Salty the surfer dude.......

Today at 9am Salty the tree pruner came. His name is Danny, but the business card says Salty so that is what I am gonna call him as I imagine how he got that nickname in the first place. Since he has great sandy colored hair and a body to match, (great, not sandy) I have decided to go with a surfer dude who realized he had to get a paying job and didn’t want to completely leave the salty surf behind. That or he really likes pretzels.

My entire backyard had become a forest with a tree from a neighboring yard and my own fiasco of a purchase, the dreaded ‘it won’t get fruit’ but it did….walnut tree. Salty arrived on time with his crew which consisted of three guys with tank tops and arms the size of tree trunks. Oh yeah and chain saws, mile high ladders, ear protection that made them look like DJ’s and a ‘let’s get this party started’ attitude. Within minutes he was in the tree happily buzzing the shit out of the walnut tree from hell. As the branches fell and the ground men grabbed them up and whisked them out of my neighbors yard, I enjoyed the view from my kitchen window….Salty, complete with safety harness accentuating his bulging…..umm, biceps. He climbed higher and higher in the tree, tying himself off with each new limb and then WHAM a huge walnut encrusted limb came crashing down. Walnuts flew everywhere much to the delight of the squirrels who sat nearby watching as their favorite dining spot was reduced to fire pit logs. Their little beady eyes starred at me and I know they will seek retribution as soon as Salty leaves. My tomatoes would no longer be safe on my now sunny deck.

As limb after limb fell and was dragged away or cut into pieces Salty called out orders to his workers who, considering it was 94 degrees, worked at a phenomenally fast pace. I was sweating just watching them through the window from my air conditioned house.

Salty checked with me periodically on what I wanted. After 37 years of marriage, I knew what I wanted alright…..but instead I just told him what I wanted cut and what I didn’t. I honestly never saw so many overly happy, overly sweaty hard working men…they apparently loved their job. I began calculating a tip over their fee. They keep smiling’ like that it’ll cost me a fortune.

The walnut tree is done within an hour. It looks great. On to the neighboring tree. A mighty oak…or elm…maybe it’s a Dogwood …whatever it is, it is over my yard and blocking my sun. Now in the big scheme of things, taking away most of the shade I have when it is close to 100 degrees outside doesn’t seem too smart. But when I go to lay on my deck to take the sun, I usually walk away with an imprint of a shadowy leaf on my face. I am not one of those…:gee it’s summer, lets eat outside’ kinda people. I like air conditioning. I like saying, wow it’s like a refrigerator in here. I like the fact that I have no idea what the temperature is outside until I open the door. I live in the Bio-Dome and I am fine with that. I only use my deck to take the sun, grow tomatoes and basil and apparently not often enough, water my plants. So I needed these trees pruned. And pruned they are. I can now see my neighbors yard directly behind me. Although I knew they had a pool and I’ve heard them frolic in the pool, it is one thing to know, and quite another to see. I have dead grass and a trampoline…they have quarry pavers and a pool with a slide. Should left a few branches. Too late now.

Salty is in my neighbors yard now cutting the parts that they wanted cut. Great big waves of tree branches are falling outside my window. My kitchen is suddenly awash with sunlight. My poor little fish on the windowsill had to put his sunglasses on. I watch as his fins quiver and his eyes bug out then squint and I think maybe just a few less branches on the ground would have been nice. I can feel the A/C work a little harder to cool the house from the glaring sun. The last branch that fell from the neighboring tree allows me to see another neighbors deck. I can see she has a cleaning woman shaking rugs and windexing the sliding door glass. She is probably bobbing in her pool while her lady cleans. Can I ask the neighbors to stop the pruning? Do I really need to know that my neighbors are enjoying their yards more than I am? If I only had some shade…………

DINER 101

Friday was my day off. I had already done all I was gonna do in the way of cleaning so I called my daughters and invited them and my grandkids to lunch. It was overcast and humid and looked as if a monsoon was coming so it was the perfect day to be indoors.

