Here in the Valley of the Old People Sun, most of the grocery stores offer seniors a 10 percent discount on the first Wednesday of every month. For your edification, understand that the definition of “old people” is one day older than me, and it’s moving target. Ha. Actually, I think it’s +55, but I’m not sure since I’ve been +55 for quite some time and lose concentration easily.

Anyway, the seniors here take that day quite seriously. They line up to receive their 10 percent discount, having already determined which grocery store has Manwich on sale. I don’t really blame them with the cost of groceries these days. For my part, however, I pay no attention to what day of the week or month I’m shopping. As such, through my indifference, or simply through bad luck, I occasionally inadvertently stumble into a grocery store on the first Wednesday of the month. I should never be as surprised as I always am. I mean, you can’t miss the senior citizens’ buses in the parking lot.

Yesterday was one of those days. Surprisingly, the store where I chose to shop was not noticeably busier than usual. I did notice that I was nearly run down by a few shoppers, but that happens no matter what day of the week or month it is.

In fact, it wasn’t until I was at the cashier line that I realized what day of the month it was. I nearly always go through self-check, but chose to go to a live cashier (it seemed faster than going to a dead cashier) because among my purchases was a bottle of Tanqueray gin. Sometimes buying alcohol can get complicated at self-check if the person monitoring the area is distracted or disinterested in this particular job. The woman in line ahead of me had a cart full of items. Still, she was the only person between me and my forking over an unprecedented amount of money for my own groceries. Of course, I was watching as she loaded her items onto the conveyor belt, because that’s what I do. In fact, sometimes I try to figure out what people are making for dinner from what they are buying. It’s hard being me.

Anyhoo, I found her purchases interesting because she seemed to have two of everything. Well, she had four or six cans of Campbell’s tomato soup. But most of her groceries were in sets of two. Perhaps she was shopping for a friend, I thought to myself.

Then I heard her tell the cashier that she had laid out all of the buy-one-get-ones first on the conveyor belt, followed by all of the items for which she had coupons. She proceeded to hand her a stack of coupons that was at least a quarter of an inch thick.

I decided to settle in, knowing this was going to be a complicated business. The problem, you see, is that this process never goes smoothly. Some of the BOGOs don’t ring up correctly. Sometimes the coupons are expired or for another brand. I really didn’t get annoyed, however, because I had no where to be, and watching the process was entertaining. She ended up saving somewhere in the neighborhood of $100, what with her BOGOs and her coupons, and, of course, the store’s own items on sale.

Believe me when I tell you that I have nothing against using coupons. In fact, I admire the people who have the patience to search and clip and cut and download coupons. They undoubtedly save a great deal of money. I have had a number of times in my life where I have been determined to use coupons. I have even clipped and downloaded. But not one time have I ever remembered to bring the coupons with me to the store. King Soopers (the Kroger affiliate in Denver) sends me coupons in the mail every few months. Because they clearly monitor what I purchase, the coupons are always for things I buy frequently. Every time I see the coupons (once I have gotten over the creepiness of every coupon being something I purchase), I tell myself that this time I will use the coupon for 75 cents off a bag of chopped Caesar salad and the coupon for 45 cents off Land O Lakes butter.

Never happens. Well, it did happen once. I used a coupon for 25 cents off a can of Rotel tomatoes. I learned that in order to use the coupon, a King Soopers employee had to scan the coupon for me. Maybe that’s changed now, since I now can carry a computer on my wrist. That last attempt was some time ago.

I will admit to enjoying the 10 percent off my groceries yesterday simply for being +55.

Since we are in traveling mode, making our way from Denver back to AZ, I am posting a blog from April 2021. I will be back in the saddle Wednesday.

When I was in the neighborhood of 7 or 8 years old, our family got our first dog. (As an aside, doesn’t it seem like in every single one of my childhood memories, I’m 7 or 8 years old? Either that was the most important year of my life, or my life took a great nosedive at age 9. Or perhaps I just stopped remembering anything that happened after 1960. Yep. A big blank.)

Anyhoo, back to our first dog. Without doing any research whatsoever on dog breeds, Mom and Dad purchased a toy manchester terrier. For reasons I can’t recall, we named him Geno. We chose that dog because my Uncle Jeep and Aunt Cork had just purchased a toy manchester, and we thought he was cute. He was, but only because there is no such thing as an ugly puppy. He was a sibling to my aunt and uncle’s dog. And, because he was a terrier, he needed a lot of exercise.

I can’t tell you whether or not he remained cute as an adult dog. What I can tell you is that none of us was a very good dog owner at that point in our lives. Dad and Mom certainly didn’t have time to take a dog on daily walks. Dog Parks were nonexistent because in those days nobody could imagine taking a dog anywhere outside your back yard, unless it was around the block. I’m sure Mom and Dad nagged us to walk the dog. We occasionally did, but not often. Part of the reason we didn’t like to walk the dog was that he was completely and totally untrained on the leash. Part of it was that we would rather have been playing with our Barbie dolls than walking the dog.

