Okay, I have to confess, I was kind of an ugly person yesterday.
I've been working on a project for my store. Been making beer mugs in the colors of all the professional football teams. Because everything related to them is copyrighted and trademarked all I can do is use stock pictures of football players, and colors as close as my computer can generate.
So, when I was coming down to the end of my creativity, I started counting completed mugs I had in my store and ready for sale, and the pictures in my Publisher Program, from which I generated my illustrations. They didn't match.
Twenty six compared to twenty nine...thirty compared to twenty nine...twenty seven compared to twenty six. No matter how I tried to figure it out I could not. Seriously, I was in a state.
Frankie was ready to pack her bags and leave the house. She even threatened to take the dog and cat.
All I could do was mumble. I was switching back and forth between my store and my Publisher Program trying to figure out which was correct, the illustrations in my store, or the ones in Publisher.
So much for Lumosity and common sense!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Suddenly.
I had a revelation.
Why not print out the illustrations in my Publisher Program, and all the illustrations in my store, and also all the completed mugs ready for sale. That way I could make side by side comparisons rather than bouncing back and forth, back and forth between store and program.
Well, DAH!
Now, all this took time, most of the day actually, and that got Frankie into a real
snit. She pouted, she sighed, she stomped around. She even had to fend for herself when it came time to eat. I finally remembered to do so somewhere between four and five.
Anyway. Once I had printed out pictures of the actual completed mugs, the illustrations in the store, and the ones in Publisher, I began to cut and paste them side by side on the same piece of paper. It took a long, long time, and that was only half my battle. After that I had to check which pictures didn't have mates. Ah ha!
Apparently, when I transferred the illustrations from Publisher to the store, I neglected to keep some copies in Publisher, and one of the illustrations was in the store twice. Do you realize just how closely the teams colors match each other? And, how difficult it is to have a distinction between them? It's been a tough week.
I finally got all the illustrations matched up, and as my day was winding down, I began to delete the extras. It was scary, because Frankie was at my elbow, shaking my confidence that I was going to delete something in reality I wanted to save, and save something I really wanted to delete.
We almost came to blows.
Is there a good side to this story? Yes, there is. I think in a few more days I can finish this project and move on to making stickers for my store.
Plus+++++++
I ordered groceries this week, and there's lots of good stuff in the house to eat. Frankie and I are going to 'pork out'. Better yet, I bought beer...our favorites...it's goin'a be a good holiday weekend.
Saturday, August 31, 2013
Friday, August 30, 2013
Puzzlement
Sorry I missed a posting today.
I'm struggling with a logistics problem with Zazzle and about ready to pull my hair out.
I think I've just about got it figured out. I'll be back tomorrow.
Thanks for your patience, and your wonderful support.
"S"
P.S. She's not kidding...talk about being a 'you know what'. She better be back tomorrow.
Frankie
I'm struggling with a logistics problem with Zazzle and about ready to pull my hair out.
I think I've just about got it figured out. I'll be back tomorrow.
Thanks for your patience, and your wonderful support.
"S"
P.S. She's not kidding...talk about being a 'you know what'. She better be back tomorrow.
Frankie
Thursday, August 29, 2013
Honesty...
...is good for the soul.
Get ready!!!!!
Here it comes!!!!
I do not like most fresh fruits and vegetables...I seldom eat fresh fruits and
vegetables. It is safe to say I will avoid them as much as possible.
Generally speaking, I don't like most canned fruits and vegetables either.
If you could see the shelves of my pantry you would be appalled.
First you will find the fruits and vegetables separated, fruits first, vegetables second, canned meats last.
Then everything is in alphabetical order, and in order by expiration date, too.
I know, I know, that's just sick!!!!!!!
I used to have all kinds of canned fruits, till they got too expensive to buy. Now you will find pineapple and occasionally a few cans of apple sauce on my shelf. That's it.
In the vegetable department you will find beans, lots and lots of beans, all kinds. Corn, not creamed, that's gross, really, really gross. Soups, mostly the kind to be used as an ingredient in something else, like gravy, and finally tomatoes. Oh yes, tomatoes, Diced, sliced, stewed, Italian, Mexican. I do love my tomatoes...maybe because it's a fruit...vegetable....fruit....vegetable.
Lastly there are condiments, and meats. Chicken and tuna mostly. But, occasionally you will find a jar of Dried Beef and a couple of cans of Spam and sardines there, too.
However, the point is, mostly these canned goods just sit there, sit there, sit there. Once in a while I will take a day and cook, it's a frenzy of casseroles mostly that I can split up into individual containers and freeze for a later date. Those containers then sit there, sit there, sit there in my freezer.
Almost every day I pull open the doors of my pantry and look inside thinking something will 'jump out at me'. Surely something will tickle my fancy. I take
a good look around and close the doors.
All the stuff in there requires work.
So, I trek to the refrigerator. There's got to be good stuff in there. Yep, there is a half head of wilted lettuce, a wrinkled zucchini squash, an onion growing a beautiful furry mold, and a tomato with no juice left, just skin, meat, and seeds. So much for wanting a sandwich.
Now, I bet you are thinking I am nothing but skin and bone. Guess again. I'm a robust xxx pounds, and that's cause I'm a meat and potatoes kind of gal.
You got it. I do loves me potatoes. Raw, sprinkled with salt (not the skin cause my mom told me they were poisonous), baked, mashed, french fried, country cut, southern cut, shredded, and tots. I have never met a potato I didn't like. I will drown them in butter, margarine, sour cream, horseradish sauce, salt, pepper, cheese and ketchup. I will mix them with onion, corn and okra. They are the most versatile vegetable ever. And...they...taste...so...dang...good.
Back to fruits. Generally I don't even buy them. I can tolerate blueberries (I guess you could say they are my favorite), strawberries and pears. I will eat an occasional apple and once in a while I'll buy four or five bananas. I used to buy grapes till they got so out of my price range, I don't even visit them in the produce department anymore.
However, I do like pineapple. Rings, chunks and tidbits. I'll eat pineapple right out of the can and drink the juice, too. As for other fruits...no thanks.
Finally, on the other hand, and totally out of character for me, I enjoy a good fruit cake. One loaded with candied cherries, candied pineapple, lots of raisins, citron and walnuts. Go figure. Come on, Christmas!
Anyway, now that I've bared my soul, I'm going to go to my kitchen and fry up some potatoes, okra and onions, then smother the whole shebang in some golden, sharp, cheddar cheese. Yummm.
Get ready!!!!!
Here it comes!!!!
I do not like most fresh fruits and vegetables...I seldom eat fresh fruits and
vegetables. It is safe to say I will avoid them as much as possible.
Generally speaking, I don't like most canned fruits and vegetables either.
If you could see the shelves of my pantry you would be appalled.
First you will find the fruits and vegetables separated, fruits first, vegetables second, canned meats last.
Then everything is in alphabetical order, and in order by expiration date, too.
I know, I know, that's just sick!!!!!!!
I used to have all kinds of canned fruits, till they got too expensive to buy. Now you will find pineapple and occasionally a few cans of apple sauce on my shelf. That's it.
In the vegetable department you will find beans, lots and lots of beans, all kinds. Corn, not creamed, that's gross, really, really gross. Soups, mostly the kind to be used as an ingredient in something else, like gravy, and finally tomatoes. Oh yes, tomatoes, Diced, sliced, stewed, Italian, Mexican. I do love my tomatoes...maybe because it's a fruit...vegetable....fruit....vegetable.
Lastly there are condiments, and meats. Chicken and tuna mostly. But, occasionally you will find a jar of Dried Beef and a couple of cans of Spam and sardines there, too.
However, the point is, mostly these canned goods just sit there, sit there, sit there. Once in a while I will take a day and cook, it's a frenzy of casseroles mostly that I can split up into individual containers and freeze for a later date. Those containers then sit there, sit there, sit there in my freezer.
Almost every day I pull open the doors of my pantry and look inside thinking something will 'jump out at me'. Surely something will tickle my fancy. I take
a good look around and close the doors.
All the stuff in there requires work.
So, I trek to the refrigerator. There's got to be good stuff in there. Yep, there is a half head of wilted lettuce, a wrinkled zucchini squash, an onion growing a beautiful furry mold, and a tomato with no juice left, just skin, meat, and seeds. So much for wanting a sandwich.
Now, I bet you are thinking I am nothing but skin and bone. Guess again. I'm a robust xxx pounds, and that's cause I'm a meat and potatoes kind of gal.
You got it. I do loves me potatoes. Raw, sprinkled with salt (not the skin cause my mom told me they were poisonous), baked, mashed, french fried, country cut, southern cut, shredded, and tots. I have never met a potato I didn't like. I will drown them in butter, margarine, sour cream, horseradish sauce, salt, pepper, cheese and ketchup. I will mix them with onion, corn and okra. They are the most versatile vegetable ever. And...they...taste...so...dang...good.
Back to fruits. Generally I don't even buy them. I can tolerate blueberries (I guess you could say they are my favorite), strawberries and pears. I will eat an occasional apple and once in a while I'll buy four or five bananas. I used to buy grapes till they got so out of my price range, I don't even visit them in the produce department anymore.
However, I do like pineapple. Rings, chunks and tidbits. I'll eat pineapple right out of the can and drink the juice, too. As for other fruits...no thanks.
Finally, on the other hand, and totally out of character for me, I enjoy a good fruit cake. One loaded with candied cherries, candied pineapple, lots of raisins, citron and walnuts. Go figure. Come on, Christmas!
Anyway, now that I've bared my soul, I'm going to go to my kitchen and fry up some potatoes, okra and onions, then smother the whole shebang in some golden, sharp, cheddar cheese. Yummm.
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Cloudy with a chance of cheesecake.
Think hard.
When is the last time you've seen a meteorologist agitated?
I'm talking Ad-gee-ta-ted.
I saw one yesterday.
It seems that quaint little century old magazine that predicts the next year's weather (specifically for farmers) came out yesterday for 2014. Personally, I like this publication and try to remember to buy myself a copy every year.
Well!!!! This year's edition got one of my local weather guys in a real tizzy. I mean, he even used a word on air that the news anchor inquired, also on air...are we allowed to use that word?
I don't know, all I can say is this guy seemed quite offended that this publication did not use modern teknalogical means to predict what kind of seasons we would have next year. He was quite appalled they simply went by the trends of the hundred plus years they have been publishing their predictions.
Seriously, he even had a graph to show how frequently they were wrong while he and all his college edjakated counterparts were almost 100% right because they have radar, satellites and countless tracking stations that cannot only tell us what the weather is going to be, but exactly when the weather is going to happen. Man, I love when they are wrong.
What gets me is how upset this guy was. Here you have a homey, down to earth, piece of straw in the corner of your mouth, publication that not only takes a semi-educated guess at what the weather might be, it also spins a few weather tales, and offers quips, and funny fillers to the delight of their readers. If it turns out they are right, I'm sure the editor of the publication is delighted, if not, well, there's always next year.
