You never when something special is going to happen in your life. I can always count on 'special' when I know my grandson, Marcus is coming to visit. We have such a great time. He is funny, charming, smart, full of life, a hard worker, and tops all of that off by being one good looking dude to boot.
We chat for maybe ten minutes and he makes his first trip to my 'snack' cupboard, and comes back with food in his hand. I always prepare lunch, and early into the visit we eat, chat, and yesterday we both had a beer. Lovely-ness.
Next, we cleared the table and played games. I chose Battleship, Marcus chose In A Pickle. Neither of us had played Battleship in years...we're talking years...he won, of course. I'm jinked when it comes to games. It's a good thing I only play them for fun and not superiority. I could not find his ships to save my soul. It didn't help that he kind of indicated he has grouped his together...and I believed him. I'm so dang gullible.
While we were playing Battleship a friend and neighbor stopped by bringing me tomatoes and figs. And I was so proud I got to introduce her to him. By the way, the figs were delicious.
Anyway, we moved on to In A Pickle. It's a card game, and you build sentences, most of which turn out to be silly, especially when you get close to the end of the game, and everybody has really ridiculous cards left that will not fit in anywhere. We had build quite a sentence, and I wanted those cards really badly because he was way ahead of me all through the game. I finally had to admit I could not add a new word, and he took the sentence away. Did he feel guilty he had deprived his grandmother of that pile of cards. Yes, for about a mini-second. He scooped up those cards with such speed he created a breeze.
We retreated to the living room, and chatted a while more. I sensed the visit is about to end. I try not to be sad. It is always hard when you know something special is going to end. I knew he needed a few minutes to 'set the clock' on my stove to go off (after) he left. But, it was time for him to fill up a bag of goodies to take home, and we ended up back in the kitchen. I had no reason to leave the room and as a result I had spoiled any attempt he might have had to set the timer. He made a lame attempt, while I was watching, but since he was looking at the dials upside-down, he failed very badly. The clock began to beep and would not stop.
Sadly, goody bag in tow he had to take his leave. He said he was going to rent a movie and call it good for the day.
I still had the kitchen to clear, and the games to put away. Then I settled down on the couch with my beloved creatures in a warm glow of the love that had filled my house all afternoon, it was a grand, my mind was filled with delightful memories of laughs and love.
You never when something special is going to happen in your life. Thanks, Marcus.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Friday, October 12, 2012
Chapter Eight Selling the House
Yes, this posting is going to be full of sour grapes. What is it with Realtor's? And, why must I capitalize that word? Are they royalty or something?
I digress.
I am eager (although not as much as when I first started the process) to sell my home, and have been most accommodating, clearing clutter, having my family spruce up the outside of my place. Thanks again everybody. And, adding curb appeal to the tune of almost three hundred dollars. When I get a call from a Realtor I jump through hoops for about 20 minutes putting remaining trinkets in drawers, dusting, opening drapes, etc, etc. Only to have the Realtor and their client hurry through the house, and be gone in less than ten minutes. All the while I'm waiting, waiting, waiting, for their arrival. I've put my life on hold...strictly to accommodate them all of them.
Not long ago a Realtor called and said she and her clients would be here on a Sunday afternoon at 5:30 they did not appear until after six o'clock. I'm waiting, waiting, waiting. When they arrive she was full of excuses, for their tardiness. I sit outside reading a book to give them time, and space. They were gone almost before they arrived. I was a little put out, believe me.
Then...yesterday morning...I get a call from another Realtor. She wanted to bring a client by at 6:30.
I almost said yes that would be fine. Hold on a minute...that's the time I'm generally preparing myself something to eat. I surprised myself when I told her no, that was not acceptable, tomorrow between five and five-thirty would be good, but I could not accommodate her today. Man, she was put-OUT, telling me her clients were going out of town right after work tomorrow, and they r-e-a-l-l-y wanted to see the house.
I held my own, and suggested any evening next week would work for me between five and five thirty. All of a sudden, according to her, that would not work out for her clients. I told her to please call back if her clients were indeed interested. However, I bet I don't hear from her again.
