A few thoughts from Target. And hangers, the plastic white ones.

We had just finished an enjoyable meal at Pei Wei on Montgomery and Marian said, "I wouldn't mind stopping by Target," to which I replied as I normally do, "no problem."

It was 125 this summer night so instead of waiting and reading in the car, again as I normally do, I attended.

After a few minutes in-Target-aisle the wife noticed the life forces draining from my face and decided to part ways abandoning me to the only aisle I understand at Target, the cereal aisle. Five minutes walking Target aisles and I am hating life, ten minutes the life force is almost gone, and after fifteen minutes you need one of those two-handed emergency-room shockers to revive me.

Getting near that end and at yellow warning stage I returned to the homing point of mega-marts, the check out lines, with a couple boxes of cereal hoping to see Marian, which I did, carrying two bunches of white hangers, a dozen per bunch.

Like much of what I say, none of this is necessarily that interesting but not one month before she had bought two big boxes of those same white hangers, about 100 of them.

"More hangers?" I gingerly inquired. "Yes, I have a few things needing them," said she, and I wisely left it there.

But I was puzzled, (a) because we had just bought 100 and (b) because I have never bought a hanger in my life.

Ever.

I have some good ones from a suit or sports jacket I purchased, and some workhorses like the kind the cleaners give you. Why do I need more? I'm certainly not going to pay for matching hangers. I like the non-matching free ones.

Then again, I prefer hooks to hang my clothes on. Door nobs work well, too, as do chair backs, and doors that are open . . . none of which need to be purchased at Target.

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Where am I?

I stole this from Gwin Grogan Grimes of Artisan Baking Company. I should have known the answer but I didn't.

Mavs Win!

An AP photo from the Fort Worth Star Telegram website.

I couldn't be happier for Dirk, Jason Kidd, Jason Terry, the team, owner, and coaches -- and the guy in the Cowboy hat that started the franchise, Don Carter. Great playoffs.

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Pentecost Sunday or Whit Sunday

Pentecost (Ancient Greek: Pentēkostē, "the Fiftieth [day]") is one of the prominent feasts in the Christian liturgical year commemorating the descent of the Holy Spirit upon the disciples of Christ after the Resurrection. The feast is also called Whit Sunday, Whitsun, or Whit especially in the United Kingdom, where the following Monday was traditionally a holiday. Pentecost is celebrated seven weeks (50 days) after Easter Sunday, hence its name. Pentecost falls on the tenth day after Ascension Thursday. From Wikipedia. Here

Veni Creator Spiritus ("Come Creator Spirit") is a hymn normally sung in Gregorian Chant. It is believed to have been written by Rabanus Maurus in the 9th century. The hymn is performed during the liturgical celebration of the feast of Pentecost. From Wikipedia. Here.

The Middle Seat. The final travel post.

The middle seat: a space that passengers of aisle and window seats expect to be vacant, as in empty, as in open, as in no one there.

The window seat gazes heavenward, the aisle seat grants the legroom of earth, but the middle is in between. The middle seat is purgatory.

It is the seating assignment that purges its occupant of self-worth because it is there that one is  squeezed between two unknown masses and aware that it is the space you now uncomfortably occupy that they want. You are held responsible, a thief of their comfort, an elbow room bandit.

No one talks to the middle seat occupant, he or she is personna non grata.

And if the ignominy of this seating assignment isn't bad enough the physical limitations are. To wit:  three bodies equals six arms but three seats equals four arm-rests which equals trouble, because if all three occupants of the aisle have some girth, shoulders touch, thighs touch, and those extra arms overlap or fight for the thin strips of arm-rest real estate.

Add to this one other element and you get the seating assignment hat-trick from hell.

I am referring to a person in front of you who insists on total recline of his seat during the flight. A middle seat, large neighbors, and a seat reclined onto your knees and one is certain that the gods have spoken and that sins are being atoned for right here, right now, by me, and my knees, and my elbows.

Yes, I have just peeled myself from the middle seat.

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