Under normal circumstances, I truly love this time of year. Oh, I don't mean the holidays part of it, but I mean the cooler temperatures, the beautiful changing colors on the trees, etc. etc.
However, it's because of those leaves, or should I say, a lack there of, that I was just caught in the act of doing something that should probably never be done accept in the privacy of a securely locked bathroom or bedroom.
Okay, get your minds out of the gutter. Shame on you!
I was plucking a whisker from my chinny-chin-chin that was driving me up the wall!
I do believe I admitted several months ago that for reasons I'll never quite understand, I joined the ranks of women that have started growing facial hair. **sigh** Yes, I occasionally have to pluck a whisker from my chin and more commonly from the area between my chin and throat, above the neck area... what exactly do we call that area???
Anyway, I try to check that area every morning while I'm getting ready for work. But I either missed a couple this morning, or maybe they've just popped out since then. Either way, I could feel them and they were annoying me. They show up best in the natural light that comes in the window, so I grabbed my trusty little mirror and my tweezers, made sure the coast was clear outside my office, and proceeded to pluck.
It wasn't 'til after I was done that I realized the people in the building across the alley were sitting at their desks, looking out their windows right at me. Normally the big tulip-poplar tree is covered with leaves and blocks our view of one another. Not so anymore.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
To err is human...
... but to err in the ways that I have of late, all I can say is: I need to pay more attention to what I'm doing.
A friend and fellow blogger wrote last week, telling of one of her cooking horror stories, so I thought I'd add my most recent blunder. I screwed up dinner the other night, and I can only blame it on myself, trying to do too many things at once and not paying enough attention.
I had one of those Campbells meals in a box or whatever they're called and it had been on the shelf forever. I decided it was time to use it and free up the space. I had some thawed hamburger in the fridge that I needed to use up as well, and even though the dinner kit already had sausage and pepperoni in it, I cooked up the ground beef and added that as well. That was to be the husband's dinner.
I was using up some of the left-over stuffing and gravy from Thanksgiving. I didn't want to fix mashed potatoes from scratch for just myself, so I opted for a package of instant potatoes, cheesy flavor. I was waiting for my milk/water concoction to boil and had the bag of flavored potato-dust opened, sitting to the left of the stove, waiting to be added to the pot. On the right side of the stove, I had John's concoction bubbling in a large skillet. The pasta that was in it was done, but I was just trying to cook off some of the broth, so that it would be a bit thicker. The bag that had the cheesy-crumb topping was sitting, opened, to the right of the stove.
In a moment of distraction, I picked up my bag of potato-dust to add to my milk and totally by-passed my pan and dumped it all into John's pan. Oh crap!!! Forget what it was going to do to his meal, what about my potatoes???? Grrr! Fortunately, I had another pack in the cabinet and quickly added it to my boiling milk. He claimed his dinner still tasted fine, but honestly, it set up so, um, firm shall we say, that I've no doubt it sat like a lead ball in his belly.
There was my screw-up #1.
Obviously, I'm not one to spend much time styling my hair. And once I leave the house in the morning, that's pretty much it for the day. I'm not big on making touch-ups as the day goes along. I've got a pump-bottle of hairspray I keep at work, and I've had it for the entire 5 years I've been here (probably had it at the former job as well), and the bottle is still over 3/4 full. So that should tell you how often I use it, or rather, don't use it. Yesterday, for whatever reason, I decided to fluff my hair before leaving work. I had the bottle of hairspray sitting next to my typewriter, and I stood there, looking into a tiny 2"x3" mirror I had propped on a shelf above. Once I'd achieved the fluff I wanted, I reached for the can of spray, held that button down and started spraying away.
Have you figured it out yet? A pump bottle you don't hold down, you keep pressing. An aerosol comes in a can and you can hold it down. Needless to say, I wasn't spraying hairspray on my hair. I suppose it could've been something horrible like Pledge furniture polish or something, but as it was, I'd now liberally coated my hair with an air freshner called "Scavenger".
In all honesty, despite the horrible name, it actually smells pretty good. So now my hair smelled nice, but it didn't have the desired style I wanted.
A friend and fellow blogger wrote last week, telling of one of her cooking horror stories, so I thought I'd add my most recent blunder. I screwed up dinner the other night, and I can only blame it on myself, trying to do too many things at once and not paying enough attention.
I had one of those Campbells meals in a box or whatever they're called and it had been on the shelf forever. I decided it was time to use it and free up the space. I had some thawed hamburger in the fridge that I needed to use up as well, and even though the dinner kit already had sausage and pepperoni in it, I cooked up the ground beef and added that as well. That was to be the husband's dinner.
I was using up some of the left-over stuffing and gravy from Thanksgiving. I didn't want to fix mashed potatoes from scratch for just myself, so I opted for a package of instant potatoes, cheesy flavor. I was waiting for my milk/water concoction to boil and had the bag of flavored potato-dust opened, sitting to the left of the stove, waiting to be added to the pot. On the right side of the stove, I had John's concoction bubbling in a large skillet. The pasta that was in it was done, but I was just trying to cook off some of the broth, so that it would be a bit thicker. The bag that had the cheesy-crumb topping was sitting, opened, to the right of the stove.
In a moment of distraction, I picked up my bag of potato-dust to add to my milk and totally by-passed my pan and dumped it all into John's pan. Oh crap!!! Forget what it was going to do to his meal, what about my potatoes???? Grrr! Fortunately, I had another pack in the cabinet and quickly added it to my boiling milk. He claimed his dinner still tasted fine, but honestly, it set up so, um, firm shall we say, that I've no doubt it sat like a lead ball in his belly.
There was my screw-up #1.
Obviously, I'm not one to spend much time styling my hair. And once I leave the house in the morning, that's pretty much it for the day. I'm not big on making touch-ups as the day goes along. I've got a pump-bottle of hairspray I keep at work, and I've had it for the entire 5 years I've been here (probably had it at the former job as well), and the bottle is still over 3/4 full. So that should tell you how often I use it, or rather, don't use it. Yesterday, for whatever reason, I decided to fluff my hair before leaving work. I had the bottle of hairspray sitting next to my typewriter, and I stood there, looking into a tiny 2"x3" mirror I had propped on a shelf above. Once I'd achieved the fluff I wanted, I reached for the can of spray, held that button down and started spraying away.
Have you figured it out yet? A pump bottle you don't hold down, you keep pressing. An aerosol comes in a can and you can hold it down. Needless to say, I wasn't spraying hairspray on my hair. I suppose it could've been something horrible like Pledge furniture polish or something, but as it was, I'd now liberally coated my hair with an air freshner called "Scavenger".
In all honesty, despite the horrible name, it actually smells pretty good. So now my hair smelled nice, but it didn't have the desired style I wanted.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Is my money no good?
Nobody seems to want my money. Well, let me re-phrase that... I'm trying to give money to the company we got our new mattress from, and they don't seem to want it. That's all good and fine, just as long as they don't come back months from now demanding it, with late fees and finance charges on top of that. Grrrr!
You may recall we purchased a new mattress on October 16th. It was delivered a couple of weeks later, on the 29th I believe it was. We signed a contract for 12-months interest free financing... meaning we could make payments and pay it off in that amount of time with paying interest, or wait 'til the end of the 12 months and pay it all at once, interest free, or pay it after that point and pay some serious interest rates.
Personally, I'd like to send them some money each month and get it paid off in that 12 months. At least that was my plan.
It's now been 6 weeks since we purchased it, 1 month since we took delivery of it, and I've yet to get a statement from the finance company. I called the mattress store and was told I should've gotten a statement. Gee, do ya think? They told me to call the finance company and gave me the phone number. The finance company claimed they couldn't help (after also telling me I should be getting a statement), and that I should call the mattress store. Nope, sorry dude, they told me to call you. Well they're wrong, he tells me.
Okay, whatever. So where should I send money????
I was told to give it a few more days and see if a statement doesn't show up in the mail.
ARGGHHHHH!!!!!!
You may recall we purchased a new mattress on October 16th. It was delivered a couple of weeks later, on the 29th I believe it was. We signed a contract for 12-months interest free financing... meaning we could make payments and pay it off in that amount of time with paying interest, or wait 'til the end of the 12 months and pay it all at once, interest free, or pay it after that point and pay some serious interest rates.
Personally, I'd like to send them some money each month and get it paid off in that 12 months. At least that was my plan.
It's now been 6 weeks since we purchased it, 1 month since we took delivery of it, and I've yet to get a statement from the finance company. I called the mattress store and was told I should've gotten a statement. Gee, do ya think? They told me to call the finance company and gave me the phone number. The finance company claimed they couldn't help (after also telling me I should be getting a statement), and that I should call the mattress store. Nope, sorry dude, they told me to call you. Well they're wrong, he tells me.
Okay, whatever. So where should I send money????
I was told to give it a few more days and see if a statement doesn't show up in the mail.
ARGGHHHHH!!!!!!
The Invisible Woman
Ya know, for as much as some people seem to listen to me when I'm trying to carry on a conversation with them, or if they ask me a question and I answer them only to be have my response totally ignored, then I might as well be the invisible woman. Because they sure as hell don't seem to ever hear a word I say!!
I've had the same exact conversation three times now with two people I have to deal with, and each and every freaking time, they turn around the next day and ask me again, "what are we going to do with these _____?"
How many freaking times can I say it? Do I have to write, in 10' high, bold face letters and post a sign by the door, letting them know what we're going to do with those _____?
Why do I waste my breath??
I've had the same exact conversation three times now with two people I have to deal with, and each and every freaking time, they turn around the next day and ask me again, "what are we going to do with these _____?"
How many freaking times can I say it? Do I have to write, in 10' high, bold face letters and post a sign by the door, letting them know what we're going to do with those _____?
Why do I waste my breath??
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
My puppies have the blues
When the hubby and I were out shopping at Garden Ridge last week, they had their bed-in-a-bags on sale, half price, which brought them down to $20. Hmm, set of sheets, comforter, and pillow cases (plus the other stuff I don't care about)... granted it's not high-quality stuff, and I'd never put it on my own bed, but I don't think the dogs will be that discriminating, so I picked out a bag of bed-stuff for the dogs. It had a dark blue background, decorated with maize colored suns and moons.
My first mistake: for some unknown reason, I was thinking the futon was a queen-size. It's not, it's only a full-size. That means the fitted sheet doesn't fit quite so well. The rest of it doesn't really matter, and the bigger the comforter, the better as far as I'm concerned. I put the fitted sheet on the mattress and tried to tuck it under as best as I could, but needless to say, since it's a loose fit, it keeps coming un-tucked.
My second mistake: I should've looked at the picture on the package a little closer. Why didn't I notice that while the comforter, pillow-shams and dust-ruffle all have the dark blue background, the sheets and pillow cases were white??? Needless to say, they didn't stay white for very long.
My third mistake: I guess I should've washed it all, or at least, the blue stuff, before putting it down for the dogs to sleep on. It seems to be quite full of dye. Or, at least, it was full of dye , before it all rubbed off onto the dogs....
Eliott was standing in the kitchen a couple of days ago and I couldn't help but notice he seemed to have a blue-tint to his fur. Thinking perhaps it was just the lighting and shadows, I didn't give it much thought. But then a little later, I noticed Bootsy's white feet were now the color of faded denim. And Olivia, well, amazingly she's not so bad, I guess because she spends most of her time either in the crate or on the recliner.
My babies have the blues.
My first mistake: for some unknown reason, I was thinking the futon was a queen-size. It's not, it's only a full-size. That means the fitted sheet doesn't fit quite so well. The rest of it doesn't really matter, and the bigger the comforter, the better as far as I'm concerned. I put the fitted sheet on the mattress and tried to tuck it under as best as I could, but needless to say, since it's a loose fit, it keeps coming un-tucked.
My second mistake: I should've looked at the picture on the package a little closer. Why didn't I notice that while the comforter, pillow-shams and dust-ruffle all have the dark blue background, the sheets and pillow cases were white??? Needless to say, they didn't stay white for very long.
My third mistake: I guess I should've washed it all, or at least, the blue stuff, before putting it down for the dogs to sleep on. It seems to be quite full of dye. Or, at least, it was full of dye , before it all rubbed off onto the dogs....
Eliott was standing in the kitchen a couple of days ago and I couldn't help but notice he seemed to have a blue-tint to his fur. Thinking perhaps it was just the lighting and shadows, I didn't give it much thought. But then a little later, I noticed Bootsy's white feet were now the color of faded denim. And Olivia, well, amazingly she's not so bad, I guess because she spends most of her time either in the crate or on the recliner.
My babies have the blues.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Why am I so ____ about these things?
The answer to my blog from early this week...
Why am I so _______ about these things?
Balancing my checkbook?
Toilet seats?
Toilet paper on the roll?
Loading the dishwasher?
Putting the clean dishes away?'
Hand washing?
Okay, obviously the word that goes in the blank could either be obsessive or anal.
My anwer as to why? I have no freaking idea! And it drives me crazy.
I obsess over my checkbook having to balance to the penny. A clean toilet seat is a must. Toilet paper hanging from the front of the roll... I've been known to go into other peoples homes and change the direction their toilet paper hangs, just because I couldn't stand seeing it hang backwards.
The dishwasher, well, if it isn't my way, then it's the wrong way. Why after 20 years together can't my husband just learn my way, instead of leaving his dirty dishes sitting next to the sink for me to put away???? On occasion he tries to put things in the dishwasher, but I always end up moving the item to another spot on the rack, or turning it to face the other direction.
As for emptying the dishwasher, well, he does try to help out there from time to time, but without fail, he always puts something away in the wrong place and then I can't ever find it. If you can't put it where it belongs, then just leave it, or better yet, try asking me where it goes!
As for hand washing, well, do I really have to go there? That's why my hands stay so chapped because I wash them almost to the point of obsessiveness.
And yet, for all these things I'm so anal about, my house is a wreck and my clothes are wrinkled. Go figure!!
Why am I so _______ about these things?
Balancing my checkbook?
Toilet seats?
Toilet paper on the roll?
Loading the dishwasher?
Putting the clean dishes away?'
Hand washing?
Okay, obviously the word that goes in the blank could either be obsessive or anal.
My anwer as to why? I have no freaking idea! And it drives me crazy.
I obsess over my checkbook having to balance to the penny. A clean toilet seat is a must. Toilet paper hanging from the front of the roll... I've been known to go into other peoples homes and change the direction their toilet paper hangs, just because I couldn't stand seeing it hang backwards.
The dishwasher, well, if it isn't my way, then it's the wrong way. Why after 20 years together can't my husband just learn my way, instead of leaving his dirty dishes sitting next to the sink for me to put away???? On occasion he tries to put things in the dishwasher, but I always end up moving the item to another spot on the rack, or turning it to face the other direction.
As for emptying the dishwasher, well, he does try to help out there from time to time, but without fail, he always puts something away in the wrong place and then I can't ever find it. If you can't put it where it belongs, then just leave it, or better yet, try asking me where it goes!
As for hand washing, well, do I really have to go there? That's why my hands stay so chapped because I wash them almost to the point of obsessiveness.
And yet, for all these things I'm so anal about, my house is a wreck and my clothes are wrinkled. Go figure!!
Why?
Inquiring minds want to know....
*Why do some farts smell and others have no odor?
*Why do some farts sneak out while others come out creating a wide variety of sound effects?
*Why is it that two people can listen to the same exact conversation or set of instructions from a third person, and each hear or interpret what was said entirely different?
*Why is it that we can totally love an outfit we've tried on at the store, yet when we get it home we absolutely hate it and can't believe we ever purchased it?
*Why is it that husbands/fathers can fall asleep in front of the tv and be totally oblivious to everything going on around them, yet the moment you change the channel they wake up and can tell you word for word everything that was happening on the tv?
*Why ask why?
*Why do some farts smell and others have no odor?
*Why do some farts sneak out while others come out creating a wide variety of sound effects?
*Why is it that two people can listen to the same exact conversation or set of instructions from a third person, and each hear or interpret what was said entirely different?
*Why is it that we can totally love an outfit we've tried on at the store, yet when we get it home we absolutely hate it and can't believe we ever purchased it?
*Why is it that husbands/fathers can fall asleep in front of the tv and be totally oblivious to everything going on around them, yet the moment you change the channel they wake up and can tell you word for word everything that was happening on the tv?
*Why ask why?
Calling Miss Manners
I'm seriously considering writing a letter to Miss Manners, or Emily Post, or whoever can clarify something for me. Perhaps some of you would like to weigh-in on this and give me your thoughts...
I understand if you fix a dish, or an entire meal and take it to someone, say if they're sick, or if they're celebrating some special occasion, then the food you take is theirs to enjoy, and you don't bring it back home with you. They simply return the empty dishes, hopefully washed, when they are done.
Here is my question: If you're attending a pitch-in dinner, you know the kind, where everybody brings something to contribute, are you supposed to leave the left-overs at the home of whoever is hosting? Or do you take your left-overs back home? I'd really like to know what's proper.
As many of us did this past week, we attended one of the biggest pitch-in dinners of the year, a.k.a. Thanksgiving. I contributed two of the side-dishes, two desserts, several 2-liters, ice, and chips. In the past, unless I just didn't want to take something home, or unless somebody asked if I minded if they kept the left-overs (assuming there were any), then I've always taken my stuff back home when all was said and done.
However, after yesterdays meal, the hostess was in the kitchen tidying up and putting things away and I went in to see if she needed my help. I saw that she'd already washed/dried one of the crock-pots I'd taken, having put the left-overs in a Rubbermaid dish (I assumed for us to take home). I told her, "Oh, you could've just left it in the crockpot. You didn't need to put it in a different bowl."
I was promptly told by the hostess, "Oh, those left-overs are for us (her family)."
I just looked at her. I was replaying all the afternoons conversations we'd had, trying to remember if she'd asked for them or if I'd offered them up. I knew darned well she hadn't, nor had I. I guess she could tell by the confused look on my face that she needed to explain herself. "It's my rule, if anybody brings food into my house, then it stays with me."
I see. Okay. Fine. I told her to keep the rest of the stuffing I'd brought, as I still had another whole pan at home... so we really didn't need to take that home. But I was be-DAMNED! if I was leaving the rest of the stuff there. I immediately started gathering up the rest of my stuff and taking it to the car before she could transfer it all into her own Rubbermaid dishes. In all honesty, if she hadn't just started claiming everything as hers, then I'd most likely have tried to leave a large portion of my stuff there, as we don't need it, but she'd already annoyed me.
