I was not sure what to write about today, and then...my phone rang.
Over the last couple of weeks I've been getting a great deal of calls from numbers I do not recognize. I don't even answer the phone, because my telephone talks as it is ringing and if I don't know the party calling, I simply let the voice mail take the message.
There is never a message left, so I know it is from a solicitor. This really makes me angry. I signed on to the NATIONAL NO CALL LIST years ago, and was told at the time this would be an on going choice and over time the calls would stop. And they did for quite some time...till, as I mentioned, a few weeks ago the calls started again.
So far I've been ignoring them, but it is very frustrating. So much so, that last week after getting repeated calls from the same number over and over again with ten minutes time I finally picked the phone up but didn't say anything. After a few seconds a male voice finally said hello.
In the most angry sounding voice I could muster, I shouted 'STOP CALLING ME' and hung up. For that evening the calls stopped. However, the next evening around 7PM another call from this number came again.
I was furious...answered the phone and warned the male caller that if he called again I would report him and his number to the better business bureau, and would go on line, find out who his superiors were, and he and they would be in big trouble. Of course, I had no idea if I could really do that, but the threat worked and I have not had a call from him since.
However, other nonsense calls continue. They come as 'toll-free' (four times over the last two weeks along with, V022714465308550, 505-555-1234, 507-540-0459, 602- 753-5617 homecare service, V22021351700196, and V21918272770011966. Plus calls from Le Sueur, MN, Phoenix, AZ and Marathon, FL. I don't know anybody living in any of these three places, and I'm pretty sure they don't know me either, otherwise they would have left a message.
I'm starting to think that some very old solicitation lists are making the rounds with my number on them. Frankly, I'm at my wits end. Do I try to get back on the no call list? Does a no call list really exist? Should I develop a system whereby I buy myself a whistle and blow into the phone as long and loudly as I can? And, what do I do if the call is a pre-recorded message? Yeah, what in the world do I do about that?
Grrrrrrrrrrr!
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Things I haven't told you!
I'm here to get you up to speed. We will not be traveling at the light of speed, 'er speed of light. I just got up and have only begun to drink my coffee.
I will start by telling you that I have a grandson getting married in early April. This of course, requires me to wear something other than the two dresses hanging in my closet that are approximately twenty years old.
This meant I had to look for something new, and I began perusing catalogs that arrived in my mail box, and going to various clothing sites on the Web in an attempt to find something that would look good on a lady of my size, age and stature. I was beginning to panic. And then, one glorious day I found a suit. It was a nice neutral color (beige), came in petite sizes, was not 'flashy' and so I thought. "By golly, this just might work." Plus, it was on sale...a sixty dollar suit, closing out for 29.99. This was going to be perfect. A few clicks of my mouse, and the suit was mine.
I tracked the progress of my suit for days, anticipation rising...yesterday, it arrived.
When the mailman came to the door I was ecstatic, practically ripped the bag out of his hands. (My first clue should have been the suit arrived in a plastic bag, not a box.). But, I was not deterred. I cut open that bag, inside was another see-through plastic bag with my precious suit in it.
I was just a tiny bit disappointed in the shade of 'beige', (to me it appeared a bit on the yellow side)...but I figured with the lovely, pastel, light weight cotton sweater I intended to wear under it, the color would still work well.
Yep, once I had the suit unfolded, it looked exactly like the one in the catalog, okay...is is still all good. I threw it on over all clothes I had on at the time, and it fit...wow, this was even better, and I could hardly wait til bedtime so I could check myself out 'for reals'.
Giggle, giggle.
If you didn't have to continue reading, I would ask you to close your eyes to envision this next part. But, Tee, hee, that is really not necessary. Tee, hee, hee. You will get the picture.
You ready? Bedtime has finally arrived. I put on my new suit.
Baaa, haaa, haaa.
I look like a 23 pound turkey,,,giggle, giggle,,,just before you put it in the oven to roast,,,giggle, giggle,,,for that long, baaaa, hhhhaaaa, teee, heee, anticipated holiday feast. Really, the suit is the exact shade of a turkey's skin. Heeee, heee, heee.
Looking in the full length mirror only enhanced what my vanity mirror already told me.
The skirt is at least four inches too long, the sleeves are about two inches too long as well. Those are easy fixes...heee, heee, heee....but those shoulder pads have got to go. Baaaa, haaaa, haaaa, they make me look like a 300 pound Center on some professional football team.
Haaaaaa, haaaaaa, haaaaa. Although the label inside the suit jacket specifically says this is a petite suit...in size 18, nothing is petite. Heeeee, heeee, haaaaa, haaaaa. Oh dear....am I going to be able to salvage any part of this suit to wear to a wedding without having all the guests wanting to extract some stuffing, and throw on a side of cranberry sauce to boot.
Giggle, giggle, tee, hee, Baaaaaa, Haaaaa, Haaaa.
There is no time left to find something new to wear, so altering this suit is my only option....no....wait...I still have my twenty year old dresses in the closet....if the thread holding them together has not deteriorated, I just might be able to wear one of those.
I will start by telling you that I have a grandson getting married in early April. This of course, requires me to wear something other than the two dresses hanging in my closet that are approximately twenty years old.
This meant I had to look for something new, and I began perusing catalogs that arrived in my mail box, and going to various clothing sites on the Web in an attempt to find something that would look good on a lady of my size, age and stature. I was beginning to panic. And then, one glorious day I found a suit. It was a nice neutral color (beige), came in petite sizes, was not 'flashy' and so I thought. "By golly, this just might work." Plus, it was on sale...a sixty dollar suit, closing out for 29.99. This was going to be perfect. A few clicks of my mouse, and the suit was mine.
I tracked the progress of my suit for days, anticipation rising...yesterday, it arrived.
When the mailman came to the door I was ecstatic, practically ripped the bag out of his hands. (My first clue should have been the suit arrived in a plastic bag, not a box.). But, I was not deterred. I cut open that bag, inside was another see-through plastic bag with my precious suit in it.
I was just a tiny bit disappointed in the shade of 'beige', (to me it appeared a bit on the yellow side)...but I figured with the lovely, pastel, light weight cotton sweater I intended to wear under it, the color would still work well.
Yep, once I had the suit unfolded, it looked exactly like the one in the catalog, okay...is is still all good. I threw it on over all clothes I had on at the time, and it fit...wow, this was even better, and I could hardly wait til bedtime so I could check myself out 'for reals'.
Giggle, giggle.
If you didn't have to continue reading, I would ask you to close your eyes to envision this next part. But, Tee, hee, that is really not necessary. Tee, hee, hee. You will get the picture.
You ready? Bedtime has finally arrived. I put on my new suit.
Baaa, haaa, haaa.
I look like a 23 pound turkey,,,giggle, giggle,,,just before you put it in the oven to roast,,,giggle, giggle,,,for that long, baaaa, hhhhaaaa, teee, heee, anticipated holiday feast. Really, the suit is the exact shade of a turkey's skin. Heeee, heee, heee.
Looking in the full length mirror only enhanced what my vanity mirror already told me.
The skirt is at least four inches too long, the sleeves are about two inches too long as well. Those are easy fixes...heee, heee, heee....but those shoulder pads have got to go. Baaaa, haaaa, haaaa, they make me look like a 300 pound Center on some professional football team.
Haaaaaa, haaaaaa, haaaaa. Although the label inside the suit jacket specifically says this is a petite suit...in size 18, nothing is petite. Heeeee, heeee, haaaaa, haaaaa. Oh dear....am I going to be able to salvage any part of this suit to wear to a wedding without having all the guests wanting to extract some stuffing, and throw on a side of cranberry sauce to boot.
Giggle, giggle, tee, hee, Baaaaaa, Haaaaa, Haaaa.
There is no time left to find something new to wear, so altering this suit is my only option....no....wait...I still have my twenty year old dresses in the closet....if the thread holding them together has not deteriorated, I just might be able to wear one of those.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Ya'll know...
...I have a thing for the guys who are 'presenters' on the BBC America show 'Top Gear'. The things these three, slightly overweight, middle aged men will do strictly for the entertainment of others make me laugh out loud. And I love the way they approach everything with a stiff upper lip, tongue in cheek, gut-wrenching stamina, genuine enthusiasm, and stalwart good humor...Pip, pip.
Here's a good example. It was toward the end of last night's show that James May and Jeremy Clarkson wanted to show the agility and sturdiness of a particular car, and decided the best way to do that was to have a Rugby game...using the cars...in place of human bodies.
I could not believe the genuine excitement these men exuded as their cars raced up and down the 'pitch', chasing a huge ball that looked much like an American football. Seriously, there was a great deal of yelling, vehicle bumping, and a lot of chasing that outrageously huge ball. However, after locker room chats at halftime, all bets and rules were off, and I gotta tell you, these men got knocked around very, very badly. And the 'pitch' became a mucky, miry, muddy, gunky place.
However, watching this ridiculousness, I became very intrigued. Since I know nothing about the game, this morning I looked up Rugby on the Internet and found a site called Rugby for Dummies by Bill Rayburn. In a nut shell he explained some of the terms and rules of the game. He says, for instance, quoting another gentleman, Peter Winder, "Rugby provides a suitable outlet for the controlled release of any frustration or aggression within the structured framework of a sport." He's right!
And, he is quick to add..."legalized mayhem has therapeutic value." Again, he's
right. I felt great after my accidental encounter with the 'car' game on Top Gear.
According to Bill, there is some terminology and jargon you will need to know in order to enjoy the game...and I quote...."The basic terms are pitch, scrum, ruck, maul, and hooker." It sounds rough and...believe me... it is..."because no pads or helmets are worn in Rugby and a player is expected to play hurt if at all possible"...clearly, injuries are an expected part of the game.
The basic rules of the game, states Bill, "involve 15 players per side, though seven-a-side tournaments are popular too. The responsibilities of those 15 positions are loosely interpreted, depending on the league and/or country where the game is played, but the 15 positions include 8 forwards, 2 halfbacks, 2 centers, 2 wings, and 1 fullback. The field of play is called a "pitch," usually the size of a soccer or football field (i.e., whatever's available, especially in the U.S.)."
While the object of the game is "to score as many points as possible by carrying, passing or kicking a leather oval ball, about twice the size of a football, toward the scoring zone at the far end of the pitch called the in-goal area, akin to an end zone in football. Grounding the ball (literally touching it to the turf) in the in-goal area must be done with downward pressure, and results in a try (score), worth 5 points."
Are you intrigued? I'm telling you, I am and think I could like this game better than American football. I'm going to see if I can find myself a good pitch, and some jolly good fellows to form a team. Hmmm, maybe I have enough grandsons' to do exactly that. Pip, pip.
Here's a good example. It was toward the end of last night's show that James May and Jeremy Clarkson wanted to show the agility and sturdiness of a particular car, and decided the best way to do that was to have a Rugby game...using the cars...in place of human bodies.
I could not believe the genuine excitement these men exuded as their cars raced up and down the 'pitch', chasing a huge ball that looked much like an American football. Seriously, there was a great deal of yelling, vehicle bumping, and a lot of chasing that outrageously huge ball. However, after locker room chats at halftime, all bets and rules were off, and I gotta tell you, these men got knocked around very, very badly. And the 'pitch' became a mucky, miry, muddy, gunky place.
