Ida Clare

Put A Little Happy In Your Life

2011-09-25T22:56:00.004-05:00

Hey Everyone,

If you been feeling a little down because of the heat, the lack of rain, the economy, creepy politicians in Washington or the state of your personal finances, here is video that will pick you up and make you smile.

Enjoy.
xoxo, Ida Clare

Hell's Broke Loose in Texas

2011-08-04T00:13:00.000-05:00

Well it’s been a while since I plopped my butt down in front of this old computer and by old, I’m pretty sure this one was one of Bill Gate’s prototypes he used in his garage. Anyway, the main reason I haven’t been working my sweaty little fingers over the keyboard, and the key-word here is sweaty, is because it’s been TOO DAMN HOT. It’s too hot to trot and too hot to type.

You know when the weather people say, “Today’s high is 101 but it feels like it’s a 108?” What the heck is that about? And what good is that anyway? Do they want to make us feel worse or hotter than we’re already feeling? Like 101 wasn’t hot enough? Give me a break…or at least give me a cold beer.

I’m sure it’s cause that dip-stick weather man we have on our local TV station is bored and feeling a bit neglected since there aren’t any “wicked winds” blowing or it’s not “raining cats and dogs” so he likes to goose us with the heat index to feel more important. If this wasn’t the Bible belt, he could just say, “Ladies and Gentlemen: It’s hotter than Hell today,” and we’d have an idea of what he means. Hell can’t be any hotter than Texas.

Then I got to thinking. I would like to see Dip-Stick Dan, the weather-guy slither on down to hell and give his weather report from there. Ever time he used that, “The temperature this afternoon is a fiery 532 degrees here in hell but it feels like a miserable, evil 666,” the devil would poke him in the backside with a pitchfork and put a shovel of brimstone down his pants. Now that would be a heat-index worth watching.

If I was lying on some Caribbean beach sipping a pina-colada, I couldn’t care less how hot it was, but I’m not. I’m landlocked in Big Thicket with an AC that is on its last breath and my sweat glands are the hardest working organ in my body.

Okay, the sweat is starting to run into the keyboard and I feel a cold margarita calling from the kitchen. Maybe I’ll just stand in front of the refrigerator with the door open while I drink and hope for brain freeze.

Stay cool and let’s dream of snowflakes, snow cones, snow men, and a long winter.

Happy Independence Day!

2011-07-02T14:36:00.000-05:00

Image via Wikipedia

Since fireworks have been banned in the state of Texas we are all going to have to do our part to celebrate without them.

Fourth of July and fireworks always bring to mind my slutty sister, IdaHo – the best bang in town, but that's another kind of celebration.

Here are a few ideas to get you started or my big bang theory of how to celebrate without gunpowder.

Ø Shoot off your mouth

Ø Pop off about things you know nothing about

Ø Wear all your sparkler jewelry at one time (Ahem, I won’t be wearing that cubic zirconium number I received from my ex. He told me it was real. Well, he told me a lot of things, but I digress. Now we know why he is my ex.)

Ø The only permissible bottle rocket is the firewater in your beer bottle or pop-a-top on enough beers that you no longer care what day it is.

Fireworks have been banned. It’s too hot for a parade or a picnic.

I am going to celebrate my independence by parading around in my underwear until I plop my lily white derriere into a bathtub full of ice cubes, Drink an All-American Red Strawberry Margarita till I turn blue!

Happy Independence Day!

Hugs,

Sum Sum Summertime Sucks Already

2011-06-13T11:53:00.001-05:00

Sum sum sum summertime. It ain’t officially summertime here until the 21th of June but I am already ready for sum sum sum relief.

I live in Big Thicket, which should be called Big Skillet where we fry up our eggs on the sidewalk from late May until October. Why? Just because we can.

Now I don’t want to sound bitchy but I am. If you have little delicate sensibilities, you might want to skip this post.

Summer time is supposed to be slow and carefree; a time when you pull off your shoes and dangle your shapely ankles in the clear water of the lake or your backyard pool. You sip lemonade that appears mysteriously out of nowhere and smile sweetly from under your straw hat.

That is not how it is coming down here at my house. I’m slow moving, sure, but carefree packed its suitcases and moved to Canada without so much as a kiss goodbye. My shapely ankles are swollen to water balloon size by lunchtime when the lemonade and sandwich fairy should deliver the goods, but evidently she has moved on as well.