I'd made two pies, totally from scratch, that had turned out absolutely devine, and while we really don't need high-calorie desserts around our house, I just wasn't leaving them there for her bunch to enjoy.
Okay, these desserts, one was a banana-cream pie, made totally from scratch. It was the first time I've ever made pudding that didn't come from a box of Jell-O brand pudding. And the other pie was triple-chocolate, oh my gosh! It had a chocolate-graham cracker crust, a chocolate-sour-cream filling, a chocolate whipped topping and mini-chocolate chips on top. Ooh-la-la!!
I understand if you fix a dish, or an entire meal and take it to someone, say if they're sick, or if they're celebrating some special occasion, then the food you take is theirs to enjoy, and you don't bring it back home with you. They simply return the empty dishes, hopefully washed, when they are done.
Here is my question: If you're attending a pitch-in dinner, you know the kind, where everybody brings something to contribute, are you supposed to leave the left-overs at the home of whoever is hosting? Or do you take your left-overs back home? I'd really like to know what's proper.
As many of us did this past week, we attended one of the biggest pitch-in dinners of the year, a.k.a. Thanksgiving. I contributed two of the side-dishes, two desserts, several 2-liters, ice, and chips. In the past, unless I just didn't want to take something home, or unless somebody asked if I minded if they kept the left-overs (assuming there were any), then I've always taken my stuff back home when all was said and done.
However, after yesterdays meal, the hostess was in the kitchen tidying up and putting things away and I went in to see if she needed my help. I saw that she'd already washed/dried one of the crock-pots I'd taken, having put the left-overs in a Rubbermaid dish (I assumed for us to take home). I told her, "Oh, you could've just left it in the crockpot. You didn't need to put it in a different bowl."
I was promptly told by the hostess, "Oh, those left-overs are for us (her family)."
I just looked at her. I was replaying all the afternoons conversations we'd had, trying to remember if she'd asked for them or if I'd offered them up. I knew darned well she hadn't, nor had I. I guess she could tell by the confused look on my face that she needed to explain herself. "It's my rule, if anybody brings food into my house, then it stays with me."
I see. Okay. Fine. I told her to keep the rest of the stuffing I'd brought, as I still had another whole pan at home... so we really didn't need to take that home. But I was be-DAMNED! if I was leaving the rest of the stuff there. I immediately started gathering up the rest of my stuff and taking it to the car before she could transfer it all into her own Rubbermaid dishes. In all honesty, if she hadn't just started claiming everything as hers, then I'd most likely have tried to leave a large portion of my stuff there, as we don't need it, but she'd already annoyed me.
I'd made two pies, totally from scratch, that had turned out absolutely devine, and while we really don't need high-calorie desserts around our house, I just wasn't leaving them there for her bunch to enjoy.
Okay, these desserts, one was a banana-cream pie, made totally from scratch. It was the first time I've ever made pudding that didn't come from a box of Jell-O brand pudding. And the other pie was triple-chocolate, oh my gosh! It had a chocolate-graham cracker crust, a chocolate-sour-cream filling, a chocolate whipped topping and mini-chocolate chips on top. Ooh-la-la!!
Joining the ranks
Ya know, a few years ago I used to scoff and poke fun of all the idiots that went out shopping in the pre-dawn hours, the day after Thanksgiving. Then about 5 or 6 years ago, I joined the ranks and became one of those idiots. I hadn't intended to make it a yearly tradition, but low and behold, it has. Even my husband enjoys the insanity, on the rare occasions he happens to be off work and can join me (but not this year).
The stores seem to be opening their doors earlier and earlier every year, and many even opening on Thanksgiving Day, which seems rather rude to me. I suppose I can understand the grocery stores being open for a few hours, so people can pick up those items they either forgot, didn't get enough of, or to pick up their pre-prepared dinners. But general merchandise shopping, tsk, tsk, that should be out-lawed.
Of course, shame on me, I was out there at 6:45 yesterday morning, waiting for the Old Tyme Pottery Store to open at 7am. Am I insane? Probably. But I was there for work-related reasons. I needed 150 coffee mugs, which were on sale for .25cents. The circular that had come out on Wednesday didn't mention there being a limit, and I called over there to specifically ask if there was one because, as I told the girl, I didn't want to drive all the way to Indiana only to find out I was limited to 4 (or whatever). She assured me there was no limit. So you can imagine how pissy I got when the husband and I arrived, each pushing our own cart, and found the sign on the display that stated "limit of 6". SIX??? I don't think so!!! I voiced my displeasure out loud and the poor stock boy that was filling the display cringed in fear and started mumbling, "I-I-I'm s-s-s-sorry, I only s-s-stock the sh-sh-shelves. I-I-I d-d-don't muh-make the rules."
I know, I know. It wasn't his fault. He's a pee-on like everybody else. He offered to page the manager, which he did. And I stood there for several seconds looking at the display dwindle down before my eyes. I looked at the husband and said screw it! We started grabbing cases of these cups (12 to a case). We cleaned the display off. However, my delay in making this decision obviously cost me a few cups. We walked away with 111, I still needed another 39.
The manager never showed up, and nobody else challenged me about buying so many. Perhaps the frightened stock-boy had already spread the word about the rabid woman and not to cross her.
We then headed to Garden Ridge to see if we could find some more to round out my order. While I didn't find exactly the same thing (or even close really), I did purchase 19 more at .74cents each. So having 130 is better than none.
We purchased a newspaper while out, as I wanted to see the stores' ads so that I could plan my attack for Friday morning. The main one I wanted was Wal-mart. Imagine my irritation at not having one. I thought I'd been short-changed. When we got to my s-i-l's house, I looked through her paper, and she too was missing the Wallyworld ad. Grrrr! My friend and friday-morning-shopping-partner called me and informed that she too was missing the Wal-mart ad. What the hell??? I finally called the store and asked what was going on and was informed they'd gone out in Wednesday's paper. Well that's stupid!! What about all the people that only subscribe to the Sunday/holiday papers? I had to make a special trip to the store to pick up an ad.
I sat down and perused everything, and I gotta say, in general, I was disappointed with this years ads. Nothing really jumped out at me as being either a terrific bargain, or something I couldn't live without. They did have a good price on laptops, but we really didn't need to spend $800 on one right now. But I still got up and made it to Wal-mart by 5am when the big sale started. I was in and out in less than 30 minutes, and most of that was just spent waiting for the sale to start. I came away with yet another crock-pot (I think this makes #9 in my collection), and several dvds and cds that were on sale for $5 or less. I went straight back home, fed the dogs, and laid back down for another 90 minutes.
Let the Christmas shopping count-down begin!!
The stores seem to be opening their doors earlier and earlier every year, and many even opening on Thanksgiving Day, which seems rather rude to me. I suppose I can understand the grocery stores being open for a few hours, so people can pick up those items they either forgot, didn't get enough of, or to pick up their pre-prepared dinners. But general merchandise shopping, tsk, tsk, that should be out-lawed.
Of course, shame on me, I was out there at 6:45 yesterday morning, waiting for the Old Tyme Pottery Store to open at 7am. Am I insane? Probably. But I was there for work-related reasons. I needed 150 coffee mugs, which were on sale for .25cents. The circular that had come out on Wednesday didn't mention there being a limit, and I called over there to specifically ask if there was one because, as I told the girl, I didn't want to drive all the way to Indiana only to find out I was limited to 4 (or whatever). She assured me there was no limit. So you can imagine how pissy I got when the husband and I arrived, each pushing our own cart, and found the sign on the display that stated "limit of 6". SIX??? I don't think so!!! I voiced my displeasure out loud and the poor stock boy that was filling the display cringed in fear and started mumbling, "I-I-I'm s-s-s-sorry, I only s-s-stock the sh-sh-shelves. I-I-I d-d-don't muh-make the rules."
I know, I know. It wasn't his fault. He's a pee-on like everybody else. He offered to page the manager, which he did. And I stood there for several seconds looking at the display dwindle down before my eyes. I looked at the husband and said screw it! We started grabbing cases of these cups (12 to a case). We cleaned the display off. However, my delay in making this decision obviously cost me a few cups. We walked away with 111, I still needed another 39.
The manager never showed up, and nobody else challenged me about buying so many. Perhaps the frightened stock-boy had already spread the word about the rabid woman and not to cross her.
We then headed to Garden Ridge to see if we could find some more to round out my order. While I didn't find exactly the same thing (or even close really), I did purchase 19 more at .74cents each. So having 130 is better than none.
We purchased a newspaper while out, as I wanted to see the stores' ads so that I could plan my attack for Friday morning. The main one I wanted was Wal-mart. Imagine my irritation at not having one. I thought I'd been short-changed. When we got to my s-i-l's house, I looked through her paper, and she too was missing the Wallyworld ad. Grrrr! My friend and friday-morning-shopping-partner called me and informed that she too was missing the Wal-mart ad. What the hell??? I finally called the store and asked what was going on and was informed they'd gone out in Wednesday's paper. Well that's stupid!! What about all the people that only subscribe to the Sunday/holiday papers? I had to make a special trip to the store to pick up an ad.
I sat down and perused everything, and I gotta say, in general, I was disappointed with this years ads. Nothing really jumped out at me as being either a terrific bargain, or something I couldn't live without. They did have a good price on laptops, but we really didn't need to spend $800 on one right now. But I still got up and made it to Wal-mart by 5am when the big sale started. I was in and out in less than 30 minutes, and most of that was just spent waiting for the sale to start. I came away with yet another crock-pot (I think this makes #9 in my collection), and several dvds and cds that were on sale for $5 or less. I went straight back home, fed the dogs, and laid back down for another 90 minutes.
Let the Christmas shopping count-down begin!!
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Olivia update
After work yesterday, I went home and grabbed Olivia and the husband and headed to the vet's office. While we waited, she was more fascinated with trying to play with the black kitten in the "up for adoption" cage, than she was with any of the other dogs in the waiting area. The kitten was equally fascinated with her.
It took four of us to hold her down while they drew blood from her leg.
They sent us on our merry way, and so far, she's acted perfectly normal... for Olivia that is.
The vet finally called me about an hour ago with the results from the blood work. She said everything was absolutely perfect. She said even "healthy" dogs usually have some slight abnormalities in their results, but she was impressed with how perfect Olivia's were.
Okay, so I'm very happy that there's nothing wrong with her in that respect, and that I guess it shows I'm taking very good care of my children. That's the good news.
The bad news... well, at this point there really isn't any.
The seizure (if that's what it was) could just be a one-time fluke and may never happen again, as we certainly hope so, which is probably why the vet stopped short of actually calling it epilepsy.
For now, we're just going to keep an eye on her, and if it ever happens again, get her to the vet pronto.
So I guess no bad news is good news.
It took four of us to hold her down while they drew blood from her leg.
They sent us on our merry way, and so far, she's acted perfectly normal... for Olivia that is.
The vet finally called me about an hour ago with the results from the blood work. She said everything was absolutely perfect. She said even "healthy" dogs usually have some slight abnormalities in their results, but she was impressed with how perfect Olivia's were.
Okay, so I'm very happy that there's nothing wrong with her in that respect, and that I guess it shows I'm taking very good care of my children. That's the good news.
The bad news... well, at this point there really isn't any.
The seizure (if that's what it was) could just be a one-time fluke and may never happen again, as we certainly hope so, which is probably why the vet stopped short of actually calling it epilepsy.
For now, we're just going to keep an eye on her, and if it ever happens again, get her to the vet pronto.
So I guess no bad news is good news.
And they say romance is dead
If I'm drinking a beverage from a can or glass, then I prefer to use a drinking straw. I keep plenty on hand at home, buying a package of 100 flexi-straws every 3 or 4 months. Last night, as the hubby and I were preparing to eat our dinner, I sat my drink down by my bowl and he asked, "Have you been using the McDonald's straws I brought home and put in the cabinet?"
"Um, no, just the ones out of that big package."
"Oh." He sounded a bit dejected when he said this, but I didn't question it.
He then proceeds to tell me he had grabbed a handful (a bouquet perhaps?) when he was at McD's the other day and the co-worker that was with him questioned why he was taking so many straws. He told him he was taking them home for his wife.
I wasn't sure what I should say, as I don't know why he brought them home because there are already close to 200 of them in the cabinet.
I finally heard him mutter under his breath, "I thought it was romantic."
"Um, no, just the ones out of that big package."
"Oh." He sounded a bit dejected when he said this, but I didn't question it.
He then proceeds to tell me he had grabbed a handful (a bouquet perhaps?) when he was at McD's the other day and the co-worker that was with him questioned why he was taking so many straws. He told him he was taking them home for his wife.
I wasn't sure what I should say, as I don't know why he brought them home because there are already close to 200 of them in the cabinet.
I finally heard him mutter under his breath, "I thought it was romantic."
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
"An Odum County Mystery", chapter 2
"Well Ralph, what time did you finally finish with these people last night?"
"Seven-freaking-o-clock. It was too late to even get the obituary put in the newspaper for today. Actually, we finished making arrangements a little after seven, but after he left, Babbs started boo-hooing and asking if an autopsy was really necessary 'cause she just knew her Momma wouldn't like things being drug out and all the gossip it would cause and boo-hoo-hoo. I told her it was too late, that the medical examiner's office had already done the autopsy and there wasn't nothing I could. I mean, ya know, you'd think the girl'd want to know why her mother died. I think there's something going on there, but I guess we'll just hafta wait an' see."
Katie picked up the clipboard with all the information on it and set about doing her job. Since the visitation wasn't even going to start until tomorrow, followed by the actual service on Friday, there wasn't a big rush to get it done. But since she felt the phone would probably continue to ring off the hook until the woman was buried, why put it off?
Katie turned the computer on and waited for it to boot-up. She sat there thinking over what Ralph had told her, about the daughter's strange reaction to her mother being autopsied. Strange indeed. If George had married Lurlene for her money, as everyone suspected, wouldn't Babbs suspect him of killing her mother to get at the money? You'd think she'd be hopping up and down mad, pointing an accusing finger at him. It was definitely odd that she'd want to down-play her mother's sudden death...
"Seven-freaking-o-clock. It was too late to even get the obituary put in the newspaper for today. Actually, we finished making arrangements a little after seven, but after he left, Babbs started boo-hooing and asking if an autopsy was really necessary 'cause she just knew her Momma wouldn't like things being drug out and all the gossip it would cause and boo-hoo-hoo. I told her it was too late, that the medical examiner's office had already done the autopsy and there wasn't nothing I could. I mean, ya know, you'd think the girl'd want to know why her mother died. I think there's something going on there, but I guess we'll just hafta wait an' see."
Katie picked up the clipboard with all the information on it and set about doing her job. Since the visitation wasn't even going to start until tomorrow, followed by the actual service on Friday, there wasn't a big rush to get it done. But since she felt the phone would probably continue to ring off the hook until the woman was buried, why put it off?
Katie turned the computer on and waited for it to boot-up. She sat there thinking over what Ralph had told her, about the daughter's strange reaction to her mother being autopsied. Strange indeed. If George had married Lurlene for her money, as everyone suspected, wouldn't Babbs suspect him of killing her mother to get at the money? You'd think she'd be hopping up and down mad, pointing an accusing finger at him. It was definitely odd that she'd want to down-play her mother's sudden death...
What I saw at Walmart
I saw something while at Walmart last night, that I never in my wildest imagination thought I'd EVER see, at least, not in that store.
I was looking for new shoe laces, as the ones that came with my new sneakers are sooo very short, I can barely get them tied. While scoping out the shoe laces rack, John suddenly muttered something under his breath. I stood up straight and asked, "huh?".
"That was Susie."
"Susie who?"
"Suh-oo-zee" his hissed, "Kenny's Susie."
Oh, that Susie. "Where?"
He pointed toward the grocery section and said she'd just turned a corner.
Susie is John's former sister-in-law. The former wife of his brother. They went their separate ways over 13 years ago. The last time I ever actually spoke to her was in either January or February of 1994, during the winter olympics, around the time of the Nancy Kerigan/Tonya Harding incident. We'd just moved into our new house and they'd come over for some reason or another. They separated just days after that, divorcing a few months later. The last time I actually ever laid eyes on her was probably 3 or 4 years after that, I saw her at H.Q. I don't think she saw me, but I saw her. She'd put on quite a bit of weight (haven't we all?). Since then I've barely given her a thought.... until last night that is.
You'd have to know this woman to really appreciate this story. She truly enjoyed being a doctor's wife, and let everyone know it. Only the best of everything for her. That's why I couldn't believe I was seeing her in Walmart, of all stores. Eek! What is this world coming to? And she was in the shoe department of all places!! I truly thought I'd never live to see the day she'd lower her standards to shop at anything but Kroger for groceries, and anyplace less than Lazarus for clothing.
Needless to say, I had to see her for myself. We mosied(sp?) back towards the grocery section, and I kept glancing out of the corner of my eye down the aisles, looking for her. I finally saw her. At first I almost didn't recognize her, but upon staring for a moment, finally realized it was indeed.
Her hair was almost completely gray now... wow!, I thought for sure she'd have colored it some shade of reddish-brown (her natural color) and she'd lost most of that weight she'd picked up after the divorce.
We saw her a couple of more times as we finished our shopping. I don't know if she ever saw us or not. We never approached her, she never approached us.
I kind of think if John hadn't been there, I might've done so. I wasn't crazy about the woman when they were married, but she did get crapped on, so to speak, and I feel sorry for her. In hindsight, I realize she wasn't all that bad. There are a lot worse women out there in the world.
I was looking for new shoe laces, as the ones that came with my new sneakers are sooo very short, I can barely get them tied. While scoping out the shoe laces rack, John suddenly muttered something under his breath. I stood up straight and asked, "huh?".
"That was Susie."
"Susie who?"
"Suh-oo-zee" his hissed, "Kenny's Susie."
Oh, that Susie. "Where?"
He pointed toward the grocery section and said she'd just turned a corner.
