Saguaros and a Seventieth

When in Arizona...

...pose with a cactus (just like all the other tourists).

My dad (pictured below with his wife, Donna) recently reached the milestone age of 70:

(Not the best picture, I know, since his eyes are closed. Unfortunately, it's the only one I took of him this weekend. :( )

Most people consider the feat of reaching 70 quite commendable. My dad, however, doesn't. He is a former physics professor and a mathematician, and says that he was more proud of turning 64 because it is a "base 2" number and he's looking forward to turning 71 because it's a prime number. (Nerds find him highly amusing, myself included.)

Anyway, to celebrate him and his seven decades on earth, my sister, Suzanne, planned a weekend birthday extravaganza in which my family partook. It involved a lot of driving, a lot of food and a lot of cacti.

The first thing we did was almost run out of gas in the middle of the Sonoran Desert. That was great fun. There's no thrill quite like the one you feel when your "low fuel" light comes on and you haven't seen a man made structure for the past 70 miles. I'm still running on the adrenaline that my glands pumped out for that occurrence. A dentally challenged gas attendant never looked so beautiful to anyone, I'm sure, as Alvin looked to us as we happily forked over some cash for fuel.

Shortly afterward, we met up with my sister, her husband, Jai, and their twin boys, Jonathan and David:


Per my dad's request, we all went on a tour at the Frank Lloyd Wright museum of architecture. It wasn't as dull as you might think. It was actually quite interesting. Even the kids seemed to enjoy it...sort of.

Afterward, we lunched at a restaurant called, The Feed Bag. Yes, it was as charming as it sounds. :)

Next, we drove the Apache Trail up to the Roosevelt Dam. Arizona has an unusual beauty that is not quite captured in the following pictures:





We stopped in Tortilla Flats for some prickly pear ice cream. When we see a couple of suspended toilet seats, our first instinct is to tell our kids to go stick their faces in them for a photo shoot:


(We're classy like that.)

That night, Suzanne convinced Tobias to try on her new pink Snuggie. Thinking I'd horrify him at the sight of me with my camera in hand, I snuck up and aimed it at him. However, I was the surprised one, though I shouldn't have been. In true Tobias-form, he relished the moment and cheerfully posed his goofily bedecked body:


The next morning, we caught up over breakfast with our friends Smedly, Janet and their lovely quiver-full. An hour wasn't quite long enough, but it was better than nothing.


In Phoenix there are some amazing botanical gardens. Some of those crazy looking plants are quite fun to examine up close...but not too close:


Delaney and the twins found this cactus to be rather huggable:


This King Snake was somewhat cuddly as well:


We lunched on grilled veggies and hummus, though we weren't sure what about half of the veggies actually were. It's been 24 hours and none of us has sickened or dropped dead yet, so apparently they were edible:


(See what I mean?)

Jeff and the kids were determined to climb some rock formations like the one below:


I started feeling vertiginous about half way up. Uncontrollable leaning to the left or right while ascending one of these things is hardly advisable, so I watched (with clenched teeth) while the rest of my precious family reached the clouds. (I was very glad when that was over.)

Before we knew it, it was time to head home from our delightful desert getaway. Happy birthday, Dad. Welcome to the septuagenarian club!

In the car on the way home, Delaney learned how to tie her shoes...


...courtesy of the Colonel himself:


(Just kidding.)

Yet Another...

"Did you really think that was chicken you just ate?"

A Few Things Mildly Amusing

So yesterday, I emerged from our bedroom wearing the new dress I got at Ross for $6.99 (yep, six ninety nine!) and strutted up to Jeff who was sitting at the computer.

"What do you think?" I asked, twirling around while determinedly sucking in my gut.

He looked at me, tilted his head to the side and said, "Hmm...it's...it's...well, I don't think I don't like it."

Excuse me?

You don't think you don't like it?

Praise, indeed. Thanks, Babe.

Anonymous Bowel Troubles

If the above title didn't scare you away, keep reading...

Recently, I was asking this guy I knew as a teen about his job as a human directional. (That's "sign-twirler" for you politically incorrect types.) I remember driving past him once years ago while he was on his corner with his billboard sized arrow.


He said that he only lasted about two weeks at that job because, among other things, there was no toilet available. One day, he had to go numero dos super badly. After returning from taking care of business in the bushes of some unsuspecting homeowner, he found that his sign had been stolen!

