It's here, it's here....the day has finally arrived.
First, let me say to all of those who were guessing my secret...no, I have not won the lottery. No, I'm not getting a new bed. No, I'm not pregnant. No I'm not dating Anthony or Anderson...although I wouldn't mind. And, no, I'm not moving.
Now...insert drum roll here.
http://www.zazzle.com/gueswhooriginals
Check it out!!!!!!!
Yes, after a year of blood, sweat, tears, planning, scheming, hoping and dreaming I am pleased and honored to announce my little publishing company has come of age. YES, with a great deal of help from my daughter Karen, we are launching TODAY on Zazzle.com...my very own page of merchandise ready for purchase. And I hope all of you, starting today, will stop by frequently to see what products are available.
I confess I'm very excited about all of this, and as I mentioned a few days ago, I think, at my age, I should be sitting around with a crochet hook and some yarn in my hands, rather than exploring a whole new Cyber-space store front. Although this whole endeavor has caused a lot of terror to swim around in the pit of my stomach, I'm also quite proud of our achievements so far, and I confess this adventure has been a whole lot more fun and exciting than having my hands full of yarn and a crochet hook.
Honestly, I feel like a new born babe...I've so much still to learn, I hope I am up to the task. As Karen says, for the month of February the Zazzle web site will be my class room as she helps me take over the reins to create new products for the Gues Who Originals web page. I'm well aware there are challenges ahead. With the economy still struggling, it is not the best time to be expanding a business, however, as I always say to Karen, I'm not in this for the money, I'm in business because I love it.
Yes, I love the joy, creativity, fun, challenges, pleasure and incredible rush I get every morning when I get up and go to work at a job I love. So, if the old adage is true and I continue to do what I love, perhaps the money will follow.
But. I digress. Here's the great thing about Zazzle, and why it is such a good match for Gues Who Originals. Some of you already have my note cards catalogs, and I am pleased to report that most of the illustrations in that catalog are compatibly with the Zazzle site, and with a little time and learning, I'm hopeful I will be able to create any number of items made specially for you from the illustrations in the catalog. E-mail me, call me, Facebook me, Blog me, and I will do my best to bring your desired merchandise to life. The possibilities are endless, as you will see from the items already shown on my Zazzle page, located at:
http://www.zazzle.com/gueswhooriginals
Please, feel free to stop by my store front, and window shop today.
So there you have it, it's 12:32 AM Thursday, January 31st. Finally...I'm able to...tattle...spill the beans...upset the apple cart...sing like a canary.
And now, three exhausted ladies are going to go to bed. Good night Frankie, good night Ms. Beside Myself, good night me. I hope we all sleep well. Plus, I hope, come the dawn, we get some good reviews.
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
It won't be long now...
my secret will be revealed tomorrow.
I'm trying, very, very hard to wait.
Frankie is ready to bust her gusset. Since she is part of me she has been in on this secret from the beginning, and I have to say her patience has been (up to now) much better than mine. I hope we don't kill each other before the end of this day. One more sleep Frankie, just one more sleep.
Of course, you have to realize there has been somebody else living here since, oh I don't know, the beginning of December, and that is Ms. Beside Myself. And believe me she has been taking up a LOT of space, and boy, is she a blabber mouth.
Frankie and I have feared that if anybody was going to give away our secret it would be Ms. Beside Myself. So, since Beside is in such a twitter, Frankie and I have decided to take drastic action for today. Now, you have to remember Frankie and I watch just about every show there is on Investigation Discovery, and we know how to dispose of bodies (insert 'kind of' evil laughter here.)
No, no, no....I promise nothing horrible will happen to Beside. There will be no duck tape, electrical cords, and plastic bags involved. However, that is not to say Ms. Myself, will not be restricted. I have denied her access to the phone, she is not allowed to use her e-mail and definitely, DEFINITELY, will not have access to her Facebook friends until after my announcement tomorrow morning.
Frankie is a big help, at the moment she is sitting on Ms. Beside Myself out on the living room sofa. I tell ya, it's going to be a tough 24 hours. Between the two of us, vigilance is going to be the word of the day. I think we will have to take shifts, especially over night, because I know Beside will tippy-toe into the office during the wee small hours to...tattle...spill the beans...upset the apple cart...sing like a canary.
Oh no, Ms. Beside Myself, that's my icing to put on my cake. I want to...tattle...spill the beans... upset the apple cart...sing like a canary.
Don't make me get out my handcuffs.
I'm trying, very, very hard to wait.
Frankie is ready to bust her gusset. Since she is part of me she has been in on this secret from the beginning, and I have to say her patience has been (up to now) much better than mine. I hope we don't kill each other before the end of this day. One more sleep Frankie, just one more sleep.
Of course, you have to realize there has been somebody else living here since, oh I don't know, the beginning of December, and that is Ms. Beside Myself. And believe me she has been taking up a LOT of space, and boy, is she a blabber mouth.
Frankie and I have feared that if anybody was going to give away our secret it would be Ms. Beside Myself. So, since Beside is in such a twitter, Frankie and I have decided to take drastic action for today. Now, you have to remember Frankie and I watch just about every show there is on Investigation Discovery, and we know how to dispose of bodies (insert 'kind of' evil laughter here.)
No, no, no....I promise nothing horrible will happen to Beside. There will be no duck tape, electrical cords, and plastic bags involved. However, that is not to say Ms. Myself, will not be restricted. I have denied her access to the phone, she is not allowed to use her e-mail and definitely, DEFINITELY, will not have access to her Facebook friends until after my announcement tomorrow morning.
Frankie is a big help, at the moment she is sitting on Ms. Beside Myself out on the living room sofa. I tell ya, it's going to be a tough 24 hours. Between the two of us, vigilance is going to be the word of the day. I think we will have to take shifts, especially over night, because I know Beside will tippy-toe into the office during the wee small hours to...tattle...spill the beans...upset the apple cart...sing like a canary.
Oh no, Ms. Beside Myself, that's my icing to put on my cake. I want to...tattle...spill the beans... upset the apple cart...sing like a canary.
Don't make me get out my handcuffs.
Monday, January 28, 2013
Anderson Cooper
As you may or may not know I have a thing for Anderson Cooper. He is perhaps (in my humble opinion) the most handsome guy on TV. I adore him.
He has more idiosyncrasies than Carter has pills. He will honestly tell you that he has, blames them on nobody but himself, and will admit he has no desire to change them for anybody. Ya' gotta love that.
He can find no good excuse for eating a pickle...admitting today, the juice is even worse that the pickle itself, yet will put a blob of mayonnaise in his hand and rub the stuff all over a table top because, it will restore the wood to the original finish...so what if he smells like sandwich for a few hours.
I love the fact he picked on an old lady who was about to put her banana peel into a mail box, and walked her across the street to a proper receptacle for disposal, while he honestly admits, had it been an over-sized gargantuan gorilla, he never would have spoken up, much less march him across the street to the proper receptacle. Did I tell you I adore this man?
Plus, he is funny, and will poke fun at himself on national television, like today when he (to his horror) had to remove a shoe and sock and expose his naked foot much to his (I'm sure) embarrassment and comfortableness. Then, of course, there were the few minutes when Emmitt Smith held a leaf blower up to Anderson's face contorting it into the most laughable sight ever. (At the end of the show Anderson did the same thing to Emmitt) It was hysterical. Except for Ellen DeGeneres, I cannot think of another personality that would have their face leaf blower-ed in front of the whole world simply for good belly jiggling laugh.
However, I also love him because he has great compassion, a thirst for learning new things, is willing to step outside his comfort zone, and is comfortable in his own skin. Plus he is just the right size to squeeze the stuffing out of (excuse the horrible grammar). And, that dear ladies is a job I would like to have...and one I would do free of charge.
Anyhooo, I'm full of sorrow his afternoon show has been cancelled, and I will miss the banter he has with his staff and daily guests, the unexpectedness that happens on almost a daily basis. The alligators, the leaf blowers, the wine drinkers, the pickle tastings, and all the other 'stuff' that simply happens on his show.
Anderson, who's your BFF (best fan forever)? That'd be me, dear Anderson...that'd be me.
He has more idiosyncrasies than Carter has pills. He will honestly tell you that he has, blames them on nobody but himself, and will admit he has no desire to change them for anybody. Ya' gotta love that.
He can find no good excuse for eating a pickle...admitting today, the juice is even worse that the pickle itself, yet will put a blob of mayonnaise in his hand and rub the stuff all over a table top because, it will restore the wood to the original finish...so what if he smells like sandwich for a few hours.
I love the fact he picked on an old lady who was about to put her banana peel into a mail box, and walked her across the street to a proper receptacle for disposal, while he honestly admits, had it been an over-sized gargantuan gorilla, he never would have spoken up, much less march him across the street to the proper receptacle. Did I tell you I adore this man?
Plus, he is funny, and will poke fun at himself on national television, like today when he (to his horror) had to remove a shoe and sock and expose his naked foot much to his (I'm sure) embarrassment and comfortableness. Then, of course, there were the few minutes when Emmitt Smith held a leaf blower up to Anderson's face contorting it into the most laughable sight ever. (At the end of the show Anderson did the same thing to Emmitt) It was hysterical. Except for Ellen DeGeneres, I cannot think of another personality that would have their face leaf blower-ed in front of the whole world simply for good belly jiggling laugh.
However, I also love him because he has great compassion, a thirst for learning new things, is willing to step outside his comfort zone, and is comfortable in his own skin. Plus he is just the right size to squeeze the stuffing out of (excuse the horrible grammar). And, that dear ladies is a job I would like to have...and one I would do free of charge.
Anyhooo, I'm full of sorrow his afternoon show has been cancelled, and I will miss the banter he has with his staff and daily guests, the unexpectedness that happens on almost a daily basis. The alligators, the leaf blowers, the wine drinkers, the pickle tastings, and all the other 'stuff' that simply happens on his show.
Anderson, who's your BFF (best fan forever)? That'd be me, dear Anderson...that'd be me.
Blab, blab, blab....
boy do I want to blab...tattle...spill the beans...upset the apple cart...sing like a canary.
I'm not good at keeping secrets, and I've one that has been building up like a volcano. The question is can an old lady keep her lips sealed a tiny bit longer, or is she going to implode?
Aren't old ladies supposed to be sitting in rocking chairs, a cat in their lap, a dog at their hip, a ball of yarn on the floor, crocheting going on?
Why, then is this old lady harboring perhaps the biggest secret in her life? I'm tremendously excited about what is about to happen, yet this secret is very terrifying, too. There is the possibility I could end up...eating crow...crying uncle...throwing in the cards...knuckling under.
I don't know. I kind of like living on the edge, and have off and on, over the years of my life. Sometimes I think I've been kind of a Renaissance Woman. Living life on a ledge, it's kind of exciting, adrenalin pumping; of course it is always good to look over edge and find those handsome, brave firemen there on the ground with their net; nonetheless, having the courage to put oneself out there to begin with is a pretty extraordinary experience.
Today I feel like the kid on a teeter-totter you know, the one that stands up in the middle and controls which kid will be up, which kid will be down...or if both kids will be stuck with none of their feet touching the ground. I'm not only the kid in the middle but the kid on either end as well...my fate is in my own hands...hmmm, I guess that means I can't lose...no matter what, part of me will always be a winner.
So, even though there are certain odds I could be heading for a fall...hitting a wall...having a ton of bricks fall on me I intend to proceed without caution...to throw the sheets to the wind...to let the chips fall where they may.
Just three more sleeps, three more sleeps and I can... tattle...spill the beans...upset the apple cart...sing like a canary.
Frankie does not think I can last. What do you think?
I'm not good at keeping secrets, and I've one that has been building up like a volcano. The question is can an old lady keep her lips sealed a tiny bit longer, or is she going to implode?
Aren't old ladies supposed to be sitting in rocking chairs, a cat in their lap, a dog at their hip, a ball of yarn on the floor, crocheting going on?
Why, then is this old lady harboring perhaps the biggest secret in her life? I'm tremendously excited about what is about to happen, yet this secret is very terrifying, too. There is the possibility I could end up...eating crow...crying uncle...throwing in the cards...knuckling under.
