I’ve Been Hosed!

Posted on May 29, 2017 by Jan C. Johnson

Not gonna lie… we’re total newbies at having a swimming pool. I mean, we don’t trust ourselves to take care of it, but have professionals maintain the pool lest it end up infested with mold or jellyfish or something.

Adding to the pool’s entertainment value is an automatic cleaner that roams around the bottom and sides, looking like a cross between a Roomba and a defibrillator. It vacuums water in through the Roomba end, filters it, and pees it out via a three-foot hose. The hose swishes around, sometimes breaching the surface and squirting a bit of water onto our breakfast room windows.

Windex: buy stock.

Last Saturday, I glanced out the breakfast room door and was startled to see rain blowing into the patio. Going out to investigate, I found the “rain” was actually arcing up from the pool, thanks to the Roomba hose, which would surely re-submerge in a second.

Surely. Re-submerge.

Any second now. . .

>gives up and moves in for a closer look<

Oh, wait. Maybe I'd better get the skimmer and un-wedge the spray end of the hose from that crevice between the rocks.

After freeing the hose, I checked around to find a puddle in the adjacent flower bed, and another in the lawn just beyond. My personal rainstorm must have gone on for at least ten minutes.

Apparently, the Pool Roomba has made friends with my other appliances and joined the revolt. (If you don’t know about the revolt, just search “appliance” in the box at top right. You will see what I put up with.)

Thanks for reading!
Jan

Posted in I Remember When... (my OWN stories), Maladjusted Mondays | Tagged , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Birthday FAIL: or, Why My Husband’s Bicycle Has a Preposterous Name

Posted on May 26, 2017 by Jan C. Johnson

He already has so many bicycles I can’t keep track of them. What’s one more?
That’s what I thought last summer, when Brent showed me an ad for a custom, retro-style Bianchi road bike. His newest bike is also a Bianchi, the first he’s ever owned of that make.


This one looked spiffy and nostalgic with its narrow steel tubing, just like what we used to ride in the 1970s, only in Bianchi’s prestigious Celeste Green color rather than Schwinn Red or whatever we had.

I encouraged him to order one. “It can be for your birthday,” I said. There was no way to surprise him with it because I’d have to take multiple height and arm length measurements. I couldn’t think of a plausible cover story to explain that, not that it wasn’t fun to try.

So I helped measure him, and he placed the order. The bike would be manufactured in Italy and shipped from a store in Ireland.

Meanwhile, our peach tree had an “off” season. It produced only a few scruffy peaches, for which we arm-wrestled the bugs and birds. And lost.

Some time later, we got word that the bike would be delayed, not shipping until after Brent’s birthday. Well, dang. I want to give the guy something on his actual birthday.

Next day’s email contained an ad from Harry & David. We order pears from them almost every year. Best pears ever. In a flash of brilliance, I ordered a box of peaches, to make up for the ones our slacker tree didn’t produce, scheduling delivery for the week before his birthday.

As summer ended, I got another email from Harry & David. Something about weather and harvest and basically, the peaches won’t get there until two weeks after Brent’s birthday, sorry about that.

Whaddaya gonna do? It’s fruit; you can’t control when it ripens.

Even at that, the fruit arrived before the bike did. We opened the box and sliced up the first luscious-looking peach.

Maybe we’re spoiled by our own super sweet peach tree, but this one just tasted flat.

Disappointed at letting him down yet again, I put down my peach slice and looked at Brent. “At least you’ll be getting your bike soon.”

“Yeah, and I know what I’m going to name it,” he said.

“Really? What?”

“Peaches!”

“Riiiiiight,” I said. “Happy birthday.”

This year I’m gonna play it safe and give him a shirt or baseball tickets or something.

Thanks for reading!
Tailwinds,
Jan

Posted in Everybody Has a Story, Thoughts on Two Wheels | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Navigate THIS!

Posted on May 24, 2017 by Jan C. Johnson

About that trip to Missouri last week…

My brother, David, and I drove to the town of Nevada from different directions. Next day, we agreed to each find our way north to Warsaw and meet at the Common Ground Cafe for lunch.

His rental car had the add-on navigation system, and my Infiniti of course has the latest version of GypsE ROSE. What could go wrong?

My route meandered up state highways alongside the Truman Reservoir before veering off onto a local road that approached town from the “back” side. At length I came to Highway 7, where I expected to turn right. But GypsE ROSE said to cross it.

The map showed me turning right just past 7, and crossing a bridge into town. Fine.

I turned off where indicated. Moments later, there was the bridge.

A footbridge. You know… for pedestrians.

“Not driving over that.” I pulled into a convenient parking lot to reconnoiter.

The cafe was only a half-mile away. Why not walk?

So I took off afoot. A man crossing the other way stopped to chat. I mentioned the cafe. He told me I’d see a convenience store and said, “That’s Main Street, just keep going.”

