Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Mystery dog identified
The goofy-looking, mystery-mutt I saw at the dogshow on Sunday, I think I've identified. As far as I can tell, it was a Clumber Spaniel. Strange name, sounds like it's short for either Cumberland or perhaps cucumber. Oh well, it was still a goofy looking dog... no offense to anybody that has one.
A moment of silence please...
I was absolutely crushed last night when I heard the news that author Sidney Sheldon had passed away! Crushed I say!!!
I've got quite a collection of books, by several authors I've enjoyed reading over the years, but I dare say he has been my all-time favorite!!!!!!!! I've never been disappointed by anything I've read by him. In fact, I've even got a couple that are in tatters with the pages falling out because I've read them so many times. I dare say my all-time favorites are "Master of the Game" and "If Tomorrow Never Comes".
I remember a couple or three years ago, he was a a guest on Good Morning America, talking about his writing style and how he comes up with his ideas and story-lines... and while the show was on the air, he started a brand new novel, spinning the story, out-loud to his assitant who typed the story out as Sidney dictated it to him. I was quite fascinated.
It saddens me to think I'll not be reading any new works by this great, great man.
I think I'll take a moment of silence now to honor the man....
I've got quite a collection of books, by several authors I've enjoyed reading over the years, but I dare say he has been my all-time favorite!!!!!!!! I've never been disappointed by anything I've read by him. In fact, I've even got a couple that are in tatters with the pages falling out because I've read them so many times. I dare say my all-time favorites are "Master of the Game" and "If Tomorrow Never Comes".
I remember a couple or three years ago, he was a a guest on Good Morning America, talking about his writing style and how he comes up with his ideas and story-lines... and while the show was on the air, he started a brand new novel, spinning the story, out-loud to his assitant who typed the story out as Sidney dictated it to him. I was quite fascinated.
It saddens me to think I'll not be reading any new works by this great, great man.
I think I'll take a moment of silence now to honor the man....
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
I just don't get it!
As mentioned in a previous blog, I attended a dogshow over the weekend. Not my first, probably not my last.
I go basically just to cheer on my breeder/friend and her dogs that are showing, and just to browse the booths.
It's interesting to see some of the other breeds... some of the very familiar, if not common breeds, and then some that to this day leave me mystified as to there breedname, origins, or purpose. Some are just plain ol' goofy looking dogs, and I can't help but think that they look like plain ol' mutts from the pound.
When I get done typing this blog, I do need to go to the AKC site and try to figure out what the creature was I saw this weekend... it had the head of a St. Bernard, and the body of a cocker spaniel. Totally wierd!!
All that having been said, I just don't get some peoples obvious obsession with primping and prepping their dogs for these events. Granted, I can understand bathing them and grooming them before the show, after all, you want Fifi or Fluffy to look their best. But honestly!, it almost seems cruel the people that bath their dog, then take them out in the cold, haul them to the show, and then spend 3 or more hours blow-drying, brushing and combing them. Brrr!, I certainly wouldn't want to go out in the 20 degree weather we had sunday with wet hair.
I watched two jr. handlers, this is no exaggeration, spend no less than 3 hours (maybe more as they were there before I arrived), doing all those things I just mentioned. They'd dry and fluff "fifi", then spritz her down and dry her some more. In all honestly, I couldn't see where she looked any better after 3 hours of grooming than she did once she was initially dried off. But then, I guess that's why I'm not a professional judge.
You know I love my dogs more than life itself, and I enjoy spending time with my k-9 kids, but honestly!, 3 hours of non-stop grooming!, gimme a break!!!
I go basically just to cheer on my breeder/friend and her dogs that are showing, and just to browse the booths.
It's interesting to see some of the other breeds... some of the very familiar, if not common breeds, and then some that to this day leave me mystified as to there breedname, origins, or purpose. Some are just plain ol' goofy looking dogs, and I can't help but think that they look like plain ol' mutts from the pound.
When I get done typing this blog, I do need to go to the AKC site and try to figure out what the creature was I saw this weekend... it had the head of a St. Bernard, and the body of a cocker spaniel. Totally wierd!!
All that having been said, I just don't get some peoples obvious obsession with primping and prepping their dogs for these events. Granted, I can understand bathing them and grooming them before the show, after all, you want Fifi or Fluffy to look their best. But honestly!, it almost seems cruel the people that bath their dog, then take them out in the cold, haul them to the show, and then spend 3 or more hours blow-drying, brushing and combing them. Brrr!, I certainly wouldn't want to go out in the 20 degree weather we had sunday with wet hair.
I watched two jr. handlers, this is no exaggeration, spend no less than 3 hours (maybe more as they were there before I arrived), doing all those things I just mentioned. They'd dry and fluff "fifi", then spritz her down and dry her some more. In all honestly, I couldn't see where she looked any better after 3 hours of grooming than she did once she was initially dried off. But then, I guess that's why I'm not a professional judge.
You know I love my dogs more than life itself, and I enjoy spending time with my k-9 kids, but honestly!, 3 hours of non-stop grooming!, gimme a break!!!
'Tis the season to celebrate!
We all (well, most of us) celebrate different holidays &/or seasons... Christmas, Thanksgiving, easter, St. Pats, you get the idea.
In our family, we also celebrate the birthday/anniversary seasons, twice each year.
Between Jan. 30th and Feb. 26, we have four birthdays and one wedding anniversary.
And again between Aug. 6th and 31st we have three birthdays and an anniversary. Thank goodness the seasons are six months apart.
Still, that ends up being a lot of cake & ice cream, greeting cards, dinners out, and all that other stuff.
On one hand, I think it's a good thing, getting so many of these events out of the way in a short time, often combining & celebrating several of the events on a single gathering.
But on the other hand...
In our family, we also celebrate the birthday/anniversary seasons, twice each year.
Between Jan. 30th and Feb. 26, we have four birthdays and one wedding anniversary.
And again between Aug. 6th and 31st we have three birthdays and an anniversary. Thank goodness the seasons are six months apart.
Still, that ends up being a lot of cake & ice cream, greeting cards, dinners out, and all that other stuff.
On one hand, I think it's a good thing, getting so many of these events out of the way in a short time, often combining & celebrating several of the events on a single gathering.
But on the other hand...
Ashamed of myself!
As the husband & I walked into the co. clerk's office yesterday to renew the tags on his 4-runner, they had the t.v. going, tuned to some news-only channel, and the headline of the moment was Barbaro, and his failing health.
I didn't take time to listen to what they were saying, as I'd heard enough over the past several days, scratch that, the past 8 1/2 months to last me a life time. As we sat down, I told John, "They should have put that horse down 8 months ago, instead of dragging it out this long. I can't even imagine how much money has been spent on his healthcare alone!"
Later that evening, as I was listening to the news while fixing dinner, the headlines once again were of Barbaro, only now they were talking of his death.
I was suddenly felt with such shame for what I had said earlier. Don't get me wrong, I still think he should've been put down, because let's face it, horses with such severe leg breaks seldom live. And the leg injuries usually lead to so many other health problems, that the horse (and owners) suffer horribly. However, my shame came from knowing what we went through with Kelsey and her bout with wobblers syndrome. I know there were an awful lot of people out there that felt we should have put her down from the moment we found out she had it, and thought we were foolish for spending the time/money we did on her, and dragging it out for so long before finally ending her (our) suffering.
I don't regret for one moment our decisions to do everything we were financially capable of to give her a chance at a "normal" life. She did suffer, as did we, but she also had a lot of good days where she was able to run around the backyard, wrestle with Smokey & Eliott, do the "nail salon" girly moments with me, and just cuddle up next to us with a smile on her face, and those good days made it all worth while. I still miss her horribly, and still get tears in my eyes (as I'm doing at this very moment) when I think how her life was cut-down at only 29 months old... still a baby!
That's why I felt ashamed for thinking what I did about Barbaro's owners. As long as they were financially able, I'm sure they'd have done absolutely anything, gone to any lengths, for an opportunity to give him a chance at life... even if that life were simply a life of grazing in the pasture, never to be ridden again. Too, I'm sure they hoped he'd live so he could be put out to stud, and they'd then recoup their losses, but that is not to be.
So yes, while I still stand by what I initially said, I do feel some shame in it also, because I've been in their shoes before, and hope I never have to be there again.
I didn't take time to listen to what they were saying, as I'd heard enough over the past several days, scratch that, the past 8 1/2 months to last me a life time. As we sat down, I told John, "They should have put that horse down 8 months ago, instead of dragging it out this long. I can't even imagine how much money has been spent on his healthcare alone!"
Later that evening, as I was listening to the news while fixing dinner, the headlines once again were of Barbaro, only now they were talking of his death.
I was suddenly felt with such shame for what I had said earlier. Don't get me wrong, I still think he should've been put down, because let's face it, horses with such severe leg breaks seldom live. And the leg injuries usually lead to so many other health problems, that the horse (and owners) suffer horribly. However, my shame came from knowing what we went through with Kelsey and her bout with wobblers syndrome. I know there were an awful lot of people out there that felt we should have put her down from the moment we found out she had it, and thought we were foolish for spending the time/money we did on her, and dragging it out for so long before finally ending her (our) suffering.
I don't regret for one moment our decisions to do everything we were financially capable of to give her a chance at a "normal" life. She did suffer, as did we, but she also had a lot of good days where she was able to run around the backyard, wrestle with Smokey & Eliott, do the "nail salon" girly moments with me, and just cuddle up next to us with a smile on her face, and those good days made it all worth while. I still miss her horribly, and still get tears in my eyes (as I'm doing at this very moment) when I think how her life was cut-down at only 29 months old... still a baby!
That's why I felt ashamed for thinking what I did about Barbaro's owners. As long as they were financially able, I'm sure they'd have done absolutely anything, gone to any lengths, for an opportunity to give him a chance at life... even if that life were simply a life of grazing in the pasture, never to be ridden again. Too, I'm sure they hoped he'd live so he could be put out to stud, and they'd then recoup their losses, but that is not to be.
So yes, while I still stand by what I initially said, I do feel some shame in it also, because I've been in their shoes before, and hope I never have to be there again.
Weekend in review...
Another weekend over and done with. Hard to believe we're almost into February already, where does the time go??
I walked three miles saturday morning with the girls... good thing we walked when we did, as it turned bitterly cold the remainder of the weekend, coupled with the wind chills and we'd have frozen to death before completing the first mile, I dare say. I don't mind the cold, but throw in that brisque wind that cuts right through you, and BRRRRRR!, forget it!!!!!!
