Happy Halloween!

In our town, when Halloween falls on Sunday, trick-or-treating is done on Saturday. We had only 1 group of 4 trick-or-treaters last night. They were all elementary school age, in costume, and polite. In other words, very cute.

When I opened the door and they caught sight of Dillon, they all sort of froze and one gulped out, "That's a really big dog." Dillon sat calmly at the door while I went out on the stoop to give them their candy. As I explained to them, "He's friendly, but I'd like him to stay here with me, not follow you from house to house."

Each child told me "Thank you" when I dropped a fun-size Milky Way into their bag. Their mother was waiting at the curb and she hollered up a reminder, "Tell her thank you!" Then they hurried down the steps to run to their next stop. It's fun to see kids still enjoying Halloween the way that I remember it.

The Canal Trail was decorated for Halloween. The Parks and Recreation Dept. sponsored a Haunted Trail Walk on Thursday and Friday nights. Some of the decorations were still up when Dillon and I went walking Saturday morning. They were simple, but brought a big smile to my face.



Dillon wasn't quite so sure. The scarecrow really scared him. He crept up to it cautiously and after giving it a big sniff, prepared to lift his leg on the hay bale beside it. I informed him that it wasn't polite to pee on the holiday decorations. He looked skeptical, but obeyed.





I thought the bats were particularly well placed and creepy.



This is supposed to be a really long snake.




Imagine coming across all of these things in the dark with sound effects and a few human characters thrown into the mix. You could hear the screams all the way to my house.

I love holidays and decorations. I'll be enjoying all the leftover candy too. The fun-size bars of Snickers, Milky Way, Twix, and packages of Peanut M&M's are just the right size to satisfy those late night or mid-afternoon chocolate cravings.

Real deal on Real Simple

I love magazines, but refuse to pay full price for subscriptions. Good things come to those who wait. Amazon has a one-year subscription to Real Simple magazine on sale for $10.00.

When ordering, you may want to double check that you select the one-year subscription, not the one-year subscription with auto-renewal. They're both $10, but I never choose auto-renewal. If you want to continue receiving a magazine at the end of the year, you can always purchase a new subscription, possibly even when it's on sale at a great price. Why lock yourself in and then have to jump through hoops if you don't want to continue receiving the magazine or find a cheaper price?

I can't seem to get Dad to understand that. Then of course I'm the one that has to go through the hassle of wading through multiple layers of an automated phone menu to cancel whatever it is he got a great deal on, but no longer wants.

Yard work

Dad and Dillon each have their own style and areas of expertise when it comes to helping in the yard. Dad waters. Dillon is on varmint patrol.






Good help is hard to find.

Seeing spots

I inherited a fondness for leopard prints from Mom. This year fashion and my taste jive and animal prints are once again considered chic. I was very happy to find this leopard print throw on sale at Belk last weekend. At only $12, it was a steal and is perfect for Dillon to snooze on when he's napping on my bed.


I also snapped up a leopard print belt to jazz up a black sweater set. Wearing it with my leopard print cardigan would be a bit too much of a good thing.

Who needs Florida?

It’s ridiculous that on one of the last days of October, I’m sitting underneath a running ceiling fan, sweating. Yesterday I wore shorts and a sleeveless shirt. Last night even Dad left the comforter off his bed. Fortunately, we missed the rough weather and storms that hit other parts of the state, but maybe that’s because we’re still waiting for a real cool front to come through.

Yes, this weather is unseasonably warm, but I don’t understand how retailers continue to sell wool sweaters and heavy coats. The only way I could wear a wool sweater is if I left the A/C running all winter. I have a great winter coat that I haven’t worn in several years. I’m plenty warm in a sweatshirt or my leather jacket. Granted, I don’t yet wear shorts year-round, but much of my current wardrobe would once have been classified as transitional. Thank heavens for ¾-length sleeve blouses and light cotton ¾-sleeve sweaters. Does anyone really need winter clothes anymore?