I know I should be grateful. I have a roof over my head. There are terrible disasters everywhere, but I am just a hot self-centered woman trying to escape ridiculously high energy bills and I am not running my air conditioner and that very fact is running my life.

Sweaty Hugs,

Ida Clare

From the “What were you thinking department?” or “So this is how you tweet your wiener, Mr Weiner?”

2011-06-06T21:23:00.006-05:00

Anthony Weiner’s wiener is, in fact, the wiener in the wiener picture of the Weiner scandal. Weiner gate is alive and well in Washington.

Once the cell phone was invented that could take a photo, a phenomenon began to occur. Women from the get go, started taking photos of their kids, their friends, the food they are about to have for dinner, their engagement rings, rugs that might match the furniture in the den, art they might want to buy, flowers, puppies, kittens, shoes their best friend needs to buy to match the dress she is wearing to her daughter’s wedding, rock stars at concerts, celebrities at charity events, their neighbor’s horrible yard ornaments, copies of valuable documents, t-ball and soccer games, a beautiful sunset, the kid’s recital, the tomatoes growing in the garden, and events like weddings, graduation, and family reunions.

Men take photos of their wieners..

Anthony (Mr. Bulgy Underpants) Weiner, you have nothing more important to do as a United States Congressman than to be the focus of your own photo session? Are you smarter than a fifth grader? Get the hell out of the House of Representatives and go to your house and tweet your wiener all day long if you want to, but not on company time.

Hugs,
Ida Clare

The Rapture Revisited

2011-05-27T12:38:00.000-05:00

I know that millions of dollars and millions of words have been spent on last weeks rapture that wasn’t, but I’m not quiet finished with my two cents.

I have had lots of dates in my time and been stood up my fair share, but really…stood up by Jesus?

That goober, Harold Camping being Jesus’ self-appointed spokes man really had my hopes up that some of the most self-righteous people I know where going to go off to their just reward and leave the sinners like me the hell alone.

I’ve got this neighbor who professes to have the inside scoop similar to Brother Camping, and she has zeroed in on me since I am new to the neighborhood. She spent the good part of an hour hinting around that I was going to be left behind if I didn’t change my wicked ways.

Sister Holy-Roller just assumed that she and I were on the same page of the Bible. Her page reads like a punishing judgmental critique of the human race not the page that is more about love and acceptance and forgiveness.

I tried to remember my manners. She was, after all in my house, drinking my iced tea when she asked me if I was saved. I told her that I was saved from bankruptcy, a lying husband and jail time when this house appeared out of nowhere and she was free to interpret that any she wanted.

What I really wanted to say was, “Obviously, I have not been saved from nosy neighbors like you,” but I refrained.

I’m ever more hopeful that Harold Camping had his wires crossed last weekend and his October re-launch date will beam Sister Holy Roller up to Jesus’ Stairway to Heaven on the twenty-first.

Please Jesus, don’t be a no-show.

Hugs,

Truth In Advertising

2011-05-23T23:05:00.001-05:00

Maybe it's just me, but in my forty some odd years on the planet I have heard many more lies than I have truths. I have had husbands lie to me, supposed good friends, the clergy, politicians, teachers, elders, family members and assorted other acquaintances. Hey I would be lying if I said I never told a lie.

Sorry George, but I didn't believe you either.

or that other George, but that's pretty much a given.

I know that it takes a certain amount of lying to navigate this world. Little white lies as they are called, are mandatory if you actually want to have any sort of social life. So we cruise along on this journey, mixing just enough of the truth so we can feel good about ourselves and telling a little white one here and there to make our friends feel good about themselves.

What brought about this discussion of truth telling is a video that I came across. It's refreshing...Drink Up...

Hugs and Kisses Ya'll

Squirrely In Big Thicket

2011-05-14T16:33:00.001-05:00

It’s a great day in the neighborhood here in Big Thicket. No gunfire and the head of the Humidity dept must have taken the day off so I have spent most of the morning simply gazing out the window. I find it much more entertaining than gazing at the TV.

Right after I first moved here, I took an old bird cage and turned it into a bird feeder. I just took the door off and hung it right outside the window of my office where I sit and peck at the keyboard while I watch the birds peck at their food and each other.

Today the birds had a visitor show up for a place at the table. Rocky (isn’t that what you call all squirrels), decided he would break bread with his fellow neighbors. I didn’t see Bullwinkle lurking around but he would have had a field day chewing on my un-mowed yard.

When Rocky’s little brother showed up, the birds decided they would grab a bite somewhere else and left the pickings to Rocky and his friend.

