Liar, liar, pants on fire.

Yep, that would be me.  Yesterday I informed all of you that I used my microwave for every cooking need.  That was an out and out lie.  I do have a back-up cooking vessel.  Actually I have two.  They are both slow cookers.  One I use for soup and stews, the other I use for cooking chickens or game hens.  They are wonderful, and it would be so lovely if everybody had at least one.  Matter of fact when I bought my large one, it also had a little fondue sized cooker inside it, kind of a bonus I suspect.  The small one is the perfect size for warming up a package of cocktail weenies.  I use it A LOT!

But, I digress.

Fact of the matter is, I told you a whopper yesterday and I'm here today to say I'm sorry and to sing the praises of my cookers.  Every couple of months I get both of them 'doin' their thang' one with perhaps a Tortilla Soup, and the other with a good sized chicken with potatoes, carrots and what other vegetables I happen to have on hand like celery and onions.  My house sure smells good on Cook Day.

Recently I've seen infomercials on TV touting new cookbooks showing how you can 'dump' ingredients into your cooker and within hours you have a complete meal without having to put out any effort...well, hardly any effort.  I like that!!!  Then last month one of my favorite catalogs arrived and within its pages I found said cookbooks available for purchase.  Intrigued, I bought the one that promised it would prepare a complete meal.  So far I've used one recipe.

Here's the thing.  In my haste to prepare the meal, I 'dumped' the pasta in with everything else (another instance where I should have read the directions) and it dissolved into a thicker rather than distinctive pasta at meal time.  Not that it mattered, the meal was quite good.  However, it was after the fact I read the recipe which clearly stated "cooked pasta was optional" to be added closer to meal time.  Lesson learned!!!

Anyway, I just want to let you know, this morning I pulled one of my cookers off the shelf and inserted a game hen, some potatoes and onion. Already my house is beginning to smell pretty darn good.  Later I will probably open a can of green beans just to add a little color to my meal and perhaps a little jelled cranberry sauce would be a nice touch, too. Slow cookers are a wonderful thing!

As I close, you all well know I do exaggerate the truth sometimes, and I do have a vivid imagination, what with Frankie and Muse popping in from time to time, but I certainly don't want you to think I purposely tell fibs.  No sir-eee, bub, I'm not intentionally a liar, liar pants on fire.

Hey, would anybody like to buy The Brooklyn Bridge, I have it for sale 'on the cheap'?

Some Days, I got nothing.

Today is one of those days, I've got nothing to say.  It is a typical, grey, wet, winter day.  Ugh!  I confess after the last two days it was pretty depressing to get up to find one of my patio chairs blown over, and the carpet disheveled on one patio while the other was, still is (once again) covered in autumn's dead oak leaves.  I was lulled into a sense that spring was on the way and then got slapped in the kisser with a wicked laugh from old man winter.

In the meantime, waiting for winter to pass, I'm studying Ezekiel and Jesus as my Bible study. Although I know a lot about Jesus, I'm very intrigued with what I'm learning about Ezekiel.  Frankly, years before when I read the Bible front to back...twice...I honestly didn't consider the people in it to be actual, living, people until I personally brought them to life.  Wow, they were one terrific group of people, they did amazing stuff.  I spend hours and hours researching and learning on the Net about these people.  As a result some days fly by and as an added benefit I'm managing to keep out of trouble.

In addition to having nothing to say, I'll make a confession.  I have not 'cooked', (honest to goodness) used my range and oven to prepare a meal 'cooked' meal since I moved in here.  I don't even know if my oven works.  And...I don't even care.  My kids used to kid me about not having a microwave oven.  And I would joke back by saying something like...."Yeah...well when you're glowing chartreuse green in the dark and I'm not, we'll see who's better off."  Now, my microwave is the only thing I use...well, except for frying an egg from time to time.  I'm seriously thinking about buying myself a much bigger and much better microwave that will cook even bigger and better stuff.

On the down-side of having nothing to say, it's that time of year AGAIN. Yep, I'm getting all my paperwork together to get my taxes done.  What is it they say, there are only two things you can count on...the first being death and the second taxes.  Well, at least death only comes once...those gosh darn taxes come around every year.  Just last week I got a letter from the state saying they are streamlining and will not be sending out instruction booklets and forms.  They want you to do everything on line...but, if you do want the instructions and forms, you have to download or print them out for yourself from their web-site; or as a last resort you can write to them and request they be sent to you via USPS.  The bottom line is, fill out the forms, dummy, on-line and submit.  I pity the older folks who don't have computers.