You're welcome

While I was in Target yesterday, I got a flu shot. Dad got his at the Senior Center about a week ago. I’ve never gotten a flu shot before and never had the flu. But the experts suggest that people living with infants and/or the elderly should get the shot. Plus, I read a list of occupations whose workers are most likely to be exposed to/catch the flu and for some reason, law offices were listed at number 3 or 4, right up there with health care workers and child care/elementary education employees. Wonderful.

So I rolled up my sleeve and got stuck. A little girl, walking down the aisle with her Dad, looked horrified. She probably thought she was safe from such things in Target. I told the pharmacist that I usually only did fun things in Target. She just laughed and then warned me that I might experience muscle aches for a day or two. What good timing, I have handbell practice on Mondays.

After rolling my sleeve down, I headed to the snack bar and treated myself to the biggest chocolate chip cookie in the display case. Mom used to give us maraschino cherries after we took our medicine and my pediatrician used to open his toy drawer and let us pick from his collection of trinkets after he stuck us. All the pharmacist gave me was a bag of pharmacy coupons and a small complimentary bottle of hand sanitizer. I'd been very brave and deserved a real reward.

At supper last night, I informed Dad that he could thank me since I got a flu shot for his sake. He looked surprised and not exactly thrilled to be classified as elderly. Of course, I wasn’t being entirely altruistic. If he gets the flu, I’ll have to play Nurse Nancy. A brief stick and a few muscle aches are preferable to days of being forced to soothe his fevered brow. If I get the flu this year, I’m blaming it on the shot and it’ll be all his fault. That news didn’t surprise him.

He's cooking Sunday dinner

Dad stopped by the grocery store this week because they had Diet Pepsi on sale. He won’t buy groceries like milk, eggs, or bread, but he will buy his own snacks, cereal, and soft drinks. While there, he noticed they had large frozen pizzas on sale for $1. He bought one to cook for his Sunday dinner. I wasn’t aware that he even knew how to operate the oven.

Sunday is my half day off. Since we go out for breakfast, Dad claims he’s not really hungry when lunchtime rolls around, so I don’t cook. He has to fend for himself. I think he normally has Nabs. After trying to eat a large $1 pizza, I’m betting he’ll be back to Nabs next Sunday.

Hear my plea

You may remember the Southern Baptist leader who recently proclaimed that yoga wasn’t a Christian workout. Personally, I think the man would benefit from doing a little yoga because he could use an increased flow of blood and oxygen to his brain. Maybe that would prevent him from making such idiotic comments in the future, unless of course his main goal was to generate personal publicity. Maybe he really just wanted a shot at appearing with Glenn Beck?

I’ve recently added yoga to my exercise routine. I use The No Om Zone DVD. It’s amazing how difficult some of those poses can be, even in a relatively simple workout for beginners. The workout doesn’t require or encourage chanting, but I do find myself asking, Please God let me get out of this pose. So you could say that doing yoga actually makes me a better Christian because it’s increasing my communication with our heavenly father.

Whoever named the poses obviously had a sense of humor. There’s the seated tree, the cat/cow, downward facing dog, and my personal favorite name, the dead bug. Of course, my favorite pose is the corpse. It’s the last pose in the workout. You lie perfectly still, flat on your back with your arms and legs extended out, just like a corpse, and let the relief wash over you that you’ve once again finished the routine without killing yourself.

The perfect poison

My kitchen has been invaded by ants. The first wave appeared after the recent rain. Maybe their tunnels were flooding? Then it turned cold and I guess they got chilly, so they came inside to enjoy the central heat. Their access point is the corner of the kitchen windowsill. I put out some of the plastic traps made by Terro. Apparently, they worked as an appetizer. There was no noticeable decrease in the number of ants I was seeing. I went in one morning to find ants all over the counter and around the sink.

