Could she have been a former school teacher?  Maybe.   A controlling wife-type?  Possibly.  ………….Or perhaps she is the current Queen & Ruler of the distant Planet, SpellinBeaZanium.  THAT is more likely.

You see, the other day, a proper lady walks in to TOAST for breakfast.  She summons the Manager (my dear friend Sharon) and asks if she is in “Charge” around here.  Sharon, thinking the woman meant the restaurant aforementioned….. responds politely,  “Well…..Yes m’am.  I’m in charge here.”

The Lady reaches into her very stylish handbag, announces that she is from Connecticut, and has noticed a few errors that she would like to bring to the Boss’ attention.  So be it.  She produces a small sheet a paper,  from a Connecticut notebook, on which….. she has recorded and transcribed those shocking, and deplorable, transgressions.

There appears to be a misspelling on the sign at the Poyas-Mordecai House, as well as one at the Scots Presbyterian Church.   Yes.  Two words spelled wrong, on signs, on Historic Meeting  Street.

HOLD the PHONE Gertrude!!!  STOP the PRESSES!  Don’t move another DANG inch.  How could Charleston have made it through several city fires, the Revolutionary and the Civil War, not to mention a series of earthquakes and hurricanes….. ALL this time with…. with such blunders and fallacies right on THIS VERY street?

The genteel lady from the north thought “someone” should be alerted.  Thank you Lady.  I am alerting.

Yes, Sharon brought the little sheet of paper over to my table, as a gift of ALL gifts.

Of course, I had to verify….  before I alerted.  And as you can see, Miss Connecticut, was quite thorough in her transcriptions.  I think the whole New Englander thing is simply a ruse, buy the way.  Again, it is my contention that she a Ruler from another Planet, dropping by for a teeny visit, some coffee, and a bowl of grits.   Her kingdom for a Dictionary.  “Take me to your Leader.”

And somebody help us down here… this is too looney for even me to conjure up……..

Our sweetie-dog Max has been a bit under the weather lately.  So, I’ve been trying to do some little things to make her feel better, somehow.  One such attempt:  I bought her a cushy-fluff-bed for dogs 20 pounds and under.

Apparently Frances did not read the tag on this bed.  Maybe she can’t read.  At any rate, the 65 pound Frances insists on pouring herself in to this little round bed every night.  She curls her body up as tight she can get it, and snuggles in for the sugar plum dance.  By morning, she is quite sprawled all over the place and complains of a stiff neck.

Ms. Frances used to have a bed of her own.  Queen-of-France-Size…. but she would never lay on it.  “This one is toooooooooo big.”  she’d say in her doggy brain.

So now, she is quite content with this set up.  And little Max could care less really.  She sleeps where ever the heck she wants to.  Except for in her own bed.

Wonder Dogs, I’ll tell you.  Wonder Dogs…..

But trust me, I am nowhere close to being Sweet Polly Purebred.  More like…. like…………corn bread…. wouldn’t you say?!  Yep, that’s probably more like  it.

You know…… when you see a tree praying, it gives you reason to pause.  I’ve known a lot of trees in my day, I’ll tell you.   I still don’t know many by name… like my Botanically-Inclined friends do.   But even still…. you don’t see ’em praying so often.

I know the kind you get at Christmas are probably some kind of Evergreen.  And….I frequently mistake bushes for trees….  I can sort of tell which trees are fruit trees.  But, I’m getting off track here… I won’t get caught up in the name game.

Back to what I’ve seen trees do… in the Looney Tunes, some of them can really do a mean line dance.  I’ve also known trees to throw their very own apples at little dogs, and girls with pig tails.  I’ve watched numerous trees shed their leaves in the autumn… which is both beautiful, and sad, at the same time.

I stopped to shoot this praying tree, and then to detect what I could hear.  A tourist stopped me.  He was wearing black socks, white leather loafers, knee-length shorts, and a “Kiss My Grits” T-Shirt… that I’m sure he just purchased a few store windows down.  It almost covered his entire Big-Mac Tank.   “Watcha’ taken’ pictures of?”  he queried.

“This praying tree.  I was trying to hear its invocation.”

He turned to his wife and said…”Does she think I’m stupid?  Or some kinda’ dumb*ss  tourist?”…..as they walked toward their car with the “Palin 2012” sticker on the back bumper.

I dropped down on me knees, right then and there, and started praying with that tree……

Sometimes, people have trouble letting go of things.

Like a dog with a bone.

A real dog fight.  To which I say, “Dog gone it….  focus your energies somewhere else… like dressing up your cement goose in a cute little raincoat.”

But every dog has his day…. in this dog eat dog world.  And I think it is best to let sleeping dogs lie.

However, sometimes… you just can’t teach an old dog new tricks.

Right now, I’m dog tired.  I’ve been busier than a ten-peckered dog in a hydrant factory lately.