Now, on the up-side of having nothing to say, February is just around the bend and we will be finding out whether Punxsutawney Phil is going to bless us with an early spring or not.  Secretly, I'm hoping for an early spring.  Come on Phil...do your thing.  Or, perhaps I should be talking to Whiskers J, who is our substitute for Phil.  Whiskers is our Zoo's weather forecaster, he's an adorable African Pygmy Hedgehog, who is dragged before the public every February 2nd to inform us if an early spring is coming...come on Whiskers!

There you have it folks, it's what I've got when I've got nothing. And, as Porky Pig used to say,
Th-Th-Th-Th-Th...That's all, Folks!

When all else fails...

...READ THE DIRECTIONS!

Okay, there's the thing.  I know one of these days my daughter is going to come for her “Red Flyer" wagon.  When she grew up and went out on her own she took almost all of her possessions with her. At that time I asked what she wanted to do with her childhood Little Red Wagon.  She told me she wanted it, but could she leave it for a while.  So for years I used it for gardening hauling plants, rocks and dirt hither and yon about the yards.

Last year when I sold the house and moved I again inquired if she still wanted her "Red Flyer", she said she did and would take it with her next time she came to visit.  At the moment it is in my new garage along with some boxes of 'stuff' I still need to unpack.

Last week apparently my mind must have had a little time on its hands because while thumbing through a catalog from a company I'd never heard of before I saw an item that intrigued me.  The headline read: Platform cart moves heavy objects with ease.  The picture looked great and the description sounded even more wonderful.  I needed this cart. Amazingly it only cost fifty bucks.

Oh, yeah, I had to have this cart.

I went on-line and ordered it, bingity, bangity, boom!

It arrived late Monday evening so I didn't unpack it until yesterday. WOW!  I was very impressed I had actually bought something useful.  I gotta' say it met my expectations and more.  However, I found I did have to put on the wheels so put off the assembly until today.

This morning I take the Folding Hauling Cart onto the patio, open my tool box and set to work.  I found I had to decide if I want to 'push' or 'pull' the cart because that depended on where I put the swiveling wheels. Shoot, I rather expect I will be doing both and contemplated putting one of the swivel wheels on the front and one on the back....until I figured out that would probably make the cart go in a constant circle.  

In the end I put the swivel wheels on the front.  I was concerned that perhaps some of the screws might give me trouble, to my amazement each one went in perfectly.  The directions indicated I should use a wrench to tighten the screws but I didn't keep one of those when I got rid of the tools in my house garage so I substituted a pair of pliers instead.  The pliers did the job quite well.

With the last wheel installed, I flipped the cart right side up to give it a go.

Uh-oh.  I tried to pull up the handle and it would not budge.  Oh, the springs wanted to work but the handle would not go into the upright position no matter how hard I pulled.  Dang it!  This thing was broken...and I took to cussing in my head.  I had already completely destroyed the package it came in, Now I was going to have to come up with some kind of container to ship the cart back...all the way to Maine.

I stewed, I fret, I yanked and pulled at that dang handle.  The instructions didn't say one single thing about 'how' to pull it up.  

Then I read the instructions on how to put the handle down. HOT DOGGIES! The direction was a little vague, "Hold the foldable hauling cart against the wall or any firm background and push the release bar down to fold down". Release bar....where the blankity, blank, blank is the release bar.  I could not find that anywhere.  I checked around the area of the springs that so badly wanted to work, and once I got my nose close enough I spied a piece of white paper wrapped around a bar connected to the springs.  I saw the writing on under side of the paper and turned my head until I could read the words...RELEASE BAR!  

Following the instructions for putting the handle down, I pushed my cart against the side of my apartment and gave a firm yank expecting that handle to jump into place. Dirty double dang that didn't work. Sigh. Back to the instructions I went but unfortunately I had read every single word. I got nuttin'.  

Enter Frankie.  "So, how's it going?"

Me:  "Grrrrrrrrr!"

Frankie:  "That good huh?

Me:  "Grrrrrr!"

I explain my problem and show her the release bar using my foot pressing down on it. The bar lowered a bit.  What the heck????  I applied a little more pressure and the bar lowered even more. With my foot still applying pressure to the bar I bent over and grabbed the handle (insert Angels singing here) the handle came up. Halleleujah! At this point there was a lot of hugging and jumping around going on.  I had done it, I had figured out how to use my cart.

