...and so it has been going...for almost two months.
Yes, I made a deal with my doctor, I could not start work every day, until I exercised for at least 20 minutes. Sure I thought..THAT'S going to work. I figured I would placate her and said something like "Sure, you call me every morning, and yes, I will exercise." We both had a good laugh over that. Then, I jokingly said, well at least write me a note that says I have to exercise before I can go to work. She said, "Yes, I CAN do that...and, she did."
Okay, I decided would give it a shot, I would give it a try for a couple of weeks. If it worked, great...if not...well, two weeks (in my opinion) was giving this a 'good college try'. I printed out her note and taped it to the bottom of my computer monitor. It reads.
"Zazzle is your reward time each day AFTER you had done your exercise. Have fun!!
So, I started exercising. The first day I over did it, I exercised for 20 minutes. The next day I had pain in muscles I had forgotten I had, and I had not used for years. So, I cut back to a 10 minute program I still hurt, but the note on my monitor was like a nudge from my shoulder angel and I decided to try ten minutes the next day. too.
To my surprise, my muscles seemed to enjoy the workout, and I increased my time to 15 minutes. The days flew by and before I knew it my two week trial was over. I considered quitting, after all I had accomplished my "good old college try".
That morning when I went to work, I saw the note from my doctor, I felt proud of myself and I realized her note was exactly the incentive I needed to spend time exercising. Before I knew it I was exercising 25 then 30 minutes every day. I began to feel guilty for even thinking about taking a day off. At the end of the first month I'd missed only two days.
I sent my doctor an e-mail telling her of my progress, and I presented her with a deal, IF I was still exercising at the end of six months, she was going to have to buy something from my Zazzle store. To my delight and surprise, she agreed to the deal.
On November 8th, I will have completed my second month. As of this morning I've only missed four days of exercise. Oh, there are days I want to skip, even quit my exercise program. Then, I think about that note from my doctor taped to my computer monitor. I know she would be disappointed if I quit. And, I know my shoulder angel would be very disappointed in me too. I would be disappointed in me.
So, every morning I get up, feed my furry creatures, turn on the TV and begin...up, down, one, two, three, four....
Thanks, Doc.
Tuesday, October 28, 2014
Monday, October 27, 2014
Leaf lady
I will leave no leaf un-turned. Yes, I'm obsessed with autumn leaves. I can't help myself, and of late I've been driving Frankie crazy. Every time I got outside, whether to retrieve the mail, or to simply enjoy a few minutes of fresh air I come back inside with a hand full of colorful leaves. All shapes, all sizes. I don't want to collect the leaves, I am compelled to do so.
Some years I'm worse than others, if, one year the leaves happen to be more magnificent in hues of red, yellow, orange, even a dozen shades of brown my books are soon bulging with leaves pressed within their pages and kept there for years until they disintegrate and turn to dust. I can't help myself.
This year the leaves have been a bit of a disappointment. Most of the trees leaves have not turned color yet, and after the weekend rain and wind storm a lot of the trees are pretty bare without have the opportunity for the leaves to turn at all.
Still, unable to help myself, each time I go out I scour the lawn, driveway and walks for colorful leaves. I stop, bend over and flip the ones upside down over, and often add it to the collection I already have in my hand. Yesterday was no exception. I came into the house with yellow and red maples, they were tiny, the largest perhaps three inches in length but perfect in shape and color.
I spread them out on a paper towel on the kitchen counter so they would dry.
Frankie: "Are you kidding me? More leaves? You're nuts, you know that don't you?"
Me: "...and, your point is?"
Frankie: "You don't need these, you don't know what you're going to do with them, and eventually they will fall out of a book and you will throw them away."
Me: (Sad and dejected) "I know."
(Insert moment of silence.)
Me: "Still, just look at them Frankie, look at the colors, even Crayola Crayons can't make these colors, artists can't blend their oils to these exact colors, my computer can't make these colors. Oh, we can come close, but these colors are perfection. Absolute perfection."
I gently wiped the rain off each delicate leaf. One was bright yellow with a brown tip, another was bright red, with a tear along on side, I took tape to hold it together. Another was yellow but had three circles in it, they were green with brown around their edges. How did that happen? Some kind of genetic abnormality I suspect. Still it was rare and unique. I was fascinated. I wanted Frankie to be fascinated, too.
She, of course appeased me, by pretending to be interested, (at least she didn't walk away). I left her standing at the kitchen counter and went back outside to stand up a plant stand the wind had knocked over. While I trekked back to the house I picked up small branches from a maple and willow tree the wind had deposited in my back yard.
Frankie was still standing at the counter, she had the spotted leaf in her hand. She looked like a kid that had been caught stealing a cookie from a cabinet. She sputtered and tried to regain composure.
Frankie: "WHAT? More leaves...you know what, old woman, you are nuts."
Me: (Sighing.) "I know, it's an illness."
Frankie: "What are your plans for the branches?"
Me: "I'm going to draw them. What are you plans for the leaf in your hand?"
Frankie: "Nothing, I'm just looking..."
Yes, there she was, just looking...that's how it starts...this illness...I was just looking, too.
Some years I'm worse than others, if, one year the leaves happen to be more magnificent in hues of red, yellow, orange, even a dozen shades of brown my books are soon bulging with leaves pressed within their pages and kept there for years until they disintegrate and turn to dust. I can't help myself.
This year the leaves have been a bit of a disappointment. Most of the trees leaves have not turned color yet, and after the weekend rain and wind storm a lot of the trees are pretty bare without have the opportunity for the leaves to turn at all.
Still, unable to help myself, each time I go out I scour the lawn, driveway and walks for colorful leaves. I stop, bend over and flip the ones upside down over, and often add it to the collection I already have in my hand. Yesterday was no exception. I came into the house with yellow and red maples, they were tiny, the largest perhaps three inches in length but perfect in shape and color.
I spread them out on a paper towel on the kitchen counter so they would dry.
Frankie: "Are you kidding me? More leaves? You're nuts, you know that don't you?"
Me: "...and, your point is?"
Frankie: "You don't need these, you don't know what you're going to do with them, and eventually they will fall out of a book and you will throw them away."
Me: (Sad and dejected) "I know."
(Insert moment of silence.)
Me: "Still, just look at them Frankie, look at the colors, even Crayola Crayons can't make these colors, artists can't blend their oils to these exact colors, my computer can't make these colors. Oh, we can come close, but these colors are perfection. Absolute perfection."
I gently wiped the rain off each delicate leaf. One was bright yellow with a brown tip, another was bright red, with a tear along on side, I took tape to hold it together. Another was yellow but had three circles in it, they were green with brown around their edges. How did that happen? Some kind of genetic abnormality I suspect. Still it was rare and unique. I was fascinated. I wanted Frankie to be fascinated, too.
She, of course appeased me, by pretending to be interested, (at least she didn't walk away). I left her standing at the kitchen counter and went back outside to stand up a plant stand the wind had knocked over. While I trekked back to the house I picked up small branches from a maple and willow tree the wind had deposited in my back yard.