Can you imagine explaining that one to your boss?

"Sorry Sir, I came back from pooping under someone's hedge and it was gone!"

Clairvoyant Cookies


Even as a young child, I could see right through the lame cheerfulness of fortune cookies. However, I confess that whenever I'm still savoring the flavor of broccoli beef and a little black tray is placed in front of me, I will retrieve one of the plastic wrapped cookies and crack it open. It's part of the whole Chinese food experience, right?

Our friend Dave recently made this exercise more fun by telling us to add "in the bathroom" to the end of the cookie's message.

My all time favorite result of this was when Delaney read, "You will find gold by the bushel full...in the bathroom."

Wow, that sounds painful.

I'm quite confident that since then she has not found so much as a flake of the shiny stuff, though I hope she hasn't been looking too hard. Ick.

What I'd like to see are more realistic sayings typed out on those little strips of paper. How about:

"You're not fooling anyone."

or

"You would have gotten that promotion if your boss hadn't caught you on Ebay at work."

or

"You've got a piece of bok choy stuck in your teeth."

Now that might do some good in the world.

(Anybody think up a good one? Please share.)

An Ode to Benadryl

This is one of my poems with which I am most pleased. The rhyming pattern was really difficult to work with, so it took a lot of effort. I wrote it a couple of years ago and I'm not sure why I'm posting it tonight of all nights.

Let me explain the strange subject matter: I often suffer from insomnia, so when I discovered that Benadryl can help with that, my nights were revolutionized.

Benadryl (aka diphenhydramine) is a very beautiful thing, thus I chose to celebrate it in the following manner:

An Ode to Benadryl
or
The Pursuit of a Minor Death of Consciousness



A serotonin dearth will drive
Me stumbling off to raid a hive
Of plastic placed above the sink.
Its swarm is silent, still and pink.

The dissolution of the dose
Prescribed could leave me comatose.
I’ll halve the ration prudently
To clinch my round trip ticketry.

The subway token vial yawns
Above my palm. A new night dawns
As to my hand, the beauties fall.
I pinch just one, but cherish all.

Beloved diphenhydramine!
You tiny, legal, potent bean!
Lethean drops solidified,
Safe opiates, freshly descried.

A slip of matter, barely sensed
Between my thumb and finger, tensed.
Though dryly dropped, it plumbs my throat.
I board the bus, embark the boat.

The pill is popped, the plea is prayed.
I’m biding now to be conveyed
To where one third of life is meant
To be in unawareness spent.

In faith, I sprawl out, prone again
As drowsing syrup dribbles in.
The thickened ooze coats my inside.
Thus slowly, starts the carpet ride.

With faculties in dull retreat
My smile is stupid and replete.
I hum a selfish lullaby.
The monkeys chatter as we fly.

An undulating, gentle sway
Grows stronger as my musings fray.
The thousand summoned servants lift
My litter high…I cross the rift.

A little practical advice if you're thinking this news about diphenhydramine is an answer to your sleep deprived prayers: The full dose (two pills) will likely knock you out for way longer than you want, so just take one pill or even half of one. Also, drink plenty of water with it since it's an antihistamine. (You don't want to wake up from your nice long sleep with a urinary tract infection, now do you?) Oh, one last thing, if you're one of those "I use TylenolPM to help me sleep" types, switch over to my stuff 'cause your stuff is nothing more than Tylenol with diphenhydramine added to it and a bottle of generic Benadryl is way cheaper than a measly 20 pack of TylenolPM.

This isn't a fail-safe method to get to sleep. When I was in Romania for nine days, I took the whole dose every night and I was still too keyed up to conk out. Still, for the most part, diphenhydramine is my very good friend.

Confession

Was anyone inspired by my pep talk post of yesterday?

Yeah, me neither.

It's Time...

Okay, everybody, it's time to throw out all of those leftover Christmas saboteurs...um, I mean goodies.

Go on...

Fling that fudge!



Toss that toffee!



Crumble those cookies!




Crush that candy!



(Uh oh, that sounds like a bunch of ice cream toppings, doesn't it?)

And no, eating it all today so that it's not around tomorrow does NOT count as getting rid of it. Trust me, it will still be there, just around your waist instead of on the kitchen counter.

Martha Stewart Would Shudder

Some people are very particular about the decorations on their Christmas tree.