After a while Rocky told his buddy to take a hike and he ate until his heart was content and his little tummy was full.

He gave me one last look and said he needed to go check his nuts. I do have a number of pecan trees in the yard, so I’m assuming he was referring to a stash somewhere.

Well that’s my story and we have come to the end.

The moral of this story is that some days you feel like a nut and some days you feel like bird seed.

Hugs,

Erasure Alert!

2011-05-10T14:53:00.004-05:00

Don’t get me started. I am seeing red. Have you heard about the stupidity of the two Hasidic Newspapers who Photoshopped Hillary Clinton and Audrey Tomason out of the picture of the Situation Room during the Ben Ladin Raid?

One Orthodox Jewish newspaper, Der Tzitung and one weekly magazine, De Voch were admitting that both publications do not publish photos of women. In a statement about the controversy it caused, Der Tzitung said it follows this practice "because of laws of modesty” and that they do not print any photos of women because they “could be considered sexually suggestive.”

Well, Excuuuuuuuussssssssee Me!

Here is an open letter to the editors of the Der Tzitung and De Voch,

To: Misogynist Religious Zealots Nim Node Editors:

I feel sorry for you if can’t trust yourself or your readers to withstand the image of a woman so much that you are compelled to erase her from a photo that you want to publish in your newspaper/magazine.

How do you live in this world? How do you restrain yourself in the presence of women? Let me guess. You blame women. Ever since the story of Eve, you and your kind have been blaming women for causing you to sin and I for one am sick of it. As I see it, the real snake in the Garden of Eden was under Adam’s Fig Leaf.

From the beginning of time men like you have played the, “Look what you made me do, card!” which has allowed you to shirk your responsibility for your own wicked behavior. It is this sense of entitlement and blaming that has enabled crimes against women to exist from the archaic past to 2011.

In the name of religion, men have a get out of responsibility-free-card. Women are inherently evil. They tempt men. They make you do what you wouldn’t normally do if women weren’t being women, according to your kind.

In the past, men who blamed women burned them at the stake. In some countries, where women are still considered to be property, it is permissible for men family members to burn their women to death who don’t conform or who have been besmirched by another man.

You may state that your religious beliefs are sacred and will be upheld. Well, Bozo, your religious beliefs are wrong if they discount, devalue and approve of erasing half of the worlds population. As Hasidic Jews, don’t you know how it feels to have someone want to erase you from the planet? Shame on you. You should know better.

Subsitu-Tooty Mom

2011-05-07T10:22:00.002-05:00

Aunt Tooty was my mother’s sister. She lived too far away to take my mothers place but she never failed to show up for the important events my father tended to forget like birthdays or a choir presentation. She sent me cards for no reason. Sometimes they had two or three dollars in them. She called and asked me nosy questions about what I was doing with boys.

“Ida, did that boy, what’s his name, Eddie or Freddie ever ask you out?”

“No maam. He’s going steady with somebody else now.” I was sure she could hear my heart breaking over the phone.

“Well, then you have to move on. Don’t be making cow eyes at him any more.”

“I don’t make cow eyes,” I whined instead of mooed. I still made cow eyes at any number of boys but I wouldn’t admit that to Aunt Tooty. They could have gotten the milk for free too if they’d only known. Boys are so stupid. Tooty was not.

“Don’t be in a rush. Boys will chew you up and spit you out if you let them.”

“I would just like to have a boyfriend so I won’t be a freak. I get tired of going places by myself.”

“You go to the movies by yourself?” Aunt Nosey wanted to know.

“No. Tina and I go together.”

“Do you have a good time?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Aunt Tooty wanted me to have manners, though god knows, where they were supposed to come from, I couldn’t say.

“Yes maam.”

“Listen, Ida. If you went with an old boy, you’d never get to see the movie because once a teenage boy gets close enough to a pretty girl like you, they sprout tennacles that are every where you are. You’d spend all your time trying to push their tennacles away from you. You know what I mean don’t you?”

“You’re talking about them trying to touch you.”

“Yes, in your feminine areas, Ida.”

“Can we talk about something else, Aunt Tooty?”

“Only if you promise me you will stay strong when you get alone with Eddie or Freddie.”
“I told you, he doesn’t want me. He has a girlfriend.”

“Well, it’s his loss. You are a beautiful, fun, sweet girl. And you’re smart as a whip. Any boy would be lucky to be seen with you. Don’t worry your time will come.”