Dad suggested that maybe the Terro was past the use-by date. It had been in the cabinet for several years, but who knew that poison had an expiration date? Shouldn’t it just get more deadly? They claim that if you use painkillers or prescription drugs past the expiration date, they’ll make you sick or worse. So legal drugs become more deadly with age and poison becomes less? Of course, that makes perfect sense, if the point is to make the consumer buy more of a product.

Dad went out Sunday and bought a different brand of ant trap. It may be working, but there were still ants on the counter Sunday night. I announced that until the ants were gone, I wasn’t cooking. “What difference do the ants make? You’re not cooking ants.” “That’s the point, I’m trying not to cook ants. But they’re all over the counter. They get under things left on the counter. They hide underneath the bottle of dishwashing liquid. They’re in the sink. I can’t lean against the counter without finding an ant on me. I had to run a pot of plain water through my coffee maker to be sure they weren’t in the reservoir.” I paused for a breath and finished with, “And only someone who spends no time doing kitchen chores would ask a stupid question like that.”

Monday morning, he headed to the store bright and early in search of more products to get rid of the ants. I’m not sure if he’s more concerned about no home-cooked meals or the possibility that I might assign him kitchen chores. The ant traps seem to be working and I’m using Clorox wipes on the marauders that I find running around on my counter. “Well, you’ve got nice clean counters now,” Dad commented when he saw my new plan of attack. I glared at him. He got the message and left the area before I started another rant.

Say what?

I was searching for my size on a rack of blouses in JCPenney yesterday when I noticed a couple of senior citizens passing in the aisle on the other side of the rack. They paused directly opposite me and the woman nodded at me and said to her companion, “I want you to get your hair cut like hers the next time you get a haircut.” I froze, unsure of whether to be flattered or appalled. The person she was talking to was obviously her husband and he was 75 years old if he was a day, and I wouldn't be surprised if he was closer to 80.

I gave them a weak smile. After waiting long enough to make sure her husband had gotten a good look at my hair, they continued on their way. I shared the story with Dad at lunch, still unsure whether to be amused or horrified. When he finished laughing, he choked out, “What kind of expression did her husband have on his face?” “He looked as uncertain as I was, like he didn’t know what to say.”

I guess I should count myself lucky they didn’t whip out a cell phone to take a picture to show his barber. At least the old man did still have a full head of hair. It was white as snow, but still attached to his head. No thanks to his wife, who I’m sure has made him want to pull it out by the roots upon occasion.

Good food fast

I made this for lunch yesterday and it was really good. Any meal than can be prepared and served in 30 minutes, and is also really tasty, is a winner in my book. I will say that the potatoes were bland, but that could have been intentional since the tomato salad (Which I did not refrigerate and was yummy!) and the steak were both very flavorful.

I used 1 really big tomato, I have no clue what it weighed but it would have made 2 tomato sandwiches, and 1 really big clove of garlic, and there was a lot of garlic flavor, so you may want to adjust the amount of garlic to taste.

The recipe is in the November 2010 issue of The Family Circle magazine.



Peppery Cube Steak
Makes: 6 servings
Prep: 10 minutes
Bake: 20 minutes
Cook: 4 minutes

Peppery Cube Steak
Ingredients

* 2 pounds beefsteak or plum tomatoes, seeds squeezed out, chopped
* 6 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
* 1 tablespoon olive oil
* 1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
* 1/4 teaspoon salt
* 1/8 teaspoon black pepper
* 3 tablespoons shredded basil
* 2 1/2 pounds fingerling potatoes, larger potatoes cut in half
* 2 tablespoons olive oil
* 1/4 teaspoon salt
* 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
* 6 beef cube steaks, about 4 ounces each
* 3/4 teaspoon Montreal steak seasoning

Tomato Salad. In a medium-size bowl, combine tomatoes, garlic, olive oil, vinegar, salt, pepper and basil. Cover and refrigerate for 20 minutes.