Not me...in fact, I learned today that my standards are below those of my children. (Well, in some cases.) As we broke open the box o' baubles and such, Tobias suggested we nominate certain ornaments to be tossed in the trash instead of onto the tree.

My one request was that when an item was nominated, it needed to be done so carefully and kindly since many of the ornaments were hand-crafted by others who were presently in the room. (Yes, yes, I know it's impossible to kindly declare that someone's handiwork should be treated as refuse, but I was striving for civility, okay?)

One of the first decorations to go was this one, described by Tobias as looking like a confused clown who is using his drum as a receptacle for bodily waste instead of as a percussion instrument:

(Yes, in case you're wondering, Tobias does have eyeballs.)

There were some ornaments that were quite aesthetically challenged, but they somehow wormed their way into our hearts over the years and we couldn't bear to face a Christmas without them, regardless of their freakishness or hideousness.

Take this shrinky dink "Santa's elf" for example:


Tobias made a whole bunch of these little gems when he was six and handed them out as gifts to all of our relatives. Miraculously, everyone managed to squeeze out a "thank you" when they unwrapped them. There was nary a scream nor a snort of laughter, though I can't recall ever seeing one hang on a tree except for ours in the ensuing years. Hmm...I wonder why...maybe because they look as if they're possessed and about to go postal in Santa's workshop?


(See what I mean?)

(Emergency update!!! Vindication of the grandparents: My father-in-law read this post and let me know that Tobias's "demonized elf" has been hung with care on their tree every year since it's presentation. Sorry if you felt maligned, my dear in-laws. :( )

This year, just as a few decorations were voted out, some things were voted in. Notice I said "things", not "ornaments". These are some of the objects which are presently decking our evergreen boughs to the delight of our truly odd children:



(The last one's a skeleton's forearm.)

Whatever.

It all looks positively festive if you take a blurry photo from ten feet away:


Happy Jesus' birthday everyone!

Don't Be Jealous...

...of my very spiritual kids.

Picture this: It's early morning. My two precious children and I are sitting at the kitchen table. As they are nourishing their growing bodies with bowls of Honey Bunches of Oats, I am nourishing their tender souls with a verse from the Bible. (I've learned to keep it about three verses or fewer in order to stave off that glassy-eyed look which lets me know they're no longer "checked in". Hey, it's better short and sweet than long and ignored, right?)

On this particular morning, I read, "Whoever guards his mouth and tongue, keeps his soul from troubles." (Prov. 21:23)

Putting down the Bible, I ask, "Can you think of a time when you said something and shortly afterward wished you had just kept your mouth shut?"

"Oh, yeah," Delaney says, her eyes rolling for emphasis.

So pleased that my daughter could quickly identify the truth in the biblical passage and immediately see it's application in her own life, I smile and ask, "When was that, Delaney?"

What, dear readers, do you think her inspiring, uplifting response was?

Well, read on...

"Every time I ask Dad something about the Bible! I ask one little question and he goes on and on and on..."

Hmmm...not exactly what I was going for...

The Shunned Ground Beef and Other Questionable Good Deeds

I went to the bank yesterday. Just as I climbed out of my car, I noticed a homeless guy next to the bank's door.

He wasn't standing, looking as if he was about to walk away. He was sitting there, leaning up against a pillar looking about as comfortable as a person can when their back is pressed up against bumpy stucco.

Hoping I looked unstartled and natural, I walked toward the grocery store in the same lot although I originally had no plans of going there.

I've encountered this particular man before. He asked for money then. I bought him an ice cream instead.

Sitting outside of a bank is a pretty good idea if money is what you want. You know that people either have money when they're going in or they're going to when they come out.

Jeff and I decided long ago that we wouldn't hand out money to people who ask for it since we don't want to fund anyone's drug or drink addiction. However, we usually offer food to them since we hate the idea of a person's basic needs not being met.

We've bought a lot of hamburgers over the years.

Years ago, when I was in college, Jeff and I emerged from the grocery store to be accosted by a man who asked us for cash. He launched into a story about how his kids were hungry and he needed just enough money to buy some ground beef for their dinner.

It just so happened that the market was having a sale on ground beef that day and I had bought three individual packets of it. Reaching into one of my bags, I pulled one out and handed it to the man.

The look on his face was priceless. It was clear that he wouldn't be using the hungry kids/ground beef story again. I practically had to force it on him.