Frankie was still standing at the counter, she had the spotted leaf in her hand. She looked like a kid that had been caught stealing a cookie from a cabinet. She sputtered and tried to regain composure.
Frankie: "WHAT? More leaves...you know what, old woman, you are nuts."
Me: (Sighing.) "I know, it's an illness."
Frankie: "What are your plans for the branches?"
Me: "I'm going to draw them. What are you plans for the leaf in your hand?"
Frankie: "Nothing, I'm just looking..."
Yes, there she was, just looking...that's how it starts...this illness...I was just looking, too.
Saturday, October 25, 2014
Checking in.
Wrist feeling a bit better today. Still can't do two handed typing, but working on it. I have a new respect for those in constant pain whether from illness, accident, or age. God bless you all.
Thursday, October 23, 2014
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
Ouch
Tried to type a blog today, just can't re-hurt wrist yesterday...just can't type without serious pain. Maybe tomorrow. Hang in there.
Monday, October 20, 2014
Stir and mix, mix and stir.
This was a cooking weekend. I started with a vegetable soup, and moved on to another soup called Leathery Britches, this recipe coming from an old country cookbook.
Leathery Britches is a concoction of green beans (pioneer women dried them in the sun, giving them a 'leathery' look) potatoes, onions and salt pork or bacon. However, I don't have to dry the beans, because my neighbor gave me a handful of fresh ones on Friday. Is makes a wonderful hardy soup. I added a handful of barley, just because I happen to like barley in my soups.
After cooking the Leathery Britches, I moved on to a package of cheesy bagels that I sliced in half and smeared spaghetti sauce across their open faces. Then I added onion, sliced black olives, and tomatoes making mini pizzas, that I baked in the oven for about 20 minutes. Then I topped these off with some cheddar cheese slices and returned the bagel pizzas to the oven till the cheese melted.
It turned out I had about half a can of spaghetti sauce left and I dumped that into a sauce pan, added a bit of water, threw in some shell pasta and cooked it till the pasta softened, finishing this dish by melting some cheese slices in it. Don't judge me...this was an unexpected throw together kind of leftover thing....waste not, want not, right?
Finally, I lined up all my individual sized meal containers and started dumping. Man, I'm not going to have to cook for a week, and have containers to put into the freezer as well. Come to think of it, writing about all this food is making me hungry, I might have to go eat.
Aside from having a lot of good meals prepared, I have to let you know I did NOT hurt my wrist this time while packaging up the food. I was very, VERY careful. I'm still wearing an ace bandage from my last encounter with a heavy pot. Oh, and speaking of bandages, you know how when you are wrapping them around your hand and wrist the beginning end is hard to keep in place? I discovered a way to keep it from loosening. I simply cut a hole in one end of the bandage and put my thumb through the hole...this keeps the bandage in place like you wouldn't believe. How come I never thought of that before? Better late than ever I suppose.
That pretty much sums up my cookin' weekend. And, now I'm going to go eat. What to eat first, hmmm pizza sounds good.
Leathery Britches is a concoction of green beans (pioneer women dried them in the sun, giving them a 'leathery' look) potatoes, onions and salt pork or bacon. However, I don't have to dry the beans, because my neighbor gave me a handful of fresh ones on Friday. Is makes a wonderful hardy soup. I added a handful of barley, just because I happen to like barley in my soups.
After cooking the Leathery Britches, I moved on to a package of cheesy bagels that I sliced in half and smeared spaghetti sauce across their open faces. Then I added onion, sliced black olives, and tomatoes making mini pizzas, that I baked in the oven for about 20 minutes. Then I topped these off with some cheddar cheese slices and returned the bagel pizzas to the oven till the cheese melted.
It turned out I had about half a can of spaghetti sauce left and I dumped that into a sauce pan, added a bit of water, threw in some shell pasta and cooked it till the pasta softened, finishing this dish by melting some cheese slices in it. Don't judge me...this was an unexpected throw together kind of leftover thing....waste not, want not, right?
Finally, I lined up all my individual sized meal containers and started dumping. Man, I'm not going to have to cook for a week, and have containers to put into the freezer as well. Come to think of it, writing about all this food is making me hungry, I might have to go eat.
Aside from having a lot of good meals prepared, I have to let you know I did NOT hurt my wrist this time while packaging up the food. I was very, VERY careful. I'm still wearing an ace bandage from my last encounter with a heavy pot. Oh, and speaking of bandages, you know how when you are wrapping them around your hand and wrist the beginning end is hard to keep in place? I discovered a way to keep it from loosening. I simply cut a hole in one end of the bandage and put my thumb through the hole...this keeps the bandage in place like you wouldn't believe. How come I never thought of that before? Better late than ever I suppose.
That pretty much sums up my cookin' weekend. And, now I'm going to go eat. What to eat first, hmmm pizza sounds good.
Saturday, October 18, 2014
Remember?
Remember the day I wrote that I thought it is better to get flowers while we're alive, instead of at a memorial service or funeral?
You remember?
Yesterday I got flowers......
I'm beside myself with glee.
Thanks, Lorraine....Love you.
You remember?
Yesterday I got flowers......
I'm beside myself with glee.
Thanks, Lorraine....Love you.
Friday, October 17, 2014
Summer eating
It's been a great summer for growing...vegetables...and fruits.
My neighbors have vegetables gardens and fruit trees growing in their yards. Boy, are Frankie and I lucky. Mostly all I have to do is wait for the produce to ripen. Frequently they bring their bounty right to my front and/or back doors. It is so wonderful to see a bag full of apples, pears or zucchini squash on my front stoop, or a bowl of berries, plums, tomatoes, peppers, cabbage and other fresh vegetables on my back patio. I'm so grateful and appreciative.
I'm even allowed to walk right up to my neighbor's vegetable garden and help myself. Frankie and I frequently do that. And, this year we've discovered how delicious broccoli greens and kale are chopped up as a replacement for lettuce in sandwiches...and they are much better for us. We particularly like that kale has kind of a 'peppery' flavor. I mean to tell you we have been eating (as the old saying goes) "high off the hog".
Yesterday afternoon, my neighbor brought me a lovely head of red cabbage and some green beans. She informed me the tomatoes are no longer ripening, but that I can help myself to all the green ones I want. Boy, oh boy. Come on fried green tomatoes with onions. Yum, yum. Also, I'm going to fix a pan of fried red cabbage, something I've not prepared for quite some time, and I'm not sure Frankie has ever had.
I'm contemplating what to do with the last of all this bounty, but I think since the weather has become more chilly and damp a good hardy vegetable soup might be in order. Yep, that's the ticket, homemade vegetable soup.
Me: (Shouting) "Frankie!"
Frankie: (Shouting back) "Yo?"
Me: (Still shouting) "Pull out the crock pot!"
High off the hog:
The Phase Finder states this means to be affluent and luxuriously. Also, it is the best cuts of the meat on a pig. Although the phrase has been around since at least the 1800's, it did not appear in print until the 20th Century here in America.
The Free Dictionary states: Idiom, slang, In a lavish or extravagant manner..."...lived high on the hog after getting his inheritance.
