Open for business

Saturday afternoon, we managed to take the winter cover off of the pool, successfully I might add.
What do I mean by successfully, you ask?
That means we did it without dumping all the sludge that had settled on the cover over the winter, into the crystal clean water below.
Once the cover was off, the remaining water in the pool was such a pretty, crystal blue. It looked inviting enough to jump on in. But I resisted temptation. More water needed to be added to bring it up to level. Pipes re-connected, plugs put back in, etc., etc.
By sunday morning, the water level was where it needed to be. So I crossed my fingers, inhaled deeply and held my breath, while I plugged the pump in and turned it on.
Imagine my surprise when everything worked as it should.
Nothing broke. No geysers of water shot up in the air. Nothing shorted out. Nothing leaked.
I was sooo impressed. I think this may be the first time in the 10 years we've now had it, that things went smoothly.
I tested the water, added chemicals as needed, re-tested, etc.
When we took the cover off, I felt it would be at least this coming weekend before we were able to enjoy it, just going by past summers. Imagine my surprise when we were actually able to enjoy it monday afternoon, less than 48 hours after uncovering it.
If only things would go that smoothly the rest of the time.

I've been ROBBED!!!

GRrr!
Damn thugs!
Okay, as reported in an earlier blog, there had been some burglaries in a neighboring subdivision earlier last week.
Saturday morning, I dreamt that our neighbor's house got broken into. Well, my dream wasn't too far off the mark. Instead of their house, it was my car. Damned thugs!
I had gone to Sam's Club sunday afternoon to pick up some items for home & the office. Upon arriving home, I unloaded the food items, leaving the bulkier things for the husband to unload when he got home.
I then made a quick trip to Walmart to get chlorine for the pool. When I got back home, I unloaded the chlorine from the back end. At that point, whether I locked the car or not, I couldn't say for sure one way or another.
Later that evening, we were having a little cook-out. On one of my umpteen trips in and out of the house, as I walked past my car, I reached out and pulled on the door handle, to see whether or not the car was locked. It was. Now, when I lock my car, I don't do it "halfway". If I'm going to the trouble of locking it, then I go ahead and set the alarm at the same time. So I feel comfortable in saying that my car doors were locked and the alarm set.
Monday morning, about 9:30, I took Olivia out front to do her biz. As I walked past my car, I noticed a large box of styrafoam cups for the office, was lying in the flowerbed. I thought, "what the hell?" Thinking that perhaps John had gotten something out of my car and set the cups out and forgot to put them back in, I went back in the house to get my car remote. Back outside, I pushed the unlock button, but nothing happened. Hmmm. It appeared the car was already unlocked. I opened the door behind the driver's seat so I could toss the box back in, and immediately noticed that a desk-top computer I had had on the back seat was missing. The computer belonged to my s-i-l, and I was wanting to return it to her, but just hadn't had the chance yet.
The thieves stole the Dell c.p.u., monitor, keyboard, and speakers. I didn't realize it at the time, not until this morning, but they also stole some of my stuff from Sam's, that the husband had never unloaded. Almost another $50 worth of stuff. Damned thugs!! Fortunately at least, none of the items they took belonged to the office. They were all personal items. Also fortunately, they didn't steal the hundreds of dollars worth of cd's out of the console or my gasoline credit cards.
When I called the police to report the crime, the dispatcher asked if we lived near Baypointe, and I told her that was the next subdivision over. Apparently that was the "hotspot" that had been hit.
When the officer showed up to take the report, he said we were already the 8th home he'd taken a report on that morning, and he still had others to go to.
Gee whiz, what is this world coming to???
Damned thugs!!

Eliott's opinion

Our patio furniture, a mix of pieces collected over the years... you know the type, cheap plastic-resin stuff bought a k-mart, some more expensive resin furniture, purchased for a hefty price at the old Bacon's Homestore (may it rest in peace), and some formerly red-wood (stained) pieces with cushions.
I had two of the wood chairs w/cushions sitting on the front porch, but I finally got tired of the neighbors cat using the cushions for a bed and scratching post, so they've now been moved to the backyard and the cushions stored in the garage. The 2 cheap resin chairs, I'd like to see tossed in the land-fill, but my husband, the packrat, refuses to let go of them. Instead, he uses them as "barriers" around the pool to keep the dogs from getting to the backside area. By now he should know better, as Bootsy can jump over them from a standstill, or if she's being lazy, she bellycrawls underneath. Nothing deters her.
The more expensive resin stuff, has become dull looking over the years. It's all still quite sturdy and in good shape, just dull looking. The once silvery-gray has faded to the color of dry primer. Determined to spruce them up, I bought some spray paint, specifically for use on plastics. The can was labeled as being Navy blue, but it looks more royal blue to me. Either way, I like the color. I set several pieces out in the yard last night and after applying the 2nd coat, left them out there overnight to dry.
Among these pieces was a small end table that most recently had been used for the sole purpose of setting the dogs water bucket on, so it would be face level for them. Little did I know how much the dogs appreciated not having to bend over to get a drink.
I let the dogs out for a while this moring to play. It didn't take long for them to get hot and seek out their water bucket. They of course found it sitting on the deck.
Apparently Eliott wasn't too happy about this.
He promptly went over and hiked his leg on the small end table sitting out in the yard.

E.S.P.?

For those of you that are my close neighbors, you already know about part of this, so bear with me while I repeat part of the story...
This past tuesday morning, I let the 2 big dogs out in the backyard at 3:30am. They immediately started barking their heads off, and not in a friendly manner. It was very intense, aggressive barking.
While they raised a ruckus in the backyard, I took Olivia out front to do her biz. While out there, even over the noise my kids were making, I could hear a dog in the next neighborhood barking also. That dog's bark also sounded less than friendly.
Even after I got all three of my dogs back inside, they continued their barking. Even Olivia took up the "chant", and this went on 'til about 5am.
When John left at 4:30 to head off to work, he phoned me just a couple of minutes later to say that perhaps the dogs had been justified in their barking, as he'd seen a police cruiser driving very slowly through our neighborhood, with his lights off, as if he was looking for someone. The cruiser turned out of our neighborhood and into the next subdivision, from which I 'd heard the other dog barking.
So who knows?, maybe someone had reported a prowler.
Okay, fastforward to today (saturday). I'd had a dream just before waking up this morning, that one of our neighbor's (M&J) house had gotten broken into while they were on vacation.
They were leaving this morning to head out on vacation, and I am keeping an eye on the place while they're gone.
After feeding the dogs this morning, I let the two big kids out back, and took Olivia out front. While I was out there, "M"came out of his house, and started loading some stuff into his car. As I headed back towards our house, I stopped for a moment to wish them a safe/fun trip. I mentioned in passing that I'd had a wierd dream that their house was broken into while they were gone. "M" remarked, "Oh, I hope not!" These words were no sooner out of his mouth than here comes a police cruiser up the street. I just shook my head and turned to crossover to our side of the street. As I was walking up the driveway, I glanced back and saw that the policeman had turned his car around and here he came. He turned onto our court and pulled up next to "M". I halted in my tracks and waited to see what was going on. "M" talked to the officer a few moments, then the officer drove off.
My curiousity was killing me, so I had to go find out the scoop. The officer had told "M" that there had been some cars & houses broken into earlier in the week, in the next subdivision. As "M" told me this, I gasped, knowing it had to be the day my dogs were going berzerk.
He went on to say that the officer said the burglars were breaking into cars that were left parked in driveways, just to get the garagedoor openers.
Most people have a tendancy to leave the door between the garage and the house itself unlocked, so these thieves were stealing the openers, opening the garages, then walking right on into the house.
The officer said we were probably safe (meaning M&J and us), because we obviously had big dogs to help protect the place, but just to be careful anyway.
After "M" told me all this, I was really kind of freaking out. Now I told "M" in more detail about the dream I'd had...
In my dream, the two punks had walked right up to "M&J"'s garage door and opened it right up. This had amazed me in the dream, as I couldn't figure out how they had done it. And in my dream I called the police, who actually did show up in a timely basis, and chased the thieves down.
Okay, so now I ask you folks, was my dream just a coincidence? Or perhaps a bit of "ESP"? I certainly don't foresee M&J's house getting broken into this week, but still, you have to admit, some of the events in my dream pretty closely mirrored some of the things that happened this past week (that I had no prior knowledge of), and the officer showing up to tell "M" about it all, just seconds after I made mention of it... well, it's kind of creepy.
Okay, I'm going to go look into my crystal ball now and get the numbers to this weeks lottery drawing.