I don't know. I kind of like living on the edge, and have off and on, over the years of my life. Sometimes I think I've been kind of a Renaissance Woman. Living life on a ledge, it's kind of exciting, adrenalin pumping; of course it is always good to look over edge and find those handsome, brave firemen there on the ground with their net; nonetheless, having the courage to put oneself out there to begin with is a pretty extraordinary experience.
Today I feel like the kid on a teeter-totter you know, the one that stands up in the middle and controls which kid will be up, which kid will be down...or if both kids will be stuck with none of their feet touching the ground. I'm not only the kid in the middle but the kid on either end as well...my fate is in my own hands...hmmm, I guess that means I can't lose...no matter what, part of me will always be a winner.
So, even though there are certain odds I could be heading for a fall...hitting a wall...having a ton of bricks fall on me I intend to proceed without caution...to throw the sheets to the wind...to let the chips fall where they may.
Just three more sleeps, three more sleeps and I can... tattle...spill the beans...upset the apple cart...sing like a canary.
Frankie does not think I can last. What do you think?
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Oh, I-Ching...you are so funny
Every day I start my day by reading my I-Ching panel. That entails my daily number, my horoscope and the reading of my Hexagram of the day. Generally these readings give me good sound advise.
However, this year there is a new trend. My horoscope in particular seems to think there is going to be some kind of 'romance' on my horizon.
Giggle, giggle, giggle.
Giggle,
Giggle, giggle,
Baaaaa, haaaaa, haaaa.
That is so funny.
I've been telling I-Ching on Facebook to "knock it off'"
Apparently I-Ching is not listening, because again this morning...well...here are a few entries from today's readings...
However, romantic love originates in the heart and can be quite playful, especially with the Moon in expressive Leo. Additionally, sweet Venus forms magical quintiles with conservative Saturn and radical Uranus, requiring us to forge new relationships between the old and new...and...The relationship axis of your chart continues to be in the spotlight, making it difficult to avoid romantic cues from others now.
Romantic love...romantic cues...this is for young lovers...I've been there...done that...after the rosy glow is gone...well...here is my entry from Facebook today...
Giggle, giggle,giggle...I-Ching...you are soooooo funny. Have 'Mr. Romance' stop by. But, I will not do his laundry, clean up after him in the bath room, or cook for him. As you can see, there WILL BE STRINGS ATTACHED. Bring it, baby, bring it.
You just know that a guy my age is not really interested in romance-shmomance...huggy-wuggies, kissy-wissies...no, he's looking for a demure slightly over the hill lady who will still 'do his laundry, clean up after him in the bath room, or cook for him'.
I sense it is going to be a fun ride this year...come on I-Ching, seriously...bring it...'Mr. Romance' if you pass all the tests, I just might let you take me to dinner, or perhaps even a Broadway production.
Oh, did I mention...you must have a great quantity of money in the bank?
However, this year there is a new trend. My horoscope in particular seems to think there is going to be some kind of 'romance' on my horizon.
Giggle, giggle, giggle.
Giggle,
Giggle, giggle,
Baaaaa, haaaaa, haaaa.
That is so funny.
I've been telling I-Ching on Facebook to "knock it off'"
Apparently I-Ching is not listening, because again this morning...well...here are a few entries from today's readings...
However, romantic love originates in the heart and can be quite playful, especially with the Moon in expressive Leo. Additionally, sweet Venus forms magical quintiles with conservative Saturn and radical Uranus, requiring us to forge new relationships between the old and new...and...The relationship axis of your chart continues to be in the spotlight, making it difficult to avoid romantic cues from others now.
Romantic love...romantic cues...this is for young lovers...I've been there...done that...after the rosy glow is gone...well...here is my entry from Facebook today...
Giggle, giggle,giggle...I-Ching...you are soooooo funny. Have 'Mr. Romance' stop by. But, I will not do his laundry, clean up after him in the bath room, or cook for him. As you can see, there WILL BE STRINGS ATTACHED. Bring it, baby, bring it.
You just know that a guy my age is not really interested in romance-shmomance...huggy-wuggies, kissy-wissies...no, he's looking for a demure slightly over the hill lady who will still 'do his laundry, clean up after him in the bath room, or cook for him'.
I sense it is going to be a fun ride this year...come on I-Ching, seriously...bring it...'Mr. Romance' if you pass all the tests, I just might let you take me to dinner, or perhaps even a Broadway production.
Oh, did I mention...you must have a great quantity of money in the bank?
Saturday, January 26, 2013
2-fer
Not so long ago I posted on Facebook I had fixed myself some ketchup toast for breakfast, and several people posted other unusual types of toast and sandwiches they liked.
And, as you know I posted here, earlier today, my horrible experience with peanut butter, apple sauce toast that I thought would be good to have for breakfast.
I just want you to know I have redeemed myself.
Still hungry, I went back to my ill-stocked refrigerator. Remember I said it was loaded with condiments?
On Facebook some of the responses I got for sandwich ideas were, baked bean and mustard. Well, I am to lazy today to open a can of beans, but I do have a lovely, spicy, dark yellow mustard in stock. So, I prepared two new pieces of rye toast, blended the mustard with my cheap, bulk size ketchup, and smeared the mixture across the top of each piece of toast.
I gotta' say, it is not to bad....
redemption is in the taste buds of the be-eater,
and beauty in the eye of the beholder.
Yummm.
Peanut Butter, Apple Sauce Toast
I love the days I don't know what to write about here in Ramblings of an Old Woman. When, 'fooooom' something unexpected happens, and a story falls on to my blank page.
This morning I opened my refrigerator door and discovered, except for condiments there is very little in it. I'm hungry...what in the world can I have for breakfast.
Well, there is a loaf of rye bread, there is a huge jar of peanut butter...and a container of home made apple sauce. Great! A few slices of rye toast with peanut butter, and a little apple sauce...yeah, that will work.
So, I whip out the toaster, warm the bread and spread the peanut butter across both pieces.
Next, I stare at the apple sauce. Why not put the apple sauce on top of the peanut buttered toast? Good idea, saves dirtying a bowl, and a spoon. Carefully I spread the apple sauce on top of the peanut butter.
I take the first bite...dang...that's pretty good.
On the way to the office I manage a few more bites, not bad. I'm pretty proud of my new endeavor.
Uh-oh.
I'm halfway through the first piece of toast. Suddenly, the apple sauce has started to slide off the remaining half. It is oozing over my fingers, down the creases of my cupped hand...and...around the corners of my mouth slip-sliding for my chin.
Oh my.
Mercy me.
This wonderful experiment has turned into quite a slippery mess. Juice is dripping off the edges of the remaining piece of toast turning the paper plate into a shallow pond. Eeeewwwwww-eeeee. Yuck! Gross! The toast is getting soggy...I don't like soggy bread...I hate soggy bread. My fugal self is now in great conflict with my 'if I take one more bite, I'm going to throw up self'. What am I going to do?
I lift the remaining piece of toast toward my lips...apple sauce sliding about...closer, closer the toast comes to my mouth...I hear my mother in my head. "Just one more bite, honey, just one more bite. Remember the starving children in the world."
Sorry, mom,
sorry starving children,
I simply can't do that 'one more bite'.
Just like my peanut butter, jelly flavored coffee creamer,
this experiment is headed for the trash.
This morning I opened my refrigerator door and discovered, except for condiments there is very little in it. I'm hungry...what in the world can I have for breakfast.
Well, there is a loaf of rye bread, there is a huge jar of peanut butter...and a container of home made apple sauce. Great! A few slices of rye toast with peanut butter, and a little apple sauce...yeah, that will work.
So, I whip out the toaster, warm the bread and spread the peanut butter across both pieces.
Next, I stare at the apple sauce. Why not put the apple sauce on top of the peanut buttered toast? Good idea, saves dirtying a bowl, and a spoon. Carefully I spread the apple sauce on top of the peanut butter.
I take the first bite...dang...that's pretty good.
On the way to the office I manage a few more bites, not bad. I'm pretty proud of my new endeavor.
Uh-oh.
I'm halfway through the first piece of toast. Suddenly, the apple sauce has started to slide off the remaining half. It is oozing over my fingers, down the creases of my cupped hand...and...around the corners of my mouth slip-sliding for my chin.
Oh my.
Mercy me.
This wonderful experiment has turned into quite a slippery mess. Juice is dripping off the edges of the remaining piece of toast turning the paper plate into a shallow pond. Eeeewwwwww-eeeee. Yuck! Gross! The toast is getting soggy...I don't like soggy bread...I hate soggy bread. My fugal self is now in great conflict with my 'if I take one more bite, I'm going to throw up self'. What am I going to do?
I lift the remaining piece of toast toward my lips...apple sauce sliding about...closer, closer the toast comes to my mouth...I hear my mother in my head. "Just one more bite, honey, just one more bite. Remember the starving children in the world."
Sorry, mom,
sorry starving children,
I simply can't do that 'one more bite'.
Just like my peanut butter, jelly flavored coffee creamer,
this experiment is headed for the trash.
Friday, January 25, 2013
Chapter Ten, Selling the House
Oh my gosh.....
I thought my saga was over. The news is not yet 24 hours old, but apparently I have opened a new floodgate by taking my house off the market.
Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring.
I have been laughing hysterically ever since my phone started ringing a little after eight this morning.
Ring, ring.
It's a Realtor.
Ring, ring.
It's a Realtor.
Ring, ring.
It's a Realtor.
Ring, ring.
It's a Realtor.
AMAZING....THEY ALL WANT TO BECOME MY NEW AGENT.
My house and I are suddenly very popular. I've not had such a good laugh in a very, very long time. How funny is this? Realtors suddenly want to be my BFF. I might still be laughing at noon...maybe even bedtime.
Where were all of you when my house was for sale?
How come none of you...none of you had enough interest in my home to bring clients by to see it?
Did any of you actually take the visual tour of my home while it was still active on the market?
Suddenly you think, your omnipotence will part the waters allowing the masses to beat a path to my golden door. I don't think so. You didn't think my humble abode was good enough to share for the six months you could have brought buyers by, why in the world would you think I would think you are good enough to represent me now.
Really, are you that arrogant? Do you consider yourself that superior I would choose you to represent me now? If my home was not good enough for you to look at for six months...it is certainly not.....
Ring, ring.
It's a Realtor.
....good enough for you to suddenly gush over now.
I guess my phone is going to ring a lot today, I might not get a lot of work done.
Does anybody else see the humor in all of this? I can't stop laughing.
As I mentioned yesterday, "I've come to the conclusion most Realtor's believe they are omnipotent, and not accountable to anyone. They are boorish, arrogant, inconsiderate and rude." I'm right, aren't I?
I thought my saga was over. The news is not yet 24 hours old, but apparently I have opened a new floodgate by taking my house off the market.
Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring.
I have been laughing hysterically ever since my phone started ringing a little after eight this morning.
Ring, ring.
It's a Realtor.
Ring, ring.
It's a Realtor.
Ring, ring.
It's a Realtor.
Ring, ring.
It's a Realtor.
AMAZING....THEY ALL WANT TO BECOME MY NEW AGENT.
My house and I are suddenly very popular. I've not had such a good laugh in a very, very long time. How funny is this? Realtors suddenly want to be my BFF. I might still be laughing at noon...maybe even bedtime.
Where were all of you when my house was for sale?
How come none of you...none of you had enough interest in my home to bring clients by to see it?
Did any of you actually take the visual tour of my home while it was still active on the market?
Suddenly you think, your omnipotence will part the waters allowing the masses to beat a path to my golden door. I don't think so. You didn't think my humble abode was good enough to share for the six months you could have brought buyers by, why in the world would you think I would think you are good enough to represent me now.
Really, are you that arrogant? Do you consider yourself that superior I would choose you to represent me now? If my home was not good enough for you to look at for six months...it is certainly not.....
Ring, ring.
It's a Realtor.
....good enough for you to suddenly gush over now.
I guess my phone is going to ring a lot today, I might not get a lot of work done.
Does anybody else see the humor in all of this? I can't stop laughing.
As I mentioned yesterday, "I've come to the conclusion most Realtor's believe they are omnipotent, and not accountable to anyone. They are boorish, arrogant, inconsiderate and rude." I'm right, aren't I?
