Out of Butter

Our garage refrigerator went on the fritz. Something is always broken around here.

It's fixed now but there were a few casualties. I lost a pork roast and some beer. Since I don't drink beer, I don't care.

I also lost my last pound of butter, bought by the Belle. I haven't bought butter in over three years because she always bought more than I could use in a year with every shopping trip. Throwing it out made me sad -- like a last nod to my oldies.

When I return from the lake, I will have to grocery shop. I will have to buy butter. I will probably have a meltdown in the Dairy aisle.

Oldies Lessons

It's not exactly haunting but I still feel the oldies. I dream of them. I think of them as I look at butter. I must be moving on because I'm able to eat fried foods again -- as long as they aren't cooked in my kitchen.

Our supplies of paper products are dwindling. The Belle would be on the case. She would march out with Hangdog -- she did not walk, she marched -- and restock. I think she's tapping me on the shoulder.

I've tried to figure out the lessons I was supposed to learn through the oldies experience. Here's what I think so far:

Families who get along all the time don't know each other very well.
Honor thy father and mother.
The verbal jab is not as harsh if you start it with, "Love, I need to tell you ..."
Your children, whether 6 or 60, will always be your children.
Sometimes it's okay to admit that you don't like your family.
There's a delicate balance between dependency and independence. No one knows the formula.
Don't shame the family name.
Accessorize.
Work that you love is a gift.
Learn to make a couple of dishes and make them your specialty.
Never forget a grandchild's birthday.
A deal is a deal.
Music is a salve.
Sometimes you have to choose between being right and being happy.

What did she learn from me? Probably things like:

Relaxing on the patio takes the stress away.
Wearing comfortable clothing to the doctor is okay.
Home cooking doesn't have to happen three times a day.
Some foods taste better when they're not fried or boiled to death.

The Belle is tapping me. Some lessons came along too late for her to abide by but she still imparted the wisdom to others.

Eight Pounds of Butter

Another excursion for the oldies. Off to the Walmart! I made a sarcastic comment about the venture and quickly got the "Nip it!" sign from the husband.

I wrenched my shoulder and my elbow hauling and unloading the trunk.

We have this garage cooler. It's not a regular refrigerator; it's an actual cooler like you would find in a convenience store. (We know people.) This frig is meant for drinks and I reloaded the stash. The oldies put half sandwiches and other leftovers in there. It makes Big Daddy crazy.

He paces in the morning. In my mind, he's checking the weather. Can I play golf today? He prowls around the garage. Then, he looks in the garage cooler. After the Walmart trip, he noticed a new addition.

"Why do we have eight pounds of butter?"

He was not exaggerating.