The Urban Dictionary states: Living life to the fullest extent.
My neighbors have vegetables gardens and fruit trees growing in their yards. Boy, are Frankie and I lucky. Mostly all I have to do is wait for the produce to ripen. Frequently they bring their bounty right to my front and/or back doors. It is so wonderful to see a bag full of apples, pears or zucchini squash on my front stoop, or a bowl of berries, plums, tomatoes, peppers, cabbage and other fresh vegetables on my back patio. I'm so grateful and appreciative.
I'm even allowed to walk right up to my neighbor's vegetable garden and help myself. Frankie and I frequently do that. And, this year we've discovered how delicious broccoli greens and kale are chopped up as a replacement for lettuce in sandwiches...and they are much better for us. We particularly like that kale has kind of a 'peppery' flavor. I mean to tell you we have been eating (as the old saying goes) "high off the hog".
Yesterday afternoon, my neighbor brought me a lovely head of red cabbage and some green beans. She informed me the tomatoes are no longer ripening, but that I can help myself to all the green ones I want. Boy, oh boy. Come on fried green tomatoes with onions. Yum, yum. Also, I'm going to fix a pan of fried red cabbage, something I've not prepared for quite some time, and I'm not sure Frankie has ever had.
I'm contemplating what to do with the last of all this bounty, but I think since the weather has become more chilly and damp a good hardy vegetable soup might be in order. Yep, that's the ticket, homemade vegetable soup.
Me: (Shouting) "Frankie!"
Frankie: (Shouting back) "Yo?"
Me: (Still shouting) "Pull out the crock pot!"
High off the hog:
The Phase Finder states this means to be affluent and luxuriously. Also, it is the best cuts of the meat on a pig. Although the phrase has been around since at least the 1800's, it did not appear in print until the 20th Century here in America.
The Free Dictionary states: Idiom, slang, In a lavish or extravagant manner..."...lived high on the hog after getting his inheritance.
The Urban Dictionary states: Living life to the fullest extent.
Thursday, October 16, 2014
Keeping the grey matter moving
Sometimes I have to wonder just exactly what I've got going on in the area between my right and left ear. I swear sometimes I can hear the wind blowing around in there. Often I think it must be filled with mush, or maybe leftover oatmeal. I watch the commercials for that famous company that tells me they can teach me a foreign language in weeks and I will be able to speak like a native in that particular country. Yeah, right.
Earlier this year I thought about taking an on-line class about poetry, and before long subtle ads began appearing along the right hand side of my facebook page encouraging me to do exactly that. Then, I showed an interest in an on-line class called 'Art for Beginners', that touted I would be able to draw just about anything, as though I'd been an artist all my life. Again, ads appeared at various websites reminding me I had been interested in art.
Now, don't get me wrong, I understand I'm under a microscope anytime I'm on-line, and I know big brother is always watching. And, I appreciate these folks want to help me keep my grey matter moving. I just wish they were willing to pay my tuition to attend all these classes.
Here's what I think. There ought to be some kind of tuition, scholarship program specifically for old people, where rich people would adopt one of us 'old folk' and pay for these online college courses to help us keep our grey matter moving. Hey, couldn't it be a tax deduction for them, and wouldn't that make us their 'dependent' (another tax break)?
We would have the satisfaction of being able to learn something new, and they would have the satisfaction of giving an old person the opportunity to continue to be an independent thinking, mentally agile, senior citizen.
The on-line classes I take cost about a hundred bucks for a 10 lesson, 6 week, 20 hour class. Let's say, our benefactor set up a scholarship of 500 dollars year. That would take us (me) through the year, with a couple weeks break between each class. Wouldn't that be wonderful? Oh, the classes I could take. Oh, the people, classmates, professors, I could meet. Oh, how my horizon would expand.
Okay, so this is a pipe dream, and I know this will never happen. Reality is I've got to be the one to keep my own grey matter moving. Thankfully, most of my days I am aware there is actually 'stuff' moving around in the area between my ears. For instance, this morning, I don't hear any breezes, and the innards seem a little more solid than mush or leftover oatmeal. Maybe I'll drag out my unfinished French work book and see where that leads.
Earlier this year I thought about taking an on-line class about poetry, and before long subtle ads began appearing along the right hand side of my facebook page encouraging me to do exactly that. Then, I showed an interest in an on-line class called 'Art for Beginners', that touted I would be able to draw just about anything, as though I'd been an artist all my life. Again, ads appeared at various websites reminding me I had been interested in art.
Now, don't get me wrong, I understand I'm under a microscope anytime I'm on-line, and I know big brother is always watching. And, I appreciate these folks want to help me keep my grey matter moving. I just wish they were willing to pay my tuition to attend all these classes.
Here's what I think. There ought to be some kind of tuition, scholarship program specifically for old people, where rich people would adopt one of us 'old folk' and pay for these online college courses to help us keep our grey matter moving. Hey, couldn't it be a tax deduction for them, and wouldn't that make us their 'dependent' (another tax break)?
We would have the satisfaction of being able to learn something new, and they would have the satisfaction of giving an old person the opportunity to continue to be an independent thinking, mentally agile, senior citizen.
The on-line classes I take cost about a hundred bucks for a 10 lesson, 6 week, 20 hour class. Let's say, our benefactor set up a scholarship of 500 dollars year. That would take us (me) through the year, with a couple weeks break between each class. Wouldn't that be wonderful? Oh, the classes I could take. Oh, the people, classmates, professors, I could meet. Oh, how my horizon would expand.
Okay, so this is a pipe dream, and I know this will never happen. Reality is I've got to be the one to keep my own grey matter moving. Thankfully, most of my days I am aware there is actually 'stuff' moving around in the area between my ears. For instance, this morning, I don't hear any breezes, and the innards seem a little more solid than mush or leftover oatmeal. Maybe I'll drag out my unfinished French work book and see where that leads.
Tuesday, October 14, 2014
Nostalgia
This has been a year for re-connection to my past. I suppose Freud could have a field day with that, but I suspect sometimes a cigar is just a cigar and this is simple a case of being just a tad homesick.
Seriously, I've always had my hometown in the depths of my heart and mind, and have never said a bad word about it. Oh, I've been sad about my hometown because once the steel mills closed and we young folks packed our bags and left, its glory days were over. Even more sad is the fact some of us never looked back, the last time I was there was (if memory serves) 1963. To my credit, I never forgot, was ashamed, or tried to deny from whence I came.
The Internet has played an intricate part in my being able to keep the connection to my
hometown. There is a site called the Johnstown Cafe that I frequent, there is the Official Johnstown site. I'm a friend of my high school's website, and earlier this year I subscribed to my hometown magazine, a beautifully designed and interesting publication. Then last month I subscribed to the digital edition of the local newspaper, The Tribune Democrat.
Here's the thing.
