Whoa! Back up the bus!

After many years of wanting to bring my little publishing company to life, this is FINALLY the year.  I've joyously been working for weeks now getting a catalog ready to send to folks who have shown an interest in what I'm doing.

My muse and I have our creative juices at a fever pitch much to Frankie's dismay, even though she will be the chief benefactor should my little business start to make a little cash...talk about cutting off you nose to spite your face.

Anyway, it seems everyday I am hit with a new idea for a card, and I spent the weekend looking for paper doilies and confetti's on line in order to work on one such new idea.  As I came across web-sites with things of interest I made 'pretend' orders, and if what I wanted was in my price range I actually bought what was on my 'pretend' order.

Whoa!  Back up the bus!  I finally went to a very large and well known sight (actually believing it was going to be the cheapest) and accumulated quite a large pretend list and that eventually lead me to press 'See Your Cart' and I began to scroll down...the order was almost a hundred bucks...scrolling down a little further I saw the postage and handling amount...IT was OVER a hundred bucks.

I'm sure you can see where this is going.  Delete, delete, delete.  Are you kidding me?  How the heck is a person on a limited income supposed to survive with those kinds of prices?  The stuff I wanted did not weigh twenty pounds, and they wanted to charge me a hundred bucks, seriously, is the Post Office in THAT much trouble.  Booo, hisss Post office.  I'll go elsewhere for my purchases, thank you very much.

It took me all weekend, but I managed to purchase everything I want and need for my new idea at other web-sites for much less money; I'm a very happy camper and I'm just not sure I will continue to purchase things at that well know, very large site any more.

Happy comparison shopping everybody.

Potato

Once upon a time, there lived on the bottom shelf of my supply cupboard in the morning room, a potato named Penelope.  She live in hope week after week I would notice she was becoming older, frail, and beginning to wrinkle...much like the writer of this little story.

After living in dark conditions for so long, tiny white eyes began to appear along her weathered skin, and at last she began to smell...and not a pleasant one either.  So it was, that I noticed not Penelope, but the odor she had begun to emit.  It took a while for me to discover where the smell was coming from, and finally did one morning when I had to retrieve napkins from the cupboard.  And, there, bedraggled and tired, I saw poor Penelope, I hate to be so morbid, but I have to say, she was in the throes of breathing her last.

I scooped her up, and contemplated tossing her into the trash, when I saw the tiny specks of life, those eyes, desperately showing me how much Penelope wanted to survive.

It was winter, I couldn't plant her outside, she would either freeze to death, or be eaten by all the insects still struggling to survive themselves.

What could I do to help Penelope?

I suddenly remembered the box of potting soil out in the garage, so I gingerly, and at arms length, carried her to the garage and plopped her into the box of soil.  Then, I turned, walked away, and, promptly forgot all about her.

Now we all know that stories that start with "Once upon a time..." have to have a happy ending.  You ready?

Yesterday I was out in the garage, and saw that one of the curtains I had hung to hide garage mess, including my box of potting soil was bulging out.  What in the world could be causing that, and why had I not noticed it before?  I pull back the curtain...and there was Penelope, not only had she survived the winter, but was 'looking good'.  She had rooted, was firmly anchored into the soil, and had begun to put out, strong, healthy vines, with leaves beginning to open in a lush, chartreuse green.  

I considered moving her outside into the garden, but decided she knew what was best for her, so I simply threw back the curtain so she could get the daylight that comes through the garage door windows.  I feel very badly I had so neglected Penelope, and even forgotten where I had left her.  Shame on me.  How lovely she had not held a grudge, and is now trying to offer me a gift by growing in such an unbecoming place.  I have no doubt if I now pay attention to her, she will repay me by supplying me with a few children of her own.

Where upon, I will be faced with an even more difficult dilemma, should I eat her children, or replant them to allow another generation to grow.  I do believe I just might......

The end.

Frankie's in love

I know this is crazy, but I have to share.  My dear, dear, dear Frankie is in love.  She's been mooning around the house since Monday night...I've never seen her like this, it's kind of scary.  Whereas I have a thing for firemen, she has a thing for the the three guys on the BBC America show "TopGear".  I've spoken about these Blokes before, with their 'boots', 'bonnets', 'tarmacs' and 'hammerheads' we are both great fans.

However, after Monday nights TopGear  there is a new show called "Crash Course" in which Richard Hammond, of TopGear, had come to America to learn how to use all manner of huge equipment.  The gist of the show is to see if he can conquer a company's equipment in three days and pass a test to be qualified to operate said equipment.

At some point in filming for this series Richard was in Oregon.

OMG, Frankie went ballistic...she did not know he was here...and was reeeally put out that I had not told her.  Shoot, I didn't know myself.  She ranted, she raved...she carried on in a manner unbecoming a woman of her gentile age, (you would have thought he was Frank Sinatra for heaven sake).  

Anyway, he was here to learn how to operate logger's machinery.  I don't recall the name of the company he was with,  however, the owner and employees of this company were having a wonderful time showing Richard the ropes.  Literally!  His first job was to climb fifty feet into a fir tree, hook a rope through a pulley, and descend the tree.  This was to show how they are able to direct a tree into a good 'fall' position.  After that he, with great glee, he was ready to tackle the mechanical equipment.

I have to admit, he tried hard, and did okay...but not terrific.  Frankie and I gave him a B+ for his great effort.  Come the third day it was obvious Richard was very nervous about passing the test and things did not go well.

With fifteen minutes of 'test' and about twenty minutes of show left, I glance over at Frankie.  I've never seen her like this...it was kind of scary...her pupils were dilated, she had torn her tissue to shreds, and she was at the edge of her seat.  I knew I dare not interrupt her concentration.  I thought she might have a heart attack.
When the test was over she sank back into her chair exhausted.

She looked at me with great relief and announced (I swear I saw a tear in her eye) she was going to bed.

Frankie:  "I can't take it...when those trees fell on the cab of that machine...I thought that dear, sweet, man was going to die."
Me:  "Frankie, you know they would never show anything like that, so you have to remember they will do everything they can to keep him safe."
Frankie:  (Face getting flushed)  "I don't care...that really scared me, he's so adorable, funny, cute, and, and...I love his accent....she starts moving down the hall.
Me:  "Frankie, ( I call after her) I do believe you love more than his accent.  I believe you love HIM.
Frankie:  SHUT UP!

And so the week has gone.  Frankie all loopy, me enjoying the teen-ie-bopper phase of her crush.  I'm tolerating her 'Richard did this, and Richard does that' conversations.  Cause, I remember my first crush, too.

FYI, mine was Jimmy Dean.

Surprise!

Last evening I wrote about the remodeling going on at Freddy's, and mentioned some of the items I bought.  I did forget to mention one in particular.  Just an oversight, I promise.