However, watching this ridiculousness, I became very intrigued. Since I know nothing about the game, this morning I looked up Rugby on the Internet and found a site called Rugby for Dummies by Bill Rayburn. In a nut shell he explained some of the terms and rules of the game. He says, for instance, quoting another gentleman, Peter Winder, "Rugby provides a suitable outlet for the controlled release of any frustration or aggression within the structured framework of a sport." He's right!
And, he is quick to add..."legalized mayhem has therapeutic value." Again, he's
right. I felt great after my accidental encounter with the 'car' game on Top Gear.
According to Bill, there is some terminology and jargon you will need to know in order to enjoy the game...and I quote...."The basic terms are pitch, scrum, ruck, maul, and hooker." It sounds rough and...believe me... it is..."because no pads or helmets are worn in Rugby and a player is expected to play hurt if at all possible"...clearly, injuries are an expected part of the game.
The basic rules of the game, states Bill, "involve 15 players per side, though seven-a-side tournaments are popular too. The responsibilities of those 15 positions are loosely interpreted, depending on the league and/or country where the game is played, but the 15 positions include 8 forwards, 2 halfbacks, 2 centers, 2 wings, and 1 fullback. The field of play is called a "pitch," usually the size of a soccer or football field (i.e., whatever's available, especially in the U.S.)."
While the object of the game is "to score as many points as possible by carrying, passing or kicking a leather oval ball, about twice the size of a football, toward the scoring zone at the far end of the pitch called the in-goal area, akin to an end zone in football. Grounding the ball (literally touching it to the turf) in the in-goal area must be done with downward pressure, and results in a try (score), worth 5 points."
Are you intrigued? I'm telling you, I am and think I could like this game better than American football. I'm going to see if I can find myself a good pitch, and some jolly good fellows to form a team. Hmmm, maybe I have enough grandsons' to do exactly that. Pip, pip.
Monday, February 25, 2013
What's it mean?
This morning we had a pondering. We were watching a show and the term 'stick it with a stick' was used. Frankie immediately went into questioning mode and needed to know what the heck that meant.
Of course, she could only visualize 'sticks'...like from a tree branch, and so could only picture somebody using a stick to stick a stick. Oh dear...how was I going to 'splane' this.
I went on line thinking I would be able to come up with some easy to understand explanation, but not so. I could not find 'stick it with a stick'. So, I thought perhaps a good old big book, might have various definitions for 'stick'.
And finally, waaaaaay down the page on Google's Dictionary.com I found the following:
Stick2 [stik] Show IPA verb, stuck, stick·ing, noun
Of course, she could only visualize 'sticks'...like from a tree branch, and so could only picture somebody using a stick to stick a stick. Oh dear...how was I going to 'splane' this.
I went on line thinking I would be able to come up with some easy to understand explanation, but not so. I could not find 'stick it with a stick'. So, I thought perhaps a good old big book, might have various definitions for 'stick'.
And finally, waaaaaay down the page on Google's Dictionary.com I found the following:
Stick2 [stik] Show IPA verb, stuck, stick·ing, noun
verb (used with object)
1.
to pierce or puncture with something pointed, as a pin, dagger, or spear; stab: to stick one's finger with a needle.
2.
to kill by this means: to stick a pig.
3.
to thrust (something pointed) in, into, through, etc.: to stick a needle into a pincushion.
4.
to fasten in position by thrusting a point or end into something: to stick a peg in a pegboard.
5.
to fasten in position by or as if by something thrust through: to stick a painting on the wall.
Frankie was not impressed, she seemed stuck on the stick thing.
I guess she could not envision a stick doing a heck of a lot of damage.
I pointed out if the stick had been whittled down to a sharp point it could indeed do quite a bit of damage.
Whittled, what the heck...apparently she has led a very sheltered life, because I had to explain what whittling was. I pointed out, you didn't have to whittle just wood, and that when I was a Girl Scout one of our projects was to whittle something out of a bar of soap. Which by the way you don't want to do on a hot day, as the soap not only becomes sticky from sweaty hands, but also gets very, very dirty. And that in the end your little white bunny will look more like a lump of coal than cuddly, furry, wabbit.
But I digress.
Frankie was still not impress, so I decide to try a different word than 'stick' and substituted 'poke' instead.
You can poke your eye out with a stick. You can poke somebody in their eye with your finger. You can poke a fire back to life, using a stick. You can stick it to somebody by poking around in their private lives and then blabbing about it to everybody.
By now Frankie is about to come unglued. I know I have gone way overboard in my explanation and she has that look on her face she would like to poke me into kingdom come, and happily stick me there with a stick.
I'm going to go now. I have the sudden urge to whittle.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Remembering a hero.
I've been thinking a lot the last couple of days about my Uncle Sonny. He passed away many, many years ago as a very young man.
Back in the early '40's we were at war and like all young men, my uncle, wanted to serve his country. He joined the Army Air Corp. (There was no Air Force yet.) He was in training to become a fighter pilot. I have a picture of him standing beside his fighter aircraft. He is so handsome. He looks so proud.
Unfortunately, during one of his training flights, his plane crashed and he lost his life, November 12, 1942. I have a copy of his accident report, that includes grainy pictures of the scene of the accident. It is not a pretty sight.
I've discovered, while these young men were in training, the planes they were flying were in air almost 24/7. I know because in the copy of the report, there is a copy of his planes, log. If he was not flying it, some other young pilot was.
You have to remember, in 1942, America was desperate for fighter planes, and fighter pilots, and both were being 'massed produced' so to speak, so my uncle was not the only pilot in training who lost his life in this aircraft. Please, don't misunderstand...I'm not faulting the airplane, I am not faulting the pilots...I don't think there is anywhere to place blame. We had an enemy to fight, and America was doing its best to come from behind, catch up, and overtake a diabolical tyrant. Unfortunately, along the way, some very, very fine young men lost their lives in the process. I don't think you could find a one of them who would say even today, they had lost their lives in vain.
Although the builder of the fighter plane had test pilots, it is my belief that the young men learning to fly them were also 'test pilots'. The planes pretty much came off the assembly line, were pressed into service, and I might add, served well. I know because, I have done research on these planes, and I found a list of all that model made, what happened to them, and which ones are still around today, mostly in museums. If it were not for the young men who flew them during the war, and came home to tell their tales, history could not so easily be told.
So it is I've been thinking of my Uncle Sonny, his plane, his desire to serve his country, his horrible accident, his young life, snuffed out, and I want to tell his tale. It is short, sweet, and very, very sad.
Levi Shaffer, Junior, age 24. Born June ll, 1918, youngest son of Levi and Mary, pilot, Army Air Corp. Served his country well. Died November 12, 1942.
Back in the early '40's we were at war and like all young men, my uncle, wanted to serve his country. He joined the Army Air Corp. (There was no Air Force yet.) He was in training to become a fighter pilot. I have a picture of him standing beside his fighter aircraft. He is so handsome. He looks so proud.
Unfortunately, during one of his training flights, his plane crashed and he lost his life, November 12, 1942. I have a copy of his accident report, that includes grainy pictures of the scene of the accident. It is not a pretty sight.
I've discovered, while these young men were in training, the planes they were flying were in air almost 24/7. I know because in the copy of the report, there is a copy of his planes, log. If he was not flying it, some other young pilot was.
You have to remember, in 1942, America was desperate for fighter planes, and fighter pilots, and both were being 'massed produced' so to speak, so my uncle was not the only pilot in training who lost his life in this aircraft. Please, don't misunderstand...I'm not faulting the airplane, I am not faulting the pilots...I don't think there is anywhere to place blame. We had an enemy to fight, and America was doing its best to come from behind, catch up, and overtake a diabolical tyrant. Unfortunately, along the way, some very, very fine young men lost their lives in the process. I don't think you could find a one of them who would say even today, they had lost their lives in vain.
Although the builder of the fighter plane had test pilots, it is my belief that the young men learning to fly them were also 'test pilots'. The planes pretty much came off the assembly line, were pressed into service, and I might add, served well. I know because, I have done research on these planes, and I found a list of all that model made, what happened to them, and which ones are still around today, mostly in museums. If it were not for the young men who flew them during the war, and came home to tell their tales, history could not so easily be told.
So it is I've been thinking of my Uncle Sonny, his plane, his desire to serve his country, his horrible accident, his young life, snuffed out, and I want to tell his tale. It is short, sweet, and very, very sad.
Levi Shaffer, Junior, age 24. Born June ll, 1918, youngest son of Levi and Mary, pilot, Army Air Corp. Served his country well. Died November 12, 1942.
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Cheddar cheese, peanut butter and...
...potato chips.
OMG...I cannot believe how much I missed my cheddar cheese. Well, all my cheeses to be unspecific. And it is very comforting to know I have a reserve of peanut butter to last for quite a while.
However, what surprised me is how much I missed potato chips and it shames me to admit, I could hardly wait for the delivery driver to leave so I could search the bags, not for the cheeses, nor the peanut butter...but the potato chips. Oh, Buddy, did I scarf those babies down! Yes, yes I did. Every time I walked past the open bag on the kitchen counter I shoved one or two in my mouth, so that by the time I had all the groceries put away, half the bag of the Sea Salt and Vinegar ones were going, going, gone. I can't believe I did that.
The scenario went something like this, eat a chip, wipe my fingers on my sweat pants, put tomato sauce away. Eat a chip, wipe my fingers on my sweat pants, put celery in fridge. Eat a chip, wipe my fingers on my sweat pants, put toilet paper away. Seriously...eat, wipe, put, it took quite some time to finish the job.
It was kind of scary for me to discover I had such an addiction to chips, and I think I know now how junkies feel when they are in bad need of a fix. I tore open the bag in wild abandon, never giving a thought to the fact I could have scattered the chips all around the room. Then, not even caring if I was grabbing a whole chip or simply a fragment, I shoved one into my mouth. Ohhhh, that wonderful taste...salt...sour...I did not eat these in a lady-like fashion either, Emily Post would not have been pleased. Chomp, chomp, chomp. Wipe, wipe, wipe.
I could not stop, and probably would not have save for the fact I finished putting the groceries away and it occurred to me how thirsty I had become. So, I chugged down half a bottle of water. Bloated, full, and on a potato chip high, I was one happy camper. Wheeeeee! I was fly---in'.
I catch a glimpse of Frankie, she is sitting with a TV tray pulled up tightly in front of her. Her eyes are glazed over and her fingers appear to have a sticky substance on them.
Me: "Frankie, you okay?"
Frankie: "What?"
Me: "What on earth are you doing?"
Frankie: (Mouth full of food) "Eating."
Me: "I can see that...are you even bothering to chew?"
Frankie: (Wiping lips with back of sweatshirt sleeve) "Yeah." (Another blob of food enters her mouth. A blissful smile crosses her face.)
I walk over to the tray and peer over the lid of the box...and see the remains of what used to be a full size blueberry pudding cake. A quarter of the cake is missing. Well, dang...guess I'm not the only one with an addiction.