Sunday I drove to New Albany to watch a non-points dog-show. Our breeder had three of her "kids" in the ring (though not at the same time). Two 3-month old harlequins, and their older brother (about 16 months). The two youngsters had never been off her property before, much less to a noisy arena. When they first arrived, they were both shivering, but the little boy, Matthew, soon settled down. It took the little girl, Candy, at least a half hour to quit shaking uncontrollably. She was so terrified, she wouldn't walk more than 10-15 feet from their crate before scurrying back to safety. She even had to be carried to the showring, just to get her in there. But once in the ring, she did fine, for a beginner. And that was the whole purpose for this particular match. It's mostly pups/young dogs, that are just starting out, so things are more relaxed and goofy behavior is taken into consideration.
The little girl brought home 3 ribbons; best of breed in bitches 3-6 months, best of breed 3-6 months, and a fourth place in the working group... not too shabby for one that could barely hold her hind legs up from fear up0n arrival.
However, having spent the better part of 4 hours standing on the hard concrete floor did me in, and I was hurting quite a bit on the drive back home, and was looking forward to my 2nd epidural the next day.
Woke up at 4:30 monday morning because the cats feel they should be fed no later than 4:30, regardless of whether an alarm clock has gone off or not. Since the cats woke me up, they then woke the dogs up who then needed to go outside. Poor Olivia developed diarrhea, and would no sooner come inside, then need to go right back out. After the 3rd time, John started getting really mad at her, which made me really mad at him, so I took her out and just stayed out with her in the 14degree weather, letting her get it out of her system and graze on all the frozen grass she wanted, not going back inside 'til she was ready. I then reminded him that she didn't have the luxury of sitting on a commode for 20-30 minutes at a time, like somebody else I know, so he needed to BACK OFF and have a little sympathy.
Later that morning, at the pain management clinic, the girl that attempted (emphasis on attempted) to put the IV in my right hand, failed miserably. She couldn't get the line flushed, as she'd apparently stuck the needle in a vein-valve, **blech**. She was causing me great discomfort. Even several minutes after she'd removed the needle, it was still hurting, with the sensation that the needle was still in there. I told her the woman that did it last time hadn't had any problems, so she went in search of her. That lady got the IV inserted into my left hand with no problem, and most importantly, NO DISCOMFORT TO ME!!
The doctor came in and talked to me for a few minutes before doing the epidural. He wasn't happy that I'd attempted to do some ab-crunches a few days prior, but I assurred him I'd only done them once, and because they caused me some pain, I'd stopped. So no more ab-crunches. I swear, I don't know how I'll ever get my gut in shape. Anyway, he wants to start going to physical therapy and spending time on the traction table. I had to convince him to let me go back to the clinic I'd been going to... #1) it's close to my house, and #2) I already know all the staff there, and they know me. I hate having to break in new people and a new routine.
I don't know how well this traction table is going to work for me... I tried it once before, back in December when I was at the height of my pain, and it just seemed to make things worse. But my Dr. Nelson seems to think that if done when my pain is low (or none existent), it could be beneficial. Guess I'll just have to wait and see how it goes... that's scheduled for wednesday.
After leaving the clinic, we stopped by the co. clerks office to get the new tags for John's car, then went to Tumbleweed for lunch. Dropped off a new prescription at Wal-mart, then stopped to make the appointment at the p.t. place. By the time we finally arrived home, John was asking if it was possible to have already developed food poisoning (we'd only finished eating 10 minutes before) and I told him I doubted it. He was struggling to make it to the bathroom, and I took this opportunity to again remind him of how he got mad at Olivia for needing to go out and relieve herself. Men!!!
So today is now Tuesday, Jan. 30th, and it's my husband's 47th birthday. Three more years and he can start enjoying some sr. citizens discounts and join the AARP.
I walked three miles saturday morning with the girls... good thing we walked when we did, as it turned bitterly cold the remainder of the weekend, coupled with the wind chills and we'd have frozen to death before completing the first mile, I dare say. I don't mind the cold, but throw in that brisque wind that cuts right through you, and BRRRRRR!, forget it!!!!!!
Sunday I drove to New Albany to watch a non-points dog-show. Our breeder had three of her "kids" in the ring (though not at the same time). Two 3-month old harlequins, and their older brother (about 16 months). The two youngsters had never been off her property before, much less to a noisy arena. When they first arrived, they were both shivering, but the little boy, Matthew, soon settled down. It took the little girl, Candy, at least a half hour to quit shaking uncontrollably. She was so terrified, she wouldn't walk more than 10-15 feet from their crate before scurrying back to safety. She even had to be carried to the showring, just to get her in there. But once in the ring, she did fine, for a beginner. And that was the whole purpose for this particular match. It's mostly pups/young dogs, that are just starting out, so things are more relaxed and goofy behavior is taken into consideration.
The little girl brought home 3 ribbons; best of breed in bitches 3-6 months, best of breed 3-6 months, and a fourth place in the working group... not too shabby for one that could barely hold her hind legs up from fear up0n arrival.
However, having spent the better part of 4 hours standing on the hard concrete floor did me in, and I was hurting quite a bit on the drive back home, and was looking forward to my 2nd epidural the next day.
Woke up at 4:30 monday morning because the cats feel they should be fed no later than 4:30, regardless of whether an alarm clock has gone off or not. Since the cats woke me up, they then woke the dogs up who then needed to go outside. Poor Olivia developed diarrhea, and would no sooner come inside, then need to go right back out. After the 3rd time, John started getting really mad at her, which made me really mad at him, so I took her out and just stayed out with her in the 14degree weather, letting her get it out of her system and graze on all the frozen grass she wanted, not going back inside 'til she was ready. I then reminded him that she didn't have the luxury of sitting on a commode for 20-30 minutes at a time, like somebody else I know, so he needed to BACK OFF and have a little sympathy.
Later that morning, at the pain management clinic, the girl that attempted (emphasis on attempted) to put the IV in my right hand, failed miserably. She couldn't get the line flushed, as she'd apparently stuck the needle in a vein-valve, **blech**. She was causing me great discomfort. Even several minutes after she'd removed the needle, it was still hurting, with the sensation that the needle was still in there. I told her the woman that did it last time hadn't had any problems, so she went in search of her. That lady got the IV inserted into my left hand with no problem, and most importantly, NO DISCOMFORT TO ME!!
The doctor came in and talked to me for a few minutes before doing the epidural. He wasn't happy that I'd attempted to do some ab-crunches a few days prior, but I assurred him I'd only done them once, and because they caused me some pain, I'd stopped. So no more ab-crunches. I swear, I don't know how I'll ever get my gut in shape. Anyway, he wants to start going to physical therapy and spending time on the traction table. I had to convince him to let me go back to the clinic I'd been going to... #1) it's close to my house, and #2) I already know all the staff there, and they know me. I hate having to break in new people and a new routine.
I don't know how well this traction table is going to work for me... I tried it once before, back in December when I was at the height of my pain, and it just seemed to make things worse. But my Dr. Nelson seems to think that if done when my pain is low (or none existent), it could be beneficial. Guess I'll just have to wait and see how it goes... that's scheduled for wednesday.
After leaving the clinic, we stopped by the co. clerks office to get the new tags for John's car, then went to Tumbleweed for lunch. Dropped off a new prescription at Wal-mart, then stopped to make the appointment at the p.t. place. By the time we finally arrived home, John was asking if it was possible to have already developed food poisoning (we'd only finished eating 10 minutes before) and I told him I doubted it. He was struggling to make it to the bathroom, and I took this opportunity to again remind him of how he got mad at Olivia for needing to go out and relieve herself. Men!!!
So today is now Tuesday, Jan. 30th, and it's my husband's 47th birthday. Three more years and he can start enjoying some sr. citizens discounts and join the AARP.
Friday, January 26, 2007
Dead mouse
I had a mouse die in my office this morning. Actually, I finally had to put it out of it's misery, as I couldn't take it anymore, and it was for darned certain nobody else was going to do anything about it. It's been dying an agonizing death for the past couple of days, but I finally said, "enough is enough!" and I pulled it's plug.
My little mouse was black all over except for a gray spot in the middle of it's forehead. I'm already missing that little black mouse, may it r.i.p. How fitting that it die in a funera home. I should take it down and lay it in one of the caskets in the display room, but I'm sure that wouldn't set well with anybody else. Perhaps my fellow co-workers could gather 'round and we could all say a few kind words about the little fella... I say fella instead of gal because it had a ball.
So now the little black mouse has been replaced with a plain, ordinary, little gray mouse. I'm not liking the new mouse as much. The only good thing I can say about this one is that it works. But I sure do miss that little wheel thingy in the middle of the black mouse. It made it so much easier to scroll up and down the screen. Now I have to actually move, click, and roll. I'm truly spoiled for the modern computer mice.
My little mouse was black all over except for a gray spot in the middle of it's forehead. I'm already missing that little black mouse, may it r.i.p. How fitting that it die in a funera home. I should take it down and lay it in one of the caskets in the display room, but I'm sure that wouldn't set well with anybody else. Perhaps my fellow co-workers could gather 'round and we could all say a few kind words about the little fella... I say fella instead of gal because it had a ball.
So now the little black mouse has been replaced with a plain, ordinary, little gray mouse. I'm not liking the new mouse as much. The only good thing I can say about this one is that it works. But I sure do miss that little wheel thingy in the middle of the black mouse. It made it so much easier to scroll up and down the screen. Now I have to actually move, click, and roll. I'm truly spoiled for the modern computer mice.
F.O.!!!
I'm absolutely ready to scream!! I am so sick and tired of people "blaming" my dogs for anything/everything that goes wrong in my (our) life (lives).
*Oh, just think of what nice things you could have if it weren't for those dogs... nice things being furniture, carpet, yard, etc.
*Oh, you could afford to take nice vacations if it weren't for those dogs
*Or, you wouldn't be having so many back problems if it weren't for those dogs, you need to get rid of them
*Or, maybe people could come to your house and visit if it weren't for those dogs
I could go on and on, but you get the idea.
Okay, it is true, I've even said those things myself. We could have nice furniture, carpet, yard, take nice vacations, or just generally have more money in the bank if it weren't for our pets. And yes, people probably could come over to visit if it weren't for the dogs, but by that same token, what makes you think I want people visiting???? And it's true, having pets isn't cheap. But just because I've said those things, doesn't mean I want those things!
