Some Monday Maunderings

1. A mild confession: I have once again--for, oh, the thirty-seventh time?--begun screening the entire run (100+ episodes) of The Rockford Files, a favorite TV show from ... long ago (1974-80). I watched them over and over when they were on broadcast TV, watched them over and over again on VHS, watched them over and over again when I could stream them all on Netflix (no longer available--they're on Hulu, though), watched them over and over again on the set of DVD's I now have.

Joyce has (almost) limitless patience, but in the past few years I've watched them only while waiting in bed for her to arrive from her study--fifteen, maybe twenty, minutes a night. She likes the show, too, but I can tell that my ... obsession ... with it is a bit ... worrisome? She fears/knows I am veering near addiction?

Link to some video.


2. Weird dream: Last night I had a dream that was both realistic--very--and impossible, as well. I was looking in the sky and saw a seagull in flight; I then saw a smaller seagull land on its back and remove from that larger gull's head-feathers a large insect (looked like a cricket!) and fling it into the air.

I was telling someone (who was it?) about this remarkable sight when I looked overhead again and saw a yellow truck in the air, a truck being pulled along by an airplane. A bird was sitting on the roof of the truck, and another, smaller bird of a different species (I didn't recognize either one, by the way) landed on the head of the larger and removed another insect (though I couldn't tell what it was).

Just to show you how weird the whole thing was: In the dream, I thought the bird behavior was odder and more remarkable than the fact that an airplane was towing a yellow truck!

I will restrain myself re: the interpretation of dreams.

No, I won't. Dream birds help one another ... we should, too!


3. I've been a peanut-butter freak my entire life. (I even have an entire post about it from some years ago. (Link to that post from March 17, 2013.) I ate it every day in my schoolboy lunches; I carried a peanut-butter sandwich to school with me every day when I was teaching; I had a bagel swabbed with crunchy peanut butter every morning for breakfast at the old Saywell's Drug here in Hudson; in recent years I have frequently embarrassed myself by sitting in front of the TV, table knife and a jar of Jif (Extra Crunchy), the knife making frequent trips into the jar and equally frequent trips into my mouth.

I've been resisting it lately, though. Lots of calories, I know, and one of the meds I'm on makes it very difficult to lose weight. And, of course, one tablespoon of peanut butter = nearly 100 calories (about a mile of running).

Thirty-five knife-visits to the jar = an entire pound of addition to my midriff.

So ... the jar of Midriff Jif, for the nonce, lives, untouched, in a kitchen cabinet.

Until, of course, the next FIT hits me, and I begin rummaging in the dinnerware drawer for a sturdy knife ...