Me: "No, Zorro...sorry...there will be no peanut butter till tomorrow." (Sad, wistful eyes look up at me.) "Oh, alright, but just one tiny bite."
OMG...I cannot believe how much I missed my cheddar cheese. Well, all my cheeses to be unspecific. And it is very comforting to know I have a reserve of peanut butter to last for quite a while.
However, what surprised me is how much I missed potato chips and it shames me to admit, I could hardly wait for the delivery driver to leave so I could search the bags, not for the cheeses, nor the peanut butter...but the potato chips. Oh, Buddy, did I scarf those babies down! Yes, yes I did. Every time I walked past the open bag on the kitchen counter I shoved one or two in my mouth, so that by the time I had all the groceries put away, half the bag of the Sea Salt and Vinegar ones were going, going, gone. I can't believe I did that.
The scenario went something like this, eat a chip, wipe my fingers on my sweat pants, put tomato sauce away. Eat a chip, wipe my fingers on my sweat pants, put celery in fridge. Eat a chip, wipe my fingers on my sweat pants, put toilet paper away. Seriously...eat, wipe, put, it took quite some time to finish the job.
It was kind of scary for me to discover I had such an addiction to chips, and I think I know now how junkies feel when they are in bad need of a fix. I tore open the bag in wild abandon, never giving a thought to the fact I could have scattered the chips all around the room. Then, not even caring if I was grabbing a whole chip or simply a fragment, I shoved one into my mouth. Ohhhh, that wonderful taste...salt...sour...I did not eat these in a lady-like fashion either, Emily Post would not have been pleased. Chomp, chomp, chomp. Wipe, wipe, wipe.
I could not stop, and probably would not have save for the fact I finished putting the groceries away and it occurred to me how thirsty I had become. So, I chugged down half a bottle of water. Bloated, full, and on a potato chip high, I was one happy camper. Wheeeeee! I was fly---in'.
I catch a glimpse of Frankie, she is sitting with a TV tray pulled up tightly in front of her. Her eyes are glazed over and her fingers appear to have a sticky substance on them.
Me: "Frankie, you okay?"
Frankie: "What?"
Me: "What on earth are you doing?"
Frankie: (Mouth full of food) "Eating."
Me: "I can see that...are you even bothering to chew?"
Frankie: (Wiping lips with back of sweatshirt sleeve) "Yeah." (Another blob of food enters her mouth. A blissful smile crosses her face.)
I walk over to the tray and peer over the lid of the box...and see the remains of what used to be a full size blueberry pudding cake. A quarter of the cake is missing. Well, dang...guess I'm not the only one with an addiction.
Me: "No, Zorro...sorry...there will be no peanut butter till tomorrow." (Sad, wistful eyes look up at me.) "Oh, alright, but just one tiny bite."
Caving in.
Okay, I confess, I caved in and ordered groceries. I think I could have continued to live without cheese, but I was getting dangerously low on peanut butter, and since I need PB every morning in order to make my bed without interference from Zorro I knew I had to give in and place an order.
Zorro has always associated bed making with play time, and when he first came to live with me sometimes it would take hours for me to complete the bed making task. I would throw up a blanket, he would nip at it, pull on it and otherwise impede my labors. I would walk away from the bed try to sneak back later to finish the job, but he always seemed to know and interfere again and again. I eventually bought a little rubber toy designed to put kibble in, generally used for when a person leaves the house, to help ease a pets separation anxiety. However, I thought it would be a good toy to keep Zorro busy while I made the bed...he cleared the kibble out before I even got to the bedroom.
What a waste of money. Then it occurred to me maybe if I put peanut butter inside the toy it would take longer for Zorro to lick it out. And, that, dear friends, worked like a charm. Within no time I figured out the exact amount I needed to put in the toy for me to complete my bed making task.
There were a few mornings he brought the toy in to the bedroom and jumped up on the bed, but I immediately took it away from him and made him return to the living room. Smart little fellow that he is, he quickly learned the peanut butter toy was not meant for the bedroom.
Now, my little guy did suffer from separation anxiety too, and would chew the paint off the front door's frame up as far as his little mouth could reach, so I began to put kibble in the toy any time I left the house for an outing. It worked pretty well, except the kibble was often gone before I got the door completely locked and the chewing of paint continued. One day, I decided maybe if I put in kibble, a bit of peanut butter, more kibble and a topping of peanut butter it just might keep Zorro busy long enough to calm down and take a nap until I returned.
Wow, what a relief. That worked wonders and I've not had a problem of paint chewing since. However, I've also created a monster because Zorro now knows and expects his peanut butter every morning...and heaven forbid the toy comes up missing and I have to get down on hands and knees to look for it. (I have to confess I have had to use the top of my baster on a few occasions until I was able to locate the missing toy.) So, you can see to be without peanut butter could lead to a possible catastrophe, one I am willing to avoid at all cost...in this case approximately two hundred and fifty dollars, which includes not just the groceries but delivery fee, petrol expense as well.
On the plus side, I'm tickled pink I will have my delicious cheddar cheese to devour, and Frankie is beside herself that I have ordered two pudding cakes, cinnamon buns and some blueberry bagels...oh the joy there will be later today when that wonderful delivery truck pulls up to my driveway, and all those goody bags get spread all over my living room floor.
Yummmmm-i-e.
Zorro has always associated bed making with play time, and when he first came to live with me sometimes it would take hours for me to complete the bed making task. I would throw up a blanket, he would nip at it, pull on it and otherwise impede my labors. I would walk away from the bed try to sneak back later to finish the job, but he always seemed to know and interfere again and again. I eventually bought a little rubber toy designed to put kibble in, generally used for when a person leaves the house, to help ease a pets separation anxiety. However, I thought it would be a good toy to keep Zorro busy while I made the bed...he cleared the kibble out before I even got to the bedroom.
What a waste of money. Then it occurred to me maybe if I put peanut butter inside the toy it would take longer for Zorro to lick it out. And, that, dear friends, worked like a charm. Within no time I figured out the exact amount I needed to put in the toy for me to complete my bed making task.
There were a few mornings he brought the toy in to the bedroom and jumped up on the bed, but I immediately took it away from him and made him return to the living room. Smart little fellow that he is, he quickly learned the peanut butter toy was not meant for the bedroom.
Now, my little guy did suffer from separation anxiety too, and would chew the paint off the front door's frame up as far as his little mouth could reach, so I began to put kibble in the toy any time I left the house for an outing. It worked pretty well, except the kibble was often gone before I got the door completely locked and the chewing of paint continued. One day, I decided maybe if I put in kibble, a bit of peanut butter, more kibble and a topping of peanut butter it just might keep Zorro busy long enough to calm down and take a nap until I returned.
Wow, what a relief. That worked wonders and I've not had a problem of paint chewing since. However, I've also created a monster because Zorro now knows and expects his peanut butter every morning...and heaven forbid the toy comes up missing and I have to get down on hands and knees to look for it. (I have to confess I have had to use the top of my baster on a few occasions until I was able to locate the missing toy.) So, you can see to be without peanut butter could lead to a possible catastrophe, one I am willing to avoid at all cost...in this case approximately two hundred and fifty dollars, which includes not just the groceries but delivery fee, petrol expense as well.
On the plus side, I'm tickled pink I will have my delicious cheddar cheese to devour, and Frankie is beside herself that I have ordered two pudding cakes, cinnamon buns and some blueberry bagels...oh the joy there will be later today when that wonderful delivery truck pulls up to my driveway, and all those goody bags get spread all over my living room floor.
Yummmmm-i-e.
Monday, February 18, 2013
Spring springs
Friday was magnificent. Blue sky, not even a slight breeze, the temperature hovered around sixty. I'm telling ya' it was a perfect out door day, and I could not resist. With youthful exuberance, and great excitement I put on my working in the yard shoes, threw up the garage door, grabbed my yard tools and went to work. I trimmed back the Hops that trail across the top of the garage door. I took starts from the Trailing Hydrangea hoping to begin a 'trail' along my property line to the west. I transplanted some daffodils and a few shrubs.
I actually saw neighbors, and chatted with them for a while. There is one couple I see every day...rain or shine walking with their dog down the street. I refer to them as the 'older couple'...then again I refer to everybody around my age as 'older' unable to admit to myself I am 'older' as well. Matter of fact this couple could in reality be younger than I, but I will never admit there is any possibility I could be the older one. Old makes me shiver, feel nauseous, feeble, uncomfortable and down right disgusted.
Which is why, a little after five PM, as I was winding down my outdoor activities, I paid little mind to the aches across my shoulders, and the few slug stains on my fingers. It had been a glorious afternoon. I got plenty of fresh air, some natural vitamin D, and exercise to boot. As the little boy in the Kaiser Permanente commercial says. 'Things are lookin' up.'
Oh crap!!!!
Come 7:30 of the P of M, I'm lounging on the sofa, Zorro and I are comfy and toasty under an afghan, CC curled up on my chest. The phone rings, (that is normally not a bad thing).
Ring.
So and so is on the line.
Ring.
So and so is on the line.
Ring.
So and so is on the line. (Yes, my phone talks to me.)
I struggle to get out from under the blanket before the call goes to voice mail. Ohhhhhhhhh, the pain, ohhhhhhhhhh, the agony, ohhhhhhhh, the desire to kill myself. Every muscle in my body was screaming at me. Should I fall over and die, or answer the phone? The phone wins.
Do I let on to the party on the other end that I am in perhaps the worst pain of my life? No sir-ee, bub, no sir-ee. I try to keep my voice as normal as possible, because to do otherwise I would have to admit I over-did the physical activities of the afternoon...and THAT would mean I would have to admit I'm old.
And, I am not old, I am not old, I am not old.
I actually saw neighbors, and chatted with them for a while. There is one couple I see every day...rain or shine walking with their dog down the street. I refer to them as the 'older couple'...then again I refer to everybody around my age as 'older' unable to admit to myself I am 'older' as well. Matter of fact this couple could in reality be younger than I, but I will never admit there is any possibility I could be the older one. Old makes me shiver, feel nauseous, feeble, uncomfortable and down right disgusted.
Which is why, a little after five PM, as I was winding down my outdoor activities, I paid little mind to the aches across my shoulders, and the few slug stains on my fingers. It had been a glorious afternoon. I got plenty of fresh air, some natural vitamin D, and exercise to boot. As the little boy in the Kaiser Permanente commercial says. 'Things are lookin' up.'
Oh crap!!!!
Come 7:30 of the P of M, I'm lounging on the sofa, Zorro and I are comfy and toasty under an afghan, CC curled up on my chest. The phone rings, (that is normally not a bad thing).
Ring.
So and so is on the line.
Ring.
So and so is on the line.
Ring.
So and so is on the line. (Yes, my phone talks to me.)
I struggle to get out from under the blanket before the call goes to voice mail. Ohhhhhhhhh, the pain, ohhhhhhhhhh, the agony, ohhhhhhhh, the desire to kill myself. Every muscle in my body was screaming at me. Should I fall over and die, or answer the phone? The phone wins.
