Have you ever been 'stuck on something'?

Well I have.  Ever since I wrote my Blog yesterday, I've been thinking a lot about things people used to say that people don't (so much) anymore.  Like for instance, 'well, ain't that a fine how do you do'.  This was so much on my mind I started to write a list, so here for your reading enjoyment is the list of the sayings I remember coming and going in my lifetime.

Isn't that just honkie-dorry?

Well, isn't that a fine kettle of fish?

Have you ever 'jumped from the frying pan right into the fire'.

Or, had a job turn out so easy, 'It was like shooting fish in a barrel'.

Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle, or perhaps, well, I'll be a Son of a Gun.

And, You can bet your sweet bippy on that!

Yeah, well, so's yu'r ole' man.

Here's one I've heard two different ways,  Ain't that the cat's meow, or ain't that the cat's pajamas.  (Like cats wear pajamas!)  (Well, these days, maybe some do.)

Remember those mornings when you awoke and felt 'fine as frog's hair', or 'fit as fiddle'?

Have you ever been angry enough to want to 'punch somebody in the 'snoot' 'or, 'punch their lights out'?

Or, done something so stupid you could 'kiss those sweet patooties goodbye'?

"Holy Mackerel!"

Or, perhaps you had something hit you like of 'ton of bricks', or a 'streak of lighting'.

I've even spent time, lots of time, looking for a 'what-not' and a 'thing-a-ma-jig', have you?

What the heck is a 'wa-cha-ma-callit'?

And, on occasion, I've had more fun than 'a barrel full of monkeys'.

Did you ever 'squeak by' on 'the seat of your pants'?

Maybe, you boss told you to keep it short...'like kissing your brother'.

Of course there were times when you were supposed to 'save it for a rainy day'.

Or, do you remember how hard it was to 'wait until the cows come home'.

Don't that just put 'a wrinkle in your sheets'?

And, one of my favorites; "Don't worry honey. 'It'll get better before you get married'."

Has anybody ever told you to 'get off your high horse' before they knock you off?

Well, I guess I'd better stop 'chawin' at ya', and 'git' ta gittin', 'a-fore the sun goes down'.

So, Till next time, "Just keep a laughin' and a scratchin."

Isn't that a fine how do you do

It's a little after 5:30 AM, CC is at the edge of the bed, and she's kneading on the box springs. Well, better the box springs than my face.  I had awakened earlier and turned on the TV. Since I've not watched the (First, Live, Local) news for several days I thought perhaps it might be wise to catch up on what was happening locally, you know, who got shot, who got stabbed, who got robbed, etc, etc.

Anyway, I occasionally dozed off, which of course means I really was not learning anything at all, but when my kitty arrived on the scene with her scritch, scritch, scritching, the first words that actually registered in my brain were "Isn't that a fine how do you do."

What did he just say?  Man, I've not heard that expression for years, I'm talking decades.  What made this even more amazing was the fact it came from a young 'whipper-snapper', and he was one of them edjukated metrolgists.  Yep, there he was in his 'fancy-dancy' suit telling me it was a 'fine how do you do'.

Okay, I know this has no relevance to news whatsoever, and of no importance either but it struck me funny. "Now, ain't that a fine how do you do." And, I began to wonder where this expression came from. Get ready, here's it comes, today's entry of useless information.   

The first two are from thefreedictionary.com 

 Fine how do you do

an unpleasant situation. (Said with surprise.) This is a fine how do you do! Someone left a big puddle of motor oil in my driveway. John saw his girlfriend out with another young man. He walked up to her and said, "Well, isn't this a fine how do you do!"

That's a fine how do you do

Inf. That is a terrible situation. Well, that's a fine how-do-you-do! I tried to call Mary, and her number is disconnected! That's a fine how-do-you-do. I come home and find the kids are playing catch with my best crystal bowl. 

And from Wordreference.com ....""Here's <that's> a nice <pretty> how-d'ye-do!''"  (I have not included the Internet names of the persons who penned these entries because I was not sure they would appreciate a stranger posting them in a blog.)  However, I welcome their input, and as I say you can find these entries in the Wordreference.com website. 

 "I think this expression is pretty idiomatic in English: "here's a nice how-do-you-do".It might mean: "hmm...now we have a small problem" or "well, look at what has happened now." or "Now what the hell can I do about this?" or something like "Wow! That's good news. Unexpected, but good.""

"Let the native English speakers correct me, if I am wrong. Laurel and Hardy wee a comedy team many years ago. Hardy often said to Laurel "This is a fine how-do-you-do you've gotten us into!" He also said "This is a fine mess you've gotten us into!" To me a how-do-you-do is a confusing situation or a spot of trouble. The other suggestions in the (above) post could also work, depending on the situation, but the last one - about unexpected news, is not one I've heard."

I remember hearing this expression frequently as I was growing up, and I wonder why it's not used any more, it seems it would still be appropriate in many situations.  Personally, I think it's kind of sad these 'old time' sayings have become obsolete sooo I challenge you to find a way to work this idiom into one of your conversations today.   

Now is that 'just a fine how do you do' I've got you into?  (See how easy that was?)
              

It's the simple things

I don't know about you, but for me the most simple thing can make my day, bring a lump to my throat and tear to my eye.

As with most older folk I don't have a lot of cash to throw around, and I don't want to say I'm a tightwad...well... maybe I am...so when something unexpected throws my budget into a tail spin I tend to crash around the house like a wild bull elephant, cursing, gnashing, and tearing my clothing asunder.  

Such was my attitude and composure last night.  Just before bedtime I checked my kitchen freezer to see if my homemade ice creams were 'setting up', when I heard a funny click you know, the sound your fridge makes when it wants to turn on. However, I got nothing, just the click.  "Hmmm", I says to myself,  "Well, that ain't right."  So I close the freezer door, open the refrigerator door and stand there waving the door back and forth trying to force the warm room air into the fridge in order to make the thermostat fall and start the refrigerator motor. Again, I got 'nuttin'.  

(Time passed.)

A while later I repeat the process, first by opening the freezer door, and then the refrigerator door.  This time I turn the thermostat knob off, wait a minute or two and turn the knob back on to my normal setting. CLICK.  That was it...CLICK.

It was about this time I began to think those nasty words in my brain.  Oh yes, you know the ones, they generally have four letters.  Anyway, I repeat the procedure, opening and closing both doors, CLICK, (silence) hoping this time the fridge motor would start.  CLICK, (silence).  Sigh.  

By now it's after 11 PM, what the heck can I do at this hour of the night.  I do what any frustrated, swearing, rambling old woman would do.  I took a pill, turned out the lights and went to bed, fulling expecting to find a kitchen floor overrun with water and a freezer full of defrosted food.  

Fast forward.  It's 5:30 AM.  I'm laying in bed, and through my early morning fog, swims my refrigerator. Oh yeah now I remember, I've got to face a kitchen mess, call a repair man, and wonder how I'm going to come up with the money for that, since my check does not arrive for another two weeks.  Sigh.  

