ORGAN-ISM

Tuesday night Jimbob and I were asked to attend a pipe organ recital with a friend from church.We accepted the invitation thinking it would be really great. The woman who was playing is world acclaimed. She’s won numerous awards and been awarded several honorary doctorates at various universities.

When I think of pipe organ music, I envision thunder rolling across the stage, bands of angels coming to save the world, battle and glory in war. We were primed for am enjoyable evening of blow-out, larger-than-life, in-your-face organ music.

And were we ever disappointed! I’m sure the organist was very accomplished (just look at her credentials), but she was singing a tune to someone else. Instead, we got insipid pabulum, drizzle and drool. I’ve never heard a great pipe organ like that sound namby-pamby before.

Even Bach came off as an emaciated, vague imposter of BACH. I love Bach’s fugues played on the pipe organ, but last night they were unrecognizable. The only piece that was halfway decent was by Cesar Frank, and even that sounded pretty damn wishy-washy.

I thought it was just me, but Jimbob said the same thing when we got in the car to go home. Great, world renown organist or not, she wasn’t ringing my chimes.

Mellon Thumping

I was sitting here working my poor fingers to the bone when an Albertson’s commercial came on touting their latest and greatest produce. It reminded me of one of the few times I ever went to Albertsons. They are not my store of choice. I can never find what I want without going up and down every isle.

It was just my daughter, Brittany and her friend Britney and of course me because they were too young to drive. Seeing as how it was summer and the thermometer had already burst its little bubble at 100 plus, we decided a watermelon would be nice for dinner.

We were wondering around thumping the available selection for the ripest, juiciest green and red orb of sweet delight. Mostly the girls were thumping just for the fun of it. They had no idea what they were listening for.

At last, I found the one with just the right hollow thump that told be it was ripe, so I put it into our basket and started to walk away. A man approached us with a melon in his hands and another in his cart.

So, what do you say when a person of the opposite sex says, “Will you thump my melon?” It took me a moment to realize that he was serious. His wife had sent him to the market and he had no idea what to look for.

I thought of several snappy comebacks, but there were children present so I refrained from being a wise ass and thumped the man’s melons for him.

Tump, tump. Tump.

Experiences With a Microwave

Don’t get too excited because I’m not referring to bizarre acts of sexual self-gratification. I was just at the microwave warming up my lunch when random images of a past event involving a microwave assaulted my better senses. My one and only disclaimer being this is of no significance to anyone but me, myself and I.

A few years ago (more like 10+) my kids were visiting their father in Illinois for two weeks. I arrived home one evening after a particularly stressful day at my asylum (work) and didn’t feel like preparing a meal when it was just me and the cats.

To back up slightly, I had made the mistake that morning of leaving a new bag of cat food on the counter. Our resident pest at that time was “Opie”, who had jumped up on the counter and insinuated himself into the bag in several locations. In other words, he made a big mess and then proceeded to eat until he looked like the Hindenburg.

After I managed to round up and pour most of the nuggets left from his orgy back into the bag, I placed it into the microwave for safe keeping. As of that time he hadn’t figured out how to open the door. He was not a happy camper at that point and yowled like a banshee.

By then, I really didn’t feel like cooking. A frozen pizza was an easy out to remedy this predicament. After duly pondering the full array of delectable treats in the freezer, I selected one that didn’t sustain too much freezer burn. Then I nearly slit my wrist with a sharp knife getting the embedded plastic off and popped it into the oven.

The timer on the stove was broken, so I set the one on the microwave for 30 minutes and went to change my clothes, put in a load of laundry and perform sundry other chores to occupy said minutes.

By the time I walked back into the kitchen to check on my pizza, smoke was boiling out of the microwave. Cat food smells bad enough, but charred pellets of these mouth-watering little treats are cause for panic. I swear cats must be related to catfish because they both like stink-bait.

I yanked open the microwave door to discover fledgling yellow flames cavorting joyfully across the bag. The food itself was like tiny charcoal briquettes warming to the task of a weenie roast. And the smoked rolled on. I don’t even remember what I used to get the bag out of the microwave and since it still insisted upon smoldering I dumped the damn thing into the sink and doused it with water.

And the smoke…intensified and set off the smoke detector. So now, I had a gorged cat puking all over the house because he ate too much, a bag of stinking, smoldering cat nuggets smelling up the entire house and a blaring smoke alarm. Up went all the windows for fresh air and to stop the smoke alarms. I fumigated the microwave numerous times before I felt it safe to shut the door.

Exhausted, I finally sat down to eat my crispy critter pizza, forgotten in all the excitement.

Mini-Update

Instead of a mini-mall, this is a mini-update while I wait for my dinner to cook. Friday we got home only to discover that the freezer of 9 months had quit. There went at least $500.00 in the garbage. But by then it was already ruined and we couldn't get a repairman out until today, so who cares? I refused to let it ruin my weekend.

Sunday afternoon, Jimbob went turkey hunting with his brothers out in west Texas. He called about 10:30 that night to tell me got a tewnty pounder. They had a chance at more but decided one was enough.

He came home with it yesterday about half dressed. And of course you know who finished the job. I keep telling everyone I'm too stupid to say no. Anyway, I finally got it cleaned and wrapped well enough to send home with one of our Bible study friends whose freezer was working.