I have found my new favorite summertime dessert. Trust me, this is a whole lot easier than the Lime Chiffon Cake that takes about 4 hours to prepare from scratch. Homemade smoemade. This took a grand total of half an hour with 26 minutes of that in the oven.
Superbly styled for warm weather running and fashionable summer casual wear, Patagonia's Capilene® Hipster has a stylish low rise and features a new blend of new soft and stretchy Capilene® fabric. Mini rib fabric throughout the crotch gives you better breathable comfort than traditional base layers.
New soft 4.6-oz. fabric consisting of 96% nylon/4% Spandex and treated with Capilene® technology
Highly breathable mini-rib fabric through crotch
Low rise fits well with yoga and hipster-style pants
Honestly, I'm not sure which I find more disturbing. A $20 pair of panties or the fact that there are FIFTY-EIGHT reviews of this product and that it has a 5-star rating on Altrec.
Today, I made an appointment at the optometrist and they had an opening later in the afternoon. So I go. They make me hold a paddle over one eye and read the last line on the chart. Then over the other. Puff air in my face and then put me in front of the eye machine. The optometrist stands up and informs me I have 20/20 vision with my glasses on. All is well in Daktariland right up until she informs me that I don't need new glasses per se. I need trifocals. That's not BI, that's TRIfocals.
Age is a wicked mistress. Right now she's more dominatrix than anything else.
Remember the whole letting my hair grow out and if it's grey, it's grey dammit? Well, it's grey. OK. I really never did like the way the hair color turned my hair red, and my natural color lacks that, but it almost feels like I'm watching myself age. It's not exactly salt and pepper at this point, but there are more than just a few grey hairs streaked in with the natural dark blonde. It's not quite the pretty grey hair my father had, but then again, I think I might have been devestated by a head full of grey hair at 46.
And while I'm at it, that whole Coca Cola Classic thing that I had undertaken with such gusto? It turns out that Coca Cola Classic was only a big treat when I had it just every once in a while. Drinking it regular takes that away and I was losing a small part of the joy of having a Coke.
Gotta run. Have to go shopping for walkers and support hose.
Liv's wonderful past reflections reminded me (albeit, I'm a day late posting this) that last year this time, I was making a drive from Grosvenor Arch to Beaver Dam, with a stop along the way at a veterinarian, who supplied us with this....Jake was a champ about the splint, but it was his own fault, after all. He was the one who decided to roundhouse Jack. Silly rabbit.
It's been a banner week for home repair in the good down of Do-well.
First, I discovered that the sump pump had issues. Actually because the hose clamp failed and the hose had become disconnected causing the water in the crawl space to spurt up like a fountain and circulated continuously, I was damn lucky that the sump pump didn't burn out. But, I got a new hose clamp and it seems to be working well. Cost of repair: $1.38.
Then my brakes went out and I had to have new brake pads and rotors. Ouch. But, I have to maintain the pimpalicious ride. $182.50.
Cutting the grass today (which is sky high thanks to days and days and days of consecutive rain), I noticed one of the wheels was wobbly. Thinking it just needed to be tightened, I took a closer look and noticed that the entire wheel was cracked. Cost to replace? $15.50. Part will be coming directly to the house in 10 days. Hope the existing wheel hangs on that long.
I guess I shouldn't complain. I just put 5300 miles on my car on my research trip, and the sump pump has been getting a workout with all the rain we've had, and one can hardly blame the lawn mower for my being hard on corners. However, I can't afford many more weeks like this one, either from a time perspective or a pocketbook perspective.
Oh, and did I mention that the doorknob on the back door came off in my hand Monday morning? And the Argentine ants are back.
Today I bought some roses. And I know people may laugh since I probably won't live in this house long enough to enjoy them in all their splendor, but I believe in leaving a garden behind no matter where I go. These were my choices.
New Dawn. A climber. I will plant this one with a Clematis jackmanii, a dark purple clematis. This will look spectacular, in case you wondered.
Ok, I realize that less than 24 hours ago I shunned all blogging activity here forever. But did you ever have something that hung over you, maybe something you were supposed to do, and that no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't motivate yourself to do it? I'm there. I've been there a while. I've decided to do something about it.
The thing about this blog that has tortured me so is that it tries to be all things to all people. It's part travel log, part political discussion group, part personal bitch session, and part photo log. In trying to be all these things, it does none of them well. And mostly, it doesn't reflect me well. All these posts got jumbled together and just seemed to get me more confused by the day.
So, from now on in this spot, I will only do one thing. Well, maybe two. I've decided to split my posts into separate blogs. I am resurrecting the Daktari blog as an issue-driven site. Visitors here won't have to slog through that crap to get to the awesome travel pics. Or recipes. Or stories about my weekend outings with Jake. Here on this blog, which I have re-Christened Trail Blazing After 40, and given a new look, you can find my latest adventures, travel picks, food stories, and generally the upbeat portions of my life. I promise. No more unraveling in front of complete strangers.