You know that old expression "drag your heels", that's what I did.  First I refused to budge out of bed, then I finally threw the blankets back and sat at the edge of the bed.  I sat, and sat, and sat.  Eventually Zorro's bounding about in his early morning exuberance caused me to reach for my slippers.  The inevitable was about to happen.  

Slowly, ever so slowly, swearing under my breath, still dragging my heels, I ventured down the hall, across the living room and around the corner.  

WHAT??????  There was no water on the floor, no melting ice cream creeping out from under the freezer door.  I reach for the refrigerator door and slowly pull it open, I'm greeted by a blast of wonderful, glorious, winter-like, cold air.  As I'm pulling out my pet food containers, CLICK.  The refrigerator motor starts, the room is filled with a familiar, friendly hum.  

Thank you, dear Lord God for your gracious kindness to one humble, rambling old woman.

Sometimes it's the most simple thing that can make my day, bring a lump to my throat and tear to my eye.

Is it about the food, or about the time

Time to get back into the groove.  Had a great eating visit over the weekend with my sister, we had food spilling out our ears, because not only had I ordered groceries, dear sister brought food with her.  My fridges were stuffed to the gills.  Not only were the refrigerators stuffed, I had forgotten what it's like to 'stuff oneself' as well. Whoa doggies!!!  Friday night was pizza with bread sticks, pasta, chicken wings and a malt, fruit flavored cocktail, too.

Saturday, after shopping, for h-o-u-r-s, we went for lunch at one of those fast food places.  I can't believe I ordered a triple burger, an extra order of fries, and a strawberry sundae.  Even more, I can't believe I ate the whole thing...well, except for the sundae.

Dinner Saturday is a blur...I've not idea what the heck I ate, but I do know it was my sister's birthday, and while we were watching movies during the evening, we had mixed berry pie and our sundaes purchased earlier in the day for dessert.  Before going to bed I sneaked off to the bathroom and devoured several tummy 'settling' tablets.

Come Sunday morning I was still blown up like a Macy's Thanksgiving Day balloon. I almost swore I would never eat again.  But then, the Indy 500 Race started, and before long I wanted food...so, my sister and I put out 'snacks'...well, it was more like a picnic, with salads, cheeses, meat, and chips with dips and munching began. Oh, yeah.

Now, you have to remember the refrigerators.  Although we had managed to eat quite a bit of the food, mucho, mucho, mucho, remained.  And, as my sister was getting ready to head for home, I tried to get her to take some of the stuff home with her.  Considering she had hauled some of it  from there she had no desire to haul it back, so as a result, I've mucho, mucho, mucho stuff left to eat.  Not that I'm complaining, mind you, it's just I hope I can finish all of it without getting too fat to waddle to the kitchen.  LOL.

Thank goodness for freezers, because quite a bit of the goodies are already in them, like the left-over pizza and pasta for example, and the cakes...oh, did I forget to mention them?  The pie is long gone, but there's half a carrot and lemon pudding cake in them as well as a containers of breakfast muffins and pastries. You'd have thought I was expecting half the National Military Corps instead of one birthday celebrating sister as company.

But, really the weekend wasn't about the food it was about spending time with family.  Hanging out, catching up, shopping, relaxing, enjoying company.  It was great, and I wish we could do it more often.  Thank goodness for the Internet, and the telephone at least it's easy to keep in touch through those mediums.  You never know what's going to happen 'just around the bend', so we have to make the best of every opportunity that come our way and make the most of it.

So, though there were not enough hours in the weekend, thanks sister for the good times, good times.

Whoooo, hoooooo.

My sister's coming, my sister's coming!

There's going to be shopping, there's going to be eating, there's going to be gabbing, there's going to be the Indy 500, and who know's what else...maybe a movie or two and perhaps even some afternoon checking of the insides of our eyeballs.

I'll be back next week.

Thanks for stopping by.

I swear...

...I don't know what comes over me.

Yesterday, after Bible Study, my study partner and I went to Happy Hour.  It was a lovely afternoon so we chose a restaurant that had outdoor seating.  It was lovely, overlooking a lake.  Our table had a huge black umbrella that shaded the table and us quite nicely.

Our waiter was as handsome young man that I imagined was working his way through college.  He was very personable, and of course asked we wanted to start with a libation.  Are you kidding me?  Of course we both said yes.  I think my companion ordered a Lemon Drop, or something fancy like that.  I asked if the bar stocked a Rye Whiskey.  He said he would check...believe it or not some bars do not stock Rye.  He came back and announced they did have Rye.  I ordered a double on the rocks.

He came back with the Lemon Drop and a single shot of Rye for me and said he would return with my second shot soon.  What the heck?  A bar that runs out of booze.  This stuck us funny, and we had a good chuckle over this.  We envisioned our bar tender sending somebody out the door and around the bend to the closest state run liquor store.  

In the meantime we ordered our meals and started enjoying our drinks.  My friend had crab cakes and salad; I (on the other hand) ordered three hamburger shooters and a side order of fries.  Eventually my second shot or Rye arrived. 

We sat and chatted for quite some time.  Soon, our waiter returned with the check. We still had some drink left and I asked to see the dessert menu.  He was about to leave, when... (And I swear I don't know what comes over me) I said.  "Hey, I'm an old lady who's going to turn 80 in a couple of years, are you brave enough to 'surprise me' with a dessert?"  

This kind of threw him for a loop and he sputtered for a bit.  Then my companion said, "Why don't you ask her some questions about what she likes."  He did, then turned and left.  I asked him to make it to go.  After a while, a new waiter brings my dessert, on a plate, with two forks.  It was supposed to be to go, right? And, they offered to take it back and box it but I said "never mind, we'll eat it here", which we did.  

His surprise was a delicious piece of Key Lime Pie with a mountain...I'm talking mountain of whipped cream. It was amazing, it was huge, and between the two of us only a tiny bite of graham cracker crust was left.  It's a good thing I don't eat out often; those desserts would kill me.  

As we were walking to the car, I said to my companion that I don't know what comes over me, that I do such ridiculous things like ask my waiter to surprise me with dessert.  But, I'm sure glad I did, because, upon reflection I don't believe I've ever had a whole piece of Key Lime Pie.  I think I might have had a 'taste' of somebody else's piece of pie, but never one of my own.  Man, I've been missing out.

Anyway, I just might make this a habit when I dine out, imagine all the sweet, delicious desserts I'm going to have I might never try by choosing it on my own.  

Yesterday

Yes, yesterday I wrote about my neighbor's chickens, and the saga surrounding their attempt to survive under some very adverse circumstances, including an attack from a roaming dog.  They've come and they've gone.  Just exactly how long this experiment continues is anybodies guess.

As I was winding down yesterday's blog I mentioned one of the chickens got into my back yard and that I was going to ignore her until she found her way back home. Of course in the end I could not mind my own business and I was eventually able to corner this particular hen, and I think I said "flopped her back over the fence".
 