Seriously, weather guy. This publication is not out to get you personally, or to poo-poo (Poop, is that the word you used on air? Could have been now that I think about it.) your college education and degree. You've got calm down, get your blood pressure back under control, I've got just one word for you, letitgo.
When is the last time you've seen a meteorologist agitated?
I'm talking Ad-gee-ta-ted.
I saw one yesterday.
It seems that quaint little century old magazine that predicts the next year's weather (specifically for farmers) came out yesterday for 2014. Personally, I like this publication and try to remember to buy myself a copy every year.
Well!!!! This year's edition got one of my local weather guys in a real tizzy. I mean, he even used a word on air that the news anchor inquired, also on air...are we allowed to use that word?
I don't know, all I can say is this guy seemed quite offended that this publication did not use modern teknalogical means to predict what kind of seasons we would have next year. He was quite appalled they simply went by the trends of the hundred plus years they have been publishing their predictions.
Seriously, he even had a graph to show how frequently they were wrong while he and all his college edjakated counterparts were almost 100% right because they have radar, satellites and countless tracking stations that cannot only tell us what the weather is going to be, but exactly when the weather is going to happen. Man, I love when they are wrong.
What gets me is how upset this guy was. Here you have a homey, down to earth, piece of straw in the corner of your mouth, publication that not only takes a semi-educated guess at what the weather might be, it also spins a few weather tales, and offers quips, and funny fillers to the delight of their readers. If it turns out they are right, I'm sure the editor of the publication is delighted, if not, well, there's always next year.
Seriously, weather guy. This publication is not out to get you personally, or to poo-poo (Poop, is that the word you used on air? Could have been now that I think about it.) your college education and degree. You've got calm down, get your blood pressure back under control, I've got just one word for you, letitgo.
Summer 'time'
con·tem·plate
[kon-tuhm-pleyt,]
[kon-tuhm-pleyt,]
1.
to look at or view with continued attention; observe or study thoughtfully: to contemplate the stars.
2.
to consider thoroughly; think fully or deeply about.
3.
to think studiously; meditate; consider deliberately.
This morning I've been contemplating the end of summer. Where did it go? Why didn't I accomplish very much? How did I allow the days to slip by with little notice?
Is it possible I've been going through summer in a dream-like state? Sure, I rise every morning, and do stuff, and often toddle off to bed in a near state of exhaustion. But, doing what?
If I had to account for my summer 'time' to a great timekeeper, could I honorably justify how I spent it?
Well, Mr/Ms Timekeeper, what do you think?
I've spent hours and hours in the yard upgrading gardens, planting, trimming and
weeding.
I painted two park benches and three resin chairs.
I watered, watered, watered, and I can prove that, because my last water bill was over two hundred dollars.
I worked just about everyday, including Saturdays and Sundays, making merchandise for my Zazzle store. There are over two hundred items there now.
I've been blogging and exercising my grey matter with Lumosity.
I have seen a chicken coop go up in the yard behind mine. I watched chickens arrive. There's Penny, Peaches, Maybell, Millie and of course Florence. Yes, Mr/Ms Timekeeper I know, I know, I've spent way more time watching them than I should have but, it's been a very learning experience, plus, I find them charming. They may be, as some people think, dumb as stumps...but they are also great escape artists, especially Florence.
I've entertained, been entertained, crocheted, designed merchandise, and hunted down and destroyed ant colonies that have invaded my kitchen, garage, morning room, and patio. (I hope we have a very, very cold winter that will kill off these insidious creatures.)
Some of my summer days seemed not to have enough hours, while others kind of dragged on, still...somehow, the days drifted into weeks and the weeks into months. Now, Labor Day is only hours away...well a couple of days really, but it does somehow represent the end of summer. Where did it go?
I guess looking back, Mr/Ms Timekeeper, I've at least spent some of summer's 'time' wisely. Although it would be nice to slow 'time' down...I think I'm going to spend the rest of today contemplating how I might be able to do that.
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
New York, New York
I don't know what the heck is wrong with me. Ever since I saw the commercial by some company offering to pay for a trip to anywhere you want to go, I've not been able to think about much else.
There's a hook of course. According to the commercial, you have to leave "right now". Apparently you don't even have time to pack. I guess you go to the airport and take off to your chosen destination on the earliest flight.
The guy in the commercial ends up in China.
I've been giving this a lot of thought, where would I go.
Wales comes to mind, but I don't have a passport, so I'm limited to places in the United States. Then again, that would limit people even if they had a passport, because I don't think people carry them on their person all the time. Hmmm. And, as far as I know this crazy country does not require us to do so...think of all the people who are here illegally...just sayin'.
Anyway, I think we all know where I would go. New York City. Yep, that's where I would go. The only thing is, would I be brave enough to take a cab to the airport, hop a jet and simply take off.
For instance, what would I do about Zorro and CC?
What would such an action have on my anxiety?
I have to say, I'm very torn. If I was thirty, (single, foot loose and fancy free) I'd be on that plane so fast, your head would swim.
If I was forty, I'd be moving a bit slower, and I would probably think about 'packing a bag' first. Still, I would be on that plane in a flash.
Fifty...I'm sure I would have doubts, am I crazy, what would people think? Am I nuts...well, I am...but still to just pick up and go? I've friends and neighbors who would look after things at home, and I would go.
If I was sixty. I wouldn't go. I know, I wouldn't go. I would have all kinds of excuses why. The house, the pets, the responsibilities, and on and on and on. Actually it would all boil down to the fact I was old, scared, and uncomfortable with change.
Now, I'm in my seventies, and even with all my ailments, all my insecurities...the fact I would actually be in New York City, standing in Times Square is tempting, very, very tempting. Picture me, waving to the world from the 'crowd camera' and tossing my hat into the air like Mary Tyler Moore did in her TV show so many, many years ago.
I wonder how long this crazy trip would last? Could I see some plays, walk across the Brooklyn Bridge, take a cab from Soho all the way to Inwood Hill Park? Go to the top of the Empire State Building? See Naked Cowboy and the guy who dresses up like the Statue of Liberty?
Could New York City handle me?
I'd love to find out, I wish I was thirty again.
There's a hook of course. According to the commercial, you have to leave "right now". Apparently you don't even have time to pack. I guess you go to the airport and take off to your chosen destination on the earliest flight.
The guy in the commercial ends up in China.
I've been giving this a lot of thought, where would I go.
Wales comes to mind, but I don't have a passport, so I'm limited to places in the United States. Then again, that would limit people even if they had a passport, because I don't think people carry them on their person all the time. Hmmm. And, as far as I know this crazy country does not require us to do so...think of all the people who are here illegally...just sayin'.
Anyway, I think we all know where I would go. New York City. Yep, that's where I would go. The only thing is, would I be brave enough to take a cab to the airport, hop a jet and simply take off.
For instance, what would I do about Zorro and CC?
What would such an action have on my anxiety?
I have to say, I'm very torn. If I was thirty, (single, foot loose and fancy free) I'd be on that plane so fast, your head would swim.
If I was forty, I'd be moving a bit slower, and I would probably think about 'packing a bag' first. Still, I would be on that plane in a flash.
Fifty...I'm sure I would have doubts, am I crazy, what would people think? Am I nuts...well, I am...but still to just pick up and go? I've friends and neighbors who would look after things at home, and I would go.
If I was sixty. I wouldn't go. I know, I wouldn't go. I would have all kinds of excuses why. The house, the pets, the responsibilities, and on and on and on. Actually it would all boil down to the fact I was old, scared, and uncomfortable with change.
Now, I'm in my seventies, and even with all my ailments, all my insecurities...the fact I would actually be in New York City, standing in Times Square is tempting, very, very tempting. Picture me, waving to the world from the 'crowd camera' and tossing my hat into the air like Mary Tyler Moore did in her TV show so many, many years ago.
I wonder how long this crazy trip would last? Could I see some plays, walk across the Brooklyn Bridge, take a cab from Soho all the way to Inwood Hill Park? Go to the top of the Empire State Building? See Naked Cowboy and the guy who dresses up like the Statue of Liberty?
Could New York City handle me?
I'd love to find out, I wish I was thirty again.
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Yellow, blue, orange, green, red
and PURPLE.
My daughter went to her class reunion yesterday afternoon. Some of the grand kids wanted to visit grandma while she was socializing.
It's never difficult to entertain the kids, because they are always up for anything. And, since they are so diverse in age, anything goes.
We started with Candy Land, the famous Milton Bradley Game. We are all familiar with this game, where you have to get your little cardboard cutout to Candy Land before everybody else, although you have to maneuver through some pitfalls along the way.
My granddaughter said the game is 'stressful'...I agree. Nobody likes getting within ten squares of the finish line only to get one of the cards that will send you careening back to Plum Forest, that is only inches from the start line.
That's why, I decided to stack the odds in my favor. While playing the game for the second time, I took one of the purple cards (the color of the last square to enter Candy Land and win the game) and sat on it. I was sooo pleased and tickled with myself. I was going to win for sure this time.
Talk about stress. We were all advancing along to the finish line. My little secret stash burning into the back of my leg. Boy oh, boy, I had this game in the bag. Then, the inevitable happened. I got a card that sent me back to Peanut Brittle land. Shoot! Poop! Dag nab it! Son of a Sea Cook!
Lot of good my stolen lot did me. So, I decided to keep my thievery to myself. However, I decided to confide in my youngest granddaughter and swore her to
secrecy. She was tickled we could share a secret.
We moved on to other activities. The youngest took my bucket of chalk, and drew a "Magic land" from my front door to the end of my drive way, while some of us played Cash Cab, or watched TV...it is 'preseason' football after all.
Anyway, Cash Cab was the next game up, and just to prove that cheaters really do lose, I did, again.
After my daughter returned from her reunion, we made a run to the Sub Shop and we all chose humongous sandwiches for dinner. Good stuff, good stuff.
Oh course, the time for my family to leave rapidly approached. A sad time, I hate when my visitors have to go.
Now, here's the thing. And I don't know if all grandmother's are like this or not, but there are times I cannot contain myself, and love to shock my grand kids for no good reason at all. Which is why, just before they left I 'spilled the beans' about cheating at Candy Land.
I wish you could have seen the looks on the faces of my daughter and
granddaughter. They gasped. They were appalled. They screamed at me.
They could not believe I would do such a thing.......
Well, of course I would...in a heart beat.
I've been known to occasionally utter a swear word...you've no idea what THAT does to a grand kid.
It's such fun....
As everybody was going out the door, my granddaughter and I were discussing my cheating and my grandson overheard.
"WHAT???" He inquired, not quite sure what he had heard. We filled him in. As he's heading down the steps, I hear him say..."Good one Grandma...good one."
It was, wasn't it?
My daughter went to her class reunion yesterday afternoon. Some of the grand kids wanted to visit grandma while she was socializing.
It's never difficult to entertain the kids, because they are always up for anything. And, since they are so diverse in age, anything goes.
