Zizzer-Zazzer-Zuzz - part 2

For the A-Z challenge last year, I interviewed Ms. Zizzer-Zazzer-Zuzz (from Seussville) for the letter Z.  (I call her 3Z.   She calls me 'honey.')

She's like Santa Claus and Mrs. Doubtfire rolled into one.  I wonder if they all know each other.

I caught up with her again this year.  She had just returned from a trip to Venice.

mb: Did you travel alone?
3Z:  Oh no.  My friend Carly came with me.  We take a girls' trip once a year.  Last year we went to Idaho.

mb:  Idaho?  What exciting things did you do there?
3Z:  We enjoyed shopping in Boise.  They have beautiful sand dunes in Idaho. 

mb: How was Venice?
3Z:  Parts were beautiful.  Parts were stinky.

mb:  Did you ride a gondola?
3Z:  Of course.  Yertle was a bit nervous, but I assured her that if the boat tipped over, we'd be OK.  I float, you know.

mb:  I didn't know.  You have many gifts, I see.  Did you enjoy the food in Italy?
3Z:  It was scrumptious.  I love pasta.  Ziti is my favorite.  It starts with z, you know.

mb:  I do.  That's a yummy z word.
3Z:  Zinnia is my favorite z word.  I love flowers.

mb:  How have you been since I spoke to you last year?
3Z:  I had a knee replacement.  And I broke a toe.  But I'm fine now.  Physical therapy is so helpful.

mb:  How did you break your toe?
3Z:  I dropped a can of baked beans on it.   

mb:  Are you a good cook?
3Z:  Not really.   I'd rather bake.  Strawberry/rhubarb pie is my specialty.

mb.  That sounds like an odd combination.
3Z:  That's what people say about green eggs and ham.  But they're very good too. Oh, excuse me.  (Her cell phone rang.  She chatted to the caller a moment and then hung up.)  I'm going to have to say good-bye now.  I have to pick up my nephew from the airport.

mb:  You drive?
3Z:  I love to drive.  Good luck with your little blogging thing.  Maybe I'll talk to you next year.  It's so kind of you to think of me when you consider the letter z. 

mb:  Thanks for talking with me.  You're an odd, though charming, creature.
3Z.  So are you, honey.  Toodle-oo.

There you go.  A zuzzy finish to the A-Z blogging challenge 2013 from my furry, checkerboard friend.  You create all kinds of friendships when you blog from A-Z.

I'd like to thank everyone who popped into my ballpark this month.  I didn't get as far down the linky list as I had hoped because my dad was in and out of the hospital twice.  (More on that later.)  But, I'm saving the list and will pop in to every site.   For those who pulled up a regular bleacher, in terms of "following" the chaos around here...I appreciate that you want to visit again now and then.  I hope you always find it worth your time.

Thanks for the memories.

(For my first interview with 3Z, click here: 3Z INTERVIEW: PART 1)

Zigning off....

YOGURT Squares

A friend of mine bought two quarts of plain Greek yogurt over the summer.  Then, she thought it smelled bad and didn't trust it.   She offered it to me.  I said Greek yogurt usually smells bad; that's how it smells.

I took it off her hands and made these.

I spooned the yogurt into ice cube trays and froze it.  Then, I dumped the cubes into a gallon freezer bag.

When I make smoothies, I pull out 4-5 cubes and blend them up with fruit, soy milk, and juice of any kind.  It's a great way to keep yogurt around long-term and get some extra protein/calcium in a smoothie.  It will work with any type yogurt, doesn't have to be Greek, or smelly.

This post was brought to you by the shape square, the color pink, and the letter Y.   
One more day.....one day more....(Les Miserables is suddenly coming to mind.)

X is for....XENIAL?

 
I may participate in the annual A-Z challenge only twice due solely to the letter X.  It's not writer-friendly.

Last year, I used "X-ray," because my mom had fractured her shoulder in February, and the X-ray of her broken joint was perfect.  Thanks, mom.