Do I let on to the party on the other end that I am in perhaps the worst pain of my life? No sir-ee, bub, no sir-ee. I try to keep my voice as normal as possible, because to do otherwise I would have to admit I over-did the physical activities of the afternoon...and THAT would mean I would have to admit I'm old.
And, I am not old, I am not old, I am not old.
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Blabber mouth
So, I understand yesterday good ole' Frankie posted on facebook we are on an austerity program here at the house.
According to the dictionary, one of the meanings for austerity is "enforced or extreme economy". Shoot, I would hardly say I am 'inforcing' austerity on anybody. That's a pretty harsh word...'enforce', I might have stopped excessive spending since I set up a budget spreadsheet to help keep us on a straight monetary track, but I've not prevented Frankie or Zorro from going to the store to purchase however much cheese and peanut butter their little hearts desire.
Baaaa,haaaa,haaa. Now that's funny. I'm envisioning Zorro behind the wheel of a car, Frankie too, for that matter. Good joke, good joke. So, I guess in some regards they are kind of at my mercy. I don't really feel sorry for them, they have it pretty darn good. Plus, I will order groceries eventually, but I kind of like having gone back to my growing up years.
Does this sound like a story's coming? You bet ya.
I wouldn't say we were destitute while we were growing up, and my dad had a great job working for the Bethlehem Steel company in the accounting department. And, for the times he made quite good money. Still he got paid once a month, so making his salary last until the next check came was quite a challenge for my mother...who, with just a high school education was quite an accountant herself. By the way, dad didn't have a college education either. College was for the rich.
So it would be during that last week of just about any month, we would be searching dad's pants pockets and under sofa cushions for any spare change that might be found to buy a loaf of bread, a box of salt, or perhaps a pound of hamburg. And, since we had no car, one of us kids would get on our refurbished, shared, bicycle and head off for Lopresti's Grocery Store with a hand full of change to make a very precious purchase. Mom had an account at Lopresti's, but like Momma's bank in the movie, we seldom ever, ever used it.
Frugality, was our watch word, if there was no money, we did without. Take for instance, Back to School Shopping...ours consisted of a new pair of shoes (the one who need a new pair the most got it) and one new outfit.
Otherwise, we wore what was in our closets until the clothes were outgrown, or fell apart. Christmas consisted of one or two presents, and socks filled with a few pieces of candy, nuts, apples and oranges, that immediately went back into the kitchen for use by the whole family.
We didn't go to movies, or out to eat. There was one special meal a week, and that was on Sunday after church. We entertained ourselves by playing games, or using our imaginations, or having arousing games of Mushball with all the kids in the neighborhood. Whatever was free, was good fun .
So, as you can see, I do know how to be frugal, I had great teachers. And, that is why I decided to emulate my mom and dad to see if I could still survive by flying by the seat of my pants. Of course, Frankie and Zorro have taken offense to my endeavors, but I don't think it is going to kill them, to learn they sometimes have to wait for good things to happen.
As a result, when I made spaghetti yesterday, we ate it without my favorite, wonderful, wonderful, sharp cheddar cheese. Guess what? We all survived. Okay, it wasn't the best spaghetti we ever had, but it wasn't half bad either. Zorro certainly had no problem licking my plate.
I guess we are going to have to have a family gathering, so I can explain in better detail, that I'm not imposing austerity upon them. And that, to me, austerity is having to burn your furniture to keep warm in winter, or using catalogs as toilet paper, or having gruel as the main staple of our diet. I'm simply being frugal, all our furniture is still intact, catalogs are still used for ordering things, and we eat spaghetti, yeah, it is without cheese...but it is spaghetti. Life is still good, life is still good.
Does this sound like a story's coming? You bet ya.
I wouldn't say we were destitute while we were growing up, and my dad had a great job working for the Bethlehem Steel company in the accounting department. And, for the times he made quite good money. Still he got paid once a month, so making his salary last until the next check came was quite a challenge for my mother...who, with just a high school education was quite an accountant herself. By the way, dad didn't have a college education either. College was for the rich.
So it would be during that last week of just about any month, we would be searching dad's pants pockets and under sofa cushions for any spare change that might be found to buy a loaf of bread, a box of salt, or perhaps a pound of hamburg. And, since we had no car, one of us kids would get on our refurbished, shared, bicycle and head off for Lopresti's Grocery Store with a hand full of change to make a very precious purchase. Mom had an account at Lopresti's, but like Momma's bank in the movie, we seldom ever, ever used it.
Frugality, was our watch word, if there was no money, we did without. Take for instance, Back to School Shopping...ours consisted of a new pair of shoes (the one who need a new pair the most got it) and one new outfit.
Otherwise, we wore what was in our closets until the clothes were outgrown, or fell apart. Christmas consisted of one or two presents, and socks filled with a few pieces of candy, nuts, apples and oranges, that immediately went back into the kitchen for use by the whole family.
We didn't go to movies, or out to eat. There was one special meal a week, and that was on Sunday after church. We entertained ourselves by playing games, or using our imaginations, or having arousing games of Mushball with all the kids in the neighborhood. Whatever was free, was good fun .
So, as you can see, I do know how to be frugal, I had great teachers. And, that is why I decided to emulate my mom and dad to see if I could still survive by flying by the seat of my pants. Of course, Frankie and Zorro have taken offense to my endeavors, but I don't think it is going to kill them, to learn they sometimes have to wait for good things to happen.
As a result, when I made spaghetti yesterday, we ate it without my favorite, wonderful, wonderful, sharp cheddar cheese. Guess what? We all survived. Okay, it wasn't the best spaghetti we ever had, but it wasn't half bad either. Zorro certainly had no problem licking my plate.
I guess we are going to have to have a family gathering, so I can explain in better detail, that I'm not imposing austerity upon them. And that, to me, austerity is having to burn your furniture to keep warm in winter, or using catalogs as toilet paper, or having gruel as the main staple of our diet. I'm simply being frugal, all our furniture is still intact, catalogs are still used for ordering things, and we eat spaghetti, yeah, it is without cheese...but it is spaghetti. Life is still good, life is still good.
Saturday, February 16, 2013
The days from Hell
I love my computer, honest, I do. However, over the last couple of days I have been hating it, and for a while there was at the point I wanted to toss the damn thing out the office window.
I unexpectedly and accidentally clicked on an ad, (it was by accident, by the way) as I was trying to access my e-mail and boy, oh boy, did that ever cause my problem.
A large red box came on my screen warning that my computer had been infected with a malicious something or other, and my computer was crashing. I immediately clicked my computer's protection program and started running it, hoping I caught the malicious something or other, before too much damage had been done...but...it...was...too...late. And, I have been spending all my computer time since trying to salvage everything. Everything was saved, thank goodness. But, the problem is all my passwords have been affected, and although my favorites list is in tack, none of the passwords are. So, every time I go to one of my favorites, it requires me setting new passwords before I can move ahead.
I think my blog is okay, today will be the ultimate test for this site.
In the meantime, I have been in a frazzle. I guess I could have called the Geek Squad and they would have fixed everything for a hundred buck, or more, (if they would have had to take the computer in for repair). But, I feel if I learn to do things for myself it is better for me even though there is a lot of blond hair on the office floor, along with some blood, sweat and tears, even so, I trudge along.
Life, a hoot, ain't it, this is one gigantic waste of time and I just want to move on. Technology is a wonderful thing...till it all goes in the toilet.
Tomorrow is going to be better, right?
Friday, February 15, 2013
What a day this has been.
There are no words to explain the day I had today. My computer crashed, it was horrible. It is after midnight and I'm just now trying to get my blog in working order. So,this is actually a test to see if I can get this posted, and sent on to Facebook,
e-mail and google+1.
When I got the message my computer was attacked by a malicious virus, I almost had a heart attack. A few years ago the same thing happened, and I was at a total loss what to do, this time, working slowly and diligently I'm bringing everything back, although for some reason Google is not helping at all, so I'm using yahoo, and Internet explorer to get everything back on track. I have most of my favorites taken care of, and my e-
mail addresses are intact.
What I am hating is the little idiosyncrasy I have to contend with...for example, spell check is now different. Website pages look different, stuff like that...I don't like those kinds of changes anymore...when I was younger that kind of stuff didn't bother me, but now, it drives me nuts. I don't have time for that kind of drivel, what a waste of time.
Oh well, at least I'm back in touch with the outside world, and that's a good thing. If this posting is still available when I get up in the morning I will know I've done good.
So, I'm going to try to post this, see you in the AofM.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Things have run amok
So far this has been a day from you know where.
Unbelievable.
I had a simple plan for the morning, get bills ready to pay this afternoon, clear off the top of the desk and file paperwork, then go to work. I figured I could get this finished in half an hour, tops.
Uh-oh, I lost my insurance binder...I looked everywhere...first at the place it should have been. Then I remembered I moved a lot of things around in the library when the house was on the market, I thought perhaps I had moved the binder to another shelf. I searched and searched, could not find that sucker anywhere. I'm talking to Frankie, I'm talking to Zorro and I would have talked to the cat, too, but I think she sensed a meltdown coming and disappeared.
The more I searched, the funnier this whole thing seemed...I think I was getting close to hysteria.
I eventually found the binder, thank goodness. Is dementia is setting in? Wasn't it just yesterday I misplaced my coffee mug? Please people tell me I'm wrong, I need a confidence builder.
Of course, while I was looking for the insurance binder in the library I noticed the plants in the sun room had started to get wilt-y. So, and although it was not in my schedule for the day, I took time to water them. Then I notice one of the rugs in the room was all 'bunched up'. Since I have had cats forever my instinct told me CC had probably thrown up on it. She had. Dang it. I'm supposed to be at work, the day is fast slipping away, rug cleaning was not on my agenda. I just wish when she did this she would come and say "Mommy, I threw up, could you please go clean it up." That way I would not discover it days later when it is stuck like glue to some rug, somewhere. Dang it. There is plenty of floor space, how come she does not throw up there?
Back to cleaning up the office clutter, I'm going through a stack of forms months and months old for things I ordered on the 'net'. Yes, that was delivered, yes, I did get that...then I came across one that said I ordered a black vest...a black vest? A BLACK VEST? Well, I certainly never got that!!! Man, I stewed and stewed about that, envisioning e-mail tag with the company involved lasting at least a couple of weeks. I was not a happy camper. Suddenly, with a slap on the back of the head from the man upstairs...(literally, like a flash of lightening in my head) I remembered the vest was a Christmas present for my daughter. Whew...
Finally, I see the end of the road, I complete the filing, the office looks in pretty good shape, but I have still not done one lick of work. What the heck...it is now Eleven O'Clock, am I not the boss? The day has already gone to heck in a hand basket...I've decided to take the rest of it off.
Hmmm, what, oh what will I do?
Unbelievable.
I had a simple plan for the morning, get bills ready to pay this afternoon, clear off the top of the desk and file paperwork, then go to work. I figured I could get this finished in half an hour, tops.
Uh-oh, I lost my insurance binder...I looked everywhere...first at the place it should have been. Then I remembered I moved a lot of things around in the library when the house was on the market, I thought perhaps I had moved the binder to another shelf. I searched and searched, could not find that sucker anywhere. I'm talking to Frankie, I'm talking to Zorro and I would have talked to the cat, too, but I think she sensed a meltdown coming and disappeared.