Off to bed I go.  Hopefully… when you lie down with dogs, you don’t get up with fleas.

The old saying goes…”The squeaky wheel gets the oil.”  Hmmmm

Then there’s the other old saying which goes…. “You can catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”

So which is it?  I guess it depends on whether you want the oil, or the flies. I tend to like oily flies…. so I use a combination of both tactics.

First, I start out with the honey vs. vinegar approach.  It normally does a pretty good job.  But sometimes, as nice as you are to folks, they will still screw up the task at hand, miserably, and expect you to fork over the dollars for the misery.  When this gets to be the case, you might hear me squeaking here and there.  AND…… If that fails, I start sounding like a freaking runaway freight train, coming to a screeching halt, on ice cold frozen metal tracks.   Squeaky becomes an understatement.

And there you have.  Woooooooo.  Wooooooo.  Chug-a-chugga… Chug-a-chugga… Chug-a-chugga…

One of marvels of living in this town, is the fact that I can pick up the phone, dial a number, and in about….. say 30 minutes or so…. hot food comes to my door.  It is remarkable.  Astounding.  Almost unbelievable.  (I know I’ve mentioned this before… but here I go again.  It is just SO crazy-good!)

I can’t do this where I live in Ohio.  Not even for a pizza.  But down here, I can get just about anything delivered to my door.

It is always the same scenario though.  The driver gets here.  I start jumping up and down.  I run out and hug him.  I say… “For ME???  Oh thank you, thanks!!!  You are awesome and wonderful…. and some kind of a rock star.”  To which… he ALWAYS says… “Lady.  YOU called it in.  YOU gave us your credit card number.  Here’s your food.”  ……. um….. uh….  “You mean this is just for MEEEEEEEEE????  You are a sweeeetie.  A real gem!”  Then I do the happy dance all around the front porch… Steve Martin style.

I think our neighbors watch.  But I don’t care.  This is miraculous, and hence, I celebrate.

My cat always comes out and watches too….. on account of I always order her a little something.  This is due to the fact that they only have Doggy Bags when you eat AT restaurants… so she always get the short end of the stick on those nights.  But……when I order in, she gets her game on.  Her happy dance is much better than mine.  Just a girl and her cat… cavorting and leaping around….  there for God, all our nosy neighbors, and everybody else to see.

Then…. doggone it….we go in and eat the whole kittenkaboodle.

Hey.  Pipe down.

That means be quiet… not that I want you to actually be quiet.  It is just one of those phrases that we use quite frequently, but how often do we really think about what it means… or how it got started.

My first guess is military.  Yep.  Probably a couple of hundred years ago, a bunch of troops were marching along through enemy territory, and the little dude with the bandage on his head was just tooting away on his little flute.  Probably some silly song, like R-E-S-P-E-C-T… or something.  But then the captain heard a snapping sound in the bushes over yonder.  He couldn’t really hear what the heck it was… for the likes of the the fella with the fife.  So he yells… Hey!!! Pipe DOWN!!!!  Meaning put that little pipe down so I can hear how badly we are going to get ambushed here in a minute.  Turns out it was a couple of squirrels frolicking in the oak trees, so no worries.  Pipe back up and away they go.

I know what you are thinking…. I am “off my rocker.”  Because this totally “came out of left field.”  But, as much as I’d like my writing to always be “better than sliced bread”,  sometimes I go “colder than a well-digger’s rear.”

None-the-less…….you probably should either…..”Put that in your pipe and smoke it,” OR “Pay the piper.”   And remember…”He who pays the piper calls the tune.”  Fife tunes.

If you were a Super Hero… you’d have some choices to make, initially.  There are really just seven main categories when it comes to being a Super.

1. Power.  2. Weakness. 3. Color.  4. Mask.  5. Cape.  6. Villian.  7. Name.

First, your power, or strength.  I would probably be either phenomenally strong, OR, more likely, I would teleport.  I think that would come in the handiest.

Next the ‘Hitch in your Giddy Up”.  What’s your weakness?  I have 3 big ones in real life…. so I’d choose one of those to keep it real.  My biggest one, I won’t mention right here.  My friends and family know this one.  Of the next two, I would either pick…… SUGAR (I haven’t eaten sweets since I was about 16 years old…) OR  the COLD…..  I hate the cold.  Love the heat.  97 degrees here today.  Primo.  Super.

The next three items on the could be lumped into one category:  Attire.  But all three are important and separate.  What color would you wear?  By golly, if you pick purple or pink, you better come up with some kick-ass name for yourself.   What kind of mask do you wear?  Full head gear like Spider Man; semi-head cover like Batman or Captain America;  simple mask like the Green Lantern, or Robin; no mask at all, like Superman, or Aquaman?  …. AND THEN….. the critical Cape or No Cape decision.

