There are angels all around us. I'm not speaking in the biblical sense, but people that are angels. They come into our lives, either for a brief moment and then they're gone, or sometimes they stick around for a while, but either way, they make a difference in our lives, and often without even intending to or realizing they've done anything "special".
Last night, I was touched by one of those angels.
The husband and I had a bit of a spat last night (actually several times this week, but last night was the straw that broke the camels back). I won't go into details (that'd be a first, eh?) but it upset me enough that I grabbed my purse and car keys, and stormed out of the house. I had no jacket on and was wearing my houseshoes. Considering the state of mind I was in, I probably shouldn't have been driving, but it was better that I get away than stay and risk doing something that might land me in jail. I sped off in the husband's vehicle, as it was blocking mine, and within seconds my cell phone started ringing. I ignored it, sure it was the husband.
I drove around for a while, nowhere in particular, just driving. Wiping away the torrent of tears that blurred my vision, and made me even more of a risk behind the wheel. I finally pulled into a busy parking lot, drove to a far corner, away from traffic, parked, then sat and cried some more. Once the sobbing subsided somewhat, I finally looked at my cell phone. Sure enough, the missed call was from John. I didn't return the call, but threw the phone back in my purse. As I sat there, wondering how long I was going to sit out there and what I could do to make him suffer, the phone rang again. I started to ignore it, but finally picked it up. I fully expected it to be him again, but it was a number I didn't recognize. At first I started to ignore it too, but at the last moment answered the call. I was glad I did.
It was a girl I had graduated high school with, and hadn't seen since our 5th reunion. She was just calling to touch base about some of the food for our up-coming reunion. But a few kind words later about the work I'd done putting the reunion together, cheered me up considerably. She apologized for keeping me on the phone so long, but I had to confess to her that her call was exactly what I had needed. I unloaded my woes on her shoulder, we commiserated over how husbands could be, and said our good-byes until Saturday.
I drove home feeling better than I had in days.
Thank you Donna, for being my angel.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Thursday, September 28, 2006
My Vue on being slighted
I feel I've been slighted by my Saturn dealer.
My name is listed first on the loan for our Saturn, John is listed as the co-signor, therefore, I think that any/all mail we receive regarding the Saturn, should be directed to either me and me alone, or the both of us jointly. And if they're going to do it jointly, either address it: Mr. & Mrs.... or if not, then list me first, then him second.
So why do I feel slighted??
When they put the temporary tags on the Saturn, they wrote John's name on it as the owner.
When they have sent us mail, they've addressed it to him.
When the new license plate finally arrived, instead of calling me (who's cell phone was listed first!), they called John.
I haven't yet filled out my purchaser-satisfaction survey, but I think I'll do that this evening, and let them know they're addressing the wrong person. Hmph!
My name is listed first on the loan for our Saturn, John is listed as the co-signor, therefore, I think that any/all mail we receive regarding the Saturn, should be directed to either me and me alone, or the both of us jointly. And if they're going to do it jointly, either address it: Mr. & Mrs.... or if not, then list me first, then him second.
So why do I feel slighted??
When they put the temporary tags on the Saturn, they wrote John's name on it as the owner.
When they have sent us mail, they've addressed it to him.
When the new license plate finally arrived, instead of calling me (who's cell phone was listed first!), they called John.
I haven't yet filled out my purchaser-satisfaction survey, but I think I'll do that this evening, and let them know they're addressing the wrong person. Hmph!
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
RSVP
RSVP
We've all received an invitation at one time or another in our lives that end in: please RSVP
But do any of us really know what it means?? I didn't. So I looked it up.
Sure, I knew that r.s.v.p. meant we were supposed to reply with our intentions of accepting/declining the invitation, but what did r.s.v.p. really mean?
Allow me to translate: repondez s'il vous plait obviously French.
The English translation is: Please Reply.
Please reply. Such a simple request.
So few people do r.s.v.p. these days, perhaps they don't know what it means. I think I'll start ending my invitations in "please reply".
I bring all of this up for two reasons. #1) I've been working tirelessly on my 20th class reunion, and while many have rsvp'd in one way or another (and those that have, I THANK YOU!, regardless of your reply), but more than 1/2 of the invitations that were sent out, I'm still left hanging on. This really throws me in a bind... how many people should I expect? How many plates/cups/utensils should I have ready? You get the idea. It's just rude not to reply.
#2) I read a blog earlier today written by a former classmate. In that blog, said classmate was just listing some random-thoughts (like I often do), and one of the thoughts listed was, "do people not know what r.s.v.p. stands for? that they should reply regardless of their response?". Hmmm, interesting observation, as said classmate is one of them that has never r.s.v.p.'d to my invitation. I think that person needs to go back and re-read their random thought.
We've all received an invitation at one time or another in our lives that end in: please RSVP
But do any of us really know what it means?? I didn't. So I looked it up.
Sure, I knew that r.s.v.p. meant we were supposed to reply with our intentions of accepting/declining the invitation, but what did r.s.v.p. really mean?
Allow me to translate: repondez s'il vous plait obviously French.
The English translation is: Please Reply.
Please reply. Such a simple request.
So few people do r.s.v.p. these days, perhaps they don't know what it means. I think I'll start ending my invitations in "please reply".
I bring all of this up for two reasons. #1) I've been working tirelessly on my 20th class reunion, and while many have rsvp'd in one way or another (and those that have, I THANK YOU!, regardless of your reply), but more than 1/2 of the invitations that were sent out, I'm still left hanging on. This really throws me in a bind... how many people should I expect? How many plates/cups/utensils should I have ready? You get the idea. It's just rude not to reply.
#2) I read a blog earlier today written by a former classmate. In that blog, said classmate was just listing some random-thoughts (like I often do), and one of the thoughts listed was, "do people not know what r.s.v.p. stands for? that they should reply regardless of their response?". Hmmm, interesting observation, as said classmate is one of them that has never r.s.v.p.'d to my invitation. I think that person needs to go back and re-read their random thought.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Improving, slowly but surely
Update on the physical therapy visits.
New x-rays were taken last week of my spine. The doctor & I went over them last night, comparing the old and the new... WOW!, what a difference. Still a ways to go, but major improvement in just a few weeks. The curve in my lower spine, which was at about 6 degrees, is now at 28 degrees (should be closer to 45).
The one vertabrae that was slipped back farther than those above & below it, is now almost perfectly lined up, and the arthritis that was visible on the outer edge of that same vertabrae, has lessened noticably. The disc space in between the vertabrae which was very compressed previously, has now opened up considerably.
Lastly, whereas my left hip was resting considerably lower than my right, they are now virtually level with one another.
The doctor felt that another month was probably all I'd need to see me right-as-rain again (hopefully!)
New x-rays were taken last week of my spine. The doctor & I went over them last night, comparing the old and the new... WOW!, what a difference. Still a ways to go, but major improvement in just a few weeks. The curve in my lower spine, which was at about 6 degrees, is now at 28 degrees (should be closer to 45).
The one vertabrae that was slipped back farther than those above & below it, is now almost perfectly lined up, and the arthritis that was visible on the outer edge of that same vertabrae, has lessened noticably. The disc space in between the vertabrae which was very compressed previously, has now opened up considerably.
Lastly, whereas my left hip was resting considerably lower than my right, they are now virtually level with one another.
The doctor felt that another month was probably all I'd need to see me right-as-rain again (hopefully!)
Thursday, September 21, 2006
My name is Tense
This is a long blog, consider yourself warned...
I'm really not even sure where to start with this blog. So much I want to say, yet words escape me (believe it or not!).
