I'm a sap for a good love story

It's been rightly said in our family that I could cry over a good steak. It doesn't take much to turn on the waterworks. I'm particularly a sap for a great story.

That may be why I look forward to the Nuptials in the Sunday Times. I particularly love the stories of the old folks getting married.

Last Sunday was a classic tear jerker for me.

Couple meets on a train in France on a school sponsored trip 1960. They have a nice time together, but at the end of the trip they part, she to be with her future husband, he to finish college and head to medical school. They don't see or speak to each other for 47 years.

Over the years she marries and divorces twice, and is in a long term relationship but her partner had the temerity to die. The Doctor marries and has three children.

In 2007 the group that sponsored the college trip asked our bride to be to write a story about the trip for their magazine, and provided her with a list of contacts, including our hero. He dutifully filled in the gaps to his life. She wrote the article and once again they lost touch.

In Feb 2008 the good Dr. writes the Mademoiselle, saying his wife of 39 years had recently died, and asked if she had any advice. She told him to grieve. A month later he wrote back, they reconnected, fell in love and February 1, 2009 they married.

Hand me the tissues.

Toad

Wendy Richard-RIP

Fairly recently one of my favorite posters (I've forgotten whom, my apologies) published a tribute to the acting skills of Ms. Wendy Richard. Alas, Wendy is with us no more. Her Guardian Obit is here. Wendy Richard.

You may best remember her as the ditsy shop girl in "Are You Being Served" or perhaps in "The East Enders".

Food Cravings

In spite of my irregular eating habits, or perhaps because of them, I sometimes get the darndest cravings.

To my mind cravings come in two varieties. The first, more common, is the gotta have it now sort.

For instance I woke up the other day,and after a cup or two of coffee I realized I needed a roast beef sandwich and I needed one now. Not the Arby's skinny beef on a hamburger bun type, but a real honest to goodness roast beef sandwich, on french bread with a bit of au jus. A decent plate of fries would be nice too. Atypical bar food.

Unfortunately it wasn't as easy as it sounds and we ended up on a 50 mile round trip escapade. If you're ever near Mayberry, I recommend O'Connells for roast beef sammys. We had one there, and brought one home. They'll make more.

The second and more damaging is the planned, when I next get to that city, I am going there and having such and such. Invariably these turn out badly.

Many a vacation highlight has turned into a lowlight when we finally got to a destination restaurant and found it completely underwhelming. If you ever planned to hit The Lady and Sons, in Savannah, I'd recommend not.

For better or worse we have two such junkets planned in the near future. The first will be perfect. It always is. We are off to the world's greatest restaurant, Arthur Bryant's of Kansas City next weekend. At the end of the month we're off to NOLA.

Mrs. T won a contest,and the prize was up to a week's lodging in NOLA, with $500 to spend at a list of well known diners. Our visit happens to coincide with the one time local boy, Tennessee Williams Literary Festival. I'm hoping for the best, expecting the worst, and anticipating a couple of fine beignets in between.

Toad

Sloth is deeply under-rated

.

Sloth is a deeply misunderstood virtue.

I concede that once upon a time, sloth could be massively inconvenient, but times change and so do our vices. Sloth has not changed with the times.

By the time you reach your majority a slothful person has learned to respond to criticism by saying "I'm thinking a problem through. I want to be thorough." Eventually, you may come up with some great idea, and people outside the family will begin to believe you're pretty smart. Two great answers and you'll be known as a genius, and even your family will talk about you throughout the generations.

This brings me to the point of today's discussion. Toad's Garden.

I like to garden. I'm patient, slowly learning what grows on the property and what doesn't. I'm observing the large rats to see what they eat and what they avoid, and ever so slowly I am developing an eye for what should go where.

Often Mrs. T will inquire "what the h are you doing, just wandering around the yard?" "Just thinking the problem through", I'll respond.

You see, she wants grass and she wants it now. Forget the facts. It's February, and we live in the woods. She wants it, it better be green, and it better be thick, and it better be there by early May. No can do, but I can't tell her that.

So I thought the problem through. I was thorough. I developed an answer. It's green, it's free, it's thick, it's now, it doesn't need cutting, requires little watering, and looks and feels really good on the toes.

Let me introduce Toad's Moss Garden.

While I thought the problem through, a moss garden came. So far its only spread about 1/4 acre, with about 20 feet more to grow to complete the upper lawn.