The Daktari blog will be the place where I engage in my political, racial, economic and graduate school diatriabes. I suspect that site will have far fewer visitors overall. LOL At present, I'm having some difficulty viewing the blog, but it will be operational as soon as I iron out the technical glitches. And after that it may take me a while to move my posts around so that each blog has it's appropriate archives.
Oh, and Jake now has his own blog. I hope that all your pups and pets will subscribe. He's a little nervous about his starring role.
So, forever is a relative term it would seem. And at least in this case, extinction was just an avenue for rebirth. I hope this is a solution that works not only for you, but also for me.
I hated feeling like I was pushing things on my readers. I'm thinking of your comfort as well as my own.
When you are a Kentucky native, today is a special day.
It's the high holidays.
The first Saturday in May is the Run for the Roses. If one lives in Kentucky, the week is marked by parades, by a great deal of Kentucky pride, a tradition of really bad hats that never see the light of day the other 364 days of the year, and planning for a day-long party with friends and family. Parties include mint julips, friendly betting, barbeque, and great food.
It is fantastically great fun. Thoroughbred horses are something that makes every Kentuckian verklempt. Attending the Derby is a rite of passage for every college-age Kentuckian. I have attended twice. I'm too old for that shenanigans anymore.
I don't live in Kentucky anymore. My day is marked by a 2-hour online investigation of the horses, their owners, their trainers, and most importantly, their jockeys. I then have to inform my family of my picks, trash talk theirs, and then we all watch the race on television. We seldom win. It doesn't matter. We all choke up when they the University of Louisville marching band plays the state song, My Old Kentucky Home. We deplore the celebrities who think they are "honorary Kentuckians" for a day. There is no feeling like being a native Kentuckian on Derby Day.
Last year, I missed my first Kentucky Derby of my adult life. D-fav Liv and I were on the road in the second leg of our Wild West Adventure. We had it planned to hit Roswell, NM, just in time for the race. Unfortunately, we had fubared the time change. The race had already run. I tried not to appear crushed. But it was like someone had stolen Christmas from me.
I know that no one else gets it. That's part of the attraction.
I picked Desert Party, Chocolate Candy, and Hold Me Back. My horses came in fifth, twelfth, and fourteenth. It's all good.
Mine that Bird went off at 50-1. It payed $102 for a $2 bet. The horse itself only cost $9500. The trifecta paid $500,000+. By golly, Kentuckians love that kind of rags to riches stories. Too bad the horse is a gelding. Best of luck to them as they head to Maryland.
So I was in the bathroom before bed and I heard something. Something faint. The sound of running water.
That is never a good sound. Unless, of course, you are actually standing in the shower.
So it sounds like it's coming from the laundry room. Nope. Nothing wrong in there, but from there is sounds like it is coming from under the house.
Broken water pipe? How long has that been running? Fantasies of unpayable water bills begin to fill my mind. So on go the clothes and out comes the flashlight and into the yard I go to investigate. I round the house and stick my ear down toward one of the grates. Oh yeah. That's running water all right.
I go over to the access to the crawl space, pull back the hacked piece of aluminum siding and the warped plywood board that serve as my crawlspace blockade. I move aside the cement block that hold the contraption in place, I squeemishly point my mag light inside. And what to my wondering eyes does appear? A sump pump fountain.
After returning to the house to unplug the sump pump, I go back out, haul it out, only to find that the discharge hose has come loose. The hose clamp has rust through and with nowhere to discharge the water, the sump pump was running continuously.
Thankfully, it was simply a matter of re-attaching the hose. I'll have to pick up a hose clamp tomorrow.
Along with a new chain lock and door handle for the back door. Oh, did I fail to mention that on my way out of the house this morning, the back door handle simply came off in my hand?
My house is falling apart. I need a man. Or at least more money to hire this stuff fixed. Or more time to fix it myself.
The lawn needs mowed, but thankfully it's too wet out there. At least I have THAT excuse.
D is Daktari. Daktari is me. I have many interests, but I'm no slave to a master plan. My greatest joy is in being fully open to what life presents. Adventure abounds and life is full of wonder. I am adventurer, explorer, friend, gypsy, and companion. My greatest vice is that I am far too accommodating of my curiosity. Despite this, my life is quiet but by no means unremarkable. I am willing to share what little insight I have gained, my thought processes, and the journey of my growth. If you like what you learn, I'm glad. If you don't, I'm not going to sweat it. Because ultimately, this is all about me.
This is mine. This is Daktari's place. Welcome. In case you wondered, I'm not apt to put up with a lot of crap. That doesn't make me a hard person. It makes me someone who doesn't put up with a lot of crap. I hope you enjoy the company of dogs. There is generally one hanging about these parts.