Something happened to me yesterday. Not an unpleasant thing, yet, not really a pleasant thing either. If you'll recall a few blogs back, I mentioned it being a small world when I discovered one of the massage-therapists ("Joe") where I go to p.t. at, was from the same small town I grew up in. Since then, he and I have had a few chats, and we're discovering all these people that we both know. He knew exactly who my sister was (is), my (former) neighbors, and we had some of the same teachers. By now, even though I didn't actually know him when I lived in the 'Burg, I feel as if I've known him for years. Even though I never baby-sat him growning up, he knew all the kids I did baby-sit... Josh, Jeffrey, so he just seems to fit right into that group of kids.
Up until now, every time Joe has massaged my back, it's been out in the open-therapy room, surrounded by people, all sorts of noise and conversations going on around us, including Babbling-Betty, and everyone was fully clothed.
Yesterday was quite the exception...
Yesterday was the first time I've walked into p.t. and not had any aches or pains. I felt good for a change. I was scheduled for a re-exam, which never happened, why I'm not sure. Although, at the end of the evening, they did take more x-rays.
Anyway, I had just started doing my exercises when Dr. P. came over and asked if I was pressed for time. I wasn't. He asked if I wanted to get a massage. Sure, okay, whatever. I assumed I'd be getting the same back-rub from Joe (or one of the other m.t.'s) that I've been getting at almost every visit up to this point. But, you know what they say about assuming things... makes an ASS out of U and ME.
I was way, way off base with my assumption.
So they stopped my exercise session short and Joe said, "come on back".
??? I'm thinking, that's a little odd, but maybe they overbooked this afternoon, and need the tables in the p.t. room available, so I just followed Joe to the back. I was entering his lair.
I finally had to ask, why back here?
Joe: I'm going to use some oils and do some deep-tissue massage.
Me: Oh.
I still didn't know what I was getting into.
As we walk into this very dimly lit room, filled with a massage table, a shelf which holds a little rock-water fountain, a cd player, and some bottles of oil, Joe tells me, you'll need to disrobe down to your comfort level, but definitely remove your shoes, shirt and bra, and whatever else you're comfortable removing.
Comfort level?? Is there such a thing with someone that isn't your spouse/lover? And maybe your long-time personal physician??
There is no such thing as a comfort level when we're talking about this lumpy-overweight-out-of-shape woman, and this young "kid".
Hello, my name is Tense!
Joe stepped out of the room while I disrobed. As I'm undressing, I'm mentally asking myself: did I shave my arm-pits this morning? Do I have foot odor? While I didn't feel the urge to pass-gas, what if one slipped out while he's massaging me? Oh sweet Mary mother of Jesus, what am I getting myself into??
Fortunately, I'd worn biker-shorts under my sweats, so I disrobed down to my shorts and socks. I laid down on the bed and pulled the sheet up, just in the knick of time, as he was tapping on the door while I was trying to get into position. So in he comes. Closes the door behind him. The soothing music comes on. I kept expecting to smell incense, but that never happened. Thank goodness I was lying face down, staring at the carpet through that hole in the bed. I really just wanted to crawl away somewhere and hide. I mentally hoped that he did his work with his eyes shut, just so he wouldn't have to look at my fat backside, but when he asked me about the scar on my back, I knew his eyes were open.
Relaxing was not an option here. At first we made some small chit-chat, more stuff about growing up in the same town, yadda, yadda. Finally I just had to shut up, squeeze my eyes shut and try to pretend I wasn't there. It didn't work. I kept thinking, any moment he'll be done and I can go resume my exercises. But the massage just continued. He moved from one area of my back to another, up to the shoulders and neck, back down the back. Finally he lifted the sheet up in the air (I was really glad I'd kept those shorts on now!) and told me: turn over, face up and scoot down on the table.
Do what?
Really, I had to ask him that, as I was sure I'd misunderstood him. No, he repeated himself and I'd heard correctly. Oh horror of horrors!, I was going to be face up!!! Even if my eyes were shut, he'd be able to see my facial expressions. **groan**
So I flipped, he laid the sheet back down, thankfully covering my bosoms. I laid my arms across my chest, for added protection, in case the sheet should slip off. So now he moves down to my feet. Okay, I admit it, that part did feel good.
Then he came up to my neck and shoulders. Ouch!! Then he moved down past the shoulders to the upper chest. Okay, getting a little too close for comfort now. I've never been so tense in my life!, and I'm one of these people that pretty much stays tense all the time.
He's telling me to relax my arms, yeah, right!, like that's going to happen. I tried, but I don't think I was ever as relaxed as he'd have liked me to have been.
He finished off the massage by rubbing my ears. Quite a strange sensation. When finished, he told me to take my time getting up, and he'd meet me in the hall.
Take my time? I've never gotten up off a bed and dressed so fast in my life! Not even when I was on the fire department.
When I exited the room, he was standing there, and I avoided making eye-contact. He asked how I felt. There weren't words to describe how I felt, other than the fact that my lower-back now hurt from lying flat on my back for so long. I think I may have hurt his feelings because I wasn't glowing with relaxation from his attention.
I returned to the p.t. room and wobbled in the wobble-chair, waiting for my turn to see the doctor. As I wobbled, I developed a head-ache. The p.t. tech asked how I liked the massage, all I could say was "it was different". You didn't like it?, again, all I could say was, "it was different".
So I woke up at 2 something this morning, and my neck and shoulders are soooo stiff, it's unreal. Is this normal after getting a massage? When I was taking my shower this morning, the spray of the water hitting a certain spot in my back actually hurt. My back didn't hurt to move, but it certainly hurt to touch. Again I ask, is this normal?? And the area below my collar-bone is unbelievably sore. I don't know if I ever want another massage again or not.
Perhaps if I'd been relaxed and comfortable, it wouldn't have been so tortureous. Perhaps...
I'm really not even sure where to start with this blog. So much I want to say, yet words escape me (believe it or not!).
Something happened to me yesterday. Not an unpleasant thing, yet, not really a pleasant thing either. If you'll recall a few blogs back, I mentioned it being a small world when I discovered one of the massage-therapists ("Joe") where I go to p.t. at, was from the same small town I grew up in. Since then, he and I have had a few chats, and we're discovering all these people that we both know. He knew exactly who my sister was (is), my (former) neighbors, and we had some of the same teachers. By now, even though I didn't actually know him when I lived in the 'Burg, I feel as if I've known him for years. Even though I never baby-sat him growning up, he knew all the kids I did baby-sit... Josh, Jeffrey, so he just seems to fit right into that group of kids.
Up until now, every time Joe has massaged my back, it's been out in the open-therapy room, surrounded by people, all sorts of noise and conversations going on around us, including Babbling-Betty, and everyone was fully clothed.
Yesterday was quite the exception...
Yesterday was the first time I've walked into p.t. and not had any aches or pains. I felt good for a change. I was scheduled for a re-exam, which never happened, why I'm not sure. Although, at the end of the evening, they did take more x-rays.
Anyway, I had just started doing my exercises when Dr. P. came over and asked if I was pressed for time. I wasn't. He asked if I wanted to get a massage. Sure, okay, whatever. I assumed I'd be getting the same back-rub from Joe (or one of the other m.t.'s) that I've been getting at almost every visit up to this point. But, you know what they say about assuming things... makes an ASS out of U and ME.
I was way, way off base with my assumption.
So they stopped my exercise session short and Joe said, "come on back".
??? I'm thinking, that's a little odd, but maybe they overbooked this afternoon, and need the tables in the p.t. room available, so I just followed Joe to the back. I was entering his lair.
I finally had to ask, why back here?
Joe: I'm going to use some oils and do some deep-tissue massage.
Me: Oh.
I still didn't know what I was getting into.
As we walk into this very dimly lit room, filled with a massage table, a shelf which holds a little rock-water fountain, a cd player, and some bottles of oil, Joe tells me, you'll need to disrobe down to your comfort level, but definitely remove your shoes, shirt and bra, and whatever else you're comfortable removing.