Everyone I know, and everyone who has seen me, or even pictures of me have seen that I went natural...(No...not THAT natural...I'm not running around nude, and singing The Age of Aquarius).  I'm talking about my hair, you silly gooses.

I thought 'looking my age' would make me mature, give me style, a certain grace...a look that would make folks flock to me so I could expound words of wonderful wisdom

Baaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaa.  Teeeeeeeee, Heeeeeee, Snicker, snicker, snicker.  ROFLMAO!

Whew.  Back to my hair.  I gave myself a perm, thinking that would help my new look, but that caused my hair to fall out in bunches (mostly because my blow dryer has two settings---I'm never going to dry your stupid hair, and I'm going to cook your brains out).  It was the cooking the brains out that burned the hair clean off at the scalp.

At the time of this writing, I'm pleased to report the bald spots are filling in, the perm is gone, my hair is short, BUT it is still grey, a horrible, ugly, please don't make me look at it again grey.  I tried new shampoos, even special high-light your grey shampoos all to no avail.  I just have ugly grey hair.  I tried to like it, honest, I really, really tried, I just can't do it no mores.  I'm done.

So, yesterday....please note....proper labeling here...I bought L'Oreal LB02 Superior Preference les Blondissimes.  Good stuff.  My check-out girl said she was glad I came through her aisle, because I reminded her she needed to buy some hair coloring, too.  I told her my tale of trying to like my grey hair, and she said as long as she could get her arms and hands up to the top of her head she would never let her grey hair show.

I have to agree.

So, come this weekend I'm going back to blond, baby, back to blond.  Goodbye, age enhancing, bringing me down, makin' me feel bad grey.

Wow, I'm already feeling ten years younger.

Remodeling

The boss gave me the day off today, so my neighbor and I went shopping in the morning.  Our favorite store is the Freddie's in Tigard.  It's been a month since I've been shopping there, and had heard they were remodeling the store...man, the story was true, the store is in organized chaos.  Departments have been shifted around so that things you could have found blind-folded, are in a new place...or have temporarily disappeared.

This, made for an interesting shopping experience.  In particular I was looking for their card section that also has creative party things, and to attempt make new cards for my up and coming catalog I was looking for interesting party/holiday card making items. The department was gone from its handy place right next to the Starbuck's, so I began looking (it turned into searching) for it.

First, though, I had to make a stop at the day old bakery rack to look for some goodies for our coffee break after we are done shopping.  I was disappointed there were no donuts, muffins, scones, or cinnamon buns.  Bummer...so, back to hunting down the card department.  I went from one end of the store to the other twice, and could not find so much as a sign indicating where the cards might be.  I mean, come on, everybody has a birthday, the dreaded Mother's Day is just around the corner, followed by graduation and Father's Day...they would not close down the card department.  On my second swing back across the store...there, in the back...without lights...was the card department.  Woooo, hoooo.  I'm glad I was persistent.  I found stickers, ribbons, and confetti's there.  And, at the end of the yarn aisle I found a bag full of sea shells.  Guess what I'm going to tackle tomorrow?  Yep, I'm going to try to make cards with sea shells.  Please, let them be easier to work with than the feathers.  Did I mention feathers are hard?

The remodeling, according to our favorite Freddie's employee, Lisa, is going to last until late in the year, with the grand re-opening in time for the holiday shopping season.  In the meantime she guarantees things will continue to move around, and around, and around, til the end when everything from floor covering to lighting fixtures and everything in between will be new.

It is an exciting time, and my friend and I are going to enjoy the transformation, well, except that Starbucks's will be closed for several months, that we will have to ask clerks where such-and-such is, and putting up with excessive noise from the construction crew.  All in all, it's won't be so bad, right?

Back to 1937

Okay, so I can't give up on the year list on web-sites.  I've been trying to forget I ever went to the bottom of the list and discovered the last year was 1905.  I'm not sure why at really, really, really p-----s me off.
It's just so, so, sooo TERMINAL.  Its an ugly reminder that the only two things we have to look forward to is death and taxes.

Well, we don't HAVE to do the taxes thing if we don't mind losing everything and ending up in prison.  But, the death thing, that just sucks.  Now, please understand I'm not afraid to die, although the awful ways one could go about THAT pretty much scares the heck out of me.  I would like to go quietly, peacefully in my sleep (hmmm, I wonder what those odds are?)

However, what I most dislike about the dying thing is it is something we do HAVE to do.

You ask me to do something, and I will oblige you to the best of my ability, with a kind and loving heart.  Tell me to do something and I turn into a raging bull, a sweating, pawing the ground, snorting, ready to gore your guts out, bull.  Hence, telling me I have to die does not sit well with me.  I'm not going I tell ya', I'm simply not going.  Ask me nice...I might consider it ...but tell me I have to......AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH.

Alright, I know it is inevitable, I don't like it, but I have to face it.  I'm going to go some day.  It is my sincere hope that I leave behind little hints I've been here.  After all, there would be no children, grand-children and great-grand children had I not left my foot print behind.  There would be no journals, scrapbooks, or pictures to remind people of my craziness, desires, loves, earnest hopes and dreams.

And, there are lots of folks I need to thank for making my life's quilt the brilliant color that it is.  I hope I've done you all proud.  Thank you...everybody.

In closing I would like to post the lyrics of one of my most favorite songs, with grateful appreciation to whoever wrote these wonderful words, and music.


And now the end is near
And so I face the final curtain
My friend I'll say it clear
I'll state my case of which I'm certain


I've lived a life that's full
I traveled each and every highway
And more, much more than this
I did it my way


Regrets I've had a few
But then again too few to mention
I did what I had to do
And saw it through without exemption


I planned each charted course
Each careful step along the byway
And more, much more than this
I did it my way


Yes there were times I'm sure you knew
When I bit off more than I could chew
But through it all when there was doubt
I ate it up and spit it out, I faced it all
And I stood tall and did it my way


I've loved, I've laughed and cried
I've had my fill, my share of losing
And now as tears subside
I find it all so amusing


To think I did all that
And may I say not in a shy way
Oh no, oh no, not me
I did it my way


For what is a man what has he got
If not himself then he has not
To say the things he truly feels
And not the words of one who kneels
The record shows I took the blows
And did it my way


So, folks, whatever your path is, keep the words from the song above as your benchmark in your life.  And, happy living to you all.


There, I think I'm finally ready to let go of 1937.  Whew!

Two short stories

Yesterday was beautiful and warm, so Zorro and I went out front.  He raced around the front yard, exhausting himself while I set about putting a short, decorative garden fence around it.  (How come everything looks easy in the directions and pictures, when in real life it can be a b---h?)  I decided to do this because I have elderly friends stopping by to chat, and his leash gets wrapped around their ankles and mine.  Since we are a litigation orientated society these days, I could see possible law suits pending on the horizon so decided to take affirmative action.  I do have a liability policy, but hope I never have to use it.