“You mean some day, my prince charming will come?” I seriously doubted this, but I liked it when Aunt Tooty tried to cheer me up. She did a good job mothering me over the telephone.

“Oh I’m sure you are going to have lots of Prince Charmings. You just wait and see.”

I did wait and see. But Tooty didn’t get it quiet right. Most of the men in my life turned out to be Prince Alarmings. You know what I mean. They were the kind of men you don’t take home to Mama.

Happy Mothers Day.

Long Island Iced Tea and Strumpets

2011-05-03T16:14:00.003-05:00

Ok, now that the hupla has quieted down and my royal hangover is over, I can confess that my BFF, Lady Tina Tiny and I did in fact have a ~~Long Island Iced~~ Tea & Crumpets ~~Strumpets~~ Party to celebrate the Royal Uniting.

We were also celebrating that we know how to make Long Island Iced Tea (LIT) and that we happen to have between the two of us all the necessary ingredients. In case you don’t know about Long Island Ice Tea, I have included a how-to video at the bottom of this post. I’ll let you figure out how to be a Strumpet* all by yourself.

The one good thing about returning to Big Thicket is my best friend Tina. Tina Fredricks and I were best friends all through school. Okay she was also my only friend. Tina and I were both shy and could hardly speak to another person but for some reason we could talk to each other and we did, all day long. This was before texting when we actually wrote notes on paper with pens or pencils and passed them to each other in class or in the hall.

We couldn’t have been closer if we had been born Siamese twins. We did everything together including having crushes on the same boys and it didn’t matter. There was no competition or jealously because we both knew the boy didn’t have a clue that we were alive.

Tina never left Big Thicket but we stayed in touch through the years and it has been really great to get to see her everyday. Tina married a local boy after I left town and is still happily married to him.

Robert Timothy Tiny, the oldest son of Ben and Louise Tiny, and no, to my knowledge no one in the world has ever called him Tim Tiny. You see when he popped into this world forty something years ago, he came in at 11lbs and 5 ounces and everybody who saw him from the doctor to the nurses to his parents said exactly the same thing, “My God he is big.” And it stuck.

Tina who is now Tina Tiny is married to Big Tiny and they are one of those couples that I admire so much, even if they have those really dumb names.

As promised here is a strumpet giving you directions on how to make the "Tea".

Beware the Long Island Iced Tea: It can set your Inner Strumpet Free!
Hugs,

P.S. *A strumpet is a loose woman first described by Shakespeare. A crumpet is a piece of cake served with butter or a person (or, collectively, persons) considered sexually desirable. Either way, it's good to be a tasty little morsel.

Royal Happy Ending or Royal Pain in the End?

2011-04-28T13:50:00.001-05:00

Will you be watching the Royal Wedding as Kate Middleton marries Prince William?

Here in Big Thicket, we’re still enamored with Prince Albert. In case you are too young or too innocent, Prince Albert was ground up into tobacco and doled out in a red can with a hinge lid.

This is the same Prince Albert that children were referring to when they phoned their local drug store and asked, “Do you have Prince Albert in a can?” Because the woman who answered the phone was not born yesterday but did her store-clerk duty and answered, “Yes, we do.” She knew full well the punch line,” Well Don’t you think you better let him out?!” was coming amid giggles of laughter and a kerplunk as the phone slammed in her ear.

The Prince Albert that I am referring to here is pipe tobacco and is mild enough to be used for cigarettes.

When I was growing up my juvenile delinquent cousin rolled his own. E.J. loitered at my grandfather’s house when he wasn’t loitering around the domino tables at the courthouse or pulling up his baggy blue jeans that he wore down around his hips.

He had those thin cigarette papers that he would gingerly take from the pack, crease in a little trough between his fingers that he filled with Prince Albert tobacco so that before you could say, “Dude, that looks like a doobie,” he was puffing away.

With the price of cigarettes these days, E.J. could probably take all the money he has spent on cigarettes and pay for Kate Middleton’s shoes. I was going to say E.J. could have paid for the wedding, but even E.J. never smoked that much.

I confess I have to watch the wedding. I am somewhat of an expert at weddings, since I have gone to the altar more times than one should. I want to see if I can gage how long it will last from the ceremony. Sorta like reading tea leaves. If I could have just figured out from the beginning how long before the end, I could have had an entirely different life.

I wish Kate and William all the best, as if that will help them survive what can only be a nightmare way to live with all the scrutiny and publicity.

Now we can see why Prince Albert wanted to stay in the can.