Comfort level?? Is there such a thing with someone that isn't your spouse/lover? And maybe your long-time personal physician??
There is no such thing as a comfort level when we're talking about this lumpy-overweight-out-of-shape woman, and this young "kid".
Hello, my name is Tense!
Joe stepped out of the room while I disrobed. As I'm undressing, I'm mentally asking myself: did I shave my arm-pits this morning? Do I have foot odor? While I didn't feel the urge to pass-gas, what if one slipped out while he's massaging me? Oh sweet Mary mother of Jesus, what am I getting myself into??
Fortunately, I'd worn biker-shorts under my sweats, so I disrobed down to my shorts and socks. I laid down on the bed and pulled the sheet up, just in the knick of time, as he was tapping on the door while I was trying to get into position. So in he comes. Closes the door behind him. The soothing music comes on. I kept expecting to smell incense, but that never happened. Thank goodness I was lying face down, staring at the carpet through that hole in the bed. I really just wanted to crawl away somewhere and hide. I mentally hoped that he did his work with his eyes shut, just so he wouldn't have to look at my fat backside, but when he asked me about the scar on my back, I knew his eyes were open.
Relaxing was not an option here. At first we made some small chit-chat, more stuff about growing up in the same town, yadda, yadda. Finally I just had to shut up, squeeze my eyes shut and try to pretend I wasn't there. It didn't work. I kept thinking, any moment he'll be done and I can go resume my exercises. But the massage just continued. He moved from one area of my back to another, up to the shoulders and neck, back down the back. Finally he lifted the sheet up in the air (I was really glad I'd kept those shorts on now!) and told me: turn over, face up and scoot down on the table.
Do what?
Really, I had to ask him that, as I was sure I'd misunderstood him. No, he repeated himself and I'd heard correctly. Oh horror of horrors!, I was going to be face up!!! Even if my eyes were shut, he'd be able to see my facial expressions. **groan**
So I flipped, he laid the sheet back down, thankfully covering my bosoms. I laid my arms across my chest, for added protection, in case the sheet should slip off. So now he moves down to my feet. Okay, I admit it, that part did feel good.
Then he came up to my neck and shoulders. Ouch!! Then he moved down past the shoulders to the upper chest. Okay, getting a little too close for comfort now. I've never been so tense in my life!, and I'm one of these people that pretty much stays tense all the time.
He's telling me to relax my arms, yeah, right!, like that's going to happen. I tried, but I don't think I was ever as relaxed as he'd have liked me to have been.
He finished off the massage by rubbing my ears. Quite a strange sensation. When finished, he told me to take my time getting up, and he'd meet me in the hall.
Take my time? I've never gotten up off a bed and dressed so fast in my life! Not even when I was on the fire department.
When I exited the room, he was standing there, and I avoided making eye-contact. He asked how I felt. There weren't words to describe how I felt, other than the fact that my lower-back now hurt from lying flat on my back for so long. I think I may have hurt his feelings because I wasn't glowing with relaxation from his attention.
I returned to the p.t. room and wobbled in the wobble-chair, waiting for my turn to see the doctor. As I wobbled, I developed a head-ache. The p.t. tech asked how I liked the massage, all I could say was "it was different". You didn't like it?, again, all I could say was, "it was different".
So I woke up at 2 something this morning, and my neck and shoulders are soooo stiff, it's unreal. Is this normal after getting a massage? When I was taking my shower this morning, the spray of the water hitting a certain spot in my back actually hurt. My back didn't hurt to move, but it certainly hurt to touch. Again I ask, is this normal?? And the area below my collar-bone is unbelievably sore. I don't know if I ever want another massage again or not.
Perhaps if I'd been relaxed and comfortable, it wouldn't have been so tortureous. Perhaps...
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
2days news
2days news, or maybe I should say Tuesdays news... Had a great weekend, even if it was a wee bit warmer than I'd anticipated. I did the Saturday morning brunch thing at Panera Bread with some of my gal-pals from our bunco group, then we went to Sam's club and spent more money than any of anticipated. Well, okay, I knew I'd be spending quite a bit, but "S" went to buy a single item, and some $50 later was horrified at what her husband would say. "C" spent even more than I did, and both were sure we'd never fit all our goodies into my car, but we packed it in and nobody had to walk home.
Sunday we had an end-of-summer cook-out w/a few of our neighbors. The total count at the end of the evening, Jay & myself included, there were 48 people on our lawn. Not a bad turn-out. Everyone contributed food-wise, and there were some scrumptious dishes there! Once the sun set, it cooled off enough to light the fireplace... one of my favorite past-times, sitting around a "campfire".
Then I got jerked back to reality when I came to work yesterday. Five, countem' 1,2,3,4,FIVE funeral calls. We were slammed!! My butt hardly left my chair yesterday, except to get things off the printer. No time for lunch, and I barely made time to use the restroom once, late in the day. I don't mind staying busy, but I hate it when we're slammed like that.
I had a dream early this morning about a rabid-rabbit. Try and say that five times really fast. Now I fear I'll develop a fear of domestic rabbits.
I just logged onto the company's site a few minutes ago and there was an announcement that the helpdesk wouldn't be available 'til further notice because of technical difficulties with the phone system. Ah, in other words, the phone lines are down between here and India. I don't know of anyone who will really be upset by this news. Our helpdesk is never very much help. I can't even remember the last time I called them. I just resolve the issues on my own (eventually), let the problem remain as long as it doesn't affect me or find someone locally that can help.
The weather is fabulously cool today. I left the windows open at home. I hope Olivia doesn't carry on and throw one of her fits. Someone is likely to call emergency services, thinking that something is wrong.
Okay, back to work now.
Sunday we had an end-of-summer cook-out w/a few of our neighbors. The total count at the end of the evening, Jay & myself included, there were 48 people on our lawn. Not a bad turn-out. Everyone contributed food-wise, and there were some scrumptious dishes there! Once the sun set, it cooled off enough to light the fireplace... one of my favorite past-times, sitting around a "campfire".
Then I got jerked back to reality when I came to work yesterday. Five, countem' 1,2,3,4,FIVE funeral calls. We were slammed!! My butt hardly left my chair yesterday, except to get things off the printer. No time for lunch, and I barely made time to use the restroom once, late in the day. I don't mind staying busy, but I hate it when we're slammed like that.
I had a dream early this morning about a rabid-rabbit. Try and say that five times really fast. Now I fear I'll develop a fear of domestic rabbits.
I just logged onto the company's site a few minutes ago and there was an announcement that the helpdesk wouldn't be available 'til further notice because of technical difficulties with the phone system. Ah, in other words, the phone lines are down between here and India. I don't know of anyone who will really be upset by this news. Our helpdesk is never very much help. I can't even remember the last time I called them. I just resolve the issues on my own (eventually), let the problem remain as long as it doesn't affect me or find someone locally that can help.
The weather is fabulously cool today. I left the windows open at home. I hope Olivia doesn't carry on and throw one of her fits. Someone is likely to call emergency services, thinking that something is wrong.
Okay, back to work now.
Monday, September 18, 2006
Applebees sux
I've always kindly liked going to Applebees, but I have to say, our experience there this past Saturday was the pits!!
We arrived, no crowd standing around, so we thought, cool, we'll get seated right away. Wrong.
We went in, went up to the hostess stand, and we waited, and we waited, and we waited. I looked at the husband and said, "wonder if we're supposed to seat ourselves now?" Finally a little twig of a girl came from the back and showed us to a table in the bar-area... which means, one of those really tall tables which is fine for having drinks with friends, but not so good for eating a meal at, because the table's surface area isn't that big. But we mananged.
While we scanned the menu, our waiter, "Matt", came and took our drink order (I keep forgetting it's a Pepsi restaurant **blech!!**). I finally settled on lemonade. He brought the drinks right away, but we hadn't decided on anything yet, so he said he'd check back in a couple of minutes.