This morning I open the front door.  Zorro and I are taking in the splendors of the gorgeous morning, when suddenly he begins to bark in earnest.  I look up and down the street but see nothing out of the ordinary.  I can't figure out what has him so upset.  I walk away from the door, he follows and the barking stops.  I go about my morning activities, but see every time he goes to the door he barks and barks.  Pondering this, and come to realize he is barking at the fence, I don't think he knows what it is, but that it has invaded his yard and wants to go out and stake his claim.  Silly pooch.

Second story.  I decided today was the day to change bed linens.  ( I frequently change the pillowcases, the sheets, not so much) and since I have more laundry to do I decided today was the perfect day to change the sheets as well (a job normally done when I can't remember the last time I did it...DON'T JUDGE ME.)   I  gave Zorro his allotment of peanut butter, and was hurriedly remaking the bed when he and Frankie came into the room.  Zorro immediately jumped up on the bed, rubbing his chin on the top blanket, I guess to get the excess peanut butter off.  Frankie sprawls herself across the bed as well.  So much for finishing the bed.

I bribe Zorro with extra peanut butter, but when I return to the bed room, Frankie is still laying across the bed.

Me:  "You want some peanut butter, too?"
Frankie: "No, I'm sick, sick, sick of peanut butter."
Me:  "How can I bribe you to get off the bed."
Frankie:  "It'll take a lot more than peanut butter."
Me:  "Spam?"
Frankie:  "Nope."

I give her a shove and she rolls over so I can move the blankets up a little."

Me:  "A home cooked, meat and potatoes meal?"
Frankie: "Nope."

I roll her back.

Me:  "last night's left-overs, (a vegetable casserole)."
Frankie: (examining her fingernails) "Nope."

This goes on for several minutes.  I offer suggestions, she refuses every one.

I finally manage to complete the, roll-pull chore, the bed is made.

Frankie sits up, stretches, yawns and finally gets up from the bed.

Frankie:  "I'm glad you didn't offer me kibble, I hate kibble, THAT IS strictly for dogs only.  She exits the room.

I start to dress.  Wait a minute.....how does she know what kibble tastes like?

  

Know what?

In case some of you don't know....or for that matter, even care.  I've been trying to get my publishing company up and running and work (at least from eight til noon) Monday through Friday.  Turns out I'm enjoying myself so much I work much longer most days and love it.  Honestly, I don't think I have ever been happier in my life.  I jump (not literally...I AM after all 74) out of bed eager to begin my day.  I dash into the office and turn on my computer, its quiet, constant hum gets my creative juices humming, too.

After my morning routine, most days are so busy, I forget to eat, and occasionally forget my morning meds, as well.  So,taking them BEFORE starting work is something I try to do daily.  I digress.

Anyway, yesterday afternoon the thought occurred to me that I am eating less, but being more active, albeit mostly mental, I decided to drag the scales out from the wall, let it settle into place and then weigh myself.  Surely, I must have lost ten pounds by now.  I'm eager, I'm excited, I'm prepared to be elated.

After ten minutes of so, I step on.  The digital figures glow with life.

What?  What the ding-dong, blinkity-blank, son-of-a-sea-biscuit?

I step off, surely I had not allowed it to 'settle in' long enough.  I wait ten minutes more, then step back on.
The reading is the same.  How is this possible?  I have not lost an ounce...not even a portion of an ounce.  Well, that's just wrong, wrong, wrong.

I'm mad, I'm disappointed and disgusted to find out that being 'mental' does not burn up calories.  Unless of course one IS 'mental' which I'm sure expends a great deal of energy; especially if your plan is to climb a bell tower and take bad, bad, bad, physical action.  However, I'm not the sort to expend THAT sort of physical energy, so I guess I will have to resign myself to the fact my 'mental' won't make me any thinner and can only hope it will at least hold dementia at bay for some time to come.

Still...just a couple of ounces...would have been nice...

Spring

Suddenly, one morning every spring, a glance outside shows the landscape in sharp three dimension, today is that day.  It’s like looking through a “View Master” (Registered Trademark).

During the winter my choices of color are few, browns or soggy tired greens.  The scene appears flat, two dimensional, like the words on this page.  It becomes sooo, boring, tiring.

So, come late January, I begin to scan the garden soils for the first glimpse of chartreuse green.  I examine the flowering plum and the cherry tree ever hopeful for the first orchid tinted bud.

The pussy-willow always first to show me winter is breathing its last; I watch tiny grey kittens walk along its branches.  Once the kittens mature to cats and drop to the ground, every tree and shrub has already begun to fill the void.

In fascination, joy, and excitement I watch Daphne, forsythia, flowering quince, ashes, alders, apples, and dozens more sleeping trees and shrubs awake to join natures orchestra of color. And, after several days of ‘warm up’ there is a sweep of The Master’s baton, a crescendo follows…my world comes alive with the music of vivid hues...swelling…creating depth, shadows, pinks, blues, yellows, purples, reds, greens, oranges of every conceivable shade…all joining together for a grand finale, heralding….REBIRTH, SPRING. 

Diets

Have you noticed on TV most of the ads you see are either for cars, or diets?

I don’t care about the cars…don’t drive, but those dang diet ads are making me crazy.

There they are sweet, young, pretty girls, skinny as a finishing nail, sometimes singing their little hearts out about how good their diet is, and how good I will feel when I am as thin as (them-they?).  Their dresses are so tight, I have to wonder how many people it took to get their bodies into them, then they all stand kind of pigeon-toed…I guess that is supposed to be cute…or, maybe it's their high heeled shoes, and pigeon-toe is to keep them from falling over.  Anyway, they are trying to tout me on the fact THEIR diet is the only one that works. 

Really? You can’t tell me these girls are going to stay on those diets of salads, flown to your home food, or….whatever…for the rest of their lives.  Me thinks, as soon and their contract is up and the checks stop coming they are going to make a mad dash to their favorite fast food restaurant and pork down on a hamburger, fries, and a tall, creamy shake.  Okay, maybe that’s what I’D do.

Anyway, the point is, I think these ads are meant to destroy our self-image, make us feel bad, and get us to spend our money; mostly, to spend our money.  Guess what, sweet young, pretty girls, it’s not working…I hate you…and your ads will not make me go out and spend my money your diet.  So, sing and dance your little hearts out.

Strawberry cheesecake, blueberry pie al-a mode, double chocolate chip cake, potato chips, macaroni salad, bread, bread, bread, I dare you to tell me your skinny little butts aren’t longing for these things.  And, guess what I’m having for lunch?

Mwaaaaaahhhhhh, Haaaaaaaaaa.

Reality checks

You know how certain things remind you how old you are becoming, like browsing through you high school year book, realizing your children have lives of their own, looking in your closet and seeing a dress you’ve owned for a VERY long time and worn maybe three or four times.  (It is still in very good shape, practically new, so you can’t give it to Goodwill, besides…it just might come back in style.  Boy will you be ready.)


