My dog has been in a frenzy this morning. Honestly, I've no idea what has gotten into him. He's been antsy ever since we got up...which did happen to be early this morning, w-a-a-a-y before seven.
It was one of those mornings when, try as I might, I could not lull myself back
to sleep. So I turned on the television and started watching the end of a really old movie. It had Danny Kay in it, but I didn't recognize anybody else.
After that, I switched to local news, the channel I don't like, but seem to be drawn to (I think because I KNOW I'm going to be annoyed). I hate they constantly remind me they are first, live and local, and also I hate their banter seems more important to them than the news they are supposed to be delivering. And, the female anchor's laugh drives me crazy.
But this is about my dog. As soon as the television glow filled the room, he was out from under the covers pawing at me to pet him, which I did till my muscles began to cramp up and I had to move. He pawed, I moved, he pawed, I moved.
Eventually I gave up and got out of bed to feed him. I was hoping we could go back to bed for a while, but he would have not of that. So, I fixed myself a cup of coffee, made the bed and started working. Surely he could crawl into his office bed and go to sleep.
Not so much! I spent more than an hour trying to placate him. He wanted out, he wanted in, he wanted in my lap, he didn't want in my lap, up and down, in and out...AaaaaaaaaaH. What the heck was the matter with him?
I was getting no work done what so ever!!!!!
I've got to say I was losing patience with him. I tried to get him to take a nap, he would not go near his bed. I put him out one more time. He made a quick trip around the front yard and came dashing back to the stoop.
Now, usually around 9:30 I give him a snack to get him to nap till noon so I
can work. I began to ponder, hmmm, since I started work so early, maybe his
internal clock was telling him it was 9:30, when in reality it was only a little after eight.
I knew he was not going to give me any peace, so we went to the kitchen and I got out one of his teeth cleaning sticks and a big, BIG fist of kibble. If this didn't work, I might have to induce sleep by means I don't particularly want to write about. (Just joking.) (Really, that was a joke.) I would never intentionally hurt either of my pets.
Frankie, well that's a whole other story.
Anyway, Zorro downed his snack as though he had not been fed in a week, and immediately jumped into his bed, and is now napping and snoring, snoring and napping. I think I might finally get some work done.
"Hey, you ready for a break?" Frankie is leaning against the office door jam, and waving an unwatched holiday DVD around, starring Queen Latifah.
Crap!
Monday, December 30, 2013
Sunday, December 29, 2013
I'm sitting at my computer, working.
Frankie: "Le' me assk' you somethin'"
I cringe, she knows I hate when she talks like that. I turn in my chair and give her 'the look'. She grins, and a crumb of blueberry pudding cake falls from her lower lip.
Me: "What?"
Frankie: "You gonna' make any resolutions for the new year?"
Me: "No, don't believe in that, nobody ever keeps theirs anyway. So, why bother. I don't think most people remember what their great objectives were by the end of January. Take off weight, quit smoking, drinking, start exercising.... blah, blah, blah.....pllllease."
Frankie: "Then, why is it such a big deal at the end of the year and the beginning of the new year for people to want to make them and who made the very first one?"
Oh dear, I feel some research coming on. Frankie brings my vanity chair into the office and plunks down beside me at the computer. Here's what we learned.
The History of New Years Resolutions
By Gary Ryan Blair
With two faces, Janus could look back on past events and forward to the future. Janus became the ancient symbol for resolutions and many Romans looked for forgiveness from their enemies and also exchanged gifts before the beginning of each year.
The New Year has not always begun on January 1, and it doesn't begin on that date everywhere today. It begins on that date only for cultures that use a 365-day solar calendar. January 1 became the beginning of the New Year in 46 B.C., when Julius Caesar developed a calendar that would more accurately reflect the seasons than previous calendars had.
The Romans named the first month of the year after Janus, the god of beginnings and the guardian of doors and entrances. He was always depicted with two faces, one on the front of his head and one on the back. Thus he could look backward and forward at the same time. At midnight on December 31, the Romans imagined Janus looking back at the old year and forward to the new...
...although the date for New Year's Day is not the same in every culture, it is always a time for celebration and for customs to ensure good luck in the coming year."
Religious origins Wikipedia
"The ancient Babylonians made promises to their gods at the start of each year that they would return borrowed objects and pay their debts.
The Romans began each year by making promises to the god Janus, for whom the month of January is named.
In the Medieval era, the knights took the "peacock vow" at the end of the Christmas season each year to re-affirm their commitment to chivalry.
At watchnight services, many Christians prepare for the year ahead by praying and making these resolutions.
There are other religious parallels to this tradition. During Judaism's New Year, Rosh Hashanah, through the High Holidays and culminating in Yom Kippur (the Day of Atonement), one is to reflect upon one's wrongdoings over the year and both seek and offer forgiveness.
People may act similarly during the Catholic fasting period of Lent, though the motive behind this holiday is more of sacrifice than of responsibility, in fact the practice of New Year's resolutions partially came from the Lenten sacrifices.The concept, regardless of creed, is to reflect upon self-improvement annually."
Mat-Su Valley
Frontiersman
The New Year has not always begun on January 1, and it doesn't begin on that date everywhere today. It begins on that date only for cultures that use a 365-day solar calendar. January 1 became the beginning of the New Year in 46 B.C., when Julius Caesar developed a calendar that would more accurately reflect the seasons than previous calendars had.
The Romans named the first month of the year after Janus, the god of beginnings and the guardian of doors and entrances. He was always depicted with two faces, one on the front of his head and one on the back. Thus he could look backward and forward at the same time. At midnight on December 31, the Romans imagined Janus looking back at the old year and forward to the new...
...although the date for New Year's Day is not the same in every culture, it is always a time for celebration and for customs to ensure good luck in the coming year."
Religious origins Wikipedia
"The ancient Babylonians made promises to their gods at the start of each year that they would return borrowed objects and pay their debts.
The Romans began each year by making promises to the god Janus, for whom the month of January is named.
In the Medieval era, the knights took the "peacock vow" at the end of the Christmas season each year to re-affirm their commitment to chivalry.
At watchnight services, many Christians prepare for the year ahead by praying and making these resolutions.
There are other religious parallels to this tradition. During Judaism's New Year, Rosh Hashanah, through the High Holidays and culminating in Yom Kippur (the Day of Atonement), one is to reflect upon one's wrongdoings over the year and both seek and offer forgiveness.
People may act similarly during the Catholic fasting period of Lent, though the motive behind this holiday is more of sacrifice than of responsibility, in fact the practice of New Year's resolutions partially came from the Lenten sacrifices.The concept, regardless of creed, is to reflect upon self-improvement annually."
Mat-Su Valley
Frontiersman
"Go back 3,500 years and at the start of a new year you might find a Babylonian promising to his god Anu that he’d return borrowed fruit and grain to the generous Mesopotamian farmer who loaned him the sustenance during the growing season. Or, 2,000 years ago you might find a Roman promising to be a better citizen in the coming year. She likely prayed to the god Janus, for whom our calendar’s first month is named, to ensure her new year would be remarkable. She might have made the prayer to Janus in his role as the Patron of Bridges while she stared at his double-faced sculpture, one face peering into the past and the other to the future.
In the first half of the 18th Century you might find America’s original philosophical theologian Jonathan Edwards writing detailed, comprehensive resolutions over the course of two to three years in New England Puritan communities encouraging self-improvement and renewed faith.
There’s actually a world history of civilizations defining and committing to good intentions at the end of each year, generation after generation."
And, there you have it, three different views of how resolutions came into being. I guess they are not a bad thing, it's just (I think) we don't take them as seriously as we might considering their origins. I don't know about you, but I think I'm actually considering about making one...just one...this year. And, that's that I might become a better person. I can't change the world, but I just might be able to change myself.
Thank you, Gary Ryan Blair, Wikipedia and Tom Anderson for your research, and making my research so easy.
There’s actually a world history of civilizations defining and committing to good intentions at the end of each year, generation after generation."
And, there you have it, three different views of how resolutions came into being. I guess they are not a bad thing, it's just (I think) we don't take them as seriously as we might considering their origins. I don't know about you, but I think I'm actually considering about making one...just one...this year. And, that's that I might become a better person. I can't change the world, but I just might be able to change myself.
Thank you, Gary Ryan Blair, Wikipedia and Tom Anderson for your research, and making my research so easy.
Saturday, December 28, 2013
Life is what it is
Frankie was all over me like white on rice yesterday because I've been neglecting my blog. She was right, so I couldn't really be upset with her that she was 'ragging on' me.
Honestly I don't know where the time goes.
It seems only yesterday it was the first of December, yet the month is going to end next week and what the heck have I done? Not much. Let's face it my life is not exactly one of perpetual parties, travel and excitement.
LOL, LOL, LOL. Suddenly, I'm uplifted.
I'm sitting here giggling about my druthers, would I love to be on the French Riviera? You bet your sweet bippy. I've seen pictures of that place, and scenes from movies, too. Who wouldn't love to be among that elite? I can see me now, in my twenties, sauntering along the warm sands of a nude beach, I'm tall and willowy with long flowing blond hair, wearing nothing but designer sunglasses and the bottom part of a bikini bathing suit. Young, (very wealthy) guys drooling as I pass by. Baaaaa, haaaaaaaa, haaaaaaaaa. Good Lord, where did I go wrong????? As it is I'm on the downward side of five feet, and I was barely five foot one to begin with.
I keep wondering what I did wrong in my youth that I never had the guts to live on the edge, and do wild and crazy things. Like stow away somehow to an exotic tropical island, or get a job working for royalty. Seriously, I'd have made a damn good Nanny. Or, what if I had made up a bunch of diplomas, making myself appear to be very educated, and conned my way into jobs I was really not qualified for, like the guy in "Catch Me If You Can." I can see me now the CEO of some humongous corporation, bilking bazillions of bucks, and stashing the cash in off shore banks.
Man, I'd have jets and limos, castles and mansions, maids and butlers. I'd be eating in the best restaurants, where the Maitre D's would know my name, and take me to my favorite table where I would dine on escargot and caviar, wine and champagne. I'd stay at only the very best hotels, in suites, where every day there would be fresh flowers, baskets of fruit and champagne chilling in a silver bucket.
By now I'd have visited all seven continents, and have enough money to travel on one of those vehicles that take you to the edge of the atmosphere. Shoot, I could even have my ashes spread across the universe. Wooo, hooo, now, there's a story for the family historian to tell.
But, now it's time to come back to earth, so much for perpetual parties, travel and excitement. And, I've chores to do today. In retrospect, I know I've thrown some pretty good parties...I've traveled some, too. And as for excitement, well, I guess that depends on your own idea of what excitement is. Shoot, just a few days ago I got excited when I discovered my Winter House Guest in my sun room. Doesn't take much to satisfy me, and bring me joy.
Okay, Frankie, you can get "off my back". This probably wasn't exactly the kind of blog you expected. But since I've been in peculiar frame of mind of late, I kind of just let my mind and fingers roam about my keyboard. I'll probably let my body do some roaming today, too. I might start by putting away some of the Christmas decorations, and maybe I'll do some laundry, too. Then, I'll check in on Times Square to watch the preparations for the New Year's Eve celebration there, and not so patiently wait for the New Year to begin.
Life is what it is, whether yours if full of perpetual parties, travel and excitement or you're a homebody and 'stick in the mud' (like me), it's good, it's all good.
Honestly I don't know where the time goes.
It seems only yesterday it was the first of December, yet the month is going to end next week and what the heck have I done? Not much. Let's face it my life is not exactly one of perpetual parties, travel and excitement.
LOL, LOL, LOL. Suddenly, I'm uplifted.