You Can't Keep A Good Girl Down

2011-04-26T19:23:00.001-05:00

From the "Can't Keep A Good Girl Down" Department. Here is a girl at the top of my list.

In August of 2008 Nicole Marquez was an aspiring young dancer who fell six floors from her apartment building in New York City. She lay for 8 hours before being found. Nicole broke her neck, back, pelvis and ribs. She also punctured a lung.

In the hospital Nicole endured multiple surgeries, a bout of pneumonia, and a series of mini-strokes. Nicole was also on a ventilator for over two weeks. She is back in her home in Jackson, Mississippi learning to walk again.

Nicole is the young lady in the video

“Weight of the World” is by Grady Champion, a great singer, managed by a good friend of mine. A mutual friend of Grady and Nicole's, who is doing a documentary on Nicole, made the video.

Bless your heart Nicole!!!

Lindsay on Jay Leno

2011-04-26T15:34:00.004-05:00

Ok, Lindsay.

Is it true the old sentiment, Anytime a addict's lips are moving it means she is lying?

Come on Lindsay, walk the talk. I'm rooting for you.

I Fought The Law And The Lawyers Won

2011-04-25T16:00:00.003-05:00

I don’t know the Low Down on Lindsay Lohan but that’s not going to stop me from commenting about it.

I feel your pain Lindsay, but only just a little. Let’s see, you are:

Young,
Beautiful,
Photogenic,
Look great in skin-tight white dresses,
Controlled substance expert,
Jewelry connoisseur,
Possibly talented, and
Able to afford high-priced lawyers (Always a plus!)

Being in trouble with the law is like having all your very bad days at once. Lindsay gets to have hers in public with cameras following her every move and most likely with a hangover and a no-pot chaser.

I got in trouble with the law without all of the above advantages, although I probably had the hangover in common.

Without writing a dissertation on the justice system, suffice it to say: you don’t want to get on the bad side of John Law. Just ask Lindsay.

And me.

Lindsay may actually be innocent of something for a change so the irony of her actually going to jail for something she didn’t do would be a pisser.

Like it was for me.

Getting busted is bad enough but then they make you put on the orange jump suit.

(And would somebody tell me please why jump suits? I mean if you have to use the bathroom, you have to pull your top off in front of anybody who wants to get an eyeful. And then you have to be careful where the top half of your jump suit goes and not let it fall around your knees or get twisted and floating. Ewwwwww and awkward.)

I don’t know, maybe in Hollywood they get designer jumpsuits and actors who play great lawyers on TV.

Remember that old song, “I fought the law and the law won.” I’m sure that song was written by someone from Texas. In the Texas judicial system, you will be judged by a jury of your peers who will decide who has the best lawyer. Not necessarily on your innocence.

Sadly, I speak from experience.

Lindsay may have won for today and be out of jail, but the law has been practicing for centuries and it doesn’t screw around when it is out to screw you.

Best of luck, Lindsay. And say, can you tell me where did you get that white dress?

Yall Behave!

Hoppy Easter Every Bunny!

2011-04-24T00:00:00.002-05:00

Hi Ya'll,

You may not know it, but I was the inspiration for Lady GaGa's Egg-stravaganza at the Grammy's. As usual, she took things to the egg-stream. (I know that egg puns are so juvenile, but they crack me up.) (Let's all groan in unison.)

Here at Rancho Wrecko I am going to be spending some quality time with the Easter Bunny. While the Bunny is out laying the eggs, I'll be laid up in bed.

I have dyed some eggs so I'll have egg salad sandwiches and deviled eggs. Won't be the first time I've had egg on my face.

Just remember some bunny loves you! And sometimes they love you and then hop off into the night.

Gettin' Down and Dirty on Earth Day

2011-04-22T03:12:00.001-05:00

photo: pantspierrre

Now be honest, does that mud make my butt look big?

Stay Cool

2011-04-21T19:01:00.000-05:00

Hi Yall,

For my readers north of the Red River, spring may just now be showing up and the flowers are blooming and the birds are chirping and it is glorious. I personally know someone in Iowa who had snow in the not too distant past. He has my sympathy that this was a hard winter.

In Big Thicket Texas on the 21st of April, the temperature is 86 degrees and due to the humidity which was 87 percent this morning, it now feels like 93 degrees.

Photo: heybulldog909

Right now I have the windows open and the same wind
that is helping me stay cool is fanning out-of-control fires in other parts of the state. At present fires have burned over 1 million acres in Texas. Mother Nature must be having a serious hot flash.