What seemed an eternity later, after I'd gotten my heart set on the Philly-cheesesteak (love those things!), the hostess finally came and took our order. I'm wondering if our waiter quit and walked out. But no, there was Matt a few tables away. So twig-girl walks over and hands Matt our order, which she scribbled on a cocktail napkin. Then he comes over and asks what we want... can't he read her writing?
He leaves. Several minutes later he comes back. "Uh, um, I hate to tell you this, but we don't carry the Philly-cheesesteak anymore."
"Well, you shouldn't have it on the menu then." I wasn't being hateful or nasty, in fact, I thought I said it rather light-heartedly.
Matt goes, "well, I'll get the manager out here so you can talk to him."
The husband & I just look at one another. All dufus had to do was give me a minute and I'd have picked something else out. But I was also musing, outloud to the husband, "if they don't carry it, you think they'd either post a sign at the entrance, or else go through the menus with a black marker, and mark it out. How hard is that?"
So here comes the manager, straight from Zimbabwa (sp?). He approaches our table and says, "Gentleman, I'm very sorry..." I just looked at him. Gentleman?? Do I look that "butch"? I continue to stare at him, and he finally realizes the error of his way. "Oh, I'm very sorry, ma'am." Thank you!
He apologizes and promises to take 50% off my food order (I hope he meant the cost and not the portion size). Okay, fine, that's cool. Matt comes back and I give him a new order. Chicken fingers. Not what I really wanted, but by now nothing sounded very appealling.
The manager comes back a few minutes later w/our appetizer. Apologizes again.
By now, our drinks are running low. Here comes the hostess with our dinner. My order was slightly wrong, but no big deal, they just forgot the side of ranch dressing. Here comes Matt with refill-pitchers. He refills John's ice tea, then fills my glass. I wasn't really watching what he was doing, else I'd probably have noticed sooner.
When I finally went to take a sip, I nearly gagged. No longer did I have lemonade. I now had water, with a lemon floating in it. **BLECH!!!** gross!
We waited forever to catch a glimpse of Matt again. We finally had to flag down another waitress and have her go fetch him.
We asked for the check. Here comes the manager again. I braced myslef to be called "sir". I handed him my debit card and he went to swipe the card. He came back, handed me the sales slip to sign, then started to walk away with my card still in his hand. "Uh, excuse me! Could I have that back?"
What kind of scam are they running in that place?
Needless to say, I didn't leave a very big tip that evening. And I was really at a loss as to who I should've left it to... the hostess that took our order? the other waitress that had to go hunt our waiter down?... the manager who we saw more of than our waiter and insulted me?... or the waiter that kept messing everything up?
I hope it was just an off night at that place. I'd hate to have to scratch Applebees off my list of acceptable restaurants to dine at.
We arrived, no crowd standing around, so we thought, cool, we'll get seated right away. Wrong.
We went in, went up to the hostess stand, and we waited, and we waited, and we waited. I looked at the husband and said, "wonder if we're supposed to seat ourselves now?" Finally a little twig of a girl came from the back and showed us to a table in the bar-area... which means, one of those really tall tables which is fine for having drinks with friends, but not so good for eating a meal at, because the table's surface area isn't that big. But we mananged.
While we scanned the menu, our waiter, "Matt", came and took our drink order (I keep forgetting it's a Pepsi restaurant **blech!!**). I finally settled on lemonade. He brought the drinks right away, but we hadn't decided on anything yet, so he said he'd check back in a couple of minutes.
What seemed an eternity later, after I'd gotten my heart set on the Philly-cheesesteak (love those things!), the hostess finally came and took our order. I'm wondering if our waiter quit and walked out. But no, there was Matt a few tables away. So twig-girl walks over and hands Matt our order, which she scribbled on a cocktail napkin. Then he comes over and asks what we want... can't he read her writing?
He leaves. Several minutes later he comes back. "Uh, um, I hate to tell you this, but we don't carry the Philly-cheesesteak anymore."
"Well, you shouldn't have it on the menu then." I wasn't being hateful or nasty, in fact, I thought I said it rather light-heartedly.
Matt goes, "well, I'll get the manager out here so you can talk to him."
The husband & I just look at one another. All dufus had to do was give me a minute and I'd have picked something else out. But I was also musing, outloud to the husband, "if they don't carry it, you think they'd either post a sign at the entrance, or else go through the menus with a black marker, and mark it out. How hard is that?"
So here comes the manager, straight from Zimbabwa (sp?). He approaches our table and says, "Gentleman, I'm very sorry..." I just looked at him. Gentleman?? Do I look that "butch"? I continue to stare at him, and he finally realizes the error of his way. "Oh, I'm very sorry, ma'am." Thank you!
He apologizes and promises to take 50% off my food order (I hope he meant the cost and not the portion size). Okay, fine, that's cool. Matt comes back and I give him a new order. Chicken fingers. Not what I really wanted, but by now nothing sounded very appealling.
The manager comes back a few minutes later w/our appetizer. Apologizes again.
By now, our drinks are running low. Here comes the hostess with our dinner. My order was slightly wrong, but no big deal, they just forgot the side of ranch dressing. Here comes Matt with refill-pitchers. He refills John's ice tea, then fills my glass. I wasn't really watching what he was doing, else I'd probably have noticed sooner.
When I finally went to take a sip, I nearly gagged. No longer did I have lemonade. I now had water, with a lemon floating in it. **BLECH!!!** gross!
We waited forever to catch a glimpse of Matt again. We finally had to flag down another waitress and have her go fetch him.
We asked for the check. Here comes the manager again. I braced myslef to be called "sir". I handed him my debit card and he went to swipe the card. He came back, handed me the sales slip to sign, then started to walk away with my card still in his hand. "Uh, excuse me! Could I have that back?"
What kind of scam are they running in that place?
Needless to say, I didn't leave a very big tip that evening. And I was really at a loss as to who I should've left it to... the hostess that took our order? the other waitress that had to go hunt our waiter down?... the manager who we saw more of than our waiter and insulted me?... or the waiter that kept messing everything up?
I hope it was just an off night at that place. I'd hate to have to scratch Applebees off my list of acceptable restaurants to dine at.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
It's a small world after all...
Don't you just love those unexpected moments when they turn out to be one of those "it's a small world" situations??
It happened to me yesterday.
I was at p.t., flat on my back, in my own little world, concentrating on doing my ab-crunches. Eyes closed, counting to myself. I was oblivious to the world around me. In the middle of crunch number 7, the word "Sellersburg" penetrated my thoughts. Sellersburg? Even though the small town isn't far from Louisville, most people act like they've never heard of it, unless they have actually lived there. I stopped crunching, looked around to find some of the physical therapist, technichians and massage thereapist standing around (it was a slow day at p.t.). I asked, "did I hear someone say they were from Sellersburg?"
The young m.t. admitted that he was from there, and we bonded. I've kept most of my conversations to a minimum of words in that place, usually only answering questions regarding my back pain. But now that I knew he and I had something in common, the words flowed freely.
He's much younger than I am (9 years), so it wasn't like we actually went to school together, but we did attend the same school. May have even rode the same bus... that part I'm still investigating. But as it turned out, he lived down the street from us. Okay, it was probably a mile and a half down it, but still, it was on the same road our house (street) intersected with.
He had a client come in at that point, so I didn't really get to talk to him anymore, but I dare say, we know a lot of the same people.
One of the p.t. techs mentioned he had gone to F.C.H.S., over in the Knobs, and I had to admit, "I used to date a guy that went there. "
I just love small-world stories!!
It happened to me yesterday.