The more I searched, the funnier this whole thing seemed...I think I was getting close to hysteria.
I eventually found the binder, thank goodness. Is dementia is setting in? Wasn't it just yesterday I misplaced my coffee mug? Please people tell me I'm wrong, I need a confidence builder.
Of course, while I was looking for the insurance binder in the library I noticed the plants in the sun room had started to get wilt-y. So, and although it was not in my schedule for the day, I took time to water them. Then I notice one of the rugs in the room was all 'bunched up'. Since I have had cats forever my instinct told me CC had probably thrown up on it. She had. Dang it. I'm supposed to be at work, the day is fast slipping away, rug cleaning was not on my agenda. I just wish when she did this she would come and say "Mommy, I threw up, could you please go clean it up." That way I would not discover it days later when it is stuck like glue to some rug, somewhere. Dang it. There is plenty of floor space, how come she does not throw up there?
Back to cleaning up the office clutter, I'm going through a stack of forms months and months old for things I ordered on the 'net'. Yes, that was delivered, yes, I did get that...then I came across one that said I ordered a black vest...a black vest? A BLACK VEST? Well, I certainly never got that!!! Man, I stewed and stewed about that, envisioning e-mail tag with the company involved lasting at least a couple of weeks. I was not a happy camper. Suddenly, with a slap on the back of the head from the man upstairs...(literally, like a flash of lightening in my head) I remembered the vest was a Christmas present for my daughter. Whew...
Finally, I see the end of the road, I complete the filing, the office looks in pretty good shape, but I have still not done one lick of work. What the heck...it is now Eleven O'Clock, am I not the boss? The day has already gone to heck in a hand basket...I've decided to take the rest of it off.
Hmmm, what, oh what will I do?
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Gigantic debate
Okay, so here's the thing.
It is 8:45AM, an overcast day, the temperature hovers around 47 degrees, rain is called for...yadda, yadda, yadda. What else is new?
I let Zorro out for his first run/sniff around the yard. I inform Frankie I don't know whether to turn on the heat or open the windows and doors. The air smells like I think heaven must smell, clean, like air dried sheets, with just a hit of something sweet on the breeze.
Oh, my. Frankie went into a tizzy. She informs me it is only mid-February, winter, and what in the world am I thinking.
Where as, I remind her we are probably breathing air that entered the house last October or November, whatever the last day was we had the windows and doors open.
She is appalled, shudders at that thought, but is undeterred...this morning we are not going to open the windows and doors.
Ooooh, it got kind of ugly. I turned on the heat.
A few minutes later, Zorro barked his "I'm done out here, hurry up old lady...I want back in" bark. I opened the door, let him in, then stood there for a few minutes just breathing...the air was...so, so, so.......I have no word to describe it. I didn't want to walk away, I didn't want to miss one single second of this magnificent, glorious experience.
One final deep breath, I filled my lungs as full as I could, and held it until I thought I was going to explode. I had my hand on the handle of the slider, ready to pull it shut. I couldn't, I really, really couldn't.
Frankie, be-danged, I was not going to shut up the house. I left the door open, then proceeded to turn off the little electrical stove in the morning room, and opened a window there.
With great purpose, I marched to the living room, turned off the heat, threw open the windows and continued down the hall and into the rooms at the back of the house; throwing wide the windows as I went. You should have seen the look on Frankie's face...I've got to tell you, that saying is true...'if looks could kill, I would be dead'.
Last time I saw her she was sitting on the sofa, bundled up in her jacket, with a scarf around her neck, mittens on her mug hugging hands. It was quite a sight. I've no idea when she will start to speak to me again.
Frankly, Frankie...I don't give a dang...breathe, breathe, breathe...and imagine what this good, fresh air is doing to our lungs, heart, blood, red blood cells.
In other words, get over it...
I win, I win.
It is 8:45AM, an overcast day, the temperature hovers around 47 degrees, rain is called for...yadda, yadda, yadda. What else is new?
I let Zorro out for his first run/sniff around the yard. I inform Frankie I don't know whether to turn on the heat or open the windows and doors. The air smells like I think heaven must smell, clean, like air dried sheets, with just a hit of something sweet on the breeze.
Oh, my. Frankie went into a tizzy. She informs me it is only mid-February, winter, and what in the world am I thinking.
Where as, I remind her we are probably breathing air that entered the house last October or November, whatever the last day was we had the windows and doors open.
She is appalled, shudders at that thought, but is undeterred...this morning we are not going to open the windows and doors.
Ooooh, it got kind of ugly. I turned on the heat.
A few minutes later, Zorro barked his "I'm done out here, hurry up old lady...I want back in" bark. I opened the door, let him in, then stood there for a few minutes just breathing...the air was...so, so, so.......I have no word to describe it. I didn't want to walk away, I didn't want to miss one single second of this magnificent, glorious experience.
One final deep breath, I filled my lungs as full as I could, and held it until I thought I was going to explode. I had my hand on the handle of the slider, ready to pull it shut. I couldn't, I really, really couldn't.
Frankie, be-danged, I was not going to shut up the house. I left the door open, then proceeded to turn off the little electrical stove in the morning room, and opened a window there.
With great purpose, I marched to the living room, turned off the heat, threw open the windows and continued down the hall and into the rooms at the back of the house; throwing wide the windows as I went. You should have seen the look on Frankie's face...I've got to tell you, that saying is true...'if looks could kill, I would be dead'.
Last time I saw her she was sitting on the sofa, bundled up in her jacket, with a scarf around her neck, mittens on her mug hugging hands. It was quite a sight. I've no idea when she will start to speak to me again.
Frankly, Frankie...I don't give a dang...breathe, breathe, breathe...and imagine what this good, fresh air is doing to our lungs, heart, blood, red blood cells.
In other words, get over it...
I win, I win.
Monday, February 11, 2013
To follow your bliss
Over the weekend one of my grandsons posted on Facebook he wanted to 'run with the bulls' in Spain. I posted back that that was something I would never be brave enough to do, but if that was something he really did, he should save his pennies, go, and do it. And, I told him to send pictures.
Now I suppose a lot of you think that was very careless advice to give a grandchild. I'm aware that 'running with the bulls' is a very dangerous activity and that over the years people have been gored, seriously injured, and even killed during this event. Still, I have to remain true to myself, and the advise I've given my children from the time they understood the meaning of my words. "Go where you want to go, do what you want to do, see what you want to see, and you will never live your life with regret." In other words, you will never look back on your life and sadly say 'I wish I could-a, would-a, should-a.'
For at least the last thirty years I've had a list I call "Things I want to do before I die." As I accomplish one thing I draw a line through it, and sometimes even add something new to the bottom of the list.
Some things on the list are outlandish, and I know I will never be able to do...although I don't discount the possibility that maybe by some freakish happenstance maybe I could actually make a particular something happen. Like for instance, I would like to wipe bagpipes...all of them...off the face of the earth, and sing a duet with Elton John. I doubt either will happen, but I love looking at my list and seeing those items there.
Some of the things on the list I have accomplished like whale watching, getting tattooed, getting published (on a very small scale) and eating escargot. Small achievements to be sure, but none the less, part of my life bliss's that I can say I not only could-a, would-a, should-a...I actually did'a. And, that is why I told my grandson to save his pennies and go 'run with the bulls'. I firmly believe we all, whatever our bliss, deserve to believe in ourselves that we can make just about anything happen.
So, Keenan, get yourself a piggy bank, and start by emptying whatever change is in your pocket at the end of the day...even if it is only a nickel or a dime...into it. Watch it grow...if it were not for my piggy bank, I would never have been able to follow my bliss to California on a one way ticket, three suitcases, a carry on bag, $138.00 in my purse, and the belief I had to go where I wanted to go, see what I wanted to see and do what I wanted to do.
Nope, not once have I looked back on my life and said that I could-a, should-a, would-a.
Follow your bliss kiddo, follow your bliss.
Now I suppose a lot of you think that was very careless advice to give a grandchild. I'm aware that 'running with the bulls' is a very dangerous activity and that over the years people have been gored, seriously injured, and even killed during this event. Still, I have to remain true to myself, and the advise I've given my children from the time they understood the meaning of my words. "Go where you want to go, do what you want to do, see what you want to see, and you will never live your life with regret." In other words, you will never look back on your life and sadly say 'I wish I could-a, would-a, should-a.'
For at least the last thirty years I've had a list I call "Things I want to do before I die." As I accomplish one thing I draw a line through it, and sometimes even add something new to the bottom of the list.
Some things on the list are outlandish, and I know I will never be able to do...although I don't discount the possibility that maybe by some freakish happenstance maybe I could actually make a particular something happen. Like for instance, I would like to wipe bagpipes...all of them...off the face of the earth, and sing a duet with Elton John. I doubt either will happen, but I love looking at my list and seeing those items there.
Some of the things on the list I have accomplished like whale watching, getting tattooed, getting published (on a very small scale) and eating escargot. Small achievements to be sure, but none the less, part of my life bliss's that I can say I not only could-a, would-a, should-a...I actually did'a. And, that is why I told my grandson to save his pennies and go 'run with the bulls'. I firmly believe we all, whatever our bliss, deserve to believe in ourselves that we can make just about anything happen.
So, Keenan, get yourself a piggy bank, and start by emptying whatever change is in your pocket at the end of the day...even if it is only a nickel or a dime...into it. Watch it grow...if it were not for my piggy bank, I would never have been able to follow my bliss to California on a one way ticket, three suitcases, a carry on bag, $138.00 in my purse, and the belief I had to go where I wanted to go, see what I wanted to see and do what I wanted to do.
Nope, not once have I looked back on my life and said that I could-a, should-a, would-a.
Follow your bliss kiddo, follow your bliss.
Saturday, February 9, 2013
G-bye, Dang it!
Good news folks...I figured it out...I figured it out...I FIGURED IT OUT!!!!!!
No more dang it for today.
No more dang it for today.
Dang it!
I've come to the conclusion I cannot be trusted. I feel awful.
When was it a week or so ago I told you I was burning my candle at both ends, and how I had to drag myself on my hands and knees to bed? I said I was going to try to have better hours, only light one end of the candle, and get to bed at a decent hour. Remember all that??? Sure you do.
Well...of course....I lied.
I didn't have the courage to tell you I fell back into my old habit a day or two later.
True, I was in bed by One or One-thirty at the latest each night, which was pretty good by my standards and, to my credit I was blowing my candle out every single night. Plus, I did not lie in bed thinking for an extra hour, but fell asleep right away and got at least an extra hour of zzzzz's, so in my mind, I was doing better...right?
However, by Wednesday of this week I fell off the wagon, bedtime extended to Two-fifteen, Two-forty-five, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.
And then (oh dear, I'm so ashamed to write this) last night...
about Eleven, I enter the office, sit, pull myself up to the keyboard, and tell myself I will work for an hour.
I was trying to figure out how to take my images in Publisher and turn them into pictures, so I could transfer them to my web-page on Zazzle. My first attempt went marvelously, snap, the picture was there. My second attempt took a bit longer, because I had to turn it from an image into a picture that Zazzle would accept. Tricky business that! But, I managed. I was encouraged, I was proud of myself.
