Well it’s time to see what you are made of.  The annual ritual of filling out the brackets is completed.  As a home grown Hoosier you know I believe that basketball is THE only sport.  All the other sports are just to entertain us until basketball season starts.  I am also very methodical when it comes down to going through my brackets.  I will clue you in on just how I do it.  Feel free to use these rules for your own compilation.  I have no licenses on my technique and I am more than happy to share with those that are less in tune to the sport of round ball.   Now let’s just scan down the list and see who we have.

Texas Southern, now if the school doesn’t know that Texas is in the South and have to remind themselves of that fact well then I have no hopes for them on the hardwood.  Xavier and St. John’s,  hey anytime you are named after a saint you have to have some pull upstairs so I will carry you guys at least one game.  Notre Dame, I have always wanted to visit Paris so that is good for at least two kicks up in the brackets.  Oklahoma, one of my favorite musicals, you may pass go and collect 200 dollars.  Harvard, come on really?  All they can talk about is football.  Back on the bus for you.  Louisville, which for all practical purposes was a part of Indiana until they got all snippy about the Civil War. I will grant you a soft spot pass up one bracket.    Coastal Carolina, I love the coast of Carolina north or south so you get extra points for the beach. 

Providence, I don’t think that is divine so have a seat in the bleachers.  UCLA, of course having a Hoosier born coach that I watched grow up in my home town you get to move to the front of the line.  It also doesn’t hurt because the coach has great hair.  Eastern Washington, once again we have a school that is directionally challenged.  The last time I glanced at a US map Washington was in the West.  So sorry guys, here’s a snow cone for your trouble and watch from the rafters.  Davidson, I always kind of liked the singer John Davidson so I will let you by just this one time.  Belmont, didn’t anyone tell them “no horses allowed”?  Sorry they make way too much mess on the court.  The S.F. Austin Lumberjacks, I know nothing about them but I think it would be worth one pass to see them play in those red and black checked flannel uniforms.

North Dakota State, you have to feel sorry for anyone that would spend the winter in ND of their own free will so they at least deserve a trip away from the frigid north.  Manhattan, let’s get real here!  They play stick ball in NY don’t they?  Sorry boys no sticks allowed and back to the bowery for you.  Butler, I will not mention the fact that they are one of my home state teams of choice but forget that.  Just the fact that I love Downton Abbey and having a butler means class for this you gives you a free pass.  West Virginia, you have always had a bum rap ever since that movie “Deliverance”.  I will grant you a couple brackets just because “you got a purdy mouth”.  No way am I going to give a nod to Northern Florida.  The last thing we need is gators and mosquitoes moving northward.  Stay down in the glades. 

Duke, sorry but no further.  Let’s just say the Blue Devil made me do it.  Arizona, one of my favorite songs by Paul Revere and the Raiders so you get to move onward.  I guess if we want to be patriotic and carry the Revolutionary War theme a bit further I should probably be nice to Georgetown at least for one game.  As for Indiana I don’t want to show partiality so I say “better luck next year”.    Purdue, I have a problem with a conference named The Big Ten but they are unable to count.  Has no one pointed out to them they actually have 14 teams in the conference?  You may be the oldest conference in the US but you should be better at math by now.  No pass to the Boilermakers.

Gonzaga, the problem with this school is that I have a mental block with the name.  The Bunkmate has trouble remembering  the  name so he just calls it “Gonads”.  Subsequently,  I cannot find it in my comfort zone to promote a team that reminds me of a “crotch shot”.  Ok, I have been ignoring the elephant in the room and have not mentioned Kentucky.  Well any state that will take credit for a chicken recipe created by a Hoosier born restauranteur and then make him a colonel to try and put up a smoke screen to cover this up is at the bottom of my list.  Let’s tabulate the results, looks like according to my bracketology our national champion will the Running Nuns of Our Lady of Perpetual Three Pointers.  This school is known all across the nation as the team of hookers .  They have the highest percentage of successful hook shots in the Vatican Rosary Conference. So lets’s pop some popcorn, pull up an easy chair and on to Indianapolis.