This year....xylophone is all that came to mind.  And, I just didn't feel the love.  So, I formed an X out of mini marshmallows, then I googled X words.  They're mostly unpronounceable.  Like this one:  Xylyl.  Good luck.  It has something to do with chemistry. 

I did discover a word that was interesting:  Xenial.  It looks like someone just misspelled d-enial.  It's pronounced Zeen-ee-ul.  Why it's not spelled with a Z, I don't know.  If would make life easier for everyone. 

Xenial is my X word.  It means hospitable.  Isn't that nice?   I don't think it gets much use, though. When I want to describe someone as hospitable, I say they're hospitable, not zenial...whoops, xenial.

This word is never gonna make it.

W is for WINE

For the letter W, I'm writing about my favorite wine.  

I'll tell you upfront, I've only tried about three wines in my life, so don't confuse me with an expert, but I know what I like.  For someone who doesn't really like alcohol, this is a very nice wine.

It's called Sangue De Guida, which means - are you ready? - Blood of Judas.  Icky name.

A story is told about how, after its creation by Italian monks long ago, the nuns became too enamored with this wine.  To stifle their affection for the drink, the monks named it Blood of Judas, hoping the creepy name would deter them from swilling the stuff.

Fact or Poppycock, who knows, but it's a fun story, isn't it?

This wine is sweet and a bit bubbly.  It's great with an ice cube to keep it very cold.  Half a wine glass of this nectar will take me though a rented movie.  Then I'm ready for bed. 

 

I've just told you everything I know about wine.  Everything.  I even went to a wine tasting once and can't remember a thing about it.   I just can't hold my liquor.

Chocolate?  That's another story.

VODKA & VANILLA BEAN

V comes in handy when mixing up a flavorful concoction in your own kitchen.

Did you know vanilla extract is made by simply soaking a vanilla bean in half a cup of vodka?  Neither did I.  Martha Stewart told me.

Use a glass jar with a tight seal.  Split open a vanilla bean and scrape the seeds into the jar.  Then, drop the bean in as well.  Add the vodka.  Seal the jar and set it aside for two months.  Shake it once in a while.  Over time, you will see the liquid darken.

This is the jar my vanilla bean came in.  I removed the bean, scraped the seeds, then put them all back in the same jar.  I filled the bottle with vodka, about half a cup.

In this next picture, you can see the bean folded in half and the seeds at the bottom. 

This extract is not quite ready.  It should be a bit darker.  Once the extract is really dark (about two months), discard the bean pod and store the jar in the refrigerator.  It will keep for up to a year.  Easy peasy.

I'm not sure this is a more economical way to get vanilla extract, as one vanilla bean is about eight dollars.  (You might get two batches of extract from one bean.)  But, it's impressive to say, "I make my own vanilla extract."

People will then suspect you're friends with Martha. 

T is for TEACHERS

If only....

...teachers were given the respect they deserve.

...they had full support from their students' parents.

...they were compensated for the hours they put in outside the classroom.

...they were given the supplies they need.

...they were valued as much as NBA players.

...they were paid as much as NBA players.

We are a family of teachers.  My mom was an English teacher.  My sister is a special ed. teacher.  I teach character education to high schoolers.  My daughter teaches theology and chemistry.  My niece teaches English at the college level.  Her husband teaches high school history and current events.  A nephew teaches in conjunction with earning his PhD.  My cousin taught math for 25 years.

We are a family of teachers.  My daughter remarked recently, "That's why our family never has any any money." 

I can't argue that.  But, hey, we're impacting young minds and hoping to make a difference in the world.  At least, that's what we feel in our hearts.  For most teachers, that passion somewhat boosts the lowly paycheck. 

As for the Kobe Bryants and the LeBron James' - lest we forget - someone taught them how to play.  

SEUSSville

I was on the computer last week when a few dear friends from long ago came to mind.

Aunt Annie and Uncle Ubb
Waldo Woo
Rosy Ross
Vera Vinn
Jerry Jordan
Peter Pepper

And my very favorite, Zizzer-Zazzer-Zuzz.  Who, according to my son, looks like a bedspread.