Potatoes and Steak. Heat oven to 450°. Coat a 15 x 10 x 1-inch baking pan with nonstick cooking spray. Place potatoes in the baking pan and toss with 1 tablespoon of the olive oil. Season with salt and pepper. Bake at 450° for 20 minutes, stirring once, or until fork-tender.

Heat remaining tablespoon olive oil in a large nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. Season both sides of steaks with Montreal steak seasoning. Sauté meat in batches, for 2 minutes, then turn and sauté for an additional 1 to 2 minutes, until medium-rare.

Serve steaks immediately with roasted potatoes and tomato salad.
Nutrition Facts

* Servings Per Recipe 6 servings
* Calories408,
* Total Fat (g)15,
* Saturated Fat (g)4,
* Cholesterol (mg)48,
* Sodium (mg)321,
* Carbohydrate (g)40,
* Fiber (g)4,
* Protein (g)31,
* Percent Daily Values are based on a 2,000 calorie diet

Emergency rations

When I was in Food Lion earlier this week, I noticed that they had Nabs on sale, 2 boxed packs for $4. I picked up a couple of packages to add to my emergency supplies. The experts all suggest stocking up on canned goods, rice, water, etc. Me, I figure that a good supply of Nabs will see me through any natural or man-made disaster short of the coming Apocalypse. When I got home, I told Dad about the sale and suggested that he replenish his supply. He goes through a lot of Nabs because he seems to regard any time I'm not preparing his meal as a natural disaster.

Another fan

Beth, one of the members of my handbell group, came to practice on Monday and informed me that, "You have the cutest father! His eyes just twinkle." Apparently Dad visited their frame shop. When I told Dad the next morning that he had a new member of his fan club, he shook his head and commented, "Gads, it's getting to the point, I'm scared to walk down the street." It hasn't quite reached that point, but it's amazing how many women think my father is adorable. I really think we're missing an opportunity by not putting together a portfolio and shopping his image around. There's bound to be money to be made.

Reading Buddy

On Mondays, I do my Reading Buddy thing at the local elementary school. This year I have a first grader, a little boy named Jamie. He’s very sweet and well behaved and stays where I put him! Just kidding, but he does stay in his chair, unlike the little boy I had 2 years ago who practically bounced off the walls and liked to crawl under the couch in the teacher’s lounge.

I was afraid that we’d be reading “See Jane run” and I’d be bored out of my mind. Fortunately, the reading curriculum has changed since my youth. The first week we read about pigs in wigs. Then we read about a big blue ox. This week we read about a mother fox and her kit. I’m a sucker for stories about animals.

The stories have been entertaining and Jamie is fun. He pays attention and makes comments and observations about the pictures and the story. I’d forgotten how innocent and open first graders can be. I’m trying very hard not to corrupt him with my own cynicism and sarcasm. I’m on my best behavior and strive to be enthusiastic and encouraging.

The school has a new sign-in system this year. In the past, you signed a paper sheet and received a stick-on label with the school’s name to wear on your shirt. This year, you sign in at a laptop computer, have your picture taken by a webcam, and wear your picture on your printed visitor badge. I find myself wondering if the laptop is networked in to some sort of criminal database to check on whether it’s safe to allow you to be around young, impressionable children. Next thing you know, they’ll want fingerprints.

Our Reading Buddy session falls during Jamie’s snack time. So he brings his snack along. He’s had chocolate brownies with orange frosting for the past 2 weeks. I don’t know how they taste, but they sure do look good. I have to remind myself not to drool. Maybe I should bring a snack too. I wonder if I’d have to declare it at check-in?

If I were a rich man.....

I'd commission custom portraits of Dillon and Katie and Holly. I'm hooked on the blog Painting a Dog a Day, pet portraits by Kimberly Kelly Santini. She paints the most incredible portraits of dogs and cats, even horses and pigs. Her work really seems to capture the personality of the pet. I check her blog daily and think wistfully, maybe someday.