Susie is John's former sister-in-law. The former wife of his brother. They went their separate ways over 13 years ago. The last time I ever actually spoke to her was in either January or February of 1994, during the winter olympics, around the time of the Nancy Kerigan/Tonya Harding incident. We'd just moved into our new house and they'd come over for some reason or another. They separated just days after that, divorcing a few months later. The last time I actually ever laid eyes on her was probably 3 or 4 years after that, I saw her at H.Q. I don't think she saw me, but I saw her. She'd put on quite a bit of weight (haven't we all?). Since then I've barely given her a thought.... until last night that is.
You'd have to know this woman to really appreciate this story. She truly enjoyed being a doctor's wife, and let everyone know it. Only the best of everything for her. That's why I couldn't believe I was seeing her in Walmart, of all stores. Eek! What is this world coming to? And she was in the shoe department of all places!! I truly thought I'd never live to see the day she'd lower her standards to shop at anything but Kroger for groceries, and anyplace less than Lazarus for clothing.
Needless to say, I had to see her for myself. We mosied(sp?) back towards the grocery section, and I kept glancing out of the corner of my eye down the aisles, looking for her. I finally saw her. At first I almost didn't recognize her, but upon staring for a moment, finally realized it was indeed.
Her hair was almost completely gray now... wow!, I thought for sure she'd have colored it some shade of reddish-brown (her natural color) and she'd lost most of that weight she'd picked up after the divorce.
We saw her a couple of more times as we finished our shopping. I don't know if she ever saw us or not. We never approached her, she never approached us.
I kind of think if John hadn't been there, I might've done so. I wasn't crazy about the woman when they were married, but she did get crapped on, so to speak, and I feel sorry for her. In hindsight, I realize she wasn't all that bad. There are a lot worse women out there in the world.
Drama at our house
What would my life be without drama? Peaceful, if nothing else.
I woke up early this morning, about 3:09 to be exact. I heard the dogs moving about in the other room, but this isn't uncommon for them to start shuffling about in anticipation of me letting them out at 3:30 when the alarm goes off. Sometimes they settle back down, sometimes they take up their positions outside our bedroom door, other times, they get to playing and wrestling with one another. I let them carry on, and dozed off again. Not quite 20 minutes later, I was again awakened by the dogs, or at least, one dog, Bootsy, carrying on and making a racket. It was now 3:27, no point trying to go back to sleep now, so I turned the alarms off before they could start beeping, used the restroom, donned my robe and headed out to the living room. Bootsy still continued to carry on in an odd way.
When she'd woke me a few minutes before, I heard her pawing at the dog crate and just making odd noises. I can't really describe them. She didn't sound like she was in distress, but she just seemed to be panting in an odd way, as she sometimes does when she gets especially excited about something.
When I walked out of the bedroom, the door to the crate was standing wide open, which wasn't unusual. We don't always latch it as sometimes one of them likes to go in there to sleep. But Bootsy was dancing around by the crate door. In the dim light that spilled from the bedroom, I could see Olivia lying on her side, on the floor, against the side of the recliner. At first I didn't think anything of this, and figured Bootsy was just having her fit because Olivia was blocking her path to regain entry to the main part of the room. I flipped on the overhead light and my heart nearly stopped beating. I'm now guessing Bootsy had been trying to wake us up to come help her sissy.
I started screaming for John over and over, just telling him something was wrong, something was wrong with Olivia. At first I didn't even detect any movement, but then saw her breathing was very shallow. She was foaming at the mouth, but otherwise not moving. By now John was kneeling in front of her, and I opened the back door to get the other two dogs out of the way. While they did go outside, they weren't interested in pottying, and stood at the back door, looking in, wanting to come back inside. I ran back to Olivia and asked him if something was stuck in her throat. He opened her mouth and stuck his fingers in and felt around but didn't feel anything amiss. The carpet under her head was just soaking wet from all the drool and foam that had soaked into it. I wondered how long she had been lying there in distress?
Her hind legs were drawn up against her belly and I tried to straighten them one at a time, but she just pulled them back in, whether on purpose or just a reflex I don't know. In all this time she continued to lay still, never raising her head to look at us, never acting as if she knew we were even there. I ran my hand down her side and with that she emptied her bladder all over the carpet. I could only grab a slobber towel lying nearby and lay it on the puddle to soak it up and to catch the rest of what continued to come out. I said "that's it, we're taking her to the vet" and ran to get my phone. I came back in the room dialing the number. The phone rang and went to a recording (which I knew it would, but I needed to get the cell number of the vet that was on call). Even as I was listening to the message, Olivia suddenly stood up and shook it off as if nothing had happened. I took her outside to potty some more. When she came back in she did walk a little sideways for a moment and bump off the wall, then paced around for a while, not seeming to want to lie down.
For the rest of the morning I kept her in her crate except when I took her outside or when she ate. She seems perfectly fine now, but I'm seriously wondering if she doesn't have epilepsy.
I looked canine epilepsy up on-line, and everything they described, of what we witnessed that is, seems to describe her to a "T".
I'm getting ready to call the vet. I don't know if they'll want to do tests on her now that the episode has passed, or wait and see if it happens again. But my goodness, what if it happens while we're at work??? Of course, if it is epilepsy, from what I read, some dogs may only have one seizure their whole life, and nothing else, but then others may have several a day. John is now wondering if she hasn't been having them while we're at work, as maybe that would explain why her crate from time to time is very flooded when we get home. It's always something!!
Just when you think you're about to catch up on some bills, and possibly get a little bit ahead (does that really ever happen???), something like this happens that incurs a big vet bill.
I woke up early this morning, about 3:09 to be exact. I heard the dogs moving about in the other room, but this isn't uncommon for them to start shuffling about in anticipation of me letting them out at 3:30 when the alarm goes off. Sometimes they settle back down, sometimes they take up their positions outside our bedroom door, other times, they get to playing and wrestling with one another. I let them carry on, and dozed off again. Not quite 20 minutes later, I was again awakened by the dogs, or at least, one dog, Bootsy, carrying on and making a racket. It was now 3:27, no point trying to go back to sleep now, so I turned the alarms off before they could start beeping, used the restroom, donned my robe and headed out to the living room. Bootsy still continued to carry on in an odd way.
When she'd woke me a few minutes before, I heard her pawing at the dog crate and just making odd noises. I can't really describe them. She didn't sound like she was in distress, but she just seemed to be panting in an odd way, as she sometimes does when she gets especially excited about something.
When I walked out of the bedroom, the door to the crate was standing wide open, which wasn't unusual. We don't always latch it as sometimes one of them likes to go in there to sleep. But Bootsy was dancing around by the crate door. In the dim light that spilled from the bedroom, I could see Olivia lying on her side, on the floor, against the side of the recliner. At first I didn't think anything of this, and figured Bootsy was just having her fit because Olivia was blocking her path to regain entry to the main part of the room. I flipped on the overhead light and my heart nearly stopped beating. I'm now guessing Bootsy had been trying to wake us up to come help her sissy.
I started screaming for John over and over, just telling him something was wrong, something was wrong with Olivia. At first I didn't even detect any movement, but then saw her breathing was very shallow. She was foaming at the mouth, but otherwise not moving. By now John was kneeling in front of her, and I opened the back door to get the other two dogs out of the way. While they did go outside, they weren't interested in pottying, and stood at the back door, looking in, wanting to come back inside. I ran back to Olivia and asked him if something was stuck in her throat. He opened her mouth and stuck his fingers in and felt around but didn't feel anything amiss. The carpet under her head was just soaking wet from all the drool and foam that had soaked into it. I wondered how long she had been lying there in distress?
Her hind legs were drawn up against her belly and I tried to straighten them one at a time, but she just pulled them back in, whether on purpose or just a reflex I don't know. In all this time she continued to lay still, never raising her head to look at us, never acting as if she knew we were even there. I ran my hand down her side and with that she emptied her bladder all over the carpet. I could only grab a slobber towel lying nearby and lay it on the puddle to soak it up and to catch the rest of what continued to come out. I said "that's it, we're taking her to the vet" and ran to get my phone. I came back in the room dialing the number. The phone rang and went to a recording (which I knew it would, but I needed to get the cell number of the vet that was on call). Even as I was listening to the message, Olivia suddenly stood up and shook it off as if nothing had happened. I took her outside to potty some more. When she came back in she did walk a little sideways for a moment and bump off the wall, then paced around for a while, not seeming to want to lie down.
For the rest of the morning I kept her in her crate except when I took her outside or when she ate. She seems perfectly fine now, but I'm seriously wondering if she doesn't have epilepsy.
I looked canine epilepsy up on-line, and everything they described, of what we witnessed that is, seems to describe her to a "T".
I'm getting ready to call the vet. I don't know if they'll want to do tests on her now that the episode has passed, or wait and see if it happens again. But my goodness, what if it happens while we're at work??? Of course, if it is epilepsy, from what I read, some dogs may only have one seizure their whole life, and nothing else, but then others may have several a day. John is now wondering if she hasn't been having them while we're at work, as maybe that would explain why her crate from time to time is very flooded when we get home. It's always something!!
Just when you think you're about to catch up on some bills, and possibly get a little bit ahead (does that really ever happen???), something like this happens that incurs a big vet bill.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Old people
Old people. I've nothing against them. As a general rule, I tend to get along with them better than young people. But something happened to me while I ran an errand to the post office, and I couldn't help but come back to the office and announce to my co-worker, "Sometimes, I just can't help but feel, that old people..." and here I hesitated as I searched for the right words. She tried to fill in the blank: "... shouldn't be allowed to drive?"
"No. I'm thinking more like: shouldn't be allowed out in public."
I got to the post office, parked my car, and walked towards the front door. An elderly lady was doing the same thing. Had we both kept walking at the pace we'd each set, she'd have reached the door first, in which case she should've opened it and gone on in. Now, if I had reached it before her, I'd have held it open for her and not given it a second thought. Had we reached it at the same time, again, I'd have more than happily held it for her. But that isn't what happened. She should've reached the door before me, but instead stopped a few feet short and then just stood there and watched me approach and seemed to be waiting for me to open it for her. Mind you, this woman wasn't carrying anything in either of her hands, I on the other hand, had some stuff I was taking in. I wasn't loaded down, but I wasn't empty-handed either. As I approached the door, I gave her a side-line look as I reached for the door handle. I held it open and she then proceeded to walk in ahead of me. Thanked me, and then had the audacity to say, "oh, I wasn't waiting for you to open the door for me," yeah, right! "But I do have a bad arm." To which I thought, and what's wrong with your other arm??? I've no doubt I gave her an annoyed look, and I went on into the next room and up to the service counter while she went to her PO box.
I was the only person at the counter, and gave the clerk 3 US flag applications. She went in the back to find the flags. In the meantime, a man came through the door, telling me right off the bat to "ring the bell, get some service out here". I never turned around to look at who was coming in, but simply replied, "I'm already being waited on." I mean, how rude to just assume that I've been standing there with my thumb up my butt waiting for service. So he stands right behind me and starts humming. Then he stops and says, "I guess you're thinking I shouldn't quit my day job." What was I going to say, "you're right"? Or maybe I should lie to the man and tell him he's a wonderful hummer? Instead I just gave a fake chuckle, and continued to wait, still not having turned to look and see who he was. Now he says, "Oh, the girl (that would be me) is laughing at me." Now he steps forward and is practically against my right arm. Thinking that perhaps he was one of the "Liars Club" members that hangs around the funeral home that had perhaps recognized me and was just trying to have a little fun at my expense, I finally looked sideways at him. Nope, I had no idea who he was. Just another old fart.
Then he asks me, "Do you live around here?"
Me: NO
Old man: Where do you live?
Me: Louisville
Old man: Then what are you doing in LaGrange?
Me (a very annoyed me!): I work here
About this time, the clerk came from the back with three boxes in her arms. The outside of each box is stamped with Phoenix Industries, or something like that. Now the old fart proceeds to start reading the writing on the side of the box, outloud, for anybody and everybody to hear (had there been anybody else present). I couldn't help but wonder, if the box had had Fredricks of Hollywood, or the Dildo Company printed on it, would he still have been reading it out loud?
The old man just really annoyed me to no end. I don't know if he just thought he was being friendly, or if he's just always acts as rude as he did then.
"No. I'm thinking more like: shouldn't be allowed out in public."
I got to the post office, parked my car, and walked towards the front door. An elderly lady was doing the same thing. Had we both kept walking at the pace we'd each set, she'd have reached the door first, in which case she should've opened it and gone on in. Now, if I had reached it before her, I'd have held it open for her and not given it a second thought. Had we reached it at the same time, again, I'd have more than happily held it for her. But that isn't what happened. She should've reached the door before me, but instead stopped a few feet short and then just stood there and watched me approach and seemed to be waiting for me to open it for her. Mind you, this woman wasn't carrying anything in either of her hands, I on the other hand, had some stuff I was taking in. I wasn't loaded down, but I wasn't empty-handed either. As I approached the door, I gave her a side-line look as I reached for the door handle. I held it open and she then proceeded to walk in ahead of me. Thanked me, and then had the audacity to say, "oh, I wasn't waiting for you to open the door for me," yeah, right! "But I do have a bad arm." To which I thought, and what's wrong with your other arm??? I've no doubt I gave her an annoyed look, and I went on into the next room and up to the service counter while she went to her PO box.
I was the only person at the counter, and gave the clerk 3 US flag applications. She went in the back to find the flags. In the meantime, a man came through the door, telling me right off the bat to "ring the bell, get some service out here". I never turned around to look at who was coming in, but simply replied, "I'm already being waited on." I mean, how rude to just assume that I've been standing there with my thumb up my butt waiting for service. So he stands right behind me and starts humming. Then he stops and says, "I guess you're thinking I shouldn't quit my day job." What was I going to say, "you're right"? Or maybe I should lie to the man and tell him he's a wonderful hummer? Instead I just gave a fake chuckle, and continued to wait, still not having turned to look and see who he was. Now he says, "Oh, the girl (that would be me) is laughing at me." Now he steps forward and is practically against my right arm. Thinking that perhaps he was one of the "Liars Club" members that hangs around the funeral home that had perhaps recognized me and was just trying to have a little fun at my expense, I finally looked sideways at him. Nope, I had no idea who he was. Just another old fart.
Then he asks me, "Do you live around here?"
Me: NO
Old man: Where do you live?
Me: Louisville
Old man: Then what are you doing in LaGrange?
Me (a very annoyed me!): I work here
About this time, the clerk came from the back with three boxes in her arms. The outside of each box is stamped with Phoenix Industries, or something like that. Now the old fart proceeds to start reading the writing on the side of the box, outloud, for anybody and everybody to hear (had there been anybody else present). I couldn't help but wonder, if the box had had Fredricks of Hollywood, or the Dildo Company printed on it, would he still have been reading it out loud?
The old man just really annoyed me to no end. I don't know if he just thought he was being friendly, or if he's just always acts as rude as he did then.
Why am I so ____ about these things?
Why am I so _______ about these things?
See if you can figure out what word goes into the blank.
Balancing my checkbook.
Toilet seats.
Toilet paper on the roll.
Loading the dishwasher.
Putting the clean dishes away.
Handwashing.
Now can you fill in the blank with the word I had in mind?
I'll follow up in a couple of days with the correct answer, and where I was going with this topic.
See if you can figure out what word goes into the blank.
Balancing my checkbook.
Toilet seats.
Toilet paper on the roll.
Loading the dishwasher.
Putting the clean dishes away.
Handwashing.
Now can you fill in the blank with the word I had in mind?
I'll follow up in a couple of days with the correct answer, and where I was going with this topic.
Weekend in review
You might've noticed I didn't get my 2nd chapter blogged last week on the Odum Co. Mystery. Sorry, but we were just busy, busy, busy at work last week and I didn't have time to put my imagination and fingers to work at the same time. Hopefully things will be a little slower this week and I can get a couple of chapters done. Bear with me.
Did I mention last Friday that I had dropped my new "step-child" Zack off at his owners on Thursday evening? When I had dropped him off, I not only left the typed-out instructions from the vet, but I verbally went over them, TWICE! I thought I made things clear and that they understood what should and should not be done over the next several days. Apparently I wasn't clear enough, or they just didn't understand, because instructions were not followed. More on that in a moment.
Saturday was the final day of classes at the Luci Ctr. until next spring. From here on out, it will just be about stable management. As I wasn't able to be there that afternoon for the chores, I signed up for the earlier classes, oh my, what a different experience from the usual class I partake in. The muscles in the back of my upper arms are aching still, from the different way of having to help hold the riders on their horses. The 2nd class had some scary, tense moments. The rider is totally non-verbal, with a host of disabilities, and after about 30 or 40 minutes of riding, he just suddenly became very frustrated and started flailing his arms and throwing his body forward and backward, nearly slamming his helmet against the horse's rump and neck. It took a tremendous effort for me and the other side-walker to keep him on the horse's back, and to keep him from actually slamming his head on the horse until the instructor could come over and assist him in dismounting. I was informed afterwards that that wasn't even one of his worse fits... I can't imagine worse! My heart was racing, #1) for the child's safety, #2) for my own safety, #3) for the horse's safety, and #4) just fearing that the horse would freak out (as I so desperately wanted to do). But I have to say, these horses are so wonderfully trained, and selected for their calm demeanor and unflappableness (is that a word?). From the moment the girl that was leading him stopped, Emray the horse stood stock-still and never flinched. After that class was over, it made the 3rd class of the day seem like a walk in the park.
I am delighted to report that Sampson, the horse that caused us such drama from the previous week is doing MUCH better. He's confined to a stall for now, only allowed out for a few minutes each day to graze, but he's bright-eyed and alert. Every chance I got in between classes, I was either in his stall loving on him, or standing just outside of it. What a sweetheart of a horse! He never hesitated to come to me, and would stand there either licking my hand like a faithful dog or nibbling with his lips at my glove or the cuff of my jacket. They had saved the tumors that were removed from him in a ziploc baggy to show us (not that any of us really wanted to see them). The largest one was about the size of a tennis ball, with another, smaller one, and several strands of fibers from where they'd adhered themselves to the other organs. Blech!!
My side of the family celebrated Thanksgiving that evening. Good food abounded, but I was so exhausted from being on my feet for over 5 hours, that we left early and I went home and passed out.
Now, for Sunday...