                     

Do any of these names ring a bell?  Maybe you grew up with them, like I did.

Last week, they came to visit again when my daughter introduced them to the three-year old she babysits now and then.

Aunt Annie brought her alligator.  Uncle Ubb came with his umbrella.   And his underwear.  Rosy was back on her rhinoceros.  Jerry brought some jam.  Peter had his puppy.  Waldo was clean as a whistle, having just been hosed down by his his friend, Warren.  Luckily, Vera did not bring her violin (as she is very, very awful.) 

It was great to see that everyone was just as I remembered.  They hadn't changed a bit.

They have a relative who shows up only around the holidays.   He's a scroogy kind of fella who demands an awful lot from his sweet puppy.  I get irritated with him every year...for about twenty minutes.  Then, I remember he has a heart problem, and I just need to be patient.   Sure enough...he turns around, and pretty soon, he's seated at the head of the table carving the holiday ham.

Oh, to live in Seussville and be surrounded by whimsical, feathery creatures, where bears wear neck ties, turtles snooze in tuttle trees, camels walk on ceilings, and Whos celebrate Christmas morning with no gifts in sight.

Thank you, Theodor Seuss Geisel, for gifting me with the first books I remember reading.  

QUIPS

Three memorable remarks from my husband.

1.  On this blog, for the "category" of posts about our offspring, he suggested "Ball bearings."
 

2.  When our daughter was about 10, she wanted to know why urine is always yellow.  My husband replied that urine is waste, so the good things our body needs from the food we eat isn't yellow, but other colors.  Like purple.  "So vitamins are purple?" our daughter wondered.  "Yep," he said.

3.  Years ago, when using our first movie camera, my husband mistakenly captured some scenes of the floor, including a row of legs.  Reviewing the film later, our older son pointed out, "Dad, this is nothing but feet."  My husband replied, "That's why they call it footage."  

And that, folks, is one reason I married him.  He can make up stuff faster than anyone I've ever met. 
 

      

P is for (I don't really like) POETRY

As a rule, I'm not a fan of poetry.  I can hear the writing world shriek(!) at that sentence.  I know there are readers right now who are clicking away, thinking "Good grief, how can she possibly call herself a writer, if she doesn't like poetry?!?"  Apparently, this is a huge deficit.

I just don't get poetry.  I even had an English teacher for a mom, and I still don't get it.   I've read different kinds of poetry, studied it in college English courses, and I always think, why don't they just say what they want to say?  Why all the cryptic symbolism, the mostly non-rhyming words, the blocked off stanzas?  I've tried...and I just don't get it.  I don't have the poetry wire in my brain.

Or, so I thought.  Then I discovered Shel Silverstein, author of many childrens' books.  I present to you now...my favorite poem.  

                             There's too many kids in this tub. 
                         There's too many elbows to scrub.
                         I just washed a behind that I'm sure wasn't mine.
                        There's too many kids in this tub. 

Now, that's a poem.
 

 

Neurosurgery at Ninety?

Today, I had planned to write about my father turning NINETY in three weeks.

However, on Friday, it was discovered he had two small brain bleeds (subdural hematomas) that would need a bit of brain surgery to correct.

Holey moley.

Brain surgery?  At ninety?

We had twenty-four hours to think about it.  In the meantime, they would send Dad to ICU, stop his coumadin, give him plasma and Vitamin K, monitor his vitals, and have wonderful, attractive nurses check on him every few minutes.  Aside from all the medical stuff, he was pretty happy.  

The next morning, we met the neurosurgeon.  He explained the procedure of drilling burr holes into Dad's skull and flushing out blood clots and excess protein and sheaths and fluid and whatever else didn't belong there.  He talked about this operation casually, as if he was explaining how to carve a pumpkin.

I  kept envisioning my husband's Black & Decker coming off a dusty garage shelf and whirring away.  Drills and human skulls just don't go together. 

Surgery was Sunday at 10 a.m.  We arrived at the hospital early to send Dad off with hugs and prayers.  Once they wheeled him away, we felt anxious and aimless and restless, and decided to head to the cafeteria to kill time by eating - what most Americans do when we don't know what else to do.