I also mentioned I could be like 'birdlady' was with me and go confront my neighbor and demand they keep the chickens on their side of the fence, and even threaten them that I'm going to report them to the health department.  Frankly, it's not my nature to do that, and I don't care they have chickens, but I can't have them coming into my yard because I don't want my doggy to chase and eat them.  Zorro lives with them quite nicely as long as the fence is between them.

So, yesterday morning, after I was done working I decided to do something with my fence instead.  First I went out back to see how much fencing I was going to need to fill the gap from where his fence ended and where the end of the property line is.  I discovered a four foot patch job was too short, and a five foot patch job just a tad to long.  I opted for a five foot repair job.

Next, I waltz myself into my garage and looked for and searched out my leftover, everyday variety, collapsible fencing, I put around my front yard a couple of years ago.  By golly, I not only had five feet, I had well over that, am I a lucky son of a gun or what?  I take a screwdriver and pry open the end of the fencing that measured exactly at the five foot mark and took it out to my picket fence to study how to attach this metal hunk to the top of it.  Hmmm.  I tried a simple weaving in and out trick, but it looked awful, and I could tell it would never stay in place.  Then I thought I would (like my neighbor) use my art/crafters wire and attach it that way. But close inspection of his wire told me that would not work, as his was already rusting away.

WAIT   A    MINUTE!

Just last year, while on a shopping spree I bought a package of bungee cords.  It contained a wide variety of sizes and colors of cords so I rummaged through the package and lo, I found six that were exactly the same size and color, and thought "whoa doggies, these just might work."

I put my fencing on top of my picket fence, and working from the middle outward, I was able to wrap the bungee cords around my pickets and the part of the metal fencing that should have been pressed into the ground. DA DA.  This technique worked like a charm.  Actually, I still can't believe that it did.  I'm a very happy camper.

Now, here's the thing.  Remember when I said chickens aren't dumb creatures.  You should have seen them yesterday.  I have to say I had quite the audience while I was preforming my magic.  They watched with great curiosity what I was doing.  I told them not to be offended, it was nothing personal I was going to deny them access to my back yard, I was simply trying to protect them from....well....you know.

There you have it, I've averted a problem before it even had a chance to be one.  Sometimes I amaze myself. Excuse me while I go pat myself on the back.

You could see this coming....

from a mile away.

Once upon a time, in the land of Rambling Old Woman, a neighbor announced they would be getting some chickens in order to teach their children the responsibility of taking care of living creatures.



Snicker.


Cough, cough....


baaaaaaa, haaaaaaaaa, haaaaaaaaaaaaa.


Okay, I'm sorry, that was rude.


Anyway, last summer this neighbor cleared a hunk of land...(partly because the city told them they had to) and partly because of the 'chicken business'.  I watched this unfold, and I was told eventually I would be getting eggs, because I was willing to have the chickens living so close.   Uuuuuuuuu, a bonus.

A lovely chicken coop was put together, and sat waiting for occupants.  A tree deck went up for the kids to play on, (although I'm not sure why you would want your kids playing in same area where a bunch of chickens are pooping) and indeed they did a great job of getting rid of all the English Ivy, a plant that over time has become 'not native'  to our area and has to be removed.  But, I digress.

One Sunday, late in the afternoon, I look out into my back yard, and discover a fence had been put up. Not one professionally installed, but one of the cheap kind, made of bamboo.  One look and I could tell this was not the kind of fence that would last a year, and overcome with curiosity I had to inspect, and found my neighbor had wired his bamboo fence to my white vinyl picket fence.  I suppose I could have been upset, but I found the whole thing hysterical.  Not only because I knew this fence would never last, but because he had used the kind of wire art/crafters use to support his fence to mine.  Seriously?????  What were these people thinking?

At first I took great interest in the chickens...I even gave them names.  I talked to them, and taught Zorro not to bark at them, or harass them as well.  It was sweet. Now, of course, my neighbor had the chickens confined to a specific area, and that worked well for a while, but soon one learned how to jump the creek and soon they were browsing in their yard as well.  Before I knew it Florence (my favorite) disappeared.   As soon as the weather warmed this spring, two others disappeared. They were replaced by two more.

A couple of weeks ago a guy came to my door to tell me my chickens were roaming about.  I explained they were not my chickens, but I was intrigued as to how they were getting out.  So I watched for several days and discovered they could squeeze thorough a section of railing adjacent to the fencing.  Hey, let me tell you chickens aren't dumb.

I tell ya', this project is doomed, because one afternoon I heard a commotion and lo, some woman walking her unleashed dog, allowed it to race into the neighbor's yard. She yelled, she screamed, she carried on royal...but...well, let's just say we were down to three chickens.  A few days later, another chicken was... frankly...I've no idea what happened to it.

Two new chickens arrived.

Back to the fence.  This thing is a wreck, first, it was not long enough to begin with, and there's a two foot gap at one end where the fence leans westerly, and the winter snow has badly bent it, and in some spots the bamboo has already rotted away.
Ug---ly.  But, again I digress.

Finally, yesterday, I happen to be walking back into the house from the garage, and I glance out the sliding door and see what appears to be a brown and black statue. What the heck is that?  I stare and stare.  The statue moved.  Holy crap....it's a chicken...I want to be mad...but for some reason I'm not.  I think because I knew in my heart of hearts this was some day going to happen.  I have to say this poor chicken seemed confused, and was pacing back and forth, back and forth I'm sure trying to figure out how to get back on the other side of the fence.

I decided I was not going to get involved.  As I mentioned chickens aren't dumb, they had pretty much figured out how to beat the system on their side of the fence. So I was hopeful this chicken would figure things out...but at the moment this poor Missy was beside herself.  I decided to ignore her.  Then, it occurred to me, I would not be able to put Zorro out to roam his own back yard if the chicken was still there. WELL THAT'S JUST WRONG.  So, (insert surrendering sigh here) I go out and round up the chicken, and kind of flop her back over the fence.

Yes, I know I could probably make a big stink over this, and march myself around the corner to their front door and ask they keep their chickens where they belong. And, no doubt, they will gerryrig some kind of hole plugger-upper.  But, I do believe I've got some left over fencing in my garage, it's white, and I'm pretty sure it's long enough to cover the gap, so I intend to gerryrig something for myself.

Have their kids learned responsibility?  Are you kidding me?  They don't ever come to play on the tree deck. Does the mommy, who I was told wanted this project to begin with ever show up to look after the chickens? Nope.  Does daddy do anything? Well, yes, kind of, at least he replaces the chickens when the others disappear, and he opens the coop to let them roam so they can disappear.  But, the ivy is growing back, there's litter everywhere, the chickens keep going and going till they are gone, gone, gone...and I've yet to get an egg.

Things they never tell you...

...about getting old.  Just when I think I've got all this 'stuff' memorized and under control, here comes something new to add to my list of things I intend for everybody to know before they get old.

Everybody knows babies need bibs, they help to keep their clothes neat and clean during feeding times.  Not only do babies have the tendency to spit unwanted food out of their mouths, they also slobber...a lot.  These bibs, generally have something cute written on them like "I'm grandma's favorite", or "Kiss me, I'm cute"...let's face it, they are grandma's favorite and they are always cute enough to kiss even if they happen to have mashed carrots or beets smeared across their chins.

