Mamacita says: I used to be a hippie, you know. Now, I’m just hippy.

I’m almost out of detergent, but if I tear open the two little sample packages of Tide that came in the washer when we bought it seven years ago, I think I can finish out the night.

It doesn’t do to substitute other kinds of soap in an appliance. I tried that once with my dishwasher and Dawn, and the dishwasher vomited up enough foam to cover the entire kitchen floor and seep through the subflooring to cover the floor of the laundry room beneath.

In other words, I did a scientific experiment, and now I know what NOT to do with dishwashing liquid.

I also know how not to dispose of corncobs even though I have a perfectly good garbage disposal.

Garbage disposals have to be coddled and treated gently, kind of like an eccentric visitor who breaks his arm at your house and you have to put up with him for a month or so. (I saw that movie but I can’t remember the actor who played my garbage disposal. . .) Sometimes, just the thought of dealing with potato peelings is too much for a sensitive garbage disposal. Other times, the disposal fairly screams “more orange peels!” at the top of his manly lungs. The problem is, I never coordinate food preparation with the eccentricities of the disposal. So I end up putting garbage in a WalMart bag and setting it out on the deck for the possums to ransack.

Possums are quite possibly the most disgusting animals in the animal kingdom. Every time I see one, with that nasty pointy face, all I can think of is a cow’s hind end with a possum’s tail sticking out of it. The Discovery Channel is responsible for many of my nightmares and disillusionments.

The house on the other side of the woods from us is covered with lights. We can’t see it in the summer, but once the leaves are gone, we can. At Christmas-time, it’s beautiful.

Thank you, unknown neighbor, for sharing your twinkly lights with me.