Yes....
....I'm eating crow. The dish is cold, and unappealing. I have to choke each bite down with a swig of hot coffee.
It's those dang edjukated metrolgists. They were right. There. I've said it.
Far be it from me not to be the bigger person and confess that for once they got a forecast correct. I'm talking about the snow storm that hit Atlanta, Georgia and how state officials started claiming it was not their fault traffic ground to a halt, people were stranded in their cars, and kids had to wait on buses for hours before being delivered safely home it was all the fault of the meteorologists, who had not kept them abreast of the snow storm that was coming.
I confess at first I was eager to jump on Atlanta's band wagon.
Then I remembered, not to long ago I learned a tidbit about the business of forecasting the weather, there are 'Extended Forecasts', and what is know as 'Now Forecasts'. Although it is the extended forecasts that the metrolgists tend to get wrong, it is the 'now' ones they intend to get correct. Especially during tornado and hurricane seasons.
Such was the case with the snow storm that hit Atlanta. It was pretty much a 'Now' event and I've heard and seen some public officials blame weather folk for not telling them the storm was coming so they could have been better prepared.
This morning, I heard the Governor of the State of Georgia admit that the proverbial 'buck' did indeed stop with him and said the state did get an update from the weather bureau, that a weather emergency was eminent, however he had not been advise or knew about the up-dated report.
Now, ya'all know it is not like me to shout out a "Here, here!" to those edjukated guys and gals. But I have to give them their do, due, dew (That's a joke son, that's a joke.) on this one. Well done. I hate to see you get blamed for getting the forecast wrong when you actually got it right...spot on right.
And, so, that is why this morning I'm eating tough, old, cold crow.
Caw, caw, caw.
P.S. Bobby is leisurely strolling along the edge of my computer desk. He/she is looking well, and says "Howdy".
Friday, January 31, 2014
Thursday, January 30, 2014
Nostalgia
I think I must have poured a spoonful of nostalgia into my coffee this morning instead of chocolate syrup because I've been thinking about my mom's red Radio Flyer. I say it's hers because I don't remember playing with it much, but I do remember using it every time we went on a shopping excursion to the end of our street to visit Lopresti's Market.
Yep, we'd be all shined and polished, and off we would go, Radio Flyer in tow.
Now, for you young whipper-snappers who don't know what a Radio Flyer is, it is a wagon, bright red in color, and along the sides of it were the words Radio Flyer. The words had streaks running through it giving the allusion of speed. It was large enough to hold two kids, if the kid in back could figure out what to do with their legs.
As I mentioned, we didn't play with it much, but when we did I recall we could get up quite a bit of speed going down a hill, but we had to be careful because the only steering mechanism was the handle and if we turned too quickly left or right the wagon would tip over and driver and passenger ended up with skid marks on their arms and legs, and bits of gravel in their elbows.
Looking back, I can see the Flyer was really not a toy, it was indeed a tool. One we needed very much. Because, without that wagon we kids would have had to tote those heavy bags of groceries from Lopresti's all the way home. Thank you Radio Flyer.
I don't remember ever taking care of the Flyer, but I seem to recall it was always clean and carefully stored away in the garage always ready to fulfill its duty. It was a member of the family.
Jump decades ahead.
After we moved to the Pacific Northwest in the 70's, my husband and I bought our youngest daughter a Radio Flyer for Christmas. It was the same size as the one us siblings had growing up. I think the first year our kids used it, but over time it came to sit in the garage, under a bench. It sat, and sat, and sat.
A couple of years later when we bought the house, I put it into action, gave it life.
It turns out, when our house was built, it was constructed on top of a marsh, tons and tons and tons of rocks were brought in to fill in the marsh, and then tons and tons and tons of topsoil was brought in to cover up the rocks.
Being a transplant from California, I didn't know and was not told about the rocks, so when I decided we needed flower gardens I had no idea it was going to be such a chore. Because, every time I stomped the shovel into the soil it would hit a rock that I would dig it out put it into my Radio Flyer. When the wagon was full I would put the rocks in a pile hoping I would eventually have enough to outline the edges of my gardens.
Boy, did I have rocks. Some were boulders so big I had to end over end them just to get them out of the way. It would have been nice if someone had told me about the marsh and rocks, before all my labors, but by the time a neighbor did, my gardens were complete, and the Radio Flyer had been returned to the garage.
However, my wagon was never idle for long, for years it toted biannual yard debris, sand and dirt. It held logs from the cords of wood we bought for our wood burning stove and...those damnable rocks...every time we redesigned the landscape.
The Radio Flyer is old now (just like me) its rubber tires have rotted away, it has rust spots, and a bad paint job, too. Its handle is badly bent and the steering is shot to heck. Still, I can't bring myself to put it out for recycle, there is a great deal of history between us and hours and hours of labor, too. Plus, it's not mine to dispose. It belongs to my youngest daughter. I hope one day she wants it. All it really needs is a new set of tires and lots and lots of love.
Yep, we'd be all shined and polished, and off we would go, Radio Flyer in tow.
Now, for you young whipper-snappers who don't know what a Radio Flyer is, it is a wagon, bright red in color, and along the sides of it were the words Radio Flyer. The words had streaks running through it giving the allusion of speed. It was large enough to hold two kids, if the kid in back could figure out what to do with their legs.
As I mentioned, we didn't play with it much, but when we did I recall we could get up quite a bit of speed going down a hill, but we had to be careful because the only steering mechanism was the handle and if we turned too quickly left or right the wagon would tip over and driver and passenger ended up with skid marks on their arms and legs, and bits of gravel in their elbows.
Looking back, I can see the Flyer was really not a toy, it was indeed a tool. One we needed very much. Because, without that wagon we kids would have had to tote those heavy bags of groceries from Lopresti's all the way home. Thank you Radio Flyer.
I don't remember ever taking care of the Flyer, but I seem to recall it was always clean and carefully stored away in the garage always ready to fulfill its duty. It was a member of the family.
Jump decades ahead.
After we moved to the Pacific Northwest in the 70's, my husband and I bought our youngest daughter a Radio Flyer for Christmas. It was the same size as the one us siblings had growing up. I think the first year our kids used it, but over time it came to sit in the garage, under a bench. It sat, and sat, and sat.
A couple of years later when we bought the house, I put it into action, gave it life.
It turns out, when our house was built, it was constructed on top of a marsh, tons and tons and tons of rocks were brought in to fill in the marsh, and then tons and tons and tons of topsoil was brought in to cover up the rocks.
Being a transplant from California, I didn't know and was not told about the rocks, so when I decided we needed flower gardens I had no idea it was going to be such a chore. Because, every time I stomped the shovel into the soil it would hit a rock that I would dig it out put it into my Radio Flyer. When the wagon was full I would put the rocks in a pile hoping I would eventually have enough to outline the edges of my gardens.
Boy, did I have rocks. Some were boulders so big I had to end over end them just to get them out of the way. It would have been nice if someone had told me about the marsh and rocks, before all my labors, but by the time a neighbor did, my gardens were complete, and the Radio Flyer had been returned to the garage.
However, my wagon was never idle for long, for years it toted biannual yard debris, sand and dirt. It held logs from the cords of wood we bought for our wood burning stove and...those damnable rocks...every time we redesigned the landscape.
The Radio Flyer is old now (just like me) its rubber tires have rotted away, it has rust spots, and a bad paint job, too. Its handle is badly bent and the steering is shot to heck. Still, I can't bring myself to put it out for recycle, there is a great deal of history between us and hours and hours of labor, too. Plus, it's not mine to dispose. It belongs to my youngest daughter. I hope one day she wants it. All it really needs is a new set of tires and lots and lots of love.
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Cookies, Pasta and Steak, oh.....my
So, there I was, hunched waaay over my keyboard, finger on mouse, and I'm scrolling down my facebook home page. Beautifully colored pictures delight my eye and cause my taste buds to come to life.
I've noticed over the last several months many friends have been posting recipes, most of them tend to run along the edge of being 'healthful', while some are...well, down right 'sinful'. Guess which one I lean toward?
Anyway, there I was hunched over...as Frankie enters the room.
Frankie: "Uuuuuuu, what's that?"
Me: "A cookie. A no-bake cookie."
Frankie: (Leaning in closer to the monitor) "Can we make those?"
Me: "We could if we had all the ingredients."
Frankie: "It says we can add whatever ingredients we want."
Me: "I know, but, it just so happens there's not much in our pantry at the moment."
Frankie hustles her body out of the office, I know she's on her way to the pantry. She's a non-believer. I know the 'pickin's are lean, but I call out "good luck" as she disappears down the dark hallway.
See, I know the problem with all these wonderful looking dishes, there are always items needed to make them that I do not have and never will have in my pantry. Plus, I'm not going to go out and buy them (especially herbs and spices) (Have you priced them lately?) when I know I'm only going to use them once. I've already jars of fenugreek, mustard seed, cardamom, juniper berries and turmeric that I bought years ago, used once and now sit with their lids covered with dust and flour particles.
Oh yes, those entrées, salads and desserts I'm looking at are tempting. So tempting.
But, I refuse to cave and give into to their siren call.
Rustle, rustle, shuffle, shuffle. It's Frankie back from her excursion to the pantry.
Frankie: "Look what I found!"
In her arms there's our box of instant oatmeal, raisins, shredded coconut, graham crackers and six of seven Payday candy bars. She is so pleased with herself, and the look on her face is like that of a child just before opening that first Christmas present.
I try to look enthusiastic, pleased with her finds and give her a lame smile.
Frankie: "What, what?"
Me: "These are great, Frankie...."
Frankie: "But..."
Me: "One very big, key ingredient is missing."
I hate being the bearer of bad news. She's looking at me as though I've burst her last balloon. She sighs, the kind she learned from me that's dredged up from the soles of her feet.
Frankie: "What?"
Me: "Chocolate, the agent that binds all these ingredients together. You melt it, stir in all the stuff, then put the cookies into the fridge to set. You've got to have chocolate."
I don't know what else to say. She stands there frozen in place, dejected. I try to make it better.
Me: "Well, actually, the ingredients we do have wouldn't make a very good cookie anyway. It would help if we had miniature marshmallows and candied fruits. Maybe some walnuts or almonds, too."
Her face brightened. "Maybe we could buy some of that stuff next time you order groceries."
I smile and nod. She leaves the room to return her treasures to the panty.
I return my gaze to my computer monitor...there is that beautiful, shiny, no-cook cookie. I scroll down through the day's entries. I wonder if there is a recipe for good, old-fashioned meatloaf there.
Damn recipes.
I've noticed over the last several months many friends have been posting recipes, most of them tend to run along the edge of being 'healthful', while some are...well, down right 'sinful'. Guess which one I lean toward?
Anyway, there I was hunched over...as Frankie enters the room.
Frankie: "Uuuuuuu, what's that?"
Me: "A cookie. A no-bake cookie."
Frankie: (Leaning in closer to the monitor) "Can we make those?"
Me: "We could if we had all the ingredients."
Frankie: "It says we can add whatever ingredients we want."
Me: "I know, but, it just so happens there's not much in our pantry at the moment."
Frankie hustles her body out of the office, I know she's on her way to the pantry. She's a non-believer. I know the 'pickin's are lean, but I call out "good luck" as she disappears down the dark hallway.
See, I know the problem with all these wonderful looking dishes, there are always items needed to make them that I do not have and never will have in my pantry. Plus, I'm not going to go out and buy them (especially herbs and spices) (Have you priced them lately?) when I know I'm only going to use them once. I've already jars of fenugreek, mustard seed, cardamom, juniper berries and turmeric that I bought years ago, used once and now sit with their lids covered with dust and flour particles.
Oh yes, those entrées, salads and desserts I'm looking at are tempting. So tempting.
But, I refuse to cave and give into to their siren call.
Rustle, rustle, shuffle, shuffle. It's Frankie back from her excursion to the pantry.
Frankie: "Look what I found!"
In her arms there's our box of instant oatmeal, raisins, shredded coconut, graham crackers and six of seven Payday candy bars. She is so pleased with herself, and the look on her face is like that of a child just before opening that first Christmas present.
I try to look enthusiastic, pleased with her finds and give her a lame smile.
Frankie: "What, what?"
Me: "These are great, Frankie...."
Frankie: "But..."
Me: "One very big, key ingredient is missing."
I hate being the bearer of bad news. She's looking at me as though I've burst her last balloon. She sighs, the kind she learned from me that's dredged up from the soles of her feet.
Frankie: "What?"
Me: "Chocolate, the agent that binds all these ingredients together. You melt it, stir in all the stuff, then put the cookies into the fridge to set. You've got to have chocolate."
I don't know what else to say. She stands there frozen in place, dejected. I try to make it better.
Me: "Well, actually, the ingredients we do have wouldn't make a very good cookie anyway. It would help if we had miniature marshmallows and candied fruits. Maybe some walnuts or almonds, too."
Her face brightened. "Maybe we could buy some of that stuff next time you order groceries."
I smile and nod. She leaves the room to return her treasures to the panty.
I return my gaze to my computer monitor...there is that beautiful, shiny, no-cook cookie. I scroll down through the day's entries. I wonder if there is a recipe for good, old-fashioned meatloaf there.
Damn recipes.
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
I'm not, seriously, I'm not.
I'm not going to watch the Super Bowl. Seriously, I'm not. Don't care about the teams, don't care about the commercials, don't care about the 'super star' halftime, don't care, don't care. Matter of fact, I might not watch sporting events ever again. You will notice I didn't say 'never' because time and time again I've been told to "Never say never." Never is a long, long time.
Since sportsmanship has been spiraling downward over the last several years, I've become quite disillusioned. Not just with football, but all the other sports as well. I used to like hockey a lot. We have a team here, and as the kids were growing up it was the one sport we could afford to go to as a family. Great sport. You could count on some roughness, and an occasional 'throw of a punch', for which the player would spend some minutes in the penalty box.
As time went on the confrontations became more physical, helmets were knocked off, shirts almost ripped off a player's back. Blood was shed. Sometimes whole teams came off their benches and it was hard to officials to regain control.
It seemed to me the crowd liked the confrontations more than the game. I no longer enjoyed attending. Eventually, we stopped going.
I began to wonder if the fighting was encouraged on purpose, were the players instructed to (if the occasion presented itself) 'throw a punch' on purpose, to excite the crowd, and increase box office sales?
Over time I've found this kind of behavior has become acceptable. Professional Baseball is particularly known for teams "clearing the bench" to participate in a melee. I don't get it. Why is that necessary?