Amused, Jeff said, "You'd better get home and cook that up before it goes bad on you." (Hey, we don't normally laugh at those who are less fortunate than us, but when we catch them in their own lie, it's kind of hard not to.)

A few months ago, I was coming out of a grocery store that I don't usually shop at and I was approached by a young man who actually asked for food instead of money. I told him to meet me over at Jack in the Box on the corner and I'd get him something. He ran off to "tell his brother" and I continued toward my car with my bags of groceries.

Once I got to my car, another guy shuffled up to me and asked for some money. He was a lot older and scraggly looking. I told him that I'd buy him a burger and to meet me over at Jack in the Box. Then I quickly got into my car, wondering how many more people were eyeing me from around the parking lot.

(Here's where I must tell you that although I am genuinely glad to feed a hungry person, I'm quite intimidated by panhandlers. They're usually men and even though they may have missed a few meals and slept poorly the night before, they could probably still floor me with one blow. I really hate it when I take out my wallet to pay for their meal and they can see a couple of twenties peeking out. For all I know, they're just scoping me out so that they can grab my bag later. Therefore, I do try to be wise about 'helping' them and not compromise my own safety.)

So...as I drove my car over to JITB, I decided to just go through the drive-through and hand them their bags of food out of my car window. Once I ordered the food, I was told to pull around to the parking lot and that it'd be brought out to me when it was ready. From where I parked, I could see Old-Timer inside the restaurant, waiting for me to show up. He waited several minutes and then erupted out the front door, loudly complaining, '"That #$@&* said she was gonna buy me a burger!"

Just as he finished spewing that forth, he looked up and saw me, sitting there with my window down. His face fell.

I'd like to say that my response was, "It's on it's way, Sir" complete with a sweet smile, but...

...I'm not a liar.

What I actually said was something like, "I'm the #$@&* who said she'd buy you a burger and if you stick around, you just might get it."

(Yes, well, not one of my finer moments...)

I instantly regretted it.

Poor guy. He looked so embarrassed by his actions and my reaction.

I understand that he was grossly disappointed. He had been told he was getting some lunch that day and then after waiting several fruitless minutes, he assumed he'd been lied to and that his stomach would remain empty.

When the food finally came, he humbly thanked me several times. In the meantime, the original food-wanter showed up with his brother and burgers were had by all as I drove away cringing and repenting.

By far, the weirdest panhandling experience I had was at the dentist's office. Sitting in the waiting room while one of my kids was getting worked on, I noticed a girl, about 12, come in and sit down. She didn't check in at the desk and she wasn't with an adult, all of which struck me as odd. Well, it was about to get very strange, indeed.

After a couple of moments, she made her way over to the seat next to me and sat down. Looking at me, she began to whisper.

"What?" I asked.

She whispered again.

"If you want me to hear you, you'll have to speak up."

A third time she began to speak to me, still very quietly. "Will you give me some money so that I can go to Radio Shack and buy something?"

Who was this girl, why was she at the dentist office and where were her parents???

Totally confused, I said something like, "No, if you were hungry, I'd get you something to eat, but I'm not going to give you money."

Understanding dawned on her face. "Well...I am hungry."

Right...

Not wanting to make a liar out of myself, I walked with her over to Jack in the Box (yep, the very same one) and bought her (you guessed it!) a hamburger. She said she wanted a soda, too, but my motherly sensibilities kicked in and I told her she could have milk or OJ if she was thirsty.

Looking back, I see how poorly I handled that whole situation. I taught a neglected girl that if she goes begging for money at a dentist office, she'll end up getting a free meal. Who knows how many creeps would take advantage of her odd, needy behavior. Yuck. (I found out later that she lived in an apartment right next to the dental office.)

All of this takes me back to the guy out in front of the bank yesterday. He was gone once I returned from my impromptu shopping trip.

When I told Jeff about what had happened, he said, "Why didn't you just buy him a sandwich at the market and then when you went into the bank and he asked for money, you could have pulled it out and said, 'Here you go!'?"

Hmmm...somehow that didn't occur to me. My brain seems to flip over and play dead whenever I'm getting hit up for money.

All of this is to say what exactly?

I'm not sure. I'm just thinking about needy people and what my response to them should be. I want to be helpful, but I also don't want to give them opportunity to harm me or themselves. I want to be kind but sometimes I end up fouling my normally hygenic mouth. I want to care for an odd preteen girl and afterward I fear that I've taught her to be too trusting of strangers.