However... what's to say we'd actually have more money in the bank? If we weren't spending it on the animals, then we'd be spending it on something else, like a nice living room suit. Okay, so I'd have a place to sit that wouldn't be covered in pet hair, so what??? A sofa wouldn't give me the joy and pleasure I get from my danes. A sofa wouldn't put it's foot in my hand or on my leg and lean in to have it's head rubbed, or cuddle up against me and keep me warm. A sofa wouldn't entertain me with it's playful antics or many expressions on it's face.
And while an expensive vacation would be nice, once it's over, it's over. All I'm left with is a few photos, jet lag and a big bill. A vacation lasts 7 days, or at best 21 days if I take all my vacation time at once. My dogs give me joy 365 days a year. Even on the occasions they're causing me stress, I still get joy from them being in my life.
And trust me, I much prefer my dogs company to a lot of humans company (not all humans, but certainly a lot of them). The dogs don't judge me, don't criticize me, are happy with what I feed them, and I don't have to try and keep up a conversation with them. If there's silence in the room, it isn't akward and they don't care. They don't care if I talk, and if I do talk, they don't interrupt me. They're content to let me spill my guts or heart out.
Believe me, I'd rather have the joy of these dogs in my life with shabby furnishings and an empty bank account than to live an empty, dreary life full of nice things without them.
So for the record people... I had back problems long before I ever got our first Great Dane. There is no proof that my herniated disc was caused by any of our dogs. I could have had it long before I caught Olivia when she took that flying leap last summer, or, it could have been caused by going to the chiropractor. Who knows??? Nobody does!!!!!!!!!! If I hear one more person try to blame my k-9 kids for my ailments, I'm really going to let fly with a F*** OFF!!!!!!!!!!!
*Oh, just think of what nice things you could have if it weren't for those dogs... nice things being furniture, carpet, yard, etc.
*Oh, you could afford to take nice vacations if it weren't for those dogs
*Or, you wouldn't be having so many back problems if it weren't for those dogs, you need to get rid of them
*Or, maybe people could come to your house and visit if it weren't for those dogs
I could go on and on, but you get the idea.
Okay, it is true, I've even said those things myself. We could have nice furniture, carpet, yard, take nice vacations, or just generally have more money in the bank if it weren't for our pets. And yes, people probably could come over to visit if it weren't for the dogs, but by that same token, what makes you think I want people visiting???? And it's true, having pets isn't cheap. But just because I've said those things, doesn't mean I want those things!
However... what's to say we'd actually have more money in the bank? If we weren't spending it on the animals, then we'd be spending it on something else, like a nice living room suit. Okay, so I'd have a place to sit that wouldn't be covered in pet hair, so what??? A sofa wouldn't give me the joy and pleasure I get from my danes. A sofa wouldn't put it's foot in my hand or on my leg and lean in to have it's head rubbed, or cuddle up against me and keep me warm. A sofa wouldn't entertain me with it's playful antics or many expressions on it's face.
And while an expensive vacation would be nice, once it's over, it's over. All I'm left with is a few photos, jet lag and a big bill. A vacation lasts 7 days, or at best 21 days if I take all my vacation time at once. My dogs give me joy 365 days a year. Even on the occasions they're causing me stress, I still get joy from them being in my life.
And trust me, I much prefer my dogs company to a lot of humans company (not all humans, but certainly a lot of them). The dogs don't judge me, don't criticize me, are happy with what I feed them, and I don't have to try and keep up a conversation with them. If there's silence in the room, it isn't akward and they don't care. They don't care if I talk, and if I do talk, they don't interrupt me. They're content to let me spill my guts or heart out.
Believe me, I'd rather have the joy of these dogs in my life with shabby furnishings and an empty bank account than to live an empty, dreary life full of nice things without them.
So for the record people... I had back problems long before I ever got our first Great Dane. There is no proof that my herniated disc was caused by any of our dogs. I could have had it long before I caught Olivia when she took that flying leap last summer, or, it could have been caused by going to the chiropractor. Who knows??? Nobody does!!!!!!!!!! If I hear one more person try to blame my k-9 kids for my ailments, I'm really going to let fly with a F*** OFF!!!!!!!!!!!
Monday, January 22, 2007
Twaddling
Weekend in review... Wow!, this weekend just seems to have absolutely flown by!!! When I walked into work this morning, I felt as if I'd just left there a few hours before, instead of three days ago. Where does the time go?
The weather was a bit too damp and squishy yesterday, so I didn't get out for a walk, but fortunately, I logged 6 miles in on Saturday... 2 in the a.m., 2 in the afternoon (taking dogs with me for the occasion), and 2 in the evening.
On Saturday's evening walk, "L" and I walk in reverse. I don't mean we walked backwards, not being able to see where we were going, but we walked our circuit going in the opposite direction as usual. We both felt off-balance. There were several times I felt like I wanted to fall off the sidewalk, just because it was sloped at a different angle than what I was used to. It's amazing how our subconsious picks up on things, like even the gentle angle or curve of the sidewalk, and we never realize it. That is, until we go and throw a curve into the routine, then our subconscious hollars out, WHOA!, this isn't right!! And we (or at least, I) was forced to walk more carefully and purposefully with each step.
While on one of our walks, "L" asked me a question, and I'm not sure I even hesitated before replying. If I did hesitate, it was only for the briefest of moments. Her question was, what would I be (career/job-wise) if I could be anything??
Answer: a writer**
I simply love to write! But I don't perform well under pressure, so I don't think journalism would work... they have too many deadlines to meet. And if given an assignment to write something, again, there's a certain amount of pressure, so I freeze-up, and as I told "L", the twaddle that I write wouldn't interest most people, it's mostly for my benefit. If a few people out there happen to find it interesting, then great! But I don't foresee myself making a living out of it.
**So now I have to borrow a line from my friend & fellow blogger over at lifetimelearning.blogspot.com one of her daughters too wants to be a writer. But let's re-word that... she's already a writer... she just needs to become a published writer. So I guess that pretty well describes me too... I'm already a writer, and if blogging is a form of being published, then I suppose I'm a published writer also... I'm just not a paid-published writer.
I've got a headache and a half right now, so I'll close this out. But stay tuned, more on this subject later...
The weather was a bit too damp and squishy yesterday, so I didn't get out for a walk, but fortunately, I logged 6 miles in on Saturday... 2 in the a.m., 2 in the afternoon (taking dogs with me for the occasion), and 2 in the evening.
On Saturday's evening walk, "L" and I walk in reverse. I don't mean we walked backwards, not being able to see where we were going, but we walked our circuit going in the opposite direction as usual. We both felt off-balance. There were several times I felt like I wanted to fall off the sidewalk, just because it was sloped at a different angle than what I was used to. It's amazing how our subconsious picks up on things, like even the gentle angle or curve of the sidewalk, and we never realize it. That is, until we go and throw a curve into the routine, then our subconscious hollars out, WHOA!, this isn't right!! And we (or at least, I) was forced to walk more carefully and purposefully with each step.
While on one of our walks, "L" asked me a question, and I'm not sure I even hesitated before replying. If I did hesitate, it was only for the briefest of moments. Her question was, what would I be (career/job-wise) if I could be anything??
Answer: a writer**
I simply love to write! But I don't perform well under pressure, so I don't think journalism would work... they have too many deadlines to meet. And if given an assignment to write something, again, there's a certain amount of pressure, so I freeze-up, and as I told "L", the twaddle that I write wouldn't interest most people, it's mostly for my benefit. If a few people out there happen to find it interesting, then great! But I don't foresee myself making a living out of it.
**So now I have to borrow a line from my friend & fellow blogger over at lifetimelearning.blogspot.com one of her daughters too wants to be a writer. But let's re-word that... she's already a writer... she just needs to become a published writer. So I guess that pretty well describes me too... I'm already a writer, and if blogging is a form of being published, then I suppose I'm a published writer also... I'm just not a paid-published writer.
I've got a headache and a half right now, so I'll close this out. But stay tuned, more on this subject later...
Friday, January 19, 2007
let down
I had such a disappointing lunch! Ever look so forward to getting a particular menu item from a particular restaurant, then once you get to dig in, it's just... blah!??? Totally happened to me today. Hmph! Not fair! Now I've wasted all those calories on a crappy lunch! Papa John's Pizza sucked big-time today!!
Thursday, January 18, 2007
I'm due...
Did you know I was pregnant?
Neither did I!
But according to some mail I got from the Enfamil company the other day I am... 7 months! Gee, considering how far along I am, I think I'm hiding my pregnancy pretty well.
Okay, not only am I NOT 7 months pregnant, I'm not even 7 minutes pregnant... never have been, don't expect I ever will be.
In the past couple of months, I've ended up on the mailing lists for several baby-product companies, many of which I've never heard of. It's actually ended up being quite annoying, but what is one to do?? For now, I just keep giving the stuff that comes by mail to my neighbor who is almost 6 months along.
Neither did I!
But according to some mail I got from the Enfamil company the other day I am... 7 months! Gee, considering how far along I am, I think I'm hiding my pregnancy pretty well.
Okay, not only am I NOT 7 months pregnant, I'm not even 7 minutes pregnant... never have been, don't expect I ever will be.
In the past couple of months, I've ended up on the mailing lists for several baby-product companies, many of which I've never heard of. It's actually ended up being quite annoying, but what is one to do?? For now, I just keep giving the stuff that comes by mail to my neighbor who is almost 6 months along.
My blog-reader challenge
I'm throwing down a challenge to all of my faithful (and not-so-faithful) readers out there in blogger-world.
Many of you leave comments directly on the blogger site... I welcome these, sometimes it's just nice to know somebody's actually out there, taking time out of their day, to see what's been on my mind. I may not always agree with the comments, and sometimes these can lead to a debate, but I still enjoy reading the comments.
A few of you email me directly with comments about a blog I've written. I welcome these comments too.
For those of you that email me directly with your comments, I dare say it's because you don't have a blogger-name, and since I don't accept "anonymous" (non-blogger) comments, you're unable to leave a comment on the blog-site.
So here's my challenge.
For those of you that would like to leave the occasional blog-comment, directly on the blog-site, then all you need to do is go to: www.blogger.com and sign-up as a blog-user. You'll create a blogger-screen-name, a log-in i.d. (usually your email address) and a password. It's easy to do! You don't actually have to blog to be on blogger... trust me, I know lots of people that are on blog, simply so they can read and leave comments.
Once you have a blog-name, anytime you read a blog that you'd like to comment about, just click the "comment" link afer that blog... a comment screen will come up, just type your message to me, put in your blog-name and password (or whatever it asks you for), and a word-verification box (this prevents spam-type comments). It's that easy!! Yes, the comments you leave can be read by everyone else, but sometimes, that just creates even more thought-provoking blogs (discussions) to be created.