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Chapter Nine, Selling the House
Sigh!
Okay, it's been almost a full six months since I put my house on the market. It has been quite a learning experience. I don't remember exactly, but a think a grand total of six Realtors showed up with clients to look at the house.
Now, here's my take on Realtors in general...true not all are like the ones I have had experience with...but here is how I see them.
They show up in a well kept, mid-size, fairly expensive looking vehicle, their client in a much less expensive looking one. They come to the door hand extended, with a fancy, shmancy, business card in it, the card has a lot of A.B.C.'s and X.Y.Z.'s behind their name. There is an artificial smile plastered on their face, (a well practiced facade to make me think they really care about me and my house). Yet I know they already don't like my place because they immediately look over the tops of their glasses and down their noses at my feeble attempt to have my house look nice.
They and their client at the most, spent six to ten minutes going through the house. In whispered tones they are discussing the things they don't like about it; I know this, because my Realtor has asked me to ask them to fill out a form stating what they and their client liked or disliked about the place.
Mostly I was 'average', with subtle remarks about what was not liked. Surprisingly, they seemed to like me, but the house had flaws that were seemingly insurmountable. The color of the trim of the house..my Realtor told me he could have a painter come out and 'tone it down' a bit . The sun room seems to be in the wrong place, my Realtor said 'unfortunately' 'there is nothing we can do about that'. I should take down the fence I have to keep my dog from straying around the neighborhood, although I made it quite clear it would disappear if the house sold. My garage is used for storage only, I don't drive, but I've assured my Realtor the garage would be turned back into a usable garage if and when I moved out.
How many people actually use a garage for a vehicle anyway...most garages I see are used for storage, cluttered with boxes, bicycles, and unused furniture. So why does mine seem to be an issue? Me thinks, the fact it accommodates only one vehicle is the problem, the new owner will have only half the storage area of a two car garage?
But, the final blow was a couple of weeks ago, I got a call from a Realtor who wanted to come by in a couple of hours. I said that would be okay, but wanted him to know my house is not well staged, because I am still living here, and that I was working on a company project and had not dusted for a week or so and hoped that would not be a problem. He stated it would not. Then I inquired if his clients had actually taken the visual tour of the house that is on the net. He said he didn't know. I said maybe it would be a good idea to do so before making the trip to actually look at the house. He agreed that might be a good idea...I doubt he had ever taken the trouble to view the pictures either.
Anyway, we settled on two in the afternoon as a good time to have a look-see, and I said 'see you then'. My conscience would not let me go back to work, so I immediately began my 30 minute, making sure the house looks presentable chores, like clearing dirty dishes from the sink and flinging a dust rag around, putting Zorro's toys away, straightening pillows, dragging out the carpet sweeper, etc, etc; whew.
Two o'clock came and went...two-thirty came and went...three o'clock came and went. It finally occurred to me nobody was going to show up. Did I get a phone call, nope??? What did I expect? I've come to the conclusion most Realtor's believe they are omnipotent, and not accountable to anyone. They are boorish, arrogant, inconsiderate and rude. I'm done...so done.
It would have been lovely if I could have sold my place but at this particular time it is apparently not in the cards. So, I'm taking it off the market. My Realtor is coming by today for the lock-box, and he informs me there will be paperwork to follow.
So folks, I guess this is the final chapter of my little saga on Selling the House.
Okay, it's been almost a full six months since I put my house on the market. It has been quite a learning experience. I don't remember exactly, but a think a grand total of six Realtors showed up with clients to look at the house.
Now, here's my take on Realtors in general...true not all are like the ones I have had experience with...but here is how I see them.
They show up in a well kept, mid-size, fairly expensive looking vehicle, their client in a much less expensive looking one. They come to the door hand extended, with a fancy, shmancy, business card in it, the card has a lot of A.B.C.'s and X.Y.Z.'s behind their name. There is an artificial smile plastered on their face, (a well practiced facade to make me think they really care about me and my house). Yet I know they already don't like my place because they immediately look over the tops of their glasses and down their noses at my feeble attempt to have my house look nice.
They and their client at the most, spent six to ten minutes going through the house. In whispered tones they are discussing the things they don't like about it; I know this, because my Realtor has asked me to ask them to fill out a form stating what they and their client liked or disliked about the place.
Mostly I was 'average', with subtle remarks about what was not liked. Surprisingly, they seemed to like me, but the house had flaws that were seemingly insurmountable. The color of the trim of the house..my Realtor told me he could have a painter come out and 'tone it down' a bit . The sun room seems to be in the wrong place, my Realtor said 'unfortunately' 'there is nothing we can do about that'. I should take down the fence I have to keep my dog from straying around the neighborhood, although I made it quite clear it would disappear if the house sold. My garage is used for storage only, I don't drive, but I've assured my Realtor the garage would be turned back into a usable garage if and when I moved out.
How many people actually use a garage for a vehicle anyway...most garages I see are used for storage, cluttered with boxes, bicycles, and unused furniture. So why does mine seem to be an issue? Me thinks, the fact it accommodates only one vehicle is the problem, the new owner will have only half the storage area of a two car garage?
But, the final blow was a couple of weeks ago, I got a call from a Realtor who wanted to come by in a couple of hours. I said that would be okay, but wanted him to know my house is not well staged, because I am still living here, and that I was working on a company project and had not dusted for a week or so and hoped that would not be a problem. He stated it would not. Then I inquired if his clients had actually taken the visual tour of the house that is on the net. He said he didn't know. I said maybe it would be a good idea to do so before making the trip to actually look at the house. He agreed that might be a good idea...I doubt he had ever taken the trouble to view the pictures either.
Anyway, we settled on two in the afternoon as a good time to have a look-see, and I said 'see you then'. My conscience would not let me go back to work, so I immediately began my 30 minute, making sure the house looks presentable chores, like clearing dirty dishes from the sink and flinging a dust rag around, putting Zorro's toys away, straightening pillows, dragging out the carpet sweeper, etc, etc; whew.
Two o'clock came and went...two-thirty came and went...three o'clock came and went. It finally occurred to me nobody was going to show up. Did I get a phone call, nope??? What did I expect? I've come to the conclusion most Realtor's believe they are omnipotent, and not accountable to anyone. They are boorish, arrogant, inconsiderate and rude. I'm done...so done.
It would have been lovely if I could have sold my place but at this particular time it is apparently not in the cards. So, I'm taking it off the market. My Realtor is coming by today for the lock-box, and he informs me there will be paperwork to follow.
So folks, I guess this is the final chapter of my little saga on Selling the House.
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
I've been dreaming.
I know we all dream every night, and that we seldom remember them. That's okay by me. But, every once in a while I will have one...that I won't remember...that will wake me up screaming. They are always followed by an uncontrollable fit of giggles, followed by outright laughter. The kind I guess a professional would call "hysterical laughter", my body's way of reacting to the terror I must have experienced in my dream. The last time this happened I threw Frankie and Zorro into such a tizzy I hope I never do that again.
Lately, I've been having a dream about being away from home, I'm at a huge mansion that sits at the top of a hill, a large slopping meadow stretches down the hill far into the distance. I think there was a party, and all the guests are leaving...I want to leave, too. But I wander the mansion, one room leads into the next, I'm looking for a hallway with a door that leads out. I can find none. I can't get home.
I dream about being on a snowy beach, it's cold, I'm in a small coastal town, I'm looking for a way got get to a bus or train station so I can get home. No one will help, and I wander about until exhausted, and at this point I will wake up.
Sometimes the dream takes place in an old, dank, dark, deserted station of some sort. I think it's a train station. I'm looking for a ticket agent. There is none to be found. I roam about my desperation growing...I just want to go home. Again, I wake exhausted.
The last dream, same scenario, I just want to go home. However, in this dream I actually know people, and they know me. It is autumn, I'm walking along a country road, I know I'm getting very close to home. You know, you recognize things...but you don't, that's the state I'm in. There are old white houses, with small front yards, it's sunny and warm, the trees are ablaze of reds, oranges and yellows.. It is a very pleasant dream...but all I want to do is get home. It is all to no avail...nobody seems to know exactly where I live...frustrated I wake up.
For years now I've been trying to figure out what these dreams mean, and why I'm so anxious about getting home. And, I've been asking myself, how these dreams would end if I actually reach my destination.
Now, here's the thing...
(hang on folk)
this is where my pondering has lead.
Time for a 'what if'.
What if,
one night I have one of these dreams, and it plays out to the end, I actually get 'home'?
Will I wake up happy and content my journey is finally complete, or are these dreams a precursor I am simply going to get home, and then die peacefully in my sleep? I think, either way, I'm a winner.
Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake....
at my age, that's not a bad thing.
Lately, I've been having a dream about being away from home, I'm at a huge mansion that sits at the top of a hill, a large slopping meadow stretches down the hill far into the distance. I think there was a party, and all the guests are leaving...I want to leave, too. But I wander the mansion, one room leads into the next, I'm looking for a hallway with a door that leads out. I can find none. I can't get home.
I dream about being on a snowy beach, it's cold, I'm in a small coastal town, I'm looking for a way got get to a bus or train station so I can get home. No one will help, and I wander about until exhausted, and at this point I will wake up.
Sometimes the dream takes place in an old, dank, dark, deserted station of some sort. I think it's a train station. I'm looking for a ticket agent. There is none to be found. I roam about my desperation growing...I just want to go home. Again, I wake exhausted.
The last dream, same scenario, I just want to go home. However, in this dream I actually know people, and they know me. It is autumn, I'm walking along a country road, I know I'm getting very close to home. You know, you recognize things...but you don't, that's the state I'm in. There are old white houses, with small front yards, it's sunny and warm, the trees are ablaze of reds, oranges and yellows.. It is a very pleasant dream...but all I want to do is get home. It is all to no avail...nobody seems to know exactly where I live...frustrated I wake up.
For years now I've been trying to figure out what these dreams mean, and why I'm so anxious about getting home. And, I've been asking myself, how these dreams would end if I actually reach my destination.
Now, here's the thing...
(hang on folk)
this is where my pondering has lead.
Time for a 'what if'.
What if,
one night I have one of these dreams, and it plays out to the end, I actually get 'home'?
Will I wake up happy and content my journey is finally complete, or are these dreams a precursor I am simply going to get home, and then die peacefully in my sleep? I think, either way, I'm a winner.
Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake....
at my age, that's not a bad thing.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzip
-pa-dee-do-da.
What a grand and glorious day. I'm working on very little sleep, Valentine's Day is fast approaching, and my ole' adrenaline is a pumpin'. I was up past two AM this morning working on designs for cards.
I awoke at 5:50 and almost got out of bed to start work, and I think I would have but Zorro and I had created a lovely, warm nest under the blankets and neither of us wanted to put our tootsies on the cold floor.
So I drifted off to sleep.
Now, the creatures have been fed, I'm had my first mug of coffee and I'm raring to go, my engine is hummin'....brrrrrmmmm, brrrrrrmmmmm, brrrrrrrrmmmmmmm.
Creating is my life blood, I love working from a blank canvas and making something come alive through hues, textures, highlights, lines, forms and contrasts. My computer is the perfect medium from which to work, everyday it offers me that canvas, and my imagination and fingers set each page ablaze.
I love my work, because it's not.
I forget to get dressed. I forget to shower. I forget to eat.
This morning reds, pinks, and whites are dancing round in my head. There are hearts, and flowers, and cupids, and chocolates twirling and swirling, excited to become intricate footsteps from the waltz in my head to the blank page in Publisher.
Hurry, hurry says the muse on my shoulder, lest the images disappear.
So it is I must go.
Shuffle, slide, and dos-y-do.
What a grand and glorious day. I'm working on very little sleep, Valentine's Day is fast approaching, and my ole' adrenaline is a pumpin'. I was up past two AM this morning working on designs for cards.
I awoke at 5:50 and almost got out of bed to start work, and I think I would have but Zorro and I had created a lovely, warm nest under the blankets and neither of us wanted to put our tootsies on the cold floor.
So I drifted off to sleep.