Of course, there is a moral to this story:

When all else fails, it definitely helps to read the directions.  Then again, sometimes it's a little dumb luck that finally gets the job done.

The lure of the outdoors

Okay, I know it is only the end of January and there is a great deal of winter left.  But, my goodness, what with having two crocuses blooming just outside my patio it is hard not to imagine spring and the lure to be out of doors.  Especially when the sun is brightly shining and wisps of cotton like clouds lazily meander across a silky powder blue sky.

Then add to that the fact it is comfortably warm, 62 degrees on my patio thermometer it is difficult to be sitting here working on my computer.  Already Zorro and I have been outside (just because) numerous times.  While he explores every inch of his 19 foot perimeter (so far) of yard I've been pulling out tiny clumps of grass that have begun to grow in the bark dust.  This has also given me the opportunity to discover bulbs coming up, unexpected treasures from previous tenants of my complex. Grape hyacinths appeared first, then crocus, and now daffodils. These are all in addition to the bulbs I planted in October.  In a month or so my tiny garden will be a mass of color.

I'm hoping on one of the shopping sprees with my daughter I can pick up some pansies and primroses as well.  It will be beee-uuu-teee-ful!  Color me excited.  I guess the optimist in me has me overlooking the fact we could still have snow and several good freezes making planting this early in the season a tricky business, but I intend to go on the assumption that if the stores are carrying the plants, it must be okie-dokie to buy and plant them.

I realize I'm not just hurrying through the season, as well as the newly started year but I simply can't help myself.  I blame it on today, this utterly beautiful, magnificent, glorious, all be it winter day.  I wish I had a bunch of seed/bulb/shrub catalogs to browse through, oh the things I would buy.  Mostly herbs when it comes to seeds, then maybe some canna, glad, dahlia bulbs and tubers.  And, should I forget perhaps a lilac, mock orange and flowering quince shrub for wonderful color and pleasing scent.

Oh the joy of tip-toeing through my imaginary garden on this glorious day.  Do you see it in your mind’s eye, do you smell it as you inhale deeply....I do....I do.

Postscript:  I just came back to my blog after viewing this posting on facebook and I discovered some of the words are highlighted in yellow...silly me, I edit these pieces in my Publisher program, and this morning when I pasted it back into my blog apparently I forgot to undo spell check first...silly, silly me.

Hmmmmmm!

The other day I was sitting at my computer, elbows on keyboard shelf, my chin cupped in my hands. I was staring at my Publisher's address book.  I admit I was oblivious to my surroundings and had no idea how long Frankie had been standing in the doorway.

When she spoke I just about jumped out of my skin.  She wanted to know what I was doing.

Fact was I was contemplating my address book.  And here is one of those things that nobody ever tells you...about getting old.  

When you are young and your horizons expand from high school, to work experience, to getting married; your address book expands with each and every major event.  You try to keep up, but eventually the address book of your teens has become a sloppy, ink stained, crossed out mess.  I don't know about you, but when I finally married I realized my old address book could never take in all the additional names and addresses of my husband's family. So, I splurged and bought a new address book. It was lovely.

It was beautiful, there were flowers on the front...and...back.

It was neat and done in pencil so if I had to change an address it would be easy, and quick.

It worked well until the day the closest thing to correct an address was A PEN, which began the downward spiral of my lovely address book.

Over the years as new names were added to the book, I took the lazy way and simply tore off the return address label from the envelope and tucked it into the book.  What the heck...I was the only one to use the book so why did it matter. Oh, the book got over stuffed with tiny slips of paper.

Then, I got older, my family grew, my kids married.  New names came into old book, but some began to go out.  It was a subtle change and at first I hardly noticed.  First one page had a black permanent marker edit. Poof, someone was gone; then...poof...another and then again another.

Eventually there was another major change in my life.  My husband passed away. Condolences arrived and I wanted to respond to all the folks who and been so kind to me during that time.  Ugh, I took a good look at my address book, yuck.  I decided to buy myself a new one.  So, I did, this one was smaller but more sturdy and had a waterproof cover. At last I could get rid of those tiny slips of paper.

However, within two years there were once more tiny slips of paper in the new book.  People were retiring and moving.  HOW DARE THEY! Only this time I got smart, I still used those return address labels but I neatly cut them from the envelope and taped them onto the page they belonged in the book.

Things were looking up!!!!