I was at p.t., flat on my back, in my own little world, concentrating on doing my ab-crunches. Eyes closed, counting to myself. I was oblivious to the world around me. In the middle of crunch number 7, the word "Sellersburg" penetrated my thoughts. Sellersburg? Even though the small town isn't far from Louisville, most people act like they've never heard of it, unless they have actually lived there. I stopped crunching, looked around to find some of the physical therapist, technichians and massage thereapist standing around (it was a slow day at p.t.). I asked, "did I hear someone say they were from Sellersburg?"
The young m.t. admitted that he was from there, and we bonded. I've kept most of my conversations to a minimum of words in that place, usually only answering questions regarding my back pain. But now that I knew he and I had something in common, the words flowed freely.
He's much younger than I am (9 years), so it wasn't like we actually went to school together, but we did attend the same school. May have even rode the same bus... that part I'm still investigating. But as it turned out, he lived down the street from us. Okay, it was probably a mile and a half down it, but still, it was on the same road our house (street) intersected with.
He had a client come in at that point, so I didn't really get to talk to him anymore, but I dare say, we know a lot of the same people.
One of the p.t. techs mentioned he had gone to F.C.H.S., over in the Knobs, and I had to admit, "I used to date a guy that went there. "
I just love small-world stories!!
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
A toast!
What is toast? To me, it's nothing more than ordinary bread that has been dried out, heated up and turned one shade or another of brown.
What is stale bread? To me, it's nothing more than ordinary bread that has dried out, and hopefully hasn't turned blue-green yet.
Since both breads are dried out, why is it that so many people complain when they want to make toast (or a grilled cheese for that matter), that the bread is stale? What difference does it make?
What is stale bread? To me, it's nothing more than ordinary bread that has dried out, and hopefully hasn't turned blue-green yet.
Since both breads are dried out, why is it that so many people complain when they want to make toast (or a grilled cheese for that matter), that the bread is stale? What difference does it make?
Do-Over
I'd really like to call out a "DO OVER" for my life, for the past 29 hours or so...
Last night was bunco-night. My turn to host. As it's just impossible to have it at our house, my dear, dear friend "J" offered up her home, I just had to do the cooking. No problem, I LOVE to cook. "J" lives directly across the street from me, so I didn't have far to transport the food.
I did as much of the cooking and prep stuff as I could monday night. I felt I was in good shape, and since I had minimal things left to prepare on tuesday, things would be a breeze.
That's what I thought...
It had rained off & on all day tuesday, and just as I was starting to make the first of several trips between her house and mine, a monsoon came up and it poured rain. I was starting to stress. I was wet, my glasses were so spotted, I couldn't see, but I didn't have time to take them off and clean them. Time seemed to be slipping away, faster and faster with each passing of the second hand. I had crockpots plugged in all over her kitchen, a casserole in the oven, the table was covered with grocery bags, and I didn't know which way to turn next. I was serving up Mexican cuisine for dinner, and baked apple crisps for dessert. As guests started arriving, I put some of them to work measuring, stirring, or waiting on me by getting me something to drink. Quite the hostess, aren't I?
I had one of the girls put the taco shells into the oven, but neither of us thought to look at the clock or set a timer. When I finally remembered the darned things, they were approaching the burnt stage. Grrrr!! Toss that tray aside and throw in another batch.
While I'm spinning in circles, stressing out... oh, by the way, just as I finished making the final trip from my house to hers, the rain stopped, figures!!, "J" pointed out that I had my shirt on backwards. I looked down, and sure enough, the tag was in front. I promptly pulled my arms in, like a turle ducking into it's shell, spun the top around, and poked my arms back out. Suddenly I could breath a little easier.
Okay, time to eat! The food was good, if I do say so myself. The girls all said so too, so they either agreed, or were just all being polite. I like to think it was actually good.
The gaming went well. Since I've joined this group, I've yet to ever win back even the $5 I came with. I always go home empty-handed. But not this night! I told them up front, I have a new car to pay for, so they'd better be prepared to lose, and lose they did! I won for having the most wins, the most buncos, and the last bunco, so I took home $30 of the $45 pot. Woo-Hoo!!
Now for the bad news... While we were switching seats (winners wander), I was passing behind someones chair on my right, and a tall stereo speaker on my left. My elbow bumped the stereo speaker, sending it crashing to the floor in slow-motion. I could only stand there and stare in absolute horror! By the time it hit the floor, it was in 3 or 4 pieces. I felt absolutely sick!! I had to fight back tears the rest of the evening. I know how much "J"'s husband is fond of his electronic toys. I wanted to go home and bury my head under a pillow.
We continued to play the game, but I didn't feel quite so cheerful after that, even when I won big that evening. I was ready to turn my winnings over to "M" and buy him a new speaker.
Once everyone left, I began the task of dragging all my stuff back home and putting it away. It was past my bedtime, I was tired, and my back was in agony.
Fast forward to this morning...
I was dressed for work and took the dogs out for one last potty break before leaving. I got the girls out okay, but when I took Eliott out, he stopped in the middle of the driveway and shook his head vigorously, sending a spray of dog-slobber flying through the air. I wasn't able to escape the shower, and was struck with a dog-loogey. Grrr... now I had to go back inside and change clothes.
Once at work, I went to put something in my mini-fridge, only to discover a huge mess. I had put a partially consumed bottle of Coke back in the fridge before leaving the day before, and apparently hadn't put the cap back on tight. As the bottle was laying on a shelf, nearly the entire contents spilled out all over the inside the fridge, leaked out the door, went all over the table and carpet. It was a sticky mess! At that moment, I just wanted to back the clock up to 4:30 the previous afternoon, and start over from that point.
But we're not children, and we can't hollar out "DO OVER!", and expect it to happen.
Last night was bunco-night. My turn to host. As it's just impossible to have it at our house, my dear, dear friend "J" offered up her home, I just had to do the cooking. No problem, I LOVE to cook. "J" lives directly across the street from me, so I didn't have far to transport the food.
I did as much of the cooking and prep stuff as I could monday night. I felt I was in good shape, and since I had minimal things left to prepare on tuesday, things would be a breeze.
That's what I thought...
It had rained off & on all day tuesday, and just as I was starting to make the first of several trips between her house and mine, a monsoon came up and it poured rain. I was starting to stress. I was wet, my glasses were so spotted, I couldn't see, but I didn't have time to take them off and clean them. Time seemed to be slipping away, faster and faster with each passing of the second hand. I had crockpots plugged in all over her kitchen, a casserole in the oven, the table was covered with grocery bags, and I didn't know which way to turn next. I was serving up Mexican cuisine for dinner, and baked apple crisps for dessert. As guests started arriving, I put some of them to work measuring, stirring, or waiting on me by getting me something to drink. Quite the hostess, aren't I?
I had one of the girls put the taco shells into the oven, but neither of us thought to look at the clock or set a timer. When I finally remembered the darned things, they were approaching the burnt stage. Grrrr!! Toss that tray aside and throw in another batch.
While I'm spinning in circles, stressing out... oh, by the way, just as I finished making the final trip from my house to hers, the rain stopped, figures!!, "J" pointed out that I had my shirt on backwards. I looked down, and sure enough, the tag was in front. I promptly pulled my arms in, like a turle ducking into it's shell, spun the top around, and poked my arms back out. Suddenly I could breath a little easier.
Okay, time to eat! The food was good, if I do say so myself. The girls all said so too, so they either agreed, or were just all being polite. I like to think it was actually good.
The gaming went well. Since I've joined this group, I've yet to ever win back even the $5 I came with. I always go home empty-handed. But not this night! I told them up front, I have a new car to pay for, so they'd better be prepared to lose, and lose they did! I won for having the most wins, the most buncos, and the last bunco, so I took home $30 of the $45 pot. Woo-Hoo!!