Now, the creatures have been fed, I'm had my first mug of coffee and I'm raring to go, my engine is hummin'....brrrrrmmmm, brrrrrrmmmmm, brrrrrrrrmmmmmmm.
Creating is my life blood, I love working from a blank canvas and making something come alive through hues, textures, highlights, lines, forms and contrasts. My computer is the perfect medium from which to work, everyday it offers me that canvas, and my imagination and fingers set each page ablaze.
I love my work, because it's not.
I forget to get dressed. I forget to shower. I forget to eat.
This morning reds, pinks, and whites are dancing round in my head. There are hearts, and flowers, and cupids, and chocolates twirling and swirling, excited to become intricate footsteps from the waltz in my head to the blank page in Publisher.
Hurry, hurry says the muse on my shoulder, lest the images disappear.
Shuffle, slide, and dos-y-do.
Monday, January 21, 2013
It had just better...
warm up!
I don't want to complain, but I'm going to.
The cold is making me nuts. Oh sure, it is beautiful out, but every morning everything is covered with frost, and for the patches that don't get sunshine all day, the frost is building up. The neighborhood looks weird, everybody has these odd patches of frost decorating their afternoon lawns. Some come to abrupt but straight angles, while others are long, strangely pointed triangles. I just want them all to go away.
Yesterday my adopted son posted on Facebook the comment "Have you lost your Vulcan mind?" (I don't know if he had just read my blog or not.) It was not directed at anybody in particular, but I have to believe he had me in mind. I'm not offended. Cause, there are times I think I have...lost my mind...like now...because I'm sure the cold has given parts of my brain frost bite. That has got to have caused some kind of 'mind' damage.
And, take for instance yesterday's blog...when I was certain I had an eight foot giant in my kitchen. Would a person of normal mind envision something like that? Oh yes, I've no doubt my Vulcan mind is slipping away. I do blame it all on the cold.
1. Did I mention it's cold.
2. I've only imaginary friends
3. I converse with them.
4. I'm out of booze
5. I've seen so many murder/mystery shows I think I could commit the perfect crime.
6. I'm wearing so many layers of clothing, if I fall over, all I will be able to do is roll
around on the floor till spring.
7. I've been quite ill with cabin fever, I swear my rooms are getting smaller by the day.
8. It's cold
Yes, those are all good reasons to believe I am indeed losing my Vulcan mind.
Bless his heart though, my son, when I asked if he was 'talking 'bout me' was a bit evasive, and simply replied "If the shoe fits."
Well my dear boy...it does...it pinches a bit...but it does fit. As I mentioned on Facebook this morning. I am however in good company...it's me and Mr. Spock, baby, me and Mr. Spock.
I don't want to complain, but I'm going to.
The cold is making me nuts. Oh sure, it is beautiful out, but every morning everything is covered with frost, and for the patches that don't get sunshine all day, the frost is building up. The neighborhood looks weird, everybody has these odd patches of frost decorating their afternoon lawns. Some come to abrupt but straight angles, while others are long, strangely pointed triangles. I just want them all to go away.
Yesterday my adopted son posted on Facebook the comment "Have you lost your Vulcan mind?" (I don't know if he had just read my blog or not.) It was not directed at anybody in particular, but I have to believe he had me in mind. I'm not offended. Cause, there are times I think I have...lost my mind...like now...because I'm sure the cold has given parts of my brain frost bite. That has got to have caused some kind of 'mind' damage.
And, take for instance yesterday's blog...when I was certain I had an eight foot giant in my kitchen. Would a person of normal mind envision something like that? Oh yes, I've no doubt my Vulcan mind is slipping away. I do blame it all on the cold.
1. Did I mention it's cold.
2. I've only imaginary friends
3. I converse with them.
4. I'm out of booze
5. I've seen so many murder/mystery shows I think I could commit the perfect crime.
6. I'm wearing so many layers of clothing, if I fall over, all I will be able to do is roll
around on the floor till spring.
7. I've been quite ill with cabin fever, I swear my rooms are getting smaller by the day.
8. It's cold
Yes, those are all good reasons to believe I am indeed losing my Vulcan mind.
Bless his heart though, my son, when I asked if he was 'talking 'bout me' was a bit evasive, and simply replied "If the shoe fits."
Well my dear boy...it does...it pinches a bit...but it does fit. As I mentioned on Facebook this morning. I am however in good company...it's me and Mr. Spock, baby, me and Mr. Spock.
Sunday, January 20, 2013
Well, there was this giant....
Frankie comes into the office. "Where's Michelle's chocolate and caramel sauces? I want some for my coffee.
Oh my, I'm in a heap of trouble. Think Sandra, think...think fast.
I swivel around in my chair. "Well, it was the darn-est thing...when I got out to the kitchen this morning ...there he was."
Frankie: (Arms akimbo---I love that word---a-k-i-m-b-o.) "Who?"
I like to talk with my hands, too, so I take this opportunity to wave my arms about showing Frankie just how large this fellow was.
Me: "He was almost 8 feet tall, an inch more and he would have had to walk around the house head tilted to one side. He was kind of dressed like Robin Hood, with a brown leather jacket, forest green tights, and a hat with a feather that swooped way beyond the black felt. I think his boots were black felt, too. There was a quiver of arrows flung over his right shoulder and a crudely crafted bow hung next to it. Oh, oh, I forgot, in one hand he held a steaming mug of coffee while the other held a lyre". Yeah, yeah...a lyre...that's the ticket...good imagination, Sandra.
Frankie: (Leaning against the door jam.) "And,...go on."
Me: "Well, I was startled beyond belief, who expects to find a giant in their kitchen first thing in the morning."
Frankie: "Go on."
Me: "Well..." (I take a deep breath.) And, continue.
Giant: "Good morrow, kind woman. I bid thee a good day."
Me: "Huh?"
Giant: "I trust it does not displease thee I have plundered thy kitchen. Shall I make amends?"
Me: (Quizzical look on face.) Who are you?"
Giant: "I, madame, am a figment of your imagination, that will come in quite handy in about ten minutes when your imaginary friend 'Frankie' discovers you have already devoured every drop of your grand-daughter's chocolate and caramel sauces. Forsooth, I am prepared to take the blame. Tell her, 'twas I,' that drained the tankard's that held the sweets, pouring them into the best warm refreshment that has ever passed my lips. She will believe thee."
Poof! The giant was gone.
Frankie: "Enough already! That was good tale, I can't even be mad at you. Although I do wish the giant had left at least a drop or two in the tankards that I might have had one more 'sweet warm refreshment' pass my lips as well."
Frankie: (Leaving the room.) Geeze...that woman....I don't know what I'm.....
Me: "Whew."
Oh my, I'm in a heap of trouble. Think Sandra, think...think fast.
I swivel around in my chair. "Well, it was the darn-est thing...when I got out to the kitchen this morning ...there he was."
Frankie: (Arms akimbo---I love that word---a-k-i-m-b-o.) "Who?"
I like to talk with my hands, too, so I take this opportunity to wave my arms about showing Frankie just how large this fellow was.
Me: "He was almost 8 feet tall, an inch more and he would have had to walk around the house head tilted to one side. He was kind of dressed like Robin Hood, with a brown leather jacket, forest green tights, and a hat with a feather that swooped way beyond the black felt. I think his boots were black felt, too. There was a quiver of arrows flung over his right shoulder and a crudely crafted bow hung next to it. Oh, oh, I forgot, in one hand he held a steaming mug of coffee while the other held a lyre". Yeah, yeah...a lyre...that's the ticket...good imagination, Sandra.
Frankie: (Leaning against the door jam.) "And,...go on."
Me: "Well, I was startled beyond belief, who expects to find a giant in their kitchen first thing in the morning."
Frankie: "Go on."
Me: "Well..." (I take a deep breath.) And, continue.
Giant: "Good morrow, kind woman. I bid thee a good day."
Me: "Huh?"
Giant: "I trust it does not displease thee I have plundered thy kitchen. Shall I make amends?"
Me: (Quizzical look on face.) Who are you?"
Giant: "I, madame, am a figment of your imagination, that will come in quite handy in about ten minutes when your imaginary friend 'Frankie' discovers you have already devoured every drop of your grand-daughter's chocolate and caramel sauces. Forsooth, I am prepared to take the blame. Tell her, 'twas I,' that drained the tankard's that held the sweets, pouring them into the best warm refreshment that has ever passed my lips. She will believe thee."
Poof! The giant was gone.
Frankie: "Enough already! That was good tale, I can't even be mad at you. Although I do wish the giant had left at least a drop or two in the tankards that I might have had one more 'sweet warm refreshment' pass my lips as well."
Frankie: (Leaving the room.) Geeze...that woman....I don't know what I'm.....
Me: "Whew."
Saturday, January 19, 2013
The other me
I'm usually able to keep my emotions under control, so nobody knows what's going on just below the surface. Oh, occasionally I will get up on my soapbox and rant for a few minutes, or I will seethe over what some politician says or does, or I'll even shoot somebody 'a look' from time to time when I can't believe what they have allowed their child to do in public.
But the other me, is very, very private and generally nobody knows what is happening just below my well cosmetic-ed face, and placid body language. I suppose it is the same with all of us.
The last few days however, a very emotional me has been bubbling toward the top. I want to weep, and weep, and weep. I can be walking down the hall and have a thought pop into my head and I can feel the tears just behind my mascaraed lashes.
I see the new commercial on television of young ladies who have joined the Air Force and are proudly serving the nation, and I burst into tears. Things, tiny, teeny things make me puddle up. I began to think maybe I've been so emotional because I'm finally (physically) feeling better, and am so relieved I was not going 'mental' I want to cry the 'happy' kind of tears.
However, truth be told, I know I just want a festering old wound to heal. I'm tired of putting hydrogen peroxide and antibiotic lotions on it. I need to talk about it, then clean it, place lotion on it, bandage it, and never look at it again until the bandage has fallen off of it by its own accord, and there is a clean, pink, healed scar in it's place.
The last third of my married life was no picnic. I won't go into the sad details, just know it was a downward slide on a hot, greased, unmanned attraction at an amusement park.
Toward the end of the ride, my husband would lose his temper to the point I was actually afraid of him. He would get angry at me over the most simple things, ranting and raving. All I could do was stand there and take it. I was lucky, he never did any physical damage, but I got some pretty serious wounds on the inside. A few weeks before he passed away, he blew up at me because I had an upset stomach and had my medications sitting out to take, but had not yet ingested them. When he asked my why I had not taken them, I said I wanted to take them after breakfast, because my stomach was already upset and didn't want to take them on an empty stomach. He got livid, storming on and on about they should always be taken at the same time, blah, blah, blah...for a good five minutes. I was thankful the kitchen island was between us, I had never seen him so angry. When he was done, he abruptly, turned a foot, and stormed into the garage. I was stunned.
I remember taking my coffee and going to the office. I sat the mug down, leaned both hands against my storage cabinet, and thought (loudly, in my head) "I'm done, I am so done." And for the first time I actually thought about leaving everything, house, pets, husband, everything behind. I will never forget that moment.
Shortly after, my husband came back into the house, I fixed breakfast, and our day began. It was as though his blow-up had ever happened at all.
Like always, there was never an I'm sorry, or explanation for his behavior. And I was always to afraid to do anything else except to say I'm sorry. It was never about trying on purpose to upset him, it just seemed to happen. Sadly, I never knew what would bring an angry episode on, so I never knew when to expect one.
Anyway, this week I've been thinking a lot about those episodes. I wish I knew a good psychic who can connect with those who have passed on. I would love to hear from my husband. All I want to hear are those two words. I'm sorry. What peace of mind that would bring me, I just want to know it was not me that caused those years of anger, but the hidden demons deep within the stranger who overtook my husband's body when we came home from the hospital after his heart surgery.
Maybe, what has happened this week is, I finally feel, on some spiritual level, he telling me 'I'm sorry'. Maybe that is why I'm so close to opening the floodgate of tears I have wanted to shed for so long. Maybe, I should finally let them wash over my emotional wound and clean out the fester, so I can at last, apply a sterile bandage and wait for the scar to form and heal.
But the other me, is very, very private and generally nobody knows what is happening just below my well cosmetic-ed face, and placid body language. I suppose it is the same with all of us.
