Yet Another Journal

Nostalgia, DVDs, old movies, television, OTR, fandom, good news and bad, picks, pans,
cute budgie stories, cute terrier stories, and anything else I can think of.


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» Sunday, July 02, 2017
In the Cool, Cool, Cool of the A/C...

We really slept in this morning, arising at ten. So much for going to Costco early. Never mind, ate breakfast as always, took Tucker for a walk after letting in his new harness all the way. The old one, a small, was let out all the way; I had to snug this one, a medium, all the way. So he's a big small or a small medium, whatever that means.

We went to Costco for milk and Clorox and came out also with toilet paper, mushrooms, ibuprofin, and Skinny Pop. Tasted "watermelon water" (wish they'd left out the lemon juice), franks and beans, and some type of potato salad which was good but too sweet, and I prefer my potatoes hot and buttered, thanks.

On the way home James stayed in the truck and kept the milk cold while I ran into Dollar Tree for some washcloths, sugarless candy, and more Pears soap. The cashier shut down the register after me, and I asked if it were her lunch break. She said no, it was time for her to go home! I hope I was a good last customer of the day.

We didn't buy much, but it seemed to take hours to get it into the house with the heat climbing into the 80s. I think I took no more than ten minutes sticking a couple of Independence Day stake decorations out front, putting up the flag on the front door, and putting a couple of "Uncle Sam" prim figures on the porch, and by the time I got inside I was lightheaded and badly needing some air conditioning and a drink.

So we spent the rest of the day in the cool, cool, cool of the afternoon; I did the July calendar on the whiteboard on the refrigerator, cut open the cards they were on and put James' iron pills in a bottle for him, made the bed, finished Bright Earth, and watched mind candy in the form of Storage Wars. For supper we had the chicken and wild rice soup.

Today I had some of the cherries I bought Friday. Will  you tell me what in the name of God the cherry growers of the United States have done to the beautiful Bing cherry? As a kid I would wait in anticipation for cherry season—they are my favorite fruit—and then we could only afford a paltry half or quarter of a pound, so I would have to savor those wonderful cherries when I could. I swore that when I was grown up I would buy all the cherries I liked. And until even as late as fifteen years ago, when Harry's Farmer's Market was still Harry's and not a stupid Whole  Paycheck Foods, and I could pick the best cherries out one by one, always the darkest, firmest of the bunch, they were sweet and heavenly, the sort of thing angels sang hymns about.

In this bag at least a third look perfect and feel perfect, and when you bite into them they are so insipid I want to cry. Is this a plot by the cherry growers to get everyone to buy the more expensive Ranier cherries? Whatever is going on, it's horrible.

Tucker has been on the "tranquilizers" two days now and nevertheless we still had to coax him downstairs tonight to go out. There were "poppers" going off that we couldn't hear and thunder and lightning on the horizon. We met one of the neighbors and their new puppy, which looks like a black and white Pomeranian. Tucker walked up to him whining and rapidly wagging his tail, and the puppy's reaction was to jump backward, yipping and growling defensively. They finally touched noses, but when Tucker tried to sniff him a second time, he went back into defensive mode. Too cute.

(Speaking of cute animals, remember the cat I mentioned in last weekend's entry, the one Jessie and Aubrey found in back of the funeral home? Jessie has adopted her. Her name is Fiona.)

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