We started with Candy Land, the famous Milton Bradley Game. We are all familiar with this game, where you have to get your little cardboard cutout to Candy Land before everybody else, although you have to maneuver through some pitfalls along the way.
My granddaughter said the game is 'stressful'...I agree. Nobody likes getting within ten squares of the finish line only to get one of the cards that will send you careening back to Plum Forest, that is only inches from the start line.
That's why, I decided to stack the odds in my favor. While playing the game for the second time, I took one of the purple cards (the color of the last square to enter Candy Land and win the game) and sat on it. I was sooo pleased and tickled with myself. I was going to win for sure this time.
Talk about stress. We were all advancing along to the finish line. My little secret stash burning into the back of my leg. Boy oh, boy, I had this game in the bag. Then, the inevitable happened. I got a card that sent me back to Peanut Brittle land. Shoot! Poop! Dag nab it! Son of a Sea Cook!
Lot of good my stolen lot did me. So, I decided to keep my thievery to myself. However, I decided to confide in my youngest granddaughter and swore her to
secrecy. She was tickled we could share a secret.
We moved on to other activities. The youngest took my bucket of chalk, and drew a "Magic land" from my front door to the end of my drive way, while some of us played Cash Cab, or watched TV...it is 'preseason' football after all.
Anyway, Cash Cab was the next game up, and just to prove that cheaters really do lose, I did, again.
After my daughter returned from her reunion, we made a run to the Sub Shop and we all chose humongous sandwiches for dinner. Good stuff, good stuff.
Oh course, the time for my family to leave rapidly approached. A sad time, I hate when my visitors have to go.
Now, here's the thing. And I don't know if all grandmother's are like this or not, but there are times I cannot contain myself, and love to shock my grand kids for no good reason at all. Which is why, just before they left I 'spilled the beans' about cheating at Candy Land.
I wish you could have seen the looks on the faces of my daughter and
granddaughter. They gasped. They were appalled. They screamed at me.
They could not believe I would do such a thing.......
Well, of course I would...in a heart beat.
I've been known to occasionally utter a swear word...you've no idea what THAT does to a grand kid.
It's such fun....
As everybody was going out the door, my granddaughter and I were discussing my cheating and my grandson overheard.
"WHAT???" He inquired, not quite sure what he had heard. We filled him in. As he's heading down the steps, I hear him say..."Good one Grandma...good one."
It was, wasn't it?
Friday, August 23, 2013
The 'Stick-lip' saga.
Yesterday...not so much.
I think it's the creases in my waning lips that are the problem, and not the lipstick. Or...maybe I just don't know how to apply this stuff.
Is it supposed to go on like a layer of paint?
Or, maybe it's like measuring rain in a puddle...and I'm just an idiot. Right Frankie?
LOL.
I think it's the creases in my waning lips that are the problem, and not the lipstick. Or...maybe I just don't know how to apply this stuff.
Is it supposed to go on like a layer of paint?
Or, maybe it's like measuring rain in a puddle...and I'm just an idiot. Right Frankie?
LOL.
Boy, oh boy, oh boy.
I'm one happy camper this morning. I don't sing out loud anymore...but I've sure got a song in my heart this morning.
It rained last night.
Real, honest to goodness rain. The sidewalks this morning are drying, but I can tell there must have been a substantial amount of that liquid gold over night, because when I opened the house this morning I could smell it on the air. Do you think heaven smells like that? Glorious, glorious, glorious.
I broke my rain gauge several years ago, and though I've always wanted to replace it, I never have. So, as I was muttering about that this morning...well, it went something like this.
Me: "Dang, I wish I had a rain gauge. I'd love to know just how much it rained last night. I've got to 'gets me' a new one."
Frankie: (Munching on toast.) "You say that every time it rains."
Me: "I know, and I mean to. But I don't think about buying one when it's sunny, and I'm out shopping. I need it to be raining while I'm shopping, then maybe I would think about it."
Frankie: "You're thinking about it now, why not go order one from one of your favorite catalog places on the 'Net'."
She says this with disdain dripping from every word. I guess my online shopping annoys her more than I ever suspected. Or, maybe it's this morning's subject matter.
Me: "What the heck's the matter with you? Aren't you happy the world smells so good, and that we won't have to water for a few days? Man, I'd love to know how much it rained last night."
Frankie's eyes shoot darts at me...I'm glad they aren't real. Still, if only, if only there was some way I could get an inkling if the rain was a drizzle or an actual good sized shower.
I'm going from window to window looking for a puddle. Frankie is trailing behind, I can tell I'm really getting to her...I love when that happens. I start to really play this up. I'm going to get her so annoyed, she'll hide in the sun room all day.
The end of my trail is in sight, as I head for the garage door windows. Maybe I can see a puddle from there. Yeah, that's the ticket, there's a good sized pot hole at the corner of the street, I'll check that. I tippy-toe to get a good look. I can see there could have, would have been a puddle, but the pot hole is wide rather than deep, so though hole was still wet, there was no puddle.
By now Frankie starts to snicker. Kind of quiet like, she can no longer contain herself. She's shaking her head with that 'I cannot believe you' look on her face.
Me: "What? What?"
Frankie: (Her patience at end, her last nerve raw) "We go through this routine every time it rains...LOOK DOWN."
I'm still at the garage door windows, still on tippy-toes. I glance down. There...just outside the door, snug in my little enclosed patio, are three folding 'camp' chairs. Smack, dab in the middle of all three is a puddle...a very good sized puddle. The middle of which could easily be a quarter of an inch deep. I'm like a kid in a candy store with a pocket full of pennies. It had rained, really, really, really rained.
While I'm dancing with glee, a song in my heart Frankie turns and walks away. Oh, I can't hear her thought, but I know exactly what it is.
"Idiot!"
She's right, no wonder I can't get that little red train into the little red station.
Thursday, August 22, 2013
I'm either very brave, or very stupid.
I'm trying one of my eight hour lipsticks today. The pink one...I'm even going to try it out in public. Wish me luck.
Toot, toot.
So....
there's a new game on Lumosity.
I love it.
I'm not good at it,
but I love it.
I get to giggling so badly it's no wonder Frankie came to check on me last night. I was about ready to fall out of my chair.
The game goes like this.
You get a little map with train tracks going hither and yon. Each track has a station, each station is a different color. There is a train engine that matches every station. The little engines come out of a tunnel, and I have to 'switch tracks' so that each engine gets to its matching station.
At first the engines move kind of slowly, so I can maneuver my mouse in time to click the track. Gradually, the engines emerge from the tunnel more quickly, and start to 'bunch up'. Here's where I get into trouble. For the life of me, my mouse, and click finger simply cannot keep up. The black engine chugs into the red station, the green one heads for the yellow one. And so on and so on.
No matter how hard I try and how hard I concentrate I simply CANNOT get those engines where they need to be. I get to laughing sooo hard, I can barely see my computer screen.
I think all together there are twenty five engines for the level I am at the moment. I'm lucky if I can get seventeen of them to pull into the correct station. The rest simply run amok. It cracks me up, because my brain wants to stop those little suckers and turn them around...which I can't...but still I'm click, click, clicking on the closest 'switch' as though somehow I can magically correct my error.
By the end of the session I'm exhausted.
Here's the thing. As my session ends I get a little message that says something about 'if I make three less errors, they will advance me to the next level and add another station. Furthermore, there are oodles, and oodles of stations that can be added.
I can't manage four. Imagine me trying to handle six, seven or eight.
Baaaaaaa, haaaaaaaaa, haaaaaaaa, haaaaaaaa, haaaaaaaaa.
Now, that's funny.
there's a new game on Lumosity.
I love it.
I'm not good at it,
but I love it.
I get to giggling so badly it's no wonder Frankie came to check on me last night. I was about ready to fall out of my chair.
The game goes like this.
You get a little map with train tracks going hither and yon. Each track has a station, each station is a different color. There is a train engine that matches every station. The little engines come out of a tunnel, and I have to 'switch tracks' so that each engine gets to its matching station.
At first the engines move kind of slowly, so I can maneuver my mouse in time to click the track. Gradually, the engines emerge from the tunnel more quickly, and start to 'bunch up'. Here's where I get into trouble. For the life of me, my mouse, and click finger simply cannot keep up. The black engine chugs into the red station, the green one heads for the yellow one. And so on and so on.
No matter how hard I try and how hard I concentrate I simply CANNOT get those engines where they need to be. I get to laughing sooo hard, I can barely see my computer screen.
I think all together there are twenty five engines for the level I am at the moment. I'm lucky if I can get seventeen of them to pull into the correct station. The rest simply run amok. It cracks me up, because my brain wants to stop those little suckers and turn them around...which I can't...but still I'm click, click, clicking on the closest 'switch' as though somehow I can magically correct my error.
By the end of the session I'm exhausted.
Here's the thing. As my session ends I get a little message that says something about 'if I make three less errors, they will advance me to the next level and add another station. Furthermore, there are oodles, and oodles of stations that can be added.
I can't manage four. Imagine me trying to handle six, seven or eight.
Baaaaaaa, haaaaaaaaa, haaaaaaaa, haaaaaaaa, haaaaaaaaa.
Now, that's funny.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Cookie cutter cuts
I've noticed over the last year or two, just about every female news anchor and reporter has changed their hair style to accommodate hair extensions. They all look alike. Doesn't matter if they are blond, brunette or red headed, they all have l-o-n-g, straight, stringy, hair that hangs down either side of their face, and curl slightly inward, just above their boobies and come to rest in perfect alignment at their breast bones.
This morning took the cake. My TV channel was set at a station I don't normally watch when it comes to the local morning news and I was shocked to see a fifty something female anchor with bleached blond hair (that didn't bother me, I'm a bleached blond myself at 76) and unkempt bleached blond hair extensions. I could not believe my eyes. I was so transfixed, I was bound and determined I was not going to leave the channel until I was really, really sure this person was who I thought she was.
Finally, I got a close up. OMG. It was. Why in the world would this classy woman show up looking so, so, AWFUL? The only reason I can think that she would have chosen this hair style is because the station demanded she do so, and so she did, because she did not want to lose her job.
I thought about e-mailing her, or perhaps leaving a message on her blog, but then I could imagine her mother's reaction the first time she saw this hair-do; and, I'm sure she said it all.
It's sad really that women anchors and reporters feel compelled to, for 'ratings' sake, and job security, become assembly line reproductions. For those of more mature stature being forced to look like a twenty-something person is ridiculous.
You hear me station managers...these women look ridiculous...I'm sure they must feel belittled, and at the very least tremendously embarrassed. Are they helping your ratings? Not as far as I'm concerned. I don't ever want to see this anchor again, you've lost me as a news viewer. I can only hope she was wearing a wig, and that as soon as the news broadcast was over she went to her office and ditched that mop, because that was exactly what she looked like, a lady with a mop on her head.
Gross!