I've decided I'm not going to accommodate any Realtor for showings after five-thirty. I realize people work, and evenings are better for some of them, but, I'm an old lady and frankly I don't like strangers wandering around my house after dark especially with winter just around the corner. I'm uncomfortable enough having folks poking through my closets during the day.
Honest, so far I've been open, pleasant, cheerful, and friendly, and excuse myself and my dog giving full access of my place to everyone who has come to check it out. My Realtor said from the start, I'm in charge of this endeavor, and by golly, I finally put my foot down. The world does not revolve around your commission Mr/Ms Realtor. I do have some say in this, and I think wanting to come during dinner hours is...frankly...rude.
Wow, now that I think about it, maybe she was sooo sure, I would accommodate her, it was her feelings got hurt and not her clients at all.
I digress.
I am eager (although not as much as when I first started the process) to sell my home, and have been most accommodating, clearing clutter, having my family spruce up the outside of my place. Thanks again everybody. And, adding curb appeal to the tune of almost three hundred dollars. When I get a call from a Realtor I jump through hoops for about 20 minutes putting remaining trinkets in drawers, dusting, opening drapes, etc, etc. Only to have the Realtor and their client hurry through the house, and be gone in less than ten minutes. All the while I'm waiting, waiting, waiting, for their arrival. I've put my life on hold...strictly to accommodate them all of them.
Not long ago a Realtor called and said she and her clients would be here on a Sunday afternoon at 5:30 they did not appear until after six o'clock. I'm waiting, waiting, waiting. When they arrive she was full of excuses, for their tardiness. I sit outside reading a book to give them time, and space. They were gone almost before they arrived. I was a little put out, believe me.
Then...yesterday morning...I get a call from another Realtor. She wanted to bring a client by at 6:30.
I almost said yes that would be fine. Hold on a minute...that's the time I'm generally preparing myself something to eat. I surprised myself when I told her no, that was not acceptable, tomorrow between five and five-thirty would be good, but I could not accommodate her today. Man, she was put-OUT, telling me her clients were going out of town right after work tomorrow, and they r-e-a-l-l-y wanted to see the house.
I held my own, and suggested any evening next week would work for me between five and five thirty. All of a sudden, according to her, that would not work out for her clients. I told her to please call back if her clients were indeed interested. However, I bet I don't hear from her again.
I've decided I'm not going to accommodate any Realtor for showings after five-thirty. I realize people work, and evenings are better for some of them, but, I'm an old lady and frankly I don't like strangers wandering around my house after dark especially with winter just around the corner. I'm uncomfortable enough having folks poking through my closets during the day.
Honest, so far I've been open, pleasant, cheerful, and friendly, and excuse myself and my dog giving full access of my place to everyone who has come to check it out. My Realtor said from the start, I'm in charge of this endeavor, and by golly, I finally put my foot down. The world does not revolve around your commission Mr/Ms Realtor. I do have some say in this, and I think wanting to come during dinner hours is...frankly...rude.
Wow, now that I think about it, maybe she was sooo sure, I would accommodate her, it was her feelings got hurt and not her clients at all.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Yesterday
I got a separate debit card for my company checking account. It arrived late last week. I finally got around to activating it yesterday. Of course, when I called the bank's number, the automated voice on the other end advised me I might need my checking account number. I hung up...didn't have that handy. The checks are safely tucked away and I had to unlock the safe to retrieve them. I called the bank back, the nice lady repeated her yadda, yadda, yadda, and I followed her instructions to the letter. I fully expected to be on the phone at least five minutes. Surely she would want my mother's maiden name, my date of birth, where I was born and from what high school did I graduate.
Surprise, surprise, surprise. I was instructed to press in the numbers as they appeared on my new card, which I carefully did. Very, carefully did, as I could not imagine what kind of noise the phone would make should I make a mistake.
The numbers went through. The nice lady came on the line again..."Your new card has been activated, thank you for calling, Goodbye." Are you kidding me? Thank you...goodbye. No wonder it is so easy to steal somebodies identity.
