His Unfinished Work

First Friday's Fave Five

2012-01-06T07:23:00.001-06:00

This alone will shock the world as we know it. I have never participated in one of these before, but have enjoyed them FOREVER, so I thought it was about time I contributed. Thanks, Susanne, for hosting all this time and providing uplifting thankful things for us to realize in our daily lives!

So here's my list...

The quiet. This morning Hubster has gone off to work out with Eldest Son and I got up early. No one else is awake yet, so I was able to enjoy a cup of coffee in peace. Ahhhh.....
The Internet. Through it, I've been able to meet so many different people from so many different places and developed friendships and seen new perspectives I never would have seen before. My experiences would be "book only" instead of "semi-live" and I would have never had faces or names to put with those books. Plus, need I mention the SHOPPING??? Or the coupons? Or the ease of communication, or....or....or.... For those of us who grew up in the Stone Age with Fred Flintstone, it is indeed a miracle.
A new church home. For so long after Mom died, there was a fight going on between me and God. I was angry with Him for allowing things to happen to her, allowing her to suffer as she did, before her death. I didn't want to go to church. I had a hard time even praying. But eventually I started to heal, and along with that healing came the need to find a new church home. Thankfully, we found the right place for us and are now attending regularly and working in the programs again. God is good.
A job I love. And sometimes hate, just like everyone else. But for the most part, 99% of the time, I love it. I get to help people. Sometimes not in the way I had originally imagined, sometimes more than I had imagined, but I always get to help people. It's a wonderful place to be!
Home-made, three-layered German Chocolate Cake. Straight from the recipe on the German Chocolate bar. Mom used to make them for my birthday every year, and I've decided that this year I'll be making my own. I've missed them far too long.

I know there are many more I could list, but these are the five that stand out today. What are yours?

The Happiest of New Years

2012-01-02T15:00:00.000-06:00

It occurs to me that I have yet to write a New Year's post.

I seem to miss the bus when it comes to most everything, so why should this surprise me?

So, let me be the 843,237th person to wish you the Very Happiest of New Years! May this year bring you joy and tears, wealth and want, and most of all, the ability to be thankful to God for all of it.

And now, on to our previously scheduled post about the past few days...

Christmas was different this year.

How can I explain it?

For one, Sis and I determined early on not to exchange gifts. Times being what they are, we decided to only buy for the old and the young. Since Dad's wife passed away this year he decided to join us for our celebration, and had a cousin drive him up to the city. We had cookies and pies and candies, and watched the elders and the youngsters open presents. Then everyone stuck around and talked and ate while the college-aged crowd looked for an excuse to leave and get away from it all.

Because family at that age is BO. RING. Especially if there aren't presents involved. Who could blame them?

After that side left, it was time for the rest of the family to show up. There were people galore, and presents coming out of the woodwork. After all the presents were handed out, I yelled "On your mark, get set, GO!" just like I used to at Mom's, and we all dug in.

I just sat there and watched wrapping paper fly, listened to exclamations of glee from the children, and accepted hugs on a liberal basis. I was in my element.

And finally...FINALLY...I felt like Christmas had come back again.

It left after Mom died. It was never what it had been. But this year, for the first time, I felt as though the baton had been passed down to me and I got to feel what she felt each year as she watched us all open presents.

That, my friends, was the greatest gift I got this year.

Next year I'm thinking we might combine the two celebrations so everyone can feel the joy.

In other news, we're coming upon the As Yet Unrecognized Holiday on Friday of this week, where I become officially eligible to join the AARP. No, I won't be 60, but a mere child of 55. They're trying to foist membership on BABIES nowadays.

Honestly.

Pioneer Woman and I share the same birthday, so I'm thinking we should say we're the same age. I'll be generous and use her age instead of mine. After all, she needs the publicity, right?

Happy 2012!

The Incredible Lightness of Being

2011-12-23T22:51:00.000-06:00

The Christmas shopping is done.

Even if it isn't done, I am declaring it done. Hubster has one gift left to purchase, and if he doesn't get it, it will be HIS fault.

**I** (she said, in a Very Righteous Tone) am FINISHED with MY shopping.

Humph.

The Girl, bless her, is wrapping presents for me. My fingers are not working as well as they might when it comes to folding and taping and creasing and cutting, so she agreed to do that little chore for me. Pseudo Daughter is helping her, and The Girlfriend is along for the ride as well.

And may I just add this one little comment?

God bless Amazon, and the horse it rode in on.

What on earth I would have done without it this season I do not know. The Amazon Prime membership is worth its weight in gold as far as I'm concerned.

(I know there's a pun in there somewhere for all you Amazonians, having to do with the Gold Box deal, etc., but I won't go into it tonight because of the Christmas season, falalalala, and you're welcome.)

Hubster did call me at work one day this week to tell me that he feared we might have gone slightly over budget due to all the boxes being delivered. I assured him we were fine. He believed me, poor man, until the toilet paper came.

Yes, I ordered toilet paper through Amazon.

Oh hush. There was an online coupon, and it was on sale....

Anyway.

We're in the home stretch now. I'm done with work until a week from Tuesday. We're having one Christmas celebration Sunday, and another on Tuesday. After that, I plan to go out of town by myself for a couple of days and recoup. I need at least that long to become sane enough to rejoin society again.

Let me give you an example...

I cleaned off the top of my desk at work today. Completely. It hasn't been this bare since we moved back into the building last April.

If that isn't someone in need of a couple of mental health days, then I don't know what is.

Have a very blessed and very happy Christmas, my friends. You are loved!

My Part-time Job

2011-12-13T21:43:00.001-06:00

Last night I went grocery shopping.

While that may not seem to be a Stellar Blogging Event for most people, trust me when I say it took over the categories of both Most Dreaded and Most Procrastinated in our little household. Mostly because I have become a price-matching mama and a coupon queen.

Oh yes, you read it right.

I shop with ads and coupons and SPREADSHEETS (for goodness sake) at the local Wal-Mart. They do the dance with me where I get the same prices in all the other ads, PLUS they honor competitor coupons.

It warms the cockles of this penny-pinching heart, it does.

So I print off my coupons from Coupons.com and all those other places you can print coupons. I especially print coupons from Target, because not only do I get manufacturer's coupons off of items, but Target's coupons off in addition. So if I purchase Oreos at the HyVee price of $1.99, then I have a manufacturer's coupon from Nabisco for .50 off one package and Target gives me one of their coupons for .25 off, I can get a slam-bang bargain price.

Of course, these are totally healthy, organic, good for you, nutritionally sound, flour-salt-lard type products that we all know are part of the food pyramid and necessary to the basics of sound eating.

Or not.

I think the reason I dread this trip so much is that it takes a sweet FOREVER to do it. I can't take anyone with me, because they do nothing but gripe about how long it takes and when are we going home and MY FEET HURT WILL YOU PLEASE CARRY ME?

And that's just Hubster.

By the time I get finished it's usually two to three hours after I walk in the door, and I've crammed everything I can possibly cram into, on, around or through the shopping cart I push. It's piled high as I head toward the cash register, and I have to stop regularly to pick things up that have fallen to the floor. I make the most of creative loading.

Of course, the checkers all act busy as I approach, hoping against hope I won't get in THEIR line. Usually I apologize to the person unlucky enough to score my basket, and we begin.

I hand them my coupons, the spreadsheet and the ads. Without fail, this is how it goes...

"How would you like to do this? I can read off the spreadsheet to you and you can look up the ads, or..."

"You know, I can tell you're an experienced shopper, so I'll just take your word from the spreadsheet. I don't need to see the ads."

And off we go.

I don't know how much I would have spent without price matches, but with them the total was $420.00. After coupons it went down to $370.00. I was happy with that. I only shop once every four to six weeks for a family of four, other than essentials like bread and milk. With price matching and coupons I figure I probably saved around $125.00 total off of our food bill.

I think I'm about average for the REAL couponer. If you look at the Extreme Couponing shows you'll see people who buy 110 lipsticks or 47 cases of sports drinks. I don't do that. I buy what we use, and we use what I buy. I just take advantage of what I can with the sales and coupons.

But I will say this...it's WORK. I think that's one of the reasons I dread it so much! At heart I'm lazy and disorganized, and this takes a lot of time and organization.

Is it worth it? For now, yes. Later, after the kids leave, maybe not so much. We'll see.

Until then, I'll be the one shoving the cart with all the items falling to the floor in your local Wal-Mart.

Run away.

The Time Has Come

2011-12-10T23:42:00.000-06:00

In anticipation of the coming holidays, I thought I'd share some family photos.

Oh hush. It only took me several months to do this. It could have taken YEARS.

First, Hubster and me...

Then all the grands...

The Boy and The Girl...

The Boy, Eldest Son, The Girl, Son, MIL (96 years young), and Eldest Daughter...

The whole crew. The Girl, The Boy, Eldest Son and his wife, me, Hubster, Son, Eldest Daughter with her husband, Son's two children and Eldest Daughter's three.

And lest you think I may not have lost that much weight, let me give you a photo that was taken in February of this year when we went on our first ever family vacation to compare this to...

There.

I've done my due diligence now.

Merry Christmas, and I hope this will do you for another couple of years. Because that may be how long it takes me to get photos uploaded again.

I am nothing if not a slacker.

Oh The Time, It Does Fly!

2011-12-06T15:18:00.000-06:00

Saturday marked the eighteenth year of The Boy.

My Little Caboose, he is almost grown!

We celebrated at a new Japanese steakhouse he'd found in a hip and trendy part of our city. We knew it was hip and trendy because it was packed to the gills with hip and trendy people.

We did not count the couple with the t-shirts that read "HIP" and "TRENDEE" printed on them.

We did, however, count the fact that we had to wait for almost an hour to get a table.

A Mom Remembered

2011-11-29T08:22:00.002-06:00

Today is the third anniversary of Mom's going Home.

It is both the shortest three years I have ever known as well as an eternity.

Only yesterday I was hugging her and telling her I loved her....isn't that right? And wasn't it just the other day we went to her house for Thanksgiving dinner? It can't have been three Christmas Days that we've been without her favorite time of year, with loads of presents under and around her tree. Has it been that long since we teased her about the hot rolls that "weren't fit for a dog?" Have I been three years without one of her wonderful three-layer German chocolate cakes for my birthday?

At the same time, it's been so very long since I've been able to just pick up the phone to call her to say "I love you" or see how she's doing. It's been forever since I sat in the kitchen with her, talking about life. Eons since I had someone who would love me and support me as much as she did.

And three years has never seemed so long.

More grandchildren have been born, children she never got the chance to meet. The Boy will graduate from high school this year. Obama was elected President.

Sis and I still have coffee together every other week. We keep in touch because we love each other and we know Mom would have wanted it that way. We both still get weepy around this time every year because we miss her every single day, even though we know we'll see her again.

Sometimes "again" seems too far off.

Like today, when we're missing Mom.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

2011-11-26T15:01:00.000-06:00

Friday we went out in search of The One True Christmas Tree. Of course, there are at least two of them in the world, because Eldest Daughter had to pick out one as well. Surprisingly, I was able to spy ours within the first few minutes after we rode the hay wagon up to the field where the trees were grown. First row, next to the road, sixth one down. Thankfully, no one else saw its innate beauty in the following forty-five minutes it took ED to pick hers out.

And I gave her SOOOOO much grief.

It was only in retribution for all the years when she and her brothers would grudgingly make the same ride up the same hill to the same field only to whine and complain as I took forty-five minutes to find just the right tree. Her excuse was that it's DIFFERENT when it's for your own house.

Ah, the things that go around, they do indeed tend to come around again. I can hardly wait for the time when her children are in their early teens!

In other news, if I hear, read, or otherwise absorb the word "DOORBUSTER" one more time this weekend, I am liable to whop someone upside the head with a baseball bat. I have had more than enough of the Black Friday hype, thankyouverymuch. And after the incidents of people being pepper-sprayed and shot and trampled while in line to get the "deals" which were advertised, you can rest assured I will continue my stance of ignoring the whole silly mess and staying home.

(stepping down off of soap box)

And.

I have finished purchasing Christmas gifts for all of the grandkids. A new record for me, considering we rarely start until two weeks before Christmas. In addition, the major gifts for the two children still at home have been bought.

Only 437 to go...

And 842 dozen Christmas cookies to bake...

And a house to decorate...

And The One True Christmas Tree to put up.

Bah. Humbug.

Ho Ho Holidays

2011-11-26T01:03:00.000-06:00

Tonight I am in recovery mode.

Yesterday was a very busy, very long day. Most of it was spent cooking ham, turkey, potatoes, corn, beans, dressing, sweet potatoes, rolls, pies, deviled eggs, and I forget what else for our family dinner last night.

Everyone started arriving around 6 p.m., and half an hour later we all gathered to say the blessing before dinner. Each one brought more food and drink, so by the time we started eating I think I actually heard the table groan under the weight of it all.

Some of the family had already had one feast that day and were celebrating again. Others of us were eating our first meal of the day. At least that's what we told ourselves, giving us the excuse to put just a little more on our plates.

The over-forty crowd gathered at one table, while the "kids" sat at another. It was strange to watch the dynamic of the conversations change from years past. Where we, the "old" people, used to be the ones to carry the bulk of the table talk, it's now switched to the younger crowd.

And we couldn't be happier.

Long after all the elders left, they continued talking and laughing and having fun. Pa and I gave up and went to bed, and they still carried on.

It was wonderful.

When we got our creaky old bones up this morning, we found they'd cleaned up before they left. Bless their little pointed heads. They almost make hosting Thanksgiving worthwhile all by themselves.

And for that we are thankful.

So I Lied

2011-11-15T11:50:00.000-06:00

It isn't this coming weekend.

It was last weekend.

I didn't want the burglars among my readers to come and steal my Precious Jewels and Stacks of Money, so I did a post-it-later when I wrote the last post on Friday last.

The weekend, it was grand. We played, we slept, we ate, I sat and stared at the lake with nary a recorded book in my ears. Just the sound of the water lapping against the shore, and me in the lounge chair, staring out at the water. The weather was fine and warm. We had our own room on our own floor of the condo away from the hustle and bustle of the under-40 crowd, complete with two televisions, living room, bath, and sliding glass doors that led out onto our own private deck from both the living room and bedroom.

Spoiled much?

Shopping was the only horror of the weekend. The stores were PACKED OUT. Parking was at a premium, and lines for the fitting rooms were so long that I didn't try on the items I bought.

Big mistake.

While the blouses were fine in most areas, it still seems the girls are a bit larger than the average bears. I managed to get a size too small in button-down blouses, and the gap in front resembles the Grand Canyon. Thankfully, there is a store of this chain nearby so I should be able to exchange them for a larger size.

Getting a little cocky with the weight loss thing, here.

On the way back home from the weekend we learned that Dad's wife had passed away. The funeral will be next week sometime, so things will be up in the air for Thanksgiving. I don't know what Dad will want to do. He talked about moving back here to live, then staying where he is, then moving to assisted living....I think he's just confused right now. He needs time to sort things out.

The RA is here in full force today. I guess that's what I get for lying.

2,437 People and a Hot Tub

2011-11-14T09:00:00.001-06:00

This weekend I have grand hopes.

This is the Second Annual Family At The Lake Weekend, where all of us gather in a couple of condos for a couple of nights to eat, drink and be merry. We're going about three weeks earlier than we did last year, which is fine by me. The weather is supposed to be in the 60's, the sun is supposed to shine, and best of all...

WE HAVE A HOT TUB.

These arthritic bones cannot wait!

While I know I will not be allowed to just sit in the tub and listen to books all weekend, I must admit the thought has crossed my mind. And now that I can actually fit into a bathing suit, that makes it just a little more appealing than before.

I mean let's face it...the water displacement BEFORE weight loss would have practically drained the tub, given the fact that I could even get into it in the first place. There wouldn't have been room for anyone else!

Now, however, I plan to prune up. No bugs...it's too cool for them. Not TOO cold, not too hot...I think I'll feel like Goldilocks. Just keep me hydrated and keep the battery in my MP3 player charged and away from the water.

Of course, there will be games. Eldest Son has already warned us to come prepared. I have to admit, last year's fun fest was one where I laughed so hard I thought I'd split. This one will be hard pressed to beat it!

There will be shopping. Hours of shopping, since there are many stores with Great Bargains close to where we will be staying. This is where we begin the dreaded Christmas shopping (which I've already begun, but don't tell anyone).

And there will be food. Lots and lots of food. Enough to eat for every hour of every day. Cookies and chips and nuts and veggies and fruit and salads and pasta and biscuits and gravy and donuts and sweet rolls and candy and who knows what else. More food than you can shake a stick at. More food than a small country could consume in a year. Only our small country will eat it and more in just two days.

And there will be a view. A beautiful view of the lake, from a deck. With a chair, and books. I can almost hear myself relaxing as I write.

I'll try to remember the camera to get shots of all 2,437 of us along with the scenery. I bet you'll feel like you're there!

2011-11-08T16:54:00.000-06:00

It is a dreary day outside.

Just the type of day that calls, nay, BEGS for bite-sized Hershey chocolate bars dipped in a jar of peanut butter. Only then the Hershey bar tends to break off in the peanut butter jar, so you have to get a spoon to dig it out. And while you're there anyway, you decide you might just as well break off one little bite of Hershey bar and combine it with a spoonful of peanut butter, creating a healthful delight.

Watch out, Reese's.

Because it is rainy and cold and wet outside, I feel quite justified. This is the type of day when the RA flares up, and my sit-upon has been (you will forgive me here) a major pain in the arse. Likewise the hands, the feet, the knees, the upper hips, the shoulders....have I missed any joints?

Other than the ones I tell my children not to smoke, that is.

NOTE TO AUTHORITIES: I do NOT imbibe. This is HUMOR.

Although, on days like these....

JOKING. REALLY TRYING TO BE COMEDIC. NOTHING ILLEGAL GOING ON HERE.

At present my sit-upon is sitting upon a heating pad. I remind me of an aged dog, who lies upon a heated bed in the sun to warm its arthritic bones.

Sis and I traveled to Arkansas this past weekend. During the trip I actually wished for my butt to fall off of my body several times. I wanted to have a detachable behind that I could put in a suitcase and pack away in the trunk of the car because it ached so much.

Never mind the looks I'd get from people at the Cheese Factory when we stopped there to pee.

Of course, they'd probably have other body parts packed away as well. I imagine parents would pack all the children's mouths. Eunice would pack her ears so she wouldn't have to listen to the infernal switching of the radio stations by Fred, her husband of 45 years. Charlotte would wish that Evan, her brother, would pack his stinky feet, but she'd pack her nose instead so she wouldn't have to smell the stench as they drove down the road.

You never can tell what could happen.

In the meantime, me and my chocolate and my peanut butter will make the best of the rest of the day.

I Put the Pro in Crastinator

2011-10-21T16:11:00.001-05:00

My IN box runneth over.

I hate going through mail. Despise it. I don't know if it's the sorting or the signing off on the bills or the distributing or the throwing away or the what, but at the moment you couldn't fit another piece of mail in my box if your life depended on it.

So tomorrow I'll take care of it. First thing. Really.

And I'll clean off my desk. Right after I finish those payroll reports for the past two pay periods, and order phones for a new program. And I'll do that right after I get the headsets ordered for the IT Department. And then there are those pesky birthday cards to be gotten, and I really need to make sure we have some teabags in the break room.

But I've been a little busy lately.

I just finished a budgeted furniture order for almost the entire building. It was supposed to be done and installed by now, but it kind of wasn't. Which is to say that the information took much longer to gather than originally thought. Rooms had to be measured, things discussed, re-measured, approved, denied, approved, sent to committees, boards, etc. The final approvals have still not come through. It takes a long time to ever purchase anything new at a not-for-profit type of place. And rightly so. We don't ever want the donors to think we're frittering away donated dollars on silly things.

But this?

Let me just say that we've had the same furniture in this building they had in the early 80's when the place was first occupied. What has broken down or been replaced since then was done so with hand-me-downs from other businesses or cheap pasteboard stuff. Needless to say, when the workmen were here occupying the planet for nine months and using the furniture as ladders, it did not fare well. More of it broke and bent and got scratched and dinged up than before. And that didn't even count the side chairs that had faded from pink to light gray.

So you can see what an enormous task this was. As it is, fully one quarter of our people will not get new furniture for their offices this go-'round. Hopefully within the next couple of years, but not now. In the meantime we'll just tape the laminate back to the particle board and hope they still carry the same style a couple of years from now.