Up and at'em

The only one at our house that woke up on time this morning was Dillon. He came over and put his chin on the bed at 6:30 a.m. I told him it wasn’t time to get up yet and rolled over, planning to lay there for 15 more minutes. These cooler mornings make it so tempting to stay in bed. The next time I looked at the clock, it was 7:30 a.m. Yikes! We’re usually headed for breakfast at around 7:45.

As Dillon and I started down the hall I was surprised, but relieved, to see there was no light on in the den. I wasn’t the only one who’d overslept. Dad stayed up late watching a Yankees’ baseball game. Sounds of life started coming from his bathroom shortly after I started moving around. I got in high gear so I could get Dillon fed and myself showered and dressed before Dad became too impatient.

I’m going to have to watch out in the future when I try to catch a few more minutes of sleep. Dillon's only recently begun coming over to the bed to let me know that he's up and thinks I should be too. I was actually trying to discourage that behavior by refusing to get up this morning. I don't want him to get in the habit of trying to get me out of bed at 6:30 a.m. every morning. I prefer to be the one telling him, "good morning."

If I could just reset his internal alarm for 6:45 or 7 a.m., his new trick would actually be helpful. Either that or I need to train him to come over every 15 minutes, sort of like a snooze alarm. Holly and Katie both used to do that with no prompting. Dillon's a little better at taking "no" for an answer. At least for the moment.

For my dog, getting up means good things are about to happen. It's either time for a walk or time for breakfast. Both are worth getting up for in his opinion. Of course, he takes a morning nap afterward. In the middle of the bed he got me out of. He's a very smart dog.

Sit and Stay

Dillon knows that he’s supposed to sit in order to get his breakfast or supper. He grasps the concept, but the finer details elude him. He races to his food stand and momentarily plops his butt to the floor. He then tries to start eating out of his bowl as I lower it to his level, without giving me a chance to get it into the stand. Occasionally I stop and reinforce the concept, but mostly I let him get away with it. He's just so darn cute. Yes, I know, I should withdraw the bowl until he waits patiently every time, but I’d never pass the Cesar Millan doggie discipline test.

This morning, Dillon raced to the food stand, skidded to a stop, misjudged the distance, and collided with the stand. It tipped over; sending his water bowl flying and water went everywhere. Normally a noisy calamity like this would send Dillon heading down the hall to get away from the commotion. If I bang a pot in the kitchen, he’s gone. When it’s his breakfast time however, hunger overrides the urge to flee. He was still trying to get to the food bowl in my hand as I was standing there contemplating the mess and wondering where the nearest towel was.

I righted the stand, put his food bowl in place, and cleaned up the mess while he gobbled up his breakfast. Fortunately, I hadn’t yet refilled his water bowl from the day before, so while there was water on the wall and the floor, it wasn’t a flood. And yes, I do realize which one of us has the other more well trained. Please don’t sic the Dog Whisperer on me. I prefer to worship him from afar.

Glee

I'll admit it, I'm a total Gleek. I love the Fox show, Glee. If you haven't seen it yet, it's on Tuesday nights at 8 p.m. It perfectly captures all the angst of high school, but what really reels me in are the song and dance numbers. It's sort of like watching a one-hour Broadway musical every week.

I adore Kurt, the openly gay, defiantly flamboyant character. His father, a mechanic struggling with his son's sexual orientation but loving him and supporting his son regardless of how incomprehensible his choices may be, is great too. In this week's episode, the father had a heart attack. Kurt struggled with the fear of losing his father and his own lack of belief in God. He tried to express his feelings by singing a plaintive, ballad-like version of I Want to Hold Your Hand, the old Beatles song. I will never think of that song in the same way again. It was heartbreaking. I sat there with tears rolling down my cheeks.