However, the one that really, really, really gets to me is this.  


Just a minute, I have to go to the podium.


Ladies and gentlemen, friends and neighbors, kids and grand-kids.  Grandma is about to rant.


Age is ugly, age is inevitable, age only goes three places, either under the turf, or in a pretty little box or ornate urn; or maybe you’ll be lucky enough to blown across a mountain range, or across the green ocean. 


Do we need visual reminders that end is coming?


I don’t think so, that’s mean…Oscar the Grouch mean.


Hence the first paragraph above, so many subtle reminders.


I did not mention the one I dislike the most, so…here it is.  


You know when you go to a web-site and you come to the spot where they want you to fill in your age, and you click on the box, and a long, long, long, long string of years comes up?  I hate that….but, you must fill in the blanks otherwise you cannot continue.  So I faithfully fill them in.  August, not so bad; the third, even better; now…the year…I scroll, and scroll, and scroll. Where the heck is 1937?  I’m beginning to think it isn’t there.  Finally…there it is, ‘click’.  You should check your birth year some time to see how far down the list it is…I’m not joking, where it is in the list is scary.  Especially when you scroll down to the bottom to see what year is the last.  


Actually, I urge you not to do that, I just about fell out of my chair the other day when I did.  The year at the end was 1905, and that means next year it will be 1906, etc, etc.  So, taking this year as a bench mark, in 32 years, I’m going to fall off the end of the list.


AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!


What an awful reminder the turf, tiny jar or box is only inches away; that dear friends and family is the meanest of mean.  Ugggggly.  I think I’m going to start a petition that these lists be permanently banned from web-sites.


In the meantime, I’m going to try to make the most of every year I have left, and make them all sorry they have that dreaded-last year-posted…just to spite them I think I’ll hang around as far beyond the point that the last year is 1937 as I can.  Yep, that’s the ticket…I’ll show them, I’ll show them.

Men’s Tee Shirts

I couldn’t think what to write about this morning, then I was struck with two ideas.  So today I will begin with men’s tee shirts and delve into the other tomorrow.

I go to my e-mail this morning where there is a section for ‘news’ and there...was...a row… 

of beautiful, young, not too overly muscular men…albeit they are headless, and their lower bodies are missing , but still pretty good eye candy (picture me drooling).  The headline reads that someone has been testing tee shirts to see which is best.  Who cares?  I’m still studying those chests.  Made my day ladies, made my day.

Remember when guys like James Dean used to put their packs of cigarettes in the shirt sleeve and then roll the sleeve up; OMG, what that the sexiest thing ever?  Drool, drool, drool.

Anyway, I got to thinking about men’s tee shirts.  I like them, I buy them (Extra Large, crew neck), I wear them.  Great for the summer, they are a cool, breezy fabric, and I don’t care if I wipe dirty fingers on them, ‘cause they are definitely easy care.  Plus, when I’m done with them, they make excellent rags.

Oh, dear, I’m starting to giggle.  Yep…here it comes…I’m giggling.

One spring I thought I would try the sleeveless kind, with the scoop neck.  I wait until my favorite store has them on sale.  I buy not one, but two packages (three to a pack).  It’s going to be a good, cool summer.  All I have to do is wait for the first warm day.

It eventually arrives.  I dash to my chest of drawers and pull out a tee shirt and put it on.

……..

……..

……..

I look in the mirror.

What a sight….the scoop neck and bottoms of the arm holes go half way to my navel.  And it is so baggy I could have hidden an elephant in there.  Seriously, I would have needed a HUGE chest, and several more inches of height to make this shirt work.  You’ve seen pictures of little boys in their daddy’s hat, suit jacket and shoes…that was me in this shirt.

I check the label...they are extra, extra large.  Oh, dear.

What was I going to do with these things?  I couldn’t give them to hubby, because he didn’t wear that kind…and he didn’t know I had bought them in the first place.  Plus, I was too embarrassed to return them, so I snuck the shirt back into my chest of drawers, with the rest of them, hoping the tee shirt fairy would make all of them disappear.  She didn’t.

They stayed hidden for a few years in the bottom of a drawer where I came across them in one of my ‘tidy things up frenzies’.   I sigh; obviously there was only one thing to do.  They went straight from ‘in the package new’….to a pile of rags the likes of which would have been the envy of every lady in the neighborhood (had they known).

Don't tell Sandy

I think the grey days are finally getting to me…I’m in a very foul mood.  Grumbling, and sputtering like an outboard motor that is NEVER going to start.  Don’t try to console me…I’m inconsolable. 

Sandy’s on me like ‘white on rice’… (By the way, did you hear rice is no longer a good thing to eat?  Apparently (I’ve heard) it has arsenic in it picked up from the soil it is grown in.  And that brown rice is especially bad, because the arsenic is…in the hull.)  [I have not actually checked this out myself.]  So you can take that with a grain of salt, which also is not good for you...to be cheery, spilling out platitudes and wearing a smiley face I’d like to punch half way across the house.

Honestly, does this woman ever have a bad day?  Sometimes I could just scream.

At the moment she is yelling to me from the kitchen to get off the computer so she can write on her blog.  Ahhh, actually, there’s the source of my ‘discontent’.  I think she loves that blankity-blank blog more than me…the time she spends trying to be clever really gets me in a state.  I keep telling her nobody gives a crap and she is just wasting her time writing,  writing, writing.  I’m at the point of wanting to take this damn contraption and tossing it into the Willamette River and delightfully watching it sink to the murky bottom.

We’ve discussed this issue until I’m blue in the face, but she refuses to give up her precious blog, apparently it has something to do with her muse and that she does not care if anyone reads her blog, she is writing solely to keep her creative juices flowing.  Apparently she…and her stupid muse have been neglecting those juices for quite a while…Y-E-A-R-S, according to Sandy.  I say phooey.

I wish she would remember it’s also been Y-E-A-R-S since she’s fixed us a good meat and potatoes feast.  I’m getting tired of peanut butter on saltine crackers, chunks of cheese, spam and cinnamon buns.  Dang it…at least order a pizza once in a while.

Uh, oh, I think I hear her coming…I have to go.  Plllleeeease don’t tell her I’ve been writing on her precious blog. I don’t want to lose my happy home.


Frankie

TopGear

Anyone who knows me well knows, my favorite TV channel is BBC America, and that my favorite show on it is called TopGear.

The three stars are, Jeremy Clarkson, Richard Hammond, and James May.  I am sooo in love with these middle aged men I cannot express it in words.  They are funny beyond funny, and petrol-heads to the nth degree.  I don’t know how much of the show is staged, like the weekend they went ‘caravanning’, but I adore these three men (who should know better than to get themselves into such predicaments).  I watch these shows over, over, and over again, simply because I catch something new every single time.  Like, when I re-watched the show where they were dropped into Iraq, and had to travel by beat-up old cars from there to Jerusalem to present gold, frankincense and myrrh to Baby Jesus. 