Mystery story

I got out of my car for just a brief moment, leaving the engine running. I was parked next to a small country cemetery out in the middle of nowhere, so I felt safe leaving the doors unlocked and the windows rolled down, while I went to take a peek at some of the ancient gravesites.
Upon returning to my car, imagine my surprise to find this man of mystery sitting in the passenger seat...


ps, this is a true story.

Waaaayyy Coooool!!

The antique a/c window unit that was the only source of cool air for the entire 2nd floor of the f.h., conked out several weeks ago.
I won't bore you with the details of me telling the boss we needed a new one, and him insisting we didn't. Just suffice it to say, I was right, he was wrong.
I was sent to purchase a new unit at the local Wal-mart. That adventure in itself is fodder for another blog. Again, I won't bore you with those details (at least not until I write that blog).
Once I got my purchase back to the f.h., I left it in the company van. I certainly wasn't going to try lugging it up a flight & a half of stairs. So I tossed the keys at the boss and said, "Have at it."
He took the dolly and went to fetch it. He got it in the building without any problem. So far, so good.
As he attempted to pull the dolly up the stairs, which was way over-loaded with the a/c box (should've been roped or bungee corded to the dolly), he made it about 8 steps up before letting his load shift, and the brand new a/c unit went bouncing down the stairs, landing in the vestibule. Hmm, do you think the damage will be covered under warranty?
Trying this again, still not using rope to hold it in place, he enlists my help to stand below and keep the box steady on the dolly. I had visions of this thing falling off, hitting me in the chest and I'd go bouncing down the steps with the a/c. Nightmares of trying to fill out workman's comp claims filled my head. We'd no sooner gotten up two, maybe three steps and the phone rang. As we were the only ones working today, I had to let go and run for the nearest phone. Again, the a/c unit bounced down the steps.
After we finally reached the second floor. He opens the box and groans, "Oh nooo". I looked at what was ailing him, and saw that some assembly was required. "Oh no" is right. That means instructions would need to be read, and more precisely, followed. This wasn't a good sign. Because like most men, he hates to read instructions and hates even more to follow them.
He removed all the packing and parts, then was met with the next obstacle... getting the unit out of the box. It wouldn't budge. I'm reminded of the joke, how many Polocks(sp?) does it take to screw in a lightbulb?... Everything he was trying wasn't working. But never fear, leave it to a woman, that would be moi. I said, "Why not tip the box gently over onto it's side, then slide the unit out? That would be sooo much easier."
I was mumbled at and shot a dirty look, but my advice was taken, and it worked.
While I had been gone shopping for the new unit, he had removed the antique from the window. Now all that needed to be done was assemble the new unit and put it in place.
After much grumbling and a few false starts, we were just about ready to put it in the window. The housing-unit of the a/c was set in place. Little did I know (because I was trying to get some paperwork done) he hadn't followed the instructions and mounted it properly. The housing unit stuck out the window, and as he attempted to slide the cooling unit into the "box", things started shifting. I watched in horror as something fell off the bottom and landed on the roof below.
Something wasn't right, and I kept inhaling sharply with every shove he gave the thing. I had images of the whole thing falling out the window, and crashing onto the patio outside the chapel.
I know my constant sharp inhaling was getting on his nerves, but I couldn't help it. He finally said, "wait, something's not right here." Duh, do you think?
He removed the unit, set it aside, looked at the housing and said, "hmm, no wonder it's not working. Guess I should've used those screws afterall to hold it place." Gee, do ya think???
It always amazes me the shortcuts that men try to take. Appliances & other gizmos come with instructions for a reason. They come with nuts, bolts and other hardware, for a reason. What is so hard about reading the instructions and following them?
After starting over, and finally applying some screws to the housing unit to hold it in place in the window, the a/c unit was finally slid into place and plugged in.
Much to my amazement, after having been dropped no less than twice, it actually worked.
And now it is sooooo waayyyy cooool in here. Ahhhhhhh

Fell off my chair

Something happened to me yesterday... I just about dropped the phone and fell out of my chair. It stunned me so, it has literally taken me a full 24 hours to recover enough to be able to blog about it.
Typically when someone passes away, we call a doctor (either the family's physician, or whoever is listed on the provisional report of death), just to verify that he/she will indeed be the one signing the death certificate. This way, it saves us & the family time by sending it to the proper place from the get-go.
When I make these calls, I typically am greeted by a recording, telling me to listen to the message in it's entirety, blah, blah, blah, push a few buttons, blah, blah, blah, get transferred from one person to the next (95% of those persons being female), before finally getting to speak to some harried woman that then puts me on hold and goes to verify my request with the doctor.
On rare occasions, a real live human will actually answer the phone instead of a recorded message.
On even rarer occasions, (and I do mean RARER) the doctor will eventually come onto the phone and answer my question his/herself.
But what happened yesterday just threw me for a loop.
I called the local doctor here in town. The phone was answered on the first ring by a man that said, "How may I help you?"
Not, "Hello...", or "This is Dr. so-and-so's office", just "How may I help you?"
The fact that a man even answered the phone threw me off right away, but the greeting I got really messed me up. For a half a second, I forgot whose office I was calling and why. I hesitated, scrambling for something to say, then remembered the reason for the call.
Me: "Uh, is this Dr. So-and-so's office?"
Man: "Yes, it is", replied the man.
Me: "Um yes, this is Kim at H/R F/H, and we were just wanting to know if Dr. So-and-so would be signing the death certificate for Mrs. Doe."
Man: "Yes, I'll sign it."
This is where I just about slid out of my chair in a dead-faint. The doctor himself had answered the phone at his clinic. Who has ever heard of such a thing???????
I was so speechless, I stuttered out: "Uh, um, Okay, thank you!" And I hung up the phone, nearly dropping it in the process.
I just couldn't believe it! I've NEVER heard of a doctor that answers his own calls. But on top of all that, don't you think he would have answered it, if not by giving the name of the clinic, but at the very least with a "hello"?

Gimme some $$$

As a child, I always loathed all the fund-raising efforts we were forced to participate in at school... they were endless! Band boosters, booster club, senior trip, prom, and whatever other club you happened to be in. Everybody was selling candy, popcorn, candles, or someother useless piece of junk, just to raise money because the schools simply wouldn't provide the funds necessary to support these extra-curricular activities.
And going door-to-door was the worst!! I know my neighbors got tired of being inundated with my little sales-pitches, simply because they'd already heard it umpteen times from all the other kids in the neighborhood.
No wonder so many of us are so obese these days! Look at all the candybars we ate, that we sold to ourselves & each other, just in an effort to unload the stupid things. Honestly, it got to where I couldn't make it through 2nd period without getting a chocolate-fix to tide me over until lunchtime. And then another chocolate-fix for the bus ride home. It's a wonder I have any teeth left in my mouth and don't weigh 400 lbs.!!!
I loathed it then, and I loath it now, the kids that come knocking on my door trying to sell something. By now, you'd think the neighborhood kids would know better than to try and sell me anything, but I have to give them credit, they are persistent.
Last week, a boy of African-American heritage and his sister (I presume), came knocking on our door. As the weather was nice, I had the front door wide open, and just had the flimsy little hook holding the screendoor in place. The child rang the doorbell.
My 4-legged children hate the doorbell. They view it as an opportunity to runamuck down the hall and terrorize whoever is standing on the otherside. Of course, if it's someone they know (& most importantly, someone they like) on the other side, they don't slam into the door too hard, but skid to a stop and then voice their opinions at having been disturbed.
When said black child rang the doorbell, not only did my kids not know this child, they apparently took an instant dislike to him, as all three of them hit the screendoor at full throttle. They slammed into the door hard enough to scare the girl off the porch, and she went running down the driveway. She left her brother standing on the porch, one hand clutching his money envelope, the other hand against the screen door as he attempted to keep it shut and hold the dogs at bay.
I tried to keep a straight face as I approached, but on the inside I was laughing my butt off.
I made little attempt to quiet my children, letting them continue to speak their minds, while I asked the child what he wanted.
Child: I'm trying to raise money for my school's track team. Would you like to make a donation?
Me: Um, no, I don't think so.