I hate when people say this, but, "I remember when players (of any sport), played for the love of the game." Not the money, not the fame, not the fortune, not for the fact they have come to be believe 'they are above the law' and can do what they darn well please. Now it seems it is acceptable to participate in spousal abuse, to try to get away with murder, to have countless sex partners and countless children out of wedlock, and...drug abuse is rampant, drinking and driving in a hundred thousand dollar sports car, brings nothing but a chuckle and slap on the wrist...unless there's a horrific accident and some one is killed. Yes, all the above are things that have soured me against sports...all sports.
Yet, these sports figures want us to have our children look up to them as role models? I don't think so.
I'm realistic enough to know I can't change society, that turning point is wa-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-ay long past, but I can change me. And I'm going to do that, and that is why I'm not going to watch the Super Bowl, or the Olympics, or just about any other sporting event any more.
So, have your party, watch the game, I hope it is filled with good sportsmanship and fair play. However, as for me, I'm going to watch the Kitten, and the Puppy Bowl. Those events sound much more enjoyable to me.
Since sportsmanship has been spiraling downward over the last several years, I've become quite disillusioned. Not just with football, but all the other sports as well. I used to like hockey a lot. We have a team here, and as the kids were growing up it was the one sport we could afford to go to as a family. Great sport. You could count on some roughness, and an occasional 'throw of a punch', for which the player would spend some minutes in the penalty box.
As time went on the confrontations became more physical, helmets were knocked off, shirts almost ripped off a player's back. Blood was shed. Sometimes whole teams came off their benches and it was hard to officials to regain control.
It seemed to me the crowd liked the confrontations more than the game. I no longer enjoyed attending. Eventually, we stopped going.
I began to wonder if the fighting was encouraged on purpose, were the players instructed to (if the occasion presented itself) 'throw a punch' on purpose, to excite the crowd, and increase box office sales?
Over time I've found this kind of behavior has become acceptable. Professional Baseball is particularly known for teams "clearing the bench" to participate in a melee. I don't get it. Why is that necessary?
I hate when people say this, but, "I remember when players (of any sport), played for the love of the game." Not the money, not the fame, not the fortune, not for the fact they have come to be believe 'they are above the law' and can do what they darn well please. Now it seems it is acceptable to participate in spousal abuse, to try to get away with murder, to have countless sex partners and countless children out of wedlock, and...drug abuse is rampant, drinking and driving in a hundred thousand dollar sports car, brings nothing but a chuckle and slap on the wrist...unless there's a horrific accident and some one is killed. Yes, all the above are things that have soured me against sports...all sports.
Yet, these sports figures want us to have our children look up to them as role models? I don't think so.
I'm realistic enough to know I can't change society, that turning point is wa-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-ay long past, but I can change me. And I'm going to do that, and that is why I'm not going to watch the Super Bowl, or the Olympics, or just about any other sporting event any more.
So, have your party, watch the game, I hope it is filled with good sportsmanship and fair play. However, as for me, I'm going to watch the Kitten, and the Puppy Bowl. Those events sound much more enjoyable to me.
Monday, January 27, 2014
I'm going out on a limb
I know this is going to sound 'nuts', but I'm going to write this anyway.
Yesterday I was in the pits...I was at the bottom of the ocean, sucking mud. Today I'm much better. But, I've been thinking.
You know how people (whoever they are) have been telling us that weather can affect our moods. I think that might be true.
I've been living here in the Pacific Northwest for decades now, and my body has (I'm pretty sure) prepared itself for what the winters are like, and I expect grey skies, weeks of rain, long lasting downpours, off and on showers, and drizzle, lots and lots of drizzle. My brain tells me this is going to happen and I expect it. I hum, de-dummm through the cloudy grey months. I'm okay with that.
This winter has been perhaps one of the strangest I've encountered since moving here. It has been unusually cold, unusually dry, unusually foggy, but most of all unusually sunny. Yes, I said that strange winter word...sunny.
I think the sun has screwed up my psyche, which according to my 'big book', is "1. relig. HUMAN SPIRIT the human spirit or soul. 2. phychol. HUMAN MIND the human mind as the center of thought and behavior."
I'm talking about #2 as in the sun has messed with my winter thought and behavior. I think my mind has convinced my thought and behavior it is summer. It should be warm and I should be outside not stuck indoors.
As a result my physical body wants, yearns to be outside soaking up that natural, wonderful warmth, and vitamin D, and my mind is telling me I should be doing that.
All the while my common sense is saying "That's ridiculous...it's cold, too damn cold to be outside...get a grip old woman." Hence, my conflict. I'm really screwed up.
I need help.
I think help just might be on the way. Because I was thrilled to see clouds when I opened my drapes this morning.
I think I've mentioned here I am trying to wean myself away from all those edjukated meterolgists on the television, who precisely tell me what to expect and when, only to be disappointed again and again. So much so that I've decided to go with the visual, 'what I sees, is what I gets'. However, I do check the weekly, very brief weather reviews on my favorite Internet weather site a couple mornings a week.
This morning was I pleased to see a string of those cute, puffy, grey clouds with rain drops falling out of them, they tell me I can (perhaps) expect lots and lots of grey skies, and chances of showers on and off over the week, whoop, whoop.
Geeze, you've no idea how I hope they are right, cause my psyche wants normal, it needs normal winter weather; although a good stiff drink might give it a boost, too.
And, there you have it. My wacky theory about my craziness of late. Has the strange weather in your neck of the woods been making you a bit wacky, too? Let me know, would you? Maybe I'll write a thesis about this.
Yesterday I was in the pits...I was at the bottom of the ocean, sucking mud. Today I'm much better. But, I've been thinking.
You know how people (whoever they are) have been telling us that weather can affect our moods. I think that might be true.
I've been living here in the Pacific Northwest for decades now, and my body has (I'm pretty sure) prepared itself for what the winters are like, and I expect grey skies, weeks of rain, long lasting downpours, off and on showers, and drizzle, lots and lots of drizzle. My brain tells me this is going to happen and I expect it. I hum, de-dummm through the cloudy grey months. I'm okay with that.
This winter has been perhaps one of the strangest I've encountered since moving here. It has been unusually cold, unusually dry, unusually foggy, but most of all unusually sunny. Yes, I said that strange winter word...sunny.
I think the sun has screwed up my psyche, which according to my 'big book', is "1. relig. HUMAN SPIRIT the human spirit or soul. 2. phychol. HUMAN MIND the human mind as the center of thought and behavior."
I'm talking about #2 as in the sun has messed with my winter thought and behavior. I think my mind has convinced my thought and behavior it is summer. It should be warm and I should be outside not stuck indoors.
As a result my physical body wants, yearns to be outside soaking up that natural, wonderful warmth, and vitamin D, and my mind is telling me I should be doing that.
All the while my common sense is saying "That's ridiculous...it's cold, too damn cold to be outside...get a grip old woman." Hence, my conflict. I'm really screwed up.
I need help.
I think help just might be on the way. Because I was thrilled to see clouds when I opened my drapes this morning.
I think I've mentioned here I am trying to wean myself away from all those edjukated meterolgists on the television, who precisely tell me what to expect and when, only to be disappointed again and again. So much so that I've decided to go with the visual, 'what I sees, is what I gets'. However, I do check the weekly, very brief weather reviews on my favorite Internet weather site a couple mornings a week.
This morning was I pleased to see a string of those cute, puffy, grey clouds with rain drops falling out of them, they tell me I can (perhaps) expect lots and lots of grey skies, and chances of showers on and off over the week, whoop, whoop.
Geeze, you've no idea how I hope they are right, cause my psyche wants normal, it needs normal winter weather; although a good stiff drink might give it a boost, too.
And, there you have it. My wacky theory about my craziness of late. Has the strange weather in your neck of the woods been making you a bit wacky, too? Let me know, would you? Maybe I'll write a thesis about this.
Sunday, January 26, 2014
I'm ill.
Oh my, this is terrible. I've a terrible malady. There is nothing worse for a writer than to suddenly have zero, naught, nil, zip, nada, to write about. Seriously, my mind is blank, my muse is off somewhere...maybe the Riviera, some sunny Greek Island, or The South Pacific snorkeling among exotic fish and beautiful coral...and I'm left here all alone. An empty shell.
There is no medication known to man that can heal me. I've been resorting to home remedies like splashing cold water on my face, and Frankie has been slapping my cheeks with some white gloves, encouraging me to duel with her, reminding me there's a 50% chance I'll lose, and never have to write another word again.
(Well, that's just plain mean!)
However, she does have a good point. To write or not to write another word again is in my hands, without having to resort to violence. All I have to do is stop writing right here and now.
I've had Writer's Block before, but have always been able to pull myself out of my slump and move on. This morning is different.
Over the last week I've been overcome with emotional issues. I've become disillusioned with sports, disgusted with celebrities, disheartened with society in general. I want to scream and yell, I want to pour out my soul in the sorrow. I feel as though I've been bound to a stake, in the center of a mound of twigs and sticks, all that's necessary is for someone to come along and set them and me on fire.
The joy of writing about good news, the excitement of having learned something unusual and rare, or even the silliness of my life seems all for naught. There is no joy in Joyville today folks. I'm sick. I'm sad. I'm disappointed. I think for the first time in my life, my glass is less than half full, and I no clue what's happened to my rose colored glasses.
So, that's it for today. I'm going off to wallow.
There is no medication known to man that can heal me. I've been resorting to home remedies like splashing cold water on my face, and Frankie has been slapping my cheeks with some white gloves, encouraging me to duel with her, reminding me there's a 50% chance I'll lose, and never have to write another word again.
(Well, that's just plain mean!)
However, she does have a good point. To write or not to write another word again is in my hands, without having to resort to violence. All I have to do is stop writing right here and now.
I've had Writer's Block before, but have always been able to pull myself out of my slump and move on. This morning is different.
Over the last week I've been overcome with emotional issues. I've become disillusioned with sports, disgusted with celebrities, disheartened with society in general. I want to scream and yell, I want to pour out my soul in the sorrow. I feel as though I've been bound to a stake, in the center of a mound of twigs and sticks, all that's necessary is for someone to come along and set them and me on fire.
The joy of writing about good news, the excitement of having learned something unusual and rare, or even the silliness of my life seems all for naught. There is no joy in Joyville today folks. I'm sick. I'm sad. I'm disappointed. I think for the first time in my life, my glass is less than half full, and I no clue what's happened to my rose colored glasses.
So, that's it for today. I'm going off to wallow.
Friday, January 24, 2014
Am I having fun yet?
Seriously, there are not enough hours in the day.
Yet, it seems I waste quite a bit of it.
I'm thinking about printing out a schedule, you know, 8AM personal hygiene, dress, etc. 10:30 coffee break. 1PM, quit work have lunch, and so on and so forth. Maybe then I could then accomplish everything I want to get done every day.
Of course each week, each month would be different. That would mean I would have to adapt (waste time) rewriting my schedule every single month and how time consuming would that be?
For instance this month, I'm gathering together all the paperwork I'm going to need for state and federal taxes and going through last year's files, shredding those I no longer need and setting up the empty 2013 files for this year's bills, receipts, and miscellaneous paperwork, too. Tick, tock, tick, tock.
I hate it, I hate all of it. However, I know this is all necessary since my fear of making mistakes on my taxes and having the state and/or the IRS coming after me is enough to MAKE me work through the hate. So every year January is a very ugly time.
Then, of course, if you recall I mentioned a few days ago I want to start an exercise program. Baaaaa, haaaaaa, haaaaa. So far I've exercised twice. Oh, it's not that I don't have the time in the evening, as I'm vegging on the sofa every night. It's just getting my lazy 'you know what' off that damn sofa to begin with. That's hard!!!!!
I'm also working just about every day (including weekends and some nights) designing merchandise. I can't really complain about that because the time spent on this activity is the best part of my days. They say if you are doing what you love it's not really work and I find that to be true, I just hope some day I make a little money at it.
Then of course, there's the miscellaneous stuff that happens every day. The trip to the mail box, the weeds that catch my eye on the way back to the front door. The rose bush I have to trim because my gardener neglected to do it. It seems there is always something outside of my daily schedule calling to me.
I remember a conversation I had with my husband. I told him our retirement was not what I expected it to be. He asked what I meant. And, I replied, I though we would have traveled, gone places, seen things. Brought home treasures.
His reply was "Why would you have thought that? And he made his way out the door to his part time job.
I sighed.
Sadly, now I have no desire to see exotic places...well, except for a few...and it appears I am following in his footsteps by working now myself. I feel I am living my own "Green Acres", trying to accomplish something, but not really achieving anything. Like Oliver Wendell Douglas, I've got door knobs falling off, closet doors that fall to the floor, and poles to climb to use the phone.
I wish I could spend my days Like Lisa Douglas, in swishy, chiffon dressing gowns doing 'out of the ordinary' things ladies of leisure do. Maybe then I'd get rid of the mind set that I must be doing something, and it wouldn't matter I'm wasting time. Till then, I need help...somebody, anybody.
Yet, it seems I waste quite a bit of it.
I'm thinking about printing out a schedule, you know, 8AM personal hygiene, dress, etc. 10:30 coffee break. 1PM, quit work have lunch, and so on and so forth. Maybe then I could then accomplish everything I want to get done every day.
Of course each week, each month would be different. That would mean I would have to adapt (waste time) rewriting my schedule every single month and how time consuming would that be?
For instance this month, I'm gathering together all the paperwork I'm going to need for state and federal taxes and going through last year's files, shredding those I no longer need and setting up the empty 2013 files for this year's bills, receipts, and miscellaneous paperwork, too. Tick, tock, tick, tock.
I hate it, I hate all of it. However, I know this is all necessary since my fear of making mistakes on my taxes and having the state and/or the IRS coming after me is enough to MAKE me work through the hate. So every year January is a very ugly time.
Then, of course, if you recall I mentioned a few days ago I want to start an exercise program. Baaaaa, haaaaaa, haaaaa. So far I've exercised twice. Oh, it's not that I don't have the time in the evening, as I'm vegging on the sofa every night. It's just getting my lazy 'you know what' off that damn sofa to begin with. That's hard!!!!!
I'm also working just about every day (including weekends and some nights) designing merchandise. I can't really complain about that because the time spent on this activity is the best part of my days. They say if you are doing what you love it's not really work and I find that to be true, I just hope some day I make a little money at it.
Then of course, there's the miscellaneous stuff that happens every day. The trip to the mail box, the weeds that catch my eye on the way back to the front door. The rose bush I have to trim because my gardener neglected to do it. It seems there is always something outside of my daily schedule calling to me.
I remember a conversation I had with my husband. I told him our retirement was not what I expected it to be. He asked what I meant. And, I replied, I though we would have traveled, gone places, seen things. Brought home treasures.
His reply was "Why would you have thought that? And he made his way out the door to his part time job.