I arrived at Zack's house at 10:30. One of the instructions I'd left his owners with was that Zack was only to go outside on a leash for the next 5-7 days, so that his incision had time to heal. He wasn't allowed out in the backyard to run loose. So when I arrived,where was Zack? Running loose in the back yard. Right away, I had a sense of gloom and doom. His owner walked in the house with me, Zack followed. I asked how the past few days had been since Zack had been back home. Dick said Friday had been perfect. Saturday, they were ready to return the dog to "G" (again!). The dog had gone outside Saturday morning and refused to come in the rest of the day. He'd come halfway through the doggy door, then back out of it. One time Dick got him by the collar, and the dog drug him threw the door. All day long the dog refused to come inside. By nightfall, it was cold outside, the dog was shivering, and still refusing to come inside. They called some neighbors to assist, but they couldn't get him in either. Finally when they'd just about given up, Zack finally came in on his own, shivering from the cold. Sunday morning he'd gone back outside and again refused to come in, until I showed up and he followed me inside. His owners were getting very frustrated to say the least, but I was very frustrated that they hadn't followed their instructions of taking him out on a leash. Dick finally broke the news to me that they didn't want Zack to go to obedience school. I'd already mailed their check and application in to Shamrock Acres!! Darn these people!! He said he didn't care if Zack knew how to sit, stay, or come when he was called (huh???). He just wanted him to walk on the leash and get in and out of the car. Good grief!! I thought I'd made it clear to them last week why Zack needed to go to class. He needed to learn he was the dog and that they were in charge (at least in theory, because we all know that theses dogs have us wrapped around their little paws). I took a deep breath, said, "fine, I'll call Linda on Monday and have her mail your check back to you." I was biting my tongue, fighting the urge to tell him what a foolish old man he was. Foolish for the wishy-washy way they dealt with this dog, foolish for the nearly 1/2 dozen times they'd returned the dog to G, then gotten it back, foolish for having gotten such a large pup/dog at their age (he's 88, she's 83) and with the difficulty they have getting around. Foolish, foolish, foolish!!
I finally got a leash on Zack and went outside to work with him. We walked around the property. He doesn't exactly walk nicely beside you, but at least he's not trying to drag you around. I opened the back of their station wagon and Zack hopped right in. I got him out, and asked him to get back in again, which he did. Out again, I took him for another walk around the property and two more times had him get in/out of the car without any problems. I finally had Dick come out, handed him the leash and asked him to put Zack in the car. Zack went in without any problem. Dick was thrilled. We headed back to the house, and Dick promptly fell trying to go up the couple of steps to the house. He didn't hurt himself, but it was just this kind of unsteadiness (and his wife is even worse!) that made me think they didn't need to have this kind of dog. Zack balked about going in the house, backing away from the door, so I pulled that choker up behind his ears and tugged, and he finally walked in. His owners were simply thrilled, paid me well for my time. But apparently my services are no longer needed, at least, not right now. I told them, repeatedly, to take the dog out on a leash, take the dog with him in the car every morning when he drove down to the road to get the newspaper, and to call me if they had any more problems. I have a feeling my instructions won't be followed. And I have a bad feeling that the dog will either end up at G's again (for the final time, as she won't give him back again) or the dog will end up dying, whether from starving itself or freezing to death because it won't come in the house, or from eventually running away. I hope it works out, but I have my doubts.
Did I mention last Friday that I had dropped my new "step-child" Zack off at his owners on Thursday evening? When I had dropped him off, I not only left the typed-out instructions from the vet, but I verbally went over them, TWICE! I thought I made things clear and that they understood what should and should not be done over the next several days. Apparently I wasn't clear enough, or they just didn't understand, because instructions were not followed. More on that in a moment.
Saturday was the final day of classes at the Luci Ctr. until next spring. From here on out, it will just be about stable management. As I wasn't able to be there that afternoon for the chores, I signed up for the earlier classes, oh my, what a different experience from the usual class I partake in. The muscles in the back of my upper arms are aching still, from the different way of having to help hold the riders on their horses. The 2nd class had some scary, tense moments. The rider is totally non-verbal, with a host of disabilities, and after about 30 or 40 minutes of riding, he just suddenly became very frustrated and started flailing his arms and throwing his body forward and backward, nearly slamming his helmet against the horse's rump and neck. It took a tremendous effort for me and the other side-walker to keep him on the horse's back, and to keep him from actually slamming his head on the horse until the instructor could come over and assist him in dismounting. I was informed afterwards that that wasn't even one of his worse fits... I can't imagine worse! My heart was racing, #1) for the child's safety, #2) for my own safety, #3) for the horse's safety, and #4) just fearing that the horse would freak out (as I so desperately wanted to do). But I have to say, these horses are so wonderfully trained, and selected for their calm demeanor and unflappableness (is that a word?). From the moment the girl that was leading him stopped, Emray the horse stood stock-still and never flinched. After that class was over, it made the 3rd class of the day seem like a walk in the park.
I am delighted to report that Sampson, the horse that caused us such drama from the previous week is doing MUCH better. He's confined to a stall for now, only allowed out for a few minutes each day to graze, but he's bright-eyed and alert. Every chance I got in between classes, I was either in his stall loving on him, or standing just outside of it. What a sweetheart of a horse! He never hesitated to come to me, and would stand there either licking my hand like a faithful dog or nibbling with his lips at my glove or the cuff of my jacket. They had saved the tumors that were removed from him in a ziploc baggy to show us (not that any of us really wanted to see them). The largest one was about the size of a tennis ball, with another, smaller one, and several strands of fibers from where they'd adhered themselves to the other organs. Blech!!
My side of the family celebrated Thanksgiving that evening. Good food abounded, but I was so exhausted from being on my feet for over 5 hours, that we left early and I went home and passed out.
Now, for Sunday...
I arrived at Zack's house at 10:30. One of the instructions I'd left his owners with was that Zack was only to go outside on a leash for the next 5-7 days, so that his incision had time to heal. He wasn't allowed out in the backyard to run loose. So when I arrived,where was Zack? Running loose in the back yard. Right away, I had a sense of gloom and doom. His owner walked in the house with me, Zack followed. I asked how the past few days had been since Zack had been back home. Dick said Friday had been perfect. Saturday, they were ready to return the dog to "G" (again!). The dog had gone outside Saturday morning and refused to come in the rest of the day. He'd come halfway through the doggy door, then back out of it. One time Dick got him by the collar, and the dog drug him threw the door. All day long the dog refused to come inside. By nightfall, it was cold outside, the dog was shivering, and still refusing to come inside. They called some neighbors to assist, but they couldn't get him in either. Finally when they'd just about given up, Zack finally came in on his own, shivering from the cold. Sunday morning he'd gone back outside and again refused to come in, until I showed up and he followed me inside. His owners were getting very frustrated to say the least, but I was very frustrated that they hadn't followed their instructions of taking him out on a leash. Dick finally broke the news to me that they didn't want Zack to go to obedience school. I'd already mailed their check and application in to Shamrock Acres!! Darn these people!! He said he didn't care if Zack knew how to sit, stay, or come when he was called (huh???). He just wanted him to walk on the leash and get in and out of the car. Good grief!! I thought I'd made it clear to them last week why Zack needed to go to class. He needed to learn he was the dog and that they were in charge (at least in theory, because we all know that theses dogs have us wrapped around their little paws). I took a deep breath, said, "fine, I'll call Linda on Monday and have her mail your check back to you." I was biting my tongue, fighting the urge to tell him what a foolish old man he was. Foolish for the wishy-washy way they dealt with this dog, foolish for the nearly 1/2 dozen times they'd returned the dog to G, then gotten it back, foolish for having gotten such a large pup/dog at their age (he's 88, she's 83) and with the difficulty they have getting around. Foolish, foolish, foolish!!
I finally got a leash on Zack and went outside to work with him. We walked around the property. He doesn't exactly walk nicely beside you, but at least he's not trying to drag you around. I opened the back of their station wagon and Zack hopped right in. I got him out, and asked him to get back in again, which he did. Out again, I took him for another walk around the property and two more times had him get in/out of the car without any problems. I finally had Dick come out, handed him the leash and asked him to put Zack in the car. Zack went in without any problem. Dick was thrilled. We headed back to the house, and Dick promptly fell trying to go up the couple of steps to the house. He didn't hurt himself, but it was just this kind of unsteadiness (and his wife is even worse!) that made me think they didn't need to have this kind of dog. Zack balked about going in the house, backing away from the door, so I pulled that choker up behind his ears and tugged, and he finally walked in. His owners were simply thrilled, paid me well for my time. But apparently my services are no longer needed, at least, not right now. I told them, repeatedly, to take the dog out on a leash, take the dog with him in the car every morning when he drove down to the road to get the newspaper, and to call me if they had any more problems. I have a feeling my instructions won't be followed. And I have a bad feeling that the dog will either end up at G's again (for the final time, as she won't give him back again) or the dog will end up dying, whether from starving itself or freezing to death because it won't come in the house, or from eventually running away. I hope it works out, but I have my doubts.
Friday, November 16, 2007
T.G.I.F.
T.G.I.F. to ya, and how!!
It's been a busy, busy week. Tomorrow evening is "Thanksgiving" for my side of the family. I'm s'posed to be making a candy-apple pie. As a rule, I don't like apple pies, but this one I love, I guess because of all the other gooey stuff that's on it. I went to pull out my recipe this morning so I could make a list of ingredients to get at the store tonight, but my recipe was nowhere to be found. I was tearing apart the micro-wave cart where I keep my cookbooks and recipe cards. Crap!! I googled it once I got to work, and blessedly, the GMA Winning Recipe was the very first thing that popped up... which is where I originally got the recipe a few years ago. It's soooo very good, and soooo very rich!
Last evening, I picked up my new "step-child", Zack, at the vet. He spent the day getting the works, neutered, micro-chipped, paw-dicure, worm tests, you name it. When I walked him to my car, I wondered if he was going to get in, as getting into a vehicle has been one of his issues up 'til now, but he climbed in without hesitation. I stopped by my house to grab a heavier jacket and let him out to try and potty... big mistake! Now I couldn't get him back into the car. I finally had to lift his front feet onto the bumper, then he climbed the rest of the way in on his own. Once I had him back to his family, he walked right into the house, we closed the door, he took one lap around the mud-room, and exited out the doggy door. Apparently he'd seen all he cared to see. Dick, his owner, went out and walked him around while I went to get his papers from my car. As they headed back to the house, Zack crawled into the bed of ivy that borders the house and hunkered down, not wanting to go any further. Dick tugged at the leash, but he wasn't budging. I finally went over, slipped the soft-choker up behind his jaw, and tugged, and he begrudgingly followed us into the backyard, but then balked at going into the house. I feared he'd (we would) be back where we were a few weeks ago, and that I'd have to drive him back out to G's and leave him. But finally Zack went inside, headed to his piece of rug in the living room, and laid down, and there he stayed the whole time I was there. I'm going back Sunday morning to work with him, if on nothing else, just getting in and out of a vehicle and the house.
His application and check are now in the mail for obedience school which won't start soon enough for me.
Tomorrow is the last day of classes at the Luci Ctr. for this year. Classes resume again sometime in the spring. Tomorrow, because of my other commitments, I'll be there for the two early classes, working with students and horses I don't normally work with, so it should be interesting. It will also make for an early day, as I'll need to be there by 8am... yawn! I can't wait to see Sampson and see how he's doing following his surgery. I've not heard any other news, so I'm taking that as a good sign that things are going well.
One more week 'til the Christmas shopping season officially begins!! woo-hoo!!
It's been a busy, busy week. Tomorrow evening is "Thanksgiving" for my side of the family. I'm s'posed to be making a candy-apple pie. As a rule, I don't like apple pies, but this one I love, I guess because of all the other gooey stuff that's on it. I went to pull out my recipe this morning so I could make a list of ingredients to get at the store tonight, but my recipe was nowhere to be found. I was tearing apart the micro-wave cart where I keep my cookbooks and recipe cards. Crap!! I googled it once I got to work, and blessedly, the GMA Winning Recipe was the very first thing that popped up... which is where I originally got the recipe a few years ago. It's soooo very good, and soooo very rich!
Last evening, I picked up my new "step-child", Zack, at the vet. He spent the day getting the works, neutered, micro-chipped, paw-dicure, worm tests, you name it. When I walked him to my car, I wondered if he was going to get in, as getting into a vehicle has been one of his issues up 'til now, but he climbed in without hesitation. I stopped by my house to grab a heavier jacket and let him out to try and potty... big mistake! Now I couldn't get him back into the car. I finally had to lift his front feet onto the bumper, then he climbed the rest of the way in on his own. Once I had him back to his family, he walked right into the house, we closed the door, he took one lap around the mud-room, and exited out the doggy door. Apparently he'd seen all he cared to see. Dick, his owner, went out and walked him around while I went to get his papers from my car. As they headed back to the house, Zack crawled into the bed of ivy that borders the house and hunkered down, not wanting to go any further. Dick tugged at the leash, but he wasn't budging. I finally went over, slipped the soft-choker up behind his jaw, and tugged, and he begrudgingly followed us into the backyard, but then balked at going into the house. I feared he'd (we would) be back where we were a few weeks ago, and that I'd have to drive him back out to G's and leave him. But finally Zack went inside, headed to his piece of rug in the living room, and laid down, and there he stayed the whole time I was there. I'm going back Sunday morning to work with him, if on nothing else, just getting in and out of a vehicle and the house.
His application and check are now in the mail for obedience school which won't start soon enough for me.
Tomorrow is the last day of classes at the Luci Ctr. for this year. Classes resume again sometime in the spring. Tomorrow, because of my other commitments, I'll be there for the two early classes, working with students and horses I don't normally work with, so it should be interesting. It will also make for an early day, as I'll need to be there by 8am... yawn! I can't wait to see Sampson and see how he's doing following his surgery. I've not heard any other news, so I'm taking that as a good sign that things are going well.
One more week 'til the Christmas shopping season officially begins!! woo-hoo!!
Thursday, November 15, 2007
A child's imagination
My husband was such a mistreated child. The youngest of 4, the baby of the family... you know that means he never got any attention and was neglected.
At least, if you listen to him tell the story, that's how it was.
Puh-Leeze!! Even though I wasn't there when he was growing up, I think (and everyone else that knows John will agree) that's a big load of horse shit!!
Every so often John will come off with a statement that is so off the wall... I don't remember what we were talking about the other night, but all of a sudden he said he'd go sit in a corner and play with a spool, just like when he was a kid. He had such a serious, yet pathetic look on his face when he said it. I just looked at him and asked, "play with a spool?"
Like a little kid, he nodded his head and replied, "I always sat in the corner and played with a wooden spool." He couldn't keep this fib up any longer and cracked himself up laughing, me too.
Honestly, where does he come up with this stuff???
At least, if you listen to him tell the story, that's how it was.
Puh-Leeze!! Even though I wasn't there when he was growing up, I think (and everyone else that knows John will agree) that's a big load of horse shit!!
Every so often John will come off with a statement that is so off the wall... I don't remember what we were talking about the other night, but all of a sudden he said he'd go sit in a corner and play with a spool, just like when he was a kid. He had such a serious, yet pathetic look on his face when he said it. I just looked at him and asked, "play with a spool?"
Like a little kid, he nodded his head and replied, "I always sat in the corner and played with a wooden spool." He couldn't keep this fib up any longer and cracked himself up laughing, me too.
Honestly, where does he come up with this stuff???
Test Results: I'm falling apart
As I mentioned a week ago, I was hooked up to electrodes and zapped several times as they conducted some kind of neurological test on me.
When I started having the numbness and tingling sensations in my right hand, I figured it was a case of carpal tunnel.
I got the test results back yesterday. Diagnosis: Bilateral carpal tunnel syndromes are highly indicative of this examination. Bilateral double-crush syndromes are highly likely as well.
While I've only had symptoms in my right hand (makes sense, I am right handed), the study showed the following: both the right and left median distal sensory latencies are prolonged. The left median distal motor latency is prolonged. The conduction velocities of both the right and left median sensory evoked responses are slowed. The conduction velocity of the left median motor evoked response is slow....... sounds like my left side is worse than the right, eh?
To all this I ask: what's a double-crush syndrome?
For now, they're going to try treating it with adjustments to my wrist and I'm to continue my neck traction thingy each evening, to see if that doesn't help. If, a few months down the road I'm not better, then an MRI if the cervical spine is recommended, and and EMG may be necessary.
So, in plain ol' English, I'm falling apart.
When I started having the numbness and tingling sensations in my right hand, I figured it was a case of carpal tunnel.
I got the test results back yesterday. Diagnosis: Bilateral carpal tunnel syndromes are highly indicative of this examination. Bilateral double-crush syndromes are highly likely as well.
While I've only had symptoms in my right hand (makes sense, I am right handed), the study showed the following: both the right and left median distal sensory latencies are prolonged. The left median distal motor latency is prolonged. The conduction velocities of both the right and left median sensory evoked responses are slowed. The conduction velocity of the left median motor evoked response is slow....... sounds like my left side is worse than the right, eh?
To all this I ask: what's a double-crush syndrome?
For now, they're going to try treating it with adjustments to my wrist and I'm to continue my neck traction thingy each evening, to see if that doesn't help. If, a few months down the road I'm not better, then an MRI if the cervical spine is recommended, and and EMG may be necessary.
So, in plain ol' English, I'm falling apart.
Olivia'a philosophy on life...
If I'm cute and adorable, they can't get mad at me and won't wring my neck when I do bad things.
**sigh**
I wish I'd had the camera handy last night to snap a shot of her as she was left holding the bag after the crime. Literally!!
We made a shopping trip to Kohl's last night. They were having a sale, I had a coupon, and I needed new tennis shoes. But before we left to go out, I'd fixed breakfast for dinner. I wanted to top the scrambled eggs with cheese, and retrieved a large bag of shredded Mexican cheese from the fridge drawer. But when I opened the bag, I saw little blue-green fuzzy things growing inside, so I tossed it. It had started out as a 2.5 lb. bag, and I'd probably only used about a half pound, so as you can imagine, there was still an awful lot of cheese left.
As the white-thunder has a very bad habit of getting into the garbage and helping herself to whatever she can find, edible or not, we try to make sure the lid is sitting square on the can, and that the doggy gate is propped up at an angle across it, to help deter her from helping herself, but it doesn't always work.