This morning took the cake. My TV channel was set at a station I don't normally watch when it comes to the local morning news and I was shocked to see a fifty something female anchor with bleached blond hair (that didn't bother me, I'm a bleached blond myself at 76) and unkempt bleached blond hair extensions. I could not believe my eyes. I was so transfixed, I was bound and determined I was not going to leave the channel until I was really, really sure this person was who I thought she was.
Finally, I got a close up. OMG. It was. Why in the world would this classy woman show up looking so, so, AWFUL? The only reason I can think that she would have chosen this hair style is because the station demanded she do so, and so she did, because she did not want to lose her job.
I thought about e-mailing her, or perhaps leaving a message on her blog, but then I could imagine her mother's reaction the first time she saw this hair-do; and, I'm sure she said it all.
It's sad really that women anchors and reporters feel compelled to, for 'ratings' sake, and job security, become assembly line reproductions. For those of more mature stature being forced to look like a twenty-something person is ridiculous.
You hear me station managers...these women look ridiculous...I'm sure they must feel belittled, and at the very least tremendously embarrassed. Are they helping your ratings? Not as far as I'm concerned. I don't ever want to see this anchor again, you've lost me as a news viewer. I can only hope she was wearing a wig, and that as soon as the news broadcast was over she went to her office and ditched that mop, because that was exactly what she looked like, a lady with a mop on her head.
Gross!
Monday, August 19, 2013
Where were you last night?
The Sergeant's words sounded accusatory, as though he already knew the answer and was daring her to lie.
Where had she been last night? The Sergeant's words echoed over and over in a tunnel of her brain. She had to force herself to speak.
"I don't know." She replied in a hoarse whisper.
The Sergeant snorted in disgust. She knew he didn't believe her.
She was lying on a gurney in what appeared to be a hallway of an emergency room. How had she gotten here?
She raised her hand to touch her aching forehead and gasp at the sticky feel of blood. Where had that come from? Touching her head again, she felt a gauze bandage that had been rapped around it. Was the blood hers? If not, where had it come from?
"Look, Miss, I've been up all night. I'm tired and just want to go home. Please, just answer the question. For the umpteenth time, where were you last night?" Grumbled the aging policeman.
Her mind was a jumble. Had he asked her this question before? Had her answer always been the same? Was he trying to trick her? It was a simple question, yet for the life of her, she did not know the answer. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate. A blurred vision appeared. She saw a neon sign, it was red...no, orange...and it was flashing...no, blinking on and off, like a person with an eye tick. There were gaps between the neon letters, some of them burned out so the words didn't make sense.
"Miss, Miss, are you sleeping?" Inquired the sergeant, shaking the gurney.
Pain swelled as she slowly opened her eyes and tried to focus on the heavy set face leaning over her. His breath smelled like old cigars.
"Honestly sir, I don't remember. Can you answer some questions for me?"
The Sergeant nodded.
"How did I get here?" She asked.
"Ambulance." His reply was curt as he used his tongue to shift his toothpick to the left side of his mouth.
"Where was I when you found me?" She struggled to control the nausea swelling up from the pit of her stomach.
"An alley." Answered the policeman showing great annoyance at her questions.
Her head was throbbing. "You're not a great wealth of information, are you?" She whispered.
Suddenly a nurse and a man in a white jacket appeared. She hoped he was a doctor, and could provide better information than the snippy, over-weight policeman. She noticed an ID tag around his neck that read Dr. Woodruff.
"Sergeant, you have got to stop badgering this woman and let her get some rest. She's lost quite a bit of blood. Surely your questions can wait until later."
The policeman flipped his worn, notebook closed, and shoved a stub of a pencil into his shirt pocket. He glared down at her, "Don't think you're goin' anywhere lady. I'll be back." He deliberately bumped the gurney and an electric shock of pain raced through her body. In a huff he turned and stomped away.
How badly was she really hurt, she wondered? Was she a victim of a crime, or the perpetrator? Couldn't anyone answer her questions?
"Doctor?" She whispered, grasping his arm.
"Yes?"
"I have so many questions I need to ask."
"Not now." Carefully he removed her arm and rested it by her side. "Just rest. There's plenty of time to talk."
"Please...", her voice cracked, she was so tired, so weary, ...just one question. Does he, the Sergeant, know where I was last night?"
The doctor's reply was soft and full of compassion. "I don't know, just rest, try to sleep."
She smiled weakly. The effort made her light headed and dizzy. Slowly darkness began to creep in from the outer edges of her world. The hallway grew black. As she gave way to the darkness she knew wherever she had been last night it was going to change her life forever.
Sunday, August 18, 2013
Men, men, men.
Today I want to talk about men. Well, not men in general, but some men of a certain group, and one man in particular.
Ladies, does this sound familiar. "I want you to understand up front, if we start to go out, I'm NOT GETTING MARRIED AGAIN." I had someone tell me yesterday some guy had recently said that to her.
What???????? Listen up Buddy!
What gall you have to think you're so special that's why women to go out with you. To lure you in with demure smiles, seductive talk, and sex so that in a moment of weakness, you say those four little words. "Will you marry me."
Puuuuuuease! This is 2013, get a grip. Like we want to spend our time doing your laundry and cleaning up, after you have used the bathroom. You are aware your stuff goes everywhere aren't you? And, cook your meals and have them ready at a specific time? Listen up, Buddy, that ain't gonna happen.
In other words, BUDDY, you're not that great a catch. We don't even want ya.
Get over yourself.
Now I do realize there are women out there that do have agendas. They will bat their eyes, get the 'vapers', and act all defenseless and helpless. Maybe that's the kind of women you've had in your life and, maybe they have turned out to be the total opposite once you put your ring on their finger. Who's fault is that? Mine? I don't think so. Perhaps you should rethink your choices, and why you are making them.
Today's women are self sufficient and we can and do make our way in the world on our own, by ourselves. WE DON'T NEED YOU. We can actually do 'guy' things. I've done plenty of them over the years and I'm proud of it. We can change a tire and the oil in our cars. We can climb ladders, turn a screwdriver, and pound a nail. We can lift, tote, carry and if an object is to heavy, we can sit on the floor and push the object to where we want it to be.
Why can't you understand that perhaps, we just want to have an evening of
pleasant conversation, a nice meal, in a moderately priced restaurant, and a
cocktail or two. Maybe we could take in a play, or a movie, or visit museums
and local points of interest. That's all, no more, even less would be okay.
So, Buddy, get off you high horse, get a grip, you are not "God's gift to women."
Whatever your 'baggage" is, don't worry, we won't lift, tote, carry or push it anywhere, we don't want it. Plus, I for one, figure there's nothing in your baggage but dirty laundry anyway. There's a Laundr-A-Mat a couple of blocks down.
Ladies, does this sound familiar. "I want you to understand up front, if we start to go out, I'm NOT GETTING MARRIED AGAIN." I had someone tell me yesterday some guy had recently said that to her.
What???????? Listen up Buddy!
What gall you have to think you're so special that's why women to go out with you. To lure you in with demure smiles, seductive talk, and sex so that in a moment of weakness, you say those four little words. "Will you marry me."
Puuuuuuease! This is 2013, get a grip. Like we want to spend our time doing your laundry and cleaning up, after you have used the bathroom. You are aware your stuff goes everywhere aren't you? And, cook your meals and have them ready at a specific time? Listen up, Buddy, that ain't gonna happen.
In other words, BUDDY, you're not that great a catch. We don't even want ya.
Get over yourself.
Now I do realize there are women out there that do have agendas. They will bat their eyes, get the 'vapers', and act all defenseless and helpless. Maybe that's the kind of women you've had in your life and, maybe they have turned out to be the total opposite once you put your ring on their finger. Who's fault is that? Mine? I don't think so. Perhaps you should rethink your choices, and why you are making them.
Today's women are self sufficient and we can and do make our way in the world on our own, by ourselves. WE DON'T NEED YOU. We can actually do 'guy' things. I've done plenty of them over the years and I'm proud of it. We can change a tire and the oil in our cars. We can climb ladders, turn a screwdriver, and pound a nail. We can lift, tote, carry and if an object is to heavy, we can sit on the floor and push the object to where we want it to be.
Why can't you understand that perhaps, we just want to have an evening of
pleasant conversation, a nice meal, in a moderately priced restaurant, and a
cocktail or two. Maybe we could take in a play, or a movie, or visit museums
and local points of interest. That's all, no more, even less would be okay.
So, Buddy, get off you high horse, get a grip, you are not "God's gift to women."
Whatever your 'baggage" is, don't worry, we won't lift, tote, carry or push it anywhere, we don't want it. Plus, I for one, figure there's nothing in your baggage but dirty laundry anyway. There's a Laundr-A-Mat a couple of blocks down.
Saturday, August 17, 2013
Calling Ms. Gullible
Am I the only one fascinated by cosmetic commercials on television? Obviously not, otherwise there would not be a bazillion of them on every channel on air. I'm particularly interested in any, and all that promise to get rid of my crows feet, jowls, forehead craters and falling eyelids.
I'm telling you, if I really was a millionaire, I would have a bottle, tube and jar of each. I would have to build a new room onto my house just to accommodate them.
My newest intrigue in the cosmetic field is the lipsticks that are supposed to stay on your lips up to eight hours. Oh my gosh...is that wonderful or what. No more lip marks on glassware, linen napkins and for that matter my teeth. I thought for a very long time about buying a tube and trying it for myself, but thought with my lips thinning, creasing and becoming almost nonexistent, why bother.
Then, last week I went shopping with a friend. Our favorite store just happens to have a substantial cosmetic department and I found myself being enticed to go there, (dang you Devil, dang you)...and, where did I end up? Yep, right in front of a very famous name cosmetic company's lipsticks.
Oooooh. There they were, in colors so delicious they actually did look good enough to eat. I stood there transfixed. They called my name. Dare I reach out and touch one?
Angel: (Whispering into my left ear.) "No, no, do not be tempted. Do not touch, remember the serpent? You know they will not work."
Devil: (Snickering at Angel.) "Don't listen to 'goodie two shoes', you know very famous name cosmetic company would not lie, go ahead, buy one....buy one."
And so it went for quite a while. Eventually I did reach out and touch much to Angel's dismay. It was red, bright red. Bright red lipstick has always been my favorite. Before I knew it, the bright red tube was in my cart. I thought Angel was going to cry, so I tried to appease her by buying a pink tube just for her. Poof...she fled. Devil of course, was delighted and was most anxious to get home and try out this stuff.
It seemed like an eternity, but eventually I got home and put all my purchases away. It was time! My stomach was churning with excitement and glee. Devil (puffed up and full of himself) sat there on my right shoulder. Eagerly I removed the protective covering from the red tube. I sat down in front of my mirror and flipped it over to the 'magnifing' side.
I pulled the applicator from the tube, it was covered with a liquid slightly thinner than the consistency of peanut butter. I looked at Devil...did he really know what he was talking about. I had my doubts. But, since Vanity is my middle name, I could not resist and I began to apply this 'stuff' to my lower lip.