These men are loved world-wide, and I’m pleased to report they got there safely, although Richard got the ‘trots’, Jeremy got bitten by something, and James ended up in the hospital for an overnight stay. 

Toward the end, they reach the Sea of Galilee, and spend the night there.  Come morning Jeremy announces he is JC, and promptly heals James (he took the bandage off his head), cleanses his own arm (took the bandage off), and prepared a breakfast of loaves and fishes.  (It’s a good thing Richard does not like fish, as Jeremy was only able to provide two.)    

Let me interject here, all three men were genuinely touched to be in these holy places, and they were so touched by its beauty.  It was almost as though they could not believe they were really there.

But, this is a factual, though sometimes comical show, and this one ended with an unexpected, flourish.

Eventually, they are able to come up with their gifts for Baby Jesus.  Richard, gold (I think it actually may have been), James, frankincense (hotel shampoo) and Jeremy (myrrh…a substance no one had apparently ever heard of…so he bought an electronic game instead…sure Baby Jesus would be pleased.)

They enter Bethlehem, in their battered, beat-up vehicles, and find the Baby Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and even three shepherds.   Finally, embarrassingly, they present their presents to the baby…and here is the staged part…they are back in England and totally surprised to find it is not the Baby Jesus in the manger, but The Stig, in baby form.  Watchers of the show will know The Stig is the shows professional race car driver.

By now the show is approximately six minutes over their allotted time, and they hurriedly wish everyone a Merry Christmas, and good night.

 

I think I will do the same…Merry Christmas and good night.

Poor Zorro

Day before yesterday was lovely, so Zorro and I were able to be outside.  I decided it was a good day to start getting the patios ready for summer activities.  This required quite a bit of going in and out of the house,  I did have the glass panel of the slider wide open, however, since I don't like my kitty to get out I am required to keep opening and shutting the the screen at each entrance and exit.

Here comes the poor Zorro part.  On one of the occasions I was coming out of the house, I closed the screen, not realizing Zorro had not followed me out.  (Maybe he was getting a drink of water or something.)

Anyway...I'm far enough away from the screen that it will take me a few steps to reach it.

Uh, oh.  I see Zorro barreling toward the door like a diesel driven freight train going 80 miles an hour.  At 'old lady' speed, I'm heading back to the door.

Guess who got that first?  Kapow!  Zorro hit that screen.  His head, turned abruptly to his right, and some of his fur flattened down against the screening.  Crash!  The door came off it's trolley.  Fortunately, old lady got there in time to grab it before the door hit, him, me, or the ground.

With the door out of the way, though stunned, Zorro made a wide sweep around the noise and clutter , dashing up the sidewalk.

Now, please don't think badly of me, but I laughed my head off, while (all in less than a second, 1, I don't want my cat to escape, 2. I want to replace the door quickly, and C. I want to make sure Zorro is not hurt.

I have to replace the door....but I also look at this as an opportunity to clean the winter junk out of the door track and close the glass door.  Then, I lean the screen against the house to check Zorro.  He's so freaked he won't come near.  I coax and cajole, and he eventually comes to me.  I'm still laughing, but giving him a big love at the same time telling him how sorry I was for his mishap seemed to help and he calmed down.

Anyway, back to work...I clean the track, replace the screen, give Zorro some more lovin' and go back to work.  Ah, the joys of outdoor living, it's going to be a good summer...if we ever have one.

Oh, the pain

Yesterday was lovely, so the doggie and I went outside to work.  I want to set up a patio area out front so on some mornings the neighborhood ladies can come for coffee, tea, whatever.  Things were going swimmingly, until I whacked my index finger on my right hand with a hammer.  Ouch.  It is still slightly swollen, black and blue, and a tad tender...otherwise, I think I'm going to live.

My neighbor, Teresa, came to help move the rest of the panels into their new spots, and said I should call her if I needed more help.

All righty, then...back to work I go.  I'm learning to clean up and put tools away as I go along when I know I'm not going to use them again...this, in case I poop out, and want to quit.  The rest of the tools stay on the work bench (I've lost tools in the past...picture Paul's ashes moving round in his box, in his favorite living-room chair), so, out of respect, I've tried to keep his workbench in the order he kept it.

Anyway, things were moving alone smoothly, and quickly, sawing, hammering, screwing in screws.  I was sooo proud...(I forgot, pride goeth before a fall.)  I'm almost done. I just have to hang two hinges...the gate to the patio panel...the panel to the gate.  How hard can this be?  (Oh, brother)!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The two hinges to the gate went swimmingly, piece of cake.  Next I stand the gate up, and 'kind of'' rest it against the panel I want to connect it to.  Thank you, Zorro for taking your front yard chain and racing back and forth across the driveway, knocking it catty-whom-pus...several times.  Each time, that seems so silly, I begin to giggle.

So, there I am my flabby butt sitting on the driveway, With my foot, I'm trying to hold the gate against the panel, while my hands are trying to hold the BOTTOM of the gate and panel together, in order to screw in the first screw.  I know once I get the first screw in, the pieces will be stable enough I can easily finish the job.

(Oh, in the meantime, the UPS guy arrives and he is full of advise..."get out your power tools"...Yeah, right, women really do that.)

My neighbor, Teresa, finally hears me talking to myself,and giggling uncontrollably, and comes to check on me.  She offers to help and I gratefully accept.  Of course, by now we are both in fits of laughter and have to compose ourselves first.

With four hands we complete the job, lickity-brindle, and we are both very proud.  I try to close the gate.

Ooops! Bummer, it won't close.  I didn't saw off enough of the foot of the gate. So we cajole the remaining part of the gate foot off, thanks to WD-40 that helped loosen the screws.  This did the trick. We are sooo pleased with ourselves.  Within the next 20 or so minutes, I've finished construction, and moved some plants to 'prettify' the the whole thing.  Zorro and I happily retreat to the house.  Woo, Hoo.

Now, just exactly why I brainstorm in the shower, I've no idea, but there I am this morning, contemplating why the hinge hanging turned out to be the most difficult part of this operation.

There...in my head...I hear...Paul's voice..."You hang the TOP hinge first...idiot"...(he really didn't say 'idiot'... my voice added that).  Really?  You wait til this morning to tell me that?

All I have to say is, why didn't he offer that advise yesterday, while Teresa and I were in the throes of laughter...but, maybe that's why...we would have missed out on a fun time.

Panties

Have you ever heard the expression, "don't get your panties in a bunch'?

Well, this morning I did, literally.

My way of getting dressed is 'old lady' peculiar, but it's my way and I'm too old to change.  First, I dress from bottom up...I don't know why, I just do.  Maybe it gives me an extra minute to stay in my warm, fleece nightie.

Anyway...I sit on the edge of the bed, put on my unders, thermals and sweat pants, line 'em up, stand up, and pull them up all together.

This morning, something went amiss.  Oh, it went well until they reached the hips, then, tug ass  as I might, I could not get them up over my ass 'er butt.  What the heck?  I tug, I pull, I cajole, I get...nothing.  I hate giving up, and it takes a while for me to figure out, today I definitely did something wrong, and the three for one thing is NOT going to work.

"Dang it!" I utter. Perplexed.

I sit back down on the edge of the bed.  This, perplexes Zorro...'old lady' never sits back down, are we going back to bed?

No, I just finally decided I needed to start back as square one.  Back down to my knees go my three for one.  A-ha.  Panties, apparently never got lined up, and on the left hand side, they are in a tight, stuck together bunch.  I never would have been able to get over my 'old lady' flab.   I take a second to straighten things out, and following instructions start the procession over again.  SUCCESS!

Sometimes,  while trying to save time...you lose a bunch.  Bunch...get it...lose a bunch.  Hee, hee.

Oooo how I lie!!!

Remember the day I said "I don't do lists."  Well, that is most certainly not true, and this gives me another tale to tell.

Yesterday I was going through my writings, of which I have a ton.  And low, and behold I find a notebook and it is filled with poems, thoughts, BRILLIANT (lol) gems of wisdom, and essays.  Also, lists, many, many lists.  So, be prepared, as they are going to appear here from time to time.  Hold on to your britches by the suspenders folks, here is the first.  Be ready to be be-dazzled.

List of funny words

Elephant.  Really, so, Adam looked at this creature and said "Hey, God.  That big grey one over there, with the big, hulking nose...I'm going to call him 'elephant'.  El-uh-phunt.  What was Adam thinking?

Yellow.  Yell-O.  It is such a pretty color.  You wouldn't yell at the sun, would you?  Hey, you, big round ball in the sky...where have you been, all week...I'm really p****d at you.  Go away.

Mishap.  It means something unpleasant has happened, but not really awful.  My mishap was, I swallowed my gum.  Though it sounds like something  a Beatnik from the fifties might be say, "Yo, man, I missed the hap", (didn't get to the party).

Platypus.  Creature made up of parts of which God didn't know what to do.
Giraffe.          "           "      "   "     "      "       "     "        "       "        "    "     "   (Again, Adam, what was going through your mind the first time you saw these creatures?)

 Elbow.  This is such a unique part of our body, shouldn't it have a more elegant sounding word. This word kind of makes sense, El, I guess this refers to the fact it bends like the letter 'L', and bow...because it is flexible like the weapon 'bow' and in bow and arrow.  (We should all be grateful it has a word at all, and that it can bend, otherwise we would not be able to put food in our mouth, cover a cough, or hide a snicker.)

Diurnal.  Really, doesn't this sounds like something one might do in the bathroom?

Defoliation.  This is not only a funny word to say, it is also sad...poor trees go through defoliation every fall, sigh.

There you have it, incomplete, and out of date what was I  thinking when I compiled it all those years ago.  I have decided I'm definitely going to add more words to this list, times have changes since the '90's, and there are many more funny sounding words today...especially when it comes to technology.  I will...

Elucidate...later.

Tips of the Slongue

Today I'd like to talk about 'tips of the slongue', er, 'slips of the tongue'  You know, it's when your brain is still 'processing',  while your brainless tongue speaks first.  We all make these slips, sometimes to our great embarrassment.  It is one thing to make them in a small gathering of friends, but in front of strangers, in crowded places, geeze.  Not pretty, not pretty.  You get this look as though they think you just arrived from another planet.  Fortunately, most folk realize you've simply made a dumb mistake, and eventually give you a weak, "boy, do you need a nap" smile, and in the case of a check-out person, hurriedly hand you your purchase, just to get you to go away.

I'd like to tell you my favorite, (this isn't one of my own), but belongs to My Aunt Esther who was a wonderful, funny lady, she and my Uncle Bert both lived to 'ripe old age', and are together now in that place we all want to be some day.

They would go to Florida during the winter, and (I hope I'm getting this story straight) on one such trip to the Sunshine State, they stopped at a bakery for some sweets. When it is Aunt Esther's turn she says to the clerk, "I'd like a dozen Dazed Glownuts, please."

She is greeted with the look I mentioned above, and she repeats her order.  Dazed Glownuts, please.  It is obvious she does not know she has made a mistake, and I'm sure by now she is giving the clerk the same 'are you from a foreign country?' look.

There they are, right before their eyes, a tray of Dazed Glownuts...(just put them in a bag and we can 'hit the road'.)

Now here the picture gets fuzzy.  I think it was finally Uncle Bert who realized what they really wanted was Glazed Doughnuts, and with the misunderstanding cleared, they make their purchase and are on their way, munching delicious Dazed Glownuts.

Over the years, this story has grown, and I wish you could hear my favorite aunt and uncle tell it.  I can hear their laughter in my head as I write.  To this day I still have a hard time saying Glazed Doughnuts, because in my brain Dazed Glownuts are the only words there.  I love Tips of the Slongue.

Blackberry Puddin'

Recipe for blackberry puddin'

Remember a few days back I reported on pudding cakes and how disappointed I am that they are not the same as when I first started buying them?

No, yes?

Well, whatever.

About twenty minutes ago I had a lucid moment and remembered a recipe I used to make a lot, especially in the summer when fresh fruit was plentiful, and close at hand.  I don't know why I ever stopped making my own pudding cakes...just lazy I suppose.

Anyway, I've decided to post that recipe here, it is fairly easy to make, and delicious.  The pudding always falls to the bottom of the cake while it bakes, and while the recipe does not call for a confectioner sugar (lemon concentrate, milk drizzle,) I'm pretty sure that would work.  How come I didn't think of the drizzle before?

This recipe comes from a cook book I bought for a buck a be-jillion years ago, called MA'S COOKIN' MOUNTAIN RECIPES (spiced with mountain customs, sayings and superstitions.)

Here ya' go:

Blackberry (any berry will do) Puddin'

Sounds kind'a good, don't it?  Try it, it's real good.

2 cups sugar

2 cups flour (recipe says sifted flour...I never sifted flour, ever.)

1/3 cup margarine

2 cups boiling water

1 teaspoon salt

2 teaspoons baking powder

1 cup milk

2 cups blackberries (any berry will do.)

Cream the sugar and margarine together.  Add the flour, baking powder, salt, milk, and mix well; put into baking dish.  Then pour berries on top, and then pour 1 cup of sugar and the 2 cups of boiling water over the berries.  Bake in moderate oven 350 degrees until top is golden brown.  It will take about 40-50 minutes depending on your particular oven.  While the cake bakes, the berries, sugar and water sink to the bottom of the cake and becomes the consistency of a pudding.

Enjoy.