We went to a local diner and to their benefit I won’t mention which one. We walked in and were seated in the dining room since I haven’t comfortably fit in a booth in years. We were seven all together and for some reason they had pushed a square table up against a round table and handed us menus. There was no reason why they couldn’t push two square tables together, but I just figured the waiter was stupid being creative. That unison created a lovely little triangle of room for everything and anything fall. Four kids remember. I elected myself as guardian of the ‘space.’ I continually moved plates, glasses and silverware away from the abyss that was created by Mr. Creativity. As soon as we sit down my youngest grandson decides to hold his nose and announce that it smells in there, his older brother agreed, his mother said they had said this the last time and I asked why the hell didn’t you tell me this before we were seated?? I eyed the two gentlemen next to us who looked as if perhaps they hadn’t showered recently, and the table that had just been served some kind of fish platter and determined one of the two to be the reason for the odor that only two of the seven of us smelled. Collectively we decided it was safe to eat there and attempted to navigate the 2 foot menus. (this as I kept an eye on the ‘space’ that had already claimed a butter knife)

The kids were easy….chicken noodle soup (hold the chicken and anything else that wasn’t a noodle) and of course French fries with a quart of ketchup. I ordered a tuna salad sandwich and coffee, good old fashion diner fare. Of course I ordered the triple decker (the more bread the merrier) which came with hard boiled eggs and a blop of potato salad. At first I thought the blop was a bit sour and hesitated eating it so I put salt on it and tasted it again. I could eat a spare tire if it had salt on it so the sour went away and the salty stepped in. My quartered sandwich was held neatly together by three inch toothpicks with little frilly shit on the end that came off and I am sure I ate. The egg slices dropped out as I picked up the sandwich as did the half inch tomato slices. Just as well since I am not fond of tomatoes unless they are pureed, seasoned, cooked and ladeled over some kind of carbohydrate. (Hey I never claimed to be a healthy eater) One daughter ordered a BLT wrap which came with enough French fries to feed….well, France (ha ha I made a funny) A BLT wrap is the same as a BLT sandwich except they make it easier for you to pick up without the aforementioned tomatoes falling out. In fact, I am pretty sure the whole wrap idea came about when some slob had to wrap his sandwich in a napkin not to wear most of it and after consuming said napkin in error decided to make the ’napkin’ edible. My other daughter ordered the fried zucchini from the appetizer menu. She has always beat to her own drum. This hugely portioned appetizer went basically untouched. And since apparently no one thought to order the baby anything at all, she just shared everyone else’s.

The bus boy brought waters and pickles and cole slaw much to the delight of the kids although no one drank the water and no one ate the cole slaw. The pickles they devoured. As the abyss claimed a half eaten pickle and another butter knife I realized I wasn’t doing so good on ‘space’ watch and simply gave up. As I watched the boys fish ice cubes from their water and deposit them in their soup (for cooling purposes) the ‘space’ claimed a package of saltine crackers that accompanied the soup. The waitress came by enough times to ask if everything was alright and the bus boy gave us enough coffee to keep us in the bathroom for days.

The boys had eaten as much as they were going to, which wasn’t much, but considering it was chicken noodle soup with ice, umm they ate more than I would have. I asked them if they wanted dessert. With no menu I suggested jello or ice cream. They hemmed and hawed. One of my daughters suggested chocolate pudding which the other one immediately suggested was a mistake. I ordered 4...the boys and me….and a bowl of whipped cream for the baby. (she still thinks it is ice cream) The puddings arrived in large soda glasses topped with three inches of whipped cream. The boys all licked at the whipped cream, tasted the pudding and announced they were done. I ate mine all, even as I complained that it tasted like instant pudding. At $2.50 a pop I had spent $10 to buy one eaten pudding. (Note to self…. listen to the daughter that said it was a bad idea….next time.) Even the baby didn’t eat her whipped cream until it was a white puddle and cried when it wouldn’t stay on the fork.