A donation?? Since when do these groups just ask for donations? I don't get anything for my money, not even a 1000 calorie candybar?? What assurance did I have that my "donation" would go to the school and not end up in his pocket?
It didn't bother me turning him down. As I don't have human-children, I feel that the school-taxes I pay are my donation.
When later discussing this situation over with the husband and some friends, it was suggested that what I should've done is proposed this to the child: I'll give you a running head start before I open this door and let the dogs out... if you can make it back home to safety before they eat you up, then I'll give you a dollar.
Evil, aren't I?

Blockbuster

I'm really starting to get just a wee bit disgusted with Blockbuster-online rental service.
In the beginning, it was great! They would ship them out promptly & I'd get an email notification that they had, and usually, I'd receive the movie the very next day. If I watched it the same day, I'd drop it back in the mail, and often I'd get another within 48 hours.
As I'm allowed to have up to 3 movies out at a time, it wasn't uncommon to get at least 6 movies a week, plus my free rental from the local store.
But I gotta tell you, these past couple of weeks, their service is starting to suck!
It's hit or miss as to whether I get an email notification something has been shipped or received back. One movie, they sent me an email stating they'd received it back from me, yet I still had the thing in my possession... go figure!!!
They don't seem to be shipping them as quickly as they were in the beginning either.
And two of the movies that they supposedly sent me this week, I've never received, so now I have to re-request them, which means a delay. I'm not too sure I'm getting my monies worth anymore.
Does anybody else out there in blog-world subscribe to Blockbuster-online? And if so, what has your experience been?

The 'burbs

As much as I'd love to have a home in the country, with a little bit of elbow room between me and my nearest neighbors, I do have to admit, life probably wouldn't be as entertaining as it is living in Suburbia USA.
I was watching the Tom Hanks movie "The 'burbs" at work today (slow workday), and 'though I've seen the movie probably a 100 times, I couldn't help but make comparisons between that movie and our own little neighborhood. Not only between the movie characters & our neighborhood characters, but even between some of the situations that were similar. I had to laugh as I thought back on many of the things that have happened over our past 12+ years in the 'burbs... (of course, you had to have seen the movie & lived in our neighborhood to truly appreciate these things...)
**The disappearance of their elderly neighbor, Walter, when they considered calling the police - well, that reminded me of the time that neigbors M&J went on vacation for a week and didn't tell anybody, and the police did show up at their house.
**The scene where Hans Klopik drove the garbage to the curb and stuffed it into a trash can - that reminded me of former neighbor Mark. While Mark literally went several years without setting out any trash, he would get in his truck and drive to his mailbox to get the mail. Mind you, his driveway is only as long as two vehicles. It's not like he would've broken a sweat to walk from the frontdoor to the mailbox and back.
**The numerous scenes where the guys are all snooping around, wondering what goes on inside the Klopik's house, reminded me of the time that JK, JP, & BJ went snooping around Mark's house, trying to peer in through the windows, trying to figure out what he did with all his trash that he never threw out.
**The "party" that Corey Feldman's character threw, while watching the guys perform their "covert operation", reminded me of the numerous gatherings that neighbor Greg had on weekends.
**The way Walter kept his yard so perfectly manicured of course reminded me of James & Mary.
**Neighbor "Art" is a perfect likeness to my John., not only physically, but personality-wise too.
**The Klopik's yard & landscape I couldn't help but be reminded of "jungle lady" a couple of streets behind us. And even the pile of trash that was left lying in front of their house, I could compare to her too, as she left a dirty diaper laying by her house for a couple of weeks once. John finally got so tired of seeing it, he picked it up. I dare say, if he hadn't, even though that was 2 years ago, it would probably still be lying there.
**The "arms dealer" living across from Tom Hanks character, well, I can relate him to one of our neighbors, 'though I won't say which one.
And on, and on. The comparisons are endless.
Yep, life in suburbia can be quite entertaining at times.

It's all about ME

"Hi, it's Me."
How many of you have answered the ringing telephone, just to have the person on the other end say those very words to you?
I find it very annoying. Especially when "Me" is a person you rarely have conversations with, and therefore wouldn't necessarily recognize their voice.
Who am I kidding? Most likely each of us has done the very same thing to someone else.
There are millions, no, make that billions of "Me's" in this world. What makes us think that we're so special?
Does the person that announces her(him)self as "Me", possess some kind of self-confidence that makes them feel they're readily discernible from all the other "Me's"?
I had just sat down to dinner last night with the husband and friends M&J. The husband's cell phone rang and he promptly answered it. The caller identified themselves as "Me" and promptly asked John if I was close by. He handed the phone to me with a shrug of his shoulders, as he had no idea who "Me" was.
I took his phone and said, "hello?". "Me" started rambling a mile a minute and asking me questions about making funeral arrangements, as a relative was about to die. After listening to this person for a few minutes, I finally had to stop them and say, "I need to ask you something... who am I talking to?"
"Me" just laughed and said, "Didn't John tell you it was 'Me'?"
"No, he didn't."
So "Me" finally revealed herself to me by giving me her first name. It still took me a moment to realize who she really was. "Me" was married to a friend of my husband, and as far as I was concerned, "Me" was always on the far outer edge of casual friends. I can count on one hand with fingers leftover, the number of times I talk to this person in a year. No wonder I didn't know who "Me" was.
Actually, I should be used to it by now. On the rare occasion I have to talk to "Me" on the phone, (less than 10 times in the past 5 years), she has always, and I do mean always, identified herself as "Me".
Arghh!!

I've been T.P.'d!!

When someone tells you they've been T.P.'d, most of us conjure up impages of a house and shrubbery sporting long streamers of toilet paper. And if the homeowner is unfortunate, the toilet paper has soaked up the morning dew and become soggy, thereby making it nearly impossible to remove all traces of the offending arse-wipe material.
Well, I was t.p.'d this morning, but not at my home.
As I was getting onto I-265 and attempting to merge onto I-71, a porta-potty truck cut me off, nearly taking the back bumper off of the vehicle in front of me. Jerk!! So Mr. Porta-potty preceded me up the on-ramp and I was stuck behind him for a mile or so as we traveled up I-71. Traffic was heavy in the fast lane, so it took me a while to sieze the opportunity to pass him.
As I followed him up the road, I was suddenly blinded by a blizzard of toilet paper. I nearly wrecked my car as my hood & windshield became wrapped in the stuff. Fortunately, as I drove on, it then blew off.
The porta-potty driver apparently had a 5 gallon bucket sitting on the back of his truck full of toilet paper rolls. They kept unraveling, leaving a white trail of paper up I-71 north, 'til there was no paper left in the bucket (I assume).
So I've now officially been t.p.'d.
I'm just glad it was clean toilet paper I was hit with.
;)

The Guardian

A book review...
A friend recently recommended a book to me (because a great dane is one of the main characters in the book), "The Guardian", by Nicholas Sparks.
I'd never heard of the author before. I decided to see what I could find on the book, on-line, before committing myself to buying it. The excerpt I found was hilarious, and I knew I had to read the book in it's entirety.
I went to B.A.M. last week & picked up a copy.
By the end of the 3rd page, I was crying. I went through several Kleenex by the time I'd finished the prologue.
Once I finally got into chapter 1, I was again laughing outloud, as when I read the excerpt.
I had a hard time putting the book down, and had it finished by Saturday evening. As I sat in the camp-chair in the middle of our livingroom, finishing the book, John walked in to find me sobbing uncontrollably. Without me even asking, he went and fetched Kleenex and brought them to me. I continued to cry for a good 20 minutes, finishing up by drying the last of my tears on his shoulder.
At times, the book was so-so, as the writer tended to ramble on (kind of like I do), and provide way, way too much detail, where it wasn't needed. Also, from time to time, he threw in some "big words", that were used incorrectly. Once he mentioned how a room was miraculously clean, but I think he meant "meticulously". Miraculously just didn't make sense.
There was also another time he threw in a big word. I had to look it up in the dictionary to find it's meaning, and needless to say, it again made no sense within the context of that sentence.
But overall it was a good story. I thought often of my two boys, Eliott, and my dearly departed Smokey. I envisioned Eliott's physical attributes in place of the "lead dog", but felt it's character better mirrored Smokey's personality and intelligence.