Once my subscription had been accepted, I went to the digital edition but could not for the life of me get full access to the paper. I tried and tried all sorts of ways, but simply could not connect. Finally in desperation yesterday I e-mailed the paper explaining my dilemma. A few hours later there was a response in my e-mail from someone named Janeen. She was absolutely fabulous, she took care of my problem in the proverbial 'blink of an eye'. Not only did she have me connected to the newspaper, she provided me a new pass word, and...extended my subscription for a full two weeks because I could not have access to the paper when I first applied.
Talk about good customer service. Talk about good people.
Yep, I'm pleased to report my hometown is alive and well. It will never be the city that it was, and that is a very good thing, because it is not fixated on the past but ever looking to the future. The folks who continue to live there, and have been loyal, upstanding citizens see a new and bright 'tomorrow' for Johnstown.
There are colleges, medical facilities, museums dedicated to the towns history, tourist attractions, and beautiful mountains rapping the valley in gorgeous, colorful, quilts every season of the year. I'm telling you Johnstown is a great place from which to have sprung.
There you have it. I don't think there is any kind of secret, long forgotten trauma connected with my yearning for my hometown, I simply miss it from time to time. Besides, if I can't perpetuate the family history and proudly proclaim it to my children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, who will?
It is up to me to tell them about the floods, the mills glowing at night, the miners emerging black as pitch from the depths of the earth, the farms dotting the landscapes, and the melting pot of wonderful, friendly people. I will make them feel proud of their heritage and their ancestors.
It feels good to be from my hometown, Johnstown, "the friendly city".
Seriously, I've always had my hometown in the depths of my heart and mind, and have never said a bad word about it. Oh, I've been sad about my hometown because once the steel mills closed and we young folks packed our bags and left, its glory days were over. Even more sad is the fact some of us never looked back, the last time I was there was (if memory serves) 1963. To my credit, I never forgot, was ashamed, or tried to deny from whence I came.
The Internet has played an intricate part in my being able to keep the connection to my
hometown. There is a site called the Johnstown Cafe that I frequent, there is the Official Johnstown site. I'm a friend of my high school's website, and earlier this year I subscribed to my hometown magazine, a beautifully designed and interesting publication. Then last month I subscribed to the digital edition of the local newspaper, The Tribune Democrat.
Here's the thing.
Once my subscription had been accepted, I went to the digital edition but could not for the life of me get full access to the paper. I tried and tried all sorts of ways, but simply could not connect. Finally in desperation yesterday I e-mailed the paper explaining my dilemma. A few hours later there was a response in my e-mail from someone named Janeen. She was absolutely fabulous, she took care of my problem in the proverbial 'blink of an eye'. Not only did she have me connected to the newspaper, she provided me a new pass word, and...extended my subscription for a full two weeks because I could not have access to the paper when I first applied.
Talk about good customer service. Talk about good people.
Yep, I'm pleased to report my hometown is alive and well. It will never be the city that it was, and that is a very good thing, because it is not fixated on the past but ever looking to the future. The folks who continue to live there, and have been loyal, upstanding citizens see a new and bright 'tomorrow' for Johnstown.
There are colleges, medical facilities, museums dedicated to the towns history, tourist attractions, and beautiful mountains rapping the valley in gorgeous, colorful, quilts every season of the year. I'm telling you Johnstown is a great place from which to have sprung.
There you have it. I don't think there is any kind of secret, long forgotten trauma connected with my yearning for my hometown, I simply miss it from time to time. Besides, if I can't perpetuate the family history and proudly proclaim it to my children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, who will?
It is up to me to tell them about the floods, the mills glowing at night, the miners emerging black as pitch from the depths of the earth, the farms dotting the landscapes, and the melting pot of wonderful, friendly people. I will make them feel proud of their heritage and their ancestors.
It feels good to be from my hometown, Johnstown, "the friendly city".
Monday, October 13, 2014
Blustery Days
This weekend was a Winnie Pooh "blustery days" weekend. The leaves twirled and swirled hither and yon. Sometimes in great abundance, sometimes a few at at time. I didn't pay too much attention until CC decided to park her furry butt in the bay window.
I was busy doing laundry, and other weekend activities when I began to hear 'thumps'. They were not of the alarming variety, as though someone was trying to break into the house, none the less, they were starting to become annoying. What the heck was going on?
Meandering through the living room I noticed CC in the bay window, her stubby, crooked tail methodically, metronomically, moving back and forth. Boy, was she agitated.
All of a sudden a gust of wind blew yellow and green leaves around the front yard, some of which hit the bay window.
CC leaped halfway up the window, slamming her front paws against the glass. Once she settled down, her head moved back and forth watching the leaves land in the grass. I was amused, she so engrossed in the swirling leaves I think the house could have crumbled down around her. I had not seen her so enthralled in a very long time, (probably since last October when the leaves were falling off the trees).
I decided it this was good exercise for her, and I knew she didn't have enough weight to break the window so I went about my business allowing her to do hers.
"Thunk."
"Thunk."
"Thunk."
"Thunk."
And so it went. For a very, very long time.
Later in the afternoon it occurred the "thunking" had stopped. Well, it wasn't so much the "thunking' had stopped but that CC had disappeared. Had I absentmindedly left a door open, had she sneaked out? Hmmm where was my illusive creature? I looked around the house and garage checking her favorite haunts. Nope, she was not to be found, she had disappeared. I grew concerned, until it came to me, she had a very active afternoon and was probably napping...somewhere.
It was not until almost bedtime she reappeared, from the direction of the garage, she stretched mightily (the kind I wish I could do) and yawned. She looked quite refreshed. I think the 'catch the leaf game' had been good for her.
Boy, it's going to be a l-o-n-g autumn, waiting for that last leaf to fall. If she keeps up with this game, she's gonna' lose a lot of weight. I wonder...should I include jumping jacks in my exercise program?
I was busy doing laundry, and other weekend activities when I began to hear 'thumps'. They were not of the alarming variety, as though someone was trying to break into the house, none the less, they were starting to become annoying. What the heck was going on?
Meandering through the living room I noticed CC in the bay window, her stubby, crooked tail methodically, metronomically, moving back and forth. Boy, was she agitated.
All of a sudden a gust of wind blew yellow and green leaves around the front yard, some of which hit the bay window.
CC leaped halfway up the window, slamming her front paws against the glass. Once she settled down, her head moved back and forth watching the leaves land in the grass. I was amused, she so engrossed in the swirling leaves I think the house could have crumbled down around her. I had not seen her so enthralled in a very long time, (probably since last October when the leaves were falling off the trees).
I decided it this was good exercise for her, and I knew she didn't have enough weight to break the window so I went about my business allowing her to do hers.
"Thunk."
"Thunk."
"Thunk."
"Thunk."
And so it went. For a very, very long time.
Later in the afternoon it occurred the "thunking" had stopped. Well, it wasn't so much the "thunking' had stopped but that CC had disappeared. Had I absentmindedly left a door open, had she sneaked out? Hmmm where was my illusive creature? I looked around the house and garage checking her favorite haunts. Nope, she was not to be found, she had disappeared. I grew concerned, until it came to me, she had a very active afternoon and was probably napping...somewhere.