Not only had I NOT spoken to a real person, I was not even sure the voice at the beginning of the call was the same one that thanked me. I miss the good, old, days when you actually spoke to someone, I had not said a word, just simply pounded in the required numbers, and hung up after she said goodbye. Sigh, how sad.
I used to enjoy talking to a representative, at first they were local, and I felt like I knew them and often thought they might even be at my local branch. Then, years later, I would get a girl with a delightful, Y'all lass who would thrill me with her soft, sweet, southern accent. I would ask where she was, and what her weather was like. And she would say something about never having been to the Pacific northwest, and did we really get all that rain she heard about.
Eventually, men became representative. I didn't like that as much, men in business, chatty, not so much. But, it was still a live person, and I felt like he really cared about me and my problem.
Then, came the automated menus, press one for this, two for that...if you want to talk to a representative, press "O". Okay, I could handle that, and always, always pressed "O". I know, that was sooo old fashioned. Still, I got to talk to a human.
Then, one day, I got an automated menu, but there was no press "O" for a representative. Instead, at the end a recorded voice came on the line and said..."To repeat this menu press pound". What, no delightful lass with southern drawl, no young man trying to work his way up the corporate ladder? I was thunder struck.
Having a very short memory, I always have to press pound, because the menu is so quick I don't catch the options. Then, I begin to hold up my fingers, and when the menu says something close to what I want, I count my fingers, and press that number on the dial. Generally I get it right, although there have been times I had to go through the menu a third time.
Don't get me wrong, generally I'm very compatible with this electronic age, and I'm certainly glad and appreciate it.
But...sometimes....I'd just like to hear....
Y'all have a good day now, Y'all hear.
Surprise, surprise, surprise. I was instructed to press in the numbers as they appeared on my new card, which I carefully did. Very, carefully did, as I could not imagine what kind of noise the phone would make should I make a mistake.
The numbers went through. The nice lady came on the line again..."Your new card has been activated, thank you for calling, Goodbye." Are you kidding me? Thank you...goodbye. No wonder it is so easy to steal somebodies identity.
Not only had I NOT spoken to a real person, I was not even sure the voice at the beginning of the call was the same one that thanked me. I miss the good, old, days when you actually spoke to someone, I had not said a word, just simply pounded in the required numbers, and hung up after she said goodbye. Sigh, how sad.
I used to enjoy talking to a representative, at first they were local, and I felt like I knew them and often thought they might even be at my local branch. Then, years later, I would get a girl with a delightful, Y'all lass who would thrill me with her soft, sweet, southern accent. I would ask where she was, and what her weather was like. And she would say something about never having been to the Pacific northwest, and did we really get all that rain she heard about.
Eventually, men became representative. I didn't like that as much, men in business, chatty, not so much. But, it was still a live person, and I felt like he really cared about me and my problem.
Then, came the automated menus, press one for this, two for that...if you want to talk to a representative, press "O". Okay, I could handle that, and always, always pressed "O". I know, that was sooo old fashioned. Still, I got to talk to a human.
Then, one day, I got an automated menu, but there was no press "O" for a representative. Instead, at the end a recorded voice came on the line and said..."To repeat this menu press pound". What, no delightful lass with southern drawl, no young man trying to work his way up the corporate ladder? I was thunder struck.
Having a very short memory, I always have to press pound, because the menu is so quick I don't catch the options. Then, I begin to hold up my fingers, and when the menu says something close to what I want, I count my fingers, and press that number on the dial. Generally I get it right, although there have been times I had to go through the menu a third time.
Don't get me wrong, generally I'm very compatible with this electronic age, and I'm certainly glad and appreciate it.
But...sometimes....I'd just like to hear....
Y'all have a good day now, Y'all hear.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
...starting a business.
Yes, after years and years of putt-zing around I've been working this year. Literally, every morning I work from eight til noon at my itsy-bitty publishing company.
I've had the name copyrighted for years, and this year I registered the company with the state, and even went so far as to have the logo trademarked with the state as well. (Eventually, I will trademark nationally...as soon as my company starts making money.)
Here's the funny part.