I'm sitting here giggling about my druthers, would I love to be on the French Riviera? You bet your sweet bippy. I've seen pictures of that place, and scenes from movies, too. Who wouldn't love to be among that elite? I can see me now, in my twenties, sauntering along the warm sands of a nude beach, I'm tall and willowy with long flowing blond hair, wearing nothing but designer sunglasses and the bottom part of a bikini bathing suit. Young, (very wealthy) guys drooling as I pass by. Baaaaa, haaaaaaaa, haaaaaaaaa. Good Lord, where did I go wrong????? As it is I'm on the downward side of five feet, and I was barely five foot one to begin with.
I keep wondering what I did wrong in my youth that I never had the guts to live on the edge, and do wild and crazy things. Like stow away somehow to an exotic tropical island, or get a job working for royalty. Seriously, I'd have made a damn good Nanny. Or, what if I had made up a bunch of diplomas, making myself appear to be very educated, and conned my way into jobs I was really not qualified for, like the guy in "Catch Me If You Can." I can see me now the CEO of some humongous corporation, bilking bazillions of bucks, and stashing the cash in off shore banks.
Man, I'd have jets and limos, castles and mansions, maids and butlers. I'd be eating in the best restaurants, where the Maitre D's would know my name, and take me to my favorite table where I would dine on escargot and caviar, wine and champagne. I'd stay at only the very best hotels, in suites, where every day there would be fresh flowers, baskets of fruit and champagne chilling in a silver bucket.
By now I'd have visited all seven continents, and have enough money to travel on one of those vehicles that take you to the edge of the atmosphere. Shoot, I could even have my ashes spread across the universe. Wooo, hooo, now, there's a story for the family historian to tell.
But, now it's time to come back to earth, so much for perpetual parties, travel and excitement. And, I've chores to do today. In retrospect, I know I've thrown some pretty good parties...I've traveled some, too. And as for excitement, well, I guess that depends on your own idea of what excitement is. Shoot, just a few days ago I got excited when I discovered my Winter House Guest in my sun room. Doesn't take much to satisfy me, and bring me joy.
Okay, Frankie, you can get "off my back". This probably wasn't exactly the kind of blog you expected. But since I've been in peculiar frame of mind of late, I kind of just let my mind and fingers roam about my keyboard. I'll probably let my body do some roaming today, too. I might start by putting away some of the Christmas decorations, and maybe I'll do some laundry, too. Then, I'll check in on Times Square to watch the preparations for the New Year's Eve celebration there, and not so patiently wait for the New Year to begin.
Life is what it is, whether yours if full of perpetual parties, travel and excitement or you're a homebody and 'stick in the mud' (like me), it's good, it's all good.
Wednesday, December 25, 2013
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
Fruitcake and
Eggnog with a little brandy in it,
A box of chocolate covered cherries,
Old fashioned sugar cookies,
The movie We're No Angels,
Oh, and White Christmas, too,
Frosted window panes,
A star studded winter sky,
Spicy potpourris,
Carolers bundled in bonnets, muffs, scarves and gloves.
Holly bushes with bright red berries,
Poinsettias,
Packages under a tree,
Fireplaces burning bright,
An unexpected phone call,
A mysterious gift left on a door step,
these are some of my favorite things.
Merry Christmas everybody, may your days be merry and bright, and all your Christmases be white.
A box of chocolate covered cherries,
Old fashioned sugar cookies,
The movie We're No Angels,
Oh, and White Christmas, too,
Frosted window panes,
A star studded winter sky,
Spicy potpourris,
Carolers bundled in bonnets, muffs, scarves and gloves.
Holly bushes with bright red berries,
Poinsettias,
Packages under a tree,
Fireplaces burning bright,
An unexpected phone call,
A mysterious gift left on a door step,
these are some of my favorite things.
Merry Christmas everybody, may your days be merry and bright, and all your Christmases be white.
Monday, December 23, 2013
I've been crying me a river
The next few days are going to be the most tearful, they are every year. I simply get 'sappy', can't help it, can't change it, don't want to.
I've already shed tears three times this morning. Once a result of a news story about a guy handing out hundred dollar bills to people, Once when I turned on my Christmas tree lights, and once when I was looking up the lyrics on the Net for the song to Auld Lang Syne. Where I learned there are a lot more verses than I imagines. And the one that made me cry was:
And there’s a hand my trusty friend !
And give me a hand o’ thine !
And we’ll take a right good-will draught,
for auld lang syne.
And what exactly does auld lang syne mean, anyway, well according to Bing Dictionary it means the following:
auld lang syne
How beautiful then that I would give my hand, and that you would give me thine. And that we'd have a drink together, for time long past.
I've no idea exactly why that made me blubber so. Maybe because I don't know how many more New Year's I have left to extend my hand, or maybe because the list of names in my address book is becoming shorter and shorter so that the hands extending back are becoming fewer and fewer. Or maybe it was because as the years have ebbed and flowed, the hand I extend, has become wrinkled, vein ridden, and is riddles with brown and beige age spots. Regardless of the reason, I was suddenly overcome in a deep, chest racking, shoulder shuddering crying jag.
I can't imagine how I will react as I watch the festivities via the Times Square Cameras come New Years Eve. I'm supposing my little tray of crackers, cheese, meat tidbits and fruit will eventually become salty from the tears I will surely shed.
I've also been avoiding commercials showing abused animals, children in shelters and service men and women returning home to surprise their families. Oh, and those the songs, where people will only be home in their dreams, or the one where the bells that peal more loud and deep saying God is not dead nor doth He sleep, promising the wrong shall fail, and right prevail, with peace on earth, good will to men, I just can't take them any more. I want people home for real not in their dreams and I know God is not dead, and that wrong will fail, and right prevail, but I want that to happen now, waiting for it is taking much too long.
Maybe I'm meant to be a wreck this time of year. Maybe I'd really like to be mushy all year long, but feel turning on my water works is only appropriate this time of year. What ever! I just know I'm going through a heck of a lot of tissues, and repairing my make-up quite a bit.
If I could have one wish, it would be that the Christmas Spirit lasted 365 days a year, not just a few days before and a few days after. What if we all shed tears at the same time, maybe together we could wash away the ugly, mean, evil forever. And, we'd never have to shed tears again...if only it were that simple.
All we can do is not give up hope, and if shedding some tears helps to keep that hope alive, I think I don't mind shedding mine one bit.
I've already shed tears three times this morning. Once a result of a news story about a guy handing out hundred dollar bills to people, Once when I turned on my Christmas tree lights, and once when I was looking up the lyrics on the Net for the song to Auld Lang Syne. Where I learned there are a lot more verses than I imagines. And the one that made me cry was:
And there’s a hand my trusty friend !
And give me a hand o’ thine !
And we’ll take a right good-will draught,
for auld lang syne.
And what exactly does auld lang syne mean, anyway, well according to Bing Dictionary it means the following:
auld lang syne
- [ àwld lang zn ]
- times long past: old times, or times long gone
How beautiful then that I would give my hand, and that you would give me thine. And that we'd have a drink together, for time long past.
I've no idea exactly why that made me blubber so. Maybe because I don't know how many more New Year's I have left to extend my hand, or maybe because the list of names in my address book is becoming shorter and shorter so that the hands extending back are becoming fewer and fewer. Or maybe it was because as the years have ebbed and flowed, the hand I extend, has become wrinkled, vein ridden, and is riddles with brown and beige age spots. Regardless of the reason, I was suddenly overcome in a deep, chest racking, shoulder shuddering crying jag.
I can't imagine how I will react as I watch the festivities via the Times Square Cameras come New Years Eve. I'm supposing my little tray of crackers, cheese, meat tidbits and fruit will eventually become salty from the tears I will surely shed.
I've also been avoiding commercials showing abused animals, children in shelters and service men and women returning home to surprise their families. Oh, and those the songs, where people will only be home in their dreams, or the one where the bells that peal more loud and deep saying God is not dead nor doth He sleep, promising the wrong shall fail, and right prevail, with peace on earth, good will to men, I just can't take them any more. I want people home for real not in their dreams and I know God is not dead, and that wrong will fail, and right prevail, but I want that to happen now, waiting for it is taking much too long.
Maybe I'm meant to be a wreck this time of year. Maybe I'd really like to be mushy all year long, but feel turning on my water works is only appropriate this time of year. What ever! I just know I'm going through a heck of a lot of tissues, and repairing my make-up quite a bit.
If I could have one wish, it would be that the Christmas Spirit lasted 365 days a year, not just a few days before and a few days after. What if we all shed tears at the same time, maybe together we could wash away the ugly, mean, evil forever. And, we'd never have to shed tears again...if only it were that simple.
All we can do is not give up hope, and if shedding some tears helps to keep that hope alive, I think I don't mind shedding mine one bit.
Sunday, December 22, 2013
Uh-oh
As Brunie entered her office that cold December day, her phone was already ringing. She could tell from the bright red blinking light it was a call from Santa's private line.
Uh-oh!
What in the world had she done, now!
This was December, the North Pole's busiest month. Santa never had time to make calls in December. This had to be bad, very, very, very bad. Brunie didn't know whether to faint, or run back to her room and throw the covers over her head.
With grave despair, her shaking fingers lifted the receiver off the phone. Santa wanted to see her in his office as soon as possible. Brunie fell into her chair. She closed her eyes and began going over the events of the past couple of weeks. She thought things were going splendidly.
The barns were well heated and clean. There was an ample supply of fodder, lots and lots of apples, carrots and sugar cubes to keep the reindeer happy. The elves had the deer well cared for and kept them in excellent health. What, what in the world had gone wrong?
It was Brunie's turn to stew and fret, fret and stew. She went through the motions of her daily routine, assigning jobs for each of the elves, walked through the barns, petting the deer on their noses and giving them apples. All the while pondering what in the world Santa could want. Oh, this could not be good.
At last, with all the 'busy work' completed, and the barns humming with activity, Brunie had no choice but to don her jacket, scarf and cap and head for Santa's office.
With heavy heart Brunie pushed open the door to Santa's reception area. His Office Assistant, Matilda greeted her with a broad grin, mug of hot chocolate and shoved a plate of sugar cookies under her nose.
Brunie was taken quite a-back.
She was told to 'take a seat', Santa would see her in a few minutes. Great...that was all Brunie needed, to have to wait. Her stomach was already in knots, and she was getting a headache, too.
Before long the dark, heavy, mahogany door to Santa's office squeaked open, and there he stood, pipe limply hanging from the corner of his mouth. "He spoke not a word", but motioned Brunie to come into the office.
Santa cleared his throat.
Santa: "Well, Brunhilda, how are things going in the Reindeer Barns?"
Brunie gulped. "I think things are moving along nicely, Santa."
Santa placed his pipe in his ashtray, placed his hands across his chubby tummy, and interlaced his fingers. Leaning back in his chair, he nodded his head, "I see."
The silence in the room hung like a thick fog. Brunie wished it would swallow her up.
The door creaked open, and all the Barn Elves entered the room.
Oh me, oh my.
Suddenly the room exploded in applause, and a ruckus of cheers. Someone had to push a chair under Brunie's fanny, as she was about to crumble in a heap on the floor.
"Ho! Ho! Ho!" Roared Santa. "Oh Brunie, dear, dear Brunie. You have been so misunderstood, your talents so hidden under a bushel. Your mind wanderings so unappreciated."
Brunie could not believe her ears. Was this a dream. A pinch of her own arm told her this was all true.
Santa continued. "All these years, your true worth has been dormant, well no more dear Brunie. We are here to honor you, and to let you know we're starting a brand new department, and you will be in charge. Your robotic 'Scooper' has been a miracle to the Barn Elves, and they have been singing your praises. As a result, you are going to be in charge of the 'brand new' North Pole's Research and Development Department. You, and your 'wanderings' are going to imagine and create things to modernize all our departments and bring us into the Twenty-First Century." Ho! Ho! Ho!