 

 

Most of us can’t be at the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show so we settle watching  the action on TV.  Poppy Pruitt is serving as our pup on the scene with all the backstage news and insights that don’t come across your television screen.  It is time for the Poppy Puppy Westminster Report. Yesterday was the first day of competition and Poppy was busy as the breed classes were judged.  Much like fashion models or movie stars the dogs utilize all the tricks of the trade to look their best.  She wants to share some highlights from yesterday.  There were lots of brushing, teasing and primping on the benches.  A bit of a ruckus came about first thing when the Bulldog was refusing to remove his lucky belly ring.  The proctors reminded him that no jewelry was allowed.   This precedent came about a few years ago when the Afghan Hound wanted to wear a tiara and they wouldn’t let her.  It was a dog fight I tell you.  The Yorkie was having a terrible time trying to decide what color hair bow to wear.    His name is Bruce Jenner…go figure.   An official intervention occurred after the Whippet wanted to wear a Devo hat….get it whip it, whip it good!  Since relations with Cuba have improved the Havanese was caught trying to bribe a judge with some Cuban cigars and rum.  Poppy’s up close and personal view lets you in on the scoop like the fact that the Blood Hound was wearing  false eyelashes.  Of course we all pretty much knew for years that the Puli wears hair extensions.  Poppy has also confirmed something that has been long speculated upon.   Yes,  the Chow Chow is a client of the Bosley Hair Club.  She saw his membership card in his back pocket.   She also clarified why the French Bulldog always refuses to grant interviews.  She doesn’t even speak French.  She speaks Mandarin.  The Pug was almost disqualified when he was caught selling knockoff Coach leashes in the alley.  She can also confirm that the Bluetick Coon Hound is still gun shy even after months of therapy.    Poppy has also found out what the Scottish Deerhound wears under his kilt, but she’s not telling.   Animal rights protestors were boycotting the event because the Fox Hound showed up wearing a fox fur stole.  He has always been known to flaunt his wardrobe even if it is in bad taste.  There was a great deal of commotion when someone banged or clanged a metal table.  The Tibetan Spaniel thought it was time for temple.   Most people are unaware but gambling has always been a big problem at Westminster and looks like this year is no exception.  Already the Border Collie was caught holding a dice game out in the alley by the dumpster and the Italian Greyhouse was busy running a numbers game on Best of Show.  Rumors of more dishonesty arose when the Smooth Coat Chihuahua was asked to submit to a drug test.  He has long been suspected of taking steroids.  They were going to ask him to pee in a cup but they decided to have him do it in a thimble instead.  True to form the Irish Wolfhound had stopped by the pub on the way in so he was going around the room challenging everyone to a game of darts.  The Alaskan Eskimo dog almost missed her ring call.  She vacations in Florida and her plane was delayed.   The groomers were then scurrying around trying to cover up her tan lines.   In contrast the Boston Terrier showed up wearing snow shoes.  The Beagle had been pigging out on White Castles  the day before and she had to have an extender  put on her collar because it was too tight.  Did you notice how thick those ankles were on the Greyhound?  She looked like a Russian weightlifter.    She said she ate some potato chips and they always make her feet swell.  Poppy said it looked as if the Shar-Pei had just gone and got some Botox injections.   When it comes to hair there are all kinds of shady dealings.  You did know that the Standard Poodle’s pomp oms are pasties?  Well they are.  The Shih Tzu uses one of those hair Bumpits to pump up her coiffure and the Old English Sheepdog is nothing but walking hair gel!   Poppy spoke briefly with the Sheltie and true to their nature she was rather quiet and didn’t have much to say.  All this and it was only the first day.  Just wait until the cat fight starts for the Best in Show this evening.  Stay tuned and Poppy will keep you clued in behind the scenes.   

Those of you that work away from home know that takes a bit of planning sometimes to serve an evening meal after working all day. Well I have that challenge today. I got a call yesterday and found out we will have supper guests this evening. President Obama and his gang are coming to Indianapolis and he wants to come by the house to eat cornbread and beans!

If Joe Biden is with him that will mean fried potatoes! Joe is a fried tater freak. You could fry him 10 pounds and he would eat them all. He likes to have them fired in bacon grease. He said his wife won't use bacon grease at home. She is an olive oil person. He says he has to come to the heartland to enjoy animal renderings. The problem is that Joe likes his taters with onions but Michele doesn't. She says that onions give her gas. Well hey, she will be eating beans so whats the difference? I bet there has been flatulence on Air Force One plenty of times. She is absolutely crazy after my homemade bread and butter pickles. She claims her cucumbers didn't do any good in the White House garden. Yeah right! She can chow down and eat a whole jar just by herself. The last time she was here they said she moaned on the plane with a belly ache all the way back to DC. She always manages to finagle a few extra jars to take with her every time she comes. I heard she served some to a Polish ambassador and claimed them as her own. So cheeky.

