I don't know what got into me. The Husband and I went to the supermarket yesterday afternoon to purchase fixings for split-pea soup for dinner. That meant grab a slice of ham from the meat department and fill a bag with about 2 pounds of split peas from the bin in the produce section. But, then we walked by the fish display. Wild, but previously frozen, Rex sole was on sale for $4.99 per pound. Neither of us ever had it before. Its name intrigued me. About a pound, please, sweet butcher lady. Then I saw the squid. Ooooh. And, the octopus. Double ooooooh . The squid would be a treat for the Mama and for me. The octopus, too, if cooked correctly so it wasn't all rubbery. The Husband doesn't care for either, but he can have 2 pieces of the Rex sole. So, I asked for about a half pound of the squid and a quarter pound of the octopus. As the butcher lady wrapped the items, I spied the locally made sausages. I turned to the Husband. "Shall we get some sausage?"

I have a blue notebook that's entitled Efficiency Notebook . It was something I found in one the Father-in-Law's boxes labeled Office . The notebook's cover states that inside are 80 medium ruled and margin line sheets. After the Husband and I tore out the pages with the Father-in-Law's notes, fewer than 40 blank pages were left. Why didn't we just throw out the notebook? I don't know anymore. Maybe the kuripot in me wouldn't let it go. Kuripot , for those curious, means cheap, thrifty, penny-pinching, or frugal in Ilocano. Some people characterize the Ilocanos, which is my ancestry, as being kuripot . But, then I could just be individually that way. When I hold my palm up, fingers naturally resting against each other, I can't see any light between the fingers. That, according to the Mama, means I'm pretty good about not spending a lot of money. Yes, that's the reason I think insurance of any kind is a scam. Anyway, the Efficiency Notebook

Molly the Cat grew up today. She is now a full-fledged huntress. I wish though that she wouldn't bring her prey into the house to finish it off. When Molly the Cat came to us, she was an indoor kitty with no experience of being outdoors other than the time her first adopted parents threw her and her brother outside because they couldn't handle the brother's constant vomiting. Poor babies. Today, Molly the Cat roams the backyard freely and unsupervised. The Mama opens the sliding door after breakfast and Molly pops out. No looking back. Several hours later, Molly saunters through the door. "What's for lunch?" she asks, as she prods me for her meal.  The Husband's goal from the start for Molly was for her to catch her own food so that should anything  happen to her humans, she would be able to fend for herself. So we have waved strings in front of her face to pounce on and thrown balls for her to tackle. The last few months, the Husband and Molly ha

"Su-sieee!" the Mama called from the bottom of the stairs. "Su-sieeeeeeee!" She shouted two seconds later. I had only begun to get my head out of whatever I was writing. "Su-sieeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" She yelled louder. "Hold on. Hold on." I called as I stumbled down the hallway to the stairs. "What is it?" Silence. Halfway down the stairs, the Mama held up a bottle and asked, "Do we have Windex?" "Windex?"  I immediately envisioned her standing on the highest step of the tall ladder to clean the windows from outside. I peered at the label over my computer glasses. "This is Windex." "It's not blue." Oh, God, I thought. Will she ask me to go to the store now? Can I get her to use vinegar instead? "Windex comes in different colors now," I said. "This has lemon in it." "Okay," she said, taking the bottle from me. "What are you going to do?&qu

This year I decided to enter a couple of flower arrangements in our county fair. Never done it before. Entered the flower arrangement division, that is. Nor, for that matter, made a flower arrangement. So, why do it? Well, it's because I'm turning 60 soon and this year has been all about doing new stuff. My friend Jennifer challenged me on my last birthday when she thought it was my 60th birthday.  That still cracks me up. I'm glad she got it wrong. I may not have even thought about doing some of the things I already have. So, anyway, here is one of my fair entries. It's called -- appropriately -- Writer's Block .