Because it may take me that long to get the order ready, and even longer to get it approved.

Further Insight Into My Fashion Sense, Or Lack Thereof

2011-10-20T11:14:00.001-05:00

I may or may not have mentioned that it is now chilly in these parts of late.

As such, I have been forced to bring out the warmer versions of the things that keep me from running around naked. Only due to the fact that I have lost some weight since this time last year, those garments have become few and far between. And since Hubster's retirement, the coffers have been a bit less full, so no new clothing has been purchased.

This morning I decided to try a snappy little black cardigan with a white stripe running through it at horizontal intervals. I paired it with a sleeveless black turtleneck shell that was faded from too many washings and the inevitable pair of black slacks - my only pair that fits. The slacks have been worn to work daily for the past several months.

I wonder if anyone has caught on yet? Let me rephrase that....I wonder if there's anyone who HASN'T caught on yet?

Add to that the black socks and the black shoes, and I look positively funereal.

But that's not all. Let's incorporate yet another layer of sophistication and style to the whole picture.

Earlier today I was speaking with the wife of The Boss, and I noticed she was wearing a sweater that was similar to mine. However, hers didn't button up the front. It was a pullover.

"Ha!" thought I. "A true mark of my innate taste!"

As it turns out, truer words were never thunk.

Being as it was a bit chilly in the room, I pulled my cardigan over my still-substantial chesticals. It was then I noticed them.

Not the girls, but the glaring bleach spots on the front of the cardigan. Dime-sized and a sickly sort of greyish color. Three of them, to be exact.

My cardigan was done for. RUIRNT. And I had done wore it out in front of God and ever-one just like I was someone with some sense.

Which just goes to show you.

I politely made some excuse about having to go pee or something and headed off to the bathroom to assess the damage. And lo, it was dire. So I did the only thing a good ol' trashy kind of girl like me knows to do.

I took a black Sharpie marker and colored the bleach spots in.

While it doesn't do anything for the washed-out shell, it will suffice for the day on the cardigan issue.

And I think we'll be dipping into the savings account for some new duds in the near future.

It's Hunkering Season

2011-10-19T15:35:00.000-05:00

It was 30 degrees last night.

I wore actual shoes with actual socks to work yesterday.

I no longer turn on the air conditioner as soon as I walk in the door at home after work.

All of this has led me to officially declare it to be Autumn.

I hate it as much as you do, but it's getting cold again. The seasons, they are wont to change. The chill is in the air, and I am having a hard time rising from my nice, warm bed in the mornings. The daylight ends all too soon. I find myself hunkering down with blankets, hot coffee, a good audiobook and my computer on the nights when I can stay awake. On the nights I can't, I...well...sleep.

Princess Obvious, at your service.

I am already longing for the fresh, rain-soaked mornings of Spring, sunny and bright with their newness and growth and things to come. If I'm weary of Autumn this early in, what's to become of me in the everlasting frigid plane of Winter?

I can see me now in a sheet of ice, hands reaching out to some unknown friend, mouth speaking a greeting as I am flash-frozen....never to thaw again. That's how I feel every single eternal Winter, and I'm not looking forward to it one. Little. Bit.

In the meantime, we'll build fires in the fire pit, wrap up in old quilts, roast hotdogs and marshmallows, and enjoy the season for what it is. Time enough to worry about what is to come when it gets here.

There's No Telling What I Might Say

2011-10-07T23:01:00.000-05:00

Tonight we went to my high school football stadium. I hadn't been there in 36 years.

Wow.

My youngest son is a Senior this year. The Boy's girlfriend was up for Homecoming Queen, and we all went as a family to support her. She was gorgeous, and yes, I promise to post pictures after they're taken tomorrow before the dance.

Sadly, she did not win the crown. However, she did win our hearts.

The Boy carried one side of the banner with her name and the name of her male counterpart. It seems that this year the school has decided to do away with the Sweetheart Dance in February, and made Homecoming into a King and Queen affair instead of just a Queen affair to make up for it. One of the friends of the guy who was up for King carried the other side. Neither of them won.

But hey, she got to be one of six girls out of the whole Senior Class to be picked for the honor! We're proud of her, as is her beau.

And the football game was notable for one other reason. The tennis coach at our school, who also teaches Social Studies, was kicked out of the stadium by the opposing school's principal. His crime?

He sat on the opposing team's side while wearing our school's t-shirt. He lives within the boundaries of the opposing school, but teaches at our school. The principal of the opposing team's school threw a hissy fit, and our school's principal had to ask him to leave, apologizing all the while.

Maybe it had to do with the fact that our team was beating the pantalones off of his team. Maybe it had to do with one of the headlines in his school's newspaper.

"Wanna hear a joke?" it said. "OUR FOOTBALL TEAM!!!"

The 38-14 score seemed to bear that out.

Now, if the principal could grow up a little and show the KIDS how to behave, instead of behaving like one himself, it would be an improvement.

But then again, I took the Ambien about 30 minutes ago, so I'm not responsible for what my fingers write at the moment.

At least that's my excuse, and I'm sticking to it.

They Don't Call It Procrastination for Nuthin'

2011-09-19T16:41:00.001-05:00

Never let it be said that I was pushed into anything by any person, place or existential plane other than time.

Take now, for instance.

Some things about some stuff have been sitting, waiting to be done, ever so patiently by Yours Truly for the past two months. I have known about them. I have thought about them, as in, "Gee, I'd really better get those THINGS done." I knew full well some stuffity stuff would hit the device that circulates air if I didn't get the THINGS done in a timely manner. I knew this, and more.

And yet the THINGS sat.

And they stared at me in all their patient THINGLYNESS, saying to themselves, "Oh, she's in for a world of hurt, that one. She knows we have to be done, and we can't be put off forever! One day soon she'll be paying the piper, she will. But does she even try to do part of us? OH NO, SHE DOES NOT!"

And they tsked their THINGLY tongues at me and shook their THINGLY heads back and forth, back and forth.

Even as late as last Friday, they had hope, had these THINGS.

"Perhaps she'll get up off of her (still) fat behind and actually move to GET US DONE TODAY!!!" they hoped with great hoping hopefulness.

And they were cheered when a slight, palid wave of my hand in their direction gave them chance to hope some more. A phone call here, an email there. Slight, lukewarm, milquetoast progress at best.

But today - TODAY the THINGS most CERTAINLY HAD TO BE DONE. The stuffity stuff, it was getting to the point of knee-highness, and could not be ignored or floated upon anymore.

And so it is that I find myself doing as I have done yea, so many times before. Counting on others to supply my last-minute needs so that I do not drown in the stuffity stuff of the THINGS. Which is why the desk, which was so very clean and presentable LAST week, now looks like a giant papery dinosaur regurgitated the last six months' worth of papery meals right upon its very top.

Insert heavy sigh here.

And also so it is that I sit here writing as I wait for some of the THINGS to appear via email from yet another of my breed, the Put-ter Offers of the World. We are legion in number, and lethal in practice.

At least we WILL be...when we get around to it sometime tomorrow. Or the next day.

The Best Laid Plans

2011-09-16T12:14:00.000-05:00

With all that's been happening lately, my desk at work has gotten to the point of mountainous proportions.

When last we left our heroine (me), you may recall there was a slight problem with The King of the Realm (Hubster) suffering a Mighty Blow to the chest in battle conditions (heart attack whilst trying to transport three grandkids aged six and under). Thankfully, The King is seated upon the throne (daily at 8:30 a.m.) (but that's too much information) again and is somewhat following his new diet, exercising, and taking his new meds without a fuss.

Or much of a fuss.

The night of said Mighty Blow I had determined to work late to pare down Mt. McDesktop from a range to a peak. Needless to say, I was a little apprehensive about working late this week, wondering what the next catastrophe was to befall our little brood.

But I pressed on.

I called Hubster and told him to stay out of the potato chips and hotdogs and away from the salt shaker and McDonald's, because Momma was gonna be chained to the desk for the evening. Then I turned up the tunes on the radio and went to town.

The papers, they flew. The IN box went to OUT as mail was disbursed to the masses. Supplies were ordered, bills were paid, payroll was caught up (much to the joy of my employees), and the top of my desk gradually emerged. I was just taking a bite out of a celebratory peach around 7:45 p.m. when it happened.

A furry, gray, horrendous rodent ran out across my office floor, squeaked at me, and ran off.

I immediately tried to talk myself into the sound being that of a bird outside my window rather than a mouse inside my office, but sadly, it didn't work. One reason was that it was quite obviously dark outside, and we all know birdies don't hop around in the dark. Unless, of course, they're owls, and owls don't squeak. And the inner city doesn't usually house owls. Another reason is that someone else on my floor had seen a mouse the day before. And knowing this building the way I do, I know that the hallway my office is in is like a drag strip for racing mice. I've seen them before.

One mouse will stand at the end of the hallway on its hind legs holding a checkered flag. Next to it will be two other mice, down on all fours, legs trembling with excitement, ready to go. The flag drops, the racers take off! They leap down the hall as I leap on top of my desk, and they must think I'm cheering them on instead of screaming in fear.

It's quite the sight.

But at least I got the paperwork into a manageable mess now, instead of a mountain range. Hubster was none the worse for wear, and new traps are set out for my little friends.

So go the plans of mice and (wo)men.

Heart of My Heart

2011-09-01T17:26:00.000-05:00

Tuesday was just an ordinary day.

The Girl was at college, The Boy had to work. Hubster was supposed to go over to Eldest Daughter's house to babysit the three grandkids, ages 6, 3 and 1, while their parents went to Meet the Teacher Night at school. Then he was supposed to load up all three grandkids and meet their parents at the school, where Daddy and Son would go to football practice and Mommy and the girls would go to dinner with Grandpa. I decided to work late and clear off the mountain of paper on my desk that was blocking my view of the door of my office.

That's how it was SUPPOSED to go.

Only it didn't. Not at all.

Hubster had been complaining about being tired lately. He said he had no energy. Being as he's retired now, much of the housekeeping has fallen on him, and frankly, the place has really gone downhill. When I get home from work I usually feel like warmed over oatmeal, so it's all I can do to fix dinner and go to bed. I rely on him to keep things halfway neat.

But lately it hadn't been happening.

The yard went to pot. The dishes went undone. All he seemed to do was lie on the couch and watch television. And no matter how many times I told him he needed to go to the doctor, he'd pooh-pooh me and say he was "just tired."

Over the weekend he mowed the front yard. Tuesday I chided him about the back yard and asked if he was ever going to finish it as I left for work. That's something I will regret for as long as I live.

While I was at work he did finish mowing, but even though it was a cool day he was sweating profusely. And he had a strange "weight" on his chest. He dismissed it as a touch of the flu. We'd been to our granddaughter's birthday party that weekend, and she ended up getting sick. He thought he was probably coming down with the same thing.

He went upstairs and took a shower, then took a nap. When he got up he felt somewhat better. He went to babysit the grandkids and wrestled around with them on the floor as usual. Then it came time to leave.

He loaded them into the back seat of the truck and started driving to the school, but began to sweat again. And then the strange weight he'd felt before came back, and he knew he was going to lose consciousness. He prayed he could make it to the school before he passed out.

He did make it to the school, and was able to put the truck in PARK. He took his cell phone and tried to call Eldest Daughter, but she had her phone on "vibrate" while she was meeting the teacher. He called me, but I was in the bathroom. He called ED again...no answer. He tried me again, and I finally picked up the phone.

He was barely able to tell me what was wrong. I told him to hang on, that I was calling 911 and I'd call him right back. I got the ambulance on the way, telling them my husband was having a heart attack with our grandkids in the vehicle with him.

When I called back, ED answered the phone. She stayed with him while I drove the 30 minutes to the hospital, calling The Girl, The Boy, and Son to let them know what was going on. The Girl had her boyfriend drive her in, Son came in from three hours away, and The Boy made it in record time from his job at another hospital. ED called Eldest Son and his wife, and all but the out-of-towners were there before Hubster went into surgery.

Yes, it was that fast.

He had a 100% blockage in his right coronary artery that apparently went to 99% after he was given baby aspirin to chew in the ambulance, according to the doctor. This allowed for some blood flow to the area of his heart that needed it most, minimalizing the damage that could have been done. Two stents were placed, and he was out of surgery and in ICU around 9:15 p.m.

The whole thing took around three hours from the time he called me to the time he ended up in ICU. It seemed like three hundred years.

Tomorrow, barring any complications, I'll bring him home to our less-than-perfect house. I'll scrub the toothpaste out of the sink after he brushes his teeth. I'll wait for his phone call if I'm two minutes late. I'll readjust the steering wheel to where it should be after he's driven my car, and I'll listen to him say, "What's for dinner?" again.

And I'll never, ever, be more thankful to do those things than I am right now, because I GET to do all that. I have the PRIVILEGE because he's still alive. God used this to teach me a simple lesson.

I so love this man.

Hubster is the heart of my heart.

Today Is Mental Health Day. Got Any I Can Borrow?

2011-08-26T11:22:00.000-05:00

Today I'm having several tests run, so I decided to take a full sick day off. The tests aren't taking all day, but I am.

I'm in need of some R & R.

It's been really stressful at work lately with some things about some stuff happening, and the past three weeks have made me want to tear out my hair. Yesterday I didn't get to take lunch until after 2 p.m., and when I started for the elevator to go downstairs I got stopped with another emergency phone call to handle. After that crisis was averted I informed the person at the front desk that I was going to lunch, I was not available for anything other than the building falling down around her ears, I was not to be paged, looked for or even THOUGHT of for the next half hour, and I exited stage left.

Then someone found me in the breakroom in front of the microwave and wanted me to order a cell phone.

I blew up. I YELLED. I told him to GO AWAY. In a Very Loud Voice. I was not kind.

And then I took my food and hid in a storage closet with no phone and sat in the dark and ate it and breathed for half an hour.

I was much better when I emerged, but I also realized it was time I took a moment or so to unwind.

So amid the bloodtests of the morning and the picking up of the prescriptions, and before the scans of the afternoon, I am here at the local Starbucks doing just that. Unwinding. Breathing. Drinking coffee. Writing.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..................

Obviously Some Alien Being Has Taken Over My Body

2011-08-24T18:46:00.000-05:00

And believe you me, they can have it!

But more to the point, I came home from work tonight and actually used a bit of CREATIVITY to prepare a meal!

"Egad!" you shout. "Has all sense left this woman??? Is she beyond hope???"

Negative, my friends. I think I just overdosed on the Food Network and too much Kraft.com. It's a sickness. Those who can't.....watch those who can. And read about them. And collect recipes.

Sigh.

Tonight we have yet to partake of this glorious conglomeration. I'm hoping it's edible.

If I don't show up here for another three months, call the paramedics. Or the NRA, or PETA or whatever other acronym you can think to call.

I'll be here, fork in hand.

I Love This Woman

2011-08-19T22:27:00.000-05:00

Ladies and Gentlemen,

Please let me introduce you to one of the most caring, empathetic physicians I have the honor to know.

Her name is Dr. Sarah Hon, and I am so very pleased that she is my neurologist.

You may remember when I was in the midst of the RA Flare From Hell a couple of weeks ago. I went to the rheumy and he couldn't fix me or do anything to help. He suggested I go to my neurologist and see what she had to say. Unfortunately, the first available appointment was September 19th.

Un. Good.

Thankfully, and probably because I kind of started crying on the phone when they told me I'd have to wait that long (DRAMA QUEEN), they got me in today. And when Dr. Hon heard what had been going on, she was ON TOP OF IT in NOTHING FLAT. MRI, EMG, blood tests, partridge in a pear tree, tea and sympathy, valium, and plenty of samples of expensive drugs I just happened to have run out of recently.

God bless her and the horse she rode in on!

I may not know what's going on right now, but at least I have the assurance she will get to the root of the problem and KICK IT IN THE TAIL for me.

She is Woman, she is Doctor, she is AWESOME.

Hear her ROAR.

2011-08-14T10:49:00.000-05:00

The time is almost here.

The Girl and Hubster almost have three of the vehicles loaded up for THE BIG MOVE to her new apartment. We'll spend today cleaning and arranging, going to the grocery store and stocking her up for the long haul, making sure she has everything she needs to be ON HER OWN for the school year and near future.

She has furniture, except for a kitchen table and chairs. She has dishes and all other manner of cookware. She has linens, toilet paper, lamps, and a bed. We'll make sure she has a baseball bat for right by the front door and/or her bed. She'll have food to eat, heat and cooling, a roof over her head.

But most of all, she'll have our love.

In Which I Am Thankful

2011-08-12T15:22:00.000-05:00

It's time to turn the Whog into the Thlog, at least for today.

Given that, here are five things for which I am profoundly thankful today:

Temperatures in the 70's and 80's. Oh. My. Word. I almost kissed the thermometer. Blessed, blessed temperate weather with breathable air!
Because of #1 (see above), I was able to get the weed patch (formerly known as a vegetable garden) cleared out and ready for more planting. The tomato plants were burnt beyond all recognition, but there is a bumper crop of cucumbers! And while the turnips suffered mightily, I am sure there will still be time for a mess of green beans before all is said and done.
Lidoderm patches are a gift from God. On the days when I can't use pain pills I can slap a couple of these on the places that hurt and they help me get through the day. Or night.
Quiet morning times in the swing. I have no idea why or how, but I've been waking up earlier than the average bear lately. There is nothing better than the quiet of a morning and a good cup of coffee, whilst chatting with The One who made it all! And I find it settles me more for the day. Except for yesterday, of course, when I was a basket case.
A church my whole family will attend. While it isn't every Sunday, it must be noted that we have all been attending church together. It took us a bit to find a church everyone was happy with after Hubster retired. Because of his job and the hours he worked it was almost impossible for him to attend church with us. Now he says we are so blessed to have found this one, and I agree.

And it's the weekend! This weekend we're moving The Girl into her apartment at school. Much cleaning and little sleep, I'm sure, but it's all worth it in the end.

Here's hoping you have things to Thlog about!

Sunshine, Rainbows and Other Mythical Beings

2011-08-11T13:19:00.000-05:00

There are choices I have in the bloggity world. I can either write truth, which involves a lot of gunk a lot of the time and tends to turn this little column into the Whog, or I can write happy little ditties full of Pollyanna GLAD stuff that won't see the light of day except for once every blue moon.

Because right now my life is, quite honestly, gunky to the max. And even Pollyannna would have her behind in a sling trying to come up with GLAD things.

So I'm whining and blogging, folks. Whogging away. Y'all are officially declared my therapy for today.

To update you on what's been going on: Dad's wife is dying. She has kidney cancer that has spread to her spine, hips, and ribs. Of late we believe it's spread to her brain. There is no more that can be done for her, so she is being kept comfortable while Dad waits for the inevitable.

Her children are from out of town and need someone to blame for all of this, so it naturally falls on Dad. Of course, Dad has COPD and is on 5 liters of oxygen himself. He does well enough to walk, much less deal with the stress of the situation. He knows the future is not bright and has somewhat decided to move closer to Sis and me after all is said and done.

To that end I have been halfway looking for a retirement apartment or assisted living apartment for Dad close to our families. Without knowing when anything will happen it's hard to do anything, but I think it's better to be somewhat prepared for him than to have to do it all at one time.

In the meantime, I've been experiencing unexplained weakness in my forearms, hands and knees. I thought it had to do with the RA, but after a thorough check from the RA doctor yesterday he ruled that out. He referred me to my neurologist. The only problem is I can't get in to see her until September 19th.

Gee, I wonder what would happen if there was a REAL emergency?

Add that to the flareup of RA that I've had the past two weeks. I had to have the steroid shot, the prednisone, etc., and nothing seemed to work. It still felt as though I was wearing boxing gloves, and hurt like the devil. FOR TWO WEEKS STRAIGHT.

So much so that I went to the dark side.

Today when I woke up with a migraine and achy all over, I had just HAD ENOUGH.

E.

NUFF.

I got in the car to go to work and started crying, and didn't stop all morning long. I feel like crap.

I called the family doc to see if I could get in to see him. No dice. No appointments available until next week. You already know about the neurologist.

So I turned off the light in my office, turned on some New Age piano instrumental music, and I've bawled my way through the day. That is, when I haven't been biting peoples' heads off and spitting them back out or cussing.

Yes, I have pain pills. They make me sleepy and spaced out and they don't last long. I can only use them for 4 days in a row. After that I have to quit for 3 days or I get migraines.