Weed

The dictionary defines weed as such: A plant considered undesirable, unattractive, or troublesome, especially one growing where it is not wanted.
or there is the slang term: marijuana

By that first definition, the pear tree growing in our front yard is a weed. I hate that tree. I swear, I don't think it's grown at all, since it was planted almost 13 years ago. Yet I see some of our neighbors trees that are enormous compared to ours, and theirs were planted at or about the same time. I'd like very much to have that weed (tree) removed from our lot, and plant something else in it's place.
I made mention to my m-i-l once, about the periwinkle that I had growing in one of my flower beds. She replied, "know what we call periwinkle in Florida?"
Me: "No, what?"
Her: "A weed."
Well that's all good and fine. I suppose they don't like periwinkle in Florida. Personally, I like it's shiny, dark green leaves, and little purple flowers.

A few days ago, while I was pulling some of the weeds out that were growing in among my periwinkle, I discovered something growing that I hadn't expected to find. I didn't plant it there (exactly), but it has popped up on it's own. Yet I didn't pull it up, I'll let it grow. In fact, I intend to nurture it every step of the way.
So you may be wondering, what is this "weed" that has popped up? Why, it's a tomato plant. Actually, it appears there are about 3 of them.
Last year, when I had pulled some rotten tomatoes off the vines that I had growing in another flowerbed, I had tossed them into the patch of periwinkle, and had not given them another thought. Well, I guess the seeds from those rotten tomatoes survived the winter, and I'm now looking forward to reaping the fruits this summer.
Remember, a weed is only a weed if you don't want it there.

Partner

PARTNER
Never has such a single word, changed it's definition or opened up such an array of wonderment before.
It used to be, if someone said, "Joe is my partner", then you could safely assume (most of the time), that Joe was a business partner, or a partner in some kind of venture.
Not so today.
Now we have life-partners.
But people don't say, "this is Joe, my life-partner", no, they still just say "partner". Which only leads to confusion. At least, for me it does.
One of the delivery people that comes into the office from time to time, made a comment to me today, and at first I figured he meant that "Jim was his partner", as in "a business partner".
A few minutes after the guy left, I got to thinking about his statement, and suddenly a light went on in my head and I said, "ohhhh, his partner".
Of course, I'm still not a 100% sure, but I'm guessing he meant "life-partner".
I've known this delivery man for probably 10 years, as he also used to deliver to my former place of employment. Now granted, I don't know him well... I know his name, and his family make-up and that's about it. But I never got that "vibe" from him. So maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'll just have to pay more attention to him next time he's in here.
But honestly, I wish we'd either come up with a different expression than "partner" when referring to a "mate", or else make it a law that they have to put "life" in front of partner, just to avoid the confusion.

Expired

As I work in a funeral home, probably most of you are expecting this blog "Expired" to be about death. But you'd be wrong. Unless you consider the expiration dates on food to mean their death.
Twice in the past few weeks, and with a totally different group of people, the conversation has come up about expiration dates on food. Therefore, I felt a need to blog about it... get other's thoughts on the topic.
Some people, myself included (big shock!), are very anal about expiration dates on our foods, well, certain foods anyway. Apparently my sister is one of these people also, although I get the feeling that her obsession goes beyond mine. I'm only particular about certain food items.
For example: Milk/I pour out any remaining milk in the carton, the day it expires. I refuse to use it past the expiration date. Same thing with lunch meat (unless it starts tasting funky beforehand, then it gets tossed sooner).
Eggs on the other hand, I'll use them a good month or so beyond the "best if used by date".
Dressings, mayo, & other condiments, if it's within a year past expiring, and hasn't separated or become funkified, I'll use it.
Canned goods & cake mixes... 2 years past expiration?, oh well!, just hope I don't get sick.
Medicine... same thing.
Now my boss... the man will only eat tuna straight from the can. What he doesn't finish gets immediately tossed out. Personally, I'll eat tuna up to a week after it's been opened.

So what are some of your "expiration" quirks?

Fact or fantasy?

I attended a stamping party the other day... it seems to be all the rage now, having taken the place of Tupperware, Home Interiors, & Mary Kay parties (thank goodness!!... now if we could just do away with candle parties, I'd be truly happy), and I saw a set of stamps that kindly tickled my funny-bone, and I may have to give serious thought to creating yet another blogsite for fictional writings.
The stamp read to the effect of: "I haven't heard from you in a while, write soon... If your life is boring, make something up."
I rather liked that sentiment, even though I tend to work in fact, not fictional writing. I suppose if I ever experience a dull stretch in my life, I'll start making things up. Let the readers sort out what's fact & what's fiction. ;)
Ah, who am I kidding? Life is stranger than fiction. Better stick with what I know.

Did I read you correctly?

When I type my "stories", I often type some things out the way we Kentuckians pronounce them, as opposed to the proper grammatical version... for instance: y'all instead of you all (which really isn't proper grammar either, but irregardless...)
So I'm sure some people read my stories and wonder, "did I read that correctly?", or was that a type-O?
Well, it depends. I'm not above making a type-O from time to time. I try to go back & correct these things, but sometimes I get in a hurry, as we all do.

I read something the other day that someone wrote, and I so desparately want to ask that person if they were just being silly when they typed it out, or if they truly think that's how the word is spelled & pronounced. But I dare not ask, for I'm afraid I'll hurt their feelings. So I guess I'll let it go and just wait n' see if it happens again.
Having said all that, I will ask SeldomScene something though...

SeldomScene, did I read your comment on one of my previous blogs correctly, when you referred to your mother as "Debbins"?
Was that a type-O, or do you truly refer to her that way?
You know she tried to drown me when I was a child don't you?
I've got witnesses. Ask her if she remembers Kentucky Lake.

When we 1st met

As I was sorting through boxes & envelopes & photo albums last night, searching for "just the right pix" to put in a scrapbook, I came across this one.
It's none other than my beloved Jay, "flirting" w/a co-worker we had at the time. The picture was taken Sept. of '87, almost 19 years ago! (hard to believe we've been together that long), right about the time we met...
Thank goodness they've changed uniforms since then. Those were the ugliest uniforms ever!!

Whose time is more valuable?

When I arrived at the doctor's office monday morning, 5 minutes before my scheduled appointment time, I went to the desk to sign-in. I noticed a sign posted next to the reception desk that stated: They reserve the right to ask any patient that arrives more than 20 minutes late for a scheduled appointment to reschedule.
Interesting, I thought.
Thirty minutes after my scheduled appointment time, I finally got to see the doctor, albeit only for 30 seconds, but still... I had to wait 30 minutes on her.
I wonder if I can start giving these doctors a notice when I make my appointments, that if they cause me to wait more than 20 minutes past my scheduled appointment time, then I reserve the right to pay my bill (or not) on my terms?
Hmm....

Nicest Compliment

My husband paid me the nicest, sweetest compliment the other night...