Will you accept my blogger-challenge if you're not already on blogger?????
Many of you leave comments directly on the blogger site... I welcome these, sometimes it's just nice to know somebody's actually out there, taking time out of their day, to see what's been on my mind. I may not always agree with the comments, and sometimes these can lead to a debate, but I still enjoy reading the comments.
A few of you email me directly with comments about a blog I've written. I welcome these comments too.
For those of you that email me directly with your comments, I dare say it's because you don't have a blogger-name, and since I don't accept "anonymous" (non-blogger) comments, you're unable to leave a comment on the blog-site.
So here's my challenge.
For those of you that would like to leave the occasional blog-comment, directly on the blog-site, then all you need to do is go to: www.blogger.com and sign-up as a blog-user. You'll create a blogger-screen-name, a log-in i.d. (usually your email address) and a password. It's easy to do! You don't actually have to blog to be on blogger... trust me, I know lots of people that are on blog, simply so they can read and leave comments.
Once you have a blog-name, anytime you read a blog that you'd like to comment about, just click the "comment" link afer that blog... a comment screen will come up, just type your message to me, put in your blog-name and password (or whatever it asks you for), and a word-verification box (this prevents spam-type comments). It's that easy!! Yes, the comments you leave can be read by everyone else, but sometimes, that just creates even more thought-provoking blogs (discussions) to be created.
Will you accept my blogger-challenge if you're not already on blogger?????
Drug addiction
As I've resumed my regular evening walks with "the girls", especially since my epidural, they have (WE have) joked about the pain-meds the doctor prescribed for me. They are the same meds that I've taken in the past, and have never had any effect on the pain. In the past, taking one pill dids absolutely nothing... if I took one & a half, I'd get a nice buzz, take two and I could care less about anything. Still didn't help the pain, but I just didn't care that I was in pain.
I do not like taking medication, of any kind. Nasal sprays make me feel like I'm drowing, cough syrups gross me out something awful, pills make me gag and choke. Only the smallest of tablets, like a Claritin, can go down with ease. Even if I cut bigger pills in half, I still nearly gag everytime. So I seriously doubt there would ever be cause to worry about me ever becoming addicted to drug. The only medication I can recall every enjoying taking was liquid penacillin... you know, the sweet pink stuff the doctors would give to us when we were kids? I haven't had that in years! Heck, I'm not even sure they still prescribe that anymore.
Anyway, I bring all this up because of the pain meds... I haven't been taking them as frequently as the doctor said I could, as I've not had a need. Typically, I've been taking 1 after I get to work (don't want to drive a car under the influence), to help fend off any pain that may arise from sitting at the computer for the better part of 8 hours. And I've been taking between 1 & 2 at bedtime, as I've had so much trouble sleeping comfortably, I felt the pills might help. I've got to say, they still aren't doing anything for whatever aches/pains I've got, but they do give me the buzzzzz... only I don't have to take as much to get the buzz as I used to. One pill is quite enough. And it's not a pleasant sensation at all. I truly don't understand why people would want to take these things, especially "recreationally"... the feeling I get is anything but pleasant. The feeling of not being in complete control of my senses and motor skills is unsettling, to say the least, even if I am already lying in bed and not where I can do harm to myself or someone else. I'm med-free today... the one & a half I took last night I do believe are the last ones I'll be taking. I think I'd rather have the pain then the buzz.
Why on earth would anyone want that feeling??????
No, I can definately say drug addiction isn't something I'll have to worry about. I suppose my addiction of choice is food, or blogging, or my dogs...
I do not like taking medication, of any kind. Nasal sprays make me feel like I'm drowing, cough syrups gross me out something awful, pills make me gag and choke. Only the smallest of tablets, like a Claritin, can go down with ease. Even if I cut bigger pills in half, I still nearly gag everytime. So I seriously doubt there would ever be cause to worry about me ever becoming addicted to drug. The only medication I can recall every enjoying taking was liquid penacillin... you know, the sweet pink stuff the doctors would give to us when we were kids? I haven't had that in years! Heck, I'm not even sure they still prescribe that anymore.
Anyway, I bring all this up because of the pain meds... I haven't been taking them as frequently as the doctor said I could, as I've not had a need. Typically, I've been taking 1 after I get to work (don't want to drive a car under the influence), to help fend off any pain that may arise from sitting at the computer for the better part of 8 hours. And I've been taking between 1 & 2 at bedtime, as I've had so much trouble sleeping comfortably, I felt the pills might help. I've got to say, they still aren't doing anything for whatever aches/pains I've got, but they do give me the buzzzzz... only I don't have to take as much to get the buzz as I used to. One pill is quite enough. And it's not a pleasant sensation at all. I truly don't understand why people would want to take these things, especially "recreationally"... the feeling I get is anything but pleasant. The feeling of not being in complete control of my senses and motor skills is unsettling, to say the least, even if I am already lying in bed and not where I can do harm to myself or someone else. I'm med-free today... the one & a half I took last night I do believe are the last ones I'll be taking. I think I'd rather have the pain then the buzz.
Why on earth would anyone want that feeling??????
No, I can definately say drug addiction isn't something I'll have to worry about. I suppose my addiction of choice is food, or blogging, or my dogs...
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Marty, practicing for when he has a son...
Allow me to set the scene for ya: A couple of Saturdays ago, the husband (age 46) and I (indeterminate age) had an awards banquet to attend. A somewhat dressy affair, at least for us it was.
The husband had gotten a new tie from an acquaintance for Christmas, and he'd been anxiously awaiting an occasion to wear it. The tie was covered with naked butts wearing fire boots and helmet... a smart-ass fireman tie... it's the very definition of "tacky".
You'd think, even though my husband doesn't have to often wear ties, that by having reached the age of 46 (only a couple of weeks to go 'til he hits 47), that by now he could tie his own tie.
You'd think that, but you'd be wrong.
The last tie he actually purchased was a zipper-tie, and they've left him so spoiled at the ease of putting them on, that he seems to have completely forgotten how to properly tie a normal tie.
So before we could head off to the banquet hall at the Marriott, he had to go across the street and have our young neighbor, Marty, (young enough to be John's son mind you), help him tie his tie.
The husband had gotten a new tie from an acquaintance for Christmas, and he'd been anxiously awaiting an occasion to wear it. The tie was covered with naked butts wearing fire boots and helmet... a smart-ass fireman tie... it's the very definition of "tacky".
You'd think, even though my husband doesn't have to often wear ties, that by having reached the age of 46 (only a couple of weeks to go 'til he hits 47), that by now he could tie his own tie.
You'd think that, but you'd be wrong.
The last tie he actually purchased was a zipper-tie, and they've left him so spoiled at the ease of putting them on, that he seems to have completely forgotten how to properly tie a normal tie.
So before we could head off to the banquet hall at the Marriott, he had to go across the street and have our young neighbor, Marty, (young enough to be John's son mind you), help him tie his tie.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Weekend update...
The good, the bad, and the ugly of these past few days...
The GOOD: I went to the pain management clinic yesterday, and received an epidural. They gave me a consious-sedation, which meant I shouldn't have felt anything, but should've been aware of what was going on. Hmm, all I can say is, I wasn't consious to the best of my knowledge. Either I passed out or I just mentally took myself so far from the surgical room that I was unaware of what was happening. The last thing I remember was them wiping my back with alcohol, and the next thing I knew, someone was saying, "you're all done". I don't even remember getting up off the bed. I do recall the nurse wheeling me in a wheelchair out of the room, back to the exam room and handing me my clothes, but I don't even remember putting them on. I suffered a bitch of a headache the rest of the day. I was told to go home and get at least a couple of hours of bedrest, but we stopped for lunch yesterday and had to dine next to the single-bitch from hell. Hmm, 35+ years old and still single, I can't imagine why!?! If she'd quit running her mouth so much and at a quieter level, she might be able to keep a boyfriend. Trust me folks, this woman was so annoying, that at 7pm last night, John was still commenting on how obnoxious she was and how the ex-boyfriend deserved a medal for EVER having put up with her.
So today, my siatic aches/pains are still with me, just not as severe or intense as before. I was able to sleep in some positions I hadn't been able to sleep in in quite a while, but I still didn't get a good quality of sleep because I still kept waking up. Ho-hum, hopefully that will get better over time.
Okay, on to the BAD: the pain mgt. doctor, who is NOT a surgeon, did confirm what all the other doctors up to this point have said, I will have to have surgery, it's juts a matter of WHEN... the epidurals will hopefully help the surgical procedure and recovery afterwards go more smoothly, and help reduce scar tissue. I have to have another epidural in two weeks. So unless something drastic happens between now and a couple of weeks after that, I'm guessing the surgery won't be for at least another month, maybe (hopefully) longer, although not too much longer, as I don't want it to interfere with my friends babyshower in the spring, or pool-time in the summer... I do have my priorities you know.
Now, for the UGLY: John & I went to brunch yesterday with some of the in-laws. While waiting for our food to arrive, I was making chit-chat with his mother about having seen a photo of her late-husband, taken just before we were married, and I commented that I didn't remember him having a cast on his arm at that time. Then someone else at the table piped-up and said what they recalled from our wedding (18+ years ago) was that John & I were a whole lot thinner back then (allow me to translate: John & I are obese now). This isn't the first time this person has made such comments, and it probably won't be the last. But I try not to back-talk my elders, and I didn't want to cause a scene, so I remained quiet the rest of the meal. As soon as our lunch was brought to us, I immediately asked for a to-go box, so I wouldn't sit there and consume a full meal, and just to show this person that I'm at least making an effort to lose some weight. Once we'd said our good-byes in the parking lot and we'd gone our separate ways, I then let the tears flow freely, as my feelings were very hurt, not for the first, and I'm sure not for the last time by a member of my husband's family. Why do I suffer this abuse? Is it any wonder I don't enjoy socializing with them very often??
If any of them are reading this, I'm sorry, but what can I say?, I'm a very sensative person, and it doesn't take much to hurt my feelings. I know I'm overweight, and John & I both know he's overweight. I'm doing my best right now to rectify my situation. My husband does go and work-out and play raquet ball at the gym, but his diet does leave something to be desired, but I can't be with him 24 hours a day, dictating to him what he can/can't eat. He's a big boy, he needs to want to make some changes for himself. He wasnt' raised with healthy eating habits, and there's only so much I can do for him. Therefore I really don't need any of you telling me I'm not the skinny person I was nearly 20 years ago. I don't know of anybody, anywhere, that is. We all change in that amount of time. Even if we're not overweight now, our bodies have certainly changed and things get re-distributed. So BACK OFF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Okay, I'm back to work today, catching up on some work, and I have a slight head-buzz going on from the pain-meds the doctor prescribed for me. I'll be okay by the time I go home though, I just hope I don't fall down the stairs here at work in the meantime though.