Remember that Charlie Daniels song, The Devil Went Down to Georgia? Well, he’s showed up out in West Texas and brought his hell fire with him. I wish Charlie would come down here and fiddle his pointy tail back to Georgia.

It cost fifty-nine dollars to fill up my car. How in the world am I going to afford the electricity to air condition Rancho Wrecko? I’m probably not, so I am giving you fair warning right now.   The woman at the other end of this computer is hot, and sweaty, and cranky and needs a refreshing adult beverage.

Stay Cool,

Clouds in My Coffee

2011-04-19T08:39:00.005-05:00

photo: curious_butterfly

I may have solved a modern mystery. I have often been amazed when I see stories on the news about the incredible amount of drugs in the form of white powder that is smuggled into the country by South American and Mexican Cartels.

I am pretty sure I know where a large quantity of this contraband is going: Into my coffee cup. I am relatively certain that the innocent looking plastic container sitting by my coffee pot with the pop-top lid is full of milk-flavored cocaine or something equally addicting.

I used to use a teaspoon to measure in a little taste, but my habit has morphed into a full-blown maniacal usage. Like any junkie with a habit that has gotten out of hand, I have to have my fix or I get cranky.

I want enough so that when I pour corn syrup solids, partially hydrogenated soybean oil and sodium caseinate milk derivative into my empty cup there is a wisp of powder that blooms at the top like a detonated mushroom cloud.

photo:angelny

I know this is not good for me. Have you ever seen what this stuff is like when you leave it sitting unprotected on the counter for a while? It hardens into dipotassium phosphate concrete which could be used to build bridges and skyscrapers. What must this stuff be doing to the Starbucks Café inside my stomach?

When you're as broke and as old as I am, your hang-ups are all you got left. If I am addicted, I guess the up side is that I can buy 11 ounces of this white powder for a dollar.

Ya'll be good or at least be good at it!

photo: caramia_bucket

photo: mattsen32

photo: madjerry007

The Confession

2011-04-13T18:50:00.027-05:00

When you live in a small town, every body knows your business and your name, kinda like that song says from Cheers. They know who your folks are, what you do for a living and where you rank in the social status, in other words; how much money it looks like you have. If your shoe size was interesting, they’d know it too and pass the info around so that anyone with a foot fetish could become your sole mate.

When the news came to me that I had an inheritance of a house with running water and a sofa that wasn’t about to be repossessed, I decided to pack up my car with what was left of my dignity and come back to Big Thicket. I left a slew of problems where I came from and these problems were what I have been determined to keep my mouth shut about.

But since I am now spilling my guts on the World Wide Web, I have to figure out a way to be myself and not tip my hand at what’s up my sleeve. So please understand when I tell you that I am not real.

I’m just a Fig Newton of my own imagination.

Big Thicket isn’t real, but the town I live in is. These people I am going to tell you about are real; it’s just that their names have been changed to protect the boring, the innocent and me. What you are about to read on this blog is what I lived through. You’ve heard about the witness protection program?

I could have used the protection but I didn’t qualify. Hell, I couldn’t qualify for the Jehovah’s Witness program though a few of them tried really hard to get me in.

Now that I have confessed my sins, I am going to go out in the back yard armed with a tall glass of red wine and say a few "Hell Yeahs" till I feel forgiven!

Rancho Wrecko

2011-04-09T08:34:00.003-05:00

Meet Rancho Wrecko. This is not a photo of my house, but almost. I can’t show you my real house because it’s still not wise to reveal my actual location. (Only Google knows exactly where I live.)

I have been in this house for a little while now. I have most of my boxes unpacked. I didn’t have too much because when I married Ida Man the 4th(the last man I will ever marry, and you can quote me on that!), he had much nicer things than me, so my crappy stuff ultimately had to go.

You know how that is. I would bring in a perfectly good knick-knack and place it on the book shelf next to one of his collector items (collected on his travels, not from the discount beanie baby table at the antique mall, either, but from a market in Zimbabwe or Zim-some-where). Anyway he would get that pained look on his face. Oh you know the look, the one that looks like he has need of some Prilosec or Excedrine.

My stuff really wasn’t good enough to cozy up to his. I though he was going to faint when I brought out my shabby-chic crusty-rustys. You would have thought I was introducing the Klingons to the Romulans instead of faded rose toile to modern sterile.

I tried ya’ll. I fought for the loves of my life; my wire baskets, my mismatched china, the old silver plate, but he brought in the big guns.