A couple of weeks ago I got a call from a friend to tell me a mutual friend of ours had passed away.  I began to thumb through my blue, waterproof book preparing to remove her name when I noticed to my dismay, that just about every third page had a permanent black mark that eliminated an entry.  And these eliminations were people who had been in the all my books for the greater part of my life. How can it be that there are no new entries, but only old ones being removed? For instance, after the latest removal, there is only one name and address left in the A's.  Sigh.

And that is how I happened to be sitting at my computer when Frankie scared the wits out of me.

I was contemplating if I still needed my "hard copy" address book or if I should put the remaining addresses in it into the book I have set up in my Publisher's program.  I guess "hard copy" address books are passé, and who (for heaven's sake) even writes a letter anymore that makes an address book necessary...and who (for heaven's sake) is ever going to tell you when you get old "new names and addresses don't come into your address book, they only go out".

As do the people in your life.

Golf, Part 2

Today I'm going to write about what I've learned about women golfers. This again, isn’t much since everything is from simple observation. First, there are not nearly as many women golfers as men.  However, some women do rounds of golf alone, and I admire that greatly.  I've yet to see one driving a cart, as most use the carts on rollers that carry the bags, while a very few carry their own clubs.

Second, more women use the putting green than men, and for a longer time. The men mostly use that green waiting for the other members of their foursome to show up, while the women seriously work on their (I think it's called their approach) and concentrating on sinking a putt. Oh, and I love their attire, none of them wear cute 'golf fashions' and go for comfort instead (I greatly admire that) ...and not one...not one has worn any kind of cap or sun visor.  I think that has a lot to do with the fact that when the sun does shine here we don't shun it.

Next apparently 'couple' golfing is not popular. There has been (so far) only one occasion have I seen a 'couple' golfing.  This is puzzlement to me...and if someone out there can explain that, I would appreciate knowing why that is. Seriously, is it because women don't have the strength in their swing for the golf balls to carry as far as their husband, mate, or partner?  Is it because they walk slower?  Is it because arguments might ensue?  Is it too much togetherness? Is it because they talk too much?  Hmmm?

I think women do enjoy the camaraderie of a foursome.  One morning I was watching three women on the first tee.  They appeared to be having a delightful conversation, there was a bit of practice club swinging, leaning on clubs and occasionally I could hear a bit of laughter.  They were certainly in no hurry to begin the round. A short time later they did begin to play, and they began to walk their rolling carts down the path.  Suddenly they all stopped and began conversing again.

Here's what I suspect.  I believe they much have received a call from the fourth party who must have said she was in the parking lot..."I'll catch up."  I think the ladies must have said "We'll wait for you." For that is exactly what they did.  They stood in the path chatting and a few minutes later the last of their party came into view, she waved at them while they waved back.  Ms. Late didn't bother with the first tee, and when she caught up with her Ms. On Timers, they walked on down the path together.

At this point I had things to do, and I lost interest in the group but still wonder to this day, how many strokes did they give Ms. Late for that first hole?  Or, were they just playing for fun and not even keeping score?  

Here's the thing...and I have to wonder, would a foursome of men have tolerated the women's behavior and allowed a tardy Mr. Late to 'catch up' with the group?  Or, would Mr. Late simply have called and bowed out, then stayed home in bed?  Oh, the mystery of it all.  I have so much to learn.

There you have it.  Today it didn't rain and from time to time golfers...all men...played rounds.  Some had golf carts, while others walked.  The one I enjoyed the most was the group of three older gentlemen.  Each wore boots more suitable for the sport of 'fly fishing' than golf, winter jackets, and caps. Two of which were the baseball type...but it was the third cap I liked the most. It was really, really a winter cap.  It was red and black plaid (it looked like it might have been flannel), came well below the nape of his neck for warmth and....are you ready?  Ear flaps...yep...this cap would have been perfect for the wilds of....Alaska...I truly never expected to see it on a golf course in Oregon.

There you have it, once again, great entertainment on the cheap.

Golf

Since moving to my new 'pad', that over looks a golf course, I've been trying to understand the game of golf.  I confess I've learned very little about it.  First, I'm not sure it is a game...I'm not sure it is a sport.   Mostly I think it's simply a reason for a group of men and occasionally women to get together and knock a little white ball around.