Apparently, the 'freedom of information act' is alive and well because for the last month I have been inundated with requests from banks wanting me to join them with offers of great deals on company checking accounts, low rated, small business, credit cards, blah, blah, blah. Like I would change banks after being with the one I have since 1974. Really...I don't think so. My paper shredder has been busy, I'm surprised it does not blow up in fire and smoke. I suspect these requests will eventually stop coming, but here's the thing. These banks have excellent advertising companies representing them. The mail I get is colorful, clean, and full of adjectives that their bank is more than happy, happy, happy to have me...THEN, I get to the fine print. Such mumbo jumbo...it's like a foreign language, all the party of the first party, here by known as....blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Give up people, I'm not the least bit interested.
Then...as you all know, I have my house on the market. I'm hopeful someone will love my little place as much as I do, and will take over with loving care my little plot of land. But, here again thanks to 'freedom of information act', my mailbox is starting to get crammed full of brochures from moving companies wanting to pack up my belongs and move me where ever it is I want to go. They all tell me they will move me with loving care, as though my stuff was their own, and I have absolutely nothing to worry about. A-N-D, they offer a deep discount to do the job. Coupons tell me I will get $150 to $300 dollars off the bill. Really? I have to ask myself, what their estimate is going to be to be able to offer such a coupon. Seriously, just last week I got an ad from Pods. It was so glowing the paper felt warm. Don't you think they are kind of jumping the gun a little? Besides, I've seen the shows on the networks showing how people lose all their belongings when a moving company packs folks up and their belongings are never seen again. I didn't just fall of the back of a turnip truck you know.
They don't seem to realize I've got oodles of grandson's who will be held hostage until they have me packed up and moved where ever it is I want to go. A-N-D they will do it a heck of a lot cheaper than these wonderful moving companies.
I love going to my mail box, sometimes it really makes my day, but I could sure do without all these ridiculous brochures and ads. I'd much rather get my catalogs, they are way more fun. It has been a most interesting year for my mail box and me, full of the unexpected and unusual. Hmmm, I wonder what kind of mail I would get if I said I wanted to build a bomb shelter in my back yard.
I've had the name copyrighted for years, and this year I registered the company with the state, and even went so far as to have the logo trademarked with the state as well. (Eventually, I will trademark nationally...as soon as my company starts making money.)
Here's the funny part.
Apparently, the 'freedom of information act' is alive and well because for the last month I have been inundated with requests from banks wanting me to join them with offers of great deals on company checking accounts, low rated, small business, credit cards, blah, blah, blah. Like I would change banks after being with the one I have since 1974. Really...I don't think so. My paper shredder has been busy, I'm surprised it does not blow up in fire and smoke. I suspect these requests will eventually stop coming, but here's the thing. These banks have excellent advertising companies representing them. The mail I get is colorful, clean, and full of adjectives that their bank is more than happy, happy, happy to have me...THEN, I get to the fine print. Such mumbo jumbo...it's like a foreign language, all the party of the first party, here by known as....blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Give up people, I'm not the least bit interested.
Then...as you all know, I have my house on the market. I'm hopeful someone will love my little place as much as I do, and will take over with loving care my little plot of land. But, here again thanks to 'freedom of information act', my mailbox is starting to get crammed full of brochures from moving companies wanting to pack up my belongs and move me where ever it is I want to go. They all tell me they will move me with loving care, as though my stuff was their own, and I have absolutely nothing to worry about. A-N-D, they offer a deep discount to do the job. Coupons tell me I will get $150 to $300 dollars off the bill. Really? I have to ask myself, what their estimate is going to be to be able to offer such a coupon. Seriously, just last week I got an ad from Pods. It was so glowing the paper felt warm. Don't you think they are kind of jumping the gun a little? Besides, I've seen the shows on the networks showing how people lose all their belongings when a moving company packs folks up and their belongings are never seen again. I didn't just fall of the back of a turnip truck you know.
They don't seem to realize I've got oodles of grandson's who will be held hostage until they have me packed up and moved where ever it is I want to go. A-N-D they will do it a heck of a lot cheaper than these wonderful moving companies.