Sucks to be me.

So tonight I will see if I can get in for a massage and an attitude adjustment. If not, you'll find me hiding under my desk in a puddle tomorrow.

A Joy

2011-08-07T19:35:00.000-05:00

Today The Girl was baptized.

She is almost twenty years old, getting ready to enter her second year of college. Although we could have had her baptized when she was small as a baby dedication, we chose not to do so. We wanted her to make her own decision to follow Christ and to make her own decision as to if or when she'd be baptized.

Because she's very shy about such things, our friend, neighbor and pastor had a special service for our family after our church service today at his church. He's known The Girl since she was in first grade, so this was special for him as well. And while it only took a few minutes, we all ended up a little teary-eyed at the end. It was a beautiful thing.

My daughter has some different beliefs than I do, some different ideas and some different ways of doing things. But it's good to know that this one thing, the most important of all, is one we see the same way.

I love you, Girl!

One Hot Mama Amongst a Horde of Other Hot People

2011-08-03T00:04:00.001-05:00

ONE HUNDRED SEVEN DEGREES IN THE SHADE.

Tomorrow will be one hundred ten.

Der riguer for the day will be tastefull underwear worn to the office...and not much else.

Where, oh where are my 1980's sheeting skirts when I need them???

Help Me....I'm Melting...

2011-07-31T18:15:00.000-05:00

One hundred degrees tomorrow. One hundred three the next day.

This is really getting tiresome.

In winter, there is the stir crazy caused by being inside too much due to the cold. It is now reversed somewhat and we're staying inside too much due to the heat. Only with the heat comes the crudly asthma stuff and the RA stuff is rearing its monsterly head and the AC isn't working in the car so I can't really go anywhere to escape the sameness of it all.

So I come here to the Whog, where I can whine and blog about my misery at the same time.

Begone, heat wave. You are no longer funny nor wanted anymore.

Diving Into Jello Headfirst

2011-07-25T15:02:00.000-05:00

I'm much too lazy and much too ignorant to invent it myself, but I do wish someone would come up it.

You know, that hot, jello-ish consistency liquid that you could just dive into? The stuff that would attach itself to all your aching joints and muscles while letting you float your cares away. It wouldn't get stuck in your hair, under your nails, or in other unmentionable places, but would instead drip completely off of you if you should ever decide to leave the comfort of its embrace. It would pillow you in warmth, suspending you in its healing, sweet-smelling balm until every care and pinch of pain wafted away. It would be anti-bacterial, anti-fungal, antibiotic, anti-war, anti-stress and anti-inflammatory. It would be like dipping seven times in the river Jordan, only much more enjoyable.

So would one of you geniuses hurry up and invent it, please? There are those of us who are tired of waiting....

I Don't Do Hot Very Well

2011-07-22T22:33:00.002-05:00

As those of you who have been around any time at all may know, hot and I don't see eye to eye.

Lately, we seem to have been thrown up close and personal with the heat wave that seems to have taken up permanent residence here in the Midwest of These United States. And one of us is not a happy camper.

That would be me, in case you were wondering.

When I left work today at 4:40 p.m. and drove by the automatic digital thermometer sponsored by A Local Bank and pointed at the highway for my edification and supposed enjoyment, the reading was a mere 104 degrees. It's been in the triple digits every day this week as I've wandered home. Sometimes that's been as late as 6:30 p.m.

Tonight the dewpoint was 69% (whatever that means), and apparently when the dewpoint is high people with asthma have problems breathing. I found that little tidbit out from my weather lady on Channel 5.

I also found it out by gasping for air the past two days and excessively pumping my inhaler like the scrawny kid with glasses who doesn't get picked to play on the baseball team until the very last, and then gets so excited that he has to take a couple of hits from his inhaler just to be able to breathe through the thrill of it all. Only not really.

The LOW tonight is supposed to be 82 degrees. I suggest we all meet at the bluff in our skivvies and shuck 'em all there and go buck nekkid skinny dippin.

WHO'S WITH ME???

Somewhere In The Deep, Dark Recesses of the Deep, Dark Freezer

2011-07-21T22:18:00.000-05:00

(NOT my actual freezer. This one is much neater and more organized.)

__________________________________________________________

We are about to be more carnivorous than we have been in years.

Momma done ordered a side of beef from the local processing plant, so the freezer has to be cleaned out. And it has to be cleaned out soon.

In addition, Momma's lookin' at ordering some chicken from Zaycon Foods. They sell boneless, skinless chicken breasts for $1.59/lb. I know, some of you will say that you wait for the local grocery store to put them on sale for $1.19/lb., but these aren't the chemical-fed, water-injected, hormone-treated cyber chicken breasts you usually get at the grocery store. These are all-natural, chemical free, locally raised chickens. For that I think I can pay a little more. They're delivered in 40 lb. boxes that you take home and package yourself. You can buy as many boxes as you want, but if you don't show up to pick up your product during the delivery times, you forfeit it. That's how they keep the cost lower - kind of like Angel Food.

Needless to say, we're eating a lot of the food we currently have in the freezer to make room for all the MEAT. The beef will be ready the first week of August, and the chicken comes next week.

And we ain't halfway empty yet.

The sad part is that I've got frozen crab rangoon in there that hasn't seen the light of day since 2007. It's a scary place. I think there are huckleberries in the way back that date back to Grandma's time.

Shoot, I may even have GRANDMA in there. You never can tell.

One thing I do know, though. If I can't cypher what it is, we aren't going to try to eat it.

I think my family will thank me in the end.

Verbose, and Yet Not

2011-07-20T12:49:00.000-05:00

I find myself somewhat lacking in the written word of late.

I also find that I am not alone. Many of us who have taken to the blogging like the proverbial duck to water have, around the five to six year mark, found there is actually life on Planet Earth that may not have to be written about on a daily basis. Or, for whatever reason, our writing ducts have suddenly gone dry. Or we may no longer have time to deal with the blog given the way life eddies and flows, ever changing.

Twenty years ago I would not have thought myself capable of writing on a somewhat daily basis. And yet, looking back five years ago and even more recently, that's exactly what I did. I always wanted to be a writer of books. God had other plans.

At least for now.

I have not given up hope, nor have I given up the pen. My life is not what it was five years ago, much less what it was yesterday. Things tend to come full circle given time, and so I am sure I will continue to write here, albeit on a much more sporadic basis than I did five years ago. Perhaps I'll have time to start that book. Maybe I'll have the urge to come up with a story. In any case, I have certainly found and kept new friends that I cherish.

Thank you for taking this life-journey with me, wherever it may lead.

Bedtime Again

2011-07-07T21:10:00.000-05:00

Of late I've been approximately 437 years of age.

I need to go to bed at 9 p.m. If I don't go to bed at 9 p.m. or before, I tend to go to sleep in whatever sitting appliance I tend to be habitating at the moment. And then someone has to wake me up, convince me I actually am/was asleep, and guide me gently around the furniture and up the steps to the bathroom.

From there I seem to be able to make it to bed on my own.

It's quite sad, really.

I remember way back when I was only 343 years old that I would actually stay up as late as, oh, 10:30 p.m. or so.

Now THOSE were the DAYS.

But now? Now my eyes, chest and behind all compete to see who can droop the most and with the greatest speed and aplomb.

And now, if you'll excuse me, it's bedtime.

Again.

We'd Like Two Rooms, Please

2011-06-24T13:23:00.000-05:00

For the past thirty years I have traveled alone.

Alone would be a subjective term, being as it would mean I was in the company of anywhere between one to three children at times. In those cases alone would mean I was the lone adult.

In years of late it has indeed meant I have been alone, by myself, with no other humans present. I have taken to hogging the bed, ignoring the television, and relishing the quiet.

But a funny thing happened on the way to the most recent trip. Hubster decided to retire. And by retiring he was able to accompany me for the first time ever on one of my sojourns down south.

I had an inkling we might not be quite as well matched in the travel department as I'd hoped when we started the drive out, but I decided to ignore that niggling little feeling. We made it to the first birthday party of the Prince without incident, after all.

But then...but then...he didn't follow MY directions the rest of the way there.

Uh oh.

When we got to the hotel I knew we were in trouble. THERE WAS ONLY ONE ROOM.

One room for me to go to sleep in by 9 p.m. One room for him to watch television in at an earsplitting volume until 11 p.m.

WE WOULD HAVE TO COMPROMISE!!!

I must confess that I do not play well with others. Especially if I do not get my sleep when I want my sleep. Or, to paraphrase: IF MOMMA AIN'T HAPPY, AIN'T NOBODY HAPPY.

I tried. Truly. I covered my head with pillows and stuck earplugs in my ears. But HE JIGGLED THE BED. He turned the volume waaaaay down, but there was that COUGHING thing he did. Finally I asked him to go have a beer in the bar so he could watch TV and I could sleep. Only then I felt guilty, so I didn't sleep. And then he did that coming-back-to-the-room thing. With more coughing. More jiggling.

Finally, blessedly, we both went to sleep.

The next day we went to the hospital to be with family. Only he isn't a hospital person, so he was bored. He walked. He paced. He explored. He went back out to the car in scorching heat and listened to the radio. It was hell on earth for him.

And so we took pity on both of us and decided he needed to go back home early. Because we are nothing if not people who like to be hit over the head with baseball bats a time or two before we get the idea that something doesn't work.

We called The Girl and had her meet us halfway home, then transferred Hubster to her car. I drove back to the hospital, and she took Hubster home.

And there was great rejoicing in two cities in the land.

May I Just Say This About That?

2011-06-09T19:53:00.000-05:00

Coming from a family with roots in the South, I realize there is a distinct difference between sweet breads and sweetbreads.

However, at first glance that distinction did not make itself readily available to my befuddled mind.

Sweetbreads for breakfast or a "fabulous dessert?"

Uh...NO THANK YOU.

In Which I Am NOT the Saviour of the World

2011-06-09T16:24:00.000-05:00

Fooled YOU, eh?

I bet you thought, "That Chris, what would we DO without her regulating our every breath, telling us not to stick our fingers in electrical outlets, keeping us from running with scissors?" That very idea runs through your mind constantly, doesn't it?

Well, apparently YOU are one among two.

I seem to think at times I am needed to organize the lives of those around me.

For instance:

My father's wife was recently diagnosed with cancer of the kidney, which has spread to her spine. It has been causing her a great amount of pain for the past two months since it was misdiagnosed as an inflamed nerve. She was taking pain medication, but the medication didn't seem to touch the pain. The doctor prescribed a patch for pain, but my father mistakenly dosed out pain pills on top of the patch. Needless to say, this resulted in a couple of ambulance calls.

Dad is in poor health himself, suffering from emphysema. He's on numerouse medications just to keep breathing. He's never had to actually take care of himself before, much less anyone else, so the church has been bringing in meals.

Sis and I live 250 miles away. Her daughter and son live in Florida and Canada, respectively. It's hard to parent parents from so far away.

So being the take-charge firstborn that I am, I called Dad and asked if it was OK for me to contact the hospital Social Services person to at least see about getting them Meals on Wheels. I also suggested assisted living. Apparently that went too far.

Assisted living to people in small towns who don't know any better means "Let's see about putting you in a nursing home." I didn't realize that, because assisted living here means "Let's get you an apartment with a living room, bedroom, bathroom, and maybe even a kitchen, in a building with other people who are your age who need a little extra help with meals and taking medications in the right amount and on time and could use some housekeeping assistance."

I was quickly informed they were NOT moving from their house, they didn't NEED meals (even though she's down to 92 pounds now) and I needed to leave it alone.

I'm having a hard time doing that, but I realize it may be for the best. There are three other children who will likely be listened to much better than me, so for this episode I will be removing the cape, tights and gloves and letting them take over.

As difficult as that may be.

A Long Time Coming

2011-06-07T21:57:00.003-05:00

This post will be long. Be forewarned. If you doze off or get bored and decide to stop reading, that's perfectly fine.

But at least you can say you knew at the start.

It is also about a controversial subject, of sorts. If you agree with my stance, fine. If not, fine.

I'll still love you anyway, as I hope you will me.

As you can tell, this could get a little serious. I'll try to interject humor whenever possible, but please be forewarned of the possibility of seriousness as well. See paragraph #1 for further instructions.

So.

Let's begin.
_____________________________________________________

All of my life I have had a weight problem.

One of my earliest recollections is being at my paternal grandparents' home. The table was spread with every kind of edible thing you could imagine, and almost all of it was fried or cooked with bacon grease. This is the mark of a true Southern family. I sit at the table and eat until I literally cannot breathe. By doing this, I get attention from not only my grandparents, but also my father. The same father who is about to leave me and my sister there so he can go "fishing."
My father worked nights when I was growing up. He'd go in at 3:30 p.m. and not come home until late at night. Because of this, in order for us to have dinner together as a family we'd eat as soon as my sister and I got home from school. Dad worked part-time jobs during the day in order to make ends meet, whether that was cutting trees or roofing houses. Most days he'd come in just in time to take a fast bath and wolf down a meal, then head to work.

When I was in grade school I'd try to eat as fast as he did and as much as he did during those late afternoon dinners, trying to get some attention from him. All I succeeded in doing was making myself fat.

I already had what I called the "fat gene" from Dad's side of the family. Grandma and Grandpa were morbidly obese. Dad today weighs around 350 lbs. Mom's side of the family was petite - mostly short and skinny. Sis ended up with Dad's height and Mom's weight. I ended up with Mom's height and Dad's weight. Sis was always tall and skinny, while I was always short and fat.

Fast forward to my high school years. I weighed in at 135, but I was a size 14. To say I was a curvy 5'4" would be accurate. With my first child I gained 30 lbs. that didn't go away.

And it just went downhill from there.

That's when the interminable dieting started. And with each and every attempt at diet, my weight went up even more. Weight Watchers, Atkins, health food diets, South Beach, cabbage soup, starvation, exercise, countless gyms, running, walking hundreds of miles, aerobics, machines, enemas, diet drugs, books, tapes, classes, Jenny Craig, Christian programs, hypnosis, prayer, meditation, blahblahblahblahblahblahblahblahblah.........WHY CAN'T I JUST HAVE MORE SELF-DISCIPLINE? WHY CAN'T I JUST TRUST GOD MORE? WHY CAN'T I...WHY CAN'T I...WHY CAN'T I...

It got to the point where I gave up. I flat out GAVE. UP. I decided I would have to live my life as a fat person. An unhappy-on-the-inside-wishing-I-was-dead-instead-of-fat person. Someone who could write happy, but someone who was so very depressed.

I weighed in at 233 lbs., and I wore a size 20 on a good day, well on my way to a 22.

I could barely walk most days. My asthma was not under control. I had developed rheumatoid arthritis. Sleep apnea had been diagnosed as well. I was on more medication than a pharmacy.

And then...

Eighteen months ago I heard about a surgery that was being performed. It was fairly new, only around 8 years old. Success rates were very good, so I looked into it further. I researched it for over six months. I spoke with surgeons, people all over the country who had the surgery, read articles on the history of the surgery and all of the problems that could be associated with it or attributed to it.

I did my homework. And lo, it was good.

The surgery was called vertical sleeve gastrectomy, also known as VSG or simply the sleeve. In it, 75% - 85% of a person's stomach is removed, leaving a small, banana-shaped stomach that holds about a cup of food at a time. The surgery is not reversible.

The reasons for me choosing this surgery are endless, but here are a few:

Unlike the gastric band, there is no foreign object inserted into the body. There is also no risk of the band eroding into the stomach or the port dislocating. There is no need for fills and there is no problem finding the "sweet spot." I have no problem with getting food stuck.
Unlike the gastric bypass (aka RNY), there is no "re-routing" involved. I will still be able to take NSAIDs and will not suffer from dumping syndrome. The part of my stomach that is left is not able to stretch as much as a pouch does, so the liklihood that I will end up failing the way Carnie Wilson did is much less. Recent studies have shown a tendency for RNY patients to become hypoglycemic over time. Malabsorption of vitamins and other nutrients can also be a problem for those with RNY.

This surgery, as any other surgery, is a tool. It is not "the easy way out" or a "quick fix" of any kind. It is a concious, life-altering decision to utilize the means I can to get myself to a healthy weight.

And it's one I have been thankful for EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. since I made the decision to do it in 2010. It is a gift.

After countless hours of research, I then had to go through six months of doctor-supervised diet, nutritional counseling with a dietician, exercise counseling with an exercise physiologist, and mental health testing to make sure I wasn't nuts. Or too nuts to have the surgery.

Surprisingly, I passed.

In September of last year I heard that my insurance had approved me for surgery. I scheduled it for December 27th, preceeded by a two-week liquid diet. Over Christmas.

Oh yes, I did.

I told my boss, but only because I was going to have to take two weeks off on vacation in a row and I was going to skip the Christmas party because I couldn't eat. I told our immediate family and a couple of very close friends, but no one else. If you're in our extended family and you're reading this now....SURPRISE!!! It all had to do with the dietfaildietfaildietfail cycle everyone has seen me do time and time and time again. I just didn't want to be judged for trying again, knowing that people were going to think I'd just keep it off for a while and fail. I hope you understand.

So, surgery went well. It took me a little while to adjust to the "new" stomach, but now that I have it's as if it's been this way my entire life. And there's a distinct difference from every other DIET I've ever had.

Before, I ate until I could eat no more, and then I ate some more. Now I eat when I'm hungry and stop when I'm full. It's a totally new concept to me. One I have fallen in love with completely and totally.

One that has helped me lose 50 pounds so far. One that has helped me get into a size 14 - a size I haven't seen since before my 19 year old daughter was born. One that I can maintain for the rest of my life with absolutely no guilt or shame. I CAN DO THIS. I CAN. I CAN. I CAN.

And I AM.

My Fiend Ivy

2011-06-06T10:38:00.000-05:00

No, there is no misspelling in the title.

I am again the innocent victim of the poison ivy.

May I just say how very SPECIAL I feel to have been visited by this plague once more?

As you may recall, I had a bout with this a few years ago. This time I was aware enough to go to the doctor at the first sign of itching, but apparently not aware enough to stay out of the stuff to begin with. I mean really, who would have thought it would show up in my FLOWER BED, of all places? And for goodness sake, who would have thought I'd be industrious enough to actually WEED my flower bed? At least while I was weeding my flower bed I actually recognized the vile verminous varmint for what it was...albeit a little too late.

Sigh.

So I am now in the possession of steroid cream with the instructions to apply a thin layer twice a day. But you and I both know how it's going down, don't we?

The cream won't work. I'll have to go back to the doc. He'll give me a shot. I'll get another prescription for more cream, probably an antibiotic and oral steroid. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Grrr. GRRRR. GRRRRR!!!!

And I'm itching.

To top it all off, I woke up at FOUR AYEM IN THE MORNING BEFORE THE SUN ROSE today. It's supposed to be 174 degrees in the shade for the next three days. I was NOT ready for Summer to hit yet. I was so enjoying Spring...

So please forgive me if I'm a bit cranky. I'm sure tomorrow will be better.

Off to hide myself in a closet until I can be presentable....

We Are Finally of Age

2011-06-03T13:57:00.000-05:00

Yesterday Hubster and I celebrated our 21st anniversary of wedded matrimonial bliss and togetherness while being the two who became one forever and ever amen.

Only "celebrated" is a somewhat relative term.

Because Hubster, faulty memory and all, agreed to babysit all day yesterday and most of the evening last night. He had Little Man and Sweetie Pie all day, then when I got home from work he took Little Man to softball practice. When Little Man's mom got to our place, she traded Princess for Sweetie Pie because Princess needed a bottle and/or to be fed and was not feeling well due to teething and/or an ear infection. She took Sweetie Pie to the practice with Little Man to watch, and I got to cuddle Princess and make her feel better by rocking and feeding her.

Because that's what grandmas do.

And bless her little heart, she snuggled right up to me and cuddled back.

Then Grandpa and Mommy and Little Man and Sweetie Pie all got back from practice, and Mommy decided to take Princess to Urgent Care to see if she really had an ear infection. Grandpa went, too, so that he could snag some Happy Meals from McDonald's for the kiddoes.

Then we went outside to play and weed the garden.

Grandpa got back with "dinner," (and I use that term loosely as well) and everyone ate before Mommy returned with Princess. No ear infection - just cutting teeth. Poor baby.

And then everyone went home.