The last few days however, a very emotional me has been bubbling toward the top. I want to weep, and weep, and weep. I can be walking down the hall and have a thought pop into my head and I can feel the tears just behind my mascaraed lashes.
I see the new commercial on television of young ladies who have joined the Air Force and are proudly serving the nation, and I burst into tears. Things, tiny, teeny things make me puddle up. I began to think maybe I've been so emotional because I'm finally (physically) feeling better, and am so relieved I was not going 'mental' I want to cry the 'happy' kind of tears.
However, truth be told, I know I just want a festering old wound to heal. I'm tired of putting hydrogen peroxide and antibiotic lotions on it. I need to talk about it, then clean it, place lotion on it, bandage it, and never look at it again until the bandage has fallen off of it by its own accord, and there is a clean, pink, healed scar in it's place.
The last third of my married life was no picnic. I won't go into the sad details, just know it was a downward slide on a hot, greased, unmanned attraction at an amusement park.
Toward the end of the ride, my husband would lose his temper to the point I was actually afraid of him. He would get angry at me over the most simple things, ranting and raving. All I could do was stand there and take it. I was lucky, he never did any physical damage, but I got some pretty serious wounds on the inside. A few weeks before he passed away, he blew up at me because I had an upset stomach and had my medications sitting out to take, but had not yet ingested them. When he asked my why I had not taken them, I said I wanted to take them after breakfast, because my stomach was already upset and didn't want to take them on an empty stomach. He got livid, storming on and on about they should always be taken at the same time, blah, blah, blah...for a good five minutes. I was thankful the kitchen island was between us, I had never seen him so angry. When he was done, he abruptly, turned a foot, and stormed into the garage. I was stunned.
I remember taking my coffee and going to the office. I sat the mug down, leaned both hands against my storage cabinet, and thought (loudly, in my head) "I'm done, I am so done." And for the first time I actually thought about leaving everything, house, pets, husband, everything behind. I will never forget that moment.
Shortly after, my husband came back into the house, I fixed breakfast, and our day began. It was as though his blow-up had ever happened at all.
Like always, there was never an I'm sorry, or explanation for his behavior. And I was always to afraid to do anything else except to say I'm sorry. It was never about trying on purpose to upset him, it just seemed to happen. Sadly, I never knew what would bring an angry episode on, so I never knew when to expect one.
Anyway, this week I've been thinking a lot about those episodes. I wish I knew a good psychic who can connect with those who have passed on. I would love to hear from my husband. All I want to hear are those two words. I'm sorry. What peace of mind that would bring me, I just want to know it was not me that caused those years of anger, but the hidden demons deep within the stranger who overtook my husband's body when we came home from the hospital after his heart surgery.
Maybe, what has happened this week is, I finally feel, on some spiritual level, he telling me 'I'm sorry'. Maybe that is why I'm so close to opening the floodgate of tears I have wanted to shed for so long. Maybe, I should finally let them wash over my emotional wound and clean out the fester, so I can at last, apply a sterile bandage and wait for the scar to form and heal.
Friday, January 18, 2013
I'm.....
....keeping a secret, a very, very big secret.
And, oh, how badly I want to 'spill the beans'...but I can't.
Dang it.
And, oh, how badly I want to 'spill the beans'...but I can't.
Dang it.
Thursday, January 17, 2013
Hmmm???
Frankie is in the bathroom. She is muttering and sputtering about something but I can't make out the words.
I pressed my ear against the door, and as I did it flung open...I dang near fell into her as she came charging out.
She is holding two rolls of toilet paper. She is fuming, I swear I can see smoke coming out of her ears. Why the heck is she so upset?
Frankie: "See this?" She has shoved a new roll of tissue under my nose. "A person cannot start the roll without destroying at least three layers."
She then shoved a second roll under my nose. The ends of which is all frayed, while a tiny portion is still intact, firmly glued together.
Frankie: "I hate this, a person should NOT have to work so hard to retrieve a small bit of paper with which to wipe herself. You HAVE GOT TO STOP BUYING CHEAP TOILET PAPER."
By now she has me backed into the linen closet door, it appears she expects me to correct this injustice immediately if not sooner. I must admit I was a bit taken aback. My mind is flinging hither and yon trying to think of a way to pacify her.
Frankie: "Really, really! We can't afford better bath tissue?"
Ah-ha, now I have a point to make. This time I take Frankie by the hand and lead her to the office. I know I have to make the most of this visual aid, so I choose wisely.
Clickity, click, click. I type in "Prices of toilet paper-expensive to cheap." Frankie, looking over my shoulder was not impressed.
Frankie: "This is not helping," She points to the first item..."that's for thirty rolls, the bottom item is for four, naturally that's going to be cheaper."
Okay, she has a point. So, I go to the store that delivers my groceries, and clickity, click, click I type in toilet tissue. There we make the following comparisons. 12 rolls for $8.29, or $3.11/100sf. 18 rolls for $6.99 or $1.08/100sf. "Which is the better buy?" I ask Frankie.
Frankie: "18 rolls for $6.99."
Me: "Right! So, which TP do you think I'm going to buy?"
Frankie: "The one for $6.99."
Me: "Right again."
Frankie: (Starting to sputter.) "But, but, that kind is so awful...it frays when you wipe, It's hard to start the roll, the glue sometimes makes the squares stick together on one side a third of the way down the roll. Surely we can buy some a little bit better."
Drum roll please!!!!!!
Me: "Tell ya what, YOU spend your money on the toilet tissue, and we will use whatever kind you want. The best, the softest, the one that is scented...whatever...it will be up to you."
By now Frankie has finished scrolling through the TP section of my shopping place. Great contemplation going on.
She pushes away from the computer desk and silently walks away.
Suddenly, she does not seem too upset with my choice of toilet tissue. Money talks.
I pressed my ear against the door, and as I did it flung open...I dang near fell into her as she came charging out.
She is holding two rolls of toilet paper. She is fuming, I swear I can see smoke coming out of her ears. Why the heck is she so upset?
Frankie: "See this?" She has shoved a new roll of tissue under my nose. "A person cannot start the roll without destroying at least three layers."
She then shoved a second roll under my nose. The ends of which is all frayed, while a tiny portion is still intact, firmly glued together.
Frankie: "I hate this, a person should NOT have to work so hard to retrieve a small bit of paper with which to wipe herself. You HAVE GOT TO STOP BUYING CHEAP TOILET PAPER."
By now she has me backed into the linen closet door, it appears she expects me to correct this injustice immediately if not sooner. I must admit I was a bit taken aback. My mind is flinging hither and yon trying to think of a way to pacify her.
Frankie: "Really, really! We can't afford better bath tissue?"
Ah-ha, now I have a point to make. This time I take Frankie by the hand and lead her to the office. I know I have to make the most of this visual aid, so I choose wisely.
Clickity, click, click. I type in "Prices of toilet paper-expensive to cheap." Frankie, looking over my shoulder was not impressed.
Frankie: "This is not helping," She points to the first item..."that's for thirty rolls, the bottom item is for four, naturally that's going to be cheaper."
Okay, she has a point. So, I go to the store that delivers my groceries, and clickity, click, click I type in toilet tissue. There we make the following comparisons. 12 rolls for $8.29, or $3.11/100sf. 18 rolls for $6.99 or $1.08/100sf. "Which is the better buy?" I ask Frankie.
Frankie: "18 rolls for $6.99."
Me: "Right! So, which TP do you think I'm going to buy?"
Frankie: "The one for $6.99."
Me: "Right again."
Frankie: (Starting to sputter.) "But, but, that kind is so awful...it frays when you wipe, It's hard to start the roll, the glue sometimes makes the squares stick together on one side a third of the way down the roll. Surely we can buy some a little bit better."
Drum roll please!!!!!!
Me: "Tell ya what, YOU spend your money on the toilet tissue, and we will use whatever kind you want. The best, the softest, the one that is scented...whatever...it will be up to you."
By now Frankie has finished scrolling through the TP section of my shopping place. Great contemplation going on.
She pushes away from the computer desk and silently walks away.
Suddenly, she does not seem too upset with my choice of toilet tissue. Money talks.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Seek....
and you shall find.
Words to live by. Yesterday's blog was about my slippers, my oft' repaired, silly looking, black dance slippers. And how I could use a new pair, but have been unable to find them locally any more.
Well, thanks to my blog, and my loyal followers, my adopted granddaughter, Alyse, posted on Facebook shortly after reading my blog; she thought she had found my beloved footwear on Amazon (imagine you see trademark, copyright information here)***.
I'm sure I looked there at one point, and I did check the Dr. Scholl's website, too, but did not find them there, so, of course, I never did check back. Assuming, once not there, never not there, I simply gave up. By now it didn't matter I couldn't find them anywhere, because I discovered that electrical tape was a perfect match for the tears and holes that appeared in my slippers, I had my own Shoe Repair Business up and running.
Alyse was pretty certain the slippers on Amazon*** were the ones I was looking for and God love her, even offered to order them for me. I immediately had my fingers race across the Internet to check out this marvelous news.
DAAAA, DAAAA!!!!
Yep, there they were, my wonderful, wonderful slippers...on the cheap...two bucks cheaper than the ones I bought in the store. What good news, I immediately...I'm talked fast, really, really fast. I clicked the quantity box for 2 pair and proceeded to checkout.
Oh my gosh.....
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
and
Unbelievably, to my delight, my account showed there was still money on the gift card I had received for Christmas from my son, Pat. Just enough to pay for my new slippers, how cool is that?????
So today's blog goes out to Alyse and Pat with a great big thank you surrounded by a big bunch of hugs and kisses.
And, to Michelle and Tyson, that goes for both of you, too. Cause, without all the good laughs we had over my electrical tape slippers, new ones would not be winging their way to me as I write.
Ahhh, life is good, life is good.
Words to live by. Yesterday's blog was about my slippers, my oft' repaired, silly looking, black dance slippers. And how I could use a new pair, but have been unable to find them locally any more.
Well, thanks to my blog, and my loyal followers, my adopted granddaughter, Alyse, posted on Facebook shortly after reading my blog; she thought she had found my beloved footwear on Amazon (imagine you see trademark, copyright information here)***.
I'm sure I looked there at one point, and I did check the Dr. Scholl's website, too, but did not find them there, so, of course, I never did check back. Assuming, once not there, never not there, I simply gave up. By now it didn't matter I couldn't find them anywhere, because I discovered that electrical tape was a perfect match for the tears and holes that appeared in my slippers, I had my own Shoe Repair Business up and running.
Alyse was pretty certain the slippers on Amazon*** were the ones I was looking for and God love her, even offered to order them for me. I immediately had my fingers race across the Internet to check out this marvelous news.
DAAAA, DAAAA!!!!
Yep, there they were, my wonderful, wonderful slippers...on the cheap...two bucks cheaper than the ones I bought in the store. What good news, I immediately...I'm talked fast, really, really fast. I clicked the quantity box for 2 pair and proceeded to checkout.
Oh my gosh.....
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
and
Unbelievably, to my delight, my account showed there was still money on the gift card I had received for Christmas from my son, Pat. Just enough to pay for my new slippers, how cool is that?????
So today's blog goes out to Alyse and Pat with a great big thank you surrounded by a big bunch of hugs and kisses.
And, to Michelle and Tyson, that goes for both of you, too. Cause, without all the good laughs we had over my electrical tape slippers, new ones would not be winging their way to me as I write.
Ahhh, life is good, life is good.
Monday, January 14, 2013
Good laughs
I had company yesterday afternoon. My granddaughter and her family came to visit.
There was much laughter, mediocre pizza...great disappointment national chain...and wonderful conversation ensued.
Did I mention there was much laughter?
Oh, yeah, there's a story coming.
A few years ago Dr. Scholls, the foot guy, was selling 'dance slippers'. The idea being if you were at an affair, like a reception after a fancy wedding, you could take off your high-heeled shoes, and spend the evening dancing in these $10 slippers. (He might still have them for sale, but I can't find a store that carries them.)
Anyway, I bought myself a pair. Oh, they are so comfortable. Definitely for indoor wear only, but that is why I bought them. I love them. They have worn out, but since I can't replace them, I continually repair the pair I have, thanks to electrical tape that matches perfectly, a little time and a little patience. Did I mention I love them?