Piece of cake...I can do this, whoo, hooo. Y'all know that old saying "Pride goeth before a fall"? Oh yeah, tumble down the steps, rumble down the hall, out the front door and stumble into the street.
I picked myself up and brushed myself off and trudged back to the office. This endeavor was not going to stop me...no sir-ee, buddy. I'd figure this out if it was the last thing I ever did.
And it almost was...suddenly I looked up and it was almost Four...in the A of M. I had still not figured out what I was doing wrong. Grrrrrrrrrrrrr!
Poor Zorro had jumped into my lap around Three, shivering badly, I knew he wanted to go to bed but I settled him down on my lap and eventually he stopped shaking. While I was beginning to start, the heat had been turned off hours ago. Just one more shiver attempt shiver I kept telling shiver myself.
UH-oh...my candle...was just about to frizzle out. Dang it...I promised I was not going to let that happen.
So with a quick blow I put it out, and wearily plodded off to bed.
Zorro out, Zorro in.
Rice socks warmed.
Jammies on.
Lights out.
It's morning.
Another day has begun, here I sit...having to accept I'm like a leopard who cannot change its spots no matter how much it would like. I'm just glad I didn't 'pinky-swear' I would not fall into my old habits, cause that would have meant you couldn't trust me, and that would be well, just...awful.
When was it a week or so ago I told you I was burning my candle at both ends, and how I had to drag myself on my hands and knees to bed? I said I was going to try to have better hours, only light one end of the candle, and get to bed at a decent hour. Remember all that??? Sure you do.
Well...of course....I lied.
I didn't have the courage to tell you I fell back into my old habit a day or two later.
True, I was in bed by One or One-thirty at the latest each night, which was pretty good by my standards and, to my credit I was blowing my candle out every single night. Plus, I did not lie in bed thinking for an extra hour, but fell asleep right away and got at least an extra hour of zzzzz's, so in my mind, I was doing better...right?
However, by Wednesday of this week I fell off the wagon, bedtime extended to Two-fifteen, Two-forty-five, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.
And then (oh dear, I'm so ashamed to write this) last night...
about Eleven, I enter the office, sit, pull myself up to the keyboard, and tell myself I will work for an hour.
I was trying to figure out how to take my images in Publisher and turn them into pictures, so I could transfer them to my web-page on Zazzle. My first attempt went marvelously, snap, the picture was there. My second attempt took a bit longer, because I had to turn it from an image into a picture that Zazzle would accept. Tricky business that! But, I managed. I was encouraged, I was proud of myself.
Piece of cake...I can do this, whoo, hooo. Y'all know that old saying "Pride goeth before a fall"? Oh yeah, tumble down the steps, rumble down the hall, out the front door and stumble into the street.
I picked myself up and brushed myself off and trudged back to the office. This endeavor was not going to stop me...no sir-ee, buddy. I'd figure this out if it was the last thing I ever did.
And it almost was...suddenly I looked up and it was almost Four...in the A of M. I had still not figured out what I was doing wrong. Grrrrrrrrrrrrr!
Poor Zorro had jumped into my lap around Three, shivering badly, I knew he wanted to go to bed but I settled him down on my lap and eventually he stopped shaking. While I was beginning to start, the heat had been turned off hours ago. Just one more shiver attempt shiver I kept telling shiver myself.
UH-oh...my candle...was just about to frizzle out. Dang it...I promised I was not going to let that happen.
So with a quick blow I put it out, and wearily plodded off to bed.
Zorro out, Zorro in.
Rice socks warmed.
Jammies on.
Lights out.
It's morning.
Another day has begun, here I sit...having to accept I'm like a leopard who cannot change its spots no matter how much it would like. I'm just glad I didn't 'pinky-swear' I would not fall into my old habits, cause that would have meant you couldn't trust me, and that would be well, just...awful.
Thursday, February 7, 2013
It doesn't take much...
to entertain old ladies.
This morning while in the process of feeding CC I noticed a vehicle on the street that looked a lot like my neighbor's, and I was curious why it was sitting there, because I can see her driveway down the side street where she lives, and since it did not appear they were having a crisis (there were no firetrucks or ambulances to be seen) my curiosity was certainly aroused why she was parked there. So, I call Frankie to come have a look-see for herself. She notices her husband's truck is parked on the street as well.
Hmmm.
Suddenly, a rather large truck, turns down my neighbors street...our curiosity intensifies. We watch enthralled. We can see the truck backing into their driveway. What the heck? Moments later, the truck comes back up our street. It appears to Ms. Nosey Butt and myself nothing has happened.
The truck appears as though it is leaving. Wait, curiously, it turning so it is headed toward the dead end of the street.
On the back of the flat bed is a container, on the side it has the name of a national known company that supplies storage containers you fill at your leisure, that then get picked up and is stored...well, frankly...I don't know...where. Anyway, we watch in awe as the driver pulls up, stops across the street from our house, and through magic and noisy wonder... with levers and hydraulics, he preceded to remove the storage container and the frame supporting it from the flat bed. It was amazing...I wish you could have been here. We're thinking, oh, my gosh...it that going to sit THERE. Oh, my, what will bird lady think? She will not be happy.
The truck went out of sight up the street, but quickly returned, went slightly around the corner at the intersection, and stopped. The driver then once again set the 'noisy wonder' with lever and hydraulics, back into motion, turning it completely around. I'm telling you...Frankie and I were beside ourselves, this was great entertainment.
Oh, boy, who should happen to show up...bird lady, husband and doggy...Frankie and I look at each other with UH-OH written all over our faces. Of course, our imaginations run amok. She speaks to the driver, and he points in the direction of my friend's home...she, husband and doggy, turn and begin to walk my neighbor's direction. Surely she is not going to make a 'stink'.
Back to watching the driver, he backs the truck, and with 'noisy wonder', levers and hydraulics, he reloads the container and frame onto the flat bed then hops into the driver's seat. Frankie and I rush to a new observation window, we have got to see what is going to happen next.
The driver goes down my neighbor's street, and we can see him back into their driveway. We reach the conclusion, that the storage container door must have been a problem, and had been facing the wrong direction first time the driver wanted to unload it, so he had to jerry-rig things around a bit. I got to tell you, there's a lot of skill involved in moving these containers around.
Anyway, things went well, and within minutes, the truck is gone, without the container, bird-lady is nowhere in sight, and the neighborhood seems to be back to normal.
Fast forward an hour.
Frankie and I hear the sound of a truck. Surely my neighbor has not loaded her container THAT quickly ...we rush to the front window. Yep, there's a truck alright. And, what's on it...a storage container...different company...but a container none-the-less; has my neighbor rented two?
Again, there is a bit of maneuvering going on, this truck is apparently going the wrong direction, and he has to turn around and back out our dead end street, it disappeared out of sight so we have no idea where this container was dropped, we are curious, but not so much we're willing to go out in the cold to explore.
Now, and this is sad...as I said.. it does not take much to entertain two old ladies when we get so 'all atwitter' at such activity on our street, me thinks, we have got to get a life!
This morning while in the process of feeding CC I noticed a vehicle on the street that looked a lot like my neighbor's, and I was curious why it was sitting there, because I can see her driveway down the side street where she lives, and since it did not appear they were having a crisis (there were no firetrucks or ambulances to be seen) my curiosity was certainly aroused why she was parked there. So, I call Frankie to come have a look-see for herself. She notices her husband's truck is parked on the street as well.
Hmmm.
Suddenly, a rather large truck, turns down my neighbors street...our curiosity intensifies. We watch enthralled. We can see the truck backing into their driveway. What the heck? Moments later, the truck comes back up our street. It appears to Ms. Nosey Butt and myself nothing has happened.
The truck appears as though it is leaving. Wait, curiously, it turning so it is headed toward the dead end of the street.
On the back of the flat bed is a container, on the side it has the name of a national known company that supplies storage containers you fill at your leisure, that then get picked up and is stored...well, frankly...I don't know...where. Anyway, we watch in awe as the driver pulls up, stops across the street from our house, and through magic and noisy wonder... with levers and hydraulics, he preceded to remove the storage container and the frame supporting it from the flat bed. It was amazing...I wish you could have been here. We're thinking, oh, my gosh...it that going to sit THERE. Oh, my, what will bird lady think? She will not be happy.
The truck went out of sight up the street, but quickly returned, went slightly around the corner at the intersection, and stopped. The driver then once again set the 'noisy wonder' with lever and hydraulics, back into motion, turning it completely around. I'm telling you...Frankie and I were beside ourselves, this was great entertainment.
Oh, boy, who should happen to show up...bird lady, husband and doggy...Frankie and I look at each other with UH-OH written all over our faces. Of course, our imaginations run amok. She speaks to the driver, and he points in the direction of my friend's home...she, husband and doggy, turn and begin to walk my neighbor's direction. Surely she is not going to make a 'stink'.
Back to watching the driver, he backs the truck, and with 'noisy wonder', levers and hydraulics, he reloads the container and frame onto the flat bed then hops into the driver's seat. Frankie and I rush to a new observation window, we have got to see what is going to happen next.
The driver goes down my neighbor's street, and we can see him back into their driveway. We reach the conclusion, that the storage container door must have been a problem, and had been facing the wrong direction first time the driver wanted to unload it, so he had to jerry-rig things around a bit. I got to tell you, there's a lot of skill involved in moving these containers around.
Anyway, things went well, and within minutes, the truck is gone, without the container, bird-lady is nowhere in sight, and the neighborhood seems to be back to normal.
Fast forward an hour.
Frankie and I hear the sound of a truck. Surely my neighbor has not loaded her container THAT quickly ...we rush to the front window. Yep, there's a truck alright. And, what's on it...a storage container...different company...but a container none-the-less; has my neighbor rented two?
Again, there is a bit of maneuvering going on, this truck is apparently going the wrong direction, and he has to turn around and back out our dead end street, it disappeared out of sight so we have no idea where this container was dropped, we are curious, but not so much we're willing to go out in the cold to explore.
Now, and this is sad...as I said.. it does not take much to entertain two old ladies when we get so 'all atwitter' at such activity on our street, me thinks, we have got to get a life!
Thank you, thank you, thank you
This Blog is for you, all of you who have become faithful readers. You are my inspiration. If it were not for you, there would be no reason for me to be typing words here almost every day.
As you know, I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer and mostly I'm a day late and a pound short kind of gal, so it was only recently I discovered there is a 'stats' page here in this Blog program. I was intrigued by this discovery, and honored to see I have readers round the world. I had no idea! I was, as 'they' used to say, 'blown away'. I have to admit, I got more puffed up than a ruffled grouse or better yet, a peacock. I knew I had followers here in America, family and friends, but had not clue there were readers in such far flung places. I have a hard time believing I have readers in Germany, Canada, South Korea, England, and occasionally ones from Malaysia, South Africa, Japan and Thailand.
Every writer likes to feel their words are touching somebody, and when I first started writing Ramblings of an Old Woman, it was mostly for me, to get my feelings on paper (so to speak), jotting down the everyday, sometimes mundane events of my daily activities. Sometimes I did this with a touch of whimsy, humor and even melancholy.
