Rain, Rain... Go Away....

Every time it rains, I can hear my father singing that song. "Rain, rain... go away... my little girl wants to go out and play." He sang it every blessed day that it rained when I was a kid. I didn't mind him singing, and I didn't mind the rain. The house we lived in when I was little had a huge empty room on the top floor. Empty of furniture, but that's where most of my toys were, so we called it the 'play room.' Rainy days meant lots to do up there in the play room. Dolls and books and tea sets and crayons.

If I'm remembering correctly, I had a little chair and table up there, and some sort of toybox, because I know my toys weren't just all over the floor. I used to color up there, and read books, and play with my dolls. I had a Lady Revlon doll. My favorite... she had a red satin dress and high heels and a white fur cape and a little red purse. Loved that doll! I had a huge set of those Lincoln Logs, which my dad played with more than I did. And we also had a big set of Lionel trains. After my father set it all up, he left it there in the middle of the room for months and months. I don't remember much about those trains, except for one car that sent off steam somehow, so a tiny white ball could bounce along in the puff of dusty-colored steam as the train went around the tracks. I haven't a clue as to where that train set ended up.

Rain all day today. The cats had cabin fever around 3:30 this afternoon and not even sitting out on the screen-porch could settle down the two older ones, who usually go out in the yard around that time. It amazes me that the same fresh air that's in the backyard can't satisfy them in the screen-porch. AngelBoy likes to hide under the hibiscus bushes and watch the birds. He can't do that in the porch, so I guess he knows he's missing out on that. Right now as I type, AngelBoy is sitting in my chair in the TV room, with his chin resting on the arm of the chair. He's looking out the window and probably cursing the weather under his cat-breath. There are times when AngelBoy looks to be pouting, and today is such a day.

The Astros just lost a game to the Atlanta Braves. We watched the last few innings of the game. I hate to watch Atlanta games... that Indian chant they do gets on my nerves. If real Indians were chanting and singing, that would be a different story. Those chants, I'm sure, would be sung respectfully and with dignity. But the sight of thousands of Atlanta Braves' fans holding red-sponge tomahawks and groaning in unison just doesn't ring with dignity. As my husband just said-- "To think that we took away this country from the Indians, and now people are singing their chants during a baseball game." I wonder if the Indians get upset with the Atlanta Braves.

Tonight at 8:00, "The Apprentice" is on TV. I hate to admit it, but I am hooked on that show. I don't usually watch TV at night. About the only time I give to TV is an hour in the afternoon, for Oprah. (And she's worth every minute.) Night-time televison just isn't for me. Too many shows that can turn your mind into applesauce. I'd rather be reading. But last year, after watching the last half of "The Apprentice," I had to admit that I really got into it. And I was disappointed that Kwame didn't get the job with Donald Trump.

I didn't start out watching "The Apprentice" last year. After reading two or three articles about it in The Houston Chronicle, however, I decided that I had to see for myself what all the fuss was about. In my humble opinion, this show deserves the time it takes to watch it. There's more than a few life-lessons in each show. I read another Chronicle article, not too long ago, saying that Donald Trump may not be back to do another season of "The Apprentice." The show's creator may continue with someone else holding out the business-carrot to the contenders. I just don't see how that would work. I mean, really, who else in NYC can do what The Donald has been able to do with that show?

There's a certain magic in Trump. I can't explain it, but it's there. I spent this past summer reading Trump's books. He's a smart man, creative and daring. I can't for the life of me understand why he split with Ivana and married Marla, but that's his personal business. Now he's with someone else and I think they're engaged. (Wouldn't you like to see that pre-nup agreement?) His lady now is a few steps up from Marla, but she can't begin to reach Ivana's pinnacle of class and graciousness. (In my humble opinion.)

So... Thursday nights between 8 & 9 pm... don't bother me. I'll be watching "The Apprentice" and not answering the phone or the doorbell. The cats will all be in the screen-porch so none of them will be wanting to go out or come in or be looking for food or playing or petting. I've already walked the dog, so she won't be looking to go out either. My husband and I have had dinner, so we're all set too. Now if I can just get my husband to stop changing channels during the commercials. He doesn't like to watch the commercials. I don't like the switching back and forth. A TV remote in his hand is like a computer keyboard-- he can click away with the best of them.

On last Thursday's "Apprentice," Jennifer told Elizabeth "I'm not jumping into the sandbox with you. Get over it and grow up." I loved that line. (That was the other Jennifer who said that, not the Jennifer who was fired at the end of last week's show.) Jennifer said that because Elizabeth just couldn't handle the pressure and started to cry. Not a good thing. Can you imagine Donald Trump bursting into tears during a business meeting because the pressure is building up? Not going to happen. So does Elizabeth think he's going to look kindly at her soft-hearted self and want her to be in charge of one of his companies? Not going to happen. She'll be fired soon. Just a matter of time. (Again, in my humble opinion.)

Anyway...... time to get the cats all out to the porch. AngelBoy will be pouting again. He loves the porch, but doesn't like to be 'put' out there. He likes to make his own decisions. I can hear his little cat-meow now as I close the porch door: "Mommy... you're fired!"