At 8:30 p.m. Grandpa and I settled down to a gourmet meal of leftover chili...but not before a big prayer of thanks for the 21 years we've had with each other and our "his, mine and ours" family.

Lettuce Break Bread Together

2011-06-02T10:52:00.000-05:00

Hubster thinks I'm nuts.

Let me hasten to add this is certainly not far from the truth, however he believes me to be even more on the wacky side than usual. I believe it all began when I started talking to my garden.

I have heard the notion of talking to common houseplants makes them grow. That's my excuse for talking to the four tomato plants, gazillion onions, three pepper plants, cucumber plant, row of turnips, row of lettuce, and row of beans. Of course, I didn't come up with that excuse until Hubster asked me why I was acting loonier that usual while weeding the garden the other day.

I tend to be a little forceful with the crabgrass that pops up and has roots that go down to the center of the earth. "Take THAT!" I say, " And DON'T COME BACK!!!"

At the same time I croon little ditties to my tomatoes, which have yet to produce an actual offspring. There have been plenty of blossoms, mind you, but no actual fruit yet. I fear it may take much more encouragement before they actually produce. The peppers, on the other hand, are my star pupils. There are babies everywhere I look! And if I don't thin out the turnips soon, all I'll have is greens. The beans just popped out of the ground yesterday.

I do take a personal interest these days in how my little garden family is growing. And as such, I tend to chide them for not doing as well as I think they should, or praise them for prospering. Out loud, where everyone, including Hubster, can hear.

After all, they don't talk back. And if they do, Hubster can truly call me loony.

No Sleep for the Wicked

2011-05-25T06:18:00.002-05:00

Perhaps it was because of a loooooong day spent answering the phones yesterday...

Maybe it was due to me staying up to finish Jennifer Grant's memoir of her father, Cary Grant, entitled "Good Stuff"...

Could have even been the Chinese food we had for dinner...

But this little piggy could not close an eye for more than an hour at a time last night even with the help of my friend Ambien.

Suffice it say We are not a happy camper this morning.

To top it off, We have a lovely migraine, and since We are short-handed at work Our Warm Body is needed to fill in for those who have family emergencies or have left town to celebrate new grandbabies. Because We do love grandbabies. Indeed We do.

Last night two of ours came to visit, just when I needed to hold a baby the most. And I got to tell her mother she'd learned a new phrase at the tender age of nine months. "Huh-oh!" she says, as she purposely drops a toy for you to pick up for her. "Huh-oh! Huh-oh!" Mommy hadn't realized she'd learned that one yet, probably due to the fact that this is her third. It tickles me so to see them learn new things at this age!

We also got the middle child to try Chinese food. "Hmmm...." she said. "That's good. Can I have some more rice?" She liked the broccoli as well, but the rice was her favorite.

Today I plan to hide out in my office as much as possible, coming out only for oxygen, lunch, water, and the occasional bathroom break. Maybe if I sit "vewy vewy stilw" I will be able to ignore the migraine until my massage tonight at 7 p.m.

And then....

And then......

Magic fingers, TAKE ME AWAY!!!

Tragedy

2011-05-24T22:55:00.000-05:00

Joplin, Missouri is a war zone right now.

The tornado that leveled much of the city is legend. Homes and businesses were wiped off the face of the earth. Over 116 lives were lost at last count.

This is no laughing matter.

As you may know, I work for a not-for-profit whose main goal is to help needy, hurting people. The people of Joplin fall into this category in spades. And as such, my employer has been receiving calls from the general public with offers to help.

Let me say this: The outpouring of love and support from people of all walks of life comes through more than the average Joe will ever know during times like this. It actually makes me weep with joy to see how much people CAN care for each other.

But then, as always, there is the flip side of things.

During any disaster situation, not-for-profits will ALWAYS ask that the public support the efforts with monetary gifts first. Not clothing, food, bottled water, ice, or assistance. At the beginning of a disaster we need money.

Why?

Disasters cost a lot of money. Not only in equipment needed for rescue and recovery, but food, shelter, and a new start for the people who have lost homes and loved ones. There are uncovered medical costs. There are funeral expenses. There are those who were uninsured. All of this takes money to provide. And although donations of physical items are things you think we may need, you'd be wrong.

Imagine trying to get a truckload of miscellaneous items that a group of well-meaning people have collected actually transported into a disaster zone. The roads are probably blocked, power lines are down, there is danger everywhere. Rescue efforts are underway for those who can be rescued. Recovery efforts are underway for those who cannot. Emergency personnel cover the area, and survivors are taken to shelters and hotels in outlying areas.

The last thing needed at that crucial time is a collection of unrelated canned goods or clothing someone was going to sell at a garage sale.

I'm not trying to be trite or ungrateful here. Truly. I'm trying to let you know where you can best contribute assistance. Believe me, I appreciate each call we get from people who want to help others!

And yet, when these well-meaning people call to tell you they're planning a clothing/canned goods/bottled water/toilet paper drive and you try to explain exactly why, although you so appreciate their help, it would be so much better if they'd just take up a collection of MONEY to send to the area so that necessities could be purchased close by and not have to be hauled in at great cost and risk of life and limb and be there WHEN they are able to be used and be WHAT IS ACTUALLY NEEDED, the same people tend to get very huffy and think we're just trying to fleece them for dollars to spend on new electronics and the latest in office furniture and high salaries rather than having it go to said disaster in the first place.

Which I can assure you is TOTALLY NOT THE CASE.

Yes, as management I have a cell phone. It does not even have texting as an option. I don't have internet on my phone. I use it for PHONE CALLS. Imagine that. People in my office building are sitting in chairs that are twenty years old. The backs of the side chairs we use for our conference tables have faded from pink to gray, but they're still serviceable, so we still use them. And I can assure you that my salary is on the low end of the totem pole.

We serve PEOPLE, not ourselves.

I took a phone call from a lady (bless her heart) who wanted to help. She said, "I was going to have a garage sale, but I'd rather donate all the stuff to the people in Joplin instead." I thanked her, then politely suggested she go ahead and have the garage sale and donate the MONEY to the people in Joplin instead of the stuff.

Please, listen to those who know before trying to help, and don't be offended if our version of "help" isn't your version of "help." We appreciate what you want to do, but we've been in the business for a long time and we know our stuff. Please help in ways that will truly count!

Blessings...

My Blessings Come As Two-fers

2011-05-18T22:38:00.003-05:00

Tonight I was witness to a blessing, and what's more, I actually was aware of it. That's two blessings in one, and I didn't even have a coupon for a buy-one-get-one-free blessing.

Wow.

Before I left work tonight I was informed we would be having The Boyfriend over for dinner. Since The Boy was planning on hanging out with The Newbie and not eating dinner at home, that was fine. It just meant we'd have to eat a little later than usual since The Girl had to work until 7.

No big deal.

Then, on the way home, I got a call from Hubster. Plans had changed. Now it seemed as though The Boy was bringing The Newbie home for dinner. Not only that, but Pseudo Daughter was coming as well.

In case you're a calculating person, the amount of people I had to feed had just increased by 100% (not counting me, of course).

I would not say there was joy in Muddville. Or Kansas City, for that matter.

Instead, I grumped my way to the grocery store on the way home and picked up another bottle of Marsala, another package of farfalle, butter, and a side of who-do-they-think-they-ARE-anyway??? for good measure. Just to be sure I had enough.

I called Hubster and had him slice up the chicken for the Chicken Marsala. Then I drove home to meet the smiling faces of my family, who were anxiously waiting to be fed.

So I started dinner.

It really didn't take all that long to cook, and there was pleasant conversation all 'round. It was fun listening to the girls talk about who did what and where since The Girl graduated, even if they were showing photos of pregnant girls and baby pictures of women who should still be in school.

Times have indeed changed.

Finally, dinner was ready. The Newbie's family owns a little Italian restaurant in a small town north of here, but since they bought it from an Italian family it should come as no surprise that the father is Iranian. The mother is American. They both seem like wonderful people, and they've done a great job raising their daughter. She is a joy to be around and seems to fit right in with our family.

Conversation tonight: "The Boy may not be able to be here Sunday night for Family Game Night, so we may have to postpone it." The Newbie: "Why? We don't need HIM to have fun!"

She's our kind of gal!

She'd never had chicken marsala before, but tried it tonight...and seemed to like it. Afterward we went out into the back yard and roasted giant marshmallows to make into s'mores. Everyone ended up with sticky hands and faces. The Girl played campfire music on her PC the whole time we were out there and we laughed and talked and played and ate. Then she changed the music and we ended up partnering up and dancing on the patio together by the light of the fire.

After our turn on the dance floor, Hubster and I sat on the swing and stared at the flames and the rest of the troops, wondering just exactly how it was we'd become so very blessed as to have an evening like that.

Family - that's our blessing. Being able to see it grow and mature together, watching all the little intricacies that make it what it is, knowing our kids trust us to be a part of all of it.

And realizing that's the best blessing of all.

Smoke Gets In Your Eyes...

2011-05-16T19:05:00.001-05:00

...which is why we, in our infinite wisdom, decided to grill hot dogs over the fire IN THE FIREPLACE last night.

The Boy brought home a new girlfriend after church yesterday. This thrills me to no end for two reasons:

1. The Boy is in a relationship and is somewhat happier than his teenaged angst lets on, and

2. He actually makes an attempt at cleaning the house before she comes over. Which is more of an attempt than I ever make, so it can't help but be an improvement.

She (The Newbie) stayed for dinner last night. Lest you think I am in the habit of serving my family hot dogs on a regular basis, let me assure you we had a good and proper meal for lunch. Of course, she wasn't there for the noontime meal, and as such she now believes we eat like Bohemians.

However Bohemians eat, that is. I'm sure it's better than we ate last night.

But the conversation? It was unparalleled!

After our meager repast, we dined on every subject from speeding tickets to marriage, from church to grades in school. We talked for over an hour, and firmly initiated The Newbie into the social stream of our family.

Thankfully, she did not run screaming out into the night.

She held her own, this one. She gave as good as she got. And we're thinking she might just be one that lasts a little longer than the average bear. We'll be able to tell more come next week.

Because Sunday is Family Game Night, and she's invited!

Heh heh heh....

The Pit of Fire

2011-05-15T00:55:00.000-05:00

Today was another chilly day temperature-wise. One of those days where you just want to snuggle up to a good fire with a book and your grandmother's quilt. Oh, and a cuppa coffee. One cannot forget the cuppa coffee.

However, Hubster declared the fireplace off limits. He said he didn't want to chance the stray bird coming in to build a nest (as has happened in the past), and if we built a fire that would surely happen again. He'd already closed off the vent thingy at the top of the chimney for the season and he didn't want to risk us forgetting to close it off after the odd fire today.

He's SUCH a wet blanket sometimes.

I, however, am the SOUL of spontaneity. And as its ambassador to the wet blankets of the world, I felt it my sworn duty to throw a monkey wrench into the mix.

So I did.

I informed Hubster that I NEEDED a fire today. Not only did I need a fire, but I needed it to be OUTSIDE ON THE PATIO.

This was no small feat, being as it is illegal in my neighborhood to simply light a fire on the patio. Hubster knew I didn't want him to take a pick axe to the concrete in order to dig out a pit for the fire, and he wasn't about to build one that was permanent.

So he compromised.

We went to Lowe's and purchased a portable fire pit instead.

And after we brought it home, we spent a lovely hour putting it together.

Let me just say this about that: The sky is a bit more blue because of some of the words I used as we tried to fit the pieces where they were supposed to go. Hubster, however, was the soul of patience.

As soon as we got the pit together I wanted to try it out. Naturally. But we were supposed to go to dinner with friends not thirty minutes from the time it was finished.

"Fine," said I. "We'll just burn the instructions and one Very Small Log."

What I didn't count on was the smoke. The smoke that permeated my clothes, my skin, my hair, and everything else. Needless to say, I was just stepping out of the shower when our friends arrived to take us to the restaurant. A mental picture I'm sure you could do without.

I hurried and finished my toilet, then joined them in the car. We had a wonderful evening. After we got home, I changed back into my smoky clothes and went back outside to start up the fire again. I ended up staying out there until around ten, and ended up taking yet another shower to rid myself of the smoky aroma.

Honestly, I felt like a ham.

I'm sure it won't be so wonderful when the temps reach 100 degrees, but for now it's like having a campfire in my own back yard. I even tried to get the kids to agree to having hot dogs and smores for lunch after church tomorrow.

No dice.

Springtime Rolls Around Again, or The Further Adventures of My Brown Thumb

2011-05-10T20:40:00.003-05:00

Last year Hubster made me an above-ground garden.

It's all the rage now, and really quite simple. You get some boards, screw them together in a rectangle shape, set it in the yard, and fill it with extremely expensive droppings from golden cows, rotted detritus from plants that is also extremely expensive, and vermiculite, an expensive form of packing peanuts only ground up into bits.

Oh, and newspaper. You have to have that on the bottom so that the weeds won't grow through. But what they don't tell you is they do anyway, so you've wasted the Sunday Star on nothing but providing more mulch for the Very Expensive Garden you've just created.

And then you buy the plants and plant them, and wait for that gosh-awful smell from the manure part of the garden (which is a full one-third of the whole) to go away. But it NEVER DOES. And it "freshens up" every time you water or it rains. And that's when you fear your neighbors will never speak to you again, even if you do offer them fresh tomatoes from your cow poop-laden pasturette.

Yum.

Last year I grew tomatoes and peppers in the Very Expensive Garden, hereafter referred to as the VEG. A fairly apropos acronym, eh? All told, I figure we spent approximately $23/tomato.

Not bad for a first crop.

This year it was much easier, being as I am a seasoned farmer and all. I simply bought four bags of Miracle-Gro garden soil and added it to the mix. It was best for all concerned, believe me. Even at that, the smell from last year still lingers. It's amazing.

I set out four tomato plants, three pepper plants and one cucumber plant. Then I got ambitious and planted onion sets, lettuce seed and radishes. Bear in mind all of this was accomplished in one day.

I didn't plant by the sign of the moon as I'd planned to do, so Mom would not be pleased with me. It rained so much previously that I was lucky to plant at all, so I took advantage of the time I had. Fortunately, the plants seem to be thriving. I have blooms on the tomato plants already.

Unfortunately, the seeds have not done so well. Not a sprout in sight.

I've decided to give them another week or so, then I'm digging up the lettuce and radish area and planting bush beans. I don't have enough space or time to waste in plants that won't thrive.

I know. With my brown thumb there's no assurance ANYTHING else will come up in the VEG, but it's a good hobby to have, especially in the Spring of the year. Come Summer it may be a different story.

Frustration in Large Quantities

2011-05-05T12:52:00.004-05:00

For some reason or another Blogger has decided I am unworthy of publishing posts.

We are not happy with this turn of events.

For one, it means my already sporadic writing has turned into nonexistent writing, and for two, it plain ol' ticks me off.

Fie upon you, Blogger. Fie.

Yet Another Sign of My Advancing Age, or Another Case of TMI

2011-03-13T20:38:00.003-05:00

It seems that when a person (ME) ages, certain parts dry up. Skin may become flaky and/or wrinkle, eyeballs may lose moisture, and the inner workings of the digestive system can tend to slow.

And as the days pass without significant eliminatory movement in the nether regions, one could indeed say a person (ME) is more "full of it" than usual.

Fortunately, I have found the answer to my dilemma after months of searching (bran, fiber, water, water, water, tree stumps, Miralax, raisins, more bran, oatmeal, water, water, help me I'm drowning in water, stool softeners, Metamucil, Benefiber, fiber, fiber, dynamite).

Prunes. Four to five per night as a "bedtime snack." Guaranteed results in the morning.

You're welcome.

Also...

Borders Books is closing a good number of their stores. If you haven't been by your local Borders lately, you might want to make a point of checking it. The one in our neighborhood is 30% - 50% off of everything. I was like a kid in a ....book store. Got some good reads at some good prices! Although I must say I'm sorry to see another "in print" local store leave. I loved to browse there.

As for what the two subjects in this blog have in common?

What better place to read?

I'm sorry. Really I am.

Well Then. Here We Go Again.

2011-03-09T21:27:00.002-06:00

Please forgive the outburst of late. Hands and heart are hurting less today. Possibly because of the following...

Tonight I received a call from my now five-year-old granddaughter. She wanted, she said, to come and live with me and Grandpa. It seems she was mad at her mother because her mother made her pick up her towel after her bath.

Cruel, cruel woman.

My daughter-in-law (which she will remain, divorce or no) asked me to explain the rules of my house to Cutie so she'd know what she was getting into. By the time I got through, Cutie was asking to call Uncle B to ask if she could move in with him instead.

I'm too old and cranky to try to raise another child, much as I love her. So these were a few of the rules I gave her:

1. No toys can live here. They can come for a visit, but they can't live here with you.

2. The only clothes you can wear are black pants and gray t-shirts. You can wear sweaters only if they are scratchy.

3. You have to pick up everyone's towels and clean out the toilet and scrub the bathtub.

4. I will not come and get you in the car because I have to go to work. You have to ride your bike here.

5. No one will have time to read you bedtime stories. We all have to go to bed early because we have to go to work and school. If you were just visiting we'd be happy to read you bedtime stories.

6. You can't watch cartoons or your favorite shows on television because Grandpa will be watching the news or plumbing or building shows all the time. If you were just visiting he would let you watch your shows, but if you're going to live here you can't.

The last rule was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Poor Cutie.

In Which I Feel Sorry For Myself and Urge You To Do The Same

2011-03-08T15:45:00.002-06:00

My hands are a pain today.

I've been popping hydrocodone like candy. Yesterday I got a shot of depomedrol because it seems my body has decided to go back into a rheumatoid arthritis flare, meaning every joint I have screams out loud and WILL. NOT. STOP. The shots are pretty much the only thing that will semi-stop the flares. That, and the use of medication, which I get to begin again this weekend.

In addition, I found out today via FACEBOOK that my son and daughter-in-law's divorce was final.

Honestly, I have no idea why anyone insists on imparting important details of life to the world through the use of Facebook, but it should be outlawed. I sat and cried for an hour after reading that one. Yes, I knew it was coming...eventually. But I shouldn't have had to find out the resounding finality of it through such an impersonal medium. No one should. News like that is heartbreaking enough on its own without someone bothering to take the time to tell you one-on-one. You shouldn't have to be hit by it head on while reading how many cows someone purchased in Farmville or how many hits someone made in Mafia Wars.

It's just cruel.

To top it all off, it's raining and I have to take the car to the shop.

I would suggest you not be around me today. It's too depressing.

Frigidly Cold, With A Couple of Blizzards Thrown In For Good Measure

2011-02-02T22:54:00.002-06:00

I am breaking my blogging silence here to let you know that we have indeed survived (so far) what has become known as Snowmageddon 2011.

"Whew!" you say. "And here I thought you were already dead all these months you haven't bothered to write A SINGLE WORD. So nice to know you're at least ALIVE."

Don't worry. My bags have already been packed for THAT little guilt trip. I've been on it for quite a while now, and while the scenery is nice, I'd just as soon be home in bed, thankyouverymuch.

Sheesh.

Back to the present.

Snowmageddon 2011 has been quite the talk of the town. We knew it was on the way because it was all the weather and news people could think to tell us about for days on end prior to the storm (the second in as many weeks), and they had to make it more DRAMATIC and more ANGST-RIDDEN and much more DANGEROUS than it actually was to hype up the news value to the listening/viewing public.

Hence, the grocery stores sold out of staples, schools closed without real reason an hour early the day BEFORE the snow hit, and almost all of the city came to a standstill. It was as if some ice crystals had the ability to snuff out life as we know it simply by coming down out of the sky, so businesses, schools, and other functions just stopped. Everyone went home.

And that, my friends, proved to be the downfall of many.

Because once home, in an unfamiliar environment at an unfamiliar time of day with unfamiliar dealings with family members and/or those you room with or befriend on a daily basis at school, things change. Nerves begin to become raw. That friend of your son's who laughs a little loudly and eats everything in the house without asking becomes THE THING WHO WILL NOT LEAVE. And everything he does begins to rub you the wrong way.

And then your son begins to rub you the wrong way because he will not take THE THING WHO WILL NOT LEAVE back home to his house. Your son persists in playing video games on the television in the living room with the sound level only a few decibles short of ear drum vaporization. WITH. MANY. GUNS. SHOOTING. ALL. THE. TIME.