OMG...why, oh why, did I not listen to Angel. This stuff went on in one thick, oozing blob. It went w-a-a-a-y beyond the outline of my lower lip, and to my horror began to harden almost immediately. Oooooh, if this stuff really did last for eight hours I was in serious trouble. And, to make matters worse, I had not even begun to apply this stuff to my upper lip. I pursed my lips together, hoping some of the stuff on my lower lip would adhere to my upper. It did not. All that did was cause the hardening blob on my lower lip to crack.
Devil tells me I look great. Yeah, right.
I figure I have no choice, so I apply the blob to my upper lip. Serious mistake, because the wrinkles there are much more pronounced than those of my lower one, and that blob only caused bright red rivulets to form half way up to my nose. I looked like...like....I have no words.
I slap Devil silly.
I've got to get this stuff off me, I try tissues, some of it flakes off, but for the most part the rest is still attached to my lips. I try water, a bit more comes off, and I noticed the rivulets had disappeared. I decided if I stayed indoors, and a few hours elapsed I might be able to chew the rest of the stuff off my lips without having to explain to the world what the heck, dumb thing I'd done.
So much for 8 hour lipstick!
The tubes of this 'miracle stuff' rested in my cosmetic drawer for days. I put a check mark on the Devil's side for this purchase. I've no idea why I continue to listen to him.
Then, one day, a day I knew there was 'fat chance in Hell' I'd be bumping into
anybody, friend or foe, I decided I would try the pink tube. Having learned from experience, as soon as I extracted the applicator, I took a tissue and wiped off most of the blob and began to apply the lipstick to my lower lip.
I have to say I did have better control, however, the stuff dried so quickly I couldn't make a continuous flowing sweep, and the applicator kind of stuck to my
lower lip. Eventually I was somewhat happy with the results of this effort and I decided to experiment to see if this stuff really would last eight hours.
It did not. However, on the plus side, I could not find traces of it on my coffee mug, tissues, or my toast, but that could have been because there was so little of it on my lips to begin with.
So, here's the ad I'm working on, and going to run on the Net.
Here's my note to Angel:
I'm telling you, if I really was a millionaire, I would have a bottle, tube and jar of each. I would have to build a new room onto my house just to accommodate them.
My newest intrigue in the cosmetic field is the lipsticks that are supposed to stay on your lips up to eight hours. Oh my gosh...is that wonderful or what. No more lip marks on glassware, linen napkins and for that matter my teeth. I thought for a very long time about buying a tube and trying it for myself, but thought with my lips thinning, creasing and becoming almost nonexistent, why bother.
Then, last week I went shopping with a friend. Our favorite store just happens to have a substantial cosmetic department and I found myself being enticed to go there, (dang you Devil, dang you)...and, where did I end up? Yep, right in front of a very famous name cosmetic company's lipsticks.
Oooooh. There they were, in colors so delicious they actually did look good enough to eat. I stood there transfixed. They called my name. Dare I reach out and touch one?
Angel: (Whispering into my left ear.) "No, no, do not be tempted. Do not touch, remember the serpent? You know they will not work."
Devil: (Snickering at Angel.) "Don't listen to 'goodie two shoes', you know very famous name cosmetic company would not lie, go ahead, buy one....buy one."
And so it went for quite a while. Eventually I did reach out and touch much to Angel's dismay. It was red, bright red. Bright red lipstick has always been my favorite. Before I knew it, the bright red tube was in my cart. I thought Angel was going to cry, so I tried to appease her by buying a pink tube just for her. Poof...she fled. Devil of course, was delighted and was most anxious to get home and try out this stuff.
It seemed like an eternity, but eventually I got home and put all my purchases away. It was time! My stomach was churning with excitement and glee. Devil (puffed up and full of himself) sat there on my right shoulder. Eagerly I removed the protective covering from the red tube. I sat down in front of my mirror and flipped it over to the 'magnifing' side.
I pulled the applicator from the tube, it was covered with a liquid slightly thinner than the consistency of peanut butter. I looked at Devil...did he really know what he was talking about. I had my doubts. But, since Vanity is my middle name, I could not resist and I began to apply this 'stuff' to my lower lip.
OMG...why, oh why, did I not listen to Angel. This stuff went on in one thick, oozing blob. It went w-a-a-a-y beyond the outline of my lower lip, and to my horror began to harden almost immediately. Oooooh, if this stuff really did last for eight hours I was in serious trouble. And, to make matters worse, I had not even begun to apply this stuff to my upper lip. I pursed my lips together, hoping some of the stuff on my lower lip would adhere to my upper. It did not. All that did was cause the hardening blob on my lower lip to crack.
Devil tells me I look great. Yeah, right.
I figure I have no choice, so I apply the blob to my upper lip. Serious mistake, because the wrinkles there are much more pronounced than those of my lower one, and that blob only caused bright red rivulets to form half way up to my nose. I looked like...like....I have no words.
I slap Devil silly.
I've got to get this stuff off me, I try tissues, some of it flakes off, but for the most part the rest is still attached to my lips. I try water, a bit more comes off, and I noticed the rivulets had disappeared. I decided if I stayed indoors, and a few hours elapsed I might be able to chew the rest of the stuff off my lips without having to explain to the world what the heck, dumb thing I'd done.
So much for 8 hour lipstick!
The tubes of this 'miracle stuff' rested in my cosmetic drawer for days. I put a check mark on the Devil's side for this purchase. I've no idea why I continue to listen to him.
Then, one day, a day I knew there was 'fat chance in Hell' I'd be bumping into
anybody, friend or foe, I decided I would try the pink tube. Having learned from experience, as soon as I extracted the applicator, I took a tissue and wiped off most of the blob and began to apply the lipstick to my lower lip.
I have to say I did have better control, however, the stuff dried so quickly I couldn't make a continuous flowing sweep, and the applicator kind of stuck to my
lower lip. Eventually I was somewhat happy with the results of this effort and I decided to experiment to see if this stuff really would last eight hours.
It did not. However, on the plus side, I could not find traces of it on my coffee mug, tissues, or my toast, but that could have been because there was so little of it on my lips to begin with.
So, here's the ad I'm working on, and going to run on the Net.
For sale:
Two slightly used 8 hour tubes lipstick.
Red Pink
Best offer.
Here's my note to Angel:
Dear Angel,
Please return. You are missed.
Next time I promise to listen.
As for you Devil...
Friday, August 16, 2013
A friend is one of the nicest things you can have, and one of the best things you can be.
Friendship:
[frend-ship]
[frend-ship]
noun
2.
a friendly relation or intimacy.
Friend:
[frend]
[frend]
noun
1.
a person attached to another by feelings of affection or personal regard.
3.
a person is on good terms with another; a person who is not hostile: Who goes there? Friend or foe?
4.
a member of the same nation, party, etc.
5.
( initial capital letter ) a member of the Religious Society of Friends; a Quaker.
Well, that research was a big let down, and seems kind of cold and impersonal, too.
Yesterday I spent most of the day with a friend, a long time friend, since 1962. We worked together at a publishing company, and later at the telephone company. There have been times we've not been closely connected, simply because we were both raising families. Although she did have a professional career as well as being a wife, mother and home maker. I, on the other hand gave up my professional career and chose to be a stay at home mother, wife and home maker.
Even though there would be long stretched between phone calls, we could always pick up our friendship exactly where it left off. She knew I was always there for her and I knew she was always there for me. And best of all we both knew we could tell each other anything.
In the early seventies, my husband's company transferred us to the Pacific Northwest, and by unexplained coincidence, my friend's husband got a job here too a month after we had made the move. Is that amazing or what? It dang sure was.
Busy, busy, busyness over the years made it was hard to get together to spend an afternoon, even though the desire to do so was great. Life is crazy, not just for the two of us, but for everybody. So, when the opportunity presents itself to have some quality one on one time, we jump on it, like a frog to a lilly pad.
Yesterday was THE DAY to have much needed time together. It was grand, it was glorious, it was great.
We went to lunch, and lingered there long after we had finished eating. We drove around so she could see the changes that had been made in my neck of the woods since her retirement. We shopped. We talked, and talked, and talked. We went for dessert, and lingered there long after we had finished eating. We stayed so long after we paid the bill, the waitress came back to ask if she could refill our coffee mugs while we talked. The restaurant began to fill with customers wanting early dinner. We finally decided perhaps we should leave, and it was apparently good timing because some woman nabbed our table before it had even been bussed.
We returned to my place, and women, being the age we are, immediately headed for the bathrooms. Damn bladders.
We talked a few minutes more, then headed out toward her car. It was close to five, and I was concerned about what kind of traffic she might encounter. Turns out her potty break at my house was a good thing.
Anyway, the gist of this blog is friendship. We meet a lot of people on our trek through life. Sometimes the meeting is fleeting and we know we will never meet these people again. Sometimes we have acquaintances, kind of like tips of tentacles on at octopus...A favorite check-out person at the stores we frequent. We will purposely head for their check out aisle, even thought there are aisles with shorter lines. The people in our dentist office, we know them, we are comfortable with them, we receive a warming welcome when we arrive.
Then, there are life long friends we've had since childhood, the ones we snuck out with after dark to toilet paper another friends house, or tossed eggs with on Halloween. You know...the ones who know and share all our childhood secrets.
Then, in adulthood, there are new friendships, those we meet in our professional lives. Our co-workers, the ones who sit in front or behind us in identical, little, cubicles. Some of those friendships last a lifetime, too.
As we age some of those friendships come to an abrupt ends. Enemies attack.
Cancer, dementia among the worst. We mourn, then sadly scratch their name, address and phone number from our address books.
So it is we must savor friends and friendships, and in my minds eye I can see that mine have been making a quilt, it's big, and colorful, each square holding a picture of a memory, with a friend's name embroidered beneath it. Oh, how I savor it.
Yesterday is now a square, and I will spend today sewing it to the square before.
Thank you dear friend for a wonderful day, it was grand, it was glorious, it was great.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
A bit more sand
Remember yesterday, I wrote about how my mom would do a spring and fall house cleaning that rivaled anything Martha Stewart could or would possibly require any 'modern' woman to do.
I think I'd like to elaborate a little on those two events. If you recall I mentioned we would have to take down all the drapes and sheer curtains and launder them before rehanging them. Let me tell you, those curtains, white, plain white, no ornate patterns woven into them required special treatment. They were washed in the hottest water imaginable, I'm talking steamy hot. And, there was of course bleach. Lots, and lots of bleach.
They would agitate for a while, in a washing machine, that had rollers you had to push the washed laundry through, from there the curtains went into a rinse tub that got rid of soapy residue. They then went into a second tub for a final rinse, that tub water also held a bluing agent that made the curtains even whiter than the bleach. After that they were immersed into a bath of starch and wrung out.