It all makes me so thankful for God's grace and it's sufficiency. (2 Corinthians 12:9)

If I was trying to make my way to heaven through my own goodness, I might end up at Jack in the Box.

Soda Wanna Know Where We Was At?

Jeff was recently intrigued by a video he saw on YouTube about a store called the...

He decided we needed to make a pilgrimage there.

Here's the star of the YouTube video, a genuinely nice guy named John who cheerfully stood still long enough for me to snap a photo of him with my kids:


This place carries a vast selection of hard to find sodas. Regard the highly impressed look on Jeff's face:


We were there for probably an hour, perusing the sundry types of bubbly drinks.

While there, we overheard two other people tell John that they had seen his YouTube video, so apparently we weren't the only computer potatoes there. (There's such assurance in that realization.)

When Jeff finally wheeled our cart over to the cash register, I purposely stepped away, not wanting to know what the resultant cha-ching would prove to be. (Jeff bought most of it with his own "fun money".)

The final haul:

Here it is, artfully displayed on our fridge's top shelf:


This vast array of beverages inspired us to hold "The Soda Olympics". Some of the more interesting contenders were: Cucumber, Double Cola, Rose, Sarsaparilla, Mabi (made from a tree root extract), Mango, Coffee, Curiosity Cola, Pomegranate/Raspberry, Rhubarb, Peach and Blueberry. (Yes, really.)

Here, Jeff carefully pours a mint flavored soda into the crystal goblet of each judge:


Tobias scrutinizes the delicate bouquet of an orange cream:


Pinkies out. (Now that's fancy!)


Delaney clears her palate with some popcorn:


Then, after a particularly nasty sample (the Moxie, perhaps) she clears her palate by rubbing her tongue with a napkin:


We all kept tabs on the competitors by rating them 1 to 10 on index cards:

The Olympics stretched out over many days so that we could truly appreciate each discriminatory swallow.

Tobias's favorite was the "Lenin"ade. It's bottle touts, "A party in every bottle!" and "A taste worth standing in line for!" and finally, "Drink comrade! Drink! It's this or the gulag!" We're not sure what makes this lemonade soviet-style, but it amused us, nonetheless. I searched the bottle to find where it was actually bottled, but that information was suspiciously absent. Maybe we should get the KGB involved.

When the results were all tallied, it was determined that the collective winners were:

bronze...Mint Julep

silver...Orangina

and gold...


...Ironbeer, the only beverage we bought which happened to come in a can instead of a bottle. Ironically, it was also the least expensive of the entire haul. (Don't worry, Ironbeer is non-alcoholic.)

The ultimate loser was the Bitter Lemon which tasted like a porta-potty smells...yuck!!!

He Often Makes Me Happy...

...and sometimes he makes me really happy!

(I'm talking about this guy here:

Pretty cute, huh?)

Six and a half years ago, we moved into our present home. Our last house had a broken jacuzzi when we bought it, so we were rather pleased to see that this house had a jacuzzi. Well, as soon as we put our suits on and went out back to celebrate our home purchase we discovered our tendency to buy houses with broken hot tubs.

Ho hum...

Anyway, to make a long story short, we always had something better to spend money on than a jacuzzi repair bill and eventually the whole thing started falling apart and looking super trashy.

It's not much fun having a dilapidated behemoth in your back yard when friends come over to play croquet. In fact, it's downright embarrassing, especially once the wood paneling starts to peel off and the "leather" cover splits open to reveal the lovely foam pieces within.

The neighbors said that our home's former owner had rented a crane to install the beast by lifting it over the house into the backyard, so it was not going to be an easy task to get it out.

You may have guessed where this is all going...

...yesterday, Jeff, Tobias and our friend, Jake, slayed the mortifying monster, armed with sledgehammers, Sawsalls and that good old fashioned stuff known as a male's love for destruction. (I think that if they could have involved guns, martial arts movies and beef jerky it would have been a completely satisfying day for them.)

Just look at those smiles:



Behold the power of a Sawsall:





Yep, it'll fit in the truck now:


Get Tobias to toss the remaining rubble into a few garbage bags...


...and suddenly, you've got an empty cement pad where a hideous broken hot tub used to be:



It's so satisfying to know that there's a little less evidence of our slothdom on display.

Ah, yes...it's more soothing than a soak in a hot tub...