The GOOD: I went to the pain management clinic yesterday, and received an epidural. They gave me a consious-sedation, which meant I shouldn't have felt anything, but should've been aware of what was going on. Hmm, all I can say is, I wasn't consious to the best of my knowledge. Either I passed out or I just mentally took myself so far from the surgical room that I was unaware of what was happening. The last thing I remember was them wiping my back with alcohol, and the next thing I knew, someone was saying, "you're all done". I don't even remember getting up off the bed. I do recall the nurse wheeling me in a wheelchair out of the room, back to the exam room and handing me my clothes, but I don't even remember putting them on. I suffered a bitch of a headache the rest of the day. I was told to go home and get at least a couple of hours of bedrest, but we stopped for lunch yesterday and had to dine next to the single-bitch from hell. Hmm, 35+ years old and still single, I can't imagine why!?! If she'd quit running her mouth so much and at a quieter level, she might be able to keep a boyfriend. Trust me folks, this woman was so annoying, that at 7pm last night, John was still commenting on how obnoxious she was and how the ex-boyfriend deserved a medal for EVER having put up with her.
So today, my siatic aches/pains are still with me, just not as severe or intense as before. I was able to sleep in some positions I hadn't been able to sleep in in quite a while, but I still didn't get a good quality of sleep because I still kept waking up. Ho-hum, hopefully that will get better over time.
Okay, on to the BAD: the pain mgt. doctor, who is NOT a surgeon, did confirm what all the other doctors up to this point have said, I will have to have surgery, it's juts a matter of WHEN... the epidurals will hopefully help the surgical procedure and recovery afterwards go more smoothly, and help reduce scar tissue. I have to have another epidural in two weeks. So unless something drastic happens between now and a couple of weeks after that, I'm guessing the surgery won't be for at least another month, maybe (hopefully) longer, although not too much longer, as I don't want it to interfere with my friends babyshower in the spring, or pool-time in the summer... I do have my priorities you know.
Now, for the UGLY: John & I went to brunch yesterday with some of the in-laws. While waiting for our food to arrive, I was making chit-chat with his mother about having seen a photo of her late-husband, taken just before we were married, and I commented that I didn't remember him having a cast on his arm at that time. Then someone else at the table piped-up and said what they recalled from our wedding (18+ years ago) was that John & I were a whole lot thinner back then (allow me to translate: John & I are obese now). This isn't the first time this person has made such comments, and it probably won't be the last. But I try not to back-talk my elders, and I didn't want to cause a scene, so I remained quiet the rest of the meal. As soon as our lunch was brought to us, I immediately asked for a to-go box, so I wouldn't sit there and consume a full meal, and just to show this person that I'm at least making an effort to lose some weight. Once we'd said our good-byes in the parking lot and we'd gone our separate ways, I then let the tears flow freely, as my feelings were very hurt, not for the first, and I'm sure not for the last time by a member of my husband's family. Why do I suffer this abuse? Is it any wonder I don't enjoy socializing with them very often??
If any of them are reading this, I'm sorry, but what can I say?, I'm a very sensative person, and it doesn't take much to hurt my feelings. I know I'm overweight, and John & I both know he's overweight. I'm doing my best right now to rectify my situation. My husband does go and work-out and play raquet ball at the gym, but his diet does leave something to be desired, but I can't be with him 24 hours a day, dictating to him what he can/can't eat. He's a big boy, he needs to want to make some changes for himself. He wasnt' raised with healthy eating habits, and there's only so much I can do for him. Therefore I really don't need any of you telling me I'm not the skinny person I was nearly 20 years ago. I don't know of anybody, anywhere, that is. We all change in that amount of time. Even if we're not overweight now, our bodies have certainly changed and things get re-distributed. So BACK OFF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Okay, I'm back to work today, catching up on some work, and I have a slight head-buzz going on from the pain-meds the doctor prescribed for me. I'll be okay by the time I go home though, I just hope I don't fall down the stairs here at work in the meantime though.
Friday, January 12, 2007
More pet-peeving
I've blogged about it on numerous occasions, and I'm going to keep on blogging about it...
I think many of you probably know what my biggest pet peeve is without me even mentioning it. But, in case you forgot (or more likely, purposely put it out of your minds) or in case there are those of you that have no idea what I'm griping about, then please, allow me to bitchabit!
Why is it so darned difficult for some people to $h!t in the toilet, instead of on the toilet?????
Honestly!... drop the poop in the big round hole located in the middle of the seat, wipe your arse, drop the soiled toilet paper in the hole, and flush. Voila! What could be simpler???
Apparently crapping on the seat and/or smearing it on the lid, or dribbling pee on the seat and/or the floor is much easier.
Can I say, "BLECH!!!!" loud enough!!?!?!??!?!?!?!?!?!
And if for some reason you miss the big hole in the seat and do make a mess, is it really asking too much for you to clean it up??? There is water, soap and towels less than 5 feet away... use these items to clean up. Other people need to share this bathroom with you, especially when it's located in a public place. Would you really want me leaving my bio-hazard stuff all over the place? No, probably not. So what makes you think I want to see your crap all over the toilet??
I think many of you probably know what my biggest pet peeve is without me even mentioning it. But, in case you forgot (or more likely, purposely put it out of your minds) or in case there are those of you that have no idea what I'm griping about, then please, allow me to bitchabit!
Why is it so darned difficult for some people to $h!t in the toilet, instead of on the toilet?????
Honestly!... drop the poop in the big round hole located in the middle of the seat, wipe your arse, drop the soiled toilet paper in the hole, and flush. Voila! What could be simpler???
Apparently crapping on the seat and/or smearing it on the lid, or dribbling pee on the seat and/or the floor is much easier.
Can I say, "BLECH!!!!" loud enough!!?!?!??!?!?!?!?!?!
And if for some reason you miss the big hole in the seat and do make a mess, is it really asking too much for you to clean it up??? There is water, soap and towels less than 5 feet away... use these items to clean up. Other people need to share this bathroom with you, especially when it's located in a public place. Would you really want me leaving my bio-hazard stuff all over the place? No, probably not. So what makes you think I want to see your crap all over the toilet??
Hanging by a thread
I'm hanging by a thread here, literally.
I've got a cross-stitch project I've been working on for what seems like 4-EVER!... I'm getting close to being done, which is good, because it's intended recipient will be here in less than four months. But darn it!, things are not going well all of a sudden.
I've run out of a few colors of the threads... I'm hoping I can find a good match among the DMC colors. I've emailed the manufacturer, but have yet to hear anything back from them.
Then, last night, while I was working on the project, the buckle on my watch strap snagged some of the threads in one area, and made a big mess. So now I have to go back and undo the stitches and hope I have enough of that color thread to repair the damage.
Grrr!, I'm hanging by a thread here.
I've got a cross-stitch project I've been working on for what seems like 4-EVER!... I'm getting close to being done, which is good, because it's intended recipient will be here in less than four months. But darn it!, things are not going well all of a sudden.
I've run out of a few colors of the threads... I'm hoping I can find a good match among the DMC colors. I've emailed the manufacturer, but have yet to hear anything back from them.
Then, last night, while I was working on the project, the buckle on my watch strap snagged some of the threads in one area, and made a big mess. So now I have to go back and undo the stitches and hope I have enough of that color thread to repair the damage.
Grrr!, I'm hanging by a thread here.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Playing hooky
I'm not normally one to play hooky from work. I only take sick-days if I'm truly so ill that I can't drag myself into work to share my germs, or if I have doctors appointments.
Well, I did have a doctors appointment yesterday, and I had every intention of going to work after my appointment, but I just never quite made it there. By the time I left the dox office, and drove home, changed clothes, and would've driven to LaGrange, it would've been 1pm or later, and I saw no point. I called the office to make sure there wasn't anything going on, and there wasn't, so I told the boss I'd just take a whole sick day. He was fine with this.
Now honestly, had they been busy, I'd have drug my arse into the office. But they weren't, and the sun was shining bright, and my spirits were bouyed by some things the doctor had told me, so I just wanted to stay home and bask in my new found happiness.
I called the girl that lives behind us and told (not asked, TOLD) her I was coming over. When I got there, I told her to put on her walking shoes and jacket, as we were going walking. I really didn't give her the option of not going. I was going walking, and I was taking her with me!
We took a 2 mile walk, and it was the best feeling I'd had in weeks!! I was finally starting back into my routine, even if it was early in the day.
We walked again that evening, adding another 3 miles to our "odometer".
I feel so much better when I'm walking, I seriously can't imagine why the one doctor didn't want me doing it. Four out of the five doctors I've been to had no qualms about my walking habits, as long as it wasn't causing me physical distress. And truthfully, once I get walking and warmed up, that's when I feel my best... my pain is at it's lowest level. When I went to bed last night, I actually was able to go to sleep right away, as I was nearly pain-free, and didn't have to struggle to find a comfortable position.
Of course that didn't remain the case the entire night. I woke up around 1:50am, hurting, and tossed and turned ever so gingerly for about the next 90 minutes until I finally dozed off again, just before the 3:30am alarm woke me up. Grrr!
I'll be playing hooky again on monday, as that's when my appointment with the pain mgt. clinic is. But I know I'll be there a minimum of 2 hours, and if they do an epidural, well, I certainly won't be coming to work afterwards. No, just may as well plan on playing hooky right now.
Well, I did have a doctors appointment yesterday, and I had every intention of going to work after my appointment, but I just never quite made it there. By the time I left the dox office, and drove home, changed clothes, and would've driven to LaGrange, it would've been 1pm or later, and I saw no point. I called the office to make sure there wasn't anything going on, and there wasn't, so I told the boss I'd just take a whole sick day. He was fine with this.
Now honestly, had they been busy, I'd have drug my arse into the office. But they weren't, and the sun was shining bright, and my spirits were bouyed by some things the doctor had told me, so I just wanted to stay home and bask in my new found happiness.
I called the girl that lives behind us and told (not asked, TOLD) her I was coming over. When I got there, I told her to put on her walking shoes and jacket, as we were going walking. I really didn't give her the option of not going. I was going walking, and I was taking her with me!
We took a 2 mile walk, and it was the best feeling I'd had in weeks!! I was finally starting back into my routine, even if it was early in the day.