It was not until almost bedtime she reappeared, from the direction of the garage, she stretched mightily (the kind I wish I could do) and yawned. She looked quite refreshed. I think the 'catch the leaf game' had been good for her.
Boy, it's going to be a l-o-n-g autumn, waiting for that last leaf to fall. If she keeps up with this game, she's gonna' lose a lot of weight. I wonder...should I include jumping jacks in my exercise program?
Saturday, October 11, 2014
Ow, ow, ow.
Ouch!
I've been working with pain the last couple of days. Stupid is, as stupid does.
On Wednesday (I think), late in the afternoon I got the 'hankerin' for some potatoes with chicken gravy. Normally, this is a meal I would cook in my crock pot, but since this craving came on so late in the day, I pulled my largest skillet off the shelf, cubed several potatoes, cut up some onion and boiled the suckers out of them. Then I opened what I thought was two cans of cream of chicken soup to pour over the cooked potatoes and onions.
My first mistake was that one of the opened cans was not cream of chicken...but old fashioned noodle soup. What the heck? I dumped both cans into the potato, onion mixture, put the lid on the skillet and set the heat to 'low-simmer'.
Hummm, deeee, dummmmm, deeeeee, dummmmm. (This is time passing.)
A short while later I fill a rather large bowl of my wonderful potatoes, onions and gravy,....oh, and noodles. It was delicious, I had a second bowl.
Burp!!!!!!!! That was delicious, too.
Here comes the stupid part!
Time came to break down the leftovers into individual packages to put in the freezer for later
eating. I grasp the handle of the skillet, and with my right hand, turned the skillet on its side to fill the first container.
A horrific pain shot up and down the outside of my right wrist. It was horrible. My first thought was to drop the skillet full of hot food, scream and grab my wrist. Well, that would indeed have been stupid! So, with time moving in slow motion ow, ow, ow, I contemplated taking my left hand and grab the edge of the skillet, to reduce the weight on my right wrist ow, ow, ow. Well, that indeed would have been stupid! I'd have had burned fingers and an injured wrist.
So, pain and all, I started filling the containers with the leftovers. And, that was stupid. Because the more I worked, the worse it hurt ow, ow, ow...I did serious harm to my right wrist. By the time I got to the last container I had to sit the skillet down and use my left hand to finish the job.
Come morning I saw my wrist had swollen some, and hurt to the touch. However, by now I was sure it was not broken because I could move it (still can) and I can work (although when I turn it too far to the right it still hurts). I'm sure "it will be better before I get married" (my Aunt Lill's cure all saying).
I've been trying, ever since this accident, to figure out exactly how this happened. I've used this skillet for decades without incident, what was different about how I poured the stuff out of it this time. I've concluded it was where I had grasped the handle. Considering the weight of the potatoes, onions, gravy...oh, and noodles, I should have had my hand closer to the skillet end of the handle rather than the other end. So, being 'off balance' my poor wrist had no other choice to 'step up to the plate' and work hard, r-e-a-l-l-y hard to keep me from spilling the leftovers all over the counter and kitchen floor.
Stupid, stupid me...a ladle was laying, right there, on my spoon rest...did I even think to use it. Nooooooo. Stupid is, as stupid does.
Anyway, I'm not telling you this to get you to feel sorry for me, or to get free advise on how to cure my wrist, no, I'm telling you this because you never know when an accident is going to happen, even the most simple chore can have a disastrous consequence. I was lucky, really, it could have been worse, I could have broken my wrist. Maybe I simply had my mind on something else while I was dumping those potatoes, onions, gravy...oh, and noodles that I never gave the ladle a thought. That's all it takes for an accident to happen...a wandering mind. And, that really is the stupid part.
I've been working with pain the last couple of days. Stupid is, as stupid does.
On Wednesday (I think), late in the afternoon I got the 'hankerin' for some potatoes with chicken gravy. Normally, this is a meal I would cook in my crock pot, but since this craving came on so late in the day, I pulled my largest skillet off the shelf, cubed several potatoes, cut up some onion and boiled the suckers out of them. Then I opened what I thought was two cans of cream of chicken soup to pour over the cooked potatoes and onions.
My first mistake was that one of the opened cans was not cream of chicken...but old fashioned noodle soup. What the heck? I dumped both cans into the potato, onion mixture, put the lid on the skillet and set the heat to 'low-simmer'.
Hummm, deeee, dummmmm, deeeeee, dummmmm. (This is time passing.)
A short while later I fill a rather large bowl of my wonderful potatoes, onions and gravy,....oh, and noodles. It was delicious, I had a second bowl.
Burp!!!!!!!! That was delicious, too.
Here comes the stupid part!
Time came to break down the leftovers into individual packages to put in the freezer for later
eating. I grasp the handle of the skillet, and with my right hand, turned the skillet on its side to fill the first container.
A horrific pain shot up and down the outside of my right wrist. It was horrible. My first thought was to drop the skillet full of hot food, scream and grab my wrist. Well, that would indeed have been stupid! So, with time moving in slow motion ow, ow, ow, I contemplated taking my left hand and grab the edge of the skillet, to reduce the weight on my right wrist ow, ow, ow. Well, that indeed would have been stupid! I'd have had burned fingers and an injured wrist.
So, pain and all, I started filling the containers with the leftovers. And, that was stupid. Because the more I worked, the worse it hurt ow, ow, ow...I did serious harm to my right wrist. By the time I got to the last container I had to sit the skillet down and use my left hand to finish the job.
Come morning I saw my wrist had swollen some, and hurt to the touch. However, by now I was sure it was not broken because I could move it (still can) and I can work (although when I turn it too far to the right it still hurts). I'm sure "it will be better before I get married" (my Aunt Lill's cure all saying).
I've been trying, ever since this accident, to figure out exactly how this happened. I've used this skillet for decades without incident, what was different about how I poured the stuff out of it this time. I've concluded it was where I had grasped the handle. Considering the weight of the potatoes, onions, gravy...oh, and noodles, I should have had my hand closer to the skillet end of the handle rather than the other end. So, being 'off balance' my poor wrist had no other choice to 'step up to the plate' and work hard, r-e-a-l-l-y hard to keep me from spilling the leftovers all over the counter and kitchen floor.
Stupid, stupid me...a ladle was laying, right there, on my spoon rest...did I even think to use it. Nooooooo. Stupid is, as stupid does.
Anyway, I'm not telling you this to get you to feel sorry for me, or to get free advise on how to cure my wrist, no, I'm telling you this because you never know when an accident is going to happen, even the most simple chore can have a disastrous consequence. I was lucky, really, it could have been worse, I could have broken my wrist. Maybe I simply had my mind on something else while I was dumping those potatoes, onions, gravy...oh, and noodles that I never gave the ladle a thought. That's all it takes for an accident to happen...a wandering mind. And, that really is the stupid part.
Friday, October 10, 2014
I don't know about you,
but I'm sick, sick, sick of all the political advertisements on television these days. The candidates are slinging mud, each accusing the other about things they have done in the past and promising great things for the future, even though they all know they have no intention of following through with their grandiose plans.