I sighed.
Sadly, now I have no desire to see exotic places...well, except for a few...and it appears I am following in his footsteps by working now myself. I feel I am living my own "Green Acres", trying to accomplish something, but not really achieving anything. Like Oliver Wendell Douglas, I've got door knobs falling off, closet doors that fall to the floor, and poles to climb to use the phone.
I wish I could spend my days Like Lisa Douglas, in swishy, chiffon dressing gowns doing 'out of the ordinary' things ladies of leisure do. Maybe then I'd get rid of the mind set that I must be doing something, and it wouldn't matter I'm wasting time. Till then, I need help...somebody, anybody.
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
Cards, giggles and just a bit of learning
Okay, so yesterday, my two young women friends came to play Canasta. We had not seen each other for quite a while, and I confess we did more talking and catching up than actually playing cards. We eventually managed to complete a game, but it took hours.
Of course, since I'm quite a bit more aged (like a good bottle of whiskey) than they, we often end up in giggles over something 'old-fashioned' I've said, and as it was when my daughter was little and she got that "I really want to believe you...but can you prove it, please?" look on her face. So it is with these young ladies, they get the same look. Such was the case yesterday. Now, I might not be putting this down accurately, but the afternoon went something like this.
One of them was singing (not quite under her breath) a song with words something about a 'brick house', and wondered if it had something to do with a girl. I said, I would not be at all surprised, because years ago guys would talk about a 'much endowed' girl as being "built like a brick s--t house".
This was greeted with one of those above mentioned looks. Fortunately, they had a phone that connected with the Internet, and she looked up the phrase "built like a brick s--t house, and lo, there it was.
This of course led to the question of why anyone would need one that was made of brick, and I proceeded to explain the importance of Outhouses. And why they needed to be built to withstand all kinds of inclement weather, the better built...well...the better. And, further stated that if a family had "a two holer", that was a really big deal.
Again, I got that look. And although I couldn't honestly say I remembered the exact reason some Outhouses had two holes, the phone again came in handy, explaining that one hole was sized for adults, while the second hole was smaller, for the most obvious reason. (I'm suddenly overcome with giggles, as I'm picturing a child falling into the larger hole and taking a trip, down, down, down.)
Once we had these matters explained, we got back to playing cards.
Some where along the way, I happened to utter the phrase. "By George, I think she's got it."
Well, now, don't you know...the question came up, "Who is this George?" I suggested it might have been King George, but that I didn't really know. Although I thought that seemed logical.
By now it was getting late and we had one last hand to go, so the question about George was left unanswered.
Okay, I confess, I have stewed about who's George off and on all day. Finally, I couldn't stand not knowing. So, for my young friends and you, too, this is what I learned.
I must confess, there was not a lot to research, however, from wiki.answers.com I found this: " 'By George' is a linguistic corruption of 'by Jove' that entered into the English language in or around the 1500's as a way of invoking god without actually using the word "God" which was considered blasphemous."
And, did find the statement "By George, I think she's got it." seems to have become popular from George Bernard Shaws play Pygmalion in 1913, as professor Higgins tries to teach Eliza proper pronunciations, and even more so when the play was turn into the movie "My Fair Lady" in 1964/65. (The Rain in Spain Stays Mainly in the Plain).
I find it quite fascinating that years ago this research would have taken a great deal of time as I would have had to perused the encyclopedias and text books in my library. Perhaps I would have had to go to the public library as well. This evening, all it took was a tiny bit of typing, a few clicks of my mouse, and quick as a wink, website after website was at my disposal.
Think about it, yesterday the Internet was available on a devise 3 inches by 5 inches, tonight it was there on my wide screen monitor, doesn't matter whether I want to know about brick Outhouses, what two 'holers are, or who the heck 'George' is the information of the world is at my fingertips, it's a wonderful age in which we live.
By George, I'm glad I've got it.
Of course, since I'm quite a bit more aged (like a good bottle of whiskey) than they, we often end up in giggles over something 'old-fashioned' I've said, and as it was when my daughter was little and she got that "I really want to believe you...but can you prove it, please?" look on her face. So it is with these young ladies, they get the same look. Such was the case yesterday. Now, I might not be putting this down accurately, but the afternoon went something like this.
One of them was singing (not quite under her breath) a song with words something about a 'brick house', and wondered if it had something to do with a girl. I said, I would not be at all surprised, because years ago guys would talk about a 'much endowed' girl as being "built like a brick s--t house".
This was greeted with one of those above mentioned looks. Fortunately, they had a phone that connected with the Internet, and she looked up the phrase "built like a brick s--t house, and lo, there it was.
This of course led to the question of why anyone would need one that was made of brick, and I proceeded to explain the importance of Outhouses. And why they needed to be built to withstand all kinds of inclement weather, the better built...well...the better. And, further stated that if a family had "a two holer", that was a really big deal.
Again, I got that look. And although I couldn't honestly say I remembered the exact reason some Outhouses had two holes, the phone again came in handy, explaining that one hole was sized for adults, while the second hole was smaller, for the most obvious reason. (I'm suddenly overcome with giggles, as I'm picturing a child falling into the larger hole and taking a trip, down, down, down.)
Once we had these matters explained, we got back to playing cards.
Some where along the way, I happened to utter the phrase. "By George, I think she's got it."
Well, now, don't you know...the question came up, "Who is this George?" I suggested it might have been King George, but that I didn't really know. Although I thought that seemed logical.
By now it was getting late and we had one last hand to go, so the question about George was left unanswered.
Okay, I confess, I have stewed about who's George off and on all day. Finally, I couldn't stand not knowing. So, for my young friends and you, too, this is what I learned.
I must confess, there was not a lot to research, however, from wiki.answers.com I found this: " 'By George' is a linguistic corruption of 'by Jove' that entered into the English language in or around the 1500's as a way of invoking god without actually using the word "God" which was considered blasphemous."
And, did find the statement "By George, I think she's got it." seems to have become popular from George Bernard Shaws play Pygmalion in 1913, as professor Higgins tries to teach Eliza proper pronunciations, and even more so when the play was turn into the movie "My Fair Lady" in 1964/65. (The Rain in Spain Stays Mainly in the Plain).
I find it quite fascinating that years ago this research would have taken a great deal of time as I would have had to perused the encyclopedias and text books in my library. Perhaps I would have had to go to the public library as well. This evening, all it took was a tiny bit of typing, a few clicks of my mouse, and quick as a wink, website after website was at my disposal.
Think about it, yesterday the Internet was available on a devise 3 inches by 5 inches, tonight it was there on my wide screen monitor, doesn't matter whether I want to know about brick Outhouses, what two 'holers are, or who the heck 'George' is the information of the world is at my fingertips, it's a wonderful age in which we live.
By George, I'm glad I've got it.
Monday, January 20, 2014
A river runs through it
Y'all know I'm cheap....'er, thrifty.
I will do most anything to save a buck. That of course means, if I can jerry rig something myself and not have to call in a 'tradesman' I will do that. Hence, I've frequently tackled things I probably should not have...still...well, I've told my stories here and you know some of the stuff I've done has not worked out well.
Sigh.
Here's another.
Years ago I bought two carpets (the 6'x8' kind that used to be popular in folks bathrooms) only I put them down on my living room floor. I took duct tape and taped the two rugs together, as the seam ran across the center of the room and I didn't want the two rugs to 'curl up' and become a tripping hazard. This worked
well for years, but over time the non-slip backing deteriorated, so a couple of months ago I nailed the carpets to the floor. After all I didn't want some elderly guest to slip and fall.
Then, over the holidays, the duct tape gave way, and the two carpets came apart at the seam. I went to the garage for the duct tap so I could adhere the two halves together again. The problem was the only color tape I had was white...I used it anyway. For weeks, bits of white could be seen where the carpets didn't quite meet together anymore. Oh, I tried to ignore this, but last night, bedraggled, weary, upset, dejected because my football team lost, those damn white spots were bugging the hell out of me.
And, as Popeye, used to say "I can't stands it no more", I went to my craft acrylic paint supply, got out all my brown shades and decided to paint over the white seam. I was very careful. I put the bottles on the floor, side by side, and chose the color I thought would most match the shade of the carpet and set to work painting.
On hands and knees, I worked my way along the seam. I thought the brown looked a little dark, but figured it would lighten up as it dried.
>
>
>
>
It didn't.
So, I took my broom and thought maybe if I kind of spread the paint out it would not look so dark. Uh-oh!
Mercy, this was bad, very, very bad.
Now this tale takes an even uglier turn. Should have I left this alone? Yes.
Did I? Noooooooooo.
I grab a lighter brown bottle of paint, and paint over the darker shade. Did that work?
OF COURSE NOT!
Now, the dark brown paint was still the stronger color, so the lighter brown simply blended in with it aaaannnnnddddd, now the stripe was even wider.
I grab my broom. Swish, swish, blend, blend. AAAAAAHHHHHH! This was awful.
I was beside myself. What a mess.
Frankie was no help at all. She sat in the chair shaking her head. No amount of pleading on my face would get her onto her feet to help.
Eventually I did the only thing I could.
I put away my paints, I put away my broom, I turned out the lights, left Frankie in the dark, and went to bed.
In the back of my mind, as I was dozing off, I really, really, really thought that when I awoke, the paint would have dried nicely and have blended in so beautifully no one would ever know what I had done.
>
>
>
This morning?
Well, let's just say I've got a lovely dark brown river running through my living room.
I will do most anything to save a buck. That of course means, if I can jerry rig something myself and not have to call in a 'tradesman' I will do that. Hence, I've frequently tackled things I probably should not have...still...well, I've told my stories here and you know some of the stuff I've done has not worked out well.
Sigh.
Here's another.
Years ago I bought two carpets (the 6'x8' kind that used to be popular in folks bathrooms) only I put them down on my living room floor. I took duct tape and taped the two rugs together, as the seam ran across the center of the room and I didn't want the two rugs to 'curl up' and become a tripping hazard. This worked
well for years, but over time the non-slip backing deteriorated, so a couple of months ago I nailed the carpets to the floor. After all I didn't want some elderly guest to slip and fall.
Then, over the holidays, the duct tape gave way, and the two carpets came apart at the seam. I went to the garage for the duct tap so I could adhere the two halves together again. The problem was the only color tape I had was white...I used it anyway. For weeks, bits of white could be seen where the carpets didn't quite meet together anymore. Oh, I tried to ignore this, but last night, bedraggled, weary, upset, dejected because my football team lost, those damn white spots were bugging the hell out of me.
And, as Popeye, used to say "I can't stands it no more", I went to my craft acrylic paint supply, got out all my brown shades and decided to paint over the white seam. I was very careful. I put the bottles on the floor, side by side, and chose the color I thought would most match the shade of the carpet and set to work painting.
On hands and knees, I worked my way along the seam. I thought the brown looked a little dark, but figured it would lighten up as it dried.
>
>
>
>
It didn't.
So, I took my broom and thought maybe if I kind of spread the paint out it would not look so dark. Uh-oh!
Mercy, this was bad, very, very bad.
Now this tale takes an even uglier turn. Should have I left this alone? Yes.
Did I? Noooooooooo.
I grab a lighter brown bottle of paint, and paint over the darker shade. Did that work?
OF COURSE NOT!
Now, the dark brown paint was still the stronger color, so the lighter brown simply blended in with it aaaannnnnddddd, now the stripe was even wider.
I grab my broom. Swish, swish, blend, blend. AAAAAAHHHHHH! This was awful.
I was beside myself. What a mess.
Frankie was no help at all. She sat in the chair shaking her head. No amount of pleading on my face would get her onto her feet to help.
Eventually I did the only thing I could.
I put away my paints, I put away my broom, I turned out the lights, left Frankie in the dark, and went to bed.
In the back of my mind, as I was dozing off, I really, really, really thought that when I awoke, the paint would have dried nicely and have blended in so beautifully no one would ever know what I had done.
>
>
>
This morning?
Well, let's just say I've got a lovely dark brown river running through my living room.
Sunday, January 19, 2014
I'm an 'odd' duck.
If you are an occasional, or perhaps frequent reader of my blog. You know I sometimes go on tangents...like my feelings about 'edjakated metrolgists'. Or, perhaps my Winter House Guest, Bobby. And that my interests vary widely, and if there is a subject I know little about, I will spend hours researching that subject.
Every day, from my favorites list, I check pictures from three websites, each has an educational aspect. One is related to Astronomy, one from Earth Science and one from NASA a view from space. I can't tell you how much I've learned from visiting these sites. Once in a while there will be one that is spectacular. This morning's Astronomy picture is one of those.
It is a picture of two galaxies in close proximity, I swear, it looks like a flying owl, their suns shining brightly like owl eyes at night. I began to read the article attached and learned these galaxies will eventually collide. In a billion years or so.
From the picture provided, thanks to Debora Meloy Elmegreen (Vassar College) et al and the Hubble Heritage Team, you would swear this event would be happening in a very short time, and that they are indeed on a collision course, resulting in one huge, smash, crash, explosion, explosion, explosion. Fact is, the smaller galaxy (IC2163) is behind the larger one (NGC2207) and as they are slowly rotating into each other, pulling each other apart; the individual stars will miss each other as the two existing galaxies form a brand new one.
However, according to the article, the collision will have consequences, such as "tides of matter, sheets of shocked gas, lanes of dark dust, bursts of star formation, and streams of cast-away stars." Wow, can you imagine all this?
I can...I'm imagining there are planets in these galaxies much like our earth, sustaining life. Surely they are aware of this collision (or maybe not). Anyway, I can see it now, their 'Hollywoods" making films of shock and awe, people running amok turning on each other, falling buildings everywhere, space junk plunging into their homes, their atmosphere becoming unlivable. Reality is, this event takes place over a very long, long time, and I hope they are doing a better job of keeping their planets livable for the longest time possible, certainly, better than we are ours.
Let's face it, if you watch the news you know things like China's Air Pollution, the Greenhouse Effect, the Hole in the Ozone Layer, and Global Warming are all destroying the livability of Earth not just for the next few generations but for generations in the far, far future as well. Perhaps we would be wise to pay better attention, who knows what affect our actions today will have on our galaxy tomorrow.
And, so ends my edjakated rant for today. I wish to thank the following for their help in providing all this information.
Authors & editors: Robert Nemiroff (MTU) & Jerry Bonnell (UMCP)
NASA Official: Phillip Newman Specific rights apply.
NASA Web Privacy Policy and Important Notices
A service of: ASD at NASA / GSFC
& Michigan Tech. U.
Every day, from my favorites list, I check pictures from three websites, each has an educational aspect. One is related to Astronomy, one from Earth Science and one from NASA a view from space. I can't tell you how much I've learned from visiting these sites. Once in a while there will be one that is spectacular. This morning's Astronomy picture is one of those.
It is a picture of two galaxies in close proximity, I swear, it looks like a flying owl, their suns shining brightly like owl eyes at night. I began to read the article attached and learned these galaxies will eventually collide. In a billion years or so.
From the picture provided, thanks to Debora Meloy Elmegreen (Vassar College) et al and the Hubble Heritage Team, you would swear this event would be happening in a very short time, and that they are indeed on a collision course, resulting in one huge, smash, crash, explosion, explosion, explosion. Fact is, the smaller galaxy (IC2163) is behind the larger one (NGC2207) and as they are slowly rotating into each other, pulling each other apart; the individual stars will miss each other as the two existing galaxies form a brand new one.
However, according to the article, the collision will have consequences, such as "tides of matter, sheets of shocked gas, lanes of dark dust, bursts of star formation, and streams of cast-away stars." Wow, can you imagine all this?
I can...I'm imagining there are planets in these galaxies much like our earth, sustaining life. Surely they are aware of this collision (or maybe not). Anyway, I can see it now, their 'Hollywoods" making films of shock and awe, people running amok turning on each other, falling buildings everywhere, space junk plunging into their homes, their atmosphere becoming unlivable. Reality is, this event takes place over a very long, long time, and I hope they are doing a better job of keeping their planets livable for the longest time possible, certainly, better than we are ours.
Let's face it, if you watch the news you know things like China's Air Pollution, the Greenhouse Effect, the Hole in the Ozone Layer, and Global Warming are all destroying the livability of Earth not just for the next few generations but for generations in the far, far future as well. Perhaps we would be wise to pay better attention, who knows what affect our actions today will have on our galaxy tomorrow.
And, so ends my edjakated rant for today. I wish to thank the following for their help in providing all this information.
Authors & editors: Robert Nemiroff (MTU) & Jerry Bonnell (UMCP)
NASA Official: Phillip Newman Specific rights apply.
NASA Web Privacy Policy and Important Notices
A service of: ASD at NASA / GSFC
& Michigan Tech. U.
Saturday, January 18, 2014
I'm f-f-f-f-f-reezing
Da-gone-it.
I'm cold...I'm really, really, REALLY tire of being cold. Last winter I can't recall more than two mornings I woke up to a very frosty morning. Yesterday along my front yard sidewalk small patches of frost hung around all day. This morning there is another heavy frost. It looks as though we might have had a dusting of snow overnight, but it is only frost. Depending on how quickly the fog lifts, some of last night's frost might be around all day.
But, I have to confess, it has been wonderful seeing a January moon. On the clear nights it has been rising above the trees exactly where my morning room sky light windows are. Against the windows frames it seems huge. During program commercial breaks, I dash out and look up, it is an amazing sight. Living in the Pacific Northwest, during the winter months we seldom have the opportunity to see the moon, planets and stars at all....period. So the fact I got to see the December full moon, and an almost full moon this January is quite extraordinary, now, if I could just get rid of the cold.
Wouldn't you think with all my blubber, I would not be bothered by the chill? I contemplate that quite a bit. I've heard (and this is one of those things people never tell you) that as you age a person is not as active, and therefore more prone to lethargy, and as a result, your blood is not 'pumping' hard enough to keep your surface capillaries hot and steamy.
So, last night while I was snuggling under my afghan with Zorro, and my fireplace was pumping out heat-the best it could-I was still cold. My piggies, encased in two pair of socks and a pair of slippers were cold, as were my fingers. Let's face it, I was chilled almost to the bone. I was disgusted with the cold.
My little basket of exercise 'stuff' was in its corner, sad and lonely, untouched...for months. The dust on top of the equipment seemed disgusted with me. I looked at the basket, I looked at me...I WAS DISGUSTED, I TELL YOU I WAS DISGUSTED.
Guess what I did?
I actually got out from under the cover, walked over to the basket, took out my three pound weights and sat up straight on the edge of the sofa and did various 'lifts' with those weights. For about ten minutes, I worked my arms, up, down, all around...
Da-gone-it.
I warmed right up!!!! And!!!!! I woke right up!!!!!
I felt good...really, really good.
I put the weights away, no sense in over-doing this, I thought ten minutes was a pretty good start. Suddenly I didn't want to get under the afghan again. So, I turned off the television, checked the moon one last time, and headed for the office.
I made some merchandise for my store, and then decided to exercise my brain and spent some time at Lumosity, where I played some mental games for a while.
I had a da-gone great evening.
They say you have to work at something for a month before you've created a habit. I wonder if I can do that? All I know is, it felt good to exercise. It felt especially good to be warm from a natural high. Can I become that little train that could?
I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.
I'm cold...I'm really, really, REALLY tire of being cold. Last winter I can't recall more than two mornings I woke up to a very frosty morning. Yesterday along my front yard sidewalk small patches of frost hung around all day. This morning there is another heavy frost. It looks as though we might have had a dusting of snow overnight, but it is only frost. Depending on how quickly the fog lifts, some of last night's frost might be around all day.
But, I have to confess, it has been wonderful seeing a January moon. On the clear nights it has been rising above the trees exactly where my morning room sky light windows are. Against the windows frames it seems huge. During program commercial breaks, I dash out and look up, it is an amazing sight. Living in the Pacific Northwest, during the winter months we seldom have the opportunity to see the moon, planets and stars at all....period. So the fact I got to see the December full moon, and an almost full moon this January is quite extraordinary, now, if I could just get rid of the cold.
Wouldn't you think with all my blubber, I would not be bothered by the chill? I contemplate that quite a bit. I've heard (and this is one of those things people never tell you) that as you age a person is not as active, and therefore more prone to lethargy, and as a result, your blood is not 'pumping' hard enough to keep your surface capillaries hot and steamy.
So, last night while I was snuggling under my afghan with Zorro, and my fireplace was pumping out heat-the best it could-I was still cold. My piggies, encased in two pair of socks and a pair of slippers were cold, as were my fingers. Let's face it, I was chilled almost to the bone. I was disgusted with the cold.
My little basket of exercise 'stuff' was in its corner, sad and lonely, untouched...for months. The dust on top of the equipment seemed disgusted with me. I looked at the basket, I looked at me...I WAS DISGUSTED, I TELL YOU I WAS DISGUSTED.
Guess what I did?
I actually got out from under the cover, walked over to the basket, took out my three pound weights and sat up straight on the edge of the sofa and did various 'lifts' with those weights. For about ten minutes, I worked my arms, up, down, all around...
Da-gone-it.
I warmed right up!!!! And!!!!! I woke right up!!!!!
I felt good...really, really good.
I put the weights away, no sense in over-doing this, I thought ten minutes was a pretty good start. Suddenly I didn't want to get under the afghan again. So, I turned off the television, checked the moon one last time, and headed for the office.
I made some merchandise for my store, and then decided to exercise my brain and spent some time at Lumosity, where I played some mental games for a while.
I had a da-gone great evening.
They say you have to work at something for a month before you've created a habit. I wonder if I can do that? All I know is, it felt good to exercise. It felt especially good to be warm from a natural high. Can I become that little train that could?
I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.
Friday, January 17, 2014
I'm conflicted
Far be it for me to impede progress. I like progress, usually progress is good for everybody.
However, earlier this week I got some news that has me very conflicted.
Our world famous book store is starting a make over, remodeling some parts of it is required. I don't know what to think. This news made my tummy churn. How can you possibly change perfection?
Would you put jalapeno peppers on a Philly Cheese Steak Sandwich? Would you paint the Statue of Liberty purple? Would you expect people not to attend the Super Bowl? I don't think so.
As a result, the thought of remodeling my favorite bookstore has thrown me into a real tizzy. This building is an icon, for heaven sakes. It is one of my favorite places to take visitors when they come to town for the first time. It's quirky, it's messy, it's not exactly the cleanest place in the world, but it is possibly the most interesting, delightful and certainly one of the most unusual places in the whole world.
You have to have a color coded map in order to explore this place. Seriously, you really do. It covers a whole city block. There's a green room, blue room, purple room, orange room, etc. And if you think you're going to walk out of there in ten minutes. Well, forget about that. You could spend a whole day in there and not see everything.
I once took some folks there, and it was decided, since we had other tourist things to do we would meet at check out in 30 minutes. I well knew that was not going to be enough time, but I (being familiar with the place) knew where I wanted to go, and what I wanted to buy, and was at the check out line in the specified time. I stood by waiting, waiting, waiting.
Do I go look for these folks? If I do, will I be able to find them? What if, while I'm looking for them, they go to check out looking for me and I'm not there, are they going to try to look for me? We could end up playing hide and seek all afternoon. So, I decide to stay put and wait some more.
When they finally showed up, done with their great adventure, the look on their faces gave me great joy. They looked like kids who had gotten caught doing something naughty, like being found with their hand in a cookie jar. And, I imagine they might have felt like pirates, discovering 'booty'. Trust me, whatever excites your reading fancy, this book store will not disappoint, literary 'gold' can be found on every shelf.
Now, I know I could have chastised these folks for being late, but I didn't. I never do, because, I want visitors to be swallowed up by this experience, and for them to love this place as much as I do, I want them to want to come back here the next time they come to town.
Anyway, by the time my guests showed up, loaded with books, I had already been through check out with books for me and some I had bought some to them as well. I had to chuckle to myself, envisioning them at the airport, going through screening with their carry-on luggage and the added burden of heavy books.
But, back to this remodeling business...I'm very, very torn at the prospect of changes being made at this magical place. I guess it will be okay, as long as they don't mess with the magic on the whole. I still want it to be a place of mystery, I still want dusty shelves, I still want to discover a book I though would have been out of print years before. I still want to get lost and have to 'find' my way back to the check-out counter.
I still want Book Stores to be Book Stores. I want to feel the textured covers, and run my fingers along the raised lettering of its title. I want smell the newness of a book never opened, that still has the jacket intact. I want to be able to turn the pages, one by one, and feel the paper between my thumb and fingers. I want a used book to have notes in the margins, and bright yellow highlighted sections. I want a college student at the check-out counter to tell me he/she approves of my purchases and tells me they enjoy the same authors, or genres I do.
Oh the joy, oh the warmth, oh the wonder...give me a rainy Saturday with nothing to do but browse the aisles of my favorite book store. Oh, you want the name? Powell's Books, Northwest Burnside, Portland. That's Powell's Books.
However, earlier this week I got some news that has me very conflicted.
Our world famous book store is starting a make over, remodeling some parts of it is required. I don't know what to think. This news made my tummy churn. How can you possibly change perfection?
Would you put jalapeno peppers on a Philly Cheese Steak Sandwich? Would you paint the Statue of Liberty purple? Would you expect people not to attend the Super Bowl? I don't think so.
As a result, the thought of remodeling my favorite bookstore has thrown me into a real tizzy. This building is an icon, for heaven sakes. It is one of my favorite places to take visitors when they come to town for the first time. It's quirky, it's messy, it's not exactly the cleanest place in the world, but it is possibly the most interesting, delightful and certainly one of the most unusual places in the whole world.
You have to have a color coded map in order to explore this place. Seriously, you really do. It covers a whole city block. There's a green room, blue room, purple room, orange room, etc. And if you think you're going to walk out of there in ten minutes. Well, forget about that. You could spend a whole day in there and not see everything.
I once took some folks there, and it was decided, since we had other tourist things to do we would meet at check out in 30 minutes. I well knew that was not going to be enough time, but I (being familiar with the place) knew where I wanted to go, and what I wanted to buy, and was at the check out line in the specified time. I stood by waiting, waiting, waiting.
Do I go look for these folks? If I do, will I be able to find them? What if, while I'm looking for them, they go to check out looking for me and I'm not there, are they going to try to look for me? We could end up playing hide and seek all afternoon. So, I decide to stay put and wait some more.
When they finally showed up, done with their great adventure, the look on their faces gave me great joy. They looked like kids who had gotten caught doing something naughty, like being found with their hand in a cookie jar. And, I imagine they might have felt like pirates, discovering 'booty'. Trust me, whatever excites your reading fancy, this book store will not disappoint, literary 'gold' can be found on every shelf.
Now, I know I could have chastised these folks for being late, but I didn't. I never do, because, I want visitors to be swallowed up by this experience, and for them to love this place as much as I do, I want them to want to come back here the next time they come to town.
Anyway, by the time my guests showed up, loaded with books, I had already been through check out with books for me and some I had bought some to them as well. I had to chuckle to myself, envisioning them at the airport, going through screening with their carry-on luggage and the added burden of heavy books.
But, back to this remodeling business...I'm very, very torn at the prospect of changes being made at this magical place. I guess it will be okay, as long as they don't mess with the magic on the whole. I still want it to be a place of mystery, I still want dusty shelves, I still want to discover a book I though would have been out of print years before. I still want to get lost and have to 'find' my way back to the check-out counter.
I still want Book Stores to be Book Stores. I want to feel the textured covers, and run my fingers along the raised lettering of its title. I want smell the newness of a book never opened, that still has the jacket intact. I want to be able to turn the pages, one by one, and feel the paper between my thumb and fingers. I want a used book to have notes in the margins, and bright yellow highlighted sections. I want a college student at the check-out counter to tell me he/she approves of my purchases and tells me they enjoy the same authors, or genres I do.
Oh the joy, oh the warmth, oh the wonder...give me a rainy Saturday with nothing to do but browse the aisles of my favorite book store. Oh, you want the name? Powell's Books, Northwest Burnside, Portland. That's Powell's Books.
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
"Know what I hate?"
Oh, this is going to be a great day!
Anytime Frankie begins the morning with a statement like that, I know (to quote Frankie) 'it ain't gonna' be good'. I seriously think about ignoring her completely and simply keep typing. She moves closer to the computer. I type.
Soon, she's behind me, leaning against the back of my chair. That of course, causes it to tilt backwards and fear over takes. I know she has the power to make the chair and me crash to the floor. So, reluctantly I respond.
Me: "I don't know, what do you hate? This morning!"
Frankie: "Eggs. I hate we don't have any eggs. I want, I neeeeed eggs."
Me: "Sorry we don't have any eggs. Have oatmeal, have a muffin, have peanut butter toast"
Frankie: "I don't want those, I waaaaannnnt eggs."
She's s-s-s-haking the back of the chair.
Me: "FRANKIE, knock it off. We don't have eggs, I can't get you eggs, I can't lay eggs. Eat something else."
Frankie: "You're a mean old woman! This is neglect...I'm gonna' call the authorities."
At this point turn my chair around and face her. I'm prepared to waggle my finger at her and let her have it 'with both barrels'.
Suddenly, I'm very hungry...for eggs. Oh, yeah. Eggs, sunny side up, or maybe over easy. Two, maybe three of them, snuggling together on a couple pieces of toast. No, wait....a cheese omelet...nooo, a Denver omelet....nooo, a Mexican omelet. Uuuuuuu, maybe a fried egg sandwich with cheddar cheese and mustard. I can see the yokes now secreting out over the crust of the toast and drip, drip dropping onto the palm of my hand. Maybe it might be nice to try eggs in a way I never have, perhaps Eggs Benedict. (Whatever the heck they are?)
I guess my eyes must have glazed over, because, next thing I know Frankie is gently shaking my shoulders, bringing me back to reality.
Frankie: "You okay? I didn't mean it, I'm not going to call anybody."
Me: "I know. I wish we had eggs, too. Man, you've no idea how bad I want an egg."
I want an egg, I need an egg...or two, or three...maybe even four. You want one, too?
Anytime Frankie begins the morning with a statement like that, I know (to quote Frankie) 'it ain't gonna' be good'. I seriously think about ignoring her completely and simply keep typing. She moves closer to the computer. I type.
Soon, she's behind me, leaning against the back of my chair. That of course, causes it to tilt backwards and fear over takes. I know she has the power to make the chair and me crash to the floor. So, reluctantly I respond.
Me: "I don't know, what do you hate? This morning!"
Frankie: "Eggs. I hate we don't have any eggs. I want, I neeeeed eggs."
Me: "Sorry we don't have any eggs. Have oatmeal, have a muffin, have peanut butter toast"
Frankie: "I don't want those, I waaaaannnnt eggs."
She's s-s-s-haking the back of the chair.
Me: "FRANKIE, knock it off. We don't have eggs, I can't get you eggs, I can't lay eggs. Eat something else."
Frankie: "You're a mean old woman! This is neglect...I'm gonna' call the authorities."
At this point turn my chair around and face her. I'm prepared to waggle my finger at her and let her have it 'with both barrels'.
Suddenly, I'm very hungry...for eggs. Oh, yeah. Eggs, sunny side up, or maybe over easy. Two, maybe three of them, snuggling together on a couple pieces of toast. No, wait....a cheese omelet...nooo, a Denver omelet....nooo, a Mexican omelet. Uuuuuuu, maybe a fried egg sandwich with cheddar cheese and mustard. I can see the yokes now secreting out over the crust of the toast and drip, drip dropping onto the palm of my hand. Maybe it might be nice to try eggs in a way I never have, perhaps Eggs Benedict. (Whatever the heck they are?)
I guess my eyes must have glazed over, because, next thing I know Frankie is gently shaking my shoulders, bringing me back to reality.
Frankie: "You okay? I didn't mean it, I'm not going to call anybody."
Me: "I know. I wish we had eggs, too. Man, you've no idea how bad I want an egg."
I want an egg, I need an egg...or two, or three...maybe even four. You want one, too?
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
Bits and pieces
Last year I mentioned the chickens the neighbors behind me bought "To teach their kids responsibility, and how to care for living things." Oh, it was an elaborate thing to watch. They cleared the land...the city made them, they bought a chicken coup...lovely little thing, they put up a flimsy 'stick' fence and they bought five chickens. And, the daddy even built a deck of sorts between some trees for the kids to play on. It seems they only do when company comes, or one of the kids has a birthday party.
For a very long time, the guy never put his tools away, and that annoyed my dead husband greatly, and that thereby annoyed me. I even pondered how I might be able to at least put the tools on the concrete pad under the 'deck', but getting into that area, thanks to the flimsy fence, is not possible. I was so pleased to find that after several rain storms the tools finally disappeared.
As time went on, I checked the chickens every day. The white one, I named Florence, quickly learned how to 'jump the creek' and I would see her meandering around their back yard as a result they were all in solitary confinement.
Over time they were given their freedom, but soon Florence and Peaches disappeared never to be seen again. The chicken area has become very unkempt, littered with "stuff". But the remaining chickens are allowed to roam, and I watch them almost every day. They seem to be doing okay, but my concern for their living quarters and roaming area is another thing. It's dang messy back there.
Oh, daddy has provided some kind of apparatus to keep them warm, I know because I can see a heavy duty, bright orange, electrical cord has been strung across the ground and creek to the coop, so at least they are concerned about keeping the remaining chickens alive. Still, I've yet to see the kids come to attend to the fowl. Daddy appears to be the one taking care of them. Come spring I hope he does some clean up around the place. I certainly would before allowing my kids to play in such a 'chicken poop' place.
Then, as you know, last year I build a low, retaining wall along one side of my front yard property. A job that required moving over a hundred decorative concrete blocks, and moving 'a ton' of dirt from a mounded flower garden I wanted to remove. This was a project I had asked my gardener to do [three times], but he showed no interest in it, and I eventually gave up and tackled the job myself.
Anyway, yesterday I was walking around the yard, and I discovered part of the wall had collapsed. Man, I was angry...seriously, I had done a good job making sure that would not happen. At first I blamed the moles, because they had been working that area last summer, and I thought perhaps with the rain, the tunnels below the surface had collapsed, causing the wall to lean. Hmmm, in that case, wouldn't the wall have slowly leaned backward, but remained somewhat in its original shape? This was more violent, the concrete blocks were actually strewn about, almost as though some kind of activity had caused the collapse. This made me wonder about all the mornings I've looked out my front window to discover the little white wire fencing around my front yard had some damage. As though something had tried to squeeze through it. At first I was going to blame my gardener and his trimmer for the damage until I discovered this was happening on days my gardener had not even been here. What a puzzlement? I'm beginning to think perhaps I should sleep during the day and stay awake at night keeping watch. Is it raccoons, coyotes, stray dogs or cats? There is no perfect crime...I will (eventually) figure this out.
And finally. Lumosity. When I started this program [a whole year ago, in November]
to increase my Brain Profile Index, my starting point was 170, for my age group. Frankly, I though I would simply be playing games, not really believing they would help my mental agility at all. Each game is designed to do one of the following, increase your speed of processing, memory, attention, mental flexibility and problem solving, 'what could it hurt?' I asked myself. Well, surprise, surprise, surprise, it has helped...a lot. Over the year my mental agility has jumped from 170 to 1165. My best areas are problem solving 1280, and flexibility 1327, while I'm still having a problem with attention, because, these are the most visual games, and I have a problem with my eyes, especially my peripheral vision. As a result, with the movement these games have, I have trouble keeping up with what's going on in each game. However, over all I'm at the top of the scale with regard to my age group...and once in a while, I check to see where I stand in other age groups and find I'm holding my own with regard to those fifty year old range. Ha, ha!
Anyway, there you have it, an update of 'stuff'. Bits and pieces of the things that have happened over the last year. I'm sorry Florence and Peaches are gone, I'm hopeful one day I can solve the mysteries involving my front yard fencing and wall, and lastly, I'm going to continue to try to increase my brain power by playing games.
Good times, good times.
For a very long time, the guy never put his tools away, and that annoyed my dead husband greatly, and that thereby annoyed me. I even pondered how I might be able to at least put the tools on the concrete pad under the 'deck', but getting into that area, thanks to the flimsy fence, is not possible. I was so pleased to find that after several rain storms the tools finally disappeared.
As time went on, I checked the chickens every day. The white one, I named Florence, quickly learned how to 'jump the creek' and I would see her meandering around their back yard as a result they were all in solitary confinement.
Over time they were given their freedom, but soon Florence and Peaches disappeared never to be seen again. The chicken area has become very unkempt, littered with "stuff". But the remaining chickens are allowed to roam, and I watch them almost every day. They seem to be doing okay, but my concern for their living quarters and roaming area is another thing. It's dang messy back there.
Oh, daddy has provided some kind of apparatus to keep them warm, I know because I can see a heavy duty, bright orange, electrical cord has been strung across the ground and creek to the coop, so at least they are concerned about keeping the remaining chickens alive. Still, I've yet to see the kids come to attend to the fowl. Daddy appears to be the one taking care of them. Come spring I hope he does some clean up around the place. I certainly would before allowing my kids to play in such a 'chicken poop' place.
Then, as you know, last year I build a low, retaining wall along one side of my front yard property. A job that required moving over a hundred decorative concrete blocks, and moving 'a ton' of dirt from a mounded flower garden I wanted to remove. This was a project I had asked my gardener to do [three times], but he showed no interest in it, and I eventually gave up and tackled the job myself.
Anyway, yesterday I was walking around the yard, and I discovered part of the wall had collapsed. Man, I was angry...seriously, I had done a good job making sure that would not happen. At first I blamed the moles, because they had been working that area last summer, and I thought perhaps with the rain, the tunnels below the surface had collapsed, causing the wall to lean. Hmmm, in that case, wouldn't the wall have slowly leaned backward, but remained somewhat in its original shape? This was more violent, the concrete blocks were actually strewn about, almost as though some kind of activity had caused the collapse. This made me wonder about all the mornings I've looked out my front window to discover the little white wire fencing around my front yard had some damage. As though something had tried to squeeze through it. At first I was going to blame my gardener and his trimmer for the damage until I discovered this was happening on days my gardener had not even been here. What a puzzlement? I'm beginning to think perhaps I should sleep during the day and stay awake at night keeping watch. Is it raccoons, coyotes, stray dogs or cats? There is no perfect crime...I will (eventually) figure this out.
And finally. Lumosity. When I started this program [a whole year ago, in November]
to increase my Brain Profile Index, my starting point was 170, for my age group. Frankly, I though I would simply be playing games, not really believing they would help my mental agility at all. Each game is designed to do one of the following, increase your speed of processing, memory, attention, mental flexibility and problem solving, 'what could it hurt?' I asked myself. Well, surprise, surprise, surprise, it has helped...a lot. Over the year my mental agility has jumped from 170 to 1165. My best areas are problem solving 1280, and flexibility 1327, while I'm still having a problem with attention, because, these are the most visual games, and I have a problem with my eyes, especially my peripheral vision. As a result, with the movement these games have, I have trouble keeping up with what's going on in each game. However, over all I'm at the top of the scale with regard to my age group...and once in a while, I check to see where I stand in other age groups and find I'm holding my own with regard to those fifty year old range. Ha, ha!
Anyway, there you have it, an update of 'stuff'. Bits and pieces of the things that have happened over the last year. I'm sorry Florence and Peaches are gone, I'm hopeful one day I can solve the mysteries involving my front yard fencing and wall, and lastly, I'm going to continue to try to increase my brain power by playing games.
Good times, good times.
Monday, January 13, 2014
It's a glorious day.
Wow!
The sun is shining, the sky is blue, there are a few pinkish white clouds floating in from the west. I'm telling you, it is truly a magnificent morning. It's a bit on the chilly side, but who cares, after all it is January, it is supposed to be cold.
This is the kind of day that conjures up spring. The marsh marigolds are already up, but not blooming yet, and the daffodils have broken ground, too. I have a few crocus in the yard, but the moles have pushed the bulbs around so much I never know if they will appear or where for that matter.
Although I am enjoying today's weather, and yes, I'm contemplating spring, I don't want it to come too soon. I'm sort of enjoying the anticipation of it. You know, that day when we can throw open all our windows, shed our thermals and sit bare-armed on our front stoops. What a day that will be.
However, I really don't want that day to come too soon. Because that would mean the longest daylight day of the year is fast approaching, and you all know how I feel about that.
Besides, for now I want to spend part of my mornings, hot, steamy, coffee mug in hand, perusing my back yard, checking my pussy willow tree, looking for those soft grey kitties to see if they have started marching across its branches. I want to see the delicate yellow blooms of the forsythias and the tiny pink blossoms of the flowering plums slowly decorate themselves, their scents awakening the bees, and providing nectar for the hummingbirds.
I want to smell those blossoms myself, and I want to feel that soft, warm breeze against my cheek. And, I long to nibble on a stem of watercress I've got growing in
my yard. Still, come slowly, sweet spring. Don't hurry, just provide me a day from time to time during winter's grey, with hints of your wonder. For now I'm content with your bright green mosses, swelling buds and the birds that, like me, sense it is time for rebirth.
Hello sunny day, thanks for stopping by and filling me with hope of what's to come.
The sun is shining, the sky is blue, there are a few pinkish white clouds floating in from the west. I'm telling you, it is truly a magnificent morning. It's a bit on the chilly side, but who cares, after all it is January, it is supposed to be cold.
This is the kind of day that conjures up spring. The marsh marigolds are already up, but not blooming yet, and the daffodils have broken ground, too. I have a few crocus in the yard, but the moles have pushed the bulbs around so much I never know if they will appear or where for that matter.
Although I am enjoying today's weather, and yes, I'm contemplating spring, I don't want it to come too soon. I'm sort of enjoying the anticipation of it. You know, that day when we can throw open all our windows, shed our thermals and sit bare-armed on our front stoops. What a day that will be.
However, I really don't want that day to come too soon. Because that would mean the longest daylight day of the year is fast approaching, and you all know how I feel about that.
Besides, for now I want to spend part of my mornings, hot, steamy, coffee mug in hand, perusing my back yard, checking my pussy willow tree, looking for those soft grey kitties to see if they have started marching across its branches. I want to see the delicate yellow blooms of the forsythias and the tiny pink blossoms of the flowering plums slowly decorate themselves, their scents awakening the bees, and providing nectar for the hummingbirds.
I want to smell those blossoms myself, and I want to feel that soft, warm breeze against my cheek. And, I long to nibble on a stem of watercress I've got growing in
my yard. Still, come slowly, sweet spring. Don't hurry, just provide me a day from time to time during winter's grey, with hints of your wonder. For now I'm content with your bright green mosses, swelling buds and the birds that, like me, sense it is time for rebirth.
Hello sunny day, thanks for stopping by and filling me with hope of what's to come.
Sunday, January 12, 2014
Games.
Okay, remember when you were a kid and you went with your family on a Sunday afternoon drive? Your dad didn't have a destination, you all just hopped into the family car, and off you went.
You meandered along two lane, unmarked country roads, enjoying the scenery; nobody even cared if you got lost. Every road eventually went somewhere. Occasionally you would pass a barn where you would see a beautifully colored advertisement for some tobacco company. Or, maybe you'd be lucky enough to have a Burma Shave sign on your side of the road, so you wouldn't have to read it backwards.
"Hardly a driver
is now alive
who passed
on hills
at 75
Burma Shave"
Oh, yes, somebody in the back seat would turn around to read them when they were on the opposite side of the road.
"at 75
on hills
who passed
is now alive
Hardly a driver"
The trick was remembering it, to read it right after you passed the last sign.
Then there was the "Cemetery-Cow Game"
The players would count cows on their side of the road, (very tricky in a moving vehicle) often getting quite a large count. However, if your opponent saw a cemetery on your side of the road and pointed it out, you lost all your cows and had to start over again. The trick was to see your cemetery first and distract your opponent from seeing it. "Oh, look, I've a terrible hangnail."
Ahhhh, those were good times.
Of course, the best game was when you were actually going on a long drive, with a destination far from home. Like going to Ocean City, New Jersey or to visit an aunt in Indiana. Then in a collective effort we would look for License Plates from as many states as we could. I don't remember as a kid we ever completed a list, but it was a lot of fun looking for them, plus it helped us learn the names of the states without having to be 'forced to' by some teacher in a classroom.
I still enjoy playing the License Plate Game. When the kids were growing up we played all the time. The one I will remember most is the one where we actually had to touch each plate. Seriously, if we saw one we didn't have, my husband would stop the car (often mid-aisle in a parking lot) and one of the kids would jump out of the vehicle, dash to the parked car, quickly touch it, and then dash back to ours.
I do not recommend playing this particular version today...vehicles now have bells and whistles and you are quite likely to set off an alarm by accident.
Anyway, I still play this game to this day. Since I don't travel much anymore, it has become difficult to see plates from out of state. So, (more years back than I can remember) I decided to see if I could collect an entire set of plates from watching television. It could be from the news, sit-coms, movies in any format and informational programs as well. I simply had to be able to read, the name of the state, on the plate.
Piece of cake....
.....thought I.
Hold on buckaroo! This is not as easy as it sounds. First, I printed out a list of the states, and as I found a plate, I would check it off and then write in the name of the show I was watching at the time I saw it. Idaho--FBI Files, Mississippi--Heat of the Night, Ohio--The Drew Carey Show. And so it went. I discovered this game became more and more difficult as more and more times than not, shows pixilated the plates. Grrrrrrr.
Eventually my list shortened, I was down to Nebraska, North Carolina, North Dakota, Rhode Island, South Dakota and West Virginia. I was about to quit this dumb game, I really didn't have anything to prove to anybody, all I had to do was chuck the list into the trash. However, I kept the list folded in a kitchen drawer and a couple more years went by. Occasionally I would see a plate on TV, dash to my list only to discover it was a plate I already had. I was very, very discouraged.
Finally I was down to two states. South Dakota and West Virginia. Then, while watching a mini marathon (of all shows imaginable---Monk) there before my very eyes was a vehicle with a license plate from South Dakota. I was beside myself. I dashed to my list, checked the state off, and added the name of the show.
Whooooo, hooooo. I'm down to my last state. "Come on West Virginia, I know you're out there."
I have to say I'm glad I didn't give up on this game. It proved to me I've got the stuff to "stick things out". It also proves I'm an idiot...who the heck expects an old woman who does nothing but ramble to still be playing a childhood game? But, then again maybe that's the whole point, it takes a rambling old woman.
Reality is, I can't wait till I find West Virginia, I'm going to use it as the first state on a new list, and start all over again. You have the guts to join me? I'm betting not. Beside, I'm betting I can complete my list before you anyway.
You meandered along two lane, unmarked country roads, enjoying the scenery; nobody even cared if you got lost. Every road eventually went somewhere. Occasionally you would pass a barn where you would see a beautifully colored advertisement for some tobacco company. Or, maybe you'd be lucky enough to have a Burma Shave sign on your side of the road, so you wouldn't have to read it backwards.
"Hardly a driver
is now alive
who passed
on hills
at 75
Burma Shave"
Oh, yes, somebody in the back seat would turn around to read them when they were on the opposite side of the road.
"at 75
on hills
who passed
is now alive
Hardly a driver"
The trick was remembering it, to read it right after you passed the last sign.
Then there was the "Cemetery-Cow Game"
The players would count cows on their side of the road, (very tricky in a moving vehicle) often getting quite a large count. However, if your opponent saw a cemetery on your side of the road and pointed it out, you lost all your cows and had to start over again. The trick was to see your cemetery first and distract your opponent from seeing it. "Oh, look, I've a terrible hangnail."
Ahhhh, those were good times.
Of course, the best game was when you were actually going on a long drive, with a destination far from home. Like going to Ocean City, New Jersey or to visit an aunt in Indiana. Then in a collective effort we would look for License Plates from as many states as we could. I don't remember as a kid we ever completed a list, but it was a lot of fun looking for them, plus it helped us learn the names of the states without having to be 'forced to' by some teacher in a classroom.
I still enjoy playing the License Plate Game. When the kids were growing up we played all the time. The one I will remember most is the one where we actually had to touch each plate. Seriously, if we saw one we didn't have, my husband would stop the car (often mid-aisle in a parking lot) and one of the kids would jump out of the vehicle, dash to the parked car, quickly touch it, and then dash back to ours.
I do not recommend playing this particular version today...vehicles now have bells and whistles and you are quite likely to set off an alarm by accident.
Anyway, I still play this game to this day. Since I don't travel much anymore, it has become difficult to see plates from out of state. So, (more years back than I can remember) I decided to see if I could collect an entire set of plates from watching television. It could be from the news, sit-coms, movies in any format and informational programs as well. I simply had to be able to read, the name of the state, on the plate.
Piece of cake....
.....thought I.
Hold on buckaroo! This is not as easy as it sounds. First, I printed out a list of the states, and as I found a plate, I would check it off and then write in the name of the show I was watching at the time I saw it. Idaho--FBI Files, Mississippi--Heat of the Night, Ohio--The Drew Carey Show. And so it went. I discovered this game became more and more difficult as more and more times than not, shows pixilated the plates. Grrrrrrr.
Eventually my list shortened, I was down to Nebraska, North Carolina, North Dakota, Rhode Island, South Dakota and West Virginia. I was about to quit this dumb game, I really didn't have anything to prove to anybody, all I had to do was chuck the list into the trash. However, I kept the list folded in a kitchen drawer and a couple more years went by. Occasionally I would see a plate on TV, dash to my list only to discover it was a plate I already had. I was very, very discouraged.
Finally I was down to two states. South Dakota and West Virginia. Then, while watching a mini marathon (of all shows imaginable---Monk) there before my very eyes was a vehicle with a license plate from South Dakota. I was beside myself. I dashed to my list, checked the state off, and added the name of the show.
Whooooo, hooooo. I'm down to my last state. "Come on West Virginia, I know you're out there."
I have to say I'm glad I didn't give up on this game. It proved to me I've got the stuff to "stick things out". It also proves I'm an idiot...who the heck expects an old woman who does nothing but ramble to still be playing a childhood game? But, then again maybe that's the whole point, it takes a rambling old woman.
Reality is, I can't wait till I find West Virginia, I'm going to use it as the first state on a new list, and start all over again. You have the guts to join me? I'm betting not. Beside, I'm betting I can complete my list before you anyway.
Friday, January 10, 2014
I had a dream
Yes, last night I had a dream. My dreams are always in color, and last night's was a hum-dinger.
We must go back in time, around the era of castles, kings, queens and maidens in waiting. Oh, there was a big ta-do going on. Apparently I was a participant in a wedding. Maid of Honor, no less.
I was getting ready for the event, being helped into my dress by some women I didn't recognize. They were pushing and pulling at me, trying to get this cumbersome garment over my head.
The gown seemed to be made of very heavy fabrics like wool and velvet. The neck line was v-shaped, puffy, violet red, and met in front at my boobies. It must have weighed ten pounds. The shoulders were padded, and the upper sleeves looked like balloons, tapering down to my elbows. The wrists were tight and kind of cut off the circulation to my fingers.
The gown was emerald green, wool I think, I just know it was very heavy and very hot. The bodice tight and slenderizing. I think I must have been stuffed into girdles and such in order for me to have gotten into the gown at all. The skirt was full, hung to the ground, had it been a lighter weight fabric it probably would have swished gently as I walked. As it was, it hung like a wall tapestry.
I could feel myself beginning to perspire. Still the women fussed about, preening. Finally a woman appeared with an emerald colored apparatus, that looked somewhat like decorative shelves, which she put around my waist, so that a shelf rested on each of my hips. From behind, she tied the two shelves together with a large, lacy, violet red bow. Thus another ten pounds was added to my attire.
By now, I needed help staying on my feet and I began to complain how hot I was, and that I was becoming light headed as well. It was as though the women could not hear me as they fussed with my hair, and powdered my nose.
Eventually I ready, at least as far as my entourage was concerned, because they hustled me out of my chamber, across a court yard, (thank goodness for the fresh, cooling, soothing air) and into a chapel where a waiting game began.
Finally, music swelled and I walked...well...(under all that extra weight)...stumbled down the aisle. The ceremony started. I announced they had better move this affair along, or I was going to swoon and slump to the floor in a soggy heap.
Suddenly I could take it no longer, and I began to rip my lovely violet red and emerald outfit apart. Off came the puffy neckline, off came the sleeves and I began to fumble with the bow in back. I came to realize, I was losing control of the dream and in reality I was kicking off my covers, and wiggling around like a worm on a hot plate.
When I was fully awake, the covers were in a heap at the foot of the bed, and I was moist with sweat. A-ha. This dream had no other meaning other than the fact that I was sleeping under my wintertime blankets, and with the rise of outdoor temperatures, indoor I didn't need them anymore. So it was, my subconscious took over and in a round-about, colorful and quite entertaining way it cooled off my body.
Boy, did I have a dream.
We must go back in time, around the era of castles, kings, queens and maidens in waiting. Oh, there was a big ta-do going on. Apparently I was a participant in a wedding. Maid of Honor, no less.
I was getting ready for the event, being helped into my dress by some women I didn't recognize. They were pushing and pulling at me, trying to get this cumbersome garment over my head.
The gown seemed to be made of very heavy fabrics like wool and velvet. The neck line was v-shaped, puffy, violet red, and met in front at my boobies. It must have weighed ten pounds. The shoulders were padded, and the upper sleeves looked like balloons, tapering down to my elbows. The wrists were tight and kind of cut off the circulation to my fingers.
The gown was emerald green, wool I think, I just know it was very heavy and very hot. The bodice tight and slenderizing. I think I must have been stuffed into girdles and such in order for me to have gotten into the gown at all. The skirt was full, hung to the ground, had it been a lighter weight fabric it probably would have swished gently as I walked. As it was, it hung like a wall tapestry.
I could feel myself beginning to perspire. Still the women fussed about, preening. Finally a woman appeared with an emerald colored apparatus, that looked somewhat like decorative shelves, which she put around my waist, so that a shelf rested on each of my hips. From behind, she tied the two shelves together with a large, lacy, violet red bow. Thus another ten pounds was added to my attire.
By now, I needed help staying on my feet and I began to complain how hot I was, and that I was becoming light headed as well. It was as though the women could not hear me as they fussed with my hair, and powdered my nose.
Eventually I ready, at least as far as my entourage was concerned, because they hustled me out of my chamber, across a court yard, (thank goodness for the fresh, cooling, soothing air) and into a chapel where a waiting game began.
Finally, music swelled and I walked...well...(under all that extra weight)...stumbled down the aisle. The ceremony started. I announced they had better move this affair along, or I was going to swoon and slump to the floor in a soggy heap.
Suddenly I could take it no longer, and I began to rip my lovely violet red and emerald outfit apart. Off came the puffy neckline, off came the sleeves and I began to fumble with the bow in back. I came to realize, I was losing control of the dream and in reality I was kicking off my covers, and wiggling around like a worm on a hot plate.
When I was fully awake, the covers were in a heap at the foot of the bed, and I was moist with sweat. A-ha. This dream had no other meaning other than the fact that I was sleeping under my wintertime blankets, and with the rise of outdoor temperatures, indoor I didn't need them anymore. So it was, my subconscious took over and in a round-about, colorful and quite entertaining way it cooled off my body.
Boy, did I have a dream.
Thursday, January 9, 2014
What do you know?
Well, color me surprised.
Yes, I'm always surprised when my Winter House Guest appears, as though from out of nowhere.
It was on the warm side this morning, outside, temperature-wise (44 degrees), and as a result it was just a tad warmer inside my house as well. I guess it was the 'spring like' warmth that had my house guest up and about early this morning.
I caught sight of him/her as I was about ready to exit the bathroom, he/she was slowly crawling up my bedroom drape. A second later CC caught sight of him/her as well. Oh, dear! I immediately tried to distract kitty from her intense stare at (I guess I'm going to have to come up with a name for my guest) (I think Bobby will do) Bobby, by squeaking out "kitty, kitty, kitty" in my best mouse sounding voice.
Fortunately, this brought Zorro on a run, and that sent CC leaping to the top of one of my chest of drawers.
I watched Bobby slowly meander up the drape wondering where my house guest was going. As long as Bobby was out of CC's reach I felt comfortable in letting him/her continue his/her voyage. I finished dressing and left the room, cat and dog following close behind.
One question continues to plague me, how does this creature survive? I've never put out food for it, and its choice of plant materials are confined to my avocado tree, three jades, two trumpets, two geraniums, and an elephant ears plant in the sun room. And, none of them show any signs of having their leaves chewed upon. I tell you it's a marvel and a mystery. Maybe Bobby survives by chewing on whatever is entangled in the dust bunnies under my bed. Lord only knows what's in those.
Anyway, if you want a low maintenance house guest, I can certainly recommend a Shield Bug. They come and go, are very quiet, not intrusive, and are very well behaved, and best of all they don't expect to be entertained. I simply let Bobby in at fall, and will let Bobby out come spring, in between, we occasionally meet in quite unusual places, at quite unusual times, exchange pleasantries and then go along our ways.
I just went to check on Bobby, and after close inspection of the drapery, I discovered he/she has once more vanished. I've no doubt, when I least expect it, Bobby will show up, somewhere.
I just hope it's not left-overs from a CC snack.
Yes, I'm always surprised when my Winter House Guest appears, as though from out of nowhere.
It was on the warm side this morning, outside, temperature-wise (44 degrees), and as a result it was just a tad warmer inside my house as well. I guess it was the 'spring like' warmth that had my house guest up and about early this morning.
I caught sight of him/her as I was about ready to exit the bathroom, he/she was slowly crawling up my bedroom drape. A second later CC caught sight of him/her as well. Oh, dear! I immediately tried to distract kitty from her intense stare at (I guess I'm going to have to come up with a name for my guest) (I think Bobby will do) Bobby, by squeaking out "kitty, kitty, kitty" in my best mouse sounding voice.
Fortunately, this brought Zorro on a run, and that sent CC leaping to the top of one of my chest of drawers.
I watched Bobby slowly meander up the drape wondering where my house guest was going. As long as Bobby was out of CC's reach I felt comfortable in letting him/her continue his/her voyage. I finished dressing and left the room, cat and dog following close behind.
One question continues to plague me, how does this creature survive? I've never put out food for it, and its choice of plant materials are confined to my avocado tree, three jades, two trumpets, two geraniums, and an elephant ears plant in the sun room. And, none of them show any signs of having their leaves chewed upon. I tell you it's a marvel and a mystery. Maybe Bobby survives by chewing on whatever is entangled in the dust bunnies under my bed. Lord only knows what's in those.
Anyway, if you want a low maintenance house guest, I can certainly recommend a Shield Bug. They come and go, are very quiet, not intrusive, and are very well behaved, and best of all they don't expect to be entertained. I simply let Bobby in at fall, and will let Bobby out come spring, in between, we occasionally meet in quite unusual places, at quite unusual times, exchange pleasantries and then go along our ways.
I just went to check on Bobby, and after close inspection of the drapery, I discovered he/she has once more vanished. I've no doubt, when I least expect it, Bobby will show up, somewhere.
I just hope it's not left-overs from a CC snack.
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
PCH
Oh, yes, we've all been there, at one time or another, sucked in by that large envelope that comes in the mail.
On the outside it says in big bold print "YOU MAY ALREADY BE A WINNER".
I've always thrown them away without even opening them. Until last year when finances for the nation, city and us citizens took a dive into our toilets. I figured what the heck. So, early in the year, I carefully followed the instructions (so I would not disqualify myself), even bought a couple of things (hoping to increase my odds) ROFLMAO, and sent the whole shebang back to PCH.
Then, I waited, and waited, and waited.
Nobody came to my door with a giant sized check (in any amount) and a big bunch of red roses. I was not surprised. I think my chance of winning anything was one in a bazillion. But the only thing it cost me was the price of a stamp, and the things I purchased and didn't really want or need, so through the whole process I was still hopeful to the bitter end.
So, even though I didn't win the first time, later in the year when a second packet appeared in my mailbox I figured, what the heck and again CAREFULLY FOLLOWED the instructions and returned the papers to PCH. A while later, I got a mysterious little card in the mail. It was upbeat and unlike anything I had received the first time around. It guaranteed my number was a winner, but I now had to return just a bit more information to remain eligible for my prize. I immediately returned the required information.
Then yesterday in my mailbox was another small, curious envelope from PCH. On the outside in red letters it read URGENT: TIME SENSITIVE.
I checked the return address, it states this came from the OFFICE OF THE SR. VICE PRESIDENT at PCH. Wow, I was impressed. In my head I thought perhaps I was indeed on a special winners list and couldn't wait to tear open the envelope and see what the vice president wanted me to do.
Inside across the top, in very big white letters against a black background it read.
WARNING URGENT NOTICE oh me, oh my, I was told I needed to go to a specific page on the PCH website and insert a mysterious activation code that will "allow me to continue and obtain a valid entry that will be added to the winner selection list."
Now, I'm no dummy, I know this is a scam, and did from the start, still I could not help myself, I had to play this out to the end...and besides, so far all this cost me was a few USPS stamps, what did I have to lose?
I rush to my computer, type in the website address and sure enough I'm at the "special page". All I have to do to proceed to the winner selection list is provide them with my personal information and e-mail address, and leave a comment if I choose.
Okay, I've carried this thing as far as I choose. The scam was complete. Oh, can you imagine the junk mail I would start receiving if I actually filled out this information. As a final gesture, I tried to see if I could leave a comment without having to fill out my personal information, using words a polite old woman would not usually use, and of course discovered that was not possible.
So, I left the "special PCH page", took my urgent letter and put it through my shredder.
Insert several sighs here.
I guess I will not have somebody coming to my door with a giant sized check and a bouquet of red roses any time soon.
Oh, and PCH, here's part of the comment I would have liked to have left you.
You can kiss my..........!
On the outside it says in big bold print "YOU MAY ALREADY BE A WINNER".
I've always thrown them away without even opening them. Until last year when finances for the nation, city and us citizens took a dive into our toilets. I figured what the heck. So, early in the year, I carefully followed the instructions (so I would not disqualify myself), even bought a couple of things (hoping to increase my odds) ROFLMAO, and sent the whole shebang back to PCH.
Then, I waited, and waited, and waited.
Nobody came to my door with a giant sized check (in any amount) and a big bunch of red roses. I was not surprised. I think my chance of winning anything was one in a bazillion. But the only thing it cost me was the price of a stamp, and the things I purchased and didn't really want or need, so through the whole process I was still hopeful to the bitter end.
So, even though I didn't win the first time, later in the year when a second packet appeared in my mailbox I figured, what the heck and again CAREFULLY FOLLOWED the instructions and returned the papers to PCH. A while later, I got a mysterious little card in the mail. It was upbeat and unlike anything I had received the first time around. It guaranteed my number was a winner, but I now had to return just a bit more information to remain eligible for my prize. I immediately returned the required information.
Then yesterday in my mailbox was another small, curious envelope from PCH. On the outside in red letters it read URGENT: TIME SENSITIVE.
I checked the return address, it states this came from the OFFICE OF THE SR. VICE PRESIDENT at PCH. Wow, I was impressed. In my head I thought perhaps I was indeed on a special winners list and couldn't wait to tear open the envelope and see what the vice president wanted me to do.
Inside across the top, in very big white letters against a black background it read.
WARNING URGENT NOTICE oh me, oh my, I was told I needed to go to a specific page on the PCH website and insert a mysterious activation code that will "allow me to continue and obtain a valid entry that will be added to the winner selection list."
Now, I'm no dummy, I know this is a scam, and did from the start, still I could not help myself, I had to play this out to the end...and besides, so far all this cost me was a few USPS stamps, what did I have to lose?
I rush to my computer, type in the website address and sure enough I'm at the "special page". All I have to do to proceed to the winner selection list is provide them with my personal information and e-mail address, and leave a comment if I choose.
Okay, I've carried this thing as far as I choose. The scam was complete. Oh, can you imagine the junk mail I would start receiving if I actually filled out this information. As a final gesture, I tried to see if I could leave a comment without having to fill out my personal information, using words a polite old woman would not usually use, and of course discovered that was not possible.
So, I left the "special PCH page", took my urgent letter and put it through my shredder.
Insert several sighs here.
I guess I will not have somebody coming to my door with a giant sized check and a bouquet of red roses any time soon.
Oh, and PCH, here's part of the comment I would have liked to have left you.
You can kiss my..........!
Monday, January 6, 2014
So, something new.
Well, I've lived a pretty long time now....and you'd think I've learned just about everything I'd ever want to know. I'm always pleased to discover there's something new out there to tickle my fancy just about every day.
So, here I go again...although this has been a scientific phenomenon for quite some time, last week was the first time in my life I've heard the term Polar Vortex. I had no idea there was such a thing. But since severe cold has been plaguing the country, more and more channels are throwing those two words around in wild abandon. I thought perhaps I should educate myself on this matter.
This is what I learned: First, these vortexes not only happen here on earth, but in space as well. Apparently they happen at the poles of planets such as Mars as well. There is also record of one on Saturn's moon Titan.
Fascinated, I further discovered, thank you, Wikipedia. "Vortexes are persistent, large-scale cyclones located near one or both of a planet's geographical poles. On Earth, they surround polar highs, and lie in the wake of the polar front. These cold-core low-pressure areas strengthen in the winter and weaken in the summer. They usually span 620–1,240 miles in which the air is circulating in a counter-clockwise fashion (in the northern hemisphere).
The Arctic vortex has two centers, one near Baffin Island and the other over northeast Siberia. In the southern hemisphere, it tends to be located near the edge of the Ross Ice Shelf. When the polar vortex is strong, the Westerlies increase in strength. When the polar cyclone is weak, the general flow pattern across mid-latitudes buckles and significant cold outbreaks occur. Ozone depletion occurs within the polar vortex, particularly over the Southern Hemisphere, which reaches its maximum in the spring."
Also, according to Wikipedia, "Polar lows (Vortexes) were first identified on the meteorological satellite imagery that became available in the 1960s, which revealed many small-scale cloud vortexes at high latitudes. The most active polar lows are found over certain ice-free maritime areas in or near the Arctic during the winter, such as the Norwegian Sea, Barents Sea, Labrador Sea, and Gulf of Alaska. Polar lows dissipate rapidly when they make landfall. Antarctic systems tend to be weaker than their northern counterparts since the air-sea temperature differences around the continent are generally smaller. However, vigorous polar lows can be found over the Southern Ocean."
One final tidbit to tell you about, Polar Vortexes are difficult to forecast in advance and are mostly discovered on a short term basis know in the Meteorologists term "Nowcasting" which could mean as sort a time frame of six hours before a meteorological event occurs. (No wonder they occasionally get things wrong.)
So, there you have it, in a nutshell, you now know as much as you will ever want to know about Polar Vortexes. Just another walk down my path of Useless Information.
So, here I go again...although this has been a scientific phenomenon for quite some time, last week was the first time in my life I've heard the term Polar Vortex. I had no idea there was such a thing. But since severe cold has been plaguing the country, more and more channels are throwing those two words around in wild abandon. I thought perhaps I should educate myself on this matter.
This is what I learned: First, these vortexes not only happen here on earth, but in space as well. Apparently they happen at the poles of planets such as Mars as well. There is also record of one on Saturn's moon Titan.
Fascinated, I further discovered, thank you, Wikipedia. "Vortexes are persistent, large-scale cyclones located near one or both of a planet's geographical poles. On Earth, they surround polar highs, and lie in the wake of the polar front. These cold-core low-pressure areas strengthen in the winter and weaken in the summer. They usually span 620–1,240 miles in which the air is circulating in a counter-clockwise fashion (in the northern hemisphere).
The Arctic vortex has two centers, one near Baffin Island and the other over northeast Siberia. In the southern hemisphere, it tends to be located near the edge of the Ross Ice Shelf. When the polar vortex is strong, the Westerlies increase in strength. When the polar cyclone is weak, the general flow pattern across mid-latitudes buckles and significant cold outbreaks occur. Ozone depletion occurs within the polar vortex, particularly over the Southern Hemisphere, which reaches its maximum in the spring."
Also, according to Wikipedia, "Polar lows (Vortexes) were first identified on the meteorological satellite imagery that became available in the 1960s, which revealed many small-scale cloud vortexes at high latitudes. The most active polar lows are found over certain ice-free maritime areas in or near the Arctic during the winter, such as the Norwegian Sea, Barents Sea, Labrador Sea, and Gulf of Alaska. Polar lows dissipate rapidly when they make landfall. Antarctic systems tend to be weaker than their northern counterparts since the air-sea temperature differences around the continent are generally smaller. However, vigorous polar lows can be found over the Southern Ocean."
One final tidbit to tell you about, Polar Vortexes are difficult to forecast in advance and are mostly discovered on a short term basis know in the Meteorologists term "Nowcasting" which could mean as sort a time frame of six hours before a meteorological event occurs. (No wonder they occasionally get things wrong.)
So, there you have it, in a nutshell, you now know as much as you will ever want to know about Polar Vortexes. Just another walk down my path of Useless Information.
Sunday, January 5, 2014
It's an amazing day!
The sky is Robin's egg blue.
The atmosphere is as clean and clear as a newly washed, and polished window.
The breeze is crisp and crackly.
The frost lingers in shady spots, and likely will all day.
Tiny, iridescent humming birds flit hither and yon, drinking nectar from the feeders.
It's an amazing day!
Saturday, January 4, 2014
I want to talk about beds,
or at least about making them.
What has always been a puzzlement to me is how and why people do not make their beds every morning. Seriously, how in the world are you able to leave your bedroom with the sheets and all those blankets in a jumble? I confess, even the thought of that drives me crazy. Any, why, for heaven sakes do you do that?
I mean, there you are at the side of the bed, maybe stretching your muscles, or maybe even scratching you butt, give yourself a quarter or half turn, and you're facing the bed, reach over, pull up, and straighten the sheet and blankets. There, you are half way done. All you have to do is walk around the foot of the bed, turn on your blinker, make a right, or left turn, another quarter turn and taaa, daaaa. You've pulled up the sheet and covers on the other side of the bed.
Next, you put the pillows in place, and throw up the bed spread, (or whatever you call the thing that covers the blankets and pillows and you're done... in less than half a minute your bed in made.
How hard can it be? I suspect you have yourselves convinced you don't have the time, or that you were brought up not to have to make your bed, so it's 'what's the big deal kind of thing'. That's okay....I guess....still, I simply don't get it.
As a kid, it was part of our morning routine that we didn't leave our bed room without making the bed. We would wait our turn for the bath room, wash, dress, and MAKE THE BED. Then head for the kitchen and breakfast.
My own kids had a similar routine. They got up, waited for their turn in the bath room, (folded their towels, took their personal items, and left the room in perfect order for the person who came next) and finally they made their beds before leaving their rooms. It was by no means a punishment, it was showing respect for themselves, for anyone who happened to come home with them after school, and for me.
It wasn't that I made them change the linens every week. That was my job and I did it with love and respect for them. Every Friday I dusted and vacuumed their rooms. The rule was simple...if you want it, put it where it belongs...if you don't come Friday, it will be thrown away. I never had a problem with neat and tidy rooms.
Oh, they may have talked about me behind my back...they probably did...I didn't and today don't care if they did or not. I was the parent, they were the kid, and it was my job to teach them responsibility. And, so it went for many, many years.
Anyway, back to the beds and the making thereof. Personally, I like a made bed. It makes me feel good to enter my room any time during the day and find things in place. I like knowing come bedtime, I can pull down the spread, fold back the sheet and blankets and slip in between them, and cover up to my neck in comfort and warmth. And even though the sheets may not have been changed that day, the fact they are not rumpled from my morning exit, there is the illusion that I cared enough about myself, to at least have gotten rid of the wrinkles, and made sure there were no pajamas or damp bath room towel to extract before I could (lay/lie) down.
I know I'm not going to change anybody with this blog, that's not why I wrote it. I'm simply saying...I don't get you. I've had lots of folks explain to me why it does not matter to them the bed is unmade. They are indeed busy, they (frankly) don't give a damn, they were never were told they were required to, therefore, it doesn't matter. And, finally, the best excuse ever "the bed was made for sleeping, not making". Whatever!
Let me ask you this, how does your spouse, partner, housemate, roommates feel about your bed making choice? Have you ever inquired? Is that choice a source of
discord? Are you compatible? Are you both neat and tidy, or messy and unkempt? Little stuff like this matters if you are just starting out, choose wisely my friend...making a bed or not making it can cause a 'whole heap of trouble'.
