmed.

"Up and down 99."

"That's us."

"Male and female, four or five dogs."

"Yeah, that's us," I said yet again.

"Oh," he said. "Around 8:00?"

Just how many Rickreall couples do you think walk four dogs every morning, rain or shine, I wanted to ask, but instead I smiled and confirmed he had the right house.

We tried to brainstorm whose dogs they might be, but he'd already talked to or ruled out everyone I suggested.

Our conversation made me realize again how many people in our town have dogs, which then made me wonder again why whenever anyone finds a loses a dog, they contact us. Maybe they figure we have so many, we might not notice one more or less?

Uncle Santa

"That's not Santa; that's Uncle Cary!"

Our five-year-old nephew Blane, ladies and gentlemen, announcing to a room of impressionable children &mdash including his baby brother, Brady &mdash that the man in the red suit was not the mythical St. Nick but rather Blane's very real Uncle Cary.

I quickly pulled Blane to the side.

"Quiet, will ya? You wanna blow his cover?"

Huh? his face replied.

"Yes," I admitted, "That's Uncle Cary because Uncle Cary is...?"

Still blank.

"Is Santa Claus," I finished.

"No he's not!" Blane scoffed.

"Uh, yeah."

"Nuh-uh!"

"Yuh-huh," I countered.

"Yuh-huh what?"

We both turned to find my six-year-old niece, Abby, had joined us.

"Aunt Darcy says Uncle Cary is Santa," Blane said in a tone of wavering doubt.

"No he's not," Abby said with a dramatic eye roll.

"Have you ever seen Uncle Cary on Christmas Eve?" I asked. "The few times you've seen him Christmas Day, hasn't he looked sleepy?"

"Santa lives at the North Pole," Abby stated, crossing her arms to reinforce the fact.

"Yeah," Blane added, also crossing his arms.

"That's what we want people to believe. Who would think to look for Santa in Rickreall, Oregon?"

Their arms dropped a little, their united front weakening. I made a good point, their furrowed brows said.

While they deliberated, Abby's brother, Drew, barreled past to stage-dive a pile of presents. That little linebacker may only be a year and a half, but he's as fearless as a rookie stuntman.

Blane brightened and pointed a finger at me.

"You and Uncle Cary don't have any reindeer!"

"Yeah!" Abby shouted.

"Who needs reindeer when we have four big dogs? Sherman could pull a sleigh all by himself."

"Yeah," Abby said, less enthused.

"Besides," I continued, "who needs a sleigh when..."

Blane's eyes widened, the truth coming into focus.

"Uncle Cary delivers presents in his race car?!"

"What else would make it around the whole world in one night."

"So Santa's Workshop..." Abby said, climbing aboard the I Believe Express.

"Is your Uncle Cary's shop, mmm-hmm."

"Does he have elves?"

"Doesn't need 'em," I waved. "He has power tools. And Internet access."

"How does he get down the chimney?" Blane asked.

"And what about kids who don't have chimneys?" Abby added.

"And where &mdash"

"Sorry; trade secrets," I said. "I've told you too much already &mdash but only because I trust you two can keep our secret. You can keep it a secret, can't you?"

Blane scowled and considered, taking the matter very seriously. After a long moment, he looked up and nodded once. I looked to Abby, who also nodded agreement.

"Good," I smiled. "Now let's go see whether 'Santa' is ready for a break, shall we?"

"Riiiight," they giggled together. "Santa!"

The Orchid Experirment

I learned at an early age that houseplants can be fickle friends.

Oh sure, they start out all lush and fat, full of promises of indoor greenery with minimal care — "Just water me, give me some light, how could you go wrong?" — but a few weeks later my mom and I would be staring at a whithered stick in a pot that would make Charlie Brown's tree look worthy of Rockefeller Center.

So we fell back on the hardiest of hardy houseplants: spider plants for her, ivy for me.

Which is not to say I gave up trying to cultivate other plants (my previous post shows that), but one genus of which I steered clear was orchids. Not only did they seem as temperamental as Veruca Salt, they were EXPENSIVE.  No way was I gonna plunk down that kind of money for something doomed to die.

Until yesterday, that is.

I went to Wal-mart for bird food — three varieties of bird food, to be exact — and there they were: orchids. Tall, slender, deliciously delicate orchids in simple aluminum pots. I felt myself drawn closer.

Only $10, the sign read.  Easy care, the snowflake tag promised.

I bit my lower lip, considering.

They are awfully pretty, I thought. And $10 isn't that much to risk....

Obviously I took the plunge, and am now either on my way to expanding my plant-growing comfort zone or relearning a painful lesson. Fingers crossed for the first outcome!