Then there are of course all the 'measures' that are going to be on the ballets. Legalizing marijuana, so the police can deal with more difficult cases. Murders, robberies, rapes, etc. Like having people becoming an addict on one drug and moving forward to more dangerous ones is okay. I don't get it.
Remember the fall of the Roman Empire, the one that decayed from the downfall of moral decay. When governments become lax in morality and overlook that we should be doing 'what is right', over what we make 'acceptable' because 'heaven forbid' we would step on someones toes and in some way offend them and infringe on their 'rights' and make special rules just for them is (in my opinion) wrong, wrong, wrong. Even worse we seem to be overlooking the rules thereby making it so the existing rules somehow do not apply to them. What has become to the courage we used to have to actually enforce the laws as they stand today? Aren't they meant to protect all constituents? And, what happened to the candidates that take an oath to uphold those laws yet when they get elected to office tend to overlook them or pretend they do not apply? In my humble opinion, we are rotting from the basement up, and when the foundation crumbled, the nation fall.
And to quote one of my favorites, as Mrs.Thurston Howell the Third so aptly exclaimed. "We're doomed I tell you, doomed." She's absolutely right.
Political advertisements have been airing since the beginning of August, they are repetitious, annoying, and groan on and on every ten minutes on every channel, on every show. Blah, blah, blah, blah. Politicians swear they are for jobs, they are for the middle class, they are for doing something about illegal aliens, they are for doing something about medical care in America, they are for more taxes for the rich, and less for the poor. All the while degrading their opponent because they apparently do not understand the issues, and thereby are not qualified for the job. Or, they dig up 'the dirt' and play up 'secrets' about their opponents personal lives, because they had done this or that terrible...and mostly stupid thing in their young past that make them especially unqualified to hold the job. Blah, blah, blah, blah.
And, as for the issues, they vary from state to state. At the moment legalizing marijuana is an issue here, I've no doubt that will pass. Another issue is genetically altered food, this has pitched farmer against farmer. Some think the public has the right to know what is in the food they are eating and want truth in labeling. Some think, passing this law will confuse people even more, and make labeling food a very expensive endeavor, and eventually increase the price of the foods we purchase.
All I can say is I've lived to become an old person, chomping summer berries grown at the sides of the roads while gasoline exhausts covered them with lead which at that time was part of gasoline's chemical make up. I've eaten dirt, off vegetables picked from my dad's garden, rubbing most of it off on my shirt, yet the dirt that still clung to the carrot did not stunt my grown or cause things to grow and devour me from the inside out. I seriously doubt the genetically altered food is going to kill me either. Scientists, Doctors and their tests are conducted to frighten the poop right out of us. But when you consider the amounts of 'stuff' they shoot into the poor scientific specimens, (rats, mice, rabbits, monkeys,) you have to realize it's enough to kill a horse and probably make even an elephant quite ill.
Anyway, at this point in time I'm so disgusted and sick of all the commercials, I grab my remote control device and hit the mute button. Don't these folks realize we are sick, sick, sick of all this repetition? They are most certainly not making points with me, and I can't believe I'm alone in how I feel about all this rhetoric. I'm reaching the point I'm not going to vote for any candidates, I might write in a few of my own...Maybe more of us should do that. Oh, there will be winning candidates who's names are on the ballet, but perhaps if more of us wrote peoples names in, maybe at least the 'runners-up' just might take notice we voters are becoming disgruntled. It's time for a change.
Then there are of course all the 'measures' that are going to be on the ballets. Legalizing marijuana, so the police can deal with more difficult cases. Murders, robberies, rapes, etc. Like having people becoming an addict on one drug and moving forward to more dangerous ones is okay. I don't get it.
Remember the fall of the Roman Empire, the one that decayed from the downfall of moral decay. When governments become lax in morality and overlook that we should be doing 'what is right', over what we make 'acceptable' because 'heaven forbid' we would step on someones toes and in some way offend them and infringe on their 'rights' and make special rules just for them is (in my opinion) wrong, wrong, wrong. Even worse we seem to be overlooking the rules thereby making it so the existing rules somehow do not apply to them. What has become to the courage we used to have to actually enforce the laws as they stand today? Aren't they meant to protect all constituents? And, what happened to the candidates that take an oath to uphold those laws yet when they get elected to office tend to overlook them or pretend they do not apply? In my humble opinion, we are rotting from the basement up, and when the foundation crumbled, the nation fall.
And to quote one of my favorites, as Mrs.Thurston Howell the Third so aptly exclaimed. "We're doomed I tell you, doomed." She's absolutely right.
Political advertisements have been airing since the beginning of August, they are repetitious, annoying, and groan on and on every ten minutes on every channel, on every show. Blah, blah, blah, blah. Politicians swear they are for jobs, they are for the middle class, they are for doing something about illegal aliens, they are for doing something about medical care in America, they are for more taxes for the rich, and less for the poor. All the while degrading their opponent because they apparently do not understand the issues, and thereby are not qualified for the job. Or, they dig up 'the dirt' and play up 'secrets' about their opponents personal lives, because they had done this or that terrible...and mostly stupid thing in their young past that make them especially unqualified to hold the job. Blah, blah, blah, blah.
And, as for the issues, they vary from state to state. At the moment legalizing marijuana is an issue here, I've no doubt that will pass. Another issue is genetically altered food, this has pitched farmer against farmer. Some think the public has the right to know what is in the food they are eating and want truth in labeling. Some think, passing this law will confuse people even more, and make labeling food a very expensive endeavor, and eventually increase the price of the foods we purchase.
All I can say is I've lived to become an old person, chomping summer berries grown at the sides of the roads while gasoline exhausts covered them with lead which at that time was part of gasoline's chemical make up. I've eaten dirt, off vegetables picked from my dad's garden, rubbing most of it off on my shirt, yet the dirt that still clung to the carrot did not stunt my grown or cause things to grow and devour me from the inside out. I seriously doubt the genetically altered food is going to kill me either. Scientists, Doctors and their tests are conducted to frighten the poop right out of us. But when you consider the amounts of 'stuff' they shoot into the poor scientific specimens, (rats, mice, rabbits, monkeys,) you have to realize it's enough to kill a horse and probably make even an elephant quite ill.
Anyway, at this point in time I'm so disgusted and sick of all the commercials, I grab my remote control device and hit the mute button. Don't these folks realize we are sick, sick, sick of all this repetition? They are most certainly not making points with me, and I can't believe I'm alone in how I feel about all this rhetoric. I'm reaching the point I'm not going to vote for any candidates, I might write in a few of my own...Maybe more of us should do that. Oh, there will be winning candidates who's names are on the ballet, but perhaps if more of us wrote peoples names in, maybe at least the 'runners-up' just might take notice we voters are becoming disgruntled. It's time for a change.
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
A stranger in these here parts.
Yesterday I wrote about Bobby, poor, poor Bobby and how I didn't quite know what to do with him/her. I got to thinking about myself and what my fate might be.