Now for the bad news... While we were switching seats (winners wander), I was passing behind someones chair on my right, and a tall stereo speaker on my left. My elbow bumped the stereo speaker, sending it crashing to the floor in slow-motion. I could only stand there and stare in absolute horror! By the time it hit the floor, it was in 3 or 4 pieces. I felt absolutely sick!! I had to fight back tears the rest of the evening. I know how much "J"'s husband is fond of his electronic toys. I wanted to go home and bury my head under a pillow.
We continued to play the game, but I didn't feel quite so cheerful after that, even when I won big that evening. I was ready to turn my winnings over to "M" and buy him a new speaker.
Once everyone left, I began the task of dragging all my stuff back home and putting it away. It was past my bedtime, I was tired, and my back was in agony.
Fast forward to this morning...
I was dressed for work and took the dogs out for one last potty break before leaving. I got the girls out okay, but when I took Eliott out, he stopped in the middle of the driveway and shook his head vigorously, sending a spray of dog-slobber flying through the air. I wasn't able to escape the shower, and was struck with a dog-loogey. Grrr... now I had to go back inside and change clothes.
Once at work, I went to put something in my mini-fridge, only to discover a huge mess. I had put a partially consumed bottle of Coke back in the fridge before leaving the day before, and apparently hadn't put the cap back on tight. As the bottle was laying on a shelf, nearly the entire contents spilled out all over the inside the fridge, leaked out the door, went all over the table and carpet. It was a sticky mess! At that moment, I just wanted to back the clock up to 4:30 the previous afternoon, and start over from that point.
But we're not children, and we can't hollar out "DO OVER!", and expect it to happen.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Ramblin' Rose
There is a woman that comes into p.t. everyday, arriving just minutes after I do. She's a retired school teacher, but currently is working almost full-time as a substitute. From the time she crosses the threshold into the place, 'til the moment she crosses it again to leave, her mouth is working overtime, talking to anybody that is within earshot. She doesn't care who it is, she just talks, and she talks, and she talks.
Don't these people get enough of flapping their gums while standing in front of a classroom lecturing?? Yesterday was the worst day yet! There weren't as many people in therapy as there normally are, therefore, Ramblin' Rose, no, making that: Babbling Betty's one-sided conversations stood out above all the other noises in the room. It was difficult to block her out, try as I might.
90% of her babbling is about, what else?, how her day went at school. The other 10% was about how wealthy she is and how much money she spends on furniture, and how much she gives away. Like any of us poor working stiffs that can barely make end meet need to hear that??
Babbling Betty was in line ahead of me to get adjusted by the chiropractor, but she was doing what she does best, babbling, so Dr. "P" motioned for me to come on over. I said, "oh, but she was here first, she's next." He just smiled (actually, his smile is permanently etched on his face) , came over and sat down next to me, leaned in close and said, "she seemed to be engrossed in conversation, so I thought you'd like to jump ahead in line."
I said, "no no, please, take her next and get her out of here quicker."
He continued to smile and made a comment about her constant yacking. "Can you imagine having her for a teacher?"
"If she'd been one of my teachers, I'd have quit school. You know, everyone always wonders why I'm so quiet, and don't have much to say... but why should I talk more? She talks enough for everyone in the room."
Do all school teachers do this? Is that all they know how to converse about, school? And to think at one time I wanted to be a school teacher. I'm so glad now that didn't come to fruition.
Don't these people get enough of flapping their gums while standing in front of a classroom lecturing?? Yesterday was the worst day yet! There weren't as many people in therapy as there normally are, therefore, Ramblin' Rose, no, making that: Babbling Betty's one-sided conversations stood out above all the other noises in the room. It was difficult to block her out, try as I might.
90% of her babbling is about, what else?, how her day went at school. The other 10% was about how wealthy she is and how much money she spends on furniture, and how much she gives away. Like any of us poor working stiffs that can barely make end meet need to hear that??
Babbling Betty was in line ahead of me to get adjusted by the chiropractor, but she was doing what she does best, babbling, so Dr. "P" motioned for me to come on over. I said, "oh, but she was here first, she's next." He just smiled (actually, his smile is permanently etched on his face) , came over and sat down next to me, leaned in close and said, "she seemed to be engrossed in conversation, so I thought you'd like to jump ahead in line."
I said, "no no, please, take her next and get her out of here quicker."
He continued to smile and made a comment about her constant yacking. "Can you imagine having her for a teacher?"
"If she'd been one of my teachers, I'd have quit school. You know, everyone always wonders why I'm so quiet, and don't have much to say... but why should I talk more? She talks enough for everyone in the room."
Do all school teachers do this? Is that all they know how to converse about, school? And to think at one time I wanted to be a school teacher. I'm so glad now that didn't come to fruition.
Friday, September 08, 2006
My Vue on automation
In todays world, so many things are automated, that I dare say, in the next few decades, we will cease to do anything for ourselves, nor will we ever need to interact with another human again.
In my new Vue, the doors lock automatically once you release the emergency break and roll about 2 feet. I like this feature. The rearview mirror automatically adjusts to the bright headlights of cars shining in behind me. I like this feature, but it's taken some getting used to. I still have to fight the urge to reach up and flip the mirror forward/back.
There are other things that have become automated in the past few years, which, to be quite honest, I don't know if I'll ever get used to them...
Toilets that flush automatically. Who invented these? While I can appreciate their dual purpose: #1) so we don't have to touch the dirty handle, #2) so we don't have to look at the waste-product left in the commode by the previous user that was either too lazy or too inconsiderate to flush it themselves... it's still somewhat unsettling when one approaches the toilet and goes to sit down, only to have the overly sensative sensor trigger the toilet to flush, sometimes causing a cold splash to hit our tushy before it's even seated, which startles you so much, you stand back up, only to have the toilet flush yet again. By the time we actually complete our business, it's not uncommon to have the toilet flush 3 times or more, and not because it had trouble "swallowing" the contents of the commode. This then causes the person(s) standing on the other side of the door waiting to get in, to dread having to enter the bathroom and possibly inhale some hazardous, gaseous, noxiuos fumes that you may or maynot have created, and causes you unfounded embarrassment, because you know the people on the otherside are thinking that.
The automation that freaked me out, yet fascinated me the most was the seat-covers that roll around automatically covering the seat with a fresh sheet of plastic, so we're guaranteed to be sitting on a clean toilet seat every time. First time I encountered one of these, I was so fascinated, I kept sitting down and standing back up, just to see if it truly worked. Of couse, the only place I've ever encountered one of these toilets was at a truckstop, somewhere near Maryland. I wish more places had them.
The automated faucets & hand driers are a waste of time in my opinion. Half the time, you spend so much time trying to get the sensor to detect your hand, that you give up and walk out with wet-soapy hands, or else end up with bloody knuckles from banging them against the device in an effort to make it work.
I'd rather turn the faucet on myself, and dry my hands on papertowel (sorry, I know that's not ecologically correct).
Now, if we could just get the spouses/children to automatically wash their own clothes, dry, fold and put away...
In my new Vue, the doors lock automatically once you release the emergency break and roll about 2 feet. I like this feature. The rearview mirror automatically adjusts to the bright headlights of cars shining in behind me. I like this feature, but it's taken some getting used to. I still have to fight the urge to reach up and flip the mirror forward/back.
There are other things that have become automated in the past few years, which, to be quite honest, I don't know if I'll ever get used to them...
Toilets that flush automatically. Who invented these? While I can appreciate their dual purpose: #1) so we don't have to touch the dirty handle, #2) so we don't have to look at the waste-product left in the commode by the previous user that was either too lazy or too inconsiderate to flush it themselves... it's still somewhat unsettling when one approaches the toilet and goes to sit down, only to have the overly sensative sensor trigger the toilet to flush, sometimes causing a cold splash to hit our tushy before it's even seated, which startles you so much, you stand back up, only to have the toilet flush yet again. By the time we actually complete our business, it's not uncommon to have the toilet flush 3 times or more, and not because it had trouble "swallowing" the contents of the commode. This then causes the person(s) standing on the other side of the door waiting to get in, to dread having to enter the bathroom and possibly inhale some hazardous, gaseous, noxiuos fumes that you may or maynot have created, and causes you unfounded embarrassment, because you know the people on the otherside are thinking that.