I just happened to have them on yesterday...they matched much better with my outfit than my bright red slippers.
I don't exactly remember what Tyson, Michelle and I were talking about, but Tyson happened to notice my footwear, and asked if they were indeed repaired. Six eyes immediately went to my black, Dr. Scholls slippers.
I proudly held both feet up so we could see them well, and I showed off my electrical tape repair job.
(Insert giggles here.)
Tyson announced he would be happy to help me throw them away.
Oh, how we laughed.
I told him, no, there was till a lot of wear in them...or, words to that effect and when the electrical tape begins to fray again, I will simply pull the old tape off and apply new.
During the fits of laughter Michelle said, she thought eventually all that would be left of the slippers would be electrical tape...and the two bows that decorate the toes of the slippers, but that I would probably still be wearing them.
Of course I would, once a woman finds a perfect pair of footwear she will do anything to keep them, especially since I can't seem to find a replacement anywhere.
Tyson said it would be a good challenge for Michelle to find me a new pair, and that just might be a good Christmas present for next year.
Good luck with that, sweetie pie...oh, and you don't have to wait for Christmas, okay?
There was much laughter, mediocre pizza...great disappointment national chain...and wonderful conversation ensued.
Did I mention there was much laughter?
Oh, yeah, there's a story coming.
A few years ago Dr. Scholls, the foot guy, was selling 'dance slippers'. The idea being if you were at an affair, like a reception after a fancy wedding, you could take off your high-heeled shoes, and spend the evening dancing in these $10 slippers. (He might still have them for sale, but I can't find a store that carries them.)
Anyway, I bought myself a pair. Oh, they are so comfortable. Definitely for indoor wear only, but that is why I bought them. I love them. They have worn out, but since I can't replace them, I continually repair the pair I have, thanks to electrical tape that matches perfectly, a little time and a little patience. Did I mention I love them?
I just happened to have them on yesterday...they matched much better with my outfit than my bright red slippers.
I don't exactly remember what Tyson, Michelle and I were talking about, but Tyson happened to notice my footwear, and asked if they were indeed repaired. Six eyes immediately went to my black, Dr. Scholls slippers.
I proudly held both feet up so we could see them well, and I showed off my electrical tape repair job.
(Insert giggles here.)
Tyson announced he would be happy to help me throw them away.
Oh, how we laughed.
I told him, no, there was till a lot of wear in them...or, words to that effect and when the electrical tape begins to fray again, I will simply pull the old tape off and apply new.
During the fits of laughter Michelle said, she thought eventually all that would be left of the slippers would be electrical tape...and the two bows that decorate the toes of the slippers, but that I would probably still be wearing them.
Of course I would, once a woman finds a perfect pair of footwear she will do anything to keep them, especially since I can't seem to find a replacement anywhere.
Tyson said it would be a good challenge for Michelle to find me a new pair, and that just might be a good Christmas present for next year.
Good luck with that, sweetie pie...oh, and you don't have to wait for Christmas, okay?
Saturday, January 12, 2013
I wish I could fly...
Fly Away
I wish that I could fly
Into the sky
So very high
Just like a dragonfly
I'd fly above the trees
Over the seas in all degrees
To anywhere I please
Oh I want to get away
I want to fly away
Yeah yeah yeah
Let's go and see the stars
The milky way or even Mars
Where it could just be ours
Let's fade into the sun
Let your spirit fly
Where we are one
Just for a little fun
Oh oh oh yeah !
I want to get away
I want to fly away
Yeah yeah yeah.
Lyrics, Lenny Kravitz
I slept in this morning and when I got to the kitchen Frankie was already there sitting at the dinette table, still in jammy's, and with bed head. Her fingers were interlaced around a steaming cup of coffee.
She looked very pensive, a dreamy look on her face. I was not sure she had noticed I had arrived and I didn't want to startle her, so quietly as I could I poured myself a cup of coffee.
Frankie: (Sighing) "I wish I could fly."
Me: "You mean take a trip somewhere?"
Frankie: "No, I mean fly. Like a bird"
Frankie is very visual, she talks (a lot) with her hands and arms, which she has extended straight outward at her sides. Slowly, gently she dips them up and down, like we've all seen planes do during a fly-byes or fly-overs.
She goes back to hugging her coffee mug.
I sit quietly across from her contemplating what to say. I can tell when something meaningful is going on in her head, and I don't want to break the spell, so we both sit in silence.
Me: "I think I know what you mean." I say in honest seriousness.
Frankie: "Really?" Her tone is quizzical, as though she thinks I'm trying to placate her.
Me: "No, seriously." I say. I walk my butt to the edge of my chair, square my shoulders and prepare my story. "There are times in my life when I have a great desire to be a bird myself. For instance, when I see a red-tailed hawk soaring overhead on a hot August afternoon. I'd give anything to be in the air with it, breeze in my face, circling, circling, circling. I can't begin to imagine what it must be seeing, and how it must be feeling to be free and unencumbered by land.
Frankie: "Yeah, yeah!" There is a certain excitement in her voice, and she inches forward in her chair.
I love a captive audience so I continue.
Me: "I remember one spring day the sky was filled with a mass of pinkish white, with touches of grey cumulus clouds. They reminded me of cones of cotton candy you find at a fair. I noticed tiny black objects coming in and out of them. What the heck? I dashed inside and grabbed my binoculars. When I got back outside I aimed the lenses at the black dots, and was surprised to see the dots were seagulls. I was fascinated, I hung the binoculars around my neck and watched the black dots for a long time. I swear these gulls were playing hide and seek, or perhaps getting themselves a shower in the moisture laden clouds. How I wish I could have been playing with them."
The dreamy look is back on Frankie's face, and I know she is envisioning the gulls, clouds and spring afternoon.
My coffee mug is empty, I walk to the sink and set my mug inside.
Me: "Last story, I promise. One summer evening I was standing at the front storm door. There on the electrical wire was a line of little birds. Overhead, two swallows were swooping in close to the wire and the little birds would get very excited nearly losing their balance as they tried to touch the parents mouths. But, at the last instant, the parent would fly away. What were these adults trying to do? I watched in wonder. Time and time again the parent would fly in close, the young would stretch out, the parent would fly away. It seemed to me this was a learning experience, but I was not understanding. Then I remembered swallows catch their food on the fly. Perhaps, the parent was saying. 'Yes, I have the food, but I am no longer going to bring it to you. If you want it, you must fly for it.' This activity went on for a few evenings, and then as suddenly as they had come, swallows were gone. I have never been privileged to see this activity ever again."
Frankie sat in silence.
Me: "So, I do understand your desire to fly like a bird. How marvelous would it be to soar like a red-tail hawk on a summer afternoon, (I extend my arms outward, and gently dip my wings up and down, in fly-over, fly-by action)? Or to bathe in mist of puffy, silken clouds, or be a feathered teacher?"
Frankie leaped out of her chair, a broad smile on her face. I think she knew I did understand. She grabbed me by the hand and pulled me toward the front door.
Frankie: "Let's bird watch for a while."
"I want to get away
I want to fly away
Yeah yeah yeah"
Lenny Kravitz
I want to fly away
Yeah yeah yeah"
Lenny Kravitz
Friday, January 11, 2013
Under the weather
If you happen to be a friend on Facebook. You know I've been under the weather for a month now. I've been blaming 'the flu shot', lots of holiday visitors, the general public, everything and everybody under the sun. Frankly, I don't know why I'm not a hundred percent.
Maybe it's the winter.
Maybe it's all in my head.
Maybe I simply just have to stop thinking about it.
It is certainly a malady I can't put my finger on. No, I don't need to go to a doctor, yes, I am taking my prescribed medications, and my daily vitamins.
No, I'm not getting enough sleep, but that's my fault, because I have learned I'm a night person and do my best thinking and can accomplish much more after 10PM than any other time of the day. During the day my mind is cluttered with everything I must do, I spend the mornings at work, so that I have to dash around in the afternoon trying to accomplish chores. Since I can only think and DO one thing at a time now I find I
a.) start a chore,
b.) get side tracked,
c.) walk into a room and find a job half done,
d.) complete that task,
e.) go back to the room from which I had come, and
f.) find a job half done there.
That, friends, is how my days go. Eventually I accomplish all the chores, and after watching three or four hours of evening TV I should toddle off to bed. But, at last my mind is clear of clutter, and I can really get some work done. My computer and I buzz and hum for hours. I pump out work a human possessed.
I've found my mind is so clear at night I can do my Lumosity challenges with lightening speed. My BPI has jumped from 171 to almost 800 in the matter of two months...hey, that's just about the time I began to feel under the weather. Do you suppose there is a correlation?
Maybe, I should
a.) eat proper meals
b.) exercise
c.) get plenty of rest
d.) stop complaining and whining
e.) enjoy life
f.) take two aspirin and call a friend every day.
I hereby vow I will not blame the flu shot, nor visitors, not the public in general, nor anything or anybody else for how I feel. We are all in charge of our own destinies, so from today on it's gonna' be mind over matter, baby, mind over matter.
Maybe it's the winter.
Maybe it's all in my head.
Maybe I simply just have to stop thinking about it.
It is certainly a malady I can't put my finger on. No, I don't need to go to a doctor, yes, I am taking my prescribed medications, and my daily vitamins.
No, I'm not getting enough sleep, but that's my fault, because I have learned I'm a night person and do my best thinking and can accomplish much more after 10PM than any other time of the day. During the day my mind is cluttered with everything I must do, I spend the mornings at work, so that I have to dash around in the afternoon trying to accomplish chores. Since I can only think and DO one thing at a time now I find I
a.) start a chore,
b.) get side tracked,
c.) walk into a room and find a job half done,
d.) complete that task,
e.) go back to the room from which I had come, and
f.) find a job half done there.
That, friends, is how my days go. Eventually I accomplish all the chores, and after watching three or four hours of evening TV I should toddle off to bed. But, at last my mind is clear of clutter, and I can really get some work done. My computer and I buzz and hum for hours. I pump out work a human possessed.
I've found my mind is so clear at night I can do my Lumosity challenges with lightening speed. My BPI has jumped from 171 to almost 800 in the matter of two months...hey, that's just about the time I began to feel under the weather. Do you suppose there is a correlation?
Maybe, I should
a.) eat proper meals
b.) exercise
c.) get plenty of rest
d.) stop complaining and whining
e.) enjoy life
f.) take two aspirin and call a friend every day.
I hereby vow I will not blame the flu shot, nor visitors, not the public in general, nor anything or anybody else for how I feel. We are all in charge of our own destinies, so from today on it's gonna' be mind over matter, baby, mind over matter.
Thursday, January 10, 2013
Morbidity
It surprises me I have a morbid side. I've no idea how long I've had this trait, but ever since I started watching the Investigation Discovery channel I'm constantly amazed how horrid we humans can be. The ways people come up with to destroy other people are so disgusting I can't even begin to write about them, and wouldn't anyway, because we see it on the news every single day.
I've noticed the ID channel has started running a show called Ice Cold Killers. Each show revolves around some horrible incident that has taken place in Alaska...Alaska...Alaska. The last American frontier. A place of magnificent beauty, serenity, and wide open spaces. I admire the people who live there in conditions I, frankly, find hard to imagine. There are communities with no phones, electricity, comforts I take for granted every single day of my life. Could I live there? I don't think so. Way to wild for me.
I could have gone across America in a Conestoga Wagon, and believe I did in a former life, I've got that kind of pioneering spirit. But somehow I can't envision myself loading up a rental truck with all my personal belongings and hauling my wrinkled, sorry, a-- up a long, lonely, dark, secluded highway, to live the rest of my life in the long, lonely, dark, secluded wilderness that is Alaska.
I've always envisioned our 49th state to be the most safe to live, people friendly, seclusion acceptable, everybody doing their own thing in the most innocent of ways, simply showing the human race still has the perseverance and independence to survive the most primal conditions. So, how could one person be so horrible to another in such a magnificent atmosphere? Check out Ice Cold Killers, and you will find out. I tell ya', I was devastated to discover there is evil even there.