Now, in our living room coat closet, leaning in a corner, was a box that became quite dilapidated over the years; inside the box was an un-assembled wooden frame. Each piece of wooden frame held very sharp tacks, sharp point out. The sole purpose of this frame was to hold the newly laundered curtains. It was called a Curtain Stretcher. We would set the Stretcher to be slightly larger in size than the curtains, then, starting on one side of the frame, we'd attach the the curtain by poking it through the sharp tacks, stretching the starched sheers across the frame, one tack at a time. Top, sides and bottom. It was very tedious work, and we had to be very careful not to puncture ourselves on the tacks, because if we did we would most certainly get blood on the freshly laundered curtains. Which would have been bad news, indeed, if you get my drift.
Sheer by sheer we would add them to the frame, then move the frame into the summer sun to let the curtains dry. Yep, twice a year, faithfully, we would preform this ritual.
Now, at this point of this blog I began to wonder if I could find any evidence that Curtain Stretchers actually existed. Guess what? With thanks to you Internet, and the person who is trying to sell their Vintage Curtain Stretcher in Eureka, Illinois, (good luck with that) below you will see a picture of the device of which I speak.
It's kind of sad really that some important inventions from yesterday are a mystery to young people today. I'm sure they have no idea what kind of a washing machine I'm talking about, a washer with wringers? And a laundry tub...what the heck is that? And why in the world did we need two?
Oh, and, those wringers...very scary indeed. You had to be very careful that you didn't accidentally get your fingers too close to them, or you just might find your arm stuck in between them, clear up to your elbow.
Wait a minute...I've just remembered something. Here is a very bad sketch I drew some years ago of my mother's laundry facilities that were in the basement of our house. This is for the younger readers of my blog, who have no idea what laundry day used to be like. Each item of clothing was handled individually, seven times, during a laundry day.
I think I'd like to elaborate a little on those two events. If you recall I mentioned we would have to take down all the drapes and sheer curtains and launder them before rehanging them. Let me tell you, those curtains, white, plain white, no ornate patterns woven into them required special treatment. They were washed in the hottest water imaginable, I'm talking steamy hot. And, there was of course bleach. Lots, and lots of bleach.
They would agitate for a while, in a washing machine, that had rollers you had to push the washed laundry through, from there the curtains went into a rinse tub that got rid of soapy residue. They then went into a second tub for a final rinse, that tub water also held a bluing agent that made the curtains even whiter than the bleach. After that they were immersed into a bath of starch and wrung out.
Now, in our living room coat closet, leaning in a corner, was a box that became quite dilapidated over the years; inside the box was an un-assembled wooden frame. Each piece of wooden frame held very sharp tacks, sharp point out. The sole purpose of this frame was to hold the newly laundered curtains. It was called a Curtain Stretcher. We would set the Stretcher to be slightly larger in size than the curtains, then, starting on one side of the frame, we'd attach the the curtain by poking it through the sharp tacks, stretching the starched sheers across the frame, one tack at a time. Top, sides and bottom. It was very tedious work, and we had to be very careful not to puncture ourselves on the tacks, because if we did we would most certainly get blood on the freshly laundered curtains. Which would have been bad news, indeed, if you get my drift.
Sheer by sheer we would add them to the frame, then move the frame into the summer sun to let the curtains dry. Yep, twice a year, faithfully, we would preform this ritual.
Now, at this point of this blog I began to wonder if I could find any evidence that Curtain Stretchers actually existed. Guess what? With thanks to you Internet, and the person who is trying to sell their Vintage Curtain Stretcher in Eureka, Illinois, (good luck with that) below you will see a picture of the device of which I speak.
It's kind of sad really that some important inventions from yesterday are a mystery to young people today. I'm sure they have no idea what kind of a washing machine I'm talking about, a washer with wringers? And a laundry tub...what the heck is that? And why in the world did we need two?
Oh, and, those wringers...very scary indeed. You had to be very careful that you didn't accidentally get your fingers too close to them, or you just might find your arm stuck in between them, clear up to your elbow.
Wait a minute...I've just remembered something. Here is a very bad sketch I drew some years ago of my mother's laundry facilities that were in the basement of our house. This is for the younger readers of my blog, who have no idea what laundry day used to be like. Each item of clothing was handled individually, seven times, during a laundry day.
These days, you fling the clothes into the washer...when the buzzer buzzes the load is done, and you fling the clothes into the dryer, when it buzzes you fling the clothes into a basket. Hopefully the clothes are then neatly folded, and put it away into your closet or a drawer until you are ready to wear them again.
I guess I'm glad I grew up when I did, and even more glad I can share my experiences with my kids and grand kids. Who else is going to tell them about washers with wringers, curtain stretchers, coal chutes, hay rides, crab apple wars, fishing with a stick, string and an open safety pin for a hook. How we survived eating huckleberries that grew at the side of the road, even though gasoline for cars was loaded with lead no one can say. We ate butter by the pound, and red meat on a regular basis...many of us are still here to tell the tale. My mom gave me melted Vicks on a spoon mixed with sugar for a bad cough, and I've 'walked off' more pain than can be imagined.
I suppose some of you might be saying, how can I possibly be glad to have grown up when I did, today kids have it great thanks to technology and all. And, I say good for them. As for me, let your minds wander to yesteryear, picture me, stretching curtains, and flinging crab apples, running for a free ride on a hay wagon.
Oh, those good old days, those good old days. Now you know why I call my blog Ramblings of an Old Woman. I am, and I do.
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Like Sands through an hour glass,
There are simply not enough hours in the day.
My house could use a really, r-e-a-l-l-y, REALLY good cleaning. This morning Frankie wrote a whole epistle on one of the tables in the living room, which is something she will spend time doing, although to spend the same amount of time flinging a rag about appears to be out of the question.
As for vacuuming, that will be happening tomorrow morning since I have Bible study in the afternoon, and I don't want my study partner to think I am a total slob. Which, of course, I am. Well, I'm not a slob, because reality is I am neat and tidy; it's just I simply don't care and don't even see the dust any more, and when dog and cat fur begin to make me sneeze I will haul the vacuum out of the closet and do that. Although...and this is really ha, ha funny...while my vacuum will quickly suck up mysterious things and make a terrible noise while doing so, it also has a tornado type exhaust that has been known to blow kitchen towels off their racks, and stir up a dust ball to equal that of the little guy Pig Pen, from the old Peanuts comic strip.
And that of course, has settled once and for all, does a person dust first and then vacuum or vacuum first and then dust.
My house companions have come to grips with the fact I no longer care about household chores and would much rather spend my daily precious hours being creative rather than let's say cook, dust, vacuum, wash windows, load and unload the dishwasher. This became quite clear yesterday when I got a call from some guy wanting to speak to who ever was in charge of hiring for Gues Who Original Publications. (Oh, I did want to laugh...but I didn't, realizing this guy was really serious.) So, I politely said we didn't need anybody at the current time (or words to that effect), and hung up.
Frankie jumped all over that. 'Maybe I should hire somebody...to work for the company...that would free up my time for more important matters.'
Me: "What matters?"
Frankie: (Greatly frustrated) "Cooking, dusting, vacuuming..."
Me: (Tuning out, and in my head) "....yeah, yeah, yeah, blah, blah, blah, blah...blah."
Frankie: "Are you listening to me?"
Me: "Of course, Frankie, of course." Meanwhile in my head I'm thinking about last night's season finale of Top Gear."
So, we have a long talk, if I was going to hire somebody it would be to look after and take care of the house. I even offered to pay Frankie to do it. But, since she is a figment of my imagination we all know where this conversation ended.
Somehow I have got to learn to let go of the guilt I have for no longer caring about mundane household drudgery. Oh, that dang, nab, guilt. Thanks, mom. She had a day for everything. Monday was laundry day, Tuesday was ironing day, Friday was clean the house day. There was spring house cleaning, curtains and drapes were pulled from the windows and laundered. Bedding was laundered right down to the mattress. Windows washed inside and out. Every nook, every cranny had to be spit shined. Then the same thing happened in the fall...I tell ya...it was the twice a year nightmare straight from you know where.
I used to do that spring and fall house cleaning crap myself, for years and years. Then the kids grew up and left the nest and I didn't work so hard any more. Then my husband retired, and I did even less. Then in 2002 he passed away...and that was the beginning of the end as far as cleaning went. Oh, for several years I had a girl who came and cleaned every Friday...it was wonderful...but, all good things must come to an end and when the bottom fell out of my security basket...enough said about that, I guess.
Anyway. I think I've finally got my priorities straight.
1. I only get to go this way once, so
2. I want to smell the roses, home baked chocolate chip cookies (provided I don't have to bake them), and after rain fresh air.
3. I want to spend my time enjoying and exploring my passions.
4. I want to love everything and everybody.
5. I want to explore, travel, learn, thank you Internet.
6. I want to eat. Desserts.
7. I want to laugh at life, jokes and even myself.
8. I want to create and let my mind wander into secret, colorful, fanciful places.
>
>
>
>
1,000. I want to cook.
1,001. I want to dust.
1,002. I want to vacuum.
1,003. I want to wash windows.
1,004. I want to etc, etc, etc, every other yucky job in the world.
Come on Frankie, "Letitgo! Come over to my world...you're gonna love it. I promise."
My house could use a really, r-e-a-l-l-y, REALLY good cleaning. This morning Frankie wrote a whole epistle on one of the tables in the living room, which is something she will spend time doing, although to spend the same amount of time flinging a rag about appears to be out of the question.
As for vacuuming, that will be happening tomorrow morning since I have Bible study in the afternoon, and I don't want my study partner to think I am a total slob. Which, of course, I am. Well, I'm not a slob, because reality is I am neat and tidy; it's just I simply don't care and don't even see the dust any more, and when dog and cat fur begin to make me sneeze I will haul the vacuum out of the closet and do that. Although...and this is really ha, ha funny...while my vacuum will quickly suck up mysterious things and make a terrible noise while doing so, it also has a tornado type exhaust that has been known to blow kitchen towels off their racks, and stir up a dust ball to equal that of the little guy Pig Pen, from the old Peanuts comic strip.
And that of course, has settled once and for all, does a person dust first and then vacuum or vacuum first and then dust.
My house companions have come to grips with the fact I no longer care about household chores and would much rather spend my daily precious hours being creative rather than let's say cook, dust, vacuum, wash windows, load and unload the dishwasher. This became quite clear yesterday when I got a call from some guy wanting to speak to who ever was in charge of hiring for Gues Who Original Publications. (Oh, I did want to laugh...but I didn't, realizing this guy was really serious.) So, I politely said we didn't need anybody at the current time (or words to that effect), and hung up.
Frankie jumped all over that. 'Maybe I should hire somebody...to work for the company...that would free up my time for more important matters.'
Me: "What matters?"
Frankie: (Greatly frustrated) "Cooking, dusting, vacuuming..."
Me: (Tuning out, and in my head) "....yeah, yeah, yeah, blah, blah, blah, blah...blah."
Frankie: "Are you listening to me?"