For those of you that know of the issues with his step-parent, then you might have some understanding of where this compliment came from. For those of you that don't, oh well.

We had just gone to bed the other night, and while I was setting the alarm clock, he was relating to me the events of the day (involving said step-parent).
He then looked at me and said, "Thank you for being normal."

It took me by surprise, but made me happy (that he thought I was normal).
No other compliment could have meant more to me.

More on Cleaning house

I made a monumental effort last night and cleaned off the desk which held the defunct computer. The loaner-computer, which never worked, is being returned to it's rightful owner, and the other computer has met it's fate.
Two buckets of soapy water later... the top is now spotless, and better yet, organized. I could actually sit and pay bills at it, if I felt so inclined.
I do still need to clean the shelves off that are underneath of it, but hey, one step at a time, one day at a time.
And to miss smarty pants (you know who you are), if I got rid of the cushionless-couch, then Eliott or Bootsy truly would be without a place to sleep. ;)

Stop & listen

It's amazing what you can learn, if you just stop and listen once in a while. On Mother's Day, we all gathered at my parents house for a pitch-in dinner. The weather was miserable, so we were all forced to stay indoors, but this may have been a blessing in disguise. Otherwise, I might've missed out on a conversation my grandmother was having with some of the kinfolk.
I've done quite a bit of research on my maternal grandmother's side of the family (the John Smith family... could I have picked a more common name to research?), and a minimal amount on my maternal grandfather's side (the Kelseys).
My dad's side is made up of the Deutsch & Pease-Haas families.
Up until 2 days ago, I always thought my great-grandfather was an only child. I now know he had 4 siblings... which means many aunts/uncles & cousins I never knew existed. And also means that a lot of those Deutsch's we come across from time to time, most likely are related, more closely than we thought anyway.
Now, on the Haas (that would be my grandmother's mother's maiden name) side... I never knew anything beyond my great-grandmother, Julia. I now know her father's & grandfather's name. But what truly has piqued my interest is that her grandfather (that would be my gr.-gr.-gr.-grandfather) was a full-blooded Cherokee Indian that left the tribe and took the name of Ezra Haas.
I guess I'm going to have to get back into the geneaology and start digging around again. I'm thoroughly fascinated now. I hope I can find out what his tribal name was and some of his history.

Confusing advice

I was surfing the web, looking up info on varicose veins (yes, I hate to admit it, I'm starting to get them).
Anyway, one site I looked at suggested the following: "Wear elastic support stockings and avoid tight clothing that constricts your waist, groin, or legs. "
Excuse me?
Isn't that a bit of a contradiction there? Support hose do exactly that... they constrict you.... and not just your legs.

Cherry Angioma

After watching a spot turn from a small, flat red dot (pin-prick size), to a larger (almost pea sized), purple, sometimes black looking, growth thingy, I decided it was time to see a dermatologist.
I thought a mole had formed there. And skin cancer isn't anything I want any part of... even though I do lie about in the pool weather & time permitting.
This "mole" was right above my right knee, and if I'm not careful when shaving, I shave this thing off, which then bleeds profusely. All the more reason for concern.
I took a sick day yesterday and went to a dermatologist. Spent 20 minutes filling out paperwork on my personal life and HIPPA related nonsense. When my name was finally called out to go back, I sat back in the exam room for perhaps 5-10 minutes.
When the doctor finally came in, I pointed it out, and before I could even explain the "history" of this growth, she diagnosed it and said there was nothing to worry about. She could take it off if I wanted her to, but since our insurance doesn't cover cosmetic surgery, I opted to leave it alone.
I can't wait to get the bill from this office visit. I saw the doctor for less than 60 seconds, and will probably be paying a $100. They didn't even have to change the paper on the bed, or use a latex glove.
I'm in the wrong business to be sure.
So what I have is a cherry angioma.
Actually, I've got lots & lots of these things, but only 1 that has ever changed so radically. Hope it's the last too.

Sneaker heaven

What happens to old tennis shoes (sneakers)?
We wear them and wear them, until they're worn out. The bottoms are worn smooth, the shoe laces have been replaced countless times, and quite possibly a toe might even be poking out the end. We go and buy a new pair, and demote the worn out pair to "grass cutting" shoes.
Okay, so once they get demoted, what happens to the pair that was currently being used to cut grass?
They must go to sneaker heaven.
I'm quite sure I've never seen my husband throw a pair of tennis shoes away in our 18 years together. And he's demoted quite a number of shoes over the years. Yet I've never actually seen him throw any of them away... even the pair that had a flapping sole that looked like they were talking to you with each step he took. They were an accident waiting to happen! I've seen him wrap duct tape around his sneakers, just to salvage a couple of more grass-cuttings out of them. It's time to let go John. Let them slip quietly into sneaker heaven. There are several pair waiting in the garage to take it's place.
I admit, I have a hard time actually throwing tennis shoes away too. I demote mine, yet I still find myself wearing my good ones or semi-good ones to do yard work in. So what happened to the grass-cutting shoes? They must have slipped away into sneaker heaven when I wasn't looking.

Cleaning house

Cleaning house... something that I don't do. At least, not as it should be done, or with the frequency it should get, especially having so many animals, husband included.
I used to keep the house clean. Seriously! I actually used to run the sweeper, if not daily, then at least every-other-day. And not only did I mop weekly, I actually used to wax the floor. Hmph!, I couldn't tell you the last time I actually applied wax to the floor and had a mirror-like shine to it.
So what went wrong? What happened to me? How/when/why did I get so lazy?
Oh, I can't pinpoint the exact date, but it had to be sometime shortly after we got Smokey... our first indoor dog. It became a losing battle between him and having fought the husband over the years, that I finally just gave up. I don't blame Smokey. I blame myself.
In all honesty, I'm quite ashamed to let anyone see my home. I put-off calling repairmen to fix this or that, simply because I don't want them to see our mess, or because it might require me to clean.
I bring all this up because I just finished a little "house keeping" here at work. Don't fall off your chairs, I didn't run a sweeper or dust any furniture. I cleaned off a bulletin board.
This bulletin board in the corner of my office has become a catch-all for every piece of paper that nobody else knows what to do with, or that they don't want cluttering their desks, or for every license that we have to keep on display lest the state inspector show up unannounced, and a miriad of other items.
I couldn't take it anymore!!
I started going through everything on that board, and there faxes from over 2 years ago that have absolutely no need of still being in existence. File 13.
There were business licenses that expired in 1996 still on this board. File 13.
There was a list of emergency phone numbers (9-1-1), with umpteen other things posted over top of it. Honestly now, if you're having an emergency, are you going to say, "Oh, let me go dig around on the bulletin board for the number to the hospital or police?" No, you're going to dial 911. File 13.
There was an old photograph that was found under a piece of furniture downstairs a couple of years ago, and heaven only knows how many years it laid there prior to being found. No name on it, and it wasn't anyone we recognized. Time to go in File 13.
The board now sports only the current business license, music license, 2 orders I've placed and am waiting to receive, and a pouch to hold papers for the cemetery man. I can actually see lots of blank cork. It's sooo nice.
Now, if I could only get myself motivated to do the same thing to my house.

To "Whitworth"

Little Leslie-Nestle, granddaughter of a Kelsey,
In the weeks to come, will be come a first-time mom.
When I finally heard the news, she'd be having a bundle of joy times two.
So now we wait and wait, and wonder, "what will be the delivery date?"
Much anticipated is the birth, of little babies Whitworth.

Carzz

While reading the lakeshorestrangler blogsite, he made mention of a now defunct auto, the Dodge Diplomat, probably best known for it's use as a police cruiser.
I was having a moment of nostalgia, not that I've ever ridden in one of these things (that I know of), much less owned one, but it got me to thinking about the different automobiles I've driven in my lifetime.
My first car was a Ford Pinto (a '79 I think). He (no "girl" car for me) was silver w/red interior that smelled a bit musty, had 2-doors (3 if you count the hatch-back), and leaked around the hatchback and the passenger side floorboard everytime it rained or whenever I washed it. I called my car "Beanie Bunsford". I don't know why, I just did. He drank a quart of oil with every gas fill-up. I got him late in the summer of 1985, just before getting my license.
May of '86, my first NEW auto, was an '86 Mazda B2000 pick-up. I loved that truck! It was light, metallic blue. And a dream to drive. In fact, my dad bought one the very same day, same color, only a king-cab, without the "niceties". We turned heads in the neighborhood, driving home two new, nearly identical trucks that day.
When I married 2 years later, I not only gained a husband, but also a Camaro Z28. An '85 I think. Navy blue, T-tops. A gas hog whose payment was about $3.00 more than our house payment.
A month after the wedding, we traded it in for a smaller payment and got a Hyundai, an '88 or '89. I don't remember much about the car except that it was charcoal gray and I hated it from the get-go.
Next vehicle was a light blue Ford Aerostar mini-van. Perhaps a '91. It was purchased with the thought in mind that we'd start a family and fill it with babies. Gee, how wrong I was. At least, about the type of babies we'd fill our autos with.
Then came the Toyota Tacoma. It was a charcoal gray, 4-wheel drive, king-cab truck. A truck we both loved dearly, and miss to this day. Damn the nit-wit that pulled out in front of us shortly after we got it, and nearly totalled the thing. It was never "right" after that, even after 2 1/2 months in the shop for repairs. It was a '95 1/2. We still drool when we see one out on the road. And we still silently cuss the girl that ruined it for us. It was nice!
It was now time to trade in my Mazda which was wheezing it's last breath. We drove it 'til the wheels just about fell off of it. It looked like heck, and ran even worse (at the end), but I have no complaints overall. It was a good truck for a lot of years. We finally traded it for the Saturn.
A silver 4-door. Nothing spectacular about that car. It was relaible, just not big enough for 2 large people with large dogs.
The Tacoma was traded up for a Toyota 4-runner S.U.V. The official color is Anthracite Oak, but depending on the light, it appears either dark gray or brown. It too has been a good vehicle, and much like the mazda, we'll probably drive it 'til the wheels fall off... knock on wood that doesn't happen for a long while.
And our most recent vehicle, my Mazda Tribute S.U.V. It too has been a good auto, but alas, we'll be getting rid of it this fall in search of either a van or large pickup truck (gas guzzlers to be sure). We just need something bigger/better to haul the dogs and tow the camper with.
So there. I've shared my love of my Mazdas and Toyotas, and fessed up to having owned a Pinto and a Hyundai (which I must say are much better nowadays than they were way back then).
So what cars have you loved. And which ones have you almost been ashamed of owning?

Happy Birthday Poppy

Yesterday would have been my grandfather's (Poppy) birthday. I've mentioned Poppy before. I have a photo of my grandparents, and my father as a toddler, sitting on my desk, so I see him most every day.
Hard to believe it's been over 9 years since he died. When I look at his picture, taken in the early 1950's, I can't help but notice that except for his hair turning from dark brown to gray, he really didn't seem to change much over the next 45+ years. My grandmother on the other hand...
From him I like to think I learned my love of gardening (not that I'm great at it, but I try).
He seemed to always be in a good mood, almost jovial. Even when he was upset about something, he didn't really seem too overly worked up about it. He was quick with a smile or a laugh. If I'd done something that perhaps I shouldn't have, he called me a "Jaybird", whatever that meant. But most of the time just called me Kimkay.
Happy birthday (a day belated) Poppy.

Cha-cha-cha-chia

Last night was bunco-night. It's amazing to me how quickly this once-a-month gathering of this gaggle of women, has come to mean so much to me, even though I may not see or socialize with them (some of them) at any other time.
As two of our members were missing last night, we were able to all gather around the large dining room table instead of being split up at separate tables, in separate rooms, and thus we were all able to participate in, or at least, listen to the conversation(s) going on around us, with little effort.
One subject that was touched upon was hair... who does who's, what they have done, how much it costs, blah, blah, blah.
I nearly croaked when one person mentioned how much she paid for a cut and color each time she went. She spends more on 1 trip to her stylist, than my husband & I combined have spent in the past 5 years! Of course she has long, lovely, blonde locks, and I look like I'm sporting a brown scrub-brush on my head. But hey, that's my choice.
I cut my own hair (& it looks it). Or on occasion I'll let the husband do it (& again, it looks it). But I feel we're doing no worse than a lot of the bad beauticians out there that we seem to get stuck with (& no, I'm not referring to any family members that have done my hair over the years).
I finally got tired of waiting ridiculous amounts of time at these clip joints, then got a bad haircut, or at the very least, could never get one that I liked, so feeling I couldn't do any worse, started doing it myself, and have saved myself a bundle in the process. I'm not vain, I refuse to color. In fact, I'd just as soon it go on and turn gray and get it over with.
I've had 38 years of bad-hair days, and I don't foresee it getting any better. I've been to nice salons and paid a fortune, the el-cheapos, and even a barber shop, and none has done me much good.
So I'll continue to sport my scrub-brush haircut, or as my husband refers to it: my Chia-pet look.

Job satisfaction

Ya know, I'm getting just a wee bit annoyed with all the people that pass through the funeral home or call in for one reason or another, and then have to make the comment: I don't know how you can work here, I hate this place (meaning a funeral home in general, not our specific home), or: how do you stand it?
Twice today I've had to listen to people comment on how much they dislike being in funeral homes.
Here's a suggestion folks: if you don't like it, then don't come!
One of the women that said this to me was a hairdresser, here to do a deceased lady's hair. So while this woman is dogging up my line of work, I'm thinking to myself, "well, I don't like your line of work, so we're even!" Ugh!, I could never be a beautician. Oh excuse me, I suppose the politically correct term is: stylist.
But seriously, I mean, gross!, running your fingers through strangers scalps all day, having bits of hair sticking to your clothes, getting stuck to your tongue, up your nose, in your drink/food, and looking at your customers dandruff, or even worse, lice!!
I mean, how disgusting is that?
I basically sit in an office and shuffle papers and answer a phone, and these people "detest" my kind of work? Gimme a break!

Poking fun at

There are those that walk among us in life, that just almost beg to be made fun of. Oh, I don't mean that they go around saying, "please, won't you poke fun at me?", but by their actions, or more precisely, their repeated actions or habits, they do in a manner beg to be made fun of.
Because of my faux pas in my former blogging life, I'm banned from poking fun of co-workers. And I try to behave myself and not poke fun of family and friends, except for the husband... he's fair game. So I'm forced to poke fun of strangers when I can.
But be warned good people, I'm taking mental note. If I should ever actually sit down and write a book someday, you will become fair game. Or, if I should outlive you and be able to attend your funerals, then you can bet I'll be there, ready to tell some stories.

Published?

I don't know if I'm being scammed, or if in fact, I'm about to become a "published poet".
Long story short, I signed up for some poetry thingamajiggy contest a while back. I submitted my "Ode to the Dust Bunny", just on a whim. Then it started asking you to sign up for all these other "offers", and I was getting tired of that real quick, so I "X'd" out of the submission site, and promptly forgot all about it. I thought since I didn't take it up on any of the other offers, that my poem wouldn't even have been submitted.
But I was wrong.
I got a notice in the mail friday that it is being published in a book which contains poems by several people. I'm not sure when it's due to be published sometime this summer I think). The tentative title of the book is "Immortal Verses".
They had my poem printed on the form which I was to proof read and correct if necessary, then I'm to return it to them.
Of course, they'd like for me to purchase a copy of the book for $49.95 (I think not!), and if I'd like a little paragraph included w/my poem telling about myself or my inspiration for the poem, they'll include that too... for a fee of course.
I'm not sending them a penny. I'll return the form to them and initial it for accuracy. Then sit back and see what happens I guess.
Supposedly the works that are going into this book are to be judged, and prize money is to be awarded. So we'll see what happens.