When we arrived home, we entered the dark house and as I stepped from the hallway into the great-room, I just had a feeling that something wasn't right. Some light from the hallway spilled into the room, and as Bootsy & Eliott jumped off the futon, I saw something lying on it that just didn't look quite right. It was white, but didn't look like one of the drool towels. I still wasn't sure what it was, but just knew it was something they shouldn't have had. I said aloud, "Uh-oh" and John came up behind me going, "What?" He flipped on the light and I saw it was a chewed up Walgreens bag. I have no idea where they found it, or what might've been in it. Whatever it was, it was long gone.
Finally, Olivia popped her head up from where she was curled up on the recliner, and in her mouth was the empty bag of cheese, turned completely inside out. She hopped down off the chair and sashayed past us, went down the hall, turned and came back, all like a runway model showing off the new fall fashions, she seemed to be showing us what she'd done and was quite proud of herself. All I could do was stand there and stare at her. I just finally threw up my hands, looked at the husband and said, "well how can you be mad at her when she's so darned cute?!".... which seemed to be her plan all along... if I'm cute and adorable, they won't get mad.
So all morning long I've been calling her cheese-breath, and hoping that the mold on the cheese doesn't harm her. Hopefully the worst that happens is she gets a bit of constipation. Hopefully, she didn't eat the full two pounds herself and shared with her brother and sister.
**sigh**
I wish I'd had the camera handy last night to snap a shot of her as she was left holding the bag after the crime. Literally!!
We made a shopping trip to Kohl's last night. They were having a sale, I had a coupon, and I needed new tennis shoes. But before we left to go out, I'd fixed breakfast for dinner. I wanted to top the scrambled eggs with cheese, and retrieved a large bag of shredded Mexican cheese from the fridge drawer. But when I opened the bag, I saw little blue-green fuzzy things growing inside, so I tossed it. It had started out as a 2.5 lb. bag, and I'd probably only used about a half pound, so as you can imagine, there was still an awful lot of cheese left.
As the white-thunder has a very bad habit of getting into the garbage and helping herself to whatever she can find, edible or not, we try to make sure the lid is sitting square on the can, and that the doggy gate is propped up at an angle across it, to help deter her from helping herself, but it doesn't always work.
When we arrived home, we entered the dark house and as I stepped from the hallway into the great-room, I just had a feeling that something wasn't right. Some light from the hallway spilled into the room, and as Bootsy & Eliott jumped off the futon, I saw something lying on it that just didn't look quite right. It was white, but didn't look like one of the drool towels. I still wasn't sure what it was, but just knew it was something they shouldn't have had. I said aloud, "Uh-oh" and John came up behind me going, "What?" He flipped on the light and I saw it was a chewed up Walgreens bag. I have no idea where they found it, or what might've been in it. Whatever it was, it was long gone.
Finally, Olivia popped her head up from where she was curled up on the recliner, and in her mouth was the empty bag of cheese, turned completely inside out. She hopped down off the chair and sashayed past us, went down the hall, turned and came back, all like a runway model showing off the new fall fashions, she seemed to be showing us what she'd done and was quite proud of herself. All I could do was stand there and stare at her. I just finally threw up my hands, looked at the husband and said, "well how can you be mad at her when she's so darned cute?!".... which seemed to be her plan all along... if I'm cute and adorable, they won't get mad.
So all morning long I've been calling her cheese-breath, and hoping that the mold on the cheese doesn't harm her. Hopefully the worst that happens is she gets a bit of constipation. Hopefully, she didn't eat the full two pounds herself and shared with her brother and sister.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Too much television??
When someone dies from a gunshot wound, and the only witness to what happened is the one having done the shooting, wouldn't you think it would be common sense to launch an investigation, regardless of whether the shooter says it was an accident???
To me, it's common sense. Or maybe it's just from having watched too many Law & Order episodes over the past 12 or 15 years.
Such is the case with a call we have. Supposedly it was an accidental shooting. And in all likelyhood it probably was. But still, these things need to be checked out. Otherwise people would be shooting each other constantly (more so than we do now) and they'd all be written off as accidents. But someone questioned why I'd have such a thought, as they were simply ready to believe that what had happened was the way the witness said it happened. I think that they think I'm a bit jaded. Perhaps I am.
On a slightly different note...
Did you know that when someone passes away, in addition to cancelling their credit cards and notifying social security, if the deceased had a drivers license, then you need to inform the license bureau of their passing? You can't just cut the card up, toss it in the trash and be done with it. You have to show proof that Joe-Shmoe died.
Fifteen years I've been in this business, and I only recently learned that little tidbit. Who'd have thunk it? I wonder if the library needs to know so they can cancel their library card as well???
To me, it's common sense. Or maybe it's just from having watched too many Law & Order episodes over the past 12 or 15 years.
Such is the case with a call we have. Supposedly it was an accidental shooting. And in all likelyhood it probably was. But still, these things need to be checked out. Otherwise people would be shooting each other constantly (more so than we do now) and they'd all be written off as accidents. But someone questioned why I'd have such a thought, as they were simply ready to believe that what had happened was the way the witness said it happened. I think that they think I'm a bit jaded. Perhaps I am.
On a slightly different note...
Did you know that when someone passes away, in addition to cancelling their credit cards and notifying social security, if the deceased had a drivers license, then you need to inform the license bureau of their passing? You can't just cut the card up, toss it in the trash and be done with it. You have to show proof that Joe-Shmoe died.
Fifteen years I've been in this business, and I only recently learned that little tidbit. Who'd have thunk it? I wonder if the library needs to know so they can cancel their library card as well???
End of an era?
Last night was bunco night. Perhaps my last bunco night.
Last evening marked the 2 year anniversary of me joining the group. I've loved every minute of it... making new friends, having "girl-night" each month, and just having something to look forward to one Tuesday night per month besides sitting home alone while the husband was at fire training.
But last night I "turned in my resignation", so to speak. At least three of the girls live 20 - 40 minutes away, and by the time we're done playing and I still have to make that trip home, it puts me home kind of late. Well, late for me anyway. And even if I'm home by 9:30 (bedtime), I just hate walking in the door and going straight to bed. I'd like some time to wind down.
Another of the girls is expecting a baby the end of February, and will be moving out of state next June or July, so there's a member we'll be losing. And a couple of other members only participate half the time anyway.
And too, I fully expect I'll be starting obedience classes in December, and they are held on Tuesday evenings which will keep me tied up through February, maybe longer if the dog goes on to the 2nd level.
I guess I was the turd in the punchbowl last night, making that announcement, but another of the members I'd talked to before I had ever breathed a word mentioned that she fully expected this was the beginning of the end, and didn't foresee the group lasting much longer. So I'm not the only one that was ready to move on.
I've gotten emails, some begging me to stay, others offering to switch bunco to another night to accommodate me, but I just don't feel my heart is in it anymore. I'll miss the girls and girl-night, but I'm ready for a change.
Sorry ladies!!
Last evening marked the 2 year anniversary of me joining the group. I've loved every minute of it... making new friends, having "girl-night" each month, and just having something to look forward to one Tuesday night per month besides sitting home alone while the husband was at fire training.
But last night I "turned in my resignation", so to speak. At least three of the girls live 20 - 40 minutes away, and by the time we're done playing and I still have to make that trip home, it puts me home kind of late. Well, late for me anyway. And even if I'm home by 9:30 (bedtime), I just hate walking in the door and going straight to bed. I'd like some time to wind down.
Another of the girls is expecting a baby the end of February, and will be moving out of state next June or July, so there's a member we'll be losing. And a couple of other members only participate half the time anyway.
And too, I fully expect I'll be starting obedience classes in December, and they are held on Tuesday evenings which will keep me tied up through February, maybe longer if the dog goes on to the 2nd level.
I guess I was the turd in the punchbowl last night, making that announcement, but another of the members I'd talked to before I had ever breathed a word mentioned that she fully expected this was the beginning of the end, and didn't foresee the group lasting much longer. So I'm not the only one that was ready to move on.
I've gotten emails, some begging me to stay, others offering to switch bunco to another night to accommodate me, but I just don't feel my heart is in it anymore. I'll miss the girls and girl-night, but I'm ready for a change.
Sorry ladies!!
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
This & that
I turned the noon news on today, not something I normally do, but hoping to catch an update on the progress of the Extreme Make-Over home. Either they didn't mention it, or else I missed it (I tuned in a few minutes late), because all they could talk about was el presidente coming to New Albany. Ho-hum.
The only bit of good news I heard during the time I watched/listened was a commercial that advertised the return of one of my favorite shows that debuted last year, "Notes From the Underbelly". YEA!!! I was very bummed out when it wasn't on the fall line-up that rolled out a couple of months ago. At this point I don't even care if they show the re-runs from last year, I wouldn't mind watching them again.
Okay, so back to the president. It's the 2nd time this year he's visited the little town of New Albany. I can't help but ask, "why?"!!!! There are thousands of small towns across the nation, why not visit one that he's never been to before? New Albany is already in a budget crisis... how ironic that he's there talking about the budget. His trip earlier this year cost 8 or 9 thousand dollars just in added security, so here we go again, spending another 10grand (I assume some of those people have had raises since the last visit) on his security, and throw them even further over budget. How RUDE!! If you ask me, the White House's budget should be paying for this. Yeah, yeah, I know, it's still coming out of OUR pocket, it's just the principle behind the whole thing.
Brock O. Lee
Interesting name for a person to have. Oh, I don't actually know of anyone that has that name, but it just occurred to me this afternoon as I ate my lunch. I had heated up a Smart One's frozen dinner of potatoes and broccoli in cheese sauce. I hate broccoli. Blech! I've tried it raw, dipped in a variety of dips, steamed, cooked up in casseroles, soups, rice, you name it. But I just can't stand the taste. As I tried to eat my nuked lunch, I was picking around the green stuff, just eating the taters and cheese, but for a brief moment, had focused on the prez's arrival into town and wasn't paying any attention, and mistakenly speared a piece of broccoli, and had eaten it before I realized what I'd done. I still didn't like it, but it didn't send waves of revulsion through me either. I tried a couple of more. As long as it was the very tip of the broccoli, I could tolerate it... that's not to say I liked it, but I could force it down. However, the harder parts or stems, blech, that definitely caused a grotesque look upon my face. As far as I'm concerned, certain green things just were never meant to be eaten.
The only bit of good news I heard during the time I watched/listened was a commercial that advertised the return of one of my favorite shows that debuted last year, "Notes From the Underbelly". YEA!!! I was very bummed out when it wasn't on the fall line-up that rolled out a couple of months ago. At this point I don't even care if they show the re-runs from last year, I wouldn't mind watching them again.
Okay, so back to the president. It's the 2nd time this year he's visited the little town of New Albany. I can't help but ask, "why?"!!!! There are thousands of small towns across the nation, why not visit one that he's never been to before? New Albany is already in a budget crisis... how ironic that he's there talking about the budget. His trip earlier this year cost 8 or 9 thousand dollars just in added security, so here we go again, spending another 10grand (I assume some of those people have had raises since the last visit) on his security, and throw them even further over budget. How RUDE!! If you ask me, the White House's budget should be paying for this. Yeah, yeah, I know, it's still coming out of OUR pocket, it's just the principle behind the whole thing.
Brock O. Lee
Interesting name for a person to have. Oh, I don't actually know of anyone that has that name, but it just occurred to me this afternoon as I ate my lunch. I had heated up a Smart One's frozen dinner of potatoes and broccoli in cheese sauce. I hate broccoli. Blech! I've tried it raw, dipped in a variety of dips, steamed, cooked up in casseroles, soups, rice, you name it. But I just can't stand the taste. As I tried to eat my nuked lunch, I was picking around the green stuff, just eating the taters and cheese, but for a brief moment, had focused on the prez's arrival into town and wasn't paying any attention, and mistakenly speared a piece of broccoli, and had eaten it before I realized what I'd done. I still didn't like it, but it didn't send waves of revulsion through me either. I tried a couple of more. As long as it was the very tip of the broccoli, I could tolerate it... that's not to say I liked it, but I could force it down. However, the harder parts or stems, blech, that definitely caused a grotesque look upon my face. As far as I'm concerned, certain green things just were never meant to be eaten.
Monday, November 12, 2007
All in a day's work
While this is another of my Luci Ctr. blogs, it was anything but a typical day.
I don't know as I've ever known such fear in my life. What I experienced that day gave me a crash-course in equine health, and it's one I hope I never have to experience ever again.
As I mentioned last week, there were only two horses left that I didn't really know by sight as yet, as I've not really had to interact with them much at all, and they're always pastured well away from the stables. That all changed in an instant this weekend.
Class-time went well. It ended at 1pm, and afterwards, "KD" and I walked Patton out to his pasture at the far end of the farm, and turned him loose with his buddies Dude & Sampson. Up 'til now, I still couldn't keep Dude & Sampson straight as to which one was which. Everything seemed fine when I turned Patton loose, and we went back to the stables to get our instructions for the afternoon.
Normally there are at least 3 of us around to do the afternoon chores, but on this particular day, it was only KD and myself. Everyone else had left, including the lady ("P") that lives there and runs the Luci Ctr. She'd left with some friends to go out to the livestock show at the fairgrounds.
It was still a bit early to really start feeding, and the stalls were all in good shape, so while she went to check some water troughs, I went to bring Crazy in from pasture, letting him graze on the grass on the way back to the barn. As we had time to kill, I let Crazy wonder on lead, grazing on the plush green grass. I told him he was on a picnic and to enjoy it. Once he was settled in his stall, KD and I decided to head on out and feed the mares and the goats.
The mares tend to take a while to feed, as you have to stand there 'til the last one is done eating her grain, otherwise the other one will push her aside and eat both portions. Because of a swallowing problem, Ivory has to crib in between bites, and it takes her an eternity to finish eating. Their pasture is partially across from the pasture where Patton, Dude & Sampson are kept. Nothing seemed amiss while we tended them or the goats. Once we were done there, we walked on up the hill, to check the water in the BIG boys' pen... the big boys being the Clydesdale and two thoroughbreds. While KD filled their troughs, I fed them carrots. As we were standing there, we noticed Sampson in the next field, rolling around in the run-in shed. She thought it was odd that he'd choose to roll there, but we didn't worry over it. While she continued the watering, I walked over to Sampson's pen and he came right over to the gate. I fed him some carrots and patted him, then turned to go back to KD. As soon as I started walking away, he started pawing at the gate. Thinking he just wanted more attention &/or carrots, I walked back over and told him to cut it out, as he'd had enough carrots. He stopped pawing while I stood there, but again, as I walked away, he started pawing again. I walked on to where KD was and she was now quite concerned about his behavior. I walked back to Sampson who had now taken up pawing the ground. He finally walked a few feet away, pooped, then immediately laid down and began rolling in it. Blech! By now KD had walked over and went into the pasture. Sampson stood up for her, but again started pawing the ground. I stood at the gate and he came over to me and basically threw himself up against it a couple of times, then resumed pawing the ground. By now we were both very concerned over his behavior. Neither of us had our cell phones with us, so while I stayed to keep an eye on him, she dashed up to the barn to call "P". Of all the times for P to go somewhere and not have her own transportation! P told KD that Sampson had developed colic. She'd call the vet to get him out there, in the meantime, we had to keep him on his feet, keep him moving, and get him up to the barn. That was easier said than done.
While KD was up at the barn, I stood watching Sampson continue to viciously paw the ground. I tried calling him over to me, but he wouldn't come. He finally walked forward a few steps, pooped again, walked a little further out into the field and started rolling around some more. He grunted and groaned the whole time, and my heart was breaking for him and the pain he was obviously feeling.
When KD returned, she went out to him and he finally stood up and allowed her to put a halter on him and lead him out of the pasture. I walked next to him as we made the long walk back to the barn. His legs were quivering with each step, and he began to sweat heavily. By the time we made it to the barn, he was exhausted and steam was rising off his back. We took him to the nearest stall, and he immediately started to slump against the wall. Not wanting him to go down in there, as we'd never be able to get him back up, we wedged ourselves between him and the wall and pushed with all our might to get him upright again. Once he stood straight again, he staggered around in the stall, slumping up against the water bucket, sending water sloshing everywhere. Again we got him righted and decided in the stall wasn't the best place for any of us. KD was able to lead him on quivering legs out of the stall, and in hindsight, we should've headed for the indoor arena, but hindsight is 20/20, and we never made it there. Instead, he staggered out the door that lead to the parking area. But he'd no sooner cleared the doorway then he staggered into some large bushes, and started to slump against them. We had no way of getting in between, and could only stand there, coaxing and begging him to keep moving and not go down. He stood there, his legs all askew, and finally after what seemed an eternity, but was in reality probably only seconds, he finally started walking again. We decided perhaps being out there wasn't the best place for him either, and got him turned around and headed back into the barn. We were going to walk him up and down in the the aisle, but never made it that far, as Sampson made an immediate turn and headed straight back into the stall. Halfway through the doorway though, he started to collapse, and slumped up against the doorframe, KD and myself somewhat pinned there. We both kept pushing with all our might to get him upright, and he finally moved on in. The vicious cycle of him slumping, us pushing or pulling him away from the wall, he'd get pissed and start dancing in circles in the stall. By now, his face was so slick with sweat, which had turned the dust in his coat to mud, it made it very difficult to hold onto him.
KD is just a slip of a woman, and at times I feared Sampson would go down and drag her with him, and I'd be left trying to decide who needed my attention worse. We gave up trying to walk him around, and concentrated on just trying to keep him upright. We held onto him, talked soothing to him, begged him to get better as the kids needed him in class. After what seemed hours, but again, in reality probably only 20 minutes or so had passed since we'd lead him from his pasture, the vet finally showed up. He gave Sampson 2 injections in the neck, which pained me to watch. The sedation did much to calm Sampson down, and he stood still for the rest of the exam. An arm up the rear cleared out the remaining pooh, a tube up the nose and down into the stomach revealed no blockage. The only thing left to do was surgery. He'd have to be taken to the clinic.
In the mean time, the farms assistant director showed up with her truck and she hooked up to the trailer. While she was hooking up, the vet left to go on to the clinic. While KD and I waited, the sedation wore off and Sampson again started slumping against the wall. Here we go again!!