Some of us had eggs and grits.   Some of us had other things.

You just can't think straight when a loved one is having brain surgery.  You need comfort food.

Three hours later, the surgeon appeared to report that Dad was fine.  The doc was able to remove the goop that was causing trouble.  The doc remarked that Dad's skull was thick, and he had to drill the full length of the drill bit (for lack of a better word) in order to get to the problem.  We all chuckled, because Dad has always been thick-headed about what he was going to do and not going to do.  We now had proof.

Yesterday, Dad was moved to a regular hospital room where the nurses don't check on you every few minutes, and you get a roommate who snores.  This means you're getting better.

Hopefully, in a few days, Dad will move to rehab.  Amazing.   

My original post was about some things Dad had experienced in his ninety years.  I just added another one...

1.  Fourteen Presidential elections

2.  A manned moon landing

3.  Discovery of the polio vaccine

4.  Invention of the Jet Airliner, MRI, the microwave, video games, and cell phones.  

5..  DNA fingerprinting

6.  The creation, and loss, of two space shuttles and their crews.

7.  BRAIN SURGERY

What You Need to Know About MANGOES

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LIMERICK

Halfway through the April A-Z challenge.  Time for a limerick. 

The A-to-Z is a work out

Letters are what it's about

I think and opine,

and then drink some wine

The finish is sometimes in doubt

"I'll finish!" I cry every day

It's midnight when I hit the hay

The writing, the reading

A frenzy it's feeding

I so look forward to May.

KARAOKE, anyone?

I admire people who stand up and sing in front of crowd.  Especially if they're not drunk.  I can't imagine ever doing it.  Unless I was singing with six other people, and I was in the back.  

The best and most horrific karaoke performance I've ever seen is this one, in a scene from My Best Friend's Wedding.   Julia Roberts' face is priceless.  Dermot Mulroney's character has the best-ever response.

Cameron Diaz sings karaoke 

 And to think - this will be "out there" forever.  This is why actors get paid the big bucks. 

JUROR # 1

I had the privilege and challenge of serving on a jury a few months ago.  I was impressed with how serious the process is.  I was disgusted by how easily the process can be derailed from getting to the truth.  (I wrote in more detail about that experience HERE and HERE.)

The defendant was charged with DUI.  The evidence was indisputable.  The jury had to be unanimous, but the six of us split 4 guilty / 2 not.  After five hours of deliberation, nobody changed their minds.  The judge declared a mistrial, and the defendant was set free.

I was shocked.  In my eyes, the defendant had clearly broken the law.  The two jurors who did not agree argued not that the young man had not driven under the influence, but that the evidence was skewed by the police department.  Almost immediately, we were off track, arguing the role of government, the people vs. the establishment, and whether or not the judge presiding over this case was corrupt.

It was ridiculous.  I learned I don't know enough about our judicial system and neither does the average citizen, five of whom I shared a room with for five hours.  I hope I'm never at the mercy of a jury of my peers.  We're a squirrely lot.

All I can do is pray the young defendant learned a few things too.  Hopefully not to drink and drive.  But, sadly, he might have learned if you distract and confuse the masses, you're home free.

IPAD

I have to tell ya', we're slow to acquire the latest technology.  We were the last ones on the block to get a home computer, a VCR, a DVD, cell phones, a laptop, and now an iPad.  My brain is too full with the last thing to incorporate a new thing.

Recently, a dear nephew gifted his grandfather (my dad) with an iPad.  Dad, who's coming up on 90 soon, loves the new gadgets, but needs help using them.  Having facetime with the grand kids and great-grand kids is his latest treat.

The craziest and most hilarious iPad feature, however, is Photo Booth, a program that is reminiscent of a fun house mirror.  You can distort and twist an image into goofy dimensions, and then laugh your head off.

Some examples...

DAD

MOM

DAUGHTER

Can't you just see the family resemblance?

G is for GROVER

Whom I happened to run across the other day while I was flipping through TV channels.  This blue, matted-fur Muppet with spindly limbs was a favorite when my youngin's were preschool age.    