Here are a few things I've noticed.  First, guys love their golf carts. There is one in particular I adore. It is red and white and is shaped like a mid '50's Chevy car, the guy who owns is takes very, very good care of it, and it shines brightly...rain or 'shine'.  Those carts can move along at a pretty good clip; a fact that surprised me.  Sometimes I actually see them whipping up and down the street on their way to the nearby convenience store.  I'm not sure...do they need a license plate to be on a city street? Humm.

Next I discovered there is a huge difference between golfers who take the game/sport seriously, and those who play just for the exercise or perhaps the fun of it.  Those who take the game serious are the most entertaining.  They have rituals as they approach the tee.  They bend, stretch, practice swing and pay strict attention to their stance (bend the knees, move the hips, with good follow through arms high in the air over their shoulder).  Those who play for fun, don't waste time.  They take a few practice swings and 'let er' rip'.  If they don't like where the first ball landed they replant the tee and take another swing.  I watched one guy do that three times.

Then I learned that just because you are playing a foursome does not mean there is a lot of camaraderie going on, as golfers tend to wander off in the direction their dimpled ball landed, to 'catch up' with their companions on the green.  The exception to this rule is when two golfers are sharing a cart, riding together down the path stopping close to where they think their ball landed. Occasionally a ball will not land on the fairway, but into what I believe is call the 'rough'.  That means the golfer has to maneuver around the surrounding trees and taller grass.  At first I thought it was a joke a golf ball could go through a nearby living room window, however I now suspect that could actually happen.

I didn't really believe golfers would be on the course during inclement weather, I've since learned otherwise.  Now that winter is upon us, I've noticed once a week, two die hard gentlemen are out on the course just after dawn teeing off. They are wearing winter attire, including caps and rain boots teeing up and giving their golf balls one heck of a good whack. Then...and here's the best part...they each have huge black umbrellas attached to their rolling golf bags that for the most part keep their clubs dry, and (kind of, sort of) keep themselves a bit dry as well.  

I used to joke as to whether guys would be on the course if indeed there was a bit of snow on the ground.  So far I've not seen such a thing, but I've no doubt I just might in the future.  I say this because I know there are bright orange golf balls to be bought...or at least there used to be because I've seen them...and I think they would be easy to see against the white snow.  And, since just this morning I watched the two guys with the black umbrellas playing a 'round', I've no doubt they could possibly...very possibly play in the snow.  Now wouldn't THAT just be something to see!

Here are two important things I’ve learned: 1. After a round I notice many of the golfers stop at what seems to be a cleaning station, I say this because I hear water running and assume they are cleaning their rolling bags and possibly their clubs. 2.  The Club House is right there and I suspect many golfers drop in for a cold one…plus, I think this is where the camaraderie actually comes in.

I love living here, there is an abundance of entertainment, and it's all FREE.

Footnote:  Please remember, I'm not a professional writer, I do proofread and edit each piece, but you will find errors in spelling and grammar...that's life...I guess...so hang in there, okay?

Plop, plop.

It was a dank and dreary morning.  She sat drinking her coffee staring out her living room window.  Rain plopped heavily off the patio roof. Kit-kat jumped onto her lap.  Of course the cat immediately curled up on the novel she trying to read.

Susan smiled…well so much for finding out who the killer is, she thought.

  

Somehow Kit-kat always managed to brighten her day. She scratched her calico cat under her chin which brought contented purring from deep within her furry companion.  The sound somehow always managed to lull her into her favorite comfort zone, she could feel herself relaxing.

Music would be nice, Susan thought, but that would take effort I would have to get up.  Instead she reached for the red, orange and yellow crocheted afghan from across the back of the sofa.  She threw it across her lap covering Kit-kat, then up around her own shoulders. 

Her eyelids grew heavy, before long, she dozed off.

What a lovely way to spend a rain soaking Sunday morning. 

Giggle, giggle

I was checking out Facebook this morning, and among the ads on the right hand side was one of those on-line quizzes.  Normally I don’t participate in those things, but this one tickled my fancy.  It has something to do with whether I have the proper ‘Nickname” or not.  Since I don’t actually have one I thought it might be fun to get one for myself.

So, I started answering the questions.  I thought this must be a pretty thorough and perhaps accurate quiz since there were 29 questions in all.  Hey, this actually might be fun.

I’m hum-de-dumbing thru and came across this question:

“Which of the following characteristic is your dominate one?”

Strength

Beauty

Intelligence

Whaaaaaaaattttt!?????  Those are my only options?  You’ve got to be kidding me!!!!!!  There’s not a dang one of those options I’ve got any chance of choosing.

