Total Pageviews

Thursday, October 18, 2012

Minus Quarter Pounder X 30 = Negative 8


By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for MIT School of Weight s, Measures, and Economics

No I have not had a brain transplant, although that might not be a bad idea.  And I haven’t been struck by lightning that suddenly made it possible for me to do quantum physics, calculus, or sixth grade math, but there has definitely been a change in our lives.  Let me explain.

For the past seven years I have made the twice daily trip from our semi-thirty-five-acre-mini-plantation into town delivering and picking up kids and passing Wal-Mart and McDonald’s a minimum of four times a day with frequent stops at both places.  Over this period of time, the clearance aisles at Wal-Mart have slowly made their way to our barn, the shop, and every closet in the house.   Ballet, gymnastics, Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts, violin lessons, church activities and a tight schedule resulted in fast food becoming a necessity as it was too far to go home and eat and get back in town in time for the next activity.  Those quarter pounders, happy meals, and caffeine/calorie loaded mocha frappes have found their way to my backside resulting in double digit stretch jeans.  Our credit card statement required extra postage.

At the beginning of the school year our children enrolled in a new school.  It is the same distance from our semi-plantation as their old school, but in the opposite direction.  In fact, there is nothing between our house and the new school except pine trees and speed limit signs; no gas stations, no McDonald’s, no Wal-Mart…not even a Dollar Tree. 

Now, because I no longer pass by and stop at  Wal-Mart’s two or three times a day, the clearance items are now more equally available to people who only come to Wal-Mart once or twice a week and our clearance aisle inventory is dwindling.  Since time, distance, cost of speeding tickets and gasoline have increased, we have dropped gymnastics, Girl Scouts, and one set of ballet lessons. 

The biggest change has come in the form of meals.  McDonald’s does not deliver so we have had to rely on my cooking.   Since I am not the World’s Best Cook (I am, however, in the running for Worst Cook Title) we have resorted to more natural foods….bread, peanut butter, honey, apples, bananas…natural foods that require no ovens or forgotten pots on the stove.  Also, because there are no longer four pages of credit card charges to McDonald’s and Wal-Mart, our credit card statement covers only two pages and one stamp.

And that, in a convoluted manner, leads us to the title of this week’s post.  During the first six weeks of school minus Happy Meals, quarter pounders, and mocha frappes, I have lost eight pounds.  The credit card people did call and asked if I had been ill or kidnapped.

I said, “Nope, just going in a different direction.”

Thursday, October 11, 2012

There's No Business like No-Business


By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for non-writing lessons

The tween-ager seems to have grasped the fundamentals of current 21st century American economics.  If she continues developing such business acumen, I can just imagine the conversation we will have when she is a teenager.

“Mom, I have a new idea for a business: The No Fish Fish Farm.”

“But dear, starting a fish farm requires financial backing.”

“That’s ok.  Because I am under age 30 and female, I can qualify for a low cost business loan to get started.  Also, because my heritage cannot be established, due to sealed court records, I might be part American Indian, in which case I can qualify for all sorts of student grants to attend school to learn about underwater no fish fish farming.”

“Yes, but you are still a tween-ager.”

“No problem.  Age discrimination is a federal offense. "

“Yes, but fish farming is such an unstable market.  What if your fish go belly-up?  Need I remind you of the gold fish incident of a few years ago?”

“No need to worry.  I have studied my history.   Remember that program Cash for Clunkers?  I figure there will be another one like Cash for Crustaceans or Funding for Fish Flops or Credit for Crappie.

“Yes, but…”

“And because I might be part Inuit, my ancestors could have been denied their fishing rights due to great White Sharks so I would be getting more money from the government.   Plus, don’t forget I am adopted.   During the adoption process in court, I was a ward of the state for approximately twenty seconds so that should be good for more entitlements as I am sure I suffered physical stress”

“You were a baby.”

“But I could have had a wet diaper and the State failed to change me in a timely manner.

“For twenty seconds?”

And I’m not forgetting about you.  You could help me a lot.”

“I could?”


“Yes.  You are way over 60, you were a teacher so that puts  you just above the  poverty line,  you are living on a fixed income with  two children under the age of 18, and you started working before Title IX went into effect.”

Thinking I would get her to slip up, I asked “So how much would you pay me to be a non-worker in your no-fish fish farm?”

“That depends on whether or not you left Louisiana because of political persecution.  If you did, then the federal government will give me money to hire and train political refugees to work in my non-business. You did spend a lot of time in Shreveport at the boats… I mean on a boat…right?   And they were definitely against you, right?”

“I, uh, well…yes.”

“Perfect.  I just need you to do one thing for me.”

“What?”
“Would you do my homework?  I don’t have time.  You know how the government is.   I have a ton of paperwork to do for my No Fish Fish Farm. “

I used to worry about how she would manage as an adult, but she will be fine. It’s America I’m worried about now.   Is there such a thing as a Non Country?