I don't really know if Bobby is native to the Pacific Northwest, or if s/he is a transplant from, 'heaven knows where', and as Rhett said to Scarlett, "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn." I like the fact s/he likes to hang out with us during the winter months. S/he does not eat us out of house and home, does not hog the remote control, is not loud and obnoxious, and pretty much stays to him/herself. But, I digress, this is definitely not thinking about myself.
It has occurred to me I'm not a native of the Pacific Northwest either. And, since I'm not, should I be punished, sprayed with some kind of liquid formula that would do away with me in a quick, humane, painless manner? I certainly hope not. And what about my children who are not native Northwesters either? Should they be obliterated as well? I don't think so.
To start I was a Pennsylvanian...born and raised. Then I got that proverbial 'bee in my bonnet' and I moved all..........the..........way .........across.........America.......and transplanted my tootsies in the desert-y soil of the beautiful State of California quickly and easily becoming a Californian. I loved living there. Yeah, I was a transplant but so were thousands of others during the '60s, and nobody seemed to care because we all contributed the the economic boom of the times. We were a melting pot from around the country, we all had strange accents, quirky idiosyncrasies, and learned to eat ethnic foods. Till then I had no idea what a refried bean, burrito, fried rice and egg drop soup was. However, I did not forget my roots and viewed myself as a Pennacalian.
T'was all good, all good.
Then, all of a sudden I was transplanted again, this time northward. Crossing the border from California into Oregon should have presented some kind of climate shock, but it didn't because it felt as though I had returned to Pennsylvania, even though I was 3,000 miles away. Eventually dry, sunny California almost became a dream, did I ever live there?
I immediately realized I had to 'fit in', whereas California had accepted everybody, Oregon didn't take kindly to 'strangers'...its attitude at the time was "come visit...but don't intend to stay". In other words, leave you roots behind and try not to mention them again and for heaven's sake...fit in, fit in. It didn't take long to realize Oregonians were...were...hmmm, how can I put this. Oregonians were, 'er are...a rare breed of folk. And, that's all I have to say about that. Eventually I realized I had become one of 'them' eccentric to the marrow of my bones. We prefer organic grown everything, fruits, vegetable, meats, fish and fowl. We shun umbrellas, ride bicycles, use public transportation and truly enjoy the great outdoors, even in the most foul weather .
Still, in honesty, I could not fully forget from where I'd come. Living in Pennsylvania and California had made me a Pennacalian. And, since I have moved to the Pacific Northwest I have to confess I'm no longer a Pennacalian, but have become a Pennacaligonian. So, whatever makes Bobby Bobby, whether native or alien, he is still Bobby, a Shield/Stink Bug and family. And, we are very much alike s/he and I, our vagabond DNA binds us together. It's not a bad life life we have regardless where we're from and as long as we don't get sprayed with some kind of liquid formula designed to do away with us in a quick, humane and painless manner I think we're here to stay.
By the way, what would you be if you took the time to figure out where you've been, and where you are going?
I don't really know if Bobby is native to the Pacific Northwest, or if s/he is a transplant from, 'heaven knows where', and as Rhett said to Scarlett, "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn." I like the fact s/he likes to hang out with us during the winter months. S/he does not eat us out of house and home, does not hog the remote control, is not loud and obnoxious, and pretty much stays to him/herself. But, I digress, this is definitely not thinking about myself.
It has occurred to me I'm not a native of the Pacific Northwest either. And, since I'm not, should I be punished, sprayed with some kind of liquid formula that would do away with me in a quick, humane, painless manner? I certainly hope not. And what about my children who are not native Northwesters either? Should they be obliterated as well? I don't think so.
To start I was a Pennsylvanian...born and raised. Then I got that proverbial 'bee in my bonnet' and I moved all..........the..........way .........across.........America.......and transplanted my tootsies in the desert-y soil of the beautiful State of California quickly and easily becoming a Californian. I loved living there. Yeah, I was a transplant but so were thousands of others during the '60s, and nobody seemed to care because we all contributed the the economic boom of the times. We were a melting pot from around the country, we all had strange accents, quirky idiosyncrasies, and learned to eat ethnic foods. Till then I had no idea what a refried bean, burrito, fried rice and egg drop soup was. However, I did not forget my roots and viewed myself as a Pennacalian.
T'was all good, all good.
Then, all of a sudden I was transplanted again, this time northward. Crossing the border from California into Oregon should have presented some kind of climate shock, but it didn't because it felt as though I had returned to Pennsylvania, even though I was 3,000 miles away. Eventually dry, sunny California almost became a dream, did I ever live there?
I immediately realized I had to 'fit in', whereas California had accepted everybody, Oregon didn't take kindly to 'strangers'...its attitude at the time was "come visit...but don't intend to stay". In other words, leave you roots behind and try not to mention them again and for heaven's sake...fit in, fit in. It didn't take long to realize Oregonians were...were...hmmm, how can I put this. Oregonians were, 'er are...a rare breed of folk. And, that's all I have to say about that. Eventually I realized I had become one of 'them' eccentric to the marrow of my bones. We prefer organic grown everything, fruits, vegetable, meats, fish and fowl. We shun umbrellas, ride bicycles, use public transportation and truly enjoy the great outdoors, even in the most foul weather .
Still, in honesty, I could not fully forget from where I'd come. Living in Pennsylvania and California had made me a Pennacalian. And, since I have moved to the Pacific Northwest I have to confess I'm no longer a Pennacalian, but have become a Pennacaligonian. So, whatever makes Bobby Bobby, whether native or alien, he is still Bobby, a Shield/Stink Bug and family. And, we are very much alike s/he and I, our vagabond DNA binds us together. It's not a bad life life we have regardless where we're from and as long as we don't get sprayed with some kind of liquid formula designed to do away with us in a quick, humane and painless manner I think we're here to stay.
By the way, what would you be if you took the time to figure out where you've been, and where you are going?
Poor, poor Bobby
Well, it finally happened.
You all know I've had a winter house guest for the last couple of years. S/he is a Shield Bug. We've lived in blissful harmony, sometimes I don't see him/her for weeks at a time, and when we do, we say 'hello' and go our merry ways. It's been fun. We've also been keeping a secret, but last night, those buttinsky reporters let the cat out of the bag.
I was horrified. I was hoping nobody would ever make the connections, sadly somebody did.
For, you see, my delightful house guest, my beautifully decorated Shield Bug is....., is........, is.........
is.......,
..........,
none other than the common, Stink Bug. There I said it, 'er, wrote it.
Of course the news media jumped all over the fact that the Stink Bug has apparently become somewhat of a problem here in my area. And, they delighted in reporting the various means available to eradicate these intricately decorated insects. Oh.....the humanity....oh, the horror.
Here's the thing. Apparently, there is a native Stink Bug we don't want to eradicate, and another variety that arrived here by 'heaven knows' what means. The big question being, how do we get rid of the aliens, while keeping and perpetuating the indigenous variety. And...here's an even worse thought, what happens to the mixed marriage offspring? Do we spare them? Or, do we consider them unworthy of Northwest citizenship?