I love going to my mail box, sometimes it really makes my day, but I could sure do without all these ridiculous brochures and ads. I'd much rather get my catalogs, they are way more fun. It has been a most interesting year for my mail box and me, full of the unexpected and unusual. Hmmm, I wonder what kind of mail I would get if I said I wanted to build a bomb shelter in my back yard.
Monday, October 8, 2012
It's getting cold
Yes, folks, it is getting colder and colder every morning. I'm reluctant to turn on the heat in my house because once I do, I know I will be tempted to do it every day. I'm on the equal pay plan with my electricity and gas companies and have built up sizable credits on both. I'm going to hate seeing them slip away back to zero...I'm not cold, I'm not cold, I'm not cold.
IT'S GETTING COLD
Once upon a time, in a tiny, yet quaint cottage, there lived a woman, dog, cat, and a friend named Frankie. They were a happy little group co-existing with absolute love, contentment, and laughter.
One morning the woman felt the dog stir from under the heaping pile of blankets on the bed. She turned over on her back and began to feel for the warm, wiry fur.
All of a sudden she felt something strange...something like...like...(feel, feel, feel)...flannel. What the heck?
The woman opened her eyes, turned her head and there, with a sheepish grin on her face was a still half asleep Frankie.
Talk about being startled. The woman, (mouth agape) was about to speak.
"Morning" was the first dreamy word out of Frankie's mouth.
The woman wanted to reply but was interrupted...
"I got cold" muttered Frankie.
Now, don't think badly of the woman, she had given Frankie a mound of blankets of her own, so her friend was not exactly sleeping on the living room floor with a single sheet, and a cover-less pillow.
Frankie began to grin...that kind of 'I've got some of your skin between my thumb and forefinger and I'm going to squeeze...really hard...so, you had better listen closely to my next words' kind of grin.
The woman listened.
Frankie was quite specific. "Turn on the HEAT!"
The woman was about to speak. Frankie cocked her head, and raised her left eyebrow...the way she does when she means business. It was not necessary for Frankie to utter words when she made that gesture.
The woman sighed. She knew Frankie was right...the quaint cottage was quite chilly and the thermometer on the living room wall registered only 63 degrees. She seriously considered pressing the button that would bring the fireplace to life...but...
The woman walked away.
Frankie let out a "grrrrrr".
"Tomorrow," said the woman, "tomorrow...I promise if it is this cold tomorrow I will turn on the heat."
Then the woman had a vision...she was being pushed out of her own bed...there was always a dog, occasionally a cat...and now Frankie...it could be a very long winter.
The woman returned to the thermometer on the wall and pushed the button on the remote control...goodbye lovely credit.
Frankie won...sometimes the woman just had to do what a woman has to do. Peace and tranquility...that's the ticket. Even better, there was heat.
And, they all continue to live happily ever after.
The end.
IT'S GETTING COLD
Once upon a time, in a tiny, yet quaint cottage, there lived a woman, dog, cat, and a friend named Frankie. They were a happy little group co-existing with absolute love, contentment, and laughter.
One morning the woman felt the dog stir from under the heaping pile of blankets on the bed. She turned over on her back and began to feel for the warm, wiry fur.
All of a sudden she felt something strange...something like...like...(feel, feel, feel)...flannel. What the heck?
The woman opened her eyes, turned her head and there, with a sheepish grin on her face was a still half asleep Frankie.
Talk about being startled. The woman, (mouth agape) was about to speak.
"Morning" was the first dreamy word out of Frankie's mouth.
The woman wanted to reply but was interrupted...
"I got cold" muttered Frankie.
Now, don't think badly of the woman, she had given Frankie a mound of blankets of her own, so her friend was not exactly sleeping on the living room floor with a single sheet, and a cover-less pillow.
Frankie began to grin...that kind of 'I've got some of your skin between my thumb and forefinger and I'm going to squeeze...really hard...so, you had better listen closely to my next words' kind of grin.
The woman listened.
Frankie was quite specific. "Turn on the HEAT!"
The woman was about to speak. Frankie cocked her head, and raised her left eyebrow...the way she does when she means business. It was not necessary for Frankie to utter words when she made that gesture.
