Wining or Whining?

Anyone who knows me knows: I LOVE WINE.

I've been trying to learn more about wine, but let's face it. I'm a novice. Actually a novice of a novice. The difference between me and some other folks is that I'm not afraid to admit it.

Have I overpaid for a glass or bottle of wine because I knew no better? Yes.
Have I enjoyed wine from a box? Yes.
Have I grossly mispronounced a type of wine or name of a vintner? Yes.
Have I ever tasted Boone's Farm? OK, yes...but I was a teenager. Some slack, please.

The dictionary defines connoisseur as "a person who is especially competent to pass critical judgments in an art, particularly one of the fine arts, or in matters of taste." Am I a connoisseur? Heck no. All I'm saying is that I'm a fan, and I know what I like. I like crisp over buttery; peppery over plummy; dry over sweet. The more I read-taste-learn-taste-research-taste (yes, a pattern emerges), the more I can blindly detect the differences.

Lately, as I peruse Facebook, Twitter, Google and all other things digital, I'm noticing that many people don't just say, "I'm enjoying a glass of wine." They feel compelled to alert you to the fact that they're opening a bottle of Santa Margarita Pinot Grigio (which is, overpriced in my extremely humble opinion). Or a Napa this or a French that. I'm confident that of the people who read the alert, the ones who know wine just think it's pompous and the ones who don't know wine don't really care.

The more I learn, the more I know what I like and what to look for on a label. And most of the time, it's not the price tag. A wise man (and wine expert) told me that it's wonderful to enjoy a good, expensive bottle of wine - and encourages everyone to do so. But don't overlook and certainly attempt to taste the hundreds of wine values that are out there. And he was most definitely NOT talking about MD 20/20.

That being said, I'm going to open a Diet Dr Pepper, of the Waco region, canned (hopefully) in 2009. I'm saving the sauvignon blanc for a bit later. Cheers!

Giving the "Right" Gift

I learned from my mom that giving the right gift doesn't always mean the most expensive, or biggest or most extravagant. The old adage "it's the thought that counts" is really true.

I've been very blessed in life to be the recipient of some thoughtful gifts. Some more extravagant than others, many small in size but huge in heart. Some favorite (but certainly not all) memories:

- A collie puppy because the giver knew I loved "Lassie."
- A horse because my parents wanted to preserve their sanity.
- A hand-crocheted afghan from someone who really didn't have the time to do it.
- Maroon bed sheets for college at Aggieland.
- A gift bag full of cleaning products to a broke, new college graduate.
- A bookmark because someone knew I loved to read.
- Recycling an inspirational plaque from one who lost a pet, to me when I lost one.
- Airline miles so I could visit a friend.
- Handmade Valentines from my husband.

It's all about giving from the heart and not worrying about the price tag. Don't worry that it's too small a price tag. And if you have the means, don't worry that it's too grand. Give of yourself and give with love and you'll get love back.

Our Christmas Gift - "Chance"

It was the day after Turkey Day and the only things stirring were the sounds of Christmas to come: plastic tubs full of Christmas decorations being dragged across the hardwoods, my husband cursing at the ever-unstraight tree top, a football game on TV that no one really cared to watch and me, wondering out loud if 11:30 a.m. was too early to crack open the Pinot Grigio.

On one of my husband's many trips to the garage for yet another unhelpful decorating tool, he hears a "squeak." Much to his surprise - by total "chance" - he finds the sweetest little constantly purring kitty following him around. Well, you can imagine that my husband, AKA "The PUNisher," named him Chance. Only 5 minutes after he arrived. He fell in love with Chance faster than a new Callaway driver.

Being the responsible one, I posted messages on our community e-mail boards and after a couple of weeks and no responses, we knew Chance was here to stay. Our older cats were beginning to figure out he wasn't leaving and he has actually given them a spark of playfulness that they heretofore hadn't exhibited at age 14. Chance also made friends with our dog, Chip - much to Chip's delight. (He's only used to the older cats ignoring and/or hissing at him.)

So we had a very Merry Christmas - by Chance!

The Least Favorite Things File: Grocery Shopping

My husband contends that in our marriage vows, if he knew “for better or worse” meant having to grocery shop with me, he might have bailed on the whole thing. He’s right. I HATE to grocery shop.