I've recently discovered, old people need bibs, too.  Seriously, I cannot remember the last time I've not dropped some kind of food product down the front of me.
Just the other day, I down-graded one of my t-shirts to 'everyday' status.  It is one of my favorites, it has a wolf printed on the front of it.  I didn't want down grade this particular shirt, but knew it was time, because some of my 'already down-graded' shirts were ready to 'down-grade' to rags.

Anyway, at the time this down-grading occurred, I didn't even think about what the outcome of this was going to be...until I ate.  Splat...there is was, a healthy blob of salsa, just above the head and between the ears of this beautiful wolf.  I sighed, took my fork, and with the edge of it scraped off the salsa and put it into my mouth. Then, I walked across the room and grabbed a tissue to remove as much of the red stain from my shirt that I could.  It was only then I noticed, the blob, like the slime in 'Ghost Busters' had dribbled    down    the   shirt     in   a    perfect   straight     line. Dang it!  

I really don't want to become one of those 'old people' who tuck a napkin in the clothes just under their chins...that looks so tacky.  Plus, surely I'm not that old to begin with.  Maybe I just need new glasses. Maybe I need to work on the 'aim' to my mouth.   Maybe I need not put so much food on my spoon or fork. Surely this must be my fault, and can't possibly be related to age.  Sadly, it is.  I know this because yesterday I was watching some show on TV in which a group of people were gathered around a table partaking food, and to my horror, it was the 'old people', particularly men, who had gigantic white linen napkins tucked under their shirts, just under their chins, and tucked at their waists, under the belts of their pants .  I gasped and shuddered!   No, this cannot be.

And, in that exact moment I knew I needed a large, linen napkin to tuck in my shirt, just under my double triple chin when I partake food.  Nooooooooooooooo!

Then, this morning I knew I had to warn everybody...your day will come...be warned...someday your day will come when you realize no matter how careful you are, or how slowly you eat your food some will, somehow, end up on your clothing. Now, I would like to console you and say this dribbling, dropping malady happens only in the privacy of your home, but that is not the case.  Oh no, I've dribbled and dropped in the finest of restaurants in front of the finest of folks.  Here's the thing...I've found, (generally speaking) NO ONE will tell you you've got gravy, salad dressing, spaghetti sauce decorating the front of your  'goin' to a town 'meetin' clothes.  I confess, I don't inform folks myself because I think if I say something it might be more embarrassing for them to know, than for them not to know. However, on the other hand, if we are told, we can remove the object before it has time to set and permanently stain our clothes.  What does Emily Post have to say about this?

Anyway, I've come to the conclusion 'old people', like babies, need bibs and that they should have cute little sayings like "my grand kids love me" or "I'm no longer cute, but kiss me anyway".  Oh, oh, wait....they could be decorated with neckties for men, and jewelry for women and come in a variety of colors so when we leave the house no one will know it is not meant to be part of our outfits.   Yes, that's the ticket.

And, there you have it, you've been forewarned, old people spill food...down the front of them, all the time, so stock up on bibs and store them away, some day you will need them.

Good for nothing

Oh, it's going to be one of those days.  I've got giggles rattling around in my abdomen.  Seriously, I can feel them, they want to escape. I'm fighting for
control.  If I unleash them I will not accomplish one single thing today.

What has brought these giggles on is morning is what happened yesterday.  Since it has been such a lovely week I've diligently worked on preparing my front and back yards for summer.  Yes, I've got all kinds of 'crap' filling up winter's empty spaces.

There are frogs, a raccoon, Tommy-knockers on shepherd crooked wrought iron 3' poles, rusted art, artificial ferns and flowers, and an artistic blown glass globe on a copper base that I call "the big blue marble".  It's the artificial flowers that have me giggling.

I've got containers upon containers of artificial flowers in my garage.  Seriously, they go from concrete floor to the bottom of my overhead shelf.  There are some boxed on top of the refrigerator, some free standing boxes, and a couple of shelves to hold the 'leftovers'.

In particular, I was looking for some rose bushes.  I knew they were somewhere, I just could not remember where.  So, I started rummaging around.  I un-taped boxes, took the lids off every single plastic container I had neatly labeled "summer", and could not find the rose bushes anywhere.  I knew for sure there were at least three of them, two red and one yellow.  Where the heck were they?  All this rooting around was good for something, it gave me time to better organize my "summer crap", but nowhere, absolutely nowhere were the rose bushes.  Did I throw them away?  No, I never, ever throw anything away....ask anybody!

My frustration grew.  I wanted to scream.  (Uh oh...was that almost an audible giggle? Oh, this is not good.)  Nuts, here it comes.

So, I was talking with a friend, and was telling her my tale of woe, and we got sidetracked about how our memories were failing us...and how could we possibly be so old...(eighty is three years away)!  OMG!  She assured me I would find my roses, somewhere, some day, and that she was looking for some missing items herself..she was hopeful she would come across her missing doily eventually.  (Possibly when she drags out her Christmas decorations this year.)

Anyway, when we hang up I go back to searching.  Damn rose bushes.  I don't really need them, the yards look tacky enough without them...but now...IT'S THE PRINCIPLE OF THE THING...I WANT THOSE DAMN BUSHES.  I have the empty flower pots to put them in, and will not be happy until they are filled with red and yellow rose bushes.

There is one place left to look.  It is a cardboard box I've turned into a storage cabinet.  The box originally held a kitchen chair, one of four I ordered on-line several years ago.  It's very sturdy, I cut a door into one side of it, and put a hook on the door and the eye on the side of the box in order to hold it shut (thank you duct tape). Within the box I store large bouquets of seasonal artificial flowers that sit on my hearth as the months and seasons change.  I'm almost 100% sure my rose bushes are not stored here, but this cabinet is my last hope.

I begin rummaging through the white plastic bags. Nope, that autumn, no, that spring, shoot, that's Christmas. There are only two bags left...The first holds summer flowers, but the bushes are not in this bag. I'm filled with despair.  I pull open the last bag, and there...almost at the very bottom is a rose bush...then another, another and another.  Two red and two yellow.  Wow, these bushes are much larger than I remember.  Holy cow!

On one hand I'm a very happy camper, love, I love, love these flowers.  There's a joy deep down in my heart.

I shake them and 'fluuuf''them out.  Beautiful!  Then it hits me.

My flower pots, are much, much too small.  Well I'll be damn.

Giggle, giggle, giggle.  All that time, all that effort, all that frustration...was good for nothing....giggle, giggle, giggle.

Where did it go?

I'm talking about yesterday.  Seriously, where did it go?

It didn't seem like it was moving at a rapid rate, yet, before I knew it it was almost midnight and I was sitting at my computer, exhausted.  I was trying to be creative with images of marigolds, but kept making mistakes, so I said to nobody in particular...."I think I'm too tired to be doing this, I should probably go to bed."