Brunie was beside herself in glee. The elves placed her on their shoulders and everyone went to the North Pole Square, where there was a celebration to end all celebrations. There was song and dancing, food galore and even a bit of 'spicy, innards warming' eggnog. The party lasted until the wee, small hours, and (trust me) a good time was had by all.
Now, as I mentioned, no one knows how long elves live, but I'm here to tell you, Brunie is living out her days, in the job she should have had in the first place; the place where every day her mind is free to wander, and where every night she falls asleep in her room of the North Poles brand new, Research and Development Department.
And, a...
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night."
Uh-oh!
What in the world had she done, now!
This was December, the North Pole's busiest month. Santa never had time to make calls in December. This had to be bad, very, very, very bad. Brunie didn't know whether to faint, or run back to her room and throw the covers over her head.
With grave despair, her shaking fingers lifted the receiver off the phone. Santa wanted to see her in his office as soon as possible. Brunie fell into her chair. She closed her eyes and began going over the events of the past couple of weeks. She thought things were going splendidly.
The barns were well heated and clean. There was an ample supply of fodder, lots and lots of apples, carrots and sugar cubes to keep the reindeer happy. The elves had the deer well cared for and kept them in excellent health. What, what in the world had gone wrong?
It was Brunie's turn to stew and fret, fret and stew. She went through the motions of her daily routine, assigning jobs for each of the elves, walked through the barns, petting the deer on their noses and giving them apples. All the while pondering what in the world Santa could want. Oh, this could not be good.
At last, with all the 'busy work' completed, and the barns humming with activity, Brunie had no choice but to don her jacket, scarf and cap and head for Santa's office.
With heavy heart Brunie pushed open the door to Santa's reception area. His Office Assistant, Matilda greeted her with a broad grin, mug of hot chocolate and shoved a plate of sugar cookies under her nose.
Brunie was taken quite a-back.
She was told to 'take a seat', Santa would see her in a few minutes. Great...that was all Brunie needed, to have to wait. Her stomach was already in knots, and she was getting a headache, too.
Before long the dark, heavy, mahogany door to Santa's office squeaked open, and there he stood, pipe limply hanging from the corner of his mouth. "He spoke not a word", but motioned Brunie to come into the office.
Santa cleared his throat.
Santa: "Well, Brunhilda, how are things going in the Reindeer Barns?"
Brunie gulped. "I think things are moving along nicely, Santa."
Santa placed his pipe in his ashtray, placed his hands across his chubby tummy, and interlaced his fingers. Leaning back in his chair, he nodded his head, "I see."
The silence in the room hung like a thick fog. Brunie wished it would swallow her up.
The door creaked open, and all the Barn Elves entered the room.
Oh me, oh my.
Suddenly the room exploded in applause, and a ruckus of cheers. Someone had to push a chair under Brunie's fanny, as she was about to crumble in a heap on the floor.
"Ho! Ho! Ho!" Roared Santa. "Oh Brunie, dear, dear Brunie. You have been so misunderstood, your talents so hidden under a bushel. Your mind wanderings so unappreciated."
Brunie could not believe her ears. Was this a dream. A pinch of her own arm told her this was all true.
Santa continued. "All these years, your true worth has been dormant, well no more dear Brunie. We are here to honor you, and to let you know we're starting a brand new department, and you will be in charge. Your robotic 'Scooper' has been a miracle to the Barn Elves, and they have been singing your praises. As a result, you are going to be in charge of the 'brand new' North Pole's Research and Development Department. You, and your 'wanderings' are going to imagine and create things to modernize all our departments and bring us into the Twenty-First Century." Ho! Ho! Ho!
Brunie was beside herself in glee. The elves placed her on their shoulders and everyone went to the North Pole Square, where there was a celebration to end all celebrations. There was song and dancing, food galore and even a bit of 'spicy, innards warming' eggnog. The party lasted until the wee, small hours, and (trust me) a good time was had by all.
Now, as I mentioned, no one knows how long elves live, but I'm here to tell you, Brunie is living out her days, in the job she should have had in the first place; the place where every day her mind is free to wander, and where every night she falls asleep in her room of the North Poles brand new, Research and Development Department.
And, a...
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night."
Friday, December 20, 2013
Where did it go?
It's hard for me to fathom that another year is coming to an end. I woke up this morning, pulled open the drapes and optimistically expected to see a 'dusting' of snow on the ground. I can't tell you how disappointed I was there was none. I know I can't expect a White Christmas, but I was hoping for a "Couple of Days Before 'White Christmas' ". Well that didn't happen! Yes, I guess I just didn't happen to be looking out the window when the few flakes that did fall, actually did. I admit I was definitely disappointed.
And that got me to thinking about other disappointments I've had over the last twelve months. So, I'm going to share these earth shattering events with you.
1. I didn't win the lottery or the Publisher's Clearing house 'win a 1,000.00 a month for the rest of your life'.
2. I didn't get my tummy tuck, face lift and liposuction procedures.
3. I didn't get a Prince Charming in a stretch limo to carry me away to his tropical island.
4. I never got a staff to cook, clean, launder and preform secretarial duties.
5. I didn't get a 'life time supply' of anything.
6. I didn't get asked to do my own "Reality Show" on television.
7. I never got my personal jet plane, so I never got to whisk myself away to magical places.
And 8. I didn't get to be in my forties again.
There you have it disappointment, after disappointment...it wasn't that I expected a lot, right? I'd have been happy with only four from the above list. Where's the Genie in a bottle when you need one?
(Insert much sighing here.)
Still, all in all I guess I can say it's been a pretty good year. After all I have:
1. My health.
2. My loving family.
3. A roof over my head.
4. Food on my table.
5. A warm and caring circle of friends.
6. Frankie, Zorro and CC.
7. A fun job.
And 8. A life that's full, satisfying and happy.
So, pooh on you disappointment.
And that got me to thinking about other disappointments I've had over the last twelve months. So, I'm going to share these earth shattering events with you.
1. I didn't win the lottery or the Publisher's Clearing house 'win a 1,000.00 a month for the rest of your life'.
2. I didn't get my tummy tuck, face lift and liposuction procedures.
3. I didn't get a Prince Charming in a stretch limo to carry me away to his tropical island.
4. I never got a staff to cook, clean, launder and preform secretarial duties.
5. I didn't get a 'life time supply' of anything.
6. I didn't get asked to do my own "Reality Show" on television.
7. I never got my personal jet plane, so I never got to whisk myself away to magical places.
And 8. I didn't get to be in my forties again.
There you have it disappointment, after disappointment...it wasn't that I expected a lot, right? I'd have been happy with only four from the above list. Where's the Genie in a bottle when you need one?
(Insert much sighing here.)
Still, all in all I guess I can say it's been a pretty good year. After all I have:
1. My health.
2. My loving family.
3. A roof over my head.
4. Food on my table.
5. A warm and caring circle of friends.
6. Frankie, Zorro and CC.
7. A fun job.
And 8. A life that's full, satisfying and happy.
So, pooh on you disappointment.
Thursday, December 19, 2013
What to do, what to do.
Well, Santa was in a muddle, he stewed, he fretted. What in the world was he going to do with Brunhilda. It wasn't that she was not a good worker, because he had watched her throw herself into every job ever assigned to her. It was just her wandering mind and forgetfullness eventually got her into trouble.
One morning while he was puffing on his pipe and muddling, his Office Assistant, Matilda, reminded him the position of Supervisor of Reindeer was still open and that perhaps Brunie might be perfect for the job. It didn't require a great deal of physical labor, and all she would really have to do is oversee the schedules of the Reindeer Elves, make sure the barns were clean, the deer were well fed, and that they had their blankets at night to keep them warm.
What a great idea, thought Santa. This indeed might be the perfect job for Brunie, the one to take her right up to her retirement. So, he called her into the office and explained the position to her. His greatest fear was that she would consider this a demotion, however, she was thrilled. It turned out she had a particular fondness for the reindeer and took over the supervision of the Reindeer Barns that very morning.
The barns were a row of bright red buildings, that had stalls for every single reindeer in Santa's possession. They were insulated from the cold, and each barn had a huge stove that chugged out heat 24/7. At one end there were bales and bales of fodder, and barrels and barrels of apples, carrots and sugar cubes to keep the deer well fed and happy. Elves worked around the clock making sure each deer got to use the exercise equipment, got a good brushing, and that their stalls were clean, clean, clean.
Was Brunie a happy camper? You bet your sweet bippy! She was delighted, and the Reindeer Barns had never been run so efficiently. She even got awards and soon the walls of her office were lined with them. Better yet, she had time every day to let her mind wander, without having her 'rovings' get her into trouble.
Matter of fact. One of her 'wanderings' led to something wonderful. She was always concerned with the amount of time it took for the Elves to sweep the reindeer...well...
er...ah...(how can I put this)...poop out of the stalls. She thought and thought how to speed up this chore, and one afternoon, while she was petting the deer on their snouts and giving them apples she had an idea.
She rushed to her office and began to design (are you ready?) a robot. Yes indeedy, a robot. Off she went to the Research and Development Department, and before long
sturdy, waist high, metal and plastic gadgets were hustling and bustling around the barns, efficiently collecting, the reindeer residue. They even pushed the wheel-
barrows to the greenhouses where the 'poop' eventually became fertilizer for the
holly bushes and Christmas Trees.
Santa was thrilled, the Reindeer Barns Elves were thrilled, and so was Brunie. She now spent her evenings in her rocker, by the fire, drinking hot chocolate, thinking, thinking, thinking. Where. oh where, would these wanderings take her? What kind of trouble would this eventually lead to?
Chapter Six to follow.
One morning while he was puffing on his pipe and muddling, his Office Assistant, Matilda, reminded him the position of Supervisor of Reindeer was still open and that perhaps Brunie might be perfect for the job. It didn't require a great deal of physical labor, and all she would really have to do is oversee the schedules of the Reindeer Elves, make sure the barns were clean, the deer were well fed, and that they had their blankets at night to keep them warm.
What a great idea, thought Santa. This indeed might be the perfect job for Brunie, the one to take her right up to her retirement. So, he called her into the office and explained the position to her. His greatest fear was that she would consider this a demotion, however, she was thrilled. It turned out she had a particular fondness for the reindeer and took over the supervision of the Reindeer Barns that very morning.
The barns were a row of bright red buildings, that had stalls for every single reindeer in Santa's possession. They were insulated from the cold, and each barn had a huge stove that chugged out heat 24/7. At one end there were bales and bales of fodder, and barrels and barrels of apples, carrots and sugar cubes to keep the deer well fed and happy. Elves worked around the clock making sure each deer got to use the exercise equipment, got a good brushing, and that their stalls were clean, clean, clean.
Was Brunie a happy camper? You bet your sweet bippy! She was delighted, and the Reindeer Barns had never been run so efficiently. She even got awards and soon the walls of her office were lined with them. Better yet, she had time every day to let her mind wander, without having her 'rovings' get her into trouble.
Matter of fact. One of her 'wanderings' led to something wonderful. She was always concerned with the amount of time it took for the Elves to sweep the reindeer...well...
er...ah...(how can I put this)...poop out of the stalls. She thought and thought how to speed up this chore, and one afternoon, while she was petting the deer on their snouts and giving them apples she had an idea.
She rushed to her office and began to design (are you ready?) a robot. Yes indeedy, a robot. Off she went to the Research and Development Department, and before long
sturdy, waist high, metal and plastic gadgets were hustling and bustling around the barns, efficiently collecting, the reindeer residue. They even pushed the wheel-
barrows to the greenhouses where the 'poop' eventually became fertilizer for the
holly bushes and Christmas Trees.
Santa was thrilled, the Reindeer Barns Elves were thrilled, and so was Brunie. She now spent her evenings in her rocker, by the fire, drinking hot chocolate, thinking, thinking, thinking. Where. oh where, would these wanderings take her? What kind of trouble would this eventually lead to?