Soon I saw the store. Something stood between me and it: Highway 7 and some fast-moving traffic.”Not walking across that.” Back over the bridge and into the car. As soon as I turned to retrace my route, the map guidance changed to show me taking Highway 7 into town and turning onto Main.

“Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” I demanded.

I figured David would be tired of waiting for me by now, but as I parked I got a text from him. “Just got to the cafe.”

When we were seated, he told me his own nav system tale. . .

Shortly before he reached a highway turn, he accidentally pushed the steering wheel “phone” button. A feminine voice said, “Phone. Do you wish to make a call? After the tone, say ‘select a phone,’ ‘add a phone,’ or ‘no.'”

His nav chose that moment to say, “In zero point five miles, turn right onto Highway 83.”

Ms. Phone: “I didn’t understand that. Do you wish to make a call? After the tone, say ‘select a phone,’ ‘add a phone,’ or ‘no.'”

David was about to yell “NO,” but his nav butted in. “In zero point three miles, turn right onto Highway 83.”

Ms. Phone: “I didn’t understand that. Do you wish…”

David couldn’t get a word in edgewise.

Desperately trying to kill the phone and end this mechanical conversation, he missed his turn and drove two miles before finding a place to turn around.

By the time he got to Warsaw, he figured I’d be tired of waiting for him.

I thought of my ongoing appliance battles. “There’s such a thing,” I said, “as too much technology.”

Thanks for reading!
Jan

Posted in I Remember When... (my OWN stories), Maladjusted Mondays | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Another Day, Another Diner

Posted on May 22, 2017 by Jan C. Johnson

Last week, my brother and I met in Missouri to visit family and have our mother’s ashes interred alongside her parents’ graves. At least five generations of Mom’s people are buried there in her home town.

Despite our somber errand, the trip as a whole was actually fun. David and I had a sort of unspoken agreement to avoid eating in any major chain restaurants, not that there’s anything wrong with Denny’s or Chili’s. But we can eat at their restaurants any time.

So we searched out local places. . .

Nevada, Missouri: A small city where we lived for a couple of years as children. David remembers eating here at the White Grill and we were delighted to find it still in business. So we dropped in for coffee.

Serving up burgers, breakfast, and banter since 1938.

A waitress cheerfully interpreted signature menu items like “Mess” and “Whistle Burger.” When David told her we’d lived in Nevada more than fifty years ago and were surprised to find the Grill still open, she said, “Yeah, I don’t think it’s ever gonna go away.” We came back the next morning for breakfast, and bought souvenir coffee mugs.

Warsaw, Missouri: The Common Ground Cafe on Main Street turned out to be a charming pub-like retreat on three levels. They feature rustic furnishings and delicious sandwiches on fresh-baked bread.

Sedalia, Missouri: Knowing Sedalia had been a railroad and cattle-shipping hub, what could be more local than a barbecue place where you could eat in an actual 1920s railroad dining car?

The menu refers to side dishes as “Baggage.”

Kehde’s Barbeque didn’t disappoint. We both got two-meat combo plates, which include bread and two sides, or “pieces of baggage.” The meat was so tender I barely had to chew it. And talk about nostalgia–they’d even placed antique luggage in the overhead racks.

There were other local gems, but I don’t have time to describe them all right now.

If you’re traveling, I’d suggest seeking out local eateries. With online reviews to help steer you clear of the truly terrible, it’s pretty low risk and lots more interesting than the same-old same-old.

Your turn: I enjoy eating and discovering new places. How about sharing your local favorites in the “Leave a Reply” box below?

Thanks for reading!
Jannk

Posted in I Remember When... (my OWN stories) | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Skies

Posted on May 19, 2017 by Jan C. Johnson

Some spring mornings dawn bright and clear, others start out overcast, even forbidding.

And sometimes we get cloud sculptures…

It’s as if God were stirring His finger around in the clouds to make a whirlpool.

Have a sunny day!

Thanks for reading,
Jan

Posted in A Page From My Journal | Leave a comment

Wild Things!

Posted on May 17, 2017 by Jan C. Johnson

When I’m out bicycling, most of the animals I see are either

a) fenced dogs,
b) roadkill,
c) fast-moving birds or squirrels just trying to get out of my way, or
d) un-fenced dogs, which may or may not endanger my life.

a) through c) cause me no concern, although roadkill critters, while harmless, can still be ominous. Once, on a small back road, I passed the carcass of a feral hog. For the next year, every time I passed by that way I mentally looked for escape routes: fences or trees I could climb in case of feral hog attack.

But I’m not paranoid.

No, really.

I mean, you can’t blame me for the adrenaline rush I experienced when I pedaled around a bend and spotted this bad boy poised by the side of the road, looking kind of hungry.

“The better to eat you with, my dear.”

So yeah, I stay alert, but try not to panic.

How embarrassing would it be to crash while trying to escape from a hungry… log??

Thanks for reading!
Tailwinds,
Jan

Posted in Thoughts on Two Wheels | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment