Sweet Georgia Peaches

When I was growing up, if we came through Atlanta during peach season we always stopped at the farmer's market for peaches. This was nothing like the markets you see in towns all over America today. There were no crafts, musicians or over-priced organic vegetables. The Atlanta Farmer's Market in the 60s was an enormous, sprawling complex with row after row after row of stalls. Farmers backed into stalls and sold produce right off the truck at rock bottom prices.

Now is the height of peach season here in Georgia. My partner and I have nearly polished off the grocery bag full of sweet, juicy peaches I picked up at a local orchard last weekend. These were a bit smaller than my vision of the ideal peach, but tasty nonetheless--especially in the delicious cobbler my partner made.

There are lots of different kinds of peaches. Mostly they are classified by how firmly the flesh attaches to the pit (clingstone vs freestone). Commercial peaches are often clingstone varieties. Nothing will put you off of peaches more than fighting to free the hard, dry flesh from a gas-ripened cling stone peach. Blech.

Around here folks assume when you talk about peaches, you mean free stone peaches. The debate revolves around whether white or orange peaches are the better tasting peach. They are both really good, but I'll pick an orange over a white every time.

If you have never had a tree-ripened peach, you really haven't had a peach. A good peach is never hard. Peaches that crunch like an apple when you bite into them should have had a few more days on the tree. Even canned peaches are a bit firm compared with a fresh, ripe peach.

White or orange, the best peaches are so juicy you need to eat them outdoors or over a sink. My partner (a native Georgian) always peels his. He doesn't like the texture of the skin and says it tastes bitter. I prefer peaches with the skins, in part because I lack the patience to peel them but also because I want every single bite.

We have a peach tree in our yard. It came up on its own from a discarded pit. Last year we harvested a couple of bushels of white, freestone peaches. Because of the drought they were on the small side but still sweet and juicy. This year the fruit fell off almost immediately, probably because of a late cold snap.

I'm glad to live where it's possible to eat peaches all summer long. You can keep your South Carolina and California peaches. Everyone knows there ain't nothing sweeter than a Georgia peach. Even...

The Crotchety Old Man

Life at the Top

According to one very small dog, I am the greatest person in the world. In her eyes, the sun rises and sets with me. Have to say that I'm loving life at the top.

With Tico I have always been the #2 daddy. He belongs to my partner. They have a great relationship and I wouldn't have it any other way.

I must admit that early on it bothered me a bit to be #2. But Tico made it clear that when my partner was not around, as the first runner-up it was my job to be the daddy. Over time Tico also let me know that the distance from #3 to #2 was MUCH greater than the distance from #2 to #1. So I relaxed. But I was and will remain #2 in his world.

Toodles loves me more than anything in the world--anything. There are few things sweeter than the greeting I get when I let her out of her crate. After that, unless she's sleeping or playing with Tico, she follows me everywhere. It's who she is.

She drops whatever she's doing and comes running when I get down on the floor to play. She's up for any game, with or without toys. Tico can play, but he's not allowed to come between me and Toodles. If he does, she turns into the Tasmanian Devil. The little bitch has a temper!

When she's through playing with Tico (or has decided she needs my protection), she will sit at my feet, look straight up, and wiggle until I pick her up. If I don't respond in a timely manner, she yaps to get my attention. It's the cutest thing I have ever seen in my entire life.

When she can't find me, she sits in the middle of the floor and cries. Hearing her calls, I come to see what's going on. When she sees me it's like first thing in the morning all over again--pure joy. What's not to like?

Sometimes I let her sleep with me, usually until midnight or so when I crate her up. On occasion (when I feel like getting up every two hours or so to take her out), she stays until morning. She is still so small (1 & 1/2 pounds) that she somehow manages to sleep underneath me, wedged between the pillow and my neck. If she wakes up, she tries to scootch in even closer. Adorable.

We figure Toodles is ten weeks old today. Tomorrow she will have been with us for four weeks and is still not as big as Tico was when we got him. Even so, it's pretty clear she is well on her way to ruling the roost around here. All I know is that it will be her fault if I lose all credibility as...

The Crotchety Old Man

Heartbreak and Betrayal

You know that I absolutely adore little Tico. He is a beautiful, well-behaved little dog with a very sweet disposition. But our relationship has changed rather dramatically with the arrival of Toodles.

Tico has been my partner's dog from the start. He was the one that really wanted a dog. After 20 years of cats and nearly a lifetime of tropical fish, I was thoroughly enjoying a pet-free existence.

Tico won me over pretty fast. It's hard to resist two pounds of 8-week-old chihuahua pup. I dare you to try.

I have always been #2 daddy for Tico. It's never been a problem because I was a very close #2. Was. Now that Toodles has entered the scene, Tico has been more than a little aloof. Before Toodles he was almost always next to me or at my feet if my partner wasn't home. Now he's often asleep in his crate. I poke my head in and he looks at me with those sad, chihuahua eyes and I know.

His little heart is broken. I betrayed him. I just hope it doesn't turn him into the chihuahua version of...

The Crotchety Old Man


But I don't care for him. Nope. That's my partner's job. It is, after all, his dog.

Toodles, on the other hand, is my dog. More accurately, given her obvious desire to rule the household, I am her daddy. We're still trying to figure out who really is in charge.

Summer Television

It's definitely summer. Summer television options are usually pretty bleak, and this year is no exception. Nonetheless, I almost always find something that I can watch, especially when the heat index is 110+ outside.

My favorite among the returning summer shows is So You Think You Can Dance. Unlike in previous years, I don't (yet) have a major crush on any of the dancers. Kameron Bink from season three remains one of my biggest crushes of all time, and Twitch from last season was absolutely adorable. The judges are somewhat of an acquired taste, and in some cases, it hasn't happened for me yet. It's still worth tuning in every week to see the incredible dancing. And what's not to like about Cat Deeley?

America's Got Talent would be a great show if they changed everything about it. Hate the judges and the producers. OK. I like Sharon Osborne. She can stay. But everything else has got to go. It's way too much fluff and not nearly enough performances. Jerry Springer does much better with his own show, so I'm glad to see that he's been replaced. Haven't checked out the new guy and probably won't.

Don't count me among the fans of the Top Chef Masters, either. Love Top Chef and expected that would be the case with Masters. Nope. Getting to know the contestants over time makes it work. The masters come and go so fast it's hard to keep up with them. And where is Padma? I haven't seen her since her super-hot soft-porn commercial for Hardee's. Her replacement is cute, but not in the same ballpark as Padma.

Real Housewives of New Jersey is definitely the best of the Housewives shows. I love (or love to hate) the Atlanta babes, but these NJ ladies take it all to another level. Danielle is absolutely the biggest slut on any of the Housewives shows. But what sets this show apart from the other Housewives shows is the connection between the rest of the cast. Reminds me of Momma's family where all the sisters and sisters-in-law were best friends and did everything together. I've seen what they do to the likes of Danielle. These ladies are tight.

Last year I caught Paris's BFF in reruns. This year I turned it off during the first episode. Yawn. Instead, I've been following Daisy of Love. If you haven't yet met Daisy, you need to check her out. She's unreal, literally and figuratively. That 20 guys with names like 12-Pack, Big Rig, and Sinister would compete to be her love interest, especially when you get the impression they're all boinking her along the way...well...it's really a testament to where we are as a society today.

I've also been watching Charm School--Rikki Lake's reality show to transform women who appear to have worked most recently as strippers and/or prostitutes. I'm not sure how Daisy got her own show instead of being a contestant on this one. She'd fit right in with the rest of the cast. A house full of sluts is guaranteed drama. But the big reason to tune into Charm School: see the apparently infinite variety of ways to make a modest, school-girl uniform look slutty.

I'm looking forward to the second season of Ruby. Her journey to lose weight is interesting. And you couldn't ask for a better backdrop than beautiful Savannah. She reminds me at different times of various members of my extended family network that struggled with weight issues for most of their lives. Ruby has a rather unique, sing-song way of talking. I'm going to pay close attention so I can start talking like her. That should keep me from being...

The Crotchety Old Man

My Friend Ella

We met sometime after sixth grade. I had to check because it feels like we have known each other forever. We went to different grade schools so it must have been sometime in junior high or later that we became friends.

My memories of junior high are few, but I'm pretty sure we both had Mrs. Lewis for Algebra in 8th grade. Your rules are your tools, and your tools are your rules. Read it with a pencil in your hand. I'm talking to you, not everybody BUT you. Learn the King's English! We definitely had Mrs. Feltner for calculus which I never would have survived without Ella (and Ro).

We had other classes together because we were both AP, college-bound students. I don't recall exactly but I'm pretty sure we sat together when it was an option. The bottom line is that we were together a couple of hours a day, five days a week for six years. And not just any six years either. We're talking the formative years from 12 to 18.

We had a blast our senior year. We both had big parts in Oklahoma--our high school musical. Ella got the part of Aunt Eller--one of the major roles of the show. I didn't have a big role so much as a lot of little parts. I was in all the dance numbers and was Judd in the dream ballet. Ella did a great job as Aunt Eller and stole the show on more than a few occasions. The dancing was fun, but Mrs. Hodges told me to keep quiet and lip sync while everyone else sang.

We spent hours and hours and hours together at rehearsals. Later that year we were inducted into the Thespian Society. We had to perform something, and Ella somehow talked me into wearing a rabbit suit for a sketch about the the baby, the antiseptic bunny and the prophylactic pup. It all sounds so very gay to me now. Hard to believe I didn't have a clue for several more years.

Fast forward to the five year class reunion. Aunt Eller had up and married Curley, becoming in essence the first cougar in a class that contains many women that are still beautiful and in more than a few cases, even more beautiful than they were 40 years ago. We have a class reunion every five years. I haven't missed one (though there is one that I don't remember very well--but that's another story). Ella has not been back since the first one.