The President he loves my coconut pie. He says it reminds him of the pie his nanna made when he was a boy in Hawaii. He is a 4 egg white meringue man. The taller the meringue the better for him. I told Leslie to hide the liquor because if the press corp comes they are notorious boozers. The last time they were here there wasn't a drop of Old Grandad left anywhere. The secret service guys like to eat jelly on their cornbread so that will make a big dent in the homemade jelly reserve. I always worry because I know their piston grips get all sticky from blackberry fingers. I hope no one needs to eat Kosher because I am throwing ham in the pot. All this but the worst part is the really big protocol question. Do I fix brown beans or white beans? I hate having to plan an affirmative action menu.

It’s hard to believe it is Christmas time once again.  It seems like only yesterday when we took down the outdoor lights so we could mow the yard.  We are all well here out in Eminence.  Like everyone else we are busy this holiday season.  We currently are dealing with house guests.  Prince William and the wife are shacked up here. We just call them Bill and Kate.  We were guests at their wedding if you will remember.  They called and said that they were coming across the pond to give little George some time to bond with his great granny and they needed a place to stay.  We said sure we would put them up.  We thought “what would a night or two hurt?” Needless to say I was a bit alarmed when I saw the large amount of luggage that accompanied them.  From the looks of things they may be here until Valentine’s Day!  I had to go to the grocery to lay in provisions.  Billy is not much of an eater but Kate…..she may be svelte and tell everyone she eats like a bird but here’s the truth.  Eats like a bird…terradactyle maybe!  Mercy she can really put it away.  If you put gravy on it, she will eat it.          

They are relatively easy to entertain though.  They both are big TV watchers.  Billy just loves Here Comes Honey Boo Boo and Kate is nuts over My Big Redneck Wedding.  She says it reminds her of her days as a blushing bride.  I told them I could hardly wait until the new Downton Abbey season starts in January.  Kate told me there are 300 year old dust bunnies under the beds in that house.  It pays to have an inside track on these things.  They like to play cards too.  They both are big poker enthusiasts.  Billy likes to wear sunglasses when he plays Texas Hold ‘Em.  We just let him pretend he is sitting at the table at the MGM Grand when he is really sitting at the Adams Township Not So Grand instead.          

You learn a lot about people by observing their day to day habits.  Billy is a fastidious guy.  He flosses his teeth all the time and never goes anywhere without a nail buffer.  Kate has bad feet from wearing all those fashionable shoes so she likes to soak her corns about every night.  They both snore like the devil.  Kate says it is because she has a bun in the oven and Billy mumbles something about his gene pool.  Needless to say we haven’t had many silent nights this holiday season.   I asked them if perhaps they would like to maybe go visit the west coast and they said that they thought Leslie and I were movie stars enough for them.  I am presently scurrying around trying to get a baby shower organized for her.  I am thinking that they are hanging around waiting for some kind of party.  I got Kate registered at Gander Mountain and Cabelas.  She just loves those camo diapers.  She wants casual clothes for the little one.  Pap Paw Charlie already has bought a kilt for the new arrival.  Nothing looks more regal than a little prince wearing a blazer and a skirt. Mee Maw Camilla has picked out a cute little hat made from weeds just like that beautiful head piece she wore at her wedding.  I will try and see if I can’t get the little thing a John Deere hat so it will have something decent to wear.  On the inside track…I inquired about the rumors concerning a split between Chuck and Cammie and she said all she knows is that the two just keep saying they can’t wait until they move “into the big house”.   You heard it here first.          

I asked Kate if she had any name choices for the wee one.  She tells me she is leaning strongly towards “The Baby Formerly Known as Prince” if it is boy and Lizzy Bell in honor of Grammy if a girl. I asked her if she had any menu preferences for the baby shower and she said “yes”.  She wants Southern Comfort Punch, boiled peanuts and Texas sheet cake.  She certainly has embraced the flavor of the colonies.  Billy has gone out deer hunting while he was here.  Just like most novice deer hunters he was a bit premature on the trigger.  We were going to take that steer into the butcher shop anyway.          

