The Wonderful Wizard of Lumosity

I watch Lumosity commercials like men watch Viagra commercials.  If only I could be sure...it couldn't hurt...what have I got to lose...  Oh, heck!  Why not!  Nobody will know!

And so, I signed up for the free portion of Lumosity.  

Oh, Wonderful Wizard of Lumosity!    

Allow me to introduce myself!  

I. Am. Tin. Man.

E Pluribus Unum is I.

Free stuff = A little is better than nothing. 

Oh, Great Wizard!

I cast myself down before you!

Evaluate my brain!

And, so he did.  With a quick click-click-click evaluation, he prescribed games that are sure to fix my empty little tin head. 

After about 3 days of "gaming," I felt the need to pony up to the full-meal-deal 1-year membership which promised even further evaluation of my cognitive abilities AND the key to all of the locked games that tease the freebie members.  (Lumosity sent me an email offering me a "one-time-crazy-low rate."  It was cheaper than a good pair of shoes.  My brain is worth way more than a good pair of shoes.)

With the membership, you get added extras that give you TMI.

So, I thought, "Hmm.  I wonder..."

And then I thought, "But surely..."  

The Wizard's games are sure to help me for I have no ruby slippers.

I am counting on each and every "Benefit."

There.  I've bared my brain to the world.  I needs me a keeper.

Today's challenge:  Quit calling the site "Lumenosity."  I can't seem to drop that unnecessary  syllable.

I'll keep you posted on my brain's progress.  If and only if I can remember to do so.

Octoberfest with Bananas Foster

Me, Alan, Meems, and Meems Best Friend, Leonard

Meems invited Alan and me to attend Raider Ranch's anual Octoberfest this evening.  It was rather nippy outside, and I really just wanted to curl up in my favorite chair with a Lean Cuisine.  Alas, Meem's enthusiasm about the event prompted me to crank up the car and head over to the Ranch.  "They'll have German food, free beer [I hate beer], and Bananas Foster!"  I didn't really get the "Bananas Foster" connection, but she sounded darn sure that it was the German dessert du jour.  Who can resist a good German Bananas Foster anyway?

We arrived promptly at 5PM, and the line into the dining room was already really long.  The Ranch residents do not mess around when it comes to meal times.  A few at a time, they begin to line up at around 4:30 on any given evening.  Eyeing the line, I got that nervousy feeling like I was waiting in the cold for Toys-R-Us to open the day after Thanksgiving.  Would there be enough Red Power Rangers?  Beer?  Sausages?  Bananas Foster?

As seating began with people shuffling in pushing walkers or scooting on scooters, music began to lilt from a corner of the dining room.  A light polka danced in the air transforming the Mediterranean interior design to a festive beer hall with plastic tablecloths.  Thanks to this guy...

                      

He was either wearing very short lederhosen (hot hosen?) or forgot his pants entirely.  

It was hard to tell what with the accordion and all.

Yup.  It looks like a German beer hall.  On Ladies' Night Out.  At the Elderhostel.

Our favorite Raider Ranch frau und mann.

I told Frau Kinzbach that this should be her Christmas card picture.

"Not a picture with a beer," she quickly replied in a most serious tone.

"But it's a really cute picture," I teased.

"Not a picture with a beer."

So, take a long look because you won't be seeing this picture on her Christmas card.

There.  Much better.

As for dessert...it wasn't Bananas Foster.  It was a scrumptious warm-from-the-oven apple strudel.  Not one banana in sight.  Pity.

A teaser for my next blog post: 

Our discussion over sausages, German potato salad and sauerkraut?  Meem's Halloween costume.  She cracks me up.  And, no.  I'm not going as her side kick.  Neither is Leonard.  Neither is Alan.  Sorry Meems.

The Midnight Mourning of Milk

It was about midnight when my sweet husband got home last night after helping with a fundraiser in Odessa.  He had been standing over a smoky grill all day long doling out pulled pork tacos and New York strips.  He smelled delicious.

When he shuffled into our bedroom after banging around in the laundry room and kitchen, he bemoaned, "We need more milk.  The milk is out of date."

This morning, when I stumbled into the kitchen for my first glass of sweet tea I stopped short when I saw this sad tableau on my kitchen counter.  I made my little Poor BooBoo face envisioning the slight slump of Alan's shoulders when he read the date on the milk jug.  Sigh.  "Glug-Glug-Glug," taunted the milk as it circled the drain in the kitchen sink.  Too tired and disappointed to cope, he simply turned off the light and headed to bed.

What a week.  Government's shut down.  National Parks are closed.  Miley Cyrus is still running free.  A Georgia woman named Susan Bennett has "come out" as the voice of Siri.

Can't a hard-working man reasonably expect a jug full of cold, frothy, fresh milk - or sweet milk as my grandmother would say - after a slaving all day over hot coals and red meat?  

My heart went out to my man.  I, too, have had that late night disappointment.  Bowl.  Spoon.  Cereal.  Splenda.  No milk.

"Best by" date on the milk?  October 2nd.  Yesterday was the 3rd.

I would have totally had a big old bowl of cereal last night.  I ain't skeered.