My mother LOVED to grocery shop. To her, it was a social outing. She had her three favorite stores. She would see her friends there. She knew store managers, checkers, sackers and specialty department managers. They knew her and were all happy to see her coming. Not just because she was spending money in their stores, but she was kind to them. She appreciated their jobs and what they provided. Oh yes – and because at Christmas, she baked goodies for them.

I’m really a kind person – but it’s a different world out there now. To me, grocery shopping is not an event – it’s a chore. And it’s usually a big chunk of paycheck, even with coupons. Why is it a chore? Because of the people I usually encounter when I embark on a shopping trip.

Bad Drivers 1 – Outside. These folks can’t seem to notice that the lines on the parking spaces are slanted at a direction completely opposite of the direction they’re driving. And no, you cannot “whip” that Suburban into the space from the wrong direction. These are also the drivers who apparently don’t understand the meaning of “crosswalk.”

Cross Walkers. Not only do these people take as much time as possible to navigate the crosswalk, but they do it at the longest diagonal line they can manage. No straight shot across for them – no. They have to be in the path of vehicles for the longest amount of time they can muster. Kids, cell phones, loose shoe strap, lack of equilibrium – whatever it takes to stay in the way.

Bad Drivers 2 – Inside. Now we’re in the store, behind the cart. C’mon people, it’s America – treat the aisle like a road and drive on the right. Don’t stop, leave your cart in the middle of the aisle, and go back 15 feet to grab the Nutter Butters. Would you leave your vehicle on Westheimer Road while you went back to grab a soda at Valero?

Deli-Tasters. How many samples of ham can you taste? Do you REALLY not know the difference between gouda and pepper jack cheese? If you’d like lunch, hit the drive-through at Mickey D’s. And speaking of McDonald’s…

Out-of-Control Kids. Take your kids to the Playland. I know you’d like to tire them out for their nap, but please CONTROL YOUR CHILDREN. The only reason you should allow them to run up and down every aisle without your supervision is if your retirement plan includes a corporate lawsuit against the store when they crash into an end-aisle display. And thanks for loading up four of them – along with a full basket of items - on one of those carts made to look like a car. You usually can’t steer it and you’re in everyone’s way.

Coupon Perusers. I’m a coupon-a-holic. But I’m an organized one, ready to go with list and coupons in hand. Nothing is more fun than the person on the busiest aisle…wad of coupons (or worse, flyers with uncut coupons) in hand…thumbing through the ones that aren’t being dropped on the floor…then bending and chasing them all around the aisle. You can double the fun if you add bored spouses, an impatient mother-in-law or kids to this equation.

People Who Can’t Count Their Items. The sign says “15 Items or LESS.” Did you fail Sesame Street? (And it's "fewer" by the way.)

Clueless Sackers. Do they give bonus points to sackers for constantly chatting with fellow sackers? For putting the can of V8 on top of my bread? For bagging the leaky bleach cleaner bottle in the same sack with the dry pet food? For lobbing the easily-bruised tomatoes and apples to the side in search of a new sack? For wedging the piece of chocolate-iced cake down the side of the cart so the icing will stick to the top of the container? Bonus points like that should get you a vacation!

Cart Dumpers. Thank you so much for leaving your empty shopping cart in the empty parking space. Not only does it prevent someone from parking their vehicle there, but it enables the wind to propel the cart into the side of my car door.

And everyone needs a door ding to remind them of their fun trip to the grocery store, don’t they? Cha-CHING.

Mixed Messages?

As I sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic this morning (mind you, this was the "alternate" route I had chosen), I was passing time by seeing how long I could keep my hybrid on battery power and scrolling through my i-Pod. When all of a sudden, I noticed a four-wheeled, rolling oxymoron.

A dump truck merged in front of me - politely, I might add - and I was taken aback by the personal displays on his vehicle. The back tire's mud flaps both proudly displayed that glorious homage to women, the metallic silver silhouette of the naked, Playboy-bunny shaped female. This is not uncommon, you'll see it on most big rigs, construction vehicles and many oversized personal pick-ups. (Thanks guys - for scoring points with women, this ranks right up there with cat calls from a group of construction workers on site.) But what struck me as funny was the large sticker of Jesus on the back flap gate of his dump truck.