Family Tree

It has always fascinated me that for any of us to be here today, every single one of our ancestors had to be conceived exactly when they were. This is my take on that fact:



Family Tree

An egg that burst forth from its berth
Had docked with patience till
Its personal predestined pop-
A mittelschmertzic spill-
Then met the very salmon that
Swam up the stream and won
The convoluted river race
Which millions had begun

When only once this act occurs
“A miracle!” some say
But much precision was required
For me to be today-
Each couples’ copulative act
Conveniently transpired
Exactly when it must have done
For me to have been sired--
The wonder then is magnified
Thus exponentially
That all the random jointures could
Have somehow fashioned me

The slurry of the elements
Concocted by the glands
Was the exact mélange required
Of all those “greats” and “grands”

Had just one headache been declared
By a reluctant dame
The chromosomes o’er centuries
Would not have paired the same

Each man possessed a sack of seeds
And tool with which to sow--
Each woman’s furrow fertile was
With room for fruit to grow--
Some may have loved each other well
Though others lusted just--

I breathe because they seized the day
Before they fell to dust





BTW, "mittelschmirtz" is the pain that a woman can feel at the moment of ovulation (and yes, such an odd word is obviously German).

Just a Touch of Housecleaning

Yesterday as I was dusting my bedroom, I was inspired. (No, not inspired to dust every other room in my house. *Ahem*) The following is the result:

Dust


Rays illuminate
The remnants and residue
Of kingdoms, which shift

In air, adrift on
Inhabited space, a dry
mist, till they settle

On this day's matter.
Redolent of musty Man
Is material

Unmeshed that will rise,
Then succumb to its scant weight
And sully a cloth.

Okay, that's out of my system. I wonder what I'll come up with if I go scrub the toilets...

What Would Lady Gaga Do?

Delaney delighted us all this year by carving a pumpkin all by herself! All I did was give her a couple tips like, "Cut the lid at an angle so it won't fall into the pumpkin's cavity once you're all done" and "Don't use the butcher knife for that cut; the samurai sword would work better".

(*Hee hee hee*)

I'm actually surprised that this is the first year she's done this. The child is infamous for her creative independence. (I learned years ago to not make suggestions whenever she's creating something because even if she likes the idea, she won't use it simply because it wasn't hatched in her own brain.)

Anyways, you can see that she did a fabulous job.


She said she left the stringy strands in his mouth because it looked "...cool, like he's drooling."

(Okay, my fear of her future boyfriends just went up a notch.)

"What," you may be wondering, "did this imaginative child dress herself as to traipse around the neighborhood to beg for candy?"

Why as a "balloon seller", of course!

Last year she was a "sign twirler". (You know, the people who entertain you at intersections while you sit, waiting for the light to turn green.)


I love her ideas because they are so highly visible: big signs...a dozen balloons...

Tobias, opted this year to be...Count Nippula.

What, no pictures?

No, it never really materialized...thank goodness.

His plan was to wear a black cape with no shirt on underneath and, of course, instead of going door to door to collect candy, he wanted to go door to door to dole out candy.

I assured him that no one would accept candy from a half dressed, cape wearing freak, even if he was standing next to an adorable balloon seller and his embarrassed parents were only a few feet away in whatever shadows were available.

Sorry if you find the whole Nippula thing offensive, but what else do you expect? The costumes of fourteen year olds are inherently squeamishness-inducing, right? I mean, what else would be the point of a teen donning a costume?

Wow! I wonder what Lady Gaga wore as a fourteen year old?? (Thus, this post's title.)

Now for a couple of post trick-or-treating tips to help you not eat all of your kids' collected candy:

1. Tape a picture of yourself in a bathing suit onto the bowl of candy.

2. Ask a taller person than yourself to place the bowl of candy somewhere out of your reach. The space between the top of your cabinets and the kitchen ceiling works nicely. This way, you don't just walk past the counter and dip into the bowl before thinking about what sabotage you're wreaking on your figure. You actually have to go get a chair, drag it over to where the candy is stashed, climb up on it and feel around in some cobwebs and dust for the bowl. Usually when you're about halfway across the kitchen floor, dragging a chair behind you, you begin to feel quite ridiculous and will shame-facedly return the chair to its place at the table. Voila! Less candy consumed!

Uh-oh! It looks like the bowl of Dove's Promises didn't make it up there with the trick-or-treat bowl:

Okay, if you insist.