The automation that freaked me out, yet fascinated me the most was the seat-covers that roll around automatically covering the seat with a fresh sheet of plastic, so we're guaranteed to be sitting on a clean toilet seat every time. First time I encountered one of these, I was so fascinated, I kept sitting down and standing back up, just to see if it truly worked. Of couse, the only place I've ever encountered one of these toilets was at a truckstop, somewhere near Maryland. I wish more places had them.
The automated faucets & hand driers are a waste of time in my opinion. Half the time, you spend so much time trying to get the sensor to detect your hand, that you give up and walk out with wet-soapy hands, or else end up with bloody knuckles from banging them against the device in an effort to make it work.
I'd rather turn the faucet on myself, and dry my hands on papertowel (sorry, I know that's not ecologically correct).
Now, if we could just get the spouses/children to automatically wash their own clothes, dry, fold and put away...
cheap-cheap
The husband & I decided to go to Ci-Ci's Pizza for dinner last night. Normally, the two of us can get the all-you-can-eat buffet, including beverages for $11, but I just happened to have a buy-one, get-one free coupon, so we made gluttons of ourselves for under $6.
Upon leaving, we then stopped at Graeter's Ice Cream. I have to say right here, I'm not a fan of Graeters. I think they are highly over-priced, and I've never been impressed with their ice cream. It's basically tasteless to me. I'll take D.Q. or Baskin Robbins over that place anyday! Anyway, again, I had a b.o.g.o. free coupon. That, coupled with the few dollars left on a giftcard we received last year, we only had to pay $1.12.
Our whole evening, dinner & dessert, cost less than $8.00. You can't beat that!!
I'm cheap, and I'm proud of it!
Upon leaving, we then stopped at Graeter's Ice Cream. I have to say right here, I'm not a fan of Graeters. I think they are highly over-priced, and I've never been impressed with their ice cream. It's basically tasteless to me. I'll take D.Q. or Baskin Robbins over that place anyday! Anyway, again, I had a b.o.g.o. free coupon. That, coupled with the few dollars left on a giftcard we received last year, we only had to pay $1.12.
Our whole evening, dinner & dessert, cost less than $8.00. You can't beat that!!
I'm cheap, and I'm proud of it!
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Your daughters health
I know by now that most of you are probably tired of hearing about my back-ache issues, but I feel I have to bring this up. A large part of my pain is derived from the scoliosis I have and that was never diagnosed when I was a child, most likely because the school nurse that "tested" us when we were in 6th grade, probably wasn't a "real" nurse, but someone that just knew 1st aid when she was hired some 30 or 40 years prior and had been grandfathered into the system. I don't blame the school nurse, that's not what this blog is about.
But after some things I've been seeing at the p.t. place I've been going to, and things I've been hearing from kinfolk, I can't help but wonder how many of us could be walking around pain-free had we been treated for the condition at an early age.
As it turns out, my sister has the condition too. At the family reunion this past weekend, I discovered that a cousin & a 2nd cousin also have it. I can only wonder how many more of my family members have it also, and don't realize it. A few months ago, one of John's aunts was telling us that she has it, but like the rest of us, wasn't diagnosed until she was much older, and now suffers from it quite a bit.
So here is what this blog is truly about... if you have a child, especially in the 10 - 15 years of age range, and especially daughters (as girls are more likely than boys to have the condition), please have them checked by a medical professional. Don't rely on the schools to do the testing.
Whatever it may cost you now, is nothing compared to what it will cost them when they get older and start having problems.
Technology & treatment have come a long way, and the back brace one might have to wear is nothing near as intrusive as what was worn some 25 years ago.
If you thought your child was sick, you'd take them to the doctor to help them get better.
This is not different.
But after some things I've been seeing at the p.t. place I've been going to, and things I've been hearing from kinfolk, I can't help but wonder how many of us could be walking around pain-free had we been treated for the condition at an early age.
As it turns out, my sister has the condition too. At the family reunion this past weekend, I discovered that a cousin & a 2nd cousin also have it. I can only wonder how many more of my family members have it also, and don't realize it. A few months ago, one of John's aunts was telling us that she has it, but like the rest of us, wasn't diagnosed until she was much older, and now suffers from it quite a bit.
So here is what this blog is truly about... if you have a child, especially in the 10 - 15 years of age range, and especially daughters (as girls are more likely than boys to have the condition), please have them checked by a medical professional. Don't rely on the schools to do the testing.
Whatever it may cost you now, is nothing compared to what it will cost them when they get older and start having problems.
Technology & treatment have come a long way, and the back brace one might have to wear is nothing near as intrusive as what was worn some 25 years ago.
If you thought your child was sick, you'd take them to the doctor to help them get better.
This is not different.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Morning cup of Joe
Sunday morning, the husband & I got up to make a run to Meijers to get some 2 ltrs. and to the firehouse to get some ice, to take to the family reunion. We didn't even take time to shower, just went to run our errands. While out, I said, "let's stop and get some breakfast", meaning something quick at D.Q. or Burger King. But as we were leaving Meijer, Jay asked where I wanted to eat, and I suddenly remembered Panera Bread was around the corner. Neither of us had ever eaten there, but had heard good things about it. We weren't even sure what all they served, but I suggested we go by and see if they were open. They were, and we weren't disappointed.
When we left, I told the husband it was a good thing that place wasn't between our house and where I worked, or I'd be in there every morning! I highly recommend the 4-cheese/egg souffle.
I still had quite a bit of coffee in my cup when we got home, and while Jay was cleaning out the coolers, I went to take my shower. I sat my cup on the kitchen counter, I thought far enough away from the edge that it wouldn't be bothered by anyone... namely, Olivia.
While in the shower, totally out of the blue, an image popped into my head of Olivia drinking a cup of coffee. How random! I shook the image from my head, dried off and exited the bathroom. As I was walking down the hall, the husband ahead of me, he entered the kitchen and exclaimed, "what the hell is this?" I stuck my head in the kitchen to find my large cup of coffee had been turned over, spilled all over the counter top, down the cabinets, and puddled in the floor. Olivia was standing in the middle of the puddle, lapping up my spilled cup of Joe.
She had it all over her legs, and was a mess. I was just thankful that it was decaf coffee and didn't have to worry about her boucing off the walls from the caffeine.
When we left, I told the husband it was a good thing that place wasn't between our house and where I worked, or I'd be in there every morning! I highly recommend the 4-cheese/egg souffle.
I still had quite a bit of coffee in my cup when we got home, and while Jay was cleaning out the coolers, I went to take my shower. I sat my cup on the kitchen counter, I thought far enough away from the edge that it wouldn't be bothered by anyone... namely, Olivia.
While in the shower, totally out of the blue, an image popped into my head of Olivia drinking a cup of coffee. How random! I shook the image from my head, dried off and exited the bathroom. As I was walking down the hall, the husband ahead of me, he entered the kitchen and exclaimed, "what the hell is this?" I stuck my head in the kitchen to find my large cup of coffee had been turned over, spilled all over the counter top, down the cabinets, and puddled in the floor. Olivia was standing in the middle of the puddle, lapping up my spilled cup of Joe.
She had it all over her legs, and was a mess. I was just thankful that it was decaf coffee and didn't have to worry about her boucing off the walls from the caffeine.
CNile
I think I'm going CNile. Yes, I know that's not the way the word is spelled, but we seem to live in a society where it's all about abreviations, acronyms, saving time, new words, etc., etc.