Chapter Six to follow.
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
Making magic
Yesterday I wrote about my Christmas Dill Pickle, and in keeping with a holiday theme, today's posting is a repeat from last year, so sit down and relax for a while, this story is about my Christmas bird and a little magic.
Many years ago, in the land of arts and crafts, La La Lady went to an after Christmas clearance. Oh, the bright colors and glitter. She walked the aisles, tossing artificial flowers, ribbon, yarn, construction paper, and all sorts of crafty things into her shopping basket.
As she was (finally) heading to the line; to fall into place behind teachers, scrap-booker's, crafter's, and other La La Ladies, she happened to spy a basket filled with colorful, feather crafted birds. Since La La Lady had a particular fondness for Cardinals, she began to rummage through the basket. There...in the very bottom, was a very small bird...un-packaged...missing its legs and feet. (I think it was supposed to be a California Quail, but the curly dealie-bob on the head was missing, too).
Well, La La Lady took pity on the poor bird, and placed it in the cup of her hand...she was in love.
Finally, as stories go in the land of arts and crafts, it was her turn at the check-out stand. She handed the bird to the clerk and announced she hoped she could tell her how much the bird cost, as this was the condition the bird was found. To which the clerk replied. "Honey, if you want this bird that bad, take it, it's yours". Wooo, hooo.
La La lady took the bird home.
Now, here's the magic part. Once I got the bird home I knew exactly where it belonged. I read somewhere, in some country, it was good luck to put a bird's nest into a Christmas tree. I just happened to find a tiny one in my yard, and saved it to put on my tree...the nest was the EXACT SIZE to accommodate my leg and footless bird.
I set it on the kitchen counter to take my jacket off. The bird, rolled over on its back and played dead. I could not believe my eyes...what sort of magic was this? Did my telepathic ability send it a message? I picked it up, said "Play dead" put it on the counter, and...it did. Oh, this was great, I imagined showing my grand kids my wonderful magic trick.
Next year, I decorated the tree, and there was the nest and tiny bird. I took the bird to the kitchen counter and commanded, "Play dead." It did.
Come Christmas day, the grand kids came, I could not wait to show them my magic. The bird and I put on quite a show. The kids didn't know if grandma had gone over the edge, or what. However, La La Lady and the bird had a marvelous time. It takes so little to make us happy.
So, if you are ever in my neighborhood some Christmas season, stop by...the bird and I will 'make magic'.
Many years ago, in the land of arts and crafts, La La Lady went to an after Christmas clearance. Oh, the bright colors and glitter. She walked the aisles, tossing artificial flowers, ribbon, yarn, construction paper, and all sorts of crafty things into her shopping basket.
As she was (finally) heading to the line; to fall into place behind teachers, scrap-booker's, crafter's, and other La La Ladies, she happened to spy a basket filled with colorful, feather crafted birds. Since La La Lady had a particular fondness for Cardinals, she began to rummage through the basket. There...in the very bottom, was a very small bird...un-packaged...missing its legs and feet. (I think it was supposed to be a California Quail, but the curly dealie-bob on the head was missing, too).
Well, La La Lady took pity on the poor bird, and placed it in the cup of her hand...she was in love.
Finally, as stories go in the land of arts and crafts, it was her turn at the check-out stand. She handed the bird to the clerk and announced she hoped she could tell her how much the bird cost, as this was the condition the bird was found. To which the clerk replied. "Honey, if you want this bird that bad, take it, it's yours". Wooo, hooo.
La La lady took the bird home.
Now, here's the magic part. Once I got the bird home I knew exactly where it belonged. I read somewhere, in some country, it was good luck to put a bird's nest into a Christmas tree. I just happened to find a tiny one in my yard, and saved it to put on my tree...the nest was the EXACT SIZE to accommodate my leg and footless bird.
I set it on the kitchen counter to take my jacket off. The bird, rolled over on its back and played dead. I could not believe my eyes...what sort of magic was this? Did my telepathic ability send it a message? I picked it up, said "Play dead" put it on the counter, and...it did. Oh, this was great, I imagined showing my grand kids my wonderful magic trick.
Next year, I decorated the tree, and there was the nest and tiny bird. I took the bird to the kitchen counter and commanded, "Play dead." It did.
Come Christmas day, the grand kids came, I could not wait to show them my magic. The bird and I put on quite a show. The kids didn't know if grandma had gone over the edge, or what. However, La La Lady and the bird had a marvelous time. It takes so little to make us happy.
So, if you are ever in my neighborhood some Christmas season, stop by...the bird and I will 'make magic'.
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
It's all about a pickle
I love traditions. All kinds of traditions. Family Reunions. 80th Birthday parties. Fourth of July picnics. Ham on Easter and Hot Crossed Buns, too. Thanksgiving, turkey, of course.
Then, there's my favorite. Christmas and the Dill Pickle. I had never even heard of this tradition until I was an adult...well...old. When one year I heard about a custom that takes place in Germany and considering I have some German ancestry, I was smitten with the Dill Pickle lore.
It seems the legend of putting a dill pickle on a Christmas tree came into being around 1847, in Laschau, Germany. A town known for it's glass making companies, and were "among the first to produce the beautiful blown glass ornaments used today on Christmas trees". And, probably produced the first dill pickle ornaments.
Of course, who would ever think of looking for a dill pickle on a tree? Obviously, a mommy and daddy, eager to have some special moments with their bright eyed children. Maybe mommy and daddy told them Weihnachtsmann (Santa Claus) hid the pickle on the tree after placing the presents under it, and just before eating the cookies and drinking the milk the children have left for him.
Anyway, I can envision rosy cheeked, pajama clothed children waking Christmas morning ripping open presents, then gathering around a paper strewn, bow and ribbon cluttered tree eager to be the one to find the green, bumpy, curved, shiny pickle hidden deep within the bowels of the family fir tree.
I became enamored with the idea of having a pickle on my tree, and I set about trying to find one. It was not easy at the time, and it took some research and snooping around the Internet to find someone who sold them. But, perseverance paid off. I found a dill pickle ornament, and that Christmas I hid it on the tree.
Then I made the announcement to kids there was a pickle on the tree, and whoever found it would get a five dollar bill. Well, you can imagine my rosy cheeked kids gathering round my tree looking for the green, bumpy, curved, shiny pickle hidden deep within the bowels of my artificial fir tree.
There after, I never had to mention the pickle again, because the search for it began as soon and the grand kids arrived. Oh, but they got older, smarter, more astute, and, since they now knew what the pickle looked like it was much more easy to find. So, grandma, not to be deterred, one year announced the pickle was indeed hidden, just not on the tree. The gauntlet had been thrown. With a whole house to explore, it was a much better challenge. Ha, ha.
Over the years the pickle has been hidden up, down and in the middle. Then, two years ago, I had an idea. I'd change things up and not hide the pickle. Instead, I went shopping for (are you ready for this) dill pickle earrings. Would I be stymied? Nope. And thanks to "Esty" and a lady who makes original, tiny, hand made items, I found a pair of dill pickle earrings. It was her last.
Well, I figured nobody would notice the tiny pickles hanging from my lobes, and they would search and search for the original ornament. Well, shoot, within the hour my granddaughter not only noticed but commented on my "cute" dill pickle earrings. Dang it!
So, last year I went back to the original ornament, and I hid it down low, and in sight so that my youngest granddaughter could find it. I confess, I gave her a lot of hints.
This year, I think I did a pretty good job at hiding the pickle, I've had to remind myself a couple of times where it is and have checked to make sure it is still in place. I'm hoping it will take a long time for somebody to find it. And, I would be absolutely delighted if nobody did.
This year there is an added touch to the dill pickle saga. I'm able to make jigsaw puzzles in my Zazzle store, and I've made a pickle puzzle. It is green! Green. Green. and the pickles are in various sizes so I think this will be an added challenge for my Christmas guests. I'm thinking whoever places the last piece to the puzzle just might get an extra gift.
So dear family. IT IS DILL PICKLE TIME AT GRANDMA'S HOUSE. You ready?
P.S. German word for the Christmas pickle ornament is Weihnachtsgurke.
Then, there's my favorite. Christmas and the Dill Pickle. I had never even heard of this tradition until I was an adult...well...old. When one year I heard about a custom that takes place in Germany and considering I have some German ancestry, I was smitten with the Dill Pickle lore.
It seems the legend of putting a dill pickle on a Christmas tree came into being around 1847, in Laschau, Germany. A town known for it's glass making companies, and were "among the first to produce the beautiful blown glass ornaments used today on Christmas trees". And, probably produced the first dill pickle ornaments.
Of course, who would ever think of looking for a dill pickle on a tree? Obviously, a mommy and daddy, eager to have some special moments with their bright eyed children. Maybe mommy and daddy told them Weihnachtsmann (Santa Claus) hid the pickle on the tree after placing the presents under it, and just before eating the cookies and drinking the milk the children have left for him.
Anyway, I can envision rosy cheeked, pajama clothed children waking Christmas morning ripping open presents, then gathering around a paper strewn, bow and ribbon cluttered tree eager to be the one to find the green, bumpy, curved, shiny pickle hidden deep within the bowels of the family fir tree.
I became enamored with the idea of having a pickle on my tree, and I set about trying to find one. It was not easy at the time, and it took some research and snooping around the Internet to find someone who sold them. But, perseverance paid off. I found a dill pickle ornament, and that Christmas I hid it on the tree.
Then I made the announcement to kids there was a pickle on the tree, and whoever found it would get a five dollar bill. Well, you can imagine my rosy cheeked kids gathering round my tree looking for the green, bumpy, curved, shiny pickle hidden deep within the bowels of my artificial fir tree.
There after, I never had to mention the pickle again, because the search for it began as soon and the grand kids arrived. Oh, but they got older, smarter, more astute, and, since they now knew what the pickle looked like it was much more easy to find. So, grandma, not to be deterred, one year announced the pickle was indeed hidden, just not on the tree. The gauntlet had been thrown. With a whole house to explore, it was a much better challenge. Ha, ha.
Over the years the pickle has been hidden up, down and in the middle. Then, two years ago, I had an idea. I'd change things up and not hide the pickle. Instead, I went shopping for (are you ready for this) dill pickle earrings. Would I be stymied? Nope. And thanks to "Esty" and a lady who makes original, tiny, hand made items, I found a pair of dill pickle earrings. It was her last.
Well, I figured nobody would notice the tiny pickles hanging from my lobes, and they would search and search for the original ornament. Well, shoot, within the hour my granddaughter not only noticed but commented on my "cute" dill pickle earrings. Dang it!
So, last year I went back to the original ornament, and I hid it down low, and in sight so that my youngest granddaughter could find it. I confess, I gave her a lot of hints.
This year, I think I did a pretty good job at hiding the pickle, I've had to remind myself a couple of times where it is and have checked to make sure it is still in place. I'm hoping it will take a long time for somebody to find it. And, I would be absolutely delighted if nobody did.
This year there is an added touch to the dill pickle saga. I'm able to make jigsaw puzzles in my Zazzle store, and I've made a pickle puzzle. It is green! Green. Green. and the pickles are in various sizes so I think this will be an added challenge for my Christmas guests. I'm thinking whoever places the last piece to the puzzle just might get an extra gift.
So dear family. IT IS DILL PICKLE TIME AT GRANDMA'S HOUSE. You ready?
P.S. German word for the Christmas pickle ornament is Weihnachtsgurke.
Friday, December 13, 2013
What to do?
Santa stewed and fretted for several days. Brunie worried and worried, she didn't know what plans the fellow dressed in a white shirt, and red pants with wide, red suspenders had in mind for her.