Me: "Of course, Frankie, of course." Meanwhile in my head I'm thinking about last night's season finale of Top Gear."
So, we have a long talk, if I was going to hire somebody it would be to look after and take care of the house. I even offered to pay Frankie to do it. But, since she is a figment of my imagination we all know where this conversation ended.
Somehow I have got to learn to let go of the guilt I have for no longer caring about mundane household drudgery. Oh, that dang, nab, guilt. Thanks, mom. She had a day for everything. Monday was laundry day, Tuesday was ironing day, Friday was clean the house day. There was spring house cleaning, curtains and drapes were pulled from the windows and laundered. Bedding was laundered right down to the mattress. Windows washed inside and out. Every nook, every cranny had to be spit shined. Then the same thing happened in the fall...I tell ya...it was the twice a year nightmare straight from you know where.
I used to do that spring and fall house cleaning crap myself, for years and years. Then the kids grew up and left the nest and I didn't work so hard any more. Then my husband retired, and I did even less. Then in 2002 he passed away...and that was the beginning of the end as far as cleaning went. Oh, for several years I had a girl who came and cleaned every Friday...it was wonderful...but, all good things must come to an end and when the bottom fell out of my security basket...enough said about that, I guess.
Anyway. I think I've finally got my priorities straight.
1. I only get to go this way once, so
2. I want to smell the roses, home baked chocolate chip cookies (provided I don't have to bake them), and after rain fresh air.
3. I want to spend my time enjoying and exploring my passions.
4. I want to love everything and everybody.
5. I want to explore, travel, learn, thank you Internet.
6. I want to eat. Desserts.
7. I want to laugh at life, jokes and even myself.
8. I want to create and let my mind wander into secret, colorful, fanciful places.
>
>
>
>
1,000. I want to cook.
1,001. I want to dust.
1,002. I want to vacuum.
1,003. I want to wash windows.
1,004. I want to etc, etc, etc, every other yucky job in the world.
Come on Frankie, "Letitgo! Come over to my world...you're gonna love it. I promise."
Well, color me stupid.
I forgot to write a blog for today.
It's probably just as well, it was a pretty dull day around here. I did finish watering the back yard, and will be so glad not to have to do that anymore this year. Boring, boring, boring. I'm trying desperately not to kill any of the plants, I wish they would all get that 'wilty' look at the same time, rather than one here, another there. I suppose I could use my sprinkling can and water 'wilty' ones only. Seriously, can you see me doing that? You're right of course, I would not do that. Although dragging a hose around is boring...watering plants with my sprinkling can requires waaay too much effort and work.
Oh the bright side, you will never guess who showed up this morning in the coop. Yep, good ole Florence. I've no idea where she's been, but she looks great. If she's been in the coop all along, I must have just been missing her appearances at the feed and water stations. But, I check on them a lot so you would think I'd have caught a small glimpse of her once in a while. Of course, there are quite a few places a wayward chicken could hide on that chunk of property, (like under the shed, or their huge deck) and that could very well be where she's been, regardless, I think I'm going to stop worrying about her. She seems to be the smartest one of the bunch.
Also, the crickets are back. I heard them for the first time tonight. Last year there did not seem to be many, but this evening their concert is astounding. The music coming from all across the back tree line area of the neighborhood, so pretty. I think you can buy live ones at pet stores, so maybe some kid has/had a creature that was eating them and some of the crickets escaped. I'm glad, whatever the reason they are so abundant this year as they are providing perfect, perfect summer entertainment.
I do miss fireflies, though. We had them every summer come August twilight in Pennsylvania. It was so magical to see them flying, drifting, fairy-like over a newly mowed field. Blink, blink, blink. We would catch them by the jar full, then let them go when we were called home at bedtime. I remember sometimes, if your timing was good, you could wait until one blinked, and before it went out, you could take your thumb nail and snip their back end off and put it on your finger. It would glow like a diamond for quite a while. Of course, looking back on that now I realize how cruel that was, and would never do that today.
I remember my dad's corn patch, he would plant four or maybe five rows. They were a good place to hide when it came to our nightly games of hide and seek. About this time of year, the stocks would begin to dry, I loved the paper crinkling noise they made as I would run through them, or on a breezy day the sound they made when the wind would rustle through them.
Oh, and the blueberries, dad had bought several blueberry bushes, and this was the time of year they started to ripen. I don't know what the particular species was he bought, but they would get so big, and so sweet, I, for one, would eat them like candy. Blueberries are still my favorite fruit to this day.
Well, look at that, for a lady who had a dull day, I seem to have managed to pretty much fill up a page of youthful exuberance and memories.
Actually this is pretty much the time of year that brings on my melancholy; perhaps because twilight comes, minute by minute, sooner and sooner. Or maybe it's because summer vacation is winding down and school is about to begin. Then, it might be because my childhood memories wash over me like the ocean evening tide.
I think I'm going to go find Frankie, this would be a good time for us to step outside, one more time before we retire...I've simply got to listen to the music one more time.
It's probably just as well, it was a pretty dull day around here. I did finish watering the back yard, and will be so glad not to have to do that anymore this year. Boring, boring, boring. I'm trying desperately not to kill any of the plants, I wish they would all get that 'wilty' look at the same time, rather than one here, another there. I suppose I could use my sprinkling can and water 'wilty' ones only. Seriously, can you see me doing that? You're right of course, I would not do that. Although dragging a hose around is boring...watering plants with my sprinkling can requires waaay too much effort and work.
Oh the bright side, you will never guess who showed up this morning in the coop. Yep, good ole Florence. I've no idea where she's been, but she looks great. If she's been in the coop all along, I must have just been missing her appearances at the feed and water stations. But, I check on them a lot so you would think I'd have caught a small glimpse of her once in a while. Of course, there are quite a few places a wayward chicken could hide on that chunk of property, (like under the shed, or their huge deck) and that could very well be where she's been, regardless, I think I'm going to stop worrying about her. She seems to be the smartest one of the bunch.
Also, the crickets are back. I heard them for the first time tonight. Last year there did not seem to be many, but this evening their concert is astounding. The music coming from all across the back tree line area of the neighborhood, so pretty. I think you can buy live ones at pet stores, so maybe some kid has/had a creature that was eating them and some of the crickets escaped. I'm glad, whatever the reason they are so abundant this year as they are providing perfect, perfect summer entertainment.
I do miss fireflies, though. We had them every summer come August twilight in Pennsylvania. It was so magical to see them flying, drifting, fairy-like over a newly mowed field. Blink, blink, blink. We would catch them by the jar full, then let them go when we were called home at bedtime. I remember sometimes, if your timing was good, you could wait until one blinked, and before it went out, you could take your thumb nail and snip their back end off and put it on your finger. It would glow like a diamond for quite a while. Of course, looking back on that now I realize how cruel that was, and would never do that today.
I remember my dad's corn patch, he would plant four or maybe five rows. They were a good place to hide when it came to our nightly games of hide and seek. About this time of year, the stocks would begin to dry, I loved the paper crinkling noise they made as I would run through them, or on a breezy day the sound they made when the wind would rustle through them.
Oh, and the blueberries, dad had bought several blueberry bushes, and this was the time of year they started to ripen. I don't know what the particular species was he bought, but they would get so big, and so sweet, I, for one, would eat them like candy. Blueberries are still my favorite fruit to this day.
Well, look at that, for a lady who had a dull day, I seem to have managed to pretty much fill up a page of youthful exuberance and memories.
Actually this is pretty much the time of year that brings on my melancholy; perhaps because twilight comes, minute by minute, sooner and sooner. Or maybe it's because summer vacation is winding down and school is about to begin. Then, it might be because my childhood memories wash over me like the ocean evening tide.
I think I'm going to go find Frankie, this would be a good time for us to step outside, one more time before we retire...I've simply got to listen to the music one more time.
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Some days, not so much
Yesterday was not a particularly great day.
First, Mable, Millie, Peaches, Penny and Florence went on the lam late last week and have been under house arrest. I've been watching them for several days... it appears Florence may have actually gotten away during the escape...or, M&M and P&P have her trapped up in the coop, because I've not seen her for days. However, I suspect she did get away, because she learned early on how to get on the other side of the creek. I never saw her do it, but have seen her walking 'mongst the bed of clover and having a high old time. But, yesterday it occurred to me if she is trapped in the coop, without food and water...well, enough said about that. Things are not looking up for my fine, feathered fowl.
Second, I had to finish watering the front yard flower gardens and potted plants. Try as I might, I simply can't keep on a ten minute per area time schedule, and I end up drowning one area, and skipping another all together. Adding to the pain...I got my water bill. Ouch, ouch, ouch. By the way, it's not so much the water part of the bill that's painful. It's the sewer charges (paying off millions of dollars in new construction) covering open water reservoirs (to ward off vandalism and terrorism attacks) and finally on site and off site rain water run off.
First, Mable, Millie, Peaches, Penny and Florence went on the lam late last week and have been under house arrest. I've been watching them for several days... it appears Florence may have actually gotten away during the escape...or, M&M and P&P have her trapped up in the coop, because I've not seen her for days. However, I suspect she did get away, because she learned early on how to get on the other side of the creek. I never saw her do it, but have seen her walking 'mongst the bed of clover and having a high old time. But, yesterday it occurred to me if she is trapped in the coop, without food and water...well, enough said about that. Things are not looking up for my fine, feathered fowl.
Second, I had to finish watering the front yard flower gardens and potted plants. Try as I might, I simply can't keep on a ten minute per area time schedule, and I end up drowning one area, and skipping another all together. Adding to the pain...I got my water bill. Ouch, ouch, ouch. By the way, it's not so much the water part of the bill that's painful. It's the sewer charges (paying off millions of dollars in new construction) covering open water reservoirs (to ward off vandalism and terrorism attacks) and finally on site and off site rain water run off.
Finally, thirdly, (and speaking of water) my kitchen water
faucet has been leaking every time I turn it on for months. I've been living with it because I don't want
to spend money on a plumber, also I've been wondering if I could replace the
faucet myself...and, do I really want to attempt that?
I guess a plumber will be coming. Up to now the water had just been running
along the rim of the sink...then yesterday afternoon I discovered it was also
running under the sink as well. How do I
know this? Why of course, a riverlet of
water running across my kitchen floor.
%$&&*#@$%%##%!
Oh my, what a mess.
Once again I had to haul everything out from under the sink, dry
everything off and put everything back.
I tell ya...I wanted to scream.
I've put a wash basin under there to collect any dripping water, and now
use the faucet at a trickle rather than full force until a plumber can come and
fix the problem.
I tell ya, sometimes life can be a real b---h! On the other hand, these kinds of days are
great fodder for my blog. Plus, I can
hope that maybe Florence will return, maybe it will rain and I can put my hoses
away til spring, maybe the faucet leak will magically go away before I have to
spend money on it.
I know! I'm going to
go look for my rose colored glasses, they've got to be here somewhere.
Me: "Frankie,
when is the last time you saw my....."
