Cathy in the Wright

AFL-CIO-PTA?

Well, readers, I joined. Paid my dues. I'm official PTA.

I went to the organizational meeting last night and signed by the X. After a brief explanation of how the group came about (horrified local citizens outraged over two school referendums that failed last November) and a PowerPoint presentation on the benefits of having/joining the PTA (think of the children! Tap into state and national PTA resources! Websites! Magazines!), I wasn't sure if I didn't also agree to vote Democrat in the next elections. We'll see. I guess if someone calls to offer me a ride and a pack of cigarettes and wants to register my deceased Rottweiler, I'll know.

I got home and told The VP all about it. I must have sounded like a sound bite from a DFL talking points press kit. He shook his head. "They got to you, didn't they?"

I nodded. I wrapped my arms around his neck. "Help me, dear."

He pulled me close, tightened his arms around me and started whispering in my ear

...supply-side economics...

...welfare reform...

...permanent abolition of the estate tax...

...conceal and carry permits...

...dissolving the UN...

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The remainder of this post has been deleted by site censors. Content was deemed inappropriate for the blog's P-13 rating.

Here

We arrived back to the gates of The Outpost on Saturday morning only to discover that our satellite provider must have been on vacation as well. Tonight is the first time I've been able to access the old site. Nice to be back.

Fabulous time out in Crested Butte, CO. My in-laws spoiled us rotten. It was a little disconcertning to get home and realize no one was going to fix dinner for me.

The only ripple in the whole week was when The Governor caught a stomach bug that was going around town. Something every vacation should be without: hearing a three-year-old holler, "Mom, I didn't make it in time!"

Well, he needed a bath anyway.

I had plenty more to say, but I'm off to school. There is an organizational meeting tonight to start a local PTA. Hello mini-van. Good-bye Corvette. And I'll be contacting each and every one of you when fund-raiser time rolls around.

The Ungrateful Cur

Hoocher departed his city residence for the bucolic charms of The Outpost Saturday with hardly a wag of goodbye. As soon as The Chairman and The Governor arrived to pick him up, the pooch changed allegiance to them, from us, in spite of a week of special treats, ear scratching and general pampering. The neighborhood dogs must be delighted to see him go, however, because they no longer have to pay obeisance to his alpha status, earned by force of personality and without any need for even a growl. Man, did they cower in his presence, beagle and golden retriever alike. The “jumping dogs of Oakdale,” as The Senator calls them, barked and leaped in Hoocher’s presence, but that was from behind the safety of a 4-foot-high, chain-link fence. He hardly gave them a glance.

The Chairman and Gov. had arrived Friday night from the family vacation and were with us overnight. The Governor discovered the noisy joy of stepping on the bathroom trashcan’s foot pedal, creating a cymbal-like cacophony. Before they left, Hoocher spent the morning snuggled up to The Chairman with a look at us that defined our status as second-raters in our own house. What a change from when he had to rely on us for care and feeding. Next time, pooch, you’re going to earn your keep by doing battle with the garbage-can-tipping raccoon that scatters trash over the driveway. Hoocher, for that task, you’d better practice on the dumpster kitties at The Outpost.

A taste too rich ... and a vintage bargain

In Las Vegas recently, we opted out of a tasting menu at a casino restaurant so utterly handsome it must be where angels go if they are very, very good or where wealthy “uncles” of an age take their “nieces,” if the girls are very, very bad.

We got no further than peeking in the door to this spectacular dining room so I cannot review the evening’s blue-plate special—a 15-course sampler of treats that I mostly didn’t recognize and couldn’t pronounce, paired with wines beyond my station in life. The tab was $350 plus tip.

I wouldn’t have gone for the tasting menu—even on a Japanese-style expense account—because three of the 15 sampler descriptions included the words foi gras and pate. Like beets, liver of any pedigree shall never pass my lips. As for the wines, I find it hard to swallow prices by-the-glass that that are higher than I care to spend per bottle.

This brings me to a real bargain—a Washington State chardonnay, Chateau Ste Michelle. It’s bottled at Woodinville, Wa., and the label says it contains “flavors of apple and citrus fruit with subtle oak notes,” thanks to “sur He” aging. I don’t know about “sur He” aging, but this chardonnay was “sur tasty” that I could have avoided a lot of table attentiveness to friends at dinner just by serving everyone a bottle and straw. The wine guys at Byerly’s in St. Louis Park came up with this gem for just under $11 a bottle. Ms. Chairman, you could use this modestly priced vintage to educate your soccer chums away from red and white Ripple, even though those vintages are lightly carbonated (I’ve been told).

While the Chairman's Away

In city residence while The Chairman and family vacation, Hoocher quickly established his urban territory. You almost could hear the dance master counting … one, two, three, lift … one, two-three lift as he marked his turf. By the way, Ms. Chairman, Hoocher has become accustomed to a treat when he reenters the house. I’m sure you’ll want to continue the practice.