We finally got him loaded into the trailer where he immediately started pawing vigorously at the floor. Even as they drove off down the long drive and we'd already walked out the other side of the barn, I could hear his pawing.
KD and I were both exhausted, physically, mentally, emotionally. We went about to finish the chores. All the horses had been waiting patiently, for a change. Usually, many of them are standing at their gates demanding their food, but they seemed to understand that one of their buddies had needed us, and they waited 'til we could get to them. When we finally got to the ponies pasture, I made the mistake of turning my back for a nano-second on Teaguer who reached out and bit my shoulder, as if to say, "how DARE you make ME wait!!"
When I finally arrived home at 6pm, I was whipped! After I pulled into the driveway, I parked my car and then just sat there and cried. Once I'd composed myself, I drug my weary body into the house and peeled my filthy clothes off in the hallway.
The last update I got, they did surgery on Sampson. Once he was opened up, it was discovered he had a tumor on his stomach. When he had started rolling on the ground, it had caused the tumor to become wrapped around his intestines. The tumor was successfully removed, and he's now up moving around in his stall, eating hay and drinking water. All good signs.
All weekend long Sampson has been on my mind. All weekend long I've been in agonizing pain in my shoulders. I feared I'd have some major back pain from what I'd been through, but surprisingly, it hasn't bothered me at all. Just the muscles in my arms, shoulders and chest hurt.
If he continues to recover and doesn't suffer any setbacks, then if some muscle pain is all I suffer, then it was all worth it.
After the intense time Sampson and I spent together Saturday afternoon, I don't think I'll ever have trouble identifying him ever again.
I don't know as I've ever known such fear in my life. What I experienced that day gave me a crash-course in equine health, and it's one I hope I never have to experience ever again.
As I mentioned last week, there were only two horses left that I didn't really know by sight as yet, as I've not really had to interact with them much at all, and they're always pastured well away from the stables. That all changed in an instant this weekend.
Class-time went well. It ended at 1pm, and afterwards, "KD" and I walked Patton out to his pasture at the far end of the farm, and turned him loose with his buddies Dude & Sampson. Up 'til now, I still couldn't keep Dude & Sampson straight as to which one was which. Everything seemed fine when I turned Patton loose, and we went back to the stables to get our instructions for the afternoon.
Normally there are at least 3 of us around to do the afternoon chores, but on this particular day, it was only KD and myself. Everyone else had left, including the lady ("P") that lives there and runs the Luci Ctr. She'd left with some friends to go out to the livestock show at the fairgrounds.
It was still a bit early to really start feeding, and the stalls were all in good shape, so while she went to check some water troughs, I went to bring Crazy in from pasture, letting him graze on the grass on the way back to the barn. As we had time to kill, I let Crazy wonder on lead, grazing on the plush green grass. I told him he was on a picnic and to enjoy it. Once he was settled in his stall, KD and I decided to head on out and feed the mares and the goats.
The mares tend to take a while to feed, as you have to stand there 'til the last one is done eating her grain, otherwise the other one will push her aside and eat both portions. Because of a swallowing problem, Ivory has to crib in between bites, and it takes her an eternity to finish eating. Their pasture is partially across from the pasture where Patton, Dude & Sampson are kept. Nothing seemed amiss while we tended them or the goats. Once we were done there, we walked on up the hill, to check the water in the BIG boys' pen... the big boys being the Clydesdale and two thoroughbreds. While KD filled their troughs, I fed them carrots. As we were standing there, we noticed Sampson in the next field, rolling around in the run-in shed. She thought it was odd that he'd choose to roll there, but we didn't worry over it. While she continued the watering, I walked over to Sampson's pen and he came right over to the gate. I fed him some carrots and patted him, then turned to go back to KD. As soon as I started walking away, he started pawing at the gate. Thinking he just wanted more attention &/or carrots, I walked back over and told him to cut it out, as he'd had enough carrots. He stopped pawing while I stood there, but again, as I walked away, he started pawing again. I walked on to where KD was and she was now quite concerned about his behavior. I walked back to Sampson who had now taken up pawing the ground. He finally walked a few feet away, pooped, then immediately laid down and began rolling in it. Blech! By now KD had walked over and went into the pasture. Sampson stood up for her, but again started pawing the ground. I stood at the gate and he came over to me and basically threw himself up against it a couple of times, then resumed pawing the ground. By now we were both very concerned over his behavior. Neither of us had our cell phones with us, so while I stayed to keep an eye on him, she dashed up to the barn to call "P". Of all the times for P to go somewhere and not have her own transportation! P told KD that Sampson had developed colic. She'd call the vet to get him out there, in the meantime, we had to keep him on his feet, keep him moving, and get him up to the barn. That was easier said than done.
While KD was up at the barn, I stood watching Sampson continue to viciously paw the ground. I tried calling him over to me, but he wouldn't come. He finally walked forward a few steps, pooped again, walked a little further out into the field and started rolling around some more. He grunted and groaned the whole time, and my heart was breaking for him and the pain he was obviously feeling.
When KD returned, she went out to him and he finally stood up and allowed her to put a halter on him and lead him out of the pasture. I walked next to him as we made the long walk back to the barn. His legs were quivering with each step, and he began to sweat heavily. By the time we made it to the barn, he was exhausted and steam was rising off his back. We took him to the nearest stall, and he immediately started to slump against the wall. Not wanting him to go down in there, as we'd never be able to get him back up, we wedged ourselves between him and the wall and pushed with all our might to get him upright again. Once he stood straight again, he staggered around in the stall, slumping up against the water bucket, sending water sloshing everywhere. Again we got him righted and decided in the stall wasn't the best place for any of us. KD was able to lead him on quivering legs out of the stall, and in hindsight, we should've headed for the indoor arena, but hindsight is 20/20, and we never made it there. Instead, he staggered out the door that lead to the parking area. But he'd no sooner cleared the doorway then he staggered into some large bushes, and started to slump against them. We had no way of getting in between, and could only stand there, coaxing and begging him to keep moving and not go down. He stood there, his legs all askew, and finally after what seemed an eternity, but was in reality probably only seconds, he finally started walking again. We decided perhaps being out there wasn't the best place for him either, and got him turned around and headed back into the barn. We were going to walk him up and down in the the aisle, but never made it that far, as Sampson made an immediate turn and headed straight back into the stall. Halfway through the doorway though, he started to collapse, and slumped up against the doorframe, KD and myself somewhat pinned there. We both kept pushing with all our might to get him upright, and he finally moved on in. The vicious cycle of him slumping, us pushing or pulling him away from the wall, he'd get pissed and start dancing in circles in the stall. By now, his face was so slick with sweat, which had turned the dust in his coat to mud, it made it very difficult to hold onto him.
KD is just a slip of a woman, and at times I feared Sampson would go down and drag her with him, and I'd be left trying to decide who needed my attention worse. We gave up trying to walk him around, and concentrated on just trying to keep him upright. We held onto him, talked soothing to him, begged him to get better as the kids needed him in class. After what seemed hours, but again, in reality probably only 20 minutes or so had passed since we'd lead him from his pasture, the vet finally showed up. He gave Sampson 2 injections in the neck, which pained me to watch. The sedation did much to calm Sampson down, and he stood still for the rest of the exam. An arm up the rear cleared out the remaining pooh, a tube up the nose and down into the stomach revealed no blockage. The only thing left to do was surgery. He'd have to be taken to the clinic.
In the mean time, the farms assistant director showed up with her truck and she hooked up to the trailer. While she was hooking up, the vet left to go on to the clinic. While KD and I waited, the sedation wore off and Sampson again started slumping against the wall. Here we go again!!
We finally got him loaded into the trailer where he immediately started pawing vigorously at the floor. Even as they drove off down the long drive and we'd already walked out the other side of the barn, I could hear his pawing.
KD and I were both exhausted, physically, mentally, emotionally. We went about to finish the chores. All the horses had been waiting patiently, for a change. Usually, many of them are standing at their gates demanding their food, but they seemed to understand that one of their buddies had needed us, and they waited 'til we could get to them. When we finally got to the ponies pasture, I made the mistake of turning my back for a nano-second on Teaguer who reached out and bit my shoulder, as if to say, "how DARE you make ME wait!!"
When I finally arrived home at 6pm, I was whipped! After I pulled into the driveway, I parked my car and then just sat there and cried. Once I'd composed myself, I drug my weary body into the house and peeled my filthy clothes off in the hallway.
The last update I got, they did surgery on Sampson. Once he was opened up, it was discovered he had a tumor on his stomach. When he had started rolling on the ground, it had caused the tumor to become wrapped around his intestines. The tumor was successfully removed, and he's now up moving around in his stall, eating hay and drinking water. All good signs.
All weekend long Sampson has been on my mind. All weekend long I've been in agonizing pain in my shoulders. I feared I'd have some major back pain from what I'd been through, but surprisingly, it hasn't bothered me at all. Just the muscles in my arms, shoulders and chest hurt.
If he continues to recover and doesn't suffer any setbacks, then if some muscle pain is all I suffer, then it was all worth it.
After the intense time Sampson and I spent together Saturday afternoon, I don't think I'll ever have trouble identifying him ever again.
Friday, November 09, 2007
"An Odum County Mystery", chapter 1
Before I get to the story, just remember, this is my first attempt at such a thing, so don't be too harsh in your criticism. Truthful yes, but be gentle. This is a "who done it?".
Disclaimer: While the story does revolve around where I work and some of the people I work with, I've changed all names to protect the "innocent", pun intended. And yes, my boss knows I'm doing this, and I have his permission.
***
Chapter 1...
Katie sat at her cramped desk rubbing her temples, willing the headache that plagued her to go away. It had struck right after arriving at work that morning, work being the Hadley & Richards Funeral Home. From the moment she had seen her boss, Ralph, wearing a suit, she knew that meant they were "in business". Ralph was the managing director at the home, and lived on site. He only wore a suit if there was a visitation or funeral going on, or unless he knew he'd have to meet with a family to make arrangements. Otherwise, he wore flopping clothes.
Ralph looked wearier than usual. Before she could even ask who'd died, he volunteered the information. A local socialite, Lurlene Paull, had been found dead in her home late the night before. As Ralph was also the coroner in Odum County, that meant he'd been called to Mrs. Paull's home to pronounce her dead, and to start an inquest into her death if necessary. As Mrs. Paull was only 54 with no known health issues and no obvious cause of death, an autopsy was ordered, and the police called in to collect any evidence.
The Hadley & Richards Funeral Home was located in LeFleur, the county seat of Odum County. It was a small town of little more than 10,000 residents. Everybody knew everybody and/or was related to everybody else in the county. Very little happened around there that the news didn't spread like wildfire. This created a lot of nosey, busy-bodied people. They didn't mean to be, that's just the way it was.
And it was because of this, that news of of Lurlene's untimely death spread through the town, and the phones started ringing non-stop at the funeral home. And it was also because of this that Katie sat rubbing her temples. It was only 2pm, and she'd probably fielded nearly 50 phone calls from the town's residents, wanting to know what had happened?, what she thought had happened?, and when would the funeral be? Katie felt like a broken record, telling them she didn't know what had happened (not that she would tell if she did know), and telling them that arrangements hadn't been finalized.
For reasons Katie had never figured out, people seemed to think that funeral arrangements made themselves automatically the moment a person died. It was as if people assumed that once your heart stopped beating, God himself sent down a directive at that very moment stating: "Mr. Jones funeral will be on such and such day, at such and such time"... end of discussion. If people only knew!
Mrs. Paull's husband, husband #5 to be exact, and her daughter from marriage #1, were downstairs making the arrangements, and Katie hoped things would be finalized soon. The sooner this funeral took place, the sooner the phones would stop ringing. Little did she know that things wouldn't be finalized until the next day, as husband #5 and his step-daughter were butting heads on every little decision.
The step-daughter, Babbs, didn't like her young step-father. George was her own age, and she made sure anybody who'd listen knew she disapproved of their marriage. The whole town felt he'd married Lurlene for her money. But what the town's people didn't know was that Babb's had been engaged to him first.
Five o'clock came and went. It was past quitting time and Katie went home, leaving Ralph to referee the feuding family members...
Disclaimer: While the story does revolve around where I work and some of the people I work with, I've changed all names to protect the "innocent", pun intended. And yes, my boss knows I'm doing this, and I have his permission.
***
Chapter 1...
Katie sat at her cramped desk rubbing her temples, willing the headache that plagued her to go away. It had struck right after arriving at work that morning, work being the Hadley & Richards Funeral Home. From the moment she had seen her boss, Ralph, wearing a suit, she knew that meant they were "in business". Ralph was the managing director at the home, and lived on site. He only wore a suit if there was a visitation or funeral going on, or unless he knew he'd have to meet with a family to make arrangements. Otherwise, he wore flopping clothes.
Ralph looked wearier than usual. Before she could even ask who'd died, he volunteered the information. A local socialite, Lurlene Paull, had been found dead in her home late the night before. As Ralph was also the coroner in Odum County, that meant he'd been called to Mrs. Paull's home to pronounce her dead, and to start an inquest into her death if necessary. As Mrs. Paull was only 54 with no known health issues and no obvious cause of death, an autopsy was ordered, and the police called in to collect any evidence.
The Hadley & Richards Funeral Home was located in LeFleur, the county seat of Odum County. It was a small town of little more than 10,000 residents. Everybody knew everybody and/or was related to everybody else in the county. Very little happened around there that the news didn't spread like wildfire. This created a lot of nosey, busy-bodied people. They didn't mean to be, that's just the way it was.
And it was because of this, that news of of Lurlene's untimely death spread through the town, and the phones started ringing non-stop at the funeral home. And it was also because of this that Katie sat rubbing her temples. It was only 2pm, and she'd probably fielded nearly 50 phone calls from the town's residents, wanting to know what had happened?, what she thought had happened?, and when would the funeral be? Katie felt like a broken record, telling them she didn't know what had happened (not that she would tell if she did know), and telling them that arrangements hadn't been finalized.
For reasons Katie had never figured out, people seemed to think that funeral arrangements made themselves automatically the moment a person died. It was as if people assumed that once your heart stopped beating, God himself sent down a directive at that very moment stating: "Mr. Jones funeral will be on such and such day, at such and such time"... end of discussion. If people only knew!
Mrs. Paull's husband, husband #5 to be exact, and her daughter from marriage #1, were downstairs making the arrangements, and Katie hoped things would be finalized soon. The sooner this funeral took place, the sooner the phones would stop ringing. Little did she know that things wouldn't be finalized until the next day, as husband #5 and his step-daughter were butting heads on every little decision.
The step-daughter, Babbs, didn't like her young step-father. George was her own age, and she made sure anybody who'd listen knew she disapproved of their marriage. The whole town felt he'd married Lurlene for her money. But what the town's people didn't know was that Babb's had been engaged to him first.
Five o'clock came and went. It was past quitting time and Katie went home, leaving Ralph to referee the feuding family members...
The call, part 2
Okay, now I can tell you a little more about the call I got last night.
If you'll recall what happened a week ago Monday... I was (excuse me, WE... must include John) asked to help rescue a Great Dane. As I mentioned last week after "rescuing" it, he's a sweetheart of a dog that I fell in love with even as a tiny pup.
Well, the owners have called the breeder, "G", several times since them, asking for the dog back. G has been very hesitant to return it to them, as the dog obviously still has some issues, but by that same token, she really doesn't have room for him. As it is right now, she's got two of her own dogs doubled-up in one pen. And it's looking like she's going to be getting another of her former pups returned to her in the next week or so, as it turned up at a Dane-rescue in Indiana... but that's another story for another time.
Anyway, G has been telling Zack's owner he needs to be neutered and he needs some obedience training. The man had had somebody come to his house before to work with Zack, but the "trainer" never came back after the 2nd visit. He doesn't know why. Now this is where I come into the picture. She put the suggestion to the man that perhaps I might consider working with Zack if he would allow it. She told him of my work with Olivia, and how I'd put all my other dogs through at least the basics, and felt I might be able to do Zack some good, especially seeing as how Zack responded positively towards me that night. So she called me last night, asking if I might be interested. Interested?... Hmmm....
She gave me their phone number, and I made the call this morning.
I told him first thing is first... he has got to get Zack neutered. No if's and's or but's. If at all possible, get it done this coming week. I nearly fell out of my chair when he asked what all it entailed, and what the benefits of doing that were. He said he'd had 9 danes over the years, and except for having a couple of females spayed, he'd never had one neutered. I couldn't get over it! Okay, well, besides the fact that it may help calm him down, it will create less of a tendency to roam, less of a tendency to fight with other intact males if any are ever around, and no worries of testicular cancer if he doesn't have them. I almost felt as if I was talking to a first-time dog owner. He then told me how much trouble he'd had getting Zack into his car to go anywhere. My suggestion, perhaps G could drop Zack off at her vet to be neutered, I'd pick him up afterwards, as it's near my house, and bring Zack home. After that, I'd come work with Zack for an hour or so on Sunday mornings and then...
A new round of beginner obedience classes starts Dec. 11th. We need to get Zack enrolled. I know this man is very hard of hearing, so he wouldn't be a very good candidate for going through the class with Zack. I'll work with Zack at the class on Tuesdays, then come over to their house on Sunday's to work with them together.
Am I willing to do all this simply out of the goodness of my heart? Partially, but not entirely.
I hate to see a good dog like that "going to waste" so to speak, and I hate what the old couple is going through. I know they miss their Zack, and my heart breaks for them. Although considering their age and mobility, I'm thinking that perhaps they need to down-size to a smaller dog they can pick up if necessary and manage a bit better. But G said they simply don't want another breed. I can understand that feeling also... as I'm very attached to my danes. But I also know that when I get older and can't handle a giant dog anymore, I've already made my mind up to down-size to a corgi. Common sense has got to take over at some point! Anyway... there is also an opportunity to make a few bucks here, so why not?
Hopefully this will be a win-win situation for all parties involved.
If you'll recall what happened a week ago Monday... I was (excuse me, WE... must include John) asked to help rescue a Great Dane. As I mentioned last week after "rescuing" it, he's a sweetheart of a dog that I fell in love with even as a tiny pup.