Ants

Ah, spring...ah, Ants.  Not the cute, smart, problem solving kind we see in feature length cartoon films.  The actual creeping, crawling kind. Sugar ones, they are so tiny you almost need a magnifying glass to see them.  It is especially difficult if your kitchen tile pattern happen to be spatters of black, brown and tones of grey.  I hate to admit this, but I get a bizarre, perverse pleasure squashing them under my thumb or forefinger.

Over the years I've discovered various ways of disposing of these little buggers, none of which do THEY find particularly enjoyable. However, I will tell you my favorite choices, all of which are reasonably priced, 'cause, I'm cheaper than Scrooge.

First, there is the aerial spray can,  they are quick and efficient, but smell terrible.

Next, there are the little 'houses'(traps), where the ants go in and drag the poison back to their hills, where supposedly the poison kills everybody else (I don't know if that's true or not, but I've come to suspect the traps must give off some kind of odor that ants don't like, because in the cupboards where I have them, the ants do not come.)  As a result, I have these little houses all around my kitchen drawers and cupboards.

Next, for stragglers who do happen to invade me, I become a detective, and go on surveillance, watching to see where they enter and exit, then I fill the crack(s) with a good 'tacky glue', they dry clear and block their way in and out, plus no one has a clue I've even done anything.  (I occasionally have to re-glue, since I wash the floors, and the glue eventually wears away.)  But, re-seaming the crack is quick and easy, and glue is even cheaper than traps and spray cans.

Finally, (and this is my favorite) if I discover a nest outside, I boil a huge pan of water, go out and
s-l-o-w-l-y pour the boiling water, all over the nest.  You should see those rascals racing around trying to save themselves and their eggs...all in vane...this form of disposal is especially quick, inexpensive AND works like a charm.  Honest, they don't appear to suffer long.

However, the last choice is tricky...as you have to be careful not to burn yourself while walking to the nest by spilling the boiling water on yourself.  (Trick I've learned...when carrying any liquid...do NOT...look at the object you are carrying, but just beyond, where you are going to step next.  I guarantee, the liquid will not slosh around and spill over the lip of the container...this is not a joke...and it works every time.)

So there you have it, another deep, dark, ugly secret exposed...I dislike ants, especially if their intent is to crawl all over my food.  You are free to try any of my methods, and I will not charge a fee for this information...I wish you luck.   Now, get out there, search...and...destroy.

Sleepless night

Last night I had a lousy night's sleep.  Tossed (blink) and turned (blink).  No matter how hard I tried, that tiny, yellow, ridiculous, monotonous, light on the TV would not let me doze off.  I had a battle with 'Good Sandra' vs 'Bad Sandra', whether to turn on the light and reset the stupid clock.  Eventually, Good Sandra resolved come dawn she would do the right thing and fix the clock, and she finally fell into a deep sleep.

Come the dawn.  The very first thing I do is fix the clock.

Frankie:  (Bounding into the room, coffee in hand.) "Hey, you fixed the clock...you must have found your mug."
Me: "Mumble, mumble, mumble." (Did she think to bring me coffee...Nooooooo.)
Frankie:  "Sooo, where was it?"
Me: "Mumble, mumble, mumble."  I really don't want to tell her what happened, she will NEVER let me forget how I was on her case for so long.

I decide to come clean, and I tell her my story, she listens in rapture, occasionally nodding.

Uh oh!  My tale is greeted with (loud) silence.

More silence, time ticking by.  She sets her coffee mug down.  This can't be good.

Next thing I know I'm getting hit with a bed pillow. I'm at a disadvantage, trapped under blankets.  I tell ya', I got pummeled.

Eventually, I'm able to dislodge myself, and get in a few well placed smacks myself.  A pillow fight ensues and we exhaust ourselves ending up in a fit of giggles on the bed.  While we're lying there, trying to regain composure and our breaths, we hear on the news that yesterday was world wide pillow fight day.

Well, I'll be a son-of-a-gun.   We erupt into laughter again.  I think I've been forgiven.

Here we go again

Today...I'm going to talk about vacuum cleaners.  I've written about them before, just not here on my blog.  I will post those one day.  However, this is new and I feel a giggle bubbling up from within.

Last night, minutes after I got comfy under my blankets a commercial I had never seen before came on.  It was about one of those absurdly expensive 'ball' kind, but now 'it's better'.  I'm so intrigued.  It starts off showing people with their inferior vacuums that bump into walls and flop on their sides, showing a woman coming out into the hall and KICKING it upright.  Then, there was a woman running her hand across the attachment to feel for suction (been there, done that), and there was a guy who took the attachment off and was staring down into the wand, hoping the family hamster was not dead and stuck inside.

However, it is the final scene that made me fall out of bed with uncontrolled laughter.  Picture the mommy running her upright, heavy, vacuum back and forth in front of the baby that is sitting there frowning, perplexed, and worried, (I think because he thinks it is going to suck him up to that great, vacuum cleaner heaven in the sky, where the ones I have killed, reside.)

Great stuff; I'm telling you...this must be the most wonderful vacuum commercial EVER.  I have been in all the situations they show...well, except for the part where the baby thinks it's going to get sucked into the great beyond, and I think, if you would be truthful, you've done similar things with your vacuums, too.

All I can say is I want one of those vacuums, it looks like it could do the work without me and I would never kill a vacuum again..

Oh, wait a minute...I think I've seen a commercial for a vacuum that does work all by itself.  You set it, and off it goes, sensing furniture, changes from carpet to tile, stopping when it comes to a drop off, and it will absolutely will NOT suck up pets, (it's too small).  I think you can even leave the house while it works, shoot, don't we all need one of these?

Yeah, right...with my luck I'd set it to work, but when I got home, it will have disappeared and I wouldn't find it for a week.  Kind of like my missing coffee mug.  Tee, hee.

Agog

Me:  "Morning, Frankie."
Frankie:  "Mumble, mumble, mumble."
Me:  "Ya know, Frankie, when I first met you I was agog."
Frankie:  (Arms akimbo) "What the heck does that mean?  Should I be offended?"
Me:  "Look it up in the 'big book'."  (What we call the dictionary in my house.)
Frankie:  "Mumble, mumble, mumble."

I continue working as she is flipping pages in the 'big book'.  I smile, cause I love getting her in a state early in the morning.

Frankie:  "Oh, I guess I'm not offended, exactly what got you 'agog' about me?"
Me:  "Your free, youthful spirit, your never being afraid to try something new, your not caring about what other people think, the fact you can eat, and eat, and eat and never gain an ounce...wait, I actually HATE that."
Frankie:  (Laughing her head off.)  "I get agog over good stuff," she gasps,"like lightening, Christmas, summer heat, ya know...good stuff.  Like, watching the step disappear at the top of an escalator...Where the heck does it go, anyway?"

Me:  "I don't know, actually that's a very good question?"

Frankie saunters off for her morning cup of coffee, while I get back to typing.