Strength?  I can’t even lift a 10 pound bag even if it’s only got 5 pounds in it.

Beauty?  I’m gonna’ be 80 in a couple of years…I haven’t seen beauty for at least 4o.

Intelligence?   Really.  Really?

I got to laughing so hard I almost had an accident…if you get my drift.  Anyway, at that point I decided I didn’t need a “Nickname” after all and closed out the website. 

Now if some of the choices had been something along the lines of:

Humorous?  (Oh, yeah, I keep my kids in stitches.)

Clumsy?  (Certainly…I’ve got aches, pains, and black/blue marks to    

                    to prove that.)

Saggy?   (You bet ya’ I’ve got lots of skin that hasn’t been where it

                  should be for at least, well, 40 years.)

Now my mind is agog, what the heck could be my “Nickname” be? 
Even Frankie and Muse are no help or, at least they don’t want to share; although I admit there’s a lot of snickering going on.  Hey, if you happen to think of something let me know, okay?

Lots of love,

Humorous, Clumsy, Saggy….Me.

Sometimes it's good...

...there is no one around.  For instance, yesterday I eventually got hungry and decided to put a little effort in fixing myself something to eat.  Please notice I said 'little effort', actually it was very little effort.  I flung open the refrigerator door and the loaf of bread practically jumped off the shelf.  I took that as a sign I needed to make a sandwich. Well, there ya' go how much effort does that take?

Apparently quite a bit.  I started with some house brand dressing and several pieces of nice, thick, deli-style chicken breast.  Yummm.  I'm out of tomatoes and lettuce and the sandwich looked kind of naked, what else did I have in the fridge to spice this sad looking bread and meat.  I know!  I flung open the refrigerator door again and grabbed a package of extra sharp cheddar cheese.  I do love cheese.  I opened the zip lock plastic bag and removed the cheese.  

I tried to pull a slice off it, but I couldn't find a clearly marked place on the first side so I gave the cheese a quarter turn.  Well, dang it!  I gave another turn.  By now I am so engrossed in trying to find the slice mark; I've blocked out every other thought in my mind.  Grrrrr!

Deciding I needed additional light to make this 'chore' more easy, I moved closer to the light, re-adjusted my glasses and gave this chunk of cheese a much better look.

Hmmm!

Hmmm!

I could feel the giggle coming up from just under my rib cage.  It started out low but within seconds I was in a full blown fit of laughter.  There I was trying to pull off a slice of cheese from a previously opened brick of extra sharp cheddar cheese.  I threw a hand over my mouth to stifle my laughter and took a quick glance around the place to make sure no one heard me and comes to see what I've done.

Whew, it looks like this moment of stupidity belongs to me alone.  Yep, sometimes it takes quite a bit of effort to make a simple sandwich, and... sometimes it's good there's no one around.

She stretched and yawned...

and her hair was a bit disheveled, but it was so good to see her pouring a cup of coffee.  Obviously she and Frankie had been up for a while although Frankie looked better and she was dressed.  I wondered if I should intrude because it seemed to me they have been 'huddling' and I secretly feared they may had been conspiring against me.

I poured myself some coffee and said "Good morning."  Then, quite unexpectedly I was the recipient of and in the middle of a gigantic, smothering, hard to breathe bear hug.

When I could finally inhale deeply I inquired, "Does this mean I'm forgiven?  I want you to know I didn't sleep very well last night.  I had a lot of things to think about."

"I know," said Muse giving me an obligatory pat on the head, "I've decided you've suffered enough and I do forgive you."

Frankie, (I swear I saw her wipe a tear from her eye) said, "Yeah old lady, this year is going to be different.  I've asked Muse to move in...yes, she'll share my space...and she has agreed."

I opened my mouth to respond, but an "Ah, ah, ah" and shake of an index finger told me I had better not say anything.  So, for once I didn't.

Muse and Frankie's slipper-footed shuffling ensued as they walked off whispering.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled Muse is back, I'm even glad she and Frankie have finally become friends.  HOWEVER I confess there is a bit of trepidation going on as now Angel and Devil are at odds.  Angel insisting that things are going to be fine, while Devil is...well...doing that the Devil does, he's sowing seeds of doubt and anticipating trouble.  As for me stuck in the middle my biggest fear is I'm no longer in charge...top  dog...numero uno.  Are they going to gang up on me? Have I already lost control?  What the heck does the year have in store?