The woman sighed. She knew Frankie was right...the quaint cottage was quite chilly and the thermometer on the living room wall registered only 63 degrees. She seriously considered pressing the button that would bring the fireplace to life...but...
The woman walked away.
Frankie let out a "grrrrrr".
"Tomorrow," said the woman, "tomorrow...I promise if it is this cold tomorrow I will turn on the heat."
Then the woman had a vision...she was being pushed out of her own bed...there was always a dog, occasionally a cat...and now Frankie...it could be a very long winter.
The woman returned to the thermometer on the wall and pushed the button on the remote control...goodbye lovely credit.
Frankie won...sometimes the woman just had to do what a woman has to do. Peace and tranquility...that's the ticket. Even better, there was heat.
And, they all continue to live happily ever after.
The end.
Sunday, October 7, 2012
Normal
Normal, what bland, uninteresting word. A person's normal temperature is 98.4. As an adult it is normal to get up early in the morning in order to get to work on time. A teenager's immediate normal after school job is to complete homework for the next day's classes.
It is normal to sleep at night, and it is normal to be active during the day. See what I mean...normal is boring, boring, boring.
Abnormal, is a whole different story. And usually as negative connotations. Abnormal people frequently do terrible things, especially to other people. Trust me, I'm addicted to the Investigation Discovery channel, so I know many things about abnormal.
Then I got to thinking about me, is the normal me as boring as I think? And, are my abnormalities simply weird and hopefully not negative, and/or destructive.
Oh dear, I feel giggles coming.
Boy, am I abnormal. I have an imaginary friend, who not only lives with me, but talks to me, too. But, she is also the Yin to my Yang. Thank goodness.
I like sardine sandwiches with onions, Spam, fried, baked, fresh out of the can, and don't particularly like fresh fruits and vegetable...but will eat them mostly because I know I should and that they are good for me. I think in the scheme of things I am slightly abnormal in my eating choices. When is the last time you had a sardine sandwich...with onions.
I'm blond, and we are supposed to be on the slightly stupid side, I'm not a genius of course, but I happen to like doing research, I like science, especially how things work, and nature, tiny, tiny objects of nature. I'm not good at typing, generally an easy thing for most people, but can create a work of art out of cardboard, construction paper, some glue and a few 'sparklies'. You have to admit for an old lady, these are generally things old ladies would choose not to do. I know of none that look under a leaf to see what might be growing, or crawling there. But many who will spend hours crocheting, knitting, watching TV, or reading a book.
I will pick up an earthworm squirming on a side walk and gently place it in the garden. I've brought injured creatures into the house, including a seagull I found over at the school in the middle of the football field. I placed it in one of my laundry baskets, and put the other on top of it so the gull could not escape. It was a bitter cold day, and I didn't know if it had flown into a window and knocked itself silly, or if it was simply cold.
I put the baskets by the wood burning stove, and checked on it frequently. Eventually it opened its eyes, and by three o'clock, it was becoming pretty active. I put some heavy books on top of the overturned basket. An hour later I could see it was starting to panic, so I wrapped a towel around it and returned to the school.
Its first attempt at flying didn't go well, so I re-captured it, and quietly talked to it for a while, and then released it again...off it went, high and wide. Now, isn't that just a tad abnormal...bringing a sea gull into your home.
Then , there was the time I tried to incubate an abandoned kill deer egg between my boobs for a whole afternoon...only to discover late in the day there was a hole in the shell, which is why it had been abandoned in the first place. I could have tried to incubate that thing for weeks had I not decided to give it a thorough inspection. Admit it...that was abnormal...well, down right strange really.
I could go on and on, but I think you get the picture. I don't think I want to be normal. There are many more adventures to be explored in what is left of my life, I like I have just a tad of abnormality flowing through my veins.
It is normal to sleep at night, and it is normal to be active during the day. See what I mean...normal is boring, boring, boring.
Abnormal, is a whole different story. And usually as negative connotations. Abnormal people frequently do terrible things, especially to other people. Trust me, I'm addicted to the Investigation Discovery channel, so I know many things about abnormal.