Weekend in review...

What gorgeous weather we had saturday! I cut down the old clothes line and re-strung it with new line, at least, until I ran out. Need to add that to the grocery list... buy more line.
I decided to take advantage of the bright sun, comfortable tempteratures and light breeze, and got all but 2 loads of laundry done on Saturday, and hung it out on the line to dry. I finished up the laundry on Sunday, but my goodness!, it turned soooo chilly outside. I was afraid the wet clothing would develop ice crystals on them.
There was apparently some big hoopla going on in town, some kind of horse race or something. I'm not really sure. Some people in the neighborhood were having parties friday night and saturday to celebrate the event. I just don't understand what all the fuss was about. In between washing loads of laundry, I sat and mended some bed sheets that the dog had ripped. They were still perfectly good items, especially for a camping trip, or just to cover the furniture with so we can sit without getting covered in doghair. They just had some small rends in the material, and so I gathered my sewing basket, propped my feet up and watched movies while mending.
Lately, I've gotten on a kick about watching Bette Davis movies. I've discovered her movies are one of two things: very scary, or very funny, (or sometimes both).
Today's horror movies haven't got anything over on some of her old black & whites. "Hush... hush Sweet Charlotte" was quite gruesome.
And I laughed my arse off over "The Anniversary". Of course, I kept imagining certain people I know (who shall remain nameless) playing certain rolls in the movie, which entertained me all the more.
Olivia is, by small degrees, starting to get better. Eliott seems a little slower to return to normal. Bootsy is still Bootsy. I did almost have to ring her neck friday night though.
Earlier in the week I had fixed 2 lbs. of bacon. Friday evening, we were having must-go's for dinner, which included the remaining pound & a half of bacon. I heated the bacon up in the microwave, sat it on the counter, along with all the other fixin's. John kept nodding off in the office chair, and the two eldest dogs were sleeping (or so I thought) in the living room. Olivia was prancing around, underfoot in the kitchen. She was going to have to be crated, or else we'd never be able to eat, so I took her outside for a quick pee-pee break before crating her. My last words before going outside were, "... and the big dogs stay away from the kitchen..." meaning: John, keep them away from the food.
I was outside less than 90 seconds. Upon returning to the kitchen, Bootsy was licking bacon crumbs up off the floor. I looked at the plate that had previously held our dinner, only to discover that less than a 1/2 lb. remained. She'd eaten nearly the whole plate of bacon!!!
Bad dog!!!!!!!!! And bad John for not watching them!!!
I chased her through the house & once I caught up with her, I pried her mouth apart so I could sniff her breath. Hey, I had to make sure I was accusing the correct child. She was guilty alright. She tucked her nubbins-tail and scurried over to the recliner where she curled up in a tight ball and looked up at me with those big brown eyes.
It took about 2 minutes for me to forgive her. What can I say, I'm a sucker for her eyes.

Doggy diagnosis

Well, it's official!, I've now spent in excess of $600. in the past month on vet bills, in an attempt to cure Eliott & Olivia of what ails them.
After the vet sent their combined pooh-goo sample off to a lab in J-town, that lab performed 2 tests with negative results. The pooh-goo was then shipped to a lab in California for further testing.
The results of the test finally came in yesterday afternoon.
Diagnosis: Clostridial Enterotoxicosis
Please don't ask me to explain it! All I gathered from the laymens terms were that it was a naturally occurring bacteria in the gastro-tract (in people too), and some of the bacteria turned into "bad apples" thus making the dogs sick. Bootsy apparently has a natural resistance to the stuff. Good for her!!
So after paying $160 for the lab work, and another $212.00 for the medication, we headed home with bags full of medicine.
Eliott is less than enthused about the powdered gunk I have to mix with his food, and is taking his sweet time about eating his meals now. Olivia on the other hand, attacks her food with such gusto, that she doesn't have a clue that anything might be amiss in her dish.
I've been doing a little reading on the condition, and I suppose if all this medication doesn't work, I may have to switch them to a high-fiber diet and give them electrolytes... guess that means Nabisco shredded wheat and Gatorade from now on. ;)
My poor puppies!
The vet did say that since it occurs in the environment, there really isn't any way to keep from spreading it to other dogs. We've been worrying about neighbors' dogs coming down with it, but the vet said it would be impossible. Even if we hose down the "cow-pies" in the yard (which we've been doing), the bacteria still remains, and if a fly should land on that area, then fly off and land on some other dogs food/water dish, the bacteria can be spread that way. Which is most likely how my kids got it in the first place... Eliott came down with it while being kenneled out in the country (and the country is full of flies!), then he brought the illness home and shared it with Olivia.

Outrageous!!

The John Conti man came by the office today to replenish our supply of coffee. He left his little invoice on the staircase and quietly made his escape. Good thing!, or I might've had to fuss a little...
Tacked onto our invoice is a $3.00 fuel surcharge.
Three Dollars!
THREE-FREAKING-DOLLARS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Gimme a break!!
That company is making more money off of gasoline surcharges, then they are off of the coffee they sell.
If they charge every customer $3.00, and if these reps make 30 stops a day (some more, some less obviously), then that's $90.00 they've taken in. And I know darned good and well they aren't spending any $90.00 a day, per vehicle.
Is that not the most ridiculous, outrageous thing you've ever heard?
They pass their cost on to their customers, and their customers turn around and pass the cost on to us, the little man who's just trying to put food on the table and takle little "Jane or John" to soccer practice, who is he going to pass his fuel surcharges on to?

Choo on this

The mail just arrived here at work a few minutes ago. You never know when it will get here... sometimes 10:30am, other times, 3pm. Oh well, just as long as it does eventually arrive.
Among todays junk mail, is the 2006 spring/summer edition of: "What's Happening! in Oldham County, Kentucky"
The very first article I found laughable. The first paragraph talks about the freight train that rolls through town, quote: "... up to 30 trains a day come through the county seat..."
Is that all? Gee, I'd almost have swore it went through 30 times, just in the 8 hours a day I spend in this town.
Now this is what I truly find laughable. The last line of that paragraph reads: "... much to the delight of locals and tourists."
Much to the delight?
Who were they interviewing for this article? Obviously not the people that get stuck sitting at one of the intersections, umpteen times a day.
Okay, so maybe I am in the minority here, who knows?! There is exactly 1 house between my office and the train tracks. I'm talking about perhaps a 1/2 of a city block. It's noisy and it's bothersome. Especially when you're trying to answer the phone and hear what the person on the other end is saying while the train whistle is blasting, CHOO-CHOO!! And it's even worse if that person lives near the tracks as well, because then I'm getting a double dose of the noise-polution.
For the most part, getting caught by the train coming/going to/from work, is a minor inconvenience. I don't mind the few minutes of "down time", although the wasted gasoline is annoying. What's really the irritating part, is all the other commuters that do their best to "go around" the train or else try to circumvent the line of traffic, and make a bee-line to another intersection so they can be the first one to get through when the train finished passing through. It's these morons that nearly cause me a daily accident in this town. I bet if the author of this article had interviewed these people, they'd find out just how much that train is really liked (or not).
Oh, and sitting at the intersection of Main and 2nd Str. makes me a nervous wreck! While sitting at that stop sign, that train is less than 10 feet (I'd guestimate) from my vehicle, and watching those railcars sway too and fro is un-nerving to say the least. I keep waiting for one of them to fall over on me.

