No, Uncle Bubba has not forgotten his main interest in life, which is food (well, there are two main interests, food and naps); in fact a blogpost I typed earlier in the week went on about the Cajun sausages I bought at Bill's Grocery Outlet the other day, I forget the names of the two sausages, what keeps coming to what's left of my mind is funiculee funiculah, but those ain't them, it'll come to me in due course.
One sausage we bought to go with the shrimp and grits we're planning for when Joe comes, though we're thinking about trying it out on a special friend if the opportunity arises before Joe comes.
Did I mention the fruit cake? We ordered fruitcake on line. For years I ordered Texas pecan cakes from Ellenbergers, but they're out of business, so I ordered from Collins Street Bakery in Texas, their new candied strawberry fruitcake. It's quite good, and now soaked a couple weeks in rum. First Time I've seen strawberry fruitcakes offered. Recommended.
See, now I've forgotten what it was that I meant to blog about, and it wasn't food. Well, the frustration and frustrations of aging for one: thank God Almighty we're living into the ancientness of our extreme old age in a three room apartment instead of the thirteen room house on two levels, a huge old two story house. Not just because of the ongoing unending maintenance headaches, but for the better simplicity of finding what's lost. This evening (I'm writing Wednesday night as I abide in readiness for the clock to strike nine, or eight would be even better, it's been a long, busy day, what's lost is what's usually lost, which is my cell phone. I have no idea where it is, I've searched the three rooms and my bsthroom to no avail. Even though I keep it in a red case for better visibility, and also because Tom likes red, I can't keep up with the dee thing. I try to remember to keep it close at hand in case a loved on calls, but I can't even remember that I laid it down somewhere here in 7H, much less can I remember where I laid it. I'll leave it to suffer alone overnight, and if it doesn't appear in the morning before we leave for the next doctors appointment, we'll ring it on Linda's phone. I'd as soon smash the thing then throw it as for as I can off 7H porch out into St Andrews Bay, but then I'd miss those spam scam calls from some idiot who wants to buy my property in Gadsden County, wouldn't I. It's tempting to say bad words to the caller and slam the phone down, but slamming the phone down went out of fashion when cell phones arrived: there's no way to slam a cell phone down. So I just cut off the connection and press the "report spam" button.
The other calls I would miss if I threw my cell phone away is the calls from Nigeria telling me that I own $157 for missing back payment of highway tolls and that if I don't call them and pay up they'll repossess my car.
What would I like but not really? I wish my cell phone had a red button labeled DETONATE that I could press and the part of the world where the spam call is coming from would be blown to smithereens, nomesane?
The frustrations of living into ancient age.
As I've said here before, I've got it down pat for where my wallet is and for where my keys are, two things that kept getting lost when we lived at the old place and upstairs and downstairs in his nightgown, wee Willie Winkle runs through the town. Now with my smaller mind, searching three rooms and a bathroom is just as bad as searching thirteen rooms used to be.
Wishing you long years, to throw the Evil Eye off track, I pray you live to this age so you can experience this frustration.
Thursday a doctors appointment, then we're driving out to the Beach, across Hathaway Bridge to Panama City Beach, to visit Pacey, Kristen's kitty, for a few minutes to get reacquainted before Kristen leaves for Atlanta for her tenth anniversary college graduation reunion at Emory (we're minding Pacey while she's away); then the three of us plan to go out for lunch at one or the other Beach restaurant.
Was it - - l don't remember, which Beach restaurant was it, the couple's table had a nice long tablecloth that reached elegantly all the way to the floor, the woman looked under the tablecloth and there was either a rattle snake or water moccasin coiled round and round the table's pedestal. Several years ago, it made the local television news. That experience reminded me of the low tables in restaurants in Japan when we lived there, what? sixty years ago? Low tables, you sat down and put your legs into the sunken pit under the table. Cool, eh? Very quaint. What I didn't like was the inevitable large spider who inhabited the pit.
Where to eat Thursday dinner lunch after visiting Pacey? mox nix mir, and Kristen knows which restaurants out there recently were written up for failing their sanitary inspection. A former but no longer favorite, for example, that sushi restaurant that's in the shopping center just behind Carrabba's.
I especially like the huge fish sandwich at Triple J's, but we sort of need to make it a restaurant out closer to, say, Shipwreck Island, close to Kristen's apartment complex; and also keep an eye on the Time, because we're well past driving at dusk and after dark.
My cell phone will show up, it always does.
RSF&PTL
T90
+++++
no &c, this is it, whatever you say, Lord, I'm no longer counting toward a Time goal, so my sign-off no longer adds &c to my initial and age
more and more of me missing: Monday I had a piece cut out of my nose and a piece cut out of the area between thumb and forefinger, right hand, do I care? caring is not part of the deal after a childhood in the blistering Florida sun - - what do I remember about days at the Beach? once a friend was wrapped round by the tentacles of one of those man-o-war jellyfish and I remember her screaming all the way home - - many Times I myself went home in stinging agony, sunburned everyplace but what my bathing suit had covered
image of apples listed from most tart to most sweet: pinched on line and it's been sitting on my computer desktop for years
posting Wednesday night for Thursday morning