And, so I did.  Unfortunately by now I'm too exhausted to fall asleep.

I look back over the day's events.  It was not that I was particularly busy, or physical, sure I got ready for Bible study, and I kind of spruced up my outdoor seating areas, because I knew we would want to sit outdoors for that, but this morning I can't think of one other single thing that could have made me sooo exhausted.

Then, I remembered it was not something physical that made me tired.  (And, yes, I'm going to grumble a little here)...I have to get this off my chest so I can move on.

There is a neighbor who has a little 'yappy' dog.  And every time somebody, anybody walks past this neighbor's house this dog goes ballistic.  Yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap.

See how annoying that is, now multiply that by many times a day.  Now, during the day there are times I can kind of block it out, because I'm concentrating on a chore, but, when the day winds down, and I simply want to relax with some television time...there it is......

Yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, etc, etc, etc.

It's in the mid-80's, I enjoy having my house open with a lovely 'almost summer', breeze flowing through my bay window.  It's evening, families are walking with children and dogs.  They should, most of the time the weather is crappy, and we try to take advantage of every outdoor minute with which we are blessed.  This is a wonderful time of year.

Yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, etc, etc, etc.

I'm trying to stay calm.  Okay, I know there are other rooms in my house where I could enjoy my evening television where the dog's yapping will not be as loud and annoying...and I certainly could do that...and in the end I probably will.  But, for the moment (for me) that's not the point.

I've taught Zorro it is not appropriate to be annoying out of doors, and will not allow him to bark unnecessarily.  He will bound along the fence with great curiosity, but does not bark.

....and so the day's yapping begins, it is 8:20 AM.  I'm in my office...mid point in my house...windows open....yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap.


When he is outside in he backyard, and barks to come in, I get to the door as quickly as possible to bring him in because I don't want him to be an annoyance to my neighbors, that is simply being courteous.  My next door neighbor is less that 20 feet away, I owe it to them to have peace and quiet.  When Zorro makes his last run for the day I stand on the stoop, or just inside the door so when he's done there is no need for barking.  I think my neighbor with the yapping dog owes us the same respect.

Sigh.

Yes, I know, I could, (like Birdlady) make a big stink over this, make neighbors choose sides, get everybody up in arms.  Instead, I called my sister, and complained. Dang that felt good.  Eventually (as dusk fell), the yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yapping stopped.  Sweet relief.

So, here's the thing.  Remember how when I forgave Birdlady for breaking my heart, and made amends I felt so much better.  I think I'm going to have to (eventually) 'letthisgo'.  Frankly, the lovely days of late spring, summer and early fall are few, this annoyance is temporary as well.  I am going to come to grips with this...in time...in due time...I swear I will.

However, there are times I would like to walk to the neighbor's house, and yank out the yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yapping dog's voice box.

So, in retrospect, I can see my exhaustion yesterday was not physical in nature.  It was however, an emotionally, mentally, exasperatingly, difficult day.

...and here we go again...8:45....yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap. 

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

Living together, man and beast.

I think I may have mentioned the chick-a-dees have returned to my condo this year, and over the last week I've been watching mom and dad work from dawn to dusk bringing food to the baby/babies.  There is something special about watching nature at work.  I spend hours at it.

However, nature often throws curve balls I don't see coming.  

When I first put the bird house out for the year, the first prospective tenant's were a pair of house finches.  I watched them a whole day trying to figure out how to get through the condo doorway.  They could not, for you see they are just an isty-bitsy too big.  They eventually gave up and flew away.

Very soon there after I saw the chick-a-dees checking out the 'pad'.   They left and I didn't see them again for several days.  I've heard birds will sometimes start a couple of nests over the mating season, and I thought perhaps the chick-a-dees found a more suitable abode and my house would remain empty this year.

When I caught them bringing moss and downy stuff to the house I knew I had 'lucked out' again, and Zorro and I began to use the back way out of the house in order to reach the front so as not to disturb the little bird family.  When I found them bringing food, I was ecstatic.

Then, yesterday came the fly in the ointment.  The finches came back.  They hovered about on the gutter, the phone lines, the down spout and the roof of the birdhouse.  There was no doubt about it...they were being bullies, very persistent bullies.  I could hear the chick-a-dees chattering close by, but they would not come to the house as long as the finches were there.  

I was not a happy camper.  So, I abandoned most of my activities and took over the job of sentinel.  Every  time I saw the finches I would go to the door, pull back the sheer and if necessary tap on the storm door glass.  They would fly away, but for quite some time they would return and harass the chick-a-dees.

My persistence was stronger than theirs and by late afternoon they gave up and flew away.

I'm sure the chick-a-dees were grateful though I can never be sure they will know I was their protector.  I simply know it's not an easy job raising a family, and if I was able to help in the smallest way, I not only could and should help, that was what I had to do.

Maybe that's why I'm come to grips with having Bobby and his/her family about.  I put Bobby outside the other day, after I knocked him/her onto the floor, and later almost stepping on him/her.  I had hopes this time outdoors would be more appealing.  But, guess what...yesterday afternoon I was in the garage looking for something (for the life of me I can't remember what) when I glanced at the garage door window and there, slowly meandering across the glass was...Bobby?  If not him, it must have been a sibling, or perhaps an extended family member. (Sigh). Should I put this Shield Bug out, or let it simply do whatever the heck it wants to do...I turned and walked away.

I have got to tell you, looking after nature is hard work...I don't know how God does it.

Well, that was unsettling!

There I was sound asleep.  Thump!!!!

Even though I was asleep, I heard it, it sounded like something hit the side of the house.  It was loud enough to bring me back to reality.  I lay there, contemplating what the heck that was.

I ponder whether I should get up and look around, or to stay as quiet as possible. What if somebody was breaking in?  Yes, maybe I should remain still, and listen for signs of movement.   And, if I hear some, then I will act.  I'll grab the dog, my cell phone and head for the bathroom and lock us in.

In the meantime, my imagination takes hold.  Has somebody thrown something at my house?  A rock perhaps.  Maybe a Molotov cocktail?  Wait, I hear no emergency vehicles, so it's not a cocktail.  There's no tinkle of breaking glass, so I know no window has been broken.

Still, is somebody slowly creeping towards my bedroom?  I stare into the darkness looking for shadows and signs of movement.

Crap...I've gotten myself into quite a state.  I'm thinking I should get up and walk around the house, just to set my mind and body at ease.  But, I don't.  Eventually I realize nothing is wrong, and I go back to sleep.

This morning I get up and walk around the house, looking out every window.  I don't know what I expect to find or see, but I would like an explanation of some sort.  There is none.

Did I imagine the whole thing?  No, I know what I heard, it was the proverbial 'thing that goes bump in the night'.  And let me tell you...THAT was a little unsettling.

Your eyes are getting heavy...

...very, very heavy.

Ahhh, sleep.  Wonderful, peaceful, refreshing sleep.

Hello....where are you?

Night before last I had a hard time falling asleep.   On those particular nights I generally watch the Early Late, Late, and Late Late shows on my bedroom TV. However, I suddenly remembered my cable company also has about 30 channels that play nothing but music, so, I says to myself, "Self, let's try one of those channels."

I started flipping through them with my remote and found one labeled "Easy Listening".  Hey, I like "Easy Listening", this could be my ticket to La La Land.  I'm a pretty happy camper.  However, there was one fly in this particular ointment.  I found the music they were instrumentalizing (yes, I know that's not a word), were all songs I knew the words to, and as a result I was singing them in my head.

YOU CANNOT FALL ASLEEP WHILE YOU ARE SINGING IN YOUR HEAD. Although I did eventually doze off.  I had forgotten to set the timer on the TV, and a couple of hours later I awoke, the music was still playing and once more the singing in my head started.  Wouldn't you think I would have turned the TV off.  Of course you would...but did I?  No.

Eventually I fell back to sleep.  Next time I woke up, I said to no one in particular.  "Well, this isn't working", and did turn the TV off.  That experience was a total bummer.

I happened to mention to my sister my failed experiment, and she concluded I had a good idea, but that perhaps I'd simply chosen the wrong kind of music.  She suggested I try "Classical".

She was right.  Classical has not words, I know nothing about it, to speak of,
and decided I would try that.  So, I did last night.  Oh, the first piece was beautiful, I could feel myself relaxing, it was (what I think is called) a piano concerto.  I was in heaven.  This was going to work.  I was surprised how long it played.  I found the tempo changed during the piece, sometimes it was quite lyrical, sometimes slightly melancholy, but all in all peaceful and relaxing.  Good stuff, good stuff.

Then, the second piece started...I think with oboes, or maybe tubas...anyway, the music was mysterious, unsettling.  Other instruments joined in.  Hmmm?  This was not pretty, nor was it anywhere near relaxing.  It got more and more eerie.  I began to see creatures creeping out of a dark forest.  The wind began to blow.
Drums thundered, symbols crackled forth lightening.

Oh, brother!

I grab my remote and begin to surf the other music channels.  Good golly, Miss Molly.  There were channels just for kids, rock and roll, rap, alternative (whatever the heck that is), the 70's, 80's, 90's, country...well that would make me melancholy and probably cry.  I scrolled through religious channels, salsa, Mexican, rhythm and blues, and on and on and on.  Suddenly, THERE IT WAS!  The absolute, perfect channel.

It was labeled "Soundscapes".  I allowed the first song to envelop me.  There were violins, cellos, flutes and things.  It was as though the music was wrapping me in a magical blanket.  Honest to gosh...it was instrumental perfection.  I stayed on the channel, the second and third selections were equally enjoyable. And before I knew it, I was asleep.  Next time I opened my eyes it was almost seven this morning.

I'm hoping I've solved my sleepless night quandary.  I like the idea of drifting off in slumber to the sound of birds chirping, rain falling, babbling brooks and all.....that......jazzz.....zzzzzz.......zzzzzzzz.............zzz..z..z...

It's one of those days.

The dreaded writer's block has struck again.  I hate when that happens.  I can't think of a darn thing to write about, don't even have a clever quip, snappy poem or childhood memory.

Oh wait, I do...I was talking with my sister yesterday afternoon and we got to talking about 'olden times' and the telephone we had in our house while we were kids.  It was big, black, had a rotary dial and sat on its own special table, next to my dad's chair.

We were taught it was a privilege to use the phone and were never allowed to abuse that privilege.  Thing was, we were on a party line, and we were actually sharing the phone service with other families in the neighborhood.  Mom said, if someone was using the line we were to quickly, quietly hang up, and wait for the line to become free so we could make our call.  Patience was definitely a requirement.

Here's the thing.  One of the families on the line had five teenage girls.  They were always on the line...I'm talking ALWAYS.  Even though we were taught to keep our calls short and sweet, which we always did, waiting for the open line was very difficult.  Grrrrr, how my sister and I wanted to tell those girls off, in language I'm sure my mother didn't know we knew.  But, we obeyed the family rules for many a year, and eventually we were rewarded with a private line...thank you phone company.  You have to remember, that even though we now could pick up the phone any time we wanted and get a dial tone, family rules still applied.  We had to keep our calls short and sweet, and at a minimum.  Incoming calls were the same, and all our friends knew we could not dilly-dally with idle chatter.  Using the phone was still a privilege.

Now this got me to thinking, at how quickly telephone service has advanced. Our big, black, bulky style with short cord, and hand held receiver was at the time 'state of the art, top of the line'.  Then came streamlined styles, smaller and you had a choice of colors.  By the 70's the first wireless phones came into being, they were as big as our black one, but shaped so you could hold it clumsily in your hand, however, you were somewhat restrained because it only worked if you were within x number of feet of its home base.  Then, something marvelous happened, the age of computer chips, integrated circuits, semiconductor devices, opening the door to new electronics and the phones of today; which are not just phones but links to the Internet and the world at large.

We can choose family plans, framily plans, and skype.  We can have phones that wrap around our ears and are hand free.  Some fit in our pockets and purses.  They're flat and fit in the palm of our hands, and you speak into them without having to hold them to your ear.  Land lines are becoming obsolete, as we can 'bundle' television, phone and Internet in package deals through cable and satellite.  I have to ask myself, what's next, what's next and wonder what Alexander Graham Bell would say if he could see exactly what direction his invention took?  Do we live in amazing times, or what?

Well, I guess for a woman who seemed to be at a loss for words, I've been rambling 'pretty good' wouldn't you say?

Hi everybody, I'm Bobby

I've resigned myself to the fact I've got a permanent house guest.  By golly, I have to say I'm quite surprised. Who knew an insect would take a liking to the indoors rather than out.

The first time this year I put the Shield Bug outside it didn't seem unusual when it reappeared in my morning room, because the temperatures had plummeted and I'm sure it missed the warmth and comfort of the house. So, I allowed it to roam around, and then put it out again a few weeks later.  Surely this time, since it was spring, I figured it would get the urge to mate and start a family of its own.

When I found it crawling up the inside of the sliding door frame not long after, I simply picked it up and put it back outside.  Occasionally I would see it in the vicinity of my patio, and would say "hello", and we'd go about our business.

Then, yesterday, there it was, on my wicker settee in my morning room.  What the heck?  I contemplated taking it back outside, but thought better of it.   Apparently, this 'guest' wants to become part of the family, and I'm now incline to let that happen.  Why not?  It doesn't take up a lot of room, is not loud or obnoxious and never, ever demanding, seems like a perfect fit. Plus, I'm guessing if it can't find something to eat here in the house, it knows how to get back outside, so I'm not going to worry about that any more.

Just exactly why this Shield Bug has singled me out for a house mate, I don't know.  However, I'm going to have to remind myself it's going to be around on a permanent basis, because, not watching where I was putting my hand as I was going down the steps to the garage, I accidentally brushed it off the banister and it hit the bottom step just before it landed on the carpet below.  It was quit a hit...I not only saw it fall, I heard it hit the step.

It landed on its back and was in the process of trying to right itself, when I scooped it up and gently placed it on the settee.  I think it's okay, although I left it alone for the time being, and will check on it later.  If it has moved, I'm pretty sure it will be all right.

Anyway, I figure if it wants to be in the house that badly I might as well consider it part of the family.  I just need a name, preferably one suitable for either gender.  Maybe Bobby will work.  It's funny how things work out, who would have thought a winter house guest would want to stay, and stay, and stay.

Beware...the dreaded day is coming.

Maudlin, according to my big book maudlin means to be "overly or tearfully sentimental"...yep, that's me today.

Oh, I know why.  It's the time of year...the dreaded "M" day is coming up.  Mommies, Grammies, and Great-grammies are going to get bombarded with presents, flowers, cards, long distance phone calls and assorted boxes of candies.  They will get breakfast in bed, taken to brunch, lunch and/or dinner.  They will be queens for the day.  Good for them, I guess.

The thing I have about "M" day, is there are still 364 days left in the year.  Generally speaking on those days, they get nothing.  Maybe their birthdays will be remembered, but mostly not.  And if a guy is lucky and remembers, they might get wife-y a card on their anniversary.  I think that's wrong.

All year long Mommies, Gammies and Great-grammies are around.  They wipe tears, lend supporting ears, spend long hours working long and hard at their careers and homes to keep the family woven together like a crocheted afghan.  Now, don't you think they have bad days?  You bet your sweet bippy they do.  Don't you think, they would appreciate a small token, a bouquet of nine dollar flowers from the grocery store flower shop, a silly card, a long distant phone call or even a dollar candy bar for 'just because'.  You bet your sweet bippy they would.  Honest, it does not take much to make a Mommy, Grammy, Great-grammy happy and to feel appreciated.  Oh...and a quick I love you, will put her over the roof.  How hard can that be?

Yeah, yeah, yeah...I know, I know you're busy.  We all are, and honestly, I'm just as guilty as the rest of you.  I wish I would have called my Mommy more, not just on our 'selected, prearranged times' because we both knew that was 'the best time' to talk.  I never really called her just to say hello, I love you.  And, now I can't.  I wish I'd have sent her flowers 'just because'...but it's too late now.

But most of all, I wish I'd not have waited till "M" day to send a present, flowers, cards, make calls or send candy.  Damn you "M" day...damn me for not being a better kid...damn any of us who wait till "M" day to show our appreciation to good old Mom, Grandma, and Great-grandma.

Let's all band together and ban stupid "M" day.  If you have to, in order to start a habit, mark your calender, tie a string around your finger, write a note on your hand with a permanent marker and find a medium that best suits your circumstance and if you do nothing more than say "I love you" do it, damn it.  Trust me, it will be worth a million "M" days to the special someone in your life.

"M" day...phooey on you.

The Train of Life

Just so you all know, I did research this morning to find who wrote this lovey piece, and found there are many, many poems, essays, and similar pieces written about trains.  I found the one that follows once during my attempt to find the author, but it was not attributed to a specific individual. I always like to give credit to the original author, and certainly would here, if I could.  Whoever you are, this piece is so lovely I have to share; I hope you don't mind and that you appreciate I am doing so.

I got this from a dear, almost lifelong friend in my e-mail yesterday.



The Train of Life 

 To my family and friends

Life is like a journey on a train... with its stations... with changes of routes... and with accidents!

 At birth we boarded the train and met our parents. And we believe they will always travel with us.

However, at some station our parents will step down from the train, leaving us on this journey alone.

As time goes by, other people will board the train and they will be significant i.e. our siblings, friends, children, and even the love of our life.  Many will step down and leave a permanent vacuum.  Others will go so unnoticed that we don't realize that they vacated their seats!

This train ride will be full of joy, sorrow, fantasy, expectations, hellos, goodbyes, and farewells. 

Success consists of having a good relationship with all the passengers...requiring that we give the best of ourselves. 

The mystery to everyone is: 

We do not know at which station we ourselves will step down. 

So, we must live in the best way - love, forgive, and offer the best of who we are. 

It is important to do this because when the time comes for us to step down and leave our seat empty -- we should leave behind beautiful memories for those who will continue to travel on the train of life.

I wish you a joyful journey on the train of life.  Reap success and give lots of love. 

More importantly, thank God for the journey!

Lastly, I thank you for being one of the passengers on my train!  

Let It Go, I'm a fixer Upper

Okay, so here's the thing.   Over the weekend, Saturday to be exact, my grandson and I decided to watch a movie.  So he sprawled out on the sofa, I curled up in a chair, and we watched a movie rented from my good old cable company.

The movie we chose was Frozen, simply because neither of us had ever seen it, and because of all the praise and laurels heaped upon it.  After all, we'd been out of the loop long enough, it was time we learned what all the Hoop-la was about.

So many people have said it was the 'best movie ever'.  I had to see for myself.
Remember, I'm not a movie critic, but I do have an opinion and frankly, I don't think this movie was the 'best ever',  Oh, it was good alright, and my grandson and I both enjoyed it, there were even a few surprises.  Like the handsome prince was not the good guy, the princess was not the heroine and they did not live happily ever after.  I personally felt the story line was pretty unbelievable and weak; and there were times I wanted to 'move things along', finally, the special effects were...well, been there, done that, over and over and over.

And as for the song Let It Go, and the accolades it got...I don't get it? It was okay, but apparently I missed something because I thought the song Fixer Upper was a much, much better song.  The lyrics were great, upbeat and encouraging, pointing out we are all flawed, but that with just a little time and effort we can be (although not perfect) the snappiest, shiniest car on the used car lot.

As for the characters, as good as they all were, it was not the humans that 'stole the show'.  I have to confess my absolute favorites were first and foremost Olaf the snowman, followed by Sven the reindeer, and the group of roll around rocks that turn out to be Trolls who end up singing my favorite song "Fixer Upper".

I was happy the bad guy finally had to pay his dues, that the sisters reunited in love, that there was a 'happily every after', and that Olaf was unbelievably able to survive thanks to his very own perpetual cloud of snow. There you have it my long overdue review of a very popular animated feature film.  Okay, give it your best shot...I can take it...I know this blog is not going to make people very happy.  Just remember, I've a lot of flaws but I am... A FIXER UPPER.

Is it spring becoming summer, or autumn becoming winter?

Frankie stood behind me as I feverishly typed away.  "Brrrr," she announced.

I turned and gave her a quizzical look.  She had her arms crossed, and she was clutching her hands tightly together while she stamped her feet up and down.  She was dressed in shorts and t-shirt.  Just last week she would have been appropriately dressed, today however, not so much.  "Brrrrrr." She repeated.

Somehow I could not feel sorry for her.  After all, I had put my winter attire back on earlier in the day, realizing I was going to have to return my shorts and t-shirts to the bottom drawer of my chest of drawers.

I return to my keyboard and begin typing.

"Brrrr."