Frankie returns.  "What's agogo?"
Me:  "A place where young people used to go to dance in the '70's' and do all kinds of body gyrations."
Frankie:  "No it's not."
Me:  "Yes, it is."
Frankie:  "Not according to the 'big book'."  (The final authority on such matters.)  "Look it up"...she says, turning on heel leaving the room.

I hate when she does that.  And, I make up my mind I will NOT look it up.

Silence, muttering, lack of concentration....more muttering.

Dang it!  I try to silently roll my office chair back to sneak a peek at the dictionary.

Frankie jumps back into the room..."Got ya," she says with great satisfaction.  "I knew you wouldn't be able stand not knowing what agogo is."  She does a GoGo dance as she leaves the room.

Oh, if you want to know what agogo is...look it up in your big book, cause, we're not going to tell you.

Ala-ka-zam, Part 2

Yesterday I wrote and said I would tell you about my second magic trick, involving a little bird.

This requires a bit of 'back story', so sit down and relax a while.

Many years ago, in the land of arts and crafts, La La Lady went to an after Christmas clearance.  Oh, the bright colors and glitter.  She walked the aisles, tossing artificial flowers, ribbon, yarn, construction paper, and all sorts of crafty things into her shopping basket.

As she was (finally) heading to the line; to fall into place behind teachers, scrap-booker's, crafter's, and other La La Ladies, she happened to spy a basket filled with colorful, feather crafted birds.  Since La La Lady had a particular fondness for Cardinals, she began to rummage through the basket.  There...in the very bottom, was a very small bird...un-packaged...missing its legs and feet.  (I think it was supposed to be a California Quail, but the curly dealie-bob on the head was missing, too).

Well, La La Lady took pity on the poor bird, and placed it in the cup of her hand...she was in love.

Finally, as stories go in the land of arts and crafts, it was her turn at the check-out stand.  She handed the bird to the clerk and announced she hoped she could tell her how much the bird cost, as this was the condition the bird was found.  To which the clerk replied.  "Honey, if you want this bird that bad, take it, it's yours".  Wooo, hooo.

La La lady took the bird home.

Now, here's the magic part.  Once I got the bird home I knew exactly where it belonged.  I read somewhere, in some country, it was good luck to put a bird's nest into a Christmas tree.  I just happened to find a tiny one in my yard, and saved it to put on my tree...the nest was the EXACT SIZE to accommodate my leg and footless bird.

I set it on the kitchen counter to take my jacket off.  The bird, rolled over on its back and played dead.  I could not believe my eyes...what sort of magic was this?  Did my telepathic ability send it a message?  I picked it up, said "Play dead" put it on the counter, and...it did. Oh, this was great, I imagined showing my grand kids my wonderful magic trick.

Next year, I decorated the tree, and there was the nest and tiny bird.  I took the bird to the kitchen counter and commanded, "Play dead."  It did.

Come Christmas day, the grand kids came, I could not wait to show them my magic.  The bird and I put on quite a show.  The kids didn't know if grandma had gone over the edge, or what.  However, La La Lady and the bird had a marvelous time.  It takes so little to make us happy.

So, if you are ever in my neighborhood some Christmas season, stop by...the bird and I will 'make magic'.

Ala-ka-zam

Bet nobody knew I'm a magician, yep, I am.  I can make tableware disappear in the...blink of an eye. Fork, poof, it's gone.  Spoon, snap, vanished.  Knife, poof-snap,...poof-snap...(hold on, let me tightly close my eyes) poof-snap, there, it's gone, too.  Knives are harder, they're bigger and weigh more I really have to work to make them disappear.

I used to go to the stores that sell those pretty little four piece starter sets to replace my vanished pieces (for the life of me I don't know how to bring the tableware back) but that was becoming costly, and my husband began to wonder where the new patterns had come from.  So, I discovered the Dollar Store...they have the most wonderful aisle of kitchen gadgets that include packets of tableware...you get two spoons, forks or knives for a buck. Wooo, hooo.  I began to buy those, sneak them into the house and started to build up my supply.

The great thing is, first, they are cheap, and second, they are so non-descript my family didn't even notice they were new. Insert applause here.

Okay, here comes the magic part.  I can still make them disappear, but no longer care, 'cause they are cheap, but, lately I've discovered I can make them bend...NO JOKE...literally, I can bend those forks in half.  I'm tellin' ya', it's a hoot.

All I need is something to mush up, (chunky wet dog food will do) and da-da, I can bend a fork in half, like a piece of gum that's been left in the summer sun too long.  It is amazing...I love it....makes me fill up with giggles every time.  Thank you Dollar Store...I know there must be other ladies out there with this problem, I can't possibly be the only one.  Trust me...the Dollar Store will be your saviour.

Oh, I have one other magic trick I can do, and it's a pretty cute tale, I'll tell you that tomorrow.  It's about a bird.

Anyway, I'm discovering my blog has become a place to reveal secrets, and I seem compelled to tell them, maybe this is the way to clear my conscience and make straight my walk up the stairs to those "Pearly Gates"...(sigh)...I can only hope, I can only hope.

Busy, busy, busy

Dang, I hate I have to write this again, but my first one just disappeared.

I think it went something like this.

I've been at work since seven-thirty this morning, and decided it was time for a coffee break so here I am, writing.  I have to confess I'm very excited, I got some nibbles when it comes to my Gues Who Original Publisher's business.  My friend and neighbor next door wants to order some sets of my note cards, my friend Sheridan wants me to make some birthday cards for her family, and one of the ladies from my Writers Group wants to buy some note cards, too.  So, I am putting together a portfolio (maybe it will be more like a catalog) of all the cards that are already available and those that can be on a moments notice, it should be ready in a week or so.

Golly, now I know how a kid feels the first time he/she goes into a candy store, or has his/her first ice cream cone.  (Picture me jumping up and down.) Actually, I feel 30 again...yep, that was a pretty good year, age wise.

Unfortunately, many things are going to heck in a hand basket.  I should occasionally fling a dust rag, vacuum the carpet, eat, get dressed, pull weeds, or even scratch my butt, lol...but, "frankly, Miss Scarlet...I don't give a damn."

Frankie, Zorro and CC are not too thrilled that I spend so much time at the computer either. However (as Diane of Cheers used to say) "my muse" has me chained to my Publisher and Word programs, so, I keep Frankie busy with chores I should be doing, and allow Zorro to be on my lap as I work, and don't worry too much about CC as she comes to visit when she thinks she needs attention.  I've learned when she comes I have to immediately save what I am working on, else, her tiny paws tend to delete, delete, delete.
I'm no dummy.

I am thankful to have my house mates, they keep me based in reality and  I don't know what I would do without them. Thank you furry and imaginary friends. If you were not here to check on me, I'm sure one day someone would eventually find my skeletal remains in my office chair and draped over my keyboard in a bony heap.

Well, coffee break is over...back to work.