Being a slothful Toad, I didn't do a thing. The spores were in/on the ground. The Iron Horse, and leaf blower spread them around last fall, a wet winter helped them become established and now I have lots of green. It's still a bit early to walk on it, but its coming long nicely. I spent most of Monday clearing it of debris. Mrs. T may be coming around to the idea I'm competent.

I'm now thinking on the front yard . That might take a couple of years, but I think it will be worth nature's effort. In a year or two I can dazzle my bride with how well I planned it.

Who says Toad's aren't green?

Toad

Oskar

You are perhaps familiar with the expression,"You can always tell a German, you just can't tell him much". What you didn't know was that the expression was created for my father in law, Oskar the Grouch.

An alleged former classmate of Abe Lincoln and Ethyl Barrymore, Oskar is 142 today.

He is a wonderful loving man, plays a mean game of tennis. and is an inspiration as a father, grandfather, and man to me. I am grateful to have been accepted as part of his clan.

Maybe you are more familiar with his other catch phrase, "work is for poor people". That one has caused a lot of strife in the family over the years.

Toad

It's Paige's Birthday!! Hurrah

It is this little angels 9th birthday.

As most formerly 8's are, she is mostly trouble and teases her helpless grandfather unmercifully.
When I asked her what she wanted for a birthday prize she told me she would love a box of rocks and maybe a couple of sticks and leaves. That seemed simple enough, so I threw in a couple of handfuls of dirt and some snips and snails as well. I hope they arrive in time.

Will you join me in singing a special Happy Birthday to Paige song?

Toad

Was I wrong?

Mrs. T accosted me the other day with "83% of rodeo boys are hurt each year".

I thought it would have been more.

"Why do they do it?", she asked. "It's for the girls, naturally", I replied.

"Girls like rodeo boys?"

"No, let me splain.

Some girls are dumb, but not most. Imagine a lass heads to a bar for a night out with her friends. Not so coincidentally, they are willing to let some dumb ass buy their drinks as long as they get off Scot free. They just has to find someone dumb enough to do it. If our lass finds a rodeo boy she's home free. He's proven dumb, and common sense tells her his gene pool should end with him."

"I'm not sure that's right", says Mrs T.

Gotta bettter idea?

Toad

Brooks Brothers

I found this picture on Mr. Mort ,then made up a copy of the shirt on Brooks Brothers, on-line, made to order shirt section site. Blue and white uni-stripe OCBD with contrasting white collar. The cuffs are standard, ie shirt body color. I was unsure whether to go with French or barrel cuffs. Most probably I'd go barrel and convert them to link cuffs later.

While neither fish nor fowl I kinda like it. Might look good with the white linen suit,eh?

Any thoughts? (the picture is from the BB fall '09 collection) My trigger finger is getting antsy.

Toad

Ask Your Doctor. I think not.

My annual physical is coming up in a few weeks, and I have been dutifully keeping a list of medications that I should ask my doctor if they are right for me. She hates that part.

Until recently, I had subscribed to the old fashioned notion that instead of asking my doctor if a certain drug was right for me, that my doctor should tell me. That was until I took part in a marketing study, for a medication which is to be a competitor to one I take.

The perky moderator herded a dozen old people into a cheap conference room. Then she explained the benefits of a new wonder drug and left us to pontificate on how the wording of their ads should be changed, the type made larger, what breed of cute puppy pictures should be used. You get the point.

At the end of the hour, our perky moderator went around the room and asked each person, would they ask their own doctor about Product X. You should have heard it. Jacob the Liar wouldn't have stood a chance. Doctors phones were going to ring that very afternoon, from patients demanding this not yet released wonder drug.

Then they got to me. "Toad, how likely are you to ask your doctor about Miracle Cure?" "Not so very much I replied." You'd have thought I was asking for more gruel.

Can you tell us why?, ask Ms. Perky.

"Because in my heart of hearts I know I couldn't answer my doc's first question, which would be Why is this better than what you currently take?" That then opens me up to all sorts of harassment. Is it cheaper, is the dosage better, how does it interact with what else you take, etc. etc. etc.? I couldn't answer any of those questions, so having no credibility, I'd feel beaten as a rented mule.

As soon as the fans began rumbling, class was immediately dismissed. Made $150 though.

Toad

A Confederacy of Dunces

To set the mood for an upcoming journey I dug out John Kennedy Toole's masterpiece "A Confederacy of Dunces" for its biennial reading.

Were you aware that A Confederacy of Dunces was not required reading in every high school in the land? I wasn't.