Of course Puck, the macho football player who sported a Mohawk last season, opened the show with a great cover of a Billy Joel song that I never associated with religion before. If I was still a teenager, there would be posters of Puck on my bedroom wall instead of Donny Osmond and Bobby Sherman.

It's refreshing to find a show that's smart and funny and entertaining. My other current favorites are Hawaii 5-O and The Defenders. Blue Bloods with Tom Selleck isn't bad either, although his relationship with the blonde reporter annoys me. It's so formulaic, older man/hot chick.

That can't be good

After leaving the office Tuesday, I had to stop by 2 banks to make work-related deposits. Both banks were conveniently located near Bojangles, so my plan was to pick up country ham biscuits for supper after I finished the banking. I didn’t leave the office until 4:35 p.m., so It was going to be close to make both banks before closing. I didn’t have to wait too long in the drive-thru of the first bank. I still had 8 minutes before closing and the second bank was practically right around the corner.

When I pulled into the bank parking lot, I noticed 2 lawn service workers pushing spreaders around the lot. I was relieved to see that no one was in the drive-thru lane, so I pulled up to the window and handed the teller the deposit. Don’t you know they must hate people who pull up to the drive-thru 3 minutes before closing?

It was a nice afternoon, so I had the sunroof open. When I glanced out my windshield, I noticed what looked like white smoke billowing in the vicinity of the car’s hood. The temperature gauge read normal and I didn’t smell anything. I figured perhaps the wind was blowing some of whatever the lawn service people were applying to the grounds in my direction. The teller handed me the deposit slip and I headed for Bojangles.

I didn’t notice the smoke anymore as I drove to Bojangles. I ordered my biscuits and drove around to the window. There was an older car in front of me. I started to notice white smoke again. At first, I thought it was the exhaust from the car in front. Yes, I was still in denial.

After they got their order and started the car up, I realized their car hadn’t been running while I was seeing the smoke. It must have been coming from my car. Uh oh. After I handed the employee my money, I realized there were still see faint wisps of smoke rising from under my hood. That couldn’t be good.

I wanted to get to out of the drive-thru and pop the hood to take a look, but I also wanted the change from the $20 I’d handed the employee. It was beginning to look like I might need all my spare change to pay the repair bill I could see in my future. I watched impatiently as she slowly counted out each dollar. Finally, she opened the window and handed me my change and food. I pulled into a nearby parking space, popped the hood, and didn’t see any flames. Surely, that was good news. Unfortunately, there did still seem to be smoke coming from somewhere.

The good news is that I was directly across the street from the Toyota dealer. After waiting what seemed like forever at a red light, I drove straight to the service department and hurried inside to tell Marshall, “There’s smoke coming out from underneath my hood.” By now, it was after 5 p.m., but there was still 1 mechanic left in back. “Is it smoke or steam?” Marshall asked. How did I know? There were clouds of white coming from my car and regardless of whether it was smoke or steam, something was wrong and I wanted them to fix it.

I popped the hood again. Marshall and the mechanic peered at the engine. They both immediately said it was the radiator. Marshall cautioned the mechanic to be careful and stand clear of the radiator cap. I backed way up. No point in my car and myself both needing repairs. The diagnosis was a crack in the top seam of the radiator.

“How long is a radiator supposed to last?” I asked. “That radiator isn’t that old.” “Where did you get it from?” Marshall wanted to know. “From you guys,” I replied indignantly. Turns out, it’s 4-1/2 years old. Still, according to my internet search, the average life span of a plastic replacement radiator is 8-10 years. What idiot decided that replacement radiators should be made of plastic? Marshall agreed to give me a break on the price of the new one.

My next problem was how to get home. I knew there was no point in calling the house because Dad won’t answer the phone. I was getting ready to call Uncle Bud, when Marshall offered to have someone drive me home. I started frantically shoveling the contents of the front seat into my tote and a shopping bag so that I didn’t leave anything important in the car.