We walked again that evening, adding another 3 miles to our "odometer".
I feel so much better when I'm walking, I seriously can't imagine why the one doctor didn't want me doing it. Four out of the five doctors I've been to had no qualms about my walking habits, as long as it wasn't causing me physical distress. And truthfully, once I get walking and warmed up, that's when I feel my best... my pain is at it's lowest level. When I went to bed last night, I actually was able to go to sleep right away, as I was nearly pain-free, and didn't have to struggle to find a comfortable position.
Of course that didn't remain the case the entire night. I woke up around 1:50am, hurting, and tossed and turned ever so gingerly for about the next 90 minutes until I finally dozed off again, just before the 3:30am alarm woke me up. Grrr!
I'll be playing hooky again on monday, as that's when my appointment with the pain mgt. clinic is. But I know I'll be there a minimum of 2 hours, and if they do an epidural, well, I certainly won't be coming to work afterwards. No, just may as well plan on playing hooky right now.
A voice to go with that name from the past
Remember me writing a few weeks ago about a "name from the past"?
Well, the other day, the phone rang at work and I answered it just like I always do: Heady-Radcliffe Funeral Home, this is Kim...
The person on the other end said, "Where on earth is LaGrange?"
Me: We're off of I-71... where are you coming from? (I asked this, thinking it was someone needing directions to a funeral/visitation we were having that evening).
The voice: I'm in Canton, Ohio
Me: Well, just come on down I-71...
Before I could go any further, the mystery-voice laughed and cut me off and announced himself, it's "Sam".
I gasped in surprise and delight, and we started yacking and catching up. It was hard to believe it had been about 8 years since we'd last seen/spoken to one another.
The note I had written on the letter he'd sent our company, I'd mailed back to his corporate office in Pennsylvania. Apparently he works from home, still in Ohio. So somebody at the corporate office opened the letter and emailed Sam my note. Nice of them to do so. He was as surprised to hear from me as I was when I first got his letter. He was surprised I remember his wife Emma, and he remembered my big-dogs... although I've got a totally different herd of animals than when he knew me.
We finally said our good-byes.
It's nice to cross pathes with our past once in a while, even if it's done by a letter, a phone call, or by email.
: )
Well, the other day, the phone rang at work and I answered it just like I always do: Heady-Radcliffe Funeral Home, this is Kim...
The person on the other end said, "Where on earth is LaGrange?"
Me: We're off of I-71... where are you coming from? (I asked this, thinking it was someone needing directions to a funeral/visitation we were having that evening).
The voice: I'm in Canton, Ohio
Me: Well, just come on down I-71...
Before I could go any further, the mystery-voice laughed and cut me off and announced himself, it's "Sam".
I gasped in surprise and delight, and we started yacking and catching up. It was hard to believe it had been about 8 years since we'd last seen/spoken to one another.
The note I had written on the letter he'd sent our company, I'd mailed back to his corporate office in Pennsylvania. Apparently he works from home, still in Ohio. So somebody at the corporate office opened the letter and emailed Sam my note. Nice of them to do so. He was as surprised to hear from me as I was when I first got his letter. He was surprised I remember his wife Emma, and he remembered my big-dogs... although I've got a totally different herd of animals than when he knew me.
We finally said our good-byes.
It's nice to cross pathes with our past once in a while, even if it's done by a letter, a phone call, or by email.
: )
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Terra Cotta terror
While I was standing in the bathroom getting ready for work this morning, I heard one of my children carrying on out in the other room. As it was only one of the three creating the ruckus, I knew which one it was... Olivia. Unless one of the cats has had a mental lapse and snuck out into the dogs area, or unless there's some "threat" outside of the house, then the other two dogs don't tend to carry on and bark.
After so many minutes of listening to Olivia bark repeatedly at some unknown threat, I couldn't take it anymore, so I went to investigate. She was standing in the kitchen, a couple of feet from the corner where the two countertops meet, just barking at... nothing! At least, nothing as far as I could tell. There was no moving shadow, no crawling insect that I could see, no tumbling "tumbleweeds of doghair" skittering across the floor, literally, there was nothing. At least, as far as I was concerned, there was nothing, except her imagination.
I walked up behind her and tapped her on the rump to get her attention off of the imaginary threat, nearly scaring her out of her skin in the process. She turned and slunk out of the kitchen, and I returned to the bathroom to finish getting ready for work.
When finished, I exited the bedroom, but decided things were almost too quiet in the rest of the house. I walked carefully into the living room and did a quick head-count of dogs. Hmm, the white one was missing. Still walking carefully, I stepped towards the kitchen. Sure enough, she was lying in the kitchen floor, staring towards that same area of the cabinets.
What on earth was holding her attention??? Livvie finally noticed me watching her and stood up, still facing the cabinet. I finally walked over to that area and looked around. The only thing I could see that was out of the ordinary, was a terra cotta baking pot in the shape of a flower pot. I had washed it the night before, and had it sitting upside down on the counter to dry. I picked up the pot and held it out to Olivia. Poor dog nearly gave herself a concussion trying to escape the kitchen, she turned and fled so fast she just missed plowing into the wall.
Goofy mutt!
She finally came back and stood in the doorway, flinching each time I held the pot near. I gave up and sat the pot back on the counter. She finally worked up the nerve and walked over to it, in stealth mode, and nudged it with her nose, leaving a wet spot on the clay pot. This dark orange smudge seemed to freak her out even more, and she again turned and fled the room. I still wasn't understanding what was upsetting her so, but wanted to show her it was nothing to be afraid of, so I squatted down in the kitchen floor and held the pot there for her. She ever so cautiously, inch by inch, re-entered the kitchen.
By now, Eliott, who had been lying on the futon watching this whole thing, was convinced she must be getting treats, and not wanting to be left out, he came lumbering into the kitchen. He came and towered over me, nudging the pot with his ever-wet nose and lips. Now the pot was covered in wet smudges. With big brother standing there for protection, Olivia finally came over and added some of her own drool to the pots exterior. I thought that the issue was now behind us, stood up, picked up the pot. As the pot moved from the floor to countertop level, she again freaked out. Now that it was covered in dog drool, I needed to wash it again. Once that was done, I again sat it upside down on the counter to dry.
She again stood and stared at the orange clay pot as if it were a possible threat to the safety of our home.
I give up!!
After so many minutes of listening to Olivia bark repeatedly at some unknown threat, I couldn't take it anymore, so I went to investigate. She was standing in the kitchen, a couple of feet from the corner where the two countertops meet, just barking at... nothing! At least, nothing as far as I could tell. There was no moving shadow, no crawling insect that I could see, no tumbling "tumbleweeds of doghair" skittering across the floor, literally, there was nothing. At least, as far as I was concerned, there was nothing, except her imagination.
I walked up behind her and tapped her on the rump to get her attention off of the imaginary threat, nearly scaring her out of her skin in the process. She turned and slunk out of the kitchen, and I returned to the bathroom to finish getting ready for work.
When finished, I exited the bedroom, but decided things were almost too quiet in the rest of the house. I walked carefully into the living room and did a quick head-count of dogs. Hmm, the white one was missing. Still walking carefully, I stepped towards the kitchen. Sure enough, she was lying in the kitchen floor, staring towards that same area of the cabinets.
What on earth was holding her attention??? Livvie finally noticed me watching her and stood up, still facing the cabinet. I finally walked over to that area and looked around. The only thing I could see that was out of the ordinary, was a terra cotta baking pot in the shape of a flower pot. I had washed it the night before, and had it sitting upside down on the counter to dry. I picked up the pot and held it out to Olivia. Poor dog nearly gave herself a concussion trying to escape the kitchen, she turned and fled so fast she just missed plowing into the wall.
Goofy mutt!
She finally came back and stood in the doorway, flinching each time I held the pot near. I gave up and sat the pot back on the counter. She finally worked up the nerve and walked over to it, in stealth mode, and nudged it with her nose, leaving a wet spot on the clay pot. This dark orange smudge seemed to freak her out even more, and she again turned and fled the room. I still wasn't understanding what was upsetting her so, but wanted to show her it was nothing to be afraid of, so I squatted down in the kitchen floor and held the pot there for her. She ever so cautiously, inch by inch, re-entered the kitchen.
By now, Eliott, who had been lying on the futon watching this whole thing, was convinced she must be getting treats, and not wanting to be left out, he came lumbering into the kitchen. He came and towered over me, nudging the pot with his ever-wet nose and lips. Now the pot was covered in wet smudges. With big brother standing there for protection, Olivia finally came over and added some of her own drool to the pots exterior. I thought that the issue was now behind us, stood up, picked up the pot. As the pot moved from the floor to countertop level, she again freaked out. Now that it was covered in dog drool, I needed to wash it again. Once that was done, I again sat it upside down on the counter to dry.
She again stood and stared at the orange clay pot as if it were a possible threat to the safety of our home.
I give up!!
Monday, January 08, 2007
Belated Christmas...
OOPS! I meant to post this back before Christmas, to send out holiday greetings to everyone, in the event I missed sending them a card. Oh well, better late than never, right??
Here is the poem that was sent out, along with the picture below.
'Twas that time of year as we were preparing to send,
our family's Christmas picture to our family and friends.
The photographer arrived to snap a few shots,
it bodes well for us, plenty of patience she's got.
With Pa in his jammies and I in my robe,
we piled onto the futon and hoped it would hold.
Not wanting to participate or be a good sport,
Olivia wouldn't cooperate, and my fuse ran short.
She fled from the room and ran down the hall,
and without even thinking, to her I called,
"Now Livvie, dag-nabbit, come on, let's go!
Don't do this, get in there, you're holding up the show!"
Then I growled to myself as I realized I'd erred,
my begging and pleading had fallen on deaf ears.
She was finally leashed and lured with treats,
wrestled and held, now our group was complete.
As we gathered our children and tried to smile,
I knew that this project would take a while.
I read to the children as they took their places,
but they were bored to tears from the looks on their faces.
Bootsy gave up and decided to nap,
while Eliott sat patiently, awaiting a snack.
Olivia is the baby, white as snow,
our special-needs child, still trying to grow.
Not just a pet that sits around idle,
she earned over the summer her C.G.C. title.
Bootsy's our eldest, black as the night,
sleek and trim, always ready to take flight.
Not very trusting of friend or foe,
but if she likes you then she loves you and this you will know.
Eliott's our boy, our very sweet fawn,
you may think he's a tough-guy, but you'd be wrong.
An over-sized lapdog, he just turned three,
he loves to play and be bounced on my knee.