Friday, October 5, 2012

Egg-o-nomics

 
It isn’t a Faberge, but it could be!

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved to explain the national debt

This all started with a business our tween-ager got for her birthday; actually it was the promise of a business.  Really it was to be a hands-on business opportunity to explain how economics works and to provide her spending money.  Together we would build a chicken pen, purchase some chickens, sell the eggs and make a fortune.

Our first mistake was purchasing 12 chickens on the Clearance Aisle at the local feed store.  They were labeled as black and white speckled domineckers, the kind that is featured on country style dish towels and wallpaper.  After a month of living in the barn and losing their cute yellow fuzz, none of them were black and white. They appeared to be the illegitimate chicks of some Rhode Island Red and “a visiting rooster”.    

Our second mistake was in underestimating the amount of space they would need.  As they grew, so did the plans for the Trump Chicken Condos (see previous blog).  Finally the TCC was ready for chickens.

All 12 chickens were transferred to Trump Condos.  The tween-ager bought a clip board, calculator, pens, and a ledger to keep track of expenses.

April 2…..  12 chickens @ $3 each                                                                              $36

April 3….. l sack of chick starter                                                                                                 $ 7

April 17    2nd sack of chick starter $8.50                                                                  $8.50

May 1      50 feet of chicken wire, rafters, 24 2x4, tin, screws                        $489

May 2      3rd sack of chick feed $9.00                                                                        $9.00

May 14    Expanded Trump Chicken Condos, chain link, mortar, doors,      $598

May  20   Additional feeder and waterer                                                                               $25

June 1      Covered antique brick porch, rafters, tin                                           $289

June 2     4 bags chicken feed @ $10                                                                         $40

June  16  4 bags chicken feed @ $12 each                                                              $48

July 6     `5 bags chicken feed @ $13 each                                                               $53

July 30  Discovers one chicken is a rooster (don’t ask)  

Aug. 1 Adjusts projected income based on a dozen eggs a day to 11 eggs a day.

Aug. 2 Applies for Federal Disaster Relief based on loss of 365 eggs per year.

Aug. 3 Turned down as rooster is considered an asset capable of producing more chickens

Aug. 4 Reapplies for projected Federal Disaster Relief as future baby chicks could also be roosters.

Aug. 5  Turned down as Federal Government does not discriminate based on sex, same or opposite

Aug. 6  Advertises Rooster on E-bay.

Aug-Sept.  10 bags of laying mash @$13 each                         $l30

Sept.  11  The first egg laid at a cost of                                     $1,740.50

Oct 24, 2077   Projected date when business will show a profit

Sept. 12 Files for Chapter 11

Sept. 13 Federal Government authorizes a bail-out of $2,984.00 based on number of persons who would be unemployed if her business failed.

Sept. 14 Files suite against chicken hatchery for mis-sexed birds

Oct. 1  Punitive damages of $3,894.22 awarded, lawyer takes half

Oct. 5  GOP pays $1,740.50 NOT to raise chickens in the future.

Oct. 6    Throws big party serving  Sunny Delight, deviled eggs, and FRIED CHICKEN!

And that, my dear, is why America is in debt and no you can’t start a gold fish farm!

Friday, September 28, 2012

Which Came First...the Chicken or the Egg?


Which Came First…The Chicken or the Egg?

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved to work for chicken feed

Those of you who read my blog on a regular basis have come to expect a certain amount of intellectual wisdom gained through years of repeating the same mistakes over and over.  Some even look forward to the broad picture as seen through the declining eyesight of a near septuagenarian.  Today I shall combine philosophy with architecture as a visual means to enlighten those who can’t find their reading glasses.

First to address the age old question:  which came first the chicken or the egg?  The answer is not complex at all. The first to come would be the chicken pen for without the chicken pen there would be no chickens or eggs due to marauding critters.  Just as civilizations are judged by the architecture that is left behind, so can our civilization be judged by the architecture of the chicken pen which, as I said before, had to come first.  Even city dwellers have begun to have backyard chicken pens, also known as coops.  Cages have been designed for apartment dwellers.  Following the philosophy that free range chicken eggs are best, apartment dwellers have been encouraged to turn their patio birds out to roam freely on the balcony for a few hours each day.

The ultimate evidence that bird architecture has been taken to new heights is the Trump Chicken Condos also known as the TCC on the Worsham 35 acre semi-plantation in lovely downtown East Texas.  The plan started out as a simple roof structure enclosed with chicken wire over an existing concrete slab.  Security questions came into play and chain link fencing was added on top of the chicken wire.  Recycled French doors to provide light along the north wall and added a certain classic charm. Turned sideways, the doors were  raised to provide protection from the wind and rain.  The coop would need to be wired for electricity so that a ceiling fan could be installed to provide coolness in the summer and of course the pre-requisite radio to provide laying music.