When I got home, I informed Dad that from now on, if the phone rings when I’m not home, he’d better answer. I’ve tried to tell him before that it could be me calling, but he hadn’t been willing to accept that possibility. He assured me that in the future, he’d answer the phone, if he heard it. That assurance made me feel only marginally more secure.

Dad gave me a ride to work on Wednesday and Marshall delivered my car to the office when the repairs were done. You can’t beat that for service. I’m not happy about the repair bill, but I must say I was fortunate that the radiator blew up when and where it did. I’ve been really lucky over the years. When I have car trouble, I’m usually in my own drive-way, a Talbot’s parking lot, or across the street from the Toyota dealership. I’ve only been stranded by the side of the road once. Thank goodness for AAA and Bone’s Toyota. It pays to be a loyal, long-time customer.

A word of warning to all those non-mechanical minded folks like myself. I asked the man who drove me home what happens if all the water boils out of a radiator. It melts the rings or the pistons or something like that. Essentially, you destroy the engine. When you see smoke or steam, you’re supposed to immediately stop the car and turn off the engine.

I guess in retrospect, waiting for my biscuits and change wasn’t the smartest thing to do. On the other hand, if I hadn’t been in the Bojangles drive-thru, I’d probably have been driving home in the opposite direction of the Toyota dealership, still trying to convince myself that I wasn’t really seeing smoke. Sometimes it’s better to be lucky than smart. My country ham biscuit did qualify as comfort food and I was definitely in need of consolation when I contemplated the repair bill.

When I came home last night, the tv in Dad’s garage room was blaring, but he was in the den reading the paper. When I asked why, he said that it was time for me to be on my way home, so he thought he’d better be near a phone. I thought that was sweet. Then I pointed out that the cordless phone will work in the garage.

Finally Fall

Someone flipped the switch and it’s now fall. This morning I dug through the closet for my fuzzy leopard print fleece robe. The next thing I knew, I heard the furnace come on. Just last week, I was wearing shorts and sleeveless tops. Next thing you know, I’ll be reaching for the gloves to keep my hands warm on my walks.

Fall is a great time for walking. That crisp morning air is invigorating. It’s especially nice since the leaves haven’t started falling yet. I despise to rake leaves. I don’t see why you can’t stake a large net out on the lawn to catch the leaves when they fall and then just drag the net to the curb. Tom overheard me speculating on that as a possible solution and thought at first that I was trying to trap one of the neighbors. Nope, just their leaves.

I’m now craving apple cider, cocoa, and pumpkin bread. Dillon will be getting a batch of frightful cat-shaped dog biscuits as soon as I have a chance to get some baking done. It’s also about time to bake Dad an apple pie. Fall makes me hungry.

What's wrong with this picture?

Despite having the cable sports package, we apparently still don't get every game Dad wants to see. He complains about missing Yankee baseball games that are on the MLB network that isn't part of the package. I've got news for him, if I was going to expand my cable package, I'd be adding Center Ice not MLB. I don't get to see every Carolina Hurricanes' game and that's much more important in my book than a Yankees' baseball game.

Yesterday's Carolina football game was supposed to be on ESPN3 which he gets, but I don't. Apparently it wasn't shown as advertised, so he missed that game too. Being able to watch the NC State-Va Tech game did not make up for missing Carolina in his book. If he wants to see every game played, he can spring for satellite and the extra sports packages required. I'm not paying any more money just so he can complain that whatever team he watched didn't play up to his standards.

If you're in the market for a ball python, they're 50% off at Petco this week. I was checking out their circular to see if they had any cute Halloween accessories for big dogs and the snake was pictured directly below. If you're looking for something a little cuter, gecko's are also 50% off and hamsters are 20% off. I'm having a hard time wrapping my brain around the concept of being swayed into buying a pet just because it's on sale this week. Somehow that just seems wrong. Of course, having a snake of any sort as a pet seems wrong, regardless of price.