Less is more

I have to take issue here, with the way some people wear their perfumes, aftershaves, body lotions, etc.
Is it really necessary to "bathe" in the stuff? To pour it on so liberally? Have you ever heard the expression, "less is more"?
Honestly, if you'd just wear a tiny bit of the stuff, it would go a long way towards being pleasing to the senses, as well as being un-offensive to the senses.
My office is on the 2nd floor of the funeral home, and often, if I have to run downstairs to do something, it just overwhelms me, almost to the point of making me sick, when I open the door at the top of the stairs, and the mix of so many over-powering colognes combined together, assault me.
A friend of mine from an earlier time in my life, used to "bathe" in her cologne, as did her husband, and to try and sit through dinner or any other event with them was nearly impossible. By the time I would get home, my sinus' would be suffering horribly.
Seriously people, just because your cologne smells nice when you sniff the scent in the bottle, doesn't mean it's going to smell so nice when you're walking around with a vapor cloud around you.
Have a little consideration for those around you that are sensative to these things.
In truth, a strong cologne has the same affect on me as being around someone that is smoking a cigarette. They both upset my sinus' equally.

sign me,
got the sniffles

Trauma & drama

My husband often tells me he's going to send me to Hollywood (because I'm so dramatic). So, to borrow a line from him, I think I may send Bootsy to Hollywood.
We took E & O to the vet yesterday so he could get stool samples from them, but that turned out to be a wasted trip and we came straight back home. Before we'd left to go to the vet though, I'd put Bootsy in the dog crate. Whenever we take 2 dogs out of the house, which ever one is left behind tends to go a little berserk, so it's best to crate him/her.
Upon our return, I let her out of the crate and proceeded to get the dogs dinner ready. While Olivia was inhaling her dinner, Eliott stood outside the kitchen looking in with big sad eyes. Bootsy laid in the living room, and whimpered a couple of times, but I just thought she was "mouthing off", so to speak, and didn't pay her much attention.
When it came her turn to eat, she readily came in and dined, and I didn't notice anything wrong. While the pooches were finishing up their dinner, the husband hailed me to come outside and talk to our neighbor. I did so. A few minutes later, I again heard a dog whimpering, and looked through the front door. Bootsy was lying on her side in the hallway in obvious pain.
I went in and stood over her and asked, "what is it?" (like she's really going to answer me?!). She just looked up at me with those big brown eyes and I accused her of pretending to be sick, just so she could go for a car ride, since she missed out when the others went.
She tried to get up and started yelping, so now I knew something really was wrong. She finally got to her feet and I took her out front. She limped the whole way, whimpering as she went. I called the vet's office (we'd just left), and was promptly put on hold. Bootsy in the meantime collapsed to the ground. While I was on hold, John & I tried examining her foot, thinking maybe she had a splinter or something in a pad. But every time I tried to lift her foot to see it, she cried out in more pain, one time even reaching for my hand with her mouth.
Once they came back on the line, I begged them not to leave, as I was headed back over with another dog. While I tried to explain what was going on, Bootsy finally got to her feet. She'd limp a couple of steps, gingerly putting weight on that foot. Then she'd completely lift it in the air and hop on 3 legs.
It was finally decided I'd give her some Rimadyl, and if not better in the morning, I'd bring her along with the pooh-goo samples. Just before going back into the house, I stopped by the garage door to talk a moment more with the neighbor. While we stood there, Bootsy stood up on her hind legs, planting her feet on the rear bumper of the car, just as if she wanted to go for a car ride.
I just shook my head and again accused her of being dramatic, just so she could go for a ride.
Yep, I think I'm going to send her to Hollywood.

freshness seal

I think Zip-loc's motto is something like: "locks in freshness"... but I'm here to tell you folks, it may lock in freshness, but it sure don't lock in odor.
As two of my children are still experiencing bowel troubles, the vet wanted to send a sample off to a lab for more intensive testing than what he can do at his clinic.
So this morning, in the minimal light of dawn, in the pouring rain, I was out there behind two dogs with baggies on my hands, scooping up pooh-goo.
I then put the baggies into a zip-loc sandwich bag and closed it up. **blech!!**
I drove to the vet clinic before heading into work, and let me tell you, my car stunk to high heavens from the vapors that were escaping that bag. How'd that happen?
If zip-loc is supposed to lock in freshness, then wouldn't you think it would keep the odors in with it too?
Makes you wonder just how fresh your food is really staying in those little plastic bags, doesn't it?
Maybe I should forward this blog to the zip-loc company...

video blog

I'm testing the waters again. This blog basically amounts to a "test", to see if I can get this video stream loaded properly (like I really have a clue what I'm doing?!).
It's a "silent movie", shot with my digital camera.
Since Olivia isn't allowed to run loose in the backyard with the other kids, we have to make-do with her running in circles on the retractable leash.

Video Hosting - Upload Video - Photo Sharing

David vs. Goliath

This morning, my feline boys got into a bit of a fray. BJ, my less than 7lb. ol' man, was totally whooping up on our big boy, 12lb. Frodo. I don't know what infringement Frodo committed, probably just breathing the same air as BJ, or looking in his general direction. Either way, BJ was kicking Frodo's A$$!
I couldn't help but laugh.

R.V.

This blog has 2 parts. Both relate to R.V.s (recreational vehicles), but in very different ways.
#1) The husband & I, who rarely, and I do mean RARELY, ever go to the movie theater, broke down and went this past Friday. We'd seen a movie preview and agreed we just had to go and see it. It was the new Robin Williams movie, entitled, "RV".
This movie gets a big TWO-THUMBS UP!!!!
It was one of the funniest things I've seen in a long, long, time. Maybe ever.
Rated PG, it's for the whole family. Not too many movies you can say that about these days, that aren't animated-Disney productions.
I dabbed my eyes with napkins throughout the whole thing, I laughed so hard.

#2)We recently put our pop-up camper on the market, as we've decided to up-grade. I've made it very clear to the hubby that there will be no new purchases made until the old one is sold. Sunday morning dawned, overcast and with off & on sprinkles. Towards noon, the sun actually tried breaking through the clouds. I thought, "Hmm, today might not be so bad (weatherwise) as I thought."
I'll have you know, the very moment the husband pulled up in front of the house to pick me up, the clouds spewed forth a downpour, and didn't stop until the very moment we walked out of the last dealership to head home.
I left the checkbook, credit cards and debit cards at home, just to avoid temptation. The first two places we went were closed on Sundays (figures!), but that didn't stop us from doing a little puddle-jumping and peaking through windows. Here's a suggestion to RV dealers, leave the curtains or mini-blinds pulled so prospective buyers can see in. None of the RV's had sale-stickers on the windows, as you'd find for autos, so that too made us grumble.
Our last stop was at Camperworld/Tom Stinnett Holiday RV in Clarksville. They were open for business, and apparently, we weren't the only people nuts enough to be out in the rain, RV shopping. We found the only salesman that was nuts enough though, to be out in it, and he directed us to the showroom and a new 18' trailer. It was nice!, and better still, it cost about 2-grand less than our pop-up had.
There were however, 2 drawbacks... 1) it only had one bed, and a dinette that converted to a bed. Not really much room for us, the dog, and anybody we may want to take along. & 2) the salesman basically laughed at us when he heard what kind of vehicle we had.
I knew our 4-runner wouldn't have the muscle to pull this thing, but it still was painful to basically have the man laugh at us, then shun us. I asked him if there was anything else that would sleep a couple of more people and not cost more than an additional 2grand. He pointed to a camper, then made his escape. We never saw the man again. How RUDE!!!
The other camper he had pointed out to us we looked at and thought, "you've got to be kidding!", it slept about 10 people. We didn't want to take the whole neighborhood for Pete's sake!! That was way too much camper.
Now that reality was sitting in for John, he started to pout. We decided to discourage ourselves a little more and look at a fifth-wheel. Wow!, was it nice. The tv in that thing was bigger than the one in our living room. And, it even had a washer/dryer in it. Now is that roughing-it or what? Hmm, I sure could've used that washer/dryer on our last camping trip, now that I think about it.
We'll be getting a new vehicle this fall, and while we hadn't really decided what we wanted to trade my auto in on, I suppose we'll now be looking for a pick-up truck, preferrably a Toyota (used, so we might be able to afford it). Then we'll re-examine the whole RV shopping thing.
In the meantime, our camper will stay up for sale. If we sell it, fine, we can tent-camp in the fall. If we don't, then fine, we'll continue to use it 'til we do.