Me: (Not even looking up.)  "Why don't you fix yourself a nice hot cup of coffee."
Frankie:  "Ya know what would taste good?  Soup, a slow cooker, chucked full of hardy vegetables and meat kind of soup. Yep, that would do the trick."
Me:  (still typing.)"You know where the kitchen is."
Frankie:  "That's hard."

She said that in a childlike voice, as though I've told her to give up something fun and preform a difficult task.

Me:  "I repeat, you could always make yourself a hot cup of something...coffee, tea, beef or chicken bullion."
Frankie:  (Snorting and stamping her foot)  "Dag nab it!  I'm cold."

She is exaggerating shivering, and squeezing herself so tightly she face is turning red.  By now I've lost patience and whirl around in my chair and glare at her.

Me:  "Here's the thing." (Doing my best at being the grown-up.)  You've got choices here.  One, get out of those shorts and t-shirt and get into some warmer clothes.  Two, go turn on the heat for a while to take the chill off.  Three, go make some soup, or at the very least a hot cup-a-cup a."

Frankie looks like a whipped puppy, you know, like those pictures of big, sad eyed kitties and puppies. You'd swear I'd whooped her with my wooden spoon.  I come to realize she is NOT going to go away, she's NOT going to do anything to correct her problem and now I feel chilly and with the need for something hot myself. In addition, I think I'm going to have to turn on the heat for a while.  Sometimes an imaginary friend can be a real pain in the tuckus.

Oh, man.  I simply can't stand that forlorn look any longer.  It's pitiful, nobody can do pitiful better than Frankie (except maybe Zorro).

Me:  "Okay, I give...I'm going to fix myself a cup of coffee, you want one?"  Of course she does, why did I even ask.

I guess as long as I'm going to the kitchen I might as well see what I can throw together to make a soup, or maybe a Chile, slumgullion, or maybe even spaghetti.  I suppose it wouldn't hurt if I turned on the heat for a bit either.

Come to think of it, as long as I'm getting up, I believe my tootsies could use an extra pair of socks, too.

It's just one little pill

I hate taking pills, even if it's just a headache.  I blame this on my childhood, where you never went to a doctor, you slapped a band-aid on an ouchy, and the only pill available was an aspirin, and they were dolled out on a very limited basis.  You 'walked off'' aches and pains and got such good advise as, 'it will get better before you get married'. The only pill available was an aspirin, and when you had a cold and sore throat, you downed a spoonful of  melted Vicks, sprinkled with sugar.  So as a result of my up bringing, today, generally speaking I take every few medications.  My daily vitamins...well, almost daily.  And a few prescriptions, very, very few.  And, honestly I consider myself very lucky that there are indeed very few of them.

However, I do have a few maladies that require an additional pill, and my doctor has told I can take it when I feel I need it.  Well, the last couple of days, I knew I needed it, but because I hate 'needing' it (it's a sign of a flaw in my makeup to pull myself up by my bootstraps), I have not taken it. Of course, this morning, I paid the consequence for not devouring it when I should have, let's say way back Wednesday when I kept telling myself "I'm okay. I'm okay, I'm okay."

As a result, this morning I could barely get out of bed.  I felt, nauseated, my heart was doing it's Bump-it-Tee-bump thing.  And, I could feel myself wanting to hyperventilate.  My creatures wanted fed, so I knew I could simply not lie in bed and 'wallow', so I worked my way through the nausea, sat on the edge of the bed and eventually got the courage to stand up.  You have no idea how difficult that was.  Still I took no pill. And started my daily routine.

Sadly, after that, I limped back to bed.  I sat there for a few seconds.  Then I reached for my bottle of water, took a pill, and lay back down on the bed.  I could feel the medication taking effect.  I was starting to relax, my muscles loosened up, my breathing relaxed.  By golly, if I lie here long enough I just might make it. Within thirty minutes, I was feeling good.  I got up, got myself put together and was raring to go.

Now, here's the thing.  Why am I always so stupid about taking one simple pill THAT I KNOW IS GOING TO HELP ME,  IMMENSELY, AND THAT I AM SUPPOSED TO TAKE TO MAKE ME FEEL BETTER.  Seriously, that is so, so.....stupid.  And the point of this blog is to say to you all...please, don't follow my example.  If you have medications for an ailment specifically designed to help you to ease your pain, release your anxiety, and strengthen your body and your soul, for heaven sake, take the dang pill. Don't wait (like me) till you are sitting on the edge of your bed wondering if you'll be able to stand up and face the day.

And, that's all I have to say about that.

Arriving, departing, delayed, canceled

There's a website called Flightradar24.com, it shows a map of the world, and all the planes that are in the air at any give time.  Some flights are real time, some are on five minute delay.   I check this site everyday, more that once, I might add.  I'm fascinated.  I mostly keep the map zoomed in to my local airport to watch what flights are arriving, and what flights are departing.  Parts of the the day there is little activity. However, some parts of the day it is quite busy, and a bunch of tiny bee like planes move quietly, slowly across my screen. Early morning is particularly busy.

If you click on one of those tiny bees, the information about it comes up on the left hand side of my monitor. It tells me the type of air craft it is, where it is coming from, or where it is going to, the altitude, etc.  Some times, it simply gives a call number, for a small aircraft, like perhaps a Piper Cub. And, curiously, sometimes this simply states the flight is "BLOCKED", which sets my imagination to the hinterland.  There is always, ALWAYS some kind of activity.  I'm so thankful my brother-in-law put me in touch with this site.  At the moment it is one of my favorites.

Anyway, occasionally,  I zoom out and can see the whole United States and how many planes (yellow bees) are in the air at the same time.  Oh, my gosh, the map is covered with bees.  Tiny slivers of land can be seen, but mostly it is a mass of yellow.  Then, I zoom out even more and there's Europe...same thing, a mass of bees, and so it goes.  And when I've zoomed out as far as I can, and see the whole world, I'm agog...can there actually be that many planes...and are they actually all in the air, or approaching or departing an airport.

All I can say is I'm sure glad the atmosphere is as deep and wide as it is, otherwise there would be more than one plane missing and unaccounted for.  Seriously, if you want to scare the heck out of yourself you should check out this site.  Ever since 9-11 I've had no desire to fly anymore, not because I'm afraid to fly...(well, till I have started watching this site) but because, I'm old, I hate having my personal stuff rifled through, I don't like taking my shoes off in (even though it looks clean) an icky airport, and I r-e-a-l-l-y hate you don't get breakfast, lunch or dinner on your flight anymore.  Phooey on an itsy-bitsy bag of nuts and an expensive soda or cocktail.

Still, I'm glad to see folks still do fly, and I imagine most of those tiny bees I see on my monitor are full of even more tiny ants, stuffed together like sardines in a can.  I'm certainly glad I'm not one of them.  Especially since I now know how many of them there are, in very close proximity to each other...in some instances a few thousand feet...thank you deep, deep atmosphere.

However, I can't help but wonder exactly how many near misses there are every day that we never hear about...thank goodness...otherwise there would not be all those teeny-tiny blips inching across my monitor.

Happy flying everybody, me thinks I'll keep MY feet firmly planted to the ground.