I tell ya', this is a perplexing dilemma. I know Bobby has already taken up winter residence, I saw him/her just the other night walking across the rim of my vanity table lamp, where upon I bid him/her a good night's sleep and trotted off to my own trundle bed.
Knowing what I do now, what do I do? Do I evict him/her? Do I actually concoct one of the horrible means of eradication, advised on the TV news last night, and spray my house guest? (I've been advised death comes quickly.) Or, do I offer this beautifully decorated creature secret asylum, and never speak of our relationship ever again?
Sigh!
I think, whatever conclusion I come to it will remain between Bobby and me.
You all know I've had a winter house guest for the last couple of years. S/he is a Shield Bug. We've lived in blissful harmony, sometimes I don't see him/her for weeks at a time, and when we do, we say 'hello' and go our merry ways. It's been fun. We've also been keeping a secret, but last night, those buttinsky reporters let the cat out of the bag.
I was horrified. I was hoping nobody would ever make the connections, sadly somebody did.
For, you see, my delightful house guest, my beautifully decorated Shield Bug is....., is........, is.........
is.......,
..........,
none other than the common, Stink Bug. There I said it, 'er, wrote it.
Of course the news media jumped all over the fact that the Stink Bug has apparently become somewhat of a problem here in my area. And, they delighted in reporting the various means available to eradicate these intricately decorated insects. Oh.....the humanity....oh, the horror.
Here's the thing. Apparently, there is a native Stink Bug we don't want to eradicate, and another variety that arrived here by 'heaven knows' what means. The big question being, how do we get rid of the aliens, while keeping and perpetuating the indigenous variety. And...here's an even worse thought, what happens to the mixed marriage offspring? Do we spare them? Or, do we consider them unworthy of Northwest citizenship?
I tell ya', this is a perplexing dilemma. I know Bobby has already taken up winter residence, I saw him/her just the other night walking across the rim of my vanity table lamp, where upon I bid him/her a good night's sleep and trotted off to my own trundle bed.
Knowing what I do now, what do I do? Do I evict him/her? Do I actually concoct one of the horrible means of eradication, advised on the TV news last night, and spray my house guest? (I've been advised death comes quickly.) Or, do I offer this beautifully decorated creature secret asylum, and never speak of our relationship ever again?
Sigh!
I think, whatever conclusion I come to it will remain between Bobby and me.
Monday, October 6, 2014
I know, I know,
I've been neglecting my blog...and it's a damn good way to lose readers. Sorry about that. Truth be told last week was filled with stuff that filled my days that made me neglect not just my blog; but work, chores and just about everything else.
I won't go into all that 'stuff', but I'll give you and example. I think I may have mentioned that my next door neighbor's daughter has moved back up to the Pacific Northwest, and is staying at home (temporarily) with her mom and dad. She is very much into the Humane Society's rescue program and has adopted two dogs, and is currently rescuing a third. (The third is a beautiful mixed breed pup, a year old).
Sadie is her name, and oh, my, she has the hots for Zorro, and he for her.
Here's the problem. My neighbor has no back yard, mine is very small, but I told my neighbor they could use my back yard (such as it is) to let the dogs stretch their legs. Between our yards, I installed a 3 foot wire (decorative only) fence to keep Zorro from inviting himself into their house and eating their cat food. However, I did set the fence up with a gate so, in case of an emergency we both have access to each others doors.
For a couple of days, my neighbor's dogs understood the rules, that 'the mistress' opened the gate, and they could wander around my back yard. It didn't take long for them to discover ways to 'let themselves in'. As a result, I spent a lot of time last week trying to find ways to strengthened the weak and vulnerable sections of the fence. It has become a battle of wills. Especially when it comes to Sadie. She wants to come visit and play. She's quite a bit bigger than Zorro, and now that I've pretty much strengthened the fence, her only option is to stick her head and neck through it...and (of course) get stuck. This does not bode well for the fence. Or me. Or Zorro.
I do have a couple of options. I could open the gate and simply let them roam. However, Zorro might look upon that as an opportunity to 'visit' the neighbor's, a habit I don't want to encourage. I could take back my offer of allowing their dogs to use my back yard, but, I have great fondness for dogs, and they are only temporary visitors and I do like them...all three. I could give up my back yard for a while, and put Zorro out to enjoy the front yard while the other three enjoy the back. Decisions, decisions.
Then again, it is October, and the rains are coming. And (let's face it) dogs don't particularly like getting wet, and we certainly don't like the smell of wet dogs so, I feel this situation will take care of itself. Besides, the daughter is looking for a house to purchase, and could be gone in a very short period of time, with this particular problem going away on it's own.
Anyway, this is why I've not been blogging. Tending to three guest dogs, Zorro and my cat used up a lot of my days. Plus there has been all the other 'stuff' as well. Sigh. There are simply not enough hours to get every thing done.
I will try to do better this week. Thanks for hanging in with me.
I won't go into all that 'stuff', but I'll give you and example. I think I may have mentioned that my next door neighbor's daughter has moved back up to the Pacific Northwest, and is staying at home (temporarily) with her mom and dad. She is very much into the Humane Society's rescue program and has adopted two dogs, and is currently rescuing a third. (The third is a beautiful mixed breed pup, a year old).
Sadie is her name, and oh, my, she has the hots for Zorro, and he for her.
Here's the problem. My neighbor has no back yard, mine is very small, but I told my neighbor they could use my back yard (such as it is) to let the dogs stretch their legs. Between our yards, I installed a 3 foot wire (decorative only) fence to keep Zorro from inviting himself into their house and eating their cat food. However, I did set the fence up with a gate so, in case of an emergency we both have access to each others doors.
For a couple of days, my neighbor's dogs understood the rules, that 'the mistress' opened the gate, and they could wander around my back yard. It didn't take long for them to discover ways to 'let themselves in'. As a result, I spent a lot of time last week trying to find ways to strengthened the weak and vulnerable sections of the fence. It has become a battle of wills. Especially when it comes to Sadie. She wants to come visit and play. She's quite a bit bigger than Zorro, and now that I've pretty much strengthened the fence, her only option is to stick her head and neck through it...and (of course) get stuck. This does not bode well for the fence. Or me. Or Zorro.
I do have a couple of options. I could open the gate and simply let them roam. However, Zorro might look upon that as an opportunity to 'visit' the neighbor's, a habit I don't want to encourage. I could take back my offer of allowing their dogs to use my back yard, but, I have great fondness for dogs, and they are only temporary visitors and I do like them...all three. I could give up my back yard for a while, and put Zorro out to enjoy the front yard while the other three enjoy the back. Decisions, decisions.
Then again, it is October, and the rains are coming. And (let's face it) dogs don't particularly like getting wet, and we certainly don't like the smell of wet dogs so, I feel this situation will take care of itself. Besides, the daughter is looking for a house to purchase, and could be gone in a very short period of time, with this particular problem going away on it's own.
Anyway, this is why I've not been blogging. Tending to three guest dogs, Zorro and my cat used up a lot of my days. Plus there has been all the other 'stuff' as well. Sigh. There are simply not enough hours to get every thing done.
I will try to do better this week. Thanks for hanging in with me.
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