For those not familiar, first the backstory.

Son of New Orleans, John Kennedy Toole was a Tulane graduate, who sought his success in the big city, and took a graduate degree at Columbia in NY. Eventually, as is often the way of writers, he became discouraged writing, became depressed, took to spirits, and self destructed at 32.

Ten years after his death his mother found the peanut butter and jelly smeared carbon manuscript (ask if you do not know what a carbon is) of A Confederacy in a drawer in John's old room at her house. She fell in love with the story, took it to Walker Percy at Loyola who championed its publication. Eleven years after Toole's death the book was published and won the Pulitzer Prize in Fiction.

Now the story. I defy you to read this book without hurting yourself laughing. It's that funny. Our hero, fat, lazy overeducated Ignatious J. Reilly lives with his mother in New Orleans.

Is your newspaper relevant?

Is your daily newspaper relevant to your life?

As I write this I am too cold, too tired, too apathetic to mosey up the drive and pick up the morning news. It wasn't always such.

In the not so distant past, the first thing I'd do, each morning, would be rush out and get the news. I read it cover to cover as though it were scripture. I never understood mylate father in law, who would save the weeks papers for Sunday afternoon. I do now.

Charlie Rose has been running an infrequent series with vested interests on the future of the daily newspapers. The owners and publishers are planning and spending, and planning on spending great sums of money, just as soon as the recession is over and advertisers come back. Your paper will be in color, smaller in format, better, bolder, rah rah. Seems such a waste to me.

Print newspapers are dead, and the last to know are the news gatherers. Somehow seems indicative of the problem.

Many of the companies you rely upon every day are solely ad sponsored. They're just not delivered daily on paper. If you doubt me, take a look at Google.

Toad

Mardi Gras

The oldest Mardi Gras celebration in America is in Mobile, Alabama. I have had the privilege to attend their festivities and I must confess they do it proud.

For those amongst us who have an interest in the historic side of the festival, PBS has scheduled a "documentary" The Order of Myths for Tuesday night. It comes recommended. I haven't seen it, but my TIVO is generally free. Natch, it's unavailable here, but....

Let the good times roll.
Toad

Magcloud

In an effort to keep you up to date on things cool, I came across this today.

http://www.magcloud.com/

Magcloud is a Hewlet-Packard sponsored computer software service which allows anyone to make professional magazines, for very little cost. I'm not exactly certain why this strikes such a chord, but it really does with me.

Perhaps it works for family reunions, to celebrate a great sports season, church groups. I could think of a thousand places this might be cool. I just cannot explain why.

Toad

She finally got it, I think

I am a particular eater.

Bless her heart, Mrs. T has spent the past decade attempting to get me to enjoy or at least to eat my veggies. She's blanched, baked, boiled or served them raw. I pick, and occassionaly smile while doing it, sorry Martha, but frankly I'd rather lick dirt. I am as convinced, as I am that Christmas is December 25, that I could go to my dotage without ever eating another veg, and live to tell the tale.

So last evening, Mrs T outdoes herself. It was raw green bean night for the Toad. Come dinner, I pickin' at 'em, spreading around my plate when finally she stops, looks at me and says, " You really don't like vegetables do you?"

No ma'am I don't, I replied.

Tonight was squash. I wasn't offered any. Let us give thanks.

Toad

I've gone straight to summer

In my dream its always Friday afternoon. Early summer, Decoration Day has gone, and Independence Day is near. New Orleans' humidity is just bearable.

After a cold beer and appetizers at Felix's, I cross the street and head towards my waiting table in the deepest Siberia of the second floor at Galatoires. I'm ready to spend a long afternoon tackling the worlds problems, solidified by its best cuisine.

Luncheon is long and slow, the waitstaff attentive, the companions convivial. A most excellent afternoon. Too soon, it's time to walk home, have a short cigar and a nap. Cocktails will be along before you know it. A rather louche life, I'd say.

The part I like best comes at the end of luncheon. You pay your respects to the management, and walk out. None of that foolishness about settling the bill. It appears at your office at the end of the month. When you let the clerk deal with it, its eating free.

I haven't had that dream since about this time last year.

Summer, Friday afternoon, at Galatoires, is the natural home of white linen suits. In most American communities they are an acquired taste, little sampled. In New Orleans they are virtually required.

The moxie required of the average adult male to pull off GTH pants with aplomb, withers in the face of a new white suit.