Then I got to thinking about me, is the normal me as boring as I think? And, are my abnormalities simply weird and hopefully not negative, and/or destructive.
Oh dear, I feel giggles coming.
Boy, am I abnormal. I have an imaginary friend, who not only lives with me, but talks to me, too. But, she is also the Yin to my Yang. Thank goodness.
I like sardine sandwiches with onions, Spam, fried, baked, fresh out of the can, and don't particularly like fresh fruits and vegetable...but will eat them mostly because I know I should and that they are good for me. I think in the scheme of things I am slightly abnormal in my eating choices. When is the last time you had a sardine sandwich...with onions.
I'm blond, and we are supposed to be on the slightly stupid side, I'm not a genius of course, but I happen to like doing research, I like science, especially how things work, and nature, tiny, tiny objects of nature. I'm not good at typing, generally an easy thing for most people, but can create a work of art out of cardboard, construction paper, some glue and a few 'sparklies'. You have to admit for an old lady, these are generally things old ladies would choose not to do. I know of none that look under a leaf to see what might be growing, or crawling there. But many who will spend hours crocheting, knitting, watching TV, or reading a book.
I will pick up an earthworm squirming on a side walk and gently place it in the garden. I've brought injured creatures into the house, including a seagull I found over at the school in the middle of the football field. I placed it in one of my laundry baskets, and put the other on top of it so the gull could not escape. It was a bitter cold day, and I didn't know if it had flown into a window and knocked itself silly, or if it was simply cold.
I put the baskets by the wood burning stove, and checked on it frequently. Eventually it opened its eyes, and by three o'clock, it was becoming pretty active. I put some heavy books on top of the overturned basket. An hour later I could see it was starting to panic, so I wrapped a towel around it and returned to the school.
Its first attempt at flying didn't go well, so I re-captured it, and quietly talked to it for a while, and then released it again...off it went, high and wide. Now, isn't that just a tad abnormal...bringing a sea gull into your home.
Then , there was the time I tried to incubate an abandoned kill deer egg between my boobs for a whole afternoon...only to discover late in the day there was a hole in the shell, which is why it had been abandoned in the first place. I could have tried to incubate that thing for weeks had I not decided to give it a thorough inspection. Admit it...that was abnormal...well, down right strange really.
I could go on and on, but I think you get the picture. I don't think I want to be normal. There are many more adventures to be explored in what is left of my life, I like I have just a tad of abnormality flowing through my veins.
Saturday, October 6, 2012
I'm back
My, oh my, it has been so busy this week. I've new project is in the mill at work, but I can't talk about what it is at the moment cause it's a Christmas gift idea. However, I've been holed up hours on end trying to work out the mathematics of this project, and since math is not my strong suit, there have been a lot of...'damns'... ...'craps'...and an occasional 'sh--' emanating from the office.
You might ask, "Doesn't your computer have a template for that? Yes, yes it does and that should have made the job easier, but when the actual paper product arrived I discovered the template didn't match up with the cut lines of the paper so I had to make my own...damn...crap...sh--. Such aggravation. Really! I did persevere though...damn...crap...sh--, so that finally, yesterday, I actually began production of this product.
In the meantime, I also established a checking account for my company. The initial paperwork stated I would get a debit card with the account, and 50 checks. When they did not promptly arrive, I called the bank prepared to give them 'what for', because you would think after being a customer since 1974 they would consider me a good customer and whiz these items to me quicker than the speed of light.
Apparently, the people in charge of the web-site don't actually converse with all the people who make company policies and the changes to them...so that the information I got from the site was waaay behind actual policy. There never were any checks, I had to order them myself and separately. There never was a debit card either. I was told I could use the one for my personal checking account. That did not seem like a good idea to me, since the purpose of the company account is meant to keep things separate, so I asked for a separate card. It arrived yesterday. But I was told I need a code to activate it (coming under separate cover) than the card. We'll see. Geeze. Good thing I delved into this, I could have been waiting forever.