In 30 years we have exchanged maybe five e-mails, no phone calls, zero letters, and not one single greeting card. She'll correct me if I'm wrong--that's just one reason why I love her so much--but I'm thinking five on the e-mails is generous. You get the idea...we drifted apart.

Anyway, thanks to the magic that is Facebook, we have reconnected. We talk with each other a couple of times a week now. We're up-to-speed on the major developments in our lives over the last few decades and have been giving each other advice about situations we face today. It's just like old times, only better.

Ella, I love you dearly and am so very happy to have you in my life again. Tell B not to worry ( like he's worried--ha!). You are but one more reason why I have no business remaining...

The Crotchety Old Man

Meet the Lady of the House

We decided a couple of weeks ago that it was time to add another puppy to our family. Tico enjoys play dates with his best friend, Ennis, so much that adding another dog seemed to be the right thing to do.

From the start, Tico has been perfect in every way. At just under 9-months old, he is housebroken, well-behaved, and good with other dogs. His most striking feature, however, is that he almost never barks. He goes days at a time without making a sound--not what you expect from a chihuahua.

Given our experience with Tico, my preference was that our second dog be a long-haired chihuahua, too. We also decided on a little girl that we would call Toodles, after my favorite aunt. Then we started checking ads and searching online to see what was available.

Thursday night we agreed to expand our search to other toy breeds. There just weren't any long-haired chi's available anywhere in the area. Friday I was writing a post for the blog about our up-to-then futile search for the perfect companion for Tico when my partner messaged me with a link to a Craig's List ad for four pups--two boys and two girls--with photos. I knew we'd found Toodles as soon as I saw her picture (above).

I called the number to arrange to see the pups. Turns out, it's the same guy that sold us Tico. The pups have the same father as Tico. He remembered us and said we could have first pick of the four puppies. He's not a breeder--our chi's have no papers. Whether or not he's a puppy farmer we haven't been able to determine. It looks like the dogs are the family pets of country folk that live over on the GA/AL line.

Just as with Tico, we met him halfway--at the Waffle House in Tucker, GA for the exchange. We knew we'd found Toodles as soon as we saw the quartet. We were on the road and headed back to Athens in less than five minutes.

Tico and I went out the back door for a long walk as Toodles entered the front door for a badly-needed bath. Tico was covered with fleas when we got him and we knew Toodles would be, too. By the time we got back Toodles was clean, dry, free of fleas, and enjoying a romp in the front yard. The meeting went very well.

For Toodles, it was love at first sight. She follows Tico around everywhere he goes--as long as she is awake and he doesn't go too far, too fast. Tico didn't know what to think at first, and wouldn't let her out of his sight. Twenty-four hours later, he checks on her every few minutes when she's sleeping then goes back to playing with his toys. The first few times he just looks at her, but eventually he starts nudging her and trying to wake her up to play.

We did a great job raising Tico. With Toodles, we are much more experienced. I'm optimistic that she is going to turn out to be just as good as Tico. I have to admit, with all this adorable-ness in the house, it's not easy to be...

The Crotchety Old Man

Live Every Day Like It's Your Last

I heard a cancer survivor on the radio this morning encouraging listeners to live every day like it is your last. I've heard this sage advice many times. It always strikes me as heroic, particularly when it comes from someone who has dealt with something as scary as cancer.

So I got to thinking about what I would do if I really thought today was going to be my last day. I would certainly make some pretty big changes. I got excited just thinking about it.

No more exercise. Nope. It's too late now so forget about it. I've never enjoyed sweating--even during sex. I grew up with central air and know how to use it. Nope. I'll gaze upon my fatness and appreciate every single day I watched television when I could have been exercising.

Speaking of central air--no more programmable thermostat. Nope. From now on I'm going to keep it cool enough to see your breath all the time. What do I care...I'll be dead when the bill arrives.

No more saying no to all my favorite foods. Nope. If I'm going out tomorrow, there is a long list of things I'm going to need to eat today. Most of it will be fried and/or have sugar as a main ingredient. No need to worry about trans-fats.

No more eating crap I don't like because it's supposed to be good for me. Artificial sweeteners, lite and no fat varieties, soy-based foods and anything that comes from a goat are hereby forever banned from my plate.

No more saving for retirement. In fact, I'm going to cash it all in and see how much of it I can burn through before I die. I want one of those motorized wheel-chair thingies--with baskets for my purchases. There's no time to order one from the 800 number so I guess I'll just steal one from Walmart.

Home maintenance chores? Like I'm really going to spend my last day cleaning toilets, mowing the yard or mucking gunk out of gutters. Nope. Not gonna happen. I might run the vacuum cleaner, but that's just me and this thing I have about clean floors.

But alas, today is probably not my last. God-willing I'll be around for at least a few more days. Guess that means no banana split with chocolate cake and doughnuts tonight. Dammit. The fact that I can't live like there is no tomorrow makes me...


The Crotchety Old Man