The reason I don’t know if he would have been cute as an adult dog is that I killed him when he was still a puppy. Not on purpose, of course. In fact, I was taking him on one of his infrequent walks. Mom was punishing me because Bec and I had gotten in a fight. While I don’t remember the cause of our fight, I must have been at fault because Bec was taking a nap, and I was walking the dog. I put the dog on the leash, went outside, and started heading to visit my Aunt Cork, who lived two blocks away. We lived on a busy street. The dog, being naughty on the leash, began running. He took off so quickly that he pulled the leash out of my hand. He ran out into the street, where he promptly got run over by a car. He blessedly died instantly.

A few years later, we got the dog that all of us would consider our childhood pooch. Mac was a mutt. We bought him from some farmers in a nearby town. He was purported to be a poodle and Scottie mix. There might have been some poodle, but the nearest Mac ever got to Scotland was in my dad’s glass of Scotch whiskey. Mac was an adorable puppy that grew up to be an fairly ugly dog, mostly because he became quite fat. Unfortunately, we had not become better dog walkers. But we all loved him very much, and my parents were broken-hearted when he died many years later. The kids were al grown up and had moved on to our own dogs.

I have been thinking about dogs recently for a couple of reasons. First, Bill and I enjoyed the time we spent with Jen’s pooch Winston. I still wait for him to run to the door when I come in from the garage. We both miss him. Second, I have recently been diagnosed with high blood pressure, and I think a dog would be a good buddy who would calm me down and force me to walk more.

Unfortunately, there are down sides. One of my grandkids — Mylee — is very allergic to dog dander. I think she’s better now than when she was young. But that’s a big thing. Second, if we have a dog, then we lose a great deal of our flexibility.

Weighing the odds. What do you think?

When I was but a young lass, not yet married, I decided to purchase a cast iron pot. It was a Dutch oven, critical, because you know how often 20-year-olds make soup. Anyway, I’m not sure why I decided cast iron was the way to go since, as far as I can recall, my mother never owned a cast iron pot. As it turned out, I rarely used the pot, and I certainly didn’t care for it in the appropriate manner. I’m sure every time I used it (which was probably about a total of five times) I cheerfully scrubbed it clean with soap and water and left it to dry in the sink. Tsk. Tsk.

Of course, it finally rusted, and as far as I was concerned, that meant it was time to throw it away, which I did. I replaced it with something made out of stainless steel and easy to clean.

It wasn’t until much later that I once again dipped my big toe into the cast iron pond (which actually sounds quite painful), and this time I followed the rules. I started out by seasoning the skillets by coating them in oil and placing them into the oven for the appropriate period of time. Each time I use the Lodge skillets (I now have six — a 6-inch, a12-inch, and a-13.25 inch, as well as a griddle in Denver and a 10.25-inch and a 13.25 inch in AZ — all with cast iron lids), I scrub them carefully with water only and dry them quickly. Every so often, I rub them with oil and put them in the oven again for a bit to season.

In my lowly opinion, Lodge cast iron is the way to go. I have a Paula Deen brand of cast iron griddle in AZ, and every time I make pancakes, they don’t brown properly. It’s not Paula’s fault. She can’t help it if her last name isn’t Lodge. I covet my cast iron. I would save it for our kids, but all of our kids have their own, having heard me sing the iron skillets’ praises. It will likely be among the many things that get tossed upon my death.

Yesterday, Amazon fed me the information that they have put a certain set of cast iron on sale. For a mere $49, I can purchase a Lodge cast iron Dutch oven with a 10.25-inch shallow skillet that — wait for it — doubles as the lid. It regularly sells for $79. I’m pretty sure my heart skipped a beat when I first took a gander at the set. While I have a Lodge enamel-covered cast iron Dutch oven already in AZ, I’m not always thrilled with the pot. It seems more difficult to clean than I think it should. And I’ve already mentioned that I am unhappy with my Paula Deen griddle and have been considering buying a Lodge griddle. It’s like a miracle. A Springtime Lodge Cast Iron Miracle.

Needless to say, I’m going to make the purchase just as soon as I return to the Valley of the Sun. Jen will probably not approve, because she has already said that she dislikes cast iron — whether it’s Paula Deen or Lodge — because she thinks they’re too heavy. I won’t argue their heaviness, but I will say that its heaviness is offset by its ability to go from stovetop to oven without missing a beat. Plus, she doesn’t fry chicken, a process which MUST be done in cast iron. I will remind her that when she made Ree Drummond’s mini pizzas, she used my cast iron pans. Just sayin’…..

Yesterday and the day before, Bill and I attended the performance of Circus Olympus. Our granddaughter Kaiya played the part of Medusa with confidence, and, well, snakes on her head. Mylee was backstage support, helping mostly with costumes. It was fun to see them in these roles. I gave Bill the option of not attending the second performance, but he played the role of grandfather par excellence!

My grandkids always make me smile.

Have a great weekend.