Now I can’t name names here, but I was waylaid, over ruled and de-cluttered down to my distressed linens by an interior designer with pointy shoes and a fake accent.

Her work has been shown in magazines. What work? Did she sew the cushions? Did she lay the expensive carpet? No, she waltzed around spending my ex-husbands money buying art work that made no sense, making me feel stupid for owning my grandmothers footstool.

Here at Rancho Wrecko, I am the interior designer, the dust bunny catcher and the decision maker. Oh, god, didn’t George Bush say something to that effect? When I start quoting W, it’s time for me to go lower my blood pressure.

I usually do that with an adult beverage. Ya'll have a happy Saturday!

Broke Down in Big Thicket

2011-04-06T19:06:00.001-05:00

Well, here it is: My next blog post. Hooray.

The jury (I guess that would be you, my readers) is still out on whether this blog will make it. My friend said I could do this but she is also the same one who said I should be Big Thicket’s Martha Stewart…and we all know how that turned out. Here’s a shout out to Martha, “Hey Martha, I forgive ya!”

I declare I almost ran away with myself again

Run away is what I am real good at. I’ve been either running toward something or running away from something all my life. Finally, I’ve decided that I am tired of all that huffing and puffing and I am going to sit still for a while. And to tell you the truth, I don't have a lot of choice at the moment.

It just so happens I run out of steam and money in Big Thicket, Texas; Population 22,492. There’s nothing wrong with Big Thicket, if you like peace and quiet. Except for the crickets, the hoot owls and the neighbor’s dog down the road, the only sounds I hear some days are my own thoughts whirling around in my head. (Not good.)

One of my husbands was from here. He is no longer with us and due to some snafu on the paperwork I inherited this house from him long after he stopped speaking to me. Well, he no longer speaks to anybody since they planted him at the Holy Rest Cemetery at the quiet end of a red dirt road.

I went to his grave site and thanked him for remembering me in his will, but I know in my heart he was turning over and over like a chicken on a rotisserie spit when he realized it was me wading through the pine straw to come see him.

I never knew about this place while my ex was alive. My ex was the silent type. You almost have to be if you stay around me. The house belonged to his aunt. When she died, he was his only heir and since I was still listed as his sole surviving relative, it came like a miracle from above to me. Don’t ask me if it is all legal. I am not looking a gift house in the plumbing.

Let me tell you, I am grateful. I have a roof over my head, but just barely. Home ownership ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. I got back taxes to pay, a sewer system that needed replacing in the ‘70’s and a kitchen oven that I use for storage.

I put some of these Azaleas in my hair until a spider climbed down my forehead.


Don't you love snap dragons? Makes me think of that line, "But there be dragons in them hills..."

By the time you see these photos, these beauties will be gone. I think Spring should stay longer. Somebody make a note.

I kinda sound depressed and I don't mean to be. My friend told me we are supposed to remain positive when we write on our blogs. So I 'm going to make myself a little sign to share with you and we'll both feel better.

I Love Miracle Whip

2011-03-24T18:32:00.005-05:00

Yesterday I started this blog and I gave ya’ll the recipe for Ida Clare’s Done Good Potato Salad.

Ya’ll write me back after you make it and tell me how your Ida Man! liked it. We can’t control the Ida Man! in our lives, even when we try. But most men will eat any thing that you serve to them while the television is on.

I know you’re gonna like it cause the recipe calls for MIRACLE WHIP. Kraft, the maker of Miracle Whip has got this advertising campaign going on where celebrities take a stand on whether you love it or hate it.

photo by Defekto

But before I get into a hot debate and have to explain why something called Miracle Whip kinda turns me on, I might need to tell you just who’s little ole blog you’re visiting and how I came to be a local celebrity.

Well, obviously you know because you can read that my name is Ida Clare, but not too long ago I was given what I thought was a great idea. Since I am crafty, brilliant, a great cook, not afraid to voice my humble opinion and really need to bring in a six-figure income to support my wicked ways, my friend told me I needed to be the Martha Stewart of Big Thicket.

Photo by Cleveland Leader 200

Sure enough, when I looked in the phone book, there wasn’t a Martha Stewart listed, so I decided that is just who I would become. Unfortunately, Martha’s lawyers didn’t think much of my friends’ idea and threatened me with a restraining order.

You know, Oprah has a sister now. Why can’t I be Martha’s short voluptuous younger cousin? She’s the one who’s been in prison, not me.