Which brings me back to today's blog title. Morbidity. What the heck is the matter with me? I was so struck by the evil in Alaska, I could not, not watch. Each violent act filled me with disillusionment and sorrow. I always thought the rest of the world would could go to heck in a hand basket, but beautiful pristine Alaska would forever be the place to escape to, it would always be a safe, secure harbor in the sea of evil. Not so, not so, lunatics are everywhere.
So, if you don't want to become disillusioned, and your mind's eye still has that secret place where everything is well, don't watch the Investigation Discovery channel. I hate to say, I'm kind of addicted it, but I don't want you to be...so, don't start to watch...it will fill you with morbidity.
I've noticed the ID channel has started running a show called Ice Cold Killers. Each show revolves around some horrible incident that has taken place in Alaska...Alaska...Alaska. The last American frontier. A place of magnificent beauty, serenity, and wide open spaces. I admire the people who live there in conditions I, frankly, find hard to imagine. There are communities with no phones, electricity, comforts I take for granted every single day of my life. Could I live there? I don't think so. Way to wild for me.
I could have gone across America in a Conestoga Wagon, and believe I did in a former life, I've got that kind of pioneering spirit. But somehow I can't envision myself loading up a rental truck with all my personal belongings and hauling my wrinkled, sorry, a-- up a long, lonely, dark, secluded highway, to live the rest of my life in the long, lonely, dark, secluded wilderness that is Alaska.
I've always envisioned our 49th state to be the most safe to live, people friendly, seclusion acceptable, everybody doing their own thing in the most innocent of ways, simply showing the human race still has the perseverance and independence to survive the most primal conditions. So, how could one person be so horrible to another in such a magnificent atmosphere? Check out Ice Cold Killers, and you will find out. I tell ya', I was devastated to discover there is evil even there.
Which brings me back to today's blog title. Morbidity. What the heck is the matter with me? I was so struck by the evil in Alaska, I could not, not watch. Each violent act filled me with disillusionment and sorrow. I always thought the rest of the world would could go to heck in a hand basket, but beautiful pristine Alaska would forever be the place to escape to, it would always be a safe, secure harbor in the sea of evil. Not so, not so, lunatics are everywhere.
So, if you don't want to become disillusioned, and your mind's eye still has that secret place where everything is well, don't watch the Investigation Discovery channel. I hate to say, I'm kind of addicted it, but I don't want you to be...so, don't start to watch...it will fill you with morbidity.
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
Shield Bug
Some of you might remember last fall, I mentioned I saw a Shield Bug in my house and didn't pick it up and place outside because it saw so cold. By evening it had moved around to some secret place and I didn't see it again...until yesterday. There it was out in my garage, clinging to a drapery I had hung several years ago in an attempt to block off a portion of it to make myself a laundry room of sorts.
At first I thought the spot was a hunk of lint, or perhaps a bit of dried mud clinging there, but closer
inspection divulged it a bug...my Shield Bug. Where has it been all these months? How has it managed to survive? Will it still be around come March when I feel I can safely return it to the wild? What the heck is it eating? What DO Shield Bugs eat?
Hmmm??? I feel research coming on. I'll be back.
Okay, here's the scoop.
Shield bugs are mainly phytophagous (feeding on plant sap), though a few are carnivorous and may even be useful in controlling pests. They are often called Stink-Bugs because they can produce a horrible smell. In the adults the noxiously smelling fluid is produced by a pair of glands in the thorax and released via a pair of pits on the metathorax, in the nymphs there are 3 pairs of scent glands in the abdomen and the liquid is released through special openings in between the 3/4, the 4/5 and the 5/6 abdominal segments. The scent does work though and is known to repel certain vertebrate predators, in some species it will strongly stain your fingers like iodine, and the smell gets right up your nose, yuck.
Some Shield Bugs are pests, i.e. the Harlequin bug which is a pest of cabbages, Antestiopsis spp. Which are a pest on coffee and Nezara viridula which is cosmopolitan (found all over the world) and a pest of a wide range of common crops such as tomatoes, beans and cotton. The phytophagous Shield Bugs all have symbiotic bacteria in their guts in order to help them digest the food they eat, the eggs are smeared with an inoculation of these symbionts when laid, which ensures that the young, which eat their eggshell on hatching, have enough of them to digest their next meal.
Now, I realize this is probably more than you ever wanted to know about bugs, and Shield Bugs in particular, but, I have to wonder even more just exactly what my Shield Bug is eating. Sure, I have a few plants in the house but they are mostly in the sun room, the farthest room from the garage, and I confess I have never seen the bug flying through the house to get to my greenery...besides...I have the back two rooms of the house blocked off with a sheet during the winter so I don't have to heat them, and so their colder air does not invade my warmth.
Still????? How is this creature surviving. I checked out a web page for teachers who encourage students to become interested in nature, and the suggestion was to wash a green bean, to provide food for a Shield Bug. Tee, hee, how odd is that going to be when I order one green bean next time I order groceries.
I'm thinking I just might let things as they are. It seems we are living in perfect harmony, so why disrupt nature. I will hope my bug puts in an appearance from time to time, to let me know it is doing okay, while I keep my hope alive I can return it to 'nature' in the next few months.
Shield Bug information from earthlife.net, Gordon's Shield Bug page.
At first I thought the spot was a hunk of lint, or perhaps a bit of dried mud clinging there, but closer
inspection divulged it a bug...my Shield Bug. Where has it been all these months? How has it managed to survive? Will it still be around come March when I feel I can safely return it to the wild? What the heck is it eating? What DO Shield Bugs eat?
Hmmm??? I feel research coming on. I'll be back.
Okay, here's the scoop.
Shield bugs are mainly phytophagous (feeding on plant sap), though a few are carnivorous and may even be useful in controlling pests. They are often called Stink-Bugs because they can produce a horrible smell. In the adults the noxiously smelling fluid is produced by a pair of glands in the thorax and released via a pair of pits on the metathorax, in the nymphs there are 3 pairs of scent glands in the abdomen and the liquid is released through special openings in between the 3/4, the 4/5 and the 5/6 abdominal segments. The scent does work though and is known to repel certain vertebrate predators, in some species it will strongly stain your fingers like iodine, and the smell gets right up your nose, yuck.
Some Shield Bugs are pests, i.e. the Harlequin bug which is a pest of cabbages, Antestiopsis spp. Which are a pest on coffee and Nezara viridula which is cosmopolitan (found all over the world) and a pest of a wide range of common crops such as tomatoes, beans and cotton. The phytophagous Shield Bugs all have symbiotic bacteria in their guts in order to help them digest the food they eat, the eggs are smeared with an inoculation of these symbionts when laid, which ensures that the young, which eat their eggshell on hatching, have enough of them to digest their next meal.
Now, I realize this is probably more than you ever wanted to know about bugs, and Shield Bugs in particular, but, I have to wonder even more just exactly what my Shield Bug is eating. Sure, I have a few plants in the house but they are mostly in the sun room, the farthest room from the garage, and I confess I have never seen the bug flying through the house to get to my greenery...besides...I have the back two rooms of the house blocked off with a sheet during the winter so I don't have to heat them, and so their colder air does not invade my warmth.
Still????? How is this creature surviving. I checked out a web page for teachers who encourage students to become interested in nature, and the suggestion was to wash a green bean, to provide food for a Shield Bug. Tee, hee, how odd is that going to be when I order one green bean next time I order groceries.
I'm thinking I just might let things as they are. It seems we are living in perfect harmony, so why disrupt nature. I will hope my bug puts in an appearance from time to time, to let me know it is doing okay, while I keep my hope alive I can return it to 'nature' in the next few months.
Shield Bug information from earthlife.net, Gordon's Shield Bug page.
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Out of sorts
I don't know what's wrong with me. I've been out of sorts ever since the middle of December when I got this year's flu shot...I'm not 100% sick but not feeling 100% well either. I'm achy, have no appetite, get the chills, feel feverish, get stopped up---dry out, blow, blow, blow my nose, and sometimes get so exhausted I barely have strength to flop on the sofa to take a rest.
In November 2011 I got a flu shot. I got so sick, I was visiting emergency wards and doctoring like crazy. No one in the medical community could really pin-point what was wrong with me, but according to my symptoms they finally said I was suffering from Vertigo and Anxiety Attacks. Boy was I anxious? You bet ya! I thought I was having heart attacks, my vision was out of whack and some times I was so dizzy I could barely stand. There was a heavy knot at the nape of my neck, that started to spread left and right toward my ears. I was scared, really, really scared.
I was finally prescribed an anxiety medication, and that helped a lot. On the down side, I got so paranoid about getting ill in public I became a recluse. And I remain so today. I have to make myself leave the house.
Now, 2011's symptoms are back, (except for the panic attacks---thank you medication), and I'm starting to wonder if the flu shots have something to do with my decline in health. I got my flu shot on December 10, 1012, and that is just about the time I started feeling like crap. Of course, maybe here is a bug going around, and without the flu shot I might even be feeling worse, regardless, I just want to feel like my old self again.
I've already cancelled two social activities this week, and will probably cancel the remaining two today. I'm simply not up to 'acting' chipper, affable, cheery, and enthusiastic when all I want to do is lay down and take a nap.
But, I am ever the optimist, this will not last forever, and I will struggle through to the day the sun comes out and warms my body to the bone; to the day when I eat something and actually enjoy it; and to the day I have the energy to get through my daily activities with the excitement and enthusiasm of my normal self.
In the meantime, I will pretend I'm well.
In November 2011 I got a flu shot. I got so sick, I was visiting emergency wards and doctoring like crazy. No one in the medical community could really pin-point what was wrong with me, but according to my symptoms they finally said I was suffering from Vertigo and Anxiety Attacks. Boy was I anxious? You bet ya! I thought I was having heart attacks, my vision was out of whack and some times I was so dizzy I could barely stand. There was a heavy knot at the nape of my neck, that started to spread left and right toward my ears. I was scared, really, really scared.
I was finally prescribed an anxiety medication, and that helped a lot. On the down side, I got so paranoid about getting ill in public I became a recluse. And I remain so today. I have to make myself leave the house.
Now, 2011's symptoms are back, (except for the panic attacks---thank you medication), and I'm starting to wonder if the flu shots have something to do with my decline in health. I got my flu shot on December 10, 1012, and that is just about the time I started feeling like crap. Of course, maybe here is a bug going around, and without the flu shot I might even be feeling worse, regardless, I just want to feel like my old self again.
I've already cancelled two social activities this week, and will probably cancel the remaining two today. I'm simply not up to 'acting' chipper, affable, cheery, and enthusiastic when all I want to do is lay down and take a nap.
But, I am ever the optimist, this will not last forever, and I will struggle through to the day the sun comes out and warms my body to the bone; to the day when I eat something and actually enjoy it; and to the day I have the energy to get through my daily activities with the excitement and enthusiasm of my normal self.
In the meantime, I will pretend I'm well.
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Portlandia
I was talking with my daughter Karen last night on the phone. We do that about once a week, and it is amazing that the conversations sometimes last for an hour and a half. We discuss just about everything under the sun.
Last night the conversation eventually got around to TV and she asked me if I have ever watched the show Portlandia. I told her I had just recently begun to watch the show 'on demand' through my cable company.
"Oh my gosh," she exclaimed "I think it is my favorite show."
She even said it made her a little homesick, seeing some of the scenes they show of the Portland area. We were curious why they didn't include the SW area, and I giggled and said the SW area was 'not the in place to be' in Portland. It's a good place to live...but suburban 'dullsville' as far as activity goes.
However, if you want to get an honest idea of what it is like to live in Portland, and get to know the kind of people who live here Portlandia is the show for you.
I think a lot of people still think we ride around in horse drawn buggies, and have outhouses in our back yards. I can assure you that is not true. We are very, very modern...all the amenities anybody could ask for.
But, our outstanding qualities are; we are quirky, unique, incomparable, and according to one of our TV stations, UNSTOPPABLE. We are, we are!
We don't 'bundle up' unless the temperature is in the 20's. We don't use umbrellas. We wear shorts year round. We actually use public transportation. We are fitness freaks, (health clubs, gyms abound,) we walk rain or shine. We are 'green', love Starbucks, and as eclectic as 'all get out'.