Then, having requested the state to register my company, and to trademark my company logo (two different things, two different departments, and two different charges) I expected to receive official papers for these things when they had actually been accomplished. Ahhh, not so...I got nothing.
Back to the Official Oregon State web-site I go. I find my company is registered...(extra charge to get official document) (I just printed it out), and then I sent an e-mail to the trademark division stating I could
see I was registered, but how come I was not informed? Ooops, a few days later a copy of the paperwork arrived in the mail...I've only been waiting since July 9th.
How come nothing is simple?
In the meantime, I had started to become a maniacal idiot about the house...dashing around every day, picking up poop, debris, falling leaves (in huge amounts) in a desperate attempt to keep the yard presentable. While, inside the place looks pretty dang good (if I do have to say so myself) with Frankie finally on board about keeping the kitchen sink free of dirty dishes.
However, she does have a bag packed, that sits right next to the front door, so knowing I'm on pr-ettt-y thin ice I have decidedly lightened up a lot...well, at least a little. Cause I sure don't want to lose her. And, I've decided, starting today, I'm done, done, done with all this house business, can't do no mores. My little family unit is far more important, than my crazed activities regarding the house.
There you have it folks, the reasons why my blog has been silent for such a long time. Fear not, here and now, I decree Frankie, Zorro, CC and I are going back to enjoying life as we once knew it, a happy, content, slightly neurotic little group. Life is what it is, yesterday is history, today is still a mystery, and we are looking for a lovely day tomorrow.
I'm back.
You might ask, "Doesn't your computer have a template for that? Yes, yes it does and that should have made the job easier, but when the actual paper product arrived I discovered the template didn't match up with the cut lines of the paper so I had to make my own...damn...crap...sh--. Such aggravation. Really! I did persevere though...damn...crap...sh--, so that finally, yesterday, I actually began production of this product.
In the meantime, I also established a checking account for my company. The initial paperwork stated I would get a debit card with the account, and 50 checks. When they did not promptly arrive, I called the bank prepared to give them 'what for', because you would think after being a customer since 1974 they would consider me a good customer and whiz these items to me quicker than the speed of light.
Apparently, the people in charge of the web-site don't actually converse with all the people who make company policies and the changes to them...so that the information I got from the site was waaay behind actual policy. There never were any checks, I had to order them myself and separately. There never was a debit card either. I was told I could use the one for my personal checking account. That did not seem like a good idea to me, since the purpose of the company account is meant to keep things separate, so I asked for a separate card. It arrived yesterday. But I was told I need a code to activate it (coming under separate cover) than the card. We'll see. Geeze. Good thing I delved into this, I could have been waiting forever.
Then, having requested the state to register my company, and to trademark my company logo (two different things, two different departments, and two different charges) I expected to receive official papers for these things when they had actually been accomplished. Ahhh, not so...I got nothing.
Back to the Official Oregon State web-site I go. I find my company is registered...(extra charge to get official document) (I just printed it out), and then I sent an e-mail to the trademark division stating I could
see I was registered, but how come I was not informed? Ooops, a few days later a copy of the paperwork arrived in the mail...I've only been waiting since July 9th.
How come nothing is simple?
In the meantime, I had started to become a maniacal idiot about the house...dashing around every day, picking up poop, debris, falling leaves (in huge amounts) in a desperate attempt to keep the yard presentable. While, inside the place looks pretty dang good (if I do have to say so myself) with Frankie finally on board about keeping the kitchen sink free of dirty dishes.
However, she does have a bag packed, that sits right next to the front door, so knowing I'm on pr-ettt-y thin ice I have decidedly lightened up a lot...well, at least a little. Cause I sure don't want to lose her. And, I've decided, starting today, I'm done, done, done with all this house business, can't do no mores. My little family unit is far more important, than my crazed activities regarding the house.
There you have it folks, the reasons why my blog has been silent for such a long time. Fear not, here and now, I decree Frankie, Zorro, CC and I are going back to enjoying life as we once knew it, a happy, content, slightly neurotic little group. Life is what it is, yesterday is history, today is still a mystery, and we are looking for a lovely day tomorrow.
I'm back.
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