I didn't realize he was nearing 50.  

Grover debuted on the Ed Sullivan show in 1967.   He's lived on Sesame Street since 1970.  Before that, he lived in Cleveland.   

He holds jobs as a waiter, a taxi driver, and a singing telegram artist.  He invariably runs across a balding, mustached customer named Mr. Johnson.  As a waiter, Grover brings him a bowl of tomato soup, when Mr. Johnson ordered split pea.  As a taxi driver, Grover takes him to the Empire State building, when Mr. Johnson wanted to go to Wall street.  As a singing telegram artist....well, Grover can't sing, so you can imagine.

He has a heart of gold, but the capabilities of a four-year old.  The fact that he got a taxi license is more than a bit disconcerting.  He probably charmed the guy at the DMV.  Grover is confused at times, but, boy is he lovable.

He has an alter ego named Super Grover who is "smarter than a speeding bullet."  Attired in a silver helmet from a suit of armor and a red cape, he flies around the city in search of someone in trouble.  His intentions are noble, but he often fumbles the rescue.  Luckily, he has a lot of Muppet friends who help him out.  Kermit is his best buddy.  Grover calls him "frogee baby," which Kermit hates.

Grover is loved around the globe.  In South America, he's known as Archibald.  In Portugal, he's known as Walter.  In Israel, he's known as Kruvi (cabbage.)  Go figure. 

He's been in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade and on Jimmy Kimmel.

Not bad for a blue, fuzzy, middle-aged dude.

  

FLUCTISONOUS (Huh?)

F...F...F...what begins with F?

For the A-Z challenge, the letter F had me flummoxed.  So, I cheated.

I pulled out the dictionary.

I found a word I'd never seen before: fluctisonous.  It means "sounding like waves."  As in, "The rhythm of that circular fan is fluctisonous."   

Who talks like that?  Have you ever heard the word fluctisonous?  Neither has the spell checker.

I did find some words I recognized and decided to offer my opinion of them. 

Firstborns - the best.
Fudge - right up there with firstborns.
Fruitcake - not even close to firstborns  (does anybody really like fruitcake?)
Fiddler on the Roof - dear Tevye.  All those daughters.
Fred Flintstone - how he ever got Wilma, I'll never know.
Fish stew - uh...what?  Ewww.
Feather pillows - too pokey for me.
Foreshadowing - love it, if it's subtle.
Fundraising - hate it.  I didn't even like selling Girl Scout cookies.
Football - meh

Fencing - too pokey for me.
Foie gras (a pate made from goose liver, Cognac and truffles.)  This ought to be illegal.
Flip-flops - I live in Florida, where flip-flops are the state shoe.  Fabulous.

ECCLESIASTES

Ecclesiastes is a book of the bible I read years ago when I was trying to sort out some things in my life.  The author (yet unknown) was trying to do the same.  It is the tale of man's search for the meaning of life.

The writer observes that man's endeavors, no matter how successful, do not exempt him from suffering.  Or death.  Nothing born of a man's hand is eternal.  Life is fleeting and does not guarantee happiness.   All is in vain.

On the face of it, Ecclesiastes is a tale of discouragement.  What's the point of living?  The author supposes often throughout the chapter we might as well just eat, drink, and be merry.

Oddly, I like this tale. For in my view, life is not the point, but the journey.  We are pilgrims working our way through a process of becoming who God created us to be.  That takes time and effort and pruning and failing and starting over, and it's difficult and painful.

But it's not the end result.  It's just life on the planet.  It's just the here and now. 

If we give this obstacle course our best effort, we grow and mature and begin to see the larger picture: God is calling us into relationship with Him.  He loves us desperately, no matter what.  It seems to take a lot of struggle before we get that.  I think it's because we're stubborn and prideful and think life is about us.  We're off track from Day One. 

But, God is patient.  And when our time on the planet is done, we'll have full understanding.  In the meantime, the author of Ecclesiastes suggests we enjoy the temporary blessings we have (like newborns and chocolate) while working toward the life after this one.  He concludes: "Honor God, and keep His commandments; for this is the whole duty of man."  Everything else will come to an end.