The waitress brought a styrofoam container to take home the zucchini that wasn’t eaten. A covered soda cup to take home the pudding that wasn’t eaten. And foil for the fries that weren’t eaten. Looks like I was the only one who listened to my mother growing up….I cleaned my plate. And my dessert plate. At least my son in law would enjoy the pudding that my daughter insisted he liked….instant. I checked the floor beneath the tables finding that the ’space’ had eaten up a spoon, a breadstick that was never ours, and the sugar packet tray while I was off duty. I left a tip, paid the bill and got 4 blow pops for my grandkids from the cashier. Next time we are going to McDonalds or Wendys….I will squeeze into their booths. They have no noodle soup, no abysses and no pudding instant or otherwise.

punky pink and the pits

It’s that time again…summer. The transition began with the bins of tee shirts, capris and flip flops being replaced with gloves, sweaters and those winter clothes that never got worn because I was apparently thinner last winter. After wondering why the hell I bought these tops, and noticed stains on those tops, I picked out which ones made it to the 2011 summer collection which are still waiting to be hung in my closet on hangers that I bought on QVC for a ridiculous amount of money.  The rest either got bagged for donation, bagged for garbage, or put back in the bins in the hopes that next year I will be thinner. (or tanner....read on) The bins remain, inevitably, waiting to be returned to their dark little haven behind the door in the ceiling until my son comes to do laundry  visit.

The plants on my back deck are always staring at me now, trying to remind me that I need to water them daily as I almost always forget until they are hanging over from thirst. My central air conditioning unit has not shut down since mid May and Con Ed has started sending me thank you cards. My legs and arms are covered with mosquito bites, some from hanging out on the back deck with my parched plants but most from my broken screen door. The door has been broken for almost two years, a product of an overzealous FedEx guy and a under-active husband. Whenever I threaten to call a handyman he suddenly becomes ‘handy’ and fixes something….but for some reason never the screen door. So as people come in and out the door stays a tiny bit open…just enough to let those blood sucking bastards in.

I have replaced my ‘merry wine’ color nail polish with ‘punky pink’ nail enamel. It is brighter and shinier (and more expensive) than any other nail polish I own. When I get my nails done every couple of weeks (much to the dismay of Lin, my nail girl) I do not get them polished. I have no patience to stay there and wait for them to dry, and if I do get polish I assuredly mess it up en route to my car. So punky pink will be the summer color unless one of my daughters (or more likely my son) will point out that I am not young enough to wear anything with ‘punky’ in the name. And they are probably right.

I find that during the summer months I turn into a lesbian. Well, not really, but I do find myself staring at scantily clad women or bikini babes at the pool and wonder where it all went wrong. I started out with the same amount of baby fat that they did….is there a chance I will still lose it? Is that really where my boobs are supposed to be? Where my belly button belongs? I go home and eat an apple for dinner. And then I forget how much hate wearing capris instead of shorts, and sleeves instead of sleeveless. And then I eat a Twinkie. It’s what I know. Remember the song Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini? The girl who wouldn’t come out of the water…that’s me. Except my bathing suit is black and it has a skirt. The water part is the same. Although I have found a way to navigate to the shallow end, up the steps and into my white cover-up with the mustard stain without drawing much attention. Of course there are the times when I don’t give a rats ass, and that is usually when it is 100 degrees out and the nearest lounge chair is a block away. (Eat your heart out skinny bitches, this is what you’d look like….if you ate.)

The smells of summer now surround me. It seems no matter what my neighbor barbeques it smells so much better than what I am cooking. She could be grilling an old sneaker and it still would smell better than my Omaha Steak burgers. I make franks she make burgers. I make burgers she makes steak. I make steak she makes something on a skewer. I skewer she smokes. I give up! I’ve often wanted to hop over the net fence and shake her hand in concession. But I don’t, I steal her figs.

Pretty much everyone around me has a fire pit. I guess it‘s a new thing….to sit outside in 80 something degree weather next to a roaring fire dodging ashes and smoke and melting marshmallows that we pretend are gonna actually stay on a graham cracker square without sliding off before the chocolate melts. The smell of burning wood, which normally would raise a red flag, now goes unheeded. As we sit sniffing the sweet aroma of firewood, someone’s house could be ablaze…here’s hoping their smoke alarms have good batteries.

Tanning is the best part of summer. Basking in the sun, sweaty and greasy from lotion that should have a much higher SPF, recalling the days when I had no idea what skin cancer was. The darker the tan, the thinner you get. It’s a fact. Like a little black dress, a tan takes pounds off. To date I am down about ten tan pounds….to reach goal I will need a rotisserie.