I was struggling to try and think of a little Christmas gift for them.  I wanted something very American and that they could have on display to remind them of their visit here.  After talking it over with Leslie we thought maybe something they could put in their yard would be a nice choice. We decided on some pink flamingoes and a yard sign that reads “Eat More Possum”.  Even though we have enjoyed doing our part for diplomacy we are hoping to see their heels before New Years but it is not looking very favorable.  They threw out a hint about inviting Barack and Michele over to play cards on New Year’s Eve.  I am trying to discourage this.  I know Billy and he is a poor loser when it comes to poker and it is common knowledge that Barack deals from the bottom of the deck.  Last thing I want is an international incident out here on 142.   Oh well as the gracious hosts we will make do.  I reminded them that they recovered King Richard’s body in that parking lot and they probably were needed at home for the funeral but Billy brought up the fact that DNA has since proven he was not really the heir apparent.  I told him over here a “Woods Colt” is just as much family as any cousin but them Brits like them blood relatives you know.           

Well, that’s about enough from all of us from out here in the flat land. We wish you and yours a Merry Christmas and a healthy and happy New Year. 

Ellen and Leslie  

P.S. If you would like a couple of well-bred house guests please let me know.

Oh how I remember the occasions when we entertained the preacher for Sunday dinner when I was young.  We are country folk and a dinner party to us was a family dinner, picnic, wienie roasts; no cocktail parties and such.   I was raised up in a little country Baptist church.  It was as picturesque as one could imagine.  It was white with a small, so as not to be ostentatious belfry and cemetery behind the church. We had a small congregation so the preacher did not get many amenities like a parsonage etc.  He received a small salary and a Sunday dinner at parishioners’ homes.  My mom always dreaded when her time came to host the vicar and his family.  As kids we hated it too.  We had to remain in our Sunday duds and we received a crash course of manners from Emily Post in preparation.   We were also subjected to refreshers and review each time prior to the minister’s visit just in case we were too far relapsed into our slovenly ways.                

There was one minister and his wife that were an exception.  He was a young fellow and his wife was a school teacher.  They were very casual down to earth people.  This minister shared by Dad’s love of hunting and they would often target practice after dinner.  His wife being an elementary teacher included us kids in everything and that made us feel important.  They were actually our friends not just religious advisers.  Now most of the other clergy were older and more stuffy or at least appeared that way to a youngster.  My mom was and still is a good cook.  She fixed a meal three times each day so cooking a big dinner in itself was not a matter to get frazzled about, but when the preacher came the bill of fare had to pass a different muster than her normal dinner table clientele.  We always had a large garden and my mom always canned each summer.  We would plant a delicious green bean named Half Runner.  These were a high yielding bush bean but they were not string-less.  I remember us spending many a summer afternoon sitting on the porch with a bushel basket of those little devils.  They always made great table fare when prepared with a ham hock or some bacon.  No preacher worth his salt can expect absolution if they turn their noses up to home grown green beans with ham hocks.  The one negative element to this variety of bean is that sometimes when they were cooked the errant “string” would appear.  This usually happened when the child labor portion of the prep crew began to get fast and loose with quality control.  I have heard my mom shriek with disgust and say “strings cooked up on those beans!”                

My mom could bake some fabulous yeast bread.  She since has decided the frozen dough in the supermarket is a fair trade off for the trouble but back in the day she made it all from scratch.  She was always in a fret in case her yeast rolls didn’t rise well for preacher dinners.  They never failed her but I believe she secretly believed this was one way the devil could test her patience, by causing flat bread.    This was back in the 60’s and Jello desserts and salads were all the rage.  I don’t know when Jello came to be but it was sort of like a homemaker’s ace in the hole.  It was colorful, you could mold it into pretty shapes and kids would eat it.  My mom made this dessert with strawberry Jello cubes, fruit, whipped cream and nuts.  You mixed it all together.  She had a large old carnival glass bowl of her great aunt’s and I can remember that many times she served this ambrosia in that bowl.                 