I'm not a religious freak. I'm also not a raving feminist. So this doesn't anger me, it simply makes me wonder.

I'm pretty sure I learned in Sunday School that God created the female and male form, so Jesus MUST appreciate a shiny silver naked woman silhouette, right? Or is there a contradiction here? Is there a "Seven Deadly Sin" offense here somewhere with lust or coveting or something? Maybe not adultery or coveting, since we don't know if shiny naked woman is married or not. I guess God-fearing, Jesus-loving men can still enjoy the female form - but I'm just not sure!

Weigh it on this if you have an opinion.

Reality TV and the Demise of the Cultured World as We Know It

I’m not a snob. I didn’t grow up wealthy. I didn’t summer in the Hamptons or ask my “mummy” for anything. But I do appreciate culture…and I’m seeing a decrease in a lot of things that promote it. We can banter about texting and e-mailing versus books or the traditionally written word. Don’t even get me started about the insanity that is Twitter – my boss makes us do it, which is why you see it to your right.

No matter what the palette, fashion used to be driven by classic lines, timeless colors coupled with bold, maverick innovation. I hate that yesterday’s Chanel boucle suit is today’s thong showing above a low-rise jean; that a Shelby Mustang is now a Smart Car; or that a welcoming Henredon wing chair has been replaced by a toothpick futon. In this evolution, style and workmanship seem to have been replaced by portability, disposability and laziness.

Evolution is inevitable in all forms of culture…TV included. Classic comedies of the 50’s (I Love Lucy, The Honeymooners), the great westerns of the 60’s (Gunsmoke, Rawhide), the groundbreaking sitcoms of the 70’s (All in the Family, Sanford and Son), the eye-candy nighttime soaps of the 80’s (Dallas, Dynasty), the gritty crime dramas of the 90’s (NYPD Blue, Law and Order) – have all been eclipsed by what has been coined “the dumbing down of America.”

Eclipsed by what? Reality TV.

Let’s be honest here – there is NO reality in reality TV. Do you REALLY think a bachelor/bachelorette can find true love in a 13-week ratings period? Do you think Donald Trump would really fire someone who is attracting ratings? Shouldn’t I be afraid that viewers – MANY viewers – want to see contestants eat a variety of creatures and organisms that were never meant for human consumption? Why on earth as a wife, would I want to swap families with someone? Not only do I NOT want their problems – I wouldn’t impart the problems of our family on them. Nothing gets solved that way. And please – Super Nanny is just pointing out the obvious – bratty kids with lazy, selfish parents. From the promos, it looks as though she scolds the parents as much as the kids…and maybe that is good.

There are a few exceptions. Extreme Makeover Home Edition really helps families – one just hopes they are able to maintain the beautiful structure and it’s newly raised property taxes. The Biggest Loser is great for helping people get to a healthy weight – and hopefully the people are able to keep their weight at these healthful levels. Even The Donald, who I dogged previously, turned his reality show into a charity fundraiser, which is always a benefit.

But in general, Reality TV is a trend. It is cheap entertainment to produce. The “actors” don’t have to be talented – they simply entertain at the expense of their own pride and/or health. It’s not a slap to the programming budget if it fails. It’s easy to throw something our there and see what sticks.

If Marshall McLuhan was correct, and the medium IS the message, then send out an SOS right now! And take your hand off the remote!

Losing Zach - A Lesson in Lack of Knowledge

We recently lost our beloved Irish setter, Zach to Gastric dilatation-volvulus (GDV) is also known as "Bloat," "Stomach Torsion," or "Twisted Stomach." It was a condition to which we were completely oblivious - until it was too late.

I write this to alert all pet owners - ask your vet what diseases and afflictions might be inherent in your pet. The only thing I had ever heard of to be wary of for setters was hip displaysia. Even if you think you're being paranoid, knowledge is power - the power to keep your pet alive in some cases.

On this day, we mistakenly thought Zach had absorbed or ingested some weed killer - and we were totally wrong. We watched helplessly as he panted incessantly; tried unsuccessfully to throw up; to get comfortable by laying down in several positions; tried to stay cool. He didn't eat nor did he drink and as a result, no pottying. When we took him to the vet, they made him as comfortable as possible, tried to alleviate the air in his stomach and sedated him to stop the panting.