Crazy as it now seems, my little Ramblings seemed to take life. Frankie joined in. Then came Things They Never Tell You, occasionally I would Ramble about research I had done, or Zorro and CC (Crystal Champagne) would the day's topic. Every Blog has at least one grain of truth, although some are full of hyperbole, simply because I can. And, I have to confess, my Ramblings about my secret love at Christmas...well, good times, good times.
For, it was just Christmas time that I discovered you, my little Blog family. I was so delighted I could barely contain myself. It was the best present I ever got...in my whole life...you made me not just a writer...I became an author. Do you have any idea what a big deal that is? Trust me, for a writer to suddenly discover they are being 'read', makes that writer an author and that is a very, very big deal.
So, I just want you to know, whoever you are, where ever you are, I, Frankie, Zorro and CC thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Take good care of yourselves, remember, it's a jungle out there...I don't want to lose you.
As you know, I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer and mostly I'm a day late and a pound short kind of gal, so it was only recently I discovered there is a 'stats' page here in this Blog program. I was intrigued by this discovery, and honored to see I have readers round the world. I had no idea! I was, as 'they' used to say, 'blown away'. I have to admit, I got more puffed up than a ruffled grouse or better yet, a peacock. I knew I had followers here in America, family and friends, but had not clue there were readers in such far flung places. I have a hard time believing I have readers in Germany, Canada, South Korea, England, and occasionally ones from Malaysia, South Africa, Japan and Thailand.
Every writer likes to feel their words are touching somebody, and when I first started writing Ramblings of an Old Woman, it was mostly for me, to get my feelings on paper (so to speak), jotting down the everyday, sometimes mundane events of my daily activities. Sometimes I did this with a touch of whimsy, humor and even melancholy.
Crazy as it now seems, my little Ramblings seemed to take life. Frankie joined in. Then came Things They Never Tell You, occasionally I would Ramble about research I had done, or Zorro and CC (Crystal Champagne) would the day's topic. Every Blog has at least one grain of truth, although some are full of hyperbole, simply because I can. And, I have to confess, my Ramblings about my secret love at Christmas...well, good times, good times.
For, it was just Christmas time that I discovered you, my little Blog family. I was so delighted I could barely contain myself. It was the best present I ever got...in my whole life...you made me not just a writer...I became an author. Do you have any idea what a big deal that is? Trust me, for a writer to suddenly discover they are being 'read', makes that writer an author and that is a very, very big deal.
So, I just want you to know, whoever you are, where ever you are, I, Frankie, Zorro and CC thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Take good care of yourselves, remember, it's a jungle out there...I don't want to lose you.
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Okay, okay, okay
I know you are all tired of my ranting about Realtors.
But!!!!
Ever since last week I've been getting phone calls from a local number that has been very insistent. The name associated with this number is the same as my niece's husband (what are the odds of that) and had it not been for the area code that came with the number, I would have thought something awful must have happened to my sister.
I've been avoiding the calls ever since, instinct told me they had to be from a Realtor. However, yesterday, I just happened to be walking by the phone when it started to ring, for some unknown reason I it picked up.
The man on the other end wanted to know if I am who I am and announced he was a Realtor and he noticed my home was no longer on the market...could he represent me if I were to put the house on the market in the future.
I was livid...patiently as I could muster patience...I explained I intended to stay where I am, because I was quite unhappy with the results from the time my home had been on the market first time around.
In that haughty voice only a Realtor can do, (implying I'm some kind of idiot for not bending over and kissing the feet of the other Realtors' endeavors), he assured me he could do a much better job and 'Id be out of here' in no time.
I took this all in stride...well, there may have been a little edge in the tone of my voice.
And...then...he...asked...
"What were your plans had you sold your home?"
Honest to God...he actually said that. I was shocked. He was the second Realtor to ask me that...AFTER my place was officially off the market. Why the hell do they give a damn...and how dare they think that is any OF THEIR DAMN BUSINESS?
And that is exactly what I told him...it is none of your business.
I doubt he will call back again.
Anyway, this will be the last time I mention R------s' here on my Blog, unless I do put the house on the market again. Which seems more and more doubtful if calls from more and more R-------s' continue. I've had the same phone number for over thirty years, don't you think it would be kind of a shame if now I had to change it because of continued nuisance calls?
I happen to be very fond of one particular gentleman who used to be in the real estate business. I can't imagine him ever, ever, ever, being like the folks who are in the business today. He's the kind of guy who, loves to work, and loves the work he does whatever that job happens to be at the moment. When he helped me sell some property several years ago, I'd have been in dire straights without his kindness, patience, and tolerance of a Rambling Old Woman. He's a wonderful, wonderful man, husband, father and grandfather. He deserves the EXCEPTION TO THE RULE award.
God loves ya big guy, and so do I.
P.S. I'm glad you got out of the business, I'm not sure you would like it any more.
But!!!!
Ever since last week I've been getting phone calls from a local number that has been very insistent. The name associated with this number is the same as my niece's husband (what are the odds of that) and had it not been for the area code that came with the number, I would have thought something awful must have happened to my sister.
I've been avoiding the calls ever since, instinct told me they had to be from a Realtor. However, yesterday, I just happened to be walking by the phone when it started to ring, for some unknown reason I it picked up.
The man on the other end wanted to know if I am who I am and announced he was a Realtor and he noticed my home was no longer on the market...could he represent me if I were to put the house on the market in the future.
I was livid...patiently as I could muster patience...I explained I intended to stay where I am, because I was quite unhappy with the results from the time my home had been on the market first time around.
In that haughty voice only a Realtor can do, (implying I'm some kind of idiot for not bending over and kissing the feet of the other Realtors' endeavors), he assured me he could do a much better job and 'Id be out of here' in no time.
I took this all in stride...well, there may have been a little edge in the tone of my voice.
And...then...he...asked...
"What were your plans had you sold your home?"
Honest to God...he actually said that. I was shocked. He was the second Realtor to ask me that...AFTER my place was officially off the market. Why the hell do they give a damn...and how dare they think that is any OF THEIR DAMN BUSINESS?
And that is exactly what I told him...it is none of your business.
I doubt he will call back again.
Anyway, this will be the last time I mention R------s' here on my Blog, unless I do put the house on the market again. Which seems more and more doubtful if calls from more and more R-------s' continue. I've had the same phone number for over thirty years, don't you think it would be kind of a shame if now I had to change it because of continued nuisance calls?
I happen to be very fond of one particular gentleman who used to be in the real estate business. I can't imagine him ever, ever, ever, being like the folks who are in the business today. He's the kind of guy who, loves to work, and loves the work he does whatever that job happens to be at the moment. When he helped me sell some property several years ago, I'd have been in dire straights without his kindness, patience, and tolerance of a Rambling Old Woman. He's a wonderful, wonderful man, husband, father and grandfather. He deserves the EXCEPTION TO THE RULE award.
God loves ya big guy, and so do I.
P.S. I'm glad you got out of the business, I'm not sure you would like it any more.
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Tick-Tock
Tick-tock, it's almost Valentines Day, check out gueswhooriginals.com. The elves at Gues Who have been working overtime and have some new merchandise for you to check out. Take a peek!
Things they never tell you.
I don't sing anymore.
I didn't really think about that until this morning when an 'olden days song' popped into my head, and I opened my mouth to sing to the music in my head.
We were sailing along on Moonlight Bay
We could hear the voices ringing
They seemed to say
"You have stolen her heart"
"Now don't go 'way"
As we sang love's old sweet song on Moonlight Bay.
Word by Edward Madden, Music by Percy Weinrich
I could not believe the catter-walling that escaped my lips. I was horrified...what had happened to my voice. Not only was I off key, but there seemed to be a bunch of gunk at the back of my throat that caused me to cough and sputter before I could continue.
Several minutes and half a bottle of water later, I tried again. I was hoping I would sound a bit better. This time the gunk was gone, but it was replaced by the sound of a squeaky door hinge. What the heck?
I used to sing A LOT, I was a member of the church choir for years and years. My mom and I used to put the church hymnal on the window sill while we were doing the dinner dishes and sing harmony, A-cappella, I sang soprano, she, alto. We were pretty darn good.
Later in life I was not so confident to sing in front of people, so I started to sing along with my favorite tapes, or with a tune I liked on the radio. I'd hold a wooden spoon in front of my mouth and I'd pretend I was singing duets with the likes of Frank Sinatra, Roger Whittaker, or Elton John. (I did I ever tell you on my bucket list is an entry to sing on stage with Elton John). Now I would be too embarrassed. How sad is that?
So, how come nobody ever tells you, when you get old, your voice gets gravelly, turns to sandpaper, a rasp, a rusty saw. Today I'm pondering, where did my sweet sounding, lyrical voice go? When did it go? Why did I stop singing, was it because I knew I couldn't? What can I do get my singing voice back? Is singing really that important in the first place?
Yes, yes it is. I had a passion for singing, it brought me joy, brightened my day, and made me feel good inside and out. Maybe I never should have stopped because I thought I didn't sound good anymore, when in reality I still did. Maybe I should have kept on singing with my favorites Frank Sinatra, Roger Whittaker and Elton John...nobody but heard but me.
Still, I'm sad nobody ever told me the day would come when there would be gravel at the back of my throat, and the sounds emitting from it would sound like sandpaper, a rasp, rusty saw and squeaky hing all at the same time.
(Insert sigh here.)
"We were sailing along.........
I didn't really think about that until this morning when an 'olden days song' popped into my head, and I opened my mouth to sing to the music in my head.
We were sailing along on Moonlight Bay
We could hear the voices ringing
They seemed to say
"You have stolen her heart"
"Now don't go 'way"
As we sang love's old sweet song on Moonlight Bay.
Word by Edward Madden, Music by Percy Weinrich
I could not believe the catter-walling that escaped my lips. I was horrified...what had happened to my voice. Not only was I off key, but there seemed to be a bunch of gunk at the back of my throat that caused me to cough and sputter before I could continue.
Several minutes and half a bottle of water later, I tried again. I was hoping I would sound a bit better. This time the gunk was gone, but it was replaced by the sound of a squeaky door hinge. What the heck?
I used to sing A LOT, I was a member of the church choir for years and years. My mom and I used to put the church hymnal on the window sill while we were doing the dinner dishes and sing harmony, A-cappella, I sang soprano, she, alto. We were pretty darn good.
Later in life I was not so confident to sing in front of people, so I started to sing along with my favorite tapes, or with a tune I liked on the radio. I'd hold a wooden spoon in front of my mouth and I'd pretend I was singing duets with the likes of Frank Sinatra, Roger Whittaker, or Elton John. (I did I ever tell you on my bucket list is an entry to sing on stage with Elton John). Now I would be too embarrassed. How sad is that?
So, how come nobody ever tells you, when you get old, your voice gets gravelly, turns to sandpaper, a rasp, a rusty saw. Today I'm pondering, where did my sweet sounding, lyrical voice go? When did it go? Why did I stop singing, was it because I knew I couldn't? What can I do get my singing voice back? Is singing really that important in the first place?