It is at these times I reach for the car keys and Daisy Mae it out of the garage and down the road to the nearest Wal-Mart just as fast as my little wheels will drive me. Because as we all know, Wal-Mart is the cheapest mental therapy a gal can get during a snowstorm. That is why when The Girl called me in near hysterics from college yesterday, I was able to calmly and forcibly tell her what to do.

You see, the town her school is in had a record snowfall this week. She, The One Who Flits, was stuck in a room not much larger than a couple of jail cells pasted together, and that's exactly how she felt. By the end of Day 2 of over 20 inches of snow with no escape, she was like a caged animal on PMS. I felt sorry for her boyfriend.

But Mama's been there, Honey. Mama's been there.

So when I got the frenzied phone call I knew just what to tell her to do. It didn't matter that she had to dig her car out with her bare hands to even be able to leave the parking lot. It didn't matter that she could freeze to death along the way.

Wal-Mart was beckoning, and she had to heed the call. It's part of our heritage. Part of our female-ness.

The cure to claustrophobia at its finest.

When I called her later to see how she was, I spoke to a different person entirely. I knew I would. An hour spent in Wal-Mart during a blizzard is like an hour in a spa during the Peace Talks. Trust me on this point.

She was calm, she was cool, she was collected. She was, dare I say it? HAPPY. Planning to play board games with her boyfriend and his roommates at his house.

I heaved a sigh of relief and chalked up another one for Wal-Mart Therapy. It never fails.

The Drawers of The Boy

2010-11-26T20:21:00.002-06:00

Don't tell anyone, because I won't admit to it if you do, but I have to share with you that The Boy has a problem with his drawers.

And by his drawers I do not mean the furniture that houses his underwear, but rather the underwear itself.

Lest you think I am speaking out of school, let me explain that I have been forced to write this post after long and hard examination of my soul and long and hard exasperation with The Boy and his clothing habits.

You see, The Boy does not believe in the Dirty Clothes Basket. Rather, he believes in the Dirty Clothes Behind The Bathroom Door. And so, when he takes a shower or changes his clothes in the bathroom, rather than picking his clothing up and putting it in the dirty clothes basket, it remains behind the door. If left to itself, the pile grows to mountainous proportions. It makes it almost impossible to enter the bathroom without grazing a hip on the doorknob, and it's more than annoying.

To try to break him of this habit I've done everything I can think of short of burning his clothing. I've tied it in knots. I've threaded legs of jeans through sleeve of shirts and sleeves of shirts through legs of underwear and knotted socks into the whole mess and left it there for him.

No progress.

I did all of the above and then wet it all down into a sodden mess in the bathtub.

No change.

I took all of his clothes and spread them out over the back yard.

No improvement.

I switched to the front yard instead.

"Mom! You put my UNDERWEAR out where everyone can SEE IT!!!"

BINGO.

Until tonight, that is. Tonight I found his jeans, underwear and socks behind the door again. So I threw his jeans and socks out in the front yard.

And I hung his underwear from the porch light and made sure it was turned on.

I think he got the hint. Only time will tell.

There Was An Old Woman

2010-11-10T18:43:00.002-06:00

...and she is me.

I have become that which I dreaded in my youth. Egad.

My perfume these days is Banalag liniment. For those of you who are unfamiliar with its scent, think Ben Gay, or Icy Hot.

I ask you, who of the male species could resist???

My shoes are the ever-so-attractive flat and wide variety, set off with a spicy pair of orthopedic insoles. Move over, 5-inch heels! Granny's got her groove on!

I haven't worn a dress since...I can't remember the last time I wore a dress. Another sign of the times - memory loss. All of the dresses I used to wear are in my closet with dust on the shoulders. Why wash what you don't wear?

My hair is many-colored, thanks to my hairdresser. If it were up to me, it would be Medium Ash Brown, straight out of the bottle. Either that, or Medium Ash Brown on the ends and salt-and-pepper closer to what few brain cells still abide in my head.

Yesterday I noticed a wrinkle under my nose. Fat people like me don't wrinkle easily, so it must have taken a mighty act of God for this one to come through. That tells you how old I am.

I can't sit in one position very long because I freeze that way. It's just like when you used to make a face at your mother and she'd say, "Don't do that! Your face could freeze that way!" Only now it's my knees and ankles and hips and various other uncooperative joints that are too old to move. Too bad they don't make oil for joints like the Tin Man had in The Wizard of Oz.

Sigh.

Music my teenagers play is too loud. Yes, that's a sure sign I'm old. But I take comfort in the fact that Hubster is older than I am. I can tell because he turns up the sound on the television...you guessed it...too loud.

I can't win.

The Bee's Got Nuthin' on This Old Bird

2010-10-30T21:16:00.001-05:00

It has been a rather busy day.

And I mean it has been a rather busy day in the same way that Mt. Everest is a rather big hill.

That sort of busy.

Wednesday my last uncle on my mother's side passed away.

So yesterday I left work early and drove to Branson to check into a hotel. Then I drove another 45 minutes through winding roads to get to Berryville in time for the visitation. After that it was back to Branson to grab a bite to eat and get some sleep.

Today the funeral was at 10 a.m., so I got up, stopped at Starbucks, and headed back to Berryville. The only problem was that Uncle Mack's church is fairly new, so it wasn't listed in my GPS. A quick call to Sis saved the day and got me there.

The service was beautiful. From there we headed to the cemetery for the graveside service. He was laid to rest only a few feet from Mom.

I left there and made a flying trip to Green Forest to visit Dad for a few minutes, then met my cousin for lunch. After lunch we went to her hair salon and she fixed me up with highlights, a haircut, and new eyebrows. Well, ALTERED eyebrows.

From there I went to Wal-Mart and got Fall flowers to put on Mom's grave. Back to the cemetery, grave decorated, conversation with Mom. It may always be a little one-sided, but it's necessary.

Next, the trip back to Branson and some shopping at one of the outlet malls. A late dinner, then back to the hotel. Tomorrow I plan to SLEEP IN, then shop the other outlet mall before heading home.

(Note to Crocs store: Please be so kind as to actually CARRY MY SIZE in some of your shoes the next time I come to town, will you???)

(Note to All Other Stores: OUTLET STORE implies BARGAIN PRICES, none of which I saw at any of your clothing "outlet stores" today. Please rectify same before my return. K? Tks.)

(Note to Starbucks: Drive-thru needed in Branson. Having to actually GET OUT OF THE CAR and WALK INTO THE ESTABLISHMENT??? Puhleeze!!!)

(Note to Branson: Please start over from where you were when I was a child, only this time THINK AHEAD. 76 Hwy needs to be FOUR LANES, not two. I'm sure you never thought of that before. You're welcome.)

(Note to Self: YOU ARE CRANKY. GO TO BED AND STOP BOTHERING THESE NICE PEOPLE, ALREADY.)

Having said all that, this old bird is flying the coop.

G'night.

Giving Roasted Chicken the Bird

2010-10-27T20:02:00.002-05:00

I had great and wonderful plans for tonight's dinner.

Earlier in the week I purchased a whole chicken. The plan was to season it up and place it on top of a pan of roasting vegetables to bake. Very simple, very easy, supposedly very delicious.

And since I stayed home from work today due to joint-itis and an inability to sleep last night, I sorely needed simple and easy.

So I cut up a few veggies, threw them in a pan, de-gibleted my chicken, washed it and seasoned it well with sage and rosemary and butter. Then I put the fowl on top of the veggies and popped the whole thing in the oven, set it at 350 degrees, and went back to bed. This was at 5 p.m.

At 6:15 Hubster got back from his errands. We set the table and pulled the chicken et al out of the oven. It was brown. But when I placed it on the plate to carve it, the juices weren't clear.

It wasn't done. And neither were the veggies.

"Hmmm..." I thought.

So we put the whole thing back in the oven at 400 degrees, waited another hour and lathered, rinsed and repeated the procedure.

Now the veggies were done, but the bird was still not cooperating. The skin was brown and crispy, but the juices were still not running clear.

"What the heck???" thought I.

So I turned the whole thing upside down and put it back in the oven for an additional half hour.

By then we were past hungry. The winged creature came out with a beautiful crispy brown bottom...but it was STILL not done.

So we cut off the parts that looked to be un-raw, nuked them for good measure in the microwave, and ate them anyway.

And tomorrow we're looking into a new oven, because I'm not giving the bird to this one again.

You May Say I'm a Pee-er, But I'm Not the Only One

2010-10-23T12:08:00.004-05:00

There are few things I hate worse in life and yet have to do more, than go to the bathroom.

Let's face it. Peeing is a waste of time. It's a waste of natural resources. It interrupts almost anything we want or need to do. It causes messes in children and the elderly, diaper rashes, and UTIs.

It is not my most favorite thing in the world.

Right now, at this very instant, I have the urge. I know that's too much information for most of you, but it illustrates my point. Rather than concentrate on writing a literary masterpiece, I'm sitting here writing about the only thing I seem to be able to think about at the moment. The venti iced coffee has worked its way through my system and is veritably banging at the door to be released into the vortex.

Sounds rather like a sci-fi movie, doesn't it?

I hate that I have to pee at the most inopportune moments. Yesterday at the office the movers came in to give a bid on moving us back into our building once the remodeling job is done. I had to walk them through each and every cubicle and office on the floor, describing in detail each and every piece of furniture we would take back with us.

About halfway through I got that oh-so-familiar feeling. And it got stronger and stronger the next twenty minutes or so until, by the time they left, I had to squeeze my knees together as I ran down the hall to the bathroom, praying that at least one of the three measly little stalls was open.

Thankfully, one was.

I have also become worse than a three-year-old as I age. If there is a program on television I don't want to miss or I'm particularly engrossed in a project, I will wait until I almost wet my drawers before succumbing to the trip to the john. How very mature of me is that?

Oh, I know there are others of you out there. You just won't admit it. You lead busy lives as well. You have better things to do than sit on the throne all day. And some day you'll come out of the water closet and tell your tales of woe as well.

Because I'm not the only one.

A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To Forever

2010-10-10T20:58:00.003-05:00

I have become much smarter since The Girl moved away to school in another city.

It's actually quite amazing. I didn't feel myself gaining in intelligence. I didn't study to have more brain power. I was not hit with the proverbial bolt of smart lightning.

And yet here I am, a gazillion points above where I was on the scale a mere two months ago.

Two months ago I was naught but a blithering idiot, according to The Girl. Whenever I gave what I considered to be sage advice, eyes would roll and her head would shake. If I dared to venture an opinion on boyfriend/clothes/food/weather/the situation in the Mideast I was pooh-poohed, shoved aside and ignored. If I made a joke at the dinner table, both The Girl and The Boy would look at each other, sigh, then tell me it was useless for me to try to be funny, so please stop. Now.

But a funny thing happened on the way to the college.

The Girl started to call home for MY advice. And she LISTENED to what I had to say.

At first I thought she must have taken ill. Surely this was some sort of virus, some contagious disease the students were passing around. But no, she felt just fine.

And then it happened on the weekends when she was home. Take this weekend, for example.

She and I went up to the local Starbucks and had a conversation. About life, school, what she should do about certain problems she had, her future, and the world in general. And not once did she roll her eyes. Not one time.

She listened to what I had to say as if it mattered. She treated me as if I was a person. A real, live person. A friend, even.

I think I like this whole growing up business. It has definite potential as far as my children are involved.

Now, if only I could get The Boy interested...

Half A Glass

2010-10-07T16:54:00.003-05:00

I am not a "glass half full" type of person.

It makes it difficult, because I am married to a "glass half full" type of man. He always sees the bright side of things. He's always thankful for what we have. He's content. He doesn't worry about tomorrow, or if the kids will end up being axe murderers because we didn't punish them for not observing curfews.

He goes with the flow.

And frankly, he drives me nuts.

Being the "glass half empty" type, I always think about what COULD happen. What if the sun is shining today, and then a tornado hits? What if we don't have enough money to retire? What if we can't afford a new roof (car, washing machine, hair dryer) when we need it? What if the kids can never balance a checkbook? What if THEY END UP LIVING WITH US FOREVER????

It would be worse than them being axe murderers.

And Hubster would love it.

I, however, would be driving along the highway looking for some kind of shack to hole up in after the Storm of Mass Proportions that would hit shortly after the youngest graduated from college and didn't find a job.

Did I tell you the last child is in high school now? He'll graduate in 2012 - that is if he lives that long. We've been having a hard time as of late, he and I. I suppose it all comes with being sixteen.

And believe me, at this point there ain't nuthin' SWEET about it.

As a matter of fact, if I had that half-empty glass right now, I do believe I'd pour the rest of it on his head.

Tomorrow, of course, he'll do something totally sweet and kind and lovely and wonderful that will make me remember the the good and decent kid that he is. He'll come up and give me a hug all on his own. He'll do something the first time I ask, rather than making me threaten to take his phone or his car away before he moves. He'll offer to help with dinner, or set the table, or mow the yard without grumbling.

And then I'll be more like his father, and I'll look at our full-to-the-top glass and wonder how life could get any better.

Jinxed

2010-09-29T16:13:00.002-05:00

Remind me never to write about how we're going to get into the remodeled office soon again, will you?

And then remind me that I don't believe in the concept of being jinxed.

We found out today that our time in the Booby Hatch has been extended by two weeks. This means we'll be lucky to make it out of here in time for Thanksgiving.

Anyone got a tin cup I can rattle against the bars???

We're Coming Down To The Wire

2010-09-28T15:33:00.003-05:00

As I mentioned to y'all a while back, our office has been in temporary digs for the past ~~forty two years~~ four months.

And it's getting reeeeeeeally old.

However, we only have a month or two more of Sardine Land left. I know this because yesterday and today I helped choose carpet for the building. And tomorrow I will be in on the choosing of new colors for the walls.

But it seems like forever.

I visited my office while I was in the construction zone, and I may even have shed a tear or two. The plastic coverings had come off of my furniture and it was layered with a thick, almost impenetrable coat of grime. The carpet, which had at one time been covered by plastic and cardboard to protect it, suffered as well. The paint on the walls is marred, the ceiling non-existent. Light fixtures hang from wires, and the upward view is of the cement underbelly of the floor above.

But honestly? I'd move back in today if they'd let me. I love it in all its ugly glory, warts and all.

So here's what I'm thinking...

Maybe I can talk them into finishing off my office first, kind of like a showplace for all the other offices? That way everyone will have hope for a better tomorrow, a shining light to see at the end of that dark tunnel, a glorious ending for the bitter suffering of today! (music swells in the background)

And then I can move out of the godforsaken place just a little early to make it all nice for everyone else! Because I am nothing if not magnanimous that way...giving my all for the betterment of mankind, etc., etc.

And you'll pardon me while I pass out the hip waders...

Let There Be No Mistake

2010-09-27T16:08:00.003-05:00

Tonight there will be sleeping.

It will begin early. It will last many hours. And the first child or husband to disturb me will find his or her body parts littering the landscape.

No brag, just fact.

On the way home I will stop at the Store of Groceries, and I will purchase coffee of the decaf variety. From here on, I will nevereverevereverever drink the leaded stuff again after the clock strikes noon.

Because I am old and my chemical balance is delicate, I will also cease to imbibe upon double hot fudge sundaes less than an hour before bedtime. The sugar high is enough to keep anyone on a course for the moon, not to mention the after effects of the caffeinated brew.

Oh yes, I did. Guilty as charged.

Oh yes, it was good. But they are dead to me now.

And I mean it.

Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep

2010-09-27T00:06:00.002-05:00

Only the sleep, it is elusive.

It's like trying to find that stray hair that's fallen from your head and caught itself somewhere in your glasses so that it rubs up against your face so you take your glasses off and brush it away and put your glasses back on only to find that it's still there, so you keep trying and trying to find it and get rid of it and it finally drives you so nuts that you give up and throw your glasses against the wall where they shatter and you have to feel your way upstairs to put the contact lenses in your eyes that you haven't worn in two years because they dry your eyes out.

Sort of. Anyway, it's annoying like that.

The house is making all kinds of noises at this ungodly hour of the night. It could be that The Boy put in a load of laundry before he went to bed, or it could be the refrigerator running, or it could be that leaky gas pipe about to explode. One never knows, so it's always best to worry in advance.

Hubster is bound and determined we are going to have the entire clan over for Thanksgiving again this year, so somehow the cleaning and whatever redecorating we plan to do must begin in earnest very soon. We tend to wait until a couple of weeks before the event, then murderize ourselves trying to complete tasks which could have been begun and finished long before.

It's a crazy little game we play.

This year I'd like to get the office and dining room painted, carpet up off of the floors, and things hung on the walls. I am terribly, woefully awful about Hanging Things On The Walls. Give me a big ol' blank canvas of a wall and I'll...I'll....

I'll leave it there.

I have a terrible time making decisions (see living room paint color). And hanging things on the walls to be decorative and tasteful is just beyond me. So much so that when I try to decide on things I suddenly get the urge to eat.

And so I do.

And when I eat it's usually something sweet, which then calls for a cuppa coffee. And if we don't have any decaf in the house (like tonight) I try to get away with drinking regular. Only even with my friend AmbienCR, the 1/4 cup of regular I drank is now keeping me awake and somewhat incoherent.

And so I've blathered on. You get the idea. Ramblings of a sleep-deprived mind on drugs.

It isn't pretty.

So now I will try to lay me down to sleep again. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.

God bless everyone in the whole wide world.

Amen.

Full Moons and Nicholas Sparks

2010-09-26T20:55:00.003-05:00

Do not read this book.

Do not listen to this book on your MP3 player.

I speak as a victim. One who was caught unaware by Part 6 of the MP3 version, chapter unknown, which caused me untold pain and suffering today.

I'm thinking about commencing legal action against the author.

But first I have to go to the library site and see if there are any more of his books available so I can listen to them and warn you against them if they happen to make me cry like this one did.

It just wasn't fair.

We Now Return You To Our Regularly Scheduled Human

2010-09-22T13:07:00.002-05:00

It's tomorrow. At least for now, anyway.

And while I'm still feeling a bit snarky toward certain individuals, at least I'm not using the highly effective tool of CRYING AT THEM to retaliate.

("Take THAT!" she said, flinging tears all over his mean and totally unfeeling person.)

As if looking at the glow from my horrendously red nose wasn't punishment enough....sheesh.

Also, in an act of utter defiance, I ate a cinnamon roll today. JUST BECAUSE IT WAS BAD FOR ME. That'll show 'em. Mess with ME??? I THINK NOT!!!

And now, back to a somewhat more sane level. As if there was such a thing on this blawg.

The Girl has been under quite a bit of stress at school, being as she has found the University is somewhat different scholastically than the typical high school.

Which is like saying water is a bit different from ice.

Because of the above, and because I enjoy the challenge, WE have been taking her Freshman Composition course together. And I am proud to say that WE got a 96% on OUR last paper. This eased the tension of the new situation quite a bit, so the ME in the WE will be slowly backing out. Although I do love writing me a good paper every now and then. But I've already passed my Composition class, so I live vicariously through The Girl's.

I almost can't wait for The Boy to begin college.

It Must Be A Full Moon When You're Counseled About Poop

2010-09-21T14:43:00.003-05:00

I can tell I'll be howling tonight.

Honest to pete, this has been a day I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. And forgive me, Joyce Meyer, but I'm about to do some mighty complaining here. It may not be a godly thing, but I need a little vent time.

(Side note: I'm feeling guilty about this because I watched Joyce Meyer on television this weekend and she was ALL OVER me about how much I complain. She wants me to STOP IT, ALREADY, because it doesn't do anyone any good.

As much as I love you, Joyce, upon occasion it does a body good to let out all the pent-up steam. That's what a good cry is for, and that's what complaining is for. Although I don't recommend it on a daily basis, it can't hurt once in a while.)

And now....ON WITH THE VENT!!!

I've had a very bad day.

The End.

Seriously? There were problems at work. Then we've been under no small amount of stress because a dear friend had a mental breakdown. Then someone dared to chastise me for eating a donut. (He barely came away with his head attached.) Then I lamented to a group of people on an online board about eating the donut out of stress, and was told I needed to get my poop together and get counseling to keep from stress-eating.

It's just one of those days where you want to go out and kick a dog. A stuffed one, of course.

Although if I got online to an anger support board they'd probably tell me to get my poop together and go for for counseling to keep from kicking stuffed dogs.

So in short, Joyce Meyer, work, friend, donut, poop, counseling, stuffed dog, counseling.

And maybe some more poop and counseling for good measure.

Tomorrow will be better.