I'm very guilty of it myself... often signing "luv" instead of LOVE, or writing "y'all" instead of YOU ALL, which ain't good grammar to begin with, but hey, that's my Kintucky-suth'rn talk comin' out. I spelled Kentucky with the "I" deliberately, because you know how people are always making jokes about inbreeding in this state, or how everyone is related.
I just returned from a family reunion in Glasgow, KY over the weekend. The SMITH Family reunion... now there's a name that virtually everyone has in their family somewhere, so maybe we are all related, one way or another. I've certainly got them on both sides of my family.
It was great to see everyone again this year. Last years reunion was somewhat of a bust because of hurricane Katrina and the gasoline shortage. There was some confusion this year as to where it was being held, as the location was changed a mere 14 hours before the reunion started, and many people weren't told. But hey, we eventually found one another and had a great time. Can't wait until next years gathering. Any kinfolk out there that would like to see some of the photos from this years reunion, simply go to: http://www.dropshots.com/gr8daneluvr
The husband and I did learn a new word while at the reunion. I had Olivia out for a potty-break and 2 girls (not family members) commented that Olivia was "GINORMOUS". That was a new one on us. Of course, if they thought Livvie was Ginormous, wonder what word they'd have come up for either our Eliott, or one of the other danes we know that are larger? We mentioned this new word to some friends and were informed that "word" had been around for a long time. I guess that's just another sign that John & I are a couple of old fogies, out of touch with todays young people and their hip-phrases.
Oh well, back to my senility... I think I actually blogged about this a couple of months ago, but since I'm going senile, I don't rightly remember. I often think of things I'd like to blog about, and tell myself I should write myself a small note so I'll remember to do it later, but rarely do I write the note, and by the time I find myself near a computer, I've forgotten what it was I wanted to blog about. This weekend was no exception. There was something that absolutely cracked me & the husband up and I said, "I feel a blog coming on", but darned if I can remember what it was.
Note to myself: invest in some post-it notes to keep in the purse/car/house, to write blog ideas on.
I'm very guilty of it myself... often signing "luv" instead of LOVE, or writing "y'all" instead of YOU ALL, which ain't good grammar to begin with, but hey, that's my Kintucky-suth'rn talk comin' out. I spelled Kentucky with the "I" deliberately, because you know how people are always making jokes about inbreeding in this state, or how everyone is related.
I just returned from a family reunion in Glasgow, KY over the weekend. The SMITH Family reunion... now there's a name that virtually everyone has in their family somewhere, so maybe we are all related, one way or another. I've certainly got them on both sides of my family.
It was great to see everyone again this year. Last years reunion was somewhat of a bust because of hurricane Katrina and the gasoline shortage. There was some confusion this year as to where it was being held, as the location was changed a mere 14 hours before the reunion started, and many people weren't told. But hey, we eventually found one another and had a great time. Can't wait until next years gathering. Any kinfolk out there that would like to see some of the photos from this years reunion, simply go to: http://www.dropshots.com/gr8daneluvr
The husband and I did learn a new word while at the reunion. I had Olivia out for a potty-break and 2 girls (not family members) commented that Olivia was "GINORMOUS". That was a new one on us. Of course, if they thought Livvie was Ginormous, wonder what word they'd have come up for either our Eliott, or one of the other danes we know that are larger? We mentioned this new word to some friends and were informed that "word" had been around for a long time. I guess that's just another sign that John & I are a couple of old fogies, out of touch with todays young people and their hip-phrases.
Oh well, back to my senility... I think I actually blogged about this a couple of months ago, but since I'm going senile, I don't rightly remember. I often think of things I'd like to blog about, and tell myself I should write myself a small note so I'll remember to do it later, but rarely do I write the note, and by the time I find myself near a computer, I've forgotten what it was I wanted to blog about. This weekend was no exception. There was something that absolutely cracked me & the husband up and I said, "I feel a blog coming on", but darned if I can remember what it was.
Note to myself: invest in some post-it notes to keep in the purse/car/house, to write blog ideas on.
Friday, September 01, 2006
Explain to me...
Twice in as many days, I've heard the following phrase: "You're the bees knees".
I must be out of touch with todays quips/quotes... what exactly does that mean?
I must be out of touch with todays quips/quotes... what exactly does that mean?
My Vue on having a baby
I've come to the conclusion that purchasing a new car is not unlike having a new baby.
There's a certain thrill you get when you decide to purchase a new car, I dare say, much like the excitement one would experience when first discovering they are pregnant. Then there is that sickening dread of: how am I going to afford this? (whether we're talking about a car or baby).
Then comes the birth, er, um, I mean, the signing of the contract. The woman is doing all the work figuring out the finances, deciding if the payments are do-able (at least, that's how it is in our house), much like the mother doing all the work in the delivery room, while the husband/father sits back and looks green around the gills at what is transpiring before him. Then once the papers are signed and the keys handed over, or once the new baby is handed over, then the man puffs out his chest with pride, his heart swells and he takes on an air of importance... see what I've created (the new father), or see what my paycheck has allowed you to drive (the husband).
Then in the next few days, family and friends come flocking to see the new arrival, be it a car or a baby. They ooh and ahh over it, ask much the same questions of a new car owner, that they ask new parents: How do you feel? Do you like it? Are you enjoying it? Are you getting any sleep (in case there's tossing and turning over the new financial burden)? How much does it consume (whether it's gas or formula)? They stand back and smile, give their nods of approval (whether they're being sincere or just trying to keep from hurting your feelings, they still smile). They ask if it's alright to hold the baby/sit in the driver's seat.
And then there's the way we treat our new addition. New, first-time parents make visitors sanitze their hands before coming anywhere within 10 feet of their child, and new car-owners are constantly wiping fingerprints off the vehicle where someone has touched it. We find ourselves parking way out in the low-40 of the parking lots, just to avoid dings in the door. We keep things over the seats to keep them clean. Food & drink are not allowed inside the vehicle.
Then after a couple of months, the "newness" wears off. First time parents are now allowing the dog to lick the dried milk off the baby's face, and new car owners are now parking as close to the store's entrance as possible.
So go ahead, tell me I'm wrong in my comparison.
There's a certain thrill you get when you decide to purchase a new car, I dare say, much like the excitement one would experience when first discovering they are pregnant. Then there is that sickening dread of: how am I going to afford this? (whether we're talking about a car or baby).
Then comes the birth, er, um, I mean, the signing of the contract. The woman is doing all the work figuring out the finances, deciding if the payments are do-able (at least, that's how it is in our house), much like the mother doing all the work in the delivery room, while the husband/father sits back and looks green around the gills at what is transpiring before him. Then once the papers are signed and the keys handed over, or once the new baby is handed over, then the man puffs out his chest with pride, his heart swells and he takes on an air of importance... see what I've created (the new father), or see what my paycheck has allowed you to drive (the husband).
Then in the next few days, family and friends come flocking to see the new arrival, be it a car or a baby. They ooh and ahh over it, ask much the same questions of a new car owner, that they ask new parents: How do you feel? Do you like it? Are you enjoying it? Are you getting any sleep (in case there's tossing and turning over the new financial burden)? How much does it consume (whether it's gas or formula)? They stand back and smile, give their nods of approval (whether they're being sincere or just trying to keep from hurting your feelings, they still smile). They ask if it's alright to hold the baby/sit in the driver's seat.
And then there's the way we treat our new addition. New, first-time parents make visitors sanitze their hands before coming anywhere within 10 feet of their child, and new car-owners are constantly wiping fingerprints off the vehicle where someone has touched it. We find ourselves parking way out in the low-40 of the parking lots, just to avoid dings in the door. We keep things over the seats to keep them clean. Food & drink are not allowed inside the vehicle.
Then after a couple of months, the "newness" wears off. First time parents are now allowing the dog to lick the dried milk off the baby's face, and new car owners are now parking as close to the store's entrance as possible.
So go ahead, tell me I'm wrong in my comparison.
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