Well, the owners have called the breeder, "G", several times since them, asking for the dog back. G has been very hesitant to return it to them, as the dog obviously still has some issues, but by that same token, she really doesn't have room for him. As it is right now, she's got two of her own dogs doubled-up in one pen. And it's looking like she's going to be getting another of her former pups returned to her in the next week or so, as it turned up at a Dane-rescue in Indiana... but that's another story for another time.
Anyway, G has been telling Zack's owner he needs to be neutered and he needs some obedience training. The man had had somebody come to his house before to work with Zack, but the "trainer" never came back after the 2nd visit. He doesn't know why. Now this is where I come into the picture. She put the suggestion to the man that perhaps I might consider working with Zack if he would allow it. She told him of my work with Olivia, and how I'd put all my other dogs through at least the basics, and felt I might be able to do Zack some good, especially seeing as how Zack responded positively towards me that night. So she called me last night, asking if I might be interested. Interested?... Hmmm....
She gave me their phone number, and I made the call this morning.
I told him first thing is first... he has got to get Zack neutered. No if's and's or but's. If at all possible, get it done this coming week. I nearly fell out of my chair when he asked what all it entailed, and what the benefits of doing that were. He said he'd had 9 danes over the years, and except for having a couple of females spayed, he'd never had one neutered. I couldn't get over it! Okay, well, besides the fact that it may help calm him down, it will create less of a tendency to roam, less of a tendency to fight with other intact males if any are ever around, and no worries of testicular cancer if he doesn't have them. I almost felt as if I was talking to a first-time dog owner. He then told me how much trouble he'd had getting Zack into his car to go anywhere. My suggestion, perhaps G could drop Zack off at her vet to be neutered, I'd pick him up afterwards, as it's near my house, and bring Zack home. After that, I'd come work with Zack for an hour or so on Sunday mornings and then...
A new round of beginner obedience classes starts Dec. 11th. We need to get Zack enrolled. I know this man is very hard of hearing, so he wouldn't be a very good candidate for going through the class with Zack. I'll work with Zack at the class on Tuesdays, then come over to their house on Sunday's to work with them together.
Am I willing to do all this simply out of the goodness of my heart? Partially, but not entirely.
I hate to see a good dog like that "going to waste" so to speak, and I hate what the old couple is going through. I know they miss their Zack, and my heart breaks for them. Although considering their age and mobility, I'm thinking that perhaps they need to down-size to a smaller dog they can pick up if necessary and manage a bit better. But G said they simply don't want another breed. I can understand that feeling also... as I'm very attached to my danes. But I also know that when I get older and can't handle a giant dog anymore, I've already made my mind up to down-size to a corgi. Common sense has got to take over at some point! Anyway... there is also an opportunity to make a few bucks here, so why not?
Hopefully this will be a win-win situation for all parties involved.
The call, part 1
I got a phone call last night. Something in the gut of my mind was telling me there was a reason for this call other than idle chit-chat, or something other than the usual request this person makes of me.
But I waited, chitting, chatting, listening. Then it came. The reason for the call.
I'll have to follow up this blog with a "part 2" later today to give you the full details, but for now, let's just suffice it to say that I may have a new, if temporary vocation.
I've got a phone call to make later this morning, to see what can be worked out. I'm nervous, kind of excited. Somewhat flattered that I was considered for the "job".
Stay tuned for more info....
But I waited, chitting, chatting, listening. Then it came. The reason for the call.
I'll have to follow up this blog with a "part 2" later today to give you the full details, but for now, let's just suffice it to say that I may have a new, if temporary vocation.
I've got a phone call to make later this morning, to see what can be worked out. I'm nervous, kind of excited. Somewhat flattered that I was considered for the "job".
Stay tuned for more info....
Breaking the rules
I broke a rule yesterday. **Gasp!!**
But before I explain myself, I have to ask you this...
Have you ever read the instructions on a bottle of shampoo? Of course, we all have. Why I don't know, because it seems like a pretty simple and common-sense kind of product to use. But I'm sure somewhere out there in this world is some knuckle-head that would probably try to eat the shampoo, feeling that somehow that would make their hair cleaner. But I digress...
The instructions used to say: Wet hair, using X amount shampoo, work into a lather. Rinse and repeat.
I've never followed these instructions. Honestly, how many of you do this? I mean, the "repeat" part. Why wash our hair twice? We don't bath ourselves twice when we take a shower do we? Unless perhaps we were just totally filthy and covered in some kind of goo. So why are we washing our hair twice?? In all the times I ever went to a salon for a haircut and they washed my hair beforehand, they never shampooed twice, so why should I?
Okay, so here's where I really broke the rules. My rat's nest of hair has been making me simply insane. The ends were so damaged, I couldn't do anything with it. It just looked awful! I finally caved and went to a salon yesterday after work... okay, a Fantastic Sams, not a real salon. Anywho... the girl that washed my hair actually did lather, rinse and REPEAT! I nearly slid out of the chair! I wondered, was this the norm? Or did she think my hair looked really dirty? Or maybe full of cooties? Now I was developing a complex.
I told her I was trying to let it grow out, that I just wanted the damaged ends taken off. When all was said and done, I walked out with a cute cut. They make even a simple styling look so easy when they do it. I had watched her carefully as she blew it dry, wanting to duplicate it once I was on my own. But it never works out that way.
Once home, I had to wash it immediately, as I can't stand those hair-bits on me. I itch like crazy, and I don't like them falling into my food. Blech!! So I washed (once) and conditioned, then set about drying it like she had. Needless to say, my attempts to style it as she had failed dismally. How do they DO THAT??????? And why can't I???????
Okay, so as I again shampooed this morning while in the shower, I took a moment to read the shampoo bottle's instructions. Again, I don't know why. But imagine my surprise when it only mentioned lathering and rinsing once, then to follow up with a conditioner. It never mentioned repeating the process, anywhere! Gasp!! I suppose the beautician was the one breaking the rules now!
But before I explain myself, I have to ask you this...
Have you ever read the instructions on a bottle of shampoo? Of course, we all have. Why I don't know, because it seems like a pretty simple and common-sense kind of product to use. But I'm sure somewhere out there in this world is some knuckle-head that would probably try to eat the shampoo, feeling that somehow that would make their hair cleaner. But I digress...
The instructions used to say: Wet hair, using X amount shampoo, work into a lather. Rinse and repeat.
I've never followed these instructions. Honestly, how many of you do this? I mean, the "repeat" part. Why wash our hair twice? We don't bath ourselves twice when we take a shower do we? Unless perhaps we were just totally filthy and covered in some kind of goo. So why are we washing our hair twice?? In all the times I ever went to a salon for a haircut and they washed my hair beforehand, they never shampooed twice, so why should I?
Okay, so here's where I really broke the rules. My rat's nest of hair has been making me simply insane. The ends were so damaged, I couldn't do anything with it. It just looked awful! I finally caved and went to a salon yesterday after work... okay, a Fantastic Sams, not a real salon. Anywho... the girl that washed my hair actually did lather, rinse and REPEAT! I nearly slid out of the chair! I wondered, was this the norm? Or did she think my hair looked really dirty? Or maybe full of cooties? Now I was developing a complex.
I told her I was trying to let it grow out, that I just wanted the damaged ends taken off. When all was said and done, I walked out with a cute cut. They make even a simple styling look so easy when they do it. I had watched her carefully as she blew it dry, wanting to duplicate it once I was on my own. But it never works out that way.
Once home, I had to wash it immediately, as I can't stand those hair-bits on me. I itch like crazy, and I don't like them falling into my food. Blech!! So I washed (once) and conditioned, then set about drying it like she had. Needless to say, my attempts to style it as she had failed dismally. How do they DO THAT??????? And why can't I???????
Okay, so as I again shampooed this morning while in the shower, I took a moment to read the shampoo bottle's instructions. Again, I don't know why. But imagine my surprise when it only mentioned lathering and rinsing once, then to follow up with a conditioner. It never mentioned repeating the process, anywhere! Gasp!! I suppose the beautician was the one breaking the rules now!
Thursday, November 08, 2007
"Hush"
I just finished watching this movie, and it simply spoke volumes to me.
It was among the $3.00 movies at Big Lots the other day. I'd never heard of it, but as I recognized the two lead actresses, Jessica Lange & Gwyneth Paltrow, I figured it would be worth a $3 shot. I wasn't disappointed!
While the movie was very predictable, and I guessed a lot of what would happen long before it ever did, it dealt with a subject that I can identify with only too well, as I live it constantly. I couldn't help but empathize, sympathize and cheer on Gwyneth's character at the end.
I'll leave my commentary at that. But for any of you ladies that find yourself in a constant game of tug-o'-war, and your spouse is the rope, then I highly recommend it.
It was among the $3.00 movies at Big Lots the other day. I'd never heard of it, but as I recognized the two lead actresses, Jessica Lange & Gwyneth Paltrow, I figured it would be worth a $3 shot. I wasn't disappointed!
While the movie was very predictable, and I guessed a lot of what would happen long before it ever did, it dealt with a subject that I can identify with only too well, as I live it constantly. I couldn't help but empathize, sympathize and cheer on Gwyneth's character at the end.
I'll leave my commentary at that. But for any of you ladies that find yourself in a constant game of tug-o'-war, and your spouse is the rope, then I highly recommend it.
Zapped!!
I had some kind of nerve test conducted on my arms, hands, and fingers yesterday. Don't ask me to repeat the name of the test, because I'm just no good at remembering technical names/terms. I was electroded up and then put through a series of torture tests... can you say, "bride of Frankenstein"? After 30+ minutes of electro-shock therapy, I told the guy conducting the test I was going to get him a sign to hang on his door that said: Mike's Little Shop of Horrors. Okay, all seriousness aside...
I was told to lie down, and indeed, electrodes were placed at various points on my right arm/hand/fingers, and then he proceeded to shock the foo out of me. I was also hooked up to a computer which recorded my reactions. The whole process was repeated on the left side as well. I've not had any problems with the numbness/tingling sensation on that side, but for some strange reason, he had a hard time getting the necessary reaction over there.
The computer screen looked not unlike a print-out from a lie-detectr test, with all the lines that had small mountains and valleys along the way. The test results were emailed to a neurologist, and we're now awaiting his opinion... can you say "hefty doctor bill right at Christmas"?
Ho-hum, life is good.
I was told to lie down, and indeed, electrodes were placed at various points on my right arm/hand/fingers, and then he proceeded to shock the foo out of me. I was also hooked up to a computer which recorded my reactions. The whole process was repeated on the left side as well. I've not had any problems with the numbness/tingling sensation on that side, but for some strange reason, he had a hard time getting the necessary reaction over there.
The computer screen looked not unlike a print-out from a lie-detectr test, with all the lines that had small mountains and valleys along the way. The test results were emailed to a neurologist, and we're now awaiting his opinion... can you say "hefty doctor bill right at Christmas"?
Ho-hum, life is good.
Home Make-over
Last week, my husband came home telling me that the show "Extreme Home Makeovers" was making over a home on the south side of town, and that they were asking for volunteers from the fire department to help out that area's volunteer department, Beuchel, as they had to stand-by around the clock at the home that was being made over.
He didn't offer up anymore info, and I never gave it another thought. Then last night, he informed me who the family was that was getting the make-over and I couldn't help but think, "I can't think of a more deserving family!", how absolutely perfect!! While watching the news this morning, they too confirmed the family that was to benefit.
For any of you that live in/around the Louisville area, you probably already are familiar with this family. We've watched one of the son's, Patrick, grow up on television, during the yearly event of WHAS Crusade for Children. Patrick is an amazing young man, now a college student at the University of Louisville, and an inspiration to all. Blind from birth, having been born without eyes, and confined to a wheelchair due to some other birth defects, he hasn't let any of this stop him or slow him down for that matter. He's a wonderful piano player, plays the trumpet for U of L's marching band... yes, I said marching band. His father pushes him in his wheelchair during the performances.
Patrick has been featured on ESPN, appeared on the Oprah Winfrey show, and other national shows.
The make-over show arrived in town this week, and will demolish their home and rebuild it. The show will air some time in 2008. I've only watched the show a couple of times since it's been on the air, but this is one episode I can't wait to see!
If you want to read more on the up-coming event, click on the link below.
http://www.whas11.com/topstories/stories/110807whasasTopExtremeMakeoverHomeEdition.1ed1fe567.html
He didn't offer up anymore info, and I never gave it another thought. Then last night, he informed me who the family was that was getting the make-over and I couldn't help but think, "I can't think of a more deserving family!", how absolutely perfect!! While watching the news this morning, they too confirmed the family that was to benefit.
For any of you that live in/around the Louisville area, you probably already are familiar with this family. We've watched one of the son's, Patrick, grow up on television, during the yearly event of WHAS Crusade for Children. Patrick is an amazing young man, now a college student at the University of Louisville, and an inspiration to all. Blind from birth, having been born without eyes, and confined to a wheelchair due to some other birth defects, he hasn't let any of this stop him or slow him down for that matter. He's a wonderful piano player, plays the trumpet for U of L's marching band... yes, I said marching band. His father pushes him in his wheelchair during the performances.
Patrick has been featured on ESPN, appeared on the Oprah Winfrey show, and other national shows.
The make-over show arrived in town this week, and will demolish their home and rebuild it. The show will air some time in 2008. I've only watched the show a couple of times since it's been on the air, but this is one episode I can't wait to see!
If you want to read more on the up-coming event, click on the link below.
http://www.whas11.com/topstories/stories/110807whasasTopExtremeMakeoverHomeEdition.1ed1fe567.html
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Beaten, black & blue
It's hump-day, happy Wednesday.
I finally made it to my chiropractor appointment yesterday, a day late thanks to the traffic issues the day before. Dr. "P" was there. I hadn't seen him in quite a while, and he's such a nice man. If they aren't totally swamped around there, he very often takes the time to go around the room and say "hello", shake your hand and chat for a moment with everyone that's doing their exercises. This was the case yesterday, and he asked about my back, which has been doing pretty good of late, and I made mention of this darned crick in my neck that's been hanging around these past few weeks. I also mentioned a new issue I'd developed of late, a tingling numbness in my right hand that occurs whenever I have to grip things for more than a few seconds. I thought perhaps I was developing carpal-tunnel.
New x-rays were taken of my neck, which show'd my forward head posture getting worse, and some compression around the C-5/6 area, I think. He did some reflex tests on my hands, and I had practically no resistance capability in my right hand what-so-ever! He poked around on my shoulder, actually inflicted a bit of pain he was pushing so hard, but he stopped, checked my right hand again, and my hand suddenly had a lot more resistance. Of course, not nearly what it should, compared to how my left hand resisted, but a very noticeable difference all the same.
I was put back on some of my old exercises, given an adjustment, and sent home with a neck-posture-pump to use. That gadget alone is going to give me plenty of blog-fodder in the coming weeks, I can feel it.
One of the p.t. techs showed me how to use it, and I felt somewhat like the bride of Frankenstein hooked up to this gadget. I have to pump it up, count to 10, release it then repeat the process 15 times. On the 16th time, I hold it for a minute... eventually working my tolerance up to 15 minutes. Good grief, 10 seconds hurts enough, I can't imagine 15 minutes. But it's supposed to help correct the curve, or should I say, lack of curve, in my neck.
So I'm now back in therapy 3 times a week. I go again today and they're supposed to do some kind of nerve-test on me. I guess I'll find out what all that entails when all is said and done.
This morning, I feel somewhat as if I've received a good beating.
But the only black and blue I have to show for it is the pair of mismatched socks I'm wearing. I didn't notice until I got to work.
I finally made it to my chiropractor appointment yesterday, a day late thanks to the traffic issues the day before. Dr. "P" was there. I hadn't seen him in quite a while, and he's such a nice man. If they aren't totally swamped around there, he very often takes the time to go around the room and say "hello", shake your hand and chat for a moment with everyone that's doing their exercises. This was the case yesterday, and he asked about my back, which has been doing pretty good of late, and I made mention of this darned crick in my neck that's been hanging around these past few weeks. I also mentioned a new issue I'd developed of late, a tingling numbness in my right hand that occurs whenever I have to grip things for more than a few seconds. I thought perhaps I was developing carpal-tunnel.
New x-rays were taken of my neck, which show'd my forward head posture getting worse, and some compression around the C-5/6 area, I think. He did some reflex tests on my hands, and I had practically no resistance capability in my right hand what-so-ever! He poked around on my shoulder, actually inflicted a bit of pain he was pushing so hard, but he stopped, checked my right hand again, and my hand suddenly had a lot more resistance. Of course, not nearly what it should, compared to how my left hand resisted, but a very noticeable difference all the same.
I was put back on some of my old exercises, given an adjustment, and sent home with a neck-posture-pump to use. That gadget alone is going to give me plenty of blog-fodder in the coming weeks, I can feel it.
One of the p.t. techs showed me how to use it, and I felt somewhat like the bride of Frankenstein hooked up to this gadget. I have to pump it up, count to 10, release it then repeat the process 15 times. On the 16th time, I hold it for a minute... eventually working my tolerance up to 15 minutes. Good grief, 10 seconds hurts enough, I can't imagine 15 minutes. But it's supposed to help correct the curve, or should I say, lack of curve, in my neck.
So I'm now back in therapy 3 times a week. I go again today and they're supposed to do some kind of nerve-test on me. I guess I'll find out what all that entails when all is said and done.
This morning, I feel somewhat as if I've received a good beating.
But the only black and blue I have to show for it is the pair of mismatched socks I'm wearing. I didn't notice until I got to work.
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
I-71 Parking Lot
On the way home yesterday, about a 1/2 mile north of the rest area, traffic suddenly came to a dead halt. We weren't moving at all. And as traffic packed in behind us, I have no doubt we looked like a 2-lane parking lot to anyone flying by overhead.
There must've been a hellacious wreck somewhere up ahead. While I was sitting there, 3 flat-bed tow-trucks and 1 wrecker passed by on the shoulder. Who knows how many might've already been by before I parked my car.
I, along with most everyone else around finally turned off our engines. Why waste the precious fuel in our tanks at today's prices?? Many people started getting out of their cars, walking over to another car and striking up conversations with perfect strangers. As it sprinkled rain off and on, I opted to stay in my car. I had the Sunday paper lying in the seat next to me that I taken from work so that I could look at the ads and have a tv section at home. So I got comfortable in my seat and proceeded to catch up on some of the news. It was actually quite relaxing. I couldn't tell you when the last time was that I've actually taken the time to read a newspaper, much less a Sunday paper.