I Should Be Snoozin'

2010-09-18T16:22:00.002-05:00

Frankly, it's turning out to be the perfect day for a nap. A good, long snooze. A siesta of mass proportions.

The skies are opening up for thunderstorms after a day of sunshine, there are no children about, I feel absolutely no need to clean anything whatsoever, and I'm sleepy. I could nod off in the blink of an eye with my feet turned towards Dreamland and a clear path ahead.

There's only one little problem.

My usual Saturday naptime is 3 p.m. That leaves me enough leeway to have a two-hour snooze and still wake up in plenty of time to wipe the sleep from my eyes and get to church for the 5:37 p.m. service.

It is now 4:32 p.m., and therein my dilemma lies.

Do I lie down now and wake up still sleepy and not just a little bit cranky in time for church? Do I skip the nap and go to church, hoping to get a second wind? Or do I go ahead and take the full nap, skipping my spiritual feed for the week? There is, of course, another choice. I could take the nap and go to church tomorrow, but then Hubster wouldn't be able to go with me.

I think I'll opt for what's behind door number one and catnap here in the chair until time to leave. It shouldn't be too hard, considering Hubster will be serenading me with the television version of stadium football. I believe it's the YOU ARE THERE!!! version, complete with ear-shattering whistles and body-banging commentary.

Just the kind of thing to put me in the mood for worship...

It Was A Dark And Stormy Night

2010-09-16T10:33:00.002-05:00

The soup pot was on last night. And I even thought about making bread.

It seemed only right. The rain was pouring down, the temperatures had fallen, and Fall was in the air. Even though I was supposed to run an errand after work I decided it could wait. I pulled into the garage and hauled myself up the stairs to change clothes, opting for the warm flannel nightgown.

All we lacked was a fire in the fireplace.

It was a mellow evening, just the kind we love.

Is this what it means to be old? Because really, I kind of like it.

The Empty Nest Comes Home To Roost

2010-09-13T16:13:00.002-05:00

Since The Girl left for college and The Boy now has gainful employment, Hubster and I are experiencing somewhat of a vacated abode most evenings.

Hubster is not a fan.

Mostly because I, in my infinite wisdom, cannot see making a big dinner for only two people. Why thaw out chicken or chops or hamburger or anything else when I can just as easily scramble a couple of eggs and cook up a few frozen sausages, pop in some bread for toast and pour some juice? It's a meal in minutes!

But it's become our meal of choice too many times here lately.

So tonight Hubster has headed me off at the pass. He's already thawed out chops in anticipation of my arrival at home. Oh, he's a sly one, he is.

And a hungry one, too.

Party On With Your Lemon Pledge

2010-09-07T23:19:00.003-05:00

Here I am, still awake, just waiting for y'all to come in and JOIN THE PARTY!

Because you know the reason I'm still awake at the crack of midnight is just because I want you to enjoy every little piece of the dark you can. So party on, dudes and dudettes. Party on.

You'll find the cheese dip and nacho chips over in the corner along with salsa. Don't mind Hubster. He's asleep, but not likely to wake up. He never does during these little soirees. Help yourself to a sandwich. The pop is in the fridge. Looks like we'll be in for a long night.

It seems as though my friend Ambien has decided to attend, but to sit out the dancing. It's been two hours and forty minutes of relaxation CDs without a sign of dear Ambien making a move.

And I'm beginning to get a bit peevish here. And maybe just a little cranky. I mean seriously? Everyone in the house is asleep except me. EVEN THE DOG.

And all I can think about while I'm in bed is how I need to dust the furniture. I haven't dusted the furniture in months. I haven't thought about dusting the furniture in months. I haven't had the slightest yearning to dust furniture in months.

But tonight, TONIGHT, it's all I can think about.

Of course, it doesn't help that the relaxation CD is one I've listened to many times before.

Here's a hint to those of you wishing to make a career in the relaxation CD field: Never use phrases that can be identified. For instance, this particular CD uses the phrase "...a soothing calm, like a healing balm..." near the end. As soon as I hear that phrase, my mind automatically says, "Oh crap, I only have three minutes to get to sleep before the CD ends." So of course, I never do.

And I end up polishing furniture at zero dawn thirty.

I suppose it could be worse. I could fall asleep while polishing furniture, egregiously injuring myself by hitting my head on said furniture and thereafter being forced by my weakened state to the point of repeating the phrase "...a soothing calm, like a healing balm..." over and over again for the rest of my born days. That could be worse.

Yes. Well then.

I do believe I hear furniture calling my name. And Lemon Pledge. And a dust rag.

Party on.

Four Quarters Make A Wal-Mart

2010-09-06T19:42:00.003-05:00

From the other room comes sound that can be measured only on a Richter scale. Decibel levels don't do it justice. It reverberates through the floorboards, shaking the foundation of the place I like to call home.

It seems this is the only way the males of my household are able to enjoy the pastime of televised football.

Nevermind the fact that the whole day thus far has been spent in the lively pursuit of watching the US Open and car racing, oh no! We must now have our stadium-like experience of contact sports in the form of college/high school/pee wee/pre-birth football. And we must cheer along with the crowd as if we were there, and we must coach the team for which we are rooting as if we are being paid enormous sums of money to do that very thing.

Have I mentioned I am not much with the sportsified end of things? Because really, you could pretty much chuck it all in far reaches of the sea on the south side of Bora-Bora, and it wouldn't make no nevermind to me.

I am obviously an avid fan of anything having to do with the taxing of the physical body in the act of feats of endurance, cunning and competitive play.

I'm special that way.

And lucky me, I get to listen to this for the next SIX MONTHS. Because whatever game is on whatever channel at whatever time, we'll be there!!!

Honestly, I couldn't be more proud to be an American at this very moment, where at least I know I'm free to leave the house and visit whatever Wal-Marts is handy at whatever time "the game" is on.

Thank you Lord, for the 24-hour window of time at our local store.

Amen. And Amen.

Great Day In The Morning

2010-09-04T12:02:00.003-05:00

The Girl is home for the holiday, so she and I went to meet Sis for coffee this morning. Her metabolism being what it is, she had both a cinnamon roll AND a bagel with cream cheese for breakfast.

Um, can anyone say "Freshman Fifteen?"

Truth be told, she says she's been eating junk food so much that she longs to come home - so I can cook for her.

If I knew how to smile wryly in print, I would.

*wry smile*

The Boy is on a mission these days. He is trying to single-handedly amass the greatest amount of speeding tickets in the shortest amount of time possible and set a new world's record.

Or so it seems.

He's up to two this month alone.

Of course, since he got the tickets, he will be paying for the tickets - or at least the lawyer who will negotiate with the judge to keep them off of his record. He'll have to pay twice as much, but at least his insurance won't go up.

And that's what it's all about in the end, right? The money will have to go somewhere, and better the municipality than the insurance company.

Sheesh.

At least The Boy will have learned a valuable lesson (or two) from the whole debacle.

One can only hope.

Today I'm feeling fine as frog hair so I plan on being twice as scarce. (I just made that up.) (Not really.)

I'm thinking today is the day to start in decluttering some of the house, getting rid of a bunch 'o stuff. So I'm gonna get me a trash sack and a box and some rags and some cleaning stuff and go for it. Anyone want to take bets on how long I last?

In the meantime, y'all enjoy your day!

Not That I Mean To Brag

2010-09-01T18:30:00.002-05:00

Today I swept the floor.

Well, most of it. I didn't quite get to the kitchen or the office or the dining room, but I did manage to get to the living room and front hallway. A stellar performance, even if I do say so myself. I even picked up a few things here and there.

You may now applaud with gusto.

The flare with which I have been dealing for the past weeks seems to want to hang around. Due to that, I have felt like doing mostly nothing of late. Last night the hip joints kept me awake into the wee hours of the morning even with my friend Ambien, and they continued to feel as though I had been doing butt cheek clenches for seventeen hours straight today. This even with the liberal application of a heating pad and taking off work and staying in bed until eleven ayem in the morning.

So I called my friend the chiropractor and went to visit him at two. I explained that I had a monster, and you could almost see him get excited at the prospect. He loves a good challenge, does he. He did the acupuncture thing after doing the kinesiology thing and talked about how allergies to foods and chemicals could cause a lot of what was going on.

He does like to research things.

So much so that he almost didn't fix the hip joints that were giving me fits. I had to stand in front of the door and threaten not to leave until he actually cracked some bones. Thankfully, my threats of a sit in worked and now I feel much better, although not 100%.

Actually, I threatened to sit ON him. Now THAT got his attention!

So I've been researching all kinds of treatments for this monster. Some of them include taking drugs that compromise your immune system. As a matter of fact, most of the treatments available from rheumatologists do that very thing. The warnings on some of the drugs even say scary things like "may cause lymphoma," so I'm naturally trying to learn all I can before even thinking about subjecting myself to anything.

The bad part is that there don't seem to be any viable natural treatments in view yet. There are things that help, yes. Chiropractic is one, massage is another.

And yes, I take full advantage of the massage whenever possible. Eat your heart out.

In the meantime I'm resting when I'm tired, letting things go that don't matter, (including housework) and trying to take life with a grain of salt.

And I'm taking the victories where I can.

A Better Day

2010-08-27T11:44:00.002-05:00

It's another glorious day!

I am feeling better than I have in DAYS. It could be the venti-iced-mocha-non-fat-with-whipped and cranberry/orange scone I picked up on the way to work this morning. They always have a way of brightening my day.

Or it could be the pretty pain pills they gave me yesterday to make me stop with all the hysterics in the doctor's office.

I'm voting for a combination of both.

In other news...

The Girl is coming home this weekend to pick up a printer for her computer. Somehow it was forgotten in all the moving confusion, and she has found she needs it desperately and must make a trip home for the whole weekend just to retrieve it.

She isn't the least bit homesick at all.

Of course, she's ordered Chicken Marsala for dinner Saturday night. And of course, she'll get it. She'll sleep in her own bed since Grandma is going home today. We might even have an argument or two for old time's sake.

It will be good to see what the new dynamic is, now that she's a "woman fully growed" and on her own coming back home for the first time. A new learning experience for us all.

It's certainly been a learning experience for Hubster and me. With The Boy working a part-time job most evenings, it's just the two of us for dinner. I've been used to cooking for four (or five most nights, since The Boyfriend usually ate with us) with a little left over for my lunch the next day. Nowadays it seems it's hardly worth it to make a meal. It's quite a change.

One thing for sure, we're spending a whole lot less on groceries! And it seems The Girl is spending a whole lot more.

Almost every day I get a call asking me how to make one of the family favorites we have at home. Last night it was Chicken Spaghetti. And it's not just one call, but step-by-step calls.

"OK, I added the vegetables. Now what do I do?" "How much chicken do I use for four people?" "What do I do if I accidentally poured out the chicken broth?"

I love it all. I love the fact that she calls. I love the fact that she asks. I love the fact that she actually thinks I know something she wants to know.

And most of all, I love her.

A Day Most Foul

2010-08-26T20:30:00.004-05:00

I am in A Mood.

It has not been the best of days here in the Unfinished Casa. I have been in a major flare for the past ten days, and today I had HAD IT. I was THROUGH. It hurt to use the joints in my eyelids, almost.

So I started feeling majorly sorry for myself and called Sis, just to make her say, "Poor baby. Poor, poor baby." to me whether she wanted to or not. Somehow that made me feel worse instead of better, like I was justified in feeling sorry for myself.

So I went in the bathroom at work and bawled for a while. And then I went to the doctor and bawled for a while.

And then they changed my medications again and patted me very gently on the head and handed me Kleenex and told me it would all be better in two weeks and in the meantime, LOOK! HERE ARE SOME PRETTY PAIN PILLS!!!

And then I went back to work and had to discipline an employee.

And then the phones went out and I had to figure out why and get them fixed.

And then I came home to children, grandchildren, and the MIL. And the two-year-old decided to hate me, so when I spoke to her I made her cry uncontrollably.

So now, if you don't mind so very much, I'm hanging up this day at the back of the closet where the too-small clothes go, and I'm going to bed to forget it ever happened.

You may speak to me again in the morning, but not before. Because I cannot promise your head will remain attached to your shoulders otherwise.

Your otherwise jovial and loving sort,

me

Some Things About Some Stuff

2010-08-18T20:21:00.003-05:00

So, as promised, the long and boring post.

Long about this time last year I started in with really achy knees. Not just your everyday achy knees, but knees that sometimes made it really hard to walk. And then there were the feet that decided to follow suit. It got to the point where if I wanted to go up or down stairs I dreaded it, and I took them in a step-together-step fashion that reminded people of someone twice my age.

In other words, I floated like a fairy on the breeze. A fairy in cement clodhoppers.

Then I had one of the asthma attacks I am prone to and got oodles of steroids shot in my behind. And POOF! All the pain in my knees and feet went away!

Only I didn't connect the two.

Over the next few months I started having what I called "episodes" where I felt like every joint in my body hurt and I had no energy AT ALL. I would come home from work and go to bed, then get up and wish I was in bed all day until I got there again. After a few days of this I'd go to the doctor or to Urgent Care, they'd give me a shot of steroids, and everything would be fine.

Only the episodes got closer and closer together until there was rarely a time when I wasn't feeling bad.

My neck hurt. My shoulders hurt. My elbows, wrists, knuckles and joints in my fingers hurt. My back hurt. My hips hurt. My knees, ankles, feet and even toes hurt.

So my doctor ran a couple of blood tests. One of them was for something called rheumatoid factor. In a normal human being-type person it may not show up at all, or it would measure less than 23, so I'm told.

Mine was 384. The test they did to show how much inflammation was inside me was just a little high as well. High enough for Herr Doktor to send me to a specialist.

So I went to see a rheumatologist, who diagnosed me with inflammatory rheumatoid arthritis.

Rheumatoid arthritis is an autoimmune disease that attacks a person's joints. It wears them away bit by bit if not kept under control. It can also suck the energy out of every cell in your body. It is often mistaken for osteoarthritis, but it's a whole lot different. It's debilitating.

My course of treatment right now is to give myself weekly shots of a drug called methotrexate. We haven't been able to get the dosage just right just yet, so the flares (what I called episodes) still happen pretty frequently. They usually come up right before I'm supposed to get a shot, if I've overdone it, or if I'm under a lot of stress. In the meantime, I'm seeing the rheumatologist every month until we get it right. And along with the methotrexate are monthly blood tests to be sure my liver is able to handle the drug.

The bad thing about this is that I can feel just fine one day and be limping around like a lame horse the next. One day I could walk a mile, and the next I would literally wish I had a handicapped tag for my car because it's that hard to walk. But because there are no outward physical signs, people either think you're faking ("You walked up a flight of stairs yesterday!") or you're a mental case.

The good news is that I will be able to get a handicapped tag for the days I need it. The bad news is there are days when I need it.

Yesterday, for instance.

My knees and feet decided not to work the way knees and feet are supposed to. My left knee has taken to trying to bend backward at awkward times. My hips decided to freeze in place, and my hands turned to lobster claws. I spent last night with a bottle of my new-found friend, Darvocet, and the only heating pad I could find, asleep in the chair.

The rheumatologist and I have only been at this for five months or so, and during that time we've found two drugs I'm either allergic to or can't tolerate. We have a long way to go yet, but I'm confident we'll be able to find something that will keep the flares away for longer periods.

And if not?

He's PRESCRIBED massage for me!!!

WOO HOO!!!

(For more information on Rheumatoid Arthritis, please check out http://community.arthritis.org/community/raconnect.htm)

Someone Ate The Heating Pad, or Walgreens, Here I Come AGAIN

2010-08-17T23:59:00.002-05:00

Honest to pete, there is a heating pad gremlin in this house. At the moment I can find three.

Heating pad number one is plugged in next to my bed upstairs, but it doesn't work. Strike one.

Heating pad number two I found underneath The Girl's bed. It suffers from heating pad menopause, whereby parts of it get extremely hot for no reason whatsoever. Then it gets flushed and starts fanning itself to cool off, which does me absolutely no good whatsoever.

Strike two.

Heating pad the third is the super deluxe model I bought a while back. I took it with me on my little excursion to the lake a few months ago. Unfortunately, it happened to be in the same bag with a bottle of shampoo that opened itself. Being as I don't know how to get the shampoo out of the heating pad without getting it wet (because the directions specifically say "Do Not Get This Infernal Thing Wet Or Risk Electrocuting Your Somewhat Stupid Self Because Hello? The Water And The Electricity? Not A Good Mix.) it is unusable as well.

Strike three.

I actually had yet another heating pad that is fairly new around here somewhere, but it seems to have disappeared into the Black Hole we're so famous for populating. Nary a sight of it anywhere. The Girl denies taking it to school, and I've run out of places to look.

Um...strike four??

Plan B is to resort to taking another Darvocet or two to try to get some semblance of sleep. Although when I do that it gets rather hard to wake up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the morning. More like bleary-eyed and draggy-tailed. Those are the mornings my receptionist doesn't even ask - she just hands me the cup and points me toward the coffee machine.

I love that woman.

By the way, the hair from last night? I thought it would brighten up the highlights I still had and show off my gray as blonde highlights and I'd have a flippy new way to inexpensively do something creative with my pate.

What happened was less than stellar. Apparently my gray is not as noticeable as highlights are, and the beige blonde color I got is just a couple of shades off from gray, so there was almost no change to the way my hair looked.

Dang.

Guess I'm going to the Bargain Barn sometime soon.

Tomorrow night: The whole ugly truth about why the heating pad was so stupidly important tonight and why the Darvocet has become my candy of choice. Warning - it probably isn't going to be funny, and it will probably be really boring. I'll understand if all three of you skip this one.

Too Much Information for a Monday Night

2010-08-16T19:47:00.004-05:00

I'm sitting here at the moment on my bed while I wait for the Loving Care Beige Blonde to do magic on my gray.

Of course, to keep the color from getting on my clothes or towels or underwear or anything else, I'm pretty much in a state the normal human being would not like to think of me being in, other than the plastic bag on my head.

And that's about as far as we'll go with that.

You see, my Most Excellent Hairdresser told me, the usual Medium Ash Brown, that this would be a good idea. Several months ago I had my hair highlighted at a bargain barn price, and I haven't been able to get back with the bargain barn hairdresser to do it again yet.

And doesn't that just send a warm, tingly feeling of utter confidence down to your very toes when I refer to her that way?

Actually, she is VERY good and VERY competent and VERY sought after. She also happens to be my cousin that lives 250 miles south of here. That's the reason we happen to have a little bit of a hard time getting together.

So my Most Excellent Hairdresser told me that in the meantime I could use Loving Care to hide the gray and give the appearance of having an honest-to-goodness highlight job done, because Beige Blonde will only cover my gray and not change the color of the rest of my hair since it has no peroxide. It's taken me over a month to get up the courage to do this, so we'll see what happens.

In the meantime, Hubster has gone on a mercy run to meet The Girl halfway to school. It seems there were some Very Important Items she just HAD to have that were inadvertently left at home during the Big Move yesterday. I took the time to not only dye my hair, but to have the mental breakdown and bawlfest I missed out on yesterday when we left her ~~in that godforsaken place~~ at school.

By the way, at last count? She's called me four times today, texted me twice, and classes don't even start until tomorrow. I'm hearing from her now more than I did when she was here.

Make that six texts.

Far from home, but not far from my heart.

Clearing the Cobwebs

2010-08-15T21:22:00.017-05:00

Well, then.

So.

*tap tap*

Is anyone still out there?

It seems as though I've been MIA lately. Not really my fault, of course. There have been Things of Great Importance happening in these here parts, and I just kind of fell into a non-blogging chasm. The thing about those chasms is, darn 'em, they don't have stairs or elevators, so it makes it kind of hard to climb back out once you fall in.

And we'll talk more about the lack of elevators later.

And so the un-writing, the bloglessness, kind of took over until I was very happy just reading y'all's recounts of daily life without inputting my own. And yea, verily, TWO WHOLE PEOPLE missed me.

Sigh.

At least I don't do this for a living. For that small blessing I'm sure many are very thankful.

It seems a recap of the past few months would be in order here.

The office situation is dire. Dire, indeed. And if I could think of a word worse than dire or a superlative of dire, you can bet I'd be using it now. Three floors of people are crammed on one floor in itty bitty cubicles. There is no privacy. There are no office doors to shut against the onslaught of noise, the cacophony of those who will not understand that their voices carry above and beyond the "walls" of their cubicles. We are allowed headphones to listen to books or music so as to drown out the constant racket but I'm here to tell you they don't work. Unless, that is, you turn the volume up loud enough to contribute to overall deafness, in which case they would.