She had held many jobs over the years, unfortunately, her wandering mind had eventually gotten her into trouble no matter where Santa placed her. It wasn't that she couldn't do the jobs, it was her busy, creative thoughts that brought around her downfalls. Oh, if only she could concentrate on her job, and not a new recipe for fudge, or how to cross-breed a poinsettia with a carnation, or a chrysanthemum with a geranium. And she really thought soup on a stick was a very good idea.
Finally, Santa summoned Brunie to his office. She nervously fidgeted in her chair.
Santa told her she'd been assigned to the Gift Wrapping Department. She would start out with simple square and rectangle boxes, and if she did well she would move up to more complicated shapes and sizes.
She thanked the Jolly Elf and in middle aged elf fashion, skipped off the begin her new adventure. The Gift Wrapping Department was bustling with activity, and oh, the marvelous colors. The papers came in solid colors of bright red and green. Some had sleighs and reindeer, others had ornaments and candy canes, still more had snowmen and elves. She was beside herself with excitement to get started.
The Gift Wrapping Department supervisor led Brunie to her work station. A huge roll of wrapping paper hung from the ceiling, beneath it was her large work bench. She was taught how to cut the 'just right' length of paper from the roll, how to 'corner' the boxes, and how to apply the appropriate bows. Before long, Brunie was whipping out packages at an amazing rate. Everyone, including Santa was very, very pleased.
Years passed.
Eventually Brunie was promoted to more complicated wrapping. Things like skate boards and skis. It took her a while to get the hang of those, but she managed and became quite adept at 'pointy' things and rounded corners. She enjoyed that the daily work was not monotonous, because she never knew what kind of gift would come across her work station. She worked hard and did a great job.
Santa eventually took notice and promoted her again. To, the most prestigious Adult Gifts Wrapping Department. Okay, okay, Brunie knew this was going to be w-a-y over her head, but was willing to give it her all. And, for a long time things went well.
But it was a dull, dull, dull job. It was back to square and rectangular packages, and mostly it was gifts for women, things like blenders, toasters, slow cookers, robes, pajamas and slippers. The presents for men were even more dull. Things like tool boxes, ties, sweaters, cologne, bottles of wine, or jars of cashew nuts landed on her work bench.
Oh, occasionally there would be a tiny blue velvet box with a diamond ring inside, or more rarely there would be a brand new car on which she got to put a big red bow.
However, was Brunie bored? You bet your singing fish picture, and grass growing statue. Of course this led once more to Brunie's downfall. Her mind wandered to all the things she could invent and every time she got a new idea, a gift slipped by without a bow or ribbon. Her corners got sloppy, or the wrapping paper was just a tad to short that a hint of the gift within was exposed which was totally unacceptable. As a result it was only a matter of time until the intercom announced that Santa wanted to see her in his office.
Sigh, here we go again.
Chapter 5 to follow.
She had held many jobs over the years, unfortunately, her wandering mind had eventually gotten her into trouble no matter where Santa placed her. It wasn't that she couldn't do the jobs, it was her busy, creative thoughts that brought around her downfalls. Oh, if only she could concentrate on her job, and not a new recipe for fudge, or how to cross-breed a poinsettia with a carnation, or a chrysanthemum with a geranium. And she really thought soup on a stick was a very good idea.
Finally, Santa summoned Brunie to his office. She nervously fidgeted in her chair.
Santa told her she'd been assigned to the Gift Wrapping Department. She would start out with simple square and rectangle boxes, and if she did well she would move up to more complicated shapes and sizes.
She thanked the Jolly Elf and in middle aged elf fashion, skipped off the begin her new adventure. The Gift Wrapping Department was bustling with activity, and oh, the marvelous colors. The papers came in solid colors of bright red and green. Some had sleighs and reindeer, others had ornaments and candy canes, still more had snowmen and elves. She was beside herself with excitement to get started.
The Gift Wrapping Department supervisor led Brunie to her work station. A huge roll of wrapping paper hung from the ceiling, beneath it was her large work bench. She was taught how to cut the 'just right' length of paper from the roll, how to 'corner' the boxes, and how to apply the appropriate bows. Before long, Brunie was whipping out packages at an amazing rate. Everyone, including Santa was very, very pleased.
Years passed.
Eventually Brunie was promoted to more complicated wrapping. Things like skate boards and skis. It took her a while to get the hang of those, but she managed and became quite adept at 'pointy' things and rounded corners. She enjoyed that the daily work was not monotonous, because she never knew what kind of gift would come across her work station. She worked hard and did a great job.
Santa eventually took notice and promoted her again. To, the most prestigious Adult Gifts Wrapping Department. Okay, okay, Brunie knew this was going to be w-a-y over her head, but was willing to give it her all. And, for a long time things went well.
But it was a dull, dull, dull job. It was back to square and rectangular packages, and mostly it was gifts for women, things like blenders, toasters, slow cookers, robes, pajamas and slippers. The presents for men were even more dull. Things like tool boxes, ties, sweaters, cologne, bottles of wine, or jars of cashew nuts landed on her work bench.
Oh, occasionally there would be a tiny blue velvet box with a diamond ring inside, or more rarely there would be a brand new car on which she got to put a big red bow.
However, was Brunie bored? You bet your singing fish picture, and grass growing statue. Of course this led once more to Brunie's downfall. Her mind wandered to all the things she could invent and every time she got a new idea, a gift slipped by without a bow or ribbon. Her corners got sloppy, or the wrapping paper was just a tad to short that a hint of the gift within was exposed which was totally unacceptable. As a result it was only a matter of time until the intercom announced that Santa wanted to see her in his office.
Sigh, here we go again.
Chapter 5 to follow.
Thursday, December 12, 2013
Pound, pound, saw, saw
As you all know by now, I've a very warped sense of humor. Things occasionally tickle my funny bone that shouldn't.
As you also know, I tend to post occasionally how I feel about the Dumbing of America. (By the way, the dumbing seems to be speeding up at an alarming rate.)
This morning I had one of those moments that tickled my funny bone. It involved one of my local weather people. Oh, and you all know how I feel about them!!!!!
Anyway, this morning because it has been so 'crystal clear' the weather guy was excited to give us a panoramic view of the local mountains. He took a hand held gadget, pushed a button that magically swung a camera around that pointed out local peaks. (I confess it was pretty amazing.)
As he spoke, he referred to the gadget as a tool. Well, that's all it took, and I was overcome with giggles. Now, I know what you are all thinking, but don't go there, because I was thinking along the lines of the Dumbing of America. I took a look into the future when the next few generations will be shown a picture of a hammer, saw, screwdriver, wrench, shovel, rake, or for that matter a toilet plunger, (real tools) and go....Huh? What the heck is that? Trust me, they will not have a clue what a tool is, except that it's something to upgrade their electronic gadgets to make them work better and faster. Occupations and words that will become obsolete, plumber, electrician, welder, 'jack of all trade's' will be 'up-graded' to robotic everything.
Let's face it, robots have already taken over many, many blue collar jobs, in particular regarding the automotive industry; in general the medical field, and of course the food industry, where mechanical assembly lines do just about everything from washing the product to packaging it.
I can see it now, the world will be filled with specialists who will show up with black cases that will run diagnostics on, let's say, a robotic arm. The specialist's tool will isolate the problem, type the corrective measures that must be taken into his black case, which is connected to his 'clean rooms' company. There, in the operations department, little robots will dash around up and down aisles collecting replacement parts, then head to the packaging department, where another robot wraps the pieces in new and improved bubble wrap, and place the parts into a shrink wrap package. There after another robot, by satellite, will contact drones circling overhead which will scoop up the package and deliver it to the 'specialist'. He in turn will, simply pull the tab on the damaged part, remove it, and click in place the new.
Oh, I know, this is all in my warped view of the future. Still it struck me funny this morning that the weather guy referred to his little black, hand held, remote control as a tool. Honest, a tool? Trust me, in my mind that's an electronic gadget...a hammer is a tool.
So, in closing, as quickly as you can take your kids out to your garage, line them up in a row in front of your work bench and show them a hammer, saw, screwdriver, wrench, shovel, rake, and a toilet plunger, too. Give them a board some nails and a hammer, some screws and a driver. Let them smell the scent of wood that has been newly sawed. Let them feel grease and oil and tell them their function. Allow them to get their hands dirty and get paint all over their clothes. As adults, they will be able to make repairs, fix things and feel good about themselves when the job is done.
Okay, I'm getting down off my soapbox for today. Wow, I feel like building something.
As you also know, I tend to post occasionally how I feel about the Dumbing of America. (By the way, the dumbing seems to be speeding up at an alarming rate.)
This morning I had one of those moments that tickled my funny bone. It involved one of my local weather people. Oh, and you all know how I feel about them!!!!!
Anyway, this morning because it has been so 'crystal clear' the weather guy was excited to give us a panoramic view of the local mountains. He took a hand held gadget, pushed a button that magically swung a camera around that pointed out local peaks. (I confess it was pretty amazing.)
As he spoke, he referred to the gadget as a tool. Well, that's all it took, and I was overcome with giggles. Now, I know what you are all thinking, but don't go there, because I was thinking along the lines of the Dumbing of America. I took a look into the future when the next few generations will be shown a picture of a hammer, saw, screwdriver, wrench, shovel, rake, or for that matter a toilet plunger, (real tools) and go....Huh? What the heck is that? Trust me, they will not have a clue what a tool is, except that it's something to upgrade their electronic gadgets to make them work better and faster. Occupations and words that will become obsolete, plumber, electrician, welder, 'jack of all trade's' will be 'up-graded' to robotic everything.
Let's face it, robots have already taken over many, many blue collar jobs, in particular regarding the automotive industry; in general the medical field, and of course the food industry, where mechanical assembly lines do just about everything from washing the product to packaging it.
I can see it now, the world will be filled with specialists who will show up with black cases that will run diagnostics on, let's say, a robotic arm. The specialist's tool will isolate the problem, type the corrective measures that must be taken into his black case, which is connected to his 'clean rooms' company. There, in the operations department, little robots will dash around up and down aisles collecting replacement parts, then head to the packaging department, where another robot wraps the pieces in new and improved bubble wrap, and place the parts into a shrink wrap package. There after another robot, by satellite, will contact drones circling overhead which will scoop up the package and deliver it to the 'specialist'. He in turn will, simply pull the tab on the damaged part, remove it, and click in place the new.
Oh, I know, this is all in my warped view of the future. Still it struck me funny this morning that the weather guy referred to his little black, hand held, remote control as a tool. Honest, a tool? Trust me, in my mind that's an electronic gadget...a hammer is a tool.
So, in closing, as quickly as you can take your kids out to your garage, line them up in a row in front of your work bench and show them a hammer, saw, screwdriver, wrench, shovel, rake, and a toilet plunger, too. Give them a board some nails and a hammer, some screws and a driver. Let them smell the scent of wood that has been newly sawed. Let them feel grease and oil and tell them their function. Allow them to get their hands dirty and get paint all over their clothes. As adults, they will be able to make repairs, fix things and feel good about themselves when the job is done.
Okay, I'm getting down off my soapbox for today. Wow, I feel like building something.
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Fog
According to Dictionary.com this is the definition for the word-
"fog [fog, fawg]
noun
1.
a cloud-like mass or layer of minute water droplets or ice crystals near the surface of the earth, appreciably reducing visibility. "
Today in my city, the main weather topic was fog. In some areas it was very, very
bad. Schools are running late, in some cases the districts have decided to close
instead. Because the weather conditions have been bitterly cold for over a week, this morning's fog has called for icy conditions in a four county area. Bad fog, bad, bad fog.
Reality is most people don't like fog. It causes accidents, closes schools, makes people slip, slide and take nasty falls, and generally makes people frightened. Yes, thanks to horror movies who's staple is having awful things happen to people in the misty, wispy, stuff; often in the dark, fog terrifies some folks.
I'm frightened of many things myself. Water, bridges, Halloween, and falling for examples. However, fog does not cause me to be fearful.