Surgery was available but it was expensive and the odds of success were not good. So we had to say goodbye and let God welcome him. After hours of crying we started to look up GDV/Bloat on the Internet. They listed what dogs are susceptible. Surprisingly to us, it looked like a resume for Zach.

Breed - Irish Setter is #4 most likely to get it.
Genetics - Large/narrow chest confirmation, a breed standard for setters.
Age - Dogs over 7 years of age. Zach was 7 and a half.
Gender - Male dogs are twice as likely to develop GDV. Zach was all boy.
Eating habits - Dogs fed once a day are twice as likely to develop GDV as those fed twice a day. We feed once a day.
Temperament - Nervous, anxious, or fearful appear to be at an increased risk of developing bloat. Zach operated at Mach 10 all the time.

The vet was generous and kind in telling us there was nothing we could have done to prevent it. But I really feel that had we known, we'd have done some things differently. RIP, my sweet Muttles. You are missed.

If you'd like more information please go to this very helpful link: http://www.peteducation.com/article.cfm?c=2&aid=402

My Own Personal Michael Jackson

On this day after the death of “King of Pop” Michael Jackson, the media is rampant with stories, theories, anecdotes, interviews and musical montages. It seems the key topics of information relate to the cause of his death, the amazing success of “Thriller” and MTV as well as all the allegations of child crimes. While I see their point and I realize what boosts ratings and sells papers, Jackson’s passing meant a trip down memory lane for me.

I remember being a 7-year old girl in 1969 Florida and having two posters on my bedroom wall: The Osmond Brothers and The Jackson 5. At the time, I didn’t think it might be breaking new ground to have a poster of a black (the phrase African-American had not yet been coined) pop group on my wall, but in the deep South, it showed how the very talented Jackson brothers were moving quickly into the mainstream. I just thought Michael (like Donny O) was “cute.” Take THAT, New Kids!

I remember many half-hours of joy, laughing at the cartoon antics of the Jackson 5, back before MTV or VH1 were the television promotional tools of choice for bands. The brothers had so much fun getting in and out of their harmless trouble each day, it was one of the few times I grumbled at being an only child.

I remember 10 years after the poster went up on the wall, winning a 1979 dancing contest at a dance held in the Conroe Sacred Heart Catholic Church, to the tune of “Don’t Stop ‘til You Get Enough.” Although I’m not Catholic, lots of my friends were and I was just glad they allowed dancing. Ironically, my prize was a Linda Ronstadt country-pop album, “Simple Dreams.”

I remember buying the cassette tape of “Thriller” and then thinking I’d better buy the album too because “it would probably be very popular and valuable someday.” Little did I know. And on top of that, my mom absent-mindedly sold it in a garage sale.

I remember moving into adulthood, dancing non-stop to songs like “PYT” and “Wanna Be Startin’ Something” in the trendy clubs of the 80’s. And I remember thinking, “man, I wish I could dance like him.” The adult side of my brain replied, “yeah, right!”

I know his last years were clouded with bizarre happenings, doubt about his character and controversy about his actions. I’m not sure I have an opinion on any of that because I believe none of us have all the facts. I will choose to remember him for the wonderful memories and music he left for me – left for us all. And thank goodness for the i-Pods that allow us to keep his music with us!

RIP, Michael – may your pain be ended.

P.T. Barnum Would Have Loved “As Seen on TV”

I read in a research journal that in this time of economic strife, the “As Seen On TV” retail business is booming. Not only are people staying home, finding things to occupy their time, but the product offerings are affordable. We can “treat ourselves.” But there are a lot of things they’re NOT: Functional? Not. Fashionable? Not. Rational? Not. Here’s what I mean:

The Sham Wow. My neighbor was sucked into one of these faster than the water gets sucked into the Sham Wow in the video. IT DOESN’T WORK. The video is full of flubs and inconsistencies between wet and dry. What do you expect from a pitch-man who’s been arrested on deviant charges?!?

The Snuggie. Are we not fat and lazy enough in this country to be able to wrangle our arms from underneath a blanket? Plus, it’s just ugly. And if you try and walk in it, you risk falling, tripping and hurting yourself. Then you’ll need the “As Seen On TV” medical alert bracelet because you’ll have fallen and can’t get up!