And all this brings me back to my conversation with my daughter.
She said, she appreciated she was born in California, an actual native there, but that having grown up in Portland she could also appreciate the quaint humor of the show Portlandia.
I told her, "Yes, I think you have to be from the Pacific Northwest to appreciate it the wry humor and honesty of it."
To which she responded she was glad and she guessed, "You can take a girl out of the Portland, but you can never take Portland out of the girl."
Well said, Karen, well said.
So, folks, if you want to know what life is like here, tune in to Portlandia. Like Brits poke fun at themselves through humor, we do too. Try it, you just might like it.
Last night the conversation eventually got around to TV and she asked me if I have ever watched the show Portlandia. I told her I had just recently begun to watch the show 'on demand' through my cable company.
"Oh my gosh," she exclaimed "I think it is my favorite show."
She even said it made her a little homesick, seeing some of the scenes they show of the Portland area. We were curious why they didn't include the SW area, and I giggled and said the SW area was 'not the in place to be' in Portland. It's a good place to live...but suburban 'dullsville' as far as activity goes.
However, if you want to get an honest idea of what it is like to live in Portland, and get to know the kind of people who live here Portlandia is the show for you.
I think a lot of people still think we ride around in horse drawn buggies, and have outhouses in our back yards. I can assure you that is not true. We are very, very modern...all the amenities anybody could ask for.
But, our outstanding qualities are; we are quirky, unique, incomparable, and according to one of our TV stations, UNSTOPPABLE. We are, we are!
We don't 'bundle up' unless the temperature is in the 20's. We don't use umbrellas. We wear shorts year round. We actually use public transportation. We are fitness freaks, (health clubs, gyms abound,) we walk rain or shine. We are 'green', love Starbucks, and as eclectic as 'all get out'.
And all this brings me back to my conversation with my daughter.
She said, she appreciated she was born in California, an actual native there, but that having grown up in Portland she could also appreciate the quaint humor of the show Portlandia.
I told her, "Yes, I think you have to be from the Pacific Northwest to appreciate it the wry humor and honesty of it."
To which she responded she was glad and she guessed, "You can take a girl out of the Portland, but you can never take Portland out of the girl."
Well said, Karen, well said.
So, folks, if you want to know what life is like here, tune in to Portlandia. Like Brits poke fun at themselves through humor, we do too. Try it, you just might like it.
Friday, January 4, 2013
Love, love, love
My I-Ching did not have a confidence building report today, and I hate to say, since the first of the year, there has been much concern about my 'love life' when it come to my daily reports. I've been using I-Ching for quite a while and this concern about my personal love connection is very discerning. And, lest you think I protest too much, trust me, I don't want a 'love' in my life.
However, I would love, love in my life, and my idea of a perfect male/female relationship would be to have an uncommitted Mr. Gay Man squire me to a play from time to time, or treat me to great meal at restaurant I can't afford to frequent. In return, I would reciprocate with home cooked meals, climb a ladder (if that were something he were not incline to do) and be a shoulder for him to cry on because he is having as much trouble finding his perfect relationship as I am mine.
Perhaps the most perfect man to fit my description is Anderson Cooper. Ladies, is he not gorgeous? He is the height of gorgeous. I would love for him to be the one squire me about. Talk about eye-candy! We would be good for each other. He has as many idiosyncrasies as I do and if you watch his show at all, he is pretty much a stay at home kind of guy, I like staying home myself. He tries to eat healthy, but loves McDonald's food...how great is that. He will reluctantly try something new, regardless how gross and unpleasant it appears, and will honestly tell you that up to this year he had never tasted a pickle...and after trying one...swore he would never taste one again. What honesty...a guy...who tells the truth. Ooooh, and get this girls, he loves his mom. Talks about her all the time....
I'm telling you he is (at least for me) the perfect, perfect man. I could love him to death...well...after gushing so here I guess that is pretty obvious.
Okay, I know I'm waaay out of Anderson's league, and I'm willing to settle for an uncommitted Mr. Gay Man closer to home. So, if there is one out there, simply dial 555-1212, we'll work something out.
One last thing, Mr. Gay Man, it would help if you had an imaginary friend, my imaginary friend would like one.
Thursday, January 3, 2013
54...
...yes, it was 54 degrees in my house this morning. 54 degrees.
The wind...I was told at bedtime would cease to gust shortly after midnight. I was glad to hear that, my house is not constructed to take extremes in temperature.
In the summer if the outside temperature reaches 90 by 5 pm, the inside of my house has reached the same. I'm not happy about that but I have some pretty good fans, a window air conditioner, and strip down to shorts and a tank top and can survive pretty well.
However, in the winter, if the temperatures stay in the high 20's low 30's for a few days, I simply cannot keep my house warm. I could have the heat blasting all day and all night, but the wicked wind creeps in every nook and cranny it can find, laughing at my feeble attempts to stay warm.
My attire for the day---
Double pair of socks: Check
Thermals: Check
Sweat shirt and pants: Check
Heavy hand crocheted vest: Check
Hot coffee: Check
Brrr, even the bright sunny sky is no help, it is too cold to open the drapes, and too wind-chill factor cold to be outside to enjoy it. I feel so sorry for outdoor creatures, especially the tiny hummers, wrens, and sparrows. Wish I could bring them inside. No, wait...didn't I just get rid of a sun room full of birds? What am I thinking.
Anyway, I do have to laugh...at the weather people...when they are wrong. So sorry folks, the wind is still wind-ing. They told me last night the clouds will be coming in later this afternoon with a chance of rain. If the temperature rises, it might not be the freezing variety, guess it just depends on where the two weather patterns clash...hopefully not here.
If there is one weather pattern I dislike the most, it has to be an ice storm that brings down the power lines, that makes me lose power, that makes my house even colder, that makes me grumpy and very hard to live with.
So weather folks, all I really want it hear is that it's going to be 75 degrees, sunny, with a chance of as slight breeze every now and then. I won't believe you, but it sounds so lovely.
The wind...I was told at bedtime would cease to gust shortly after midnight. I was glad to hear that, my house is not constructed to take extremes in temperature.
In the summer if the outside temperature reaches 90 by 5 pm, the inside of my house has reached the same. I'm not happy about that but I have some pretty good fans, a window air conditioner, and strip down to shorts and a tank top and can survive pretty well.
However, in the winter, if the temperatures stay in the high 20's low 30's for a few days, I simply cannot keep my house warm. I could have the heat blasting all day and all night, but the wicked wind creeps in every nook and cranny it can find, laughing at my feeble attempts to stay warm.
My attire for the day---
Double pair of socks: Check
Thermals: Check
Sweat shirt and pants: Check
Heavy hand crocheted vest: Check
Hot coffee: Check
Brrr, even the bright sunny sky is no help, it is too cold to open the drapes, and too wind-chill factor cold to be outside to enjoy it. I feel so sorry for outdoor creatures, especially the tiny hummers, wrens, and sparrows. Wish I could bring them inside. No, wait...didn't I just get rid of a sun room full of birds? What am I thinking.
Anyway, I do have to laugh...at the weather people...when they are wrong. So sorry folks, the wind is still wind-ing. They told me last night the clouds will be coming in later this afternoon with a chance of rain. If the temperature rises, it might not be the freezing variety, guess it just depends on where the two weather patterns clash...hopefully not here.
If there is one weather pattern I dislike the most, it has to be an ice storm that brings down the power lines, that makes me lose power, that makes my house even colder, that makes me grumpy and very hard to live with.
So weather folks, all I really want it hear is that it's going to be 75 degrees, sunny, with a chance of as slight breeze every now and then. I won't believe you, but it sounds so lovely.
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
It's a new day...
...and a new year.
One could not ask for a better way to start a new year than to have a beautiful blue sky, crisp breeze, and a toasty warm house.
Well, actually the house is not toasty warm at all. It was not constructed to handle those gusts of wind that blow down the gorge, so my furry friends and I spent most of yesterday snuggled under a home made afghan, stirring occasionally to grab a bite to eat, or get a fresh cup of coffee.
I channel surfed most of the day, watching the Investigation Discovery channel, or Storage Wars. Have I mentioned I like Storage Wars? Especially Barry. He is so adorable, I could squeeze him to death. In one of the episodes he came charging in on a motor cycle. I was so surprised, I forgot to look at the bike...see, I told you...he's adorable. His mom is a hoot, too. He pretends he is annoyed with her, but I can tell they have a special bond, and that only makes him more endearing.
I also noticed the advertising...OMG...I must have watched more than 150 commercials for diet programs.
JOIN FOR FREE....MEALS WILL ARRIVE AT MY DOOR....ALL I HAVE TO DO IS EAT. And, here I thought the reason for dieting was not to eat.
Oh, oh, and coming in second...exercise equipment...that I can pay off in monthly installments...there must have been 150 commercials for them, too. In just fifteen minutes a day...the weight will literally ooze out of the bottoms of my feet; all I have to do is walk.
And...the pills...oh my gosh. Down a pill every morning...I need not do one single thing more, and the fat will magically disappear from my body. No kidding...I saw the pictures...that yellow goo just melted away. One woman gushed that her husband was so thrilled he sputtered "Look at you!!!!!" As though this miracle pill had somehow transformed her into Gina Lollobrigida. Good luck with THAT.
And coming in last...all the commercials for liposuction, laser treatments, tummy tucks and face lifts. I'm telling ya', my credit card could have been smoking...even if I had just tried a few of these tempting offers. It was easy for me to see the day was aimed at all those folks who in a drunken stupor New Year's Eve had avowed to lose some weight and get into shape in this bright and shiny new year.
According to the TV ads, it should be 'a piece of cake' to shed those extra pounds. 'A piece of cake' funny, that was just about the only thing I didn't see advertised yesterday. Cake plus cookies, colas, ice cream, chips and cheese.
I'm hungry. Hmmm, I wonder if that miracle pill works?
I'm coming chips...I'm coming cheese.
One could not ask for a better way to start a new year than to have a beautiful blue sky, crisp breeze, and a toasty warm house.
Well, actually the house is not toasty warm at all. It was not constructed to handle those gusts of wind that blow down the gorge, so my furry friends and I spent most of yesterday snuggled under a home made afghan, stirring occasionally to grab a bite to eat, or get a fresh cup of coffee.
I channel surfed most of the day, watching the Investigation Discovery channel, or Storage Wars. Have I mentioned I like Storage Wars? Especially Barry. He is so adorable, I could squeeze him to death. In one of the episodes he came charging in on a motor cycle. I was so surprised, I forgot to look at the bike...see, I told you...he's adorable. His mom is a hoot, too. He pretends he is annoyed with her, but I can tell they have a special bond, and that only makes him more endearing.
I also noticed the advertising...OMG...I must have watched more than 150 commercials for diet programs.
JOIN FOR FREE....MEALS WILL ARRIVE AT MY DOOR....ALL I HAVE TO DO IS EAT. And, here I thought the reason for dieting was not to eat.
Oh, oh, and coming in second...exercise equipment...that I can pay off in monthly installments...there must have been 150 commercials for them, too. In just fifteen minutes a day...the weight will literally ooze out of the bottoms of my feet; all I have to do is walk.
And...the pills...oh my gosh. Down a pill every morning...I need not do one single thing more, and the fat will magically disappear from my body. No kidding...I saw the pictures...that yellow goo just melted away. One woman gushed that her husband was so thrilled he sputtered "Look at you!!!!!" As though this miracle pill had somehow transformed her into Gina Lollobrigida. Good luck with THAT.
And coming in last...all the commercials for liposuction, laser treatments, tummy tucks and face lifts. I'm telling ya', my credit card could have been smoking...even if I had just tried a few of these tempting offers. It was easy for me to see the day was aimed at all those folks who in a drunken stupor New Year's Eve had avowed to lose some weight and get into shape in this bright and shiny new year.
According to the TV ads, it should be 'a piece of cake' to shed those extra pounds. 'A piece of cake' funny, that was just about the only thing I didn't see advertised yesterday. Cake plus cookies, colas, ice cream, chips and cheese.
I'm hungry. Hmmm, I wonder if that miracle pill works?
I'm coming chips...I'm coming cheese.
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