As the holidays near, we wish you good cheer,
stay safe, be merry and have a happy New Year!
And as 2006 draws to an end, these tidings go out to our family and friends.
From the Kleinsteuber family to yours...
Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and Peace on Earth!
John, Kim, Eliott, Bootsy & Olivia
Here is the poem that was sent out, along with the picture below.
'Twas that time of year as we were preparing to send,
our family's Christmas picture to our family and friends.
The photographer arrived to snap a few shots,
it bodes well for us, plenty of patience she's got.
With Pa in his jammies and I in my robe,
we piled onto the futon and hoped it would hold.
Not wanting to participate or be a good sport,
Olivia wouldn't cooperate, and my fuse ran short.
She fled from the room and ran down the hall,
and without even thinking, to her I called,
"Now Livvie, dag-nabbit, come on, let's go!
Don't do this, get in there, you're holding up the show!"
Then I growled to myself as I realized I'd erred,
my begging and pleading had fallen on deaf ears.
She was finally leashed and lured with treats,
wrestled and held, now our group was complete.
As we gathered our children and tried to smile,
I knew that this project would take a while.
I read to the children as they took their places,
but they were bored to tears from the looks on their faces.
Bootsy gave up and decided to nap,
while Eliott sat patiently, awaiting a snack.
Olivia is the baby, white as snow,
our special-needs child, still trying to grow.
Not just a pet that sits around idle,
she earned over the summer her C.G.C. title.
Bootsy's our eldest, black as the night,
sleek and trim, always ready to take flight.
Not very trusting of friend or foe,
but if she likes you then she loves you and this you will know.
Eliott's our boy, our very sweet fawn,
you may think he's a tough-guy, but you'd be wrong.
An over-sized lapdog, he just turned three,
he loves to play and be bounced on my knee.
As the holidays near, we wish you good cheer,
stay safe, be merry and have a happy New Year!
And as 2006 draws to an end, these tidings go out to our family and friends.
From the Kleinsteuber family to yours...
Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and Peace on Earth!
John, Kim, Eliott, Bootsy & Olivia
Weekend in review...
Time for a weekend in review.
Friday evening, I was opening the mail that had come, and among it was the new-patient packet for the pain management clinic I'm supposed to go to next week. I read through it and was somewhat intimidated by all the disclaimers. I was somewhat dismayed and frightened by all the things it warned of that may or may not happen, things I had to agree to, the questionnaires I had to answer, and the mention of possibly having to talk to a psychologist. Good grief!! What is wrong with me? Better yet, what do they think is wrong with me that I need to talk to a shrink?? By the time I was done, I was almost afraid to keep my appointment for next Monday.
On Saturday, I met a half-dozen of my fellow class of 86ers, for a little gal-pal luncheon. I missed out on the first gathering back in November, but I was bound and determined to make it to this one. I was so very glad I did.
We spent 3 hours laughing, gasping in shock, yakking, reminiscing... you name it. After listening to some of the stories of things that went on while we were in school, I've come to the conclusion I was totally clueless as to what was going on around me. I truly lived a sheltered life, and must've gone around with my head buried in the sand to have missed out on so many things. But that just made it all the more fun to catch up. I can hardly wait 'til the next gathering in March!!
Later that evening the husband and I attended the awards banquet for one of his fire departments. The food was decent. Aside from that, all I can say is that it's 5 hours of my life I'll never get back. My many of years of service with the department has just really left a bad taste in my mouth which I can't seem to get rid of. I had hoped to be home by 10pm, but it was more like 11, and only then because I nearly pitched a fit. The husband wanted to stay (for door-prize drawings). I reminded him he needed to get up at 4:30 in the morning. He insisted he was okay (as in, not tired), and I then had to say, "what about me???", as I wasn't okay. I'd been sitting there in agony for quite some time. Physical as well as mental agony. He finally gave in and we left.
The only good thing that came out of the evening was having talked to a friend of ours that is a pharmacist. He was asking about my back and I was telling him about all the paperwork and scary things it mentioned. He reassured me that it was because they (the clinics doctors) see the worst of the worst (of society) that go there faking their pains, just to get the drugs. And that for those that truly are in pain, after living with it for an extended length of time, our mind can start to imagine the pain being worse than it really is. Thus the possible need for prozac or whatever. I felt somewhat better after talking with him, but still am leery of what they may do to me at this place.
Sunday, aside from doing laundry, I basically didn't even get out of bed. I propped myself up on the pillows and worked on some cross-stitch all day. I was flipping through the channels and came upon a show on the Discovery channel, something to do with radical surgeries. I was mesmerized. Not so much with the surgical procedures as with the deformities these patients had lived with up to this point. I cried for the two little girls that were having back surgeries because of their severe scoliosis.
I've come to the conclusion (not for the first time either) that I really need for someone to say to me: KWITCHERBITCHIN!!!
After things I'd seen on t.v. and heard from others, I suddenly felt bad for things I've been complaining about. I felt bad for complaining about my back pains... I'm sure my aches are nothing compared to what these little girls have had to endure. And the tiny little angioma (sp?) thing on my leg... oh my gosh!, it's NOTHING compared to what this one little girl had growing on the side of her head that had to be removed. And I'm always complaining that I don't have bad-hair-days... I have a bad-hair-life, that's why I keep it cut so short. My hair is just so darned thick, it's hard to deal with. Now I'm feeling bad for ever complaining because there are others out there that should be so lucky to have my bad-hair-days.
We're a week into the new year, so it's probably too late to make a new years resolution. Oh well, to know me is to know that I bitch & complain a lot. Just know that you have to take me with a grain of salt. Please overlook me!
Friday evening, I was opening the mail that had come, and among it was the new-patient packet for the pain management clinic I'm supposed to go to next week. I read through it and was somewhat intimidated by all the disclaimers. I was somewhat dismayed and frightened by all the things it warned of that may or may not happen, things I had to agree to, the questionnaires I had to answer, and the mention of possibly having to talk to a psychologist. Good grief!! What is wrong with me? Better yet, what do they think is wrong with me that I need to talk to a shrink?? By the time I was done, I was almost afraid to keep my appointment for next Monday.
On Saturday, I met a half-dozen of my fellow class of 86ers, for a little gal-pal luncheon. I missed out on the first gathering back in November, but I was bound and determined to make it to this one. I was so very glad I did.
We spent 3 hours laughing, gasping in shock, yakking, reminiscing... you name it. After listening to some of the stories of things that went on while we were in school, I've come to the conclusion I was totally clueless as to what was going on around me. I truly lived a sheltered life, and must've gone around with my head buried in the sand to have missed out on so many things. But that just made it all the more fun to catch up. I can hardly wait 'til the next gathering in March!!
Later that evening the husband and I attended the awards banquet for one of his fire departments. The food was decent. Aside from that, all I can say is that it's 5 hours of my life I'll never get back. My many of years of service with the department has just really left a bad taste in my mouth which I can't seem to get rid of. I had hoped to be home by 10pm, but it was more like 11, and only then because I nearly pitched a fit. The husband wanted to stay (for door-prize drawings). I reminded him he needed to get up at 4:30 in the morning. He insisted he was okay (as in, not tired), and I then had to say, "what about me???", as I wasn't okay. I'd been sitting there in agony for quite some time. Physical as well as mental agony. He finally gave in and we left.
The only good thing that came out of the evening was having talked to a friend of ours that is a pharmacist. He was asking about my back and I was telling him about all the paperwork and scary things it mentioned. He reassured me that it was because they (the clinics doctors) see the worst of the worst (of society) that go there faking their pains, just to get the drugs. And that for those that truly are in pain, after living with it for an extended length of time, our mind can start to imagine the pain being worse than it really is. Thus the possible need for prozac or whatever. I felt somewhat better after talking with him, but still am leery of what they may do to me at this place.
Sunday, aside from doing laundry, I basically didn't even get out of bed. I propped myself up on the pillows and worked on some cross-stitch all day. I was flipping through the channels and came upon a show on the Discovery channel, something to do with radical surgeries. I was mesmerized. Not so much with the surgical procedures as with the deformities these patients had lived with up to this point. I cried for the two little girls that were having back surgeries because of their severe scoliosis.
I've come to the conclusion (not for the first time either) that I really need for someone to say to me: KWITCHERBITCHIN!!!
After things I'd seen on t.v. and heard from others, I suddenly felt bad for things I've been complaining about. I felt bad for complaining about my back pains... I'm sure my aches are nothing compared to what these little girls have had to endure. And the tiny little angioma (sp?) thing on my leg... oh my gosh!, it's NOTHING compared to what this one little girl had growing on the side of her head that had to be removed. And I'm always complaining that I don't have bad-hair-days... I have a bad-hair-life, that's why I keep it cut so short. My hair is just so darned thick, it's hard to deal with. Now I'm feeling bad for ever complaining because there are others out there that should be so lucky to have my bad-hair-days.
We're a week into the new year, so it's probably too late to make a new years resolution. Oh well, to know me is to know that I bitch & complain a lot. Just know that you have to take me with a grain of salt. Please overlook me!
Amazon nylons
I know I've blogged before about women's love/hate relationship with their pantyhose, but this blog touches on a slightly different aspect of our nylons.
Exactly who are the nylon manufacturers using as their models when they make/design these pantyhose?
The pair of stockings that I'm holding in this photo... the toes of them are touching the floor. The waistband is up higher than my boobs. I'm 5'11" if I stand really straight & tall, so that gives you an idea of just how long these pantyhose are. Exactly what kind of Amazon women were these made for???
I did try putting them on, and trust me, they still came up past my boobs, even after my big butt & gut had stretched them out. There were so many sags and wrinkles in the legs it was unreal!!
Don't ask me what brand they were, as I don't recall. They were a pair I'd already tossed the packing on, and rinsed the hose out and hung up to dry.
Hmm, perhaps we have a lot of lead in our water and the lead caused them to stretch out of shape as they hung there drip-drying.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
Hard-wired
Ever wonder what it is that makes us like/dislike certain things, or makes us do certain things, even if we know we shouldn't?
Obviously, if you have a bad experience with something, you're probably going to dislike it, and avoid it in the future, and vice versa.
But what if you've never had a negative experience with something, but just don't like "it". Okay, I know I'm being too vague here, so I'll be a little more specific. I'm going to use examples from blogs/emails that some of my friends/family members have written. So please dear friends/family, don't feel I'm picking on you!, I'm just trying to mentally digest what you've said and figure out what "makes us tick".