Few can pull it off. I find garments like this more enjoyable the older I become. Think Hal Holbrook as Mark Twain or Sydney Greenstreet in Casablanca, rather than Tom Wolfe. Perhaps, it's easier to forgive older eccentrics.

I need to have my white suit altered, in case I find myself in gastronomic heaven anytime soon. The best accompaniment is years of wear, along with the battle stains of too many a good meal. To that end I need to find a quick way to make a new linen suit look 10 years older. Preferably without the stains. I'll take care of that myself soon 'nuf.

Toad

Photos from The Sartorialist, and Theselby(Tom Wolfe)

One Dollar

I will send a US $1 bill to the first person who can prove, to us, they have a Hot Diggity Dogger in their home and have used it more than once. Video will do. I get to publish your nom d'plate. Available at Sky Mall.

Toad

Recluse

Is becoming a recluse a rational response to an irrational world, or a symptom of mental illness?

Do you have to be a misanthrope, or can you just want to be left alone? Are the two different?

Do you have to be rich, self-indulgent? Is there a how-to manual?


I have to admit the idea is appealing to me. I'd have to be able to get to the library, and for a while I'd still like the Sunday New York Times delivered, as well as a periodic lunch or dinner out. Other than that I think it might be OK, as long as UPS stays in business. Wouldn't even need servants.

I'd tend the garden, catch up on my reading, invent labor saving devices, play with Ted, wash the car. Deep down I believe this could be the perfect life for me. I don't even think Mrs T would care, as long as I didn't make her do it too. She wouldn't last 15 minutes.

I've been reading too much Nero Wolfe again, can you tell?

Toad

Sheer Bliss

Ever since the spray pancake episode I have not been permitted in grocery stores without supervision. Until today.

Mrs T made me go with her today to engage in power shopping. You know the kind, meet me in 4 minutes with these 5 items. I've learned better, so I knew I had a good 10 minutes to peruse the shelves.

I used to believe that when the revolution began, the first up against the wall were to be found shopping at Whole Foods. You know the type $10 for 8 crackers. Die yuppie scum, alas I was wrong.

Today, at our local, I may have met the enemy. Canned ice cream. The "King Tut" of ice cream. Sheer Bliss!

Imagine Ms Save the Planet Green, taking her Prius to stock up on something to help her get through the night. Think I get some ice cream she says, saves the earth. What do they have in a can? $8.99 the pint. Maybe she recycles.

Toad

NMP in real life. A Baseball Editorial

Spring training is underway and as revealed on these pages last week, many professional baseball players take steroids. So what?

Frankly, I don't care if they smoke crack in the dugout. My reason for sharing this bit of news is this.

I've grown sick of hearing about how "he" took steroids, and so did Mr. X, and Mr. Y and Mr. Z.

The people with the most to gain or lose if baseball is juiced, the owners, the players, and Major League Baseball don't give a hoot. Why should you? So what if MLB is on par with the WWF?

If you have some moralistic "purity of the game" jones about you, I encourage you to stay home and spend more time watching your kids play Little League. Otherwise get over yourself. Don't beat yourself up over what's not your problem. Your crocodile tears won't fix anything.

Let the junkies play in peace.

Toad

Haunted Houses

Ever live in a haunted house?

It's tough to find find one in a standard suburban neighborhood, but in urban areas, or country houses I think they may be more plentiful than you want to believe. I've lived in several, and I am not yet certain that The Park isn't also.

Now I'm not talking about the nonsense you find on The Travel Channel, or TLC. Not The Ghost Hunters or any of that other rot. I'm talking about houses that have more than your family living in them.


I truly believe that house take on the personality of their owners. We personalize our homes to fit our needs and wants. We also invest a lot of energy dreaming about our homes, what we would do it we had the taste, time or budget. I think a lot of that karmic energy is absorbed into the very floorboards of our houses.

That may be why when house shopping we can feel if a house is right 10 seconds after opening the front door the first time. Successful Realtors know that how a house "feels" sells the house faster than how it meets our needs. They also know that if you're on the fence about a house, its energy will help you decide.

One of the "haunted" houses I have lived in had a very negative energy, and that fairly quickly drove us out of it. The family we sold to, also had a bad experiences there.

The Park, was owned for a long time by one family. The energy is good, and the vibe is more playful than off putting. Somehow it speaks to us, when it needs attention, and somehow we always find the right guy to deal with its needs. The previous owner died suddenly here. I can feel his presence at the strangest times, and its always comforting. I love this house.

Toad