My bed has been made since 7:30 this morning, has yours?
What has always been a puzzlement to me is how and why people do not make their beds every morning. Seriously, how in the world are you able to leave your bedroom with the sheets and all those blankets in a jumble? I confess, even the thought of that drives me crazy. Any, why, for heaven sakes do you do that?
I mean, there you are at the side of the bed, maybe stretching your muscles, or maybe even scratching you butt, give yourself a quarter or half turn, and you're facing the bed, reach over, pull up, and straighten the sheet and blankets. There, you are half way done. All you have to do is walk around the foot of the bed, turn on your blinker, make a right, or left turn, another quarter turn and taaa, daaaa. You've pulled up the sheet and covers on the other side of the bed.
Next, you put the pillows in place, and throw up the bed spread, (or whatever you call the thing that covers the blankets and pillows and you're done... in less than half a minute your bed in made.
How hard can it be? I suspect you have yourselves convinced you don't have the time, or that you were brought up not to have to make your bed, so it's 'what's the big deal kind of thing'. That's okay....I guess....still, I simply don't get it.
As a kid, it was part of our morning routine that we didn't leave our bed room without making the bed. We would wait our turn for the bath room, wash, dress, and MAKE THE BED. Then head for the kitchen and breakfast.
My own kids had a similar routine. They got up, waited for their turn in the bath room, (folded their towels, took their personal items, and left the room in perfect order for the person who came next) and finally they made their beds before leaving their rooms. It was by no means a punishment, it was showing respect for themselves, for anyone who happened to come home with them after school, and for me.
It wasn't that I made them change the linens every week. That was my job and I did it with love and respect for them. Every Friday I dusted and vacuumed their rooms. The rule was simple...if you want it, put it where it belongs...if you don't come Friday, it will be thrown away. I never had a problem with neat and tidy rooms.
Oh, they may have talked about me behind my back...they probably did...I didn't and today don't care if they did or not. I was the parent, they were the kid, and it was my job to teach them responsibility. And, so it went for many, many years.
Anyway, back to the beds and the making thereof. Personally, I like a made bed. It makes me feel good to enter my room any time during the day and find things in place. I like knowing come bedtime, I can pull down the spread, fold back the sheet and blankets and slip in between them, and cover up to my neck in comfort and warmth. And even though the sheets may not have been changed that day, the fact they are not rumpled from my morning exit, there is the illusion that I cared enough about myself, to at least have gotten rid of the wrinkles, and made sure there were no pajamas or damp bath room towel to extract before I could (lay/lie) down.
I know I'm not going to change anybody with this blog, that's not why I wrote it. I'm simply saying...I don't get you. I've had lots of folks explain to me why it does not matter to them the bed is unmade. They are indeed busy, they (frankly) don't give a damn, they were never were told they were required to, therefore, it doesn't matter. And, finally, the best excuse ever "the bed was made for sleeping, not making". Whatever!
Let me ask you this, how does your spouse, partner, housemate, roommates feel about your bed making choice? Have you ever inquired? Is that choice a source of
discord? Are you compatible? Are you both neat and tidy, or messy and unkempt? Little stuff like this matters if you are just starting out, choose wisely my friend...making a bed or not making it can cause a 'whole heap of trouble'.
My bed has been made since 7:30 this morning, has yours?
Friday, January 3, 2014
Grrrrrrrrr!!!!!!!!!!
I'm so angry I could spit tacks.
Every year....every dang year, my computer goes whack-o in January. Always in the first week, and always leaving me in turmoil trying to get things back to the way they were.
Last night it happened ... again ... ... ... ...
I was checking out the cameras in Times Square, because I wanted to see and watch the snow fall. I was having a ball. There were guys trying to shovel the snow off the plaza and steps, and town folk and travelers were walking about, some snapping pictures. It was wonderful, it was beautiful, it was exciting.
Then I remembered there are cameras on Fifth Avenue as well. And, since it is not nearly as busy I decided to check out those, too. Oh, the scene was so magical, right out of a Hollywood movie set. I was enthralled.
All of a sudden, my screen went black. (It seemed like forever.) Then I got a message in huge white letters that my computer had detected a problem and was going to "shut down". Uh-oh.
It did...that sucker clicked off quicker than I can snap my fingers.
I sat there in terror.
Frankie heard me scream and came running. She tried to encourage me to "let it go", "go to bed", "tackle the problem in the morning".
I could have and I probably should have. But, I couldn't. With gravest depredation I turned the computer on. I got that dreaded screen telling me I could turn the computer on in SAFE MODE only. Which I did. Damn, that is so scary.
Anyway, after a very, very long time, literally hours...yes, literally, I got my computer mostly back to normal. I was able to move around the Internet, and get back into my computer programs.
This morning I'm still getting some error messages that tell me certain files are missing, and I've got to try to get them back. I'm thinking I'm going to have to set a new recovery time to early yesterday morning, when my computer was working well.
I hate having to do that, cause I never know for sure that's going to work the way I want it to, and maybe I'm going to open a whole new 'can of worms'...that shouldn't happen...but it might...it certainly could...and maybe will.
Sigh.
So if things go amok and you don't hear from me for a while, just know I'm at war with my computer and I'll be back as soon as I can.
Damn computer, damn January....mutter, mutter, mutter.
Every year....every dang year, my computer goes whack-o in January. Always in the first week, and always leaving me in turmoil trying to get things back to the way they were.
Last night it happened ... again ... ... ... ...
I was checking out the cameras in Times Square, because I wanted to see and watch the snow fall. I was having a ball. There were guys trying to shovel the snow off the plaza and steps, and town folk and travelers were walking about, some snapping pictures. It was wonderful, it was beautiful, it was exciting.
Then I remembered there are cameras on Fifth Avenue as well. And, since it is not nearly as busy I decided to check out those, too. Oh, the scene was so magical, right out of a Hollywood movie set. I was enthralled.
All of a sudden, my screen went black. (It seemed like forever.) Then I got a message in huge white letters that my computer had detected a problem and was going to "shut down". Uh-oh.
It did...that sucker clicked off quicker than I can snap my fingers.
I sat there in terror.
Frankie heard me scream and came running. She tried to encourage me to "let it go", "go to bed", "tackle the problem in the morning".
I could have and I probably should have. But, I couldn't. With gravest depredation I turned the computer on. I got that dreaded screen telling me I could turn the computer on in SAFE MODE only. Which I did. Damn, that is so scary.
Anyway, after a very, very long time, literally hours...yes, literally, I got my computer mostly back to normal. I was able to move around the Internet, and get back into my computer programs.
This morning I'm still getting some error messages that tell me certain files are missing, and I've got to try to get them back. I'm thinking I'm going to have to set a new recovery time to early yesterday morning, when my computer was working well.
I hate having to do that, cause I never know for sure that's going to work the way I want it to, and maybe I'm going to open a whole new 'can of worms'...that shouldn't happen...but it might...it certainly could...and maybe will.
Sigh.
So if things go amok and you don't hear from me for a while, just know I'm at war with my computer and I'll be back as soon as I can.
Damn computer, damn January....mutter, mutter, mutter.
Thursday, January 2, 2014
Am I blue?
I have to say, this weather is getting me under it. My favorite people (meteorologists) told me yesterday last year was the fifth driest since records have been kept at our local airport. Oh, I believe them this time, because I live here and have first hand knowledge that is a true statement. This has me just a tad spooked. I don't like that we don't have rain this time of year, no I don't like it at all.
I like when the temperatures flux between ten to twelve degrees every day, between the mid thirties to mid forties. I get that, it means there will be lots of cloudy, drizzly days, and some days with downpours. That's normal! That's acceptable! That's likable!
What I don't like is no rain, unusual temperature fluxes, and inversions that cause stagnant air up and down the valley. No siree bub, I don't like those a bit. And, as for the lack of snow on the mountains, that situation is bleak, terribly bleak, as far as the ski season goes. We have a lodge here that puts up a metal tunnel in front of their entrance, that (by this time of Winter) becomes covered with feet and feet of snow. Last week a news crew showed the front of the lodge, and there is no snow covering the tunnel...not one bit. No snow means no spring and summer water run-off for the rivers, and that means no water for the local reservoirs, and that means possible drought conditions next summer. It could get ug---ly!
Finally, and don't get me wrong, I like the fog, I truly do, but I have to say, the fog has been pretty strange this year, too. When I pull the drapes shut at bedtime, the fog is already hovering around the street lights, and in the morning, it is still blanketing the trees, chimneys and roofs of the houses here in the neighborhood, day after dreary day. Not only that, it is extending up and down the valley, impeding traffic along the interstate highway. It's all...well...weird.
All I want is normal. Am I blue? Yes, yes I am.
I wish, instead of the edjucated metrolgists boasting how 'right they are' in predicting what's going to happen in the next seven days, they would put their energies into convincing people our planet is in serious, serious trouble. That we need to do something serious, serious to clean up the atmosphere and get back on track in making good old earth livable again, not just for us, but for our four legged friends like polar bears, pandas, lizards, birds and even snakes, too.
In other words, bring on the rain...bring on the mountain snow...bring on the 'funk'...bring on the blue.
.
I like when the temperatures flux between ten to twelve degrees every day, between the mid thirties to mid forties. I get that, it means there will be lots of cloudy, drizzly days, and some days with downpours. That's normal! That's acceptable! That's likable!
What I don't like is no rain, unusual temperature fluxes, and inversions that cause stagnant air up and down the valley. No siree bub, I don't like those a bit. And, as for the lack of snow on the mountains, that situation is bleak, terribly bleak, as far as the ski season goes. We have a lodge here that puts up a metal tunnel in front of their entrance, that (by this time of Winter) becomes covered with feet and feet of snow. Last week a news crew showed the front of the lodge, and there is no snow covering the tunnel...not one bit. No snow means no spring and summer water run-off for the rivers, and that means no water for the local reservoirs, and that means possible drought conditions next summer. It could get ug---ly!
Finally, and don't get me wrong, I like the fog, I truly do, but I have to say, the fog has been pretty strange this year, too. When I pull the drapes shut at bedtime, the fog is already hovering around the street lights, and in the morning, it is still blanketing the trees, chimneys and roofs of the houses here in the neighborhood, day after dreary day. Not only that, it is extending up and down the valley, impeding traffic along the interstate highway. It's all...well...weird.
All I want is normal. Am I blue? Yes, yes I am.
I wish, instead of the edjucated metrolgists boasting how 'right they are' in predicting what's going to happen in the next seven days, they would put their energies into convincing people our planet is in serious, serious trouble. That we need to do something serious, serious to clean up the atmosphere and get back on track in making good old earth livable again, not just for us, but for our four legged friends like polar bears, pandas, lizards, birds and even snakes, too.
In other words, bring on the rain...bring on the mountain snow...bring on the 'funk'...bring on the blue.
.
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
Bye, bye 2013
And so a new year begins.
Are you prepared?
Oh, I think on some level we all have those inner thoughts and feelings about what we are going to accomplish this year, and what those around us expect us to accomplish this year. I hope I don't disappoint myself or you either.
Actually, I thankful just being alive. Truth be told when the century ended fourteen years ago, I never realized I would be here today. When that year turned over, it was tough. I was reminded that my birth year was really, really close...in just 37 years...if I was lucky...I would turn 100 years old. Thirty seven, thirty seven, short, short years.
This morning the cold realization is, fourteen of them are already gone. Poof, no fanfare, no parade, hip-hip hoorays. Just poof. Off they went in a puff of smoke.
Man, I've still a lot of living to do. There's a heck of a lot I've not done...yet. Mostly I want to establish my little company, and have it well entrenched that I can be proud to leave it to my kiddo's for posterity, and perhaps a little income as well.
I know, truly, I know, you are all sick to death of me speaking about this. And I wish I could promise you this is the last time. But it's not. My company means the world to me, it's the reason I have for getting up in the morning. As soon as I open my eyes, my grey matter is already contemplating what I can create during the day.
I also know most of you can't afford to buy from my store, or maybe it's that you don't trust the merchandise thinking it's cheap, and not worth your money. I can guarantee the merchandise is well made. Or, maybe you simply don't like shopping on line, that's okay too. But, maybe you can do me a favor and at least spread the word to your friends and extended family members to at least take a peek at what Gues Who Originals has to offer so that maybe I can make a few bucks this year.
Okay, at the moment, that's all I have to say about that...today.
So, back to the new year. As 2037 creeps closer and closer, I begin 2014 full of anticipation, excitement and desire...I'm filled with hopes and dreams. And, maybe, just maybe, I'll have my health and mental faculties for the next 23 years and beyond. Oh, yeah...you can count on it, you've not heard the last...............
from..............
Gues Who.
Happy New Year everybody, HAPPY NEW YEAR.
Frankie, Zorro, CC and Me.
Are you prepared?
Oh, I think on some level we all have those inner thoughts and feelings about what we are going to accomplish this year, and what those around us expect us to accomplish this year. I hope I don't disappoint myself or you either.
Actually, I thankful just being alive. Truth be told when the century ended fourteen years ago, I never realized I would be here today. When that year turned over, it was tough. I was reminded that my birth year was really, really close...in just 37 years...if I was lucky...I would turn 100 years old. Thirty seven, thirty seven, short, short years.
This morning the cold realization is, fourteen of them are already gone. Poof, no fanfare, no parade, hip-hip hoorays. Just poof. Off they went in a puff of smoke.
Man, I've still a lot of living to do. There's a heck of a lot I've not done...yet. Mostly I want to establish my little company, and have it well entrenched that I can be proud to leave it to my kiddo's for posterity, and perhaps a little income as well.
I know, truly, I know, you are all sick to death of me speaking about this. And I wish I could promise you this is the last time. But it's not. My company means the world to me, it's the reason I have for getting up in the morning. As soon as I open my eyes, my grey matter is already contemplating what I can create during the day.
I also know most of you can't afford to buy from my store, or maybe it's that you don't trust the merchandise thinking it's cheap, and not worth your money. I can guarantee the merchandise is well made. Or, maybe you simply don't like shopping on line, that's okay too. But, maybe you can do me a favor and at least spread the word to your friends and extended family members to at least take a peek at what Gues Who Originals has to offer so that maybe I can make a few bucks this year.
Okay, at the moment, that's all I have to say about that...today.
So, back to the new year. As 2037 creeps closer and closer, I begin 2014 full of anticipation, excitement and desire...I'm filled with hopes and dreams. And, maybe, just maybe, I'll have my health and mental faculties for the next 23 years and beyond. Oh, yeah...you can count on it, you've not heard the last...............
from..............
Gues Who.
Happy New Year everybody, HAPPY NEW YEAR.
Frankie, Zorro, CC and Me.
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