 The coop plan was then expanded to include a covered outdoor area with a natural grassy space for that free-range element.  To live up to Trump standards, a covered antique brick inlayed porch would allow for Gator parking while unloading feed and lawn chairs for bird watching.  Silver painted laying nests attached to a wall with a private entrance for each chicken would give that chic loft living feel.  A large porthole would provide easy access for the chicken and allow her to observe the rest of the community while laying her egg in cedar and hickory scented sawdust.

If any of you are interested in investing in a  Trump Chicken Condos or our lease-to-own chickens , you may contact me at jodyworsham@gmail.com  There are a few condos still available but they are going fast.  Next week Egg-onomics or the Faberge Knockoffs.

Thursday, September 20, 2012

When A Good Culture Goes Bad


By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved to pay for Culinary Insurance

 Recently I was following an actual recipe that called for sour cream.  I was in luck.  I had some in the refrigerator.  I know because two months ago when I was cleaning out the refrigerator, I saw some.  Now at the insistence of my friends, my insurance company, and the hospital staff at “Good Lord, She’s Cooking Again”, I have learned to consult expiration dates on anything currently in my refrigerator that I, the family, or any seemingly healthy wild animal might consume.

But here’s the thing.  When does Sour Cream go bad?  I mean the very name is a contradiction …Sour…Cream.   The carton bore no expiration date, only a Sell by Date.  Is there an assumption that if the sour cream is not bought by a certain date then it will what? Go sour? Or will it remain freshly sour indefinitely?   Do they assume that if you buy it say after six months of being on the shelf, then you will use it before the thing sits in your refrigerator for the next six months?  Well, they don’t know me.  Still…how do you know if it is safe to use? 

Well, I e-mail my friends and they reply, quickly.  One suggested that if the dog refuses to eat or bury it, it is probably bad.  Another thought that fuzzy green/black stuff growing on the top would be a good indication to toss it.  Still another loudly admonished me “IT’S SOUR.  IT’S SUPPOSED TO SMELL BAD.”  My southern friends hold to the belief that if you are going to cook with it, there is no statute of limitations on sour cream.  A more intellectual friend gave me a long discourse on milk cultures, bacteria, the making of cheese, sour cream, and the very cultured Elsie the Cow at the opera.  I don’t think my Sour Cream is cultured.  I caught it watching WW Wrestling while sitting on my counter.

Still, I didn’t want my insurance premiums going up again, so I decided to substitute something else for the sour cream.  I went to the freezer.  I figured the electricity hadn’t been off that long during our last storm to cause any real damage…or growths.  I found a box of Creamed Spinach.  Ok, that’s cream and if the electricity had been off a little longer than I had thought, that might make it sour cream.  I continued reading the label, you know, just in case there was this limitation on thawed creamed spinach.  As I read on I discovered that it was made with artificial cream with a long list of totally unpronounceable additives and other assorted chemicals.

 Problem solved.

 I continued following my recipe substituting the artificial and chemically preserved creamed spinach for the questionable sour cream.  You can’t go wrong with USDA approved preservatives and fake, possibly sour, cream.

 After all, we are still eating those left over Twinkies from my 1962 graduation party, but don’t tell Blue Cross.

Friday, September 14, 2012

And I Couldn't Wait for School to Start!


By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for Geritol and orthopedic roller skates
The start of school must be like childbirth (or so I've heard.) When you have a strong desire for another child, you forget the morning sickness, mood swings, and the 96 hours of labor during which time you questioned the legitimacy of your husband's birth.  How quickly we forget; and how quickly we remember.  

3:30 a.m.  I’m awake.  Might as well get up; it’s 5 o’clock somewhere.  Hey, it’s quiet.  Time to write, after I put on a load of laundry.

6:00 Make lunches and breakfast, in that order

6:30 Get kids up, fed, dressed

7:20 Leave for school

8:05 Return home.  Now what?  Oh, cleaning, cooking, reset smoke detector, cooking again, Wal-Mart, laundry, errands.

1:00  Walk the I’ll –take-care-of-it-you-won’t-ever-have –to-do-anything-for-it-please-please-Dog. Eat lunch; look on blogs for a much needed laugh.

2:00 Pack snacks for after school

2:40  Leave to pick up kids

3-3:30   A blur of snatched snacks, “Sign this”, “Here’s a note.  It wasn’t my fault.” “Look. I got one right!” “This is the (worst, best, coolest, yukkiest) day of my life”.

3:31  Arrive home, throw out uneaten portions of lunches, kids eat “hold me till supper, supper.”

3:36 Start on second grade homework with second grader

3:37 Call second grade teacher for explanation of math assignment.

4:35  Finish with second grader, start on sixth grader.