Friday, August 9, 2013
Discoveries
Something terrifying occurred to me this morning...I'm on the downhill side to 80. How can that be possible? I've decided I don't like that very much...no, not very much indeed. If there's is one thing that can cause a panic attack it's knowing 80 is not too many twists and turns down the road. Aaaaaaaaahhhhh!
Which is why, also, this morning...when I discovered I can still see the world through the eyes of a child, full of wonder, excitement and awe I was thrilled beyond measure.
Here's a few examples. I have learned this year how acorns grow on an oak tree. (I swear I did not know.) First, I thought they only appeared on 'mighty' ones, mature, aged, like me. Well, surprise! They grow on young ones, too. How do I know this? Apparently some years ago a squirrel buried an acorn in my front yard garden, and some time later a seedling appeared. Common sense told me it would be a mistake to let a 'mighty' oak grow in my tiny yard, and I probably should have yanked it out of the ground. I could not. So, for some years I have been trimming and pruning it, trying to keep it below 'wire level', so that in case some winter, under the weight of ice and snow the wires will not snap. Anyway, last summer I saw an occasional immature acorn on the ground beneath my oak, but every time I inspected the tree I found no trace from where they had come. It was quite a quandary. This year the acorns are back. There are many, many of the them.
Guess what? I thought acorns grew at the base of a leaf...they do not. They grow along the branches. Sometimes singly, sometimes in a small cluster. I was
fascinated. What a marvel...I can't wait for my neighborhood squirrels to discover them.
Then, yesterday I mentioned on facebook that my gardener had put me into a real 'snit'. Having been a little under the weather, I paid no attention at all to what he was doing on his Wednesday visit, and frankly didn't care. Then, yesterday, I threw open the drapes in the morning room...and I saw...oh yes, I saw what he had done. He had butchered the shrubs...literally...butchered them...it was more than obvious he gave no care to his work at all. They were crooked, some spots higher than others, there were weird indentations here and there. I was appalled. I was too tired to do anything at the time of discovery except be mad. But later in the afternoon, the fester was getting really bad and I took my trimming tools and with hope in my heart began to salvage his botched job. As I was working the second shrub, I realized I had no choice but to whack it down to my shoulder length. And whack I did. There were four branches left. That was when I discovered a strange looking object hanging from one of the branches. Something was jiggling loose in the back of my memory bank. I had seen this object before. It was the nest of a Bushtit.
Now I know you are supposed to leave bird nests alone, and I probably would have, even though I have quite a collection of all things nature...I am after all a modern day Henry David Thoreau. But, I had no choice, the nest was attached to a branch I had to remove, plus, I'm sure my gardener never would have seen it, nor cared a twit about it, I, on the other hand did care more than a twit, so I carefully removed it from the branch. And...brought it and the nest into the house to add to my collection. Naughty, me.
The nest is nine inches long, and four inches at the widest point. The Bushtit bird is a mere 3 to 4 inches in length. The nest itself is mostly downy stuff and moss, and very intricately made. I'm enclosing a picture, here.
Which is why, also, this morning...when I discovered I can still see the world through the eyes of a child, full of wonder, excitement and awe I was thrilled beyond measure.
Here's a few examples. I have learned this year how acorns grow on an oak tree. (I swear I did not know.) First, I thought they only appeared on 'mighty' ones, mature, aged, like me. Well, surprise! They grow on young ones, too. How do I know this? Apparently some years ago a squirrel buried an acorn in my front yard garden, and some time later a seedling appeared. Common sense told me it would be a mistake to let a 'mighty' oak grow in my tiny yard, and I probably should have yanked it out of the ground. I could not. So, for some years I have been trimming and pruning it, trying to keep it below 'wire level', so that in case some winter, under the weight of ice and snow the wires will not snap. Anyway, last summer I saw an occasional immature acorn on the ground beneath my oak, but every time I inspected the tree I found no trace from where they had come. It was quite a quandary. This year the acorns are back. There are many, many of the them.
Guess what? I thought acorns grew at the base of a leaf...they do not. They grow along the branches. Sometimes singly, sometimes in a small cluster. I was
fascinated. What a marvel...I can't wait for my neighborhood squirrels to discover them.
Then, yesterday I mentioned on facebook that my gardener had put me into a real 'snit'. Having been a little under the weather, I paid no attention at all to what he was doing on his Wednesday visit, and frankly didn't care. Then, yesterday, I threw open the drapes in the morning room...and I saw...oh yes, I saw what he had done. He had butchered the shrubs...literally...butchered them...it was more than obvious he gave no care to his work at all. They were crooked, some spots higher than others, there were weird indentations here and there. I was appalled. I was too tired to do anything at the time of discovery except be mad. But later in the afternoon, the fester was getting really bad and I took my trimming tools and with hope in my heart began to salvage his botched job. As I was working the second shrub, I realized I had no choice but to whack it down to my shoulder length. And whack I did. There were four branches left. That was when I discovered a strange looking object hanging from one of the branches. Something was jiggling loose in the back of my memory bank. I had seen this object before. It was the nest of a Bushtit.
Now I know you are supposed to leave bird nests alone, and I probably would have, even though I have quite a collection of all things nature...I am after all a modern day Henry David Thoreau. But, I had no choice, the nest was attached to a branch I had to remove, plus, I'm sure my gardener never would have seen it, nor cared a twit about it, I, on the other hand did care more than a twit, so I carefully removed it from the branch. And...brought it and the nest into the house to add to my collection. Naughty, me.
The nest is nine inches long, and four inches at the widest point. The Bushtit bird is a mere 3 to 4 inches in length. The nest itself is mostly downy stuff and moss, and very intricately made. I'm enclosing a picture, here.
Anyway, Isn't nature wonderful? And is the gist of this blog. I may be getting older, I may have wrinkles, I may even hobble a bit when I first stand up, I may even get in Old Woman 'snits' from time to time. But I'm young at heart, and things still delight, surprise, amaze, and bring me joy. Lots, and lots of joy. I still examine bugs, and wonder how acorns grow, and in spring will take a key from a maple tree, take my thumb and peal it apart and stick it to my nose to charm my grandchildren who have never been taught to do that. I will hold a dandelion flower under their chin to see if they like butter and put a snake skin in a jar to show that snakes do shed.
So, no matter how old I get, through the eyes of a child, I will continue to marvel at sunlight, and moonlight, and firefly light, too. I'll collect bird nests, and their eggs that don't hatch...and autumn leaves and spring flowers. I'll still try to catch Snowflakes on my tongue, and suck on an icicle, too.
Thoreau once said something to the effect, that man spends his day only seeing what he chooses. Ah, but it's the man who looks, that really sees, and learns something from every sighting.
Thursday, August 8, 2013
Oh, dear...what can the matter be?
I don't have a lot of energy today, nor the desire to do anything at all. I had a bad bout with some bad salad, that knocked me off my 'tukus'.
Of course, at the first sign of feeling squeamish, I think I'm having a heart attack. And I wait for other symptoms to materialize. Numbness, shortness of breath, pain. When they don't happen, I eventually come to understand something else is afoot.
Without going into detail, I'll just say that I didn't get a lot of sleep Tuesday night. Wednesday was spent, munching saltine crackers, drinking a ton of water, and sipping on mugs full of canned chicken noodle soup. Also, I spent a lot of time on the sofa watching television.
I'm pleased to report I slept pretty well last night. The house was in lock-down by nine and I was under the covers by 9:30. I had full intentions of watching TV till the news was over, but managed to fall asleep immediately, waking briefly to turn off the television around 2:45.
I'd like to report I woke this morning full of spunk...but that is not the case. However, I am up...and moving around...and that in itself is accomplishment enough for now. I'm going to fix myself a cup of coffee, and we'll see where that takes me.
Of course, at the first sign of feeling squeamish, I think I'm having a heart attack. And I wait for other symptoms to materialize. Numbness, shortness of breath, pain. When they don't happen, I eventually come to understand something else is afoot.
Without going into detail, I'll just say that I didn't get a lot of sleep Tuesday night. Wednesday was spent, munching saltine crackers, drinking a ton of water, and sipping on mugs full of canned chicken noodle soup. Also, I spent a lot of time on the sofa watching television.
I'm pleased to report I slept pretty well last night. The house was in lock-down by nine and I was under the covers by 9:30. I had full intentions of watching TV till the news was over, but managed to fall asleep immediately, waking briefly to turn off the television around 2:45.
I'd like to report I woke this morning full of spunk...but that is not the case. However, I am up...and moving around...and that in itself is accomplishment enough for now. I'm going to fix myself a cup of coffee, and we'll see where that takes me.
Monday, August 5, 2013
Dang it!
So, I was watching TV this morning, and I happened to see a commercial from one of the leading brands of toilet tissue. Only they were not advertising the softness of the tissue itself, but something new "Adult wipes". Oh, yeah, there they were in a mall (I think) getting people to take the wipes with them to the Ladies Lounges, to give them a try.
These women emerged from the lounges, all happy, grinning ear to ear, sooo
delighted they had discovered the secret to feeling fresh, and smelling good.
They were asked if they would they carry these miraculous things in their purses and would they use them on a regular basis? Ohhhhh, the wonderful words they had for these newly invented moist, pieces of paper mixed with whatever they are mixed with. Platitudes abounded.
I suppose I should have been as amazed as all the women who tried this product for the first time. I was not.
You know how you have said to yourself over the years. "Well, there goes MY million dollar idea down the drain? Well, guess what, for more years than I can remember I've been using Baby Wipes to do exactly the same thing. Granted, I'm sure my baby wipes don't smell as pretty as the famous name brand toilet tissue wipes do...but MY wipes do exactly the same thing, and I'm sure for a lot less money.
Anyway, if only, all those years ago I'd have send off letters to all those companies that line all those shelves, in all those grocery stores, with all those toilet tissues, and told them I had an idea that could make them and me a bazillion dollars. I could be traveling around in my own Lear Jet by now.
Dang it!
These women emerged from the lounges, all happy, grinning ear to ear, sooo
delighted they had discovered the secret to feeling fresh, and smelling good.
They were asked if they would they carry these miraculous things in their purses and would they use them on a regular basis? Ohhhhh, the wonderful words they had for these newly invented moist, pieces of paper mixed with whatever they are mixed with. Platitudes abounded.
I suppose I should have been as amazed as all the women who tried this product for the first time. I was not.
You know how you have said to yourself over the years. "Well, there goes MY million dollar idea down the drain? Well, guess what, for more years than I can remember I've been using Baby Wipes to do exactly the same thing. Granted, I'm sure my baby wipes don't smell as pretty as the famous name brand toilet tissue wipes do...but MY wipes do exactly the same thing, and I'm sure for a lot less money.
Anyway, if only, all those years ago I'd have send off letters to all those companies that line all those shelves, in all those grocery stores, with all those toilet tissues, and told them I had an idea that could make them and me a bazillion dollars. I could be traveling around in my own Lear Jet by now.
Dang it!
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