As I said I grew up in the country and summer time meant outside play.  To stay inside and play video games like today would have been as science fiction to us as a phone that took pictures.  My grandma lived just up the road and she still kept a few chickens.  She had bantams or “bantees” as we called them.  I don’t believe she really kept them so much for the eggs necessarily because their eggs are really small.  I think she just liked having them.  They are beautiful colors and have an entertaining and feisty temperament.    One day we were playing around the chicken lot for some reason and I found it!  The holy grail of country kid’s discoveries; a rooster spur.  You may not know a lot about poultry so I will explain that roosters have spurs on their legs that they fight with.  These can cause serious injury to the other party if Mr. Leghorn means business.   The sheath of these spurs is shed from time to time as the spur grows.  This shed element of poultry weaponry was the find of a lifetime to me.  Like any good archeologist I was none too shy about my discovery and sort of taunted my brother with it.  The discovery occurred  Saturday afternoon.  We were probably at Grandma’s as to not be underfoot because Mom was in the throes of preparation for the preacher the next day.                 

I returned home with my prized relic to the wide eyed amazement of all who saw.  Being country folk we didn’t have a safe.  We didn’t even lock our doors.  I wanted to find a safe place for my rooster spur where it would be secured but still on display.  Where else would that be,  but on the shelf of the overhead cabinet right above the kitchen counter.  It looked so good there on full display just like a fine piece of scrimshaw in a maritime museum.  Sunday came and we are put through our etiquette paces on the way to church.  What not to talk about etc.  We were not too stressed about the afternoon ahead because my cousin was going to come home with us after church.  My mom probably hoped this would keep us playing and be out of the hair of the clergy.  This particular preacher was an elderly gentleman.  He and his wife were nice enough but had since lost some tolerance of the energy of youth.  We head straight home after church so that my mom can put the finishing touches on the feast.   She had just a short window of time before the guests of honor arrived.  Everything was ready even down to the carnival glass bowl of the Jello ambrosia on the counter.   On the way home I had been telling my cousin about this fabulous agricultural artifact that I had unearthed on my previous day’s dig.  As soon as I get in the house I run to the kitchen cabinet to collect the treasure, but no rooster spur.  The Hope Diamond is lost!  Where could it be?   As my mom is mumbling about the strings cooking up on the beans I simply ask her if she had seen my rooster spur.  She is naturally distracted with the tasks at hand and answers “I don’t know”.   I reply with anguish in my voice “it was right here”.  She turns to see me point to the cabinet shelf directly above the Jello ambrosia!  They say that life changing moments appear to move in slow motion.  If that is the case this was one of those moments.  As my mom’s my face began to transform into a real life version of the Edvard Munch painting “The Scream” I begin to understand the magnitude of this development.   At this moment my brother comes running in to announce “the preacher’s here”.  With no other dessert prepared or time to do so my mom dives into the ambrosia on a search and rescue mission unlike anything I had ever seen.  The memory of the click on the spoon on the carnival glass still haunts me today.                

With no luck in finding the treasure she warns me not to say a word about this to anyone.  Not even to my brother or cousin.  She can’t risk them giggling as the minister places a spoonful of that strawberry heaven into his mouth.    This would  remain just between us..  I am sure as the preacher said the blessing the only thing my mom was praying about was that rooster spur remain undiscovered.    The meal went off without a hitch.  The minister’s wife never choked on the strings on the green beans and the preacher ate so many rolls I thought surely he wouldn’t have room for dessert.  I was wrong he believed he would have just a little bit of that Jello.  I tried to keep my eyes contained on my own bowl of ambrosia per change to spy my lost relic but I couldn’t take my eyes off of the preacher.   When everyone was finished I thought I heard a huge sigh of relief. Maybe it was my mom or maybe just the preacher making those noises you hear after a Thanksgiving founder.   The rest of the afternoon went pretty quickly it seemed.  From time to time I would glance over at my mom and she would give me a thankful look.  It was pretty cool.  We shared a super dark secret.  