Fact it, I like the mysteriousness of it. I enjoy seeing it envelop and blanket the tops of the Douglas Firs of my neighborhood. There is something magical about the scene. I especially like when it reaches the ground, so that I cannot see beyond the houses and trees across the street and everything is in various shades of silhouette. I'm fascinated how quiet the atmosphere gets, I can't hear the freeway traffic, but I can hear the 'plops' of huge water drops as they occasionally fall from eaves of houses to the ground.
But, what I love most about fog is that I get to walk in the clouds, and I'm enveloped in that heavenly blanket. It's mysterious, mystical, and oh, so comforting. Have you ever gone for a walk in the fog? Not those instances when you dash from your car to the mall front door, I mean, walking in the fog just for the sake of walking in the fog? I'm betting you never have.
I'm telling you, it is a beautiful, glorious adventure. Suddenly you are in your own tiny world, its boundaries the distance of the only things you visually see. Gone are the cares of the un-fogged world, do they even exist? Maybe not. For the moment, it's just you, your dogs, your puffs of steamy breath, and the crunch of icy ground beneath your feet.
I have a picture on a cemetery in fog, it's one of my favorites. In the picture, the trees are barren of leaf, and the darkest part of the picture, while the tomb stones are various shades of grey. The scene is soft, quiet, peaceful. One day I found an inscription that fits the scene to perfection and I've added beneath the picture. It says "Once in a while everyone should take a walk through a cemetery, softly." I love that. I've never had the opportunity to do that, yet every time I look at that picture, I'm mentally transported there.
So, you see, I have no fear of fog, because, God in his glory has given me a cloud.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Going Bald
A friend and I were having a discussion this morning, brought about as a result of a Christmas note she got from a mutual friend.
The mutual friend turned 91 this year, and her letter was filled with all sorts of adventures she has had this year. First, I'm astonished at her stamina and fortitude, and second, boy, I'd love to be her.
She lives in one of those wonderful places where she has her own apartment where just about everything is taken care of for her. On top of that there are all sorts of activities, and fieldtrips to take. Geeze, what the heck did I do wrong, I ain't living like that? My caller friend wondered the same thing about her life.
When we were younger, we would always joke about when we were widows, oh, the fun stuff we were going to do together. Hello?????????? That sure didn't happen. She's still married, I've been widowed quite a while...where the heck are all those adventures, and how come I don't give a 'fig' about adventures anymore, anyhow.
Rather, we're just getting older, more tired, and more concerned whether we will out live our finances, or if they will out live us. (So much for our children's inheritances.)
Then our conversation turned really dark, and we went through the long list of things we wish we had been told before we got old. Like fear of falling and breaking something, wrinkles, body fat, and facial hair. And...finally that brought us around to going bald. Yes, we are going bald. Well, at the moment our hair is thinning. Actually, mine is thinning, plus, my forehead is hurriedly, frighteningly moving backward toward the crown of my head.
I told her I'm balding just like my father, who didn't so much get those two semi-circles at his sides of his head, but rather went bald strait across his forehead. I swear, I'm doing the same thing.
My friend and I agreed, it is harder and harder to style our hair, because (certainly for me) what can you do when there is more scalp than hair, except a 'combed-over'?
(Insert shuddering here.)
I told her in reality, I'm looking forward to wigs, and I'm intending to have one for every day of the week, in all sorts of colors and styles, with a pink one for holidays.
Won't I be a big hit when I show up at a Christmas Party in my pink cowboy boots and matching pink wig. Baaaaaaa, haaaaaaa, haaaaa, haaaaa, haaaaaa.
We laughed, and laughed, and laughed.
She mentioned how expensive 'real hair' wigs are, and I have to agree, but explained there are some pretty good looking synthetic wigs out there, and at my age I don't give a crap mine won't be 'real hair'. At least I won't be bald, and my head will be warm.
So. After my conversation with my friend this morning, I sat down and wrote a letter to Santa.
Dear Santa.
(Please, if it would not be too much trouble, I would like to get the following for Christmas.)
One beautifully furnished apartment in a complex some place where my meals will be cooked, there will be entertainment to enjoy, field trips for exploring, and activities to keep me busy every day.
Eight beautifully coiffured wigs, one for every day of the week, and the pink one, too.
A lifetime membership to a Senior Exercise Center (which of course I will never use).
A brand new wardrobe, to go with my brand new wigs.
And boxes of Chocolate Covered Cherries, and enough Jim Beam to keep me chubby and warm for the rest of my days.
Okay, okay, I'll settle for my balding head, the roof over my head, my flabby, un-exercised body, and my wardrobe of sweats, slacks, and a suit that makes me look like an un-cooked turkey.
But, I would enjoy a box of Chocolate Covered Cherries and a bottle of Jim Beam if it wouldn't be too much trouble.
Thanks, big guy in the red suit with white fur trim.
"S"
The mutual friend turned 91 this year, and her letter was filled with all sorts of adventures she has had this year. First, I'm astonished at her stamina and fortitude, and second, boy, I'd love to be her.
She lives in one of those wonderful places where she has her own apartment where just about everything is taken care of for her. On top of that there are all sorts of activities, and fieldtrips to take. Geeze, what the heck did I do wrong, I ain't living like that? My caller friend wondered the same thing about her life.
When we were younger, we would always joke about when we were widows, oh, the fun stuff we were going to do together. Hello?????????? That sure didn't happen. She's still married, I've been widowed quite a while...where the heck are all those adventures, and how come I don't give a 'fig' about adventures anymore, anyhow.
Rather, we're just getting older, more tired, and more concerned whether we will out live our finances, or if they will out live us. (So much for our children's inheritances.)
Then our conversation turned really dark, and we went through the long list of things we wish we had been told before we got old. Like fear of falling and breaking something, wrinkles, body fat, and facial hair. And...finally that brought us around to going bald. Yes, we are going bald. Well, at the moment our hair is thinning. Actually, mine is thinning, plus, my forehead is hurriedly, frighteningly moving backward toward the crown of my head.
I told her I'm balding just like my father, who didn't so much get those two semi-circles at his sides of his head, but rather went bald strait across his forehead. I swear, I'm doing the same thing.
My friend and I agreed, it is harder and harder to style our hair, because (certainly for me) what can you do when there is more scalp than hair, except a 'combed-over'?
(Insert shuddering here.)
I told her in reality, I'm looking forward to wigs, and I'm intending to have one for every day of the week, in all sorts of colors and styles, with a pink one for holidays.
Won't I be a big hit when I show up at a Christmas Party in my pink cowboy boots and matching pink wig. Baaaaaaa, haaaaaaa, haaaaa, haaaaa, haaaaaa.
We laughed, and laughed, and laughed.
She mentioned how expensive 'real hair' wigs are, and I have to agree, but explained there are some pretty good looking synthetic wigs out there, and at my age I don't give a crap mine won't be 'real hair'. At least I won't be bald, and my head will be warm.
So. After my conversation with my friend this morning, I sat down and wrote a letter to Santa.
Dear Santa.
(Please, if it would not be too much trouble, I would like to get the following for Christmas.)
One beautifully furnished apartment in a complex some place where my meals will be cooked, there will be entertainment to enjoy, field trips for exploring, and activities to keep me busy every day.
Eight beautifully coiffured wigs, one for every day of the week, and the pink one, too.
A lifetime membership to a Senior Exercise Center (which of course I will never use).
A brand new wardrobe, to go with my brand new wigs.
And boxes of Chocolate Covered Cherries, and enough Jim Beam to keep me chubby and warm for the rest of my days.
Okay, okay, I'll settle for my balding head, the roof over my head, my flabby, un-exercised body, and my wardrobe of sweats, slacks, and a suit that makes me look like an un-cooked turkey.
But, I would enjoy a box of Chocolate Covered Cherries and a bottle of Jim Beam if it wouldn't be too much trouble.
Thanks, big guy in the red suit with white fur trim.
"S"
Sunday, December 8, 2013
Time passed, and
Brunie sat patiently by the blazing fireplace in the center of the lobby at the Elf Health and Wellness Hospital. She was waiting for Santa who had promised to pick her up and assign her to a new job in his vast Work Shop.
When she saw the Jolly Old Elf step through the revolving glass door, she jumped out of her chair and hugged him in greeting.
Riding in the One Reindeer Open Sleigh, Santa explained she would be going to work in the Sewing Department and would be working on "Christmas Stockings", the kind "hung by the chimney with care". He sternly reminded her, this job had an annual deadline, and the stockings had to be ready for shipment to all the Malls around the world by the first of November. Brunie assured him she could handle the job.
Things went swimmingly for a very, very long time. Year after year the "Christmas Stockings" section of the Sewing Department excelled, production exceeded all expectations. Until, the year, everyone would like to forget, and nobody really cares to talk about. Poor Brunie. Some wise-cracking, shyster of a salesman, sold her some holiday fabrics 'on the cheap' promising she would be saving Santa loads and loads of money.
Eager to please, Brunie accepted the shyster's 'bill of goods' and soon the warehouse was filled with bolts and bolts of holiday fabrics. Problem was all the fabrics were for Valentine's Day, Mother's Day, Easter, Fourth of July, and Thanksgiving Day.
By the time 'the fiasco', as the incident became know, and was only whispered
about, was corrected, the Christmas Stockings section was months and months behind schedule. Brunie though in the best interest of her section she had no choice but to go to Santa and hand in her resignation. Santa Agreed. He reassigned her to the T-shirt, sweat shirt, hoodies department. Her job was to press the logos of sport franchises from around the world onto the shirts. Easy, peasy.
Brunie had to admit this was a pretty good gig. She got to sit all day in front of a huge machine, where she'd place a shirt under a press, apply an iron-on logo front and center, and push a lever. With a whoosh, and puff of steam the operation was complete. She would hand the completed shirt to an elf who would neatly fold it and add it to the stack of other completed shirts.
Life was good. Sigh! Of course, by now we all know, repetition can lead to boredom, and boredom can lead to a wandering mind...and that Brunie's mind was very good at that. So, when the logos began to appear crooked, and upside down on the shirts, Santa knew it was time for Brunie to move on.
Off to the crocheting section she went. BEST JOB EVER. She got her very own rocking chair, and skeins and skeins, skeins and skeins of yarn. Her job; to make scarves. Yes, all she had to do was watch soap operas and games shows on television while her nimble fingers and crochet hooks made scarf after scarf. She was thrilled, Santa was thrilled. Could this be Brunie's calling?
Well, maybe not. I mentioned long ago, nobody knows the ages of elves, and how long they live, but eventually they do begin to slow down, sometimes forget, and even tend to doze off for an unexpected nap from time to time. So it was with Brunie.
But her downfall came the year her mind wandered and her scarves were either so long they dragged on the floor, or were so short they would hardly wrap around the skinniest of necks. Santa knew he was going to have to intervene.
But, what was Santa to do?
Chapter four to follow.
When she saw the Jolly Old Elf step through the revolving glass door, she jumped out of her chair and hugged him in greeting.
Riding in the One Reindeer Open Sleigh, Santa explained she would be going to work in the Sewing Department and would be working on "Christmas Stockings", the kind "hung by the chimney with care". He sternly reminded her, this job had an annual deadline, and the stockings had to be ready for shipment to all the Malls around the world by the first of November. Brunie assured him she could handle the job.
Things went swimmingly for a very, very long time. Year after year the "Christmas Stockings" section of the Sewing Department excelled, production exceeded all expectations. Until, the year, everyone would like to forget, and nobody really cares to talk about. Poor Brunie. Some wise-cracking, shyster of a salesman, sold her some holiday fabrics 'on the cheap' promising she would be saving Santa loads and loads of money.
Eager to please, Brunie accepted the shyster's 'bill of goods' and soon the warehouse was filled with bolts and bolts of holiday fabrics. Problem was all the fabrics were for Valentine's Day, Mother's Day, Easter, Fourth of July, and Thanksgiving Day.