Captain Obvious rides again.

Add to that the fact that one person who is a permanent resident of the building is constantly coming to me with petty little complaints about us, due to the fact that we are actually BREATHING in that person's space, and you can see why we all want to vacate and go "home" as soon as possible.

On a positive note...well, let me think about that one.

Secondly, as mentioned in a previous post, June 15th brought about the fourth grandchild, Cutie's new little brother.

Honestly, can you not just eat him up? He's two months old today, but he was only two weeks old when this picture was taken.

The onesie he's wearing says "I'm the Baby Brother" and matches the shirt I got for his big sister that says, coincidentally, "I'm the Big Sister."

Funny how that works.

We've only been to visit once since he was born since they live out of town. But if anything can get this Nana to drive a couple of hours, it's him!

Next on the list, Hubster had a birthday. He's officially a Senior Citizen now, eligible for Medicare. He only works part-time and is milking the "retired" part of his life for all it's worth.

Of course, to me that only means that now he can cook dinner after I spend a long, hard day at the office.

And then again, pigs may fly out of my behind at any given moment, too. Stranger things have happened.

Then came grandchild number five. This time it was a girl, born on 8/9/10. I doubt we'll ever forget her birthday!

Little Man and Sweetie Pie welcomed 8 lb 12 oz Dolly into their lives like they'd been waiting for her forever. And that was almost true, being as Dolly was a week late!

Mom and Dolly are doing fine, just now settling in to life at home. This is another one that needs some serious cuddling, and since they're in town I plan to get that job done and done well.

Last, but certainly not least, we moved The Girl into her dorm at the university today. And, terrible mother that I am, I didn't take a single picture. Not of the dorm, not of her roommate, not of the room...nothing.

I should be hung from the flagpole on campus, wherever that is.

See? I don't even know THAT!

What I DO know is that the dorm has no elevator.

Let me reiterate that for those of you who are reading impaired.

THERE IS NO ELEVATOR IN THE GIRL'S DORM.

Which meant that this OFL (Old Fat Lady) had to hike her behind up approximately 3,439 stairs just to reach her floor, not to mention the half-mile stroll down the hall to her room. Thank goodness we had Pseudo Daughter, The Boy and Boyfriend along with us! Otherwise, the bookcase, futon, and everything else Hubster and I couldn't carry in one trip would just be sitting by the dorm door.

We are a sad lot, we are.

She did manage to get us to leave (read PUSHED US OUT THE DOOR) before bedtime, however I do believe Hubster has called her every hour since we got home.

Oh, I kid. He's only called every other hour. I skyped her between times.

So for us, it's a different world. And for her as well. However, I'm thinking she'll be missing us a lot less than we miss her.

And that's as it should be.

Happy Feet

2010-07-01T21:13:00.002-05:00

Interpeeps, the world has just turned upside down.

I now have FLOWERS on my TOES.

Sis and I have a little mad money set aside from Mom's estate in an account which has been designated for several purposes. Along with decorating Mom's grave, we decided she would like it if we used it to do things together. Coffee every other Saturday is one of those things. But after so many cups of coffee, The Girls (as everyone referred to us during our formative years) decided to branch out.

We took a short trip down to visit Mom's grave. It was the first time Sis had seen the headstone. It was time. And we're doing some other things as well.

One of them was to get a manicure and pedicure together. Sis had never done anything like that before, so we decided today was the day.

The place we went to is the one I tend to frequent when I can, so they know me. It's run by a young Vietnamese man named Michael and his wife, Seoul. Unfortunately, Sis had a hard time understanding them when they spoke. Fortunately, she brought along her own translator - me.

Since this was an adventure, Sis did something that surprised me. She chose a bright blue color for her nails...something totally out of character. So I chose a hot orange color. Then we both decided to go all out, no holds barred.

Yes, our toenails are now in flower.

We are nothing if not brave, daring women, stepping boldly into the unknown!

Either that, or we've both gone senile in our old age and are now frantically trying to recapture the verve and vigor of our younger days by dipping our toes into the virtual Fountain of Youth provided by the nail tech's skill and artistry.

Or, you know, we could just be coming into our trailer trash stage.

Whatever it is, our feet are happy.

Fresh Meat

2010-06-30T17:41:00.002-05:00

It's game night here at ranch.

Or raised ranch. Or split-level.

Whatever.

At any rate, The Girl and The Boyfriend, The Boy and The Girlfriend, Hubster and I will soon be feasting on artery-clogging nacho cheese dip with hamburger, Tostitos Scoops, and possibly a salad on the side.

That would be the "healthy" part of the whole meal, which is best described as Heart Attack Surprise.

After that we'll get out the Uno Attack! and have us some fun. We do know how to party in these here parts. And besides, we have to break in The Girlfriend to our particularly peculiar way of looking at life. It's only her second visit to our home, and she isn't quite accustomed to our ways yet. She's still at the stage The Boyfriend was earlier this year; shy, quiet, hands shaking, trying to make a good impression.

And to that we say: FRESH MEAT!!!

She has no idea what she's in for tonight.

Heh heh heh heh heh.

The Titanic Has Nothing On Us

2010-06-19T21:46:00.003-05:00

We sprung a leak, Interpeeps.

I woke up early Friday morning to find the lower half of my body damp to partly wet. And no, this had nothing to do with my need for Depends or any other such undergarment in my dotage.

It had to do with our waterbed.

And that leak, my friends, ended an era here in this household. We've been sleeping on one form or another of a waterbed since 1981. We've been through free-flow, soft-side, semi-waveless, and almost every other kind you can think of during that period of time. We've fought over whether or not to have a heater (yes, from 1981 until 1990), discussed whether or not to go from a free-flow to a semi-waveless (yes), and finally decided we were tired of waking up wet.

It was, so to speak, the pin that burst our water balloon.

The new bed was delivered today. It has a pillow top approximately eighty-two inches thick. We have been told it will be similar to sleeping on a cloud. This seems to be a true statement as we now have a ladder set up next to the bed in order to get into it. Hubster is already complaining that he won't be able to put his shoes on while sitting on the side of the bed anymore. I'm afraid of breaking a bone (or my head) if I accidentally roll off in the middle of the night or get up to go to the bathroom.

It will be an interesting somnolent experience.

That is, if we get the chance to somnolize at all. Breaking in a bed can be hard work.

But at least we won't have to tread water to do it.

A Little Catch-Up, With Relish!

2010-06-17T10:35:00.007-05:00

Oh, Interpeeps!

Fear not, you have not been totally abandoned. Only partially abandoned as the life, it does go on.

As we speak I am sitting here trying to recover somewhat from the past month or so of activity. In a lame attempt at combining literary genius and the calendar, snorts of laughter and tears of both sadness and joy, I will now attempt to let you in on what has been my world these past days.

I am a grandmother again.

The Little Prince was born as I was frantically speeding down the highway trying to reach the hospital at 7:34 a.m. on June 15th in the Year of Our Lord, 2010.

His father called the house at 2 a.m. to let me know labor was in process, but the phones were on the blink. Finally he called Hubster at work at 5 a.m., Hubster called The Girl on her cell phone, The Girl came in and woke me from a stupified slumber, I showered and headed down the road.

However, the road is over two hours long and I didn't get a chance to start out in time, so I missed it. By the time I got there he had been weighed, measured, bundled, held by his big sister and other set of grandparents. It was like coming late to a party.

I did get there in time for lots of snuggling and birthday cake.

The Girl is now a graduate of High School. Mom was unable to attend, of course. Dad, being very ill himself, was also unable to attend. That left Grandma, her 95-year-old remaining grandparent, to represent all of her grandparents. There was a short time when we thought Grandma wouldn't be able to make it, but in the end she came through.

Pay no attention to blob on the left.

Sunday afternoon after the graduation we held a reception for the graduate at a park. Thousands of cookies were baked, including those from wonderful friends who saw me in need and helped (thanks Fab and Judy!) and more were bought. There was tea and lemonade, bottled water and fruit. Many showed up to celebrate with us. A good time was had by all.

The girl with her soon-to-be college roommate.

A better time was had by the mother of The Girl after it was all over.

During that same week, our office decided to move from one building to another. Since I ended up being mostly in charge of the move, there was a bit of stress. At the last minute we found the phone service we used wanted to charge us $7.25 per line per month to temporarily move our phones to the new location. $7.25 per line X about 90 lines X almost 6 months is a great deal of money to spend for a not-for-profit organization such as ours. So, working with another company we were able to forward all of our phones to the new numbers instead.

Needless to say, we are not pleased with a certain provider who shall remain unnamed at this point.

The move went off really well, but resulted in a lot of 12-hour days for me, trying to smooth out the little kinks. We are now settled in and seem to be running fairly smoothly. However, I know that each and every one of us wants to get back to our original office as soon as we can.

Because the cubicles? They suck murky pond water.

Cubicles are a creation straight out of the pit of hell. And since you know I never exaggerate or hyperbolize, you can be assured I am telling you the truth of all truths, Interpeeps.

There is NO privacy. People think it's funny to sneak up behind you as you work and scare you (hence my installation of mirrors so I can see whomever is behind me). There are no windows to the outside world. The noise factor is atrocious. I can hear people from two rows away talking. We are not allowing the use of radios or speakers, but are allowing earphones so that people can listen to music. That is one of the only things that makes it bearable.

You may now call me Whiney McComplainerson.

In short, I wanna go home. I have never appreciated my office, with its own little door and the windows to the outside world, so very much as I do now.

Because that's just the kind of gal I am.

Once Upon A Time I Wrote This Thing Called A Blog

2010-05-15T23:43:00.002-05:00

And then life happened, and the blog got shoved to the side as blogs are wont to do when life does as it is wont to do.

The busy has not stopped here, or at least the worry about the busy.

Next week will be my own personal Hell Week, one that I've been dreading for the past month. The busy-o-meter reading for next week will sproing and possibly even break altogether. I find myself in a constant state of suspended animation just thinking about all that needs doing next week, unable to move because I can't figure out what is the next most important thing to do to get ready.

In the midst of this came a wonderful, lovely Mother's Day weekend where my body decided to do exactly the opposite of what I wanted it to do and caught something akin to a combination of the Dengue Fever and Root Rot. For four days I did nothing but freeze on one end and burn up on the other, only to switch ends an hour later. Add in a cup of nausea and several dashes of other-end-itis, and you have the recipe for a hella Dia de la Madre. No visitors were allowed. They could only drop their welcomed cards and much-appreciated offerings at the altar of the Undead, which was located outside the house in hopes that they would remain germ-free.

The worst part about the whole day? Hubster had preordered dinner from one of my favorite restaurants. He picked it up anyway, and he and the kids enjoyed it while I sat in the recliner, mounded over with blankets and quilts.

So.

Tomorrow begins the baking and the making of the treats for the big Graduation Hoopla set for next Sunday. We'll freeze them and take them out to thaw the night before the Hoopla. The rest of the week goes as follows:

Monday: Doctor and hair appointments
Tuesday: Little Man's graduation from preschool
Wednesday: More baking and making
Thursday: The Girl graduates
Friday: The Big Move to another office building at work
Saturday: More prep work for Graduation Hoopla
Sunday: Graduation Hoopla, collapse into heap

Somehow I'm feeling a bit less than adequate for the challenge.

We're having the Hoopla in an outdoor park and we've reserved a shelter house. Rather than do the tired old "Congratulations, GRAD!" theme, I decided to do bright spring flowers. I got the table covers, napkins, plates, cups, and cute wire baskets in bright colors to put cookies in. And back when I was insane and had less brain cells than I have today, I decided I'd bake sugar cookies in the shape of flowers and decorate them by outlining them in icing and then filling them in with bright colors. Some yellow, some pink, some blue....

Obviously it was during the feverish period over Mother's Day when I decided to do this. Or perhaps I got hold of some bad coffee beans or something. Because even earlier today I was under the delusion I could really pull it off.

And then I had coffee with Sis and she hit me over the head with a ball peen hammer and a couple of two-by-fours. Finally, I saw the light.

And my friend Judi's Bakery saw an order for four dozen cookies.

Oh, I'll bake and make the other treats, never you fear.

Unless, of course, the week ends up being too....um....BUSY...or something.

A gal's gotta do what a gal's gotta do.

Cross Your Legs and Squeeze Your Knees Together, It's Gonna Be A Long Day

2010-04-29T16:32:00.005-05:00

Things have been a little hectic at work lately.

We're getting ready to move into a temporary building while some issues with our present building are being addressed. Being as there are a few less than eighty of us, moving is more than just a pick-up-your-stuff-and-go type of thing. There are people who need to organize things and make sure everyone doesn't show up on the doorstep of a locked-down building with boxes in hand ready to work one day with no way to get in, no desks to sit at, no phones to use, no coffee to drink, and worst of all, no bathrooms.

That would be where my team steps in.

At this point I can safely say we have a space to habitate. We have furniture. We will have both computers and coffee.

However, bathrooms remain a problem. With 80% of the employee population being female, and with a total of 18 stalls at present for that population, we tend to do fairly well with few complaints. Now, let's see how many stalls we'll have in the temporary digs.

Three.

That's right. THREE. As in 1-2-I'm-going-to-wet-my-pants-and-good-lord-what-crawled-up-inside-someone-and-DIED-don't-you-realize-there-are-thirty-other-people-waiting-in-line-3.

I'm thinking of doing a daily raffle for prime bathroom spots and using the money for catered lunches. However, that's really sexist seeing as only the females would be bidding. I could see about making all the restrooms co-ed, but that wouldn't fly with the general population.

Nope, I can only see one valid solution.

Porta-Potties in the parking lot.

Prom, the Senior Year

2010-04-27T12:28:00.004-05:00

It all starts out with the perfect dress. The dress you knew you were meant to wear. The flowers in your hair, the manicure and pedicure, makeup, the shoes, and of course...

...the perfect date. Your Prince Charming. The one you smile about and say "He's so CUTE!" every time his name is mentioned. The one who brings you roses and Hershey's Hugs and takes you on picnics by the lake.

May your life always be as beautiful and happy as you looked this night, my sweet girl!

I love you,

Mom

If I Am Still Alive When That Day Comes There Will Be Cake. Lots of Cake.

2010-04-22T21:11:00.002-05:00

And balloons. And streamers. And hats. Lots of goofy, nutty, weird hats.

I found out today that the humble abode in which we reside will be paid in full in a mere 6.23 years.

The mortgage where you pay half of the payment every two weeks instead of a full payment once a month in order to pay off the loan faster? Guess what? IT REALLY DOES WORK.

Imagine my utter surprise and glee.

Actually, we thought it would pay off in fifteen years, so it's a bit late. (AHEM. Financial wizards??? Not as smart as they think they are.) We've been here since 1997, thirteen years this summer, and if the loan doesn't pay off for another six or so it will be over four years later than originally planned. I'm wondering what went wrong where.

However, I'm not wondering long enough to keep from partying. I'll expect to see you 6.23 years from today, our house, 7 p.m. You bring the lawn chairs and we'll furnish the pit and the flame to burn that mortgage sky high.

Oh, and cake. We'll have lots of cake, too.

Calm, Cool and Collected

2010-04-20T12:40:00.003-05:00

My head, she is 'sploding with things going on. And I am looking at the lake with much longing and coveting and yearning and envy and lust in my heart, yea verily.

Where do I begin?

Cutie will be a big sister at the end of June. However, there are some problems with some things about some stuff there.

Little Man and Sweetie Pie will be a big brother and big sister come August.

Pseudo Daughter has her own unique set of problems.

The Boy has an interview for a job.

The Girl is graduating from high school. Along with that comes Senior pictures, the actual graduation ceremony, and the planning and execution of a graduation reception. Prom is this weekend. There is the perfect dress, the perfect shoes, the perfect flowers, the perfect hairdo, the perfect limo, the perfect pedicure and manicure, the perfect date....and rain in the forecast.

My car needs new tires. The Tire Fairy (read Hubster) has not offered to replace my tires yet, so I need to see to that before one of them decides to go flat during my trips back and forth to work.

I am the only one in my house that knows how to use the kitchen to prepare an actual meal on a regular basis. Others can make sandwiches, snack, peruse the cabinets and refrigerator and complain about the lack of food. Hubster even does the dishes and takes out the trash. But nine times out of ten, I am the only one who cooks.

We are out of edible food in the house because I have not had time nor energy to go grocery shopping. And yet there is no room in the refrigerator or freezer. Go figure.

The house is a mess. I know, there's nothing new there, but it doesn't help matters.

At work, we're in the process of moving to a new building for 5-6 months so the heating and air conditioning can be reworked/replaced/renewed. I'm one of the organizers of the move who makes sure everyone gets everything they need as far as phone service, a desk, boxes to move, coffee, a place to park, a chair to sit in, etc.

I am under absolutely no pressure whatsoever in the coming months. My life is a breeze. I have no complaints at all. And if I do, I hide them so very well you can't possibly tell.

That is, between the times when I'm whining and crying and beating the floor with my fists and feet and kicking small animals and yelling and screaming while alternately sitting in the corner sucking my thumb and rocking back and forth after my head has exploded.

And missing Mom. That seems to be a constant as well.

Please Stop The Train - I Like To Get Off Now

2010-04-15T23:33:00.002-05:00

Life is just continuing to happen around here, regardless of what I have to say about the whole matter. You'd think God would consult me once in a great while before He makes His decisions, which are filled with infinite wisdom of course, but which I know nothing about, causing me great angst, weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth as I consume mass quantities of empty calories in an effort to make up for my poor self-esteem, causing me even greater self-esteem problems in the long run.

The Girl, I may have mentioned, graduates this year. She will be attending what would have been my alma mater had I given myself the chance to stay in school. Graduation is only one short month away,and already the faucets are starting to leak behind my eyes. I'm planning a full-on gusher the day of the ceremony which may indeed flood the auditorium to a depth of at least three inches if they don't watch out. It's been known to happen.

Then there's all the shopping and packing to do to get her room ready. Orientation day. That first tuition check. Buying books for the first time. Getting meal tickets. Learning her way around campus.

I am so very jealous. I want to be doing it with her! But let's face it, that would be more than a little strange.

My little girl is growing up.

And then there's The Boy. Tonight we talked about his grades once more. We mentioned the fact that he's probably going to have to look at a community college for the first two years due to his lack of gung-ho attitude where academics are concerned. He really didn't seem to mind that much. And, we told him, since he would probably be going to community college, it only made sense for him to participate in the A-Plus program that will pay for his first two years of college. He agreed to be a part of it beginning next year. He'll have to mentor and/or tutor for fifty hours, maintain at least a 2.5 grade point average, even through the first two years of college, and stay away from drinking and drugs. We're hoping he can do better than that by raising his grade point average even more.

The Little Man and Sweetie Pie family will be adding another sibling in late July or early August. We're betting it's a boy. On the other side, the Cutie family will welcome a little brother sometime late in June.

Things have not been well with the Cutie family as of late, and they seem to be getting worse as time goes on. Prayer would be a good thing in this instance. Lots and lots of prayer.

And just FYI for those of you thinking about switching to Ambien CR from your regular Ambien?

RUN!!! RUN FAR AND FAST!!!

This has been the most irritating few days I can remember in recent months sleep-wise. Ambien got me to sleep just fine, but I was awake a couple of times a night with restless legs. The doctor changed me to this one thinking it would help me sleep all night.

It would, I guess, if it ever got STARTED. I took tonight's pill at 8 p.m. It is now 12:12 a.m. and I am just now feeling drowsy. I would have been asleep hours ago with my old friend.

Which is exactly where I intend to go tonight.

It Was A Very Good Day

2010-04-11T23:17:00.003-05:00

Today was the kind of day that makes you not want to return to work tomorrow.

Sleeping late, fixing a big breakfast for the kids, sitting outside on the swing, all good things. Getting The Boy to mow the lawn and talking Hubster into building my raised bed garden, even better. Having the people behind us clear all the weeds, poison ivy and rampant wisteria out of the fence that separates us, wonderful! Deciding to revamp and renew the old swing we have so that it can be used again instead of sitting there looking like something that belongs in the dump, then having Hubster go to Home Depot with me to get all the things needed for the garden project and this? Unbelieveable.