We had dinner guests Saturday night, and Hoocher was on his best behavior. He was pals with everybody—especially the husband and wife who train dogs as a hobby and produced treats from their pockets. While Hoocker’s company manners were impeccable, we put him in another room to avoid a “situation” with appetizers on the coffee table, at which he was staring too intently—and closely.

Friends In Warm Places

The ever-helpful Gary, basking somewhere in Texas, sends me the following:

And former Wright Countian Chris, basking somewhere in Arizona, sends this photo with a reminder that since hell appears to be freezing over (near Scottsdale, anyway), this might be the year to bet on a winning Vikings season.

Guess what? More snow is on the way for Thursday. #@!@%*&!

Melt, Damn It

Blast, blast, blast! I have so many things to do this week before I leave on vacation and WHAM! Snow day. Lousy driving conditions. School cancelled. And the yard was almost completely brown before the storm hit last night. Now everything is glaringly white. Winter's death rattle. It'll be gone by mid-week.

While my day has been up-ended, it's not such a bad thing to stay in your pajamas until noon, drink hot tea, and reminisce about Saturday's KICK ASS victory over a team of college players. We ended in a tie, but since it was the playoffs, the game was decided by penalty kicks. Each team gets five shots, and you have to alternate between men and women shooters. One of their gals sent the ball over the top of the net, and we made all our shots. Sweet victory. Especially because they whupped our butts last time we played them.

But enough soccer, eh, Gary? (No games for two weeks - a reprieve!)

Unfortunately, I don't have much else to write about just now. I have been putting off working the dinosaur puzzle (for the 157th time) but The Governor keeps calling. I may have to break down and turn on the TV. If this is the last post today, you'll know I am beating my head on the coffee table while trying to explain (for the 157th time) what an edge piece is.

Thursday Bilge

I was going to brag about the incredibly beautiful weather we're having today, but the last time I did that, the gods took exception and struck down The Governor with a raging case of pink eye. Not a full-blown smite from above, but still...never let it be said I don't recognize divine judgment when I see it.

The good news is that The Gov's strep throat culture came back negative. According to our nurse, the city should just start putting penicillin in the water.

The Governor timed this particular infection rather well. His standard operating procedure is to fall ill the day before we leave on vacation. He missed by nearly two weeks this time. I guess I should be crossing my fingers that this was the official pre-trip affliction and not merely a warm-up for something bigger and better yet to come.

And speaking of vacations, I'm having some evil thoughts about how to take care of the Tetras while we're away. What level of Dante's Inferno do you land on if you flush the family fish to avoid the inconvenience of finding someone to feed them twice a day? We have a bottom-feeder, too, but I would never flush that sucker. He's too big and mean-looking. He'd be the type to stick to the plumbing and come back to haunt me.

Of course, there's always Dumpster Kitty. I bet Dumpster Kitty is a big sushi fan.

Decisions, decisions.

I had another paragraph or two discussing various other moral failures of mine, but I'm being summoned to play baseball. And it would be a sure sign of depravity not to be outside on a day like today.

I Just Can't Quit You

A Fine Day

It's nearly 40 degrees here, people. Appropriate sacrifices must have been made to the right deities. The signs of well-pleased idols are everywhere: tractor mud gunking up the county roads, a few new calves at the local feed lot, high numbers of skunk roadkill...we mortal humans are allowed to hope for Spring.

What else is sending the soul soaring this afternoon? Certainly not the morning's soccer game. We lost, and as part of a pushing, shoving, and grabbing match I got into with one of their guys, I managed to cup a handful (tiny though it was) of his family jewels. Perhaps jewel. Not much there. It wasn't a conscious effort on my part; I was trying to yank him back by the side of his shorts. He turned at an inopportune time. I did apologize - I'm not a cretin, but if I could go back in time, I think I should have let him just take the shot on net.

It was impossible to linger on the unpleasant game for long. Once back in my car, I cracked the windows, cranked the CD player, and headed home. I defy you to be in a bad mood when Smetana is guiding you down The Moldau. Best piece of music ever written.

I got back to an empty house. The VP took the boys swimming. Peace and quiet.

I need to go buy enormous amounts of lottery tickets right now.

Never Mess With A Guy Sporting Some Bling From The Guardians Of The Universe

Benjamin was a huge nerd. He wore funny clothes, had odd hobbies, and spoke French. But no one ever made fun of Benjamin because Green Lantern had his back. Once Ben clipped his combover. Man, Green Lantern hated that combover.

Hey Gary! And Soccer Fans Everywhere

Here's a book I know you won't want to miss. Would make a great birthday present for one of the kids.

I'm ordering several. My nephews will each be getting one for Christmas.

Ha!

Excellent. Thank you, Chris Muir.