After Mr. and Mrs. Minister left my mom came clean to my dad about what had happened.  I spoke up that I was still sad that something had happened to my rooster spur.  My brother looked pretty sheepish and then hopped up and ran over to the fireplace mantle and picked something up.  It could not have shown any more brightly if it had been 18 karat gold.  The poultry relic find of a lifetime was safe and sound.  My brother hid it to tease me.  I guess I had been a bit over zealous about my treasure and he wanted to teach me a lesson.  Oh I learned a lesson all right.  So did my mom.  I don’t believe she stressed out about the preacher dinners any more.  She believed that a bit of divine intervention would see to it that all went well.  As for the great poultry relic, I contacted the Smithsonian about donating it but they never got back to me.  Somewhere in the span of time like most relics it returned to the earth from which it was extracted.  I do have to say that out of respect of the turn of fate on that dinner my mom never served fried chicken again on preacher days.  It was ham from there on out.    For this and the Jello we say thanks.  Amen.  

Some days you just know you are in the cross hairs of a pigeon with dysentery. I think that was me yesterday. On my lunch hour I go to the drive up at Walgreens to pick up my prescriptions. This is always a painful experience at $154.00 a pop. Well at least they have this rewards program that you gain points with every dollar you spend and then can redeem them at the store on purchases. I told my doctor once the drug company could do more for my blood pressure by just lowering the cost of the medicine because I feel mine hit the roof every time I get it refilled.

When a guy at work went home sick yesterday it prompted me that it was time to get my flu shot. So after work I return to my Walgreens and go back to the pharmacy. I tell the gent I am there for a flu shot. He pulls up my personal info and then says "you do know that your insurance will not pay anything on this don't you?". Well I tell him I am not surprised. For most cases the word insurance really means it will insure that you end up healthy in the poor house. I see the brilliant thinking of the insurance company. They would rather you go to the doctor and pay for an office call in the mean time get exposed to all kinds of contagion in the waiting room to get a flu shot. Why would we use a less costly alternative?

The clerk tells me the cost will be $33.00. I think "well I know I have at least $15.00 of rewards points (courtesy that blood pressure medicine made from the excrement of a rare insect found only in Antarctica)." I say "I have some rewards I would like to use". He looks at me as if I had just pulled a marlin out of my ear. He says "oh you can't use your rewards for that!". It was my understanding that you could use them for purchases in the store. Oh let's see I guess I can use them to buy 25 containers of Epsom salts! I am now pretty weary from the entire health care ordeal. The nice pharmacy technician calls me in the room to finally give me my shot. She is very pleasant and we chat a bit but I am still reeling from too much preventative health care. She says "you will feel a prick". I am thinking "sister I felt the prick earlier when this pharmacology nightmare began". As I leave the store with my Rewards points still safely in reserve to use on that future purchase of toe nail fungus remedy I had a strange hankering for a cigarette.

Dreams have always fascinated me.  I often wonder what triggers the mind to manufacture a story to entertain us while we sleep.  There are times I feel as if David Lynch is my sandman and sprinkles pretty weird dust in my eyes as I drift off to slumber. I have no idea what prompted my dream last night but it was a doozy.   It began when I went into the little local convenience store at Wilbur.  Now locations in my dreams do not resemble the actual places they are supposed to be in real life.  That would be too blasé, but it was supposed to be the Wilbur store all the same.  Sitting at the table in the store is the comedian Ron White.  That’s right my secret soul mate.  I believe we have been separated at birth.  He is of course drinking Johnnie Walker (not sure which color) smoking on a cigar and playing cards.  He asks if I know how to play poker.  I am thinking maybe he wants to play strip poker so I never turn down the opportunity to enhance my card playing skills even if it means the loss of a few articles of clothing.  So I sit down.

We carry on this friendly conversation.  He asks about farming and so forth he being a good old boy from Texas we share talk about raising cattle.  I notice that one side of his face shows a scrape.  I ask him what happened and he says he fell off of his bicycle.   A comic superstar is reduced to riding a bicycle not in a limo?  Perhaps he has gotten a DUI .  I have a pretty good idea what you are thinking already.  I share the same idea as I write this.  I believe the US government did LSD testing at Paragon Elementary and slipped a few hits into my milk during my tenure there.  I must be having some kind of flashbacks.   Perhaps the evening meds cart got mixed up and made a second round past my room and I got double dosed last night!