Save-A-Blade. Why am I paying $19.95 plus $6.95 S&H for a device to sharpen a plastic Bic razor that cost me around $2-$3 for a package of 6? I’m not a math major, but this seems silly.

Bumpits Volumizing Hair Inserts. Remember: “Flat hair is so last year.” Ladies – it’s called “TEASING.” Try it – it worked for your mom, your grandma, Nancy Sinatra and Dolly Parton. If you’re saying, “Who?” then look Nancy Sinatra up on the Internet. She had a famous dad.

GS27 Scratch Remover. OK, OK – I was conned into this one. I had a new car, there were scratches on the side, so I caved. Guess what!?! IT DOESN’T WORK. And yes, I can get my $14.95 back, but not my original $6.95 S&H. AND I have to pay to mail it back. Not likely.

Well I guess Barnum WAS right – there’s one born every minute because these products keep cropping up on TV. Instead of buying things “you’ve seen on TV,” why not invest the money in HBO or something. In the long term, you’ll save money. Now, if I can just keep my husband from buying the “Topsy Turvy Tomato Hanger,” we’ll be fine.

Will Pets Rule the World?

I love my dogs. I really do. But c’mon. They are DOGS. I realize that some folks see their furry friends as their children. I get it. I’ve never had children either. Lately, I’ve seen lots of situations and products that make me think, “wow – these people have more money than sense.” If I DID have children, I’m not sure there are a lot of these things that I’d experience with THEM. If you look in my blog archives from July of 2008, I went on a mini-rant about a lady at my nail salon that brought her dog in with her. PLEASE. Here are some actual “real-life-occurrences that just have no place with your pet:

Strollers – There’s a high-rise next to my office. Lots of people walk their dogs, as they should. However, as I drove into work, I spotted one lady with an old-fashioned, pram-style stroller. In the stroller were three – YES 3 – white, fluffy little dogs, just enjoying the ride and panting as if they were actually walking. Isn’t the purpose of a dog walk to “walk the dog?” I almost hit a fence! As we all know from my previous blog entries, there’s no stroller big enough on this planet to fit even ONE of my dogs, let alone one of them riding shotgun in a stroller.

High-End Mattresses – One of our local retailers is advertising Tempurpedic® mattresses on sale. Nothing wrong with that. The wrong part came when they started hyping their Tempurpedic® mattresses FOR DOGS. I can’t even afford one for myself – let alone provide one for my pets, who will promptly devour it as the large, foam rubber marshmallow it is. We’ve seen what Chip can do to a rose bush, so foam rubber is a piece of sponge cake to him.

Pet Clothes – If you live in the north or Midwest, and your pet needs to go outside in the dead of winter, then dog clothes (i.e. sweaters) serve a purpose. However, dressing your mastiff like Madonna or your Persian like Paris Hilton means there is a spark plug that’s not firing in your brain. Why don’t you put on a furry Chewbacca costume as you’re putting clothing on your pet…see how long you enjoy it?

Kitty Clothes – Oh please. Enough said. Good luck with those back claws.

Pet Swimming/Life Preservers – OK…these may have a place. Older or crippled animals would probably need these. But geesh – there’s a reason the swimming teacher called it “the dog paddle.” And if you’re afraid that Spot will jump off the Sea Ray, then leave him on dry land.

As ludicrous as these things are, I will however, give kudos to the companies and retailers for seeing their niches and jumping on them. And we wonder why people are worried about “the dumbing down of America?” I rest my case.

Keep Mom Away From My Hair!

I grew up in an era where women – my Mom specifically – went to the “Beauty Shop” once a week to have their hair shampooed and set. Mom’s day was Friday. Personally, I can’t imagine going 2 days without washing my hair – Mother did it for SEVEN DAYS, every single week. And in South Texas – the heat and humidity capital of the world, I might add. By Day 6, my Mom was crazed – scratching her scalp and trying to tease some last lift of life into a hairstyle that had been slept on for five nights.

That’s when she came looking for me. I think we suffered the payback for moms who didn’t have any daily control over their hairstyles. I was like a live doll whose hair my mom could play with. And she wasn’t really good at hair styling – face it, she had someone else do it for a reason. Hopefully, you were lucky and you had thick hair with lots of it. Not me.