By the time 'the fiasco', as the incident became know, and was only whispered
about, was corrected, the Christmas Stockings section was months and months behind schedule. Brunie though in the best interest of her section she had no choice but to go to Santa and hand in her resignation. Santa Agreed. He reassigned her to the T-shirt, sweat shirt, hoodies department. Her job was to press the logos of sport franchises from around the world onto the shirts. Easy, peasy.
Brunie had to admit this was a pretty good gig. She got to sit all day in front of a huge machine, where she'd place a shirt under a press, apply an iron-on logo front and center, and push a lever. With a whoosh, and puff of steam the operation was complete. She would hand the completed shirt to an elf who would neatly fold it and add it to the stack of other completed shirts.
Life was good. Sigh! Of course, by now we all know, repetition can lead to boredom, and boredom can lead to a wandering mind...and that Brunie's mind was very good at that. So, when the logos began to appear crooked, and upside down on the shirts, Santa knew it was time for Brunie to move on.
Off to the crocheting section she went. BEST JOB EVER. She got her very own rocking chair, and skeins and skeins, skeins and skeins of yarn. Her job; to make scarves. Yes, all she had to do was watch soap operas and games shows on television while her nimble fingers and crochet hooks made scarf after scarf. She was thrilled, Santa was thrilled. Could this be Brunie's calling?
Well, maybe not. I mentioned long ago, nobody knows the ages of elves, and how long they live, but eventually they do begin to slow down, sometimes forget, and even tend to doze off for an unexpected nap from time to time. So it was with Brunie.
But her downfall came the year her mind wandered and her scarves were either so long they dragged on the floor, or were so short they would hardly wrap around the skinniest of necks. Santa knew he was going to have to intervene.
But, what was Santa to do?
Chapter four to follow.
Friday, December 6, 2013
Sometimes I crack myself up.
This morning was one of those times. Matter of fact I'm still giggling.
Over the last several days, because of the cold, I've been keeping the sliding door of the morning room closed, locked, and draped at all times. As a result Zorro had been doing his bath room duties out front. This has been working great. I stand just inside the storm door, and watch him like a hawk because I know the law says dogs have to be leashed, or fenced and never left alone just in case they might come in contact with the public and bite someone. (Since I never know when Bird Lady might be walking her dog, I'm very careful to make sure Zorro behaves himself.)
Anyway, this morning, I go round the house turning on the heat, then proceed to feed my furry friends. Next on the agenda is to put Zorro out. It's cold, still bitter, bitter cold and there's a dusting of snow. I wonder if Zorro will even venture out. I'm pleased he does.
Click.
I expected him to do his duty quickly and make a mad dash back to the house. Instead, he doddle's. I'm standing just inside the storm door, admiring my white neighborhood. My hand is on the metal of the door, it's cold, so is the glass. I like the feel of it, it isn't like holding an ice cube, that cold hurts, this is different, almost medicinal. If I had a headache I think this kind of cold would be very soothing.
Anyway...Zorro finally decides he wants to come in. I turn the handle downward, to open the door. It does not budge. Zorro, being used to the door swinging open, dang near had no time to stop himself and almost crashed into the closed door. He starts to dance around, he wants in. Badly.
I try the latch again. Nothing.
I try again, and then again. Nothing.
By now Zorro panics. Boy, does he want in.
My mind is racing. I lean over and blow on the handle, thinking maybe my warm breath will melt the cold handle enough for me to be able to open the door. The latch would still not budge.
Maybe I should get some warm water to run down the side of the door. Of course I thought better of that immediately. I didn't want to clean up a stream of water. I'm not dressed yet, but that is my next thought. Dress, un-do my blocked off slider, go round the house, open the gate, call Zorro to me, so together we can come back to the house.
Yeah, that's the ticket.
Frankie appears. She sees frantic Zorro. she sees frantic me, then pushes me out of the way.......
.....and, unlocks the door. It opens in a flash and Zorro comes charging inside.
Frankie loves these moments.
I double over in laughter, damn, Frankie's right, I'm one stupid old woman. Here was one more instance I made a mountain out of a mole hill.
And, of course, she's right.
Frankie: (Walking away.) Idiot.
Over the last several days, because of the cold, I've been keeping the sliding door of the morning room closed, locked, and draped at all times. As a result Zorro had been doing his bath room duties out front. This has been working great. I stand just inside the storm door, and watch him like a hawk because I know the law says dogs have to be leashed, or fenced and never left alone just in case they might come in contact with the public and bite someone. (Since I never know when Bird Lady might be walking her dog, I'm very careful to make sure Zorro behaves himself.)
Anyway, this morning, I go round the house turning on the heat, then proceed to feed my furry friends. Next on the agenda is to put Zorro out. It's cold, still bitter, bitter cold and there's a dusting of snow. I wonder if Zorro will even venture out. I'm pleased he does.
Click.
I expected him to do his duty quickly and make a mad dash back to the house. Instead, he doddle's. I'm standing just inside the storm door, admiring my white neighborhood. My hand is on the metal of the door, it's cold, so is the glass. I like the feel of it, it isn't like holding an ice cube, that cold hurts, this is different, almost medicinal. If I had a headache I think this kind of cold would be very soothing.
Anyway...Zorro finally decides he wants to come in. I turn the handle downward, to open the door. It does not budge. Zorro, being used to the door swinging open, dang near had no time to stop himself and almost crashed into the closed door. He starts to dance around, he wants in. Badly.
I try the latch again. Nothing.
I try again, and then again. Nothing.
By now Zorro panics. Boy, does he want in.
My mind is racing. I lean over and blow on the handle, thinking maybe my warm breath will melt the cold handle enough for me to be able to open the door. The latch would still not budge.
Maybe I should get some warm water to run down the side of the door. Of course I thought better of that immediately. I didn't want to clean up a stream of water. I'm not dressed yet, but that is my next thought. Dress, un-do my blocked off slider, go round the house, open the gate, call Zorro to me, so together we can come back to the house.
Yeah, that's the ticket.
Frankie appears. She sees frantic Zorro. she sees frantic me, then pushes me out of the way.......
.....and, unlocks the door. It opens in a flash and Zorro comes charging inside.
Frankie loves these moments.
I double over in laughter, damn, Frankie's right, I'm one stupid old woman. Here was one more instance I made a mountain out of a mole hill.
And, of course, she's right.
Frankie: (Walking away.) Idiot.
Thursday, December 5, 2013
It's funny,
how we take things for granted.
For instance, yesterday, I happened to be watching TV, and on two different shows, on two different channels the subject of the "Northern Lights" came up. One was from a scientific aspect, and showed clips of the beautiful arrays of this natural
phenomena. The other was from actor Ben Stiller, who had the opportunity to see them first hand when he was on location in Iceland, making a film.
The host of the show he was on brought up the subject, asking if Ben had the opportunity to see the "Northern Lights" while he was there, and said how much, he (the host) would like to see them in person himself.
I got to thinking about having had the opportunity to see Aurora Borealis just about every summer, while growing up in Pennsylvania. And, I guess I assumed everybody got to see this beautiful display of color dancing against the velvet black curtain of the August sky.
Generally, we could see them between ten and eleven o'clock. One minute the sky was dark, stars twinkling the way stars do, then magically, the fingers of light would appear in the northern sky. Brilliant colors, yellow, pink, creamy white, and red, constantly moving and changing shape, fingers stretching southward, retracting back, fanning out like an Oriental fan. Delicate and mystical.
Then, just as quickly at they had appeared, they would be gone. I remember standing in our open field watching, waiting for them to return, even though I knew they would not.
What other things have I seen that others have never had the opportunity to observe? What magical delights? Fireflies come to mind. Tiny green frogs. Bright red cardinals. Huckleberries sweet and blue-violet growing by the side of the road.
How often do we not appreciate the little treasures that come our way by happenstance? Frankly, Over the years, I've given very little thought to the "Northern Lights", they come, they go...so what. It suddenly occurred to me it's been over 50 years since I've seen them with my own eyes. What a fantastic gift it was to reminded of them yesterday, I so enjoyed their dances in the clips I saw. I'm glad Ben Stiller had the chance to see them for real, I'm blessed I had the opportunity to see them so many times for real, myself. I wish everybody could.
How sad.
We look, but do not see.
We hear, but do not listen.
We touch, but do not feel.
We taste, but do not savor.
We breathe, but do not smell.
Let's stop taking things for granted.
For instance, yesterday, I happened to be watching TV, and on two different shows, on two different channels the subject of the "Northern Lights" came up. One was from a scientific aspect, and showed clips of the beautiful arrays of this natural
phenomena. The other was from actor Ben Stiller, who had the opportunity to see them first hand when he was on location in Iceland, making a film.
The host of the show he was on brought up the subject, asking if Ben had the opportunity to see the "Northern Lights" while he was there, and said how much, he (the host) would like to see them in person himself.
I got to thinking about having had the opportunity to see Aurora Borealis just about every summer, while growing up in Pennsylvania. And, I guess I assumed everybody got to see this beautiful display of color dancing against the velvet black curtain of the August sky.
Generally, we could see them between ten and eleven o'clock. One minute the sky was dark, stars twinkling the way stars do, then magically, the fingers of light would appear in the northern sky. Brilliant colors, yellow, pink, creamy white, and red, constantly moving and changing shape, fingers stretching southward, retracting back, fanning out like an Oriental fan. Delicate and mystical.
Then, just as quickly at they had appeared, they would be gone. I remember standing in our open field watching, waiting for them to return, even though I knew they would not.
What other things have I seen that others have never had the opportunity to observe? What magical delights? Fireflies come to mind. Tiny green frogs. Bright red cardinals. Huckleberries sweet and blue-violet growing by the side of the road.
How often do we not appreciate the little treasures that come our way by happenstance? Frankly, Over the years, I've given very little thought to the "Northern Lights", they come, they go...so what. It suddenly occurred to me it's been over 50 years since I've seen them with my own eyes. What a fantastic gift it was to reminded of them yesterday, I so enjoyed their dances in the clips I saw. I'm glad Ben Stiller had the chance to see them for real, I'm blessed I had the opportunity to see them so many times for real, myself. I wish everybody could.
How sad.
We look, but do not see.
We hear, but do not listen.
We touch, but do not feel.
We taste, but do not savor.
We breathe, but do not smell.
Let's stop taking things for granted.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Yesterday was just so...
...busy.
It was chilly in the house so while waiting for my fingers, and the rest of my body to warm up I checked Facebook, my e-mail, my store and then set about making invitations for the holiday pot luck we're having here in the neighborhood. We started having one every year for us ladies that used to go out on occasion, for lunch. I wanted to get them in the mail right away so that the ladies will have time to change schedules, decline, or whatever they so choose.
Where is the dang heat?
After the invitations were done, I made a Christmas card to give the girls at the 'pot luck', and it's ready to print out and put in an envelop come the day of the gathering.
By now I was feeling just a tad of warmth in the house and I began decorating the back rooms of the house. I didn't do as much back there, mostly because this time of year those two back rooms are blocked off (I don't use them much) so why spend money trying to keep them warm, and who the heck is going to go back there anyway?
The rest of the morning and some of the afternoon I was a busy little bee decorating, decorating, decorating the front of the house. Full jingling boxes came off shelves, empty, plastic bag filled ones went back on them. After a bit of carpet sweeping, I collapsed onto to sofa.
Perhaps I could finish studying for my Bible Study on the morrow. Oh, that's right, I did some on-line research for that but never printed it out, so back to my computer I go. It is now pretty late in the afternoon. I'm tired, maybe I should fix myself a glass of wine, or maybe have one of my Porter beers. Ah, what the heck. Business before pleasure.