Lastly, the final two choices..… who’s your Villian?  And what is your Super Name?

I would be Captain ThemoSpeed….. my weakness would be cold temperatures.  Villian… that’s easy.  Mr. Freeze.  My strength (besides being extremely warm and having a Type AAA-Speedy Personality)….. I would be able to Teleport at will.  Anywhere, and to any time.

My outfit would rock.  It would be orange, with bright yellows and reds and black.  No dang cape.  Simple face mask… black.  I would be buff too.

So think about it…  do a few pushups or something…. and good luck with all these important choices.

Because the truth of the matter is… many of you who read this are my dear friends and family.  And… at many, many times in my life… YOU have been a Super Hero to me.  Seriously.  The way you can leap tall buildings and such….  So thanks for all those times, Super Heroes.   It has meant the world to me.

Hey, I gotta’ go… the Commissioner is on the Thermo-Phone.  There seems to be some trouble in Gothamopolis.  Probably just some Joker…..

If I had an Uncle Mertle (which I don’t)…. well….. let’s see….. he would be my Mom’s oldest brother… which he isn’t…. because my Mom is an only child.  Any way, if Uncle Merty were around, he’d probably be one of those relatives that always says things, like:  “If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is.”    Good advice Uncle Mert.

So, welcome to Charleston.  I think this town is one of the most amazing places I know of.  I love this city.  It has a charm about it, that slaps you in the face…. in a good way.  Stings like Aqua Velva.  There is so much to do, and see, and eat.  What a city.  Storybook good.

But as Uncle Mertle warned….  we have a few glitches.  There’s the Pluff Mud.  Which, at low tide, can make the whole city smell like….  well….. like something died in a vat of sewage.  We also have Swamp Rats….. Swarming Fermosan Termites. (Both, as horrendous as they sound.)  You won’t read this stuff in the tourism brochures, no sireeeee.  There are lots of ghosts (which is a plus or a minus, depending on your opinion of ghosts);  and finally we have a couple of other insects.

Okay.  We have world-class insects.  The two that really stand out are the “No-See-Ums” which look just like the name sounds.  None-the-less, they will bite the living daylights out of you… worse than any Yankee Mosquito.  The other shining star is the Palmetto Bug.  (The Palmetto Tree is our State Tree.. quite lovely.)  Not so much with the bug.  Think…….  Poodle-Sized Cockroach with Wings, and hence, the ability to fly.  Nice.

Today I shopped for bug spray.  The cans all make the same “grand” marketing claim:  “KILLS ON CONTACT.”  To which I say, “Big Whacky-Doodle Deal.  Hell, I CAN kill them on contact.  Catching them is half the holy-crapping battle.”   I need something that works like a Navy Seal, or a Sniper.    Maybe I can hire that wee tiny actor who played the little teeny cowboy, in Night at the Museum.  Yeah, that might do it.

At any rate, Uncle Mertle was one wise old dude.  Taught me everything I know, and then some…..totally great guy.  Almost too good to be true.  And that bugs me.

There’s a lot to be said for the common noodle.  I’ll tell you that much right now.

A good friend made me cabbage and noodles for dinner tonight.  It was scrumptious.  This meal was “off the charts” good.  She is Hungarian.  New Jersey Hungarian.  What more do I need to say about that, but…. “Divine Freakin’ Noodles.”

There are all sorts of noodles.  Egg Noodles. Lo Mein Noodles.  Chicken and Noodles.  Rice Noodles.  Fried Noodles.  Oh, it goes on and on.  Noodle are Patriotic.  Yankee Noodle went to Town……

The Chinese get credit for “inventing” the noodle.  Not the French, Italian, or Arabian…..   A recent news release:  “Chinese Discover Noodles:  Scientists have found the remnants of a 4,000-year-old bowl of the stretched-dough culinary staple at an archaeological site on the banks of the Yellow River in north-western China.”  Those are some old dang noodles.

People say you are using your “old noodle” when you are thinking.  Other people have a different idea of using your old noodle.  Viagra is often involved in those cases.

But back to the good old noodle itself.  Everybody who knows me well…. KNOWS I LOVE white pasty food.   White Pasty Food is one of the “Top Ten Things that are RIGHT with this world.”   Look at the evidence at hand.  Grits.  Mashed Potatoes.  A new addition to my favorite WPF (white pasty food) List:  Sticky Rice.  Heck, I even love those Wonder Bread Dough Balls that people use for fish bait.

And when you come right down to it… the noodle is simply white pasty food… but formed into neat little strips, instead of the typical big old blob-like entity on your plate.

So, the next time you have some noodles…. do what JC would do (no…. not Jesus Christ…..  JULIA CHILD for crying out loud….  we’re talking about noodles here…. )  Yes, do as JC would do…. Butter ’em  up and enjoy.  You’ll feel better…. I wouldn’t yank your noodle on this one…….