Mom honestly taped bows to my head as an infant, because I had no hair. My current stylist has called my hair “chemically challenged” and he’s right. Think soft like corn silk – yes, like the stuff you pull out of an ear of corn. Think dental floss –stringy and easy to rip. Before you think this is beautiful or ethereal, stop. No barrettes; they don’t have enough to clip onto. Never a hip patch of leather with the stick through it like all the cool hippie girls wore. French braids? Ha – Sacré Bleu!

Join me in a stroll down follicle lane as I flashback - I'm sorry, relive - Homemade Hair Hell from the 60’s and 70’s, all instigated or endorsed by my Mom.

Dog Ears – Why would you give your daughter a hairstyle named for a canine? That’s just not right. And despite the fact my dad had several construction levels, my “ears” were never the same height – one was always slightly higher than the other. Plus - my hair was so short that I always had an inch or 2 of hair hanging down at the nape of my neck. Always a good look.

Uneven Bangs – If mommy can go to the beauty shop, then WHY COULDN’T I?!? Edward Scissorhands had nuthin’ on my mom! I ran when I saw her coming with the scissors. It always looked like my mom cut my bangs on a hill…and this was before punk ushered in asymmetrical hairstyles.

Braids – Obviously, French braiding was out. One has to have more than twenty hairs for that to work. And regular braids made me look like a low-rent Pippi Longstocking. Or Cindy Lou Who on crack.

Bad Perms – Probably the only good thing my mom did was not allowing me a perm back in the day. Sure, it would have added some body to my otherwise flat hair, but back then, there was a lot of room for error. And face it, she would have wanted to do it herself and that's an equation that would've scared Einstein – My Mom + The Home Perm = Burning Hair. So I’m lucky to have escaped this.

Sponge Rollers and Picks – Because my mom wouldn’t let me have a perm, this was the alternative. Obviously created by a man (or someone at Guantanamo Bay), you rolled your hair up wet, crammed a pick in to secure each roller AND you slept on them! Go to your pantry. Get 8 – 10 sheets of aluminum foil and scrunch each one up into a spiky ball. Put all the balls on your pillow and try to sleep on them.

Brain-Crushing Headbands – Speaking of torture, this is simply another device aimed at little girls. Teeny little comb-like spikes dig into your scalp. The 2 sides of the band methodically and slowly squeeze your temples until you start to see stars and pass out. If this didn’t get you to turn the volume down on Scooby-Doo, nothing would!

Palm Trees – I spent some of my younger days in Florida, and Floridians thought it was cute to put one pony tail smack-dab on top of your head and call it a palm tree, because of the way it fell on top like the fronds of a palm tree. This might have been cute when I was 2 – but not at 10.

Sun In – Ah, the beautiful glow of sun-kissed hair. Spray this on and you’ll become a real-live Malibu Barbie. NOT! You instantly become Carrot Top and the Hubble Telescope zones in on you, mistaking your head for the Red Planet Mars.

Asphyxiation with Aerosol Hair Spray – You want to know the REAL cause of global warming, Al Gore? It was my mother and her Final Net. It was like being in the house when the exterminator bombs for bugs. So breathing this in had to be good for us – it had to have killed some germs, right? And as an added bang for you thrill-seekers, my mom SMOKED while she shellacked her hair or my hair.

Bandanas – Who’d have ever thought that a cowboy accessory would make such a versatile hair helper? (insert sarcasm) You can roll it up and tie it off like a hairband. You can wear it in the “Bubushka” style, with the little flap falling over the crown of your head. You can go “Rosie the Riveter” style – which is what we used to call the current “doo-rag.” No matter how you wear it, you look like Britney Spears’ backwoods cousins, waiting for the tornado to take your trailer.

Rubber Bands vs. “Hair Bands” – We didn’t have to spend the whopping 29 cents on a package of cloth-covered, protective hair bands. Not when we got a daily newspaper – we had plenty of rubber bands in every color in the crayon box. So not only are you putting something in your hair that’s stained with newsprint ink and has been thrown in the street, the only way you can remove these from my hair was to cut them out or rip out a handful of hair with it.

You know – maybe Mom was onto someting…that weekly beauty shop visit doesn’t sound so bad after all!!!