The ball is in Hubster's court as far as the garden goes. I'm figuring I'll be the one sanding and repainting the frame for the old swing. We still have to find a seat for it that's compatible, along with cushions. It would be nice to have a canopy for it as well, but that's pushing the envelope. If I can get it sanded this week I'll be happy.

Then there's the woodpile that needs to be restacked. The grill needs to be refurbished. We need to see about getting some kind of graduation party together for The Girl, and if outside looks nice enough the back yard may be just the place.

There are so many things running through my head that I can't seem to get to sleep tonight. I'm tempted to go out on the patio in my nightgown and start sanding, or to try to figure out the menu for the party, or to rake dead leaves out of the corners of the yard and out from around the fence and spray herbicide on the poison ivy/weeds/rampant wisteria area so it won't come back anytime soon.

But honestly? It's 11:45 PM. I'm thinking a nice, warm glass of milk might do the trick better. Except that we're all out of milk.

Curses, foiled again!

Vacation Part Deuce - A Room With A View

2010-04-04T22:07:00.006-05:00

When last we left Our Heroine, she was not a happy camper.

The "lake view" of the "cabin" was so "small" it could barely be "seen," and she appeared to have developed a "propensity" for using "quotation marks."

So.

Off to the office I went the next morning. I explained I had specifically requested lake view accommodations, and I didn't consider what I got to be a lake view. If anything it was a "pool view" or an "other cabin view," but it certainly was not a "lake view." It was more of a "lake glimpse."

It was there I learned there is a distinct difference between "lake view" and "lake front." The difference is that if you want to actually SEE the lake, you need to pay $10 more per night and ask if you could pretty please have a LAKE FRONT view. This I was willing to do.

For the next two nights this is the view I had from the rocking chair just outside my room.

Say it with me now...

Ahhhhhhh......

There was a cool breeze blowing off of the lake all day long. During the day the few other residents took off to enjoy watersports and other tourist attractions and left the place to me to enjoy by myself. I ate when I got hungry and slept when I wanted to sleep. I read and thought and prayed. I was lazy.

And I thoroughly enjoyed each and every minute of it. I left there Friday morning more relaxed than I've been in the past two years. My shoulders finally came down from up around my ears where they've been the past couple of months and I can actually move my jaw again rather than having it almost frozen in one position.

Life is good.

I need to record this with surround sound to replay on tense days. The sound of the lake, the feel of the breeze, the view, the feel of the rocking chair. If I could encapsule that entire experience in a one-hour feel-good-and-relax egg that people could sit in for a lunch hour...

I'd go broke in no time.

Because there's nothing like the real thing.

Honey, I Broke the GPS - Vacation, Part One

2010-04-03T23:06:00.008-05:00

Sad, but true.

You may remember that Hubster, in his infinite wisdom, purchased a GPS for me for my birthday last year. Unfortunately, in a move only I could make, I broke it.

You see, the console between the front seats of the car just would not close one day after I opened it to dig something out. And rather than find out why it wouldn't close, I just kept banging the lid down until it did.

Oh yes, I did.

The next time I needed to use the GPS? Cracked screen. Big time useless. Guess where I stored it and what just happened to be in the way when I tried to close the console?

Uh huh.

So Wal-Mart and I became close friends when I found the same model was on sale. After all, it was a year and a half older now. And I obviously needed it for my little vacation. So I got it. And let me be the first to say it was a good thing I did. I never would have found the place I vacated to without it.

Remember the bargain barn cabin with the lake view I told you about last time? Here's a photo of a reasonable facsimile or two of the "cabin" I reserved, taken from the deck of the one I was in. Several cabins surrounded mine, but mine seemed to be the only one occupied.

It really wasn't a bad little place, even though it was old, except for the fact that it was musty-smelling and lacked one very important thing. Let's see if you can guess what that is as you take a look at the following photos.

Bedroom area to the immediate right of the loveseat, circa 1980.

Kitchen/dining/living area. Sliding glass door to the left. Bathroom door visible on the left. Of note: Tasteful chandelier over equally tasteful dining room furniture. Harvest gold refrigerator, circa 1975.

The pool, as seen from my little deck. It was too cold to use, not that I would be caught dead in a bathing suit anyway, and was covered until warmer weather.

And then there was the view...

The lovely, restful, beautiful lake view. What? You can't see the lake? It's that postage stamp-sized piece up there on the top of the photo. The main reason I came to this place to begin with. The "lake view" that was advertised was supposedly best seen from my little cabin.

Yup, I was a little bit less than happy about this.

Next: A Change of Venue

I Am Vacating

2010-03-29T17:18:00.002-05:00

Tomorrow, Ladies and Gents, I will be taking Clarabelle and heading for the hills.

I have rented a smallish cabin in which to do some alone time. As it came at a cost of only $40/night I am not expecting great and marvelous things in the way of four-star accomodations. However, it promises to have a bed, a bathroom, a kitchenette, and roads to get me to places to think. It is by no means the retreat of my dreams, but it will do.

So tomorrow I will head out with enough groceries for a few days, enough clothing to cover my body, enough books to read, with enough time to rest, relax, and become somewhat more sane.

Relatively speaking, that is.

I'll try to keep you updated as time goes by...or not.

Like I said, I'm vacating.

P.S.

Dear Robbers, Murderers and Other Nefarious Creatures,

Hubster and the kids are NOT vacating with me, so keep your robbing, murdering, nefarious claws to yourself.

Love,

Me

She of the Blue Teeth

2010-03-24T21:50:00.002-05:00

Late last year I decided I needed to get a Bluetooth headset for my cell phone.

You see, Hubster and the kids had this habit of calling me while I was driving. And rather than let the phone ring and answer it when I could, I would use one hand to drive and one hand to search frantically through my huge, unwieldy handbag, trying to find the Thing That Was Ringing.

Nine times out of ten it went to voicemail before I could find it anyway, leaving me clueless as to just exactly which realm of the luggage it had migrated to and what type of homing device I would need to find it. So I came up with an ingenious plan.

I started to make sure my WORK cell phone was always out. Because, in my convoluted mind, if I had my work cell phone out and my personal cell phone started to ring and I was unable to find it before it stopped as I was going 60 MPH down the highway, it would obviously follow that I could CALL MY CELL PHONE WITH MY WORK CELL PHONE SO I COULD FIND IT MORE EASILY.

This, Ladies and Gentlemen, constitutes the innermost workings of my warped sense of logical thinking.

I know.

Failing at finding BOTH cell phones was the next step, and I refused to purchase a third. A girl has to have some limits.

It was then I decided that for the safety of all concerned I should instead purchase one of those hateful things that hang out of your ear, with the understanding that I would use it in the car and in the car only.

I'm not quite sure with whom I was making this deal since I was the only one who knew I was buying the thing, unless you can count the fact that I am just a little more than two bricks short of a load. In which case it makes perfect sense.

So.

I really liked the Bluetooth. I used it well and regularly for the first couple of months, and then it disappeared. I have no idea where it went. It just wasn't here one day.

Well, since Hubster had a wonderful time making fun of my new little safety gizmo, I was hesitant to tell him I had apparently misplaced it. It only cost $15 or so, but it was the fact that I even had it that got to him. He thought it was some fancy-schmancy Wall Street-Hollywood-gee-ain't-I-SPECIAL kind of thing.

So I just replaced it without telling him.

And I went along just fine for about a month, and then the SECOND one disappeared.

Now, I don't usually lose things. Well, I don't usually lose things and not find them. So this has me perplexed.

So I got ANOTHER one at the first of the month. And guess what?

Yup. It's gone.

Third time's the charm for me, folks. I'm headed back to calling my personal phone with my work phone, or a reasonable facsimile thereof. Maybe one of the trio will turn up one of these days. Maybe not.

Until then, has anyone seen my watch?

Christabel Condo By The Sea

2010-03-21T23:00:00.007-05:00

In the entire history of our family life together we have never had a true family vacation.

One of the reasons is because Hubster has to work seven days a week and doesn't like to turn over his job to just anyone. However, this year may be the year.

We're trying to find a beach house to rent for a week that's affordable, actually ON the beach, and somewhere we can get to and home from without too much cost. We don't want to eat up all our time driving to wherever it is we're going to vacation, but we also don't want to pay out the firstborn son as a deposit, either.

Although there certainly are times I would entertain such a suggestion.

Hubster suggested we rent an RV and drive it to a beach, then camp out there. Not that I want to squelch his plans, but I think we'd probably be at each others' throats by the time we got to our destination. Add to that the vehement objections of the teenagers in our clan, and you can see he was outnumbered.

I've also been eyeing condos on the Interweb, looking for one in our area we could possibly move into in the coming years. There are several nice condo communities around. I think if we don't have to worry about the maintenance and we can find one in our price range that's on a cul-de-sac with enough room, we'll do well to snatch it up. Hubster, as always, will be more reluctant to move.

He's more of the stay-in-this-house-until-it-falls-down-around-our-ears type. God bless his little pointed head. He may have to be dragged out, kicking and screaming.

I, on the other hand, like to move once every fifteen years or so whether I need it or not. Fifteen years is just about the time it takes to completely fill a house with all the junk and detritus that coincides with that time. I figure I may have to slow down a bit on the Collecting of the Junk at this juncture, being as this may be the last move we make until the one where we move into assisted living.

There will be kicking and screaming when that time comes as well.

I have in mind what I'd like in the way of a condo. It will need to be all on one floor. It will need at least two bedrooms, in case we have a grandchild or two spend the night. If it has a basement it will have to be finished off as a man cave and/or extra living space in case (God forbid!) one of the kids has to come home again. Then again it could be made into a space for the grandchildren to play.

We'll have to have a garage attached, an outdoor patio or deck, and preferably nothing but woods behind us. Woods that we do not have to see to, because that will be all included in the condo fees.

And while I'm at it, I might as well include maid service once a week.

A girl can dream, can't she?

Weight, Weight - Don't Tell Me

2010-03-21T13:15:00.003-05:00

I abhor the set of scales at the doctor's office.

Because of this, I am patenting a new invention along the lines of the story The Emperor's New Clothes.

I intend to purchase a set of scales and weld it permanently to the position of 125 lbs. I will take the scales with me no matter where I go, and use only this one, true, good and righteous set of scales which obviously declares my one, true, good and righteous weight.

That way, no matter how much my body decides to bloom, I will always weigh 125 lbs. No more, no less. When people look at me with shocked expressions and ask (rather impolitely) how much I weigh now, I will honestly be able to say 125 lbs.

Because the scale says so. The one, true, good and righteous scale.

This way I can remain the perfect weight and still eat chocolate. I can be the perfect weight and not worry about that venti-iced-mocha-nonfat-w/whipped that I imbibed in yesterday, because today?

Today I weigh 125 lbs. The one, true, good and righteous scale says so.

I think it will catch on and I may make millions from the sale of these contraptions.

Of course, by then the bank will have figured out how to set the balance in my account to zero no matter how much money is added, so it may make no difference whatsoever.

But if you ever see these scales for sale, remember...you heard it here first.

Reunited and I Don't Feel Good

2010-03-19T09:32:00.003-05:00

My 35th high school reunion is coming up in June.

This is strange, considering I would have been only five when I graduated. Plus thirteen, but we drop the one and carry the three off to some unknown province, so it doesn't really matter now, does it? And it really doesn't matter in the least because guess what?

I'm NOT GOING.

I know how I am, and I know how all those other people will be, too. I can hear it now...

"Oh my word, where did all those extra chins come from, and how on earth could she have let herself get in that awful shape?"

"She could pack a week's worth of clothes in the bags under her eyes."

"Did someone invite the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Woman to the reunion? Because she's over there masquerading as..."

"I used a GPS to get here, but it's obvious she used the roadmap that her face has become. Have you ever seen so many wrinkles?"

And my favorite...

"She used to have SUCH A PRETTY FACE..."

No thank you. Maybe when I lose 150 pounds I'll attend a reunion. That is, if anyone is still alive to party with me.

Until then? Pass the chips and dip. I've got blogs to write!

Life Would Be A Dream, With Or Without Garrison Keillor

2010-03-18T10:37:00.002-05:00

I have been having some strange dreams of late.

Linds, you'll be happy to know that you had a visitor last night. And that we galloped round your village with no thought for aches and pains along with about fifteen other bloggers. It was a bright, sunny day. You had bedrooms for everyone, and even a curious room you'd been finishing off that looked more like a long hallway-type closet.

I don't write this stuff - I just dream it.

I dreamed of Cutie and how much I miss her. Only this time she was about 18 months old instead of the young lady of four she is today. We played and snuggled and had a great time together.

There was a hot stone massage thrown in for good measure that lasted long enough. That in itself was a wonderful dream, being as hot stone massages NEVER last long enough. There was a carnival with a roller coaster, and strangely enough, NO GARRISON KEILLOR.

I always dream about Garrison Keillor. Mostly in my "Where, Oh Where Is The Bathroom???" dreams where I can't seem to find the toilet I so desperately need and I'm sharing Deep Thoughts with Garrison Keillor and then I seem to be naked for some reason and everyone and their brother is watching me and I'm doing the Potty Dance and WHERE IS THE BATHROOM???

Thankfully, I usually wake up (without Garrison Keillor) and find the toilet while still in my nightgown. And for this I am profoundly grateful. As is Mr. Keillor, since he doesn't have to go through this ordeal with me. If he knew about it, that is.

In other dreams of GK, I find that he has decided I'm the Ingrid Bergman to his Humphrey Bogart. I get to wear the big hats and use the Swedish/American accent, while he suffers through the love-me-but-let-me-go affair under huge, slow-moving fans in a tropical locale.

It breaks my heart every time.

Bear in mind, I'm a happily married, fifty-three year old, two-ton Tilly of a woman, and you see how ridiculous my dream life can be.

I mean really, I don't even OWN a hat.

With all I go through at night it's a wonder I don't wake up exhausted every morning.

But I'll give you this...at least I'm not bored while I'm asleep.

Ah, SPRING!

2010-03-09T10:33:00.005-06:00

Today holds the promise of Spring!

There are actual buds on the trees outside my window. Yesterday I noticed the daffodil shoots poking up through the ground. The temperatures here have hovered between 50 and 60 degrees F all week.

Dare I hope???

Last night I mentioned to Hubster that I'd like to order one of the above-ground beds from Mel Bartholomew's Square Foot Gardening site to put in the back yard so I don't have to grow my tomatoes in the front beds for all to see. For once he did NOT discourage me, but simply said it would be nice to have a "real" tomato for a change. If it meant we had to get this, then so be it.

My husband, the Encourager of All Encouragers. He still doesn't believe I can grow tomatoes, because the specimens I provided him last year weren't "red enough" or "big enough" or didn't match up to what Mom used to grow.

He has set a high mark, has Hubster. One I doubt I'll ever reach this side of Heaven. But that's OK, because Mom holds the medal and it's something for him to remember....even if I do come up with a passable fruit.

So plans of seedlings and soil are in my head. Radishes, leaf lettuce, bell peppers, green onions, and maybe some green beans to go with it all. In the end I'll be lucky to end up with just tomatoes.

However, from last year's experience I do have good things to report. The Scarecrow squirrel repeller along with a planting of marigolds worked wonders to keep the squirrels away from my tomatoes. I plan to plant a few marigolds in with the tomato plants and other vegetables this year as well, and you can be sure The Scarecrow will be a big part of my gardening. I highly recommend it to anyone with wildlife problems. It works like a charm!

And no, I am not being paid for promoting this product. I wish I was. :)

Since the marigolds were so easy to grow last year and looked so good for so long with almost no maintenance, guess what the front flower beds will be full of this year?

Yah, you betcha.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I need to peruse seed catalogs and drool. Not necessarily in that order.

I Do Love A Good Pig

2010-03-05T23:33:00.003-06:00

Tonight was just chock-full of fun, mirth and merriment. Especially if you include the Emo People, the Druggies, the Rich and Infamous, and those who have Johnny Depp envy. Yup, you pretty much have my evening in a nutshell.

Or a nuthouse. Whatever works for you.

My job this evening was to count the people who attended the new Alice In Wonderland movie in 3D at the local theater. I counted three different shows, and here is what I noticed about the crowds.

1. Teenagers were largely of the genre dubbed "Emo" by their peers. There was more black eyeliner, black nail polish, black clothing and black hair color than Edgar Allen Poe would ever dream of when he thought of the word RAVEN.

2. Gay men attended this movie in droves.

3. Most people over 60 years of age left the movie saying, "That was just strange." Apparently the artistic content was lost on their age group.

4. People who dressed up as characters in the movie liked to spend the time before the movie outside the doors to the theater so they could be noticed by more people. The Mad Hatter and Alice seemed to be the garb of choice. And no, gender did not matter. (see #6 above)

Across the hall from the theater showing Alice was another theater showing Cop Out. Since I had some time between shows and since Cop Out didn't start for a while, I decided to go into that theater to eat the dinner I'd sneaked in. This theater doesn't allow outside food, but if I'm working I figure I'm entitled to a lunch break with my own food if I eat it away from customers' eyes.

As I sat there downing dinner a man came into the theater and asked if I was with the birthday party. I told him no, and confessed what I was doing. He said he'd rented the entire theater for his son's birthday, and I was welcome to stay if I wanted to watch the movie.

I politely declined, apologized for being there, and left.

Come to find out this guy spent about $1000 for a three-hour rental of a theater that held about 150 people. He and his son were the only ones there because no one else showed up. He'd invited all of his son's friends, but they all had other plans.

Sad.

After I finished counting heads for the last show, I headed out to the car. On the way I passed a crowd that had gathered to watch the two on-duty policemen assigned to the theater who had two teenaged girls on the ground. One was on her stomach with her hands clasped behind her. The other was going through what seemed to be some sort of seizure. I overheard something about "...don't know how many she took.."

Just another night at the movies.

Oh Queso Mio

2010-03-04T22:06:00.004-06:00

I am here to tell you, there really is such a thing as TOO MUCH OF THE MEXICAN FOOD.

Last Saturday evening, miracle of miracles, my good friend Cindabel made it up to my neck of the woods (hereafter referred to as "God's Country" or just "GC" for short). The reason she made it up here was because her husband and son were going to the Elton John/Billy Joel concert that I wanted to go to but a) couldn't see paying that much for tickets, b) didn't want to fight traffic to find parking, c) thought Hubster would sooner pull out his eyebrow hair than go, and d) decided I was just too tired to fight it all.

I am the Energizer Bunny in disguise.

Cindabel's parents live up here in GC, so she decided to take the opportunity to visit them. And while she was here, she decided to get the pesky let's-have-dinner-and-actually-SEE-each-other-instead-of-texting-and-talking-on-the-phone-once-a-year thing over with, too.

She is such a multi-tasker.

And so it happened that we came together to eat Mexican food on Saturday night. I introduced her to a little hole-in-the-wall that usually has really good food. Of course, on this night it was below par. All, that is, except for the mild sauce. I could drink the mild sauce as a beverage with every meal if it wasn't so chunky with grated vegetables. I could bathe in it, but let's face it, that would be just plain weird.

What I did do was try to talk Cindabel out of liking it. And when I didn't succeed, I bought a pint to take home.

I hid the pint in the fridge because The Girl is a well-known Sauce Letch. If she sees it, she Hoovers it up in her yam before you can even get the word "DON'T!!!" out of your mouth.

Tuesday The Girl wanted tacos. Being as I was feeling magnanimous, I took her and her brother to the same place for Taco Tuesday. The Sauce Letch glommed on to the bowl of mild sauce brought for our table, and within five minutes it was history.

She is also a bloodhound.

I came home Wednesday to a half-eaten pint of sauce. I was NOT a happy camper. And so I had the rest for dinner, holding it close and muttering "...my Preciousssss...." all the while.

Yes, the prescription is being refilled. Hush.

Then last night we had the infamous Wrestling Banquet. I told Hubster on the way there that we would have one of two things, Italian ala Olive Garden, or some sort of Mexican, most likely tacos. I felt it in my bones. I was leaning more toward the Mexican.

And the banquet, it did not disappoint.

There on the buffet table were pans and pans of burritos and enchiladas and beans and rice and chips....BUT WAIT!!! What was THAT???

A huge pan of my favorite mild sauce. Which, by now, was something I was hoping NOT to see for a while.

The banquet had been catered by my hole-in-the-wall restaurant.

So today, Ladies and Gents? After what amounts to four - count 'em - FOUR - dinners from the same Mexican restaurant in less than a week....

I'm headed out for sushi.