I'm OK with that.  
 

DOCTORS

Between both my parents (89 and 92), they have ten doctors.   In 2011, they had 131 doctor visits.   I didn't count them up for 2012, because I know there were more, and 131 is enough to make the point.

We spend a lot of time in doctors' offices.  So much so, that I now take along the two latest issues of Time, maybe a book, and a water bottle.  Sometimes the mail.  I make sure I have my folks' medicine charts, a pen, and some gum.  Then, we settle in for the long wait.

We have never been in and out of a doc's office in under an hour.  It's usually two.

For the good docs, we don't complain.  They are kind and warm and know Mom and Dad very well.  It's a blessing to have someone in your corner like this.

For the urologist who treats his patients like cattle - herd 'em in, herd 'em out - the wait seems rude and wasteful.  After a year of hoping things would improve, we transferred to a new urologist, who calls himself "the plumber."   Dad gets a kick out of that.

My favorite physician is Dr. R. (the folks' primary care doc.)   He nods kindly when Mom insists her health store supplements are keeping her alive.  He holds Dad's hand in a manly shake while gently reminding him that, yes, your heart is still weak, and no, we don't live forever.

Several times, Dr. R. has talked to me on the phone about the folks.  As I've watched Mom and Dad decline, he has allowed me to share my fears with him.  In front of him, I have often blinked away tears.
 

Mom with Dr. R.

He doesn't know this, but he's my doc too.

CARETAKING

Since the beginning of time, women have traditionally taken care of their families, but the term 'caretaker' is relatively new.  Because mankind is living longer, helping and supporting our elderly loved ones has become a new focus for many.

I've been helping my folks, 89 and 92, for close to five years now, since a stroke knocked my dad flat for awhile.  He recovered very well, but has since sustained another small stroke in the same area of his brain.  He and my mom live in an assisted living facility a mile from our home.

Dad and Mom on their wedding day in 1950.

I could write a book - and maybe someday I will - about walking along side my parents in the aging process.  We've laughed, and we've cried.  I've been very loved on, and I've had days where I felt completely alone.  I've felt very grown up, and had moments where I was sure I was only five.  

Day to day, hour to hour, things can change.  By small shifts, or massive gapes.  Over the course of this month alone, there will probably be an S curve or two.  It's a rewarding, but heart-tugging adventure.  I'm learning as I go.  

I have learned one thing for sure.  In the flesh, I am often weak and sad.  In the spirit, I am confident my parents are in God's hands.  He alone determines the number of days we have breath.

And He is trustworthy. 

BOUNDARIES

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A is for ADVENTURES

The A-Z blogging challenge is here again!  The brain child of Arlee Bird, the A-Z project offers bloggers a great way to connect and and form friendships.  Thank you Arlee, for being the smart, creative cookie that you are. 

The instructions for the challenge are simple: write a post a day throughout the month of April, working your way through the alphabet - Sundays off.

Have a theme, or no theme.  Post a picture, a phrase, or a paragraph.  Or five.  Get stuck on the letters Q and X.  Wrack your brain for brilliance every day, then settle for "oh, whatever."   End up with a numb, pancake butt, because you're at the computer all month writing and reading a thousand other blogs whose authors are doing the same thing.  They don't call it a challenge for nothing.

Last year, I wrote random stuff - all brilliant, but random.  (For those riveting posts, CLICK HERE.) This year, I planned a theme, but after I wrote four posts, I was out of material.  So I'm back to random.  I guess my brain is more haphazard than organized.  (My husband would probably agree.) 

Anyhoo....my A word is adventure because the A-Z challenge is always an adventure for me.  I'm up 'til all hours reading and writing, my family scrounges for food because I'm not thinking about restocking the larder, and anything out of the ordinary is snagged and expanded on for a post.  My family clams up for the month and scurries away if I look like I'm stuck for a topic, lest they become blog fodder.   

Welcome aboard!