Now the dream goes fast forward.  I am often amazed how some portions of a dream are in such detail and then the story line jumps two miles down the road.   I now find myself at some sort of festival or gathering.  I must have fared pretty well in the poker game because unlike so many times in dreams I am not standing in my underwear but fully clothed.  I know people there and they tell me to be sure and go over to the building that they point to because Ron White is going to do a concert.  I waltz over and enter a large concrete block structure filled with people.  I notice that it is an apple house used for storing fruit.   I can smell that wonderful aroma of apples.   Now, I have a pretty good idea where this strange detail comes from.  I have one of those automatic air freshener dispensers in the bedroom and at the present it has a lovely cinnamon apple scent installed.  I would say that dream detail was courtesy Air Wick.   I manage to find a place to stand in the back of the building by moving a crate of apples out of the way.  Ron is on a stage and is doing his routine.  The room is dark except for the lights on stage but he manages to see me and begins to point and call out to introduce me.  Was he going to announce that I was a hell of a poker player or maybe that we spent a wild night in Wilbur, Indiana years ago.  We will never know for at this moment the alarm clock goes off and it’s time to get hit the floor and get ready for work.  I feel as if I have a hangover from an all-nighter.  I turn on the bathroom light and view myself in the mirror to see a wild look a bit like Salvador Dali only with a little a smaller mustache.    

I am writing down this account of my dream because I read once that it can be healthy to keep a dream journal.  It may say something about what could be an underlying psychological tempest.  I am thinking with last night’s dream perhaps it is saying that I was wanting to be seduced with drink because Scotch does tends to make one’s clothes fall off.  We all know what Freud thought a cigar symbolized and I am thinking that the apples in the apple house stood for the forbidden fruit of sin.  Leave it up to me, I can’t even have a simple “in your face” erotic dream.  You throw the bicycle in and Dr. Phil is for sure calling the bus to take me to the basket weaving camp.  Probably after you read this you should burn it to destroy all evidence of my psychosis.   Otherwise I may be spending afternoons in the activity room playing Chinese checkers with myself waiting for the mid-day meds to arrive.  My subconscious should not be allowed to be unsupervised!  The oddest thing though, when I woke up this morning I could have sworn I saw some cigar ashes in my bed and I had a hankerin' for ‘tater salad.

Cabin fever can be frustrating. I have found a way to deal with the malady. Get busy doing something constructive. Follow me as I go into the kitchen for some "Snow Day" intensive housecleaning.

Think about reorganizing the spices in the cabinet....Hey maybe I will have a few of those Doritos. What is Natcho cheese anyway?>

Let's put some fresh shelf liner in cabinet drawers....Cha Ching! I forgot I hid that Hershey bar in there (for Leslie's own good) Let's see if it still tastes alright. You know I read that they will remain fresh in the event of nuclear fallout. Since the cold war I have always tried to have some just for that reason.

Clean the microwave....well after I have some of this "Make Your Eyes Roll Back in Your Head Extra Butter Microwave Popcorn". This stuff would make even a Jessica Simpson movie bearable.

Let's work on cleaning that refrigerator....OMG, how did that beer get all the way in the back. Man that sucker is good and cold. I didn't know I was that thirsty must have been the popcorn. Tasty even when it is zero outside.

That freezer section is way too crowded.....Maybe I will eat the rest of this bag of pecans to free up some space...kinda bland by themselves let's just put them on top of the rest of this container of Moosetracks ice cream. Man I wished I had saved that Hershey bar to go with this.

Check the produce drawer for "gone by" broccoli....cheese, how did that block of white cheddar get in there? Would have been nice to have saved that beer and made some fondue. Oh well, I'll just eat this rat bait solo and get my calcium.

That utensil drawer is a disgrace......spaghetti spoon...oh here is that chip bag clip for the Doritos...I'll just finish the bag and not worry about them getting stale. There is that church key bottle opener...I think I will just have another one of those beers.

Clean the coffeemaker.......there is still a good cup of coffee left. I will just sit here and enjoy this moment of caffeine bliss. A little something sweet always goes good for an afternoon pick me up....the rest of these oatmeal raisin cookies will give me just the fiber I need to counteract that block of cheddar I ate.

Man I don't feel so well. I don't know when I clean the kitchen I get a stomach ache and my head is a bit fuzzy. I may need a bit of fizz to settle things down. Where's that church key? I am having trouble getting the cap off this third beer.

After all that work I think I will go stretch out on the couch for a bit. I have earned it. I'll just take that bag of strawberry Twizzlers with me just in case.

See you too can overcome cabin fever by focusing your energy in a positive.....burp...way...Excuse me.

(c) 2014 Ellen Wilson-Pruitt