Well sir, my little printer is humming along. You know how you know the 'sounds' of your printer, and when it's doing its job in a proper manner? And, when it's not?
Mine started making that awful noise that a piece of paper is getting....getting...
stuck. No problem, this has happened before, I know exactly what to do. I remove the paper tray, grab the tail end of the wrinkled paper and pull it out.
Uh-oh.
There is no tail end to grab, the paper was gone, vanished, disappeared into the bowels of my printer. Well, this had never happened before. Perhaps I can see it from the back, 'vertical feed' if I remove that tray. Any other time that dang thing would pop up and out into my fingers. Today, right now, that I need it...it refused to extricate itself.
Damn, dang, son of a sea cook.
(Have you noticed you no longer get 'manuals' with your electronics, that showed nice pictures of how to repair your gadgets? I have, and I could sure use one now.)
I was in serious trouble. I hate dealing with Customer Service, mostly because I don't want to appear stupid, but, it's mostly because I hate, hate, hate admitting I need help. So, I begin by getting my flashlight, and screwdriver. I'm going to disassemble this damn thing. As soon as I unscrew the back, my printer begins to tell me 'the back of my printer' is open.
Ya think?
Why don't you tell me where the damn piece of paper is. I push, "finish printing", Now there's a little yellow light flashing at me. Shoot, that's annoying. Wait. Isn't there the 'troubleshooting' thing on my computer. Yeah, that's the ticket, that will tell me what to do.
Well, first it tells me what the problem is. "Paper Jam".
Dah!
Then it tells me what to do "If you see the paper...."
Sadly, I cannot.
Then it tells me what to do "If you can't see the paper..."
Hallelujah!
I can see by the illustration I should have not removed the back, so I screw it back into place. The printer still says the back is open...I tell it to shut up.
There is a picture of what piece I should remove in order to retrieve the paper, but not exactly how to do that. It looks simple, and I follow the instructions, but my piece simply will not budge.
Panic swells, am I going to have to call Customer Service after all?
No!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I take my flashlight and move in close for a better look. What the heck is that red stuff? That looks like a strip of tape. It is, and it is holding the piece I have to remove firmly in place. Hurriedly, I rip off the tape, follow the instructions on my computer screen and there...is my crumpled up piece of paper. Which I remove.
I then put the printer back together, say thanks to God, and turn off the printer so the dang thing would stop telling me the back was open, the paper was jammed and the yellow light would stop glaring at me.
I was exhausted. Only one thing left to do. I had to run a test to make sure I had done things correctly.
I turn the printer back on. The messages are gone, and there is no yellow light. I put a single piece of paper back into the paper tray, read and follow the instructions on my computer screen telling me to "print a test page". My printer flings to life, I hear the ink cartridges being cleaned, I hear the paper being moved into proper position.
Will it,
will it,
will it print, or
will it jam?
I can hear the paper begin to move. Seconds later, a neatly printed page comes out telling me no error had occurred. I was one happy camper. Again, I thanked the Lord.
I finished the job I had started in the first place, put my computer on stand by, and walked away.
I was worn out, frazzled, limp as a daisy, and good for nothing.
It's dark out, well after six. I should fix myself something to eat. And, where's that glass of wine or Porter beer?
Frankie. Frankie!!!!
I laid down on the couch.
I guess I can't do trauma anymore...but, on the up side, at least I didn't have to call no dang Customer Service. I dislike them even more than solicitation phone calls.
I promptly fell asleep.
It was chilly in the house so while waiting for my fingers, and the rest of my body to warm up I checked Facebook, my e-mail, my store and then set about making invitations for the holiday pot luck we're having here in the neighborhood. We started having one every year for us ladies that used to go out on occasion, for lunch. I wanted to get them in the mail right away so that the ladies will have time to change schedules, decline, or whatever they so choose.
Where is the dang heat?
After the invitations were done, I made a Christmas card to give the girls at the 'pot luck', and it's ready to print out and put in an envelop come the day of the gathering.
By now I was feeling just a tad of warmth in the house and I began decorating the back rooms of the house. I didn't do as much back there, mostly because this time of year those two back rooms are blocked off (I don't use them much) so why spend money trying to keep them warm, and who the heck is going to go back there anyway?
The rest of the morning and some of the afternoon I was a busy little bee decorating, decorating, decorating the front of the house. Full jingling boxes came off shelves, empty, plastic bag filled ones went back on them. After a bit of carpet sweeping, I collapsed onto to sofa.
Perhaps I could finish studying for my Bible Study on the morrow. Oh, that's right, I did some on-line research for that but never printed it out, so back to my computer I go. It is now pretty late in the afternoon. I'm tired, maybe I should fix myself a glass of wine, or maybe have one of my Porter beers. Ah, what the heck. Business before pleasure.
Well sir, my little printer is humming along. You know how you know the 'sounds' of your printer, and when it's doing its job in a proper manner? And, when it's not?
Mine started making that awful noise that a piece of paper is getting....getting...
stuck. No problem, this has happened before, I know exactly what to do. I remove the paper tray, grab the tail end of the wrinkled paper and pull it out.
Uh-oh.
There is no tail end to grab, the paper was gone, vanished, disappeared into the bowels of my printer. Well, this had never happened before. Perhaps I can see it from the back, 'vertical feed' if I remove that tray. Any other time that dang thing would pop up and out into my fingers. Today, right now, that I need it...it refused to extricate itself.
Damn, dang, son of a sea cook.
(Have you noticed you no longer get 'manuals' with your electronics, that showed nice pictures of how to repair your gadgets? I have, and I could sure use one now.)
I was in serious trouble. I hate dealing with Customer Service, mostly because I don't want to appear stupid, but, it's mostly because I hate, hate, hate admitting I need help. So, I begin by getting my flashlight, and screwdriver. I'm going to disassemble this damn thing. As soon as I unscrew the back, my printer begins to tell me 'the back of my printer' is open.
Ya think?
Why don't you tell me where the damn piece of paper is. I push, "finish printing", Now there's a little yellow light flashing at me. Shoot, that's annoying. Wait. Isn't there the 'troubleshooting' thing on my computer. Yeah, that's the ticket, that will tell me what to do.
Well, first it tells me what the problem is. "Paper Jam".
Dah!
Then it tells me what to do "If you see the paper...."
Sadly, I cannot.
Then it tells me what to do "If you can't see the paper..."
Hallelujah!
I can see by the illustration I should have not removed the back, so I screw it back into place. The printer still says the back is open...I tell it to shut up.
There is a picture of what piece I should remove in order to retrieve the paper, but not exactly how to do that. It looks simple, and I follow the instructions, but my piece simply will not budge.
Panic swells, am I going to have to call Customer Service after all?
No!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I take my flashlight and move in close for a better look. What the heck is that red stuff? That looks like a strip of tape. It is, and it is holding the piece I have to remove firmly in place. Hurriedly, I rip off the tape, follow the instructions on my computer screen and there...is my crumpled up piece of paper. Which I remove.
I then put the printer back together, say thanks to God, and turn off the printer so the dang thing would stop telling me the back was open, the paper was jammed and the yellow light would stop glaring at me.
I was exhausted. Only one thing left to do. I had to run a test to make sure I had done things correctly.
I turn the printer back on. The messages are gone, and there is no yellow light. I put a single piece of paper back into the paper tray, read and follow the instructions on my computer screen telling me to "print a test page". My printer flings to life, I hear the ink cartridges being cleaned, I hear the paper being moved into proper position.
Will it,
will it,
will it print, or
will it jam?
I can hear the paper begin to move. Seconds later, a neatly printed page comes out telling me no error had occurred. I was one happy camper. Again, I thanked the Lord.
I finished the job I had started in the first place, put my computer on stand by, and walked away.
I was worn out, frazzled, limp as a daisy, and good for nothing.
It's dark out, well after six. I should fix myself something to eat. And, where's that glass of wine or Porter beer?
Frankie. Frankie!!!!
I laid down on the couch.
I guess I can't do trauma anymore...but, on the up side, at least I didn't have to call no dang Customer Service. I dislike them even more than solicitation phone calls.
I promptly fell asleep.
Monday, December 2, 2013
Left-overs
I have a confession to make.
My Thanksgiving feast was delicious. Yeah, this year I forgot to buy a cornbread stuffing mix, surprisingly I got along fine without it. Everything else was fantastic. I did as I was told from my Yahoo News Feed and ate breakfast, because that would 'tide me over' until it was time for dinner...and...I would not feel the need to 'stuff myself' at meal time.
By golly that worked.
What I did discover however, is, I liked Friday's left-overs better than the feast. No joke! Friday morning I fixed myself something called a "Norman Rockwell" sandwich. If you've never had on you should give it a try.
The first "Norman Rockwell" I ever had I bought at the food court in my city center mall, at a sandwich shop that sold nothing but sandwiches made with turkey. In it were tomatoes, lettuce, turkey, cranberry sauce, and cheese with the bread slathered with mayonnaise. Deee-lic-ious. For several years I would buy one of these sandwiches, sit in the food court and participate in one of my favorite activities, people watching.
Then, one day my turkey sandwich place disappeared. So, I began the ritual of fixing myself a "Norman Rockwell" at home. And, that's what I had for breakfast Friday morning, minus the lettuce, which I also forgot to purchase. The missing lettuce didn't matter, the sandwich was great. The tomato was quite juicy, it dripped out of the edge of the sandwich and into the palm of my hand. In a very unladylike fashion, I took to licking the juice off my hand. Mmmmmm. On the side I had some potato chips, the kind with sea salt and vinegar. Now you had to admit that's a dang good breakfast.
So, over the last couple of days, I've been munching left-overs (thank you microwave oven). Just about everything is gone. A smidgen of cranberry sauce, and a few mashed potatoes are left, but there's no more gravy. As a result, this evening I'm going to mix them with a little flour and egg and make myself some potato pancakes, cranberry sauce for a side. The perfect way to put my Thanksgiving feast to bed.
Wow, can't wait for my Christmas feast and all those wonderful, wonderful left-over meals.
My Thanksgiving feast was delicious. Yeah, this year I forgot to buy a cornbread stuffing mix, surprisingly I got along fine without it. Everything else was fantastic. I did as I was told from my Yahoo News Feed and ate breakfast, because that would 'tide me over' until it was time for dinner...and...I would not feel the need to 'stuff myself' at meal time.
By golly that worked.
What I did discover however, is, I liked Friday's left-overs better than the feast. No joke! Friday morning I fixed myself something called a "Norman Rockwell" sandwich. If you've never had on you should give it a try.
The first "Norman Rockwell" I ever had I bought at the food court in my city center mall, at a sandwich shop that sold nothing but sandwiches made with turkey. In it were tomatoes, lettuce, turkey, cranberry sauce, and cheese with the bread slathered with mayonnaise. Deee-lic-ious. For several years I would buy one of these sandwiches, sit in the food court and participate in one of my favorite activities, people watching.
Then, one day my turkey sandwich place disappeared. So, I began the ritual of fixing myself a "Norman Rockwell" at home. And, that's what I had for breakfast Friday morning, minus the lettuce, which I also forgot to purchase. The missing lettuce didn't matter, the sandwich was great. The tomato was quite juicy, it dripped out of the edge of the sandwich and into the palm of my hand. In a very unladylike fashion, I took to licking the juice off my hand. Mmmmmm. On the side I had some potato chips, the kind with sea salt and vinegar. Now you had to admit that's a dang good breakfast.
So, over the last couple of days, I've been munching left-overs (thank you microwave oven). Just about everything is gone. A smidgen of cranberry sauce, and a few mashed potatoes are left, but there's no more gravy. As a result, this evening I'm going to mix them with a little flour and egg and make myself some potato pancakes, cranberry sauce for a side. The perfect way to put my Thanksgiving feast to bed.
Wow, can't wait for my Christmas feast and all those wonderful, wonderful left-over meals.
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