Yes, yes it is. I had a passion for singing, it brought me joy, brightened my day, and made me feel good inside and out. Maybe I never should have stopped because I thought I didn't sound good anymore, when in reality I still did. Maybe I should have kept on singing with my favorites Frank Sinatra, Roger Whittaker and Elton John...nobody but heard but me.
Still, I'm sad nobody ever told me the day would come when there would be gravel at the back of my throat, and the sounds emitting from it would sound like sandpaper, a rasp, rusty saw and squeaky hing all at the same time.
(Insert sigh here.)
"We were sailing along.........
Monday, February 4, 2013
Boy...
oh, boy, have I been busy.
My ole computer and I have really been burning up the electric bill. My mind in perpetual motion thinking about what I can accomplish with my store front, so you all can window shop.
Plus, I've decided to be better prepared for tax time and have set up a monthly spread sheet with Excel and have been diligently posting all my financial activities through the month of January...and did a pretty good job of that, if I do say so myself. There are even a few posting already for February...question is...will Sandra be able to keep it up all year long. Guess time will tell.
Then, I've been doing some crocheting as well. This is something I do during the evening while my kitty, doggy and I are snuggled under an afghan on the sofa watching TV.
Of course there is also Bible study to do for our Wednesday afternoon lesson, and since I love research, the ole computer and I set the office smoking with that regard, too. There is sooo much to learn. And I am so eager to do that.
Oh, and now that I've discovered Lumosity, that has become part of my daily routine, and every evening I spend at least half an hour trying to increase my mental capacity. Busy, busy, busy.
And this now brings me to the point of this blog. You've all heard the old adage about burning your candle at both ends...well, I guess I must have been doing that, cause, yesterday evening both ends of my candle met in the middle, and the damn thing went out. I mean...it went with a quiet fizzle, a few sparks and a poof of smoke, but it was one h--l of a crash...sooo pooped...I was so, so, so pooped. I could scarcely get myself to the bedroom to brush my teeth, pull down the covers and get under them.
What made it worse was I had chores before I could get there. I had the dog to put out and bring in, dishes to put in the washer, doors to double check for locking, lights to extinguish, and a thermostat to set. I was draggin' myself all over the dang place.
If I was a crying kind of gal, I would have been swimming in tears, too.
But, once I was finally in bed (a little after nine), man...did I ever sleep, yep I slept, and slept, and slept. Didn't wake until almost seven this morning, when I felt CC land on my chest. I'm guessing she was hungry.
I tried to convince myself I still needed more sleep, but, let's face it we all know when we've been in bed too long, and time is simply being wasted.
So, I got up and lit a new candle, and began daily activities. Busy, busy, busy. I'd like to report to you all that I have learned my lesson and will keep this candle burning only on one end. But, I already feel I need to find a new match to light the other, and if I do, I hope at least I have the good sense to blow out both ends at a decent bedtime hour.
My ole computer and I have really been burning up the electric bill. My mind in perpetual motion thinking about what I can accomplish with my store front, so you all can window shop.
Plus, I've decided to be better prepared for tax time and have set up a monthly spread sheet with Excel and have been diligently posting all my financial activities through the month of January...and did a pretty good job of that, if I do say so myself. There are even a few posting already for February...question is...will Sandra be able to keep it up all year long. Guess time will tell.
Then, I've been doing some crocheting as well. This is something I do during the evening while my kitty, doggy and I are snuggled under an afghan on the sofa watching TV.
Of course there is also Bible study to do for our Wednesday afternoon lesson, and since I love research, the ole computer and I set the office smoking with that regard, too. There is sooo much to learn. And I am so eager to do that.
Oh, and now that I've discovered Lumosity, that has become part of my daily routine, and every evening I spend at least half an hour trying to increase my mental capacity. Busy, busy, busy.
And this now brings me to the point of this blog. You've all heard the old adage about burning your candle at both ends...well, I guess I must have been doing that, cause, yesterday evening both ends of my candle met in the middle, and the damn thing went out. I mean...it went with a quiet fizzle, a few sparks and a poof of smoke, but it was one h--l of a crash...sooo pooped...I was so, so, so pooped. I could scarcely get myself to the bedroom to brush my teeth, pull down the covers and get under them.
What made it worse was I had chores before I could get there. I had the dog to put out and bring in, dishes to put in the washer, doors to double check for locking, lights to extinguish, and a thermostat to set. I was draggin' myself all over the dang place.
If I was a crying kind of gal, I would have been swimming in tears, too.
But, once I was finally in bed (a little after nine), man...did I ever sleep, yep I slept, and slept, and slept. Didn't wake until almost seven this morning, when I felt CC land on my chest. I'm guessing she was hungry.
I tried to convince myself I still needed more sleep, but, let's face it we all know when we've been in bed too long, and time is simply being wasted.
So, I got up and lit a new candle, and began daily activities. Busy, busy, busy. I'd like to report to you all that I have learned my lesson and will keep this candle burning only on one end. But, I already feel I need to find a new match to light the other, and if I do, I hope at least I have the good sense to blow out both ends at a decent bedtime hour.
Saturday, February 2, 2013
G-bye winter
I understand on Yahoo news this morning, the official groundhog, Pa.'s Punxsutawney Phil, has predicted an early spring.
Well, let me just say...
THANK YOU GOD!!!!!
Although winter just started late December it feels as though it has been here since the first sign of autumn the middle of October last year. Yeah, where was autumn last year?
Maybe it is just me...my age talking.
Age: "Hey, old lady...boy...am I going to screw with you."
Me: "Why, what have I ever done to you?"
Age: "Nothing, it's what I've done to you...I made you old, and you can't stand it....baahaaahaaa."
(Make sure this sound is a very evil laugh.)
Me: "Everybody gets old, why pick on me?"
Age: "You have to ask? Well, old lady...you are such an easy target. Plus, you hate me. All the more reason, I love a good challenge."
Me: "Yeah, so?"
Age: "So, that allows me to play 'mind games' with you. I can give the appearance that the dark, dank, looong spelled months seem longer, and that the short spelled months seem shorter. I can make the cold feel colder, and the hot feel hotter. Should I go on?
Me: "No, I get the picture, you're in control of my destiny. You're just plain mean.
Age: "No,I'm just inevitable...life is what it is. Everybody eventually thinks the world is changing, well...actually it is...but not in the ways related to life. Life has phases you have no choice to progress through. People end up old. You require less sleep, less food, less just about everything. Those that give up the fight for life and give in to me end up lonely, bitter, angry, sick, tired, and did I mention lonely?"
Me: "Gasp."
Age: "So, let me tell you a little story:
Once upon a time there was an old lady. She hated getting old, she complained about the cold, she complained about the dark winter months, she hated another year coming to a close (I think because it meant she was going to get another year older). She didn't complain just this year, no, e-v-e-r-y s-i-n-g-l-e year. Frankly, everybody got tired of hearing it. People whispered behind her back.
Then one day, Age gave her a 'whap' up-side her head and said. "Listen up, cry baby! Ain't nuttin' you can do about gettin' old. Physically old...but you can sure do sumfun' 'bout attitude...yours stinks. Get a grip, some day you're gonna' die.
So, the moral of this little tale? Life is what it is, enjoy the simple pleasures, like the day when you realize it is still daylight at 5:30 PM on February 1st.
Either, 'life's a bitch, and then you die...or, 'life's a blast'...what a way to go!
The end.
Well, let me just say...
THANK YOU GOD!!!!!
Although winter just started late December it feels as though it has been here since the first sign of autumn the middle of October last year. Yeah, where was autumn last year?
Maybe it is just me...my age talking.
Age: "Hey, old lady...boy...am I going to screw with you."
Me: "Why, what have I ever done to you?"
Age: "Nothing, it's what I've done to you...I made you old, and you can't stand it....baahaaahaaa."
(Make sure this sound is a very evil laugh.)
Me: "Everybody gets old, why pick on me?"
Age: "You have to ask? Well, old lady...you are such an easy target. Plus, you hate me. All the more reason, I love a good challenge."
Me: "Yeah, so?"
Age: "So, that allows me to play 'mind games' with you. I can give the appearance that the dark, dank, looong spelled months seem longer, and that the short spelled months seem shorter. I can make the cold feel colder, and the hot feel hotter. Should I go on?
Me: "No, I get the picture, you're in control of my destiny. You're just plain mean.
Age: "No,I'm just inevitable...life is what it is. Everybody eventually thinks the world is changing, well...actually it is...but not in the ways related to life. Life has phases you have no choice to progress through. People end up old. You require less sleep, less food, less just about everything. Those that give up the fight for life and give in to me end up lonely, bitter, angry, sick, tired, and did I mention lonely?"
Me: "Gasp."
Age: "So, let me tell you a little story:
Once upon a time there was an old lady. She hated getting old, she complained about the cold, she complained about the dark winter months, she hated another year coming to a close (I think because it meant she was going to get another year older). She didn't complain just this year, no, e-v-e-r-y s-i-n-g-l-e year. Frankly, everybody got tired of hearing it. People whispered behind her back.
Then one day, Age gave her a 'whap' up-side her head and said. "Listen up, cry baby! Ain't nuttin' you can do about gettin' old. Physically old...but you can sure do sumfun' 'bout attitude...yours stinks. Get a grip, some day you're gonna' die.
So, the moral of this little tale? Life is what it is, enjoy the simple pleasures, like the day when you realize it is still daylight at 5:30 PM on February 1st.
Either, 'life's a bitch, and then you die...or, 'life's a blast'...what a way to go!
The end.
Friday, February 1, 2013
Mmmmmmwaaaaaahhhhhh.
Mmmmmmwaaaaaahhhhhh.
That dear friends and family is a big juicy kiss, from me to you.
Seriously, just want to send out a gigantic thank you, hugs and kisses to all who had kind things to say about the launching of Gues Who Originals on Zazzle yesterday. I'm lifting my glass of bubbly, here's to you folks, here's to you.
Life is moving on, I can finally get back to concentrating of finishing an order that has been in the works for a couple of weeks. I almost got it in the mail today...dang you mailman for coming early. Yes, I will continue sending out orders for cards from my home office. If any of you might be interested in a 'grab bag' of thinking of you cards, I am prepared to ship out sets of ten for $25. Remember, it's a 'grab bag', but I don't think you would be disappointed in a purchase, 25 bucks for ten cards is not a bad price.
Again, thanks everybody, I'm very humbled by your support and love.
That dear friends and family is a big juicy kiss, from me to you.
Seriously, just want to send out a gigantic thank you, hugs and kisses to all who had kind things to say about the launching of Gues Who Originals on Zazzle yesterday. I'm lifting my glass of bubbly, here's to you folks, here's to you.
Life is moving on, I can finally get back to concentrating of finishing an order that has been in the works for a couple of weeks. I almost got it in the mail today...dang you mailman for coming early. Yes, I will continue sending out orders for cards from my home office. If any of you might be interested in a 'grab bag' of thinking of you cards, I am prepared to ship out sets of ten for $25. Remember, it's a 'grab bag', but I don't think you would be disappointed in a purchase, 25 bucks for ten cards is not a bad price.
Again, thanks everybody, I'm very humbled by your support and love.
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