I have a cousin that dislikes animals. Not just a certain type of animal, but all animals. Pets are not an option for her, of any type. Now I'm not picking on my cousin... I've known other people that are the same way. It just happened to come up in an emailed-conversation yesterday. And being the animal lover that I am (dogs especially!) I have such a hard time wrapping my brain around that concept. I could understand if, for example, a person were bitten or mauled by a dog, that they would develop a fear of dogs (or maybe all animals). But if one has never been bitten/mauled, then what would cause this fear? I suppose she was born with the fear. But why? What in her brain or psychie makes her (or anyone) that way?, and makes another person, like myself (who has been bitten by dogs, both my own and belonging to another) love them beyond anything and everything, and can't live without them??
Another example: a friend wrote in her blog, regarding our efforts to lose weight, that her husband prefers women with a little meat on their bones.
So using that example, what makes one man prefer a stick-figure women or maybe pleasing-plump gal? What makes one man prefer a woman with a more than ample bosom that can barely be contained by a bra, while another man prefers a woman with long, shapely legs, or a "nice ass"???
Maybe these were preferences their fathers had, and it "rubbed off" on them. Or maybe there preference in finding a mate mirrors the way their mother was built. But then again, some men go for the exact opposite of dear old mom.
So what gives??
Is it something we're just born with? Are we hard-wired to like/dislike certain things? I know society and advertising play a big role in certain things, but some things are just in-born and aren't changed, no matter what. It doesn't matter how many ways you try to serve it to me, I hate sausage. There's no changing that.
If that's the case, then the argument could certainly be made that certain people are just "born bad" and are hard-wired to commit crimes or commit other sins. They can't help it, that's just the way they are. So should we be locking up all these criminals for their crimes if they can't help what they do?
Well yes, I have to say yes. But so many of these prisons try to rehabilitate the offenders. Is it really possible? Can we really change the things we're hard-wired for???
Okay, that's my mindless rambling for the day.
Obviously, if you have a bad experience with something, you're probably going to dislike it, and avoid it in the future, and vice versa.
But what if you've never had a negative experience with something, but just don't like "it". Okay, I know I'm being too vague here, so I'll be a little more specific. I'm going to use examples from blogs/emails that some of my friends/family members have written. So please dear friends/family, don't feel I'm picking on you!, I'm just trying to mentally digest what you've said and figure out what "makes us tick".
I have a cousin that dislikes animals. Not just a certain type of animal, but all animals. Pets are not an option for her, of any type. Now I'm not picking on my cousin... I've known other people that are the same way. It just happened to come up in an emailed-conversation yesterday. And being the animal lover that I am (dogs especially!) I have such a hard time wrapping my brain around that concept. I could understand if, for example, a person were bitten or mauled by a dog, that they would develop a fear of dogs (or maybe all animals). But if one has never been bitten/mauled, then what would cause this fear? I suppose she was born with the fear. But why? What in her brain or psychie makes her (or anyone) that way?, and makes another person, like myself (who has been bitten by dogs, both my own and belonging to another) love them beyond anything and everything, and can't live without them??
Another example: a friend wrote in her blog, regarding our efforts to lose weight, that her husband prefers women with a little meat on their bones.
So using that example, what makes one man prefer a stick-figure women or maybe pleasing-plump gal? What makes one man prefer a woman with a more than ample bosom that can barely be contained by a bra, while another man prefers a woman with long, shapely legs, or a "nice ass"???
Maybe these were preferences their fathers had, and it "rubbed off" on them. Or maybe there preference in finding a mate mirrors the way their mother was built. But then again, some men go for the exact opposite of dear old mom.
So what gives??
Is it something we're just born with? Are we hard-wired to like/dislike certain things? I know society and advertising play a big role in certain things, but some things are just in-born and aren't changed, no matter what. It doesn't matter how many ways you try to serve it to me, I hate sausage. There's no changing that.
If that's the case, then the argument could certainly be made that certain people are just "born bad" and are hard-wired to commit crimes or commit other sins. They can't help it, that's just the way they are. So should we be locking up all these criminals for their crimes if they can't help what they do?
Well yes, I have to say yes. But so many of these prisons try to rehabilitate the offenders. Is it really possible? Can we really change the things we're hard-wired for???
Okay, that's my mindless rambling for the day.
Global Warming
A fellow-blogger and friend has written a couple of items lately on the topic of global warming. So I have to add my two-cents worth on the topic.
I've always been a cool-weather kind of person. Love the cooler temperatures. Considering how warm it's been this season, I can't help but wonder if we're even going to have any true winter weather.
The flowers and trees are so confused by this "early spring" we're having, I see the tulip tree outside my office window is budding, and I noticed over a week ago that my hyacinths are starting to poke their heads up in my flowerbeds. It seems every winter, they no sooner start to bloom than we have a snow or ice storm that covers them and kills them off, and I don't get the chance to enjoy their beauty and wonderful fragrance. So I have to wonder if that means we're in for some real winter weather in the next couple of weeks, just in time to harm the new plant growth. Grrrr!
On the other hand, with the mild temperatures we've been enjoying, my heating bill has been lower, and with the night time temperatures staying in the 40's & 50's, I've been able to find enough moths gathered around the porch lights in the mornings, which means that Mrs. Peter Wolfspider hasn't had to go hungry this winter.
Yes, I still have her. It's going on three months now, and she's alive. She's been eating well here lately. Probably better than her counterparts living wild on the outside of the house.
Global warming... really not a good thing, but then again, it does have it's advantages.
I've always been a cool-weather kind of person. Love the cooler temperatures. Considering how warm it's been this season, I can't help but wonder if we're even going to have any true winter weather.
The flowers and trees are so confused by this "early spring" we're having, I see the tulip tree outside my office window is budding, and I noticed over a week ago that my hyacinths are starting to poke their heads up in my flowerbeds. It seems every winter, they no sooner start to bloom than we have a snow or ice storm that covers them and kills them off, and I don't get the chance to enjoy their beauty and wonderful fragrance. So I have to wonder if that means we're in for some real winter weather in the next couple of weeks, just in time to harm the new plant growth. Grrrr!
On the other hand, with the mild temperatures we've been enjoying, my heating bill has been lower, and with the night time temperatures staying in the 40's & 50's, I've been able to find enough moths gathered around the porch lights in the mornings, which means that Mrs. Peter Wolfspider hasn't had to go hungry this winter.
Yes, I still have her. It's going on three months now, and she's alive. She's been eating well here lately. Probably better than her counterparts living wild on the outside of the house.
Global warming... really not a good thing, but then again, it does have it's advantages.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Patience is a virtue
They say patience is a virtue. Hmph!, whoever came up with that quote obviously never had to wait on a doctor to return a phone call. I'm not a very patient patient.
I still don't know if/when I'll be having back surgery. I'm still waiting to hear from the doctor. I suppose a lot of offices were closed for the holidays. As soon as lunch is over though, I'm going to make a phone call.
The only thing I've learned since I last blogged about this, is that the herniation is 13 mm, or a smidge over a half an inch. Blech!, makes me nauseous just thinking about it.
On another note, one of three things has happened...
#1) Either I'm getting worse by the day, or
#2) Either I was in such denial before (the MRI results) that there was truly anything seriously wrong, that my subconscience refused to realize that I had other aches and pains, or...
#3) Now that I know how bad things are, my mind is playing tricks on me and I'm imagining pains that I didn't previously have.
Basically what I'm saying is, I have pains now that I really wasn't experiencing before. Sleep is becoming almost impossible without taking Advil-PM, and even then, it's still not a good sleep. I go to bed and usually have a small cry before drifting off to sleep, simply because of the pain and the frustration. I still wake up during the night when I have to turn over. And while I have to sleep on my side at an odd angle, I have to prop pillows behind me to keep me at just the right angle to keep me from rolling over. It's a pain in the ass, in more ways than one.
Enough is enough!
I still don't know if/when I'll be having back surgery. I'm still waiting to hear from the doctor. I suppose a lot of offices were closed for the holidays. As soon as lunch is over though, I'm going to make a phone call.
The only thing I've learned since I last blogged about this, is that the herniation is 13 mm, or a smidge over a half an inch. Blech!, makes me nauseous just thinking about it.
On another note, one of three things has happened...
#1) Either I'm getting worse by the day, or
#2) Either I was in such denial before (the MRI results) that there was truly anything seriously wrong, that my subconscience refused to realize that I had other aches and pains, or...
#3) Now that I know how bad things are, my mind is playing tricks on me and I'm imagining pains that I didn't previously have.
Basically what I'm saying is, I have pains now that I really wasn't experiencing before. Sleep is becoming almost impossible without taking Advil-PM, and even then, it's still not a good sleep. I go to bed and usually have a small cry before drifting off to sleep, simply because of the pain and the frustration. I still wake up during the night when I have to turn over. And while I have to sleep on my side at an odd angle, I have to prop pillows behind me to keep me at just the right angle to keep me from rolling over. It's a pain in the ass, in more ways than one.
Enough is enough!
Birds of a feather...
I often wondered how (wild) birds managed to live in such cold weather without freezing to death. Not all birds fly south for the winter. Why, on any given day in winter, when the temperatures are in the 20's, and there's a layer of snow/ice on the ground, you can find robins, cardinals, doves, or just about any other native bird. I never understood how their little feathers could keep them warm enough.
Well, I'm finally understanding. In fact, I'm amazed they don't fly north and just stay there, and wade in the cool waters of the Artic.
In my efforts to find comfortable sleeping arrangements (which is getting harder to do by the day) , of late, I've been sleeping on a down-filled mattress pad. When you throw in a down-filled pillow, and a down-filled comforter, I'm literally covered in feathers. The only thing missing is the tar.
On more occassions than I can count, I've woken up in the middle of the night (usually from pain and the need to turn over), absolutely drenched in sweat. And trust me, the little t-shirt I wear to bed does little to keep me warm. It's got to be all the feathers. They truly have quite the insulating effect. I'll no longer worry about the little birds in winter.
Well, I'm finally understanding. In fact, I'm amazed they don't fly north and just stay there, and wade in the cool waters of the Artic.
In my efforts to find comfortable sleeping arrangements (which is getting harder to do by the day) , of late, I've been sleeping on a down-filled mattress pad. When you throw in a down-filled pillow, and a down-filled comforter, I'm literally covered in feathers. The only thing missing is the tar.
On more occassions than I can count, I've woken up in the middle of the night (usually from pain and the need to turn over), absolutely drenched in sweat. And trust me, the little t-shirt I wear to bed does little to keep me warm. It's got to be all the feathers. They truly have quite the insulating effect. I'll no longer worry about the little birds in winter.
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