Well, since I didn't have the money to get to Connecticut anyway, (hell if you could go around the world on two dollars, I couldn't get out of sight) I just told all my friends that I was going to become a celebrity on my own.

Note to self: Don’t blab about meeting celebrities till you actually meet them.

Now about Miracle Whip. It’s the best. I love the taste.

•    Great for a fold over sandwich on white bread when you’re starving and too lazy to cook.

•    You can use it to get Double Bubble Chewing Gum out of your hair when you fall asleep with it in your mouth instead of sticking your wad on the bed post.

•    You can slather it all over your hair and use it as a conditioner.

•    Miracle Whip will remove tar and feathers if a mob shows up in your front yard set on revenge.

I bet Martha doesn’t even know about that.

Leave a Miracle Whip comment. You know you have one.

Sign Me Up

2011-03-22T16:57:00.003-05:00

When about the tenth person told me I should start a blog to tell my story, I decided to finally pay attention. Now I don’t listen to any and every jack ass that has an opinion; if you knew me at all you would know that.

I have a better system.

I pay attention to signs. I’m not talking about signs on the side of the road, though I do give them their due to, especially if they say Bar-B-Q up ahead. It is hard to mess up Bar-B-Q, unlike potato salad. What is the deal-ee-o with potato salad? For gods sake and mine, please either mash the potatoes or cook the little bastards long enough so they aren’t crunchy. Nobody wants to eat a crunchy potato unless it’s been fried.

I declare I’m already off the subject. (But I am gonna give you a good potato salad recipe so maybe we can get some of that excuse for potato salad off the market! Are you with me?)

I was talking about signs. I’ll tell you some more of my favorite road-side signs later, but now I’m talking Signs with a capital S.

Girl, you got to pay attention to signs. They’re everywhere. Who knows, what I am telling you right this very minute might be a sign you been needing to notice for a long time. Is the hair on your chiny-chin-chin standing up?

I was at the library (Yes, I do read books. We’ll talk books later. Be thinking of ones you like and we’ll trade book titles like boys trade baseball cards.). Like I done said, I was at the library and this woman was giving a talk about blogging and I got confused and thought she was saying hogging and since I know somebody from Pig Holler, I thought I might better listen and I found out she wasn’t talking about hogging at all.

So I took it as a sign and here I am. Blogging with my favorite potato salad recipe.

Ida Clare’s Done Good Potato Salad!

• Put three or four eggs on to boil while you are hunting the potatoes in your cupboard.

• Wash and peel some potatoes. Cut off the sprouts and dig out the eyes. They don’t taste good no matter how much you boil them.

•   Peel more than you think you need. (This is a rule.) Why? Well, it is obvious SugarBugar, if you make my potato salad there’s going to be some hogging going on. I am basing this recipe on about 5 cups.

•   Cut up the potatoes in similar sized pieces so they will get done at the same time.

•   Put them in a pot. Cover with water and boil the little devils until you can stick a fork in them and they come apart.

•   Drain all the water off and leave the potatoes in the pot. Mash the bejesus out of them. This counts as aerobic exercise and will allow you to feel righteous when you are hogging more than your share.

•    Chop up your boiled eggs. It tastes better if you peel them first. I like to use a cheese grader and grate my eggs, but that’s just me. Big hunks of eggs don’t bother me.
•    Use lots of Miracle Whip. There is no substitute. (Start out with about a half cup.)
•    Mustard is good by the tablespoons. Don’t overdo
•    Sweet pickle relish
•    Tablespoon of vinegar
•    Salt
•    Pepper if you insist. Just makes me sneeze. And that’s just rude to sneeze in the potato salad.
•    Sugar is the secret ingredient. About three tablespoons should do it.

Have a taste-testing of your own in the kitchen to get it just right; cuts down on the hogging on your part and keeps you looking like a lady in front of the company. Mix all this up and put in a bowl if you can wait that long. I like it warm, but it is good cold too.

Happy Potato Salad
Ida Clare

Welcome To Ida Clare's Blog

2011-03-20T21:50:00.000-05:00

Happy Spring. Today seemed like an auspicious day to get the blog ball rolling. Welcome to my attempt at finding my way on the Inner-Nut.

I spent some time today looking a 4,628 blogs or nearly that amount and I have to tell you I am screwed. If anyone finds this little blog amid the millions of blogs that are light years ahead of me, that are beautiful, well written, and crafty as Martha on steroids, then I will be forever humble…well maybe not forever.

I have been served one blog too many so I’m gonna take a little nap ‘til I sober up.