After all, how bad could it get, right?

Right?

Right?

Tappity, tap, tap.

So, I'm sitting in my office, and there's a tap, tap, tapping on the window.  I glance over my left shoulder, and there, a silly grin on her face is...my muse.

She's wearing a yellow slicker, and one of those sea men's hats that have a large brim that sags over the ears.  It's bright yellow, too and rain drops occasionally plop off the brim some of which land on the tip of her nose.  In her hand is a very large (though empty) margarita glass.  She kind of shrugs and points a finger toward my patio door.

I nod, get out of my chair and amble to the door.  "Taaaaaaaaa. Ddddddaaaaaaaa!"  She sing-songs, throws out her left foot as though she is just finishing some kind of a tap dance and loudly announces..."I'M BACK!"

"Well, la-dee-da," says I. "Where the blankity, blank, blank have you been?"  I admit my tone of voice was not exactly friendly in tone.

She plops herself onto the sofa slicker and all, as though she owns the place, and hasn't been gone for a very long time.

"Oh, here and there." She sighs while checking her fingernails and putting her feet up.

I'm starting to get just a little hot under the collar.  "That's all you have to say for yourself, while I've been here wandering around with a head filled with nothing but spider webs and dust bunnies."

Suddenly, SHE'S indignant.  She literally jumps off the sofa arms akimbo, staring me down.

I feel like a four year old caught putting a pilfered cookie in my mouth.

Her eyes are a flame.  "You know what?????  This is all your fault!  I left because you no longer had time for me.  You boo, hooing all around the place...poor me, poor me....I have to sell the house....I have to do this; I need to do that....boooooo, hooooooo.  Oh....there are strangers in my home, they're rude, and crude, and don't like what they're seeing....there's repairs to make, and tests to get done...and ooooooohhhhhh, let's not forget those pages and pages of questions to fill out....make sure you don't tell a lie...boooooo, hooooooo, sob, sob...sign an amendment here an amendment there.  Geeze!"

"Then, there's the days and days of packing, all those boxes to tote hither and yon.  And, lest we forget, there are retirement villages to check out and apartments to look for.  Did ya think of me, did ya...did ya? I don't know how Frankie managed to stick around.  She's gotta' be a saint."

I'm stunned.  I'm speechless.

Then she says, "Did ya bother to tell me where you moved....noooooooo.  Thanks to Karen she finally read your last blog and made an attempt to find me.  I didn't want to come back and I told her so, but she finally made me feel sorry for you.......(She sighs again quite wearily) so here I am.”

I confess I feel awful, even worse I realize she's right.  I did make her leave; I ignored her, had absolutely no time for her and didn't even notice she was gone for months, and months, and months. I have a lot of apologizing to do and a lot of lost time to make up.  So, to start I fixed a slow cooker batch of Chile for dinner, and a Jim Beam on the rocks to top off the evening.  Tomorrow I'm going to find time to write, even if it is just a few lines in the Thinking of You card I'm presently creating.

Oh dear muse, I'm so glad you are back...I promise, promise to be better at writing....puuuullllease, don't ever run away again.

Yoooo, hooooo, Muse????

I don't know what's happened, I used to love to write, and I did it with ease and a great deal of confidence. I don't seem to have either these days and I'm really bummed about it.  I know it's not nice to hate something...but frankly....I hate my muse.  I've no idea where she's gone, and it disturbs me that she might never return...it doesn't just disturb me it frightens me out of my wits. 

I don't know how many years I've got left, but the thought of never writing again is a big, dark, down right black hole I don't want to fall into.  I know I promised I would be back here writing more frequently, and I've left you down...even worse...I've let me down.

I'd like to find my muse and strangle her.  Does she not understand the pain and agony she's beset upon me?  I imagine her off somewhere laughing, drinking margaritas, sitting on a white sandy beach not caring a 'fig' about me.  I want to get mad and write in spite of her, gull-dang-it.  Still as far away as she is at the present she has this powerful hold over my fingers making it difficult to simply try to type each word. There seems to be a weight upon them and errors occur with each strike. 

I know these are impossible questions to answer; however, I'm going to ask them anyway.  How do I get my muse to come back?  Can I bribe her?  Should I buy her an expensive present?  Should I threaten I will find a new Muse, better, younger, more vital than she?  Or, should I continue to remain patient, silent and wait for her return?  Sigh.

Color me sad. 

Yoooooo, hooooooo, Muse?????????