4:36  Call sixth grade math teacher for help.

6:30  Send starving sixth grader to kitchen for supper while I Google algebra, composite numbers and www.u-b-dumb-n-math.com

7:31 Sixth grader informs you she needs map colors for map assignment due at 8a.m.

7:32 Leave for Wal-Mart to purchase map colors.

8:15 Arrive home, make peanut butter and jelly sandwich for starving second grader’s second supper, give map colors to sixth grader.

8:17 Send second grader to the showers, throw his favorite-must-wear-tomorrow shirt and shorts in the washer.  Rewash 3:30a.m. now dried and semi-sour laundry.

8:23 Call out spelling words to second grader while he is in the shower.

8:30 Sixth grader starts on solar system cut and paste project.

8:31 Google recipe for homemade paste.

8:50 Hold the solar system up in the air to dry as wet naked second grader runs through the house looking for a clean towel.

8:51  Dr. Hubby asks “Need any help?”

8:52   Shotgun located, now searching for shells.

8:59 Give up on locating shells, throw pajamas on now air dried second grader and send him to bed.

9:10  Hand near dry revolving solar system to sixth grader with instructions to pack backpack and go to bed.

9:20 Eat five chocolate cupcakes with a Chocolate Tru-Moo milk chaser.

9:30  Make more chocolate cupcakes

9:45 Reset smoke detector.

10:00 Breathing near normal, blood pressure  278/167 down 89 points.

10:15 Shower, brush teeth, tell Dr. Hubby it is safe to remove flak jacket.

11:00 Sleep

11:45  Jump up and put the favorite-must –wear-tomorrow shirt and shorts in the dryer along with twice washed 3:30 a.m. load

12:00 Sleep

3:30 a.m.  REPEAT with few variations.

I can do this.  I can do this.  Only 175 school days until summer!  It's the most wonderful time of the year.

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

It Was a Four Cupcake Night


By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for Math-a-Diabetic Counseling

The biggest challenge in raising a prepubescent tweenager is not the hormonal fluctuations that at times can register a 12 on the Richter Scale or dealing with the tragedy of having to wear jeans that do not have slits and slashes in them or even keeping track of all the BF’s (that’s text talk for Best Friend) that can change hourly.  It isn’t even raising a child when there is a 57 year age difference.  No, the real challenge is helping with sixth grade homework.

And it isn’t even helping with all homework.  Cutting and pasting the solar system on construction paper, I can handle that.  I can outline Texas on the map so she can color it with map colors for social studies.  Heck, I even know the shape of Rhode Island.  When it comes to sentence structure, I can definitely help with simple subject and predicate.  But what sends me to the chocolate cupcakes faster than a Jenny Craig drop-out is math.

Granted, it’s been 40 years since I was in a math class, but you’d think 2 +2 still equals 4 but today’s
sixth graders are way beyond dealing with just  plain numbers.  They have PRIME numbers and COMPOSITE numbers and evidently numbers that aren’t even real.

After an hour of screaming and crying and shouting “When will this ever be used?” the tween-ager sought help from a much calmer Dr. Hubby while I got chocolate cupcake number one and tried to breathe normally.  Five minutes later Dr. Hubby said he would assume the supervision of the second grader’s homework AND buy me a condo on Maui, IF I would continue helping with the sixth grade homework.  Cupcake number two!

Math and a right brained person do not mix.  They are not simpatico. They do not speak the same language, not on the same page, different worlds.  Problem:  8 divided by 2 X (3-2) to the second power minus 4 = ?????  To the math teacher’s credit, she did provide a mnemonic device to help with tonight’s homework and this right brained elderly parent.  This is good.  I can deal with mnemonics; after all, I learned to read music with F-A-C-E and Every Good Boy Does Find, at least the treble cleft part.

To help in solving the problem, she gave us “Pass the Potatoes My Dear Aunt Sally” which stood for the order of the steps you follow to solve the problem:  Parenthesis, Power, Multiply, Divide, Add, Subtract. “ Ok, get rid of the parenthesis first so that’s 3-2, which is 1 then exponents ok that’s still one, so on to potatoes…no that’s Dear… Abby … no wait….” After the second hour my neurotic device was “Panicked Parent Malfunctioning During Arithmetic Session.” We needed a break.  Chocolate cupcake number three.

Now with an additional 1500 calories under my stretch pants and chocolate endorphins coursing through my brain, I was sure we could finish the assignment before morning… or I had to bake more cupcakes.   I was mumbling “Now that’s 8 divided by 2 cups of flour on the harmonica times 1500 calories to the tenth power…” when I heard the tweenager say  “Never mind, I got it.  While you were licking the icing off your cupcake, I called my teacher and my study partner.  You were doing it all wrong, but thanks anyway.”

And that’s when I ate chocolate cupcake number four!