After 45 minutes of down-time, the big rig parked in front of me suddenly came to life, and all the cars around followed suit. We finally started inching forward again. Over the next 5 miles, even though the posted speed was 70 mph, none of the traffic really got much above 60. Everyone seemed to be moving cautiously. I never did see where the wreck had been, so either they did a really good job of cleaning up the mess, or else it had happened beyond my exit.
I know traffic delays usually brings out the worst in most of us and tempers flare. And in the time I sat there, I only had two drivers seem to lose patience and decide to drive around everybody by driving up the shoulder. But I have to say, everybody else seemed to take it in stride and almost seemed to welcome the break in their day, as the conversations I heard going on around me seemed to be friendly, if not downright jovial.
I missed my appointment at the chiropractor and had to re-schedule for this evening. And by the time I finally did make it home, I didn't even feel up to going to the grocery.
While I've no desire to sit in traffic on a regular basis, it actually was kind of nice to be forced to stop and chill out.
There must've been a hellacious wreck somewhere up ahead. While I was sitting there, 3 flat-bed tow-trucks and 1 wrecker passed by on the shoulder. Who knows how many might've already been by before I parked my car.
I, along with most everyone else around finally turned off our engines. Why waste the precious fuel in our tanks at today's prices?? Many people started getting out of their cars, walking over to another car and striking up conversations with perfect strangers. As it sprinkled rain off and on, I opted to stay in my car. I had the Sunday paper lying in the seat next to me that I taken from work so that I could look at the ads and have a tv section at home. So I got comfortable in my seat and proceeded to catch up on some of the news. It was actually quite relaxing. I couldn't tell you when the last time was that I've actually taken the time to read a newspaper, much less a Sunday paper.
After 45 minutes of down-time, the big rig parked in front of me suddenly came to life, and all the cars around followed suit. We finally started inching forward again. Over the next 5 miles, even though the posted speed was 70 mph, none of the traffic really got much above 60. Everyone seemed to be moving cautiously. I never did see where the wreck had been, so either they did a really good job of cleaning up the mess, or else it had happened beyond my exit.
I know traffic delays usually brings out the worst in most of us and tempers flare. And in the time I sat there, I only had two drivers seem to lose patience and decide to drive around everybody by driving up the shoulder. But I have to say, everybody else seemed to take it in stride and almost seemed to welcome the break in their day, as the conversations I heard going on around me seemed to be friendly, if not downright jovial.
I missed my appointment at the chiropractor and had to re-schedule for this evening. And by the time I finally did make it home, I didn't even feel up to going to the grocery.
While I've no desire to sit in traffic on a regular basis, it actually was kind of nice to be forced to stop and chill out.
Monday, November 05, 2007
The weekend blip
Okay, as I've already mentioned, there was a minor blip that happened this weekend, and you know I'm going to share...
As I was returning home from the store Sunday noonish, I turned into the subdivision, and right away saw a young couple walking from our driveway, crossing our street, and starting up the driveway of our friends' house. I figured it was a couple of door-to-door sales people, as we get so many. Usually the older teens, early twenty people that come knocking are trying to sell magazines or "getting experience" (as they claim) just talking to people. Yeah, okay, whatever!
As I turned the corner onto our street, I saw them stop and turn to look at me. Did I know them? Um, no, I don't think so. I pulled just past our house then proceeded to back into our driveway, as is my habit. They turned around and came towards me. Hmm, I guess they're going to be persistent sales people. I don't like sales people, especially pushy ones.
Before I could even get completely out of my car, the young man started talking.
"I'm a friend of John's, from the firehouse..." Okay, before he even could say another word, I knew instantly who he was. Oh, I didn't know his name, but I knew quite a bit about him and his girlfriend, from things my husband had told me. I was immediately on guard.
"... and we was wondering if John was at home."
Okay, I'm thinking to myself, "do you see his car anywhere?" and "Did he answer the door when you rand the bell?" But I bit my tongue, played nice and replied, "No, he's at work."
"Oh. Well, our car ran out of gas (turns to point at a red car parked near a neighbor's house I had passed when I turned into the neighborhood), and I was wondering if I could borrow a gas can. I was headed to the gas station when this happened. I have money for the gas."
I didn't say a word, just turned and walked over to the garage door, unlocked it, and thankfully saw a can sitting just inside the door so I didn't have to dig around for it. There was a smaller gas can sitting on top of it that was marked "gas + oil", meaning the mixture he used for the weed eater and blower. I picked up the bottom can, not noticing that the smaller can had tipped over, and shook it. It was bone-dry empty. I turned and handed it to the young man, who again repeated he had money for gas.
Okay, fine, why do you keep telling me? I knew that the young man lived in the subdivision right next to ours, and couldn't help but wonder why he didn't walk to his own house to get a gas can.
They started walking towards the nearest gas station (which took them pretty much right past his house), and I closed the garage. I went to get my purchases out of the car, and noticed the girl looking back at me as they walked away, and it gave me a weird feeling. Normally, I wait 'til I'm completely done unloading the car before I lock it, but this time, I locked it between each armload of stuff I carried in. Once in the house, I shut and locked the door, even though it was a nice day out, if a bit breezy. Normally, I'd let the dogs out to potty as soon as I get home, but again, I broke habit and made them stay inside with me.
When I went out to get more stuff from the car, I glanced over and saw the girl sitting in their car, he was nowhere in sight. I knew she had a fascination with our dogs and it made me nervous. I knew this because when I was out of town a couple of weeks ago, she had insisted to my husband that he bring her to our house so she could see them. This didn't sit well with me, but what was done was done.
About 20 minutes later, I had a load of laundry in the washer, another in the dryer and was running the vacuum in our bedroom. Yes, I know, many of you are gasping in shock. I was actually doing some productive within the house. Over the roar of all these appliances, I heard the dogs barking and go galloping through the house. I turned the vac off, and heard my cell ringing. I answered it as I also went to answer the door. Why does it seem everything always happens all at once??
The phone call was John, the door caller was his "friend", returning the gas can. I told him to sit it in front of the garage. Blessedly, since I was obviously on the phone, he didn't engage me in conversation. The husband was just getting off work and going to meet his parents and siblings for lunch. I could've gone, but opted to stay home and finish laundry and some straightening up. A short while later, I went outside to put the gas can away. I opened the garage and was assaulted by overpowering gas fumes. What the heck?? I looked down and saw the enormous puddle all over the floor. The small can that had tipped over, had leaked it's entire contents all over the place. I grabbed papertowels and started mopping it up. I was afraid to flip the light switch on. If there is one thing I learned from my brief days as a firefighter it's that the vapors from gasoline are more dangerous than the liquid gas. Flash point entered my mind.
I mopped it up as best I could, and left the garage door open a few inches to air out. I really wanted to leave it wide open, but I noticed his "friends" were still parked up the street, and I didn't trust them enough to leave my door standing wide open. As I had gas on my shoes from having walked through it, I kicked them off and left them on the porch. My hands wreaked, and even after several scrubbings with hot soapy water, the smell of gasoline lingered. Blech!
By now I was smelling it in the house, but whether it was from the garage, or just because it was on my hands, I wasn't sure. I opened all the windows and doors to let the house air out.
With the front door now open, I saw our friends return home across the street, and within minutes I noticed the young couple pestering them. I groaned inwardly. Now what?
Eventually, I saw neighbor "M" drive off in his truck with the couple riding beside him. I actually worried about his safety. Their car still sat up the street. Guess it hadn't been out of gas after all. "M" finally returned without them, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
John finally returned home a little after 4pm, and by now, the couple was back working on their car, family members were also there trying to help. We were just getting ready to sit down and eat dinner when here comes the young man knocking on the door, wanting to borrow jumper cables.
We finished eating, and here he comes again to return them. A little while later, he came back. Now he asked John if it would be okay if they pushed their car over in front of our house until a tow-truck could come get it in the morning. I held back, biting my tongue, waiting to hear my husband's response, but ready to jump in and say "hell no!!" For once, my husband surprised me with his reply, "well, the street it's already on (the main street of our neighborhood) is a lot wider than our street (which is a cul-de-sac). It would be more in the way if it were in front of our house."
The couple was afraid it would get towed away by a complaining neighbor if they left it where it was. I'm thinking to myself, "why not ask Mrs. G if she minds them pushing it into her driveway until morning? She lives alone, it's a nice big driveway, and she doesn't need all that room for just herself." But no, instead, they asked my husband if he would tow their car to the next subdivision, using his 4-Runner. Okay, now I was really getting unhappy. Our SUV is NOT a tow-truck. But once again, I kept my mouth shut. John borrowed some heavy-duty straps from "M", and attached it to his bumper or something on the rear of his SUV, and the kid attached the other end to the front of his car.
I was standing in the yard, talking to "J", when John started pulling the car. John had just pulled into the intersection when we all heard a loud POP and suddenly saw some smoke. I gasped, my eyes flew wide open, and I had an ill feeling take over. What had happened to our car???? What had torn up on our car???? John got out of his vehicle and walked back to look at the rear, when I noticed his car is still sitting in the middle of Chamberlain Lane. Oh dear lord! I just knew somebody was going to come flying down the road and hit him broadside! This situation was getting uglier by the moment. My heart was pounding by now, and I started to walk in that direction, dreading what I'd find. But John stood up, and announced it wasn't our car, but the couple's car. Apparently the boy had hooked the strap to the radiator, or else it had slipped and hooked on the radiator, but either way, that was now damaged, and we were seeing steam from that, not smoke. Yeah, that couples day had just gotten worse.
They finally got the car over to their home and John returned with his vehicle still in tact.
While at times I was slightly annoyed with them in the beginning, in the end I softened and
felt sorry for what they were going through. I hate to say that I was distrustful of them, but #1) I didn't know them from "Adam", except for what my husband had told me, and #2) I knew (from John) that they were in a somewhat desperate situation. And as we all know, desperate people do desperate things at times, even against their better judgement. So yes, I was distrustful.
The young man's parents were going through a divorce, mom had moved out. The electricity had been shut off at his house, and at times he was living out of his car. The girl's family apparently didn't welcome him in their home, because they are white, he is black. The girl had already asked John at one point what the fire department did for Thanksgiving... I guess she expects them to have a big dinner that day and welcome anyone/everyone that wants to come, and since neither of them can spend it together with their families, they want to spend it at the firehouse. Um, no, that isn't how it works. From what I understand, they both work at UPS, which I understand pays pretty decent wages. Yet, also from what I understand, a handful of the firefighters have been giving them money to live on.
I have a very mixed bag of emotions regarding this couple.
As I was returning home from the store Sunday noonish, I turned into the subdivision, and right away saw a young couple walking from our driveway, crossing our street, and starting up the driveway of our friends' house. I figured it was a couple of door-to-door sales people, as we get so many. Usually the older teens, early twenty people that come knocking are trying to sell magazines or "getting experience" (as they claim) just talking to people. Yeah, okay, whatever!
As I turned the corner onto our street, I saw them stop and turn to look at me. Did I know them? Um, no, I don't think so. I pulled just past our house then proceeded to back into our driveway, as is my habit. They turned around and came towards me. Hmm, I guess they're going to be persistent sales people. I don't like sales people, especially pushy ones.
Before I could even get completely out of my car, the young man started talking.
"I'm a friend of John's, from the firehouse..." Okay, before he even could say another word, I knew instantly who he was. Oh, I didn't know his name, but I knew quite a bit about him and his girlfriend, from things my husband had told me. I was immediately on guard.
"... and we was wondering if John was at home."
Okay, I'm thinking to myself, "do you see his car anywhere?" and "Did he answer the door when you rand the bell?" But I bit my tongue, played nice and replied, "No, he's at work."
"Oh. Well, our car ran out of gas (turns to point at a red car parked near a neighbor's house I had passed when I turned into the neighborhood), and I was wondering if I could borrow a gas can. I was headed to the gas station when this happened. I have money for the gas."
I didn't say a word, just turned and walked over to the garage door, unlocked it, and thankfully saw a can sitting just inside the door so I didn't have to dig around for it. There was a smaller gas can sitting on top of it that was marked "gas + oil", meaning the mixture he used for the weed eater and blower. I picked up the bottom can, not noticing that the smaller can had tipped over, and shook it. It was bone-dry empty. I turned and handed it to the young man, who again repeated he had money for gas.
Okay, fine, why do you keep telling me? I knew that the young man lived in the subdivision right next to ours, and couldn't help but wonder why he didn't walk to his own house to get a gas can.
They started walking towards the nearest gas station (which took them pretty much right past his house), and I closed the garage. I went to get my purchases out of the car, and noticed the girl looking back at me as they walked away, and it gave me a weird feeling. Normally, I wait 'til I'm completely done unloading the car before I lock it, but this time, I locked it between each armload of stuff I carried in. Once in the house, I shut and locked the door, even though it was a nice day out, if a bit breezy. Normally, I'd let the dogs out to potty as soon as I get home, but again, I broke habit and made them stay inside with me.
When I went out to get more stuff from the car, I glanced over and saw the girl sitting in their car, he was nowhere in sight. I knew she had a fascination with our dogs and it made me nervous. I knew this because when I was out of town a couple of weeks ago, she had insisted to my husband that he bring her to our house so she could see them. This didn't sit well with me, but what was done was done.
About 20 minutes later, I had a load of laundry in the washer, another in the dryer and was running the vacuum in our bedroom. Yes, I know, many of you are gasping in shock. I was actually doing some productive within the house. Over the roar of all these appliances, I heard the dogs barking and go galloping through the house. I turned the vac off, and heard my cell ringing. I answered it as I also went to answer the door. Why does it seem everything always happens all at once??
The phone call was John, the door caller was his "friend", returning the gas can. I told him to sit it in front of the garage. Blessedly, since I was obviously on the phone, he didn't engage me in conversation. The husband was just getting off work and going to meet his parents and siblings for lunch. I could've gone, but opted to stay home and finish laundry and some straightening up. A short while later, I went outside to put the gas can away. I opened the garage and was assaulted by overpowering gas fumes. What the heck?? I looked down and saw the enormous puddle all over the floor. The small can that had tipped over, had leaked it's entire contents all over the place. I grabbed papertowels and started mopping it up. I was afraid to flip the light switch on. If there is one thing I learned from my brief days as a firefighter it's that the vapors from gasoline are more dangerous than the liquid gas. Flash point entered my mind.
I mopped it up as best I could, and left the garage door open a few inches to air out. I really wanted to leave it wide open, but I noticed his "friends" were still parked up the street, and I didn't trust them enough to leave my door standing wide open. As I had gas on my shoes from having walked through it, I kicked them off and left them on the porch. My hands wreaked, and even after several scrubbings with hot soapy water, the smell of gasoline lingered. Blech!
By now I was smelling it in the house, but whether it was from the garage, or just because it was on my hands, I wasn't sure. I opened all the windows and doors to let the house air out.
With the front door now open, I saw our friends return home across the street, and within minutes I noticed the young couple pestering them. I groaned inwardly. Now what?
Eventually, I saw neighbor "M" drive off in his truck with the couple riding beside him. I actually worried about his safety. Their car still sat up the street. Guess it hadn't been out of gas after all. "M" finally returned without them, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
John finally returned home a little after 4pm, and by now, the couple was back working on their car, family members were also there trying to help. We were just getting ready to sit down and eat dinner when here comes the young man knocking on the door, wanting to borrow jumper cables.
We finished eating, and here he comes again to return them. A little while later, he came back. Now he asked John if it would be okay if they pushed their car over in front of our house until a tow-truck could come get it in the morning. I held back, biting my tongue, waiting to hear my husband's response, but ready to jump in and say "hell no!!" For once, my husband surprised me with his reply, "well, the street it's already on (the main street of our neighborhood) is a lot wider than our street (which is a cul-de-sac). It would be more in the way if it were in front of our house."
The couple was afraid it would get towed away by a complaining neighbor if they left it where it was. I'm thinking to myself, "why not ask Mrs. G if she minds them pushing it into her driveway until morning? She lives alone, it's a nice big driveway, and she doesn't need all that room for just herself." But no, instead, they asked my husband if he would tow their car to the next subdivision, using his 4-Runner. Okay, now I was really getting unhappy. Our SUV is NOT a tow-truck. But once again, I kept my mouth shut. John borrowed some heavy-duty straps from "M", and attached it to his bumper or something on the rear of his SUV, and the kid attached the other end to the front of his car.
I was standing in the yard, talking to "J", when John started pulling the car. John had just pulled into the intersection when we all heard a loud POP and suddenly saw some smoke. I gasped, my eyes flew wide open, and I had an ill feeling take over. What had happened to our car???? What had torn up on our car???? John got out of his vehicle and walked back to look at the rear, when I noticed his car is still sitting in the middle of Chamberlain Lane. Oh dear lord! I just knew somebody was going to come flying down the road and hit him broadside! This situation was getting uglier by the moment. My heart was pounding by now, and I started to walk in that direction, dreading what I'd find. But John stood up, and announced it wasn't our car, but the couple's car. Apparently the boy had hooked the strap to the radiator, or else it had slipped and hooked on the radiator, but either way, that was now damaged, and we were seeing steam from that, not smoke. Yeah, that couples day had just gotten worse.
They finally got the car over to their home and John returned with his vehicle still in tact.
While at times I was slightly annoyed with them in the beginning, in the end I softened and
felt sorry for what they were going through. I hate to say that I was distrustful of them, but #1) I didn't know them from "Adam", except for what my husband had told me, and #2) I knew (from John) that they were in a somewhat desperate situation. And as we all know, desperate people do desperate things at times, even against their better judgement. So yes, I was distrustful.
The young man's parents were going through a divorce, mom had moved out. The electricity had been shut off at his house, and at times he was living out of his car. The girl's family apparently didn't welcome him in their home, because they are white, he is black. The girl had already asked John at one point what the fire department did for Thanksgiving... I guess she expects them to have a big dinner that day and welcome anyone/everyone that wants to come, and since neither of them can spend it together with their families, they want to spend it at the firehouse. Um, no, that isn't how it works. From what I understand, they both work at UPS, which I understand pays pretty decent wages. Yet, also from what I understand, a handful of the firefighters have been giving them money to live on.
I have a very mixed bag of emotions regarding this couple.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)